“Andreth adaneth, the life and love of the Eldar dwells much in memory; and we (if not ye) would rather have a memory that is fair but unfinished than one that goes on to a grevious end. Now will he ever remember thee in the sun of morning, and that last evening by the water of Aeluin in which he saw thy face mirrored with a star caught in thy hair – ever, until the North-wind brings the night of his flame. Yea, and after that, sitting in the House of Mandos in the halls of Awaiting until the end of Arda.”
“And what shall I remember?” said she. “And when I go to what halls shall I come? To a darkness in which even the memory of the sharp flame shall be quenched? Even the memory of rejection. That at least.”
