An essay I wrote for Brit Lit a week or so ago. The subject was to write about a pilgrimage, and of course I instantly thought of elves, then just as quickly of Lord Elrond. I got a 95.
Told from Elrond's PoV, mostly book verse.
The sun was shining brightly overhead, reflecting off the water onto the polished marble buildings of the harbor of Círdan. A large boat made of beautiful white wood floated in the bay, ready to be boarded by its six passengers. I fiddled nervously with the gold ring on my finger, looking out in the direction I would soon be traveling. Within two days' time, I would be reunited with my wife, who had sailed to the Undying Lands long ago under pressing circumstances to save her immortal life. She would be there waiting for me and her children, all three of whom have decided to remain behind. One for love, two to rule my house during my permanent leave. I will miss them - and they me - and I know Celebrían will be upset to not see them again, but I trust that they have made the right decisions for the right reasons.
The lands of Arda west of Belegaer - Aman, containing Valinor and the mainland Eldamar, and Tol Eressëa - had been hallowed by the Valar, as well as the Maiar and Eldar; a utopia where no evil existed. It was sacred land where only elves and Istari, as well as a select few individuals such as Frodo and Bilbo, were allowed to travel. Almost every elf was determined to spend his or her life there when the call of the Sea was to be heard. The call could come at any time in one's life, but once it rang it could not be ignored. For those of a race with no elven blood, save the Istari, this land promised immortality for any who stepped on its shores.
Gandalf had arrived with Bilbo, Frodo and their companions. I turned away to give the Hobbits and their Wizard friend privacy to say their good-byes. The wind had picked up. Subconsciously, my fingers rubbed across the gold band on my right hand, the large sapphire cool and calming against my flesh. Perhaps Vilya is giving me this last gift. A speedy wind to bring me to my final destination. Or perhaps my ring is saying farewell to the land of its' creation, a last breeze to sweep across the plains and mountains of Middle Earth. Galadriel's soft voice brought me back form my musings. She gestured to the harbor, the mithril Nenya catching the light.
We were ready to board the graceful ship that would bring us to the second half of our immortal lives. The Lady of the Wood and her husband walked down to the end of the dock, hand in hand, and stepped onto the deck. I followed, coming to stand behind them. The three of us turned and watched Gandalf put his gnarled hand on Frodo's shoulder, who in turn put his on his uncle's as they slowly walked to join us, the tap tapping of the old man's staff the only noise to be heard outside that of the lapping water and cawing gulls. The other three hobbits stood in the cobbled courtyard, their eyes teary as they called their well-wishes before turning to their ponies.
Our final companions boarded and Celeborn released the sails. The boat rocked gently in the wind before lurching slowly forward toward the Sea. The last of the Keepers of the Rings had set out on their last journey, this last pilgrimage to Valinor, the home of the great Valar.