Erquelle Lindë[September 3009][Ruivo] (CW)
Jul 6, 2018 14:00:38 GMT -5
Post by MITHIEL on Jul 6, 2018 14:00:38 GMT -5
(Content warning: suicide references)
Much of the morning had been spent going over Arwen’s fall plans to leave for Lothlorien, She was going to be escorted to Lothlorien by the chief of the Dunedain. Estel would see his fiancee safely to her grandmother’s realm. Mithiel had helped the Lady of Imladris pack the small travel bag that she was going to take. Tea was taken at noon in Mithiel’s ajoining room and the two women talked about the upcoming harvest and the winter. Arwen had asked after Ruivo, if Mithiel had heard anything at all from him, if any of animals had heard whispers of him and she had merely shaken her head No. Word had not came from Ruivo, he had vanished after Sovallë.
The early afternoon for Mithiel would be spent painting while Arwen spent time in the next room with Estel, debating the content of a book. Mithiel tried to drown out the sound of their voices through the open door. Within ear shot of she was needed.
Amaranthine dripped from Mithiel’s paintbrush as she sat at the canvas with closed eyes, she was trying to recall the color of the other orchids that had grown in Sirion, A gentle sigh escaped past her lips as she wished Ruivo was home. He had been gone since winter and she was growing deeply anxious at the lack of his presence, Mithiel was beginning to be concerned about the fire elf. Mithiel could not recall the color of the orchids with a signh she was dipping her paintbrush into water cup, Mithiel swirled the brush and then wiped it on her cloth. Sitting at her desk, painting a small scene of orchids growing along a river’s banks. Painting would have been easier at her large easel but Ruivo was not home and she found no inspiration in painting without him nearby.
On her small table near her chairs was a teacup, the tea long since grown cold and a slice of strawberry cake, layered with sweetened cream between the tortes. A light whipped icing over soft golden crumb. The last of the sweet berries of summer. Mithiel had not eaten the treat earlier when Arwen and herself had taken tea in Mithiel’s chambers. A gentle sigh escaped from her mouth as she laid down her clean paintbrush and pushed away from the desk. Leaving the painting half finished. The autumn air came through the opened windows of her chamber, bringing the crisp air that was beginning to chill as the days shortened and the nights lengthened. Mithiel crossed the room and picked up the slice of cake and debated with herself if she would eat the sweet treat or if she would set the plate on the window sill for the birds to enjoy. Finally she decided upon eating the cake.
Cream skirts swept the floor, wearing the dress she had been working on the previous winter. The cream and gold dress that was the first white dress she had worn in half an age. Her skirts grazed the floor lighty as she walked from smooth stone to the carpet. Mithiel’s tawny hair was heavily blonde from the summer’s long light. Golden blonde hair tumbled freely in waves, the side of her hair at the front, were drawn back and pinned in the shape of a rose
From a small box on the table near her bed, she took a silver and pearl fork, a special fork made for eating cake with. Mithiel had made sure the fork had travelled with her from Tirion remade. The fork was special with the memories that had been attached to the object.
With cake in hand, Mithiel went to her bed and sat at the edge of the bed, taking a bite. Bed was the only place to eat cake, it was tradition that she eat cake in bed. Something Mithiel and Ruivo had shared as a ritual in days past. Sharing a slice of cake in bed. Sweet was the cake and delicate the texture, melting against her tongue and the roof of her mouth, filling her with the fresh taste of strawberry, the sweetness of the sugar blended with vanilla and the delicate whip cream that served as frosting. Mithiel closed her eyes and she savored flavor. Just a bite. Just a sweet bite and nothing more as she envisioned Ruivo and her sharing a slice of cake very similar to the one she was eating. She could see them with the cake on the day where spring met summer, and they danced in twain, the turn of the season. Morning light surrounding them and Ruivo lazily lying lounging next to her in bed as she fed him bites of the sweet bounty to celebrate the changing of the season. The entire city buzzing for the evening festivities that would come.
Mithiel opened her eyes and stared down at the cake. Her mouth asked for more and Mithiel warred with herself if she should have a second bite or not. The cake she sat on the table. This was wrong, wrong. Eating cake without Ruivo was wrong but she wanted to eat the cake. But Ruivo was not there… So the fork was taken to the washroom to be washed and the cake was left on the window sill for the birds.
Mere moments after this, Arwen and Estel both informed Mithiel they were going to stretch their limbs and go for a walk along the grounds, inviting the older elf along, Arwen trying to distract Mithiel from her own thoughts. Accepting to go with the pair for just a distance, Mithiel found herself with her quiver slung over her shoulder and bow in hand, walking the grounds of Imladris. Looking quite the huntress in her white and gold gown on her way to the space in the valley they used for archery lessons. Mithiel found herself caressing the stiff fletching of her arrows, the feathers a deep brown with small spots on them.
Notching an arrow, Mithiel draw her bow up and took a breath. Even and fluid was the draw back of the test. Mithiel frowned as the arrow wobbled. Nearly a year since she had drawn a bow and it showed as the arrow fell short of it’s intended mark. Mithiel muttered under her breath. She was alone as she had allowed her ward to slip off without prying eyes while she reached for another arrow, warming up the memory muscle of her shoulders and arm. Her stance in this dress was slightly off and she tried again. The second arrow hit the target but was off center, another she reached for in her frustration as that arrow too went askew to the side in hitting the target.
