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tampered2008-08-17 10:25 pm
consecrat.livejournal.com) wrote in tampered2008-08-17 10:25 pm
Log; ongoing
When; August 17
Rating; PG
Characters; Arwen![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
consecrat and Aragorn somanytitles
Summary; replay of the infamous meeting~ ♥
Log;
The trees are dead.
Though she may have her likeness, she is no Lúthien to be singing sorrowless in the forest 'til the end of days. It brings her pride to be named so, for Tinuviel was called the Beloved for her beauty. Yet she has made it known to any who dare call her by that name that she is no songbird, loved only for twittering and frolicking. There is no sense in singing amidst trees so silent and cold. Their barks are colder than stones in a cave deep under mountains.
She shivers at the thought.
Still, the trees whisper though she knows the language not, and pressing an ear against the rough skin, she listens and tries to understand. They are her only companion, and perhaps they will mourn the passing of the Elves; of all that is good and fair in the world.
Her face, flawless and perfect against the skin of the tree, is devoid of emotions. There is an edge to her translucent eyes but it is wan and distant. Her beauty is great indeed, but the graveness of it is no less greater. How long has it been now since she laughed with mirth?
The years has not passed by her unnoticed, the weight of them are like stones upon her shoulders. Like a scream from a distance, Arwen lifts her clear voice against the low rumbling of the trees. Her soft voice rises into the tall branches, caressing the leaves, but there is a nameless sorrow dragging it always down. Undómiel, they call her, Evenstar, but she reflects only the cold light of the moon.
In the middle of a phrase, she stops. The song drifts away like a tendril of smoke.
Rating; PG
Characters; Arwen
consecrat and Aragorn somanytitlesSummary; replay of the infamous meeting~ ♥
Log;
The trees are dead.
Though she may have her likeness, she is no Lúthien to be singing sorrowless in the forest 'til the end of days. It brings her pride to be named so, for Tinuviel was called the Beloved for her beauty. Yet she has made it known to any who dare call her by that name that she is no songbird, loved only for twittering and frolicking. There is no sense in singing amidst trees so silent and cold. Their barks are colder than stones in a cave deep under mountains.
She shivers at the thought.
Still, the trees whisper though she knows the language not, and pressing an ear against the rough skin, she listens and tries to understand. They are her only companion, and perhaps they will mourn the passing of the Elves; of all that is good and fair in the world.
Her face, flawless and perfect against the skin of the tree, is devoid of emotions. There is an edge to her translucent eyes but it is wan and distant. Her beauty is great indeed, but the graveness of it is no less greater. How long has it been now since she laughed with mirth?
The years has not passed by her unnoticed, the weight of them are like stones upon her shoulders. Like a scream from a distance, Arwen lifts her clear voice against the low rumbling of the trees. Her soft voice rises into the tall branches, caressing the leaves, but there is a nameless sorrow dragging it always down. Undómiel, they call her, Evenstar, but she reflects only the cold light of the moon.
In the middle of a phrase, she stops. The song drifts away like a tendril of smoke.
no subject
Aragorn. This is he, then, the one that others have talked of. A slight displeasure rose in her, that he was a good man but she had talked ill of him. Still, was it not his fault for spreading such rumors?
"I know you. I believe you have been living under the care of my father, Elrond the Half-Elven," she smiled, trying to be earnest, for he was one of the most honest men she has yet met. "We are kins, you and I." Perhaps the rumor was not his doing. Her brothers might have found it funny, though it seemed unlikely that they would dabble in lies.
Yet it was then that the day ended and a new day began. It was midnight.
The world stopped, as it always does, when she looked into his eyes. She remembered still all the words she said yesterday, and all her deeds. It brought her pain, but she wondered how much more it would pain him. "I know you," she whispered, and wept.