The Sea Is Calling by Lingwiloke

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Chapter 1

 

 Banner by Ysilme (Fandom Stocking 2014)

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They kept you so long, she says, as they walk by the shore.

 

Maybe, he answers, absently, his gaze on the water glistening in the moonlight, his mind on the strangely familiar-and-yet-new sensations of his body: the squishy feel of wet sand under his feet and the waves lapping at his toes, the salty tang of the sea air and the sweet caress of the breeze on his face. (He is still a bit dazed by being alive again, at times).

 

The stars have grown old, he says. They look less bright than he remembers, certainly. But then again, it has been a long time since he last saw them, even longer than the time he has spend in Námo’s Halls. Or maybe it is just this new light above that makes it seem that way: the last blossom of Telperion, Lanceve explained to him, salvaged from the wreckage the Dark One has wrought.

 

So many of the Exiles have already long been reclothed, she says now, almost accusingly, ignoring his little non sequitur.  

 

He chuckles.

 

They have never been patient, those of Finwë’s folk, have they?

 

She laughs at that, a little, and squeezes his hand more tightly.

 

He has heard of those who were returned before him. His wife is not the only one who wonders at the Valar’s sense of justice, sometimes, and many in Alqualondë speak with not a little contempt of those Exiles who left the Halls early. He does not think it is about justice, at all, and someday he will explain it to her, but not just now. Now is not the time to dwell on death; now is the time to be alive again.

 

But those who came by Námo’s Halls are not the only ones to newly walk the lands of the West. Indeed, there are others, arriving by ship from the Old Lands, both those who returned after the ban was lifted, and those who never walked these lands before.

 

Sea-longing, they have named it on the other shore, that strange yearning which brings them here, a yearning for what exactly they cannot even say. The sea is calling them, he has heard people say in the city when they speak of those who arrive at the Havens of Tol Eressëa. The sea is calling them home. It’s the Exiles, they say in Alqualondë and in Tirion, the Exiles who feel it, who are called hither, who long for home. It is thought only proper, he has noticed – this is where they belong, after all, in this place they once so foolishly left behind.

 

He does not think that quite true. For, does he not feel it also, their sea-longing?

 

The sea is calling, they used to say; the sea is calling, and we must follow! So the mariners would say in the days of his youth, when they took ship at the break of dawn, swift and merry and full of adventure. The sea is calling; that is what they would call to those left behind at the harbour. (Only, he remembers fondly, Lanceve never would suffer to be left behind, and whoever tried to make her would quickly find himself enjoying a cold bath and a mouthful of saltwater).

 

They never went far in those days; their hearts still young and content to revel in the wonders of this world they lived in, only stretching their wings for the first time. Still, there was now and then in his heart the thought of oceans he had not yet sailed, and lands he had never seen, and in his ears the faint hum of another song, another music from far away....

 

Then came the day when the waves turned red, as the songs say (only they didn’t, really, because the darkness had swallowed all colour; and on that day of night, it swallowed him, too). After, he does not remember much, but what he remembers is peace, a soothing quiet in a world of shadows that evoked no fear.  

 

But now, while he walks in the world of the living once again, at his wife’s side, the sound of the waves in his ears and the taste of salt on his tongue, he can hear it again. There is the light of the moon-flower, like a road upon the water, beckoning, tempting… and he can hear the call again; he can hear the sea calling, sweetly, alluring, and he feels the steady rhythm of the waves in his heart like he ever has, knowing that every river will eventually reach the sea, slow and leisurely meandering, but inevitably. And, while for now he is still content to drift and let the current carry him where it may, he knows that he will not be content forever, and that, when the wind picks up and the waves grow higher, he will take ship once again and he will see what lies beyond.

 

He has halted in his tracks as he looks out over the waves. Now he realises that Lanceve halts, too, and looks up at him questioningly.

 

Everything in its own time, he thinks, and smiles, and as he leans down to press a kiss to his wife’s brow, he knows that when the time comes, he – nay, he thinks, smiling, her presence a warm glow by his side - they will see the stars like they have never seen them before, in the twilight of strange lands under strange skies, where the water sings a different song and Valinor is far.

 

The sea is calling, and someday, he will follow.

 

 

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Chapter End Notes

"Lanceve" is my half-assed attempt at creating a Telerin name. It's supposed to mean "sharp-edged person", from lanca (sharp edge, sudden end, as in e.g. a cliff-edge, or the clean edge of things made by hand or build) and eve (a person, someone).
Feel free to correct me on Telerin name-making ^_^
I used this site: http://www.realelvish.net/telerin.php for reference.