by Daeron-(V)
Nov. 12, 2002

 

Being well over ten thousand years of age, he had much to remember... the young elf, Elwe, who came running back to Cuivienen, telling tales of a great light, majestic forests, mountians taller than the clouds.  A dream world.  A world he refused to go to.  Now, after countless decades, it was finnaly time for him to go. 

 

An invisible tear fell from his eye, he had seen so much.  So much pain, yet so much joy.  Valinor had been but a fantasy, and now he could and couldn't wait to be there.

 

Now, five furry hobbits, a gleaming grey wizard, and two familiar ring bearers strode in, followed by many high elves.  Cirdan put on a smile, staring at the reknowned halfing, who was later spoken in song in Tirion and Alqualonde.  "All is ready." announces Cirdan, and as he walks to the port, it feels as if hes walking to the ship he sailed out of Balar in.

 

A dove flies past and perches itself on the great white ship.  "Was that the same bird I saw in Fornost?" Cirdan asks himself.  A ship, anchored in the port reminds Cirdan of the ship sent to save Arvdui, Last King, who was lost in the North.  As he guides Frodo along to the white ship, his hand falls from the hobbit's back, and falls to his sword hilt.  The sword he used as he burst forth into Hithlum to save the Noldor, who had been pushed back from the Ered Wethrin. 

 

He came to the ship, and as the company passed to board, Cirdan caught a wink from the old wizard.  "We go now to a place of eternal rest, do not worry," Mithrandir's voice seemed to plunge into his head.  "Utulie'n aure," Cirdan hears himself whisper, though none of the others seemed to have. 

 

Cirdan Shipwright was the last to board, and he came upon the ship in silence.  He slowly walked to the back of the boat.  As he did, he heard the sounds of the sighs of the waves, and the singing of the Haven elves.  Yet all that was drowned out by what seemed to start as a tiny chirp, a muffled rustle. It grew louder, the breeze blew the pine trees as it blew into the Shipwright himself,  Each breath of Cirdan was now a sob of longingness, a silent sob that none but the grass, the trees, the rocks, and the seas could hear.  The September wind grew increasingly louder, as if to answer the sobs with howls of sorrow.  It picked up the sails of the white ship, and Cirdan's final journey had begun.

 

Cirdan's invisible tears now turned to real ones as the voices died down a soft sigh.  "Namarie, Cirdan Shipwright, your presence shall be missed," Middle earth whispered, but Cirdan could only reply with a faint, "Namarie."
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