Note: Again, thanks to those that have reviewed and offer their support.
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Sing For Me.
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"I'm a bird!"
"I see that." He stepped up beside her, a smile tugging at his lips as he kissed her temple. "You'd make an excellent bird if you weren't lacking feathers, a beak, and more importantly, wings."
"I'd look good with wings."
"But not with a beak," he assured.
She laughed, arms still stretched out, icy wind blowing directly into her face. Her hair streamed out behind her like a muddied flag billowing in the breeze. She was a pillar and banner of happiness and exuberance. Hopefully she wouldn't topple over into the sea. That would be. . . Cold, and wet. Not ideal in the least.
She laughed again, unable to stop.
The view was beyond beautiful.
It was legendary.
Brown eyes fixed to the west, the setting sun illuminated the sandy rock cliffs below their feet. A hundred meters down from where they stood, an infinite body of deep sapphire water churned in the vast expanse of the ocean, rippling like liquid flames against the fragmented amber rays.
"What do you think?"
She tilted her head, eyes never leaving the spectacular vista. "It's. . ." What did she think? There weren't enough words to describe what she thought! "It's. . ." She sighed loudly; a long exhale filled with wonder and awe.
"I'm so glad you think it's," he mimicked her deep, feminine sigh.
She thumped his arm, shaking her head. "You are incorrigible."
"And yet, here you are. With me."
Eyes rolling, she pulled him close and pressed her chapped lips firmly against his.
They melted into the kiss, like butter sliding down heated skin. Drawing back, she stared up at pale blue eyes that flickered with amusement.
"It is magnificent. I've never seen anything so. . . so magical. Thank you for this," she paused, "For everything."
Lips bound together again; passion simmered beneath the surface, like hidden mythical sea-creatures dwelling in their pearly kingdoms below the frantic waves.
He smiled broadly, playfully nipping and pulling away, gasping. "I should bring you to more of these places," he breathed, "If this is the response I get."
"Down boy," she murmured, eyes twinkling. "Or should I call you a dirty old man?"
He grew serious, looking away. "I'm glad you like it here."
Something in his voice made her stop. "Why? What is it? Is something wrong?"
"I know I shouldn't have. . . But I went ahead and bought that villa by the ocean; the one we saw last week."
Relief. "I thought we had decided only to look," she chided softly. "We're not exactly going to retire this very minute."
Shrugging, "Another couple were also vying for it. It was just perfect and I couldn't let. . ." Her thumb on his mouth silenced him.
"I'm not angry," the soft tone caused him to relax. "In fact, I'm deliriously happy you decided to buy it!" Suddenly beaming, she leaped forward and threw her arms about him.
He laughed and stumbled. "Careful!"
"Mr. Archer," she whispered into the soft shell of his ear, "You should know by now that I'm never careful."
"Oh believe me," he patted her bottom, "I've known from the beginning."
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Memories.
Memories are what build and shape a person. The nature of those memories, is the core essence in defining what and who a person becomes when they reach maturity. As the years shuffle along, each added memory on the perilous path of life is a poignant lesson, taught to guide us to an ultimate inner peace where we may feel no regret for the life we led.
If blessed - lying old and crippled in bed, it will perhaps be those same memories that bring comfort.
Like during the times when death was nothing but a dream to a young and carefree spirit. Where you lived your life without a single thought for the future, tearing through each and every day as it was hurled at you. In that time, along with all the youthful exploits, death would be so distant and so far away. But even then it would linger precariously above the head like an invisible storm-cloud, waiting for the day, the hour, the minute, the very second it could burst. Yet still, no pause was given, no hint of recognition that it was noticed.
So it will be, at the single moment before breathing the last breath, you can summon up the courage to remember all that has transcended in the past. To accept every memory, whether it be cherished or wretched. Whether is brings an ocean of tears to the eyes, or laughter so loud that the very ground trembles and shakes. And just as the breath is let out, every single memory can be sighed away. The person formed by those past experiences finds peace and contentment before they are. . . gone.
But until that time, until you can let go, there will be many memories that may not bring an ounce of solace, nor peace in the cold light of day.
What happens then? Do you still remember and allow it to consume you? Or do you bury it away - lock it up in a dark corner of your mind and forget about it for the remaining years of your life, until the day you close to death? If so, then nothing will have been achieved and no lesson will have been learnt. . . And that was the crux of the problem.
To forget or to remember?
"My lady?"
She blinked. Sighed. And frowned.
Why do unwanted memories always have the unusual propensity to sneak up on a person, at any given moment? It beggared belief that her own mind could be so rude as to intrude upon her thoughts. Especially when they needed to be focused elsewhere.
"I'm sorry, Maglor."
"Are you well? You look rather pale."
Do not snap at the elf. Do not snap at the elf. . . Do not snap at the elf or he might snap you like a twig.
Do. Not. Snap. At. The. Elf.
Reining in her annoyance, she smiled thinly. "I'm fine. . . just trapped in unpleasant memories." For some reason, she could not lie. Who would have the gall to be dishonest to such a pure creature?
Maglor nodded sagely, grey eyes filled with understanding. "We all harbour such painful recollections," he murmured. "It is Eru's way of reminding us that the past cannot be forgotten. It should not be forgotten."
She looked at him shrewdly.
Riddle, riddle, cat with a fiddle. . . Except that this particular cat was in the guise of an elf, and he was one orchestra short of a fiddle. What was he hiding? Who or what was Eru? He brought up more questions than he answered.
Such remorse, such regret shining in those perfect grey eyes! It spilled from his pores like molten ash gurgling forth from a volcano of constant remembrance, so painful and gut-wrenching.
Would he tell his tale? Or would he recoil from her questions and disappear?
"Do you have memories that you shouldn't forget?" She asked boldly.
He chuckled mirthlessly. "Again, it seems I have forgotten that mortals are rather forward."
She reddened, embarrassed by the light reprimand. "I don't mean to pry. But it's not every day that I come across an elf," she muttered wryly.
Maglor's eyes bored into her. "Nor will you, or any of your people. My kin have long since departed." He smiled then, sadly. "I am the only elf you will ever have the privilege to 'come across', my lady."
Hoping she hadn't made some ridiculous faux-pas, she lowered her head in acquiescence. "Then I am glad to have met you." He wasn't even real, but he was still making her feel like a young child.
Nodding slowly, he acknowledged her deferring retreat with grace. "I will offer you a trade," he announced suddenly. "Teach me about this Age, and I shall offer to speak of the past that you clearly desire to know."
He had caught her. The wheels turning in her head. She wanted something from him; he wanted something from her. It was a win-win situation. Hopefully.
She didn't correct him when he used the word 'Age' - some things were hard to accept if you believed differently all your life. And she didn't think he would take kindly to being corrected by her.
So instead, she accepted his offer. "Fine. I'll tell you everything I know, in return for the knowledge you have." This should be interesting. She wondered what lunacy he would be able to make up. Millennia, indeed!
As if catching her thoughts, the elf almost smirked coldly. "Be forewarned," his voice was stern. "Once you learn, you cannot unlearn. That is the curse of the mind." The ominous bearing of his expression cast a ghostly chill through her veins.
"Is it really that bad?"
For some reason, she knew that he was getting the better end of the deal. And that before the end, she was going to regret asking him questions about his life, his past and his people.
"It is not bad, my lady. It is worse. Much, much worse."
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