It was early in the morning, sun had not risen, yet the harbor of Forlond was busy, seagulls already in frenzied flight riding the morning breeze. Fishermen scurried over the docks, busying themselves, having returned with the night’s catch. The salty morning breeze catches Tuilérie’s hair, she closes her eyes and breathes in the taste of the sea.
Tuilérie had asked Lady Manadhlaer if she would be allowed make a trip to Mithlond on an errand, she had brought with her some correspondence from Rivendell to deliver in Mithlond, but there were other things she wanted to do too and visit. And the Lady of the Pillar had given her the permission.
The living quarters of Forlond were well-guarded, and Lady Manadhlaer really needed no protection by Tuilérie. She would be in good company with hir Fëamiril and hiril Gilinnen. She had left Nolandur behind seeing that a sea journey would not sit well with him, and besides, he would be an excellent guard, warning if anyone approached. It would be different as they made their return journey, a long and exposed journey back to Rivendell. Especially now that they had not the company of Sergeant Daegond. He had taken his leave as soon as they had arrived to Forlond, his duty done, and returned east.
The small slender Falathrim coastal hugger makes quick progress over the relative calm water, seemingly finding enough wind her sail to speed her on. There are some 70 leagues between Forlond and Mithlond, yet the journey promises to take only a day to reach the havens. The vessel makes several stops along the northern coast of the gulf of Lhûn. Passengers comes and goes, goods unloaded and new stored for further transport up the gulf.
At one such stop not far from Mithlond, Tuilérie gets off the vessel, she will catch another one later on. There were several that daily crosses the gulf.
The harbor where she gets off is a small and old one, stones of the docks are somewhat crumbling, yet there are buildings here in seemingly good shape, some inhabited, but some with bordered windows, owners long gone.
Tuilérie stops at the main street, a road connecting the harbor with the mainland road going to Mithlond and further on. Walking down that road north, Tuilérie soon leaves the cluster of buildings behind and enters an area of smaller villas and shops, most are closed and window board speaking clearly of long-gone abandonment.
Outside one such small shop, Tuilérie stops abruptly, a memory of old surfaces and the sign above the main door of the house, a small chisel and hammer, a studio and villa combined, causes a single tear to trickle down her cheek. Her birth place, her home as a young, before much changed…
Tuilérie tries the door-handle, yet it stubbornly resists her attempts. Her father had seen to that the house was well boarded. Walking around the house, she reaches the garden, now over-taken by the many wild flowers of Lindon, and comes to stop at one of the far corners of the surrounding wall. Kneeling, she pries loose one of the rocks revealing a small compartment in which a dark wooden box, with small crystals inset in its lid. The crystals were of her mother’s making, fastened there to preserve what was contained inside. The box itself was of Tuilérie’s make, a clear sing at that time that she had talents for working with wood, not destined to a be jewel-smith like her parents, something which later would create a rift between her and her father.
Carefully opening the lid of the box reveals a small elven toy doll resting inside, hair now gone and clothes barely remaining. Tuilérie can no longer hold back her tears, caressing the small toy tightly, which she had played with as little and been comforted with when she was sad, which was often. When they had left for Ost-in-Edhil, she had hidden it in the box, thinking the toy belonged to the memories of Forlindon.
Her parents had hoped to return to the house every now and then, to a summer residence at the sea. Alas, the evil that had befallen Ost-in-Edhil had swept all such hopes and dreams away. Her father, whom she had had little contact with since they moved there, had been one of the first victims, and her mother having escaped to Rivendell, following the forces of Lord Elrond, had later in grief walked out into the woods. Her body had been found, yet her spirit had wandered on, leaving for distant shores.
Tuilérie sighs briefly, and gently places the small elven toy doll back in the box, before closing the lid she reaches in to a pocket inside of her west. Retrieving a small wooden amulet, she places it next to the doll. The small wooden amulet, resembling a flower of the spring with a single name written on it: Gladron. It was carved by him, a gift of love. She had given him a similar one with her name engraved on it, in an age ago and far away in Emyn Varn. Though all hope had been lost to find him this side of the Belegear after all these years, she had kept the amulet. Now silently whispering, “Until we meet again…”, casting a longing gaze west, she gently places it next to the doll, closes the lid, and restores the box to its old hiding pace.
It is late afternoon when Tuilérie finally finds herself back at the docks of the small coastal community, waiting another costal hugger heading for Mithlond. She does not have to wait long. Despite that Forlindon is not as as populated as it once was, trade is still life-blood of the gulf and the elves living there.
It is late afternoon almost evening when they reach Mithlond. The harbor is anything but quiet. Huge ships line the docks. The wharfs are still busy even this late, and commerce at the docks, though closing down slowly, is still vibrant.
However, Tuilérie does not stop to admire the harbor, or taking in all the three is to see and smell. That is not her purpose of visiting Mithlond, which she had often visited as a child accompanying her father and mother on business trips. Hugging her shoulder satchel, she, with renewed resolve, steers her course towards the center, following a small road, who’s description had been given to her before leaving Rivendell. She soon finds herself in an area on a small hill overlooking the harbor. Here small shops and cafés line the streets and Tuilérie stops in front of one shop. It matches the description given to her. Green doorframe, lined with symbol of wild herbs and small jars. Could these be a sign of an apothecary?
