She smiles, pleased, and
a galaxy flares to life.
"Beautiful..."
The sound of Her voice is carried
through vast skies,
sliding between the stars,
the earth;
breathing through every wind.
But what is this?
She leans closer, looking.
Ragged ships, sails torn, bobbing tiredly in the great north bay,
and the south bay as well!
Exhausted travelers spill across the beaches in waves.
Two tired and careworn men, whispering beside a fire:
"We must search for them."
"No, we do not know this land."
She-of-many-names frowns, displeased.
(The galaxy trembles.)
Varda likes her universe ordered.
"These men, these
youngest-children-of-the-One, these
wanderers.
They mar the perfection of Today.
That will never do."
Leaning closer-closer-closer,
descending silent through the skies,
alighting on ghostlike tiptoe next to the ragged pair.
The eldest one starts, wide-eyed, speechless.
"Isildur?"
She smiles, steps closer,
lays a hand across Eldest's cheek, whispers in his ear:
"Go north, and you will find what you seek."
Later, as She examines a divine fingernail,
watching absently as Eldest rises the last hill,
and joyfully reunites with
his tall father, wide-smiling mother,
family, friends,
and the rest of his people…
She thinks, There.
Perfect.