Elvenhome

by Soledad

Disclaimer: see in the Foreword.

Author’s notes: I follow here the first version, the one told in the Book of Lost Tales, up to a certain grade, including some lines of slightly altered dialogue. Not all the way, though, as I didn’t want to contradict any important events in the Silmarillion.

The further fate of the lost Valar is revealed in my other story, “The Vault of the Dead”.

Sauron’s “true” name is my invention and was kindly introduced by someone from the Silmfics Yahoo Group. Alas, I no longer remember who it was.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

33. Memories of Darkness & Ice

“You must know that at the time when the grievous news first came to the Valar, I used to live in Eldamas, with quite a few other Elves who served the Valar,” began Lindo. “In fact, I was the only one among the Noldoli who had pledged myself to the Lady Varda. Most of our people chose to serve Lord Aulë, who loved them above all other Elves and taught them all they knew and gave them great stores of wealth; or Lord Oromë, who taught them the proper way to hunt. Those who dwelt in Lord Manwë and Lady Varda’s mansion, apprentices rather than true servants, were mostly Vanyar,” he added, with an amused glance in Elemmírë’s direction, “and at first none of us would believe that the Noldoli had indeed left.”

“We were quite naïve and more than a little ignorant,” agreed Elemmírë sadly, “and the death of the Trees had shocked us to the core.”

“Nonetheless, the tidings kept coming unto us, and by many different messengers,” continued Lindo. “Some were of the Vanyar, who had heard the speech of Fëanáro on the central square of Tirion and had seen the Noldoli depart thence with all the goods they might convey. Others were of the Solosimpi, and they brought the dire tidings of the seizing of the swanships and the dread kinslaughter of the Haven and the blood that lay upon the white shores of Alqaluntë.”

His voice took on a certain singsong quality, without actually singing, and he fell back to the use of old-fashioned names of people and things, which was apparently part of the storytelling tradition among the Tol Eressëans rather than everyday usage as Celebrían had first believed. She had to admit that for someone who was not a minstrel, he was the most pleasant to listen to of all the tale-tellers she had heard since her arrival.

“Lastly came some hotfoot from Mandos – I seem to remember that it was Nornorë – who had gazed upon the sad throng nigh the strands of Araman, and then we knew that the Noldoli were far abroad; and Lady Varda wept, and we all wept with her. For now the darkness seemed black indeed without the bright spirit of our brethren, and we understood that more than the outward light of the fair Trees had been slain.”

Celebrían stole a look at the troubled face of Aracáno, who seemed to be reliving some dark memories from those long-gone days, and gave his arm an encouraging squeeze.

“Remember, all this is but ancient memory by now,” she whispered. “It cannot hurt you any longer.”

Aracáno gave her a grateful look and a tremulous smile before turning his attention back to the storyteller. Once again, she was reminded of her sons, when they had been still very young and frightened. But again, he had also been very young at the time when he died.

“Atar Mahtan told me that Lord Aulë reacted even more badly to the flight of our people,” Lady Helyanwë was saying in the meantime, “for he deemed them ungrateful in that they had bidden him no farewell; and for their ill deeds among the Solosimpi, he was grieved to the heart.”

“Indeed,” said Lindo. “He is even known to have forbidden speaking the name of the Noldoli unto him ever again.”

“He did not deny his love those few faithful who remained about his halls, though,” said Morwinyon. “He even visited us in Formenos a few times. I remember playing at his feet as a small elfling. He tolerated me for my great-grandsire Mahtan’s sake; but he refused to take me as an apprentice as he had once done with Tyelpë.”

“His disappointment was very great,” admitted Lindo. “They say he had not grieved like that since the betrayal of Rautacarmo.”

“Who is Rautacarmo?” whispered Celebrían to her grandsire. The name metal-shaper said her nothing.

“He was Lord Aulë’s chief Maia, ere he would defect to Melkor,” explained the Noldóran. “You would know him as Sauron.”

Celebrían nodded her thanks; she had known, of course, that the Dark Lord of Mordor had once been one of the Powers, but it was still strange to hear him being mentioned by his true name. For her, for all inhabitants of Middle-earth, the fallen Maia was Evil incarnate. It was hard to imagine that he had not always been like that.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Lindo, in the meantime, went on with his tale, describing in great detail the hunt of the Valar for Melkor. Which, according to his recount, had availed nothing. Melkor had already escaped his pursuers and left Valinor for the Outer Lands.

