S.A 2052
Oldaer had received news of Giril's mission and graciously offered to transport her to the Isle of Himring on his boat. Giril held the urn close to her heart, and it was evident that parting with it would be difficult for her. He had once been her lover, partner, and betrothed, and the hidden agony in her eyes was unmistakable. There were others who also grieved. Falchon appeared pale and spoke little. In the past few days, he had grown colder and more detached, reminiscent of the time after they were freed from their cells. Perhaps he was struggling with the loss of his dear friend. Haldanáre was not only Falchon's friend but also one of the few individuals he could truly trust and confide in. Their time in Caranoth and the army had forged a strong bond between them, and one could sense the gravity in Falchon's demeanor. The group decided to join Giril on her journey, enticed by the tranquil sea and beautiful weather. Manyamë's eyes sparkled with newfound joy, replacing her once-dreadful countenance with a radiant glow. Despite the somber circumstances, she had discovered a renewed purpose and longed to rediscover the person she had lost during their time in Eregion. She yearned to find the old Manyamë once more. Naerchanar couldn't help but gaze at her affectionately, overjoyed to see her brimming with hope once again.
As they embarked onto Oldaer's boat, Orneth's eyes caught sight of a figure that seemed all too familiar. Her heart skipped a beat as she witnessed Falchon warmly embracing him. In that moment, her mind went blank, and she realized it was Demdor, the scout who had shadowed her during her journey to the settlement in Eregion and the same soldier with whom she had crossed paths in the eastern warband. Demdor, who had openly confided in her about his delayed mission to rescue her. Though she had forgiven him long ago, she could still detect a trace of shame lingering in his piercing azure eyes, an unmistakable hint of sadness within. "Lord Demdor," Orneth greeted him with a smile, turning her gaze towards him. "Lady Orneth, I hope you are faring well," he replied, his demeanor calm yet tinged with seriousness, though it seemed he struggled to meet her gaze directly. Orneth offered a reassuring smile, attempting to lighten the mood. "I assume you also have a home nearby?" she inquired. Demdor nodded. "Lindon is my home. I was born in the lands of Ossiriand, but due to my trade, I now reside in this village. After the war in Eregion, I made the decision to return home," he explained. Orneth nodded, understanding his choice. "I do recall your friend and companion, Rochon. How is he faring?" she asked. "Indeed, he also resides in the village. He has taken up the craft of working with metals and gems," Demdor replied, a smile playing on his lips. Orneth found herself captivated by the clarity of his blue eyes, which shimmered in the afternoon sun.
Her attention then shifted to the three ellons skillfully navigating the boat towards their destination: Naerchanar, Oldaer, and Falchon. Manyamë, Giril, and Orneth herself were seated at the back of the vessel, basking in the splendor of the surrounding scenery. Meanwhile, Thandir was engaged in fishing, hopeful for a fresh catch to grace their upcoming meal.
As they approached the island, Oldaer meticulously searched for a safe spot to anchor the boat amidst the treacherous rocks that encircled it. After a while, they eventually discovered a small stretch of sandy shore that was suitable for anchoring. However, the island itself was nothing more than a colossal stone mound, rendering exploration challenging. Their attempts to ascend the rocky terrain proved futile as the jagged stones posed a formidable obstacle. Sensing the difficulty, Giril suggested that they remain close to the boat. Unfazed, Giril began gathering rocks, carefully constructing a small mound and placing the urn within it. Falchon positioned Haldanáre's sword next to the mound, with its hilt pointing towards the sky. Orneth and Manyamë adorned the mound with delicate flower wreaths, adding a touch of beauty to the somber scene. Finally, Giril kindled a small oil-lamp and positioned it beside the mound, casting a soft, warm glow that enveloped the area. The flickering light danced across the blade of the sword, bestowing a mesmerizing shimmer upon the entire tableau.
With a graceful poise, she cradled her hands against her chest, gently caressing the ring that had once been bestowed upon her by her beloved. The exquisite trinket shimmered in the gentle glow, serving as a poignant symbol of the love they had shared. Her voice, sweet and melodic, carried the ancient language of Quenya to every corner of the room. Each word resonated with the raw emotions of her heart, and every syllable became a stride toward healing the burden that weighed heavily on her soul.
Elda i apsenya ar I alcar i nárala Ohtar i mereth Ar i lómëohtarie
Alassëa i lótë Ea i parma ar I lehta i fëalëa Ar i aiwëa nárala
Hwesta i náro Ar i hrívë i han I coa i yávie ar I lassë i lumbule
Lissëa i alcar Ea i parma ar I lehta i fëalëa Ar i aiwëa nárala
Manyamë's voice carried a subtle tinge of wistfulness as she reminisced, "He was truly a remarkable person—kind, selfless, and resolute. His conversations with me would linger in my mind, leaving me inspired for days on end." Falchon nodded, his eyes gleaming with cherished memories. "Indeed, he was an exceptional friend. One of a kind." Interrupting the tranquil ambiance, Oldaer's gaze shifted towards the sea, his expression troubled. "Forgive my interruption, but I believe it's time to head back. The wind gives me cause for concern, and the waters between Himring and Forlindon can swiftly turn treacherous. We ought not to needlessly risk our lives when confronted with such unpredictable elements." Giril concurred, "You speak wisely, Oldaer. Let us return home." Following the others onto the boat, her gaze fixed upon a small mound in the distance—a poignant reminder of their departed friend. As they sailed back, Orneth drew Giril close, her tender touch soothing Giril's troubled heart. The sea grew increasingly tumultuous, causing the boat to sway and lurch. Orneth whispered into Giril's ear, "He has finally found peace, thanks to you."
Orneth's gaze shifted towards Falchon, who appeared lost in thought and emotionally distant. A wave of sadness enveloped Orneth's heart as she realized that he seemed unreachable, his mind occupied by something beyond her reach. She approached him, extending her hand to offer comfort, but he instinctively clutched his cloak tighter around himself, creating a barrier between them. His gaze fixated on the vast expanse of the sea. Once again, Orneth felt a surge of hurt, longing to be there for him and bridge the growing distance between them. However, her attempts to connect with him were met with subtle rejections, and this was not the first time in recent days that she had encountered such a response.
Picture AI-generated from Microsoft Bing DALL·E
