Upon the Far Distant Horizon

The wind, like a mischievous spirit, tugged and tangled at Argwyn’s cascading golden tresses as she stood at the edge of the cliff, staring out at the vastness of the sea. Unchecked, silken tendrils of hair escaped the loose confines of the deceptively fragile silver diadem she wore, a delicate piece crafted by the finest silversmiths to represent the leaves of the great Vaylinwood trees of her home. She stood unwavering against the wind, her eyes—blue as the summer sky and deeper than the fathomless depths of the ocean—fixed intently upon the distant horizon, yearning for a glimpse of a billowing white sail emerging from the east. For nearly a century of undying years, she came each day. Time, an elusive concept in the everlasting realm of Vaylin, could not deter, nor alter her devotion.

“My Lady Argwyn, the wind stirs with a bitter chill. I entreat you to return,” spoke Farond, as he arrived breathless at the summit, his urgent words stolen by the wind.

She, facing the horizon without a backward glance, responded, “I shall not.”

“My Lady, I am tasked with conveying to you that King Hallendel seeks the honour of your presence.”

“Please tell my father that I am otherwise engaged this day.”

Farond released a breath heavy with lament, a sigh, a small sound that added to the wildness of the storm.

“Argwyn, My Lady. Surely you understand that Lothariel shall not return? He has sailed across the sea to the land of the mortals and has succumbed to the mortality of their lives. Please, for the sake of those who remain in Vaylin, you must take your place at your father’s right hand.”

The Lady Argwyn turned, her complexion so pale and fair that not even the brisk wind could coax colour into her cheeks. The brilliance of her gaze, unwavering and piercing, was aflame with passion and a steadfast urgency rarely seen in Vaylin, a realm where time was nothing yet it was everything, infinite and endlessness.

“You speak without understanding, Farond. You are not as familiar with Lothariel as I am. He shall return.”

“King Hallendel, your father, is approaching his twilight, and he desires only your presence as his days grow longer.”

“He wishes to place my hand in the hand of his successor.”

“He desires your safety and care amidst these turbulent times. The unseen disturbance growing in the distant east affects the realm of mortals, and they gain strength in response. What prevents them from attempting passage over the seas, and breaching our borders? What shields Vaylin from their inevitable invasion?”

“Father governs in fear. We, the Vaylini, have always ruled Vaylin with love and harmony. His own unbalanced perspectives will bring about our downfall, not anything that may come from beyond our border, in the land of men.”

Farond, unable to dispute her claim, fell silent and turned his own gaze upon the far distant horizon.

And tall they stood, one dark and shadowed, the other radiant and fair, striking in their contrasts, solitary sentinels against the storm sweeping in from the east.

A flutter on the horizon captured Argwyn’s attention. Her keen sight discerned the white sails before her companion, and her heart quickened.

“Farond,” she cried. “Behold the horizon. Do you see sails? I count at least ten, maybe more. A flotilla approaches.”

Farond shielded his eyes from the sunlight glittering off the water and surveyed the horizon. “My vision is lacking. Are they of Vaylini origin, or do we stand on the brink of invasion?”

Argwyn remained silent, her entire focus—all her formidable energy—she directed toward the distant sails soaring over the tumultuous sea. Each vessel crested and plummeted on the waves, sails full-bellied and billowing in the wind.

Finally, she raised her hand, a salute, a welcoming wave—and she smiled with radiant joy. “They come.” Without waiting for her companion, she ran, as fleet-footed as the deer, gracefully descending the cliff path to the shore below. Here, the first of the vessels battled the receding tide to land the boat. Agile sailors disembarked in the shallows, throwing out ropes and labouring to pull the boat ashore.

“Eldrith!” she called upon recognising the first man emerging from the surf, his cloak clinging to his form and long silver hair escaping the meticulous braid he usually wore. Despite his bedraggled appearance, he smiled warmly, extending his arms to embrace Argwyn.

“Lady Argwyn, you are unaltered and as fair as you ever were,” he declared. “I am pleased to see you. My heart rejoices to have returned to Vaylin at last.”

“And I, too, rejoice to see you again. You are welcomed back. My father will be most pleased to have his brother returned to Vaylin. You too, are unaltered.”

“I fear you are most polite, dear Argwyn. While I lived in the land of men, the passage of time has pressed firmly and relentlessly upon my shoulders. I am changed, and I know this well. The silver in my hair and wrinkles upon my brow are a testament to my time in the mortal realm, but I wear them both with pride. Our mission has been accomplished, the foe dispelled, and mankind is armoured against such future events. The time of men has begun; the time of the Vaylini in the mortal realm is concluded.”

