Amarthedhil
Ossiriand
Imrath Enedarad
FA 200
originally posted in Castles in the Sand
posts in black written by Aig
Imrath Enedarad, the valley of mid-day, Noonvale, was a peaceful place. To the north of the River Brilthor it lay deep and secret amongst the forest, a valley that dipped unexpectedly from the forest floor, found by secret ways and hidden paths. In places the valley was steep and sharp-sided, in others widened into a more gentle incline, and all through the vale ran a river. The nameless watercourse burbled swiftly over rock and gravel in some places, and in others widened into laziness, where the elves of the valley would punt of a warm afternoon, singing and feasting. There dwelt Nandor and Sindar, together in the country of the Green-Elves which the Noldor had named Lindon, for the ceaseless singing of its people. Song could always be heard in the valley, and when in the evening or morn sunlight lanced through the vale, illuminating river, rock and tree, it rose to a crescendo as each soul sang their praise to the sun. At night they sang to the stars; softly they sang to Elbereth, whispering choral melodies to the Starkindler. In the day they sang songs of everything: of legend and of battle, of tree and river, of a lover, or of a lost love. At times they sang without words, for song had begun thus, and would always return to its beginnings.
Among the Nandor and Sindar there lived one solitary Noldo. And yet she was unlike the Noldor, in the slenderness of her form, fairness of her skin and the great, shimmering silver length of her hair resembling more the Teleri, from whom the Grey- and Green-Elves had come. Yet she had come to Noonvale in the company of Noldor and counted herself among their kind, and the elves of the valley were courteous and kind souls who did not ask after her past lest she wished to speak of it. Tyelpelfindis, as she was named, had chosen to remain in the vale when her party had taken its leave, and dwelt there since, many long years. She lived alone, in one of the small dwellings set into the side of the valley clustered together. Though she had taken no spouse from among the inhabitants of the valley, was ever-ready to join in their frolic, song and laughter. An unknowable ancientness peered from behind her deep cobalt eyes, but was belied by their crinkling smile, and the youthful agility of her form as she darted among the trees or through the river like a nymph, in the company of other free spirits.
Tyelpelfindis had quickly learned the languages of both Sindar and Nandor, but could often be found singing in her own tongue of Quenya, despite the ban of Elu Thingol. In the secret and sequestered haven of Imrath Endarad the elves were seemingly independent of outside rule, and did not begrudge her the preservation of her speech. Indeed, some few of them, entranced by the tongue’s beauty, had pleaded the nís to teach it them, a request to which she had gladly acquiesced. Now several voices could at times be heard singing and even speaking in the elder words, and Tyelpelfindis was glad. The elves of the valley had given her a home and new life after her flight from the Undying Lands, in this place in all of Endórë that she had seen which came closest to their bliss, and if the least she could offer in exchange was the skill of her voice and ability for tongues, happily she gave them. Young ones came to her to learn the secrets of song and by countless hours she sat with them, instructing. Old ones invited her to their choirs at times, and her voice would ring throughout the valley, soaring above those of her fellows in ecstasy.
But now the voice of Tyelpelfindis was soft. Night had come to Noonvale, blanketing the valley in its soft sable embrace. Stars shone brightly overhead and here and there a pocket of vale-elves, or at times a singer alone, could be heard in the obscurity. Near the center of the valley, closest to most dwellings, burned a large roaring fire, around which elves drank and made merry, singing and dancing in the light and shadow cast by the flickering flames. One many nights the nís would have joined them, but this night drew her far from the merriment of the village, away southwards in the vale, to a small clearing in the trees. Here a stream ran down the steep side of the valley, coming to a cliff edge where it tumbled into waterfall, filling a clear pool below. Grassy sward surrounded the pool, its gravelly shore dotted with rock and boulder, and its surface glimmered with moonlight. The great round orb of Tilion was full and bright, flooding the clearing with pale light that gave a shadowy illumination to all things. Upon one of the boulders at the edge of the pool perched Tyelpelfindis, seated cross-legged atop the stone beneath a hoodless cloak of silver-green to ward away the night’s occasional chill. Her silver hair shone in the moonlight and cascaded down to the great stone where she sat as she tilted her head back to gaze at the stars.
