Intimations of Mortality

Elves grow older, as by nature all living things must, but they do not age. Arwen’s grandmother -- the most ancient elf she knew -- had seen the light of the Two Trees yet appeared little older than the maidens of her household.

Arwen sings to her sleeping daughter, examining the almond-shaped eyelids (so like Galadriel’s) and the lashes fanned against her cheeks. Shorter-lived than a tree, still this child will remain in Arda long after her parents.

Now each year passes as a thief. Arwen wishes for the days when she had no need to count them.

*

It should have seemed strange to me that my parents did not age, but it never did -- for every child thinks her parents unique, and by the time I understood mine truly were, I was accustomed to their timelessness. Before my father died, little more than a scattering of grey hairs marked his years; strangers took Mother for my sister, until they met her eyes.

Now he lies on the dais, never to grow older. Mother's age shows in her slow movements though her face is as smooth as always. I fear the time left to her is short.

[a late pair for Dwim, who wanted drabbles on the theme of aging -- not just growing older, but aging]