S.A 2050
As they made their way along the coast, Orneth and Giril braved the biting cold rain and frosty air, their spirits bolstered by the promise of adventure and the thrill of the unknown. The workers on the fish-boat were kind and generous, and they shared their stories and their wisdom with the two fair ladies, who found themselves enchanted by the tales of distant lands and far-off places. Finally, after many long days of travel, they arrived at a small dock on the trading route, where the workers bid them a fond farewell. Orneth and Giril were grateful for their companionship, and they felt a pang of sadness as they watched the boat disappear into the mist. But their hearts were lifted once again as they caught sight of the small wooden cabins in the distance, some nestled on the ground and others built into the very trees themselves. Giril's gaze drifted westward, where she could see the faint outline of a small island in the distance. "Himring... or what's left of it," she murmured. Orneth nodded in agreement, her eyes scanning the horizon for any signs of danger.
As the moon rose high in the sky and the stars broke through the misty clouds, Orneth and Giril huddled together by a small campfire, seeking shelter under the shelter of some rocks that arched overhead. The bonfires in the distance provided a warm glow and a sense of comfort, even as the cold wind howled around them. Giril set up a little camp underneath the rocks, grateful for the shelter they provided. And as Orneth prepared their food, her heart was filled with a sense of wonder and excitement for the journey that lay ahead. Giril gracefully unfurled the blankets and bedrolls, settling down comfortably as she gazed at Orneth preparing soup. The gentle curve of her smile illuminated her face as she spoke, "In my wildest dreams, I never imagined we would find ourselves so far north in Forlindon, in this time and age." Orneth returned her friend's smile and replied, "Nor did I. But it was necessary, especially with Mannamo and Lanyarë departing Middle-Earth. It's time they learn the truth about their daughter. And perhaps she will finally have the courage to reveal it to them herself." Giril nodded thoughtfully and spoke, "I don't know much about the situation, only what my beloved Haldanáre has shared with me. He often spoke of Manyamë and Falchon being surrounded by shadows." Orneth sighed, "Manyamë stumbled upon something she should never have encountered, and it has left a lasting mark on Falchon. Life has not been easy for either of them, and my heart goes out to them."
Giril added, "It's hard to believe the accusations against Naerchanar. He was once someone many trusted and followed." Orneth handed a small cup of soup to Giril and replied, "There are still many who do. Naerchanar willingly sacrificed his own reputation among the majority. But those who truly knew him, knew that he only wanted to protect and save Manyamë, whom he loved so dearly." As Orneth paused to savor the warmth of her own cup, Giril continued, "It seems to me that Manyamë and Falchon need healing beyond what Naerchanar can offer in this world." Orneth's thoughts drifted to Falchon, and her heart ached with longing. It had been far too long since she had heard from him, and the silence only intensified her worries. Sensing her friend's anguish, Giril spoke softly, "I know you miss him, Orneth. There was a special bond between you two before he left. You never shared what happened." Orneth's gaze met Giril's, her expression pained. "Well, we had a unique chemistry indeed," she admitted hesitantly. Giril regarded her with curiosity, "And is it really so terrible?" Orneth cast her eyes downward, struggling to articulate her feelings. "It can never be us," she finally admitted with a heavy heart. Giril's smile faded slightly as she probed, "And why is that, Orneth?" Orneth sighed deeply, grappling with her emotions. "He has his own struggles, and they prevent him from fully devoting himself to another. It's a very complicated situation."
Giril’s expression shifted to a somber frown as she spoke thoughtfully. “Why is it that some people refuse to see who you truly are?” Orneth’s heart warmed as she noticed the faintest hint of a smile on her friend’s lips. “Or maybe,” she replied, “why am I always drawn to those who are wrong for me?” Giril looked at Orneth with a mix of concern and compassion. “But does he not care for you? I don’t understand why he would distance himself.” Orneth stared into the glowing flames of the fire, her voice distant. “Let’s just say his father is looking for him—and not for good reasons. His father operates in the darkest corners of this world. Falchon fears that his loved ones will be targeted if his father can’t find him. That’s why Naerchanar and Falchon sent me here, to the far western reaches.” Giril tilted her head, clearly puzzled. “Do you really believe that?” Orneth shook her head slowly. “No, I don’t. That’s why I stayed for so long. But Falchon sees it differently.” Giril took Orneth’s hands gently, her eyes filled with understanding. “That should tell you everything, Orneth! Falchon holds you in the highest regard—that’s why he’s afraid. Can’t you see?” Orneth let out a mournful sigh. “I never thought of it that way. He only ever called me his acquaintance.” Giril’s expression softened with empathy. “People say strange things when they’re upset.” Tears welled in Orneth’s eyes as she whispered, her voice trembling, “It’s just that I… I love him so deeply. Every breath feels like agony.” Giril pulled her into a tight embrace. “Oh, Orneth, my heart aches for you. You’re always drawn to those who aren’t right for you. Maybe it’s time to look for someone outside Mannamo’s family?” Orneth let out a small laugh through her tears. “Perhaps.”
