A World twisted in Knots

Garendon slowly dismounted from his horse. The gray morning mist added to his dark mood. In one direction, the rim of the forest Mirkwood lay, and in the other, directly nearby were the ruins of El Nondre. His booted feet sank slightly in the soft mud of the river bank. He could well remember where that river led, and the pleasant memories of the years he had spent behind the peaceful marble stone columns still dwelt in his memory, sometimes entering his dreams. Those were the pleasant dreams. Some of the few that he would ever have. The days of peaceful prosperity had gone with the Necromancer. The evil demon had taken everything from him before it fell. His city and his loved one.

"My Galendrelle." The voice throbbed from the man, the grief of his heart expressed in his voice. "My Galendrelle, I once swore to you that I would never leave your side. That my blade would defend you to the end. I know that I failed you, and all I can do is simply beg your forgivness."

Tears began to run from his eyes as he walked forward into the ruins of El Nondre. "Peace and forgiveness are all that I desired when I left, but all of it has left me. Your face haunts my dreams, and the memory of your bleeding body. So beautiful, even with bloodstained and pale in death."

He sank to his knees and lifted his hand toward the air. "No one can change the past, but its imprint has been seared onto my life and will remain there to the end of my days."

For two hours he knelt there, in the midst of the ruins of the city. Memories chased themselves across his fevered brain, the agony of the past replaying itself across his vision. All the way up to the final chase and the last fight, when finally the Necromancer had been defeated. Its coming to its going, it had began and ended here, in El Nondre. The end of things bright and fair, and in the end the foul demon was also gone. And in their wake, they left the ashes of what had once been a beautiful and peaceful city.

Ashes and mud drifted from between his fingers, and he felt himself emptied of everything except the overwhelming grief.

His hand drifted to his sword hilt. There was one way that he could finally end his unending torment, and he had considered it twice before already.

He drew the blade and set its keen point against his chest.

"Garendon, stop!"

His arms stiffened, and his fingers tightened around the sword hilt. He looked up, and his vision came to rest upon another rider, cloaked and hooded in gray.

"You must not do this thing."

"What is to stop me? It is my life, and I have been a fool to release myself to the endless agony of living when my loved ones are dead."

"After all that you have gone through and survived, after all this time, you cannot end the struggle upon your own sword point. If you must die, die for something greater than yourself. Die at the end of an orcish blade in the middle of combat, but do not degrade yourself so. However, there is another place where I believe that you could find the peace of mind that you so much seek."

"Who are you?"

"Another memory from the past."

"You continue to hound me."

"Come with me to Rivendell; there you will forget your sorrows and find peace and contentment again. Give me this one chance to help you."

Garendon hesitated for a moment and then finally lowered the sword. Standing, he paused a moment before walking up to the rider.

"Take your horse, we have a long ride ahead of us."