~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ The Story ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
Sitting on a high fence in a position unattainable by a man was a minstrel of Elven heritage. He was masked, white feathers with a hint of grey covering half his face, and there were more of the swan plumes woven into his silvery mane.
In the moonlight he strummed his harp softly, for the music inside the hall was what others, inside and out, were dancing to, and he was alone with his thoughts for the moment. Across the lawn he was spied by an elleth who was fair as she was ancient, and she glided through the grass, seemingly disturbing not a blade as she moved. “May I join you?” she asked as she approached.
Looking around, the Swan saw no others near. He nodded and took his hands from the strings, using one to steady his instrument, while the other was offered to the lady. She took hold of his hand and stepped on one of the slats of the fence. Moments later she was perched next to him on the fence, though his relaxed pose with one leg balanced along the top of the fence and the other hanging off was countered by her proper position, with her toes pointing to the ground and her ankles crossed, hands folded atop her pale blue skirts.
“I’ve not heard you sing this eve,” she said, attempting to strike up a conversation. The Swan merely shook his head. “Why not share your voice?”
“I’ve been lacking inspiration. Weddings are a difficult time to create songs with so much energy circulating in one place.”
Tilting her head slightly, the lady asked, “Why not sing one you already know?”
“Because you’ve heard them all before.”
“I never tire of your voice,” she pressed on. The Swan smiled and lowered his eyes to his harp and stroked the strings. “Perhaps I might suggest a tune, one we could both sing?”
Without having to be told which song she was requesting, the Swan began to play, and in a soft, yet clear voice, sang only for the lady to hear:
“When I first saw her standing there
Glit’tring maid with golden hair
I thought to myself – Im-poss-i-ble
Smile warm and face so fair
Into her eyes I’d gladly stare
I thought to myself – Im-poss-i-ble
The thoughts I had – were they love or lust
But I had to know – I knew I must
Yet my own words – I could not trust
I could say only one thing –
Im-possible!
I think that she knew,
For it was then that she came.
I do not know why,
But I called out a name.
It was not her own,
Though she smiled all the same.
And said these words to me:”
The Swan continued to play as the lady beside him sang now, and each of them stared into the eyes of the other as she did:
“It feels I know you from somewhere
You cannot know the load I bear
If you do then – It’s possible
If we had one life to share
Will you love me? Will you care?
If you do then – It’s possible
These thoughts you have – they seem quite rushed
And I must tell you – I’m feeling flushed
Yet something inside tells me it’s just
I am feeling them too and –
It’s possible!”
The harp song stopped abruptly, and the Swan reached his fingers forward, touching the lady’s cheek with the back of his hand. “I’ve missed you, my love,” he said.
“Come back to me, then. Come back to Lorien,” she whispered for his ears only. “I know you love to sing, but I miss you more than you can imagine. You sleep on the road, housed at inns or sleeping in the woods. I awake each morning to hope I shall find you beside me and not an empty space in our bed.”
“I will return home soon, my love,” he promised, withdrawing his hand before anyone could spy them. “Thank you for singing with me, my lady,” he said as he helped her back down from her perch.
“Thank you for allowing me the privilege, my lord,” she answered, and then in a much lower voice as she stood very near to him, she looked up and said, “I love you, Celeborn.”
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ The End ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
