[Child of the 7th Age]

OOC: If you have eulogies, poetry, or wish to think about your loved ones, please do it after this post.

At mid-day, everyone from the ships convened in the shaded forest grove as they had agreed. Ancalimon had found a grassy spot tucked away near the base of the mountain. Many beautiful trees grew here, but they were not as thick as in some other corners of the grove. The branches of the beeches and the elms rose up sturdily towards the heavens, but shafts of sunlight managed to shine through here and there, throwing dappled shadows onto the ground cover. Hobbits and Elves sat together, waiting for Ancalimon and Loremaster to speak.

Green leaves rustled overhead and soft winds blew, providing cool music for all who listened. These breezes sang of doom and choice, of lives grounded in gentleness and sacrifice, and whispered a quiet note of sorrow and longing. This is where they would locate their memorial for the dead. It was not only to be for the hobbits who fell on the night of the rescue, but for all who had lived and died in the tombs--big folk, little folk, and the two Elves who had perished from the ships.

Loremaster sat on a rock at the front of the gathering, turning over memories, one-by-one. He had dwelt in the darkness of the tombs over sixty years. He could recall a bit of Tol Fuin, and the rugged capture and journey which had first led them to the shores of Numenor. So many names, so many hobbits. He couldn't remember them all. And yet he was content. Every family in the grove that afternoon would carry away images of the close kin and friends who'd been sundered from them over the years. It would be enough to begin the healing.

All was silent when Loremaster rose to his feet. He was dressed in simple clothes. Then Phura came by his side, wearing the robes of a wise man, and, in a voice clear and steady, sang of loss and hope.

I stand on the hillside and gaze at you
As you quickly recede from my sight
Slipping away (don't leave me, don't go)
Farewell, wait for me, I cry

For a short time we will be apart
in the light of eternity
I'll come to you, hold me in your heart
Remember me, wait for me

I ride on the wind, my eyes drift back
To the receding hill and to you
Hope lies before me, love lies behind
In time, hope will call you too

But love lies before me all the same
Love travels with me, strengthens me
Love waits behind for you, at home
And before me, far beyond the sea

For a short time we will be apart
in the light of eternity
I'll wait for you, hold you in my heart
Remember me, come to me

Beyond our sight, we see by hope
Beyond our vision, we wait in faith
Beyond the circles of the world
We'll find all our loves again

For a short time we will be apart
in the light of eternity
Iluvatar waits, and says in his heart
Remember me, come to me

Cami sat quietly in the grove next to Gamba and the boys, reflecting both on the tombs and the children she had lost in the First Age. Now, she felt her heart ache as the familiar sweet words were sung. Loss and hope. Turning forward and pulling back. It seemed all of life was like that. An intricate dance, with patterns ebbing and flowing, cutting through the web of time. But her people had known such grieving. Why had this been chosen for them? She couldn't even pretend to hold the answer.

Ancalimon was continuing with healing words for the hobbits, speaking of those who'd perished, and what their lives meant. Cami's own thoughts ranged far afield, as she remembered friends and kin who'd seen their lives cut short. She did not have the wisdom to comprehend such things. Still, there had to be some reckoning to explain why some men of evil lived in comfort, while so many of the Faithful, big and little folk, lay under heavy burdens. Life was sweet, she reflected, but not always easy to understand.

Loremaster stood up, and began to say the names of those who'd died in the tombs. Families broke down and wept. When Esta's name was read, Cami heard Gamba's breath come in sharp, ragged edges, as the boy slid his head into his hands and cried.

When the names finished, each hobbit and Elf came forward with a shell they'd gathered from the white sands and placed them together on the ground. By the time all had finished, a large pile stood at the front of the grove, a mute witness of all who'd remembered there that day. Finally, Daisy and Kali walked up, along with several hobbit children, clutching flowers in their hands. These were not cut flowers. All agreed they'd seen enough of cutting and dying. They wanted to set living seedlings in the soil, plants that could grow and flourish, and sprout again. By the end of the afternoon, others joined them in the chore, until a ring of living blossoms surrounded the memorial place, a flood of different colors and sizes and shapes just like the people who had planted them there.

[ November 07, 2002: Message edited by: Child of the 7th Age ]