They reined up at the cliffs’ edge. Below, the Edhellond ruins lay quietly beside the sea. The abandoned port sprawled lifeless under a brilliant sun navigating across a cloudless blue sky. The ancient Elven structures were immune to the invigorating sea breezes; only dust raised up in them. Cutch, Ardanion, and Teahesto could imagine the sounds that would have once echoed up to their overlook. They would have been like those enlivening the Dol Amroth docks. Instead, only seabirds called, and the breeze sighed through time worn cracks in ancient walls. Atop one domed structure, the statue of an intricately carved Elf-maid, now worn smooth by centuries of weather, posed leaning to the West, as if frozen in anticipation of her first step towards a final destination.
“It must have been quite busy in its day”, Ardanion commented, an offhand remark that stirred Teahesto from his quiet contemplation.
“Aye, it was alive with fishing boats and coastal trading schooners, and on occasion there would be ships waiting to carry pilgrims to the West.” The Elf captain returned his gaze to the cemetary-like settlement. Besides the white birds sailing above, the only other signs of life were unkempt grasses and pale-leafed trees stood up like artfully carved gravestones.
Cutch dismounted to assemble them a mid-day meal from his saddlebags. “Interesting word, ‘pilgrim’. Is it a sacred call to make that journey?”
The captain and the boy also dismounted. “It is”, Teahesto replied, “and more than that. It is deep within the Immortal spirit, like a migratory urge. Once felt, it can be resisted for a time, but eventually the visions of faraway Valinor seem more real than the lands here, and one must take to the Straight Road.”
Ardanion looked about vainly for something to fuel a campfire, settling instead for spreading his blanket down for them to sit upon. “Do you feel that urge?” Ardanion asked with adolescent bluntness. Cutch paused to look at the Elf.
Teahesto regarded his Mortal companions thoughtfully, hoping to respond so they might understand. As he removed his riding gloves he said “Personally, I can only say that I have always known that my destiny would lead me to the West, should I survive my time in these lands. But the call? Not yet, not when most of my Ossirand sank beneath the waves, not when the seas again were a godly weapon used to destroy Numenor, nor when this port was abandoned by my Immortal kin. Even the defeat of the last Dark Lord, which could have heralded the remainder of us to our rest, did not awaken my call. It seems I still have a purpose in this Middle Earth, and I wouldn’t be surprised to be among those on the last ship to Valinor.”
Cutch listened to their conversation as he spread a simple meal across Ardanion’s blanket, bread, cheese, pears, venison jerky, and water. He hoped Ardanion would not ask the next logical question but knew that his son’s probing mind could not resist.
“Will Naneth go West?”
The three sat together on Ardanions blanket before Teahesto offered his thoughts. “Your father and I have heard your mother confidently say that her future is forever here, now, following the long line of her mortal descendants.” He did not add that other Immortals had said such things before, but finally followed the irresistible call. Instead, he looked to Cutch for a comment.
“He speaks true, son. Your mother thought very carefully about that before she agreed to our betrothal, and I have tried my very best to help make the Enclave as much of a Valinor for her as I could, knowing she might never see those western shores.”
Their conversation paused as they ate the simple fare, their gazes wandering across the abandoned Elven port below.
“Will I feel the urge?”, Ardanion asked, breaking the silence. Teahesto blinked at the question. The boy was by blood more Elf than Man, but his appearance showed none of his Immortal heritage.
“I cannot say, Ardanion”, the Elf answered. “Never in my long years escorting pilgrims do I recall a Mortal among them, or any offspring of mixed blood. I could depend on how you choose to live, either as a Mortal or as an Elf. Perhaps that is a question Elrond could answer for you, should our travels take us to Imladris. In my personal experience, only full-blooded Elves hear the call. I must wonder if that is why she is here.” He inclined his head toward the ruins.
Cutch and his son snapped their gazes toward Edhellond. They could not see the Elf maid until Teahesto pointed her out, white-robed, fair-skinned, and golden-haired, mostly obscured by the intervening foliage and standing half behind a crumbling wall. She stood quietly, staring at them.
“Ada!”, Ardanion exclaimed, scrambling to rise. Cutch placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, easing him back down. “Hold, son.”
Teahesto waved to her, and she returned the gesture, but with one that both acknowledges and signals to stay away. She turned and moved further into the ruins, her bare feet striding with calm confidence across broken pavement toward the statue, until all sight of her was lost.
“Captain! Shouldn’t we….” Ardanion began to urge. The Elf shook his head, though his gaze never left the spot from which she vanished.
“Some unknown things are best left alone”, Teahesto said with gentle reverence.
“Aye”, Cutch added. “You should let them approach you to reveal themselves.”
Ardanion frowned at his father. “How do I know which ones?”
Cutch draped an arm around the boy’s shoulder. “Patience, son. And pay humble attention.”
