"Ai, alae!"
It is an understatement, surely, and Branniar is dimly aware of Sardan grinning like a loon beside him. He doesn't care right now though, not with the whole of Evendim laid out before them like a painting of a land out of legend, from the fog rolling off the distant northern reaches of Emyn Uial to Annúminas glittering like a jewel in the sun. He steps forward tentatively, the weather-worn stone of the Colossus firm beneath his feet. The view from the bluffs over Men Erain is nothing to this.
"Here," Sardan grips his arm and pulls him, step light and uncaring of the drop, over to the edge of the star-tipped crown Elendil bears. They sit, feet dangling over the High King's stern brow, and look out. "There is much that needs repair here, but it is hale enough to hold a few men."
High above, the sun climbs ever higher in the sky and the mists over the lake begin to burn away. Far below, the miniture figure of Cudhaer tinkers with the old siege engine. In the distance, beyond Emyn Uial, Branniar can see the Blue Mountains rise like a towering wall, a sentinel to watch over this hidden land of theirs. A wind stirs the trees on the far shore.
With a bird's eye view, Evendim looks as wild, untamed, and ancient as it had sixty-odd years before, when Calenglad had led them through Parth Aduial and to its shining shores. He breaths in, then out once more. Clean, crisp northern air floods his lungs, and he smiless.
"How fare the northern estates?" Sardan breaks a silence grown long, and Branniar draws himself back from his contemplation of the view. The young man elaborates, "The lighthouse and Barad Tharsír trouble us often, and it has been some days since we heard from Tinnudir."
"We have kept a handle on them," Branniar answers bluntly, "But little beyond that. Orchalwë led a sortie up yesterday and I hear they found some victory on the slopes of Tham Ornen. Even as often as we drive them out, there is little chance we will hold it for long."
The wind of distant trees reaches them at last, ruffling their hair and stirring cloaks, and Sardan swears softly when his hair loosens itself from its knot and falls into his face. The tie falls, almost slowly, from his shoulder off the crowned Colossus altogether, and the two watch it drift with the wind until they lose sight of it. Sardan curses once more, heartfelt, and Branniar chuckles.
"We shall find you another, I have no doubt." In the meantime, Sardan tugs his hood up to tame his hair.
The sun reaches its zenith overhead and begins its long descent, but the pair do not stir for an hour more. Even then, they are reluctant to depart this elevated world, but Evendim is not safe yet, and there is work to be done.
