THE LONELY STAR (Contd. from BD birthday party) - The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum

Birdland · 08-04-2002, 05:25 PM

Birdie was weary, but restless and bored as well. She would have even welcomed the chattering of Rose, but the hobbit-lass had chosen to sneak over to Child's room and spend the night with the comfort of her own kind.

The quest quarters of Idril's home were the most luxurious Bird had ever experienced, and she would have gratefully sunk into the swan-down coverlets of the high bed, but she was fearful to change back to human form, lest a servant walk in and catch a strange woman sleeping there, instead of a small black and white crow. She had tried sleeping with her head under one wing, then the other, but it was no use. Bird flitted her wings and landed on the window sill.

She would have thought a walled city surrounded by a crater would have been as dark as ink, but the buildings and walls of Gondolin gave off a faint, milky glow, as if every bit of starlight were captured by the city and given back again. It seemed as beautiful as any pearl to the little skin-changer. Taking her beak to the latch, she lifted it up and hopped out the window.

The honey-scented breeze caressed her feathers and she raised her head to drink in the night air. Bird knew, or gathered, that in two days time this city, and most of the people in it, would be gone. Her inner voice did not even have a chance to issue warnings. She took off, flying over the city of Gondolin at night.

Bird was soon drunk with the beauty of Turgon's creation. Northeast of Idril's house were two sparkling fountains, and Birdie dived into them like a kingfisher, splashing and laughing softly to herself as she bathed her feathers. She flew in to a silent marketplace, picking up a few forgotten scraps that to her tasted as good as any feast. She perched on the roof of a darkened house and gazed in awe at a great needle of a tower that seemed, from her perspective, to reach higher than the mountains that surrounded them. Silently, and for hours, Bird flew around the city, stopping to admire a hidden garden here, a massive piece of statuary there; drinking in the glory of Gondolin, greatest tribute to the genius, and the passions, of the Elven Kind.

At last, about a half hour before dawn, Bird found herself in a narrow, winding avenue, completely shrouded on both sides by acres and acres of roses of every kind. It took her back to the wall in Minas Tirith, where the roses had hung low and covered the first of the clues that they had found there. Bird was very tired by now, but in a good way, and she lingered among the rose trellises for a few more moments, plucking a bloom with her foot, and wishing she could morph back to woman-form - just for a moment - so she could wear it behind her ear. She sang idly and happily to herself:

O She look'd out of the window,
White as any milk;
But He look'd into the window,
As black as any silk.

Hulloa, hulloa, hulloa, hulloa,
You coal black smith!...

The song was interrupted by footsteps coming up the path. Bird shrunk back among the rosevines as a tall, black figure walked slowly down the avenue. It would have seemed that the Elf was taking in the beauty of the flowers as well, except that his head was down, and he seemed to see nothing but the walk ahead of him. Then he stopped in silence and slowly lifted his head to a dark sky with the smell of dawn.

Bird's heart stopped, as did her breath. She thought back, not so long ago, to a storm, a broken wheelhouse, and a spectre screaming into the wind.

There he was: white as milk, black as silk. The skin-changer was looking into the pale, melancholy face and dark cloaked form of Maeglin.

[ August 04, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]

08-04-2002, 05:25 PM	#11
Birdland Ghastly Neekerbreeker Join Date: Dec 2001 Location: the banks of the mighty Scioto Posts: 1,751	Birdie was weary, but restless and bored as well. She would have even welcomed the chattering of Rose, but the hobbit-lass had chosen to sneak over to Child's room and spend the night with the comfort of her own kind. The quest quarters of Idril's home were the most luxurious Bird had ever experienced, and she would have gratefully sunk into the swan-down coverlets of the high bed, but she was fearful to change back to human form, lest a servant walk in and catch a strange woman sleeping there, instead of a small black and white crow. She had tried sleeping with her head under one wing, then the other, but it was no use. Bird flitted her wings and landed on the window sill. She would have thought a walled city surrounded by a crater would have been as dark as ink, but the buildings and walls of Gondolin gave off a faint, milky glow, as if every bit of starlight were captured by the city and given back again. It seemed as beautiful as any pearl to the little skin-changer. Taking her beak to the latch, she lifted it up and hopped out the window. The honey-scented breeze caressed her feathers and she raised her head to drink in the night air. Bird knew, or gathered, that in two days time this city, and most of the people in it, would be gone. Her inner voice did not even have a chance to issue warnings. She took off, flying over the city of Gondolin at night. Bird was soon drunk with the beauty of Turgon's creation. Northeast of Idril's house were two sparkling fountains, and Birdie dived into them like a kingfisher, splashing and laughing softly to herself as she bathed her feathers. She flew in to a silent marketplace, picking up a few forgotten scraps that to her tasted as good as any feast. She perched on the roof of a darkened house and gazed in awe at a great needle of a tower that seemed, from her perspective, to reach higher than the mountains that surrounded them. Silently, and for hours, Bird flew around the city, stopping to admire a hidden garden here, a massive piece of statuary there; drinking in the glory of Gondolin, greatest tribute to the genius, and the passions, of the Elven Kind. At last, about a half hour before dawn, Bird found herself in a narrow, winding avenue, completely shrouded on both sides by acres and acres of roses of every kind. It took her back to the wall in Minas Tirith, where the roses had hung low and covered the first of the clues that they had found there. Bird was very tired by now, but in a good way, and she lingered among the rose trellises for a few more moments, plucking a bloom with her foot, and wishing she could morph back to woman-form - just for a moment - so she could wear it behind her ear. She sang idly and happily to herself: O She look'd out of the window, White as any milk; But He look'd into the window, As black as any silk. Hulloa, hulloa, hulloa, hulloa, You coal black smith!... The song was interrupted by footsteps coming up the path. Bird shrunk back among the rosevines as a tall, black figure walked slowly down the avenue. It would have seemed that the Elf was taking in the beauty of the flowers as well, except that his head was down, and he seemed to see nothing but the walk ahead of him. Then he stopped in silence and slowly lifted his head to a dark sky with the smell of dawn. Bird's heart stopped, as did her breath. She thought back, not so long ago, to a storm, a broken wheelhouse, and a spectre screaming into the wind. There he was: white as milk, black as silk. The skin-changer was looking into the pale, melancholy face and dark cloaked form of Maeglin. [ August 04, 2002: Message edited by: Birdland ]