On the shores of Lake Nenuial, by the Keep of Tinnudir, T.A. 2477
It is dark on the shores. An elf and a man stand in quiet conversation. They are both dressed in the grays and greens of the Rangers of the North. The elf bears no cloak or hood, and his red hair is drawn in a low ponytail, wrapped by a leather cord. The man is cloaked, his hood raised, and he holds the reins of a horse that has already been saddled to leave. The other Dunedain are asleep in a further camp or are patrolling the edges of the island, so they are otherwise undisturbed.
Speaks the elf first, “You are really leaving.” He does not sound surprised, despite his choice of words. He rubs his gloved palms together as if anxious.
“I am,” says the man. “I am not asking you to come with me, either, Amathlan. You would be unhappy.”
“You know not,” the elf is quick to rebuke in a quiet whisper. “I would go with you if you asked. I would be happy,” he insists, but the man only offers a tired smile. He chuckles as well, but it is hollow.
“Did you know you are a terrible liar? A romantic, hopeless fool, yes, but not a liar. You will never be happy, Amathlan. The only time I have ever seen you smile is when you are at war - and it doesn’t matter against whom you wage war. Friend, foe, kin. I will not stand by and watch you ruin yourself any longer,” he says, hoisting himself up onto the saddle of his horse. “You make war so you do not have to lick your own wounds. So be it, dear one, but I have been called to Esteldin to quell the orcs of Angmar. I will make war to stop a war.”
There is a long silence between them. The elf has put his hand on the saddle to stop the man from leaving just then. The soft lapping of the waves against the sand and the rocks is drowned out by the crickets and birdsong over their heads in the trees.
“...Stay,” the elf finally begs quietly.
“No,” replies the man. “There is much we have to do, but we cannot do it together. I will not be the one responsible for the death of you. Your feӓ is not mine to make die beside me. And from there, even, to be sundered afterward? No. That is my curse, not yours,” and with that, he turns the horse away to leave. “Find someone who can bring you to smile in times of peace, Amathlan. It is not me. The Valar know that I have tried.”
The elf is forced to pull away as the horse is urged harshly into motion, and he is left alone on the shores of Nenuial to watch the Ranger depart. He watches until he can see the horse no longer through the dark and hills of Evendim, and only then does he turn to silently watch the moon lower over the lake and the mountains.
