[Estelyn Telcontar]

Sethamir’s was a beehive of activity on this day, the Sail-for-Sale-Ship’s last on these shores. Each member was busy preparing for the journey in his/her/its own manner. They realized that a journey to the end of the world was not just one of your run-of-the-mill There-and-Back-Again hobbit boating parties. Would they find the Straight-Jacket Way of which the old legends told? So many had gone mad searching for it. And if they reached Valleyum, would they be able to return afterwards? None knew, yet they prepared without hesitating: some recklessly, caring not about future risks; some bravely, despite their knowledge of the potential dangers facing them; and some ignorantly, not having stopped to think about the consequences of their foolhardiness.

Merisuwyniel had revelled in the last opportunity to seek out the Elven shops in Mithfortune. She saw many beautiful things which she would have liked to possess, but considering how few of her precious coins were left after advance payment of their passage (and how little baggage they were allowed to take on board), she hesitated. Then, assuming that Muddled-Mirth coinage would not be needed in Valleyum, she recklessly splurged, buying a lovely new blouse – ruffled, as always, since she was, as always, unruffled. It was made of a shimmering material and had the colour of a pale pink rose, which set off her golden locks and violet eyes to great advantage. She managed to convince herself that it was a necessary purchase, in order to appear appropriately attired before the Velour.

At the next shop, a music store, she found a booklet called “101 Favourite Mournful Melodies for the Hâr-mónicä”. It contained such perennial hits as:

Sittin’ On the Dock of the Pay Havens
500 Leagues (Away from HoME)
Hang Down Your Head, Tom Bomby
and many more…

That was certainly a good investment for a long cruise, especially as her companions had given her to understand in no uncertain terms that they did not want to hear ‘that Western tune’ ever again.

When she returned to Sethamir’s, she found Orogarn Two struggling with a long, narrow package. Courteously opening the door for him, she inquired, “What did you purchase, Orogarn?”

“Two,” he replied.

“I see only one package,” Merisu answered, puzzled. He sighed in exasperation, realizing that her female curiosity had gotten the upper hand over her usual polite attentiveness to such details as name suffixes, and said, “It’s an Umbar-Élar.”

“An umbrella?” she asked.

“Umbar-Élar,” he corrected. “It’s a portable precipitation protection which can be opened in times of need.”

“I saw those in the Mire,” she said enthusiastically. “They really need them there, what with the terrible rain they have; but they called them ‘umbrellas’. I suppose they must have corrupt- um, adapted the original name to their own language. But why are you taking one along on our journey? Do you not remember the words of the Wise, who said: ‘It never rains in Valley-Fornya’?”

“I’m not taking it along,” he mumbled. “I’m sending it to my father.”

Merisu had met his father, and at the thought of the incongruity of the Proctor of Grundor carrying an umbrella, she almost burst into peals of her silvery, melodious laughter. Her kind heart stopped her just in time; she knew how eager Orogarn was to find something that would finally please his fastidious father. Thankful, not for the first time, that she could share her amusement silently with the Entish Bow on her back, she thought, LOL! Just imagine! Denimthor the Stewed carrying an umbrella, my dear! Isn’t it delicious!

;D Most astonishing wonderful! came the mirthful answer.

What she actually said was: “Oh, that reminds me – I want to write a postcard before we leave. I’d better get that done now.” With those words, she vanished into her room to pen a brief “Wish you were here” missive to Roneld at the Hidden Valley Ranch. Somehow it just didn’t seem right to her that she was leaving her foster father behind when departing from Muddled-Mirth. Now that Earnur, her deceased mother’s once-and-future beloved, was leaving the DiminishingShip, she felt quite fatherless and shed a brief tear. (It glistened most becomingly on her cheek and left her lovely Elven eyes unreddened, of course.) However, the excitement of preparing for the journey soon drove sad thoughts from her mind.

As she checked to see if her bags were packed so as to prevent the creasing of the garments contained therein, she found herself singing a little Elven ditty that was currently in the Top Ten and consequently playing everywhere at all times:

O! What are you doing,
And where are you questing?
The Loyers are sueing,
And you need a resting!
O! tra-la-la-lavens
Here down in the Havens!

O! What are you seeking,
And what do you carry?
The Entwood is creaking,
It’s time to make merry!
O! tril-lil-lil-lolly
The Havens are jolly,
Ha! Ha!

O! Where are you going,
With locks all a-flowing?
No knowing, no knowing
Why eyes are a-glowing,
What brings a shieldmaiden
Down into the Havens
At noon.
Ha! Ha!

O! Will you be staying,
Or will you be sailing?
Your horses are neighing!
The daylight is failing!

To sail would be folly,
To stay would be jolly
And listen and rest
Till the end of the Quest
To our tune -
Ha! Ha!

So she laughed and sang in the Inn; and pretty fair nonsense I daresay you think it. Not that she would care; she would only laugh all the more if you told her so. For she was an Elvish shieldmaiden!