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Chapter 5 - Departure Approaches
Thranduil cast his hand up to shade his eyes from the morning sun as he gazed up in growing excitement and anticipation at the two ships resting peacefully against the dock. Those who knew said that the soaring masts and graceful lines of these vessels reminded them very much of the ships that had brought them to Valinor from Mithlond, and such a statement wasn't all that surprising, considering that most of the shipwrights and carpenters who had labored for well over a year had been Círdan's folk in Ennor.
But now, with the ships gently slipped into the peaceful and protected waters of the Alqualondë harbor and tied to the docks, what he and so many others were intending to do suddenly had become real. Equally real were the several fishing ships that had thrown in their lot with what had become derisively known across the land as "The Insanity."
"Adar," he heard and turned to watch Legolas stride purposefully through the workers now charged with transferring all the goods that had been accumulating in the warehouse to the ships. Pairs of men moved in a steady stream, a wooden crate between them, up the narrow planks to the ships.
"They are magnificent, are they not?" Thranduil turned back to his study of the ships - his ships - with one hand at his hip and the other shading his eyes again against the brilliance Anor was gifting them this day.
Legolas snorted. His father had spent much of the time waiting for the ships to be ready closeted with Oropher and Gildor, keeping close count of the number of people who had dedicated themselves and their futures to this endeavor and to the lists of equipment and supplies that would be needed at the start that he'd received from Erestor some time back. But for the last five days - ever since the ships had formally been given to the water and Ulmo's keeping - he had been at the docks admiring the workmanship and watching the wharf-side action. "So you have been saying for the last five days," he retorted dryly. "You know, for a truly dedicated wood-elf, you are waxing almost as poetic about the sea and the ships that sail it as does Círdan."
"Impudent elfling," Thranduil snorted back. "Just because I happen to enjoy both the beauty and the functionality of them..."
"There is no impudence involved in my statement in the least. I report only what is visible to any with eyes to see and a brain to recognize what is before them. Were you a wolf, Adar, you would be drooling; not to mention the fact that now that they are being loaded, you anticipate the dawn when we cast off and set forth to win a new land to our care. You are ready to be a King again, and it shows very clearly."
Thranduil knew that Legolas had once more grown as impervious to his sarcasm as he'd ever been; and his heir was more than often willing to toss an equally biting answer back. The return of their verbal sparring matches was as much of a relief as it was an irritant. In many ways, being a part of the artisans who had made the practical shipboard items things of beauty had at long last helped his son put away his grief at the loss of so many. And while he was still not the ever-merry forest warrior he had been before that damnable Quest, Legolas had regained a fair portion of the dry sense of humor that he had gotten from his father. Thranduil didn't need to glance into his son's eyes to see that Legolas, too, was quite ready to be on his way.
"Certainly you did not come to the docks to tell me things I already know."
Legolas shook his head. "Of course, I didn't. Círdan, Elladan and Glorfindel await us in the warehouse office this morning, remember? When you did not appear at the appointed hour, I was sent to pry you away from your drooling so that we can finalize our plans."
"Drooling..." Thranduil sniffed in mock insult, and then blinked when his son's words finally penetrated. "Olórin will not join us?" He had become accustomed to the Maia's inserting himself into all of the planning sessions since Olórin's announcement of his participation, acknowledging that the former wizard often brought a welcome sanity and wisdom to the table.
Again Legolas' head shook. "He said that he would travel once more to Taniquetil before our departure." He lifted a roll of ancient-looking parchment that he was holding. "But before he left, he tasked me to present this to our 'council' as the best he could do to reproduce what he'd found in the archives in Tirion."
Thranduil's brows lifted. "He had not said that he had found anything genuinely useful..."
"I am certain he had his reasons to keep his knowledge close," Legolas sighed. "It was one of the more useful - and often frustrating - traits he demonstrated as part of the Fellowship."
