Chapter Two: The Bay of Eldamar
The year went by all too fast, and come winter I was filled with dread of Indis' arrival in the spring. So I made ready to go alone upon a long, spontaneous journey, preferring to evade being present at the wedding and to spend that time in happiness rather than to suffer and fret within the walls of Tirion. I did not know where I would go, except that it would be far away, to a place I had never seen before.
On the morning that I left, only my father was there to see me off. I had never had many friends. None of them had ever lasted long by my side, and none that I had had ever been truly dear to my heart. Eventually, they tired of my mercurial moods and selfish impatience, leaving me in a lonesome condition that I knew I deserved, yet hated with all my heart. Then I would be left to rail powerlessly against the cage of my solitude, unable to do anything but build up a mounting wave of rage that would crash upon my former friend the next time I saw them. Perhaps it was that I was too strange, too sullen, too rash a child to have true companions. Perhaps I was a puzzlement to all in those days, save maybe in the eyes of Finwë.
When my father asked me where I went, and what I hoped to find, I could not answer.
"Do not expect me to return before long, and do not bother to look for my coming," was all I was capable of saying, unable to take my eyes from the hated ring on my father's finger.
"Very well, my son, if you wish it to be so."
My hardened, vulnerable heart was almost rent by the hurt love in his voice, and I quickly turned away to adjust my horse's girth, though it needed no such alteration. My mount tossed his proud head and pawed at the earth, scenting the nearness of a ride, and my spirit reluctantly mirrored his eager impatience.
"Find peace, Finwion," my father called after me as I rode from the dooryard. The sky above was scattered with eggshell-white clouds, and my grief and shame spurred me onward.
I headed eastward, beneath the shadow of Tirion's towers, where the stars shine almost to their full, searching with barely controlled desperation for a place that existed only in my mind. Backed by the light of the Trees, I made my way through the Calarcirya, refusing to slow or halt.
I was sure to always keep my horse at a brisk pace, as if I were being pursued, but I was also sure to draw in what little peace I could from the beautiful lands of Eldamar, with her endless green plains and proud, jutting mountains. Ever since I was very young, I had always better loved the untrammeled solitude beyond Tirion's tame, meek beauty.
At the end of each day, I took a brief rest, ate a small meal from the food I had packed, fed and watered my horse, then mounted and rode again. I did not like remaining dormant for too long, for soon my fast-crawling thoughts would catch up with me, and entangle me again in their black snares. So I sought solace in the winds and the light and the boundless heaven above, staying still for no longer than I had to. It became almost a fearsome game: remain in motion, and I lived as free of pain as I ever would. Linger, and the bleak gloom behind me would eat my heart.
I went many places in those days, to lands strange and alien and beautiful, yet none gave me the contentment I wished for. Until I came to the Sea.
On the eighth morning of my journey, I found the Bay of Eldamar. Rather, I nearly stumbled clear into it. I had been riding rashly, heedless of the nearby cliffs, until my horse shied and came to an unexpected halt, nearly throwing me from the saddle.
Stretching on forever beneath the stars, faintly riddled with silver and gold Treelight, was the Great Sea. Its waters were still and dark, a shade of blue not far above black. The waves, white with tossing manes of foam, beat eternally upon the adamant shores. They would advance forward, then retreat back, as if in mimicry of some irresolute battalion.
The shore was covered with rounded, shining-wet stones, set in careful, meaningless powers by the untold years of waves. Before the smooth pebbles was a stretch of languid white dunes, foothills to the coarse, rocky cliffs on which I stood, tempered to jagged harshness by the blood of tempests. Above my head in the profound, star-filled darkness that was only weakly pierced by the light of the Trees, gulls as white as the foam dipped and wheeled over the Sea. Their keening, resonant cries echoed over shore and water, running a shiver of unknown longing down my spine. The wild scent of the waters rose to meet me, and my nose was filled with its sharp, bitter smell.
For a moment, it was all I could do to simply stare at the overwhelming sight before my eyes. But then my reasoning returned, and with it came a jab of yearning to go down to the shore and stand in its immortal sands. I dismounted and led my reluctant horse down the rocky slopes of the cliffs, finding a makeshift path upon the steep, ironbound incline. At last, I stood at the foot of the precipice. Whispering a command to my horse to stay upon the gravelly rise, I walked slowly and deliberately to the water's edge, marveling in the scraping murmur of the sands beneath my feet. The foam ran desperately up the shore, nearly to the place where I stood. It lingered, pure-white, for an instant at my feet, and then dissolved with a hiss into the wet sand.
I lost all track of time then. All that mattered was the soft sighing of the waves and the steady, infinitesimal beat of my heart. Seconds slipped by, then minutes, dancing and disappearing in the furrowed, undulating waves. But all things come to an end, and abruptly, I looked up from the waves, body tingling as though I was being watched.
A slender Elf-maid, perhaps a year or so younger than I, stood unshod in the sand beside me. Unbound hair, a fierce coppery color and lawlessly curly, fell to her waist, its ringlets tugged by the sour wind. The strands twisted and writhed like fire over the soft simplicity of her drab woolen cloak and frock. Her face was pale and she had high, elegant cheekbones that seemed out of place on a child.
