they were standing under the mallorn tree, whose green leaves turned into pale gold that time of the year, a contrast to its silver pillars and nuts.
how is the boy, celeborn asked.
galadriel poured water on the basin, breathed on it, and looked into the mirror named after her, her hands clasping the edge. a ray of autumn light caught nenya, and it sparkled on her finger.
the water showed a boy, clapping, standing outside the tent in shire where they were celebrating bilbo's eleventy first birthday. the sky was full of lights, the fireworks danced and roared, magically choreographed by the wizard, gandalf the grey.
like a roll of film, the next scene showed how he climbed minas morgul and orthanc, how these two towers deepened the tiny hollows on both his cheeks when he smiled. it also mirrored the night he got lost in the land of mordor, how he tried to find his way out of the shadows.
they witnessed the boy and his first kiss, somewhere in the forest of isengard, the white flowers of aeglos and alfirin in bloom, the petals of small star-shaped yellow elanor turned green with envy.
in the palace of gondor, they watched as arwen and aragorn sang lullabies to him, fëanorian lamps glowed softly in the dark.
the mirror now reflects rivendell, where they find the boy in a room with vines crawling on the walls, a few leaves scattered on the uneven marble floors, the windows open and the sound of waterfalls creating music on the early hours of dawn. elrond watches the boy as he writes, as to what he is writing, the elven lord does not want to know.
you have an excuse to do almost anything, he said. today is your birthday, after all.
galadriel poured water on the basin, breathed on it, and looked into the mirror named after her, her hands clasping the edge. a ray of autumn light caught nenya, and it sparkled on her finger.
the water showed a boy, clapping, standing outside the tent in shire where they were celebrating bilbo's eleventy first birthday. the sky was full of lights, the fireworks danced and roared, magically choreographed by the wizard, gandalf the grey.
like a roll of film, the next scene showed how he climbed minas morgul and orthanc, how these two towers deepened the tiny hollows on both his cheeks when he smiled. it also mirrored the night he got lost in the land of mordor, how he tried to find his way out of the shadows.
they witnessed the boy and his first kiss, somewhere in the forest of isengard, the white flowers of aeglos and alfirin in bloom, the petals of small star-shaped yellow elanor turned green with envy.
in the palace of gondor, they watched as arwen and aragorn sang lullabies to him, fëanorian lamps glowed softly in the dark.
the mirror now reflects rivendell, where they find the boy in a room with vines crawling on the walls, a few leaves scattered on the uneven marble floors, the windows open and the sound of waterfalls creating music on the early hours of dawn. elrond watches the boy as he writes, as to what he is writing, the elven lord does not want to know.
you have an excuse to do almost anything, he said. today is your birthday, after all.
the boy looked up, looked outside the window.
now, you gave me an idea, the boy replied, he grinned.
the water on the basin now was still, asleep until the lady of the golden woods will wake it again.
aurë entuluva, she whispered.
galadriel looked into the eyes of celeborn, and they both smiled. the middle earth remembers the boy who was born on the twenty second of november.
for a blogger friend who shares my passion with books, who loves making love with ondaatje, j.r.r. tolkien and atwood, and for someone who sometimes finds himself lost in middle earth.
to the victor gregor, a happy, geeky birthday.
aurë entuluva, she whispered.
galadriel looked into the eyes of celeborn, and they both smiled. the middle earth remembers the boy who was born on the twenty second of november.
for a blogger friend who shares my passion with books, who loves making love with ondaatje, j.r.r. tolkien and atwood, and for someone who sometimes finds himself lost in middle earth.
to the victor gregor, a happy, geeky birthday.
2 comments:
i met Galadriel once and i am satisfied never to go again into that wooded place. sublime and overpowering, uplifting and defeating... i poorly wrote a blog about a part of this experience once...
Thank you so much, Moi! This is one of my best birthday gifts ever. :)
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