It was an overcast day, grey and cloudy, on the western shores of Middle-
earth. There was a strong wind blowing, and the cries of many gulls filled
the air, as numerous ships sat afloat in the harbour, at different stages
of their building, including one which was being prepared for its voyage
into the West, within the fortnight. This was the Grey Havens in Lindon,
the place of the Elves' last departure from Middle-earth, back into the
Blessed Realm of Valinor; in the year 3008 of the Third Age.
Up on a balcony stood an Elf, Argalen, overlooking the progress going on down below. Years had she longed to sail o'er the Sundering Seas, leaving Middle-earth and all its worries behind, but something had kept holding her back. She had spent many a year at the Havens with Círdan the Shipwright, just as her father had done, Gil-galad Ereinion, last High King of the Noldor in Middle-earth.
She had never known her father. Being the Noldorin High King came with certain responsibilities, so naturally, once Sauron and his forces re- arose late into the Second Age, it was largely her father's duty to head the opposition. Of all the brave Elves and Men who died in that war few were given as much reverence as Gil-galad, who fell in combat with the Enemy while defending Elendil, descendant of Elros Tar-Minyatur.
She closed her eyes and imagined her mother's reaction when, years later, Elrond, Herald to the King, returned to Imladris bringing with him those ill tidings. It was so long ago. The grief was too much for her to bear, and after only a week of mourning it overcame her, and she died, her soul passing West, into the Halls of Waiting.
In a virtually undying race it would seem odd to having only a single parent, although she was the exception, an extremely rare orphan. All through her youth she had been raised out of the kindness of others hearts, and as she came of age she remained loyal to those who had cared for her, and continued to stay with each.
She breathed in the heavy salt air and opened her eyes, once more gazing out onto the docks. Standing near one of the ships was an older Elf, going over a checklist he held in his hand. At that moment he looked up, and caught Argalen's gaze. He motioned for her to meet him inside.
* * *
As she made her way to the library, where those talks were usually held, she began to look back on her life there, wondering how many times she had walked through those halls. A great deal of her life had been spent in the Havens, and the past few years had been exceedingly hard on her, as the Sea-longing was growing. She hoped to set sail soon, and maybe this would be her chance.
She walked through the archway leading into the room, and saw him sitting at a desk, writing down information in a log concerning the next departure. "You wished to speak with me, Círdan?"
"Argalen," he said, turning around to face her. He was old, even by Elf standards. His grey hair reflected the sea water, and his long beard showed the love he held for those western coasts. But his eyes are what always caught her attention. Their colour echoed that of his hair, but there was a sadness in them. He had stayed by those shores for ages, watching much of his kindred take that final step towards the Undying Lands, never to return, while his love of Middle-earth caused him to remain in Mithlond, until the last ship set sail. He had seen much in those many years, and would see even more before his time would come. He gazed at her, with a deep look in his eyes. "How long has it been since you last arrived here?"
"It's been 57 years now, since I came back," she replied, walking up to him and leaning on a nearby stool.
"The time passes so quickly when you are here." He paused, searching her face with his eyes. Placing his hand on her shoulder, he continued. "You remind me so much of your parents. In you I see the strength of your father," his face softened, "and the beauty of your mother. You are like a granddaughter to me."
"And you are like a grandfather to me," she said. "But I must know: Why was I summoned down here?"
He then stood, and his height showed his strength, through his old age. "I know how much it means to you, to one day be able to sail West, in hopes of someday seeing your parents." He started slowly across the floor. "Yet, I sense that should not come, for a time, at least."
She looked up at him. "What do you mean?"
"Nothing," he sighed. "But, I do have a task for you. I need a message delivered to the Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel, which means you must go to Lórien."
"The Lord and Lady," she said to herself, trying to figure out where this would all lead to in the end. "Am I to travel to Lothlórien by myself?"
"Of course not," he replied. "Galdor will accompany you." He stopped short, as if noticing that something was wrong, and saw slight tears starting to well-up at the corners of her eyes. "My child, what is it?"
"Nothing... Only-"
"Do not worry, Argalen. I have a feeling that you will meet your destiny, and one day very soon. I can tell."
"I hope you're right, Círdan." She rose from her seat, and walked towards him, and the two embraced each other for a long time.
* * *
Rather than travel by horseback, it was decided that it would be best if Galdor and Argalen rode upon one of the smaller messenger ships, which was already scheduled to run an errand to Dol Amroth, and from there the two would sail up the Anduin until they came to the Golden Wood. The preparations were completed a week later, and they were ready to cast off.
