My Heart is with the Sea, my Heart is with You by chrissystriped

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Chapter Two

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Círdan looked down at the maps Dís had sent along with a formal contract — dwarves never did something halfway if it came to business. The maps were insanely complicated, showing the vertical location of the halls as well as the horizontal. He was not sure if he wouldn’t get lost in that dark pit even with them. On the few visits he’d made to the Halls of the Blue Mountains he’d just wanted to get out and see the sky again as soon as possible — not that he’d let the dwarves notice that — but this was for Olórin. He’d have walked into Mordor itself for him. 

“Do you fancy yourself Fingon now?” he muttered to himself. “You are too old for this.” 

But he couldn’t bear the thought of his loved one’s body lying there in the dark, unprotected from defilement. His things were packed, a ship and crew ready, he’d only waited for Dís’s answer, now he rolled up the maps and stowed them away securely.  

“I wish you would tell me, what is going on ,” Galdor said when he left his office. “You haven’t gone on a journey like this  since the Last Alliance. Is it something to do with the…,” his voice fell to a whisper, “the Ring?” 

“Yes and no,” Círdan answered. He hadn’t had the strength to talk to anyone yet, but Galdor was his steward, it would be wrong to keep it from him. “Mithrandir fell in Moria. The company encountered Durin’s Bane, a Balrog, and he fought it.” 

Galdor paled. He’d seen Balrogs at the Fall of Gondolin. 

“He’s dead . ” Círdan’s voice broke. It took all his self-command not to start crying. “He fell. I need to find his body.” 

Galdor opened and closed his mouth a few times, grief plain in his face. “Of course,” he finally said and squeezed his shoulder in sympathy. “Of course you do. I’m so sorry, Círdan.” 

Círdan nodded, his throat tight, and closed his eyes. “Thank you. I need to go now.” 

He walked down to the shore where his own ship lay ready to sail. Vaima, his first officer, nodded at him when he came on deck. 

“We can sail with the next flood if you want, Captain,” she said. 

“Good.” It was about two hours till then. “I’ll be in my cabin.” 

He wanted to pore over the maps a bit more. And also acquaint himself with the Gwathló. He knew the waters close to the shores of the northern sea well, but it had been a long time since he’d had cause to sail up the river. Círdan sat on his chair and looked out the large aft-windows. It was a beautiful day, the wind blowing just right. His heart should be happy with being out to sea but it was too heavy with grief. He rubbed his cheek, feeling the rasp of the stubble there. It had started to grow in the last few days. He was old and the grief weakened him, his body had started to age.

 

~*~*~

 

The Wanderer was gone for long stretches of time, Círdan noticed, but he always came back, even after he and the other Falathrim had decided to stay on the shores of Middle-earth instead of following their brethren to Aman. Círdan loved the life here, he loved the sea and the shore. 

The Wanderer had never sought him out after their conversation years ago, had in fact seemed to avoid him, and Círdan was startled , when he found, on a morning he had set out alone in his small boat, that he was not alone in his boat after all. He’d lifted his spear and almost skewered the Wanderer before he realised who it was. 

“What are you doing here?” he snapped, not enjoying being sneaked up on on his own boat. “Where have you been hiding?” 

“I’m not hiding,” the Wanderer said with a teasing smile. “You just didn’t notice me, which surprised me to be truthful. You are usually much better at noticing me than others. I wanted to ask you a question.” 

Círdan leaned his spear against the gunwale. “Oh? Am I allowed to be as evasive as you about it?” 

The Wanderer laughed. “If I am, I have my reasons. Why did you stay?” 

Círdan lifted his eyebrows. “That’s your question?” 

The Wanderer nodded. “You crossed the world and climbed two mountain ranges in order to be ferried to Aman. Why did you change your mind?” 

Círdan leaned against the mast and looked out at the dark waves, only lighted here and there by the glint of a star. “I wanted to go. I wanted to see what Elwë saw and was so eager to go back to. But… this world is beautiful too, and it would have broken my heart to leave it forever. Someone should enjoy this world — it would be lonely without us. And… there’s something to do for me here. I’m not sure what yet, but I feel it. I need to be at the shore, by the sea. This is my place.” 

The Wanderer looked at him with serious eyes. Círdan squirmed as the silence stretched on. Then a smile broke out on the Wanderer’s face, not teasing, just happy, honest. Círdan’s heart beat faster for some reason — that smile, he wanted to earn it. 

“I like you,” the Wanderer said. “Your heart is in the right place.”

 

~*~*~

 

They sailed down the coast to the mouth of the Gwathló and then up the river until it branched out into the Nîn-in-Eilph where it was no longer navigable. It had taken them six days, making as much speed as they could. He’d driven them on. He needed to find Olórin, even if he could only mourn over his body. 

He’d left his crew there, at the marshland. They hadn’t been happy about that, but he needed to make this journey alone. He did not want anyone to be there when he found him — if he found him. Moria was huge. Círdan shook his head as he scrambled wearily up a rocky slope. He would think not about failure now. He needed to find him. All his mind was set on finding him. 

