Elendor - Sunday, January 21, 2007, 1:52 AM
IC time is: Dawn < About 5:30 AM >
IC day is: Orbelain <Valar-day>
IC date is: 63 Rhiw <Winter>
Moon phase: First Quarter <VISIBLE>
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 15 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3039>
RL time: Sat Jan 20 18:30:17 2007
Tumladen(#16497RHnto)
A haven within a haven, a retreat even within the the sanctuary of Imladris. A circular open lawn stretches before you, shielded by towering evergreens on all sides, except for its east flank, where a steep cliff face rises into the sky. Rainbow mists float through the trees to the south, where the Bruinen tumbles down a cataract just out of sight, around a bend in the cliff. The lawn is perfectly smooth and well-kept, a soft carpet for you to sit on. A shelter rises up in the middle of the silver green field, recalling the majesty of white-walled Gondolin. A place to mourn the loss of that elf-home, but also to rejoice as its image and spirit lives on here in Rivendell. Tumladen forms a sort of alcove at the end of the Valley. The only entrances or exits are the stairs. One set leads down and westward, under the retaining wall. Another leads down along the cliff face to the northwest.
A thin, high layer of clouds covers the pre-dawn sky above. The Misty Mountains in the east are lost in the clouds and darkness. The first quarter moon glows through the thin clouds above, occasionally gleaming brighter through a gap.
Dawn has not yet brought the new day as a peculiar gathering can be observed in the haven within the Valley. The haven that is named Tumladen, reminiscent of ancient Gondolin, the White City of Beleriand. Elves of several trades have come here to celebrate something extraordinary: gardeners, seekers and artisans. These all stand around a perfect copy of the shelter that stands in the middle of the lawn - only this copy is small, wrought from pure white marble. And in it sits a plant.
Among the figures stands a tall elleth, her face partly shrouded by a dark cloak. . .but what can be seen of it is filled with anxiety mingled with sorrow. Her eyes are on the plant, and in their gaze hope and longing mix.
She is silent, is Lossmeril, silent as death, and nearly as still.
Sidhel is here too and he speaks to some of the seekers with a low voice while he watches as covering blankets are removed one by one from the plant's new home. "Now let us see how it like this place," muses the historian and he looks at Lossmeril. "What say you, does it look like the Moon Tears of old?"
Yes, the dawn has not bloomed in the skies of Imladris, but one of the visitors to the valley has risen. Kylin, as usual takes an early morning stroll, paths that he has yet to explore are many in this land. Today a new one treads along, through places not seen by the man. And then the opening is spotted, and those that gather around...still and silent. So, at the fringe the black haired man stands, for now.
"So like."
Lossmeril's voice trembles, and only with an effort does she steady it.
"So very like. I would - I would almost think myself there again to see it."
Her voice is wrenched with longing, her gaze remaining upon the Moon Tear as she nods tenderly.
Halamoth has followed several of the Eldar to this room, and he now stands among them. His attention is settled upon the tree, and he watches it quietly, even as it is uncovered in its new home.
Like many others he stands quietly, only watching, though he takes interest when Sidhel asks a question.
"A marvel to be had," he says softly in a sure tone.
Curiosity gets the better of Kylin, and closer he moves. To the object that holds everyone one's attention he looks. "I...have never seen anything like that before."
"Because there has never been its like."
Lossmeril's voice crisps slightly, though she does not look at the man.
"It has no equal, nothing similar in the world. It was created uniquely, and unique it has remained. We - we thought them all destroyed forever."
The last blanket is removed with great care and there is stands, the white shelter that protects the Moon Tear from winter's cold - and yet it allows a circulation of cool air, and what is most important, the lofty construction has numerous ports and holes in its roof, a grid it seems. Impatiently, Sidhel looks up into the skies where the moon is currently hidden behind a layer of clouds.
"Surely, this one has none likeness in all the Hither Lands," says he.
