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Old 03-28-2004, 11:13 PM   #143
Child of the 7th Age
Spirit of the Lonely Star
 
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Silmaril Aiwendil:

The old man was locked in feverish speculation, scarcely aware of the small bird’s questioning or the insistent tapping on his ear. Aiwendil could not understand what was happening. For endless years, he had remembered only scraps of what he had known before. The knowledge, the skills, even the stories from across the Sea, had gradually dimmed, fading from his mind.

Wandering through the vales of Mirkwood along silent, empty paths, he had consorted only with wild creatures, sometimes purposely avoiding Men and Elves. Refusing to be drawn into a world in which there was too much pain and grief, he had held onto only a small piece of what Manwe had entrusted to him. His memory of the lost road had receded; even his yearning to return West had grown less urgent, leaving behind an unsettling emptiness. Now, the memories were slowly coming back, yet Aiwendil had no idea why or to what purpose he should put this new understanding.

Aiwendil hastily put a hand up to his ear to ward off the offending bird. But, before he could react, the small dark eyes stared back at the istar , demanding an immediate answer to a lengthy string of questions. Something inside Aiwendil whispered that this chance should not be ignored. Somehow, some way, he must plant a seed of hope and resistance in this gentle hearted maenwaith .

Aiwendil reflected on the old times as he searched for words and images that would have meaning for his companion. He glanced over at the small winged creature and deliberately spoke, “The birds…. the birds. They were marvelous to see. The old tales do not speak of it, but the great Sea birds that made their home in the Far West often ventured eastward, bringing bits of the magic with them. These creatures had plumage so startlingly rich that all who saw it were amazed,not like the simple white and grey cranes and gulls that you have seen. With scarlet and gold and silver wings, they glided above the waters and the people of the Star Isle would look up and marvel, glimpsing a tiny hint of what lay beyond.”

“But, alas! All that is gone. The wondrous birds, the Elves and their graceful ships, even the tall palaces and monuments that the Men once built…. and in its place only empty waves. The storm was so great that the wall of water reached up and sucked everything into its path, even the poor flying visitors who had ventured too far to the east. Later I returned; I wept to see only a few feathers scattered in the whirling surf, and all the other animals gone. For the people brought destruction not only on their own heads, but on all the innocent creatures who dwelled in that place.” Aiwendil sighed and looked out across the sands.

“There were so many evil ones then? To bring about such carnage?” the small bird interrupted, uneasily cocking his head.

“Not so many, not at first,” Aiwendil responded. “Only a few turned their back on the old ways and sought to impose their will on others. It could have been stopped if the rest had acted and stood up to oppose the lengthening shadow. But folk went about their business and paid little attention to the cries of those who were hurt. And, by the time they realized the peril had spread, it was too late to do anything. It is so easy not to act, to come up with an excuse and let others tend to the problems…..”

Aiwendil fell silent out of shame and humiliation. Was he saying these words for himself or Rôg? Perhaps both. Memories of Mirkwood and what lay before came flooding back as the camel’s rhythmic stride continued to eat up the sandy track. The wild dunes flew by and their trek inexorably continued towards the interior of the desert.
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