The Song of the Dance
folder
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
1,445
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
-Multi-Age › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
10
Views:
1,445
Reviews:
6
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
The Report
THE SONG OF THE DANCE
= = = = =
Chapter 4: The Report
Haldir led the way up the winding flat stairway past the welcoming hall to the throne room. There were no attendants nor counselors, no advisors nor other hangers-on, only Celeborn and Galadriel waiting with remote patience and cool welcome. For this privacy, Haldir was eternally grateful. He approached to bow before his king and queen, for this is what they were to him even if they claimed no such titles. “My Lord. My Lady.”
“Haldir of the Guard,” Celeborn greeted him. Haldir could see curiosity in those silver eyes, for he had apparently disobeyed a direct order, an order to present The Dancer. There was no offense or anger, but he could see they were eager for news. “You were sent on a mission by me,” the Lord proceeded, ever kind and kingly, though Haldir could see also amusement in the elf’s fair face. “In five months, what have you learned?”
Haldir’s grin was self-deprecating and rather dismal. “I have learned that very few have the same faith that you do. Fewer could tell me of The Dance at all. And in all your lands, I have found but one elf capable of the Art itself.”
When Haldir halted altogether, Celeborn leaned forward in anticipation, almost on the verge of reprimanding his March Captain. “And you were instructed to escort The Dancer hither, were you not?”
“I was,” Haldir conceded. “But in my research I have uncovered much about The Lost Ways. The tradition of The Dance is accompanied by many small rituals and customs that have been buried in the past, and one of its most important aspects is the Mystery that surrounds it. In long ages past, beyond my reckoning, when Old was new andn thn the elder among us were still young, a Dancer was more than entertainment or mere profession. A Dancer was eroticism and joy and above all, Mystery. Thus, I have brought with mt Tht The Dancer himself, but his Attendant. If you will permit it, she will speak to you privately about this matter, for I can tell you no more.”
As Haldir spoke, Celeborn listened with wide-eyed fascination. Galadriel remained distant as she observed both what Haldir said and what he did not say. She also watched Celeborn’s reaction.
And when her husband turned to her in silent inquiry, she said, “Let it be done.”
Haldir stepped aside, bowing as a stooped form in a long black cloak glided into the room.
The stranger also bowed before thin white arms reached up to pull back her hood.
As one, Galadriel and Celeborn rose from their thrones and reverently ducked their heads in courtesy to one older than they. The Lady spoke. “Welcome, Iarwen, to C Gal Galadon. It seems that my wisdom of ages is plagued also with forgetfulness, for I do not see how I could have neglected your aid in this matter. dir dir was wise to seek you out.” Turning to the one in question, she ordered, “You may leave us.”
Again did Haldir make his obeisance before leaving as silently as he had come.
Alone with the ancient crone, Celeborn watched as Galadriel descended the steps to confront the Old One. Iarwen smiled. “You have not grown forgetfuut put prideful,” she admonished the Lady of the Golden Wood. “But it is a pride worthy of a seer such as yourself. I think it is better that I am forgotten in these days of peace, and minimally feared by my fellows. I should hate to be bothered every day of the year by distraught elves who think to solve all their problems with a potion or a spell.”
Galadriel saw the humor, the eternal amusement in that wise old face, and smiled with relief. “They are not so bothersome as all that,” the Lady offered.
“No indeed, they respect you far too much to be loitering about your mirror and begging favor where they are not wanted. But I have not come to speak of your magic.”
“You have come on behalf of my request to give the gift of The Dance to the elves of Arda,” Galadriel wondered, still amazed that she had all but dismissed this old elf whose age was unknown, whose knowledge was boundless.
“I have.”
“Will you come above?” Celeborn asked.
“It would be best,” Iarwen agreed. “The less chance of being overheard, the better, for the Mysteries are powerful and sacred.”
So, the three elves climbed up to the highest flet where Galadriel’s private quarters lay high above the rest of the city. They sat themselves round a cozy table and Celeborn prepared the tea, listening to the ladies speak.
