Aearlinn

“We should visit the grave, should we not?” said Estarfin. 

“Yes. We go to see Aearlinn’s grave first,” I replied. 

The sky was a cloudless grey as we rode through the outer gates of Numenstaya. The heavy metal frames were unlocked, as usual, neither were there any guards. What need did folk in our lands have for guards on their gates unless in times or war?

But we learned that day. And others had paid for our lack of foresight. 

Estarfin walked over to stand before me, even as Parnard ran from the hall, all but dragging the sobbing Marawendi behind him. There was a mixture of controlled rage and concern on his face. 

“Do not blame yourself,” he said, knowing my thoughts. 

It was the afternoon of the fourth day when the first of our visitors arrived.

I tell others I am a little old village healer. It is true. I am quite short for a son of the Noldor, I am older than most now, one born in the First Age, I have lived through a lot of sorrow. Sometimes I feel the weight of the years upon me and speak with my wife Alimiel about taking ship. Our son and his family, and our youngest daughter and her family are already in the Undying Lands. Our eldest daughter remains.

He lay on his back. His eyes would have been staring at the sky, if he could have opened them. One was already a swollen mess, mind-numbing pain shooting from it that he was sure he was blind. The other eye he could open just a crack, though he could not make out much of anything. His whole body ached and burnt with pain. He tried to focus his thoughts away from the pain to listen to the Men’s harsh voices and understand what they were arguing about. 

(Warning: Group violence against individuals.)