Sinilatamo breathed deeply the fragrant air that early morning. It truly was the perfect day: azure sky like aquamarine, not a single cloud, the mountains sprouting dark green patches of pine trees among the dusting of snow. Carried by the wind, warm enough to be outdoors without cloak, the scent of newly budding flowers.
Ondolinde was a-buzz with excitement, elven maids wore their best dress and adorned their hair with fresh flowers, accompanied by elven lords in bright colours. The Alley of Roses in full blooming splendour. Buds of all hues, deep red to pink to honey yellow, dark blue and the purest white would soon grow into beautiful roses without thorns. It truly was a fair place to see, and stroll down the road past the Square of the Palace, past the Main Gates and Tumladen. Indeed, all of Ondolinde gathered onto the plains, for that day was Nost-na-Lothion, the Birth of Flowers, the festival of early spring where they would say goodbye to winter and welcome warmer days.
Sinilatamo navigated through the crowd to take place near an elleth wearing a pale blue gown and light brown hair tied in a bun. he looked around and picked a small Alfirin blossom from the ground. He placed it behind her ear, smiling as she turned to face him. “Vanesselya palan-síla, vanimelda”* She playfully swatted his arm, then gestured to keep quiet and pointed at a group of elflings gathering in a semicircle on the left of the crowd. On the right, stood King Turukano and the Lords of the Twelve Houses. The elven children began to sing, with clear, happy voices. They sang about joy, and happiness, about better days to come and the many wonders of nature that with the coming of spring would be revealed again to them, as it always will time and time again for with the end of winter’s lethargy came rebirth, and the hearts lifted in its praise.
They listened to the choir of white voices, and when they ended on a final trembling note, their King lifted a hand, commanding silence. Sinilatamo closed his eyes. Straining his ears in the absence of noise, he could feel the faintest creaking of the ice from the mountaintops. He smiled. The ice and snow woulds melt, rolling down the slopes where Tumladen would then take the water and burst into flowers. The King waved at the elflings who with cheers and shouts started running on the grassland, glad to be left free to revel and play. The adults in turn busied themselves with setting up a banquet in the open air.
They were extremely lucky, and blessed to be able to enjoy life with little care for the worries of the outside world, Sinilatamo thought, but at the same time, he often wondered about the state of Beleriand, beyond the Encircling Mountains. Were their fellow kinsmen able to celebrate the joys of life as well? Or were they engaged in constant struggle with no time for revelries, their only mindset that of survival? In these fleeting moments he felt his guaranteed safety to be very unfair.
He felt a tug on his sleeve and rose from his deep thinking as his beloved dragged him towards the banquet. He wished then, that he’d be able one day to reunite with his loved ones on the other side of the Echoriath and celebrate Nost-na-Lothion all together
*Vanesselya palan-síla, vanimelda, your beauty shines afar, my beloved
