Chapter Eight: The Beginning of a Journey

Silver sails billowed in the breeze, snapping when the wind blew stronger than usual. The timbers of the white ship creaked quietly as the waters of the sea lapped gently at its sides, caressing it like the hand of a lover.

He could not help smiling at that analogy. It is the hand of the mariner that guides the ship, so it is the mariner and the sea that are lovers. And it was not surprising to know that many a mariner had given their hearts to the sea, taking the swift winds as their mistress, the salt sprays as their wife. Once a person's heart had been lured by the music of Ulmo's realm, there was no turning back. Nothing could compete with that song.

Except, perhaps, the hypnotic melody of adventure.

His smile became broader at the prospect. Adventure at last, he thought. He now had the chance to journey through lands unseen, lands that even his father, Círdan, had never ventured to. He would be going to places that no eyes save those of the Valar had ever seen before.

For Telpeär, son of Círdan, there could be no song sweeter than the song of a long voyage to Arda. How he had longed to see the lands that his father spoke of both with joy and regret. As a child, he had listened to his father exchange stories with Olwë, Lord of Alqualondë: stories of Kinslayings and Silmarils, of Sirion and Doriath and Nargothrond and Gondolin, of wars and Darkness and Morgoth. He had listened to these tales with rapt attention, dreaming of a time when he, too, would become worthy of tales and legends, of sailing to unknown lands and meeting strange races and peoples.

Now, he thought, now was his chance.

He chuckled when he remembered the day that Pallando, Maia of Ulmo, came riding into Alqualondë with Ereinion Gil-galad, Ecthelion and Glorfindel. He remembered the meeting with this father, wherein it was asked whether he, Telpeär, would be willing to set sail with them to Arda on a quest of great importance. For they were to seek out Master Pallando's daughter, and bring her back to Aman should she choose to be immortal; in doing so, they would prevent the outbreak of a war that may last several Ages of the world.

He could not resist. Before Master Pallando had even finished, he declared that it would be a great honor for him to be a part of the venture. And why should he not? He believed that a chance such as this might never come again, and if he allowed it to slip through his fingers, he would regret it for the rest of his life.

And for an Elf, a lifetime is eternity, and eternity is a very, very long time.

It was not surprising that his mother opposed to his joining the venture. It was far too dangerous, she told him. She also reminded him that he had never been to Arda before, that he knew nothing of the dangers of that land. And when Ereinion confirmed her fears – that they were to venture to lands that none of the Quendi had ever been to before – she became more persistent in her pleas.

But Telpeär was most surprised when his father intervened, not by discouraging him – in fact, his only admonishment was that he should pay close attention to what Pallando was saying about the potential dangers that he would encounter when they got to land.

"It is your choice to make," Círdan told him, his manner quiet and composed as always. "You are grown now, and can make your own decisions. While your mother and I would like nothing more than to have you remain here, I will not try to stop you from going should you wish it. I only ask this of you: whatever choice you make, be sure that it is one that you will not regret."

And then he paused, thinking. Would he really regret going on this venture? He thought of the dangers that Pallando had mentioned: war was on the horizon, and he and his companions were likely to be caught in the middle of it, whether they wished it or not. They were to venture into lands that none of the Quendi had ever seen, so his father's stories would be of no use to him.

But would he not regret remaining? He thought of the places he would see, of the people he would meet – no matter that they were mortal – and he had decided. He would go.

So now it was up to him to prepare the ship and the supplies for the journey. Ereinion and the others had sent provisions, but it was his duty to ensure that they were placed in the ship. Which was what he was doing at present: helping his fellow Teleri place the supplies in the hold.

Or, at least, he was supposed to be helping.

A hand tapped his shoulder, and he jumped in surprise, turning around to see the smirking face and teasing gray eyes of Nenros, one of his dearest childhood friends.

"Dreaming again, Telpeär?" Nenros grinned. "Sometimes I think that you should be in Lórien instead of here."

Telpeär laughed ruefully, following Nenros up and out of the hold and onto the deck. The wind ruffled his silver hair, and he absently smoothed down the wayward strands as he climbed down to the pier. Everything was ready. All that was needed were the passengers.

He and Nenros walked down the piers and quays, greeting friends with waves of the hand and cheerful banter, and smiles and gallant words for the ladies.

"Why would you want to leave all of this?" Nenros asked as they passed a row of Telerin maidens who were seated beside a boat, their laughter the merry sound of raindrops on a pool. "Are you not happy with your life here that you must go seeking another in a faraway place?"

Telpeär looked at Nenros. There was a serious expression, but it was difficult to interpret what exactly his friend was feeling. "It is not that I am unhappy with my life here," he replied quietly. "My life here is a happy one, one that I would want to return to."

"Return to?"

