The Undying Land

The turbulent wind, akin to a wrathful spirit unbound, tugged and tangled Argwyn’s cascading, golden tresses, whipping them about her face as she stood on the edge of the precipice, staring out at the vastness of the sea. Her eyes, azure 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. Thus, for nearly a century of undying years, she came, steadfastly bound by an enduring devotion that transcended mortal reckonings. Time, an elusive concept even in the everlasting realm of Vaylin, had no sway over her unwavering fidelity.

“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 tempest, even as it caressed Argwyn’s face with the hand of an all too ardent lover.

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

“My Lady, I am tasked to convey that Hallendel seeks the honour of your presence today.”

“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 wail of the already overburdened, burgeoning storm.

“Argwyn, My Lady. Surely you understand that Lothariel shall not return? He has sailed to the land of the mortals and has been seduced by the immediacy 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 tempestuous wind could coax colour into her cheek. The brilliance of her gaze, unwavering and piercing, aflame with a passion, an immediacy, and a steadfast determination rarely seen in Vaylin, a realm where time was a fleeting shadow, yet all existence echoed with its endlessness.

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

“The sun’s course lengthens for Hallendel, and he desires only your presence.”

“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? 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 the land of men.”

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

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

A flutter upon the horizon captured Argwyn’s attention. Her keen sight discerned the white sails before her companion, and her heart quickened in a jubilant rhythm.

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

Farond shielded his eyes from the light glittering off the water and surveyed the horizon. “My vision lacks the keenness of your own. 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 hurried gracefully descending the cliff path to the shore below, where the first of the vessels battled the receding tide. Agile sailors disembarked in the shallows, 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, as fair as you ever were,” he declared. “I am pleased to see you once more; 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. The passage of time in the land of men 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 to one, and I will never align myself with another.”

A second vessel was 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, her voice whipped away by the unforgiving breeze. She moved to hasten toward him, 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 lengthy, silky dark hair tangled and intertwined around them both, binding them together in an intimate embrace. Having set the woman gently down, he tenderly brushed the entangled 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 as if the organ had shattered within the cavity of her breast. Farond came to stand beside her, his gaze flickering between Argwyn’s pallid 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 lifted her chin, her innate pride rejecting the pity she perceived. “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 her words left her mouth. It was unlike her to be so discourteous.

Lothariel remained oblivious to 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 the warmth in her eyes. Cool, polite, and distant—her demeanor defaulted to such even as it pained her.

“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.”

Argwyn smiled serenely and accepted the proffered kiss on each cheek. She then turned to Lothariel, who greeted her with the customary kisses. 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.

Centuries of waiting for his return had passed, her faith in Lothariel unwavering. Now, in the undying lands, she faced the prospect of eternity without him. 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, she waded through the shallows; her dress clinging to her legs as she ascended the first vessel. The tide sucked at the hull, enticing the boat to drift away, and Argwyn released the line, setting the vessel free.

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