Sunlight warmed the skin of Tindalómë’s eyelids, beckoning her to rise from a deep sleep. There was light, and warmth, again. But how was such a thing possible? Tindalómë could easily recall the darkness, pitch blackness deeper than any night. How could light ever exist past such a void? Tindalómë’s mind searched for answers to the multitude of questions that surfaced. Where was she and how had she come to this place? The fog lifted from her mind, and slowly memory began to return.

Age had finally caught up with Tindalómë. Her raven hair blanched years before. But little by little, the once great Queen of Gondor began to feel her age. After a life of toil and hardships, she felt her time draw near. Valandil had not moved from her side. Tindalómë could remember the look of strength and love in the eyes of her remaining son.

Throughout the years, Tindalómë found both comfort and melancholy in the fact her youngest child grew to closely resemble his father, a father he never had the chance to know except through his mother’s stories and the various trinkets and drawings she kept. They had been a family together, her and Valandil. And even though Tindalómë was sure the overwhelming grief would kill her after the loss of her Isildur and their sons, her love for Valandil had kept a spark alive within her. Although she had grown weary of the world, and her body began to grow weak from wear and age, Tindalómë had been reluctant to leave her son.

“Go to your reward, Naneth,” Valandil’s words still echoed in Tindalómë’s memory. “You have more than earned it. Be at peace now.”

His words were able to give her the last ounce of courage she needed to surrender to the unknown. Her son’s lips were the last thing Tindalómë felt before she slipped away. There had been no pain, no fear, only the sensation of floating away into a warm, and welcoming, darkness. Tindalómë came to the Halls of Waiting. She could hear her name murmured by those who gathered to welcome her, or bid her farewell; Tindalómë was not sure. Tindalómë recognized could recognize some of the faces. They were people that she encountered at various points within her lifetime. The crowds parted as Tindalómë walked towards a pier outside the vast house. A small ship awaited her, a lantern hung from its prow. Tindalómë’s gaze had looked out to see a multitude of points light. The dark water was filled with many of the lamp bearing ships. To her it seemed as if the world had suddenly been turned upside down and the stars now dwelled upon the water.

The journey across the Encircling Sea felt endless, yet Tindalómë wasn’t sure how much time had passed since her ship drifted out into the darkness. Icecaps glittered in the dim illumination of the lantern.  Yet somehow, Tindalómë was unable to feel the certain chill of the air around her. The sound of music reached her ears, a haunting, and unearthly, melody. It sang of her birth, and the unyielding joy of her parents. A rich harmony joined in as the song began to tell the tales of her life, her joys, and sorrows. Tindalómë had looked for the source of the singing only to find it came from within the water itself.

But the song faded too quickly as Tindalómë’s ship drifted into the blackness. A strong wind blew, tossing the lamp upon the prow until finally the ring that held it snapped free, and all light was gone. At last Tindalómë had faced true darkness, a pitch night that existed without a single star. Tindalómë had been both afraid and in awe of that place. The memory of her family served as the only light within the great darkness and she clung to them as sleep overcame her.

But now she was here in a place with light once more. Tindalómë blinked in an attempt to adjust to the sunlight that filtered through the window. Her mind tried to search for some sort of understanding. She was dead, how could it be possible that the warmth of the sun touched her skin. She could feel, but how? A shadow moved into the window, blocking out much of the light. Tindalómë blinked in an attempt to focus upon the figure that looked upon her. Elendil’s features became clear; a warm smile upturned the corners of his lips.

“Welcome home, child.”

Tindalómë sat up upon the couch she was placed on and smiled to see her father in law standing in one of the floor length windows that covered the walls of the room. A happy shout took her attention away from Elendil, but before Tindalómë could identify the voice strong arms wrapped tightly around her.  Tears filled her eyes to find herself enfolded in the combined embrace of her three eldest sons.  Laughter intermingled with the kisses Tindalómë placed upon each of their faces. Joy surged through her heart, for she feared at times she might never see them again. Even in her most hopeful moments, Tindalómë never imagined such a wonderful reunion.

Tindalómë sucked in a sharp breath as Anárion entered the room with his lady, Anúviel, at his side. Any signs of Anúviel’s ordeal that brought about her death were completely erased. Only a happy light in her blue eyes and a warm smile upon her face remained as Anúviel stepped forward to take her turn in embracing her sister through marriage.

It was Tindalómë’s turn to let forth a jubilant cry when she caught sight of a figure standing underneath a tree outside. Her feet moved swiftly towards one of the floor length windows, her hand brushed back the sheer drapes. At first Tindalómë was unsure if she should allow her heart to hope. The figure standing underneath the branches laden with pure white flowers turned around and tears prickled at the back of Tindalómë’s eyes. All the many years she had grieved without her beloved by her side could not compare to immeasurable joy that filled ever fiber of Tindalómë’s being as she ran towards her Isildur. She could see that he strode towards her with arms outstretched; their bodies collided in a tangle of tight embraces, laughter, and happy tears. Tindalómë’s hands cupped Isildur’s face while her eyes studied its features. Gone were the lines caused by age and worry. A gasp forced its way past her lips when Isildur lifted her off her feet without warning and turned their bodies in an elated circle while their combined laughter filled the air.

