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Fordim Hedgethistle's post
The tide of battle passed over Ambarturion where he lay, and like a rock that resists all waters Megilaes remained with him. The student carried the master into a copse of trees where they could hide from the orcs and Easterlings, but the cover was little necessary when the Elves of the Golden Wood marched forth and put their enemies to flight. There was great slaughter that day, and the waters and fields of the Vale of Anduin ran red and black with the mingling bloods of orc and Elf.
As they watched the battle falter and then fail, and the army of Elves return victorious and yet saddened to the eaves of the Golden Wood, Megilaes and Ambarturion spoke of the days to come.
“I will pass into the West,” the younger Elf said. “With the death of my brother I will never find peace in this Middle-Earth. Perhaps those who live beyond the Sea will give me the comfort I need to forget him.”
“No,” Ambaturion replied softly, “they cannot bring comfort for all losses, or heal all wounds, but they will welcome you for the deeds that you have performed, and will help you take the bitterness from your memories of your brother and teach you how to sing the name of Caranbaith with joy.”
“I hope that this is so, my master. At the very least, I will be happy that our ways will not be parted.”
Ambarturion looked out upon the darkening field and said quietly, “What do you mean by that?”
“Only that I will now be able to join you on the Western Road, my Master. Long have you desired to follow that path, and surely now,” he pointed gently at the ragged stump where Ambarturion’s hand had been cloven off, “you will journey thence for healing?”
Ambarturion looked into the approaching night a long time before answering. “I do not think, Megilaes, that it is my doom to follow that Road. So long have I been seeking it, that I fear I have paid no heed to that which is worthwhile in this world. I feel I must remain here some time and see it for what it is, now that the veil of despair and contempt has been lifted from my eyes. I have thought for so long that I was wise and all knowing of the ways of this world – but I have seen so little of it beyond the eaves of the Golden Wood, and what I have seen I have looked down upon and spurned.” He paused for a time. “No,” he began again, as though answering one in a debate, “I will remain in this place until I am ready to depart upon the straight road. Perhaps such a day will never come, and it will be my doom to remain here and dwindle into a rustic and quaint figure of the woods, little more than a bedtime story for the peoples who will come after and hardly believe the tales of our deeds. If that is what has been laid for me, then I am content.”
And then Megilaes wept bitter tears, for he saw that his master was in earnest, and he sought to return the sword of Gondolin to Ambarturion. But the elder Elf refused it, giving it to his student and bidding him carry it with him into the West. “I know not if such things as this are held in honour there. But if they are, then give it to those who dwell beyond the Sea, and tell them that with it, Megilaes of Lorien avenged the murder of his brother Caranbaith. Tell them, that a champion has come to his deserved rest.”
“My Master,” Megilaes cried out, “I fear that this will be the most bitter parting of all. For I doubt that your way will bring you to the West if you do not follow it now. Where will you find a Road in a land that is growing dark? And where will you find a home in a world that no longer needs us?”
“I know not, Megilaes, for such wisdom is not given to me. I am ancient and mighty, but I do not possess the wisdom of the Noldor.”
“What then will keep you in the long years ahead?”
Ambarturion turned his eyes upon the setting sun and smiled. “Hope,” he said.
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