Aftermath

28 April 2015 at 01:56

Through Rohan over fen and field where the long grass grows
The West Wind comes walking, and about the walls it goes.
'What news from the West, O wandering wind, do you bring to me
tonight?
Have you seen Boromir the Tall by moon or by starlight?'
'I saw him ride over seven streams, over waters wide and grey;
I saw him walk in empty lands, until he passed away
Into the shadows of the North. I saw him then no more.
The North Wind may have heard the horn of the son of Denethor.'
'O Boromir! From the high walls westward I looked afar,
But you came not from the empty lands where no men are.'

--Aragorn; from the Lament for Boromir, who was slain at Parth Galen.
(Excerpt from The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers)
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The day Corypheus fell was a day of celebration.

Skyhold was gripped in giddy elation; it was five-thirty in the evening, but
the sounds of laughter and merrymaking had already started. People were
rushing around in all directions, pushing carts overflowing with roasts,
cheese, and great caskets of wine in preparation for the great feast... or
just running, searching for their loved ones to envelop in tight embrace.

The war was over. The sky was healed, and they were still alive!

The merry sounds of the ruckus wafted up to furthest battlements of the

keep overlooking the Frostback Mountains, where a solitary red-haired
woman was perched on the parapet. The boisterous wind blew fierce and
cold, and would grow colder still when the sun finally dipped below the
horizon, but Melian paid it no heed as it eddied upon her cheeks and
played hide-and-seek in her long red hair.

A book laid open on her lap, forgotten now. She had retreated here, far
from the maddening crowd, to seek solace in those well-loved pages... but
when she opened the book to escape into her imagination she stumbled
upon the very passages that pushed the blade deeper still, instead. The
wind froze her bitter tears as they slid down her cheek; she gazed at the
horizon, straining to see behind the shadows that lay in deep pockets
between the mighty ridges that seem to stretch on forever, their massive
heads wreathed in clouds shot through with the red-gold rays of the dying
sun.

'O Boromir! From the high walls westward I looked afar,

But you came not from the empty lands where no men are.'

A great loneliness engulfed her. The heart of her heart, light in her
darkness, love of her life--he had disappeared without a word, let alone an
explanation or a goodbye, leaving her to pick up the broken pieces of
what they once had, in hope that it would show her what they now were.

But they did not, simply because they could not. She had given her heart
to an enigma, and he remained an enigma to the very end.

Amidst the revelry and merriment, back-slapping and celebratory toasts

of, "L'chaim! To the Inquisitor!", Melian drew her knees to her chin, buried
her face in her arms and wept.