"That figures." The wizard... Maia - Thranduil still struggled to understand exactly what role their unusual friend was playing now - had kept his information close during the long-years of watching the Enemy's might grow, although the former Elvenking had thought that to have more to do with his distrust of Curunír than as a personal trait. "As long as he is returned by the day we plan to set sail. I am not of a mind to wait upon his pleasure." He turned away from the sight of the ships to face his son. "Speaking of such matter, let us not keep the others waiting either."
"I told you I would find him," Legolas announced as he pushed open the door at the top of the stairs, "and on the docks, as I told you."
Círdan grinned widely. "Perhaps, Thranduil, when all is said and done, you will undertake training so that you can captain one of those ships, when you tire of the rigors of rule again."
"Thank you; but it will take a long time to subdue land left wild for this long," Thranduil sniffed. "My attention will be well occupied for a good many long-years, I would imagine. I shall, however, remember your offer to become my personal tutor in matters of watercraft when the time comes - if it ever does."
Glorfindel didn't bother to repress his snort of amusement. "Now that is something that I would give a great deal to witness!"
"Beware, old friend, that Círdan does not choose to train two for the price of one. And if he does, you can be certain that our adar would very much appreciate being able to play spectator," Elladan guffawed.
"If all of you are not careful, I shall have you all - including your respective parents, where applicable - climbing masts and hoisting anchors," Círdan was laughing now. "And if you have all finished with your foolery, can we get down to business? I have it from Arnon that the lading of the ships is on schedule, and that the sails will be delivered and installed within the fortnight."
"Are we still working on Thranduil's latest estimates of how many intend to accompany us on this first voyage?" Glorfindel asked purposefully. "And do those estimates include those who sail on the fishing vessels?"
"I have ever included them in my figuring." Thranduil seated himself and crossed his arms. "What is more, I have discovered that many of those fisher-folk who have thrown in their fates with ours are bringing mates and even young with them. It seems we are now more than a mere party of adventurers."
Elladan's eyebrows had climbed. "How many come with families?" he gaped.
Thranduil consulted the fold of wood-pulp paper that he drew from his tunic. "I have a total of thirty-five fisher-folk already committed, and three fishing vessels will sail with us; but I would be willing to guess that other family members may join in at the last moment rather than see their kin disappear over the horizon, never to be seen or heard from again."
Glorfindel's brows folded. "That changes the way we will have to plan our settlement..."
"...not to mention the number of healers we will need to include in our number," Elladan added. "I will mention this to Adar when I see him later today; perhaps he will have some thoughts on the matter. At the very least, he should know whether we need to encourage more healers to travel with us."
"So how many in your latest estimate, Thranduil?" Círdan asked firmly, pulling the discussion back to the matter at hand.
"We have one hundred twenty warriors, thirty carpenters, forty sailors, thirty-five fisher-folk, four metal-smiths, ten stone-workers, the thirteen of us..."
"Thirteen?" Elladan frowned. "I distinctly remember there being eleven of us originally meeting every few weeks at our home, which became twelve when Olórin signed on. Who is number thirteen?"
"Galion would never forgive me if I had not at least offered him the chance to come along. Do you mind?" Thranduil's raised eyebrow quashed anymore questions. "To continue... according to my figures, that makes a total of two hundred fify-two at the moment. The fisher-folk have expressed their desire to transport their own families, so we do not need to worry about housing those onboard either the Gwaelaer or the Aeardelien." Thranduil's finger touched each item on his list as he related it. "Adding in those who may decide to come at the last moment, I am estimating that we will be a contingent of two hundred seventy-five when all is said and done."
"How many of the craftsmen may decide to bring their own families along, once they hear that the fisher-folk are moving adults and children?" Círdan asked urgently. "Do we have berths for more?"
"Even if we do not, Adar has already designated some of the cottages within the compound at Barvedui as temporary lodging for those who will join us once the stronghold is at least able to defend them," Elladan assured the sea-lord.
"How long do you think it will take to construct a wall and defenses capable of sustaining a community?" Legolas aimed his question at his father and Cirdan.