Like many of her kind, the stars enchanted Tyelpelfindis. Their eternal beaming against the dark of night a beacon and a guide. Stars were her first memory, and they would never desert it. Two long fingers brushed against her cheek as she raised her hand to push back the thick locks that had slid forward over her shoulder and she shifted slightly, adjusting her bare feet against the stone. Her hands fell to rest lightly on her ankles as her lightly pink lips curved into a thoughtful smile she drew breath then to sing. It was a lilting tune that trod equally in the rich, round lower tones and soared effortlessly higher to linger in the upper register where the nís’s voice rang clear as a bell in the night as her song spun its tale.
Out-worn heart, in a time out-worn,
Come clear of the nets of wrong and right;
Laugh, heart, again in the grey twilight,
Sing, heart, again in the dew of the morn.
Your mother Eä is always young,
Dew ever shining and twilight grey;
Though hope fall from you and love decay.
Come, heart, where hill is heaped upon hill,
For there the mystical brotherhood
Of sun and moon and hollow and wood
And river and stream work out their will;
And Oromë stands winding his lonely horn,
And time and the world are ever in flight;
And love is kinder than the grey twilight,
And hope is dearer than the dew of the morn.
(Into the Twilight - W. B. Yeats, adjusted)
***
East Beleriand
The Abode of the Forest Kings
Rána shown brilliant white above the trees that bordered the moss-hung lane of the posh forest manse of Amrad and Amras; the heart of Earenolwë, a Lindar elf clad in green and brown, leapt at the sight of the lane, eager to begin his lone errantry.
Going somewhere? drawled laconically an all-too familar voice from behind and Earenolwë swore silently to himself as he whirled around. King Celegorm was lounging on a porch swing that was suspended by chains that hanged from the ceiling of the tall entryway of the veranda. The King of Himlad, Celegorm the Fair, seemed like a lion - he appeared lazy but really he was quite alert and could pounce to kill at a moment; his spear was just in reach, leaning against the porch's balustrade. Huan, the mighty and faithful wolfhound of Celegorm who was Chief of his elf master's war and hunting dogs was stretched out near the hanging bench with several of his kind laying about keeping watch. One of which was Ráka, a white-furred and golden-eyed wolfhound that Celegorm had gifted Earenolwë with on the trek from the Gap of Maglor. Since this was to be a hunting trip, Celegorm had brought his own hounds ; he had wanted to give Earenolwë a present in honor of faithful service to the Cavalry of the Gap and for his comradeship to King Maglor, Celegorm's second-eldest brother. Really, he had paid little or no attention to Ráka despite her arduous willingness to serve and her gestures of affection ; he would accept no gifts from him. When Earenolwë had wanted to rest this night although his will had now changed, he had sent the dog forth from his appointed bedchamber when she had not stepped two paws in. She looked at Earen now, giving the master who did not want her a shy look before hastily returning her attention to the darkness of the surrounding forestry.
Yes, Earenolwë snapped.
Anywhere I please, he finished and drawing the cowl of his earthen-hued cloak over his collar-length silver hair. King Celegorm's eyes narrowed dangerously, disliking the brazen curtness of the elf. Celegorm was already incensed that a gift of his - and he usually bestowed nothing - had been rejected by the fellow. This merely strengthened his already stoked ire.
It pleases you to forsake your king, Teleri? cooly asked the familar voice of Celegorm's younger brother, Curufin; the elf, whore bore a strong resemblance to his defeated father, shared a joint-rulership with Celegorm in Himlad, Earenolwë turned to face him, finding the King leaning casually against the closest veranda pillar, arms folded. Sheathed on a weapons belt was his sword Narsil which shone with the golden-red light of the Sun and the white-silver sheen of the Moon and sheathless hanging was Curufin's iron-cleaving knife Angrist ; both were forged by the dwarf Telchar and given to Caranthir who in turn gifted them to his just younger brother.
I'll handle this, Celegorm spoke, arising now from the swinging bench; Huan and Ráka arose and retreated away, giving room for the elf king.
Where will you go, Earen? Celegorm asked in a civil tone,
and why? Earenolwë answered, knowing that Maglor should indeed know why he had gone when he awoke on the morrow's dawning.
I have no idea. I just feel a lust for wandering, Celegorm .I just want to go wherever my boots will take me. I have served in the Gap too long. His last words made Celegorm straighten and Curufin, who had walked to his brother's side, gave Earen a disdainful look. These men required fierce obedience from their people and disfavored Earenolwë's decision.
