Airingil stared into the fire silently. She heard the breathing of her friends even out as they drifted into sleep, exhausted from the emotional evening. Tears prickled her eyes. She had felt the pain of her young companions so clearly, their sobs aching in her heart. The despair that covered the young Elf’s fëa, dripping pain and darkness and desperation. Her failure to help Glaerorn, bringing him only more pain, her inability to make clear what she was so familiar with, the hope that defined her. Trying to show him the hope that he can have, the healing he needs, the light that he turns from without knowing, yet only driving him deeper into himself. Then Rilla’s poem describing it, describing more than she knew. “On this endless trail of sorrow, towards a light that shines ahead"... Airingil knew the light, she had seen the vision of it, she knew its hope and knew that all would lead to good and beauty and healing. But to see so much alongside the beauty… To know the Marring so well…
The Healing seemed so far away. So many hurt, so many would yet hurt until that day. So many more tears and sorrows and wounds on the Children, so much evil yet to come. She knew that the Age of Men was coming fully, that the Firstborn would finish their task and fade. But the evil would not end, Men would hurt each other and there would be children like to Glaerorn who would suffer at the hands of their kin. Airingil wept silently for those wounds.
She reached her mind out to her husband, brushing against his and felt him respond immediately, enveloping her in his comfort. Aurandel came quietly from the edge of the camp and sat beside her, wrapping his arms around Airingil, resting his chin on her head, holding her close. He thought to her of Music, of stars and rain and snow. Of many healings for the many wounds, of the courage of Men and his understanding of time. Reminding of the Vision of the Healing, of the path of Men, of the end of Dissonance. Have Estel, my love, he thought to her. Estel, and Amdir. Thou knowest this is all for good. Weep for their pain, but let thy joy shine through it, as thou dost always.
Airingil turned her gaze and took in the peaceful expressions of her companions, smiling a little to see the near grin on Rilla’s face. The Hobbit muttered about eggs on chairs and giggled in her sleep, then settled, her mischievous expression softening. The rising sun caught the glimmer of tears remaining in Glaerorn’s lashes like small stars. Stars of sorrow… Yes, there was beauty in this even, and joy in a sorrowful way. She looked to Rilla again. The hands of Men would bring about the Healing, she knew this. The Hobbit had taken the teachings and began the healing that the young Elf needed. It was marvelous, the kindness, the wisdom that the Second Theme brought in its own special way. It was sorrowful, but the darkness lessened as Airingil welcomed and nurtured her peace. She knew that this young Elf would heal, that his pain would recede, that he would hold his head high in that fair, green land in the time to come, singing for joy beside his dear - and small - friend. She turned her head back, face against her beloved, feeling his light. She sighed gently and closed her eyes, a smile on her lips and peace in her heart. Her fire burned on.