The two lords exchanged a look, and then Thranduil waved his hand to give the burden of answering to Círdan, who sighed. "Much will depend upon the resources we find at hand once we make landfall. Legolas, if you would..." He waited while Legolas put the rolled parchment on the table and unrolled it. "This, according to Olórin, is the most recent map of the Avathar coast. As you can see," Cirdan's thumb indicated various places on the multi-colored map. "...there are indications of inlets, hopefully with flowing fresh water. I have studied the notes that Varda provided, and I feel reasonably certain that we will find an abundance of wood close to the shore. Whether there is stone..."
"We had already decided to construct the primary defenses of wood," Legolas reminded them. "So, given that we will have adequate supplies and resources, how long before we can send one of the ships back for those family members who would wait until the second voyage to journey to Avathar?"
"Granted that we have no overwhelming obstacles to guard against, like wargs or orcs, the wall should take between one to two fortnights to construct with enough towers to allow for a guard rotation," Círdan answered at last. "Once the wall is constructed, we would establish our canvas community first - building shelters as quickly as possible, along with a warehouse for supplies to be off-loaded. Once that is accomplished, one of the ships could return immediately, if there is a large enough number of people waiting to join us."
He turned to Thranduil. "What I need to hear from you, old friend, is just how far distant you would like to be from the Calacirya before we start to actively search for a safe place to land."
Thranduil's green eyes narrowed, and he bent over the map. "I think it would be best to be far enough distant that it would give those who would dearly enjoy seeing our 'Insanity' fail a good reason not to attempt to follow us in order to make their desires a reality." His forefinger landed on the map. "No less than one hundred leagues from the Calacirya, I would say. It should put us about here, granted there is a safe harbor in the area."
Slowly Círdan nodded. "No less than one hundred leagues would definitely tax the intent of those bent on mischief for mischief's sake."
"I am not at all happy that we need to not only guard ourselves from the dangers of the unknown land, but from those who would wish us ill," Glorfindel grumbled. "I would have thought that the Eldar had seen enough of kinslayings already."
"Never underestimate the power of ignorant folk to make trouble for the undeserving," Elladan's grumble answered Glorfindel's. "I am certain I am not the only one here who will be glad to see the last of them over the stern railing of a ship."
oOoOo
"I know that you are leaving for Avathar. I have known this for well over a year now. What I want to know is how soon?"
Elrohir winced at the tone of voice with which Linnaew pushed away from him. "You knew this was coming..." he hedged.
Her blue eyes narrowed dangerously. "I have already said so. Stop stalling. How. Soon?"
"In seven days." There, it was out now, and he could see the shock his words had caused.
He had struggled to find a way to tell the one he'd been courting - the one he was fairly certain was the right one for him - that he was going to be leaving her in a very short amount of time. When or even if he would be coming back was very much up in the air. He had chosen this night, at a dinner to celebrate his return to Tirion, to make his announcement. Still, now that he looked around the sitting room of the home he shared with his brother and saw how empty it looked with all personal effects either crated and in storage at Barvedui or crated and in the belly of the Aeardelien, he could understand how she'd managed to guess his news, as well as her ire with him.
Linnaew hadn't been here for weeks -the entire time he'd been gone - and most of the personal things in the house had been packed away by the steward and servants while he was in Alqualondë. So the uninhabited look that had met her as she walked through the front door was as much of a shock as the time frame he'd just given her for his departure.
Linnaew backed up quickly until she was out of Elrohir's reach, her hands clenched into fists and thrust into her waist. "Only seven. And when were you intending to share this with me?"
"Laer nîn..." He stretched out his hands to her pleadingly and followed her.
She shook her head and skittered out of reach again. "Do not think to appease me with honeyed words. Just when did you intend to tell me that you are walking away from everything in seven measly days?"
Elrohir sighed and put his hands down. "I had intended to tell you this evening, but you managed to broach the topic before I could get to it. Here I cooked a special dinner for you, chased Elladan and Celebriel off..."
