The Shipwright

The sons of Elrond were still young when they saw the sea the first time. Their mother had taken them west, to stay at the Havens. Much of her own youth had been passed in Belfalas, by the mouths of Anduin, and the sea-longing was strong in Celebrían.

For the twins it was not so. They would look sometimes at the West, but the Call was to them a gentle murmur. They were aware of it, but it did not trouble them or unsettle their peace, and that remained so ever after. Such was the heritage of their mortal blood, for them the West had no power to summon, only to beckon faintly. That was a thing they would come to understand long after, for now they played by the shore quite happily.

There was a day once when Elrohir was exploring the cliffs and Elladan had stayed behind alone, watching Círdan sanding down a spar. There was no part of ship making in which Círdan was not skilled, from the first design to the stitching of the sails, and none that he felt beneath him. Círdan was vigorous, despite the lines on his face, and Elladan wondered at this, for it was not so with those of the Dúnedain he had seen who looked like Círdan. It occurred to him that he had never seen an elf who looked like Círdan at all.

 Master Círdan,” he said.

“Yes, Elladan?”

“Why is it you look old like a mortal, Master Círdan? I’ve never seen another elf look old?” As soon as he had said it he wondered if Círdan would be offended, but he did not seem to be. 

“Ah,” he said. “Well, how much do you know of elven fading, Elladan?” 

Elladan frowned. “Is that when an elf dies of a broken heart, like Lúthien in the story?” 

“No indeed, although mortals sometimes confuse the two. No, fading is something else altogether. A broken heart has nothing to do with it. It is a thing which will come, soon or late, to all elves that have lived long in Middle-earth. 

“One form is that the spirit consumes the body, so that it at last becomes insubstantial. Some will talk as if it is the only form, but it is not. For the elven spirit has power over the body, as you will have been taught. The body eventually begins to wear in the air of Middle-earth, but an elf with a mind to do so can shape the form the wearing takes. For some the body becomes insubstantial. For others more like the body of a mortal.” 

“So that is why you look aged? You have begun fading?” 

“That is why,” said Círdan. “I do not trouble myself over some changes in appearance. It prevents me from doing nothing that I wish to.” He looked down on the spar on which he had been working and smiled. 

“But Grandmother and Grandfather have not aged,” said Elladan, “And they are not -” he sought for a word, “dissolved?” 

“I have dwellt in Middle-earth much longer than your grandparents, Elladan.” 

“Then you must be much older,” said Elladan in surprise. He was used to thinking of his grandparents as amazingly venerable.

 “Indeed.” 

“Would you grow young again if you went to Valinor?” 

“Perhaps. Fading has not come to Valinor yet. The elves are divided on whether it will.” 

“Then why don’t you go West?” 

“I have a part to play. I will see Valinor when the time is right, but that time will not be until the sailing of the Last Ship. I am the Shipwright, and I will remain as long as I am needed.” 

“Oh.” Elladan did not think he understood that. Then something else occurred. “If you are very old, did you come on the journey from Cuiviénen?” The Great Journey was a legend astonishingly ancient. 

“I did.”

 “Then can you tell me something?” Elladan asked eagerly. “I always wanted to know, what happened to the three first elf leaders who awoke. What happened to Imin and Tata and Enel? Why didn’t they lead their people on the journey?” 

“There were not many of the first elves left by then,” Círdan replied. “There were many dangers in the first elf home, and they did not know well how to protect themselves. There grew up a custom that the most dangerous work, such as hunting far afield, would be undertaken by the oldest Elves, who had had the longest lives and seen all their children grow. And wasting, as we called it, the death from sickness of the soul, that came on our people more often in that time, and that too was more likely to strike the oldest.” 

“So what happened to the first leaders?” Elladan persisted. Círdan smiled, and laid aside his work to sit down on a hunk of as yet unworked wood.

 “Imin was killed by a wild boar. Iminyë, his wife, lived to make the Journey. Tata and Tatië died in a fight with the creatures you would call orcs. Ingwë was Imin’s grandson, but Finwë was not of Tata’s line.” 

“And Enel?”

 “Enelyë, his wife, was among the disappeared. Ones who vanished, perhaps slain by orcs or beasts, but there were fears of worse fates.” Círdan looked grim for a moment. “She went to hunt and never returned. Then Enel was greatly grieved, for he loved her dearly.” 

Elladan nodded. “I know how it happened. The elves awoke two by two, and the men awoke first, and looked on the stars, then they awoke the wives, so the women saw the faces of their husbands first.” 

“Well, that’s how men told the story later!” Círdan chuckled softly, then grew serious again. “But Enel awoke beside Enelyë certainly, and they loved. And she was lost. Enel did not waste, but he lost all desire to lead his people. He gave the leadership to his daughter then, when she too was lost, to his daughter’s daughter’s son. That was Elwë, who you would know as Thingol.” 

Elladan nodded, fascinated. “Thingol was descended from Enel?” 

“Indeed he was. When he went to Valinor Elwë gave the leadership to his brother Olwë in his absence. Then when he returned and urged his people to go west Enel went with them. But by then his people were forgetting he had ever been Enel. They called him Nowë instead. 

“The journey was a hard one, and long one. The land you call The Wild now, that is far tamer than the land was in those days. Many who set out never reached Beleriand. And then, when they were almost in sight of the sea, Elwë was lost.”

 “Not forever!” said Elladan. 

“No, but that was not known to his people then. They searched, year on year, they searched, and the loss could not be understood easily, for the land was the safest of any they had crossed; the creatures of Morgoth had not reached those parts yet and there were few fierce beasts even. Then at last Olwë gave his brother up for lost and he went on to the sea.

 “Then in time the Valar sent the island for the Teleri. But Enel was reluctant to embark and leave Elwë, whom he loved greatly. So he searched again, and others with him, and though Olwë sent to say the Valar would wait no longer still he delayed. Too long. He and those with him were left behind. 

“Then Enel thought to build ships. The Teleri had already been builders of boats beside Cuiviénen, and he had begun to use those skills again by the sea. He thought that though he and his people were forsaken by the Valar they could yet sail to the West by the achievement of their own skill.

“But Ulmo came to Enel and he warned him that the Sea was greater and fiercer than he dreamed, and no ship of his making would be able to brave it for many a long year yet. And he said the Valar would not send again, but if Enel had patience the one who was lost would yet return. And in a time in future he said all elves might have need of Enel’s skills.

 “So Enel dwelt by the sea, and he made ships. There were no others among them who remembered the first awakening, and by the end of the wars against Morgoth there were barely any who had endured the journey. Those all went west by the time the Second Age was ended. And so his people, who had called him Nowë, in time forgot that name too. Already by the time the Noldor returned the name was falling out of use. They called him the Shipwright, and only that.” 

Elladan caught his breath. He had been absorbed in the story, but now he stared at Círdan in wonder. Círdan was a word for Shipwright, that he knew. And he had never heard anything of Círdan’s family. Was it possible?

 Círdan looked back at him and smiled, and Elladan was almost breathless at the sheer depth of years and memory he saw in the Shipwright’s eyes. The question trembled in his mind but he did not ask it. 

“I build the ships,” Círdan said softly. “I watch the realms and princes rise and fall. I see the wars, and the times of peace. I am the Shipwright, and I will be so until my ships are needed no more.”

 “And then?” asked Elladan, only just aloud. 

“And then? Not even I can say. How many of those I have loved will I see restored to life in Valinor? I hope, Elladan, I hope.”

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