Galadriel had, in her time, sung a great many songs while walking. In her travels it was common, even in Thedas she tended toward old Quendi songs, but she had never had overmuch skill with singing. Her daughter and granddaughter were both far sights better than she when it came to song, and beyond them the old bards remained--it had been long enough that she had forgotten the lilt of one of the most masterful. At first, she hardly recognized the song was being sung, soft and distant as it was it felt more like memory than reality.
It took her longer than she would admit to realize what was happening. Her years had made her far sharper and more attentive than she had been in her youth and such violations rang across her fea like striking a bell. Now, distracted and exhausted as she was, Maglor's song was able to float across her mind and lift her from the bare state she'd fallen into. When she finally realized what it was that eased the pain in her limbs and helped glaze the turmoil in her mind, she was equal parts thankful and livid--but there were precious few who could manage this feat and fewer still who knew such songs.
It cost her dearly to find him, without the power of the ring the price of such actions was steep, but she paid it. Her heart told her where he stood and, among the crowd traveling in the caravan, she was able to turn and spy him. Her eyes locked on his at a distance and, without uttering a word, she spoke to him.
That she could do as much meant that he was no dream, no phantom conjured by the Fade. She was uncertain if she was gladdened by this fact.
It is dangerous to play old songs here, cousin, too many linger still.
She arched a brow as she peered at him. He did not look as she recalled, but she had not seen him before he disappeared. He was diminished, moreso than even she, but it was still hard to recall that she had some fondness for him. There was no tone to be had in her voice, but it felt dispassionate all the same:
Come speak with me or vanish once more; I will have no part in preserving distance, not here.
no subject
It took her longer than she would admit to realize what was happening. Her years had made her far sharper and more attentive than she had been in her youth and such violations rang across her fea like striking a bell. Now, distracted and exhausted as she was, Maglor's song was able to float across her mind and lift her from the bare state she'd fallen into. When she finally realized what it was that eased the pain in her limbs and helped glaze the turmoil in her mind, she was equal parts thankful and livid--but there were precious few who could manage this feat and fewer still who knew such songs.
It cost her dearly to find him, without the power of the ring the price of such actions was steep, but she paid it. Her heart told her where he stood and, among the crowd traveling in the caravan, she was able to turn and spy him. Her eyes locked on his at a distance and, without uttering a word, she spoke to him.
That she could do as much meant that he was no dream, no phantom conjured by the Fade. She was uncertain if she was gladdened by this fact.
It is dangerous to play old songs here, cousin, too many linger still.
She arched a brow as she peered at him. He did not look as she recalled, but she had not seen him before he disappeared. He was diminished, moreso than even she, but it was still hard to recall that she had some fondness for him. There was no tone to be had in her voice, but it felt dispassionate all the same:
Come speak with me or vanish once more; I will have no part in preserving distance, not here.