Morning Mist and Silver Sun by StarSpray

Meet & Greet pt 1

Written for the February 2024 Meet & Greet instadrabble session

A fresh start

There were many in Valinor who had once dwelt in Imladris, now scattered between Tirion and Alqualondë and Valmar and other places in between. Celebrían spoke to them, and found that they dearly missed their mountain valley far away—but there was no place quite like it in Valinor.

From her grandmother’s house in Alqualondë she looked to the mountains, the Pelóri where few had gone. What hidden vales and dells lay in those deep green foothills? What hanging valleys waited to be discovered and turned into something more?

She quickly packed. There was only one way to find out.

- -

Lost in memory

“Bilbo?” A hand on his shoulder startled him, and he looked up from his contemplation of a flower bed.

“Ah, good afternoon, Master Elrond!”

“I have been calling your name for some time, Master Baggins.” Elrond smiled, traces of faint concern melting away. “What has you so distracted?”

“Oh, only thinking of old times. I’ve left a few details out of my book, I have found, and I must decide whether to include them.” But as he spoke he thought—probably not. Half an hour making the acquaintance of a young boy in Rivendell would only distract from the rest of the adventure. And anyway, that young boy was off having adventures of his own. “When do you next expect the Dúnadan to visit? I should very much like to see him. I want his opinion on a new poem.”

Elrond sighed, and sat down. “Soon, I hope,” he said.

- -

group, follow, conceptualize, button

He followed behind a tour group, listening to the guide attempt to do more than merely conceptualize the far away long ago past that was represented by the various artifacts and artworks in the museum. Occasionally he paused to examine a piece, marveling at its survival through the tumults of time and war and the elements—at the buttons still clinging to aging cloth, and to glass beads still glinting in the harsh museum fluorescent lights. Having been there, Daeron could easily picture these things as they had once been, and he could remember the things that had not survived, that had been too well-used or well-loved.

The display of musical instruments was, of course, of particular interest. He listened to the tour guide talk of ancient music and to a few young visitors lament quietly to one another that they couldn’t ever hear and could never know the tunes and melodies their most ancient ancestors had made.

Well. Perhaps not exactly, but…

Later, those museum visitors stopped outside where a busker with a flute had chosen strange and haunting melodies to play, that sounded like memories only mostly forgotten, like a dream that slipped away upon waking.

- -

Dusk, shattered, tears, silent

The soft silence of winter is shattered by the cracking of river-ice, and the flowing snow melt down rooftops and mountainsides, dripping like tears from eaves. The ground grows soggy underfoot, and the river swells up its banks, cascading through the valley on its way to find larger channels and, someday under warmer skies, the shores of the Sea.

Dusk will bring cold again, freezing the slush into slippery ice And in the morning when the sun peeks over the mountains the melting will begin all over again.

Elrond leans out of the window and smiles. Spring is coming.

- -

A favorite place

There is a small cove tucked away in a quiet part of England’s seashore, facing the east. It lies directly in the moon’s silvery path as it rises in the evening, and on starry nights mer-folk and sea-fairies can be heard sweetly singing and, if one is very lucky, seen dancing upon the sands. Mermaids dancing on land is a clumsy and silly affair, but they like to laugh at themselves, Maglor has found.

He goes there sometimes, and plays for them. And sometimes he goes when there are no parties, for Psathamos always has much to say.

- -

An unexpected visitor

Beneath the bright summer sun, Goldberry sat among the lilies and sang as she brushed her long golden hair. Tom was away leaping over the hillsides and learning the news of the world from from the passing winds and the birds.

When her song ended, Goldberry paused, tilting her head and listening to the trees’ soft whisperings. Then she laughed her surprise and said aloud, “Welcome, wanderer! You are far from the shores of the Sea.”

“Lady.” The wanderer emerged from the trees across the Withywindle. His greeting and bow were courteous and graceful, but his dark hair was all in a tangle, and his clothes were worn and frayed.

That would not do. Goldberry rose from her pool. “You are weary! Come! There is food and rest to be found in Bombadil’s house under hill. It has been long since one of the bright-eyed Eldar have visited us.”