Ribbons

Chapter 2: Many Journeys

Maedhros watched the waves, whipped up by the powerful storm, crash onto the rocky beach. Rain pounded against the window, but his eyes could see the islands in the short distance and beyond the arm of the peninsula that reached back up towards the Straits to his South. He sat, facing the window, on the only chair in room. He'd been sitting there for hours, watching the waters of the Sound churn with the powers of the storm. A day earlier he had been cast out of Darkness and into this grey world and still he felt empty. His body was new, almost. He had a hand again, but there were whispers of scars here and there, a notch missing in his ear, and most of all he was born with the old pains, the old sorrows. He would smile if he could but irony was lost on Maedhros.

Maedhros had been filled with the history of Men, watched as the world was born anew and then plunged into darkness. And yet again the few condemned humanity towards a destiny not supposed to be for all. Nations, borders, he'd seen them crumble and reform. But the avarice of men now devoured the very Mother that nurtured them. There was no turning back. Man had precipitated the Final Battle and in the fall towards that End, countless innocents were sacrificed. Too many. Maedhros had fallen on his knees and cried as the history of humanity's story unfolded for he did not believe that a worst fate could be conjured, but it was.

When asked where he wanted to go, Maedhros had simply asked to be alone where he could feel Endórë's wrath and hear her pleas. If Maedhros was empty, then perhaps he could fill himself with the last breaths of the place where his People had awakened. There would be no stars in that darkness after the storm. The clouds would settle and cling low to the horizon, breathing in the dampness of the earth, saturated with rains. Maedhros was alone. It seemed the elves left in Endórë appreciated loneliness, understood Maedhros' pain. That was a comfort but it was also a tragedy. The world was gasping, trying to hold itself together and the Elves could do nothing but wait for the End. This was Sorrow. Maedhros managed his first smile, a bitter thing. Reborn to something more terrible than the Endless night. The Valar were generous with their punishment.

Out there in this grey world were his brothers, so he had been told. Maedhros hesitated, his body stiffening, and Fingon. Maedhros stood up abruptly knocking the wood chair over, the sound of it hitting the wood floor echoing in the empty house. Maedhros placed his hand on the window pane, allowing the coolness to remind him of what he had lost. The strange elf that had taken Maedhros to this home mentioned Fingon, or Fin as he was now called. He had mentioned to Maedhros that Fin had forged his own path, been lost to the world for a long time, but had been found again. Maedhros noticed that the elf's face fell into sorrow when he mentioned Fin had been found again. Maedhros did not need to ask for more. His heart would have broken if it wasn't already shattered. Maedhros had been remade but he was new renewed. Far from it. He carried more pain, more sadness.

Maedhros looked out to the waters, wondered if Maglor had walked the shores of these waters. These waters would be to his liking: wild, grey, cold and relentless, driving away visitors from its shores. Maglor, Fingon… Maedhros sighed, allowing his face to press against the window, and now he was returned, ready to fight in the Final Battle. The Elves would meet it head on, be the front line, for they did not fear death, even if it was to be the uttermost end of things. The wick was near spent for them and they were all fading. Maedhros managed his first laugh. He'd been reborn only to find that the spirit of the Eldar was waning, flickering, its fire almost spent.

A knock at the door startled Maedhros. He had not heard anyone approach the lonely house. Maedhros held his breath, hoping the knocking would not persist, but it did. Maedhros chided himself. He'd need to make sure to be more aware of his surroundings. Reluctantly Maedhros walked to the door. He was not afraid who or what would be on the other side, but he was hesitant. The knocking grew louder. Maedhros quickened his step if only to hear the knocking cease. Maedhros threw the door open, eliciting a gasp from his visitors. Maedhros quickly composed himself. At the door was an old woman and a child in her first years of life. Maedhros' mouth opened but he did now know what to say. The older woman seemed to anticipate Maedhros' mood. Offering Maedhros a warm smile, she held up a basket the contents covered over with a green cloth. The smell of freshly baked bread tickled Maedhros nose. Of course, he was hungry! Maedhros took a step back. "Forgive me, I have forgotten my courtesy."

The old woman laughed, a deep rolling laugh. The little girl skipped into the house around Maedhros, unperturbed by his looming figure. Maedhros opened his mouth and once more could not think of what to say so the old woman filled the space for him with her gentle voice. "I was told to keep an eye on you and make sure you were taken care of, so I decided you needed to eat." She shuffled around Maedhros, heading into the kitchen. Maedhros took a moment to gather his thoughts. The sound of furniture being moved around caught his attention. He realized that the old woman and small child had produced a table and more chairs. Remembering his courtesy, Maedhros ran to assist.

"Where?" he asked as he helped the woman unfold the table.

"From that closet there," the old woman indicated with her lips.

"Of course," Maedhros blinked. He had not explored the house, seeing only the chair in front of the window and finding it all he needed the moment he entered the house. It finally dawned on him to ask, "Where am I?"

The old woman kept to her task, but her eyes traveled to Maedhros. "You are on Lummi land."

