Like the previous diary entry, Manadhlaer has written this one in a somewhat agitated hand; one might be excused for thinking a spot on this page was a tear.
Ai, Diary. It is all too much. I said before only what Ràolor had told me of his own plans, and perhaps those of Fàorië. I wrote, however, nothing of what he told me concerning the fate of Fingolrin. The two had been inseparable in days before this one, and neither would think of going into battle without the other at his side. However, a great rift has already cleft the world of the Hammer. Fingolrin has felt the call of the Sea.
It seems that these Land-elves, all of the Noldor and all of the Sindar, all who are not Teleri or their descendants, can hear the cry of a gull -- which can live very far inland, it turns out -- or smell salt brine on opening a shipping-cask, the tiniest little thing, and suddenly be wrenched with longing to sail Belegaer, the Great Sea to the west of the Blue Mountains where once stood fair Beleriand. And not only sail it, no. They must go to Mithlond, to the Grey Havens, and meet kind Círdan, the greatest shipwright yet living in this Age. (O Atye! I mean you no dishonor, only that you were cut down when you were younger than I am now.) And he must arrange for them a berth on one of the White Ships that sail the Straight Road home to Válinorë, the Blessed Land, where my parents have perhaps risen anew in fair bodies and even now walk about the great Swan-harbor.
Do not think I have not thought of it. I seriously considered this route myself, after Themodir fell. But this call, in a Noldo or a Sinda, cannot be long resisted. I did not go, in the end, because I have friends here, who kindly made for me a home among themselves, and because there is much yet to do to make sure that the Enemy will not touch them, nor those that in time inherit Endor from the Eldalië.
I do not know what it is like to fear the Sea all your life, and then to open your ears to its call, and go to it at once as if it were a parent or a lover. I grew up playing in its waves, on those very shores Fingolrin now seeks. And that is my personal tragedy, Diary. Fingolrin, even as Ràolor, called me sister: in this thing too they were alike. And he was courteous, and kind; and chivalrous to all he met; and well can I imagine why Lilleduil was so very taken with him. And now she, too, like me, like Norlië, must wait a terribly long time to see again him whom she loves -- for Fingolrin has already left the Valley.
But I would have told him of such sights! I would have told him, first, not to fear the tossing of the ship, for surely Círdan's crews are the finest sailors who ever saw Endor, and are blessed in the sight of the Valar; they know the Straight Road that mortal ships cannot find. Their compass is unerring. And he would see ever so many kinds of lingwë, such as the "flying fish," so named for their very great fins with which they leap above the waves. Indeed, as he draws closer to the true home of all Eldalië, his ship may be accompanied by a curious kind of fish we called the dolofinë, not knowing whether it had a truer name than that. It was like a whale, having smooth skin, and yet far smaller than most of such creatures. Its mouth turns ever upward in a smile, and they greatly delight in play. The mariners who went out of the harbor and came back again told tales of having their ships accompanied home by such beasts. O Fingolrin! I pray at least, that those who draw you to the home you may not leave again, will show you the merry dolofinë. Ayandil, who steered us on our little raft across the sea by the grace of Lord Ulmo, said, once we had landed, that a pair of these had followed us, one on either side. I believed him as I sank into dreams, for they are known to follow ships, and to have families even as we do.
Families... My brother, my poor lost brother! You are luckier than any of us, though you may know it not, as you double over your horse's neck with longing. For you will see my Themodir, and not just see him -- but when he is done with his time in Mandos, and comes out into the Undying Lands fine and happy and unwounded and strong, you will embrace him before I do. I could not do this, even in the dream my darling and I shared; our dream-shades passed right through each other.
Ai, Fingolrin! Say to him that we are near a cure to the Daegûr poison that took him away (although do not say we mean to test it on aurochs; this idea horrified even Daegond, who after all has come to care for his swan a very great deal, no matter how often he calls it "dinner"). Say to him that any "star upon my head" is made of my love for my husband, and accordingly I take care of his friends and mine as best I may -- that I took care of you and Ràolor, even to our last moments together; and Norlië, my fiery little gem, my sister from a different mother and father; and Tûr, who also sorrows for his lost friend; and Daegond, who now gives me the rough embrace of a brother -- a strange one, aye, but his heart is true. The friends I have made, my brothers and sisters within and without Vanimar, are the "stars" in my crown, if any. (I do not list Caun Danel, for the truth is, she takes care of me.)
[Note: "Atye" is one form of "Daddy" in Quenya]
