It is late afternoon when Maedhrathin arrives at the small meadow leading down to the lake of Hidhuinen. The air of the vale is still warm, despite it being the season of Rhîw. Finding a comfortable spot he sits down to wait for the arrival of Ealendil, savoring the last of the warmth of the afternoon sun.
Since arriving to the Vale, a couple of weeks ago, he had hardly had a chance to see her, let alone for a few hours. There had been the great elven ball, filling most of her time, and then this awful business with the dead Imladris scout, found at the ford of Bruinen, which seems to have stirred most he house into action. Maedhrathin shakes his head and exhales slowly. No, there simply hadn’t been time to get her alone, to have her for himself, if just for a few hours.
Now he sits waiting for her at the place where they had agreed to meet. Maedhrathin has brought with him the spear she had asked him to bring with him as he travelled to Imladris. The spear is old, an artifact of an age long gone, a gift to Ealendil from her father. Maedhrathin, looks at the spear, holding it, he can almost feel the powerful aura of calm it emits. He had only ever seen Ealendil wield to combat once, at the campaign at Fornost, where they both had served and met. Maedhrathin puts the spear down, deciding to ask more of its origin later.
Soft, quiet footsteps, barely audible, reaches his ears, and he looks up. There she is, there she is coming, almost dancing as she approaches, holding a basket for their afternoon picnic, and flashing him that smile of hers that so stirs his heart, though she knows it not, and she never will, of that he is certain.
Ealendil is lightly dressed, a dress fitting more a lingering summer, green colors in patterns revealing her Doriathren origin. She never seems to get cold, as if an inner warmth or glow keeps the chill of winter at bay. Merrily rocking the basket, she approaches, “Maedh my dear friend, you look ravaging as always.”, and she laughs, a laugh that is hard to resist. Maedhrathin revealing a shy smile, stands up to greet her, but she grasps the opportunity to hug him tightly. When released from her embrace, Maedhrathin reflects on how typical this is of Ealendil, always so open-hearted, always so free with gestures of affection.
“Oh sweet Ealendil, it is a joy to behold you too… time has passed indeed since last, but now we have this afternoon to ourselves.” He takes the basket from her hand, and sets it down. For a short moment they stand silently, looking at each other… as that moment of closeness, souls reaching out, passes, they sit down slowly, next to each other. Maedhrathin, trying to hide the pain of unanswered feelings, rummages through the basket. “Hey, what do we have here!” he exclaims, as he produces a bottle of the of Lindon wine she had apparently brought with her coming here. Swiftly he opens the bottle, and pours some into the glasses she quickly retrieves and holds up before him. “To us…” he says, looking into her eyes, while raising his glass. “To us, my friend.” she responds, and closing her eyes, sips from the glass.
Ealendil had brought a basket filled with dried fruit and bread, besides the bottle and glasses, and they nibble from these while passing a few minutes in silent company. Not many words exchanged, long years of familiarity making them unnecessary.
“Ealendil… I have here your old spear, the one you asked me to bring you”, he nods in its direction, where it is lying in the grass. Ealendil had spotted it immediately upon her arrival, but had apparently been waiting for him to bring it up. He picks it up, still wrapped in protective clothing, hands it over to her, and she receives it with hands that caresses it gently, almost reverently. She unwraps it, and holds it high up with an outstretched arm, letting the rays of the sun play along the darkened shaft, where symbols of old seems to come alive. “Thank you my friend…”, words coming out haltingly, and her eye glistens somewhat as tears seem to fill them. “I am grateful you did me this service… It has been long since held it.”
“Tell me Ealendil...”, a tone of concern in his voice, “Why? Why did you want me to bring it? It has been years since last you wielded it, and it had been hanging there on the wall in your father’s room in the old house ever since the campaign.”. He casts her a questioning look, as if expecting an answer to something that had puzzled him for a while.
She sighs, “I have not wielded it in combat for a long time… growing weary of the troubles of our world… seeking solace in honoring my mother’s legacy.” She lets the old spear rest in her lap, the dark shaft of hardened wood, engraved with symbols unknown to Maedhrathin, dimly reflects the light of the afternoon sun. Colors seem to be swirling along the sides of the spear tip, whose metallic origin is lost through the ages. “It was a gift to me from my father, as we moved to Eryn Galen.”, Ealendil continues, “It marked the beginning of my training as a warden of old… much to my mother’s sorrow, I might add, who so wanted me to continue with her, take up her calling.”. Ealendil closes her eyes as if remembering those days of old. “The spear was gifted to my father”, she goes on, looking at her spear lovingly. “A gift from Lord Denethor, for the service during the days of the migration of old, bestowed upon him as they settled in Ossiriand after the crossing of Ered Luin.”. The eyes of Maedhrathin grows suddenly wide, “That is a true relic of old Ealendil! Amazing that it has been preserved all those ages.” Ealendil nods, “It is that… and it saved my father’s life at Amon Ereb, where so many of his people perished in that fatal battle.” Ealendil grows silent, as if not comfortable in revisiting those tales of old. Tilting her head slightly to the side and giving Maedhrathin an enigmatic look, “One day I will tell more… I will tell you a story of two brothers and the love they shared for the same elleth.”, and then she looks away, not wanting to meet his eyes for too long.
Maedhrathin, despite not having gotten an answer to his puzzle of why she wanted the spear at this time, senses that a change of topic is due. “Tell me of this business with the dead scout found at the ford. Will there be an expedition organized to after those yrchs who committed this atrocity? Will you go with it? Please, Ealendil, the vale is abuzz with rumors.”
Ealendil looks up, meets his gaze, and nods. “There will be such an expedition. That is all I can say on this matter at the moment. And, yes… I will go with it.”. Ealendil thoughts reaches out to Himwen, the captain that will lead the Fountain on that expedition, whom she have only met a few times, but taken a great liking to, someone to respect for her resolve at times such as these.
Maedhrathin gaps hearing her plans, but also at hearing the commitment in her voice. She continues, clearly distressed, “I worry something fiercely for my friends here in the vale, Elvealin and Manadhlaer, who most likely will be going too, committing their services of healing during this expedition.”. Ealendil sighs, but remains calm and steady. “Maedhrathin, I cannot simply watch them ride out, putting themselves to risk, while I remain behind. My heart would break.... I will go with them and protect them!”, The conviction in her voice takes him by surprise, “I see… please…”, but she interrupts him before he has a chance to finish that which he began to say, “Please Maedhrathin, this is what I am, who I am… I will always protect those I care deeply for and love. I cannot be otherwise…”. Ealendil reaches out and touches his shoulder, as if seeking to comfort him. Maedhrathin sighs, looks at her, eyes filled with sorrow, “I know… I know Ealendil, and that is why I lo…” voice trailing off before finishing what he was about to say, to say that he loved her, a love that was not answered in the way he most desired.
They spend the afternoon quietly together, chatting a little, but otherwise seeking comfort in each other’s company. Seeing the sun wandering over the sky, slowly ascending behind ragged mountain ridges, fading slowly, light of the day dimming, they pack the basket together. Maedhrathin picks it up, determined to carry it home for her, the least he could do for her. Ealendil holding gently onto her spear, walks silently next to him as their steps direct them to the main house, their shadows stretching out before them as the sun finally slips behind the peaks of the surrounding mountains.
