A new day

Amin verne' Alasse'
What words exist in our language, or any other, that could do justice to what lies in my heart for you?
Time and again you show me the true meaning of living and grant me the strength to face what each new day brings.
The gifts you have given me dazzle me. Each is a treasure I hold dear. Although, none can compare with the gift given me freely the day we were wed.
I treasure your heart and soul more then any armor or steed. In return, I give you mine, gladly. Of gifts, there is little else I can give to you that you haven't already got. I can search and scour the shops of this land and find nothing that can express well enough how I feel.
So I give you this. A simple book with written words that try to expose my heart. The words fall short of my truest feelings for as I said there are no words to describe what you are to me.
I place this book on the bedside table. May it serve as a comfort to you when we are apart. May it serve as a reminder as we walk the long road together of what we share.
Amin verne', amin melar, amin me'a.
Amin mela lle.
Yours Eternally,

Glorfindle

She closed the book slowly.

She had no tears. Not of sorrow, nor of happiness. She'd shed too many tears in the turning of her life. No, she had no tears, but neither did she have the pain that marked the many similar periods in her life.

Instead of returning the book to the bedside table, she gently laid it in the trunk she was kneeling near. Within was an odd assortment of items ... a beautifully crafted bow, a bag containing gold coins woven into words of love, her wedding ensemble, a runebook of special places ... a melancholy tableau of what was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He had left without a word, as with each of his journeys. She had grown used to him not being there, his wanderlust often taking him from her side. But somehow, she knew this leaving was different. She held little hope of his return from this journey, arriving at the conclusion that his fascination with Hythloth and the evil dwelling there had finally taken him.

And so it seemed to have.

The elf that returned was not the elf who had written her poetry, who had loved and married her. The elf that returned was not her husband.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Turning her hand, she admired the glitter of candlelight on her finger. It was a thing that belonged with the rest, a memento to what was. She started to remove it, to add the inscribed, mithril band to the other items within the chest, but stopped. Not from sentimentality or misplaced hope, but something more practical. Being married had saved her often enough from the advances of men, she knew that the appearance of being married would do the same.

She closed the trunk slowly.

A shaft of sunlight sparkled the diamond-pane window of her bedroom marking a new day in the journey that was her life.

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> <I>Amin verne' Alasse' > What words exist in our language, or any other, that could do justice to what lies in my heart for you? > Time and again you show me the true meaning of living and grant me the strength to face what each new day brings. > The gifts you have given me dazzle me. Each is a treasure I hold dear. Although, none can compare with the gift given me freely the day we were wed. > I treasure your heart and soul more then any armor or steed. In return, I give you mine, gladly. Of gifts, there is little else I can give to you that you haven't already got. I can search and scour the shops of this land and find nothing that can express well enough how I feel. > So I give you this. A simple book with written words that try to expose my heart. The words fall short of my truest feelings for as I said there are no words to describe what you are to me. > I place this book on the bedside table. May it serve as a comfort to you when we are apart. May it serve as a reminder as we walk the long road together of what we share. > Amin verne', amin melar, amin me'a. > Amin mela lle. > Yours Eternally, > Glorfindle </I> > > She closed the book slowly. > She had no tears. Not of sorrow, nor of happiness. She'd shed too many tears in the turning of her life. No, she had no tears, but neither did she have the pain that marked the many similar periods in her life. > Instead of returning the book to the bedside table, she gently laid it in the trunk she was kneeling near. Within was an odd assortment of items ... a beautifully crafted bow, a bag containing gold coins woven into words of love, her wedding ensemble, a runebook of special places ... a melancholy tableau of what was. > <center>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</center> > He had left without a word, as with each of his journeys. She had grown used to him not being there, his wanderlust often taking him from her side. But somehow, she knew this leaving was different. She held little hope of his return from this journey, arriving at the conclusion that his fascination with Hythloth and the evil dwelling there had finally taken him. > And so it seemed to have. > The elf that returned was not the elf who had written her poetry, who had loved and married her. The elf that returned was not her husband. > <center>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</center> > Turning her hand, she admired the glitter of candlelight on her finger. It was a thing that belonged with the rest, a memento to what was. She started to remove it, to add the inscribed, mithril band to the other items within the chest, but stopped. Not from sentimentality or misplaced hope, but something more practical. Being married had saved her often enough from the advances of men, she knew that the appearance of being married would do the same. > She closed the trunk slowly. > A shaft of sunlight sparkled the diamond-pane window of her bedroom marking a new day in the journey that was her life.
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