Chronicles of Morëinion


On Airilatailë

Dated 1664, 12. Hithui
It is not easy keeping track of time here. Men look at the rise and setting of Anor, they watch the faces of Isil. I look at waxing and waning of shadows, small changes in the scent and shade of darkness, touch the stone and feel the distant rumble of a cart above. Still, I dont need King's Reckoning or stars to know it is time of Airilatailë. They stir too, in the unseen corners of Pelargir, the burned and embalmed, the hanged and drowned, those eaten dry by the plague and those killed by the knife.
I recall some twelvths of Hithui well. We went to the mausoleum of Orchaldors' together, mother Mirimë, uncle Seregon, aunt Amiel, cousin Borondir and I, to remember those that came before us. We would carry simbelmynë brought from Calenardhon and crysanthemum with us to decorate the grave until it seemed as if it had snowed. In silence we would hold wake until the ladies would have to depart for the night. And through the night the men would stand watch until letting the candles burn out at dawn. Such was my reverence for father Túrin and our kin.
It would seem no candles burn for me tonight on mounds of flower snow. There are no epigrams carved into stone glorifying my life and passing. No name, not even a grave for mourners to stand at through the night. I think I would have liked at least a small funeral and a small candle to my grave today. Yes, it would have been nice.

To Nurufairë

Dated 1664, 21. Lothron
Come lady, let us walk together a bit in my palace of silence and halls of solitude. I have a task of utmost importance, one I could only entrust to you. See, I have seen my friend the king Tarondor hunting. He is the sort of man to prefer good sport and country air over dull and safe confines of his many palaces. After the excitement of the hunt he has a proper manly habit of drinking and eating, boasting and laughing, maybe playfully chasing a maid, too. When he has had his fill, he will rest. And he will dream.
Not the dreams of your usual sort, however. I want something of his, and he must give it to me in all good will and faith. No dreams of dread nor shadowy nightmares, no torture, no.. What? It is certainly out of the question to trouble the sleep of the king to the Winged Crown with dark omens. Come now moriquendë, we must think of something properly elevating for the king, you really must not dwell on such eternal bitterness! Let me think..
Ah, here. You must remember.. Cuiviénen, you among the first to awake. Recall now how the first of you were born to this world on the shores of Helcar. Do you not remember the unearthly, silver beauty of the stars of the Kindler over Cuiviénen before Sun and Moon tainted the skies? When the stars threw down their spears and watered heavens with their tears. Remember how dear you were to Valar, how greatly loved by Oromë and truly a wonder to behold.
There is much you can forget, but you shall not forget the time when there was no shadow, no sorrow, when you could feel the song of Ainur in the wind and the wind on your skin. Is it not a glorious memory that shines true through the vale of shadows of memory, through all hate and loss and anger? There and now, hold onto that thought and dwell on your bitterness no more!
Remember your time at the sea of Helcar and its unparallel greatness and joy, for that is where you shall take king Tarondor. And you will wear the pretty face you saw in the still waters under the light of the stars of Barathī when you first stepped into the cold sands and lowered your eyes to look upon your reflection. You will show the king the untainted immortal beauty never seen by a mortal man on these waning times and the king shall love you. What else could he do, for even in the dreams of the king of the kings of men could he not dare imagine such marvels that all the ages have eroded from the song and memory.
He will try to catch you for his own like a hunter catches prey, but you will be faster than a deer and you will run until he falls to ground exhausted. He will try to buy you with diamonds that the queens of Gondor have worn, and you will turn them down for to you they are plain as glass. He will offer his crown for your touch, but you will laugh, for what is a kingdom of men compared to the land made for the first-born. He will beg and cry for you to stay with him, and you will promise to remember him for only a token of his affection.
Nothing grand should you ask of him for a kiss. Just a dull stone that is his to give and he will remember the sights no mortal man been allowed to see. Just a dull stone that pales in comparison to all his treasures and diamonds, worthless to him really, and he shall receive a kiss that will make all his maids and wenches bore him to the end of his days. Boring little thing, easily shadowed by your beauty, the shining of the stars and the wind through the pristine forests of Cuiviénen. But, the stone he must gift you with, for you to deliver it to me.
When he wakes up the memory of his dream will linger in his mind. He will tell of it to his friends and councilors. I want no shadow, no doubt, no fear to taint this memory. I want his advisors to say that the king is blessed with a good omen, and that gods favored him with a holy vision of the glorious past. That truly he is the king of kings, and a worthy heir to Elendil and his sons.
Now then, fly to the king Tarondor, little dream! And do not dare fail me nor the memory of the Ever-white.



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