The hidden valley called Imladris surely awed most Men who saw it, perhaps all, and Cerrynt was no exception, though perhaps the stately architecture and sumptuous halls less so than the valley itself. Mountains taller than she had ever dreamed of, which would dwarf even Flam-cadlus as though it were merely a tumbled pile of river stones. Rivers whose flow now whispered songs like a new-hatched bird still in the nest, now thundered like herds of kine startled by wolves, now tumbled over waterfalls that sprayed liquid color about them and sang the song of the blood of the land. More kinds of trees and other plants than perhaps all of Kymry offered, woven between and below one another as though placed there by a blindfolded painter, daubs of color haphazard and yet in perfect euphony. Surely, she thought, otters must live here, and their romping and playing must be made of such joy that to watch them would heal the most grievous ailment of the heart or soul.
The journey had been months in coming. She'd worked as a guard for time but, despite all her anxiety about the propriety of the work, nothing had come of any of it. Then she met an Elf-friend of Cesistya called Annestel who planned a journey to Rivendell, and was seeking companions. When Cesistya expressed interest in going along and bringing Cerrynt, she spoke to her employer about the guard job, and taking time away from it, only to find that the need was ending anyway. So, too, the opportunity; it seemed Annestel had already left without them! Cerrynt was surprised how disappointing this was; after looking at Cesistya's great map, and hearing her ideas of learning Elf-stories and telling her own, or of learning Elf-fighting and Elf-music, she'd been filled with eagerness to see Rivendell and other places, the lands at the ends of all paths. Or perhaps just hoping one of them would be the place she felt like she belonged, that she would have some purpose in?
But another friend of Cesistya's also planned such a journey, and after weeks of preparation, of stockpiling smoked fish and trading for other travel foods and tools, Cerrynt was caught breathless to find herself seeing new vistas nearly every minute for nearly two weeks of travel, in the company of Cesistya, Elenanna, and another woman of Bree-land called Telumwyn. They were patient with her childlike wonder, at least at first, as they crossed the dry Lone-lands (and they humored her by letting her bring her Kymric survival skills to bear finding water -- she felt sure that every hidden trickle and pool she found, the Elves already knew). They were even stoic about her swimming every chance she got, no matter how swift the current (she could not fear currents, as she was named for them, and surely the spirits of the current would never harm one named in their honor?). Gradually, as she was sure to offer some food of her own at every meal before accepting any from others (a custom in her clan, and some other clans of the Kymru), and seeing the others pleased but also puzzled by this, it began to dawn on her that this custom was not universal, though it was hard to believe in her heart that it could be right to accept food without offering some.
By the time they were in the Trollshaws, though, everyone seemed much more quiet, more solemn, and Cerrynt followed suit, no longer asking questions as much, as she stared with awe at the rising mountains before her. The mere gain of altitude, though slow and cumbersome (limited by the need to bring horses to carry enough supplies for the journey), invigorated her, and it was hard to tamp down her excitement to match the solemnity of the others of the company.
They came late, and weary, to the path winding down, but even with her near slumber atop her horse, she was swept into amazement at that first sight of the valley. By the next day, after visiting her horse, sharing a smoked Bree-pike in the Hall of Fire (and being nearly paralyzed by anxiety when all and sundry celebrated the contribution, evoking disquieting reminders of her brash challenge and subsequent beat-down), and much meandering about the valley with Cesistya, she was wondering if a place like Imladris could be a home for someone like her. Surely she would never feel like she belonged amongst the Elves of this land, sometimes brash and even mischievous, sometimes solemn and studious, and with her having nothing particular to offer besides a sparse handful of techniques for fishing or climbing the Elves might not yet know, and a few stories. Was it really Rivendell itself that made her think she could live here, or just the lack of anywhere else she felt like she belonged? She might feel this way at every place she ever visited.
Perhaps the paths of Middle-earth themselves might be her home. Finding a new place to see, a new people to meet, new customs to learn, new stories to trade, every month. Would that feel like belonging, like having purpose; or more like simply accepting that she never would have a home, and thus making a different kind of life, one without a home?
