Sojourn in Celondim - Part I

There was a song ringing in the hall, but she recognised it not. There was laughter, bright and soft, crinkling the eyes on merry faces, but she knew them not. And over there, in one of the garlanded nooks, many attentive ears were lent unto a tale being sung by a young bard, but even a lover of tales as she was, the elf could not place whence his account came from. Are these towers by the sea in Emyn Beraid? Or are they elsewhere? Are the towers of Lindon still standing after all these years, their great stones gleaming with hope that stretches over the beautiful flowering country around them?

Her steps once again floundered, thoughts that were already dreary since early morn plummeted to sorrow and murk. It was another day that she had failed to find the resolve to journey into the hall and converse with others. And eat. But she could barely keep the fair down anyway. And thus as Light grew dim and the birds quiet, the wearied warrior sighed and made to trudge back to her chambers.

Maegamel will be angry of course, the thought flurried by, the healer will perhaps even report to Cardavor this time. The strange dialect the healer scolded her in played around in her mind as she rounded yet another corner. She had never asked the ever-vigilant elf about her origins. The thought of not knowing the place stayed her.

For in her encounters here at the port, the people oft introduced themselves as coming from lands the newly recovered elf had never heard of. Nevertheless, if she knew of this dwelling, knew it from memory, where it was grand, beautiful, loved, and lived in by her kindred, the phrase that would inevitably follow was “it is now but a ruin”. The image alone filled her so great with sadness, that she had ceased to ask altogether.