Wasn't freedom a reason why your father wanted the elves to leave Valinor? Earenolwë asked. The brothers stared.
I will return. I just want time alone, to do with whatever I will. I would like to see the greenwoods for myself. After a moment Celegorm nodded and gestured for Ráka forward ; the wolfhound hesitantly approached.
No, Earenolwë refused.
Yes, Celegorm countered sharply and with pointing finger.
She can protect you; you'll be alone out there and there are creatures that can kill you. She'll be more a match for them that that sword and bow you have. Take her. You'll need her. Huan barked his reinforcement from where he lay, knowing the she-hound's prowess in both war and the hunt. Earenolwë sighed and gave a nod. As he left the porch, Ráka dogged his heels, white tail wagging, happy to be of service at last.
Have you ever been to Nan Dungortheb? Earenolwë asked the Oarmen who was sitting across from him rowing the boat across the river. It was mid-afternoon and tomorrow would be the sixth week he would have been gone from King Maglor. The elf oarmen laughed.
No. I have never been to that land of evil. Why do you ask? Now it was Earenolwë's turn to laugh.
Because drinking from those waters maddens the mind! And I do believe that your wits have taken their leave! Ráka barked and her tongue hanged from her chops, humored; Earenolwë chuckled and gave her white fur a scratch. Surprisingly, hound and elf had become inseperable.
This Imrath Enedarad vale of yours sounds like a paradise. I'm not sure why anyone would want to leave it. Earenolwë had been traveling for a long time now, trekking southeasternly; today he had come upon the borderwaters of Gelion and enjoyed the sight of the far green country named Ossiriand, the Land of the Seven Rivers - a realm replete with forests and turbulent streams where the fair and melodious singing of the Green-elves could be heard ; the beauty of the land and the song of the Laiquendi had impelled Earenolwë to find a ferryman. Earenolwë had known he was going to extend his journey but he was resolute not to return to his lord until he was well-pleased with his wanderings in this new land he was about to discover.
As he rowed both Earenolwë and his hound across the Gelion, the Oarman had been speaking of a wondrous and idyllic forest valley north of the River Brilthor and a river, atributary of the Glittering Torrent, ran burbling through the vale to create meandering streamlets and glorious waterfalls. The people of Noonvale ate and drank and danced and sang and made merry; it was a peaceful land and none had ever left its blissful enviorns save only a handful of Noldor who tarried a while, and of those he was one. The Oarman smiled sadly
.Wanderlust claimed all - at this mention, Earenolwë interrupted,
How could anyone want to wander away from menel ('Heaven', Quenya)? but the Oarman continued –
but I just wanted to give people the opportunity to see Noonvale for themselves so I became a ferryman. I take people to Ossiriand but I just as soon as take them to Noonvale Many have accepted and others have declined for one reason or another through the years....you seem quite interested.
Earenolwë nodded firmly.
Take me there. Please. The Oarman gave him a steady appraisal.
If you go, you don't want to come back to the life you knew. Earenolwë glanced away.
I've seen enough of war. That wouldn't be so bad. The Kinslaying lay heaving on his heart even after all these years; he had slain his own people to protect his Noldor friend Elerrína though she had been a belligerent; he couldn't bring himself to kill her. The Siege was sombering, sometimes even maddening... Earenolwë wanted peace.
I won't stay there for long, just long enough, Earenolwë spoke.
A few days. The Oarmen smiled.
No...you'll stay there forever, he spoke as they reached the shore. For hours they hiked through the forested waterways that formed the great land between Brilthor and Legolin; the Oarman steered Earenolwë through paths that were secret and hidden in the halls and aisles of the waterwoods and the oarman time and again asked for Earenolwë's most solemn vows that he would never reveal these courses to another living soul of ungolden heart. They traversed much land, stopping only once to eat fresh fruit, hares that Ráka caught for them, and to drink cold water before continuing on; birds flitted past and now and then a squirrel or chipmunk dashed past or a badger came trotting by but nothing bigger or dangerous they encountered ; these paths were safe.
