Written some time before Celeborn's arrival...
Things that were... things that are... and some things that have not yet come to pass.
Words she had spoken to Frodo. Things that the sea now spoke to her.
On a clear day, when the winds were not trying to add their own commentary, she could even hear it whispering the secrets of the dead lands it kept beneath it. Lands that she could still see, in her mind's eye, if she closed her eyes and listened along. Songs they had used to sing, in the realms of old, where the trees were stronger and grew thicker together. Screams of terror, of victory, of pain. Songs there were, too, of the same sort, and stories, words of worship and praise.
She had thought the ability to hear the sea would leave her, when she'd dumped the ring overboard, letting the sea claim it. Had waved goodbye to it, watching the glittering of the gem as it sunk, in its last futile attempts to catch and keep the light of the surface above. Yet here she was, most nights, sitting in the highest tower of the Citadel in Minas Tirith, listening to the things it still had left to say to her.
Why was the sea still calling? Was it simply, as Faramir has said, the fact that she had taken passage on it once, and yet again?
She had thought sailing on it would be enough to ease its words. But it seemed that always, it had more to say to her. She leaned back more heavily against the rock behind her, listening again, as the sea took on a more mournful tune, remembering the lands it no longer touched upon. She wondered, idly, if the sea was as living a thing as she often thought it to be. Perhaps it simply mirrors my own mood, my own memories and regrets.
She nodded, then, casting her eyes out across the darkened city. That had to be what it was, for her own thoughts had turned dark of late, even with the happy news of a great-grandson and the company of her beloved grandaughter.
She found, then, as she examined her own heart and mind, that she was worried. Worried for the state of Arda, worried for her purpose there, and worried for Celeborn. He had not returned as quickly as they had thought he would. The wind whipped around her, and she cast a thought upon it, wondering if he would catch it ... wondering if she was too diminished to send it at all.
Celeborn ... where are you?
Words she had spoken to Frodo. Things that the sea now spoke to her.
On a clear day, when the winds were not trying to add their own commentary, she could even hear it whispering the secrets of the dead lands it kept beneath it. Lands that she could still see, in her mind's eye, if she closed her eyes and listened along. Songs they had used to sing, in the realms of old, where the trees were stronger and grew thicker together. Screams of terror, of victory, of pain. Songs there were, too, of the same sort, and stories, words of worship and praise.
She had thought the ability to hear the sea would leave her, when she'd dumped the ring overboard, letting the sea claim it. Had waved goodbye to it, watching the glittering of the gem as it sunk, in its last futile attempts to catch and keep the light of the surface above. Yet here she was, most nights, sitting in the highest tower of the Citadel in Minas Tirith, listening to the things it still had left to say to her.
Why was the sea still calling? Was it simply, as Faramir has said, the fact that she had taken passage on it once, and yet again?
She had thought sailing on it would be enough to ease its words. But it seemed that always, it had more to say to her. She leaned back more heavily against the rock behind her, listening again, as the sea took on a more mournful tune, remembering the lands it no longer touched upon. She wondered, idly, if the sea was as living a thing as she often thought it to be. Perhaps it simply mirrors my own mood, my own memories and regrets.
She nodded, then, casting her eyes out across the darkened city. That had to be what it was, for her own thoughts had turned dark of late, even with the happy news of a great-grandson and the company of her beloved grandaughter.
She found, then, as she examined her own heart and mind, that she was worried. Worried for the state of Arda, worried for her purpose there, and worried for Celeborn. He had not returned as quickly as they had thought he would. The wind whipped around her, and she cast a thought upon it, wondering if he would catch it ... wondering if she was too diminished to send it at all.
Celeborn ... where are you?
