[piosenniel]

Child of the 7th Age's post

Lindir stood silent on the banks of the Lhûn, vacantly fixed on the churning waters that emptied into the Gulf. Far beyond, he could glimpse the distant Sea. At his back, to the north and west, hung the peaks of the Ered Lhûn. It was strange, he reflected, that the river and the mountains were called by the ancient Grey-elven term that meant “Blue” in the Common Tongue. In the past week, he had seen no hint of blue, only brown and green, in the miles of tangled forest and matted bracken through which he had trudged. Nor did the waters in front of him show any bluish hue, despite the bright sunshine that beat down from the heavens. He saw only dusky grey waters that gave no promise of comfort or a glimpse of better things to come. A lone gull appeared overhead, circled once, and then disapeared.

Lindir felt he had come to the end of his journey. He could not stay on in Middle-earth. The shores of Lindon and the lands further east brought no relief to his aching discomfort. Yet that decision held no measure of joy or anticipation. His journey from the Havens was not a well deserved rest after a life of purposeful activitity, but almost an admission of guilt of too many mistakes and missed chances that had slipped through his grasp. The events of the First Age as well as those of the Second had left him uneasy, deeply aware of the evil that shadowed the world and the fact that he was seemingly unable to do little to alleviate it. It was not only the bloodshed of the First Age that preyed on his mind, as ghastly as that had been, but his bungled attempts to atone for things at Eregion that had ended in such disaster.

When Malris had come to him some time ago with the suggestion that they pay a final visit to Himring and then sail from the Havens, Lindir had promised to think on the idea, but had not given his consent. Now, after spending a week secluded in the mountains, he had finally decided that Malris was right. It was time to leave behind the past and sail West. Whatever awaited him there surely could not be worse than what had happened in Middle-earth.

He had thought of asking Malris to forego the trek to Himring and have the group head straight out to the West. Himring was fraught with bitter memories, and Lindir could see little good in awakening these images. But Malris seemed determined; Lindir felt he had no chance of changing his comrade's mind, and he did not wish to disappoint him. There were too few Elves whom he could still call by the name of "friend". With a sigh, he picked up his pack and hoisted it onto his shoulders continuing on his path towards the harbor as he wondered what the morrow might bring.