[Durelin]

Maegisil sat beneath a tree amidst a small patch of scattered woodland, watching the smoke curls dancing on the horizon in the east, seemingly playing on the slopes of the Misty Mountains. They looked particularly misty this day, and dark, grey, and drab. The elf wondered how he had ever found them beautiful. He hated recalling the many days in Ost-in-edhil when he would watch the sun rise from behind them and think it a blessed sight. Those days were long gone to him, though it had not been long at all since he had slept in a warm, comfortable bed in his home. He felt it was time to forget. Not to move on, but to simply forget, and live as a new person. Only hours before he had raved to his wife about changing his name and denouncing any connection to his people. He desired to obliterate his life without killing himself, for he did not have the guts to do the latter. Which, to him, was now often regrettable.

“We have found another, Counselor Maegisil.”

“Do not call me that,” Maegisil said, his words biting.

“Yes...” the other elf, Arcoion, said, cutting his speech off, almost slipping in a ‘sir.’ He looked battered, and though it was soiled and broken beyond recognition, he still wore the light armour of one of the palace guards. Maegisil had not asked him how he had escaped the palace, as there had seemed to be no way out but for the free passage which had been granted to the former counselor.

“Do we have any food for them? Are they wounded?”

“There is some food, s...” the elf cut off again and took a deep breath, relaxing his body and his tone. “She has been given food, and she has only a few cuts, which she has attended to herself.”

“Good. How many does that make?”

“Seventeen.”

Maegisil considered this number for a moment. Seventeen refugees, not counting himself, his wife, and the soldier standing beside him. Strange that they were an even twenty. Twenty...and how many more were scattered about the land? He doubted there were many more. He had watched Sairien come to tears often, watching the survivors move about, knowing that they were most likely close to all that was left of Eregion. He would not be brought to that, though. Sadness had gnawed away at him for many years, and since his escape from the city, he had banished it, forcing it away with an icy wind, making him cold. All those years that Sairien had spent warming his blood, molding him into a more open person and, as it had been his opinion, a better one; they had all gone to waste, now. The end of Eregion, the destruction of Ost-in-edhil, the death of Celebrimbor marked the end of Maegisil's former life. He would see if it was worth it to begin a new one.

“Thank you,” he said as a dismissal to Arcoion, and he was soon alone again, for a time. In his thoughts, his mind drifted back to the past that he had forsaken over and over, trying in vain to erase it from his mind. The Lord of Eregion plagued his memories. He had been friends with that elf for far too long. He should never have let someone such as him get so close to him. He had never meant for anyone but his wife to be at all near to him. But he had taken her love for granted and sought other companionship, thinking it fine because it was not of the same kind. And it would have been, had Celebrimbor not begun to drain him of his life and so much precious time. He had taken time for granted, as well, and only in the past few days had he found it running very short. The fall of Eregion had been long inevitable, and yet he had not faced it until then.

But then Arcoion returned, and met with Maegisil's short temper when he addressed him as 'counselor' again. Only after a brief moment when Maegisil chose to place his head in his hands, appearing as if he were pouting, did Arcoion state why he had come back to bother the seated elf.

“The scouts have spotted a large party of Elves and Dwarves.”

Maegisil's head shot up to look the armoured elf in the eyes. “Are they close?”

“Yes. Only about a half-mile to the east.”

“Inform the others...”

Arcoion turned to leave, but Maegisil stopped him. “Have you seen Sairien?” He had not seen her for some time, and only wished to make sure she was alright. That was enough for him today.

“She was looking for you but a moment ago, but she was called away to re-bandage a wound.”

“And have the scouts returned? If so, send him to me.” Arcoion nodded, and departed to retrieve the scouts and tell the refugees that they were to prepare to move. He finally rose when the scouts came over to him, and had them lead him to where this ‘large party’ was. Moving quickly through the scattered woodlands, Maegisil wondered at the existence of such a group. They could not be Mirdain... Could the far away Kings have actually remembered their brethren? If they had, they had in vain. And they had only to have to face Maegisil, former Counselor to Celebrimbor, who would not let them forget.