In the chill grey, pre-dawn light, the vale seems full of shadows and stillness. A few birds begin to herald the coming of the day – among them a sleepy-sparrow, who flutters down to the balcony where I wait. She chirps at me almost reprovingly on discovering that I have brought her no food, but is content to remain a while, hopping about to peck hopefully at the stone, occasionally adding her own squeaking contributions to the start of the dawn chorus. Her wing seems entirely mended – there is no longer even any sign of her unfortunate experience with Galdorion's carelessly thrown stone.
The quiet feels almost like peace, for a moment, but I know it is not. There has been little true peace since Galdorion's return from the forests of Mirkwood – first there was the Ball, then his judgement by Lord Anglachelm, and my own pledge and Oath. At times I long for the golden quiet we embraced in Lorien, away from the persistent complaints of Vanimar's Hammers, even from the well-meant attention of my own friends. Everything is changing so fast, and I feel as though at times I am simply pretending to know how to act so as to not upset those who care for me – smiling through gatherings to appease the eyes fixed on me. I cannot regret what I have done, for my own sake as much Galdorion's, but nor can I pretend that I do not mourn the loss of those who had become a family to me.
Yet as much as we may try, some things cannot be hidden with a smile and a determined voice. Some wounds may close but never heal. Some promises ring hollow even as they are spoken. I shut my eyes, turning away from the beginnings of the rosy dawn. Back in the valley once more, I longed to believe that our ending days in Lorien had been only a momentary trouble. As Galdorion promised before Sidhon never to leave me, promised that he would never do so again, I felt as though I were trying to force myself to believe something which twisted out of my grasp. Perhaps I did believe, on the night we spoke of our engagement. I felt such hope, then, that even this darkness might end, and there might be light for both of us beyond it. Alone under the stars, in the quiet of the abandoned valley, it was easy to hope, easy to feel joy, easy to forget lingering sorrows.
But it has not been so easy to ignore the dark, nor to forget my fear. As if repeating old scenes of a play, I found myself again listening to Galdorion attempt to persuade me to remain behind, while he left – following his order into Eregion to join the Order of the Hammer stationed there. While Himwen fights alongside the House that I must now call my own, he wished me to stay, helplessly waiting for the news that I can only dread. I could not hide the horror I felt at his suggestion – nor, this time, would I be persuaded. I do not think I can bear to live through such a time again. It felt as though he had pierced through my hope, my happiness, to re-awaken the pain I cannot forget.
I understand his fear – the thoughts that make him ask even though he must know it will hurt me. Even now, I cannot forget the words of Lord Anglachelm spoken so long ago. I wonder what else we must endure before his fore-shadowings can be judged to have been fulfilled – before we can be free. Where once I dreaded remaining in the valley, now I almost fear to leave it. The realisation of how precious, and yet how unbearably fragile a thing Galdorion and I share is my enduring legacy of the time spent in Lorien. But we cannot hide – as much as I would wish to mask my fears with a smile and remain peacefully in the valley, planning houses full of statues and celebrations among our friends, the war will always find us. I can only ensure that it will not find us apart ever again – that as long as I have breath in my body and the strength to bear a sword, however poorly, I will not let it find Galdorion without me by his side. Even if sworn without witnesses, without ceremony, in the wake of fear and doubt, this Oath must surely bind me as fast as that other which I gave freely for his sake.
I turn back to the edge of the balcony, leaning once more on the cold stone balustrade. The sun is peeping over the edged of the mountains now, spilling its pink-hued light into the valley, chasing away the shadows. The sparrow cocks her head at me curiously for only a moment before fluttering away into the new day. The breeze lifts my hair and tosses the tips of the trees down below, so that they seem almost to be dancing, saluting the dawn and the light and hope it inevitably brings. I begin to hear the House stirring behind me – the silence of the night giving way to the busy preparations for a new day. In the light of the dawn, my determination remains, but my fear finally recedes. Galdorion and I have already faced far more than this – and we will go on facing what comes, together, in hope of light in the future beyond the dark. In hope of the Dawn which must come.
