GOING THERE
The slender white swan-ship's prow knifed through the bulges of water as if they were silken bedclothes. Salty spray misted around the foredeck, tenderly moistening the grey-robed figure that stood watching over the white-painted railing. One hand rested on it, the other caressed the woodwork neck of the ship's figurehead. His eyes were distant, staring onto a horizon that yet revealed nothing but a deep-grey rim of clouds, too far off to display any more shape then that. He spoke softly to the nobly curled swan-neck above his head, yet his eyes never changed the vague fixation or the concentration on his brow. The figurehead might not hear him, but he spoke more to himself then to anyone in particular. He was the only person aboard, yet there were many creatures and spirits accompanying him on this journey. He knew the wind was listening, as was the water. He was on this voyage mainly at their suggestion, after all.
'I now know, little swan,' he said, 'why your builders value so much the oceans and ships. Being out here on the water, with or without company, is a great aloneness. Yet, at the same time there is the ever-present danger of losing one's way, or destruction in bad weather. It gives one the ability to meditate and train the body to labour in the same instance.' The swan's head bobbed slowly, as if approving. 'There is silence now that even the gulls and escorts have left us to ourselves; silence is a thing I have always valued as you might know. I had too often thought of sea-faring as being adventurous and laborious, slowly forgetting it must be moments like these that are what seafarers long for.' The ashen-robed man inhaled deeply and kept the salty breath. The ocean was a large grey plain around the little white ship, and the skies were the icy blue of early morning. However, the day promised to be warm and friendly. In the east, the sun was changing colour from red to yellow. At this moment, it seemed a friendly orange beacon. His eyes suddenly came back from that sight and they scouted upward, to the swan's slender head. The swan's black stone eyes still scouted the waves and the orange disk in front of him. He exhaled.
The corners of the tall and grey man's mouth curled into a tiny smile. 'There is only silence here to him that does not know how to listen, I know, I know.' He stared at his hands; they were wrinkled and a bit hairy. 'Human… will I ever feel at ease in a husk like this? I suppose I will adept and that soon I will have more important worries.' Now he lifted his head and spoke directly to the figure while he looked at his limb from all sides. 'I can hear your timbers creaking as they adjust themselves to the pressure, your sail flaps like the wings you will never be able to spread. I can smell the tar and the wood; I can even smell the new paint they put on when they built you. However, the ocean's song is fading for me. Never will I lose the ability to hear it entirely, for I am as human as the butterfly is the cocoon, yet… my prospect is darker than that's. I will not leave this cocoon to take to the air and have people admire me for who I truly am. At times, I might let my true self shine through, like a Silmaril of flesh and blood, but that will be all. I will grow old and I might forget my values. Who knows, I might even grow to hold new values that I will not recognise as destructive.'
He abruptly brought his hands down to his sides. Then he sat down with his back leaning against the small alcove that was formed by both sides of the Swan's slender "shoulders". He stared to the West, where he had come from. 'Think of a bad future ahead and you will bring it into being – am I fading as we speak, little swan?' He received only more silence as answer. 'How wise you are, little vessel! Muteness can be the only answer to such lack of confidence.' The man looked at the ship's only sail, and to the symbol that adorned it. The sign of the Land Beyond the Great Sea. He was a messenger and guide from that land, sent here by the rulers of it. His task was not simple: to guide the peoples from the lands of Middle-Earth to the right tracks of Fate against the great Evil that began to stir again, and all this without taking leadership over them. Only helpful nudges and words; nothing more was bestowed on him. He had been chosen for this task because he had held these things as his moral values for as long as he existed. 'I have always lived in this manner, swan. I have always strived to bring knowledge and strength to those in need of them. I have always had need of a reclusive and studious life. More so than the rest of my Fellowship of Council perhaps, I am fit to the job.