Orneth turned to Giril with a soft gaze and asked, “How are you these days? You seem like your old self again.” Giril’s smile carried a trace of sadness. “I’m managing, but there’s still a weight inside me that won’t go away. Grief is relentless. Everyone else has moved on with their lives, but I can’t seem to let go as easily. Spending time with my nephew, Carvator, does help ease the pain, though.” Orneth took Giril’s hand, her eyes full of compassion. “Grief and sorrow never leave us, but we learn to live alongside them. Life changes forever after loss. It makes us stronger, yet more fragile too. That’s the price of our immortality. Losing someone when we’re meant to endure forever is a cruel blow.” Giril rested her head on Orneth’s shoulder, and together they stared into the dancing flames, finding comfort in each other’s company.
The next day, the pair continued their journey north, enjoying the cool, refreshing air around them. When they reached a peaceful valley dotted with treehouses and cabins, they paused to take in the scenery. The area was alive with elves—some with dark, flowing hair, others with golden locks that shimmered in the sunlight—making it hard to tell where they were from. Orneth, ever observant, noticed the fishing boats scattered along the pier and the sharp scent of salt in the air. Just then, a voice called from behind them. “Hey, where are you two ladies heading?”
The voice spoke in Sindarin, and Orneth recognized the dialect immediately. She turned and bowed politely to the hunter who had spoken. He wore a brown hauberk and carried a bow, his sharp gaze resting on Giril as he studied them both. “We are looking for some friends who we believe live nearby,” Orneth replied. The hunter regarded them with curiosity before speaking again. “You must be the ladies from Harlond. I received word from my friend Naerchanar that you would be arriving.” Orneth and Giril sighed with relief as the hunter continued, “If you follow the small path through the woods, you’ll reach a lighthouse northeast, by the coast. It overlooks the remains of Himring, and there are several cabins nearby. Naerchanar lives in one of the cabins farthest from the lighthouse. It’s a rugged, windy place, and sometimes the waves send seawater crashing over the fields.”
Orneth felt a wave of gratitude and thanked him. “We’re so relieved. We worried we’d have to search for hours.” The hunter smiled kindly. “No need to worry. I knew you were coming and can guide you there myself. My name is Oldaer, by the way.”
Giril's graceful form bowed deeply in gratitude as she gazed up at Oldaer with admiration. His countenance radiated warmth and kindness as he smiled at her in response. "Your help has been invaluable," Giril expressed with heartfelt appreciation. Oldaer's attention then turned to Orneth, who stood beside Giril with a sense of awe. "And you must be Orneth," he acknowledged with a cordial nod. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." As they traversed through the forest, guided by Oldaer's steady hand, they were greeted by the sight of a lighthouse illuminating the horizon. Giril's excitement was palpable as she breathed in the fresh, crisp air. "We are truly fortunate," she exclaimed with unbridled enthusiasm. "For once, Lady Luck is on our side." As they continued their journey, they stumbled upon a humble cabin perched upon a rocky hill. The weather was fierce, with rain pouring down in sheets and winds howling relentlessly. It was a place that required strength and resilience to endure. Slowly they made their way up the narrow path, the sound of the sea crashing against the shore filling their ears. A dim light flickered in one of the cabin's windows, offering a glimmer of hope amidst the storm. Below the cabin, a small farmland stretched out before them, and a sailboat rocked gently in the tumultuous waves. Orneth's heart raced with anticipation as they stood before the cabin door, the tension mounting with every passing moment. She finally knocked, her knuckles white with anxiety. Footsteps approached from within, and the door creaked open, revealing the person she had longed to see for so many years. - Manyamë.
All pictures are AI-generated from Microsoft Bing DALL·E
