amathlan

Standing at the very edge of the docks, he takes a deep breath. Thousands of names run through his mind as he walks further and further towards the bobbing white ship that will spirit him to safer shores, but only one stands out among the rest. Ithilwe. Calandil. The light of my life; my moon among the stars. Leaving behind his husband is the hardest thing that he has ever had to do--harder than losing his parents, his sister, his kin.

The page is filled with barely legible notes in shorthand of a conversation overheard, followed by a fragment of story draft in clean, neat letters.

He pulled the tattered cloak a little tighter around him as he continued to trudge through the rain drenched terrain."Cursed land..." He muttered under his breath, looking over to his left to see the branch of the Greyflood that bent its way into the fell lands of Dunland. Ioranir paused briefly to look back over his shoulder. The fog from the Dunbog still gracing itself eerily upon the face of the marshes therein.

Gondolin, First Age

“Mind how much wine you drink,” Amathlan frets over her in a low tone as they approach the large hall of the House of The Heavenly Arch. “And we are only staying as long as I shall be performing!” 

The lyrics contained within the entry are from "Achilles Come Down" by Gang of Youths

The self is not so weightless

“I’m… sorry, hiril. I don’t understand,” Ithilwe says as he looks to her with eyes lost in confusion and grief. “You did not die. You are in front of me here, alive, breathing.”

-Gondolin, F.A.-

“Regret is a most powerful motivator indeed.”

“Regret for some, resolve for others. Hope for the rest.”

The beat of hooves on the ground was the pace to which she set her breathing. She whipped her head around to look behind her as the steed charged, trying to make any sense of their pursuers in the darkness. Nimroch released an anxious whinny, and the white steed took it upon himself to move with more speed.