AelKennyr Rhiano
Arien's vessel was dropping lower in the sky, but the heat of the day still clung to the Swanhaven, the air still and hot. Sweat soaked the back of Olwe's shirt, and he raised and arm up to use the sleeve to wipe the sweat from his brow. The walk across the market plaza seemed to take longer in this heat. Behind him he could hear the lilting voice of Elenwe, the deep rumbling answer of Dometis, and the melodious voice of the sea merchant, Nole. Olwe pauses a moment, listening to the voices as the conversation continued. Dometis would be well enough to leave the Swanhaven soon and continue his journey. Briefly the Lord of the Teleri wondered if the dragon would find his mate again.
Walking up the hill, the Lord of Alqualonde looked at the houses...homes...quiet, dark, empty. He closed his eyes for a moment, and memories rose unbidden to the surface: the smell of suppers cooking; the sounds of children laughing and chasing one another, the squeals and chatter; the softer voices of adults talking over the day; the sight of people returning home for their day's labor; singing rising from the Drunken Swan; the good natured bluster as some practice on the archery range; the sight the stars, crisp, clear in a velvet dark sky. He opened his eyes to the stillness all about and breathed a heavy sigh. Where are my people? came the question yet again.
Overhead a bird rode the currents of the wind, wings outstretched, it shrill call capturing Olwe's attention. Tilting his head back he watches it for a few moments, his own thoughts winging across the seas to his Cousin, the Sylvan Queen. There has been little in the way of news of Sylvhara, and instead grows a deep fear for Comet. I must write, he thinks to himself, tonight. I will send a message tonight. Wearily, he turns and trudges up the hill to the glittering palace.
Inside was cool, a welcome relief from the blustering heat, and Olwe pauses for a second. Sighing and thinking of a cool bath, he starts across the expansive throne room for the stairs. Halfway up, he is started to hear an unknown voice call out for help. Rushing back down, the stairs, his eyes sweep across the throne room. No one. He turns around to the veranda and spies a figure slumped to the floor. His eyes narrowed, and then he recognized the body. Elwing? It was Elwing. Breaking into a run, Olwe rushes out, kneels over her motionless form and stretches out a hand to turn her over, the other arm sliding under her body. Forgotten was the unfamiliar voice who had alerted him to her presence.
> Next Elwing > Next Olwë
Walking up the hill, the Lord of Alqualonde looked at the houses...homes...quiet, dark, empty. He closed his eyes for a moment, and memories rose unbidden to the surface: the smell of suppers cooking; the sounds of children laughing and chasing one another, the squeals and chatter; the softer voices of adults talking over the day; the sight of people returning home for their day's labor; singing rising from the Drunken Swan; the good natured bluster as some practice on the archery range; the sight the stars, crisp, clear in a velvet dark sky. He opened his eyes to the stillness all about and breathed a heavy sigh. Where are my people? came the question yet again.
Overhead a bird rode the currents of the wind, wings outstretched, it shrill call capturing Olwe's attention. Tilting his head back he watches it for a few moments, his own thoughts winging across the seas to his Cousin, the Sylvan Queen. There has been little in the way of news of Sylvhara, and instead grows a deep fear for Comet. I must write, he thinks to himself, tonight. I will send a message tonight. Wearily, he turns and trudges up the hill to the glittering palace.
Inside was cool, a welcome relief from the blustering heat, and Olwe pauses for a second. Sighing and thinking of a cool bath, he starts across the expansive throne room for the stairs. Halfway up, he is started to hear an unknown voice call out for help. Rushing back down, the stairs, his eyes sweep across the throne room. No one. He turns around to the veranda and spies a figure slumped to the floor. His eyes narrowed, and then he recognized the body. Elwing? It was Elwing. Breaking into a run, Olwe rushes out, kneels over her motionless form and stretches out a hand to turn her over, the other arm sliding under her body. Forgotten was the unfamiliar voice who had alerted him to her presence.
> Next Elwing > Next Olwë