farewell

So it was now so as it was so to be as it had to be so, so King Sauron was dead and also defeated by me.  And truly was this glad tiding, because he would have destroyed the whole world or ruled over it or some such terrible thing, probably.  And all the army shouted aloud, ‘Hurrah for Nine-fingered Frodo and Steve!  Hip hip hooray!’

(( The title is a nod to the song "Carry On My Wayward Son" by the band Kansas, and that is a good companion to this piece. Character death ahead. ))

Deep in the night, in one of the rooms at the Pony, Taraborn lay awake in the dark. A warm, soft body is curled up against him, her coppery hair splayed across his chest and her breath light and faint. Narys’ presence would normally be enough to help him sleep almost instantly, especially after the rigorous fun they had had not long ago. But not tonight. Tonight, he lay awake, his mind contemplating life and what he wanted from it.

[First Age of the Sun, Year 455. Thargelion. Three days before the beginning of the Dagor Bragollach, Battle of Sudden Flame]

Blince awoke slowly, and noticed his wife was absent from the bed. He stood, and made his way through. He paused as he noticed the letter upon the table, and then door to the baby's room closed. He then opened the letter, and read through it slowly.

Hunched in his woolen cloak and with the rain lashing at his features the tall Northman strode on. Looking back at Jarnsalr for the last time the pouring heavens mingled their water with a brief tear of grief
 

‘There was no time to inform everyone.’