Laer o Faen

Goheno Nin

Second Age of Middle Earth - 1200

I ûred vain trasta na i thaur matha lenda ananta athan tirithenc nind.

Riding down into the lee of the surrounding hillside, it struck Thranduil just how much had changed even in the relatively short time he had travelled the surrounding lands and territories between Lindon, Eregion and Eryn Galen.

He sighed softly, and reined in his mount to take in the view and to breathe the salt-laden air, so different, refreshingly cleaning after the deep, loamy scent of the hills and woodlands, and the dry dust of the mountain paths.

"Glad to be home?"

He turned his head as Amroth steered his horse alongside him, and he arched an eyebrow at his friend.

"Hardly home," he said.

"Oh Really?" Amroth in turn raised an eyebrow. "How then is it that you ride toward Lindon like one craving homely comforts?"

"Amroth," he started, but his friend cut him off with an indulgent, teasing chuckle.

"Thranduil," he said, "Your heart is here. Where else would be a better home?"

He closed his eyes and sighed, and even against the beckoning beauty of the Havens, a greater beauty yet resolved itself in his mind.

Her face shone with the reflected light of the sun and her hair, as rivers of spun gold, fell soft around her shoulders, and her eyes – the depth of midnight – gazed out upon him, a starlit night full of moonlight and promise.

An answering sigh, and a light chuckle blew through his mind as a warm spring breeze, though winter still griped the land.

Arasfain...

The whisper came again and a smile touched his lips.

"Mîrlosen," he whispered, then even as his friend opened his mouth to speak, no doubt to tease again, he asked, "And what of you, my friend?"

"Little to tell," Amroth answered and turned away, his gaze glazing as if to see homeward across the distance. Thranduil knew his friend's words for a lie, but knew better than to challenge overmuch.

"Time will resolve your differences, Amroth," he said. "Have faith."

"Estel nan ind maethant dîr ir he geri ta pîn, a di castad mae." Amroth huffed a derisive burst of laughter. "Her gentle heart is troubled, Thranduil, by the ill she feels lingers but beyond our fragile stewardship."

"Lady Celyndailiel has expressed a similar sentiment many times."

"They would get on well: Nimrodel and your Celyndailiel."

"Hardly mine," he answered, and a band of fear that his words might prove somehow prophetic, tightened around his heart.

Amroth shook his head.

"Come, my prince," he said, "Let us finish our journey and banish those fears besetting our hearts."

Without waiting for ascent he flicked the reins, barely, encouraging his mount onward toward the settlement. After a moment, Thranduil followed.

** ** **

Her restlessness was betrayed only by the way she ran the decorative strands of woven silk from the waistline of her dress through her fingers. Otherwise she was completely still as she stood on the balcony overlooking the courtyard, where elves continued to arrive and assemble for the meeting her brother had called. The one her eyes sought had not yet appeared, and her belly lay heavy with a fear she could not – would not – name.