I do listen
You either express it through your wishes, and they hear, write a letter and leave in the forest, they shall come, or you come to them, and offer your life. This was it, when it comes to the regard of Elves, for you do not come to their monarchs and to their sovereign and crowned heads, as it was the public service, everything goes indirectly. Never straightly. As the elven paths and forest bridges of stone and taut substance which are like Gondolin that had glinted and glistered through the dark, the lighthouse of finding its way, back to its rightful home, where the laugh is filling the pages when it is the darkest, even more there is the light in the shadowiness, wherein it glimmers as the silvered light from the abode of the yonder of chorusing Oaks.
And the secrets of Elves stay to them, for them to keep it, the same is with Dragons and hybridization or changing genders, of how hormonally are things done, even by the female sex. Of swinging plumes against the northwinds, of the Elf Helms and their long capes and suit of armors, along with the rest that is the part of their permeating culture, in each pore, in each cleft. Therein resides the Elf. Alongside them are Onodrim or tree hosts, known as Ents. The Treebeards, for whom the head one was Fangorn, the oldest, the tree like being, the shepherd of trees, and with his kinsfolk, they are the protectors of the woodlands, they were moving across the misted lands in search for the warmer seasons, and then going back to see how their Ent wives had escaped again, and so, anew, they had to go back to fetch them back. What the predictive woman’s behavior.
Their high crowns and the longer limbs of the fruiting branches were the only insinuation that something moves in between the lives of the greenwoods and suchlike. He did start his life as the failing little tree, and now he was the King. The humanoid beings of Fangorn Forests had moved away in search for their runaway wives.
Meantime, Doreah was with him, she didn’t anticipate understanding, neither the kindliness, but it was obvious of just how much he was apprehensive that she could just enter, as the mere mortal, and speak with him. Not because he was too arrogant or too high, but that anyone can be granted what she was, and he didn’t like it, still, he had shown the tolerance and the composed demeanor, as it was only suiting the Elf Emperor.
Or, he was just jittery that she isn’t theirs yet, something was aloof about him, something she couldn’t tell apart in nowhere else, it was differing from anything that she was living with. And this was something that she has to unbury, to reach its bottom, how to approach him, what can you say. So, she was giving in, let him do with her whichever he finds suitable or preferable, but she has come for her sister, leastways, to see her, to talk, to get some rightness!
- It is unjust and unrighteous of how her life was ended, I do not seek any vengeance or the retaliation, this is something what I leave to God, but I have to have that final talk with her, if not, all shall be left uncounted and unsaid.
- My dear – he spoke, and when he did, the life itself could shake from the brimming force of his regal standing – there are some things in this life and the one that awaits you, and the one after it, that is telling us of how we should stay on the course where are no routes and no second chances, only what you are given as the probability of your own existence. If anyone can knock on the Heaven’s Doors, then, what does it make us all?
- But, you do not understand – her crying voice was the allusion to him, that she is referencing that only her plight is the heaviest. That only her throbs and woes are the ills and the harrowed afflictions of the world. She was afflicted and mortified by the same suffering for all her life, blighted in the same way, spurned, shunned and snubbed. And now, he is here to remind her of the order? For everyone else, it is the smooth sail, and for her, it is the gliding slowness to the Hell. As if she wanted it, as if she asked for it, as if it wasn’t satisfactory, but to hear it from him, how he is reiterating over and over again, what she knew all along, there is no place and no rest for the people like her, there is no restfulness, there is no repose, she is to be reposeful, when there is nothing to reprieve any longer, and it was paining him to see of how some lives are just damnable and not right. But, if he does intercede, if he is interposing, he might become even the interloper himself. The deceiver of life, and that wasn’t the title he was desiring for anyone, even for the covetous heart of his elven brethren and the sorority of the elvish purity. Ah, it is so troublesome, and she is bothered to the last. He looked back at her, the wretched life of hers. She did deserve better, and who is him to deny it to her? After all, his son wouldn’t give her, if the situation wasn’t too drastic to handle it alone.
- Very well, but I have to warn you – this was the first ever gleam of hopefulness that she was endowed with – she might not remember you, at first, but do not be dissuaded or discouraged, she shall recall you. – Thank you, thank you so much, I cannot thank you or express my gratitude, in nowhere but to… - instead of bowing, she took his Elf hands and kissed them. Oh, his dear child, he hugged her, she was dreaming, to be in the arms of the one who changed the world to his own cast image, as if it was re-fashioned with God Elf too, only, it was. Godfathers to one another, grandsires together with the grandmothers and godmothers alike, to their own children and the blood ties and those of the friendly relations were being tied vastly and with style. He cradled her, cupping her earthly visage.
