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LordBeren-Haunted
Dawn had barely broken over the horizon as the shadows hung like a loose black cloak, pouring downward into the woven valleys below. As the faint sound of an eagle's caw cried out, gliding in and out of the mist. Their room was warm and simmered in a crackling fire, Beren fed every few hours now as Autumn lad her gentle hand into the upcoming winter just like a faithful bride. Every season had a purpose and task.
From Summer, spring, into the cooling embrace of fall. Just as the season's in one's life served. Yavanna intricate threading held lessons for us all. Autumn was coming to its end, a storybook flickering on its last page. Jewel coloured crisp leaves, like a quilt, tucked away the rich birthing soil before winter could lay its brisk fingers along the lands. Tinuviel was always sensitive to the cold, as most of her kind were. In the winter months, elvens mostly stayed in their homes, sipping herbal teas collected in the summer and spring months.
It was a time of reflection from fall and deepening roots come winter. In spring, they emerged once more, churning the soil for new growth to rise up once again. She curled her slender leg over Beren's furry one, humming as his long slick strands played upon her succulent flesh, sweeter than any flute player could weave a song. As she laid lost in her thoughts, not entirely ready to open her sleepy eyes, she shivered slightly as she heard groaning, whimpers slip past Beren's lips, almost like a boyish cry. Her violet eyes fluttered open at once and could see he was still fast asleep, but tears etched the edges of his eyes, and she knew he must be dreaming, haunted by memories.
Her mother had told her stories of her father too, who would suffer in his sleeping hours when Tinuviel would hear the clattering of pots, glasses clinking in the darkness of night and awaken to her mother fingering through her herbs and carefully sprinkling them into a sachet.
She always with a warm smile as if rose honey spread across her petal lips, would tell her young daughter to sit upon the bench for the spirits of their ancestors must have awakened her knowing she would need this lesson when she to find a man such as her father with a warrior's heart that sometimes became haunted. She explained to her daughter that the world was not always as it seemed and held her daughter's wide eyes fawning gaze, knowing Tinuviel already knew this for she was part Maia and could see past the veil, unlike her father whom would only brush along the etches as spirits clung to his life force when he returned home from a battle.
"'Tis a warrior's burden, Luthien. For the lives they sometimes must take and the one's that are lost. The misty lands hold many secrets and spirits linger between the shadow of the trees. But only emerge under a silken onyx canvas while the ancestor's shimmering starry eyes guide them to a soul who could bear their last cries, words they never said before they passed suddenly. Your father is a strong man, and he is placed with this task at times. Although he does not always know. Or hear them clearly, he feels their presence as they weigh upon him in the night. With this sachet I place it under his pillow to expel the voices from within and then, in our sindarin tongue, I bless him with the placing of my lips."
As Tinuviel continued to hear Beren's broken whimpers and cries, she slipped out of bed and prepared the very same sachet as her mother did long ago, then slipped it under his pillow and sat over him with her tiny legs tucked under her thighs. He must have felt her eyes watching over him or perhaps the loss of her curvy body at his side as he slid her large hand over her soft leg and spoke her name, which made her smile. "My dearest mortal. You are troubled and aren't fully aware. Hold no question with my words or sweet caresses, helping you to release which is not yours to bear."
With her dainty hands she cupped the curvature of his cheeks and sighed lovingly as to her, it encompassed the heart of the forest newly sprouted thin branches upon his face. Tinuviel closed her eyes and quietly called upon the Valar for blessings as Beren drifted back into slumber and leaned over him, placing her satin lips to his forehead and spoke in her native tongue. "Release his mind and unbind his thoughts, by all of Valar you have no place in this mortal's heart."
When she felt his mind lax she swept her lips to his lips but first kissed each side of his cheeks not for the purpose of the ritual but because her own heart ached when he was in pain. Moulding her lips to his bottom tier only, she kissed him in the most loving, tender of ways, asking the Valar to seal their words and bring her love peace as she moved to his top one, then moulded her small lips over his sealing her prayers. When she was through, she slipped her curvy frame back under the sheets, rubbing her tiny splayed fingers over his bare hairy chest that still held such wonder and intrigue. Her reminded her so much of her father, although a mortal man. His heart, loyalty was devoted and wise, and he protected the less fortunate just as Thingol had.
Both were great leaders who did not speak often, but when they had, it was profound. And many of the man followed them both into battle, often without question, trusting their judgement even over their very own. She hoped when they finally met that it would be this her father would see in her Beren and not the misdeeds feed by a thousand lineages misguided lies and thoughts to cast away her kin in his younger days. Hatred is a virus that only spreads when one feeds it with ignorance and misunderstandings.
Tinuviel knew if it was not stopped it would poison all of Middle Earth, and it would not be the orcs they all feared causing the end. Today marked three months since the burning of her home and the following days of the camp. She would hold a ceremony, vigarel and hoped the villagers would find it in their hearts to join her in honouring the loss of her own as well as theirs. Mayhap in doing so, love could bloom in the hate that bore and healing, a new age could emerge, even in starting small it would spread and blossom in the hearts of all.
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