[piosenniel]

Pio had reached the southern sea strand and beached the small skiff, pulling it as far onto the sand as she could, tying it off round one of the ragged boulders flung there after the island’s reemergence. She pulled her cloak about her as if to hide and made her way east down the beach to a secluded cove.

As she picked her way along the rocky edges of the water, she thought on what her friends and Idril had said. Cami had named her arrogant and a fool. And perhaps that was so. Bird had called her to account on her actions, making them seem ill advised when looked at from another’s perspective. It was Idril, though, who spoke most to her heart. Idril and her talk of trust and friendship, her gentle plea to give Mithadan the chance to develop these with her.

She simply did not know how to do this, how to allow another person participate as an equal in the process. And it angered her that she did not. Trust and friendship were given rarely by her, and even so there was always a part of her that remained aloof and reserved, a security against the possibility of disappointment. This would surely prove a continual stumbling block could she not see her way through it. But again, ‘How?’ she thought.

A small flock of kirinki startled her as they rose from the beach, a scarlet cloud against the white sands. The suddenness of them shook her from her tangled thoughts and she laughed in delight as their shrill cries chided her for disturbing them. She looked about and saw that she had come to the place where the spiral road had once begun that lead up and round Meneltarma to the northern lip of the once tall mountain’s summit. She recalled with fondness how she had loved to make the trek up to the top when, as Tulë, she had visited Númenor. The view from there had always been so clear and unobstructed, the place so silent and peaceful. Perhaps the climb would settle her thoughts, and the beauty of the place would prompt her to clarity.

It was a more difficult climb this time. The path was rough, strewn with boulders and in great sections had disappeared altogether, causing her to seek with hand and foot what out juttings and cracks in the face of the mountain she could. It was slow going, but satisfying to have only the immediate problems of where to place a hand or move a foot fill her thoughts completely.

It was late morning when she reached the northern summit. She was tired, her muscles protesting against the exertion. Hands on hips, she stood on the rim of the mountain, looking toward the western sea, drinking in its beauty as it sparkled in the sun. When she had caught her breath, she turned and descended a short way to the great flat expanse of the mountain’s top.

There was someone here, already. He was cloaked, his hood pulled up about his face, and she could not make out who it might be, save that he was tall. An Elf, she thought. She was about to leave him to his solitary enjoyment, and make her way back down the mountain, when she saw something flash brightly in his hands as it caught the sun’s light.

Shading her eyes against the sun, she saw it was a knife he held. She frowned at this, and strode quickly to the rock he sat on. His back was to her and he did not see her as she drew up beside him. With a brief plea to Eru Ilúvatar for his indulgence, she spoke aloud to the seated figure.

‘How comes it that you bring a weapon to the mountain top? It has never been the custom to do this.’

He placed the knife on the flat surface of the rock before him and she gasped in recognition of it. He drew back his hood and turned his head to gaze at her, and she took in the cares and sorrows that played across the solemn features of his face.

She ran her hands through her hair, her thoughts as tangled as the windblown curls now tousled by the breeze. She stepped close to him, and reached out to him, taking his hands in her own.

‘Mithadan . . .’

Mithadan's Post:

Mithadan pulled his hands from hers gently, and picked up the dagger as he stood. He looked down at the blade and toyed with it for a moment before looking up again. Despite the care that showed in his eyes, his face was calm and composed. "So, you have found me," he said quietly as he turned the blade over in his hands.

Piosenniel looked at the dagger with a frown. He followed her gaze and, with a humourless laugh, sheathed the blade. "I was not seeking you," she replied. He nodded. "No matter," he said.

An uncomfortable silence settled between the two, and they stood facing one another like scoolchildren uncertain of how to proceed. At length, Mithadan spoke. "You have been in doubt and unhappy, though I know not why, and uncertain of the rightness of your choice to be with me."

Piosenniel gasped. "Who has spoken to you of this," she demanded.

He smiled grimly. "You have," he answered. "You, who taught me to speak without words need ask this?" Piosenniel closed her eyes in sudden grief understanding that Mithadan had perceived her thought. "Know this," he continued. "I would not keep even a bird in a cage, and certainly not you whom I love. To do so would pain me more than would setting you free. If it is your will, I release you from your vows to go and do as you wish."

Her eyes brimmed with tears. "And what is your will in this matter?"

"My will is of no consequence," he responded. "I am not your master. I will not force myself upon you or have you stay with me from some sense of duty or guilt. I will not cage you, just as you could not cage me. If you were to walk before me I might not follow, and if you were to walk behind me I might not lead. I wanted only to have you beside me, together, neither master nor servant. But I have said this before and perhaps it is not enough. If this cannot be..." His voice cracked and he turned away for a moment before facing her again.

"I regret what I have done," he said bitterly. "I regret having lacked the strength to conceal my mind and I regret having drawn you into this. I am sorry, so very sorry. I will trouble you no more." His hand reached for the dagger and fumbled at the sheath.

Her eyes narrowed and, without further thought, she launched herself at him, batting his hand from the blade and knocking him onto his back. She reached for his wrists, seeking to pin him down, but with a twist and a heave, he threw her from him and rolled to his feet.

"Enough!" he cried. "What madness is this?" Mithadan reached to his belt and unbuckled the sheath, letting Piosenniel's knife drop to the ground. "I return this to you. It was your one gift to me and I need it not as a memento. Your memory will live within me all my days without it and though we are no more, I shall treasure the thought of our days together. Would that things could be different. Angara was right." He turned with bowed head and stepped toward the roadway.

[ November 19, 2002: Message edited by: Mithadan ]