“Rainith, if something happened to him, would you do the same? Would you go after him?”
On this side of the river, it is peaceful. The water laps at the shore gently, and only the slightest breeze stirs ripples across its surface. The woods are quiet – not even a bird sings. As the sun slowly rises, the water turns to liquid gold, but I barely notice its beauty this morning. My eyes are fixed on the other shore, still shadowed even as the sun breaks into the dawn skies. To the South, further down the riverbank, the envoys will be waking. I know I should not be here – I should return to the city, ready for when they arrive, but still I stay, as if by waiting here I will suddenly be rewarded by the sight of a boat returning. Every moment that passes seems to eat away at that hope, but still I cannot leave. I wonder sometimes if this is how Galdorion waited in Imladris, watching for an impossible sight on the horizon, wishing that hope alone could bring people safely back.
I was late returning from Fanuidhol. The fighting there was fierce, and all the news grim. Several of those posted there had come from the camps further up the river, and they brought with them discouraging news from Moria. Shadow gathers everywhere, and it seems all our efforts to push it back do nothing but spur it on to greater endeavours. It was easy to feel, fighting seemingly endless waves of snarling orcs, that all we were doing was delaying the end. Every loss is so costly to us, and they care nothing for their own: those cut down are replaced in a seemingly unending number. Still, our efforts, and those of the eldar who ever guard the borders, are not in vain. As we returned to the city I could not but appreciate its peace and beauty more. Even if the cost is great, these things are worth protecting. I knew that Galdorion would agree, but still on our arrival at the city, I feared his reproaches. I wondered if he would be hurt by my not waiting for his return. He refused to ask me to stay in the city – but I know that he would prefer it so. He talks ever of 'safety' for me, even while he throws away his own.
At first when they told me that the scouts had not yet returned I did not understand. I thought that they were talking of our late return to the city – even as they explained it was as though my mind refused to accept it. It made no sense – how could they not have returned? Galdorion had promised that they would be back in only a few days – they should have returned before us, even if only a day before. I had expected to find him waiting, possibly even upset by my absence. I had not dreamed that there was an alternative, and he could be missing entirely.
They told me that there was no use sending anyone after the party yet – they might simply be gathering more information, or caught in a position where they must wait to escape being found by the enemy. They told me to wait until there was more news – not to try anything reckless. I wondered how they could possibly ask me to stay here and wait, even as I knew that what they said made sense. If the scouts are somewhere trying to avoid discovery, any attempt to reach them could end up betraying their position. I felt as if I was slowly drowning in information – there were suddenly so many reasons why I could not simply go after Galdorion. They say all we can do is wait – and so here I am, waiting. Wishing that it could do something. A part of me wonders whether this was what Lord Anglachelm warned me of in the Halls of Fire, a conversation that seems so long ago now. He asked then whether I would be able to make the same choice as Galdorion had – and now, facing it, I begin to see why he was so full of foreboding.
There are other reasons why I cannot simply leave to follow him, and once again his House is involved. There are envoys from the house of Vanimar here, supposedly travelling through war-torn lands simply to deliver invitations for their ball. One of Lord Veryacano's order rides with them. Celephindir shakes his head and denies knowing they were coming – but even if he did not send for them, he will surely tell them that he knows of Galdorion's absence. I can only be grateful that he has not already done so. They have caught up with us – and Galdorion is not even here to defend himself. It is left to me to hide my fears, hide my desperate desire to drop everything and go after him into Mirkwood, and distract the envoys until either he returns, or Celephindir reveals his secret. I do not know why he has not already told them, but I cannot rely on his waiting longer. They must discover us, my only hope lies in Galdorion's belief that they would respect a successful military venture, even if he broke orders to attempt it – but the longer he remains missing, the less likely it is that even this will help. It seems that he consequences of Galdorion's decision have already caught up with us, though standing here, watching for him, I find it hard to care for the anger of his house. What is done is done – now we can only wait for the results.
The wind stirs the branches of the trees across the shore, and I hold my breath, watching for further signs of movement. There is nothing. I know that I cannot linger here longer – I must return to the city and prepare to face the consequences of Galdorion's absence. Still, I linger, holding my hopeless vigil. Waiting for his return.
