Ab uno disce omnes: memento mori.
[sometime after this scene...]
He dances her back to their room, dances her and their daughter.
Be happy for her.
He twirls them through the doorway and onto the bed, Eilinel laughing, Kelly giving a squeal as they bounce onto the springs. Gorlim twirls, laughs, bows, and Eilinel and Kelly clap enthusiastically for him.
It's what she'd have wanted.
"And now it is time," he purrs as he slides next to his wife, "for us all to sleep. Isn't that so, miss Kelly?"
The sound of the hoofbeats echoing still say so...
The baby slides into her father's arms and reaches up towards his long hair. Gorlim laughs, tickles her nose, and bounces her in his arms as he stands. "You go on and get ready for bed," he whispers to the White Lady. "I'll put this one down."
...and I'm the one who stays.
Eilinel stands and goes to rummage through the dresser. As Gorlim croons some Taliska lullabye to the infant in his arms, her white arms raise like wings, fall like the pinions of a swan as she sheds her gown. In the shadows of the evening and a candle's flame, she sits before her mirror and brushes out her hair, her breasts like petals of jasmine, her eyes like twin stars.
Remember?
She tosses the strands of pale gold over her shoulder. A tiny voice squeaks a yawn as Kelly's grey eyes close to find their dream world. Gorlim glides to her cradle and places her down, covering her with the white blanket light enough for summer.
She taught us how to dance this way.
But the song doesn't die with the advent of sleep. Even as Gorlim's voice hushes to a gruff murmur, Eilinel's sweet humming takes up the tune. Gorlim looks over his shoulder to her. She stands from her stool, puts down her brush, and her body bends playfully with the tune like a willowbranch in the wind. She goes to him. Her hands rest on his shirt, her nimble fingers undo the ties.
Be happy for her.
Gorlim laughs, and the lady's eyes answer. He helps her undo the fastenings of his kilt, the buttons on his shirtsleeves, the buckle on his belt which their two hands twist off together.
It's what she'd have wanted.
Gorlim kisses her, and brushes her hair out of her face.
The greatest lesson...
They glow. They are alive. They are young and bright and lovely. They are in love. They are...
...ab uno disce omnes...
...they are two white flames in the darkness, and two bright songs in the silence. Their are one soul, and one breath, and soon, they are one body.
...remember...
A perfect dance, known by each from the day they looked into each other's eyes. A muffled cry, like the call of a dove. A whispered promise, and voices filled with hope. A hand one a delicately rounded belly, a hand tangling in darker hair, a hand in another hand, arms entwining, like roots in earth, like branches in wind.
Memento mori.
"Will there be another child?"
Remember you are mortal.
"Soon."
It's what she'd have wanted.
"You want this?"
It's what she gave us. More than a name. A spirit.
"Yes..."
Hope.
The two forms move like a growing tree. In the blood of the vine, the thought of a seed is given life's breath. Not yet form, not yet shape, not yet a quiet pocket in the lady's womb, but they understand each other now. That love does not enslave the lover. It sets them free. And by choice they lay together, and by choice they dance, hands, arms, and bodies. Breath, hearts, and home.
Aurë entuluva.
"Yes...!"
It's what she'd have wanted.
And in the cradle, a baby sleeps.
What came before... will come again.
He dances her back to their room, dances her and their daughter.
Be happy for her.
He twirls them through the doorway and onto the bed, Eilinel laughing, Kelly giving a squeal as they bounce onto the springs. Gorlim twirls, laughs, bows, and Eilinel and Kelly clap enthusiastically for him.
It's what she'd have wanted.
"And now it is time," he purrs as he slides next to his wife, "for us all to sleep. Isn't that so, miss Kelly?"
The sound of the hoofbeats echoing still say so...
The baby slides into her father's arms and reaches up towards his long hair. Gorlim laughs, tickles her nose, and bounces her in his arms as he stands. "You go on and get ready for bed," he whispers to the White Lady. "I'll put this one down."
...and I'm the one who stays.
Eilinel stands and goes to rummage through the dresser. As Gorlim croons some Taliska lullabye to the infant in his arms, her white arms raise like wings, fall like the pinions of a swan as she sheds her gown. In the shadows of the evening and a candle's flame, she sits before her mirror and brushes out her hair, her breasts like petals of jasmine, her eyes like twin stars.
Remember?
She tosses the strands of pale gold over her shoulder. A tiny voice squeaks a yawn as Kelly's grey eyes close to find their dream world. Gorlim glides to her cradle and places her down, covering her with the white blanket light enough for summer.
She taught us how to dance this way.
But the song doesn't die with the advent of sleep. Even as Gorlim's voice hushes to a gruff murmur, Eilinel's sweet humming takes up the tune. Gorlim looks over his shoulder to her. She stands from her stool, puts down her brush, and her body bends playfully with the tune like a willowbranch in the wind. She goes to him. Her hands rest on his shirt, her nimble fingers undo the ties.
Be happy for her.
Gorlim laughs, and the lady's eyes answer. He helps her undo the fastenings of his kilt, the buttons on his shirtsleeves, the buckle on his belt which their two hands twist off together.
It's what she'd have wanted.
Gorlim kisses her, and brushes her hair out of her face.
The greatest lesson...
They glow. They are alive. They are young and bright and lovely. They are in love. They are...
...ab uno disce omnes...
...they are two white flames in the darkness, and two bright songs in the silence. Their are one soul, and one breath, and soon, they are one body.
...remember...
A perfect dance, known by each from the day they looked into each other's eyes. A muffled cry, like the call of a dove. A whispered promise, and voices filled with hope. A hand one a delicately rounded belly, a hand tangling in darker hair, a hand in another hand, arms entwining, like roots in earth, like branches in wind.
Memento mori.
"Will there be another child?"
Remember you are mortal.
"Soon."
It's what she'd have wanted.
"You want this?"
It's what she gave us. More than a name. A spirit.
"Yes..."
Hope.
The two forms move like a growing tree. In the blood of the vine, the thought of a seed is given life's breath. Not yet form, not yet shape, not yet a quiet pocket in the lady's womb, but they understand each other now. That love does not enslave the lover. It sets them free. And by choice they lay together, and by choice they dance, hands, arms, and bodies. Breath, hearts, and home.
Aurë entuluva.
"Yes...!"
It's what she'd have wanted.
And in the cradle, a baby sleeps.
What came before... will come again.