Tenn’ Enomentielva: A tale of many partings – Chapter Four – Will You Not Dance?

by Feb 16, 2005Stories

A/N: Chappy three kind of disapeared off the front page really quick, so here’s the link in case anybody missed it. Actually, here’s the links to everything!

Chapter One: https://www.theonering.com/docs/17826.html

Chapter Two: https://www.theonering.com/docs/17879.html

Chapter Three: https://www.theonering.com/docs/18172.html

Happy reading!

Hírilasea gazed almost lovingly up at the tree that she was standing beneath, watching with attentive care as one leaf fell from a thick branch. She caught the leaf in her slender hand, inclined her head to examine it, and gently lowered herself to the ground as she studied the delicately made leaf.

“What are you doing, Tavaril?”

The sound of Elladan’s voice did not draw her gaze away, but she gestured wordlessly to the ground beside her, indicating for him to sit down. He did so and waited for her answer.

“There is something wrong with this leaf,” she said eventually, bringing her eyes up to his and offering him a small smile. “It should not have fallen yet.”

“Leaves often fall without any reason,” Elladan said.

“I know,” Hírilasea replied, looking back at the object gently held in her palm. “But this one shouldn’t have.”

Elladan did not reply as Hírilasea again scrutinized the leaf, her eyes belying the apathetic expression on her face. Silence captured the two Elves and Elladan was content to sit in quiet near Hírilasea. He watched her, marveling in her slightest movement, and when she reached out to lightly place her hand upon the trunk of the tree he found himself awed at her tender grace.

“The tree thinks that it is autumn,” she said after a moment. “She is mislead by the cool air.”

“That is exceedingly strange,” Elladan said, perplexed that Hírilasea could understand tree-talk as well as horse-speech. “How can you tell?”

“Another of my gifts,” she replied, taking her hand from the tree and gently laying the leaf upon the grass. “Will you look through my eyes?”

Elladan was baffled at this.

Do not fear. There is beauty in what I see.

“I will,” he said, his fears allayed but his curiosity provoked by her simple words.

Hírilasea lightly took his hand in hers, and closed her eyes as she whispered an inaudible incantation. Elladan’s vision went cloudy for a moment, but then the fog lifted like a waking man opens his eyelids from the darkness of sleep.

The world before him looked like a thousand sunsets compared to the black of night. He knew that his world had been seen in shades of grey upon observing this vibrant image. The grass beneath him was a hundredfold more vibrant, the sky above him a hundredfold more blue.

Then he turned to speak to Hírilasea, and beside him sat the most beautiful creature he had beheld.

Her hair was a silver color, but not the gray that many would think of. It was a splendor in of itself. The white skin of her face was not the pale color that he remembered; instead a delicate tone, of life and warmth.

These things he saw, but he only truly comprehended her eyes.

When before they had been a piercing green, now they were so intense and vivid that to Elladan’s inexperienced gaze they were almost painful to look upon. The green was of a shade that only Ilúvatar had before seen.

“This is beautiful,” he at last managed to force out.

“Yes, it is,” Hírilasea agreed, her smile now more resplendent than ever would be seen upon the earth. “This is what the Valar intended it to be. Ilúvatar gave me, in part, his ability to see.”

“Ilúvatar?” Elladan breathed, unable to tear his gaze off Hírilasea’s eyes. They were a beauty that no words, no song, no prayer could even come close to describing.

“Ai,” (alas) Hírilasea returned, her voice no more than a thread in the breeze. “I ache that the world is not as I see it.”

“There is much good in Arda,” Elladan offered lamely. He still could not look away from her.

“Yé, mellon nin. Dan i-Dhúath loatha,” (Yes, my friend. But the Shadow will grow.) Hírilasea said, smiling sadly. Even in her grief her smile was beautiful beyond any words that Elladan could find.

Then she brightened.

“Today is not a day for darkness, is it? The sun in shining and you have much to see,” she said cheerily.

“I do?” Elladan said, baffled.

Hírilasea’s smile was enigmatic.

“Watch,” was all she said, before she lifted her captivating voice.

