The Walls That Hem You In
Under what conditions was testing the boundaries of your world considered admirable, rather than foolhardy, or being regarded as blasphemy against the powers that ruled unseen over this world? [Written for the April 23, 2018 picture prompt, ‘닿지 않았다고 합니다’ by _.zoo._.]
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Under what conditions was testing the boundaries of your world considered admirable, rather than foolhardy, or being regarded as blasphemy against the powers that ruled unseen over this world? The mariners were regarded as admirable; oh, those brave men who explored the high seas at such great risk to themselves, those brave men who sought greater communion with sacred water than could be found on land.
This was what was admirable, and thus far, Lindissë had found no other way to press at the boundaries of her world that would be regarded any more kindly than folly. And her way, that which she held most dear to her heart, profane blasphemy.
One of Lindissë’s earliest memories involved one of the outer courtyard walls of her family’s estate, and a tree that grew beside it. She wanted so badly to see over that wall; her world felt so small and mean when she was forced to let it shrink to the confines of these high stone walls. But there was an orange tree that grew close to the wall, its trunk just a short distance away. It was an old, tall tree, with rambling branches that dipped low enough for a small child to climb on, especially when the tree was as heavy with oranges as it had been then. Lindissë was too small to even consider trying to climb the wall, but she had climbed up into the tree with aplomb.
The fragrance of oranges hung thick in the air as Lindissë climbed higher and higher. She managed to dislodge some of them; they fell to the ground with solid, slightly wet thumps. Finally, Lindissë had climbed as high as she could in the tree, and she drank in the sight of the surrounding countryside greedily.
It had rained the previous day, and the sky still swam with angry gray clouds shot through with shafts of white light that flickered and sparkled like spears of ice. The rolling hills were partitioned into square of gleaming gold and vivid green by dusty roads and low walls of white stone. A stream flowing crosswise through the hills glittered as a trail of liquid sapphire.
Lindissë had eyes for the countryside, of course, but her eyes were traveling further yet, to white mountains, and beyond that, if she strained, a strip of glittering blue—
And then, her father had come, and demanded she come down out of the tree. Little girls should not climb so high in trees. Little girls should not venture outside alone.
Lindissë was not an academic. She had tried to be, once. Cousin Meneldur had welcomed someone who showed the slightest sign of sharing his interests, and the soon-to-be-king Elendil was always happy to tell the children of his house stories of days gone by. But Lindissë was not an academic, and after a certain point, the stories that could be told of days gone by, of Elros and Beren and Lúthien and Bëor, served naught but to frustrate her.
It was difficult, even as an adult, to find ways to be alone. Her parents had washed their hands of her—couldn’t relate, couldn’t communicate, couldn’t be bothered to try any longer—and her brothers had long ago lost interest, but Lindissë was still a woman of the House of Elros, and she could not be allowed to live on her own, and go where she would at her own will. She must always have a household—must always live under supervision, was implied, if not stated. She was rarely alone, and thus rarely out from under scrutiny. Couldn’t be alone with her thoughts and her dreams and ideas, no matter what she did.
“The Powers made Númenórë for us,” Silmariën told her, as she adjusted the arrangement of the vase of cloth flowers before her. They had recently completed construction on her palace in the Andustar, and Silmariën was still occupied—preoccupied—with the best means of decorating her new home. Lindissë had spent the last several days watching her change her mind over and over again about the placement of tapestries, vases, pedestals and sculptures, paintings and rugs. “We were given this land to call our own. Why would we ever wish for anything more?”
How Silmariën could make that argument was beyond Lindissë, given the particulars of Silmariën’s life. “Númenórë is not the whole of the world,” she argued. “Just because it was made for us doesn’t mean that we should restrict ourselves to it forever.”
The cloth roses were positioned in the middle of the vase, with a cloth poppy off to the right, the two tulips off to the left, ivy trailing down the front, and a spray of bluebells out the back. Lindissë thought the arrangement was a little crowded, but then, she knew very little about flower arrangement. A distraction, while Silmariën formulated a reply; Silmariën was good at that.
“I believe in the will of the Valar,” Silmariën said at last, “and the will of the Valar was for us to be the stewards of this land.” She looked east darkly. “I believe it was a mistake for our mariners to go seeking Endóre. That is not our land to influence any longer; it’s time that those who were left to live there be allowed Endóre as truly their own. I believe our influence there would drive things from their natural course.”
A frown stole over Lindissë’s mouth. “That isn’t what I meant.”
“Then what do you—“ Silmariën’s hands abruptly stilled as comprehension dawned on her. “West.” And her voice was very faint. “You meant ‘west.’”
“And why shouldn’t I?” Lindissë resisted the urge to grind her teeth, set her jaw instead. “Why shouldn’t I wish to go west?”
Silmariën’s hands went to grip the pedestal on which the vase stood, very tightly. “Because the West is expressly forbidden to us, and if we ever decide otherwise, we will fall to ruin. It’s not complicated, Lindissë.”
“And why is it forbidden to us? Why should we accept that?”
“Because the Undying Lands were not made for us.” And now she was reciting by rote, words that were spoken in no great hall, no temple, but that they both knew, nonetheless. “Because we were never meant to know the bliss of the Elves, or look upon the faces of the Valar. Because we are rude flesh, and our presence on the soil of Aman would only pollute it. You know that, Lindissë.”
“Do I know that?” She had hoped she would be able to have this conversation without her hackles rising, but she was bristling, regardless of her wishes. “Do you? For we have not the Valar’s word to go on, there, just the Elves’. I do not believe it. And I don’t think you do, either.” Silmariën turned away from her, but Lindissë only leaned closer, her frown deepening. “Do you believe it, Silmariën? Or does your heart yearn for more than just what you were so graciously given?”
Silmariën jerked as if slapped, and Lindissë felt a spike of guilt pierce her stomach. She expected Silmariën to round on her and snap. She almost wanted to be snapped at. But when Silmariën turned to face her, it was with the same gracious smile she reserved for especially unruly courtiers. “I am perfectly content.” And where being snapped at would have almost felt good, this calm, smooth tone made bile rise in Lindissë’s throat. “I do not understand why anyone blessed with the chance to live on this isle would not be.”
Why, indeed.
It was somewhat easier to sneak past the guards who watched over Silmariën’s home at night than it was while the sun hung in the sky overhead. The full detachment had yet to arrive, and Lindissë, quiet and light of foot, could become as a shadow with relative ease. Silmariën had insisted on her palace being built close to Andúnië, the better to interact more closely with the Andustari. Lindissë had quickly divined the quickest path to the shore that did not involve walking through the city, and it had carried her to the water’s edge as surely tonight as it had every other night she had taken it.
The smell of brine rose up from the water that lapped at Lindissë’s feet. It clung to everything it touched, leaving what once was smooth rough, leaving the rough a little rougher. The water did not call to Lindissë as it did to certain others, but she made the trip down to the edge of the sea as often as she could.
The keen-eyed among the Númenóreans could spy the isle of Tol Eressëa from the furthest reaches of the Andustar. At night, Lindissë could come down to the beach and stare out across the water, and spy faint, twinkling lights on the distant horizon. A beacon that was not meant to signal anything to her, but had caught her eye nonetheless.
There was everything she was denied.
Lindissë glared at the white-capped black waters of the night-dark sea. Here was the wall that separated her from it, and no tree to aid her in climbing up and over. Yet.