I own nothing.
When she is forty, Celebrían's father takes her with him to Lindon for the first time.
It is the first time she has ever traveled a significant distance from the settlement where she was born, by Lake Nenuial. Traveling holds a special appeal to Celebrían; she has heard enough tales about the wider world that it's gratifying to finally be allowed to see the wider world. Away from Nenuial they travel, over the Hills of Evendim, following the River Lhûn until they reach Mithlond.
Mithlond is probably the largest Edhil city in Eriador. Celebrían has certainly never seen as many people as she does when she, Celeborn and their escort reach the gates of Mithlond, and are admitted inside. "It might be a bit overwhelming for you," Celeborn cautions, but Celebrían isn't overwhelmed at all. If anything, she is delighted. She is delighted by the architecture, similar to and yet different from the architecture in the Nenuial settlement. She is delighted by the crowds of Edhil walking the streets, meeting eyes just as curious as her own to see strangers.
There's not a great deal for a young girl in the city to do, however.
Her father is meeting with Gil-Galad, holding counsel with him. Celeborn is very busy, Celebrían's cousin is very busy, and she can not sit in on the King's council, as much as she wants to. They will be here for a month. There is little to do except to write home to her mother and to Celebrimbor, unless Celebrían can find something to do on her own.
When she tells Celeborn that she's going to walk down to the shore, he nods, poring over documents given to him to examine. "Do not wander too far, Celebrían. There is little danger here, but I would still feel better if you were to stay within sight of the city."
"I will, Papa," she assures him, and slips out of the door of the apartments they have been given, down the hall and the stairwell, towards the street that will take her to the sea.
Celebrían has heard stories about the sea for her whole life. She glimpsed it yesterday, from the window of her and Celeborn's apartments. Celebrían has thought about the sea, imagined what it would be like to look upon the sea, when finally she laid eyes upon it.
There are those who talk about sea-longing. There are those who say that certain Edhil, once they have laid eyes upon the sea for the first time, are utterly lost in their longing. Their love for the sea grows so great that they can not bear to be away from it for any length of time. Celebrían has heard some say that this is a love for the sea. She has heard others say that it is a longing to lay eyes upon the Undying Land, implanted in them by the Valar who wish for all Edhil to join them in the Uttermost West.
She looks upon the sea, and… Well, there is no longing. If there really is such a thing as sea-longing, Celebrían does not feel it. What she does feel is awe.
The dazzling, foam-capped blue waters stretch on out of sight, unbroken by any landmass or ship. The air is filled with the sounds of the roaring of the waves, the lonely cries of seagulls, the booming of the waves upon the rocks. The coarse sand is broken by rocks, by seashells, by seaweed and other debris. The air is full of the smell of salt.
Celebrían stares out at the sea. The wind catches her long, loose hair. The waves lap against her bare feet, leaving sand crusted on her skin. She stares out on the sea, and sighs.
She is alone here, on the shore. There are no other beachgoers out today, despite the fine weather. Celebrían is alone out here, and she gets that feeling again, of being alone, utterly alone in the entire world. Like she is living in a world completely absent of any other people.
Her mother has told her stories of her family, told her about nearly everyone in their family, and with nearly all of them, there is separation, and absence. Nearly all of their family is dead, or gone, or lives in the Undying Lands with the whole of the Belegaer between them. Where once Celebrían might have had a large family, the whole of the House of Finwë, the House of Olwë, the House of Thingol and the House of Elmo, now, Celebrían can count the whole number of family members she can know on one hand. She hears a voice in the murmuring of her mind, telling her that it should not be this way.
For instance, she imagines her dead cousins, Finduilas and Nimloth. She imagines Finduilas, tall, golden and queenly, walking through the halls of Nargothrond, looking upon a world at war, a world teetering on the edge of disaster, and yet not flinching. She imagines Nimloth beneath the trees of Doriath, slim and silver-haired, imagines playing with her as a little girl had Nimloth lived, imagines staring up into a face that Celebrían can only suppose would look very much like her own.
So much has been lost, and Celebrían is still trying to grasp around the edges of the sheer volume of what's been lost. She is a Sinda, daughter of a diminished people. She is a Noldorin Exile, daughter of a diminished people. With the sinking of Beleriand, much that was good in the world went out of sight, not to be seen again on this marred earth. That much, Celebrían has no trouble grasping.
She stares left and right, out in front of her, and imagines.
Celebrían imagines Aredhel and Idril walking down the beach together, the latter still only half-grown, and the former keeping a weathered eye on her niece. Idril's bare feet leave barely-visible impressions on the sand that are washed away with one swipe of the tide. She imagines Finrod and Turgon chatting, Aegnor skipping stones on the water, Fingon whistling merrily before hurrying on ahead to catch up with Maedhros. Ghosts of the past, all of them. Ghosts of what was, and what will never be again, and what Celebrían has to build a future she can live in, a future full of people she can love, so she will not have to see these specters every day.
The sight of the sea puts her in mind of one other, as well.
"He fled down the shore, and has not been seen since."
That is what Galadriel told Celebrían of Maglor. At the end of the First Age, Maglor and Maedhros attempted to steal the Silmarils recovered from Morgoth out of Eönwë's camp. Eönwë allowed them to depart with them, knowing that the surviving Sons of Fëanor would derive no joy from them.
And indeed they did not. Maedhros and Maglor were horribly burned by the Silmarils that they held. The Oath they had sworn was in vain. Maedhros took his own life by leaping into a fiery chasm, still clutching the Silmaril he had stolen. But Maglor did not follow his brother. Instead, he threw his Silmaril into the sea, and fled down the shore, away from all of the Edhil, and has not been seen by any of them since.
If he is still alive, he must live in desolation. There are rumors that abound, that Maglor dwells ever by the shore, singing laments into the waves. The rumors say that he ever wanders the shores of the ocean, searching for the light of the Silmaril beneath the froth and the foam and the churning waters of the sea. In his place, Celebrían can not imagine doing differently.
She stares down the shore, north and south. You can see for miles in either direction, a clear strip of sand and rocks, buffeted by the waves, nested in by sea gulls. Celebrían imagines seeing a lone figure wandering the shores aimlessly, staring out over the endless waters for something that he will never recover. She imagines hearing a lonely voice, sounding over the roar of the waves.
Celebrían is not even sure what she would say to Maglor, if she was ever to meet him. The only grandchild of Finwë left alive, apart from Galadriel, in such thorough disgrace, in such thorough infamy that he could not hope to ever again live among the Edhil of either Ennor or the Undying Lands. That is what the histories say of him: that Maglor could not return to his own people, even if he wished to.
She is not sure what she would say to him, if ever Celebrían was to look upon this surviving Kinslayer, the surviving murderer of her kin, and yet her kinsman also. But she would like to look upon him, to know that his survival is truth and not the embellishment of historians and chroniclers.
In the end, it is useless. Celebrían is alone here, on the edge of the sea. She has always known that. She will not catch the strains of lonely singing, not here, nor see a lonely figure, wandering the shore.
For every morning that she and her father dwell here, in Mithlond, when the weather is fair, Celebrían wanders down to the seaside. There, she stares out on the endless waters, listening to the roaring of the waves. No singing reaches her ears.
Edhil—Elves (singular: Edhel) (Sindarin)
Belegaer—'The Great Sea', the sea separating Middle-Earth and Aman, also known as the Sundering Sea (Sindarin)
Ennor—Middle-Earth (Sindarin)