For perkyandproud: sails made of silver-grey (Galadriel/Celeborn, PG)
sails made of silver-grey
written by: *kalypso (koulagirl666 / raise_the_knife)
for: perkyandproud
pairing: Galadriel/Celeborn
rating: PG
disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and all associated characters were created by JRR Tolkien and were returned in perfect condition.
summary: she has waited for eternity unending for this one moment.
notes: thank you to empy and caras_galadhon for letting me play, and to J for the beta. Happy holidays!
At first the grey sails are indistinguishable from the pall of the sky; they take on shape once the morning mists begin to clear and Anar rises high enough to warm the air. The flags rise on the towers of Alqualondë, but the gulls whispered the news in her dreams long before the horizon was broken.
The ship somehow casts a shadow on the sand as it halts on the beach, where she is waiting; a sudden breeze lifts her hair from her shoulders and cools her skin. She is alone; the winds have guided him and she is grateful to see him standing from the prow. He does not see her, not just yet; her breath catches in her throat when he does, for he smiles and leaps to shore, as if riding one of Anar's rays. It is the first time she has seen him step lightly for many years, though he still seems to move with a royal weight on his shoulders.
She meets him halfway, and he presses something cool and thin into her hands before his arms come to rest around her waist; she touches his chest over where his heart beats and feels it rise and fall. He still smells of the forest she misses deeply, and his lips are rough on her forehead; she stays still when the first voices carry to reach them from behind the dunes, and he only moves back when the fastest runners appear above their crest.
She walks beside him through the city, comfortable to lean against his shoulder and accept his arm around her shoulders; their voices are loud and seem to surround them with noise. She points to some of them who are dear friends who made the same journey, and others whom he must learn to know. It is strange, to be with him here in the lands where she spent her youth; they seem to be brighter now, and there is laughter to chase away the lingering shadow. He does not let her go when the welcoming crowd begins to scatter and the air clears; when it is quiet enough to hear, he whispers in the language they share between them alone, and her laugh echoes through the halls of her kin like the sweetest of bells.
There are things she longs to see: a fierce light in his eyes when he sees the malinorni where his people have chosen to call home, the way he seems to become languid when she draws the curtain of their talan closed, the new marks on his skin that she needs to learn. Courtesy requires she guide him to her father's rooms and then the Great Hall where Olwë holds sway; the way he leans on her demands she allow him to rest before showing him everything she has built for him here.
"I love you," he says at last, when he lies on their bed. She reaches for the blanket she wove; it is not cold, but he tugs it over his shoulders and smiles at her before he sleeps.
"I missed you," she says, when his eyes go dull, and she starts to rub the last of the tension from his shoulders.
written by: *kalypso (koulagirl666 / raise_the_knife)
for: perkyandproud
pairing: Galadriel/Celeborn
rating: PG
disclaimer: Lord of the Rings and all associated characters were created by JRR Tolkien and were returned in perfect condition.
summary: she has waited for eternity unending for this one moment.
notes: thank you to empy and caras_galadhon for letting me play, and to J for the beta. Happy holidays!
At first the grey sails are indistinguishable from the pall of the sky; they take on shape once the morning mists begin to clear and Anar rises high enough to warm the air. The flags rise on the towers of Alqualondë, but the gulls whispered the news in her dreams long before the horizon was broken.
The ship somehow casts a shadow on the sand as it halts on the beach, where she is waiting; a sudden breeze lifts her hair from her shoulders and cools her skin. She is alone; the winds have guided him and she is grateful to see him standing from the prow. He does not see her, not just yet; her breath catches in her throat when he does, for he smiles and leaps to shore, as if riding one of Anar's rays. It is the first time she has seen him step lightly for many years, though he still seems to move with a royal weight on his shoulders.
She meets him halfway, and he presses something cool and thin into her hands before his arms come to rest around her waist; she touches his chest over where his heart beats and feels it rise and fall. He still smells of the forest she misses deeply, and his lips are rough on her forehead; she stays still when the first voices carry to reach them from behind the dunes, and he only moves back when the fastest runners appear above their crest.
She walks beside him through the city, comfortable to lean against his shoulder and accept his arm around her shoulders; their voices are loud and seem to surround them with noise. She points to some of them who are dear friends who made the same journey, and others whom he must learn to know. It is strange, to be with him here in the lands where she spent her youth; they seem to be brighter now, and there is laughter to chase away the lingering shadow. He does not let her go when the welcoming crowd begins to scatter and the air clears; when it is quiet enough to hear, he whispers in the language they share between them alone, and her laugh echoes through the halls of her kin like the sweetest of bells.
There are things she longs to see: a fierce light in his eyes when he sees the malinorni where his people have chosen to call home, the way he seems to become languid when she draws the curtain of their talan closed, the new marks on his skin that she needs to learn. Courtesy requires she guide him to her father's rooms and then the Great Hall where Olwë holds sway; the way he leans on her demands she allow him to rest before showing him everything she has built for him here.
"I love you," he says at last, when he lies on their bed. She reaches for the blanket she wove; it is not cold, but he tugs it over his shoulders and smiles at her before he sleeps.
"I missed you," she says, when his eyes go dull, and she starts to rub the last of the tension from his shoulders.