The crisp air lifted her tendrils as the golden warmth of afternoon sunshine pooled through the trees upon her face, caressing as if the beams were that of a lovers’ hands.
Much of the morning had been spent going over Arwen’s fall plans to leave for Lothlorien, She was going to be escorted to Lothlorien by the chief of the Dunedain. Estel would see his fiancee safely to her grandmother’s realm. Mithiel had helped the Lady of Imladris pack the small travel bag that she was going to take. Tea was taken at noon in Mithiel’s ajoining room and the two women talked about the upcoming harvest and the winter. Arwen had asked after Ruivo, if Mithiel had heard anything at all from him, if any of animals had heard whispers of him and she had merely shaken her head No. Word had not came from Ruivo, he had vanished after Sovallë.
The early afternoon for Mithiel would be spent painting while Arwen spent time in the next room with Estel, debating the content of a book. Mithiel tried to drown out the sound of their voices through the open door. Within ear shot of she was needed.
Amaranthine dripped from Mithiel’s paintbrush as she sat at the canvas with closed eyes, she was trying to recall the color of the other orchids that had grown in Sirion, A gentle sigh escaped past her lips as she wished Ruivo was home. He had been gone since winter and she was growing deeply anxious at the lack of his presence, Mithiel was beginning to be concerned about the fire elf. Mithiel could not recall the color of the orchids with a signh she was dipping her paintbrush into water cup, Mithiel swirled the brush and then wiped it on her cloth. Sitting at her desk, painting a small scene of orchids growing along a river’s banks. Painting would have been easier at her large easel but Ruivo was not home and she found no inspiration in painting without him nearby.
On her small table near her chairs was a teacup, the tea long since grown cold and a slice of strawberry cake, layered with sweetened cream between the tortes. A light whipped icing over soft golden crumb. The last of the sweet berries of summer. Mithiel had not eaten the treat earlier when Arwen and herself had taken tea in Mithiel’s chambers. A gentle sigh escaped from her mouth as she laid down her clean paintbrush and pushed away from the desk. Leaving the painting half finished. The autumn air came through the opened windows of her chamber, bringing the crisp air that was beginning to chill as the days shortened and the nights lengthened. Mithiel crossed the room and picked up the slice of cake and debated with herself if she would eat the sweet treat or if she would set the plate on the window sill for the birds to enjoy. Finally she decided upon eating the cake.
Cream skirts swept the floor, wearing the dress she had been working on the previous winter. The cream and gold dress that was the first white dress she had worn in half an age. Her skirts grazed the floor lighty as she walked from smooth stone to the carpet. Mithiel’s tawny hair was heavily blonde from the summer’s long light. Golden blonde hair tumbled freely in waves, the side of her hair at the front, were drawn back and pinned in the shape of a rose
From a small box on the table near her bed, she took a silver and pearl fork, a special fork made for eating cake with. Mithiel had made sure the fork had travelled with her from Tirion remade. The fork was special with the memories that had been attached to the object.
With cake in hand, Mithiel went to her bed and sat at the edge of the bed, taking a bite. Bed was the only place to eat cake, it was tradition that she eat cake in bed. Something Mithiel and Ruivo had shared as a ritual in days past. Sharing a slice of cake in bed. Sweet was the cake and delicate the texture, melting against her tongue and the roof of her mouth, filling her with the fresh taste of strawberry, the sweetness of the sugar blended with vanilla and the delicate whip cream that served as frosting. Mithiel closed her eyes and she savored flavor. Just a bite. Just a sweet bite and nothing more as she envisioned Ruivo and her sharing a slice of cake very similar to the one she was eating. She could see them with the cake on the day where spring met summer, and they danced in twain, the turn of the season. Morning light surrounding them and Ruivo lazily lying lounging next to her in bed as she fed him bites of the sweet bounty to celebrate the changing of the season. The entire city buzzing for the evening festivities that would come.
Mithiel opened her eyes and stared down at the cake. Her mouth asked for more and Mithiel warred with herself if she should have a second bite or not. The cake she sat on the table. This was wrong, wrong. Eating cake without Ruivo was wrong but she wanted to eat the cake. But Ruivo was not there… So the fork was taken to the washroom to be washed and the cake was left on the window sill for the birds.
Mere moments after this, Arwen and Estel both informed Mithiel they were going to stretch their limbs and go for a walk along the grounds, inviting the older elf along, Arwen trying to distract Mithiel from her own thoughts. Accepting to go with the pair for just a distance, Mithiel found herself with her quiver slung over her shoulder and bow in hand, walking the grounds of Imladris. Looking quite the huntress in her white and gold gown on her way to the space in the valley they used for archery lessons. Mithiel found herself caressing the stiff fletching of her arrows, the feathers a deep brown with small spots on them.
Notching an arrow, Mithiel draw her bow up and took a breath. Even and fluid was the draw back of the test. Mithiel frowned as the arrow wobbled. Nearly a year since she had drawn a bow and it showed as the arrow fell short of it’s intended mark. Mithiel muttered under her breath. She was alone as she had allowed her ward to slip off without prying eyes while she reached for another arrow, warming up the memory muscle of her shoulders and arm. Her stance in this dress was slightly off and she tried again. The second arrow hit the target but was off center, another she reached for in her frustration as that arrow too went askew to the side in hitting the target.
The crisp air lifted her tendrils as the golden warmth of afternoon sunshine pooled through the trees upon her face, caressing as if the beams were that of a lovers’ hands.