[Camp NaNo, Day 3] Lucidity

She was not looking for a husband when she came over to his house for tea.

She had, however, been looking forward to the visit itself before then, and had taken great pains to pack for it, even bringing her English-Sindarin dictionary. It was unnecessary, of course, as Tengwar was an alphabet and the manuscripts they had wanted to show her were all transcriptions of English, but a little Elvish never hurt anyone. Especially if the Elvish in question had examples of Tengwar calligraphy in its back pages.

The drive to his house was long, but somehow it passed in a blink, and she found herself at his front door before she knew it. Before she could raise her fist to knock, the door flew open. His brother greeted her with a smile that lit up his whole face.

"Hey there!"

"Hey yourself," she said. She returned the smile and offered a hand, which he shook enthusiastically.

"It's very good to meet you," he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Not a lot of people who enjoy Tengwar calligraphy these days."

"Not many at all," she agreed as she stepped inside. Her greeter led her down the hall, past pleasant-smelling floral arrangements and rustic paintings. It was a warm-feeling house, low-roofed and not grand or elegant, but extremely cozy in an earthy sort of way. It reminded her of a Hobbit-hole.

They came to the living room, which was decorated in the same way, with green and tan sofas. Inside, he was perched on a matching armchair, bent over a long scroll covered with what she recognized as Tengwar; orthographic mode, ring-inscription style, at least from what she could see. As they walked into the room, he immediately stood from his chair and walked over to them in quick, smooth strides.  On his face was an expression of immense joy, a kind she had never seen before.

She felt a tinge of unease.

"Hello!" he said, before she could speak. "I'm Thomas. It's good to meet you at last!"

A thought flickered, then faded from her mind. "It's good to meet you, too!" she said, smiling. "I take it that's the manuscript you want me to look at?"

"It sure is," he said. She followed him over to the table with the scroll. "Can you give me your opinion?"

"Yeah, I can," she said, leaning over the scroll. She blinked. It was all in the orthographic mode, pointed-formal style, from what she could see. She blinked again, then continued.

After a while, she glanced up and rubbed the ache out of her neck. Thomas was looking at her expectantly. "Well..." she began. She glanced back at the scroll. The letters were too rounded for the pointed-formal style, to begin, and he was using the wrong letters for the "th" consonant. She read it again. Oh... it was in the phonemic mode, not the orthographic mode. But then he was misusing the "arda" tengwa...

"It's great!" she said.

He grinned. She returned to the scroll, occasionally answering his queries. The scroll went on further than she had expected it to go. Finally, she reached the end, stood straight, and suppressed a groan when her back complained.

"How was it?" Thomas asked again. His brother came in from the kitchen, carrying a teapot and some teacups.

She couldn't remember what she had read. It was some sort of... poem. But to what? "Still great!" she said.

He grinned. They sat and had tea, and talked about Tengwar, and Tolkien, and other subjects. Finally, she looked at her watch. It was still the same time.

"Wow, the time's flown," she said. "How long have I been here?"

"Three days," Thomas said cheerfully as he poured himself some more tea.

Three days?! Alarm surged within her. But how-

She really needed to get back home. "Well, it's time for me to go, I guess," she said, getting up from her chair.

Thomas sat bolt upright. "But-"

"Wait!" his brother called.

"Thanks for the tea!" she called back.

She was halfway to the door when she heard Thomas cry her name, and footsteps thud after her. She turned, and felt her heart clench when she saw the wildness in his eyes. He fell to his knees in front of her, his mouth working frantically.

"Don't leave," he gasped. "Please... I love you. You're perfect."

"What? But I-" -don't even know-

"Please!" he cried. "Please! I can't live without you! Please, marry-"

"No," she said quietly. "I'm sorry, but I cannot."

He stared at her. Then he leapt to his feet. She cringed, but instead he ran the other way, back down the hall, vanished around a corner. Then she heard, like thunder, a door slamming, and a long, shrill wailing, almost inhuman in its grief. She knew immediately, with a sick feeling in her stomach, that it was Thomas.

