"There she is," whispered the first of the three, as he sank down in the mallows and other tall plants beside the river. "Morrain the Mad."
"I told you. Mother says she's a crazy old witch," said the second boy.
"I do not know. I think... I think she is rather pretty, for her age and all, and sad too." This was the third whispered voice, the girl."See how she stands there? Like living stone, not even noticing the mist seeping into her skin from water's edge."
"But, why?" The first asked, looking to his companions in the perfect moments of waning twilight. Nothing stirred around them not even the whispering drone of insects.
"Something... she drownt her children, right? In madness. And she's looking for them still."
"Who told you that, Harlan?" The girl asked incredulously.
"You did, Miriam. Last month."
"Really? I thought your mother said it was because she was thirsty." Rowen commented idly, watching the tall, thin woman reach out a hand, clasping the spray like an old friend.
"Yeah. "Every year she goes to Golden Rauros and stands vigil for the one who did not return. And her thirsty." So that means she comes to the bottom of the falls cause she wants water."
"Anniversary, you mooncalf. It means something that happens every year to mark an occasion. Once, I've seen her here before. I was eight summers, like Harlan, and she wasn't as wrinkled as she is now, and her hair was still black. I heard her say something about 'Let my ring be not of gold, but a silver chain for the one too hard to hold.' But I was too far away to hear the rest."
"What do you think that means, Miriam?"
"Do you not listen to the stories? She keeps watch for the Steward's brother. Just like in the song. The one about the winds and the like."
"I think its romantic."
"Go kiss a toad."
Let my ring be not of gold, but a silver chain for one too hard to hold...
"...One life, one love, but I shall remember thee. From one life to the next, for the memory of the living, is the dwelling place of the dead."
The woman knew the three children were there, watching her even as she turned her pale blue eyes Northward. She almost smiled. Time had a way of taking the sting from memories, even if some wounds were too deep.
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.