* * *
When the time of their departure came, Círdan went to fetch Argalen, finding her in her chambers packing a few essentials. He didn't say anything at first, just watched her hurry about preparing her things. When he chose long ago to remain at the Havens he knew it would lead to a life spent in loneliness, but he was willing to make that sacrifice. Then Argalen came, and as time passed the bond between the two grew. She was the closest thing he had to a family, and he loved her dearly.
After a few moments, Argalen turned to a window which looked out into the West, and, without formally acknowledging his presence, spoke to Círdan.
"What will my fate be?" she asked.
The aged Elf sighed, and entered the room, walking towards Argalen. "That, my child, is a question I cannot answer. Most of us do not even know our own fates until we have met them. Do you think that fair Lúthien had any idea of what her Doom was to be? For many years I believe she expected to live out a full, long life, free of suffering, and then return to her mother's land. But as soon as she chanced to run into Beren I have no doubt that her fate was laid clearly in front of her." He stood behind her now, and spoke with an added tenderness in his voice. "You will know your fate when it is presented to you."
She turned to him then, framed against the setting sun with hints of tears in her eyes. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you, for everything."
* * *
A few moments later, Argalen walked through a main archway, which opened right out onto the wharf, with the bag she had been packing slung over her shoulder. A group of about ten elves were busy on the nearest ship, securing some additional packages and such. She caught the sight of one.
"Well, there you are," said a tall Elf, coming down to her from the ship's deck, his Telerin features obvious. "We were worried you wouldn't show up."
"Mae govannen, Galdor," she smiled up to him, as he relieved her of her bag, and handed it to another Elf. "You should've known better than to assume I would back out at the last possible minute. I take it everything is ready?"
"As ready as it will be," the Elf replied. "We're just waiting for Círdan to give us the final word and then we raise anchor." He looked at her, though she seemed to be concentrating on the goings-on occurring on the deck. "Are you all right?" he asked.
She looked up at him. "I'm fine," she said. "Why do you ask?"
Just as he was about to speak, Círdan emerged from the archway, carrying a medium-sized envelope in his hand, which he turned over to Galdor wordlessly, though his eyes spoke for him. As he turned to step off the platform, the aged Elf held Argalen's glance, and quietly whispered, "Namarië."
She returned the gesture, and then the small crew began to raise sail. As the ship was being drawn out further into the gulf, Círdan raised his hand in farewell, bidding the ship safe-journey, and the two Elves stood side-by-side one another in the growing darkness.
Up on a balcony stood an Elf, Argalen, overlooking the progress going on down below. Years had she longed to sail o'er the Sundering Seas, leaving Middle-earth and all its worries behind, but something had kept holding her back. She had spent many a year at the Havens with Círdan the Shipwright, just as her father had done, Gil-galad Ereinion, last High King of the Noldor in Middle-earth.
She had never known her father. Being the Noldorin High King came with certain responsibilities, so naturally, once Sauron and his forces re- arose late into the Second Age, it was largely her father's duty to head the opposition. Of all the brave Elves and Men who died in that war few were given as much reverence as Gil-galad, who fell in combat with the Enemy while defending Elendil, descendant of Elros Tar-Minyatur.
She closed her eyes and imagined her mother's reaction when, years later, Elrond, Herald to the King, returned to Imladris bringing with him those ill tidings. It was so long ago. The grief was too much for her to bear, and after only a week of mourning it overcame her, and she died, her soul passing West, into the Halls of Waiting.
In a virtually undying race it would seem odd to having only a single parent, although she was the exception, an extremely rare orphan. All through her youth she had been raised out of the kindness of others hearts, and as she came of age she remained loyal to those who had cared for her, and continued to stay with each.
She breathed in the heavy salt air and opened her eyes, once more gazing out onto the docks. Standing near one of the ships was an older Elf, going over a checklist he held in his hand. At that moment he looked up, and caught Argalen's gaze. He motioned for her to meet him inside.
* * *
As she made her way to the library, where those talks were usually held, she began to look back on her life there, wondering how many times she had walked through those halls. A great deal of her life had been spent in the Havens, and the past few years had been exceedingly hard on her, as the Sea-longing was growing. She hoped to set sail soon, and maybe this would be her chance.
She walked through the archway leading into the room, and saw him sitting at a desk, writing down information in a log concerning the next departure. "You wished to speak with me, Círdan?"