His brother came down the hall, shaking his head. "What's wrong with him?" she asked.

All he did was look at her mournfully, still shaking his head. "He's been waiting for a long time," he said. "For years and years."

"For what?"

"For someone like you... for you." He looked at her even more sharply, and her stomach twisted. "For the perfect person. You're everything he desires."

"Go away," she said. She feels for the doorknob behind her.

"Why are you so cold? Can't you see he loves you, more than anyone in the world?"

"I said, go away." Where was the doorknob? Her hand hit metal that turned. She breathed in, sharply, then turned around, flung the door open, and sprinted though it.

Behind her, she heard the brother's voice. "You'll change your mind. I know you're not so cold of a person to let him suffer like that." The sun was going down. "We'll be waiting."


The drive home was longer than the drive to his house, but eventually, she made it back to her house. With surprise, she saw that there were still people around, even so late at night. Her heart began to thud.

She pulled into her driveway. Someone knocked on her car window--she jumped. She turned and saw that it was only her neighbor and friend, but her heart continued to hammer. Despite that, she rolled down her window.

"So, I heard you visited Thomas!" her friend said immediately. "How was it?"

Terrible, she thought, but was unable to say the word. "He asked me to marry him," she blurted out instead.

Her friend's eyes go round and she squeals. "Aw, congratulations! It's about time you got hitched!"

"No, I-"

"You really cut it close, girl--everyone else is-"

"I said no," she said. Her friend fell silent, and she considered rolling up the window.

"But, why? I mean, you're in your late--"

"That doesn't matter--"

"--and besides, the two of you would be so cute together--"

"That doesn't matter." She slammed her hand on the window switch. It shut far quicker than she expected, and when she looked back out, her friend was gone. She breathed.

"People these days..." she said out loud. "Can't ever understand why I never cared--"

She stopped. Who was she talking to? A memory rose to answer her, but it faded as she reached for it. She looked around. It was silent, silent except for the humming of her car. She felt something other than anger, other than fear--a name on the tip of her tongue, but beyond her reach. The silence continued.

She sighed and pulled into the garage.

Inside, she turned on every light and checked her closets. As she began to prepare for bed, her phone rang. It was her mother. She answered.

"Daugh-ter!" said her mother, in her usual sing-songy voice. "How are you?"

"Okay," she lied.

"I heard that you got a marriage proposal today." Her mother's voice changed tone. "Thomas is a good boy. Why didn't you accept it?"

She froze and looked around. Her skin crawled when she realized that every light in the house, except her bedside lamp, had burned out.

Her mother continued. "It's sad that a good girl like you has no husband at your age. You're kind, you're caring, you're pretty. Why can't you find a husband? Did I raise you wrong?" Her voice began to border on hysteria.

"Mom, I've told you before. I--"

"If you keep waiting, you won't be able to have children. I'll never see my grandchildren. Your mommy won't last forever, you know that, huh?"

"I don't want children!" It was the wrong thing to say.

"What's wrong with you?!" Her mother was screaming. "What kind of woman are you? You don't want love, you don't want children--"

She hangs up and sits on her bed, breathing heavily. She felt a light touch on her shoulder, a cool, feathery one. She flinched and glanced around. No one. She waited. Nothing.

Thoroughly miserable, she crawled into bed with her bedside lamp still on and pulled the covers over herself as far as she could, and stared at the ceiling.


Day came more quickly than she expected. Between one blink and the next, sunlight was filtering in through her blinds. She dressed and made breakfast, and stared out the back door.

Her doorbell rang. She stiffened, then ignored it. Then someone tapped her shoulder, roughly.

She sprung around. Her father was there, his face contorted with rage.

"What is wrong with you?!" he yelled. "You made your mother cry, do you know that?!"

She backed away. He grabbed her by the arm. She screamed and struggled--somehow, she broke away and began sprinting through the house.

There were others there. They looked up as she passed. She recognized them--from high school, from college, from her firm. Above her footsteps, she heard them speak.

"You're not complete, you know."

"You're gonna die alone, you know that?"

