"This is folly, and you know it." His brother's ever-present scowl only deepened as he spoke, which probably had the opposite of its intended effect, considering the silk blindfold which hid his brother's glare. "Our time to meddle in what happens in the lands across the sea has long drawn to a close. Even Ulmo has withdrawn most of his power from the waters that flow in Middle Earth. Stay here. Take care of your wife and those who come to you for respite. Govern your realm and enjoy the peace while it lasts."
"I don't expect you to understand, Námo." He sighed and continued pacing around the clearing they both stood in, deep in the gardens that bore his name. "You are Máhani, you and sister both. Both of you possess a strength that I will never know, and I want to see the world beyond the seas while it is relatively quiet. I want to know the people, understand their ways, to see what they have made from the ashes of the threat they have vanquished. I want to see them before they disappear forever. There is beauty in the small things, though I know you seldom see it for the visions that obscure all else."
"You saw the eastern lands when we marched on Angamando. Was seeing the children tear themselves to shreds on the blades of His abominations not enough?"
Irmo's eyes darkened in a glare severe enough to rival his brother's, and the two stood frozen for some time before he spoke again.
"I said I do not expect you to understand. I do not want your blessing, or your permission. I don't need it. I want to live among the children for a time, to exist as they do and experience their culture. I want to see what they can make on their own, without our interference. I want to see them as Oromë did when he found the first born in the early days. And it is as you said, even Ulmo has withdrawn from the waters there. Who else will watch them, and record for the ages how the men of the west rose from the ashes of destruction to achieve the same greatness as their forebears?"
"The sons of Elrond are still unaccounted for--"
"And not even you, the great Doomsman of Arda, who sees the mind of Our Father, can know their choice!" Irmo raised his voice, scattering the sparrows from the trees above them in an uncharacteristic show of anger. "They may still yet seek to be counted among the race of men, at which point your argument will have dismantled itself."
Námo did not immediately answer, and his little brother took advantage of the silence to cross the clearing and jab his finger into the elder's chest.
"I am going. And you of all people will not stop me."
In the silence that often fell as he walked the dusty roads of Middle Earth, Tinuben relived the memories of the last conversation he had with his brother before leaving the Blessed Realm. He couldn't call himself Irmo anymore, at least not while he was here. There were precious few who would recognize the name, but it was odd enough to draw attention, and that was something to be avoided if he wanted to live as one of the mortals here.
It had been difficult, at first, trying to fit in with a people he barely knew anything about, but the merchants he had been traveling with were kind enough to let him stick around. Time would tell how long that lasted, though. Canar was still suspicious of him, and despite the varied histories of each of the men, they were all still fairly young, and didn't have much to tell him of current events. They had all been too far south to see much of the Ring War, and everything they had heard had come second hand, much like everything Tinuben himself had yet heard had come from the son of Eärendil. Not that he didn't trust Elrond's word. He was sure the Peredhel was reliable. But still. First hand accounts were preferred.
Shaken from his musings by the sound of feet that didn't match the ones he had grown accustomed to over the past few days, he looked up to see another traveler coming up the road. Perhaps this would be someone worth wandering with for a while?
"I don't expect you to understand, Námo." He sighed and continued pacing around the clearing they both stood in, deep in the gardens that bore his name. "You are Máhani, you and sister both. Both of you possess a strength that I will never know, and I want to see the world beyond the seas while it is relatively quiet. I want to know the people, understand their ways, to see what they have made from the ashes of the threat they have vanquished. I want to see them before they disappear forever. There is beauty in the small things, though I know you seldom see it for the visions that obscure all else."
"You saw the eastern lands when we marched on Angamando. Was seeing the children tear themselves to shreds on the blades of His abominations not enough?"
Irmo's eyes darkened in a glare severe enough to rival his brother's, and the two stood frozen for some time before he spoke again.
"I said I do not expect you to understand. I do not want your blessing, or your permission. I don't need it. I want to live among the children for a time, to exist as they do and experience their culture. I want to see what they can make on their own, without our interference. I want to see them as Oromë did when he found the first born in the early days. And it is as you said, even Ulmo has withdrawn from the waters there. Who else will watch them, and record for the ages how the men of the west rose from the ashes of destruction to achieve the same greatness as their forebears?"
"The sons of Elrond are still unaccounted for--"
"And not even you, the great Doomsman of Arda, who sees the mind of Our Father, can know their choice!" Irmo raised his voice, scattering the sparrows from the trees above them in an uncharacteristic show of anger. "They may still yet seek to be counted among the race of men, at which point your argument will have dismantled itself."
Námo did not immediately answer, and his little brother took advantage of the silence to cross the clearing and jab his finger into the elder's chest.
"I am going. And you of all people will not stop me."
In the silence that often fell as he walked the dusty roads of Middle Earth, Tinuben relived the memories of the last conversation he had with his brother before leaving the Blessed Realm. He couldn't call himself Irmo anymore, at least not while he was here. There were precious few who would recognize the name, but it was odd enough to draw attention, and that was something to be avoided if he wanted to live as one of the mortals here.
It had been difficult, at first, trying to fit in with a people he barely knew anything about, but the merchants he had been traveling with were kind enough to let him stick around. Time would tell how long that lasted, though. Canar was still suspicious of him, and despite the varied histories of each of the men, they were all still fairly young, and didn't have much to tell him of current events. They had all been too far south to see much of the Ring War, and everything they had heard had come second hand, much like everything Tinuben himself had yet heard had come from the son of Eärendil. Not that he didn't trust Elrond's word. He was sure the Peredhel was reliable. But still. First hand accounts were preferred.
Shaken from his musings by the sound of feet that didn't match the ones he had grown accustomed to over the past few days, he looked up to see another traveler coming up the road. Perhaps this would be someone worth wandering with for a while?
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