"When the world was shattered he needed to find a new place to belong, not as such a replacement for the home he had now lost, but a place where he could form new bonds, new friendships, and in time, feel at home. In the end he settled in Lothlórien, though in his heart, he never truly called it home." - Faernathron, Days after the Sundering.
Faernathron turned and looked once more across the river to the place he had chosen for the wayhouse, it would suit fine, now all he had to do was bring together the artisans, to have it built and furnished. He knew he wanted it to reflect Lothlórien, yet, it would definately stand apart, for nothing compares to the roof of the golden Mallorns.
With a soft sigh he sat down on the grass, night was still young, and no dew had yet settled, though he was sure it would in a few hours, tomorrow promised to be yet another warm day on the hills leading up to Duillond.
Fishing out a parchment from his pocket, he looked at the fine writing upon it, reading once more the words he had himself embedded there:
"Hîril Gaomee,
It is with great sorrow I write this missive to you, with a heavy heart, and a burdened soul.
I have been tasked with forming a guard of elves, who will aid and protect those who need it, both on their way to the land of the gods, and those who will remain here, even after we are gone. Fortune has smiled upon me some would say, for the task was given to me by the lord and lady of Lothlórien, it is a great honor that they trust me thus.
But how can I focus on the task set before me, when every moment away from you tears a rent in the fabric of my being, I cannot stand the thought of you being away this long, and not knowing what has become of you, nor if you are even safe. I feel I would know if you had been hurt, or worse... yet... why do I feel pain when you are not near?.
There is so much I wish to convey, so much I need for you to understand.... to see....
Yet how can I pursue what I most desire, without abandoning who I am?".
The message ended after these words, it was clear that more should be written, yet Faernathron simply could not find the words, nor the will to continue the message. He looked at it once more, stood up, and walked to a nearby lantern, where he touched a corner of the parchment to the flame.
He stood there looking at it crumbling as fire consumed it, and when the flame reached his fingers, and he let go, that the wind could carry the ashes away, he looked at the specks of grey now being lifted away into the night, and with a soft voice made a promise to himself, "I will find a way, I must. For home... is where she is."
