Looking West no More.

The eve of the day before we set out for Imladris, I rode down to the shore. We would be far from the sea for some time. It was just something I had to do. I took with me a short-sword I had been gifted in the First Age. Little need was their for Sarphir, travelling through this part of Ered Luin. 

I stood as the gulls circled before taking rest, as the quality of light changed, as anor sank low. And I thought on what lay ahead. 

I was certain of my path. 

The sword, Numestel, had been given me by my old tutor, Quentaro, saying 'The ultimate hope of the Noldor lies in the West." So said he, even one of King Feanor's most devoted followers. And as a child I had believed all he said without question.

But there was not hope in the West for me. I had made my choice, and would not sail. It pained me I would never see family nor departed friends again, but my home was here. My home was with him.

I reached back, and threw the sword with all my might into the sea. 

If he is refused admittance to Aman, then I reject it. 

I had given Estarfin my word that I would take ship, when all strongholds had fallen, all forests burned, all hope for our people destroyed. My word? Yet if and when that time occurred, I knew I would hold on to what we had here with all my might.

(Picture by Belegos.)