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Happy Birthday, Marta
Jul. 12th, 2006 06:22 pmMarta asked for journeys and quests, and obscure canon.... My muse hit me with the Second Age story of Aldarion and Erendis (LOTS of journeys!) from Unfinished Tales.
Sea King; Seeking
Vëantur
I made many journeys over the Great Sea, and saw many make their first voyage. Always their eyes turned backwards, to that last glimpse of the pillar, smoke-dark against the flame-red sunset, as it sank into the sea. I remember well my own first travelling, and how it was the same for me, and how I wondered if I would see my land again.
Yet my grandson's gaze was forward, scanning the wave-crests that ran over the deeps towards shores still many days distant. When he turned at last, his eyes were as grey, as fathomless, as waves at dusk.
Almarian
He is King's Heir and Great Captain... and still my shining, golden-haired son.
When he speaks of new ships and journeys, I see the same fire as when my husband spoke to me of stars and sun. Why does my husband not see that the yearning he cannot quell in himself for knowledge of the heavens cannot be quashed in the son who longs for the Sea?
My husband does not stay our son's sailing, but forbids me bring him the bough of returning. Yet one carries it who may, more than father's commands or mother's prayers, hasten him home.
Aldarion
I stood in a high place and looked out. The breeze came to me – a fine, stiff breeze, before which a ship would run lightly, speedily, content. It came whispering of the deeps, of a craft riding alone, of my heart's desire to master wave and wind, even as my desire near mastered me. It stole my breath and my blood and my will.
At last I turned, setting the breeze behind me, and travelled on to the arms of my betrothed. But I was wedded to the sea long before I ever espoused her. I cannot resist its call.
Erendis
I sent orders for the house to be readied: shutters opened, carpets beaten, bedlinen aired. He shall not find me neglectful of his interests on his return.
I remember the time when I woke each morning wondering if this would be the day news came of his sail upon the horizon. How I waited, breathless, among the Queen's maids, my needle idle, listening for his footsteps.
No more. I am not a plaything: to be packed or unpacked at his whim, or casually adorned with treasures from distant shores, even as his gaze passes over me to the sea outside.
Meneldur
I still do not understand his desire for the Sea, his childish indulgence in coming and going as he pleases, not seeking to subdue his heart to the land and people entrusted to him.
Yet now, letting the Elf-King's letter fall into my lap, I see that the good of land and people may best be served by this coming and going.
Why should not heart's desire and head's demands accord? Long study of the stars did not grant me wisdom to make this choice. Even lost amidst the glamour of the Sea, it seems my son has greater understanding.
Ancalimë
In her dream, he lifts her high and holds her close. Her small hands wrap tightly around his neck. He makes her feel safe.
All too soon, with a hasty kiss, he puts her down. She tries to cling on, but his large hands are so much stronger. His fingers gently prise hers open. Then he is gone, and the spring breeze is cold against her. The friendly bleating of sheep is replaced by the sea's cruel hiss.
Waking, the memory dims. Yet the ache of loss remains. Rising and dressing, she vows no man will hurt her so again.
Happy Birthday, Marta!
Sea King; Seeking
Vëantur
I made many journeys over the Great Sea, and saw many make their first voyage. Always their eyes turned backwards, to that last glimpse of the pillar, smoke-dark against the flame-red sunset, as it sank into the sea. I remember well my own first travelling, and how it was the same for me, and how I wondered if I would see my land again.
Yet my grandson's gaze was forward, scanning the wave-crests that ran over the deeps towards shores still many days distant. When he turned at last, his eyes were as grey, as fathomless, as waves at dusk.
Almarian
He is King's Heir and Great Captain... and still my shining, golden-haired son.
When he speaks of new ships and journeys, I see the same fire as when my husband spoke to me of stars and sun. Why does my husband not see that the yearning he cannot quell in himself for knowledge of the heavens cannot be quashed in the son who longs for the Sea?
My husband does not stay our son's sailing, but forbids me bring him the bough of returning. Yet one carries it who may, more than father's commands or mother's prayers, hasten him home.
Aldarion
I stood in a high place and looked out. The breeze came to me – a fine, stiff breeze, before which a ship would run lightly, speedily, content. It came whispering of the deeps, of a craft riding alone, of my heart's desire to master wave and wind, even as my desire near mastered me. It stole my breath and my blood and my will.
At last I turned, setting the breeze behind me, and travelled on to the arms of my betrothed. But I was wedded to the sea long before I ever espoused her. I cannot resist its call.
Erendis
I sent orders for the house to be readied: shutters opened, carpets beaten, bedlinen aired. He shall not find me neglectful of his interests on his return.
I remember the time when I woke each morning wondering if this would be the day news came of his sail upon the horizon. How I waited, breathless, among the Queen's maids, my needle idle, listening for his footsteps.
No more. I am not a plaything: to be packed or unpacked at his whim, or casually adorned with treasures from distant shores, even as his gaze passes over me to the sea outside.
Meneldur
I still do not understand his desire for the Sea, his childish indulgence in coming and going as he pleases, not seeking to subdue his heart to the land and people entrusted to him.
Yet now, letting the Elf-King's letter fall into my lap, I see that the good of land and people may best be served by this coming and going.
Why should not heart's desire and head's demands accord? Long study of the stars did not grant me wisdom to make this choice. Even lost amidst the glamour of the Sea, it seems my son has greater understanding.
Ancalimë
In her dream, he lifts her high and holds her close. Her small hands wrap tightly around his neck. He makes her feel safe.
All too soon, with a hasty kiss, he puts her down. She tries to cling on, but his large hands are so much stronger. His fingers gently prise hers open. Then he is gone, and the spring breeze is cold against her. The friendly bleating of sheep is replaced by the sea's cruel hiss.
Waking, the memory dims. Yet the ache of loss remains. Rising and dressing, she vows no man will hurt her so again.
Happy Birthday, Marta!
