As the sun sets over the majestic mountain range surrounding vale below, Maedhrathin pauses on the road to take in the beauty and the scent of early spring. It had been winter when he had left, and now warmer air and songs of birds heralded the coming spring.
Two weeks ago, he had chanced to return to Duillond, family business in Harlindon taken care of, and had been met by an uncharacteristically excited Niemire who had almost accused him of being late. Ealendil’s niece was ever the level-headed one, although somewhat a bit strong-willed, always managing to get him to do what she wanted done, be it a small errand to Duilond, picking weeds in the garden, or posing with leaves in his hair and twigs in his hands held high as she drew pictures… ever the herbalist.
She held a letter for him, claiming it had come by raven the very same morning as he arrived. Seal was unbroken, Niemire did respect the privacy of others it seemed, and he immediately recognize the handwriting of Ealendil. His heart stopped for a second to beat, and with shaking hands he broke the seal carefully, unrolling the small parchment…
Flowing elegant handwriting met his eyes, and he eagerly drank in every word…
The message was short, just telling him to come as soon as possible to Imladris, they would soon be leaving for Lórien, and she needed to talk to him. Maedhrathin’s eyes glazed over… she needed him…
Niemire shook him awake and urged him to hurry home and pack. She told him there would be a small traveling company heading east in the evening, and no time to lose. Maedhrathin strongly suspected she had read the message, and managed to reseal it flawlessly. Damn, she was good at such things.
As the sun set over Duillond, Niemire waved him off as he rode across the bridge in company of a small group elves.
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Now he was here… he closed his eyes, just a short descent into the valley and they would be together again. His heart longed to see her again, and he prayed to Eru that he was not too late. He had urged the company to travel as fast as possible, and they had obliged him to a certain limit, claiming even the horses needed a rest too every now and then.
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Maedhrathin held in his hand a note of affection he had written to her. Thumbing it a little, feeling his heart skipping a beat, he smiled. He had written it as he did not trust his spoken words to convey what he felt or her. He put the note away in one his front pockets, returned to his horse, grabbed its reins and began to follow the company on its descent down to the vale. Soon…