At last they came to Noonvale in the evening beneath a full and bright white Moon. And Earenolwë swallowed hard against the tightness in his throat and could not speak, as awed as he was by the sublime beauty of the place. It lay like a gift of Irmo beneath the star-sprinkled, velvet-back night sky and he felt in his heart that the sheer-sided vale of waterfall and river and rill and song was just for him. The merriment of the elves who celebrated at the valley's center before the guttering flames of a huge fire was almost tangible and the scent of the rainbow-bright forests and the peace that lay over the little kingdom of Joy like a warm and comforting blanket in fell winter moved him profoundly. And there was something...a Presence that he had not felt in a very long time but had always needed; forever he had felt incomplete without it, had been bereft of its immaculate love and undying desire for him, its claim to him, and had forgotten
- impossible!- what it was. Until this moment, he had been living half-alive; Invisible fingers of the Presence tethered instantly to his soul and he was moving, unable to stop the momentum of Destiny and History, compelled by all-powerful force that he could not put to name; the Presence had somehow struck a chord inside the deeps of his heart ; it voicelessly called to him, and he had to answer....or he might die. In agony. For eternity he knew he would love the Presence that beckoned him...and that the Presence felt just the same, if not more...
Something caught him, his arm, and Earenolwë looked behind; the Oarman smiled at him and his eyes welled with tears at sight of Noonvale.
Namárië ("Farewell," Quenya), he spoke, his grip loosening...and he was gone, disappearing into the shadows. Earenolwë hastily descended the steep path into the secret valley of Noonvale and Raka trotted after; the air grew warmer as they got lower and the scents of trees and supper were in the air. Several of the partying elves had espied Earenolwë and his wolfhound from afar and came to meet him as he approached.
Stranger, welcome, one elf greeted warmly in Sindarin but he and the others gave Earenolwë a wary look.
You bring a weapon with you, the sword. You may not visit or dwell here armed. Your bow and quiver you may keep for hunting and sport but the sword will be held until you leave this place. Earenolwë removed the sheathed sword and gave the Fair Thorn to the elf.
Keep it. I will never need it again, Earenolwë replied in Sindarin and walked away, for he felt the shimmering of the Presence now more strongly, the sense of her wavering like a candle's flickering flame-bright and glimmering and steady; southwards, would he find what was pulling him. The Elves stared after his departing form, wondering who newcomer was. His hound lingered and whining, not knowing if she should follow her elfin master or not; the elves enticed the wolfhound with food and Ráka at last divulged, trusting that in this peaceful place the elf would not be harmed.
He was in the woods now in the south now, the sound of waters noisy but pleasant; a waterfall was near. He did not drift through the forest, he strode; he was not searching but felt summoned. Earenolwë knew exactly where the Presence was, closer now to waterfall and small pool; there was no doubt, he could see the setting in his mind and somehow he knew, he realized with sudden awareness that the Presence was a feminine one. Excitement propelled him faster now with an iron will, heightened his senses; every twig snap beneath his boots, the scent of forest and his own sweat, the noise of small ground creatures running out of the way of his inexorable advance. Suddenly he heard the Singing and, the clear and angelic music of the fair woman's voice gave him pause, moving him to immediate stillness. The song moved him but not half so much as how it was sang ; the Voice which was rich and rhapsodic but as clearand as ethereal as the slyphic manir of Elbereth and the Elder King and so in his heart he named her
Aenillindë, the 'Angel Singer'. in the High Speech and the tongue of the Sindar. Her Presence attracted even stronger than it had before now and like a lodestone, she drew him magnetically to her. She was meant for him and with this acceptance came a sort of peace and walking as if enchanted he came to a small clearing that was streaked with bright moonbeams. A stream ran fast and wild over the steep side of the vale, coming to a cliff edge where it tumbled as a waterfall, filling a clear pool below. Earenolwë walked along the banks of the pool, working his way over the massive boulders.
The clearing was a cathedral of plunging and pooling waters, jumbled rocks, and ringed by trees that shut out the world leaving whoever came here alone ; the skies were full of stars and the moon's light shone on a solitary figure, a willowy female being whose hair was a long and beautiful, lush silver sweep; she seemed balance between water and earth, a spirit of the air. He made his way through the clusters of great rock, closer, closer. Do not move, my angel, he insisted silently and he stopped still a few paces away from the glowing-silver boulder in Tilion's light. She was the Presence he had sensed so keenly; the power of their bond was warm and strong and undeniable. In moments he was to her and his fingertips slid through her hair that shone like quicksilver in the white brilliance of the celestial sphere.
