http://consecrat.livejournal.com/ ([identity profile] consecrat.livejournal.com) wrote in [community profile] tampered2008-07-28 12:57 am

log; complete

When; early morning, July 27
Rating; G
Characters; Arwen [livejournal.com profile] consecrat
Summary; the beginnings of a home.
Log;

She has heard them call this elven magic and they wonder at it.

In a clear voice, she sings defiantly, "Fauta, mal istan lá maruva! Hrívë fíra..."

There is a tiny brook bordering the clearing before her. It is almost suffocated by the ice lining its either sides but already the ice is thawing. She continues her song, "I quórola lossë lehtëa núterya; I helcë amárië sinomë andavë. Milyan sírala nén."

Underneath her feet, the snow thaws to reveal the green earth. The brook seems to take on a louder tune, babbling a melody to accompany her song as she crosses it with bare feet. The water is cold, but already it grows warmer about her ankles.

The dense trees watch her work in silence, as foolish watchers who know not that they cannot ever remain untouched. Even they shall soon know that life is more than merely living. A smile touches her lips and a light like the sun shines upon her face. She sings, "Umin nyerë i vanwë lótin –-entuluvantë!"

Sparse bushes grow in the clearing in a seemingly meaningless pattern. Rose bushes. They might yet blossom if tended properly, though she remembers one halfling's words: the fair thrive on neglect. She muses at its truth, and dismisses her own thoughts as she has never been a gardener while he has never been otherwise.

Yet the roses are not what she seeks.

Farther into the middle of the clearing she treads, a green pathway revealing itself behind her. Though there is movement, the moments clutch at silence made heavier by distant rustling of leaves. The wind here tells no tales and she is glad at that.

Finally she stops, knowing she has found her treasure. With both hands she brushes away the snow from a spot on the ground. There is a sapling there with two green leaves and a bent stalk. She lowers her voice and whispers to it a song, "Cemen cuivëa. Mornië, heca! Ámen anta árë, ámen anta laito."

The sapling sways as if by a breeze, but it is her song that has wakened it. It grows and blossoms before her, its leaves turning up to glisten in the morning sunlight. Then a bud reveals itself before blossoming into a white flower bright as a star. Niphredil. It has come forth now to greet her.

She lets her smile blossom now. "Mavoinenya Anaren tyeluva..."

How few have wondered that even the coldest winter has its spring!


[ooc; Fauta, mal istan lá maruva! Hrívë fíra... It is snowing, but I know it will not last! Winter is dying... I quórola lossë lehtëa núterya; I helcë amárië sinomë andavë. Milyan sírala nén. The suffocating snow is loosening its bond; The ice has been here for too long. I long for flowing water. Umin nyerë i vanwë lótin –-entuluvantë! I do not mourn for the lost flowers --they will return! Cemen cuivëa. Mornië, heca! Ámen anta árë, ámen anta laito. Nature is awakening. Darkness, be gone! Give us sunlight, Give us life! Mavoinenya Anaren tyeluva... My great longing for the Sun will end.

Verses taken from CouncilofElrond.com]