(no subject)
Celebrian drummed her fingers impatiently on the cover of her book. The light outside the window was fading fast to the mellow shades of the evening, gilding every leaf of the trees, and an air of expectancy hung over Aman. She alone felt that there was nothing to be particularly enraptured over tonight. It would be merely another of the slow, lazy evening of the Undying Lands with a good book, a warm fire and a warmer bed. Despite herself, she shivered at this last, coiling a tendril of her silver hair coyly around one finger although there was no one there to see. And yet ... and yet ... a little of the crackling static of excitement infected her, all unwitting.
With a snap, she replaced the book on the table before her and rose to her feet, the soft cloth of her skirts swirling around her ankles. With light steps, she made her way out into the corridors, where silence reigned, a silence almost unnatural in its intensity. She paused, listening for something, anything, the screams of elflings or of rather older Elves who should have known better. She went on, pacing the corridors that had seen Ages pass before her birth, where the dust itself sang in silent sweetness.
There was a sound, the faintest rustle, as if of someone shifting amidst crisp sheets and a soft noise of pain. Wondering all the while if this was the most sensible thing to do in a land where almost every bedroom was occupied, she pushed the door open. Her uncle was sitting up in the severely plain bed, his face white, clutching at his splinted arm.
"Uncle Finrod? What have you done?" It would have been hard to miss the bandage wrapped around his head and the vicious bruises on his exposed torso.
With a snap, she replaced the book on the table before her and rose to her feet, the soft cloth of her skirts swirling around her ankles. With light steps, she made her way out into the corridors, where silence reigned, a silence almost unnatural in its intensity. She paused, listening for something, anything, the screams of elflings or of rather older Elves who should have known better. She went on, pacing the corridors that had seen Ages pass before her birth, where the dust itself sang in silent sweetness.
There was a sound, the faintest rustle, as if of someone shifting amidst crisp sheets and a soft noise of pain. Wondering all the while if this was the most sensible thing to do in a land where almost every bedroom was occupied, she pushed the door open. Her uncle was sitting up in the severely plain bed, his face white, clutching at his splinted arm.
"Uncle Finrod? What have you done?" It would have been hard to miss the bandage wrapped around his head and the vicious bruises on his exposed torso.