Estarfin

We left the celebrations prepared by our housekeeper, Filignil, and others of the household, a few hours after midnight. The sky was still dark, with an abundance of stars showing, but we knew it would not be long before dawn. Midsummer was the shortest night of the year! 

“We thought to have a celebration under the stars,” Danel said to the small assembly of elves. “Filgnil has placed food and drink on a table by the lake. This way.” She walked away, the dew-covered grass dampening her trailing skirts. Estarfin made no move to follow; instead, he fixed a heavy gaze on Parnard.

We stood facing each other, but a little over an arm’s length apart. Ithil shone down upon us, touching him with a true-silvered hand. The warm breeze ruffled both our hair. All I could see was the culmination of my dreams. Oh, there were other things I hoped for, other things I dreamed, but this was and always had been the heart of my heart. That he would know happiness. That we would be as one. 

Eventually we were rescued, of course, else I would not be recounting this. 

I walked onto the biting ice of the Hithaeglir to save him. He walked into the flames of a burning house to save me. Perhaps we are equal now? Not that I ever held it to be some sort of contest, nor that I would not do it again. Thinking thus upon our past reminds me of the talk we had when returning from Imladris to Falathorn for the first time. We stopped on the edge of the Old Forest, just in sight of the Brandywine bridge.

Estarfin reached out to carefully touch the fabric of my dress. “It is beautiful,” he said. He smiled brightly, softly, almost as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.