Many thanks to everyone who has given me their comments, but especially the Philosopher At Large for her excellent beta points, and to the several reviewers who caught my little foul-up with Arda versus Middle Earth. (Shoot, and I thought I had the geography down!) Still, I appreciate it, and it’s fixed.

Chapter Two: Flight of the Swan

The sea grew stronger as they rowed closer to the end of the Bay’s protective waters, and the swan rose and fell upon the waves, her movements smooth and graceful. To one unused to the motion of the sea, it might have been frightening, but to Celeborn, it was a bliss still purer than to walk the golden streets of Valmar in the light of the Two Trees. The sea carried his swan with gentle but joyous hands, lifting and sweeping her across the waves until her oars seemed never to touch it, but brushed over the foam like the tips of her wings as she flew low over the water.

A sudden cry from behind brought him out of his reverie, though not from the joy, and he turned to see Artanis, her golden hair billowing in the sea wind, pointing excitedly back to Valinor. From among the ships still docked at Alqualondë came a great flight of swans, the same strong-winged birds that had first brought the remaining Teleri to Aman. Out across Eldamar they flew, to pass directly over Celeborn’s ship, their calls a herald of welcome. The mariners on the masts and the deck cried out in answer to them, and Celeborn exchanged a helpless grin of delight with Artanis, each caught up in the rapture of the sea.

He extended a hand to her, bringing her to stand beside him as he guided the tiller, and they laughed in excitement as the waves lifted them along in great swoops until each could well imagine that Celeborn’s white swan was in fact flying over the surface of the sea. This time it was Artanis who began to sing, almost boisterously, and Celeborn joined her, their voices ringing over the ocean’s voice and in time with the chanted song of the rowers. One unexpected wave tossed the ship to the side, making her pitch, and sent Artanis off-balance into Celeborn’s arms. They righted themselves and laughed aloud, elated. Celeborn had sailed many times in strong waters with his kinsmen, but he recalled that it was his kinswoman’s first time upon the broad sea.

“Well?” he cried to her over the ocean’s growing roar as they sailed out of the last protective arms of the Bay of Eldamar. “How do you like it?”

Her cry of inarticulate laughter was answer enough; her Teleri blood ran true. “Sail us far!” she shouted back. “Sail us all the way around Valinor!”

He laughed harder. “That would take a week!”

“I care not!”

Shaking his head at her, he shouted to the oarsmen, “Lay in your oars!” They did so, and the last of the sails were unfurled, now that the ship had been safely maneuvered beyond the Swan Haven. To Artanis he said, “We cannot test her on a long voyage quite so soon, my eager kinswoman, but have patience. There shall be time for many adventures--ai! Hold on!”

She turned to see what he saw and gave a little gasp of half-fear, half-excitement as a great, rolling wave came at them from the side. Celeborn grinned to himself as she grabbed blindly for his arm while he swiftly turned the tiller--she could not know it was naught that he had not handled before. Still, to one who had never seen such a thing before, it looked as if a capsize was only seconds away. He pulled her against him, for she did not yet know how to brace herself properly, and heard her suck in her breath in tension as the swan turned gracefully into the oncoming roll of water. Of course they did not capsize, but the great leap that the swan made over the rolling crest was still enough to make Artanis yelp and the mariners shout in excitement.

Feeling her heart pounding against his breast, he grinned, “And how did you like THAT?” She turned and shot him a look that was rapidly becoming perturbed, and he hastily sought to mollify her. “Forgive me,” he said, though unable to completely stifle his laughs. “I should have warned you.”

“I take it that happens often?” she asked dryly.

“I fear so. But worry not; I have steered ships through far worse seas. If ever there were real danger, I would not laugh.” Despite his attempt to be serious for her sake, he found that the exhilaration of the open seas refused to let him remove the grin from his face. After a moment of glowering at him, Artanis began to smile again as well, and this time he cautioned her when he spotted another breaker coming. “Brace yourself! Be not afraid!”

Though she latched her arms around his waist and went positively stiff with the effort of keeping her balance, this time she had gotten over her initial fright and after a few more, she shouted with the others as the swan sprang over the great wave. “I think I am growing used to it!”

