As I slowly ease my body down into a comfortable sitting position, resting my back against a stone in the process, I trust my sword into the moist sand next to me, before releasing my feeble grip on the hilt. For the last time, I hear myself whisper softly as I study the sword that has followed me for so long. With a heavy sigh I turn my head from it and stare at the spectacle displayed in front of me. It's quite stunning and beautiful to behold. The great western sea Belegaer with its tall dark blue, almost black waves crowned with a white foam, that rolls towards me and the beach I'm resting on. A strong wind from the west drives the dancing waves and the silent gray clouds above them eastward, bringing with them a light sprinkle of salty rain as the clouds are passing over me.
Resting in the wet soft sand, I know my days are spent, the light is dimming and darkness draws nearer. But unlike so many other of my kin, I fear it not and trust the first born’s knowledge that this is a precious gift. I pity my adopted father and all his kindred, with their endless sorrow over things lost or forgotten, unable to leave it behind, like I will soon. They claim they will find sanctuary and peace, if they cross the sea I’m facing, but I’m not sure that will be enough. Why do they linger on these shores, if that was the case? Pah! Even near the end, you muddle your head with speculation, I say to myself, in a low hoarse voice.
I have been to this place, this beach before, but in a dream years ago. I had the dream during my wanderings and found a sanctuary for my troubled mind on the eastern borders of the mark, towards Gondor. There a small forest of oaks lay and was in the old days called Eryn Fuir. But in my wandering days, they called it the Whispering forest, because of its unnatural silence. Only the wind made any sound and it was this wind that woke me up from the dream about this beach among many other things.
Laying on the beach and listening to the raw thunderous sound of the wind from the sea, I try to ease myself into a better position, wondering how my passing will transpire, closing my eyes waiting for the passing, while my thoughts start to wander and take me on a path of remembrance.
The darkness behind my closed eyes brings to light my early nightmare memories as a child, where I witnessed the death of my parents and older brother in the hands of marauding orcs. I was saved though from the same fate that day and for a short while I had blissful peace under the golden roof of the elves, before I was trusted back in my own harsh world again. Under their care, the elders taught me much of their crafts and to their dismay I spent more time mastering instruments they wanted me to avoid, than instruments I should master. And despite their light, kindness and guidelines, I was forever marked by the event that had robbed me of my family. As a result they named me after that dark trial and how it sadly would etch itself into my remaining life. For the Eldar is among the wise and has foresight in such things.
I open my eyes and crank my head slowly toward my sword still embedded in the sand, swaying gently in the wind. An instrument that I wielded with no mercy towards my opponents and sadly when the rage got me, enjoyed doing it. Of that I have always been ashamed, because I was taught to be better. Attached to its hilt, there are two weather worn ribbons flying. A blue one given to me with love and a green one given out of loyalty. Both are now old remembrances of a distant past, reminding me of happier days.
Closing my eyes again, I let my mind wander to my early days in the mark, when I served at its border. First near the northern border for many years, before my wanderlust took over and brought me to the southern parts of Rohan and later towards the western parts of the mark, towards Dunland. Those years were filled with skirmishes and violence and almost ended badly, but I was saved by those who would become my closest friends. And with them I found another purpose in life and a chance to master other trades beside my sword dance. I smile as I reach into my pocket and grasp an item that has followed me since those days. Those times were filled with both joy and sorrow, but I did not face them alone. We lived a full life there, celebrating the seasons, sharing meals, hunting and trading.
Then there was the ride… ride for war, ride for ruin. I mutter to myself. The great war in our lifetime and I had to endure it and barely survived it. Our village that had repelled so many attacks over the years, was left to the fires and those of us who survived the fall of it, fought on. First at Helms deep, then later on the fields of Pelennor, outside the great city of Gondor… Minas Tirith. And despite all my fighting skills and experience, I was brought down by a skillful warrior from Haradrim and badly wounded… again. Laying in sickbed for many months, walking a narrow path between life and death, I missed the aftermath and the celebrations.
It was during these trying times, I lost the connection with my friends of old. I never found them after I recovered from my wounds and not for lack of trying. According to the healers of Minas Tirith, none asked for me while I was bedridden. The reasons could be many and I feared they might have perished in the battles against the dark lord. If that was the case, there would be no remains. Only glorious monuments were raised where they had been burned. Listening to bards and talking to those who had survived it, none could provide me with any information about my friends.
For years I wandered the mark, in search for my friends, but all I found was echoes of memories, hollow and sad. The village was never resettled after the war and it was left to the wind and wilderness that slowly conquered it back.
In the end I left the mark and explored the lands of the north and now near the end, I’m stranded at this beach enjoying the wild beauty this world has to offer. Taking one last look at it, I close my eyes for the final time. It's time to go… I whisper and let myself fall into the darkness.
Some time passes…
A slender figure with gracious strides approaches the man laying on the beach. For a long while he stands there looking down on the dead edain, an elderly man of his kind. With a sad expression, he remembers the days he taught the man the way of the world. For him it was a short while ago, but for the man on the beach it must have been long ago. He notices that the man is clutching something in one of his hands and bends down to pries it out of the dead man's hand. He gasps as he sees what the man was clutching… a carved wooden figure of a horse which is unbelievably realistic and beautiful beyond measure. As he studies the wooden figure and its beauty he speaks softly to the man. I will keep this as a remembrance of you and your people, my son. He stands slowly up and turns around, leaving the man on the beach.
Unlike most of my kind, who comes thrashing out of their dark dreams, suppressing their gasps like it’s their last breath, I wake up silently, like a crystal white cloud far away in the sky. Something has stirred me in my sleep, something has disturbed the silence in the Whispering forest. As I look up, I see several crows flying over me chattering amongst themselves, as they head in the direction towards Aldburg. An omen Duncadda… you have been called upon again. I say to myself.