A golden eyebrow rose. "Chased them off?" She glanced around for the mirror image of the Elf who had been courting her for almost a long-year now. It wasn't until that moment that she noted that she and Elrohir were quite alone. "And Elladan actually allowed you to do this?"
"I gave him little choice in the matter." Eyebrows capable of complex gymnastics worked madly, and Elrohir's efforts were soon rewarded when the corner of Linnaew's lips curled upwards.
"You cooked? For me?"
He sighed in relief to see her slowly thawing. "I knew I was going to be upsetting you, so I fixed your favorites." Slowly he put a hand out to her. "Forgive me, Laer nîn..."
She kept her hands out of his reach again for a short time before finally relenting with exaggerated reluctance. "I really should not."
"But you are kind and understanding," Elrohir insisted with a winning smile.
The golden eyebrow lifted again. "Do not press your luck."
He kissed her hand and drew her closer. "I would never dream of it." And then he closed his eyes as Linnaew finally stepped close and allowed him to gather her into his arms.
"But what of us, Elrohir? What of me?" she asked, her voice desolate.
Elrohir sighed, tightening his arms about her. "I would have you wait for me - wait for a summons to Avathar when it is safe for you to come..."
Now it was Linnaew's turn to sigh. "You know that Father will not stand for that." She shuddered. "Once you are gone, he will insist that I begin attending all of the dinners and receptions in order to meet those that he considers far more desirable as mates than you. You know he will."
Oh yes. Elrohir was quite aware that Astaron, Linnaew's father, had never approved of his daughter's insistence on spending time with what the Midhrim considered a mongrel barely deserving to have been allowed into Valinor. "What would you have me do, my heart?"
"Take me with you."
"Impossible!"
She pushed herself out of his arms again. "It is not impossible. All who speak of your 'Insanity' tell that you are among the leaders. You could command..."
"Laer nîn, it is Thranduil who holds the final approval on any decisions, not I. We are already beginning to run shy of room on the ships..."
"Please." The blue eyes filled with tears as she reached for him again. "I would not bring much, and I can defend myself. I would be willing to work for my keep..."
He enfolded her again. "Your father would send after you, my heart. We aren't..."
"We could be..." She looked up at him imploringly. "We've talked about it often enough, although you kept saying the time was not right. If I were your wife, then Father could have nothing to say about it."
"If you were my wife, I would ask you to bide your time in my parents' home in Alqualondë until I can be certain of your safety," Elrohir countered. "Your father would not be able to reach you there unless you wished it so, and my mother would be glad of the company while my father is away."
Linnaew's arms wound around his back. "I would not be parted from you, if there were any way to prevent it. But either way, I would rather spend long-years waiting for you in Barvedui than stomach ten hours' worth of receptions and dinner engagements meeting stuffy, boring nobles more interested in connections with my father than in me."
Elrohir gazed into her eyes. "Married, eh?"
"We have spoken of it before," she offered simply. "Unless you have changed your mind..."
His arms tightened reflexively. "I certainly have not."
"Then why not..."
A heavy banging sounded from the front door, and a string of Midhren curses that made even Elrohir's jaded ears turn pink all the way to the tips.
"What, in all of..."
"Líraiwë! You come out here this instant!"
Elrohir sighed and loosened his hold on her, but only got two steps away from her before her hand had grabbed his arm. "Do not let him in!" she hissed.
"Laer nîn, he is shouting loudly enough to disturb the neighbors!"
"But your nearest neighbors are all the way..."
"Yes, but on a quiet night, sounds travel; and already I am suspect because of this 'Insanity' to which my brother and I have given ourselves. I have no choice." Elrohir's hand cupped her cheek and kissed her tenderly before straightening himself completely erect and stalking to his door. He threw it open and glared at the Elf standing there. "Astaron. I was not expecting your company this evening."