"Lummi?" Maedhros questioned, sorting through his newly acquired memories, more like an encyclopedic memory book of what the world was now. His mind scanned maps, peoples, territories until he found the Lummi people, Lhaq'temish, saw their history, their resistance, and their hope. "Thank you," was all Maedhros could manage. Being remade in this place was accompanied by a deep sense of the time Maedhros had spent in death.

"You will get the hang of it," the old woman answered, her hands on her hips, satisfied that Maedhros' kitchen was set up enough for them to break bread. "Sit down," she ordered Maedhros. The old woman and the little girl sat down and pulled more food from the basket. The little girl had scrambled up the counter, and taken glasses out of the cupboard, filled them with water, and set them on the table for their small feast. Maedhros sat down and a plate filled with bread and fruit was pushed in front of him. "Mary," the old woman spoke, introducing herself, and then looking at the little girl shared, "little Mary."

"Thank you, Mary and little Mary," Maedhros replied, his eyes settling on the little girl who was openly staring at Maedhros. She offered Maedhros a grin, revealing two missing bottom teeth, the new teeth breaking through the gums. Maedhros was hit by a wave of emotions, precipitated by this young girl's innocence, her newness and her ability to live in exactly the moment that was and not before and not beyond. It overwhelmed Maedhros. His lips began to quiver, but Maedhros fought back the urge to break down. Mary did not let her eyes linger on Maedhros. Instead she buttered a slice of steaming bread and placed it on Maedhros empty plate. Thankful for the small gesture, Maedhros savored the bread, allowing his breath to calm. Maedhros felt little Mary's eyes on him. Turning to look at her, Maedhros found he was able to study her closely, noticing her long black hair tied in a thick plait, the tone of her golden skin reminiscent of someone. And then Maedhros looked into her eyes, the bluest blue, large and alive, shimmering and vibrant. Maedhros fascination caused little Mary to bury her face in her grandmother's arm.

Elder Mary laughed, "People always notice her eyes, don't expect a kid so brown to have such blue eyes. I tell Mary to say she's got her Swedish grandparent's eyes, isn't that right little M?" The little girl blushed, revealing her toothless grin once more. "And what about you? Did folks always marvel at your red hair?" the elder Mary commanded the conversation once again.

"They did," Maedhros answered, for the first time in this life a gentle smile taking hold as he remembered his youth. Looking back at little Mary, Maedhros, more sure of himself, spoke, "I had a cousin who looked something like you little Mary. Folks would marvel at his blue eyes, unusual for someone with brown skin like his."

Little Mary said her first words to Maedhros, "Really?"

"Truly," Maedhros spoke softly, remembering Fingon with love and peace. Mary turned to look at her grandmother, her smile breaking into the brightest of things.

The elder woman grabbed Maedhros hand. Her hand was warm, soft, soothing, offering and reminding Maedhros of something he had once known. "We know what is coming and we will survive so be at peace here, with us."

Maedhros was taken aback. There was much he had to learn. The vast repository of knowledge he had been filled with was incomplete. Maedhros sat back in his chair, sharing a smile with his hosts. Of course it would be incomplete. How else is one supposed to write their own story even when Destiny demands otherwise?

Mary stood up from the table. "We best be going and leave you to get ready."

"Get ready?" Maedhros inquired.

"For your guests of course."

"Guests?"

"They'll be here in the evening."

Maedhros spun around taking in the empty house around him. "But…"

"The attic and basement," Mary indicated with her hands. "Most things are stored in there and should be fresh since they were recently stored."

Little Mary ran and wrapped her arms around Maedhros legs. "Oh," Maedhros breathed, stiffening afraid to move.

Mary laughed at her granddaughter's antics. "Little ones remind us of so many things we tend to forget."

The little girl released her tight grip of Maedhros and ran to the door, whipping it open and running out into the rain and into the car that was parked in the small gravel driveway. Mary walked after her daughter. As she exited she turned to look at Maedhros one last time. "If you need anything we are just up the road." Maedhros eyes looked up and saw the home in the distance and noticed the many boating craft pulled up onto the shore beyond. "No one will bother you round here," Mary spoke quietly as she walked to her car, unbothered by the rain, knowing Maedhros would hear her.

)()()()(

Traveling once more. Fin was used to it. This time, he was on a small private jet, one of the few in the fleet that belonged to the elves. He pressed his face to the window, the sun had not crested the horizon yet, but the light revealed mountains below. The clouds began to grow thicker and the jet shook as it headed deeper into the great storm that covered the western portion of the continent. So much for the sun, Fin thought to himself. He was the only passenger on the small plane piloted by one of the lost, a refugee from a war torn country that had managed to escape, but not before losing most everything dear to him. Fin understood the man that had offered him a tentative smile when he boarded, understood the ghosts that painted the man's eyes with a haunting look. That man had a small purpose: helping refugees find their way to safe havens outside the arm of the laws and politics of nations that grew in fear.

Fin shifted in his seat, releasing his hair, running his hands through it, gingerly picking out the tangles. It was not too hard a task as his silky straight her was pliable, slipping between his fingers. Fin no longer wore it as long as he once did. It fell a few inches beneath his shoulders, long enough to hold a braid, but not so long that he could weave it into the intricate designs favored by the Noldor so long ago.

