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Elendor - Wednesday, September 13, 2006, 11:18 PM
Estelion has arrived.
Theatre of the Fountain
A large open area, roughly circular, this clearing is ringed by tall pines, thickly limbed with almost wall-like density. The lawn is snow covered, on the bowl-like hill which makes up the clearing; on one side is a tall wooden structure, looking much like an outdoor stage or half-pavillion. There are torches burning brightly in sconces all about it to light the stage, and there are silken drapes which open and shut with performances hanging on rails above. On the hill opposite the stage, there are almost natural looking depressions in the ground, no doubt rows where people may sit to watch. From above, all is bathed in the silvery light of the moon, and the twinkling stars.
A white-pebble path runs down into the center of the bowl to greet a great fountain in the very bottom of the bowl-like open space, a stone basin carved with waves, fish, and ships, while the center which spouts water is a giant figure with a crown of clouds, and waves for raiment.
The musicians play softly up on the stage as the Elves of Imladris and the other odd guests who are in the Valley this evening file into the theater area. Many costumes are seen this night as the Masked Ball is slowly populated by participants dressed peculiarly.
One such figure is a tall squirrel with a big head and a fluffy tail. Though it looks to have real fur and skin, the grey creature is oddly proportioned and looks generally more like a man than a small forest creature. At the moment it is doing too things, bowing and chittering merrily.
Just beside the fountains stands an elleth, but costumed as a red, red rose. She might seem out of place, seeming to grow right out of the snow at her feet, but then, this is Imladris. The brilliant light of Earendil, just above the tree tops, shines on her petals, causing them to glow all the more beautifully in the early evening crips air.
A crisp cloud of fine snow heralds the coming of - Winter. White and royal he comes into the theatre and he leaves a trail of sparkling dust. Silently he nods at beasts and flowers, elves and others. Yet before the rose he stops and tilts his head, pondering.
The_Rose turns to Winter, but does not bend or bow. However, a slight giggle escapes from within her petals.
Another figure enters, a bit late, strangely shining. Face veiled by a strange shimmery fabric, the figure strides slowly in, glittering. Small stones clutter the thick black velvet of the costume, stratigically placed to appear as constellations of the sky. Most striking, however, is a bright pulsating silver-blue luminance from a round stone afixed to the figure's forehead... representing Gil-Estel. A thin sliver of night sky, is this costume.
The murmur of the Bruinen is faint here, but it may seem reflected in the figure now climbing down the trail from the terraces. Her voluminous sleeves falling at her side like miniature waterfalls, a few rays of light sparkle off this lady's blue garments as she slowly makes her way towards the center of the gathering.
The Squirrel has found a convenient spot to stop and look around, its massive head not so much turning as its entire body turning so that its squirrelly eyes can survey one and all. Its chittering is stilled as the nervous thing spies the River approaching. Slowly does little Squirrel wander over to perhaps take a drink.
"Why is it that you still bloom when my reign has long come," inquires the Winter of the Rose. "Should you not rest and sleep by now?" The River's approach is noted with a quick glance, then the icy fellow returns his attention to the queen of flowers.
Continuing to giggle, the Rose still manages to respond to the Winter, her hands still at her sides to maintain the impression of the green stalk. "For this is Imladris, Winter, where beauty blooms the year round. Look yonder," and the Rose bends slightly in the direction of the River, "As long as I may receive moisture, even in you embrace may I bloom. But be careful of *my* embrace." And undulating just enough to flaunt her thorns, the Rose breaks into full laughter.
"You give me credit for more than I take, I am sure." The Rivermaid replies courteously to the Rose-dressed elleth on gaining the lower steps of the theatre and seating herself gracefully. "Flowers rarely bloom in the whitewater, be it winter or no." Here she nods towards Winter.
One enters the celebration of the elves, clad in black, feet threading silently upon the grass. With a silent smile he stands towards the edge of the group of elves gathered here, as if unsure to mingle in the merry-making. With raven hair flowing and clothes, gloves, and boots also of the darkest hue, The Night makes his presence known only by smiling and waving to those gathered.
Moving confidently and slowly, reflecting the light of the atmosphere in a rainfall of precious tones, another figure joins the scene. The way this one nods to the others gathered here, with careful movement of the mask where the shapes of Ithil and of a tree (one of the Two Trees, perhaps?) can be recognized, may be a sign of completeness and balance, as if there was no need for a partner in this dance. Or, perhaps, the one behind the mask is just a lonely soul (not the sorrowful kind of loneliness, in any case).
And now the figure stands close to the fountain, attentively studying the situation and waiting.
Looking at The_Lovers, the Rose squeals a cry of mock fear, "Alas, I may soon be picked!"
