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piosenniel · 12-22-2003, 02:37 PM

‘This is what comes of such a long time lived in this marred world,’ thought Erkaliel as she had watched the interaction between Siralil, Sitinion, and Tanroth. Reason was of no avail, and a current of anger played round the group. ‘It is said,’ she thought further, ‘that when an Elf dies the fëa will go to the Halls of Mandos. There to better understand Eru’s purpose for them. Perhaps then this anger and wrong-doing will be understood and the Firstborn will be whole again.’

Erkaliel felt herself apart from this. She had no power to make this situation right. And beyond that, since she had climbed Elostirion and looked toward the Undying Lands, her only thoughts had been of that far country across the Bent Seas. In her room, she had left her pack and her weapons, a little note attached to them that someone in need should have them. She shed her traveling clothes – the breeches, vest, tunic, boots and pulled on a green dress, shot with threads of gold – the color of the leaves of Lothlórien on a fair, sunlit day. On her feet were soft green shoes. About her shoulders she drew on the grey, finely woven cloak her aunt had made for her long ago, and clasped it at the throat with a shining six-pointed star of silver and crystal. Eärendil’s star, the hope which hung always in the sky.

~*~

As she made her way to the dock, she pushed the cape’s hood from off her hair, which was now unbound. The sea breezes caught the tendrils about her face and played with them gently as she made her way to the slip where the White Ship lay at anchor. Her companions were gathered on the dock, surrounding Tanroth.

He stood with Rostion, a resolved look on his face. Dunaire stood just behind him; both had just spoken with him. Firiel was there, tears staining her cheeks, though she laughed in spite of them. Imthôlion had just finished speaking with Tanroth, and Erkaliel’s brow furrowed as she watched him turn away from the waiting ship, his steps taking him eastward down the road.

Coming up quietly behind Tanroth, she put her hand on his arm, causing him to turn toward her.

Utúlie’n aurë, Tanroth. Nai hiruvalyë Valinor. Namárië!

One last look at him, who had led their band so well, then her grey eyes turned West, to the White Ship waiting, and her steps carried her on board . . .

_______________________________________

Translation of Elvish:

‘The day has come, Tanroth. May you find Valinor. Farewell!’

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 3:56 PM December 22, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

12-22-2003, 02:37 PM	#104
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,779	‘This is what comes of such a long time lived in this marred world,’ thought Erkaliel as she had watched the interaction between Siralil, Sitinion, and Tanroth. Reason was of no avail, and a current of anger played round the group. ‘It is said,’ she thought further, ‘that when an Elf dies the fëa will go to the Halls of Mandos. There to better understand Eru’s purpose for them. Perhaps then this anger and wrong-doing will be understood and the Firstborn will be whole again.’ Erkaliel felt herself apart from this. She had no power to make this situation right. And beyond that, since she had climbed Elostirion and looked toward the Undying Lands, her only thoughts had been of that far country across the Bent Seas. In her room, she had left her pack and her weapons, a little note attached to them that someone in need should have them. She shed her traveling clothes – the breeches, vest, tunic, boots and pulled on a green dress, shot with threads of gold – the color of the leaves of Lothlórien on a fair, sunlit day. On her feet were soft green shoes. About her shoulders she drew on the grey, finely woven cloak her aunt had made for her long ago, and clasped it at the throat with a shining six-pointed star of silver and crystal. Eärendil’s star, the hope which hung always in the sky. ~~ As she made her way to the dock, she pushed the cape’s hood from off her hair, which was now unbound. The sea breezes caught the tendrils about her face and played with them gently as she made her way to the slip where the White Ship lay at anchor. Her companions were gathered on the dock, surrounding Tanroth. He stood with Rostion, a resolved look on his face. Dunaire stood just behind him; both had just spoken with him. Firiel was there, tears staining her cheeks, though she laughed in spite of them. Imthôlion had just finished speaking with Tanroth, and Erkaliel’s brow furrowed as she watched him turn away from the waiting ship, his steps taking him eastward down the road. Coming up quietly behind Tanroth, she put her hand on his arm, causing him to turn toward her. Utúlie’n aurë, Tanroth. Nai hiruvalyë Valinor. Namárië!* One last look at him, who had led their band so well, then her grey eyes turned West, to the White Ship waiting, and her steps carried her on board . . . _______________________________________ Translation of Elvish: ‘The day has come, Tanroth. May you find Valinor. Farewell!’ <font size=1 color=339966>[ 3:56 PM December 22, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ] __________________ Eldest, that’s what I am . . . I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside.