The geese are departing from the north. From my single window I see the skeins in ragged formation arrow across the evening sky. Behind them the moon is newly risen - this season, this moon ... impossibly far away from this dark place, and what happens in this place, a great house is flooded with light and music.
Under the richly decorated ceilings,within the tree arbors festooned with lanterns, the brightest host is dancing. Maidens in gossamer dresses tip their faces up to radiant lords - shy, coy, merry, proud. The flower of elvendom gathered to celebrate autumn.
Each year I have made my way to the ball, the doors of the Vanimar household flung wide in welcome. I have waited, hoping - yet secretly secure - that every year Anglachelm would remember and send his invitation to me. The thick parchment and curled writing - and often his own addition, a line or two - just for me.
Will he notice, this year, across a room crowded with kinsfolk and friends old and new, the absence of one small, blue-eyed maiden? Has his messenger returned, shaking his head, the invitation to the ball undelivered and unopen in his hand?
I lie my cheek against the stone wall, looking out towards the autumn moon. I pretend I can hear his questions - where is Celebhir? It is not like her to miss my ball. Why the invitation undelivered? He knows I would never depart for the West without a farewell. Would he ask Galvathalion if I have sailed or the Lonnath - guardians of the way to the havens - if one small figure has been seen on the road. Dare I believe he cares enough to travel to Imladris to ask if any has seen me?
He has barely tolerated my friendship with Men - would expect to shake his head at me as soon as I made my bow to him as I entered the ball. Would look down on Araenion - ever assessing his ability to be a worthy companion. It would take little to convince Anglachelm that a Man is no fit guardian for an elven maid. Here and now, for the first time, I am glad of it. Were he to know I left Imladris only with Randir and Araenion- but two men,valiant and wise though they are - his wrath would seek them out and fall upon them if they could give no account of me.
I should not hope for his suspicion rising and seeking out the Men. I have seen enough of his pride towards the mortals I have befriended. But tonight, under this moon, I long for it.
I recall the dances of the past, partnered by Araenion - one of the few permitted, by Galvathalion - his gentle smile, Anglachelm himself, the scion of Gondolin. What would he say if he knew his swan-feather gift had been taken by dark hands?
This evening, once in all the days of sorrow since I was taken, I will sing. I open my lips and sing to the dancers far away in Falathlorn - that I may be part of the ball, be remembered, be found.