He nod yet there is a puzzled look on his face. "It is beautiful...no, that does not do it justice. I can not think of a word that would describe it." Kylin falls silent as he watches Sidhel move the blanket. "I, I, wish I had the gift of song as the Firstborn have. Then perhaps I would know how to describe such a thing. But with my ignorance, I can only stand as a fool with my mouth wide open in awe."
"Never in this Age have I seen a thing this great," Halamoth says softly. He raises his head to the moon and the stars, then speaks in a deep, old voice that echoes with the memory of an ancient forest, in an ancient land:
"A Elbereth Gilthoniel
Silivren penna miriel
o menel aglar elenath!
Na-chaered palan-diriel
o galadhremmin ennorath,
Fanuilos, le linnathan
nef aear, si nef aearon!"
Lossmeril bows her head, closing her eyes, but in the lighting one can see tears streaming down her face. Her shoulders remain held high and proud, but clearly are held still only with an effort.
Beautiful is this plant, no doubt. But then the clouds break up and a pale silvery light comes from the moon above. Instantly lven eyes flick to the plant, waiting for what should happen now. Nothing happens here, though. But as Halamoth raises his voice to sing, look! A shy wave of silver flushed across the Moon Tear. The light falls through the grid and plays upon the plant's leaves. Another pulse of silver, and another. Then a steady glow encircles the Moon Tear.
"It glows! Look, it glows," exclaims Sidhel with a hushed voice. "Aiya Earendil, at last!"
A step back Kylin takes as the glow envelopes the plant, eyes blinking he asks "What...why...how," he stammers before he takes a deep breath to steady himself "What is that?"
Instantly Lossmeril's eyes are fixed on the Moon Tear, riveted to the plant as it glows. Softly she releases a withheld breath. . .and at Kylin's question, she smiles, almost as if she would laugh for joy.
"*That*," she says softly, "is the Moon Tear."
"Aye, this is the Moon Tear, Kylin," says Sidhel and he beams merrily like an elfing who has just found a nice toy. "A more than worthy addition to this place, I daresay. Nay, this is a remarkable for elvendom in these lands: Gondolin lives on in this plant!"
Halamoth continues to sing, letting his deep voice fill the room with the ancient song. Images of the ancient forest still haunt his voice, and quite often they seem to dazzle the air as mere mirages. They play closely with the Moon Tear.
Halamoth sings alone, but he does gesture for others to sing the chorus with him while the tree collects the silver light.
When the 'brave' man sees that the others do not shy away from the plant he steps forward once more "Moon Tear," Kylin repeats softly. "A true wonder of this earth I have born witness to this morn." Were any to take their eyes from such a wonder, which is all but impossible - surely, they would see that true awe fills his features as he leans a tad closer to take in the sight before him.
"Gondolin...I do not know this place nor have I ever heard of it, Sidhel," he says still not taking his gaze from the glow and plant.
And Lossmeril joins in Halamoth'ss song, singing the chorus with him as the light gathers. At Kylin's word, her eyebrows arch slightly, and for an instant her grey eyes shimmer afresh with tears, but she continues to sing, leaving speech to Sidhel.
From above, Ithil's light flickers out but a moment as a large creature flies over the land. And, by the sound of the beating of wings, one may speculate that the figure is close to the ground. The sound of air rushing over feathers fades yet quickly returns in new intensity. Angling to land, one of the Geat Eagles comes into sight approaching the small gathering. With a last few pumps of his wings, Laegtiri comes to a halt on his taloned feet while the amber gaze sets on the glowing plant. No words are spoken by the Eagle as he focuses on the wonder.
And Sidhel gestures to the Man, Kylin to step aside and leave the singers hail the plant. Softly he explains to him: "In times of old, long forgotten by most of your kin, when Elves and Men fought the Dark One, Morgoth Bauglir, there was a city of great beauty. Gondolin, where an Elvenking of great might resided. But this city was eventuyll betrayed and overrun by the armies of Morgoth. Few only escaped." There he pauses and looks at Lossmeril. "And Gondolin was also home of this plant. Now, many thousands of your years later, the Moon Tear has returned."