“You have good sea-legs, my lady!”

Pointing to the swan’s golden beak dipping in and out of the foam, Artanis cried, “Is it safe to go forward?”

“Not to one unused to it, Lady. It is much rougher there!”

“Good!” She would have sprung down the deck to the prow at that second had he not seized her arm.

“You cannot go alone. I speak faithfully, Artanis, it is dangerous. Wait.” He called to one of the mariners and had the elf replace him at the tiller. “Steer her well clear of the rocks but do not lose sight of the shore! Keep us close enough to run back in when we are ready!” he ordered. Turning back to Artanis, he said, “Now we can go. I would prefer to wait and teach you to ride the prow in calmer seas, but I fear you would try it anyway.”

Her little grin told him that the remark struck true. Taking her hand, he led her swiftly past the seated rowers holding their oars ready (in case the ship should need to be rowed out of trouble.) They gained the bow, and her startled expression told him that she had noticed how much harder the ship pitched from this end. “Are you certain you wish to do this?”

He knew at once he should not have asked, for her chin went up, her bright eyes flashed, and she nodded stubbornly. “Show me!”

“As you will, Lady. Come,” he brought her up to where the prow arched into the swan’s long neck, and there they leaned into the strong wood. “Keep low. She dives hard today! Do not release me! There would be no saving you should you go overboard.”

Her nod was rather jerky, telling him she was more frightened than she pretended, despite the determined crease of her brow. Still, he knew there was no point in offering her to take her back now; she would ride these waves on the prow or die trying, the stubborn creature! She shot him a clench-jawed grin and said, “Let Ossë fling at us what he may!”

No sooner had she spoken than the swan’s head dipped deeper and harder into the waves, and a great gush of water erupted over the prow. Artanis let out an outraged shriek as she was thoroughly drenched, and Celeborn practically howled with laughter. “And that, my lady, will teach you to never challenge Ossë while at sea!” Spitting out salt water and furiously wiping her eyes, she glared at him for a moment, then took in his own soaked appearance and began to laugh as well. He pointed to the swan’s golden beak, still plunging in and out of the water. “She fishes!”

“Has she caught anything, do you think?”

“Only she and the sea know for certain.” He glanced up at the sky. They were moving further out to sea away from the light of the Trees. “It is time we were turning back.”

“What? Oh, but not yet!” she protested in dismay, and he laughed at her.

“Lady, you are soaked to the skin and already your teeth chatter in the wind, yet you would go further?” She looked positively sulky like a child denied further play, and he laughed harder. “Peace, we still have the journey back, and we shall stand in to one of the lesser bays for awhile before returning home. The journey is not so near its end.”

That brightened her, and she sheepishly rubbed her arms, wet beneath her soaked sleeves, to warm them against the sea wind. Watching the waves, she seemed struck by a sudden thought and turned to him with large eyes. “How do you intend to turn her around?”

“Aha,” he grinned. “You shall enjoy that part, no doubt. Just do not let go of me.” He rose and pulled her to her feet. “I must return to the tiller. Come.”

“Nay,” she protested, “I would stay here for the rest of the ride!”

Artanis would have crouched against the high deck walls and grasped the swan’s neck again all by herself had Celeborn not seized her firmly around the waist and hauled her bodily back down the deck. “I think not, my lady! Turning a ship completely around is a difficult task, and the waves shall be strong against us. I cannot concentrate on it if you are alone on the prow. Forgive me, but you shall have to ride the turn back at the tiller with me.”

Several of the mariners laughed as Artanis struggled against his grip, exclaiming, “How dare you! Get your hands off me!” as he brought her back to the stern. She then refused to touch him even as he pulled the tiller to bring the ship about.

As his swan began to change direction, she started to pitch as the waves struck her broadsides. Water sprayed over the deck and soon Artanis was clinging to the white deck rail with all her might, her face pale. Seeing her nervousness, Celeborn assured her, “Fear not. All is well. Come,” he offered her his hand again.

Still disgruntled at having been manhandled away from the prow (though perhaps now she understood why) Artanis hesitated at first, but as the ship lurched again in its turn, she scrambled to her feet and returned to his side, clutching him for dear life. “H-how rough must the seas be to become dangerous?” she asked in a slightly shaky voice, her heart hammering against his chest.