"One needs security in one's life," Telpeär explained, "but one also needs to take risks every now and then, or else one does not live life to the fullest. This is my chance to live my life to the fullest. If I do not take this chance, then I will not know what it is like to live."

Nenros frowned. "You could have adventure here. If you are bored in the confines of Alqualondë, you may go on a journey to Tirion, to the woods of Oromë, to-"

Telpeär shook his head. "It will not be the same, my friend," he said. "Eventually I will grow weary of Aman, and I will seek further shores, further lands. But when that time comes to pass, this chance will have slipped from my grasp, never to return again. No, I will take it while I can yet reach it, or live in regret forever."

"You do not know which you will regret: staying or leaving."

"I would rather learn which one I will regret by leaving than by staying. At least if I leave, I can always come back."

"And what if you do not?" Nenros challenged. "What if you get killed?"

Telpeär frowned now. It had been a thought that had entered his mind more often than he would have liked, but, as his father told him, it was a very real possibility.

Again Adventure sang in his mind, tugging at his heart and his soul.

In the end, he smiled, and said, "I suppose that is a risk I will have to take."

He felt uneasy here. He felt choked, restrained, as if he was standing in a closed room with no windows rather than beside a window that overlooked the most famous Telerin harbor in the world. He felt as if eyes watched him from the shadows: accusing eyes, angry eyes, eyes that welled with tears of blood. He almost thought he could hear voices that whispered names he had not heard in a long time, names that he did not wish to hear anymore.

Murderer.

Kinslayer.

Alqualondë had not changed much. Perhaps there were more buildings now, and more ships, but at heart, it was still the same. There was still the same quiet peace around it, the same peace that had been there the night when he, his father, and his brothers attacked the Teleri and stole their ships.

For Maedhros, the memories of the First Kinslaying never really faded, and being in Alqualondë again only reinforced those memories. He half expected to see the graceful white craft lined along the quays to blush red with blood and fire, to hear the screams of the Teleri tear through the smoke, to smell the stench of burning wood-

He bowed his head away from the view. There was blood on his hands, and while the physical stains were no longer there, the stains on his soul remained, and would remain until he had proven himself worthy again.

"Maedhros?"

He lifted his head when someone called his name, and saw Ecthelion standing in the doorway. He tried to smile, though with his thoughts it was difficult to do so. "Yes, Ecthelion?" They – Ereinion, Ecthelion, Glorfindel, Maedhros and Telpeär – had decided to forgo all formalities and titles, and simply call each other by name.

The silver-haired Elda walked into the room then, his face serene and unperturbed. He stood beside Maedhros, gazing out to the piers. "I just spoke with Telpeär," he said. "We are to leave at moonrise tonight."

Maedhros nodded. "I see. That is good." The sooner I leave Alqualondë, he thought, the better for me.

"Think not of those times," Ecthelion murmured after a long pause. He knew what Maedhros was thinking about.

Maedhros shook his head, red hair – red like the blood I have shed, he reminded himself – shimmering in the afternoon light. "I must think about it," he replied softly. He looked at his hands, at the palms that were clean, but could never be washed of the crimes they had committed. He had to constantly remind himself of what he had done in the past, so that he did not repeat them in the future.

"You are about to atone for those deeds," Ecthelion said. "There is no need to make yourself miserable."

Maedhros looked up at his companion. "How can you speak to me in such a manner, when you are Telerin yourself?"

Ecthelion smirked. "Only half so. My mother was Teleri, and my father Noldo. Obviously, I took after my mother." His expression became solemn as he continued to speak. "I was a member of Turgon's house, while my father was a member of Fingolfin's. Out of loyalty to them our family took the dreadful route to Arda across the Helcaraxë. My parents died during the crossing, but I pressed on, out of friendship to Turgon and Glorfindel, and out of loyalty to Fingolfin." [1]

Maedhros did not speak. He had heard the story of the Crossing of the Helcaraxë from many sources. When he recalled how many had died during the march, he remembered that their blood was on his hands as well. He wished, then, that he had been more forceful in opposing his father and his brothers. He wished that he had worked harder to stop them from burning the ships. But he had not.

"I am sorry," he murmured. "I tried to stop them from burning the ships, but…they would not listen to me."

A hand clasped his shoulder, and Maedhros looked up to see Ecthelion smiling comfortingly at him.

"Let not the shadow of the past cloud your heart, my friend," Ecthelion told him quietly. "It is in the past. Those who do not know how to forgive are bitter and hard-hearted."

Maedhros smiled, and patted Ecthelion's hand. "Thank you, my friend. I thank you."

Ithil was a large, full globe as it traversed the night sky, multitudes of stars trailing behind it. The ocean melted into liquid mithril, the sea foam glittering as though one could reach out and capture diamonds instead of water in one's hand. A gentle breeze blew from the west; ready to carry them back to the distant shores of Arda. With the wind came the sound of Telerin voices as they sang to welcome the coming of the full moon and the winds that would carry them eastward.

