As soon as the fallen had been buried, the lords made ready to assault the Dunlanders, whom they deemed were responsible for the attack on the outpost. Eliriael knew little of fighting and tactics, yet she was unwilling to let her kindred march into battle rashly. She thought they were too hasty for revenge and blood. For their actions would bring blood, and not only that of men.
Since she could not prevent them, she decided to travel with them. Eliriael sat in her room pulling together her belongings. One by one, jars of salves and bundles of herbs wrapped in linen made their way neatly into her pack. To these, she added bandages, sheets of cloth, and her sewing needles with spools of thread. Her purpose in leaving was solely to ensure that her friends did not come to great harm. Thus, her bag was mostly filled with healing supplies and she packed little else. Only an extra outfit for changing and a thin blanket had been allowed.
Pulling on her cloak and her pack, she picked up the flowers from the many vases strewn throughout the house. There would be no one to look after them until her return and no one was certain when that time would be. Turning, she smiled goodbye at her room before stepping out into the valley. The sun’s height betrayed the time as being not quite mid-day. Taking her time, Eliriael stepped across the stone paths toward the Last Homely House.
Eliriael said little to the valley’s dwellers of her departure. She had a feeling that they were expected to leave the valley quietly. She made her way to the bridge, where others of the House had already begun to gather with their horses. Calithil would remain in Lord Elrond’s stables. She was loyal and a reliable traveling companion, but Eliriael was reluctant to bring yet another friend into danger.
Thus, she alone followed on foot as they ascended out of the valley. Lord Themodir kindly turned to Eliriael and offered her to ride upon his horse, but, enjoying the freedom of her toes in the grass, she smiled up at him and declined politely.
Among the throng, she fell ill at ease. She did not belong in their domain of weapons and wrath. Eliriael, for once, was a note out of tune with her surroundings. She had always chosen her own paths – ones that brought peace and comfort to her heart. Marching forward across the moor beside somber figures in armor had never been her place.
The landscape changed beneath her feet – the undulating hills were behind her and the flat expanse of old Eregion lay before. Though, in that moment, Eliriael was seeing an Eregion in its youth that was far different from the one in which she stood. Long ago, when war had ravaged all that lived here, Eliriael had come amongst the warriors and people of the past age. Some were torn and filled with sorrow, while others were thirsty for blood and revenge. Still, they were all survivors of a great and deep loss. And for the sake of those Eldar, her kindred, she had returned through Moria and stayed with them. An age later, was this not the path she chose again?
Eliriael breathed deeply the air of Eregion, suffused with memories of old, and smiled. She would stand beside her kin, whether they sought revenge or peace, wielded weapon or instrument, and see them safe until the end.
