"A journey of a thousand leagues begins with the first step"
So Ereinion had been taught, so many steps, so many seasons past, in the springtime of his youth.
Hard and bitter experience down the many tear-filled years had not dispelled the truth from the important words. Sometimes one just had to start. And yet, now rolling the delicate, deceptively pretty looking ring upon his palm, he hesitated.
The great blue sapphire flashed. The high morning sun had broken through the grey, tufted clouds and showered down to kiss the grey stone of the hall. It leant an air of unreality to this point in time; as if Celebrimbor's greatest work was no more than a trinket he would gift on a day meant for picnics and music here by the banks of lazy Sirion.
The sunbeam rippled once again. Vilya sparkled, insistent and blue as the sky's deep vault. Could Manwe himself be impatient with his uncertainty?
I hear you Lord. I know.
The High-King rose from his carven throne and paced slowly down the dais.
He was alone. The call to arms had sounded and now all of Lindon would march to war. The rings he held in trust must go. To be safe from the dominion of the One, secure in others keeping. Narya he would entrust to Cirdan. His faithful lieutenant would remain far from the fray, from the fires of Orodruin. Vilya-the Ring of Air -must go to Elrond; to his brave Herald who would, he knew, come out unscathed. Who would have the power and the healing touch to use the ring for good.
The blue velvet pouch lay forlorn upon a table top. All that remained was to place the ring and his missive safe inside and hand them to Erestor. The Noldo stood patiently outside the hall, ready for his High King's command, anxious mount sidling from his touch. Another faithful heart he must send away.
Ai the pain of it. To give it up meant accepting one fork of fortune's fate. That he, and all he loved, could fail. Would fail.
Ereinion clenched his fingers once more around the ring and let slowly them go. Two half-moons of bright red blood welled up against his palm. Sharp fingernails had pierced: but he did not feel their sting.
Duty was yet sharper and more pressing
Enough. Ereinion breathed deep. Take the step.
There was no time and dangerous to delay. He grabbed the velvet sack, and before he could change his mind, thrust the precious thing inside. His boots struck hard and fast across the hallowed stone. The bright sunlight from the open doors made spots swim before his gaze.
The guards were already waiting. Four warriors, all that they could spare, to escort the Royal Messenger. Erestor bowed deep, tucked the bag into his jerkin and swung up into the saddle.
He nodded to the ellon's proud salute, heart nigh to bursting in his chest. "Na lû e-govaned vîn" Pray it would be this side the Sundering Seas.
In a cloud of dust that sent a myriad motes to shimmer before the fire-fruit of Laurelin, the retinue was gone. Ereinion turned back. To the too many plans and decisions for that day. To gird himself for what must come and the shadows that lay ahead. Wise and valiant, for all his Sight, the Last High King could never imagine the journey the ring would take.
Na lû e-govaned vîn: Until next we meet
Cover art by MellorianJ from Deviant Art
We the Ring Conspiracy hope you appreciate our humble contribution. Each chapter will be written by a different conspirator and updated in the coming days and weeks or more. :) Who knows where the Ring will go? We don't :)