Like a moth to flame, Aenillindë, I am drawn to your soul’s Fire. And, like so, are you inextricably bound to me. We are On eonce more, by water and 'neath star. Isn't that where it all began, my love? he uttered, remembering more now and his fingers gently traced the tip of her ear and a shock went through him, knowing this was important but he could still not see her face in his memory. He recovered and bent; his lips touched her silver hair.
Whether in Aman or Endor, I know not but I promise you if I had left, I will never again. And if you become a phantom and take flight, I will chase you until you are in my arms again. Our destinies are twined, dearest. Whether elf or spirit, you are mine and I am yours. Do not be unkind. Show me your sweet face. He turned her cheek with the gentlest of fingers.
***
Song echoed through the clearing still, bouncing off of its stones and the clear surface of the pool. When the words of Tyelpelfindis’ song had died away her voice had continued, singing without words as she gazed to the stars. Within the nís a powerful yearning had begun to arise as she sang; from where, she knew not, only that the ache grew stronger and deeper with each passing moment. The yearning filled her voice, the wordless song crying out to Varda for relief. Something tugged at her very fëa, gripping it in tight fingers and drawing the melody unbidden from her lips. At last the insatiable longing came to a pinnacle, releasing itself in one final high, bell-like, lingering note that shimmered upon the night sky before slowly fading into silence.
As its last echo disseminated, a touch caused Tyelpelfindis to stiffen, her body straight and still atop the boulder. All unnoticed, someone had crept up behind her, and he spoke now as his fingers slipped amongst her silver tresses. The voice was deep and smooth- familiar, as though it had abode in some secret corner of her heart, now unlocked. Her eyes grew wider, We are one once more by water and ‘neath star, he claimed, and at once she knew. The breath froze in her throat and as though in a dream she heard his voice and felt his touch upon her hair, from far away. When his fingers alighted upon her cheek, turning her face towards him, Tyelpelfindis followed the motion and came to her feet in a rush, the mantle spilling from her shoulders to pool on the rock below as she stood full-heighted before him. No sooner has his face come into her sight than their gazes touched and at once her consciousness sped away, far away, and far back.
Warmth. Softness. Something stirred against her face, brushing it with light feelers. As though breaking the surface of some viscous liquid she emerged from sleep, body slowly uncurling itself and her face turning upwards, where it was touched by the light breath of moving air. Just as slowly her eyes came open for the first time, and were met with wonder. A vast, inky plain was spread above, and here and there among it were sparkling, shining lights. Joy thrilled her, and with a sharp gasp and a curve of her spine she sat straight up, captivated by the lights and unable to tear her gaze from their splendor. Until a touch made itself known upon her shoulder; then she turned her face to see a male of her kind, the lights reflected in the pale blue of his eyes, staring at her from mere inches away. His hand reached up to grasp her face and she smiled, the smooth pale flesh of her face crinkling for the first time in expression. She came swiftly to her feet and caught his hands in hers, pulling him after as she rose and when they had attained their legs she gazed outwards.
They stood upon a grassy plain, smooth and shimmering in the pale light from above, and nearby was a large pool into which tumbled a fall of fragmented crystal. All about others were rising from the greensward, male and female, uttering muted cries and exclamations. Some had begun to move about, discovering the other pairs as she had. In her new stillness her hand crept to his and slid within it, her fingers twining closely with his. She stood near to him in the pale light and sounds of water, and beyond thinking her lips had parted and from her throat issued a pure, clear sound as she turned her face to the belighted overhead plain again. It vibrated and hummed within her and rang sweetly without, and soon others had lifted their voices with hers. At first they remained steady, but after a time began to diverge, creating new tones and patterns in the song as they began to sing not only to the stars but to one another. Laughter crept into the song, an infectious wave, as a wind sweeping through bluebells. Her laughter rose with the others and she darted away towards the pool, fleet on her new legs. As her toes touched the shallows she glanced back and saw him chasing after her from behind the long glinting strands of her hair.