“Wherefore Lord Manwë sent Thorondor, King of the Eagles, into Endórë, while Lord Tulkas and many of the others still ranged the land; but Thorondor came not back for a long time,” he explained. “We who dwelt in Eldamas saw Lord Manwë stand beside the darkened Trees; and his heart seemed heavy as he pondered deep and gloomily, for at that time, not even he could see any hope.”

“I wonder why that would be,” said Legolas. “Is Lord Manwë not the one among the Valar in whose heart Ilúvatar speaks to provide guidance?”

“He is,” answered Elemmírë in Lindo’s stead, for of all Elves present, she was the one who knew the Elder King most intimately. “But Ilúvatar entrusted the fate of Eä into the hands of the Valar, and ‘tis up to them to act as its guardians at the best of their knowledge. Ilúvatar does not give them detailed instructions about how to do it, for they, too, have been gifted with free will. Therefore they are ultimately fallible, just as we are. Or had Melkor not been the greatest of all once? And lo how deep he has fallen!”

“He was not the only one, either,” commented Ivárë. “Remember all the lesser Powers that he had seduced to his side; some of whom are still out there, threatening the Outer Lands! Many evil spirits were gathered to him upon his return.”

“Indeed, and those were the very tidings that the Great Eagle brought from Endórë when he came again on strong wings through the dusk and alighted on the boughs of darkened Silpion,” said Lindo. “Yet he also told the Elder King something else he had seen on his way back: a fleet of white ships that drifted empty in the gales, burning with bright fires. And a great host of Elves upon the Outer Shores, as they all gazed westward, while some were still wandering the Ice. For know that this was at the place where the cags of Helkaraksë could be found, and the murderous waters of Qerkaringa flowed of old, that are now stopped by ice.”

Just as Lindo was saying that, Aracáno was caught in a flash of terrifying memories. He could literally feel the freezing cold of the Ice like a myriad of fine, sharp needles upon his skin, his own breath encrusting his face with a fine layer of frost as he was trudging on the treacherous, slippery surface. He relived the gnawing hunger and the fear again, trying to find his footing in the darkness, while the stars were glittering high above him upon the black sky, pale and cold and impassive.

He felt Elenwë’s cold fingers slipping through his own as they went beneath the thick layer of ice, the freezing water filling their lungs, cold and salty and bitter. There was a desperate need to cough, but it only pressed more seawater into his nose and mouth, ‘til everything went cold.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

When he came to again, it seemed to him as if Ages had gone by. Thus he was greatly surprised to find himself in Gilfanon’s Great Hall again, sitting in his chair, and Eärwen was washing his face with a damp cloth.

“He is coming back,” she said with a relieved sigh. “What happened to you, Ara?”

“C-cold,” he replied with chattering teeth and clung to her like a small elfling to his ammë. “C-cold and d-dark… it w-was so c-cold and d-dark…”

Eärwen was a little confused by that answer and frankly, so were the others. It was Arafinwë who first realized what must have happened.

“’Twas a memory,” he said; then, looking at the storyteller, he added as an explanation. “Aracáno died on the Grinding Ice.”

Lindo paled. “I am terribly sorry, your Majesty. I did not know…”

“You could not know,” said the Noldóran. “’Tis not common knowledge; and even fewer people know that he has recently been released from Mandos. Newly re-housed Elves often suffer from such unexpectedly resurfacing memories, I am told. ‘Twas not your fault, Master Lindo.”

“Nay,” said Lady Helyanwë in sorrow. “’Twas the fault of those who betrayed him, leaving him with but two choices: turn back or brave the Ice,” she rose from her seat and knelt before Aracáno. “As one of those people was my own husband, I therefore ask your forgiveness on his behalf. I cannot give you back the life you have lost or the choices you have missed. However, I would gladly make amends, should you ever need support in the new life you are just beginning.”

“And should you simply need a friend, you can always call upon me,” added Morwinyon. “We are family, after all – assuming that you are willing to admit kinship with us.”

“Why should I not?” Aracáno frowned. “I may not have been very close to your father and his brothers, save perhaps Ambarussa and Ambaráto, but I do not blame either of them for their atar’s madness. Whatever they might have done afterwards, my death is not their fault. Besides, I think we would all fare better if we could stop tearing old wounds open.”

