[piosenniel]

Imladris' post - Lira

Corn was bobbing rhythmically on Merkaliel’s head, who whickered pleasantly as Lira trotted down the dirt path that led to Bree. That morning she had come across an abandoned trail some hours ago and had left the rest of the search party to go and explore it, as it led roughly towards Bree. But after an hour or so it had switched direction and so she traveled cross country until she had hit the main path again. She had searched in the dust for the tracks of the others, but did not find them. It was near dawn now, but early morning mists enshrouded the two in a wispy mantle and seeping fog entwined itself around the mare’s hooves; the horizon was stained with crimson, while orange tendrils curled greedily clutching at distant mountain peaks.

A soft singing arose eerily from the dusky meadow that stretched to her left: the singing of passing elves as they wended their way as a silver river through the hills of the Shire. Lira reigned Merkaliel, and waited for the ethereal line to pass: Corn for once was silent and stood with unaccustomed stillness as he waited with her. She could see them now, their faint light thrusting the pressing darkness of early morning away. The first elf, strong and beautiful, stepped into the path and Lira said, her musical voice soft and low, “Mae govannen.”

The elf bowed low and returned the greeting. They spoke in the Sindarin tongue and another elf, a lady named Merenwen, asked, “Lira Nen, what are you doing here? I thought that long before you would have taken ship to the blessed land of the Valinor.”

Lira smiled sadly and said, “The fair lands of Middle-earth call to me still, Merenwen, she whispers continually in my ears of the hills, the dimpled vales, and little river of this land, of the mighty forests which have withstood the darkness, and of the victory over the Shadow. It brings me joy to see the meadows of Ithilien plush with green grass and to see the white wildflowers sway in the passing breeze.”

The elves were silent and Merenwen asked, “Where is your bow? You are an elf of Eryn Lasgalen and yet you carry a dagger?” Corn snickered derisively and glanced insolently with a beady eye at Lira.

“The dagger was a gift of a friend…I forgot to bring my bow with me when I departed from Ithilien. I was worried about my parents and…” Lira‘s voice trailed off. Corn croaked sympathetically, flapped to her shoulder, and ran his beak through the various strands of hair that had come unbound from the braids that encircled Lira’s head.

Merenwen sighed softly and, as the line of elves continued their journey, she called, “Namarie Mellon Lira. We will eagerly await you on the shores of the Valinor,” she said, as they continued their own journey.

Lira watched them slowly disappear into the night, their silvery glimmer lingering long after their forms had disappeared. She shook herself and prodded Merkaliel forward as she thought of the parting words of Merenwen; Corn squawked with indignation as he lurched forward at the sudden movement of the horse. Eight years ago her parents had left Ithilien and told her that they would journey over the land of Middle-earth and, after about seven years, they would arrive at the Grey Havens and take a ship to the Valinor. They had promised to send a message, a dove, telling her when they reached the Grey Havens. Eight years had passed, and no messenger had come. Stifled fear and worry rustled in her heart, for the paths had yet been dark when they had departed. They had not gone in a group as Merenwen had wisely done, but had set off by themselves, alone, with but bows and arrows for protection from the wilds and the lurking orcs and spawn of evil that remained.

Leaving the thoughts of her parents behind, she mused of her mission to Evendim. She would be accompanied by others in the search for the missing Eodwine of Rohan. Stiffening, Lira wondered who would slay the rangers and messengers of Gondor and now Rohan. Or maybe they were not slain, Lira mused as a new angle of the tangle of unanswered questions entered her mind. But surely some would escape? Or maybe they had met with a fate worse than death…or maybe they really were a pile of bleached bones, if their flesh had already decomposed, otherwise they would be mere carcasses with...Lira shuddered and saw that she had reached Bree.

The wooden gate was partially hidden in friendly shadows, and rapping her knuckles upon the rough wood, Lira patiently waited for the watchman to let her pass.

“Who goes there?” a man barked, opening the portal as he peered intently through the gloom.

“An elf maid,” Lira answered back. “I am looking for Uien.” Corn nodded his head vigorously and hopped again to the Merkaliel’s head and ran his beak through her silky mane.

The man nodded briskly at the name and said, “She’s staying at the Prancing Pony, Miss,” he said, gesturing in the general direction.

“Thank you,” Lira replied. She slowly made her way towards the Prancing Pony, handed her horse over to the stable master, and looked about her. Corn grinned mischievously at Lira and disappeared into a pile of straw.

Hobbits and men were laughing loudly as they conversed of the doings and happenings of life in the Common Room; a hobbit danced gaily upon a wooden table, encouraged by the cheers and toasts of his companions. Others sat quietly in the corners, just out of reach of the fire’s lurid light. Lira’s eyes roved the tables and finally saw Uien, Falowik and two other hobbits. Making her way towards them, she said, “Mae govannen, Uien.”