Tolkien Fan Fiction
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| Silver and Gold He comes. To some he was The Wise; the appellation amused him. To those confronting the fell hand of the argent-crowned warrior lord, he was executioner. To our daughter, he was her healer of hurts, silver-tongued story-singer, patient teacher, proud protector. To me? He was my anchor in Endor, my roots, my nourishment. Upon me alone he bestowed his ofttimes tempestuous, ofttimes tender, ever-impassioned love. Our endless separation has tattered my soul. But now, as his white ship approaches quayside, I savor the first faint brushes of his mind on mine. I clasp my gold-banded hand to hide my trembling. ~~~ She awaits. She stands in solitude amidst the throng, a pillar of white-gowned elegance bewreathed in a rippling aureole, regal in her dignity. Disembarking, I am drawn to face her. Others see the glacial magnificence of towering Taniquetil; but I alone glimpse Orodruin's perilous fires concealed beneath -- and grasp the profound cost of masking such passions behind her public guise of serenity. Her eyes betray her turbulence to me: wrath, sorrow, anticipation... despair? Did you fear I would not come, my love? I raise my gold-banded fingertip to her grave and beautiful face, then caress away the single scalding tear. *** "...there is no record of the day when at last [Celeborn] sought the Grey Havens, and with him went the last living memory of the Elder Days in Middle-earth." The Fellowship of the Ring, LoTR Prologue, Note on the Shire Records |