𝗺𝐢𝐳𝐩𝐚𝐡. (n.) the deep emotional bond between people, especially those separated by distance or death.
❝ after all those years, we were here, together. and i wanted to stay in this moment forever. ❞
in which a wanderer finds love with a boy f...
❝ when you feel strong enough to do the things you love, you know you are healing.❞
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FOUR DAYS.
That's how long it took to ride to Gondor, with Briareth, and minimal breaks.
We thundered over grassy hills, dusty plains, forests, rivers, and at night—under the stars.
I couldn't stop thinking about what—or who—I would encounter back in Gondor. Was Faramir alive and well? Was Denethor still a pain in the arse? How would they react to Boromir gone on the quest for the Ring? And Saruman's betrayal?
On the third night, I received a message. I knew that Gandalf often used butterflies as messengers because he told us, and even showed Aragorn, Legolas, and I how to lure a butterfly close enough to whisper your message.
I was making a fire for "dinner" when a beautiful morpho butterfly flew over, landing on Briareth. I chuckled as she snorted and nickered at the poor insect, who then flew over to my ear.
Letting the morpho land on the top of my ear, I listened closely and could eventually hear a small melodic voice whisper five words that changed everything:
Boromir and Gandalf are dead.
Instantly, part of my heart shattered.
My hand clapped over my mouth and I felt like collapsing. Tears poured down my cheeks but I kept silent to hear the rest of the message.
The butterfly continued:
Saruman's orcs have attacked. The hobbits were taken. Frodo and Sam have gone on alone. We are broken.
The butterfly, having completed its duty, stretched its beautiful wings and took off, leaving me with a half-done fire and endless tears.
At first I refused to be believe it, he couldn't be dead—he couldn't be dead. There was no logic or reason to my plea, but I couldn't let go.
But I knew—deep inside—that he was gone. They both were. Aragorn or Legolas or whoever sent the message wouldn't lie.
I cried myself to sleep that night, and I doubted the pain would ever fade completely.
Just like Ma and Pa.
In the morning I couldn't eat, instead focusing on packing up camp.
Put out the fire.
Feed Briareth.
Get going.
Ride.
We rode, faster than before and with new energy.
Briareth got us there in a half a day—we arrived before dinner, and by then my grief had transformed to furious anger. At the orcs, Saruman—I don't even know.
