AelKennyr Rhiano
To Alqualonde we came, a land of twilight stars, and gentle fragrant breezes, laden with the perfumes of flowering buds and blossom heavy trees. Gentle was the kiss of the sea against the docks, and the waters provided sustenance such that no one lacked of its bounty. It was ever spring, green and alive, fecund and blessed by the Valar themselves, Olwe shifted his heavy cloak upon his shoulders and stepped out on the large, sweeping veranda of the palace.
But two hours past, the giant swan, Alqua, rose gracefully from the docks of the Swanhaven, bearing upon her back the grim faced Aztryd and her swaddled child. But two hours, and the skies grew to that creamy whiteness, cloud heavy. Then there came such snow, a heavy, swirling fury of flakes and ice and wind that now, as Arien's vessel speeds toward the end of its daily journey, Alqualonde was firmly swaddled in a blanket of its own.
His breath came out in thick mist as he sweeps his gaze across the lay of this, the Teleri's eternal home. He looked up as the snow fell still. No word from his Cousin, Comet. No sign even of the swan he sent. Taking in a deep breath, he shivered as the air stabs at his lungs as it travels, little daggers of ice scratching, resisting. Turning upon his heels, he walks back inside the palace. We can stay here little longer, Olwe thinks, hearing the wind pushing against the palace walls, swirling and roaring as another layer of snow settled upon Alqualonde. As he climbed up, staircase after staircase, Olwe ponders the weather, the missing swan, the dwarven mother and her child. Casting aside his cloak, the snow now water upon the fabric, upon the place where once he sat, in the circle of Tilion's arms. Casting another look out the window of his bedchamber, he purses his lips. "Answer me, Cousin," he thinks, willing Comet to hear. "There have come such snows, and our time is short, so short."
"So short."
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But two hours past, the giant swan, Alqua, rose gracefully from the docks of the Swanhaven, bearing upon her back the grim faced Aztryd and her swaddled child. But two hours, and the skies grew to that creamy whiteness, cloud heavy. Then there came such snow, a heavy, swirling fury of flakes and ice and wind that now, as Arien's vessel speeds toward the end of its daily journey, Alqualonde was firmly swaddled in a blanket of its own.
His breath came out in thick mist as he sweeps his gaze across the lay of this, the Teleri's eternal home. He looked up as the snow fell still. No word from his Cousin, Comet. No sign even of the swan he sent. Taking in a deep breath, he shivered as the air stabs at his lungs as it travels, little daggers of ice scratching, resisting. Turning upon his heels, he walks back inside the palace. We can stay here little longer, Olwe thinks, hearing the wind pushing against the palace walls, swirling and roaring as another layer of snow settled upon Alqualonde. As he climbed up, staircase after staircase, Olwe ponders the weather, the missing swan, the dwarven mother and her child. Casting aside his cloak, the snow now water upon the fabric, upon the place where once he sat, in the circle of Tilion's arms. Casting another look out the window of his bedchamber, he purses his lips. "Answer me, Cousin," he thinks, willing Comet to hear. "There have come such snows, and our time is short, so short."
"So short."
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