Drabble Series: Celevon a Mallen
May. 9th, 2008 12:46 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tanaquiljallIn response to a request by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
telperion1, I am posting drabbles from days #114, #134, #137, #135, #151, #156 and #306 together so they can be nominated for the MEFAs as a drabble series.
A series of moments across the ages between Celeborn and Galadriel.
Celevon a Mallen
Radiance
Sunlight filtered slowly down amongst the shadowed boles, sieved green and sepia. The new lights – even the errant moon – still troubled Celeborn, familiar only with soft starbeams breaking into the long groves. Yet the halls of Menegroth were no refuge: filled now with distant kinsmen whose bright anger burned like noon.
Moving between pools of deep shadow, he caught a flash of brighter gold in the distance. The gold moved closer: a maid's tresses that had snared the sun.
With a quick shiver that might have been fear – or might not – Celeborn knew he must learn to love the day.
Tree of Knowledge
Artanis wandered through the shadowed groves of the Hidden Realm. Though Melian's power was great, even she could not make the stars blaze with Arien's fervour: Artanis found mostly blooms known only in the deepest woods in Valinor: snowdrops, violets, bluebells.
Committing their graceful forms to memory, she already saw in her mind's eye the tapestry she would weave to make permanent their transient beauty.
A tall elf-lord approached, his hair silver like sprays of hawthorn blossom.
With fire suddenly coursing through her veins, Artanis knew she must learn to find pleasure not in crafted treasures but the ever-changing woods.
Family Feeling
Celeborn bowed low to the golden-haired maid. Fairer than Lúthien or Melian or even one of the Valier she seemed.
Speaking, he feared his tongue would cleave to the roof of his mouth. "Forgive me, lady, that I have not greeted a kinswoman ere this."
"Kinswoman?" Her voice was sweeter than the music of the falls of Esgalduin to his ears – yet held a touch of disappointment that grieved his heart.
"My grandsire was brother to yours, I think," he stuttered.
Her expression lightened. "Then we are indeed kin – from afar. I trust we will become better acquainted with time."
A Makeless Making
Galadriel looked down at tight-scrunched eyes, with lashes so pale they could scarce be seen. Gold or silver? The faint down on the head also kept the secret – for now.
Her left arm grew cramped and a grip like a vice in the workshops of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain trapped a finger of her right hand. The small body was heavy where it rested, warm and solid, against her breast.
She smiled at these pains.
Never had she been so weary after a making. Never so filled with joy. Of all the treasures she had wrought in Eregion, this was the greatest.
Letting Go
Celeborn tried hard not to clutch his daughter's shoulders too tightly as he crouched behind her. A leaf drifted down from above, on past the branch on which they stood to the green lawn many feet below.
Celebrían wriggled impatiently under his grip, and stretched out her chubby arms. With a deep breath, Celeborn let go. She tottered unsteadily forward, and he followed behind, his hands still hovering protectively either side of her.
Celebrían reached the safety of her mother's arms, and Galadriel swept her up.
"'Gain, mama!"
Celeborn, revelling in his daughter's delight, joined his relieved laughter to hers.
Father of the Bride
Celeborn always thought Thingol's anger sparked by the mortal's presumption.
Now, pondering another dark-haired suitor who, by virtue of blood, bore more than a passing likeness to the first, Celeborn wondered if any immortal would have met with Thingol's approval – or could meet with his.
Galadriel's arms snaked around his waist from behind. She rested her head on his shoulder. "Be happy for them. She eases his restless Noldorin spirit. As you do mine."
Celeborn, smiling ruefully, turned and gathered his wife tightly against him. "Aye. And he kindles the slumbering passion of her Sindarin heart. As you do mine."
Beyond The Sea
He does not yearn to see the crystal stairs of Tirion, gleaming with diamond-dust, nor hear the sweet music of Valmar’s bells, nor see its never-fading lawns of green where Nessa dances.
That far country has never been his. His realm is of starlight and shadowed woods.
And yet he learned to love the morning.
His heart bleeds for the brilliance of golden tresses that once snared the light of the Trees. For the melody of a voice deepened by grief and lightened by love. For his wife’s ever-enduring beauty.
One day his grandsons will sail, and he with them.
