"Thar i' urra anfauglir,
imya tum ar' lad
lye auta a' i' ndor en' gondor,
yassen varna vesta ta ona..."
A chorus of melodious voices.... a sea of ornate garbs brushing against the golden sand and stirring it at their hems.
I know this-this is not a dream, it is a memory.
I am young-my feet don't touch the ground, I ride in the back-saddle of another wanderer. There are horses, carrying supplies... all of the women carry packs, or baskets in their arms, bundles at their sides.
The women on the outside carry something else-bright, glistening weapons and shields. They move with a steady pace.
I can see nothing beyond a sea of white sand-the sun reflects harshly on it and makes my eyes want to shut tight to block it out.
"Lye auta utu- lye coia,
n'ala wanwa a' i' ohta
sii' lye maa ten' seere,
lye eska, y' winya beginnien"
They continue, but I do not yet know all of the words. I only know the strange feelings it invokes in my young soul; hope, peace... it begins to lull me to sleep as I fixate on the garbs of the women in front of me, swaying to and fro with their rythmetic steps......
---
"Cuiva, amin hin...."
I wake up. No longer on the back of a woman.. below me is a horse I had fallen asleep on. Behind me, a figure stirs my shoulder. I open my eyes, and another woman carries a bundle towards me, looking down on it with a beautiful smile. She holds it up somewhat as she nears me, still keeping her arms around it so it does not drop... it is a small, white creature with horns on it's head.
"Ta naa lle nosta re, Mosaine. Mani will lle yela ho?"
I looked on his dark eyes and small stature, reaching out, nearly leaning off of the horse. I felt a hand catch me at the waist, and they offered the goat up to me to hold in my lap. We were not much different in size, then.
"Astal."
---
"Lle caela istim- quen- i' sanya lambe en' edain." Farmona spoke firmly,
"Amin uma il- merna a'... Mankoi uma lye anta a'?" I respond. I don't meet her eyes yet, but I am taller now.
"Ten', i' ohta naa wanwa. sal', i' edain en' i' ohta naa il- ie' seere. Ta naa ante ie' sina coiasira.."
I wanted to continue to learn of the flowers, of the land I would be entering into, the creatures of it... how to hear to the wind and listen to the trees, to play the instruments of my people, as we had been. Still, I would not argue.
"Eller naa somethien eile..." Farmona said, producing a beautiful weapon. I looked in awe at it's detail-the jewels upon it's hilt, the gold and stunning blue imbued into it's design. I didn't recognize the words upon it's blade, written on both sides elegantly.
"Mani uma sina parma?" I asked. When Farmona spoke again, it was in a tongue I didn't not understand.
"To battle without prayer, is injustice. We raise our swords solemnly, and invoke Thy name, that this sword may rest one day in peace."
"Lle istima dagor-, tul're."
---
Images of sewing and basket weaving, of nights of dance and song around a fire, of following the wind to find water and food, of my beautiful family on our journey... we began the trek admist the war, our fathers and brothers having been lain out upon the land, their blood staining it's earth. We traveled for days and nights. Learning, growing. Some, growing into youth. Some, growing into oldness, and some, passing on into the stars, their journey never destined to make it to the safehold called Gondor. We learned of joy and pain, of loss and of gain....
Most importantly, I learned of my desire to protect. First of all my people... and then this place I would call home when we reached it. I would not lose it as I had lost my first home. I would protect it, even unto death.
---
I blinked again, the next image was of fields and houses, of townspeople staring on at the strange villagers arriving. The next time I blink, there is a massive white wall before me.... but it does not bring the same joy it does then. Something is different when I look upon it now, in this vision. There is pain, and fear accompanying it. There is a deep ache within my heart, and a feeling of loss.
The other villagers are gone-they have blended into the peple of Gondor, selling their crafts and wares, marrying the men who are stricken by the beauty of the swarthy skinned women, who speak the common tongue in an intoxicating voice, and can lull them to sleep from a long day with their enchanting songs. I never learned-why did I not learn then? I am still seen as an outsider.
Farmona is not around. I do not know where she has gone. I have taken up the sword to fight for peace, but no Captain of these men will take a woman of the South. So I must go alone, to fight for peace, the peace written on my sword.
Amin uma il- merna aut- ereb.