'Then tell me why I feel so much anxiety at this mission.' He let his eyes look over the waves and skies at starboard. He let his request hang in the air before answering it. 'It is, I presume, the vulnerability of the situation. Flesh and blood – human even, with all that it brings along with it: distraction, fear, and forgetfulness. Frailty.' He could feel fear tugging at his thoughts even so soon, but he could easily undo it. At this time still, that is. Fear for the unknown, where before his mission he would have felt curiosity and eagerness. Fright was an ugly thing: it pulled and pinched. He had felt it before, but it had always been fear more for someone else and never himself. He could help others but could he help himself? This humanness was already changing who he had been before he was human. How far would it go? Moreover, if he completed the mission and returned to his former self, how much would remain? Would he be able to disconnect from the human to become a Maia again? 'I am asking myself questions that need not be asked because only Fate knows the answer, and he won't speak to me. I should concentrate on the immediate problems ahead.'
Whom did he know in this new homeland except for his four brethren? Why would he presume to meet with all of them at all? He knew three of them had planned to go far East practically the moment they arrived, if not a little later; among them was their leader. The robed man was certain he would return to converse with him if he were not in the area already. They had all arrived long before him, as he was last. 'I have prepared well and long for this task, little ship, longer and better than the rest of our Fellowship. I am eager to learn first-hand what they have achieves thus far. Yet for all my curiosity to the wide lands of Middle-Earth and the creatures that dwell in it, I can not stop feeling this body leeching wisdom and strength away from me.' He had been given this human body long before he set foot aboard this little ship; it was essential for his preparation. He had discovered hunger, physical aches, and digestion. He had not particularly enjoyed them, but he saw there was a lesson to learn in all of these matters. If he would meditate on them long enough, he would learn to use them and value them. These studies had been part of the reason why he had wished to stave off his leave. The others had been all quite eager and restless.
The little swan ship rocked gently and unconcerned. The grey man's thoughts strayed to the trainings he had taken, and the maps and scrolls he had studied. Normally he had been the one to teach. Only a few could teach him and would. Now his former pupils were his mentors. He thought of the hours he had spent with the Elves. He thought of their music. He thought he could hear an echo of that music among the waves, a melodious song without end. He was reminded of another human feature as he slowly dozed off into sleep.
The cry of a seagull startled him wide-awake. This was strange: there would be no birds yet; he was still too far off shore for that. It would take a few more days before he would find driftwood on the current or birds in the sky. Hastily, he arose and stared around him. The sky was lead-grey. The seagull leaped through the air in a fluid yet haphazard dance as it went with the wind under its wings. It was flying from the West towards him. His followed it with his eyes as it flew over his head. Then, his attention drew away from him, for there on the horizon, he could see the outline of a coast. He blinked and shook his head for clarity. There was no question: it was there. He could feel sudden excitement reverberating through him like electric shock. Part of it, he discerned, must actually be shock. How long had he slept? Surely for several days. Humans did not sleep for days unless they were ill. Yet, he felt strong as vitality sprung through him. Part of him knew why he had slept and he might even guess who was behind it. He laughed aloud and long. 'We are there, little swan; soon I will walk in the lands of Middle-Earth and satiate my thirst for knowledge. What will I learn that the scrolls and messages haven't told me yet?' A little voice tugged at him, asking him what he would forget rather then learn new. This time though, he discarded the thought.
The coastline drew ever nearer as he stood watching with the swan, his hands on the railing and his eyes on the green-grey strip of land. Slowly the strip became hills, dunes, trees, and scrubs. He never had to touch the rudder; somehow, the wind and the current piloted him into a large inland bay. Once inside its embrace, the current left him but the wind took on strength. It was not long, before he saw other ships. Slender ships much like his own, but the sails bore different signs. Nonetheless, they were clearly Elvish. As the first one blew a horn in greeting, he looked upward into the swan's eyes and said aloud with a laugh: 'little swan, thanks for taking me home.' With a smile under his large whiskers, he took his own horn and greeted them in return.
