((Continues on from Wandering:Pembar ))
“Have you lost all sense,” Estarfin said. “We cannot travel there. The land is no more.”
I was not taken aback by his compliment. Indeed, until lately I would have said the same to any who asked me, “Can we journey to Cuiveinen?" But upon more recent travels I had been pondering the future, as well as looking to the past.
He swung up onto the back of his horse, Gilastor I now recalled. “If it were anyone but you, I would say you are a fool. What is this in your mind that we find the land of the first of us? To what end? It does not exist now save in the memory of those who were there.”
“I merely think we should travel East a way, that we ride the trails they rode, when seeking the West.”
“To what end?”
He was frustrated with me. He was not understanding. So be it. I put a foot in the stirrup and swung myself onto the back of Pelorian.
“Understanding,” I replied. “And as a sort of challenge. Did our King not wish us to return to our home? “In Cuivienan sweet ran the waters under unclouded stars, and wide lands lay about , where a free people may walk. There they lie still and await us who in our folly forsook them.” (1) said he.
Estarfin looks at me in amazement, and that not of the good kind. “That was Ages past. The lands are no longer there.”
I urged Pelorian on at a trot, and did not look back at Pembar as we departed. It had been a place of good memories, but it was never my Cuivienan. Estarfin followed, the weight of his disbelief almost a physical force upon my shoulders.
“King Feanor led many of the Noldor back to these shores, because he believed we should be in the place Illuvatar had set us, and not the place Manwe had taken us. The wisdom of his actions can be debated, but he at the least had a strong point. The Noldor belong in Middle Earth, for reasons known to the One. Yet none of our people, at least to my knowledge, ever walked those shores. In that, our Princes failed.”
We were past the fields of holly bushes and out onto open plain of High Hollin again. In the distance lay the ruins of Barad Morlas. I pointed ahead. “We pass by there, but I am heading for Western Eregion, and what was once the home of the Mirdan.”
“Have you not just come from that place?”
I nodded to Estarfin. “Indeed I have. But this is the one place I would have you see, and share my memories. After that we may travel where you will. Though Mirkwood is my own preference.”
“I follow you, for now.” he replied. I pondered a little at his choice of words. I did not think he was being evasive, more, he did not know if and when he would be summoned back to Imladris by Lord Veryacano. I also knew that, although we had begun to jest with each other again, this was no longer a game. If there was to be any chance of a future, we needed to understand each other, and communicate better than we hitherto had managed.
He seemed to enjoy the ride though, Gilastor covered the rough ground with ease, matching pace with the lighter, and generally swifter, Pelorian. The sky was blue, the air fresh with a scent of thyme for the most part. But as we drew closer to Barad Morlas we could see movement among the ruins of that great house.
Estarfin slowed a little, pointing out wolves as well as some very rough looking men. “They defile the place’” he said with a frown. “The guards need keep better watch.”
Now in times past I think we would have repeated our earlier action at Pembar, though there were at least three times the number of opponents. But I had somewhere, something I wanted him to see. I hesitated.
“Do we clear the place of such filth?”
I shook my head. “Nay Estarfin, for we could be at this all day every day for weeks. And there are likely to be orcs at the least in the place we head for.”
He looked at me, then nodded. “As you wish. But I am still concerned for your judgment regarding Cuivienan.”
We rode a little faster then, with me taking the lead, until we were well past the ruins that I remembered so well. In part I felt pain and sorrow whenever I passed that place, as I recall the family who dwelt there, and their friends. It was oft hard for me to ride through the memories of this land.
As we drew closer to Swanfleet I slowed again, and found he had been keeping close eye on me. Better to speak soon than let him wonder I thought.
“Behold the bridge to the ruins of another place I once dwelt.” I pointed ahead and slowed Pelorian to a walk. “The Halls of the Mirdain and the home of Celebrimbor.”
He slowed in turn, looking over the river to the ruins upon the hill. He frowned.
“It does not look as though it was easily defensible.”
“You are correct,” I replied, sliding down from the back of my mount, and leading her slowly on. “At that time there was little threat. Until there was.”
“Forgive me, but that seems a little …shortsighted for the son of Curufin?” Now we were walking, and as oft was the case, I had to lengthen my stride to keep up.
“He was overconfident, shall we say? Who was there to challenge him?” It was my turn to shrug. “He had the blessing of Gil Galad. But matters turned swiftly once he realised he had been used.”
Estarfin nodded, his eyes a little darkened. He held up a hand. “If you will excuse me a moment.”
I had heard it too. But it was only a man in the reeds. Two at most. Some of the Dunlendings had taken again to this area, thinking it theirs.
Estarfin walked in that direction, spoke a few words, then returned.
“They will not bother us," said he, matter-of-factly.
I had not thought they would bother us anyway, but I knew Estarfin’s dislike of the Second born. At least it seemed no swords had been involved.
“Come, walk over the bridge with me.” I asked
He nodded, and reached down absent-mindedly, picking a few of the purple flowers to roll between his armoured fingers.
