Evendim, tiny isle near Lake Nenuial’s eastern shore, early summer, present days
Earcalie did not regret one bit taking a detour from the road home to accompany a couple of acquaintances she met few days before on the northern border of the Shire. She had planned to traverse quickly into Ered Luin avoiding to disturb the little folk, when her path crossed with siblings Feriel and Medon.
The two Lindon scouts were bound for Evendim, with the intent of stopping by a Dúnedain outpost to exchange news and messages and asked her to tag along. Why not Earcalie thought. Evendim meant one particular place for her: Lake Nenuial, the lake of twilight. Nenuial’s sight was said to be spectacular that time of summer, and Feriel in particular knew a lot of stories surrounding the lake, the hills, and the region’s past. By late afternoon, their little group made camp on a small, solitary patch of dry land, barely big enough to be called islet, in sight of the settlement called by the rangers, Tinnudir, which they would reach in the morn (that they were Dúnedain was the only reason Earcalie trusted camping near said settlement. She knew their kind was respectful of Elves).
“I’ll pitch the tents and get the fire going, you two enjoy a lazy afternoon. Oh, stew and vegetables for dinner, no complaining” said Medon, half jokingly, half serious.
“Have I ever?” Feriel rebutted, making Earcalie laugh. She went to sit on a nearby rock, where she could gaze at both Tinnudir, the far, northern end of the lake and the ruins of Annúminas to the West.
“Still majestic sight, isn’t it?”. Feriel came to sit by her. “Capital of Arnor, imposing city, intimidating palace... fallen into ruins, pillaged by brigands. Still beautiful, but faded, like all that the Northern Kingdom was… much like our own——”
“Stop right there. You really want to compare constructions of Mannish make to those of the Elves?”
Feriel sighed. “Númenóreans, ‘Calie, Númenóreans, not mere “men”. I am sure you know the history, Elendil himself founded Annúminas, the fact that it can still inspire awe and respect despite its poor state is testament to the prowess of their kind”
“I guess. But I also know that Elves inhabited these shores long before them. I wouldn’t be surprised if they got some help from us building their city”
The other elleth chuckled. “Perhaps. But those Elves would have been descendants themselves of the first inhabitants. Do you know the details?”. Earcalie shook her head.
“Well… after the War of Wrath, both Galadriel and Celeborn crossed into Eriador from Lindon
with many Noldor in their following, together with Sindar and Green-elves; and for a while they dwelt hither, about Lake Nenuial. They departed for Eregion in early Second Age. Elendil built his capital three-thousand years into the Second Age… after the downfall of Númenor, in fact. By the time he came, I don’t think there were more than a handful of elves left, if any. See, this country was also home to… let’s say lesser men, remnants of clans who survived the elder days. I suspect (and this is but conjecture on my part) that cohabitation was never a permanent solution, and that both Lady Galadriel and Celeborn never meant to settle here for the long term… they had other plans”.
“Such a pity… it is spectacular sight indeed and calm, as if a ward had been imposed all around the lake and its surroundings” murmured the younger elleth.
Feriel nodded. “The influence of our people, nurturing the lands we walk upon, is hard to forget for the earth itself. Just think of the name: Nenuial. It wasn’t Númenóreans that baptized this country! But-” Feriel waved a finger in front of ‘Calie’s face as if she was scolding her “For what short, fleeting time the Kings of Arnor spent in this land, they never defiled its memory. Abandoned, but not defiled, and the Dúnedain after them now do the same. Think of this when you gaze upon those ruins”
Earcalie grunted a noncommittal sound, and removed her attention from the scout to the sight in front of her. She silently agreed, in regards of elven influence at least: all that was around the waters felt… almost aglow, with the faintest, gentlest light: the Lake’s surface barely disturbed by wind reflected the clouds moving lazily above them. Clouds which had taken an odd pinkish hue as the afternoon went by, sky itself darker and darker, from light blue to pink, to purple and in turn, the lake shifted colors as well, true to its name. She felt almost drowsy, lulled by the warmth of early summer and the strange veil of stillness.
“The stew is ready!”. The voice of Medon reached her from… afar almost, yet he was near when she turned her head towards him. She dusted off her clothes and glanced at the horizon before walking back to him.
Beside the shores of Lake Nenuial, as the sun was setting and the day started gloaming into night, she thought about the Elves who once lived there, long before the rule of Arnor and how aptly they named the place... the water of twilight. She could only hope that generations to come the Secondborn would respect and cherish such a jewel as much as Elves did.
