AelKennyr Rhiano
With a flare of his nostrils, Olwe turned and paced away from the bowl of fruit, the platter of bread and cheese, and the flagon of Alqualonde's delicate wine. The very smell of the cheese and bread causing his stomach to rumble and roll. He paused, trying to count how many days have passed since his return to Alqualonde. A glance out the window showed him that the lowers parts of the Swanhaven are showing signs of green life. "So long, " he murmured, crossing his arms over his chest, the scars of gashes caused by unseen talents yet to fade. He drew a shaky breath, the Voice content to tuneless humming, a reminder, no doubt of its presence.
The bouts of fever come more often, now, but Olwe suffers them in stony silence, almost welcoming the fuzzy insensibilty that comes at the height of the fevers. On the couch, where so many times he sat, encircled in his Beloved Ainur's arms, was the rag doll rabbit he had found in Earwen's room, tiny splatters of blood...his blood...dried to a rusty red...speckling the toy. He recalled, with sudden sharpness, how attached the little silver haired princess was to it. Everywhere the child went, so it followed. "Then she grew up," he told the doll, a tender sadness in his voice, "and she left us both, my long eared friend." Dull button eyes regarded the Teleri Lord.
Olwe made another circuit of his bedchambers. A dull ache had seeped into every joint of his being, and he felt a weariness, born of pain, born of despair. He paused at another window and could see the trees of the small forest hard the embraced the based of one of the ranges of mountains that created the Valley of the Waterfalls. The sun was sinking low in the sky, its journey nearly done, and the Steersman of the Moon was, no doubt, preparing to launch his vessel across a star speckled sky that was shy one important star...
Vingilot was not there. Olwe watched, predawn after predawn, hoping against hope that it would suddenly appear. And predawn after predawn, the Voice, in raucous laughter, took delight in the Teleri Lord's disappointment. "It's gone," the voice whispered, "gone, gone, gone."
Below, in that green forest, by the waterfall, he learned the truth about Earwen's mother, the truth that a young Olwe could not have seen, that she herself could not have known when they, no more than newborn children, in truth, played at being lifemates. They had so little experience upon which to draw, to know one type of love from another...the love of tender friends, compatible lovers was different than the binding of souls.
And as Olwe closed his eyes and drew a breath to continue his pacing, he knew, now, beyond doubt, his soul was caught up, swept away, given to one who, even now, was starting his trek across the night sky. The voice awakened, as it always did, when Olwe thought of Tilion. At first Olwe could stave off the Voice so long as he thought in appellations, but no more. Olwe was tired, so tired, and the Voice seized upon each endearment with a savage viciousness. "So," it purred in sibilant S's..." the Steersman takes his journey again." Olwe winced at the internal voice. "What does he while Arien traverses the sky, Ol-we," it asked, stretching out his name. A tapping sounded in the chambers of his mind, a clacking like a talon against a stone floor. "I wonder, I wonder," it continued.
"I do not," said Olwe, dully, moving to circle the room again. Perhaps if he paced until he dropped, he could drop into dreamless sleep, with exhausion.
"Oh, but surely Manwe has him busy, soooo busy. Else he would be here, and I would not," rejoined the Voice. "Surely he would be here for the one he loves above all else."
Pace, thought Olwe... pace, pace, pace. "Surely," he echoes, thoughtlessly.
The voice poured over the raw places in his mind and for a moment, every ache and pain vanished and a soothing, comforting warmth ran through him. Stunned, Olwe stopped dead in his tracks, gasping a little at the sensation. "The trees, the forest," cooed the voice, and a gentle touch swept away the deadening weariness. "It is so entwined with memories," the Voice prompted.
Olwe drew a deep breath, inhaling the perfume of flowers in bloom, the earthy smell of rich dirt, green grass, and closed his eyes. For a moment, he could almost feel a breeze caress his cheek. For that moment, that blessed, sweet moment, there was no pain, no torment, no taunting...there was the smell of living, growing things, the feel of the wind, the light of the stars shining. "He kissed me there, "whispered Olwe, remembering the moment, feeling again the moment, hearing the words fall from the Ainur's lips that made him catch his breath, made his heart leap, changed everything in his world, made the stars glitter brighter.
"He should be here," whispered the Voice. "He should be here, with you." A gentle caress in his mind made Olwe suck in a breath and jump. He blinked several times. "No, no," he answered, caught off guard by the sudden change in behavior by the Voice. "He is, as you say, serving Mighty Manwe, Lord of the Breath of Arda. It is right he is there."
Instantly, the pain was back, redoubled. All gentleness, kindness, swept away. Olwe gasped at the near physical blow of the change. The voice roared in his mind, causing him to reach up and cover his ears. Invisible, etheral jaws bit at him...claws tore open flesh on his chest, his back, his arms, his stomach. The speed with which the Voice attacked caught the Lord of the Teleri by surprised, and he dropped to his knees from the shock, the surprise, and the pain. In his mind, the Voice, growled, blathering, screamed. For several moments, Olwe knelt there, bleeding from countless wounds, until the voice finally stopped and there was blessed silence. Slowly, Olwe pulled his hands away from his ears and stared at them, bright blood on both. Slowly he reached up and touched one of his ears, at the opening of the ear canal. his finger came away with blood on it. Then shock from the loss of blood and the trauma caught up to the Eldar King, and finally his wish of blessed darkness was granted, and he lost consciousness.
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