Wanderer

25 - Love At First Sight

Elwing

It’s done, and just in time.

 I am standing on the silk-smooth boards of the ship Vingilótë, unable to believe the quality of the vessel.

Círdan is absolutely glowing all over his angular face, pointing the rooms that are to be mine and Ëarendil’s for the next six months. I love it already. Círdan and Ëarendil have been thoughtful.

I assure Círdan of my enthusiasm.

He leads me up on deck, and once again I am impressed. The Vingilótë is like no other ship I’ve ever seen. It’s a clipper without the length, a frigate with the storage but without the arms and bulk. She is sleek, her birch-timbers gleaming white. I follow Círdan up to the forecastle. The prow is carved from a milky white stone, in the shape of a huge swan. Its wings are folded back along the hull, providing the railings around the ship. It appears the swan is looking at me with an obsidian eye. I touch the white stone, and my hand comes away tingling.

Círdan leads me up a flight of narrow steps along the swan’s back, and suddenly, I am at the very front of the ship, looking away from the wharf towards the ocean. I’m almost laying on my stomach beside the swan’s neck. The sight takes my breath away.

“Are you afraid of heights?” Círdan asks, motioning towards the only mast. On it hangs the sail that Círdan presented to Ëarendil. 

I shake my head and surprise both of us by pulling my skirts around my ankles and climbing the ropes that lead to the mast. It’s a good thirty feet up, but it doesn’t feel that high. I pull myself into the crow’s nest and gasp just as Círdan’s head appears. The sea is laid out like a glittering carpet before me. The sunlight is dancing on the waves if I look one way, and if I look another, then I can see Fair Havens. I can see the windows and if I pretend, I can see Ëarendil reading in his chair beside it.

“It’s beautiful!” I say to Círdan. “This sight is gorgeous.”

Círdan smiles. “I know. I fell in love with this sight many years ago.”

I scrunch myself into the corner of the crow’s nest and sit down so there’s room for Círdan. He sits across from me, but the space is so small that our knees, brought up to our chests, are pressed together.

“When?”

“A long time ago. It was my first voyage. We were under King Finrod Feleagund – in the days before he aided Beren Barahir, your grandfather and fell in love with your grandmother. He was sailing somewhere or other in the seas near Tol-Eressa, but I was there for the first time, just a young lad. The first time I climbed the mast, I looked out over the ocean and –“

“What?”

“They had to come find me because I just couldn’t tear myself away from it.”

We laugh together. “Wait.” I say. “That was years and years ago. You don’t look a year over thirty.”

“I am old, Elwing, older than I seem. Do you remember the legend of the mariner who was so in love with the sea that he hurled himself into it? They found him years later at the bottom of the sea, perfectly preserved.”

I shiver. “What’s that mean?”

“The sea takes care of those she loves.” Círdan’s eyes are murky green. Yesterday they were ice blue.

“Is Ëarendil…?”

“Loved, or in love?”

“Either.”

There is a long silence. Somewhere a gull cries incessantly.

Círdan turns his head out towards the sea. 

“I’m going to miss you.” he says.

“Me too.” I say, and we look at each other. Something passes between us. “Why don’t you come with us? Ëarendil would love to have you.”

“The sea needs ships more than the sky needs stars.” Círdan says softly. “I’ll stay. Would you like to see the hull?”

I comply, but I’m shaken. Perhaps I’m shaken by Círdan’s off-hand manner, or the beauty of the ocean. 

But I’m speechless again as we go below deck. The sides of the hull aren’t wood, but glass. On inspection, they’re harder than glass.

“Diamond.” Círdan says proudly. “Melted with glass; that’s how it’s see-through.” 

The hull is filled with a greenish blue light. I can see the sandy bottom of the sea out the window, and the silver flashes of darting fish. A tall weed brushes lazily against the Vingilótë.

“Oh, Valar!” is all I can  say.

It’s a shell right now, but a beautiful one to be sure.

Back on deck, I think of a way to thank Círdan. The words won’t come, so I hug him. Círdan gives a soft sigh of happiness and returns the gesture. “Thank you.” 

“Dior’s daughter.” Círdan holds me at arm’s length. “I wish you peace and may you never walk alone.”

And then he disembarks and steps onto the wharf. I hear footsteps, and Círdan is gone from my life as abruptly as he entered it.