Seemingly floating, the figure with the shining gem upon their forehead moves into the crowd. Turing towards The Night, she moves towards him. "Aye, welcome. I see that the beautiful theme of Varda's creations seems to be glitter most here... the giliath above continue to shine."
The squirrel has completed his long arduous journey and now he stands beside the River. Saying nothing but for his soft chirping, the large head dips (slowly) towards the maiden's costume as Little Squirrel takes a nice long drink.
"I would hope not to bath in your roiling waters, fair River, nor drown in them, but if a kindly gardner bring me a bucket of yourself, then still may I thrive in this Season's embrace." The Rose answers the River in mock seriousness, then looking at The_Lovers, she squeals a cry of apparent fear, "Alas, I may soon be picked!"
The stars are reflected in the clear waters of the fountain, points of white light occluded when the shadows of the bright and glittering throng pass by. They are still save for one constellation which suddenly swirls in the watery heavens, uplifting, vanishing, as a dark figure who was sitting upon the stone rim of the fountain rises. He crosses to the musicians. There he can be seen, his still mask expressionless, but by his gesture he is requesting something.
And then another song is being played, an ancient and beautiful music once played by the Falathrim in their havens.
"Truly do you speak, for in few places upon Middle earth can varda's creation be seen as in imladris", the Night replies to the Stars. "Many have fears of me, for they fear the darkness, and rightly so. But consider this: it is needed that I extend my dark mantle over the land, so that Varda's great works can be seen. Thus, I am needed so you can stand as a reminder to Men and Elves of hope, for those who dwell in the undying west still look upon this land and care for it", he adds.
"Amazing!" Winter looks at the Rose and River in turn. "My power dwindles in this place, neither flowers nor water obey my orders to lay themselves to rest." A small handfull of glittering snow dust is cast into the air and slowly descends on the rose - but after the futile attempt to freeze this red beauty, the icy elf shakes his head.
"Alas, all want to diminish my glory." the riverclad lady sighs dramatically, her merry eyes glittering first towards the Rose, then the Squirrel, "I shall soon be entirely emaciated, and then Winter may claim his hold..." Then the music changes and she turns her head, a smile slowly spreading over her face. "Though perhaps there are others who may have a stronger hold, for they are wise in the ways of the waters." That addition is little more than a murmur to herself as she slowly rises again.
The River rises and the Squirrel prances away to save itself from the rising flood. It makes lapping and smacking sounds with its unseen tongue and then it shivers and looks around stupidly at the various costumes arranged around.
As the snow descends upon her, leaving an attractive pattern of white sparkles upon the tops of her petals, the Rose shakes from tip to root. "Please, noble Winter, you could indeed still freeze me, but in kindness hold your hand. For if I freeze I shall wither and droop, and one more bit of beauty shall be lost from the land until Spring."
"Aye." The Stars comments to The Night. "We are two who must work together. But for you, my glory could not be seen. A team we are, inseperable." The gem on the Star's forehead shines brightly. "If you were prevented, I would be also. And the world would be the most sorrowful place."
The Lovers smile, yet the amusement is lost behind the roots of the tree that conceal the lips. The figure replies with a very warm voice to the Rose's cry, yet it comes out surprisingly neutral, so neutral that it is difficult to believe the wind itself is not adding his voice to hide the true voice of the speaker. "Will you offer us thorns, a lovely scent? The idea of a kiss, the colour of blood?"
"Rightly you speak, and I'm glad that you have come to this conclusion", the Night replies to the Stars, bowing slightly. "For I have seen many that dwell on the wonders of Varda's works, yet donot rflecton the importance of others things without which thatwould not be seen in all their glory", he adds.
"Wise in the way of the waters?" comes a low voice pitched to carry between merry voices and the depths of the music. The dark swordsman has approached the River, Rose, and Winter from below the stage steps. "Nay, the waters are beyond my wisdom, though I have long admired from afar." He inclines his head to the others, amused blue eyes upon the Squirrel.
The Squirrel looks at the new arrival with curiosity. But now that its 'thirst' has been sated, the creature starts looking around. With its paws all aflutter, the grey furry friend must be searching for acorns as he goes from costumed guest to costumed guest!
The_Rose bends gently, as if a breeze had arisen behind her, toward the Lovers. "Willing or no, I would offer what the rose has always offered lovers, a symbol of their love." And then with an acknowledging twist to the Squirrel, "I hope I offer less to this one, and his kind, else I may be nibbled."
"From afar, indeed." River's laughing eyes fix on those of the dark-clad swordsman. "And do you come now to admire from nearby? That may not bode well for us, prepared for battle as you seem to be." She moves her head slightly as the squirrel moves away. "Some take flight before your might already, but I will not be intimidated."