“Truer words have never been spoken,” Arafinwë nodded in appreciation. “Let us set aside our old grievances and listen to Master Lindo’s tale. After all, is it not the tale of how light hath returned to the world?”

“It is,” said Lindo, “yet there was much sorrow, even for the Valar, ere that would happen. I saw them return from the Hunt in a most dishevelled shape; for they had hunted Melkor in incarnate forms – otherwise not even Aman could have borne the fire of their wrath.”

“Too bad they did not think of that before breaking Beleriand,” was Legolas’ dry remark.

Lindo frowned for a moment, not quite liking such remarks about the Valar, but then decided that it was not worth starting a fight. Instead, he picked up the tale again.

“The first to hearken to Lord Manwë’s summons was Tulkas Poldórea; weary and dust-covered and still simmering with anger. Seven times had he encompassed the plain of Valinor in all its width and thrice had he scaled the mountain-wall, and all those measureless slopes and pastures. Meadows and forests had he traversed, burning in desire to punish the spoiler of the Blessed Realm. With him came Menelmacar, the chief of his warrior Maiar: wounded and weakened so much that his lord had to support him. For he had come across Meássë as she fled to join Melkor, and that warrior goddess smote him and got away with his blood on her hands, for which she had been called Maerwitha, the bloody-handed, ever since.”

“What has become of her?” asked Aracáno. “I remember some childhood tales about Makar and Meássë, the twin warriors, the strongest and most savage ones of the Valar. I always wondered how they could find their place among the other Powers; how could they possibly fit in.”

“They could not,” replied Lindo,” though they had tried for the while, and their strength and wildness had been a great asset to the Valar in the Battle of the Powers, when Melkor had been first defeated and Chained. Yet they grew discontent during the Peace of Arda, for bloodshed and warfare was all that they would delight in; and thus they were seduced to Melkor’s side in the end.”

“As for what became of them – we know not,” added Master Pengolodh, in his best lore-master mode. “Some say that Drauglin, the father of the werewolves, was actually Makar, assuming a bestial form, after having given in to his bloodlust and his basest desires; and that Meássë eventually became Thuringwethil. But whether there is a kernel of truth in those tales, I cannot tell, and the Powers refuse to answer.”

“No wonder,” commented Legolas, darkly amused. “Even the rumours must be embarrassing for them beyond measure. With kinfolk like that, who needs enemies?”

His light-hearted remark lifted the mood a little, which had probably been his intention. Lindo, too, smiled briefly ere going on with his tale.

“Lord Irmo came next and leaned against the withered bole of Silpion, and wept the wrack of his quiet gardens by the trampling Hunt. ‘Where,’ he complained, ‘shall I take the wounded of this Hunt to rest and heal? Lo, the beauty of Lórien is destroyed; it has become a wasteland, and I know not how to restore it again without the Light of the Trees.’ For then like now, living things needed light to grow, even in the Blessed Realm.”

“I recall the return of Lord Ossë from the Hunt,” said Elulindo. “Never before had we seen him so exhausted; and never again. His eyes were dim and he gasped, leaning on a staff of the size of a huge tree, and was very much athirst. For mighty as he is about the seas and tireless, such desperate travel across dry lands spent his vigour utterly. He did not even have the strength to shed his fana and follow Lord Manwë’s summons; which is why Salmar went in his stead, while the lesser sea spirits busied themselves to nurse their lord back to his old strength again.”

“Yes, Salmar came with embittered heart; yet not as bitterly as Lord Aulë, lover of Arda and of all things made or gained by good labour therefrom,” agreed Lindo. “For of all the Valar he had loved Valmar most wholly, and Tirion, and all their treasures; and the beauty of the wide plains without, and their ruin cut his heart. With him was his spouse, the Earth-queen, who had hunted with the other Valar and was spent. Yet Lady Vána and Lady Nessa wept as maidens at the fonts of golden Kulullin.”

“I heard, though, that Lord Ulmo came not to the Trees,” said Elulindo, “but went down to the beach of Eldamar, and there he stood staring into the gloom far out to the Sea. Often he called with his most mighty voice as though he could draw back the rebels to the bosom of the Valar if only he called them insistently enough.”

“As if they would have listened,” commented Elemmírë with a rather un-ladylike snort.

“We did hear him, though,” replied Aracáno, to everyone’s surprise, as no-one had expected him, of all people, to add something to the tale. “Even struggling across the Ice, we could hear his calls, like a rolling thunder over the freezing water. That, and the deep, longing music he was playing on his magic conches.”