I took some deep breaths, inhaling the rich fragrance of those blooms as I looked to the sky, and the slow approach of dusk.
“You have never been in this part of Eregion, Estarfin?” I asked.
He shook his head, eyes still on the remnant of the flowers. “I have not travelled widely, as you already know. I rarely wander.”
Once over the bridge, we walked along the paved road, which still remained. Both horses followed at a distance. Both were as alert as their riders for anything hiding in the approaching ruins.
Now I pointed ahead to a few walls alongside the river. “Those are the remains of the apprentices' dwellings. Mine was the third house.” Those small but practical terraced homes brought a lump to my throat. Happy memories of seeing my dedication to my craft develop, and be recognised. Friends….and one of the last remnants of ‘family’.
“Which ruins?”
I pointed again and Estarfin looked long at the half remaining dwellings I had also called home.
He turned then and nodded. “But the air here is not tainted. It is fresh and sweet.”
I nodded too, remembering. I remembered the fire here that had consumed so much, that I had espied only from a great distance. I had known friends were dying, and yet I was hurried along by others seeking to save me. Why? Why had I lived and so many others had not?
“Danel!” he spoke gently but firmly, calling me back to the present.
“It is just memories. The land is still sad, but no longer tainted with curses. At least not for the most part.”
We walked a little further in silence then found a path that followed closer to the river. By then the stars were just beginning to show in the sky, and I saw Estarfin raise his eyes to the heavens, his sharp features softening as he lost himself, a little, in their beauty.
“This was the artisan quarter. Other crafts were pursued. Stone masons, and painters and furniture makers. It was a lively place. Much trade with some of Narvi’s folk, and not all gems and metals.” I tried to paint a small picture of my own, with words, that he too could ‘see’.
“It seems more ..substantial,” he said.
“It was a highly practical place, but still no fortress.” I paused. “But you know what some of our folk are like. We think we are invincible, even after seeing so very many slain. Here was beauty to challenge the most inspired, and creations new. But all things pass, or seem to…”
“Not all things….”
“No?”
A hint of a smile graced his face. “The stars still shine, after all.”
I looked at him a moment more. For that moment he was almost the youth again. He was almost alight with a purer flame than that of later years.
“You still love the stars,” I part stated, part asked.
Estarfin looked confused at my question. “What is there not to love about them? They are a nightly reminder to us…”
“Of who we are,” I finished the sentence. “We are the people of the stars.”
“They were a gift from Tintalle herself, or so I was told as a child. They have always been there. A constant in this world.” Estarfin bent down to pick up a pebble. He threw it casually into the river below, watching the ripples spread out.
“I have wandered far more than you have, I suspect. Some skies were…are tainted. Those up in Angmar, for instance.”
Estarfin shrugged.
“But always there are stars above. Even when we see them not.”
He nodded, but some of the star-given light faded. He was who the Ages had made him. I accepted that willingly.
“Come. We can leave the horses here for now. We can sit nearer the water’s edge and have a clearer view of the sky? The ruins of the Forge will keep till the morning.”
He paused, then nodded, and followed me down the slope, across the rougher bank to find a good clearing among the reeds.
Time to explain again, I thought. “You know when our Princes came here, they wanted to return to the lands of our birth. At least, that was the wish of Feanor. But he perished, and our Princes…failed.”
Estarfin flashed me a glance. “I know what happened. I do not know if that was why they came.”
“I speak again of Cuiveinan, which is lost.”
So I have heard. Broken in the changing of the world.”
Gaze met gaze. Neither of us were angered. Both, I believed, sought to understand.
“I do not say we may ever find it, unless the world is broken again, perhaps. I suspect it as sunken as Beleriand.”
“I have heard it said the waters were even more beautiful than Helevorn,” he replied, looking to me with interest . He was wondering where my words were leading.
“So have I heard”
“Though I find it hard to believe, if I am honest.”
I smiled. “Consider, if you will. As we are to remain in these lands, is it not a worthy task to seek out all we may of the place our ancestors awoke in? Eru Illuvatar placed us there, in that spot. And although Morgoth twisted and ruined what he could, yet do I ponder, we were meant to be there.”
Estarfin looked unsure.
“I mean not this day, nor any day in the near future. But what if we could find the purpose our forefather’s failed to find? Or is that too large a quest for you, son of Thargelion?”
A hint of a smile crossed his features. He would not back down from any challenge he thought ‘reasonable’.
“It is so far away, is it not?”
“The physical Cuiveinen, indeed. Far to the East it would be. Beyond lands any remember. But it is not only the location I speak of, but the idea. A return to what joy and innocence is yet possible. For us..a return to those ways of living that blessed us in Thargelion.”
He shrugged, still considering my words. “I am no scholar.”
“Neither are you a fool. You know we are in need of purpose as much as I. Please. Hold it in thought?”
He nodded, though still appeared a little troubled.
“I will settle for the stars, at least for now.” I drew our talk of Cuivienen to an end.
(1) The Silmarillion : Of the Flight of the Noldor p88. J R R Tolkien
