S.A 2050
The lighthouse stood tall and narrow, a majestic structure maintained by Oldaer. As he guided Orneth toward the small storage room, he spoke of the harsh weather and the crashing waves against the cliffs. He assured Orneth that the storage house was primarily used for their personal belongings and that there was a small fireplace that would provide enough warmth for the night. Stepping inside, Orneth's eyes fell upon a bed, a tiny table, and a small drawer adorned with a vase of dried flowers. Despite the compact space, she found it rather cozy and didn't mind her surroundings. After bidding farewell to Oldaer, Orneth locked the narrow door. Illuminating the room with a flickering candle, she opened her diary, eager to chronicle the latest chapter of her journey and the potential changes in her life. While perusing the pages, her fingers stumbled upon a small envelope nestled within the diary's folds. Inside rested the beryl, a precious talisman that brought her solace during uncertain times. Clasping it close to her heart, a tinge of melancholy washed over her.
The following day, Giril ventured out to explore the surroundings of the lighthouse, while Orneth made her way back to Naerchanar and Manyamë's home. She gently knocked on the door, eagerly awaiting a response. The sound of footsteps from within reached her ears as the door swung open, revealing Manyamë with a warm smile. She welcomed Orneth inside, leading her into a small yet cozy room, with a large table as the centerpiece, bathed in the flickering orange light of the fireplace. Manyamë settled into an old chair, her eyes brimming with joy at the sight of Orneth. She offered a simple breakfast of bread, cheese, and fruit, which instantly put Orneth at ease with its comforting simplicity. However, an undercurrent of tension lingered between them, and Orneth sensed that there was something important that needed to be addressed. Manyamë decided to confront the issue directly, speaking with utmost sincerity. "Orneth, I am aware that you have read my diaries, and I want to clear the air. I never intended to inflict visions or nightmares upon Lady Thimben. I am not a murderer."
Orneth was taken aback but swiftly reassured Manyamë that she had never harbored any suspicions of such wrongdoing. Manyamë continued, her voice filled with a mixture of remorse and determination. "It is an incredibly complex situation. For a long time, I was enslaved by Falquando. He used his newfound powers over me, and I sought him as he sought me. I lost my sanity, causing immense pain to those who loved me. However, with the support of Naerchanar and the assistance of skilled healers, I managed to regain control and sever the channel he had established through me using his dark methods. He is a master of visions and mental manipulation."
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Orneth listened intently to Manyamë's story, feeling the weight of Manyamë's words and the depth of her pain as she recounted the events of the past. "Why is he so obsessed with you?" Orneth asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Manyamë gazed into the flames, lost in thought. "I don't really know, I believe it started in the First Age when we journeyed through Beleriand to Ered Luin. We formed a strong and profound friendship through our common heritage." She paused, and Orneth could see the pain on her face. "However, his jealousy grew dangerously intense towards Naerchanar. Being chosen away was unfamiliar to him. His jealousy spiraled out of control, fixating on winning me back. I believe that's where the obsession took root." Manyamë's voice trailed off, her gaze fixed on the fire for a few moments before she continued. "Since then, he fell victim to a greater threat and became consumed by an unknown master who promised him everything he desired in exchange for his services. Falquando was a skilled negotiator, adept at bargaining. I suspect he struck a deal with someone so dangerous that he couldn't extricate himself." Orneth sat in silence, absorbing the weight of Manyamë's words.
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With a somber expression, Manyamë stared into the flickering flames of the fireplace as Orneth met her troubled gaze. “He no longer remembers our friendship or the love he once had for me,” she said softly. “To him, I am just a possession he wants to reclaim. He remembers me only as someone he lost, and his jealousy has always caused pain to those around me—Naerchanar, Falchon, and so many others.” Her voice faltered as she recalled Falquando’s dark influence, how he had crept into her mind, twisting her thoughts until she lost her sanity and committed terrible acts. Naerchanar had fought tirelessly to free her, and though the journey had been long and painful, she had finally escaped. Yet with freedom came a flood of memories that haunted her day and night. “I am still tormented, but now it’s the pain I caused to those I love. I wasn’t myself under his control. At times, I even wanted to return to him when he tried to summon me with his dark magic,” she added, her voice heavy with sorrow.
“The hardest part is knowing I wasn’t alone. Falquando, too, fell into a similar fate, seduced by another master. But it was too late for him—he ventured too far,” Manyamë revealed, her voice filled with regret. Orneth, searching for a way to comfort her, asked gently, “Manyamë, is there no way to heal the memories that haunt you?” Manyamë shook her head slowly, pain etched across her face. “I don’t think so—not unless I leave Middle-earth. Aman is a place where miracles can happen. I am so tired of this world, Orneth. My time here is nearly done.”
Understanding her friend’s struggle, Orneth spoke softly. “Manyamë, your parents have chosen to depart on the next summons. They’ve waited for decades, holding onto hope that they might see you again. If you seek them out, they would finally find peace. Despite everything, they still love you deeply.” Manyamë looked at Orneth, her eyes filled with a mix of sadness and fear. “I don’t know if I can. I’ve already caused so much pain for all of you.” Orneth shook her head, her voice full of compassion. “They would never resent you.” Manyamë lowered her gaze to her hands, her thoughts racing. “I don’t know if I can face them again,” she whispered. “But… I do miss them.”
Then Manyamë gazed at the fireplace with sadness evident in her eyes. "I love my son, Falchon, but it pains me to think that he may not be aware of it."
Orneth gently took Manyamë's hand. "I believe there are unresolved issues between you. Perhaps meeting face-to-face could help resolve them. Falchon has come a long way, Manyamë. He is doing exceptionally well now and serves in Gil-Galad's army." Manyamë's gaze dropped, her expression a mix of pride and sorrow as she spoke, "Has he? He possesses a strength within him, that's for certain. Despite his challenging upbringing, he has become a true warrior." Manyamë looked up at Orneth, her beautiful grey eyes shimmering with tears. "My son deserves so much love, and I couldn't give it to him. It saddens me to think that he had to go through life feeling unloved." Orneth took a deep breath and looked directly at Manyamë, his voice filled with emotion.
"Manyamë, I love Falchon... He knows he is loved." Manyamë was taken aback. "You do?" Orneth nodded, hoping no further explanation was needed. Manyamë smiled through her tears. "Well, if that's true, it's a miracle. Orneth, you are the most beautiful person I know." Orneth met Manyamë's gaze and replied, "It is a complicated situation. The closer he gets to me, the more vulnerable he becomes. He fears that his father knows how to exploit that vulnerability for his own advantage, so he keeps his distance." Manyamë nodded, her expression reflecting sadness. "I am saddened by this, but it is true. His father always struck where it hurt the most. Naerchanar can attest to that." The two fell into a contemplative silence, lost in their thoughts and emotions, each thinking of their unique love for Falchon.
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