The night was dark, still, only the rustle of leaves blowing softly in the slight, warm humid breeze. Somewhere an owl was hooting, it's sound disappearing up in the quiet air, into the black abyss of night. On the mushy grass the moisture lies reflecting the the light of the stars in the sky like a thousand tiny mirrors. Behind him every elf was as quiet as the gloom it self.
Varlimon swallows hard, the knot in his throat struggling against his courage that he felt earlier when Cirdan addressed them. He can even now hear his leader's voice above the beat of his terrified heart that so rhythmically drowns his own thoughts with every heart wrenching pound. Cirdan's voice boomed full of confidence when he stood in front of them. But now, now that he's next to his lord he can see the fear that he so desperately tries to hide behind a brave facade of emotionless determination. He has known his friend far too long for him to be able to bury his terror under a layer of put on impassiveness. Maybe from the others, not him.
In front of him the fires of war burned brightly, dotting the land like glowering eyes of anger. Above the stillness he hears the horns of the enemy's vile abominations blare above everything else, above his thundering heart, above his own ringing in his ears. Even above his memories of his love, the lady Celena.
There has been no word from Elrond since his departure to Eregion. Some of them has even given up hope that he, and those that followed him, might have survived. The Orcs have been attacking the Gray Havens for some time now. At first there was hope, hope that the Numenoreans would still come to their aid, but that too has been lost. All is lost. Eriador has fallen. Their Noldor brothers in those lands defeated.
The Orcs are at their walls now, the forces of the Dark One has risen from its festering pits to claim all that is good and pure. The woman and children hides in their houses alone and scared, praying for help to the Valar, while their men face the onslaught of the ennemy.Valiant in their courage to face this battle. If only King Tar-Misastri could have sent their Swan Ships back with the forces that their king, King Gil-galad send for then there might have been a glimmer of hope.
Alas, there seems like there's no respite from this terror that now faces them. But he has sworn with his life, his undying soul that he will never forsake them. Even if he didn't he wouldn't have left them. Couldn't leave them. Where would he go? There is truly no place left on Endor for them to run. Sauron's armies have destroyed all that they so loved. Eriador lies in ruins. They don't even think any of the other Eldar East of the Grey Havens are still putting up any form resistance anymore. Now it's only them here in the far West. If only the Numenoreans would have arrived. If only their king replied on their cry for help.
Varlimonn shakes his head as his thoughts returns to the present. Taking a deep breath, albeit stained with the reek of burning puttered that drifts from the camps out on the horizon, it is still a breath that he takes on these shores, and he will enjoy it. Turning his head to his friend, he nods and they both understood what they meant. What passes between them needs no words The Orcs has risen again. Suaron is to march with hordes of monsters, beast creatures of corruption. They must just buy themselves a few more days of hope, that's all that they can wish for. Only hope.
When I reminisce about all those years
I see many things.
Life and Death strung together
like the Mountains and Valleys
in which we lived.
There was Wealth and Opulence
but also Tribulation and Loss.
There was Laughter and Song
and there was also Tears.
But even more than Tears
Blood was shed.
And so many were left
to their unadorned Graves, unburied.
But to us Death was just another Journey.
And close by the Darkness
through which we strode
there was also Light.
The Lght of Life and Immortality.
And after All,
When I reminisce about those years,
I mostly remember our Songs.
We sang,
as if to drown out the Sound
of clashing Swords,
as if the Battle Cries fell silent.
Because War has lost its meaning.
Eluvietie - Helvetios - Prologe, lyrics.