The water splashed up about her ankles and she halted, feet sliding in the smooth pebbles and soaked earth. The thin clear liquid rose above her ankles and around her calves, cool against the bare skin, and when she lifted her foot remained clinging there. He had caught her up now, and as he entered the pool now reached out to catch her by the arm. But the water’s unexpected impediment of his momentum caused him to stumble, pushing her off of her one-footed balance and both fell with a great splash into the water. The surface of the pool closed briefly over her head and her still wide eyes saw the world obscured by its shifting depth before instinct claimed her and she broke the surface with a sharp exhalation and spray of water. The thick mass of her hair was plastered wetly to her neck and shoulders, across her face as well, where she reached up with a hand to pull it aside, floundering with her other arm. When she could see again she caught sight of him nearby, in a similar state and gave vent to her mirth in laughter. The water was still shallow; if she allowed one leg to dip down she could reach its bottom, but found that if she lifted both legs she could propel herself easily across the surface with smooth strokes of her arms, and so came quickly to him, where she took his face in her hands and brushed the sopping hair from it. Others had begun to splash into the pool and beneath the falls now, but her smile was for him alone as his arm wrapped ‘round her slender waist and drew her close.
Only the merest fraction of an instant had passed since Tyelpelfindis had risen to face the strange nér, who was yet not strange. His hair was shorter now, but still glinted silver, and the strong shape of his face were the same, as was the sky-blue of his eyes. Her lips parted in unbelieving wonder and her arms raised slowly; she took his face in her hands even as she had so long ago, though now her gaze was searching. “Istan antolya (I know your face, Quenya),” she murmured, her head tilting slightly to the side. She drew closer to him, her cheek touching his as her lips brushed the hollow of his jaw, her eyes half closed in remembrance. Back she drew again, caressing his cheekbone with an errant thumb. “I know your voice. I know you, though I do not know your name. I know you, by water and ‘neath star.”
***
No, don't, I have just found you Aenillindë! Earenolwë desperately thought as the woman swiftly removed herself from the large stone and he was so shocked by her sudden and impossible movement that he could not move to stop her. The maiden did not flee. She whirled to face him. It was not a Maia which had chosen Beleriand for her abode, as Queen Melian had. The woman was an elf.. Not a holy spirit. Someone he had known once, long ago. A nameless elleth whom he belonged to, a woman he had loved always. He was suddenly far, far away....
Sound. He had been awake for moments but his eyes had not opened yet ; he lay unmoved, his muscles untested. He was unsure whether he wanted to know the source of the roaring and burbling, the holders of the strange cries and bizarre utterances he could hear noisily all about him, too. At last he caused the lids of his eyes to slowly raise. Colors. An arresting blue. Bright silver. He was lucidly aware of their beauty and he opened his eyes wider, anxious. A female of his kind. He lay there on the soft grass staring amazed ; the woman was his first sight, and she was glorious.
He was aware of the grandeur of the luminescence in the dark sky but the sweep of the coruscating fires in the heavens were not as lovely as the woman he beheld and the male felt a warmth, a mellow and searing sensation inside himself. Love andLonging. There was a clearness that she was meant for him - Destiny? - and a keen awareness that there was a strong attraction. Desire. He moved closer and became still again as he watched her as sitting in awe of the sparkling lights. Her hair was gleaming silver and luxuriant, complementing the contours of her body. She was tall, almost as tall as he, and her fair face lifted towards heaven. No! He wanted her to gaze at him. He sat up, his posture identical to hers now. He touched her once though his fingers wanted to feel the pale, smooth skin ; he was afraid she might not appreciate his gesture and so his hand swiftly retreated and he sat resigned that he had done something wrong and had upset her. He was mistaken. She turned her face to look upon him. Her eyebrows were graceful silver arches and the woman's bright blue eyes came unafraid to his. The connection was so powerful that it threatened to drain his sense of self.
His lips moved. A smile. He raised his hand, wanting to hold her face; he needed to touch her again and this time he would not let go but the woman had arose swiftly; his heart hammered his chest. She was leaving! No. Her bare feet were planted on the grass; if she was going anywhere, it would be with him ;yes, she caught his still-suspended hand and he gave her his other. She pulled him to stand with her. She gazed outwards but he could only stare at her. Her fingers embraced his and the man squeezed though gently, knowing he should somehow because he felt a tenderness for her. The sound he had heard when he awoke, it had belonged to the flowing liquid in the pool near and the crashing water of the falls on mere and stone. Now there was a new sound and it came from others like them, and it was not steady for long but grew more dynamic, ever changing into new tones and patterns; now the sound - singing - it came from her and in forms beautiful and rhapsodic and majestic, merry and serene and sweet.
