In Darkest hours of the Night, the slight glow of a Campfire could be seen upon one of the many Peaks of the Misty Mountains...
This was Faeranir, or i would rather call it the Vague shadow of the Once thoughtfull and Philosophical Elf. All that remained now was a Heartbroken empty shell, how had this happened? Well that's a whole other tale, but the purpose of this Story is of another nature. For Faeranir had for the Past week been wondering, wondering over what you may wonder? He was wondering wether the (What he thought was) Illusions were perhaps a Reality... It had tormented his mind for many hours, he had not been eating, nor resting... Not even for a moment.
He felt his head hurting over the load of thoughts floating around in his head like a Maelstrom, his eyes were blurred like those of a Madman. But in truth he was not exactly Crazy, he was merely lying to himself. He trusted naught for a moment that someone would care enough to find him, he had given up on those thoughts. And he had seen Illusions, the nasty tricks the cold had played upon his Mind. One of these many Images was that he had returned to Menegroth, the Warm comfort of home had overwhelmed him... In those moments he had been happy, until he remembered that he were not home. He would never be.
But had this no purpose what so ever? It had, indeed it had. He had been Studying, studying on how to cure his dear friend Tuniviel. And he believed he was close, with each day, with each letter he neared the final Answer.
But another Week was to pass by before the end of Faeranirs Secluded life, however... The End was not quite what many had perhaps hoped for, let me tell you why...
Faeranir looked down from the Mountain, down upon the lights of the Rivendell Valley. It was rarely he got to see this.. It was beautiful, so peacefull, he wished deeply to return now. He had finally seen the truth, finally... When he had handed the Unconscious body of Daerundros to the Elves at Rivendell many days back, so many that it felt like years... It was no Illusion, he had realised his own Stupidity. No matter what had been the Past, his friends would be his... He had forgotten it in his own Depression, but how could he return? He had to find a way to apoligize, it was vital for him.
Suddenly he heard a voice in the cold... A Familiar voice, one he had not heard for thousands of years.
"Faeranir." The voice said in an utterly calm matter, like a Father would adress his Son.
Faeranir turned, a tear already making it's way down his cheek. His Father was dead, he knew that. Yet he could not reject this, even though it was an Illusion it was.... Comforting, "Father... Is that you?" Answered Faeranir with a saddened, almost desperat voice. "No and you know that, don't you son?" The voice asked, "Im merely what you wish to see right now, and it's understandable son... It truly is."
Before Faeranir's eyes a tall shadowy figure of an Elf stood, Dark was his hair. A true Noldorim, a Person of a Valour and Heritage Faeranir could never truly have claimed. "I know... Yet i like the Company for once." Faeranir said, in a slight chuckle.
"Company?" Said the Tall man in a most Sarcastic manner, "Your friends were here for not less than a Month ago, and you speak of Company."
"I know, i know... But what should i do? Past is past... I can't change that?" Faeranir uttered in return, his voice was starting to get the same Thoughtfull and Wondering touch to it as it had in his Early life.
"No... But what defines you? You're a Scholar, what do you do when you make a Flaw?" The Voice said.
"I-....I try again?" Faeranir asked back, he was starting to see sense in these words... Even if they were his own Imagination.
"Indeed, son... Now would you rather sit here crying alone, or will you attend to your Friend's wedding?" The voice finally said, as it disappeared with the Shadow. Faeranir looked into the thin air for what seemed like hours, until he took a final descision... He got on his feet and grabbed his now rotten walking stick and made his way down the small Mountain path, and with renewed hope he walked trough the Snow and to the Borders of Rivendell. Yet this was all his body could take before he collapsed, he had almost made it... He was so close to being back, he could almost feel the warmth of the Hall of Fire. But he could not go further himself, and he fell as long as he was on the road. And he closed his eyes only to fall into a sleep of pure Exhaustion.
Is this the end? I think not, for not more than a few days later... An Elf was seen walking down the road towards the Forges of Rivendell wearing Faeranir's Garments and with a rather large scroll in his arms. Had he perhaps been rescued by border Guards? How Should I know?
