T.A. 2510
Círdan stroked his beard absently as he watched his Elves make the final preparations on the ship. It was a small one, built for only a party of few. He had begun building it a year before after receiving an urgent message from Lord Elrond. Word had reached him before, of course, of what had befallen Lady Celebrían, but evidently she had been hurt worse than anyone had thought. Círdan suspected that Elrond had waited as long as he dared before writing to him, unwilling to accept that his wife would have to depart for the West to find full healing.
Elrohir had been the one to bring the message. Círdan had been surprised to see him, for neither of the sons of Elrond came often to Mithlond. "I bring a message from my Adar," Elrohir had said after the initial greetings. He had held out the parchment, folded neatly and sealed with dark red wax. As Círdan had taken it, he had looked closely at the young Elf, noting the weariness and grief marked in his eyes.
The message, written in Elrond's firm, smooth hand, had been simple and carefully worded, asking that a small ship be built for Celebrían and a few attendants, for her spirit needed to seek Valinor to heal completely from her terrible ordeal in the Misty Mountains.
Of course, Círdan had agreed immediately, and Elrohir had left the next morning, barely giving himself or his horse time to rest properly. Work on the ship had begun several weeks later, with Círdan himself overseeing it.
Now it was just a matter of stocking it with supplies needed to sustain the passengers on their journey, and to put the finishing touches on the cabins so that they would be as comfortable as possible. Extra care would be taken here, to ensure that Celebrían would have nothing to worry about along her journey.
Círdan sighed, and turned his gaze from the ship to the East, where he could see the Ered Luin looming into the skies. Beyond them lay the Shire, the land of the Halflings – intriguing folk, with little care for anything other than good food and peace. He expected that the sailing party would be reaching the Shire's Eastern borders soon, if they had not already passed them. Elrond had sent word ahead that they were departing from Rivendell some time ago, and Círdan suspected they would be traveling slowly, especially if Celebrían was in as fragile a state as Elrohir had indicated. If they were traveling at a normal pace, they would arrive within a day or so.
Turning back to the ship, Círdan went up the gangplank, walking along the deck slowly, inspecting each part carefully, to make sure all was perfect. His shipbuilders had been perfecting their craft for centuries, but it never hurt to make sure.
He remembered doing the same on Vingilot, the famed ship he had helped Eärendil build. It had carried the Mariner far and wide, through many dangers, and eventually all the way to Valinor. Now, hallowed by the Valar themselves, it sailed the skies every night, carrying Eärendil and the Silmaril, and bringing hope to many now, just as it had when first sighted in the evening sky.
Elrond surely remembered Vingilot, also. He had raced all over the ship, exploring and playing games with Elros while Eärendil showed Elwing the magnificent vessel. Círdan stopped at the bow, carved in the shape of a swan, as were all the ships built in Mithlond. Elrond and Elros had been much like Elladan and Elrohir, nearly inseparable. It had come as a shock to all when Elrond had chosen the life of the Eldar while Elros chose the fate of the Second Born.
Círdan did not think that Elrond had believed his brother at first, even when Elros had sailed away to Númenor, married a mortal woman, and lived as King Tar-Minyatur, while Elrond remained behind to serve Gil-galad. For a while Elrond had seemed lost without his brother, always the bolder and more forthright of the two. Once Elrond found his niche as a healer, however, he began growing in confidence, which helped him form a close friendship with Gil-galad…
"My Lord Círdan," called an Elf from the shore. Círdan gave a start, pulled so suddenly from his thoughts, and then went to answer the call.
"Yes, Calaer?" he said.
"The party from Imladris has been sighted, my lord. You said you wished to be informed."
"Yes, I did. Thank you." It seemed that they had not traveled as slowly as he had expected. "See that the supplies for Lady Celebrían's voyage are ready to be stowed away."
"Yes, my lord." Calaer hurried away, and Círdan went to prepare himself to welcome the Lord and Lady of Imladris. He also gave instructions for rooms to be prepared for the party from Rivendell. The ship would not be ready to sail until the morning, and even afterwards, Círdan hoped that Elrond would stay for at least another day to rest before returning.
That was, if Elrond had not decided to sail with Celebrían. Círdan would not be surprised if he had; Elrond had already lost so much in his life, losing his wife – even if not permanently – would simply be more salt in a very deep wound.
Círdan met the party before the doors of his house. Elves came to take their horses and bags as he greeted them, noting how pale and fragile Celebrían appeared, and how weary Elrond seemed, though he kept a protective and supportive arm around Celebrían. Their children had not come, likely to give their parents a little more privacy for their farewell. "Welcome to Mithlond," Círdan said, opening his arms in welcome. "Rooms have been prepared for you to tonight, as the ship will not be ready until tomorrow morning. Please, come inside so you may rest…" The small party followed him inside, and was shown to the rooms prepared for them. Círdan retreated to his study, and was not surprised to hear a knock on the door soon after. "Enter," he called.
Elrond came in. He had bathed and changed from travel clothes to a clean robe, but he still looked pale and haggard. Círdan stood, and they clasped arms in greeting. "How do you fare, my friend?" Círdan asked.
Had anyone else asked, Elrond would surely have insisted that he was perfectly fine, but he knew better than to try to fool Círdan, and Elf who had known him practically his entire life. "I am tired," he said with a sigh, sinking into a chair. Círdan sat before him. "Celebrían is resting…"
"As you should be," Círdan pointed out.
"Sleep does not come easily to me of late."