"I would imagine not!" Astaron's Midhren accent was broad, and in his anger would have been almost unintelligible had Elrohir not grown up with Glorfindel breaking into the Midhren dialect to curse and complain, and learned to both understand and respond in it if the mood or situation required him to. "I am here to collect my daughter."
Elrohir's eyebrows rose dangerously. "She accepted a dinner invitation; I assumed that as an adult, she need not petition for permission to visit a friend as if she were an elfling."
"Out of my way..." Astaron tried to push through the doorway. Elrohir simply refused to move.
"I have not invited you in," he announced calmly - too calmly. He turned, without removing himself as an obstacle. "Linnaew?" He knew how much a Sindarin name would grate on ears that considered the language a perversion in and of itself.
He had to be proud of her as she stepped from the depths of the house with a serene expression on her face. "Atar," she acknowledged with a dip of the head.
"Out. Now." The Quenya was terse, and Astaron pointed to the road behind him. "What will our friends say when they find out that thou hast been visiting this... gentleman... without benefit of chaperone or..."
Linnaew laughed, and Elrohir's regard for her grew apace with his concern for her. Few laughed at Astaron and walked away unscathed. "Atar, I am no elfling, and Elrohir is exactly as thou describest him: a gentleman. And I do not care in the least what thy friends think."
Elrohir watched in horror as Astaron's face grew dark with what could only be rage. Oh, have a care, Laer nîn!
The Miniel struggled to rein in his ire. "Come, daughter. We will discuss thy relationship with Elrohir - at home."
"My... relationship?" Linnaew's face darkened in a manner very much resembling that of her father. "My relationship with Elrohir, Atar, is that of betrothed."
Astaron's mouth dropped open. "Betr... Impossible! I have not given my blessings to..."
"I do not require thy blessings, although I would prefer to have them," she stated bluntly. "I am over the age of majority; asking and receiving thy blessings is a formality and a social grace."
"One thou wouldst have to do without, if thou doest persist in this... this..." he hissed. "Doest thou seek to drive thy mother to Mandos' Halls?"
"Good evening, Astaron. I had no idea Elrohir was entertaining the entire family. Dare I inquire why?"
Astaron's face blanched as he turned to face the other Peredhel twin. Bullying one of them was within reason, in his mind; but these two were renowned for their deeds of valor and heroism in Ennor fighting the Enemy to the very end. One did not lightly make the both of them angry. "I... I am here to..." he sputtered, his accented Sindarin even less intelligible.
"To stand in the doorway?" Elladan's eyebrow flared upwards, his eyes showing that his patience was nearing its limit.
"He seeks to retrieve his daughter before I even have a chance to feed her," Elrohir stated flatly, glaring.
Elladan crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. "That is quite rude, even for him."
Linnaew stepped up to Elrohir's side while her father's mouth worked in attempting to form a come-back to Elladan's near-insult. "I should go, before he makes a bigger scene and draws the attention of the town Guards as well as your neighbors. There is no reasoning with him when he gets this way." She stretched up and kissed him gently on the lips. "Remember our talk. That is what I want, and there will never be a better time."
"Are you certain?" he asked in a whisper. "If you stay, I can protect you here..."
"I will be all right, honestly," she soothed, patting him on the arm. "I will have a headache from the yelling when it is all done, but little else." She bent closer. "I will speak to you tomorrow." Then she lifted her head and gazed at her father. "Since thou seemst determined to ruin my evening," she told him calmly in Quenya, "I may as well come home with thee." She stepped past Elrohir, and past her father, to pause before Elladan. "Good evening to you, Lord Elladan, and my greetings to your Lady."
"Lady," that twin bowed elegantly as Linnaew continued on.
"If you intend to accompany your daughter, I suggest..." Elrohir stated sarcastically in Sindarin, pausing only when Astaron gave him a withering glare and hurried after her into the deepening twilight.
oOoOo
Thranduil gazed at the two ships still tied to the dock, although the bustle of workers bearing crates of supplies and equipment no longer thronged back and forth between the warehouse and the boarding planks. The days of waiting were almost spent, and the moment when he would be faced with the second sea journey of his long life grew alarmingly near. Suddenly, all he could think of was the experience of his last voyage - one that he would far prefer never to think of again.
