15. Time is the Healer

One could only imagine how good the make-up sex would be – after eleven thousand years of separation!.. Only it does not – did not – work this way in our case. It never does with us Elves, to be honest, for even between the ones loving each other ardently the courtships – and moreso the consummation – take the amount of time that would have looked irritatingly long by the Edain's measuring stick. And that is not only due to the fact (already oft mentioned in my writings) that the Eldar are not as driven by the physical desires, but also because a great portion of our lives is governed by tradition and ritual; over the centuries and millennia, these rigid boundaries were steadily eroded, I found, but far from completely destroyed, that much was certain. Finally, as both of us have silently acknowledged, it was plainly rather difficult to get used to the idea of returning to the marriage after spending a lot – a lot! – more time in separation than we ever did together before the cataclysmic events of the past ages.

However, Calawen and I did indeed reconcile, but it took a good amount of time – and of tiny, tentative steps. After that fateful day, we spent months of Aman's time going back and forth between her house in Tirion and my already established habitation in Elrond's domain – that I did not desire to leave even after my probation had ended, having nowhere else to really go and not wishing to impose on the hospitality of Telperinquar's household, despite repeated hints by the latter. Even so, we were taking our time rebuilding our relationship, all the while acknowledging the differences that had accumulated between us – but that actually proved easier than I thought it would. We were no longer youngsters, each with a mountain of things to prove to each other and to the world – if the humans' gauge was to be applied, we could have been construed as being in our forties, with the cool wisdom of age having settled in and preventing any one of us from doing anything rash and inconsiderate. With how much time – and tribulation – had befallen us in the innumerable years past, it was a miracle that we were both alive, that we could meet despite the odds... and still had the opportunity and the desire to be back together again, with time to spare. None of that was even certain just a year ago.

One day in Spring I gathered my courage and asked her – as I had wanted from the outset – to join me on a maritime voyage in the waters near the coast of Aman. She was visibly hesitant – and very obviously conflicted inside – as I voiced this proposition, and the reasons for her apprehension became clear soon enough.

"You know, since you… left, I could not stand, for many years, to even look at the sea. The sea that has taken you from me – and so much else from everyone around", she sighed. "And even later, when I had overcome this phobia, I'd never once set foot on a ship's deck. I even shifted the responsibility of going to Tol Eressea to one of my subordinates when business demanded it, a couple of times".

My heart sank when hearing her words. Not just because I had already thought the trip through, but because they reminded me once again of my transgressions. Would I ever be able to completely erase the lingering damage, I wondered? Or at least atone for it?

"So do we… switch to an alternative plan of actions? Like, going mountain climbing in the Pelori?" I asked with ostentatious levity, trying to lighten the mood and shift the subject elsewhere. I really had a backup strategy, of course, even though I was intending to employ it at a later date -

"No, I accept your invitation", Calawen chuckled, smiling and spreading her shoulders with a hint of defiance. "Let's be fighting fire with fire, shall we?"

And then she added an uncharacteristically – for her, certainly, but also for any Elven dame I knew, or would have known – brash joke, really signifying the fact that we were, after all, so close to each other and well past any artificial inhibitions, or mincing words, at least when left entirely to each other's care and company.

"Though you would have to excuse me if the boat's rocking would make me get sick all over your deck".

Thankfully, the spring sea – I had to remind myself that actually it was, once, the same Belegaer that lapped at the western coast of Middle-Earth, and would become the Atlantic during the world's alteration – proved tranquil enough for her fear to never become reality. I had a nagging feeling that maybe Ulmo (or Ossë) has had a hand in this – but decided not to give too much credence to the theory, as it very well could have been the figment of my imagination and, worse yet, an attempt at ascribing false value to my person. Any way one might slice it, the waters were uncharacteristically calm, with barely any wind to disturb their mirror-like stillness, as we walked from the carriage and onto the pier, into the sight of my trusty yacht moored firmly at her berth, just as she was the fateful day I first set foot upon these hallowed shores after my arrival.

Of course, that was not my first time seeing the vessel since then; after all, right after that trial I had to ferry my belongings to New Imladris as I was just settling in. Following that occasion, I also took my time to visit the harbour to check on the yacht once, after the end of my probation, although the tight schedule prevented me from setting sail – the fact that I was really sad about, but I told myself that I would be back. However, the veritable flurry of activity has absorbed me, as I was made both an honest-to-Eru, officially employed scribe at Elrond's domain and a history instructor at the educational centre in New Imladris, lecturing anyone interested in Middle-Earth's history... while keeping writing and rehearsing music in any spare minute that I had. Thus I kept putting off the voyage back to Calaciriya – and beyond – time and again, inwardly chastising myself for this every time.

Now, however, her idleness was to end. I could only hope that she would not choose this occasion – while carrying the precious passenger I was to have on board – to fail in any way or, Ilúvatar forbid, sink due to some unfathomable sort of mishap! The idea was borderline ridiculous and probably a case of overthinking, although in that moment I caught myself regretting not taking Telperinquar to the docks to have him enchant the boat with some of his artisanal power to make it impervious to wear and failure, like he had some of my electronic tools and especially the musical instruments. Yes, have I mentioned this power of his – and of many other Elven artificers, one that back on Earth would have surely gotten them killed by corporate powers who had vested interests in having all things break down and replaced as soon as possible? I, of course, found it a blessing, and another reason to enjoy my stay in Aman.