“It depends upon the mariner,” he replied, but seeing her face and all pretense of bravery dashed from it, he elaborated. “She is well-built, her sailors seasoned, and I have steered smaller vessels in far rougher seas than this. Do not fear. It is disconcerting at first, but one becomes accustomed to it.”

“Then I shall,” she said, in a resolute but higher-pitched voice than usual.

“Hold on.” Celeborn gritted his teeth as he completed the turn. The swan lurched when a larger wave slapped her broadsides, and Artanis wrapped both arms around his ribcage as he steered with both hands. Then they were facing back the way they had come, and the motion calmed. “There. The worst is ended.”

She did not even bother to hide her sigh. He toyed with the idea of offering to take her forward again, then thought better of it--she might fling him overboard. All things considered, she was one of the most courageous elves he had ever sailed with. After her heart had slowed considerably, (he knew this because she had not thought to release her death grip on him) she looked thoughtfully at the waves and asked, “Shall we sail faster when the current is with us?”

“We would if the wind were with us, but it is not.” He waved at the rowers, and they returned to singing and stroking the ship through the water. Their rhythmic voices and movement calmed her still more, and she abruptly detached herself from him and returned to attempting to wring out her soaked clothes while holding onto the rail. “If you like, you may go below and dry yourself,” he suggested.

The idea clearly appealed to her, but she looked uncertain as to whether her legs would hold her weight if she released the railing. Celeborn decided to spare her the awkwardness of lurching down the deck and called one of his mariners to replace him, then took her arm and kept her steady until they were below. He grimaced to himself, for she was shivering with more than cold and wet. “Forgive me, Artanis, I should not have brought you out on rough seas for your first time--”

“Nay!” she exclaimed, her eyes brightening. “I enjoyed it! Truly, I did--most of it,” she admitted, and he smiled. Taking the drying cloth he handed her, she wrung out her hair and clothes, then shook her head and laughed, “How disgraceful that I could not keep my wits on a mere sailing excursion.”

“Disgraceful?” Celeborn laughed aloud. “You have no standard by which to judge, Lady; be assured, you are stronger than most passengers I have carried on their first sea voyage. You are stronger than I was,” he added wryly. At her raised eyebrows, he explained, “The first time I went to sea, I was sick.”

The story had the effect that he had hoped it would: she nearly fell to the floor for laughing. Her mood lightened, she followed him back above decks--still laughing and repeating, “Sick? You were sick?!”

“Some are born with sea-legs, my lady. Others must develop them,” he replied with great dignity. “I was among the latter.” They returned to the prow for the rest of the trip inshore, and Celeborn could safely say he had never in his life heard the daughter of Finarfin laugh so hard.

***

They put in to a small cove just south and west of the Bay of Eldamar and dropped anchor. There under the light of the Trees spilling over the mountains, Artanis, Celeborn, and the mariners left most of their clothing to dry upon the deck and dove into the warmer waters for a swim. Celeborn and the mariners swam in their breeches (either since unlike Artanis, they had a change of clothing aboard or out of some intended deference to her Noldor sensitivities) but Artanis wore only her shift from beneath her dress, and once soaked, it left little to the imagination. Of course, soaked breeches did not leave much more to the imagination.

It was a merry company that paddled around the cove for some time and eventually climbed out of the water, laughing and singing and talking, to fall upon the white sands. When she cast herself down, Artanis found that her body was rather stiff from constantly bracing herself against the waves. As she stretched and arched to loosen the muscles, she allowed her eyes to linger upon Celeborn’s bare, glistening chest as he lay basking upon the beach, his own body perfectly attuned to the wild motions of a ship in rough seas. Then she grinned as he made a face and pulled from beneath his spine an opal the size of an elf’s eye. He lay where he was, turned it this way and that, letting the light capture its colors, then sat up and skipped it across the water many times before it sank to the bottom at last. His eyes at last fell upon Artanis, sitting up on the sand, and wandered over her rather noticeably in her clinging wet shift until he realized what he was doing.

She grinned at him. “I thank you, Lord Celeborn, for allowing me to accompany you on this venture. I never imagined sailing could be quite so…”

“Terrifying?” he offered.