- Hear me and listen to me, whatever happens, know this, that I may adorn you in the splendor of the vivacity, offer you jewels and gem stones, the raw diamonds, garnish you in the prettiest and scent you in the redolence. But that wouldn’t be even the speck of what the God would have in mind. But, know this, all this waits just for you. And, forgive this Old Man, I just…loved humans too much, and not to acquire for them even the spirit in my fire, for Prometheus was the God before the Universe, but first was the Spirit, and then everything else. And go now – he kisses her blushing cheeks – Godspeed, go with my blessing – the passageway of the Moon Gate was opened, and she could step inside, unpressured and unburdened, feeling as if she were the feather around whom she will fold her flapping wings. Yet, the shadow that was with her, has remained, when the Moon Gate gets closed behind her, and so the shadow that was her Main Watcher, was hellbent on getting his own answers, of why he tormented her first! To see her decisiveness or resolve, that was so low even for him. The man he knew would never hesitate, but he did, the fucker.
Celegorm was before his father. The Old Man did wonder when he is going to show up. He knew that he is somewhere around, even among the shadows, but not being the one. So crafty. At once, the purple tinged world was painted in the lavender shade, it was the nuancing darkness that has befallen like a shroud that does bear a resemblance of the one who is resembling the deity among Elves, not being the actual and lasting one, but the one that might bring another change, yet it wasn’t up to him to make such a choice or to take such liberties or the prerogatives.
- What was this all about? – About what, son? And, oh, by the way, nice to see you too, you want a hug? – Stop it. She came to you on her knees, and you stomped her down.
- I? As you can see, I had granted what she coveted.
- You do not understand, do you? Why did you do it, why did you scrutinize her, even when you know how much she has suffered, for all this time, all the struggles of mortality and the mortal ones which are bringing in even more traumas and all what you can do is to behave toward her so superiorly, that wasn’t you, or you are having something in your incessant aspirations! – Feanor was standing with his muscle-bound arms folded upon his bulged and breathing chest, intrigued and still, as if he was knowing something what his son didn’t, and still, he couldn’t find in himself to believe it, that his son, out of seven, was acting so strangely, unbecoming of him. And that was the oddness of the whole situation, it was the extraordinary picture, the uncanny experience for him, that Celegorm, his third heir, didn’t recognize it.
- What is she to you?
- What?
- I ask you, what is she to you?
- She? She is…she is, I mean, does it matter? – Feanor smiles knowingly, there it is, so, his best buddy won’t be the only one with the human heart that is budding the streams of light, who would ever tell, and Celegorm could touch it, bringing it unto himself, but he wouldn’t profess of how much he was altered, and he couldn’t go back, not now, not ever, this is the feel. What Ned Stark was to Glor, Jon Snow was to him, avatars in their leagues, the song of Starks is one of the broken violin, into the deepness of the twin lights, the flames which are flaming the stages of life, the dark woods were never darker until the glow of the luminescing white didn’t welcome the God. – So, now you know how it hurts, hm? – Why does it hurt? So much? – he is fretting, stroking the ailing place, skimming over it, oh, his Orion, his huntsman of the son, placing a hunter’s hand over his newly obtained heartbeat of human.
- Because – he was in his son’s fine face – that was the point. Oh, my silly child, what am going to do with you all? You cannot even sort out your own feelings, and you are asking of me, to answer to you? You still – he brushed through his silver locks, making Celegorm blush – are smelling of your mother’s milk, as if you were born yesterday. I didn’t torture her, I just know there is something out better for her, I tested her resolution. And I used it to see your reaction, you did fall spectacularly, the sire of Jon, the gracefulness and the graciousness of the loveliness, that was the glamour you are glammed with, and if only you could know what I do know, and for you to remain the patient son.
There is a saying, that the wise and shrewd man, the artful in their artfulness are always one step ahead, but it only means that Feanor was seven steps ahead of everyone. Of course that he wouldn’t make any pettiness over the fact that someone comes and calls upon his name, or that he is manifesting forward, to anyone. He shall do as he is needful and required. It was imperative of him, to act in some parts which are not him at all, albeit, he is conscious of his own sins, which he cannot ever purify, but he may refine his atonement by self-reproaching what was inevitably with him, and resting in his son, for so long. And so, the Hurin curse has wrapped itself up with the fruition of fulfillments, making the full circle, having his son confess what was lying in his heart of the Elf. He was the grandest of them all, the inventor, the jeweler, the blacksmith who dirties his hands with the hard work, never downing, for he was a father, firstly.
*
- Why didn’t you just say so? – And to miss all the entertainment? Ah, dear son, you think of your Old Man so dearly. And, I kindly ask of you, just trust me – father and son did take that hug.