[Envinyatar]

Pio moved uncomfortably in her chair. ‘Shall we walk a little?’ he offered, extending his hand to her. The night was warm, and there was no need for her to have her cloak on. He linked his arm in hers as they left the Inn – to steady her on the unlit path, he thought to himself; though he knew her eyes would have no problem with the darkness.

He enjoyed the nearness of her. It set his mind thinking fondly of Lothronien and the nights they had walked under the stars. His children had been lively, too, in the womb, and often the only way for her to be comfortable. Lost in dreams, he did not hear her question at first.

‘Pardon, m’lady?’ He saw her smile as her face turned to him, and the starlight reflected merrily in her eyes. ‘Lothronien,’ she repeated. Her brow furrowed for a moment, ‘And Meldë and Dirgan. Who are they that you recall them with such happiness.’

‘My wife, m’lady. Lothronien.’ His voice faltered, and he drew a ragged breath. ‘And my children. Meldë, my daughter, and Dirgan, my son.’

She said nothing, only held his arm a little tighter, knowing that he would speak when he could. Silence claimed them as they passed down the path, then he spoke again, quietly.

‘We made our way home, once the fighting was done, and Aragorn was assured his Kingship. To the outskirts of Ethring, we returned.’ He paused in his stride, his voice now very low. Returned, only to find our own homes burned, our families slain. A roving band of Orcs had swept through this area, destroying land, life, and dwelling as they passed under cover of darkness.’

‘My wife was slain, as was my daughter. Their bodies burnt. I found only the charred bones in the ashes of our house. I held the small skull of my son in my hands. I found it near the bones of Lothronien. He was not yet born, when I left. This was the first and only time that I held him.’

Derufin’s voice faltered and grew quiet again. ‘Three of us who returned stayed, to rebuild their lives there. The two others left, one to the arms of the wide sea, and the other to a life of rootless wandering.’ He stopped, and turned to look at her.

‘It was I who was the wanderer. Outrunning memories that shadowed each step.’