"Come now, do not look as if you have seen the Enemy Reborn," a hearty voice sounded from behind him, and a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. "Surely you cannot be daunted by the thought of another ocean voyage?"
"Oh hush!" he growled and hunched under the hand of the one Elf besides his son without whom he doubted he could even make this journey. Galion had been at his side ever since Thranduil could remember: as elflings together in Doriath and on the long journey that had brought them to the Greenwood, as warriors together mounting a daring campaign to keep the Black Gates open for the rest of the Alliance at Dagorlad, and as seneschal and chief counselor during the entirety of his reign. He'd even been at his side in that tiny boat taking the Straight Road at the very last, taking turns with his King manning the rudder while the other rested. That unwavering dedication to service was not going to change now that a new land beckoned - and Thranduil would have it no other way.
Unless he had to kill his old friend for being unbearably irreverent, that was - in which case all bets were off.
"If I remember what Círdan said, Thran, we shall be staying close by the shoreline; so you need not worry about…"
"I said hush!" Thranduil grumbled even more morosely and shrugged himself from beneath the hand, only to be greeted by Galion's amused chuckle. "You know, if it had been your stomach that had refused to settle when the ocean grew angry, you would not be laughing now!"
"But my stomach was not the issue then, nor is it now," Galion laughed openly. "You are lucky you had no enemies on that boat, for you would have to live many more Ages before they would forget the sight of the great King of Eryn Lasgalen, hanging his head over the railing, arse high in the air, gagging up his socks…"
Nuath! "It seems I need no enemies, for I have you to remind me of the incident until the Breaking of the World."
"Incident? You mean the entire trip! True, you were upended only at the last, as our ship entered the rough waters just before sighting Tol Eressëa, but your face was a very interesting shade of green from almost the moment we lost sight of land."
"Are you teasing my Adar again, Galion?" Legolas shook his head as he neared his father and accepting a fond and tight embrace of welcome.
"Always, Thranduilion. Did I not tell you…"
"Hush!" Thranduil growled and then pointedly ignored the mocking tone to concentrate on his son's face. "Well? Are they all here?"
"Yes, Adar. We have an entire company of one hundred twenty Mirkwood, Imladris, Lothlórien or Ithilien warriors and archers ready and anxious to protect us on our little trip." Legolas' smile was wide. "Even Caedor and Tórion."
Thranduil's eyebrow quirked skeptically, even as Galion cackled his amusement. "I trust you and your friends will manage to stay out of trouble better now than the three of you did while training together?"
"With Faeldir as our captain again?" Legolas' eyebrows simply rose in question. His father's Master at Arms had never had any trouble keeping any of his trainees in line; having the formidable warrior with them on this venture was, Legolas believed, one of the more promising details.
"Well, now! That does make a difference, does it not?" Thranduil looked about him. "I have not seen him since I got here. Does he reside in Alqualondë?"
"No. His family settled on Tol Eressëa and never left it. He will be here, ready for action, when the time comes; I imagine he is already terrorizing our troops again, as is his wont." Legolas' gaze was caught by the sight of Elves pulling hard on ropes slowly raising a mass of fabric to workers waiting like two-legged spiders on the spars. "The sails were delivered late?"
"They were delivered on time, but it was decided to wait until after the chaos of loading the ship before installing them." Thranduil allowed his gaze to be drawn upwards by his son's. "That was bad enough!"
"We loaded the perishables yesterday afternoon," Galion informed them. "I had the wine, dried fruit, nuts and grain stored in the warehouse until after everything else was onboard. Erestor's and my arrangements are for a complete month's meals for two hundred and seventy-five - as we agreed upon, Sire - given that nothing else is hunted or gathered from either sea or land. However, I also figured that no game or fish along the way means no way for us to establish a base - and that we'd know this in time to come back and start over without starving ourselves. I also commissioned plenty of the canvas pavilions we shall use until more permanent shelters are built. Erestor's estimates on those were lower than what I thought we might need." The former seneschal shook his head. "I could hardly believe my ears when your father told me that he intends to build in stone once he has the place secure enough."
