To the Sea

The year was 1740, Shire reckoning, 319 years after the War of the Rings. A lone, cloaked woman was trying to light up a campfire on the Western Shore, in a place where the Grey Havens once existed. Now only ruins reminded the people who accidently came across this place, of the ancient times when the Elves dwelt in this now forgotten town. But the woman still remembered. She had almost had the flames burning when a sudden squall of rain, followed by thunder and lightning extinguished them, and her hope of a warm meal and dry berth was gone. She cursed, and started to set up a quick shelter between some trees of a few large pieces of leather.

Finally, she got the shelter up, but she was soaking wet already. She returned her attention to the campfire, but after minutes of persistent trying she had to give up; the wood was too wet.

Suddenly, there was a lightning again, and in its light she noticed a dark figure no more than ten yards away. With speed that would have made the lightning envious the woman was up to her feet and managed to draw a long, shiny sword out of nowhere.

"Need help with that fire?" said the newcomer with a friendly voice.

"Oh, it's you," answered the woman, and put the sword back to where it had come from. "I should have known. No-one else could get that near unnoticed."

The newcomer replied nothing but crawled under the shelter instead. She put down the long, white rod that she had been carrying, as she placed her hand on the wet wood in the fireplace. A couple of words, "B'et Fla'm," uttered with hardly audible voice, and a few seconds later the wood started to smoke. Soon after that there was a sparkling fire. The woman extended her arm, and removed the hood upon the newcomer's head, unveiling a face of a young woman, maybe in her twenties, with long, golden hair.

"It took me thirty years to learn that trick. Quite elementary, but it still comes handy every now and then," said the mage woman, smirking.

"It's good to see you after all these long months," said the warrior woman and pulled her hood down as well. Her face was only a little older than the other's, but her eyes betrayed her, revealing her true age. Her once so beautiful raven-black hair had become white and, if possible, even more beautiful. But the colour came not from her age. She pulled the other, smaller woman into a warm embrace.

"Did you get everything?" asked the white haired woman after a while.

"Yes, everything that was on the list. Getting the third Palantir was a little harder than expected," the other answered, and changed the subject. "Do you still believe they'll come?"

"Cirdan promised. They'll be here."

"Good. By the way, I have something for you," said the mage, took off her backpack, and started to rummage through the contents intensively. "There!" she announced triumphantly, holding out a circular object.

"Chakram," the warrior said with faint voice, and took the object tenderly in her hands. "This I searched for more than fifty years, and another fifty years I had given up the hope of finding it again, thinking it was lost forever. Thank you. Where did you find it?"

"In a dragon's cave on Ered Mithrin. I ran into it mostly by accident. The dragon was one of the old powerful ones but... Well, it's a long story that I'd like to save for tomorrow. Now I feel tired, more tired than ever, since at last our journey is near to its end."

The warrior did not answer. She examined the weapon that she had become so keen on, tossed it in the air, and watched how it hovered still in a position a few feet upon the fire, spinning wildly, and then returned back to her hand. "You haven't lost your touch," said her friend, smiling warmly.

Then they lay down, facing at the sea, and started to wait for the morning, and a ship coming along with it. Little did they know that their adventure was just beginning.

THE END.