DISCLAIMER: Valinor and environs belong to Professor Tolkien, as does Maglor, and in fact the entire Silmarillion. Bob, Mary and Joe are still mine.
Endings, Beginnings
Maglor looked around at the town Ghardl's people had built. It wasn't much - not when compared with the great cities of the First Age, or even with the city the Secondborn had built at Lothlórien. But it was something, and it had room to grow. Maglor wasn't gifted with foresight, but he had a feeling in his heart that the settlement he had helped bring into being would one day be something great.
At his side, the short man - Maglor had a sudden thought: Maybe they're related to the Halflings! - seemed to guess his thoughts. "It is good land, Singer," he said, in Quenya far more fluent than that he had spoken before. "Almost it seems as fair as the Far West is reputed to be."
"Almost it is," Maglor said sadly. "Almost, but not quite."
Ghardl touched the elf's arm lightly. "My people will see it someday, my friend, and, if the Immortals allow, we two will meet again at last."
Maglor sighed. He had tried to explain what he was doing to Ghardl's tribe, but it seemed it still hadn't registered. Still, they knew enough to do their part, which… "Is it finished?" he asked.
Ghardl nodded. "The pit is fully dug, and you were correct -- the rock goes down far enough. We will not lack for space to carve in for many generations."
"The floor is level? The map is visible?"
"The map is not visible," Ghardl said concernedly. "You know this."
Maglor laughed softly. "Then the space. The space is visible."
"It is. And," he raised a hand to forestall Maglor's next question, "the letters are accessible, and the other inscription, the instruction stone, is prominently placed by the entrance. All is prepared, Singer."
"Then it is my time at last." Lifting his harp, Maglor took one last look around. "I will miss this place," he said softly.
"And it will miss you," Ghardl assured him. "The passing of the last of the Immortals will leave this world much diminished. But, if it must occur…"
"It must," Maglor informed him, and began his last song. He played as he walked slowly down into the pit, the people of Ghardl surrounding him in silence, and when he finished, he lay his harp carefully on the floor and breathed his last.
The mists still surrounded the Sinda Cirya, so it was some time before the passengers realised that they were once again on the water. Mary Cloud only looked down by chance, and even then wasn't sure of what she'd seen. "Bob," she said, "come look here." When Robert Taylor was at her side, she pointed. "I can't quite tell, but do those look like waves to you?"
Bob frowned. "They might be... with this fog, it's hard to-"
There was a loud splash from near the front of the ship, and Joe Nesmith's voice said, "They're waves, all right."
Bob and Mary exchanged a look, and then walked to the prow of the ship, where Joe was standing. "What did you drop?" Bob asked.
Joe shrugged. "Empty water bottle. We've got enough of them, after all."
Mary scowled at him, but refrained from saying anything. Bob peered out into the fog, and said, "Can anyone else see that?"
"See what?" the other two asked in unison. Bob shook his head.
"I can't be sure. Some kind of light..."
"The sun?" Mary asked, halfway between sarcasm and desperation. The mists had taken their toll on her.
"I don't think so," Bob replied. "It's too white, too... directed."
Joe suddenly looked thoughtful. "I think I know what it is," he murmured, "and it means we're close."
"Did you plan on letting the rest of us in on the secret?" Mary asked caustically, but Bob waved her silent and pointed.
"Look."
The three peered out once again, trying to make sense of the vague shadow that had appeared on the horizon, and then...
Then the mists fell away, the sun came out, and the Undying Lands were spread before them, white shores on a sea of glass. The mighty Watchtower of Taniquetil stabbed upwards into the heavens, and on the ocean before them the white ships of the Teleri floated with billowing sails between the Swanhaven and the Lonely Isle. They had arrived.
And it's done. At last. Believe me, the irony of my note last chapter has not escaped me. But it is finished, after - good grief - two and a half years. I apologise sincerely for the delay.
As I wrote this chapter without reference to my notes, it's possible that this isn't exactly the ending I envisioned. But what does that matter? It works, that's all that matters.
To anyone looking for conclusions to any of my other ongoing stories... well, okay, there's only really one. Darkness Rising. I do have four (or possibly five, now, I forget) more chapters all ready to upload, but after that it runs into a bit of a rut. So we'll see. I might not forget this time.
Cloaked Eagle