"No more caves, eh?" Legolas turned a questioning gaze on his father, complete with a lifted brow so much like his sire's that Galion had to choke back another chuckle.
"Not unless there is a pressing need for it, as there was back home, and more importantly, not unless we discover a cave near enough to the sea and easily fortifiable in which to make a new home,"
Thranduil announced firmly. "However, if nothing else, my time here - combined with the memories of what happened in Eryn Duir as opposed to my mountain Hall - has taught me the benefits of building our permanent strongholds of stone, one way or the other."
"You have changed, my friend," Galion stated somberly. "But then, perhaps that is not such a bad thing. We have no idea if the better Elf for Avathar is a Laegel or a Golodh."
"Once the land has been tamed to Elven hand, we will revert to telain wherever possible," Thranduil mused. He shook off his reverie and glanced with chagrin at the two at his side. "We would do well to remember our origins, would we not?"
Beside him, both nodded.
oOoOo
Celeborn looked down at the dock and frowned. He wasn't surprised that she had come; after all, over the last year, this had become the point of conflict between them that had superseded all else, and time was growing short if she was going to throw it in his face one last time. He clambered down the rope to the deck of the Aeardelien and tucked his gloves into his belt as he stalked over to the boarding plank. At least she had the decency to come alone; the last thing he wanted on the eve of their separation would be a very public spat.
"Círdan's people still know how to build graceful ships," she commented as he neared her, the statement as much of a peace offering as he'd heard from her in a long time.
He nodded and turned back. The Aeardelien, like her sister-ship the Gwaelaer, held the lines of the many white ships that had made the journey over the Straight Road West. They even showed the same grey-white coloring on the hulls and masts, although Celeborn now knew that to be a result of a process to protect the wood from decay and damage from wood-boring creatures. Now, with the sails installed and curled onto their spars, they looked as if they were as eager to be away as those who would sail on them were.
Without answering, he turned back to her and cocked an eyebrow in her direction. There was no way that he was going to be the one to start what would no doubt boil down to an argument.
"Are you certain this is what you want?" she asked finally, her voice surprisingly devoid of sarcasm or any other needling tones.
Again he nodded. "I do not feel at peace here; all is too perfect, too controlled. I do not begrudge those who know little else, but..."
Artanis - he'd long since stopped calling her Galadriel, for now far too many around her glowed with evidence of having lived in the light of the Two Trees for her to stand out - sighed. "It takes much work to make life seem so effortless, husband, work you have yet to seek out. Perhaps if you just tried..."
"I have no wish to spend my days surrounded by those who treat me as if I were a piece of horse dung dragged to Valinor on the bottom of your shoe," Celeborn snapped before thinking. He sighed again. "I do not fit; I do not belong. I never have, and never will."
"Nonsense. You do not wish to fit or belong."
It was one of her favorite accusations to toss out; and, in the end, Celeborn had to admit she had a point. He hated Noldorin court life, hated the posturing, hated the condescension and pandering for favors. He'd hated being the target of such toadying behavior back in Lothlórien, and hated even more the expectation that he would willingly engage in such behavior now. "You are probably right," he said without heat.
Her eyebrows rose sharply; he'd startled her, he knew, by not throwing the usual argument back in her face. But then, why should he? In less than a day, he would not be here any longer - and there was a chance he'd never return. He could be kind to her, and give her honesty for a change.
"Do you wish you had stayed behind in Ennor?" she asked next, surprising him by having made it a gentle question rather than an pointed accusation that usually led to more accusations of lack of affection for her personally.