“I would call it invigorating,” she retorted primly and narrowed her eyes at the other mariners, who had begun to laugh. “And I would remind you that I at least managed to keep my stomach.”

The mariners laughed harder, and Celeborn raised his hands. “You have the advantage of me, my Lady Artanis, yet I am glad you enjoyed it.”

“It would be shameful indeed of me not to enjoy the arts of my mother’s people,” she replied, accepting his hand up and walking back to the water to return to the swan.

The trip from the cove back into the Bay felt far too short for Artanis’s taste, and no sooner had they dropped anchor than she was asking when they might do this again. “Soon, I promise you,” laughed Celeborn at her enthusiasm. “I shall inspect her tomorrow to see how she fared on the water, and the day after is a feast day, but within a few days, I shall take you for a longer sail.”

“I shall be glad,” said Artanis as he took her down the ramp. Knowing he would want to stay and oversee the settling of his swan for the night, she took her leave. “Until the feast, kinsman.”

Celeborn bowed, “Until then, my lady.”

He stood at the end of the ramp as she walked back down the docks to the mansions of her grandfather, and she found that it took nearly all of her willpower not to look back, for she could feel his eyes upon her. She was understandably weary when at last she gained Olwë’s house, and bade a tired but cheerful greeting to her mother and grandfather before retiring. No sooner had she closed the door of her chamber than a sense of incredible silence swept over her, along with a strange ache with the knowledge that so pleasant a day had to come to an end.

She cast herself down upon her bed, thinking it should be easy to sleep after all day’s exertions of sailing and swimming, but the silence roared loud in her ears, and she was uneasy. At last, she rose from her bed and threw open the chamber windows, letting in the light from the Two Trees, which was just then ending its mingling stage, and also the sound of the sea drifting in from the Bay of Eldamar. She climbed back into her bed just as Telperion, the silver Tree, began waxing to its full silver light, and at last found that she could sleep with the distant washing of the waves floating through the window.

***

The next day…

Eärwen, daughter of Olwë, knew something was amiss (or at least afoot) the day after her daughter had joined young Celeborn on his swan’s maiden voyage. Nerwen had always been the restless sort, whose willful nature could only be vented either with intense physical activity or vigorous debate. Today, her bearing wore all the marks of a particularly restive mood, but she indulged in neither of her usual solutions. True, she wandered about the mansions and out onto the grounds for awhile, but then she came back inside--odd, because she preferred to be out of doors--only to stand stock-still by the windows overlooking Elendë for some time.

She either knew not or cared not that her mother watched her. Eärwen surreptitiously kept an eye on her daughter’s impatient movements throughout the mansions and noted with great interest that Nerwen always came back to the big window. By the time the day was half-gone--in which Nerwen had spoken to few except irritably and eaten next to nothing--the only daughter of Finarfin had stormed through the mansion (silently) more than a dozen times, irritably brushed off all attempts to engage or distract her, and would cease her brooding paces only to stare fixedly down at the Bay.

After counting the restless girl’s paces for awhile, Eärwen rose from the chair where she had seated herself to watch the action and peered through the window--hoping to see what could hold Nerwen in this thrall. There was no wind at all today, so few of the ships were out sailing, but many of the mariners were taking the opportunity to inspect their beloved swans and make repairs--aha! A silver figure climbing high upon the tallest mast of the newest swan caught Eärwen’s eye, and sure enough, it was Celeborn, hard at work.

*So that is it.* Hearing Nerwen’s impatient steps coming back down the stairs, Eärwen quietly glided back to her chair and returned to her weaving as if she had never moved. But she watched, hiding a smile, as Nerwen paced around the room a few times, picking up a book here, putting it back there, fingering without interest a pearl the size of a goose egg, then finally returned to the window. Now that she knew what she was looking for, Eärwen could tell that Celeborn was still above the ship’s decks in plain view, and sure enough, Nerwen’s movement stopped. Not a muscle twitched on the elven maid’s body as Celeborn worked his way up and down the mast, doing some work with the sails, though Eärwen noticed that her daughter was utterly rigid, with her fists clenched tightly at her side. *Either she has fallen desperately in love, or she is feeling a great urge to beat him about the face,* she thought in amusement. *Of course, knowing my Nerwen, it is entirely possible that both are true.*

In due course the Telerin prince worked his way back down the mast and vanished below the decks of his ship. Immediately, in a swirl of blue skirts, Nerwen was making the rounds again, and Eärwen found herself covering her mouth to keep from bursting into highly unseemly laughter.