So long ago…so, so long ago

Fin pressed his face into his hands. His soul wanted to escape but he could not find the energy to fade, not just yet. And now He was returned. Fin was not so sure if he wanted to see him. Fin was not so sure he wanted to be Fingon again. He had abandoned that person long ago. The time for bravery and heroism was memory. The world Fin walked in demanded something more desperate. Fin had that in him too and so he allowed himself to walk the knife's edge, communing with the wild things so the world came to call him mad. Fin was not mad. Truly, there was no such thing. He was one of the First Born still left in a world that was dying fast. What does one do with that?

"What does one do with that," Fin whispered, refusing to say His name.

The plane ride smoothed out. The pilot exited the cockpit, leaving his duties to his co-pilot in order to inform Fin that they were delayed. "We are flying north. The storm will not let us land, but we anticipate that in an hour's time we will be able to land. We have fuel for about 3 more hours of flight, if need be."

Fin nodded his head. Something in the man's eyes made Fin pause. They were grey, very old, though the man standing in front of him had seen no more than 30 years of the earth' orbit around the sun. "What is your name?" Fin asked, slipping easily into his role as preacher, as healer, as sorcerer for men and their pain.

"Ahmad," the man answered quietly.

"Where was home?"

"Syria," the man answered, his voice a whisper, "Damascus."

"How many of your family did you lose?" Fin asked, compelled to offer some healing as only he could.

"All of them," Ahmad answered, his voice trembling. His grey eyes did not look away from Fin. He had no reason to hide his sorrow.

Fin saw them, Ahmad's wife, his children: a girl and a baby boy. He saw Ahmad's aged parents, left behind. All gone. Fin reached out and Ahmad reached out to him. They embraced. Moments like these were stolen, defiant reclamations of humanity. Their touch, sacred, filled each man with a sense of shared loss and yet there was also hope. That was all Ahmad's doing. Fin cried into Ahmad's shirt, taking into him all he could of Ahmad's pain, purging the man's deepest pains. But it was not a healing that could do away with pain, that pain would always be with Ahmad, but at least he would go forward with a bit of Fin in him, a bit of light to face a dark world and survive. And Fin took a step closer to fading.

"Why do you do this?" Ahmad asked, knowing that the capacity of elves to heal came at a great price.

Fin stood back, holding Ahmad's hands in his. "Because I can. Because I can," Fin repeated, more for himself than for Ahmad.

Ahmad closed his eyes, acknowledging Fin's gift. "Shokran," Ahmad whispered. There was nothing left to be said. Ahmad blessed Fin and headed back into the cockpit. Fin would bear Ahmad's dead with him, see them when his eyes were closed, a part of the multitude he carried. Fin could do nothing else, but be like that holy figure people needed him to be: the preacher on the street corner, the seer lost in the desert, the lone man in the mountain.

The plane started its descent into the pacific northwest of the United States, heading towards a landing strip near the Canadian border, another hidden artifact amidst the coming and going of people that were ignorant that the End of times drew near. Fin buckled himself in. Even his elf eyes could not break through the thick clouds. It wasn't until they were close to landing that Fin could make out the scenery: a landing strip cut into a deep old growth of trees. Fin smiled. A little bit of faerie still left on middle earth. The plane shook violently but the pilot landed the small plane uneventfully, though the small landing strip meant that the plane had to come to an abrupt halt.

Ahmad and his co-pilot came out to bid Fin good bye.

"Where to next?" Fin asked the crew.

"To Canada," Ahmad answered. "We bring a group that is waiting for us here to safe houses in Vancouver. They are welcome there."

Fin smiled. That was good. Fin descended the stairs of the small plane. He had nothing with him, except the long black leather jacket and dark sunglasses he wore as armor. Fin spotted the path meant for him, heard the sound of eager voices approach the plane as numbers of people, young and old, filled the plane, ready to find a place to settle, their homes long left behind. Fin walked the trail beneath the trees. The rain did not reach him under the trees, so dense was their foliage. Up ahead he saw an opening and a car. He recognized the elf that waited for him, one of the Green elves, co-keepers of these great forests along with the ancient peoples that still held their homes here. A short ride now and…

"Maitimo," Fin whispered, his hands greeting the trees he passed along the trail. Loud thunder shook the trees. Fin gasped. Pausing, Fin removed his glasses, ran his hands through his hair, and gathered himself before getting into the car. His companion, as elves were prone to, said a silent hello, but spoke no words. Once more Fin was travelling until they meandered onto a gravel road near the coast. The car pulled up in front of an old wooden home close to the edge of small bluff. The elf smiled looking up to the house exchanging a look with Fin. Fin took a deep breath and opened the car door. His traveling was done.

Fin stood in front of the home long after the car departed. Finding his courage, he made his way to the door but before he could knock it opened. There stood Maitimo. Memories, emotions surged within Fin, like the waters near him, he was overwhelmed, drowning.

Maitimo spoke a prayer, a single word. And it was enough to set the world right for a moment. One word was enough to save them both: "Findekáno."