Themodir

Faörie did not attend the funeral, though she should have. She did not speak the words she wished to, but there is no one to speak them to now but Themodir who is gone.

Before the cairn she stands, fixing her gaze on a memory of her own loss. She did not know Themodir, but to lose one's own kin returns the sorrow she felt from long ago.

Kneeling over the cairn, she pulls out a small nut from her pouch gifted to her by Ancalasse. She grips it and lowers her head onto her fist, closing her eyes.

Upon her return to Imladris, Lilleduil had taken a long, hot bath, calling for hot water twice instead of using magic to heat it, as that warmth had to come from somewhere and the point had been to warm herself up.  She’d left armor and sword with the armor smiths and weapon smiths, to be cleaned and mended and properly polished.  Thendryt, when he returned, could take a look at her staff-the Man was an accomplished woodworker.  Finally drifting upstairs to her bedroom, Lilleduil found herself not inclined to sleep.  The sun was still up and despite the weariness c

I walked on the road away from Last Homely House, and my feet started to climb a small hill, or rather towards a cairn, the cairn of Themodir. Elvealin has told me what had happened in his funeral, and I wanted to pay my own respects.

”Dear Manadhlaer,

Brasseniel studied the snowflakes that fell into her open palm, shining white against the black leather glove only for an instant before they melted in the warmth of her breath.