“As a rule, I would tell only what you need to know,” said Iarwen. “But I trust you, my good Lady, my kind Lord. So I will tell you more,” she promised with that intriguing grin.
The Lord returned with the tea to join them, and Celeborn and Galadriel listened in silent awe, the innocence and wonder in their faces reminiscent of children gathered round to hear a new tale of adventure, and they fell into the story that Iarwen wove with her ancient tales.
“You know of the Themes that surrounded our creation, Songs that had more than melody and harmony, Songs that took form and are weaved into the very fiber of our bodies and the essence of our souls. When the firstborn came into existence, they were close to these songs, and sang them over and over, though they ever changed and grew. And though time passes slowly for us, it does pass. And though we are brave and free, even elves are plagued by doubt and fear. And for this reason, many traditions have been lost to us.
“The Dance was a revered Act. It was practiced rarely and only in times of celebration. The Dance was an Art of expression. And this is how it works: The Dancer summons within himself the essence of those ancient melodies, harmonies, and variations. He employs movement, rhythm, song to express the primal urges within us all, the lust and passion and also the most driving force in each of us, not to procreate but to share ourselves with another. The Dance is not about release or sex itself, but about making connections. Any who witness The Dance are caught in its magic – its Song – and as physical beings we are overwhelmed by the spiritual nature of this act that words cannot describe. It connects the body to the soul. It connects the heart to the mind. And it drives us to connect our individual self to another.
“And it is dangerous; it is perilous, this must be understood. For the union that The Dance drives us to make is not only physical, but also spiritual. Any bonds formed as a result of The Dance are in some way permanent, and go beyond pleasure and love.
“Yes, that is why it was feared, that is why it was banned. That is why this Old Knowledge has been lost. But if you think today’s people are ready to accept it without fear, to turn to each other in joy and open acceptance, then I will help to bring this ancient Art back.”
Galadriel nodded and finally spoke. “I am ready. They are ready. I have read it in their hearts.”
Iarwen nodded. “Then this is what shall happen…”
TBC
= = = = =
Chapter 4: The Report
Haldir led the way up the winding flat stairway past the welcoming hall to the throne room. There were no attendants nor counselors, no advisors nor other hangers-on, only Celeborn and Galadriel waiting with remote patience and cool welcome. For this privacy, Haldir was eternally grateful. He approached to bow before his king and queen, for this is what they were to him even if they claimed no such titles. “My Lord. My Lady.”
“Haldir of the Guard,” Celeborn greeted him. Haldir could see curiosity in those silver eyes, for he had apparently disobeyed a direct order, an order to present The Dancer. There was no offense or anger, but he could see they were eager for news. “You were sent on a mission by me,” the Lord proceeded, ever kind and kingly, though Haldir could see also amusement in the elf’s fair face. “In five months, what have you learned?”
Haldir’s grin was self-deprecating and rather dismal. “I have learned that very few have the same faith that you do. Fewer could tell me of The Dance at all. And in all your lands, I have found but one elf capable of the Art itself.”
When Haldir halted altogether, Celeborn leaned forward in anticipation, almost on the verge of reprimanding his March Captain. “And you were instructed to escort The Dancer hither, were you not?”
“I was,” Haldir conceded. “But in my research I have uncovered much about The Lost Ways. The tradition of The Dance is accompanied by many small rituals and customs that have been buried in the past, and one of its most important aspects is the Mystery that surrounds it. In long ages past, beyond my reckoning, when Old was new andn thn the elder among us were still young, a Dancer was more than entertainment or mere profession. A Dancer was eroticism and joy and above all, Mystery. Thus, I have brought with mt Tht The Dancer himself, but his Attendant. If you will permit it, she will speak to you privately about this matter, for I can tell you no more.”
As Haldir spoke, Celeborn listened with wide-eyed fascination. Galadriel remained distant as she observed both what Haldir said and what he did not say. She also watched Celeborn’s reaction.
