LÓRIEN

We remember the Man in different garb, his face and spirit joyous and free of care. She stood with him, barely touching us, her footfall so light, and they spoke to one another of love and hope and a future yet to be written. We scarcely recognize him now, he is so changed. His face is careworn, his garments less fine, his heart burdened. But when he lifts me from my bed, I recognize his touch, his voice, the faint essence of the Firstborn that sits lightly upon his blood.

One of the small ones comes to join him, and they both gaze at me, exchanging soft words. The small one takes me in his hand, and I sense his joy in my beauty.

Little disturbs the long, slow years, but we have sensed something uncertain in the air, in the water, in the soil. The Lady and her Lord planted us from seeds brought from lands far to the West, and we have been content to nestle within the warm soil of this dream-realm, gazing up to the bright stars and sun whose names we share: el-anor. But now, the Lady tells us that we must prepare ourselves to take root once again in new lands. She says that wherever we grow, we will be reverenced, and her blessing will never leave us. That day is not yet, she whispers; but change is coming. .