Marsilion collapsed with exhaustion beside Gondolin's freshly dug grave. His eyes stung with the tears he was holding back, but he wasn't going to cry. The time for tears was over, he'd cried yesterday. He bit his lip, gazed at the grave.
The cuts from Mara's sword were hastily bound. Anduneriel had been too distracted for more, and Marsilion didn't care. He absentmindedly played with the ends of the fabric bindings with one hand as he thought about the trip back. It would be a long road through Eriador without Gondolin.
His mind was numb and he felt like his thoughts weren't making much sense. He took out Glorenwen's dagger and turned it in his hands, looking at the notch in the blade from where he had blocked Mara's sword. Sorry it had to be spoiled, he thought, the carved blade had been beautiful.
He took a final look at the grave, as the other companions were beginning to disperse. "May the stars shine on the end of your road, friend." he said hoarsely, dragging his sleeve across his eyes. Then Marsilion stood and faced North. It was time to go home.
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The seasons fall like silver swords, the years rush ever onward; and soon I sail, to leave this world, these lands where I have wander'd. O Elbereth! O Queen who dwells beyond the Western Seas, spare me yet a little time 'ere white ships come for me!
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