His crew would wait for him for as long as their supplies held, Vaima had assured him of that. She’d been trying to convince him to let her come with him and he’d actually had to order her to stay. He wouldn’t have abandoned them like this under normal circumstances, but nothing was normal anymore. He’d rarely felt as rudderless, as lost, as with the thought that Olórin was no more. 

The mountains were coming steadily closer. He barely rested. He was old, he needed less sleep than he used to — he knew that meant his body would eventually succumb and leave his fea houseless. It had scared him in the past, but now? What use was living on if Olórin was not there with him? No! No, he would be there with him. He would find him. He had to.

 

~*~*~

 

His arrows had run out — and he wasn’t the best shot anyway — he fought on with a short sword. It was a fine weapon, gifted to him by Finrod, as was the chainmail he wore. His eyes burned, tears running down his cheeks, from the fires burning in his city. The orcs had come to destroy and after the Nirnaeth nothing stood in their way until they reached the coast. 

They had been watchful but still the quickness of the attack had surprised them. Now they were trying to save as many lives as possible, getting people on the ships and sailing south. There was an island close to the mouths of Sirion, it had a freshwater well and was large enough to house the people of Eglarest and Brithombar — he didn’t know how Brithombar fared but Círdan surmised that they had been both attacked this night. 

He was one of the last people on the shore. He wasn’t a warrior, but he would not save himself while people stayed behind. His sword arm grew heavy and the press of the enemy didn’t seem to lessen at all — if anything the orcs became bolder with each fallen defender. Círdan looked over his shoulder and saw that only one ship was left. 

He sighed with relief. They’d done it. His people would be safe. For a while longer. The sword that was aimed at his head was stopped when the orc stumbled, its eyes drooping. The press of the enemy suddenly lessened, they swayed, yawned and fell over one by one, sleeping. There was a sweet smell of night-blooming flowers in the air and Círdan thought he heard a nightingale sing. 

“Run, ” a voice said in his ear and Círdan turned to see the Wanderer standing beside him. His face was serious for once. 

“Run,” he said again. “I already went far beyond what I am allowed to do. They won’t sleep for long. Run ! ” 

Círdan obeyed without question, although his thoughts reeled. He wanted to throw his arms around the Wanderer ’ s neck and kiss him, so relieved was he. He’d come to save them! The ship set sail as soon as the last of the defenders were safely on board. The first orcs were already starting to move again by then. Círdan was surprised when he realised that the Wanderer had followed him. 

“Why?” he asked bluntly, feeling too tired for politeness. “All your brethren abandoned us — well, except Ossë, but he can’t do much on land. Why help us like this and risk the Valar’s ire?” 

“Because I care for you,” the Wanderer answered and touched his cheek. “For your people, but also for you personally.” 

His fingers were cool on Círdan’s heated, singed skin and he leaned into them before he could catch himself. 

“Thank you,” he croaked, kissing him impulsively, hoping that his blush wasn’t visible under the soot on his face. “Thank you for saving my people.” 

Exhaustion crashed over him like a wave as the alertness of battle left him and he swayed. The Wanderer caught him before he could fall and led him into his cabin. No one hindered them. Círdan wanted to protest, he needed to lead his people, but he was too tired. 

“Sleep,” the Wanderer said gently and helped him lie down. “You have capable officers. Rest.”

 

The Wanderer sat still beside him. W hen he woke , Círdan blinked in surprise. 

“I thought you would be gone,” he mumbled, his voice rough from sleep. 

The Wanderer slowly shook his head. “Do your kind not kiss when you are in love?” he said with a puzzled look on his face. 

“Well… yes.” Círdan fought the urge to hide his face under the blanket. 

“You kissed me,” the Wanderer stated, holding his gaze. “Does that mean you love me?” 

The question was put so innocently that Círdan felt his heart ache with love. 

“Yes,” he whispered. “I think I do. I think I have for a while.” 

And even more now that he had protected them. It was foolish, of course. He was a maia, they did not fall in love with elves. 

“I’m in so much trouble,” the Wanderer said, but there was a smile on his lips. 

“Are you?” Círdan felt his heart beat quicker. 

“Yes, because I am not supposed to love one of the Children above the others. But I do. May I kiss you?” 

“Yes,” Círdan croaked and shivered as the Wanderer bowed over him and pressed his lips chastely against his. 

The Wanderer blinked slowly down at him. “I never kissed anyone,” he said. “I like it.” 

Círdan smiled. “I still don’t know your name.” 

“Do you need to? I like it when you call me Randir.” 

Círdan decided to let him have his secret for a while longer. “As you wish, Randir.” He longed to kiss him again, and more, but he’d been out for a few hours and he needed to see to his people. “Stay?” he said as he rose and dressed in fresh clothes. 

The Wanderer shook his head. “I can’t. I wish I could. But I’m in enough trouble as it is. My Lord will have seen what I did and it went well beyond what I’m allowed — even without my feelings for you. But I will return.” 

“Promise?” 

“No oaths,” the Wanderer said and Círdan smiled weakly. “Agreed. But still…” 

“I will return, if and when it is in my power.”