To Travel With Wings

Silnar sat upon the beach, watching the stormy grey waves crash upon the sand. Casually, she sifted the fine, silky particles through her fingers. She felt that something important was going to happen today, as if all of her journeys were finally coming together. More and more lately she had begun to think of Imladris and all that awaited her there. Silnar knew that she was finally ready to commit her whole heart and soul to Glorfindel without any regrets. Something about the Avari had healed her, mended the rifts in her heart. Once more, she was whole, she was Silnar.

Glancing to her left, Silnar saw the tall, broad shape of Minyatúr moving toward her. She liked the wise and gentle leader of the Avari. He had so many stories and prudent words for her, always knowing when to speak and when to listen. Minyatúr reminded her so much of Gil-galad; in fact, the Avari leader had become somewhat like a paternal figure to her.

Minyatúr took a seat next to his newest friend and gently patted her hand in a gesture of hello.

“I love the sea like this, roiling and pitching. Soon there will be a storm to cleanse the land and bring life. As soon as the storm ends, my people will come with baskets and gather the fish that are stranded on the beach. When we have gained our fill, we shall throw the rest back into the water. It pleases Uinen that we do this.”

“I am sure that it does,” Silnar agreed, looking back out to the seas. “Somewhere, out there, are the Undying Lands. They wait for you, Minyatúr, how much longer will you stay here?”

Minyatúr was silent, and then said, “We wait for a sign, hinya. Then, my people will go.”

The sky above them began to darken and lightening ripped across the sky, causing claps of thunder that seemed to shake the earth. Minyatúr abruptly stood, grabbing Silnar by the arm.

“It has been a long time before a storm this great has come to us, we must hurry back for the shelter of the village!”

Silnar resisted. “No,” she cried, “This must be your sign! Brave the storm, Minyatúr!”

Once again, Minyatúr tried to wrestle Silnar away, but the nis would not go. Rushing for the waves, Silnar seemed illuminated in the darkness, as if all the light of the world rested on her. Minyatúr could not take his eyes from her as she raced into the water, her arms outstretched, her head flung up to the sky, and her mouth open in silent song.

As suddenly as they had started, the winds died and the waves settled. The darkness seeped away before the brightness of the sun. Minyatúr could not take his eyes off of Silnar. She struggled up the beach, her skirts heavy with sea water and her hair drenched from the rain.

“What is it Minyatúr, that you can stare at me so?”

“You must see for yourself, hinya,” his voice filled with awe. He led her up the beach and onto the path that led to the village, pointedly ignoring her questions. Bursting into the first tent he found, Minyatúr thrust her in front of the glass that served as a mirror. Silnar gasped when she saw herself.

Her entire being was encompassed by a nimbus of light. She felt the same, but there was a new beauty to her being, a wild and dangerous beauty, enhanced by her luminous glow. Silnar’s eyes filled with tears that fell softly down her cheeks.

“Why do you weep, hinya? A great sign has been given! You shall lead us to Aman!”

Turning swiftly to Minyatúr, Silnar opened her mouth and then closed it. The look of pure faith and trust stemmed her protests. There was so much belief that Silnar could not refute his claim.

Lamely she said, “I do not know the way. I do not know how.”

Hugging her to him, Minyatúr whispered, “It will come to you, hinya, in dreams. Pray to the Valar and they will answer their chosen one.”

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For the next week, Silnar steadily avoided the people of the village. New life had suffused the Avari as the story spread of Silnar’s experience. The villagers gave her such reverence when she passed that Silnar could hardly bear the looks of devotion and dependence.

For hours, Silnar would wander the sea shore, contemplating what her next action would be. Every time it seemed as if Glorfindel and she could finally be together, something happened to keep them apart.

“Are we not meant to be? Some one give me an answer please!”

As always, nature remained silent and no answer came. That night when Silnar knelt before her bed, before she would sleep, she gave in to Minyatúr’s advice.

“To whoever listens, Manwë, Varda, anyone, please, tell me what I must do. Give to me the direction I must take. I know not what to do. Every choice I make brings pain and death so I leave my destiny in your hands.”

Stretching out on her bed, Silnar fell into a deep and restful sleep, but she also dreamed.

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Minyatúr came into Silnar’s tent early in the morning. He was determined to get answers from her. She’d had enough time to think and pray; it was time for action. Minyatúr found Silnar awake and sitting on her bed, knees curled into her chest. She looked up as he entered, and Minyatúr saw the tearstains on her face.

“Why do you cry, hinya? Tell me what is wrong?”

Sniffling slightly, Silnar scooted over so that Minyatúr could sit. Rubbing her cheeks dry Silnar cleared her throat.

“I don’t think I have spoken much about my life to you, and I probably never will. There are so many memories and they are so painful. But I left behind a loved one in Imladris. I have been thinking of him so often lately and had been preparing to return to him. I was ready for us to unite and be as one. Then the storm happened and this wretched nimbus that will not go away. Anyway, I finally did as you said and prayed. Unfortunately, I did not receive the answer I wanted.”

“What answer did you want?” Minyatúr asked, unsure if he wanted to hear the answer.

“I want to return to Glorfindel, but what I want has never been the issue. I dreamed last night of leading the Avari to Aman. I will lead you in ships and it ended there. I don’t know what will happen once we reach Aman and I don’t know if I will ever see Glorfindel again.”

Fresh tears streamed down Silnar’s face and Minyatúr awkwardly patted her back. He had never dealt with tears before and was not sure what to do.

“What’s worse is that I want to lead the Avari to Aman, because they deserve peace and happiness, but all I can think of is how selfish I am. What if I can’t get back? What if I never see Glorfindel again? I will die; I will truly die if I am denied his presence.”

Minyatúr pulled Silnar into a hug and murmured to her, “Hinya, only you can decide your path. If you want to return to Glorfindel, then do so. It is your choice to make.”

“I know,” Silnar said, her voice slightly muffled, “But I have no control over the consequences of my actions. If I go against what the Valar clearly want, who knows what new punishment I will face?”

“Now, Silnar,” Minyatúr reproved, “Do you really think the Valar would be so cruel?”

“How can I know?” Silnar asked. “I have never encountered one before. I have never even spoken to one.”

Shaking his head, Minyatúr said firmly, “I don’t believe that the Valar, who waged war against Melkor to save their children, would ever cause one such as you, who is good and pure, pain.”

Quietly Silnar said, “You are right, mellon.” She sighed. “I will lead the Avari to Aman, for in my heart I know it is the right path, although not the easiest. Besides, it’s the least I can do for all of the help you have given me.”

Unable to form words to express his appreciation, Minyatúr settled for a long, warm hug. His people would finally be granted their passage to Aman.