The small kingfisher landed on a flat rock in the middle of the stream, reflections of the sun dancing across the surface creating a mosaic-like pattern as a backdrop to its perfectly still silhouette. Suddenly it dives, and emerges a few seconds later a small fish in its beak. The bird rustles its wing feathers and takes flight, busy. Maedhrathin smiles at the small drama of nature before him. He is sitting crossed legged by the stream in solitude, fishing rod on his left side, untouched. Tuilérie is gone. A pilgrimage of sorts to Eregion, as he had came to understand it. She usually came with him on these nearby fishing excursions. Last they had met, they had talked a bout her trip, and Maedhrathin suspected there was more to her wish to revisit the places of old than what she had revealed. But he hadn’t said anything. Tuilérie was not a talkative type, however, given time, she probably let him know.
Now he sat there in alone. Ealendil, his Taurlillel, was busy with her research, organizing notes and ‘experimenting’ with harmonies, and rocks, as he had come to call the crystals she had brought home. She was more and more turning into a scholar than a carefree minstrel. It seemed to Maedhrathin her mother had left a legacy behind when she sailed, a legacy that he slowly had come to see the depth of, but knew not where it would lead her.
Maedhrathin sighed. They had only been married a short time, but he had known her for a long time by now. They had met during the Fornost campaign. She had been in charge of the protection of the supply trains going north from Mithlond, and he had been one of the assistant quartermasters in one of them… That was a long time ago, yet he had always loved her during all that time. And now he longed for a child, their child, a child of love.
Like so many times before, he usually awoke before her, and lying next to her, he often put his ear against her belly, listening after heartbeats betraying new life, and as so many times before nothing could be heard. He knew she often pretended to be asleep, enjoying the moment they shared. At one time she had stroked his head lovingly, whispering “Soon my love, soon.”
He had never brought it up with her, but he was sure she knew his feelings... When the child came, he wanted to bring it up close to the sea. What that would mean for them here and now, he was not sure.
One morning, head still on hear belly, she had softly said “I see the following in our future.”, and Maedhrathin went absolutely still holding his breath, a foretelling. She paused before continuing “A golden child will be born, she will have the same colors as I, such is the legacy of our line, unusual as it may be, but stretching as far back as the migration and before.” Maedhrathin had looked at her, eyes large, and she continued “The gift will manifest within her as it did within me, my mother, and grandmother, when the times comes, and she will carry on where I cannot.”. She looked at him, eyes smiling, “And I know her name, but I will not tell you until she is born.”, and then she laughed softly, an infectious laughter, and Maedhrathin soon laughed with her. “And will she irritate you, as you did your mother when you were young, and follow me everywhere, as you followed your father?” he asked quietly. Ealendil stroked his hair, and nodded silently, smiling warmly.
–
Returning his attention to the stream, straining his ears to hear the music of the flowing water, the music of Uinen, he suddenly blinks. Was he mistaken? Or did a small flat round surface form? No, blinking and looking again, he saw it reform close to the shore where he was sitting, a small circular surface two feet in diameter, and surface perfectly still, whereas the rest of the water around it flowed as before.
Maedhrathin moves closer to get a better view. The surface reflected the clouds above, a perfect mirror. Was this a sending? He scratches his head, but leans forward to observe closer the perfectly still reflecting surface.
It goes dark, and suddenly he thinks he can see an image in the reflection. A city, and gray clouds above, the sea, a port, and there… and there someone… Ealendil! She stand still, dressed in a dark green robe, but he recognizes her immediately where she stands alone on the pier looking out towards the sea. It looks like she is facing west… And now he recognizes the houses and building around the harbor, yes, the harbor… Mithlond. All deserted, but for his love standing alone. No ships, no elves, and seagulls. What it this? A vision of the future, and… and it dawns upon him, we didn't sail with the last ship, did we. Maedhrathin knows not what to make of it. It looks like they remained, or at least she did. But he is sure he remained too, something tells him that.
The images in the surface changes, and the dancing light of the sun fills the circular surface… A forest, an elf and an elfling hand in hand walking come into focus. Maedhrathin’s jaws drop, the elf is him and the elfling is a golden haired elleth dancing and jumping next to him, hand in hand. They carry fishing rods and a river comes into view. The banks of the river are not steep and there across on the other side golden trees are visible, Mallorn trees. It dawns upon him, he is looking at Lórien from across the river. But why this image? Have they moved to Eryn Galen? Puzzled, but pleased by what he sees, he ponders… If this is to come to pass then it is after the first image. So, something makes them move to Lindon, the child may be born there, and then… and then they are in Eryn Galen… hmm...
The image changes slowly, darkening, and the sun disappears, replaced by the deeper dark of indoor. But where? An image of small chamber. A chamber seemingly shaped out of a mountain cave, yet clearly decorated in elven fashion. A table comes into focus, elves are sitting around it, seemingly deep in discussion, leaning over sheets of paper strewn across the table-surface. Who are they? Ealendil, Inglaeril? He recognizes the aunt from Ealendil’s description of her. And then there is another, an ellon, unknown. Crystals on the table between them, a harp lying next to them. The strange ellon is wearing a robe with symbols he doesn’t recognize at once, they seemed to be those of a wooden realm, but which, not those of Lórien, that much was clear. Wait, he blinks, those are the symbols of the northern realm, as he has come to recognize from some of Ealendil’s clothes and other belongings, she had lived there, and now it seemed they were back there again. But why, how?
The image fades and as the surface slowly breaks up, a last one is forming. A small group of travelers. Heading east, judging by the angle of the sun and the shadows they cast. There are five of them, two ladies walk next to each other, golden hair, same height, and as they they come into focus, they look like twins, except, he recognizes Ealendil as one of them… then, the other… must be their daughter, all grown up. They are wearing packs, and seem to be walking in silence. Behind them he recognizes himself, wearing a sword by his side and a pack slung across his shoulder. Behind him two others follow, both unknown… no, one of them is the one he saw earlier by the table. Hmm, a scholarly looking fellow. And the second, he is a hunter of sorts, wearing a large bow of an elaborate design he doesn’t recognize. Maedhrathin is puzzled, he doesn't recognize the lands and landmarks. Where are they, where are they heading? East. But why? What are they looking for? He shakes his head, and the surface breaks up finally.
Maedhrathin blinks, and as his eyes opens, the surface finally is gone, water is flowing as before. A slight shiver runs down his spine. What was all about? That it was a sending he was sure, but from whom? Uinen, Ossë, Ulmo… he knew not. Looking up he notices that the suns has passed zenith and had began its descent some time ago. Had he really been caught up in the images all morning and midday? Gathering his belongings, he rises slowly. It was time to go home. That he came home empty handed was not a problem. Ealendil didn’t expect fish to be caught every time he went out. He liked to fish, but most of the times he came to be inspired, to listen to the music of the water, and this time it had responded in ways he was sure he would be trying to come to terms with for quite some time to come. As their home came into view, he scratches his head, and for the hundredth time wondered if he really dared to share with her what he had seen. He shakes his head slowly, and sighing he whispers to himself “Only time will tell, only time.”.
