Post by Admin on Jan 4, 2021 2:06:58 GMT
Author: Shire Rose
The sky rose endless and untouchable as it arched over the gleaming stone of the white city. White it was called and white it was, circle upon circle of white, polished to gleaming perfection, spotless and barren. It rose, unbroken by any flush of color, no trees sported their shining leaves nor flowers their bright illumination.
For it was a city of war. There was no room for tenderness or softening of its blank and hostile walls. It was a city of warriors unused to the sound and sight of children or infants.
Long had it been since laughter rung free from Minas Anor, for Minas Anor was lost and the Tower of the Guard had stood ever-vigilant against the crushing might of its ancient enemy.
Gimli smiled upon the city and appreciated the stonework.
Aragorn looked upon it with pride for it was the city of his fathers.
The Evenstar would gleam within it when she came as a jewel within an intricate but sterile setting.
Legolas bent his bright gaze upon its fruitless whiteness and set about giving it new life.
Where the trees lay blighted and brown he touched them with his hands, white and grace-giving. Under that touch the brown quickened and the leaves sprang forth, green beneath the sun.
Under stern towers, childless and inflexible, he brought birches and oaks, tall, slender elms and shapely ash, chestnuts and apple trees, peaches, cherries and plums.
They grew and flourished under the warm touch of the sun and the pure light of the stars, brightening as they fell under the warm influence of his will.
The hobbits followed him, with bushes and bags of seeds. Sam sung merrily as he helped to plant strawberries and blueberries, sharp-branched raspberries and soft-leaved figs.
Merry and Pippin smiled and chattered as they dug holes in long-abandoned gardens, turning rich earth that had long lay barren of seed or root. They planted flowers, bright and vibrant and small and delicate, bluebonnets and lady’s slipper, Queen Miril’s lace, violets and daisies. The streets began to show color, for such was the swift growing of that which is touched by the hand of woodelf.
Flowers bloomed gaily in crowded streets and children sang and danced amid the riotous lilies. Birds returned to the city and made their homes among the sheltering trees.
At night, a silent shape shining softly in the summer air would step among the trees. Gently, it stooped and looked upon the newly-built nests, laying its blessing upon the eggs and new-born chicks.
It strode on noiseless feet, watching and guarding the fragile life within its charge. Soundlessly, it stepped upon the highest summit of the Tower of Ecthelion, to sing into the wind as it entered the city below, life-giving and fragrant.
Last of all they dug up the faded gardens of the palace and planted the most beautiful of the flowers and most fragrant of the trees for the love of the daughter of Elrond.
Within a secluded corner Legolas fashioned the Queen’s Garden with the aid of the ringbearer, cherries they planted and apples, flowering dogwood and evergreens, tall and silently guarding the entry. Bright was that garden, for Legolas brought sprigs and cuttings from his mother’s rosebushes. Up the walls, twined thick stems, laden with red and velvety blossoms. About the paths, sprung smaller bushes, fragrant yellow blooms drooping heavily.
Pure and thornless, grew the white roses, small and tender, unblemished by spot or stain they hung in snowy heaps about the bower, flooding the air with their subtle perfume. And as Frodo watched them, his own cheeks grew rosy again and the tired light of his eyes brightened with new life.
She came, on the eve of midsummer. All about her the white walls and turrets shone in the setting sun. But they did not shine as barren ivory or lie silent as the guardians of marble tombs. They bloomed with life, green and gold and red and blue, thrust into colorful relief, the whiter for the welcome contrast.
Within the reborn gardens, children sang and played as bluebirds and sparrows flitted among the branches.
They were married that night, Elfstone and Evenstar and the elf watched as his friends bound their lives together as the red and white roses wedded upon the slender trellises of the gardens.
She shone under the walls, a white gem, within the bright and living rings of her city.
In the queen’s garden, a single nightingale sang as it lite upon the white roses.
The sky rose endless and untouchable as it arched over the gleaming stone of the white city. White it was called and white it was, circle upon circle of white, polished to gleaming perfection, spotless and barren. It rose, unbroken by any flush of color, no trees sported their shining leaves nor flowers their bright illumination.
For it was a city of war. There was no room for tenderness or softening of its blank and hostile walls. It was a city of warriors unused to the sound and sight of children or infants.
Long had it been since laughter rung free from Minas Anor, for Minas Anor was lost and the Tower of the Guard had stood ever-vigilant against the crushing might of its ancient enemy.
Gimli smiled upon the city and appreciated the stonework.
Aragorn looked upon it with pride for it was the city of his fathers.
The Evenstar would gleam within it when she came as a jewel within an intricate but sterile setting.
Legolas bent his bright gaze upon its fruitless whiteness and set about giving it new life.
Where the trees lay blighted and brown he touched them with his hands, white and grace-giving. Under that touch the brown quickened and the leaves sprang forth, green beneath the sun.
Under stern towers, childless and inflexible, he brought birches and oaks, tall, slender elms and shapely ash, chestnuts and apple trees, peaches, cherries and plums.
They grew and flourished under the warm touch of the sun and the pure light of the stars, brightening as they fell under the warm influence of his will.
The hobbits followed him, with bushes and bags of seeds. Sam sung merrily as he helped to plant strawberries and blueberries, sharp-branched raspberries and soft-leaved figs.
Merry and Pippin smiled and chattered as they dug holes in long-abandoned gardens, turning rich earth that had long lay barren of seed or root. They planted flowers, bright and vibrant and small and delicate, bluebonnets and lady’s slipper, Queen Miril’s lace, violets and daisies. The streets began to show color, for such was the swift growing of that which is touched by the hand of woodelf.
Flowers bloomed gaily in crowded streets and children sang and danced amid the riotous lilies. Birds returned to the city and made their homes among the sheltering trees.
At night, a silent shape shining softly in the summer air would step among the trees. Gently, it stooped and looked upon the newly-built nests, laying its blessing upon the eggs and new-born chicks.
It strode on noiseless feet, watching and guarding the fragile life within its charge. Soundlessly, it stepped upon the highest summit of the Tower of Ecthelion, to sing into the wind as it entered the city below, life-giving and fragrant.
Last of all they dug up the faded gardens of the palace and planted the most beautiful of the flowers and most fragrant of the trees for the love of the daughter of Elrond.
Within a secluded corner Legolas fashioned the Queen’s Garden with the aid of the ringbearer, cherries they planted and apples, flowering dogwood and evergreens, tall and silently guarding the entry. Bright was that garden, for Legolas brought sprigs and cuttings from his mother’s rosebushes. Up the walls, twined thick stems, laden with red and velvety blossoms. About the paths, sprung smaller bushes, fragrant yellow blooms drooping heavily.
Pure and thornless, grew the white roses, small and tender, unblemished by spot or stain they hung in snowy heaps about the bower, flooding the air with their subtle perfume. And as Frodo watched them, his own cheeks grew rosy again and the tired light of his eyes brightened with new life.
She came, on the eve of midsummer. All about her the white walls and turrets shone in the setting sun. But they did not shine as barren ivory or lie silent as the guardians of marble tombs. They bloomed with life, green and gold and red and blue, thrust into colorful relief, the whiter for the welcome contrast.
Within the reborn gardens, children sang and played as bluebirds and sparrows flitted among the branches.
They were married that night, Elfstone and Evenstar and the elf watched as his friends bound their lives together as the red and white roses wedded upon the slender trellises of the gardens.
She shone under the walls, a white gem, within the bright and living rings of her city.
In the queen’s garden, a single nightingale sang as it lite upon the white roses.