The cloud cover overhead rolls back and leaves the sky mostly clear with light, puffy clouds scattered about, revealing the sun.
Eagle, Moon Tear - wonders abound and Kylin has a hard time with his attention skipping from singing elves and all that is before him! He is left speechless, even with a mouth open in shock, as he is guided aside by Sidhel and his explanation.
Halamoth continues to sing, even as the great bird lands, and many of the other elves take up the song under the sky. Now a great trance falls upon the area, though it is both lovely and soft. Halamoth no longer lets his voice lead, and instead merely sings the song of the Eldar; a song that proclaims their love for Varya; a song they proclaims their sorrow and their joy.
Continuing to sing, Lossmeril nonetheless notices the eagle's arrival - how could she not? Her voice faltering a moment, she turns in the bird's direction and offers a soft smile before returning her gaze to the Moon Tear and lifting her voice afresh in song.
As the elleth turns towards him and smiles, Laegtiri inclines his head. And, as more edhyl join in the song, the great bird adds his own voice, if it could be called a voice. As the Eagle opens his beak, the sounds of soft whistling is emitted if only to give the depth to the song of the elves in containing no power of its own.
Leaving Kylin to his bemusement, Sidhel approaches the eagle with a joyous smile. "<Sindarin> Greetings and well met," he adresses the bird in the elven tongue. "<Sindarin> Thorondor's descendants are most welcome tonight!" Then, as the great avian seemingly joins the song, Sidhel looks all excited. 'What a night,' he calls to Kylin.
He shakes his head, the overwhelming scene that is before him looses some of it's grip on the man. "I," Kylin begins and shakes his head "I have no words to speak." Perhaps it is the Moon Tear, the Eagle, the singing or all of them. But for once the man is with out words, only awe. And for the first time there comes to Kylin, a peace, serenity, calm - all could be used to describe his features that show what his inner soul is feeling.
Halamoth continues to sing, though now he smiles. His expression softens as he grows quite peaceful. For now he merely is apart of the chorus of the Eldar.
Lossmeril, too, continues to sing, her gaze still on the plant. . .and it would seem that there is a mingling of sorrow and delight in her eyes such as has not been seen in years. . .perhaps in all her time in Imladris, or even longer. She smiles, though tears still sparkle in her grey eyes, as she continues to share in the sound of both elves and eagle.
As the Eagle is spoken to in the elven tongue, he tilts his head to the side showing a lack of understanding of the words. From his beak, his own melody fades as he responds in Westron, "I am sorry but I do not know your tongue." Laegtiri lets his gaze shift between the ellon and the plant in still being in awe of the wonder yet wishing to understand the elf.
"Then let us speak in the Common Tongue," replies Sidhel to the eagle. "Well met, messenger of the skies! What you see here has not graced this earth since Thorondor's days. We thought this plant lost when Gondolin fell, but here it is again, bred from the only remaining seeds!"
"As beautiful as ever it was."
Lossmeril has ceased to join in the singing and comes to join Sidhel and the eagle, her face alight as she curtsies deeply to the great bird.
"Beyond all hope it is returned to us. . .a light in dark hours."
Gathering his wits about him, Kylin bows at last to the eagle "A wondrous sight," he begins with a soft vice so as to not break the spell of the song "before us, Eagle of the North."
As Lossmerial nears the eagle so does Kylin. "And to be a part of it, to witness it, I can not thank you enough M'Lady, Herald."
"You need not thank me, Kylin," speaks the Herald. "But be reminded, what you have seen today have but three mortals before you beheld with their own eyes. Once a secret of the Hidden City, the Moon Tear is now a treasure of the Hidden Valley. Think well to whom you trade news of this plant," he says.
With a bow of his head "Many things I have seen upon this land, many things. This," Kylin sweeps his had to the Moon Tear "is a treasure of memory that shall be mine alone. Fear I would have in telling such a tale for the magic and peace that I found this day would be would be gone from me forever."
|