Time.
A curious thing.
The Master of all else. An unstoppable, inevitable, unyielding force. Thrusting the world ever forward, forward, forward.
The flaxen-haired woman sitting on a large, smooth rock under a willow tree was gazing out across sun-drenched fields. Summer was nigh, heavy and warmly damp over the rolling meadows and dotted crofts of Rohan. A golden haze hovered above the dew-wet grass, while the rising sun coaxed it upwards until the breeze caught and scattered it. How had spring gone so quickly?
She looked at her hands. They were yet youthful. But as she stretched out the fingers of her right hand, the skin at the knuckles and along the flat expanse behind seemed to wrinkle in a way that was new to her. She was far from old. But Time would not have mercy on her flesh, anymore than it had on any other.
In her other hand was a small object; smooth, pale, and oval. Her thumb was running over its surface in slow, methodical strokes.
The wind came from the west, rustling the heads of the lush grasses, tossing them gently as waves upon a green sea. The freshly budded fronds of the willow tree danced and jostled just over her head.
She sat through the morning and ruminated on the nature of that ever-marching Master. Every breath, every blink, every heartbeat. Another step forward, whether she wished to obey or not. She sighed, and thought that, even if she sighed a thousand more times, she could never experience that particular sigh, ever again.
The dawn sun was casting clear, golden light through the branches, throwing dappled patterns onto the grass at her feet. Ever they shifted and swirled in restless, haphazard geometry . She fancied that some of the fae folk danced there, invisible to her heavy, mortal eyes, heedless of her ponderous heart.
Her thumb caught on one of the tiny holes in the object she was holding. Her gaze was drawn downward to study it, without any conscious thought. She had not set her lips to the ocarina again, since that day she'd sat under this same willow, precisely two years prior. She didn't dare. For while she had put his memory to rest, deep within her heart, he was there still. Slumbering. Peaceful. Waiting. It would not do to wake him.
It would be many years yet, until she would see him again. Fervently, she cradled and cherished this belief, that the souls of Men would be freed after passing from the world. Freed to seek out those they had loved in life. But only time would reveal whether her faith was well-placed.
Only Time.
Her thoughts wandered on, far away from the solitary spot where she sat. They wandered to a humble croft that she knew by heart, just over a few hills and a handful of winding leagues upon the road. Time had changed the way she and the man who lived there, looked upon each other. Was it for the better?
She found herself pressing the smooth, cool instrument against her cheek. Nearly as much as she felt the absence of the man whose soul it was meant to be tied to, she missed the one who had gifted it to her. She wished that the provincial, northern village wasn't so terribly far away. She wished that the call of her southerly home wasn't so unyielding. It seemed more than a lifetime ago now. As if it had happened in a dream, or another world.
At length, under the brightening morning, her reverie was finally broken by the approach of a large and riderless horse. The pattern of sun and shade played against the patches of black-and-white hide as he bowed his great head and trod slowly under the willow tree. The woman raised her eyes and smiled somberly.
"Aye, I know, Jack," she said in a voice so low that it was nearly swallowed up on the soft breeze. "Time to go." She looked at the ocarina for another moment, then kissed it tenderly, and returned it to its place in her pocket.