No Le Cened nîn A Hîr o gûr nîn{/I]
Unad pân nâ an nin dan Le nâ
Le nauth vaewain nîn na aur egor fuin
Echuiol egor lostol sinaed Lín calad nîn

No Le Saelod nîn a Le Pêth `lenin nîn
Im go uir Le a Le go nin Hîr
Le Adar dhaer nîn ah im iôn `lenin Lín
Le nêd nin dorthol ah im go Le mîn

If Elladan had ever thought that music was beautiful, he was mistaken. Her voice was like a lark, lilting gently with each note but never losing itself in the varying range of tenors.

But this was nothing compared to what he saw.

He could see the soft ripples of the words as they pierced the sweet air. They appeared a bluish tone, liquid, undulating like the smooth wrinkles in a surface of a pond when a pebble is cast into its depths. Each word was another pebble, creating thicker or lesser ripples determined by the size of each.

“I have never heard that song before,” he managed to stammer out as the last notes of Hírilasea’s song faded and the crinkles gently smoothed out.

“It is a hymn to Ilúvatar,” Hírilasea said. “There is much more, but I fear that your time with my vision is limited.”

“I’m sorry,” Elladan said, and he was.

“Don’t be,” Hírilasea replied with a teasing laugh. “Come. The wind is serenading us and we have done nothing to thank it.”

Elladan knew very well that the wind did not serenade people.

But Hírilasea was rising (her every movement a wonder to behold), and, with no self-conscious insecurity, began to dance. It seemed that each new thing that Elladan saw was greater than the last, and the fluidity of Hírilasea’s lithe, slender form was the most stunning thing he had ever watched in his life.

It was a pure beauty, chaste from desire. The birds sang sweetly for her, their gentle melodies blending with the soothing rustle of the wind brushing through the grass. Her feet barely touched the earth, so light was her tread, and she did not bend the grass blades that she stepped upon.

She flung a hand to him as she stilled her dance for a moment. “Come,” she laughed, her sweet voice blending with the melody of the wind. “Will you not dance?”

Elladan regarded her for a moment as she stood before him, poised perfectly with one bare foot pointed delicately on her toes. She looked expectantly at him, and her eyes pierced him through.

“Naneth!” Arwen gasped, her breath short from running. Celebrían looked up from her book. “Elladan and Hírilasea are dancing near the edge of the forest!”

A slow smile budded on Celebrían’s lips as a flush came to her pale cheeks, leaving Arwen perplexed.

“Naneth? Is it not strange?” Arwen asked.

“My sweet daughter,” Celebrían said, standing and going to her. “You will certainly understand when you have grown up.” Arwen was about to protest, but the faraway look in Celebrían’s eyes stayed her words.

“What do you mean?” Arwen said.

“Do you want to hear about how I wedded your father?” Celebrían said, and Arwen nodded eagerly. “Come, let us sit. I was about two hundred and fifty years old at the time, and I had no plans of leaving my home of Lórien. Of course I had seen the young lord of Rivendell, but I thought he was unsightly and rather cold.”

Arwen gave her mother a look. “You are in jest,” she said.

“No,” Celebrían laughed. “I had no idea that he had any interest in me at all. Therefore, it was quite a surprise when Adar told me that he had asked to court me. I agreed, though hesitantly, and our first meeting was very uncomfortable. But I started to notice qualities about him that were much greater than what he looked like. He treated me with a great deal of respect, and not just me but other people as well.

“Of course, there were other things. Before long, I was hopelessly in love, and Elrond asked Adar for permission to wed me. Adar said yes and we were married within the year.”

Arwen digested this. “How does that relate to Elladan and Hírilasea dancing?” she asked eventually.

“We shall see, my sweet one,” Celebrían said laughingly, kissing the top of Arwen’s dark head. “Now, why don’t you grab your brother and teach him some needlework?”

Arwen smiled evilly. “What a charming idea,” she said.


Elrohir kneaded his aching fingers and sighed. This business of sewing was harder than he had thought, and the needle had pierced his skin so many times he was nearly driven to swear. Arwen had tried to explain the concept in terms he would understand.

“The fabric is your enemy, muinder,” she had said. “The needle is your sword. You wanted to use the `sword’ to kill the fabric.”

