gondolin_noble | (no subject)

She watches her first dawn in Imladris, her eyes glittering with tears.

It was beautiful. Beautiful because it was different. Nothing changed much in Aman -- seasons came, they went, but they were always the same. Here... here there was more. Newness and harshness, Song she had never heard. Her bag drops to the porch as she steps off, her feet crunching in the snow, and her bare hand touches an oak.

Nerdanel closes her eyes, warm tears making their way down as she greets the tree in a language long unspoken by many in this land.

"Oh, Glorfindel," she breathes, turning to face him.

"Do you see now, cousin? Do you see why I have stayed away for so long? How could I leave such a place as this to death and darkness? Here is where my heart lies, until the Sea decides she will make off with it." It is one thing to tell his cousin that he cannot come, but this makes for a much more compelling argument. Let the land tell her itself. With a smile, he picks up her bag and tucks it inside the small house the door now leads to, for retrieval, later. Much later, if he has his way. That done, he follows her off the porch and offers her his arm.
"Breakfast is being served down in the Great Hall, and I, for one, am expected to be there. Would you come, cousin? If you would not, there is still much to see and do while I make sure all is alright."

She takes his arm, giggling.

"The Sea will one day call you home, cousin-mine, and when she does, I will have honeycakes and berry tarts waiting for you. For now, though, stuff me with foods of this land. I am starving."

Nerdanel walks a little ways with him, looking at him sideways.

"I am always starving," she jokes.

"Here you shall eat your fill - those who cook will take it as a personal challenge, I have no doubt." He laughs - it is easier, to laugh here than it was in the airless tavern, here where he can hear the song of Arda and be strengthened by the rising melody. He leads Nerdanel down along a path through the woods, bounded on both sides by ancient trees, dark holly leaves gleaming here and there, accented by the bright flash of feathers, or, at times, a bright smile and brighter eyes as one of the many guards of Imladris waves to the pair from a tree-top perch, only made noticable by their movement. He knows each by name, how soon they will come off-duty, the names of their wives and their children, and they know him, demanding to know who this red-haired lady is and pregnant at that, what a blessing!

She giggles.

"People will believe you have been hiding a new, pregnant bride, cousin," she murmurs as they walk. "What will your charges think?"

"I care not what they think. Perhaps this new mystery will keep them here for a time, at peace for just a little longer. The winter wears to a close, and soon the mountain passes will be open again, and the hunt will start anew." He sighs, then shakes off the gloom that tries to gather over his mood. "But that is not a tale for now. For now..."

He gets no further, as a snowball launched from the treetops strikes him full in the face.
"You come late, pen valthen!" A merry voice calls. "My brother and I waited for you in vain! Is this fair maid the cause, perhaps? You have been hiding secrets from us, Glorfindel, for shame!" The elf the voice belongs to is lithe and dark-haired, his smoky grey eyes laughing as he sprawls along one of the slender upper branches of the oak he had been hiding in.

Nerdanel turns her own grey eyes up to that branch, laughing.

"It has been many a year since I have seen Glorfindel take a snowball to his fair face," she calls. "You must be one of the miscreants he has spoken so fondly of."

"Miscreant? I? Glorfindel, what have you been telling..." Now it is Glorfindel's turn to laugh as Elladan (it takes many years and frequent mistakes to learn to tell one from the other, but this is most assuredly Elladan) splutters, wiping snow from his face.

Again, she laughs, resting hands on her belly.

"Do you often engage in snowfights at dawn?" she asks Glorfindel, her eyes sparkling as they haven't for a very long time.

"Is there a better time?" Glorfindel asks, all innocence, while Elladan calls down from above: "Snowfights, swordfights, he is in love with the predawn hours, and drags us from our beds to be sure we do not miss them!"

Glorfindel shakes his head at his young charge and takes Nerdanel's arm again.
"When you are done sulking in the trees, elfling, you may join us for breakfast." Elladan smiles at the teasing.
"You just want your lady friend to yourself for a while longer. Have no fear! I'll be sure to ward my brother off, should he venture too close!" Then, with a wave for Nerdanel, he disappears from sight, as if he had never been.

