Seasons

Author's note/Disclaimer: I don't own them. They belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. Many thanks to Neume for her beta work.

~*~

For Rhapsody

~*~

Twigs rustled.


“Where is she?” Celegorm breathed. His eyes had caught an elusive vision only a moment before his words trailed off in a thick, humid air, but now he could see nothing, as if all he had spotted was only an illusion. Celegorm was beginning to think it had been one, indeed.

The grass soughed.

“There.” Curufin’s head tilted to the right in the direction of the thicket blooming with every kind of green he could imagine possible. “Be silent.”

Celegorm shot him a rebuking glare, but curiosity was eating him alive. Who was the mysterious figure that his brother had told him about with such emotion? Curufin moved aside, and his gloved hand pushed the thickness of leaves away. The clearing before them was filled with sunshine, but quiet, if one discounted birds chirping high in the branches. Quickly, Celegorm came to stand behind his brother while his gaze scanned the surrounding greenness.

“Nothing. Still.”

“Be patient, brother.”

“Look who said that,” Celegorm quipped leaning to his brother’s ear. “The most self-collected Fëanorion ever.”

“Cel…” Curufin started, but his left hand rose as though of its own will when his eyes fell on the creature they were waiting for. Celegorm stopped breathing.

On the opposite side of the clearing, he caught the brisk motion of a shapely shoulder wrapped in a mist of white fabric, which contrasted with a strand of dark hair that fluttered for a moment.

Her voice…

The vision started to sing, softly, and her voice was as pliant as a cat, Celegorm thought cocking his ears as he concentrated on the song. Though he heard words, he could not understand them, as if the mystery with the shoulder like alabaster was singing in an ancient language, and the Fëanorion found himself in silent awe.