It's such a silly place. I understand it but it's so silly.
Well, what's osanwë for if it's not for wowing me with pretty Valinor slideshows?
The sky is shimmering, gold and silver and where they meet they're white with ripples of the deep ultraviolet she couldn't see before Curufinwë made her the enchanted glasses. There's a hill, lightly sloping, children rolling down the embankments, people picnicking in the shade, and there's a city on the hill, white stone with high walls, glittering.
The streets would be wide but in fact are crowded with carts; each of them a different and extravagant work of engineering, many of them obviously a bad idea - carts of stained glass, carts of blown glass, crystal and copper and steel.
Maitimo is standing at the end of the street. His hair is done up elaborately in eight crisscrossing braids, he's wearing a circlet, his robes are red and silver and pool at his feet without getting dusty.
Lúthien said she'd shown you osanwë collaborative imagining -
She did, we chased each other around and I got creative and she declared defeat. Loki plops herself into the street. This is gorgeous, although some of those carts look like they'll fall apart if they run into each other.
Is this rate of jewelry acquisition customary? Seems unsustainable.
Some of the other carts have food. She can smell it. I can't do taste, though. Shame, I bet Thauron'd would have taught me if I'd asked, if I'd caught him in the right mood.
Tirion-Maitimo waves a hand and everyone backs off a few paces. They wade on through. The storefronts are getting more official and more elaborate. The buildings here all have shady facades under which people are arguing animatedly, or eating, or lying with their heads in the lap of their husband or wife, using gemstones to make rainbows flicker across the awnings. Rainbows are more vivid in Valinor.
Occasions when it's more appropriate for me to look shiny than lethal are few and far between on Asgard, and I never cared that much about what I wore, so I don't have that much jewelry. She sticks a clip in her hair anyway.
The street meets a dozen other streets in an enormous plaza whose centerpiece is an enormous fountain, easily a hundred feet high; you can feel the mist on the air even here. Children are playing in its base. The palace, ahead, is clearly held up more by magic than by stone, marble that thin could not support a dome that large or that elaborate. Some of the people up ahead don't move out of her way, but she has to nearly bump into them to realize that they're statues, astonishing ones, a woman resting her head on a man's shoulder as they stare adoringly at a child on the edge of the fountain.
My mother did those all over the city. There's one of each of us.
You're the tour guide. Although I suspect it might be mildly frustrating to try to actually read library books in a collaborative imagining?
The next room is brighter, more spacious, the walls some kind of engraving with glass incorporated that tells the story of the arrival of the Noldor in Valinor. There's three concentric elevated semicircles of marble and atop them a very glittery throne. Maitimo vanishes from in front of her and is suddenly sitting atop it, eyes alight, smiling at her.