The night was late. Despite the winter, the air was surprisingly mild. A full moon accompanied by the stars shone down upon the cobbled road that stretched through the tree-dotted landscape alongside the river Lune.
Galvathalion was in thoughts. It felt like mere moments ago that he had left his friends in Duillond to undertake the journey to Celondim. Yet he had been riding the whole night. And it had been a whole night of memories, to the extent that he had not cared much for the road ahead of him, but left that detail to his horse, Galamdir. He had traveled this road as many times as his master, and knew it as well as him. All that had mattered to Galvathalion this night was his inner self. His thoughts. The memories from the past.
Many faces had he seen within his head. Aldalin, and Celebhir. Two ladies of which he had fond memories, but which he, to his grief, had lost contact with. Where were they now? Had they already sailed? Were they still roaming the great lands of Middle Earth? These thoughts led him to the name of Nimuviel. A young elf whose company he had greatly cherished. Her spirit had been curious and her heart courageous. Serathuil and Liwurien had also been among the Eldar of their company. And now they were all memories to him. With closed eyes, he spoke a whispering prayer directed at them all, and wished within his heart that they were safe, from wherever they were gazing upon the same stars as he did.
In the distance the sky had begin to turn red, to herald that Anor would soon rise, and bathe the now dark road in golden light. This was something that Galvathalion did not notice, though. For he saw new faces, now from the more recent past. Naruvir, the young elf maid with the unbendable will and cheerfull spirit. She had already crossed the water to the Undying Land. Aearlinn, another young elf whom shared his great care and compassion for all things living. Many friends had she among the birds, and knowledge of their speech.
Before the horse and its rider, the spires of Celondim slowly rose from behind the hills. The first of Anors rays broke through the sky and heralded the banisment of the night. For this time.
Mirineth and Isilmewen. Two of his closest friends, had recently been walking with him by the harbor and in the gardens of the small port town. It had only been days agom while he had arranged for his things to be transported to the docks. And the night before, he had been spening one last eve in the company of his friends of the Grey Watch. The Flowers. Loth-i-Lonnath. The words spoken there in farewell had kept him warm thought the winter night, and the thought of the festivities that had probably continued far into the night, long after his departure, made him smile.
Galamdir made halt near the docks, and Galvathalion dismounted. The golden rays of the morning sun was glittering in the water. A strong wind from the mountains carassed his blue cloak before continuing out towards the bay.
Out there, in the deep water, lied a great white ship, formed in the likeness of a proud swan. It symbolised a new path upon which Galvathalion was to tread. And soon, it would spread its white wings and bring him onto the next step of his life. Away from the safety of the harbor. Towards the open sea.
Towards Mithlond.
