3. Chapter 2
Arda had changed so much since he was a child. The lands he knew and loved were now below the Great Sea. That is why he stayed on the coast, never moving inland. These shores were all that was left of the world he knew. He was of an age long gone.
From what he gleaned from the few he had had contact with - all Edain - there was an Elf-witch guarding some woodlands, always a welcome at the Last Homely house (run by the wisest of Elves), and an ancient Shipwright who built remarkable swan-like ships. He knew them all, well. A sad smile ghosted over his lips upon hearing Altariel (Galadrial) called a witch. She always did have a power about her. He wondered how she dealt with the memories. She had been there, too. She was party to the Kinslayings, though her blade never ran red. Did it haunt her as it did him?
Elrond’s success pleased him most. He always knew that Elrond would rise above others. He wished he could see the elfling he had taken as his own. He knew that Elrond ruled with a fair and just hand. His kindness and compassion was immeasurable, despite the trials of his life.
The most painful news was of the Great ships he would never sail upon. Now the sea-longing only mocked him, reminding him of his foolish pride. Never again would he see his birth land. Now he wished he had stayed behind. His father’s ire would have been nothing compared this torment.
Maglor sighed. The past played over and over in his head. Could he have made things different? What if he had stood firm and not let familial love and pride blind him? Why did Elwig leave her sons behind with no one to care for them? Was it all part of the Valar’s plan? Did some good come from his time with her twins? Maglor dropped his head to his knees. His mind spun and hurt from all this thinking. The questions never were answered. Now, he was faced with more questions about the future, the answers eluding him.
“It must have something to do with the Edain,” he said aloud. “No elf would take help from a son of Fëanor.” His once proud eyes blurred again from tears. “You must be wrong!” He shouted to the wind and waves. “No one needs me!” Maglor sobbed. The Valar were wrong. No one needed him.
The sunset and the moon rose on the distraught figure, sitting at the point of the lonely jetty.
Lindir had left as planned, just as the sun crested the surrounding mountains. Those who knew he was leaving met him in the courtyard to say their good byes.
“I hope you find what you are seeking, meldir.” Erestor whispered with a smile.
‘Not a what, a who.’ Lindir thought. The young minstrel nodded to the group, mounted, and with a final wave flew through the gate. This was it. He was on his own in this venture. Lindir had no idea where to look for the great bard. Along the coast was all he could find, and there was a lot of coast to search. With his sliver hair flowing behind him, Lindir straightened in the saddle. He would not give in to discouragement.
The mare carried him swiftly beyond the boarders of Imladris. He had been away before, but only to Mirkwood once, and Lothlorien. However, those trips had offered companionship. Patting the mare’s neck he chuckled, “Well Hithlain, I am to be the only company you will have for a time.”
The bay nickered and shook her head as if saying, ‘And I am your only company, too.’
As the sun began to set, Lindir found a small patch of moss below the trees, and set up his camp...well, sleeping area at any rate. Lindir removed the pack and saddle from his horse and let her run free. Imladris was not so far away and the night would be moonless so Lindir decided to light a small fire. He spread his blanket out, and sat down with his pack.
‘Hmm, this is odd,’ he thought as his pack fell open. He pulled out a scroll sealed with an imprint he never saw before. ‘Wonder who packed this?’ Setting it carefully back in his bag for the moment, Lindir finished eating the fresh food that the cook had packed for tonight. He had tried to decline, but the old elf would not hear of it. “You will be living on Lembes for who knows how long. Tonight you will eat food.” Food was an understatement. Lindir discovered that not only did she pack meat, cheese, and bread but also grapes, an apple and several of her infamous sugar rolls. A small flask was filled with wine. This night Lindir ate a feast.
After packing away what little was left - saving the apple and a sugar roll for breakfast - he stoked the fire, and sat on his bedroll. Carefully, he removed the mysterious scroll. Lindir new all the insignias of the nobles in Elrond’s house. This symbol belonged to none of them, atleast it was not used for diplomatic papers. The wax was a beautiful sapphire blue. The emblem showed an eagle flying. Reaching into his pack again, Lindir pulled out his journal and charcoal. Diligently he drew a replica of the seal. He would ask Lord Erestor about it when he returned.
‘This is it,’ he thought as he broke the seal. It's script
was the most beautiful he had ever seen, and the ink was of gold. ‘No one uses
this ink unless it is for an invitation or such.’ The minstrel was fairly
certain it was not an invitation. Turning toward the fire, he began to read:
To find what your heart desires,
Look south to the Sea and the sound of the Lyre.
A quiet cove the Edain know
There alone you must go.
There to find the melody pure,
There to find a heart to stir.
Lindir placed the scroll back in his pack along with his journal. He knew it was a clue to finding Maglor, but who knew who it was he was looking for? He had not entrusted that knowledge to anyone. Curling up to sleep, the minstrel thought about his next course of action. “South,” he muttered before drifting off.