AelKennyr Rhiano
Olwe leaned back and rested his head against the curved tub as the hot water of his bath slowly warmed chilled limbs. He reached from the bar of soap and turned it over and over in his hands, working up a good lather, the delicate scent of the flowers that were added to the ingredients when the bar was formed, now released to mingle with the steam from the water. Slowly he washes away the mud and grime from his body, his muscles slowly relaxing and unknotting.
Slowly, the Lord of Alqualonde rises from his bathe, reaches over and grabs the soft, luxuriant towel from it's folded place over the head board of the tub. Shaking it out, he begins to dry off, first his arms, then shoulders, and chest. A brace of rabbits and a buck..the morning's hunt was not a fruitless one, despite being thoroughly soaked to the bone and sinew. The morning thunderstorm had dissipated into a dreary, constant drizzle, the cold rain find its way instead the neck of his tunic and drenching him from the inside out. He quickly grew soaked and cold and ill tempered, but no one accompanied him, so no one was there to witness breaches of his usual tranquil manner
Not that he has been tranquil in some time. Tranquil was sitting upon his reading couch in his own palace library, tucked away with a book and a cup of fresh milk, cookies as only his cook remembered how to make from all the times cooks were part of a little elf child's happiness. Tranquil was walking among his people at the end of a successful fishing upon the seas, and all were home unharmed, Tranquil was resting his head against Tilion's shoulder as they whispered to each other the wisdom of four ages of lovers the world around.
There is no tranquil. He finished drying off, he tossed the towel over the lip of the tub and padded across the bedchamber to where his clothes had been thoughtfully laid out. "Nole," thinks Olwe, reaching down and fingering the rich fabric. Every piece of the outfit had been laid out with consideration and care. Lightly his fingers trail over jacket before he picks up the shirt and shrugs into it. As he reaches for the jacket, he stops and holds it draped over one arm as he unbuttons it , remembering with a bittersweetness the last time he had worn these clothes.
Earwen had returned home, to Alqualonde, for a visit. All flushed with the joy of the news she brought to her father. "Finarfin had the finest Noldor tailors make this for you, father, " she had told him, as she laid it across this very bed. She had looked up at him with those same eyes from which she had cried tears of pain, tears of joy throughout her childhood in the Swanhaven. Bright eyes, like stars in a winter cold sky, but warm, so warm and alive. "Try it on, father," she had pressed, and he had scooted her from the room to do as she had bade. Finarfin had chosen his tailors well: the clothes fit the Teleri Lord like a second skin. Earwen told her father that she was with child, and then, within the week, she was sailing away again, and all he had as testimony of the visit was these clothes.
As he finished dressing, he thinks back over the morning, Elwing's arrival, and her news. He thinks back to the night before, and the long talk with Estelin. "No," he had said, time and again that night. "I must go, my Lord. I must. I have heard nothing from her. Please, can't you see how it tears my heart?" And all the time, Olwe knew, deep in his heart, he knew that Estelin did, indeed know how troubled the Lord of Alqualonde was, is, and will be until he knows for himself, sees for himself, that his Cousin is safe from harm.
He gave a heavy sigh. He was dressed now, and below, in the kitchens, awaits three rabbits, ready for the cooking, the rest of the meat already butchered and wrapped in leaves soaked with oil and herbs and placed in the cold cellar or ready to be salted on the morrow. He looks about the room. So many memories in the sparsely furnished room. He has just enough time to start the stew and meet Nole in his private study. Perhaps, he may even be able to sit down with a book and read by the fire, like he used to do..
...when things were tranquil. When things were tranquil.
> Next
Slowly, the Lord of Alqualonde rises from his bathe, reaches over and grabs the soft, luxuriant towel from it's folded place over the head board of the tub. Shaking it out, he begins to dry off, first his arms, then shoulders, and chest. A brace of rabbits and a buck..the morning's hunt was not a fruitless one, despite being thoroughly soaked to the bone and sinew. The morning thunderstorm had dissipated into a dreary, constant drizzle, the cold rain find its way instead the neck of his tunic and drenching him from the inside out. He quickly grew soaked and cold and ill tempered, but no one accompanied him, so no one was there to witness breaches of his usual tranquil manner
Not that he has been tranquil in some time. Tranquil was sitting upon his reading couch in his own palace library, tucked away with a book and a cup of fresh milk, cookies as only his cook remembered how to make from all the times cooks were part of a little elf child's happiness. Tranquil was walking among his people at the end of a successful fishing upon the seas, and all were home unharmed, Tranquil was resting his head against Tilion's shoulder as they whispered to each other the wisdom of four ages of lovers the world around.
There is no tranquil. He finished drying off, he tossed the towel over the lip of the tub and padded across the bedchamber to where his clothes had been thoughtfully laid out. "Nole," thinks Olwe, reaching down and fingering the rich fabric. Every piece of the outfit had been laid out with consideration and care. Lightly his fingers trail over jacket before he picks up the shirt and shrugs into it. As he reaches for the jacket, he stops and holds it draped over one arm as he unbuttons it , remembering with a bittersweetness the last time he had worn these clothes.
Earwen had returned home, to Alqualonde, for a visit. All flushed with the joy of the news she brought to her father. "Finarfin had the finest Noldor tailors make this for you, father, " she had told him, as she laid it across this very bed. She had looked up at him with those same eyes from which she had cried tears of pain, tears of joy throughout her childhood in the Swanhaven. Bright eyes, like stars in a winter cold sky, but warm, so warm and alive. "Try it on, father," she had pressed, and he had scooted her from the room to do as she had bade. Finarfin had chosen his tailors well: the clothes fit the Teleri Lord like a second skin. Earwen told her father that she was with child, and then, within the week, she was sailing away again, and all he had as testimony of the visit was these clothes.As he finished dressing, he thinks back over the morning, Elwing's arrival, and her news. He thinks back to the night before, and the long talk with Estelin. "No," he had said, time and again that night. "I must go, my Lord. I must. I have heard nothing from her. Please, can't you see how it tears my heart?" And all the time, Olwe knew, deep in his heart, he knew that Estelin did, indeed know how troubled the Lord of Alqualonde was, is, and will be until he knows for himself, sees for himself, that his Cousin is safe from harm.
He gave a heavy sigh. He was dressed now, and below, in the kitchens, awaits three rabbits, ready for the cooking, the rest of the meat already butchered and wrapped in leaves soaked with oil and herbs and placed in the cold cellar or ready to be salted on the morrow. He looks about the room. So many memories in the sparsely furnished room. He has just enough time to start the stew and meet Nole in his private study. Perhaps, he may even be able to sit down with a book and read by the fire, like he used to do..
...when things were tranquil. When things were tranquil.
> Next