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The joys of Tindalómë’s arrival had not diminished since her first happy reunions. She was elated to find her parents and siblings among those who dwelled in this wondrous realm. Like so many others who had suffered at the hands of evil, the spirits of her kindred lived free from the oppression their bodies faced in life, yet it felt as if life had never ended. Just about anything she could want was here in this place. She was walking towards the shoreline when she noticed Isildur seated on the sand, Tindalómë caught sight of a frown upon her husband’s face for the first time since she arrived. It seemed that Isildur disappeared often for these moments of solitude, and although Tindalómë could guess why she was still curious to hear it from Isildur. Neither of them spoke for a long while, even after Tindalómë sat down near to her husband’s side.

“Do you think of Valandil still?” Isildur’s eyes were still staring off into the farthest reaches of the horizon as he spoke.

“Every day,” Tindalómë whispered back. “How could I not?”

She watched Isildur’s expression shift through a variation of curiosity and sadness. His mouth formed the beginnings of questions, but the words never seemed to leave Isildur’s mouth. Tindalómë shifted her upper body so that her eyes met his.

“Isildur, what is it?”

The level of pain carried upon Isildur’s face increased as if Tindalómë had punched him rather than enquiring about his well being. There was another long silence before Isildur spoke up again.

“I remember the day he was born.”

A wry grin matched the humor in Tindalómë’s eyes, “I’m sure you do. I’m not quite sure who squeezed whose hand harder, you or me.”

Isildur chuckled softly, “I don’t remember. I simply recall the experience of greeting our son together. You were far braver than I, and to think you had gone through such an ordeal four times!” His eyes focused upon the horizon once more.

“Was it difficult leaving him?”

Tindalómë was taken slightly aback by her husband’s question, yet somehow she was not entirely surprised. Now it was her turn her face to take on a morose expression.

“It was difficult at first. But our Valandil has much to live for still. He has a beautiful wife and children who are not all yet grown. His life is not without joy.”

The look in Isildur’s eyes shifted although their gaze remained upon the horizon. For a moment Tindalómë thought he would weep, the pain in his gray eyes was so great as well as the regret and longing. He did not have to speak for Tindalómë to know what his thoughts lay far beyond these shores.

“I am so very sorry that I did not return home sooner, that I broke my promise to you. It is something I fear I shall always regret. I foolishly abandoned you, and our son, and for that I can never forgive myself for doing, among many other things. I had a chance, a chance to make everything right again, but I failed in the one moment where it meant the most to be strong.”

Tindalómë had to avert her gaze. The pain in her beloved’s voice was so great, and for a moment, she feared she did not have the strength to carry him past it. She did not want Isildur to see the last lingering splinters of her anger in her eyes. She remembered how she loathed him in her darkest moments of weakness on the longest nights. There were times she had been angry at Isildur for leaving her and taking their three eldest sons with him. She had been angry at times throughout Valandil’s growth into a man that his father was not there to praise him like he had Valandil’s older brothers. But now that Tindalómë heard the agony in her beloved’s voice, she could not deny that he had suffered as much as her, if not more so. Guilt flooded over the anger, making it seem so small and insignificant in the greater picture. With a small measure of courage, Tindalómë managed to look back into Isildur’s eyes and brave the torment held within them.

“You may have made an error, but one that any man would have made had they been in your predicament.” Tindalómë reached out to take both of Isildur’s hands in her own.

“I do not know why things were allowed to happen the way they did. But I remember our days in Númenor, and the way things have to come to be how they are, and I cannot help but feel that we are only a smart part of something far greater than ourselves.”

Her head turned so that she could look out into the horizon before returning her gaze to Isildur. “I feel in my heart that what has begun has yet to be finished. One day the answers will come to use from beyond that horizon, and another ship will come to those shores. Maybe then you will find the peace you seek, meleth nín.”

Isildur nodded slowly and slowly pulled his wife into a tight embrace. Words seemed to fail to bring the needed reassurance. Tindalómë pressed a kiss onto Isildur’s brow.

“All shall be well again, you will see.”

At last a smile came to Isildur’s face just before his lips covered those that belonged to his beloved. For a moment that seemed to stand, nothing existed but the two of them and the deep love they shared for one another after all these many years.

“Come,” Tindalómë murmured once the kiss ended. “I am sure the others will be missing us soon.”

Isildur responded by grasping Tindalómë’s arm and pulling her tighter into his embrace. “Let them miss us for a little while longer, for I have waited a long while for this moment with you at my side once more.”

Tindalómë released a soft giggle as Isildur pulled her into his lap. His hand reached up to push back the hair from her face as he spoke, his eyes reflecting a happiness that Tindalómë had not seen since the days of their early courtship.

“I think I shall enjoy making up for lost time.”