“I have no quarrel with the fabric,” Elrohir had protested. “It is this blasted needle that I hate.”

Arwen giggled. “Become the needle,” she insisted. “Use it like a sword.”

“My sword does not have string attached to it that I must weave through my enemies,” Elrohir grumbled.

“Yes, but just imagine,” Arwen said.

Now Elrohir was leaning wearily against the wall in the hallway with his eyes closed, wishing desperately that his fingers would regain at least some of their feeling.

“Lord Elrohir?” a dulcet voice asked. He opened his eyes to see Hírilasea regarding him curiously.

“Forgive me, Lady,” he said hastily, straightening himself and bowing.

“There is nothing to forgive,” Hírilasea replied. “Might I ask what you are so overcome by?”

“You may,” Elrohir said. “I was just wishing that my fingers did not ache so.”

“Ah. The warrior’s hands are strong with a sword, yet vulnerable with the needle? So it was with me when I learnt to sew. Yes,” she laughed, seeing the wonder in Elrohir’s face, “I learnt the art of swordplay and archery before the more maidenly tasks of sewing. No doubt you think that that is strange for a woman.”

“No,” Elrohir replied truthfully. “It is, perhaps, unorthodox, but if that it the way that your parents chose to raise you, than I am not one to intercede.”

Hírilasea laughed brightly. “No, you are not. And yet I do value your opinion, though in this matter there is little you can do to change my upbringing.”

Elrohir laughed also. “That is true.” He surveyed her carefully. “Tell me, my Lady, are the tales about you true?”

Hírilasea’s gaze was almost burningly keen. “I have heard many tales regarding myself, most of which are less than caring. Tell me, what tales do you speak of?”

“The ones that say that you are Mandos’ child, and that you can see the world through Ilúvatar’s gaze,” Elrohir replied.

“Ah, those tales. Fëalas has been story telling again. Yes, my Lord, they are true. You shall have to ask your brother to tell you more about the perception of the land, though. I am no poet.

“I suppose there is little more to tell about my heritage. Surely you have heard that Vairë, the Weaver, has already woven my tale?”

“No, I have not,” Elrohir said.

“My mother has shown me the tapestry of my life. It is a unique weave.” Hírilasea smiled faintly.

“You know just exactly what happens throughout your entire life?” Elrohir asked incredulously. He had certainly heard of foresight, for he possessed it to some measure, but to know at each new bend what lay beyond on the road was an alarming thought.

“Aye. When I was a child, I did not like what I saw. Yet now…” Her words faded as she gazed pensively down the hall. “Your brother is come. Let us greet him.” She smiled devilishly. “Perhaps some day soon he will feel the just bite of the needle as you have today.”

She danced gracefully away, her skirt whispering around her ankles as her feet lightly touched the earth. Elrohir did not dance, but walked quickly after her, eager to see his brother after a long day separated from him.

“Muinder!” Elladan hailed, “Lady Tavaril.”

Hírilasea’s cheeks might have been flushed from her swift movements, but Elrohir thought he detected a slight bit of bashfulness in her emerald gaze.

“I trust your afternoon was enjoyable?” Elrohir asked with a slight thread of mischief, making Hírilasea smile delightedly.

“I did,” Elladan replied pleasantly, though he was puzzled. “And you?”

“Oh,” Elrohir said, waving his hand dismissively. “It was the highlight of my week.”

Hírilasea was laughing now, and she bit her lip to hold back her mirth as Elladan looked back and forth between them with a bemused smile. Elrohir was calm and annoyingly serious, while Hírilasea was desperately trying to stay her laughter.

“I have certainly missed something here,” Elladan commented. “I will not even try to speculate.”

“Don’t,” Hírilasea grinned. “It won’t work. Your brother has gone through a rather strenuous exercise today involving needle and thread.”

Elladan laughed, now. “I see,” he chuckled. “That is a misfortune.”

Elrohir smirked darkly at him. “Your time is coming, I assure you.”

“Come, come,” Hírilasea said brightly, “let us not fight. I believe that the dinner bell rang a moment ago.”


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