Note: Celevon a Mallen is Sindarin for Of Silver and of Gold.
telperion1, I am posting drabbles from days #114, #134, #137, #135, #151, #156 and #306 together so they can be nominated for the MEFAs as a drabble series.A series of moments across the ages between Celeborn and Galadriel.
Celevon a Mallen
Radiance
Sunlight filtered slowly down amongst the shadowed boles, sieved green and sepia. The new lights – even the errant moon – still troubled Celeborn, familiar only with soft starbeams breaking into the long groves. Yet the halls of Menegroth were no refuge: filled now with distant kinsmen whose bright anger burned like noon.
Moving between pools of deep shadow, he caught a flash of brighter gold in the distance. The gold moved closer: a maid's tresses that had snared the sun.
With a quick shiver that might have been fear – or might not – Celeborn knew he must learn to love the day.
Tree of Knowledge
Artanis wandered through the shadowed groves of the Hidden Realm. Though Melian's power was great, even she could not make the stars blaze with Arien's fervour: Artanis found mostly blooms known only in the deepest woods in Valinor: snowdrops, violets, bluebells.
Committing their graceful forms to memory, she already saw in her mind's eye the tapestry she would weave to make permanent their transient beauty.
A tall elf-lord approached, his hair silver like sprays of hawthorn blossom.
With fire suddenly coursing through her veins, Artanis knew she must learn to find pleasure not in crafted treasures but the ever-changing woods.
Family Feeling
Celeborn bowed low to the golden-haired maid. Fairer than Lúthien or Melian or even one of the Valier she seemed.
Speaking, he feared his tongue would cleave to the roof of his mouth. "Forgive me, lady, that I have not greeted a kinswoman ere this."
"Kinswoman?" Her voice was sweeter than the music of the falls of Esgalduin to his ears – yet held a touch of disappointment that grieved his heart.
"My grandsire was brother to yours, I think," he stuttered.
Her expression lightened. "Then we are indeed kin – from afar. I trust we will become better acquainted with time."
A Makeless Making
Galadriel looked down at tight-scrunched eyes, with lashes so pale they could scarce be seen. Gold or silver? The faint down on the head also kept the secret – for now.
Her left arm grew cramped and a grip like a vice in the workshops of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain trapped a finger of her right hand. The small body was heavy where it rested, warm and solid, against her breast.
She smiled at these pains.
Never had she been so weary after a making. Never so filled with joy. Of all the treasures she had wrought in Eregion, this was the greatest.
Letting Go
Celeborn tried hard not to clutch his daughter's shoulders too tightly as he crouched behind her. A leaf drifted down from above, on past the branch on which they stood to the green lawn many feet below.
Celebrían wriggled impatiently under his grip, and stretched out her chubby arms. With a deep breath, Celeborn let go. She tottered unsteadily forward, and he followed behind, his hands still hovering protectively either side of her.
Celebrían reached the safety of her mother's arms, and Galadriel swept her up.
"'Gain, mama!"
Celeborn, revelling in his daughter's delight, joined his relieved laughter to hers.
Father of the Bride
Celeborn always thought Thingol's anger sparked by the mortal's presumption.
Now, pondering another dark-haired suitor who, by virtue of blood, bore more than a passing likeness to the first, Celeborn wondered if any immortal would have met with Thingol's approval – or could meet with his.
Galadriel's arms snaked around his waist from behind. She rested her head on his shoulder. "Be happy for them. She eases his restless Noldorin spirit. As you do mine."
Celeborn, smiling ruefully, turned and gathered his wife tightly against him. "Aye. And he kindles the slumbering passion of her Sindarin heart. As you do mine."
Beyond The Sea
He does not yearn to see the crystal stairs of Tirion, gleaming with diamond-dust, nor hear the sweet music of Valmar’s bells, nor see its never-fading lawns of green where Nessa dances.
That far country has never been his. His realm is of starlight and shadowed woods.
And yet he learned to love the morning.
His heart bleeds for the brilliance of golden tresses that once snared the light of the Trees. For the melody of a voice deepened by grief and lightened by love. For his wife’s ever-enduring beauty.
One day his grandsons will sail, and he with them.
Note: Celevon a Mallen is Sindarin for Of Silver and of Gold.
