Youth... Beauty... What will be left of those once the crows of war come, and rip the blossoms of springs into scraps, crumbling into the crimson blood of warriors?
Who will remember the fair face if it is twisted by horror and suffering, and all there is to see is the cruelty of the world?
It shall be forgotten. We will weep in silence when there is no one to sing the verses of our songs. Nobody will remember... The wanderer will walk his path alone through the dusky forests and cloud-ripping peaks of mountains. And none will be left to keep the memory of the fallen.
The light of the setting sun illuminated a ghostly figure, standing on the prow of a swan-shaped white ship. The breeze caressed her long hair, picking its golden strands up and softly blown them behind her back. The horizon was far... So far in the inky, deep waters of Belegaer. Somewhere there, drenched in the light of Anor, was the undying paradise. Somewhere far beyond the line that divided the darkness and the light, beyond the border between eternity and death, there lay Aman.
Another figure appeared beside her. He put one hand on her shoulder, smiling softly, but she only turned her face away. "Aren't you looking forwards to arriving, Isilwen?" he asked her calmly, but the maiden only shook her head.
"The shores are calm, but I cannot see them the way I saw them as a child." she muttered. The other elf sighed, and shook his head. "I'm glad I am leaving. Middle-earth tires me..." He looked up at the sky, the scraps of clouds, scattered around, and colored crimson by the light of the sunset. Isilwen gave him a faint nod, but her eyes, as grey as dusk, remained empty. In the black pools, mirroring the calm waters, was void. "The war is what tires me. But we can not escape that, can we? Even Aman has been tarnished by hunger of those that crave power."
"It is over, Isilwen. The war has ended. The Enemy was defeated." he protested. His heart was filled with hope, as bright as the tales of the lands that lay beyond the horizon. The maiden, clad in white, didn't move.
"The wounds those wars have carved into the earth will remain. It is not as if there never was peace. The world is scarred. And spring may come again, but not as bright as blooming as before the soil from which the fresh flowers shall arise was stained by blood, shed in vain."
She looked up with him, her eyes searching for something that pulled his gaze towards the dome of the sky, now glimmering with all shades of colors. "But I shall welcome the kingdom of the Valar. We will be safe, will we be not?"
A single petal of a white flower, fluttering in the wind, softly broke off the dried stem, vowed into a wreath. It spiraled off the prow, where it was hung till now, and landed on the ripples on the water. The white ship sails on to the west. The last journey has only one direction.
Towards the light, leaving the darkness behind.