Heaven and Earth: Silwë and Ainurél

In the pages of a leather bound journal full of technical schematics and rambling thoughts, there is a charcoal and ochre sketch of an much younger Silwë gazing into the eyes of a joyful, fair haired elleth. She beams up at him in return, and on the facing page, poetry or musical lyrics copied carefully and deliberately, marred by water—a few errant tears. 

I loathe sea travel — I have only rarely willingly set foot on a ship since I stepped from our ill-gotten fleet and passed into Beleriand with my brethren many long ages ago. Every time I must, I hope never to do so again until a ship comes that will willingly bear me to Valinor. 

I was born in Menegroth, but spirited away before the violence brought it down. I came of age in Arvernien, but after my sister wed, my father and I were alone. Mother would not leave her family home, in Harlindon, so we took to the road north, to find what awaited us.

He had sat by the fire in Vrinduhal listening to the dwarven merchants chatter, sipping tea as the unending snow fell from a sky the colour of steel, the wind sighing against frozen trees as chatter turned to quiet while Silwe continuted to gaze unspeaking into the mesmerizing glow of the campfire, seeking calm, seeking respite.