He sang with her, singing without words, his sounds seeking to mold themselves in harmony with the themes of all the female's songs of immeasurable splendour. Suddenly, she was gone, her legs moving across the sward swiftly, running away from him and she made a new sound, an ebullient expression of joy as she fled from him. It almost broke his heart. This was not so amusing. He went after her - not as graceful though, a swift rush on the green. Close now, only a few paces behind ; his eyes closed several times as her hair whipped like a silver banner ; he was in love with the fragrance of her shining hair. He plunged into the water after the woman - his woman - but one could not easily run into the liquid that filled the pool and he stumbled as he had tried to reach for her arm, causing them both to strike the water with a tremendous splash. The water was cool, delightfully so, but his first thought was to break the surface of the pool, wanting the air again and he submerged quickly with a gasp.
He swept the palm of his hand across his face, ridding the droplets of water and his mouth parted and there was an eruption of strange sound. It mirrored the female's own melodious explosion of merriment. Laughter. She swam for him and rising from the water she touched his face, taking it in her hands and brushed the damp strands of hair away. His lips stretched gently, a smile forming and his gaze wandered, overwhelmed by the ethereal sight of her. He pulled her to him and his eyes widened at the sudden thrilling contact, his lips parting, amazed at her softness, the beauty of her form. His hands explored with gentleness the femininity of her body, its exquisite shape, her curves and bones; her fingers stroked his chest, the palms of her small fine hands slid over his shoulders to flow smoothly down the toned muscle of his arms.
Suddenly her lip stouched him -on his chest here, another press there. His throat. The male'seyes half-closed; he was enraptured. Compelled, he pressed his lips against hers softly and once; she responded, immediately, a brushing on his mouth, curious. He wanted more than that, had enjoyed the silk-softness of her mouth; his lips embraced hers firmly. She broke away, laughing peculiarly, light and nervous. A giggle. The woman fled, sloshing through the waters towards the falls as quickly as the momentum of the liquid would allow. He smiled again, would not allow her to escape him once more. He hurried through the pool, careful this time, as he pursued her to the falls. He caught her before she attempted to dive and her laughter was as silver as her wet and clinging hair. They kissed each other and tenderly, the love and need consensual.
He let go of her to crouch and the male scooped water and laved her with the liquid and a sigh of pleasure escaped her mouth and she kissed him again, sliding her lissome wet, white arms around the male. He drew her sideways, directly into the tumbling sheets of falling water. He lifted her out of the star-shining spray and her legs clasped themselves around him; he kissed her and eagerly and she responded with the same measure of passion, her fingers clutching. He was a part of her, she was a part of him, and the beauty of Cuiviénen was a part of them both. He looked into her eyes, blue as the shimmering small orbs that sprinkled overhead, before his nose went to her neck to affectionately stroke and his lips kneaded there; she made low, prolonged sounds. Moans. He moved them into the cascading water and she held fast to his neck as they swayed to and fro 'neath the crashing water. He held her wet, shivering body joined to his, letting the waterfall pour down on them the torrent waters of the place of their Awakening.
Orëtári ("queen of my heart", Quenya), Earenolwë murmured as her lips touched the hollow of his jaw and he held her as he did long ago when she had first touched his face. His hands retreated around her smoothly and his palms felt her back. She did not know his name.
Earenolwë, he spoke.
Give me yours or ever will I call you Aenillindë, my Angel Singer. He smiled then.
Perhaps I shall call you both. She caressed his cheekbone and his eyes welled with tears, obscuring his vision; he took the stroking finger and lifted it to his lips. And then he withdrew it so he could kiss her lips. It was like a strike of lightning; he was stunned by how much he had missed this act of Love. He held her tightly now, deepening his kiss; somehow he knew she wanted this, too; it had a been a very longtime and as parched ground needed ain, so did they need this from each other.
Their kiss was slow and intimate. He drew her towards the earth and seized her mantle to lay them both upon it ; her hair fanned against the material and the wave of his hand upon her spill of hair was loving and sweet. He was over her now and he bent to kiss her mouth.
