“Verily I pray that you may continue to love this place, as I do, for it is all I desire”. The cottage that you both stand in remains solid and upright, but it feels as if the soil is being washed from beneath your feet. The gentle sway of the wind chimes fill the silence.

It’s always been a pretty place, even at its lowest, when mold creeps up the walls and creaky windows grovel under gusts of wind, it keeps its charm, and it’s the place you’ve called home for nearly a decade. The sun casts her heavenly glow upon the bannisters and the hand-painted pots. In the warm light he almost looks fragile, his mess of brown curls on his head painted blonde, calloused hands and scarred skin- covered in silver armour in the past, are only testament to the horrors he’s faced, and the vigour in which they stripped him of who he was, reducing him to who he should’ve been, just a man.

Even his body, once sinewy and hard, has lost some of its glory. To you, he was a sight to behold regardless. You speak. “And what of my love for you? Shall it endure?.” The words pain, and his eyes see right past your smile. “That, is not decided by us I believe, but if you can, for my sake really-”

“let me go”. You begin to sob.

Arms designed for swinging a sword, now cradle you against his chest. Your tears ceased a while ago, yet he does not release you. His cheek grazes your temple, touching far too gently for someone who was about to rip your heart out, and not give it back. His eyes remain closed, the air surrounding him one of a weary resignation, and yours? Torment. Lyriel has always been one for chatter, a man of many words, none of which have managed to convince you that his decision is not out of malice. As the old saying goes, If I am not the sword, then who am I?. An old, dear friend, has provided refuge from his self - inflicted misery, and he had said yes.

“I shall leave, what is left for me?, nothing.” To say that while embracing you is cruel, but you know that isn’t how he meant it. He’s never thought of himself as important, not after he sacrificed everything, and lost what made him special. Lyriel doesn’t believe that you need him, neither did you, until. The elves, pinnacles of middle earth, fairest of all creatures, have deemed him worthy to live amongst the heroes and the gods, a reward of sorts for his service. Emptiness has consumed him ever since that day, sometimes he wishes he had died by the sword instead. There are only fleeting instances, when a hope, you, remind him of his humanity, but it won’t last forever. It won’t. So he’s settled it, and your tears, though very successful, won’t shake this choice. To the undying lands he goes.