Hearken Still Unsated by polutropos

Prelude

“And it is said by the Eldar that in water there lives yet the echo of the Music of the Ainur more than in any substance else that is in this Earth; and many of the Children of Ilúvatar hearken still unsated to the voices of the Sea, and yet know not for what they listen.”
- The Ainulindalë

The night sky is darker here and the stars shine brighter against its deep indigo.

The bay of a vast lake is cradled in the arms of the mountains and a dense forest slouches towards its glassy-blue waters. In the canopy, a nightingale trills. On its last note, the elf hesitating on the shore springs off a sloping rock. He breaks through the surface noiselessly and emerges moments later with silver hair clinging to the sharp angles and smooth lines of his face, star-lit droplets scattered across his skin.

“You look like a painting,” says a dark-haired elf, gliding through the water towards him. Weightless arms circle his waist and only the film of water separates skin from skin as hands ghost over his bare back. “A painting,” he kisses him, “a dance,” and again, “a song.”

Each time their damp lips brush against each other, the water contracts into a ring around their bodies and spreads out in perfect waves. To the beating of their legs below the surface, a lilting melody rises up from the lake bottom.

“We are home,” says the silver-haired elf.

But this is only a vision. It dissolves back into the Song, as it always has.