And when her husband turned to her in silent inquiry, she said, “Let it be done.”
Haldir stepped aside, bowing as a stooped form in a long black cloak glided into the room.
The stranger also bowed before thin white arms reached up to pull back her hood.
As one, Galadriel and Celeborn rose from their thrones and reverently ducked their heads in courtesy to one older than they. The Lady spoke. “Welcome, Iarwen, to C Gal Galadon. It seems that my wisdom of ages is plagued also with forgetfulness, for I do not see how I could have neglected your aid in this matter. dir dir was wise to seek you out.” Turning to the one in question, she ordered, “You may leave us.”
Again did Haldir make his obeisance before leaving as silently as he had come.
Alone with the ancient crone, Celeborn watched as Galadriel descended the steps to confront the Old One. Iarwen smiled. “You have not grown forgetfuut put prideful,” she admonished the Lady of the Golden Wood. “But it is a pride worthy of a seer such as yourself. I think it is better that I am forgotten in these days of peace, and minimally feared by my fellows. I should hate to be bothered every day of the year by distraught elves who think to solve all their problems with a potion or a spell.”
Galadriel saw the humor, the eternal amusement in that wise old face, and smiled with relief. “They are not so bothersome as all that,” the Lady offered.
“No indeed, they respect you far too much to be loitering about your mirror and begging favor where they are not wanted. But I have not come to speak of your magic.”
“You have come on behalf of my request to give the gift of The Dance to the elves of Arda,” Galadriel wondered, still amazed that she had all but dismissed this old elf whose age was unknown, whose knowledge was boundless.
“I have.”
“Will you come above?” Celeborn asked.
“It would be best,” Iarwen agreed. “The less chance of being overheard, the better, for the Mysteries are powerful and sacred.”
So, the three elves climbed up to the highest flet where Galadriel’s private quarters lay high above the rest of the city. They sat themselves round a cozy table and Celeborn prepared the tea, listening to the ladies speak.
“As a rule, I would tell only what you need to know,” said Iarwen. “But I trust you, my good Lady, my kind Lord. So I will tell you more,” she promised with that intriguing grin.
The Lord returned with the tea to join them, and Celeborn and Galadriel listened in silent awe, the innocence and wonder in their faces reminiscent of children gathered round to hear a new tale of adventure, and they fell into the story that Iarwen wove with her ancient tales.
“You know of the Themes that surrounded our creation, Songs that had more than melody and harmony, Songs that took form and are weaved into the very fiber of our bodies and the essence of our souls. When the firstborn came into existence, they were close to these songs, and sang them over and over, though they ever changed and grew. And though time passes slowly for us, it does pass. And though we are brave and free, even elves are plagued by doubt and fear. And for this reason, many traditions have been lost to us.
“The Dance was a revered Act. It was practiced rarely and only in times of celebration. The Dance was an Art of expression. And this is how it works: The Dancer summons within himself the essence of those ancient melodies, harmonies, and variations. He employs movement, rhythm, song to express the primal urges within us all, the lust and passion and also the most driving force in each of us, not to procreate but to share ourselves with another. The Dance is not about release or sex itself, but about making connections. Any who witness The Dance are caught in its magic – its Song – and as physical beings we are overwhelmed by the spiritual nature of this act that words cannot describe. It connects the body to the soul. It connects the heart to the mind. And it drives us to connect our individual self to another.
“And it is dangerous; it is perilous, this must be understood. For the union that The Dance drives us to make is not only physical, but also spiritual. Any bonds formed as a result of The Dance are in some way permanent, and go beyond pleasure and love.
“Yes, that is why it was feared, that is why it was banned. That is why this Old Knowledge has been lost. But if you think today’s people are ready to accept it without fear, to turn to each other in joy and open acceptance, then I will help to bring this ancient Art back.”
Galadriel nodded and finally spoke. “I am ready. They are ready. I have read it in their hearts.”
Iarwen nodded. “Then this is what shall happen…”
TBC