The Lure of the Lhûn

August 25, 2019

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The Elves of Celondim look at me with awe, as if standing beside Glorfindel and Gil-galad in battle makes me as great as they. I have not the heart to tell them how wrong they are, that I am barely more than a child waving a wooden sword.

Elrond, I am certain, could have imagined a task for me anywhere in Middle-earth. But he has sent me here to Celondim, where the River Lhûn slips silver down toward the sea. This is no accident.

He is testing me, to see if the shores of my homeland still sieze my heart. I could have simply told him that they do.

But I will not go to Lindon, not yet. I cannot face the towers, nor the ships, nor the glittering sea. I cannot go there and see, undeniably, that my parents are no longer there. Even the thought of going raises a panic in me so strong, I feel as if I might faint.

I will stay, and play the hero Elladan and Elrohir so passionately believe me to be. Perhaps in time, I can even convince myself.

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