Sunlight
Ilesté walked along the golden-sanded shores of life, the warm, silken air blowing around her, the motherly sun laughing as her shy smile became one of radiant happiness. She was filled with the desire to run, and run, and as she did, she found her feet couldn't step fast enough so she flew, an exalted being, then she let herself drop, rolling over and over in the sand, until she lay, breathless, looking into the sky. Slowly it changed, faded, solidified, to become a white ceiling.
The room was painted all white, so it shone with a soft brilliance as the afternoon light poured in. Ilesté was lying in a large brass bed, on a simple, luxurious cotton sheet, with the duvet gathered around her. There was little furniture in the room, just a small pine wardrobe on the opposite wall, a chair and writing desk with pen, ink, and paper, beneath the window, and directly to her left, at the opposite end to the door, was a small wooden dressing table with white-washed legs, upon which stood a mirror and a glass of water. Slowly, savouring the feel of cotton slipping beneath her, she got up and walked to the glass of water. There was no pain.
As she was putting the empty glass down, she noticed in the mirror that she was wearing a different dress- a pale yellow nightie. The person who had lifted her up must have brought her here, and dressed her in it.
Suddenly she heard a noise outside, followed by the thumping of little running feet, and the creaking of floorboards as bigger ones pursued, trying to be quiet. There was a hiss:
"Ssshh! Gideon, come back! You'll disturb the guests! You are so naughty!" The so was hissed with particular vehemence, but you could tell the child, for it was a child's voice, was more excited than cross.
Ilesté watched the door, slightly nervous but not afraid as a small chubby hand appeared around it, followed by a three-year-old boy. He was grinning mischievously. Catching sight of Ilesté, his face turned solemn, he put a finger to his lips, and entreated her with round blue eyes not to give him away. Then he scuttled across the room and hid under the writing desk.
A moment later the other footsteps came to a halt outside the door, and, after knocking twice, a girl a year or so younger than Ilesté entered, apologizing as she did so:
"I'm very sorry for disturbing you; I think my little brother just-" seeing Ilesté she broke off.
"Hello," she said staring. The way the girl met Ilesté's eyes without hesitation, the way she held herself, the way her bright green irises sparkled with the residue of the childish mischief which her younger brother possessed in such quantities; all were signs of this girl's confidence. Yet, unlike so many with that kind of certainty in them, her confidence went hand in hand with awareness of others. With all the politeness and charm of the best of the nobility, she shook herself from her stare, and skipped to the end of the bed.
"Sorry about bursting in like this!"
"Oh, it is fine!" replied Ilesté, piecing together her scraps of the Westron, "It is nice to meet someone new- well, two new people!" The girl smiled gratefully at Ilesté, relieved to know she wasn't going to get into trouble.
"Do you come from near here? Your accent isn't one I recognise... in fact, it doesn't really sound like an accent… oh bother- I'm rambling again." She rolled her eyes at herself.
"I am just learning this tongue," explained Ilesté. "My name is Ilesté. I woke up here a small part of time ago."
"Ilesté- that sounds lovely. Not like my name: Aurelen. Why Mummy and Daddy called me Aurelen I don't know. Well, I do actually- it comes from dawn or early morning or something along those lines. Apparently they first told me that when I was small, and I threw a tantrum, because I didn't like the morning; I wanted to stay up late, so I liked the evening better. And I demanded to be called Evie. So could you please call me that."
"I will. Though Aurelen is a nice name." This was the first time Ilesté had met someone of approximately her own age, and she had taken an instant liking to Evie.
"I suppose the name's alright. That story does make me sound like a selfish brat doesn't it?"
"Selfish brat?" Ilesté queried.
"It means like, idiotic child," Evie clarified.
"No, I don't think you were an idiotic child. You should be allowed to choose your own name. Your name is what describes you, and you know you better than anyone else does! I made mine up." Evie looked at Ilesté with a kind of respectful awe.
At that moment there was a little cough from beneath the writing desk. Evie spun around and hauled Gideon out.
"You have to go back to the nursery, Gideon," rebuked Evie, mock-sternly.
"Noooooo," wailed the toddler pitifully, then ruined the affect slightly by sitting down on the floor with a bump, rocking with laughter. Evie sat, gathering him onto her lap, and Ilesté came and knelt beside her.
"Come, let's all go to the nursery!"
The leaf-skeletons shone silver in the wood; their fragile shapes captured wisps of memory and snatches of forgotten music snagged on their beautiful, delicate veins. The elf trod on them contemptuously, smearing the broken fragments into the damp earth. He wiped his shoe, then walked on.
A smile twisted his face as he walked through Lothlorien, surveying the deserted glades, the stoneless, leafy caverns echoing with silence. The bridges between trees that once glowed with the light of the elven and swayed as light feet ran along them, now swung, creaking ominously, dark shapes above. Rotting leaves layered the floor, covering paths, choking streams. He came to her stream, the water of which had been so pure that she enchanted it, and poured it into the stone font, and was able to see, and show Frodo, time. The elf walked up and peered into the stagnant rainwater that had collected there. He saw himself reflected- long, straight black hair, distinguishable from his robe only because it shone slightly, with an evil luminescence. He looked up, to gap in the canopy, to the stars, and sneered,
"Your tree-city decays, Galadriel."