"Argalen," he said, turning around to face her. He was old, even by Elf standards. His grey hair reflected the sea water, and his long beard showed the love he held for those western coasts. But his eyes are what always caught her attention. Their colour echoed that of his hair, but there was a sadness in them. He had stayed by those shores for ages, watching much of his kindred take that final step towards the Undying Lands, never to return, while his love of Middle-earth caused him to remain in Mithlond, until the last ship set sail. He had seen much in those many years, and would see even more before his time would come. He gazed at her, with a deep look in his eyes. "How long has it been since you last arrived here?"
"It's been 57 years now, since I came back," she replied, walking up to him and leaning on a nearby stool.
"The time passes so quickly when you are here." He paused, searching her face with his eyes. Placing his hand on her shoulder, he continued. "You remind me so much of your parents. In you I see the strength of your father," his face softened, "and the beauty of your mother. You are like a granddaughter to me."
"And you are like a grandfather to me," she said. "But I must know: Why was I summoned down here?"
He then stood, and his height showed his strength, through his old age. "I know how much it means to you, to one day be able to sail West, in hopes of someday seeing your parents." He started slowly across the floor. "Yet, I sense that should not come, for a time, at least."
She looked up at him. "What do you mean?"
"Nothing," he sighed. "But, I do have a task for you. I need a message delivered to the Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel, which means you must go to Lórien."
"The Lord and Lady," she said to herself, trying to figure out where this would all lead to in the end. "Am I to travel to Lothlórien by myself?"
"Of course not," he replied. "Galdor will accompany you." He stopped short, as if noticing that something was wrong, and saw slight tears starting to well-up at the corners of her eyes. "My child, what is it?"
"Nothing... Only-"
"Do not worry, Argalen. I have a feeling that you will meet your destiny, and one day very soon. I can tell."
"I hope you're right, Círdan." She rose from her seat, and walked towards him, and the two embraced each other for a long time.
* * *
Rather than travel by horseback, it was decided that it would be best if Galdor and Argalen rode upon one of the smaller messenger ships, which was already scheduled to run an errand to Dol Amroth, and from there the two would sail up the Anduin until they came to the Golden Wood. The preparations were completed a week later, and they were ready to cast off.
* * *
When the time of their departure came, Círdan went to fetch Argalen, finding her in her chambers packing a few essentials. He didn't say anything at first, just watched her hurry about preparing her things. When he chose long ago to remain at the Havens he knew it would lead to a life spent in loneliness, but he was willing to make that sacrifice. Then Argalen came, and as time passed the bond between the two grew. She was the closest thing he had to a family, and he loved her dearly.
After a few moments, Argalen turned to a window which looked out into the West, and, without formally acknowledging his presence, spoke to Círdan.
"What will my fate be?" she asked.
The aged Elf sighed, and entered the room, walking towards Argalen. "That, my child, is a question I cannot answer. Most of us do not even know our own fates until we have met them. Do you think that fair Lúthien had any idea of what her Doom was to be? For many years I believe she expected to live out a full, long life, free of suffering, and then return to her mother's land. But as soon as she chanced to run into Beren I have no doubt that her fate was laid clearly in front of her." He stood behind her now, and spoke with an added tenderness in his voice. "You will know your fate when it is presented to you."
She turned to him then, framed against the setting sun with hints of tears in her eyes. "Thank you," she said. "Thank you, for everything."
* * *
A few moments later, Argalen walked through a main archway, which opened right out onto the wharf, with the bag she had been packing slung over her shoulder. A group of about ten elves were busy on the nearest ship, securing some additional packages and such. She caught the sight of one.
"Well, there you are," said a tall Elf, coming down to her from the ship's deck, his Telerin features obvious. "We were worried you wouldn't show up."
"Mae govannen, Galdor," she smiled up to him, as he relieved her of her bag, and handed it to another Elf. "You should've known better than to assume I would back out at the last possible minute. I take it everything is ready?"
"As ready as it will be," the Elf replied. "We're just waiting for Círdan to give us the final word and then we raise anchor." He looked at her, though she seemed to be concentrating on the goings-on occurring on the deck. "Are you all right?" he asked.
She looked up at him. "I'm fine," she said. "Why do you ask?"
Just as he was about to speak, Círdan emerged from the archway, carrying a medium-sized envelope in his hand, which he turned over to Galdor wordlessly, though his eyes spoke for him. As he turned to step off the platform, the aged Elf held Argalen's glance, and quietly whispered, "Namarië."
She returned the gesture, and then the small crew began to raise sail. As the ship was being drawn out further into the gulf, Círdan raised his hand in farewell, bidding the ship safe-journey, and the two Elves stood side-by-side one another in the growing darkness.
