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The Mouths of Sirion unfolded sparkling beneath Egalmoth, small sailboats bobbing up and down, smaller dots wandering the shores. Distant chatter drifted up to his perch atop a small cliff, carried by the wind in loops and drags that distorted, swallowed words and made speech unintelligible. He did not recognize specific accents in the swirling noise so he could not tell how many of those people, busily hauling supplies on land, directing smaller groups of people this way and that, were his – which of them came here with him and which resided on these shores long before the Lothlim arrived.
“Lothlim, we call us now, my dear Duilin. People of the Flower,” Egalmoth said quietly, words getting lost in the murmur of people, the silent ebbing of the waves and the sound of his own hair brushing against the veil covering it. “Our dear lord of the golden flower would have loved that moniker, don’t you think?”
No answer came, as it hadn’t for a long time – ever since their home fell, and Egalmoth’s husband with it. “Best not to think about that, isn’t it? Best to be Sirion’s Lothlim now,” Egalmoth continued, voice barely words.
“Speaking is difficult these days. As is doing anything. How used you can get to another by your side, that you have to relearn every action once they’ve parted,” he sighed, reaching up to detangle his veil from the lip of one of the ornaments woven into his hair. The weights were all so unfamiliar – so different from the great helm he used to wear, proudly, the great opal in its center.
“It is a hopeful thing, though, dear husband,” Egalmoth said, laying his hands in his lap once again, the veil brushing forward against his cheek when he dipped his head down. His eyes finally left the distant horizon over Sirion, the afterimage of the sun breaking on the waves burned onto the backs of his eyelids. “Hopeful, because the Havens of Sirion are welcoming and its people kind, and we are the Lothlim. Hopefully, there won’t be any need for me to don my helm for a long time.”
A bird cried above, the typical squawk of the delta’s river birds, throaty and grating.
“There is much to do, still. New houses to build, connections to make. I hope you can forgive me for laying down my bow, too, to do something entirely new,” he said, tilting his head into his veil, cooler to the touch than the palm he knew so well.
“I will join them later,” Egalmoth continued, raising his head and looking down onto their new home. “Until then, I would like to show you what I have learned, my love. Do not think I am idle in my mourning. Now, the people of Sirion have a song, so much gentler than those birds of theirs. I am sure you will enjoy it…”