I still made a mental note to ascertain the position of life jackets and teach Calawen the use -

A startled gasp of wonderment brought me back to the now, as my wife caught the sight of the yacht – made of fibreglass, need I remind, and looking completely out of place among the swan-headed transport ships and the fishing vessels – more utilitarian, but no less proportionate and pleasantly looking for that. I held out my hand courteously, assisting her in her stroll along the wooden pier above the water. She accepted with a slight smile; even though she really did not need any kind of real help, being (as I learned already after our reunion) supremely fit and athletic through incessant training, she apparently decided to assume the designated role in this play, societal as much as personal, and on we went.

She was eyeing the slick ship with interest, up to running her hand upon the hull as we were embarking. The passage of time was not the cause, of course, for me to start worrying about the integrity of the vessel, but still more than enough for the slight visible signs of disuse to settle upon the deck, just apparent to the trained eye like mine. I unlocked the cabin – putting it under the key was a habitual precaution I took when going ashore, even though Eönwë – whom I have never seen since the day of my trial, by the way – was clear about the ship being under the seal of the Valar, evidently meant to prevent any kind of misappropriation or vandalism on part of those who might not be happy about my return. I just did not know how long that seal was supposed to last, or whether it was even a factual effect – rather than just a metaphorical pronunciation.

Well, at least it did not prevent us from boarding, and then from unmooring. There was still no wind, so after a little hesitation, I gunned the diesel, startling my passenger a little. After a brief moment, though, she laughed out loud and resumed her pastime of examining the many devices scattered around the cockpit – while she knew from the stories I had told her of Middle-Earth's technical progress (and some of its less glamorous implications), it was the first time she had seen my yacht, the biggest – and the most imposing – practical embodiment of technology.

I had told her that we were not going very far from the harbour – I was doubting that Lord Eönwë would come back again to bail me out if I had had the misfortune of entering the Teleri waters, and getting interdicted by a patrol boat again – but we still had a solid few hours of sailing, across the Ñoldor-designated slice of the ocean and to where we would have a good view of the Pelori rising out of the sea and disappearing into the distance... ever south, towards Avathar. When thinking of this, I was struck again by a stab of the subconscious desire to go far, far beyond the horizon. Only this time I would not have been alone – carrying with me the person that has been the dearest to me all along – and the journey would not have been endless and aimless, because this time, I knew I finally had somewhere to return to... and the people who would be glad to see me back, from her to Telperinquar and from Elrond to...

I was keeping my wife in my peripheral vision, even as I steered carefully out of the harbour and we were out into the wide strait separating the mainland of Valinor from Tol Eressea, vaguely seen in the distance to the southeast. After we've cleared the last of the things nearby, Calawen turned away to gaze into the front viewport. Her beautiful face took on a contemplative expression, and a wrinkle crossed her brow, giving her the appearance of a much older woman for a spell.

"I missed you so much, Cano", she sighed, and I was deeply touched by the very apparent well of emotion behind these simple words. While we had discussed our mutual feelings at length before – after all, we've had enough time to do so after our first reunion – now, alone without a living soul within a few cables in any direction, with only the sea to hear us, we were on a different wavelength altogether.

"And I did you, melmenya", I shook my head, surreptitiously putting the engine into the "Slowest" thrust, for I felt that I would not be wanting to arrive anywhere very soon, lest I break the moment for both of us. Through our psychic bond, renewed now and no longer attenuated to near nothingness by the veil separating Aman from Middle-Earth, I felt her agitation, the yearning to express in words that which had been simmering and festering within her soul for thousands of years – in parallel to mine. Again, I knew that she had remained faithful to me over the millennia – despite, obviously, never knowing with any sliver of certainty that she would be seeing me again. Of course, I had kept the same vows, despite a few close calls with mortal women attracted to my good looks (as among the Edain, I would have been considered an uncommonly handsome specimen, though it was, of course, due to my provenance that I could not conceal completely). But being a master of word and verse, I had advantages over a Man, always being able to defuse the situation with subtle speech of command. Not that it mattered a lot now, of course, but the fact that we were both able – and strong-willed enough – to avoid straying from our troth has, obviously, helped us staunch the ruptures that had inevitably formed between us.

A master of word I might be, but with that power came – a long time ago, and after a few painful blunders – the ability to understand when words were unnecessary. Very unnecessary, as a song by one of Earth's more popular music groups went, I smiled, pulling my wife closer to me by the shoulders – only to feel her lips upon my cheek. And melting into the sensation of complete unity and calm, forgetting about the controls – yet knowing that somehow, I need not pay them any heed, for nothing would harm us or break us out of this reverie.

If it was indeed the deed of Ulmo (or Ossë) to bring this about and watch over us, I would do my best to thank them later. Much later.

Note: the chapter name is from a song by Tony Iommi / Glenn Hughes (from The 1996 DEP Sessions / "Eighth Star" album, 2004)