"Ah, eventually I find order where there had been confusion," declares the Winter and he extends a finger towards the river. "You shall soon give your water to me, so I can form sculptures and ornaments out of it." Turning to the Squirrel, he notes: "And soon my white sheets shall cover what this little fellow had gathered. Will he find what he is looking for?"
The Squirrel's big head does not provide much in the way of expression, but as it is mentioned, the creature turns and holds out his arms, shrugging in obvious, 'who knows?'
The jeweled Stars shimmers with grief. "Aye, it is too true. Many take things for their face value, and look at me in my brilliance, and comment on my beauty. However, they do not think that if you were to leave this earth, that I would no longer be visible. As is true in many subjects."
The Lovers move closer to the River, possibly inspired by the exchange of words with the Rose. "Whispers for the oaths, and tears for the abandoned.", the figure speaks soflty, "We thank you for your gifts."
The over-serious tone is maybe a hint at a much less serious elf behind the mask?
The lanthorn light flashes from the white jewels adorning the Swordsman's figure as he tilts his head, "I am the one intimidated, for you capture my light and run with it, though you run pleasantly, I grant. Besides, you appear to be under greater threat from unkind seasons."
As the musicians continue to play sweet, rhythmic music from the stage, the Rose raises her voice so it may be heard across the lightly snow covered bowl. "Merrymakers of hidden identity, the music plays on, and this is a Ball. Shall none dance? Not that I ask for partner myself, for I misgive that any shall take the chance of the defenses that protect my beauty. But the rest of you, pair yourselves and move to the music!"
The Night smiles then, and bows. "Well, thank you for your words. But now I must away, for many tasks I haveyet, before bright Arien comes in her flaming chariot. Good eve!" And with that the Night withdraws, silently as it came.
Its head really preventing it from dancing, the Squirrel for the moment gives up its search for acorns and finds an open spot. Then it starts spinning and twirling around and around, chittering merrily as it goes.
Extending a pale hand to the River, Winter says: "Fear not my touch, for your flow is rapid and rash. I will but freeze your banks, if at all. But listen to the music, is that not like the sound of icicles and cool wind? Made to dance along to."
"Perhaps that is so." The River smiles at the Swordsman. "But while you provide light, I share music, which today," she nods towards the stage, "is scarcely lacking." And then, in a quieter voice, "You chose well." The laughter returns to her voice, however, as she turns to the solitary elf. "If you consider tears a gift, mellon, I should say that they require no thanks, at the least."
Upon seeing The Night fade into the distance, The Stars' jewel seems to fade slightly as the figure looks around once more before slowly fading into the forest.
The Swordsman extends a gloved hand to the River, "Neither of us lack for music, only dancing partners. Come away from cold Winter for it is not the time for you stay frozen upon the banks."
"Your tears are pure, and pure must be the music of a broken love.", replies the mask of the Lovers. "And thief is the rhythm of a merry love!", the voice adds with a much lighter tone, and that said the silver and golden figure moves quickly to join the dance, perfectly alone - at least for now.
The hands of Winter and the Swordsman before her, River seems to consider her choices. Her arms fold, white silk cascading over the bluer waters. "Now is the time, then, to consider the greater danger, or perhaps the greater benefit. Or..." her eyes flicker briefly to the stage, "the greatest right, for if you choose the music, should you not choose your partner?" One of her hands comes, at last, to rest in the Swordsman's gloved hand. "I should say that it might be better not to dance at all, but rather choose to say that I shall save the next for Winter if he agrees. We have time to prepare for winter in fall, and such I must claim now."
As the River ponders her choice, the Rose begins to move. Slowly, rhythmicly, she starts to circle the bowl in a random pattern across the light snow, swaying as in a breeze to the music floating from the stage. Not too many have begun as yet to dance, but where she approaches any partners, they quickly move to give her wide berth.
A Cat stalks in from the narrow trail, lacking the grace of either cat or elf because of its rather oversized paws. She slinks to the wall, late. Bad cat. The mask moves about as she looks about and absently twirls her tail.
The_Winter nods gracefully at the River's decision. "So be it. For I have learned now that this land resists my call," he says and turns around to mingle with the crowd of dancing Eldar.
Taking the River's hand the Swordsman bows to her, and to Winter, "Even I yield to the seasons. Yet for now, let us dance you and I." The last said to the River alone he guides her out into a swirl of brightly coloured dancers and together they flow into the sweep of the music.
The Squirrel stops spinning as it sees the cat stalk into the vicinity. The poor creature looks confused with afright as this predator nears and he starts looking around for a hiding place.
-Fade Out-
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