He thought for a long moment, and then shook her head. "No. At least, not in the way you suspect. I would have been no more content being the last one on that shore than I am as an outcast on this one now." He folded his hands at his belt. "In truth, if I miss anything, it is the sense that it is up to me to make my way - to create the kind of place I would be happy in - and the sense that others need to depend on my skills to help them create the kind of places that they could be happy in as well. Can you understand?" His gaze bore into hers, seeking the woman who used to understand him better than he understood himself sometimes.
Slowly she nodded. "I wish I did not understand so well," she said sadly. "I, too, left all I had ever known to travel to an unknown land, wishing to build a place where I could be happy, a place I could rule without having to beg permission for anything." Her crystal grey gaze was just as sharp and piercing as ever. "I suffered being exiled until the breaking of the world for my audacity, remember - an exile only barely rescinded? I ended up being the guardian of a Ring of Power in service of those who would hold back the darkness. In some ways, I was no less a slave of Nenya as any of the Nazgûl were of their Rings." She put out a hand as if to lay it on his arm, but stopped just short of touching him. "And I fear that you now tread the same road I did then, and will suffer in your turn - everything except the joy and desolation of being owned by a Ring, that is."
"But I do not flee Valinor against the wishes of the Belain, nor have I any intent to do harm in the process of leaving," he told her quietly, knowing that his words would sting. "I know that you did not raise a sword in anger, but the one you followed did. To date, the only violence - or threat of such - has come from those who cannot understand our reasons for wishing to live a different life; and we have not answered their deeds in kind." He smiled sadly at her. "And, as you rightly state, I do not possess a Ring of Power, nor have I a desire to remain close to one any longer. I have seen what such things do - even in the service of the Light - and I would want no part of it."
It was the closest he had ever come to expressing his loathing of everything that Ring had done to her over the long-years in Ennor. But once again, she surprised him by not rising to the bait, but nodding. "It is well that at least one of us would learn that wisdom without having to suffer the experience itself."
Celeborn blinked. He had come down the gangplank fully expecting a pitched verbal battle, only to discover that his visitor was the wife whom he had wooed despite the wishes otherwise of both her people and his. Her fire was banked, not expired, he could see; perhaps he was wrong to have thought that there was little left of the one he loved to even consider returning. "If the day comes that Avathar holds a secure settlement, will you consider coming to visit?"
There it was: that little spark of anger that told him that while her words had not been cutting or cruel, she was still mightily discontented in his decision to go. "Just because I understand you does not mean that I do not continue to believe this venture to be an exercise in futility and foolishness. Avathar has long since been abandoned by Belain and Edhil alike; no doubt there is good reason for this."
"And just as I am not willing to subject myself to court life, you are not willing to venture away from it again." It wasn't a question.
She stared at him for a long moment before dipping her head in a proud nod. "You are correct."
Then things had not changed all that much after all. "Then this is navaër."
"It is."
Celeborn sighed deeply. At least his final memories of their time together this time would not be of anger and bitterness, but of a bittersweet politeness. Would it fester half as much as a more honest disagreement during the unknown time before their next meeting, he wondered. Finally he held his hands out to her; and after a long moment in which he wondered if she would allow even this one small intimacy, she put her hands in his and let him draw her close. "Navaër then, my heart. May the stars watch over and guide you in all the days and nights we are apart."
She leaned slightly and gave his cheek a dry peck. "Namárië." She then gently pulled her hands from his keeping and drew away. Celeborn found himself wondering what her thoughts were as she gazed at him deeply for that one last, long moment before turning on her heels and walking away without a single backwards glance.
Vocabulary
adar - father
Atar - (Q) father
Aeardelien - Sea Sport - a transport vessel
Belain - S. Valar, the Gods/Powers (sing. Balan)
Eldar - the race of Elves
ellon - male Elf (pl. ellyn)
faer - souls
Gwaelaer - Windsong - a transport vessel
laer - song
namarië - (Q) farewell
navaër - farewell
nîn - my, mine
nuath -shadow (an expletive)
telain - tree-platform dwelling of wood elves (sing. talan)
Valar – Q. the Powers (pl. Valar)