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Old 07-29-2007, 08:13 PM   #78
littlemanpoet
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TharonwŰ

The pieces of the puzzle were infuriating in their refusal to congeal into a web of connection.

Angela. What kind of name was that? It had no relation to any known speech TharonwŰ had ever heard; not Quenya or Sindarin, not any of the Northern speeches of Men; certainly not the Black speech; nor anything from the South or East.

Eledhwen. The name was readily familiar. It was Sindarin for Star-Maiden. Perhaps the girl had overheard lovers speaking together. Over a child, an infant. Did the words refer to this girl? It was a reasonble conclusion.

Storm on the waters. Swimming man. It must be Amroth, curse him.

Throwing stones on the water. Aeron the little thief, and Gwyllion the one the Morlocks had killed. Negligible of import; a mere flitting amongst the threads of association typical of dreams.

Drowning girl, the Elf rehearsed. Indil throwing stones on the water. Indil must be the girl's name form the self-connection to it in her dreams. Ădegard the fool of the Eorlingas cut in the ear? By a stone? Might that happen in days to come? Could this girl dream the future? Perhaps not. The dreams were a jumble.

Except for the last; he knew her. How could he not, weeping for the wrong suitor? She whom he had been driven to win this last millenia. How close was she?

TharonwŰ stopped and looked. It was night. The stars were out in their glory. He was high up. He took stock of where he was and where the stars and planets were in order to determine how much time had passed while he had been lost in thought. He was relieved: it had only been all of one day, and into the night. It was time to rest, or he would wear out the child, who was only Human. She was proving useful and might again on the morrow. He laid her down on gathered pine needles and sat with his back against the trunk of another tree, watching and waiting. He let his thought drift to Nimrodel, fearful of her continued rejection, drawn by the insatiable taste of her madness and grief of love, wishing it was he that was its object.

Angela? What kind of name was that?
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