They had had a very similar conversation after Elros had passed beyond the Circles of the World. Elrond had wandered around forlornly for weeks, and both Círdan and Gil-galad had feared he would fade. Círdan suppressed a sigh. He had seen much in his life, long as it had been, but never had he come across someone like Elrond, who continued to stand strong and firm in spite of all that had been thrown at him – the loss of his parents, one after the other; his separation from Maglor so soon after love, of a fashion, had grown between the Elflings and the weary, heartsick son of Fëanor; his brother; and now his wife. Elrond could not continue to bear the weight of all this loss. "Do you plan to sail with Celebrían?"
Startled out of his thoughts, whatever they were, Elrond shook his head. "Nay, it is not my time yet."
"But you feel the call of the Sea."
"Yes, but I cannot answer it. Not yet." Elrond looked at Círdan, his clear grey eyes suddenly piercing. "Do you think I should sail?"
Círdan shook his head. "I have never tried to make a decision for you, young one, and I will not start now. I am merely trying to see that you are sure of the choice you have made."
"I am sure. There is a purpose for me here, yet, though what it is I cannot see."
What purpose that could be, Círdan could not fathom a guess, but he could not say that he was surprised. He was of the opinion that Elrond had more than earned his place among the Great and Wise, and if anyone could aid in the fight against the Shadow growing once more in Middle-earth, it was Elrond. However, Elrond would not be able to do much of anything if he did not allow himself to rest. "I hope you will remain for a day or two after…tomorrow," he said, carefully avoiding talk of Celebrían's departure. "It has been a long time, and I wish to hear how things fare in Imladris."
Elrond nodded slowly. "Yes, I suppose I can spare a few days more. Glorfindel has things well in hand…"
"Your sons are not in the Valley?" Círdan asked, surprised that Elladan and Elrohir were not at least aiding Lord Glorfindel.
With a grimace, Elrond shook his head. "They departed just after we did, heading East."
"To Lothlórien?"
"Nay, they went to hunt orcs."
"Ah." The twins wanted revenge for their mother, and it seemed that they could not even wait until their mother sailed to begin exacting it. Círdan shook his head, well able to imagine the grief this was causing Elrond. He did not need to be worrying about his sons on top of everything else. "How is Arwen?"
"She remains in Imladris. It was her wish to accompany us here, but Celebrían convinced her otherwise."
Círdan nodded. Likely Celebrían did not want Arwen to succumb to the call of the Sea, strong as it was for some, and decide to sail, causing Elrond even further anguish. He stood, and Elrond copied him. "You should seek rest," he said. "Food will be sent to your rooms; we need not deal with formalities tonight."
Elrond bowed his head. "Thank you, my friend."
Accepting the thanks with a nod, Círdan gently pushed Elrond from the study, toward the stairs. "Go, rest. It is a miracle you are still upright."
The night passed peacefully. Círdan spent it at his window, watching the stars glimmer on the waves. Dawn came crisp and clear, with a brisk easterly breeze that would easily catch the sails of the ship. Círdan hurried to the docks to take one last look over the ship, making sure that everything was just so. He was not disappointed; the cabins were comfortably furnished, and there was plenty of food and drink stowed away.
As he emerged onto the deck, he saw the small party ready to sail making their way to the docks. Círdan walked down the gangplank and nodded to the Elves who would actually be sailing the ship. They hurried onto the vessel to begin preparing to cast off. Meanwhile, Elrond and Celebrían had moved aside, and Círdan could see Elrond holding his lady tightly, though carefully. Celebrían's ladies who would be accompanying her West bowed gracefully to Círdan, and then, with lingering glances over their shoulders toward the mountains in the East, boarded the ship. So it was with everyone Círdan had watched sail away. It was difficult to leave a land much loved, much less loved one who did not yet feel the call of the Sea. If her ladies were reluctant, it would be hard indeed for Celebrían to take the finals steps off this Hither Shore.
But take them she did. As she and Elrond began moving toward the ship, Círdan stepped forward, knowing that if Elrond stepped aboard, he would not be able to leave. "My lady," he said gently, offering his arm to Celebrían. She offered a sad smile and accepted it. Elrond reluctantly stepped back after one last kiss to her cheek. Carefully, Círdan lead the lady up the gangplank onto the deck.
"Thank you, my lord," she said.
Inclining his head in acknowledgement, Círdan replied, "You will be sorely missed, my lady."
"I know." She looked toward the shore, where Elrond stood alone. "And I would not leave him, but if I stay we both know I will fade."
"May the stars light your path, my lady." Círdan placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, and then left her standing at the railing as he returned to shore.
Círdan raised his hand in farewell to the ship at large, and Elrond, now at his side, stood with eyes only for Celebrían, whose golden-silver hair, so much like her mother's, was swept back from her shoulders by the wind, which caught and filled the sails, taking the ship at last away from the dock. Somewhere behind them, an Elf maid began a song of farewell: melancholy, but also filled with the hope of eventual reunion.
Círdan stood with Elrond until the ship faded from sight on the horizon. Then he put a hand on his young friend's shoulder. "Come," he said, "let us break our fast together." Elrond gave no sign that he had heard. His eyes were focused on something Círdan could not see, and his thoughts were no doubt far away. "Elrond?"
"My heart sailed away on that ship," the Lord of Imladris whispered, barely audible over the sound of the waves against the shore. There was no response to such a statement, and so Círdan did not even try to form one.
A gull took off from nearby, its plaintive cry echoing over them as it wheeled over the waters, a lone speck against the pale morning sky.