“Then, have all the Vaylini returned?”

“All who wished to live in the undying lands of Vaylin have returned. Those who stayed are now bound by mortal law and live as man would and die as they do.”

“What of Lothariel?” She asked, her voice unable to contain the depth of her curiosity. “Does he return with you?”

The silver-haired Vaylini elder paused, his brow wrinkled in confusion and concern. “Do you still care for him? It has been many centuries. Surely you have formed an attachment with one of the many Vaylin warriors in your father’s court.”

“My heart belongs only to one, and I will never align myself with another.”

A second vessel pulled ashore, allowing those aboard to disembark. Among them was one that Argwyn would never forget, despite the addition of silver grey in the long tresses.

“Lothariel!” cried Argwyn, but the unforgiving breeze whipped away her voice. She hurried toward him, halting when he turned to assist a tall, willowy woman to descend the gangway into the surf. With gentle hands, he swept the woman into his arms and carried her to the dry shore. Her silky dark hair tangled with his in the wind, intertwining and binding them together in an intimate embrace. Having set the woman gently down, he tenderly brushed the strands from her face, a delicate gesture hinting at a shared past, a present, and a future. Argwyn pressed her hands to her heart, feeling it shatter within the cavity of her breast. Farond came to stand beside her, his gaze flickering between Argwyn’s pale visage and the tender scene unfolding on the shore.

“Oh, My Lady!” Farond murmured, the sympathy in his voice carrying clearly over the blustering wind.

Argwyn straightened her spine and raised her chin, the silver crown adorning her head glinting radiantly in the sunlight. “Inform my father that his brother has returned, accompanied by the Vaylini contingent from the land of men.”

Farond nodded and hurried away, but Argwyn dismissed him from her mind, her thoughts and attention fixated solely upon the couple who now strolled hand in hand towards her.

“My Lady Argwyn, you are indeed unaltered!” called Lothariel as he drew near.

“My Lord, Lothariel. Welcome home. You are much altered.” Argwyn replied and winced as the words left her mouth. It was unlike her to be so discourteous.

Lothariel remained oblivious of the slight. Perhaps having dwelt too long among men, he had grown accustomed to the absence of refined manners. “Allow me to present my wife, Delondilas.” The woman stood tall and slender, her complexion smooth, albeit darker than the conventional notion of beauty. Rippling black hair, as dark as the night, framed her heart-shaped face, and her wide, serene green eyes held a quiet depth. Her soft lips curved in a smile as she inclined her head in greeting.

“Delondilas, welcome home to Vaylin.” Argwyn spoke with courtesy, returning the smile with one of her own, though forced, lacking any warmth in her eyes. Cool, polite, and distant—her pride would allow no hint of pain to alter her expression.

“Lady Argwyn, you honor me. It feels as if we should already be steadfast companions. I have heard your praises sung for many years,” Delondilas expressed warmly, her luminous green eyes glowing with emotion.

Argwyn smiled serenely and accepted the proffered kiss on each cheek. She then turned to Lothariel, who greeted her with the customary kisses. With her smile fixed in place, she maintained her composure to receive them. “My father will rejoice at your return.”

“We have much to discuss,” Lothariel said as he bowed to her, then gently escorted his wife further along the shore.

With all the dignity she could muster, Argwyn greeted each person as they disembarked from their vessel, extending a respectful welcome to all. As the last person made their way up the shore toward Vaylin, she turned her gaze toward the sea.

Through the centuries of waiting for his return, her faith in Lothariel was unwavering. Now, in the undying lands, how would she endure an eternity without his affection? One did not cease to exist in Vaylin, and her future seemed endless and solitary. Somewhere beyond the waves, over the horizon, lay the land of men, the realm where death prevailed.

Without conscious thought, Argwyn lifted the silver diadem from her brow, absently dropping it in the sand as she waded through the shallows; her dress clinging to her legs as she ascended the nearest vessel. The tide sucked at the hull, enticing the boat to drift away, and Argwyn released the line, setting the boat free.

The gusty wind filled the sail, snapping it around, and sluggishly the boat responded, rising on the waves to escape the grasp of Vaylin, its bow turned toward the east. At the helm she stood, proud and beautiful, the wind whipping her face with unbound, cascading tendrils of long, silky, golden hair. Across the sea, in the land of mortals, death would be a welcome release.