Brilien watched the sunset from where she sat in a tree atop a green hill. A massive expanse of water stretched before her, so large she couldn't see an end. The breeze that blew through the air rustled the pine needles of her tree and causes waves to form across the inland sea.

Her heart nearly stopped. After months of travel, she had reached it. Cuivienen stood before her, the birthplace of her race. Or at least what remained of it. She said a prayer of thanksgiving to the Allfather, Eru.

From where she sat in the tree a hundred yards away, Brilien could clearly see the myriad of colors splashing across the sky reflected in the waters below. It looked like it had every day in her dreams. Her best friend and constant confidant, Tríwel, the eldest of their folk, had described her secondhand knowledge of Cuivienen as best she could.

“Water as clear as glass, stars reflecting in it like in no other sea upon Arda. You'll know it by its beauty, its simplicity. You'll know it in your heart, Brilien.” Tríwel had said. “Not cold like the Sea of Ilinnáro, nor as icy as Hyellnen. But yet not warm like the pools of the Kinn-lai. Instead, it will feel like home.”

Home. Brilien smiled to herself, sliding from her tree. The sun was sinking low, and already a field of stars shined far above in the sky. Clasping her spear onto her back, she took off quickly, and yet with a certain reverence. This was hallowed ground. None of her folk, none except the leaders of the Kwendi, had stood where she now walked since the first days. Her father, and his father, and his mother before them. On and on it had gone since the days of the first leaders.

And so as she approached the rocky shore she paused. The edge of the waves now stood but ten paces away. Near her stood a few boulder formations and two pine trees. She remained all eyes on the water, however. It was clear as glass. She could see the myriad patterns of pebbles beneath the surface. And yet, the million stars of Elentári’s hand were pictured in incredible detail.

Brilien stood in awe before the inland sea. She wished to touch the water, to feel the sense of home even further. But she did not want to desecrate the hallowed place. And yet she remembered in that moment, nearly fifteen-hundred years ago, when her own father had returned from Cuivienen. He had shown her a stone.

She bent down, kneeling beside the water. The breeze had stilled for the time being. Brilien took her hand and held it above the sea before plunging it into the shallow shore. She could feel the presence of those who had come before her. The water spoke of them. Brilien took hold of a stone, her eyes still closed. She clasped it tight and drew it up. It filled her palm easily.

Suddenly she opened her eyes, feeling a change in the air. Something was wrong. Something was off. Brilien stuck the dripping stone into her belt pouch, standing quickly and retreating to a rock formation nearby.

And then she heard voices.

The End

See more of Brilien and her story, the life of the Avari in the Fourth Age, and who the voices belong to in Fëanoriel Chronicles Number 5: Flight to the East.

As always, thanks and prayers go out to Professor Tolkien, my inspiration for everything.