She knocks softly on the door, and approaching steps can be heard from the inside.
As the door open a small statured elleth, tilting her head to the left, looks up at her expectantly. Tuilérie cannot quite place her, yet there is a comforting familiarity about her. The way the elleth tilts her head to the left and smiles that disarming smile… And suddenly she smiles brightly, the elleth is an image of Lady Ealendil, yet of smaller and leaner stature, and younger it seems.
Tuilérie quickly gathers her wits about her and blurts out with a curt bow, “Greetings, I am Tuilérie, I have brought some correspondence with me from Lady Ealendil in Rivendell.”. Tuilérie bows again, just to be safe. The young elleth at the door looks at her intently, “From my aunt?”. Tuilérie, raises an eyebrow in surprise, she had no idea Lady Ealendil had such a young relative, and then she nods politely. “Please enter and be welcome. Forgive me I am Niemire, and I can’t express my gratitude enough that you have made that journey carrying the correspondence from my aunt…”. Tuilérie not accustomed to meeting others that speak without a pause, being quickly shepherded inside, door left open behind her, clears her throat a little, and fidgets nervously the satchel she is carrying.
Contrary to what she feared, it is not dark inside, light seem to find its way in from small window screen high above, just beneath the ceiling.
The window sills are all lined with small pots of herb, and as she get close to one, the strong fragrance make her eyes water. Dried plants hang from the ceiling and jar lines the shelves of the inner wall, where other leaves rests in what looks like some form of liquid, apparently infusions in the make. Each is meticulously labeled, elegant flowing handwriting revealing names Tuilérie has never heard about. Everything seem to be in perfect order, all jars aligned with each other, all the pots facing the same direction, all bundles of herbs hanging from the ceiling are the same size and length… Niemire walks around, constantly chatting about this and that, plucking at the herbs with a small pair of scissors, and turning pots around. Tuilérie being exposed to the rich aroma of the many herbs, head spinning a little from taking in all these sights, slumps down on a small stool near the open door. She reaches for her satchel and takes out the small bundle of letters entrusted with her deliverance. Niemire stops before her and snatches them quickly from her hand with a “thank you Tuil”, and places a kiss on her forehead, and walks off in to the neighboring room humming happily.
Tuilérie is speechless. She knows not what to make of it all. This open display of familiarity, something she is not used to, seems to be a trait of Lady Ealendil. Her heart warms and she relaxes visibly, thinking to herself, “A blessing to have such a family….”, and tears come unbidden to her eyes, emotions not felt in a long time swells within her, “Family…”.
Niemire returns carrying a small tray with two cups of what smells like tea infused from some unknown herbs, a small package and a stack of letters. One of the letters stands out as it is written on perfectly white paper, and bound with a silver inlaid forest green ribbon.
“Tuilérie, this package is for Maedhrathin, he is to drink an infusion of these dried leaves every morning, it will be good for him, though he doesn’t understand it himself.” Niemire seems to nod to herself, but does not elaborate any further. Tuilérie remembers hearing about the visit last summer he had done to Lindon, and that he then had stayed with Niemire at the Fanyamar estate.
“And these letters are for may aunt. The one here, pointing to the white one is actual meant for the Lady of the Pillar of house Vanimar, but I must have my aunt see to its delivery, she… she will help me to phrase it properly.” Niemire nods contentedly, and sips from her own cup of tea, and jumps up to hurry over to the next room. Tuilérie is amazed, Niemire seem never to sit down for a long period, and she returns quickly with a small basket of biscuits and starts to bombard her with questions about Rivendell while urging Tuilérie to take as many as she likes.
The evening slowly changes into early night, sun having set. Tuilérie rises, puts the packet and all the letters in her satchel, bows deeply and casts a quick glance at the door, as if hoping to escape soon. Though offered to stay the night in the shop, she declines politely, she wants to be alone a little.
Niemire smiles that disarming smile again and hugs her tightly, “Go with the blessing of Eru, Tuilérie.” Then she wonders of humming in to the next room leaving Tuilérie standing alone in the main room. Tuilérie sighs, time to find lodging for the night. Silently closing the door behind her she starts the walk back down to the harbor are hoping to find lodgings there fo the night,
Sun is setting quickly, having made its journey swiftly across the sky. She asks those she meets on the street for a hostel near the harbor, and is pointed in the right direction to Gwingeloth, the Foam Flower, a small but quiet hostel open to visitors. A small room, dressed in the fashion of such typical hostels, a plain bed and a small dresser with a chamber pot.
As she lies on her back, closing her eyes, the image of the childhood home comes to her mind, and the garden where she had played so often as a child. The last sound reaching her ears just at the brink of falling asleep is the soft flute of the night watch patrolling the streets slowly.
Tomorrow she would be catching another coastal hugger going west along the northern coast to Forlond, and to the estate of hir Fëamirl and hiril Gilinnen. She suspected that their time in Lindon was coming at an end and that Lady Manadhlaer would soon want to plan their return journey back east.