***

The following day, a feast day…

Olwë could tell that his granddaughter was out of spirits, though why was anyone’s guess. He knew better than to ask Nerwen what was troubling her, but hoped to himself that the feast might cheer her up. The thought of it certainly did, for she came out into the long tables set out on the soft grassy lawns overlooking the Swan Haven with several of the other maidens, all clad in fine gowns and laughing. Soon the green was alive with music and elves were pouring in to partake of food, drink, song, and laughter.

He caught the opportunity to enquire after Nerwen when she came to greet him as her host. “How do you fare, my dear?” he asked, kissing her on both cheeks.

“I am well, thank you, Grandfather,” she answered merrily.

Indeed, she looked well--positively radiant in her white gown, her golden tresses unbound and swinging in thick waves, and laughter raising a delicate blush to her face. He knew it most likely that whatever had ailed her yesterday was merely one of her passing whims--Manwë knew she had them--but something had troubled him more than usual about Nerwen’s mood. Still, she appeared fine today, so he said, “I hope you shall enjoy yourself! Our kindred from Alqualondë and many of your father’s people have come to the feast!”

“I’m sure I shall,” said Nerwen, smiling from him to one of her brothers who was also coming to greet the King of the Teleri. “If I’ve your--” she broke off, and her face changed very swiftly from an expression of youthful joy to intense dislike. Her voice lowered, equally reflecting her displeasure. “What is HE doing here?”

Turning in alarm, Olwë’s gaze fell upon Fëanor and Finwë, entering along with Nerwen’s father Finarfin, her other uncle Fingolfin, and all of their children. “Whatever do you mean, child? Every elf in Valinor was invited.” Even as he said it, he expected he knew what his granddaughter’s objections were.

“He shall only stir up trouble,” she said in a hissing whisper, her eyes flashing with ire.

Taking her hands, Olwë soothed, “Worry not, Nerwen, your uncle will hold his tongue from his discontent while he is my guest. Your mother’s people are not so easily stirred as--” then he caught himself and smiled. “Go and enjoy yourself.”

Seeing Fëanor coming at Finwë’s side, Nerwen hastened to obey Olwë, and afforded her other grandfather the barest little bow before hurrying away as if to join other friends. Olwë caught the broad grin Fëanor gave at his niece’s departure and felt himself bristling. For all Nerwen’s worries, her mother’s father had by no means been deaf to the malcontent being raised by Fëanor’s talk, and he knew the dangers it roused. He also liked not the growing pride he saw in Finwë’s eldest son, evidenced increasingly in his talk and his manner toward himself and others. Now, that slightly predatory gaze he saw focused upon his granddaughter by this proud, arrogant elf raised Olwë’s hackles still more.

“My dear Olwë! You have a fine assembly here this day!” said Finwë, happily embracing his friend. His wife Indis was with him, but there were few others of the Vanyar at the feast, for they seldom left Tirion even for a short time, though they sent many messages and tokens of good will among the Teleri and welcomed their seafaring kindred’s visits.

“Finwë, Fëanor, I am so pleased you were able to come, and your sons. Welcome!” Olwë embraced each of them in turn, bidding them partake of refreshment, song, and dance, but caught the way Fëanor’s eyes were still following Nerwen. “Pray, Fëanor, tell me the news of Tirion, for I have not been to Túna of late. How fares the city of the Eldar?”

With an overly heavy sigh, Fëanor turned his face to Olwë’s. “Our city is fair as ever, and our people as contented.”

Feigning puzzlement, Olwë remarked, “And you find this cause for unhappiness, that our people should be content?”

With a shake of his head, Fëanor said, “Contentment in itself may be fine, but at what cost, Lord of the Swans? Our people are as children, sitting at the feet of the Valar when long we should have come away to our own rulership. We are as slaves adoring the masters.”

