bearerofthering:

To the Sea | Open

ℐ<sub>t was a warm, sunny Highday morning. The Shire was serene and quiet, and the air fresh with glittering beads of dew. Rolling dirt paths leading down from Hobbiton hill into the village were sloshed with rain and quickly carved out with deep puddles. A bleary-eyed Frodo Baggins awoke at daybreak and stretched his arms high above his head, letting out a loud yawn. Then, after a moment, he sprung from the sheets and leaped to his feet. 

“Today is the day!” he cried, rushing toward his closet and throwing clothing into his knapsack.
Today was the day Frodo would pack his bags, travel to the Buckland and take a trip down the Brandywine River. The river was familiar to Frodo. It wasn’t too far from Hobbiton, and it flowed toward Sarn Ford for several miles and eventually emptied out into the Sundering sea. Once he was there, Frodo would stand on the docks of the Grey Havens. He longed to see the ocean.</sub>

_{Often in dreams the Hobbit saw ocean waves rolling, white foam splashing, gulls crying overhead, endless clear, blue water. With each passing day his yearning to visit the sea for himself grew stronger. A year had passed since he last traveled from his quiet home in Hobbiton hill. As the weeks stretched on the former Ringbearer felt the insatiable itch for adventure return to him once more. He wondered… would he ever again meet Elves heading for the harbour beyond the white towers? If so, he would dearly like a chance to speak with them. He would ask them what awaited them in Valinor; what they knew about the blessings that awaited them in the Immortal lands. The quiet tides of the Western sea had often whispered in Frodo’s nightly dreams. Sometimes he felt they were beckoning him with gentle arms. Other times they felt like dark and dreadful noises of a yearning for peace; a fragile hope that was never intended for him.}

_{He swiped dark curls from his sweaty forehead as he finished packing the last of his maps, compasses, blankets, rope, and dry foods. Once his travel supplies were situated he took one final glimpse of the large empty foyer. He breathed a quiet farewell.
“Until we meet again, Bag end,” he whispered with a smile, and then he shrugged his packs up his shoulder and disappeared out into a sea of white fog.}

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_{Frodo took in the beauty of the Shire as he trekked down Hobbiton hill, wondering when he would see it again. A few days? A week? He was a complete novice at the business of sailing, and there was no estimate as to when he would return. But then Frodo’s mind turned to the thought of the ocean, and the slow bobble of a ship at sea. He forgot to worry about a return. Yes, this would undoubtedly be an adventure to remember.}

_{After a long, peaceful travel, Frodo finally found himself at the boat dock. Hobbits bustled to and fro about their mid-day business at the markets. Fishermen sold their wares on the shores. Frodo cleared his throat and shifted his packs over his shoulders. Now that it had come to it, he realized he would be gone for a very long time. He breathed out a quiet sigh, slipped his packs from his shoulders, and got straight to work loading his supplies in.}

Círdan was almost always found at the harbor, he preferred to be by the sea and in the thick of it rather than in a tower or an office to handle the comings and goings.  Galdor could help him with that fact but he did better when he could interact with others and actually help them along their way.  It was much more fulfilling.  

It was not out of the ordinary to have more than just the remaining Elves in Mithlond to be present at the markets.  They provided for some remaining trade routes with kingdoms and lands easier accessed by sea rather than the long and arduous journey over land and for that there were more exotic wares to be found.  It did draw attention and interests from others and Círdan welcomed the visitors readily.

He had not met the young Hobbit he spotted through a gap in the crowd yet the face was distinctly familiar.  Long ago he had caught a glimpse of him as he saw a way events might pan out, but they had been events he himself was not meant to have any part in nor was it his place to interact.  

The old Teler excused himself as he moved through the others that milled about, pausing for brief greetings here and there before he reached the young Hobbit.  He cleared his own throat to be sure he would not sneak up on him as he was distracted with his belongings.  "I do not suppose there is anything I might be able to aid you with?“ he offered, a kind smile in place.