She looks to Glorfindel.

"You drag them out of their warm beds for swordfights?" she asks with a raised brow.

"If they persist in thinking themselves warriors, they will train like warriors, and if I, as their armsmaster, wish to hear the song of the stars along with that of steel, then they have little room to argue." He replies with a smug smile, having fought and won that fight a long time ago, even as such things are reckoned here. "But come! Your breakfast is waiting." As he leads her closer to the heart of Imladris, the Noldori influence becomes more pronounced - the path becomes cobbled, here and there statue of stone stands looking out over sleeping gardens, cunningly crafted lanterns shine palely with the coming of the morning sun.

The arts are a little crude in her eyes -- the one who was the greatest sculpter of their kind -- but she appreciates them for what they are. She walks beside him at a liesurely pace, not rushing but not dallying, her eyes taking in everything around her.

"What shall we be dining on for breakfast?"

"If the trend holds true, leafcakes with apples and honey, cured ham, sweetend porrige... though in truth, it is folly to try and guess what may be served. The cooks are allowed to make what they will, and the results can be surprising." As he speaks, the roar of the river grows louder until they come around the last bend. There before them is a great waterfall, and on the far shore, the Last Homely House. A slender span of stone bridges the two shores, the only bridge they would build for their safe haven.

Her mouth waters.

"Well, you have not wasted away into nothingness, so their cooking must be adequate. And Feaho is not a particular sort. He only demands his dozen meals a day, really," she giggles. "Tell me, do the twins look as much alike as my twins do? Are they mirrors?"

"To the point we despaired of ever telling the two apart, when they were elflings. Those new-come to Imladris still mistake them - and I think they enjoy the game. Elladan can be more dour than his twin, and Elrohir tends to be less rash, but they are alike as two peas in a pod. It is safest at times to call any twin you happen across 'El' and be done with it." He laughs, taking her hand and stepping onto the bridge, comfortable as if he were standing on a broad street.

Her balance, while a bit off, is not suffering so that she cannot manage the footbridge.

Though she does hold tight to his hand.

"Well, if you had not been a mother to twins, perhaps it would be difficult to tell two apart." Her cheeks flush a little as she watches where she walks. "He was quite handsome, Glorfindel, you did not tell me that."

Glorfindel looks pained at her choice of terms.
"Cousin mine, please remember I have known that one, and his brother, since they were concieved. I look at them, and more often than not, I see the elflings they were instead of the warriors and lords they are."

She chuckles.

"Then let me assure you, my golden flower, he is very handsome."

"Aiya, do not tell him so, or his overvaunting pride will be unstoppable. You call me a vain peacock, but next to that one, I am but a humble wood dove." But his good cheer is restored as he steps onto the far shore and waits for her.

Carefully, she steps from the bridge, her cheeks flushed bright red from the cold, and presses a kiss to his cheek.

"Have I ever been one to say exactly what was on my mind?" she asks with a wry grin.

"Yes!" He laughs, taking her arm again and leading her up towards the Hall. "Much to my great chagrin, yes! The day you do not is one I should worry."

"You wound me," she says with a pout, and then a laugh. "But I am who I am. And I am particularly happy with that." Her eyes take in the sight of the Hall from the outside. "The architecture is so lovely, Glorfindel. Rough, but lovely."

"And for that backhanded compliment I thank you on behalf of my absent lord, oh teller of truths!" Though she is not far off the mark. Imladris was built as a refuge, a hiding place during a seemingly endless war, and there was neither time nor inclination to create the gleaming towers and smooth wide streets of cities such as Lindon. Nor would many of the inhabitants appreciated it! For it was not only the Noldori with their love for architecture and stone that lived here, but all clans and divisions have made this valley their home over the ages.
"You see the influence of Lord Celeborn on the construction." He explains as they walk up the stone-flagged path. "He is nephew to the Sindarian king, Elu Thingol, and is much of a mind with him."

She wrinkles her nose.

"The Sindar came into Aman and created their own little cities and settlements. They were not all that pleased at the domination of the Noldor. Thranduil, Valar -- he created his own woodland realm where he and his father can reside."