The slender white swan-ship's prow knifed through the bulges of water as if they were silken bedclothes. Salty spray misted around the foredeck, tenderly moistening the grey-robed figure that stood watching over the white-painted railing. One hand rested on it, the other caressed the woodwork neck of the ship's figurehead. His eyes were distant, staring onto a horizon that yet revealed nothing but a deep-grey rim of clouds, too far off to display any more shape then that. He spoke softly to the nobly curled swan-neck above his head, yet his eyes never changed the vague fixation or the concentration on his brow. The figurehead might not hear him, but he spoke more to himself then to anyone in particular. He was the only person aboard, yet there were many creatures and spirits accompanying him on this journey. He knew the wind was listening, as was the water. He was on this voyage mainly at their suggestion, after all.
'I now know, little swan,' he said, 'why your builders value so much the oceans and ships. Being out here on the water, with or without company, is a great aloneness. Yet, at the same time there is the ever-present danger of losing one's way, or destruction in bad weather. It gives one the ability to meditate and train the body to labour in the same instance.' The swan's head bobbed slowly, as if approving. 'There is silence now that even the gulls and escorts have left us to ourselves; silence is a thing I have always valued as you might know. I had too often thought of sea-faring as being adventurous and laborious, slowly forgetting it must be moments like these that are what seafarers long for.' The ashen-robed man inhaled deeply and kept the salty breath. The ocean was a large grey plain around the little white ship, and the skies were the icy blue of early morning. However, the day promised to be warm and friendly. In the east, the sun was changing colour from red to yellow. At this moment, it seemed a friendly orange beacon. His eyes suddenly came back from that sight and they scouted upward, to the swan's slender head. The swan's black stone eyes still scouted the waves and the orange disk in front of him. He exhaled.
The corners of the tall and grey man's mouth curled into a tiny smile. 'There is only silence here to him that does not know how to listen, I know, I know.' He stared at his hands; they were wrinkled and a bit hairy. 'Human… will I ever feel at ease in a husk like this? I suppose I will adept and that soon I will have more important worries.' Now he lifted his head and spoke directly to the figure while he looked at his limb from all sides. 'I can hear your timbers creaking as they adjust themselves to the pressure, your sail flaps like the wings you will never be able to spread. I can smell the tar and the wood; I can even smell the new paint they put on when they built you. However, the ocean's song is fading for me. Never will I lose the ability to hear it entirely, for I am as human as the butterfly is the cocoon, yet… my prospect is darker than that's. I will not leave this cocoon to take to the air and have people admire me for who I truly am. At times, I might let my true self shine through, like a Silmaril of flesh and blood, but that will be all. I will grow old and I might forget my values. Who knows, I might even grow to hold new values that I will not recognise as destructive.'
He abruptly brought his hands down to his sides. Then he sat down with his back leaning against the small alcove that was formed by both sides of the Swan's slender "shoulders". He stared to the West, where he had come from. 'Think of a bad future ahead and you will bring it into being – am I fading as we speak, little swan?' He received only more silence as answer. 'How wise you are, little vessel! Muteness can be the only answer to such lack of confidence.' The man looked at the ship's only sail, and to the symbol that adorned it. The sign of the Land Beyond the Great Sea. He was a messenger and guide from that land, sent here by the rulers of it. His task was not simple: to guide the peoples from the lands of Middle-Earth to the right tracks of Fate against the great Evil that began to stir again, and all this without taking leadership over them. Only helpful nudges and words; nothing more was bestowed on him. He had been chosen for this task because he had held these things as his moral values for as long as he existed. 'I have always lived in this manner, swan. I have always strived to bring knowledge and strength to those in need of them. I have always had need of a reclusive and studious life. More so than the rest of my Fellowship of Council perhaps, I am fit to the job.
