AelKennyr Rhiano
The cool breeze lifted his hair, settled silver strands across his face. The Lord of Alqualonde raised a hand, and long, tapered fingers collected the errant strand and hooked them behind his ears. As he neared the foot of the mountain range, the lapping sound of the incoming tide mingling with the steady rise and fall of the dragon's breathing. Olwe paused at the bottom of the ridge and considered crossing over to where he heard the dragon, asleep, it appears, but shook his head and instead turned toward the empty marketplace, glowing softly in the moonlight. The ground trembled under his feet, and the sounds of a great mass shifting and settling carried upon the cool night breeze. The dragon was turning in his sleep. Olwe started again, stepping onto the pearl tiled market.
Deep shadows fell across empty shops. As Olwe neared one stall where sat a potter's wheel, he paused and lightly ran his fingertips over the unsanded top. A thin layer of dust covered the top, and he rubbed his fingers together when he lifted his hand. Lifting eyes the color of the blue sea, Olwe continued his trek to the palace.
There was a smell in Alqualonde now, that never was when it was in Aman, and as Olwe takes in a deep breath, that scent was upon the breeze: the changing of the seasons had its scent. And tonight he caught it in the coolness of the breezes, a little crisper, saltier smell.
As he entered the palaces, his boots strike the marbled floor, the sound echoing back in the vast throne room. For a moment, his eyes linger upon the empty throne, and his mind travels back to the elves who lovingly crafted it for him. Between the two swans was a jeweled orb, and as he gazed upon it, his mind flashed upon the image of a much younger Comet, her honey gold hair framing her young, delicate features, the soft lips shaping an "O" of delight, the eyes dancing with laughter. How fared his Cousin, the Queen of Sylvhara, he wondered, for he had received no news in all these many days.
Turning on his heel, he left behind the throne but not the memory of his golden hair kinswoman and made his way up winding staircases, past empty rooms, shadow laden alcoves, until he neared the door of the Bedchamber in which rested Elwing the White. He stopped before the door and listened to hear if there is any sound of movement. Then he reached out his hand and grasped the door knob, turning it slowly and pushing against the door to open it. On silent hinges, the door swung open, and quietly the King of the Teleri entered the room.
Upon the bed in the center of the room Elwing tossed and turned restlessly. A fire was popping and hissing in the fireplace against one wall. Over against the far wall was a table on which rested a lamp and two chairs pulled away from the table. Someone had been in the room and sat at that table. As Olwe continued his survey of the room, his eyes rested upon a low cushioned stool pulled close to the bed. The cushion still bore the impression of the person who last sat there, Olwe noticed.
A whimper brought his attention to his niece upon the bed. He raised a hand and felt her forehead. Very hot to the touch. Turning to the washstand, he poured some water into the basin there and then dropped the cloth in to wet it. Wringing it out, he folded it and draped it across Elwing's forehead.
Settling down on the cushioned stool, he watched Elwing. What happened to you? He thinks the question to himself. What happened? He kept watch as night surrendered to rosy dawn, and as Arien's vessel peeked over the horizon, unremarked by anyone, a lone, blue dragon chose that morning to awkwardly launch himself into the sky and resume his quest to find his mate.
> Next Olwë > Next Elwing
Deep shadows fell across empty shops. As Olwe neared one stall where sat a potter's wheel, he paused and lightly ran his fingertips over the unsanded top. A thin layer of dust covered the top, and he rubbed his fingers together when he lifted his hand. Lifting eyes the color of the blue sea, Olwe continued his trek to the palace.
There was a smell in Alqualonde now, that never was when it was in Aman, and as Olwe takes in a deep breath, that scent was upon the breeze: the changing of the seasons had its scent. And tonight he caught it in the coolness of the breezes, a little crisper, saltier smell.
As he entered the palaces, his boots strike the marbled floor, the sound echoing back in the vast throne room. For a moment, his eyes linger upon the empty throne, and his mind travels back to the elves who lovingly crafted it for him. Between the two swans was a jeweled orb, and as he gazed upon it, his mind flashed upon the image of a much younger Comet, her honey gold hair framing her young, delicate features, the soft lips shaping an "O" of delight, the eyes dancing with laughter. How fared his Cousin, the Queen of Sylvhara, he wondered, for he had received no news in all these many days.
Turning on his heel, he left behind the throne but not the memory of his golden hair kinswoman and made his way up winding staircases, past empty rooms, shadow laden alcoves, until he neared the door of the Bedchamber in which rested Elwing the White. He stopped before the door and listened to hear if there is any sound of movement. Then he reached out his hand and grasped the door knob, turning it slowly and pushing against the door to open it. On silent hinges, the door swung open, and quietly the King of the Teleri entered the room.
Upon the bed in the center of the room Elwing tossed and turned restlessly. A fire was popping and hissing in the fireplace against one wall. Over against the far wall was a table on which rested a lamp and two chairs pulled away from the table. Someone had been in the room and sat at that table. As Olwe continued his survey of the room, his eyes rested upon a low cushioned stool pulled close to the bed. The cushion still bore the impression of the person who last sat there, Olwe noticed.
A whimper brought his attention to his niece upon the bed. He raised a hand and felt her forehead. Very hot to the touch. Turning to the washstand, he poured some water into the basin there and then dropped the cloth in to wet it. Wringing it out, he folded it and draped it across Elwing's forehead.
Settling down on the cushioned stool, he watched Elwing. What happened to you? He thinks the question to himself. What happened? He kept watch as night surrendered to rosy dawn, and as Arien's vessel peeked over the horizon, unremarked by anyone, a lone, blue dragon chose that morning to awkwardly launch himself into the sky and resume his quest to find his mate.
> Next Olwë > Next Elwing