She was not as fair as some of the women of the Eldar. In fact, she was almost plain in our reckoning. But something in the way she bore herself gave her an intense, passionate beauty that no person in Valinor I had met before possessed, man or woman.
Startled, I could not move my eyes from her face. Eyes the color of the gray-mottled twilight sky watched me, highly observant yet polite beneath dark brows unfurrowed by contempt or intrusive curiosity.
It was not until many years later that I would realize that, in that one moment, I had fallen irrevocably in love.
"Why are you sad?" The girl asked suddenly, voice kind. Her words did not rend the tranquility of that strangely holy moment; rather, they heightened the sanctity, like the ringing of a slight silver chime in the silence of midnight.
I was taken aback; I did not myself know the answer to her question. Had I not left the thoughts of Indis behind? Or was I still troubled by the memories I already had? I had thought myself freed from such troubles.
"Why do you ask that?" I replied, keeping my voice as wary as I could.
"You seem so unhappy," she murmured somberly, looking out upon the Sea, "And that is strange to behold in the Undying Lands. I thought all who dwelt here lived in complete content."
Deliberately or not, the starlight gave her pale face and wise gray eyes a fragile, unearthly look.
"Who are you?"
She turned her face from the Sea and met my gaze with her nonchalant, level eyes.
"Nerdanel, daughter of Mahtan." A sigh left her lips, as if something grieved her.
Unconsciously, I took a step back. "What is it?"
"I wish you were happier. It would favor you better. One cannot dwell forever in a dark mood. Not here." Nerdanel's plaintive hopefulness cut to my raw heart, and I managed a quick, indulgent smile for her sake. She returned the smile in earnest, her worried face easing swiftly into the expression, as if she was used to smiling often. My heart quickened to an almost painful pace to see it.
"Who are you, then?" Nerdanel asked, smile dimming but not fading, stepping closer to the Sea. Her eyes shone with quiet delight as the waves washed over her bare white feet.
"Finwion, son of Finwë."
Nerdanel swept into a deep, graceful curtsy at the mention of my father's name, then rose, her dress dark where the hem had dipped into the water as she did so.
"Son of the King," she murmured, watching me with new curiosity. Then sadness filled her dark eyes again in new understanding. "But then your mother must be--"
"Míriel," I finished for her. "Yes, my mother was Míriel."
I knew she would now act like all the others did at the mention of my mother's name. Nerdanel would pity me and treat me as a crippled boy unable to stand on his own. All my hopes of friendship would be dashed to fragments on the jagged rocks of formality and condolence. I turned away to hide the grimace that was slowly spreading on my face.
"No wonder you are so troubled," I heard her say from behind me, "I cannot guess at a sorrow that has the power to linger for almost seventeen years."
"I would forget had it not been for the kinswoman of Ingwë." My voice was numb. I was too resigned to my fate to even let anger enter my tones.
There was only silence for a time, and the waves crashed fruitlessly on the beach. I could almost hear the feathery workings of Nerdanel's mind as she perceived and grasped this fresh knowledge.
"You have come here to avoid their wedding," she said softly, without having to ask. I slowly turned back to her in surprise. Her eyes stabbed deep into my soul, so I had no hope of disguise or respite, but I felt no pain.
I had, in pride, thought myself a skilled reader of hearts, a deft interpreter of the thoughts and emotions hidden in a glance, a motion, a single breath. But I had met my equal in Nerdanel.
"Tell me then, prince," Nerdanel said, "Who is this kinswoman of Ingwë, and why does she trouble your heart so?"
"She is the Lady Indis of the Vanyar," I replied, the innocent-seeming words burning bitter in my mouth. "She is everything my mother was not. Everything I am not. Where Míriel was dark, Indis is bright. Míriel found solitude and contentment in needlework and the arts of the hands. Indis finds her love instead for song, both of voice and instrument."
"Is that why you hate her so? Because of her differences? Finwion," Nerdanel boldly used my name, but I barely noticed, "If Indis were the same as your mother in every way, would you not still hate her for the place she has taken in your father's heart?"
Reluctantly, I nodded, realizing the truth. "But--she--" I protested feebly.
"I understand," Nerdanel said gently, voice soothing as the whisper of a river yet strong enough to quiet my doubt, "In your mind, Indis still is nothing in compare to Míriel."
"Yes. But. . .I love my father. I would give anything for his happiness. And that is where I despair of my own duplicity."
"Then you must endure, for his sake. Find strength in the conviction that your father is pleased. Do not love Indis dearly, if that is your wish, but for your father, remain staunch." Her words hauntingly echoed Ingwë's, and they had the same strange sound, made stranger by coming from the mouth of a mere child.
"But now I must go," Nerdanel said, glancing over her shoulder to the shore behind and interrupting my disquiet. "Will you be here on the morrow?" Her voice was quieter, friendly and intimate.
"Without fail. I have no longing to be elsewhere."
"Farewell then." The single hand she raised in parting was pale in the starlight. Then she turned and walked away up the shoreline, until she faded, like a wan shade of my own imagining, into the darkness of the cliffs.