The darkness within the room felt heavy and oppressive. It took all the concentration Tindalómë could muster to focus upon the sewing held in her hands. Shadows lingered close to the walls, dancing in and out of the glow cast by the fire in the hearth. Already the weather began to cool despite the fact the fall just began. Tindalómë’s eyes flicked towards the folded letter upon her pillow. Her husband’s scent left his belongings long ago and the single piece of folded parchment provided a lingering shred of hopeful comfort. Isildur would be home soon, his letter promised that, and Tindalómë always knew her lord to be a man of his word. Even now she spent many of her sleepless nights preparing for the return Isildur and their three eldest sons. How she missed them so! The war had been so immensely difficult; each day Tindalómë feared a message that would verify her worst fears. But alas, the Valar spared her husband and sons. Without a doubt Tindalómë knew she would be wise to count her blessings. Many wives and mothers were not so fortunate.
Sewing provided a welcome distraction. Hr men would surely need new things once they returned. A humored smirk came to Tindalómë’s face while she considered the sloppy stitches and patching her husband and sons’ clothing likely bore after all these years. A soft cry pulled the Queen from her musings. Her feet were already halfway to her youngest son’s bedchamber. By now the young boy sobbed through the throws of another nightmare. Much to Tindalómë’s dismay they seemed to come more frequently these days.
"Be at peace, ion nín," Tindalómë soothed with the voice only a mother of four could master over the years. "I am here now."
Valandil clung to her sleeves as he rose back into wakefulness. "Ada, where is Ada? I want to see him!"
"Hush, "Tindalómë spoke gently before attempting to quiet her son’s sobs. "Ada will be home soon. He is only delayed. I will read you his letter again if you agree to dry your tears."
Valandil curled further underneath his covers while Tindalómë reached for the companion letter Isildur wrote for their youngest son. Thankfully the words seemed to calm the boy. Eventually his eyelids drooped and fell shut. Even so, Tindalómë waited until she could hear the slow, even, breathing that would indicate her son slept in peace once more.
Her eyes fell upon the letter once she returned to her room. Now that Valandil had his comfort, she too required the loving words she would find upon that page. Each sentence brought a fresh wave of varied emotion and Tindalómë could not help but wipe away a single tear when she reached the signature that became so familiar to her after all these years. Her hands brought the letter to lips. Somehow she liked to believe that each tender kiss somehow made its way to her beloved’s lips and reassured him she had not yet lost faith, or eagerness, in the day he, and their sons, would return.
"May Eru guide your steps back to me, meleth nín. Surely it can’t be long now."