You left me, he spoke but softly, a fact and not accusing.
I let you, he spoke and though he was hurting, his voice remained steady, untrembling.
That won't happen again. Not this time, Aenillindë. We awoke together and by your side I will remain all the days of my life. Perhaps you are like a waterfall, lissiorë ("Sweetheart," Quenya). Going where you have to. If you have chosen to abide here, I won't take you away. But I do want to stay with you. Forever. I want to pledge myself to you, the stars and the water and Elbereth, witness to my vows. But you're as free as a bird, so that will not happen. Just tell me you won't push me away. And he lowered himself to kiss her again.
***
Aenillindë. The name struck a deep answering chord within the nís; she was one of so few who had ever known but one name, and this new appellation slid neatly into place beside her own as though it had always been meant to reside there. Before she could answer, give him her true name, he had drawn her closer. For the moment they stood joined in the pale light it was as though no time had passed and the rushing waters by which they kissed were not of Noonvale but Cuiviénen, never faded nor waned nor forgotten. Tyelpelfindis slipped her arms about him; Earenolwë she knew his name to be now, her fingers threading up the back of his neck and into the silver of his hair. His arm tightened about her, and as one they moved, falling earthwards in a slow rush; she settled onto her back upon her cloak as it covered the ground beneath, and Earenolwë was next to her, upright still, though as he stroked her hair he bent to capture her lips softly once more.
The nís' fingers reached up to touch his face as she listened to him speak. When again he lowered himself she put up her hand between them, halting the descent of his lips, and tracing their outline instead with her fingertip. “Tyelpelfindis.” she said at last. “So Imin named me when I chose to abide among his people. After we last beheld each other, dearest. I left you,” she repeated his words, “I left all our kindred of song and sea and star to go with them because I felt I must; the Minyar drew me and I count myself now among the Noldor. But I have never forgotten our silver and singing kin in Awakening, nor you. Like the waterfall I run the course I am set and leap when I must, trusting that fate will see me aright.” Tyelpelfindis sat up suddenly, with the arch of the spine that had ever been her fashion in arising. She clasped Earenolwë’s hand and spoke earnestly. “Remain in this vale. Imrath Enedarad, the green-elves call it- Noonvale. Here is peace and plenty, which few have seen and where fewer dwell, and bliss abides.”
***
But will you take Aenillinde for own, my love? Many are the names of a quendu, Earenolwë asked and kissed her tracing finger. She had called him
dearest and so was he unafraid to call her something just as endearing, this woman he loved with a love that was more than love since the dawning of their Creation; she still must have felt the same...surely she must have always cared for him just as passionately, just as true, yes?
You...accepted Imin's name, Earenolwë mentioned quietly, not being able to release the hurt that welled within the spaces of his heart. He looked away from her, towards the water, and his features became distorted, a grimace of pain as his heart ached for Tyelpelfindis to enjoy something he would give her, that it would honestly mean something special to her.
You accepted the fellowship of the Noldor. The muscles of Earenolwë's jaw tensed; because of the Noldor he had betrayed his own people and so began his soul's anguish in exile; now he had another reason to disfavor them.
You cherished star's light first before you ever loved me. His sky-blue eyes closed, remembering how inept he was to prevent her first sight of them.
Won't you honor me somehow, too?
He listened to her speak and he tensed, experiencing a maelstrom of emotions. Could she, on a whim, leave him again? Or had Fate set their paths aright at last? His nose stroked the white skin of cheek and his lips touched the corner of her mouth ; he then leaned to kiss the warm curve of her neck . He sat up with Tyelpelfindis
And so you here abide, Earenolwë pointed out, reminding, looking into her blue eyes.
And that's why I will stay. There is beauty and tranquility here but this new chance with you means more to me than all the majesty I could find in the world, my love. This place could be a desert – he laughed and cradled the back of her silver hair –
but I wouldn't care. Not if you were with me. And he kissed her gently but when his lips slid against hers, a rising passion destroyed the worrisome thought that it was too soon for this and so he kissed her with a renewed ardor, as if there would never be another opportunity.
So glad you have been enjoying them and as always, your comments are so appreciated 
It's been a long journey and the slow Gelvari burn continues...
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!!
(my version of the gavel)
