Who will pity the candle and the moth? by Himring

Invisibly, she drifts among the indistinct dead. She cannot distinguish the Eldar she once knew in Dorthonion from the rest. Finrod might be here, but she would never know…

But then she spots him and recognition is instant: Aegnor.

At the same instant, she sees him seeing her. Aegnor alone perceives her and for him, too, recognition clearly follows immediately.

Andreth.

Whatever she looks like here and now, it cannot be like an elven princess with a star in her hair.

And so, the pressing question whether he ever truly saw her, Andreth, or only an elusive reflection in a lake, someone who never existed, answers itself and the fear that he is insisting on immolating himself on the altar of an empty dream is allayed, too.

They are all out, both of them, the Candle and the Moth. Neither of them knows yet—in this in-between moment—whether there is anything beyond the bounds of Arda, for either of them. What they do know is that if there is a place where they can meet again, they will find each other without erring.

Only that one instant of certainty—then, again, sight winks out.

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