'Then tell me why I feel so much anxiety at this mission.' He let his eyes look over the waves and skies at starboard. He let his request hang in the air before answering it. 'It is, I presume, the vulnerability of the situation. Flesh and blood – human even, with all that it brings along with it: distraction, fear, and forgetfulness. Frailty.' He could feel fear tugging at his thoughts even so soon, but he could easily undo it. At this time still, that is. Fear for the unknown, where before his mission he would have felt curiosity and eagerness. Fright was an ugly thing: it pulled and pinched. He had felt it before, but it had always been fear more for someone else and never himself. He could help others but could he help himself? This humanness was already changing who he had been before he was human. How far would it go? Moreover, if he completed the mission and returned to his former self, how much would remain? Would he be able to disconnect from the human to become a Maia again? 'I am asking myself questions that need not be asked because only Fate knows the answer, and he won't speak to me. I should concentrate on the immediate problems ahead.'
Whom did he know in this new homeland except for his four brethren? Why would he presume to meet with all of them at all? He knew three of them had planned to go far East practically the moment they arrived, if not a little later; among them was their leader. The robed man was certain he would return to converse with him if he were not in the area already. They had all arrived long before him, as he was last. 'I have prepared well and long for this task, little ship, longer and better than the rest of our Fellowship. I am eager to learn first-hand what they have achieves thus far. Yet for all my curiosity to the wide lands of Middle-Earth and the creatures that dwell in it, I can not stop feeling this body leeching wisdom and strength away from me.' He had been given this human body long before he set foot aboard this little ship; it was essential for his preparation. He had discovered hunger, physical aches, and digestion. He had not particularly enjoyed them, but he saw there was a lesson to learn in all of these matters. If he would meditate on them long enough, he would learn to use them and value them. These studies had been part of the reason why he had wished to stave off his leave. The others had been all quite eager and restless.
The little swan ship rocked gently and unconcerned. The grey man's thoughts strayed to the trainings he had taken, and the maps and scrolls he had studied. Normally he had been the one to teach. Only a few could teach him and would. Now his former pupils were his mentors. He thought of the hours he had spent with the Elves. He thought of their music. He thought he could hear an echo of that music among the waves, a melodious song without end. He was reminded of another human feature as he slowly dozed off into sleep.
The cry of a seagull startled him wide-awake. This was strange: there would be no birds yet; he was still too far off shore for that. It would take a few more days before he would find driftwood on the current or birds in the sky. Hastily, he arose and stared around him. The sky was lead-grey. The seagull leaped through the air in a fluid yet haphazard dance as it went with the wind under its wings. It was flying from the West towards him. His followed it with his eyes as it flew over his head. Then, his attention drew away from him, for there on the horizon, he could see the outline of a coast. He blinked and shook his head for clarity. There was no question: it was there. He could feel sudden excitement reverberating through him like electric shock. Part of it, he discerned, must actually be shock. How long had he slept? Surely for several days. Humans did not sleep for days unless they were ill. Yet, he felt strong as vitality sprung through him. Part of him knew why he had slept and he might even guess who was behind it. He laughed aloud and long. 'We are there, little swan; soon I will walk in the lands of Middle-Earth and satiate my thirst for knowledge. What will I learn that the scrolls and messages haven't told me yet?' A little voice tugged at him, asking him what he would forget rather then learn new. This time though, he discarded the thought.
The coastline drew ever nearer as he stood watching with the swan, his hands on the railing and his eyes on the green-grey strip of land. Slowly the strip became hills, dunes, trees, and scrubs. He never had to touch the rudder; somehow, the wind and the current piloted him into a large inland bay. Once inside its embrace, the current left him but the wind took on strength. It was not long, before he saw other ships. Slender ships much like his own, but the sails bore different signs. Nonetheless, they were clearly Elvish. As the first one blew a horn in greeting, he looked upward into the swan's eyes and said aloud with a laugh: 'little swan, thanks for taking me home.' With a smile under his large whiskers, he took his own horn and greeted them in return.