The Teleri are matchless singers, Glorfindel thought as he gazed at the molten silver waters. He smiled. Well, there were also some very lovely maidens amongst them, he mused as he turned around to look upon those who had gathered to bid them farewell. Fingon was with Ereinion, offering the latter some last-minute advice and parting gifts – primarily a long object wrapped in blue velvet that Glorfindel felt was a spear.

Off to one side were Ecthelion and his family; not that far away were Telpeär and his father, Círdan. Directly across the hall from them were Fingolfin, Pallando and Olwë, their expressions serious as they spoke to one another. Perhaps they were talking about the journey, Glorfindel thought as he moved his gaze away from them.

It was then that he saw Maedhros. He was standing apart from the rest of the crowd, preferring to stay near the edge of the quay. His gray eyes were dim and distant as they gazed across the ocean, the moonlight giving his normally vibrant red hair a dull gray hue. It was as if he was aging, like a mortal.

Shaking the disturbing thought out of his mind, Glorfindel approached the eldest son of Fëanor, nudging him gently in the ribs. "Do not look like that at the sea," he said, a teasing note in his voice. "You look as if you will cast yourself to the waves."

Maedhros smiled, and shook his head. "I do not have such plans, Glorfindel, not until I have fulfilled this quest." He sighed, and crossed his arms over his chest. "It will be a long, hard journey," he said. "Do you think that we will find ourselves in the middle of a war once we arrive?"

Glorfindel shrugged. "I do not know," he admitted. "Pallando said that it was possible for war to happen, but he did not mention that the war was already happening. He has given entrusted us with his maps and journals, hoping that they will able to help us."

"I am only worried about the people we will meet," Maedhros said, his tone laced with anxiety. "Pallando said that the people of the South know nothing of our kind, and that if we were to reveal ourselves as those of the Firstborn we might get into more trouble than we bargained."

Glorfindel nodded. It was a point that Pallando had been quick to press on them. Unless they were in Gondor, it would be a dangerous thing to reveal that they were of the Quendi. "We must make it a point to be careful, then."

Maedhros nodded. There was silence for a while, and then he murmured, "I wonder what Arda is like now."

Glorfindel blinked as he looked at his companion. He had thought that Maedhros had asked that question already. "I assumed that would be the first question you would ask the moment you returned to Tirion."

"I had other things on my mind," Maedhros admitted. "Please, tell me. How much has it changed?"

"Many things have changed, perhaps enough to shock you. Beleriand, as you know, is gone now: sunk beneath the waves. The easternmost portion of the land that was once Ossiriand is now the westernmost border of Arda." Glorfindel smiled then. "But it should not matter, I suppose, because where we are going, everything will be new to our eyes. You will not be alone in being shocked."

Maedhros laughed. "I suppose you are right. How I wish that we had not limited ourselves to the North! There is a much wider world to see than I had ever imagined."

"And hopefully we will live long enough to see it all and to return here to tell the tale."

Glorfindel turned, to see Ereinion standing just behind him, flanked by Telpeär and Ecthelion.

The former Lord of Lindon grinned at Glorfindel, his eyes sparkling with eagerness for the journey. "It is time for us to leave."

Glorfindel smiled back, and nodded, glancing towards the moon. "Yes, it is time."

The Teleri sang, and the winds of Manwë came blowing down from the west, filling the silver sails of one of the Telerin swan-ships. The ship coasted away from the port, and out through the sea arch that was the entrance into the sheltered harbor of Alqualondë. As it cleared the arch, the wind blew harder, and the ship picked up speed, skimming silently over the smooth, deep blue surface of the water.

Those remaining at the port continued to sing, watching as the ship grew smaller and smaller, a floating silver star against the darkness of sea and sky. It moved around the Isle of Eressëa, and continued on its eastward journey. The voices of the Teleri grew softer the farther away the ship went, and their voices were silenced when, at last, it disappeared into the horizon.

It seemed almost ominous, the way the ship melted into the blackness of the horizon. It was like watching a star being swallowed up by the jaws of some large, ravenous creature. Many hearts were troubled at the idea.

But there were those who felt – and there were many of them – that this was not the end, that someday, the same white ship would find its way back, and all would be well again.

There is always that hope, they told themselves.

One can always hope.

[1]= This part of Ecthelion's history is entirely made-up on my part. I have not read anything yet that points to how he came to be in Arda to begin with, or how he became one of the most elite captains in Gondolin, so I made up this history to partially explain that. While this history is interesting and (from my point-of-view, at least) is quite accurate and possible, I sincerely hope that nobody takes this as canon.