And the nightingales sing by daughterofshadows

Celebrían’s absence hung like a cloud over the valley, sapping all happiness and hope from them.

Ever since Nana had left, Arwen had found sleep difficult to come by.

So here she was, another night spent awake, listening to the nightingales singing in the garden.

Finally, she had had enough.

She could not spend any longer lying here, waiting for the sleep that eluded her.

Arwen found her shoes and pulled over a tunic she had stolen from Elladan while the twins had been out hunting.

She put her ear to the door. Everything was quiet outside.

Excellent.

The lines on Ada’s face had deepened with every passing day, and she did not wish to add to his pain.

He would worry if he knew she wasn’t sleeping.

The moonlight shone into her room when she opened the curtains.

If she was very careful, she could climb onto the tree outside her window and join the nightingales in their song.

She had sneaked in and out of her room that way many times.

Arwen settled comfortably on one of the thick branches, leaning back against the warm bark.

One of the nightingales hopped onto her knee, still chirping its nightly melody.

Arwen gave it a smile.

She loved the nightingales singing in the garden.

Their song never failed to lighten her heart.

Slowly, Arwen found herself drifting off.

The nightingales followed her into her dreams.

Or maybe Arwen had followed them into theirs?

She stood in an open field.

The nightingales still sang, but she could not see them.

The moon had disappeared, but small flames danced all over the plain.

There were men, too.

Suddenly, one sparked, growing bigger and bigger.

Arwen cried out.

Didn’t they see?

They would burn!

She wanted to run towards them, but someone caught her wrist.

“Peace, daughter. They will not be harmed. See?”, a voice whispered in her ear.

The speaker’s beard tickled the skin below Arwen’s ear, but somehow, she knew if she were to turn around, there would be no one.

“What are they doing?”, Arwen asked.

A woman spoke up on her other side.

“They call them hot air balloons. Men use them to fly. See, the first ones are rising!”

She muttered something else under her breath, but Arwen could not hear it.

The man, however, replied, “Oh, hush, Nightingale! We cannot all transform into a bird if we wish to take to the skies. Some of us have to find other ways to fly!”

They both laughed.

Arwen watched in awe, as the balloons slowly rose from the ground. Higher and higher they went, glowing beacons against the dark sky.

She wondered what it would feel like to fly with them.

Arwen did not know how long she was standing there, watching the field slowly empty and the sky being filled as more and more balloons ascended.

She felt calmer than she had in a very long time.

“Do not worry, sweet daughter. You will find your own ways to fly. The days may feel dark, but hope will return”, the man whispered and pressed a kiss on the top of her head.

Then the woman caressed the nape of her neck with a cool hand.

“Time to wake up, Evenstar! The nightingales’ song is almost over!”

Arwen opened her eyes.

The nightingales had gone quiet, and dawn had turned the sky a faint pink.

The sun had not yet peeked over the horizon, but Arwen could hear the valley slowly waking up.

For the first time in months, she felt ready to face the day.

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