Sereon

Golden-green ivy twined madly around the intricate leaves and berries carved into the balustrade of the airy balcony. Falling leaves of mallyrn danced slowly with one another as they made their stately decent to the pathways of Caras Galathon.

The stars wheeled overhead, those everlasting watchers. Lamps and Trees and jewels beyond thought had passed them by, yet still they danced.

The Golden Wood slept. Haunting songs in praise of distant dreams had died long ago, and the lights far in the top boughs were but a glimmer. What twinkled down was caught in the silver claps, crafted by clever hands deep under the earth, that now and again braved a melodious chime in the mossed pathways of Caras Galadhon.