< Previous
AelKennyr Rhiano
Winds rustle through the leaves of the trees surrounding the healer's hall, and the smell of rich earth, green growing things reaches Olwe as he sits beneath an ancient tree just outside the hall. His elven ears pick up the voice of faithful Nole, conversing with Llyra, one of the valiant healers who brought Olwe back from the very doors of the halls of Mandos. Allowing their voices to become dull noise in the background, he concentrates on the sounds of the wind, the crickets, the birds. Faintly, even from this distance the salt of the sea is in the air, and he feels a pang for home.
He draws in the air of the evening, the smell of cookfires filling his nostrils. From afar off, the sounds of daily life slowing down. Within the next day or two, perhaps Lady Llyra will lax her guarded eye upon his recovery and allow him to set sail. But whether to go to on as he had planned or return to Alqualonde, he was uncertain. He has consulted the navigation maps of Nole, but what path to take? Now, everything seemed different. An unknown enemy stretched forth their hand into his very swanship, and he had been none the wiser. He shuddered, remembering the halls of Mandos rising before him, the cold that was seizing his limbs and slowing his heart.
It was not death he feared...after so long the centuries, death was not a specter to him. It was the possibility of being forever separated from one who so held his heart that with every beat of it, he could feel the nearness of that Beloved. But there was also a greater fear...one which twists his stomach into knots and makes his body heavy with dread.
It was the fear of failure, of being too little, too late.
Inside he hears the healer question his travelling companion about Olwe's whereabouts, and so the Teleri Lord rises to his feet, slowly, taking in one more breath. Slowly, he raises his eyes to the moon and then, with a sigh, calls out to both healer and sailor and makes his way into the healer's hall.
> Next
He draws in the air of the evening, the smell of cookfires filling his nostrils. From afar off, the sounds of daily life slowing down. Within the next day or two, perhaps Lady Llyra will lax her guarded eye upon his recovery and allow him to set sail. But whether to go to on as he had planned or return to Alqualonde, he was uncertain. He has consulted the navigation maps of Nole, but what path to take? Now, everything seemed different. An unknown enemy stretched forth their hand into his very swanship, and he had been none the wiser. He shuddered, remembering the halls of Mandos rising before him, the cold that was seizing his limbs and slowing his heart.
It was not death he feared...after so long the centuries, death was not a specter to him. It was the possibility of being forever separated from one who so held his heart that with every beat of it, he could feel the nearness of that Beloved. But there was also a greater fear...one which twists his stomach into knots and makes his body heavy with dread.
It was the fear of failure, of being too little, too late.
Inside he hears the healer question his travelling companion about Olwe's whereabouts, and so the Teleri Lord rises to his feet, slowly, taking in one more breath. Slowly, he raises his eyes to the moon and then, with a sigh, calls out to both healer and sailor and makes his way into the healer's hall.
> Next