Diary, will my tears never end? Has my fate been passed from Lord Ulmo of the seas to Lady Nienna, she who ever weeps for the sorrows of the world?
A simple letter from Ràolor, who has called me sister ever since we all stood at the cairn, bade me meet him in Imlad Gelair. I have dwelt long in the Hidden Valley, yet cannot decide how well I like this haven for the true friends of the Eldalië -- it is, after all, under the ground, which is not a natural thing for me.
Yet there I found Ràolor, covered in the dust of his sculpting, gazing up at what is a nearly-finished likeness of Fàorië -- Lilleduil's skittish little comrade-at-arms whom he loves so well. It is like her, as much as I can discern from having met her only a few times, but certainly lively, full of movement, and fair.
"Brother," I said, and he called me by name, and attempted to brush off the dust of his work.
His news, Diary, was not any thing I could receive without a sinking heart. He means to finish his sculpture, and then go with the Malledhrim, to the very front lines of the attack upon Dol Guldur. The more he spoke of his duty as a soldier to protect those whom he loves -- although he let slip that he has asked his dear one to come with him -- the more I looked in his eyes and was certain: this was the key to the riddle made by his fey, desperate words at the banquet of the Hammer, only last fall. While he was drunk, and I gently tried to corner him to re-set his shoulder, separated in his foolish exchange of blows with hir Veryacano, he spoke of the Valar abandoning the Noldor in the dark. Now I knew. He felt some great burden on his conscience, and the relieving of it would only be found by hand-to-hand battle with the Enemy -- and perhaps his conscience would be cleared only by a soldier's death. Every word he spoke left me feeling that he did not intend to return.
Ràolor showed me tunnels that led from Imlad Gelair upward and outward to the wilderness, that I might use for escape -- or the evacuation of wounded -- should some terrible day come in which hir Elrond's power failed and the Enemy stood at our door. He said simply and calmly that if that day ever came, I would know he had fallen, for he would not permit such a thing while he lived.
There was little to say in answer to this. He told me that I would have a brother in him so long as he lived, and I said likewise he might ever and always call me sister. I attempted to give him what athelas, milk thistle, and the like I had with me, but he refused, saying the Malledhrim would be well supplied. I conceded to this, remembering that Norlië had given counsel to the healers there during her trip to the Drownholt.
At last there were no more words, and I embraced him and again said that he might call me sister for ever, and ask any thing of me it was within my power to grant. I said, feeling a heavy weight, that I would still very much like to see the sculpture of my Themodir he had wrought before leaving the Hithaeglir, and that perhaps in his absence, Losgael of the Hammer would take me to see it. He agreed to this, saying she knew the way and would protect me. I have never doubted that she would -- she is all but kin now.
We exchanged that word of fate, namarië, and then I fled before he could see my tears. I had to get outside and compose myself -- the messenger had brought his letter while I stood among those witnessing the Oath-taking ceremony of Helcequen and Nanthon. Both silver-haired. I hope that is a good omen -- perhaps the astrologer can tell me.
I returned to the celebration in the Hall of Fire. I must have been ashen, for hiril Himwen at once asked what was wrong, and I doubt not Norlië could tell my fëa had been shaken.
So in the Hall, with Tûr listening, and hir Veryacano, hir Tindir, hiril Himwen, so many of Ràolor's erstwhile comrades in arms, I told what had transpired. Sàranassë of the Arrow was there -- I had not seen her in the indigo hauberk before, largely ceremonial, for the scouts must blend in to their surroundings -- and she was visibly shaken. Tûr asked why our brother felt the need to leave "like a thief in the night." I could not say why, as he had not given a reason, but I blurted out my suspicion that some sort of guilt hung over him. Again Sàranassë swayed, like a tree in the wind, and so after the wine-drinking and congratulations had done, I walked with her up to the little lake on the hill, and there whistled for Ràmarilla. She seems to give comfort -- certainly to me, but often to others as well.
Sàranassë said that Ràolor had called her sister too, and in fact had asked her to accompany his fatal journey, but she had chosen to stay, for her duty to the Arrow. I then understood much more. I attempted to soothe her, and after a time she let me know that both she and our brother were involved with the Second Kinslaying at Menegroth. Then, then, Diary, I properly understood both his drunken ravings in the autumn, and his seeming shame now. Again I told Sàra that if Ràolor esteemed her, I could hardly do otherwise, and that she too was brave -- that her feeling of duty bade her stay, just as his idea of duty bade him go. One was not more brave than the other; they simply felt guided differently.
In no little anguish, she asked me how I could call her friend, knowing not only what those of her blood had done to those of mine at Alqualondë, but what she herself had done. Well, what has the Original Enemy wanted since he walked Endor in fair guise, but to sow discord among our people? I told her of my friendship with Norlië, a Noldo -- how I had come to esteem her music and healing skill (one and the same, as she ran and sang to my darling Themodir), and her deep caring for one and all, regardless of blood. Indeed, Diary, I fear Norlië's sense of duty will cause her to test the antidote in more dangerous ways than merely (!) having someone hold an aurochs so that she can poison and cure it, but that is a different worry.
I hope Sàra feels better now, and more anchored. I always carry just a few treats for Ràmarilla, and I showed her how to feed my glorious bird-friend by hand. She was amazed that the great swan trusted her so. I hope this heals her, somewhat. I told her my door would always stand open to her, though like many of the Arrow, she is not always one to seek company. We both feel the impending loss of Ràolor -- for though I hope he changes his mind, I feel a dragging certainty that he will not -- terribly, terribly, for though he is not an unflawed gem, he is one I have seen shining with honour and a wish to keep the Enemy far from his friends.
O why must there be so many farewells! Why must that be my brother's last sculpture! Why was he so blasted calm about marching to his doom!