Olwë forced a laugh, for it was the only response he could think of when Fëanor began such talk. He would not have raised the subject at all were it not for Nerwen’s sake, for he strongly disliked Fëanor’s attentions to her. “As you will, son of Finwë,” he gestured around him, grinning falsely. “And such foulness they inflict upon us! Such chains!”

“My lord--”

“Peace, Fëanor, we come to eat and dance, not to wax discontent. Go, dear boy, and feed yourself. You shall find a better mood on a full belly and a glass of wine.” Olwë turned from him to greet more of his guests, and so Fëanor was forced to depart. *Nerwen is quite right about him, but what am I to do? To exclude him from our gatherings would only invite more ill will.*

***

Artanis managed to find a seat at one of the long tables with chairs already occupied on every side, thus preventing Fëanor from engaging her in any lengthy conversation. *If he attempts to touch my hair again, I shall strike him, so help me!*

Even her father, who was troubled by his eldest brother’s pride and unrest, was appalled by the sheer intensity of his daughter’s dislike of Fëanor. The very sight of the elf made her stomach turn, for self-absorption and arrogance seemed to reek from him like a foul odor of soured wine. She had remarked on this once, only to have Finarfin tell her she was imagining things and not to speak so ill of her uncle, so she never mentioned her revulsion aloud again.

But she would not go near him, or even speak to him, if such activity could at all be avoided.

As it was, he was far too close for her comfort, sitting at the opposite side of the table only three seats down, and looking at her with that smug smile bordering on a leer. She focused upon her food and upon her tablemates, talking far more than she normally did about any subject she could think of that Fëanor would not join in.

“So think you that Halaroquen will marry Luinolossë?” asked Andama, one of the younger girls from Alqualondë.

“I have not seen her with him,” answered Artanis, trying to think how a flighty female with naught but marriages, gowns, and feasts on her mind would behave. If only she could make Fëanor stop watching her! “Has she--has she said whether she likes him well?”

“Well…she has not said…” drawled Wilwarin, one of the other girls, and Artanis attempted to giggle along with them. Fëanor’s smile simply grew wider. *Curse him!*

“What of Nyelle and Nandaro?” asked Ezellorn, the boy on her other side. “I know they are betrothed, but they have not yet named the day they will wed.”

Artanis opened her mouth to remark, then sensed someone else watching her from the other direction. Celeborn was seated next to Maglor, one of Fëanor’s sons, and both were listening to the conversation with an expression of combined amusement and confusion. She fought the urge to bury her face in her hands. She had hoped to lead Fëanor to cease leering at her by engaging in one of the most insipid conversations known to elvendom, and now she had naught to show for it except that those with whom she usually talked thought her mad. Would this meal never end?

She nearly laughed with relief when Olwë spoke to the company in general and forced the younger elves to cease their chatter. “My lords and ladies! It seems a request has been made of our young men!” A giggle rippled from the younger girls as Olwë gestured to one of the Telerin elves. “Our Halatir, son of Aldahall of the Teleri, and Angrod, son of Finarfin of the Noldor, have challenged each other to a boat race!” A great cry of excitement went up from the assembled elves, and the two challengers grinned at each other. “Furthermore, they invite any other sporting sailor to join them in a great rally around Elendë!”

Shrieks of delight came from the girls as shouts of challenge issued at once from many of the mariners. All thought of food and drink was forgotten in a great stampede of young elven challengers from the Noldor and Teleri alike to enter themselves in the rally. Over Olwë’s laughing shouts of “Fear not, fear not, we have more than enough small boats!” a crowd of glory-seeking elves charged down toward the waterfront.

Through the happy chaos, Artanis suddenly spied Fëanor moving in her direction, and so with an overloud shout of delight, she seized Celeborn’s arm as he passed. “Are you going down?”

“I am!” he shouted back over the ruckus. “Come!” Taking her hand, they ran down to the docks. Once safely in the Swan Haven, alive with the excitement over the impending race, all thought of Fëanor was forgotten. “Lord Olwë has bidden the mariners move the swans to make way for the race course.” Taking up the line securing his swan to the dock, Celeborn gave it an odd tug that caused the ship’s ramp to fall, and Artanis caught it.

