Missive Received

Played by:
AelKennyr Rhiano


Olwe, Lord of Alqualonde and Tol Eressea, King of the Teleri, the last of the Eldar clans to come to the Undying Lands, crosses the room on legs well accustomed to the gentle rocking of the ship.  Looking out a thick paned window, he watches for a few moments as the sunlight danced upon the waves. Occasionally, a dolphin would lift up out of the water to join the light in a playful galliard, stately and yet at the same time unrestrained.  Then his attention is pulled away by the sounds of someone nosily emptying their stomachs.  With a sigh, he turns back to the window and opens the porthole to let in the fresh air.   

Stowing his things away in the drawers built into the walls of the cabin, he feels the ship rise and fall with the waves, his feet and legs compensating for the gentle lurch with practised ease.  Somewhere in the distant was the call of a gull, giving them a final farewell for this trip back to Alqualonde. 

He hears the muffled voices of dwarves, some complaining already of the journey, he fears, judging only from the tone.  He heard them as they went below at the start of this journey, whispering to each other in their own language, Olwe assumes. It certainly was no elven tongue, for the sounds were hard and sharp, without music. He has heard the tongues of the second-born, their language dull and flat upon the ear, a disharmonious sound, but far from the cacophony of the dwarven tongue. It shall be a long voyage home, Olwe thinks, crossing the cabin to the desk so cunningly built into one of the walls of the cabin.  Sitting down in the cushioned wooden chair beside the desk, he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a folded piece of parchment he had hurriedly stuck there.  Long elegant fingers unfolded the note, his brow furrowing as he remembers the contents, the one line that gave Olwe such pause: 

 "I will explain in more detail my need to leave when I am able, but for now, this will serve to cover my absence." 

The handwriting was curved, tense, the letters folding in on themselves. He holds the parchment and brushes his thumb across the signature on it.  The musician Estelin, who is no Teleri musician, but instead the Vala Irmo, Lord of Dreams, of Visions. The same Vala who, several turns of the seasons ago, disturbed the peaceful life that Olwe had known for ages with visions of a terrible and consuming Darkness, waiting, watching, growing. So easy to forget that the humble, quiet, shy minstrel was the Lord of Lorien, so easy to forget why the disguised Vala travelled with him.  And now his protector was gone, away.  Had he really gone to gather tales, or was there a higher purpose?  Slowly Olwe refolded the letter and placed it on the table. 

It doesn't matter where the truth lies, Olwe tells himself. Nole received the news that Estelin was staying behind readily. And with Apakenwe, the disguised Nienna, missing, there were truly no one else to question Estelin's words.  

Except Olwe.  And whatever questions Olwe has, they must forever rest in his heart, for a Child of Erum has no business in the affairs of the Valar....no business at all.