"Aren't you lonely? What's wrong with you?"

She turned down a hall and stopped. She was back at his house again. He was waiting for her, and with that same quick stride, he approached her.

"It's destiny, my love," Thomas said. His face was streaked with tears, and he was smiling, his eyes full of joy.

She was too tired to run anymore. She sank to her knees in front of him and began crying.


They were married.

She did not remember much of the ceremony. She remembered white, blinding white. A room full of cheering. Thomas's grip on her arm, the look in his eyes--joy, pure joy--when he kissed her. Afterwards, he held her close and said, "Neither of us will ever be alone again," and said, once again, that he loved her.

She felt sick.

The ceremony ran late into the night. When they arrive home, he gave her another kiss. Then he blinked twice, and yawned.

"I'm sorry, honey," he said as they reached their bedroom. He sat down on their bed. "But I'm awfully tired..."

"Don't worry," she managed to say. "Go to sleep without me. I'll be along soon."

He smiled a smile of pure contentment, and fell asleep immediately. She paused, then pulled the blanket over him. She sat down on the far edge of the bed and suppressed her sobs. Her husband shifted in his sleep.

Everyone had been happy for them, at least. She looked around at some of the wedding gifts she had received. A tea set. An enameled plate with her name and Thomas's. The blanket, too. She took a corner of it into her hand and smoothed it, and felt a prick. The down was coming out. She began tugging at the shafts that poked through the fabric, pulling out one gray feather after another, not caring about the damage to the quilt.

Finally, she ran out of shafts. She stared miserably at her hands, then at the window. Sunlight was starting to come through. She knew it wouldn't be long until Thomas woke. Behind her, he shifted again in his sleep and mumbled her name.

She stood from the bed, as quietly as she could, and walked out of the bedroom, still in her wedding dress. It occurred to her that it would be more practical to change before attempting to prepare breakfast, but she didn't care if the dress got ruined. She shut the bedroom door slowly, trying to keep the hinges from squeaking, then walked out into the kitchen.

He was waiting for her.

She froze--the world around her froze. Her breath caught in her throat. He looked calmly back at her, tall and poised and serene as always, meeting her bloodshot eyes with his clear gray ones.

"Salutations," he said.

"Gray," she breathed, and ran toward him, ignoring the over-long hem and train of her wedding dress. His expression remained mild, but as she hugged him, she felt him put his arms around her in return, tightly. He was wonderfully solid.

They remained that way for an indefinite time--she was no longer afraid of Thomas awakening. Finally, she let go. After a moment, he let go as well. "It's been years since I've seen you, Gray," she told him, her voice trembling. When was the last time she had seen him? She tried to remember, but her memory only returned fog.

He gave her a look. "It has actually been far less than that," he replied softly.

"Far less...?" Her head spun. She was steadied by a hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry. Only now was I able to reach you." Gray withdrew his hand and motioned toward a package on the table. "In any case, I have something for you."

With one deft motion of his hand, he turned the box around. There was something written on the far side, in black marker, in Tengwar. She squinted, and read:

For now the Kindler, Varda, the Queen of the Stars,
from Mount Everwhite has uplifted her hands like clouds,
and all paths are drowned deep in shadow;
and out of a grey country darkness lies
on the foaming waves between us...

"Namárië?" she asked, recognizing the poem. "Why?"

"Read it again."

She did so, and the lines blurred and reshaped themselves:

But if of ships thou now should sing, a ship shall come to thee,
A ship shall bear thee swiftly back across so wide a Sea.

"Those are the last lines of Galadriel's Song of Eldamar," she said, confused. "But they're..."

"Open the box."

She opened the box, her hands trembling. And when it was opened, she realized. Her heart leapt into her throat, and soared.

She turned to thank Gray, but he had vanished. It did not worry her--she would see him soon.

She walked towards the front door. Her wedding dress unraveled, fell into strips that peeled away and dissipated in the sun. She threw the door open, and walked through it.

And the world, at last, dissolved around her.


Later, she would tell Gray, "Thank you."

And he would say, in return, You're welcome.