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Fiondil's Tapestry  by Fiondil

TRUST: Sailing

SUMMARY: In the end, all that was left them was trust and their love for one another.

****

I am sailing, I am sailing,

home again ’cross the sea.

I am sailing stormy waters,

To be near you, to be free.

— Rod Stewart, Sailing

****

"Should we turn back?" she asked.

"Is that what thou wishest?" he replied.

She turned to him and saw the careworn look in his eyes. His hair was completely white now and his face was lined and seamed with age. She knew he had little time left. They had sailed together, seeking Valinor, the land of her youth. It was distant enough in time to be but a vague memory for her, clouded with pain and fear of the Light suddenly going out and her naneth slipping into the dark cold waves beneath the ice. They sailed, hoping against hope, but what they hoped for neither could say.

He stole a glance at her, keeping his eyes forward as he expertly handled the wheel, bringing their ship about in an effort to keep them from entering the shadowy gloom that lay in the middle distance. She was as beautiful as the day they met when he first came to Gondolin. He knew that she was accounted young by the standards of the Elves but he had never found the courage to ask her how old she truly was. It did not matter. He could feel his death upon him. Whether they went back or sailed forward, it was all the same to him; he doubted he would live long enough to see his destination either way.

Idril shook her head. "I wish only to be with thee, meleth nîn," she said softly.

"Ever do I hear the conches of Ulmo calling me," Tuor said just as softly.

"I wish I could hear them," she replied sorrowfully.

"As do I," he answered just as sorrowfully.

It was an old argument, one they had had almost from the moment they had set sail, leaving their only child, Eärendil, behind. The words had become almost ritualistic, as if in the speaking of them they would somehow justify their madness in braving Lord Ulmo’s realm. Yet there was no justification for this journey save for the yearnings of a Mortal’s heart for what he once had heard: the Ulumúri blowing upon the sea, beckoning him westward into the unknown. The days and weeks of sailing across the trackless ocean had not lessened their desire to continue west nor their arguments to turn back. Yet, there was no question of returning to Ennorath. The arguments were spoken simply for the sake of speaking; they had long run out of any other topics of conversation as the winds of Manwë continued to fill the purple sails of the Eärrámë, sending them ever westward.

"No one has ever returned from the west," Idril pointed out.

"Voronwë did," Tuor answered.

They went silent, both staring into the twilit gloom that seemed to hang before them. Idril had warned him that the Shadowy Seas with their floating isles would be the first barrier they would encounter in their quest to reach Valinor. "The first, but not the last, though for us it may well be," she had said as their ship had skipped across the waves, the shores of Ennorath slipping beneath the eastern horizon.

"So be it," had been his answer and nothing more was said about it.

Until now.

"The wind has died," Tuor said, frowning as he saw the sails go limp.

"We may not have a choice then," Idril said, giving her husband the smile that she always reserved for him and no other. He returned her smile with one of his own and the love that flowed between them, unspoken yet undenied, was almost a physical sensation that never ceased to astound him.

"Not so," he said. "We have the choice to either trust in the Valar’s mercy or not."

"Thou knowest the doom of my people," she whispered.

"A doom I willingly share with thee," Tuor stated firmly. "Yet, surely the Valar cannot fault thee for thy parents’ decisions. Thou wast but a child at the time thy people fled Valinor. No blame can fall upon thee. That is why I say to thee that we should trust in the mercy of the Valar."

"I cannot," she said. "The doom of my people lies heavily upon me and whether I was innocent or not I cannot escape it nor their wrath."

"Then we will face their wrath together," he retorted. "Yet, I cannot but hope that it is their love we will find in the end."

Idril leaned over and gave her husband a kiss, putting her hand in his. "Then I will let thee hope for the both of us, but whate’er our fate, I would that we share it together. I would not be parted from thee, hervenn nîn."

Tuor returned her kiss with one of his own. "Nor I from thee, hervess nîn."

They clung to one another while the Eärrámë floated gently in the waves, bringing them ever closer to their doom.

****

Ulmo, listening to their conversation, relayed it to his fellow Valar. The ship was near enough to the Enchanted Isles and the bewilderments set upon the Shadowy Seas that a decision had to be made. Manwë, therefore, consulted with Atar, and then the word came down from Ilmarin, sealing the fate of these two Children. An unexpected breeze filled the purple sails and a subtle altering of the ocean currents brought the ship further into the Shadowy Seas before either of the Children could react. Thus, almost of itself, the ship sailed safely through the shoals and shadows until it came to shore upon a particular island where Námo patiently awaited their arrival.

****

Words are Sindarin unless otherwise noted.

Meleth nîn: My love.

Naneth: Mother.

Ulumúri: (Quenya) The great horns of Ulmo.

Ennorath: Middle-earth.

Eärrámë: (Quenya) Sea-wing, Tuor’s ship.

Hervenn nîn: My husband.

Hervess nîn: My wife.

Author’s Note: As we never learn from Tolkien what Idril and Tuor’s fate was, except for tantalizing hints, I have purposely left the ending ambiguous. I leave it to the reader to decide what happened next, keeping in mind that Námo is not only the Lord of Mandos, but the Doomsman and Judge of Arda, as well as the Consoler and Comforter of Souls.





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