Lindon

The sunlight streamed through the windows. Outside, wind blew the cherry trees in a graceful fashion, and the long grasses danced in the breeze. Inside, the teenager looked away from the windows. The lavish walls, blue and decorated in elegant swirls and flower art, felt cold compared to the world outside. Melestheliel held a book in her hand. In the dark oak chair she sat in, she looked down to the book.

Late spring, Forlindon, a year ago

Somewhere out there, an owl cried.

Hoot hoot

Earcalie snorted, sat alone on the porch of her house, trying to understand from where the cry was coming. The porch was almost all in the shadow, lit only by the flickering light of a lantern hanged onto a beam, already on the way to extinguish by itself. The elleth didn’t care if it was extinguishing.

Early summer, present days, Imladris

14 June

My only love,

I have blinked, and five years have passed since I held your hröa in my arms, long after your fëa had sped to Mandos. 

It makes me happy to imagine that Lord Ulmo pulled the blue rose given me by hiril Gilinnen, mother of Elvealin, and which I set on top of the surf at Lindon, along the Straight Road until it came to the shores of the Blessed Lands, and to think that there it came to your hand. For you would know at once who sent it and what it meant.

Winter, present days, Imladris