[Firefoot]

Despite his realization that it was time to leave this place, Lómwë could still feel it drawing at him, incessantly pulling him back, as if he still had something he needed to do. He had followed Endamir, Orëmir, and Lindir for a while, but he eventually lost track of them, not by conscious decision but rather lack of attention. He still felt too lost in his own affairs to care about any of theirs – something about bones?

He had not returned to the city but had wandered around it, keeping the eastern sea on his left as he walked southward, drinking a cup of combined sorrow and comfort by seeing the drowned place where he had once lived. Soon, he began to realize just how physically tired, how very sore he was, and wished he was back at their camp with a fire and food. But rather than going there – he was unsure of how far away it was anyway – he found a nearby fallen tree and sat down heavily on that. He let his thoughts wander and tried to clear his head, becoming engrossed in the movement of the waves on the sea, in some places gently lapping the shore while crashing into it in others.

After just a few short minutes, however, he became aware of another voice, whether audible or just in his head, he could not tell. Well, look who we’ve found here… all alone, and the city no where in sight, now. Lómwë slammed what was left of his mental barriers up as hard as he could in his weakened state. He recognized them more thoroughly now – not only as the orc fëar who had attacked him the previous night outside the city, but also as the spirits of the orcs who had killed his Ellothiel. Killed Aradol. A weak flame kindled inside of him. He drew his sword. “I have already defeated you – twice now,” he growled.

Ah, so you’ve faced the past now – that is how you Elves would put it? So you remember, don’t you, how we killed her, before you got to her? The spirit’s smugness was clearly evident. But you killed us before we could have our way with their bodies, it snarled. You won’t be beating us a third time. They – Lómwë could not tell how many, or was too weary to count – flew at him, assaulting, taunting. Lómwë swung his sword at them wherever they seemed to be – not that it had any effect. Lómwë had no hope – he would have no protection against these monsters once they broke past his barriers, and that would not be hard. They would destroy his mind, perhaps his fëa as well. He had no idea what they were capable of. Slowly he began to work his way back to the camp, even as he fought them. Perhaps they would find his body.

They had many weapons, and used them well. No matter how well Lómwë thought he had come to grips with his guilty conscience and his grief, they hurled these at him, desperately trying to rip his mind to shreds. Lómwë’s attacks became feebler. Perhaps, Ellothiel, I’ll be seeing you soon… One of the monsters seemed to break through; Lómwë cried out in pain. Coming, Ellothiel. I’ll escape these demons and come to you. The battle was lost, it seemed. Lómwë had nearly given way completely; they were too strong, too determined. That portion of his mind and memory that he had kept locked up so long became his solace – at least that pain he was familiar with. Now he locked himself into it. But the battle was so close to lost, so close. He seemed to see a black tunnel stretching before him – escape. He could escape these monsters, cease fighting… they could do nothing to an empty hröa. A light seemed to shine at the end of the tunnel. There. He would find Ellothiel there – perhaps… Any second now, and he would be flying towards the light. It seemed that it was the only point of hope that he had seen in all the long years since the Dagor Bragollach. Yes, there.

But suddenly… their attack seemed to abate, as if they were slowly losing power. It seemed that they were fighting another foe, wholly separate from him. They were withdrawn from his ravaged mind, still vainly trying to unleash their attacks. But slowly, oh so slowly, they faded away. And the black tunnel, or his need of it, seemed to fade away as well, though he fought to keep it there, for if the tunnel faded, so also would that light, that hope… but oddly enough, the light did not fade. The blackness turned into something else, something brighter and more focused, but the light stayed there at the center of his vision. He tried to orient himself, finally realized that his point of light was a star – Eärendil’s star appeared in the west. He did not turn and look back again at the eastern sea, but stumbled on westward towards the star, towards his hope.

After an unknown length of time, he came upon the gate of the fortress, heard voices, and for the first time since the attack turned his focus away from the shining star. He came upon Orëmir, Endamir, and Lindir, also gazing up at the star. Orëmir was speaking: “And pardon he asked for the Noldor, and pity for their great sorrows, and mercy upon Men and Elves and succour in their need. And his prayer was granted.”

Lómwë’s eyes lifted again to the stars. And there was hope. Now, perhaps, there was hope.