Already many of the outermost swans were sailing out to form a great ring around the natural curve of the Bay. There was a fair, strong wind capable of pushing a small boat very fast--a fact that had undoubtedly brought the thought of racing to Halatir and Angrod’s minds in the first place. Artanis looked around. “Where are the rest of your mariners to row?”

“Most of them have gone to join the race already, but it is no matter. I can sail her well enough myself. Do you wish to try?” he offered, grinning at her. At her eager nod, he pointed. “Take the tiller.” She sprang up to the place as he loosed the sails and sheeted them home. “Take us starboard--a little more. There!”

Artanis felt a thrill of excitement as the swan answered her steering. The white sails swelled with the wind, and they glided gently along the docks. She concentrated on following Celeborn’s directions from the mast until they pulled up alongside another great swan, each facing the shore. “Are they not to sail down the bay’s center?”

“Nay, Lord Olwë wished to keep it in the shallows lest some of our more exuberant souls drown themselves.” Celeborn checked the anchor, then shouted to one of the small boats zipping amid the swans, waving the sailor to them.

“Where are you going?” asked Artanis in disappointment.

“To find my boat!” Celeborn replied, laughing as if it were obvious. “You cannot expect me to merely stand upon the shore and watch when the glory of the Teleri is called into contest.” As the boat pulled up beside them, he handed her down and jumped in himself. “I suppose you shall be supporting your brother.”

“Of course,” she said, turning up her nose at him.

The elf sailing the boat, Nandeloss, laughed at them. “It is hopeless, Celeborn, you shall never pry this Noldor lady’s affections from her father’s people.”

“Perhaps not, but I shall pry from her a concession that no Noldor can outsail one of the sea elves!”

“We shall see, kinsman, we shall see,” retorted Artanis. “Angrod has been visiting my mother’s kindred and learning to sail your boats far longer than I. The student may yet outstrip the master!”

“Ha!” was Nandeloss’s only comment on the subject. “We are here.”

“I hope Olwë has not given my boat to another contestant,” muttered Celeborn as he disembarked.

“Your boat?”

“Of course, Lady. Surely you do not think one can start with building swans. Ah, good, there she is,” he pointed, and Artanis beheld a little sailboat that was unmistakably Celeborn’s craftsmanship, for it was as fair as his great swan, bearing the same graceful neck with jet eyes and a jet beak. “My cygnet.” He paused upon the dock and turned to her, mirth in his eyes. “If you cannot bring yourself to support my bid, oh proud Lady of the Noldor, at least wish me well.”

She laughed at him. “Aye, I wish you well, valiant son of the Teleri, but may the best mariner win!”

“He shall!” added Nandeloss, running past her to find his own boat. “Let us be off, Celeborn, we have a race to win! For the glory of Ossë!” Flinging his arms out dramatically, the other Teleri cried, “And if I do not return, tell my mother that I loved her!” Carrying on thus, away went Celeborn and Nandeloss down the docks to the racing boats.

Finrod, Artanis’s eldest brother, was on the edge of the docks watching the preparations and spotted his sister with Celeborn and Nandeloss. “For shame, Nerwen, consorting with the enemy!”

Artanis laughed harder, then was seized by several of her cousins, Aredhel, Idril, and Piolissë. “Artanis, come! We shall follow the racers around the course from the shores.” Allowing herself to be led eagerly away, she stole one glance back at the mariners in time to see Celeborn flinging off his formal robes and jumping into his little boat, shouting merrily to the other contestants.

They were joined by a great horde of elven women, the sisters, daughters, and wives of the mariners about to test their prowess against Ossë and each other. The maidens ran, laughing, shouting, and singing, up a grassy hill that was cut off into a rocky bluff by the waves and stood watching as the boats spread out and anchored in a great line between the shore and the barrier created by the swan ships. Three more boats sailed out, each bearing an elf with a white flag. The elf in the center boat was Olwë. He raised his flag; the watching elves fell silent. Over the whistle of the wind, they heard him invoking the good will of Ossë, for indeed, such a race was a celebration of him. Then Artanis and the others leaned forward in excitement, as the flags rose high--then fell.

*****