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The caves beside the Sea were as tall within as a forest of old oaks, and inside the elves erected buildings rather than carving out the caves themselves, which they must not have the skill to do, thought Parnard. As if to try to drive away the damp shadows, the Falathrim hung glittering garlands of luminous globes that cast a misty cold light underneath the stalactites.
Estarfin stood upon the cliffs, an open bottle of wine held in his hand as he stared across the Sea, searching for answers. His face was pale and drawn, as though he had been without rest for many days. A chill wind swept over him, and he scowled, looking to the uttermost West.
He called out bitterley into the empty sky."You have laid this Doom upon us, and we have dwelt ever under that shadow. Tears unnumbered have been shed, and none save Tintallë herself have any thought for us that remain in this far land."
Even the fittest of elves was likely to be just a little winded by the time they reached Lord Cirdan’s Halls. The design of Mithlond, against the cliff face, was a series of levels, such as favoured by many an elven architect. Each could be more easily defended by attack from the land or the sea. I thought then these Havens had never been taken. The ones before, at the mouth of the Sirion, were taken by our own. Estarfin among them.
It happened the second time, as I left the Hall of Lord Cirdan. Something I could not explain.
There was a sound of horns in the distance, as of one blowing into great seashells that echoed the music of the sea, the beauty, the yearning for home..aye even home beyond Valinor. True home it was that sounded through the waters.