The Elf maiden paused in her errand, holding close to her chest the pile of metal scraps bound for the forge. On the edge of a large rock outcropping, jutting forward over the rolling waves below, she stopped to see the play of the sunset light upon the ripples of the sea, catching its fading rays as the Noldor had sought to catch light in their gems.
Yet it was not only the golden light dancing across the surface of the bay that caught her eye, but the sight of an expected figure, dressed in grey, with golden hair bound in a snood.
She stared upon the sea, but her eyes seemed unseeing of the lapping of the waves, of the spray of the sea upon the rocks. She would never go out upon it, not even in the simplest of fishing vessels, but ever she came to this overlook, gazing westward.
“Come away, come away,” Gelilthor called, “For the fields are laden and ready for the harvest, and the harpers play merry songs. They say the lady Elwing has come herself, and in the light of the holy gem, the land itself is blessed!”
But Inwiste turned only the briefest of glances to her daughter,
“To worlds end or Namo’s halls, doom lies upon me sore,
To look and yearn and never catch a glimpse of shining shore.
From mocking crackling crashing ice, to depths of fathomless sea,
As wide as welkin’s hematite stretch its distance sunders we
And doomed kin on eastern rocks to overlook the waves.
Our tears are swallowed by the sea, no plea can now us save,
Until our blood and endless tears can flow to furthest shore.”
Gelilthor turned away from the sea. Young and hot was the fire of her temper, and she would not gaze vainly to the silent west.
((This is set at the Havens of Sirion prior to the Third Kinslaying))