“Indeed,” said Lindo, “as to him alone, save mayhap Varda, the Lady of the Stars, was the flight of the Noldoli a greater grief than even the ruin of the Trees.”

“How can that be?” asked Legolas in surprise. “I thought if anyone, he would be wroth with them, for what they had done at Alqaluntë. ‘Tis always said that he loved the Solosimpi most dearly.”

“So he did; and when he heard of their slaughter by the Noldoli, he grieved indeed,” Lindo agreed. “Yet anger hardened not his heart. For Lord Ulmo is foreknowing more than all the Valar, save perhaps the Lord of Mandos; more than the Elder King, even. Perchance he saw many of the things that should spring from that flight, and the dread pain of the unhappy Noldoli in the Outer Lands; and the anguish with which they would pay for the blood spilled at Kópas, even though he wished that it would not be so.”

He declared this in a most solemn manner, and many in the audience were deeply touched. Legolas, however, shook his head in tolerant amusement.

“You Amaneldi speak of Ennorath as if it were a place of impenetrable darkness and permanent suffering,” he said. “I assure you that it is not. Beleriand itself was the fairest land possible, rich in wide plains, fair meadows, enormous mountains-chains and silver rivers. What is still there of it is equally beautiful, or so the newcomers tell us. Our people were happy enough to live there, despite the ever-present threat that came from the North. As for the Exiles: yea, nearly all of them suffered much and ended badly. However, without them we could not have hold off the armies of Angband as long as we did. We lived scattered in the woods and were but lightly armed. Once the war machine of Morgoth set off from Angband, we would have been mowed down like dry grass.”

He paused and looked at Arafinwë. “Without your son, we would never have befriended the Edain, whose bravery, and strength helped to keep our cities safe. Without your brother,” he added, turning to Aracáno, “we would not have had the safety and splendour of Gondolin to begin with. And without your husband and his brothers, lady,” he turned to Lady Helyanwë, “Morgoth’s forces would have overrun us from the North right after his return to Middle-earth. “Neither we nor the Sindar were a tightly organized people. The only true stronghold was Elu Thingol’s hidden kingdom in Doriath, but we all know that Queen Melian alone could not have kept Morgoth out forever. Even if she had not abandoned her subjects after Thingol’s death.”

“Are you saying that the death of the Trees was necessary?” asked Ivárë with a frown. “But why would Ilúvatar want the loss of something so beautiful and hallowed?”

“I did not say it was necessary; or that Ilúvatar would have wanted it,” corrected Legolas. “All I say is that Ilúvatar can turn something horribly wrong into something good. The Revolt of the Noldor, despite the hideous deeds some of them performed, gave the Outer Lands several yéni of peace.”

“Yet in the end all of it had been in vain,” said Ivárë.

Legolas shook his head. “Nay, it was not. ‘Tis easy for you to judge, looking at those events from the safety of Valinor; for us, it was a question of life or death. Without the realms of the Exiles that held back the dark storm of Angband for so long, we might all be Orcs by now.”

“You are being ridiculous,” said Ivárë dismissively.

“Am I?” asked Legolas, his voice sharp. “Ask Lord Gimilî what it meant being enslaved in the iron mines of Morgoth for yén upon yén. Ask him about the torture chambers of Utumno, where our captured kin were broken and twisted into hideous monsters by unspeakable methods and through pain beyond endurance, until the bond between hröa and fëa was broken and they who were meant to last ‘til the end of Arda became mortal. Ask the Valar where they had been while all this was happening?”

“You blame the Valar for Melkor’s evil deeds?” demanded Ivárë in shock.

Legolas shook his head again. “Nay; for the evil he wrought, I blame Melkor alone. “Tis true, however, that the Valar could have been more watchful. If they chose to release Melkor from his chains, they should have kept a closer eye on him.”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Suddenly, there was a swirl of rainbow-coloured light and Fionwë blinked into bodily existence in the middle of the hall. Like at the time of his recent visit to the Noldóran’s palace in Tirion, he wore an ankle-length, midnight blue tunic, gilded armour and mail and a long, sapphire blue cloak.

“You think they know it not?” he asked. “In his purity, Lord Manwë could not comprehend such depths of evil as it had grown in the heart of his fallen brother; and bitterly has he lamented his own naïveté long afterwards. Yet our Masters could not intervene ‘til the curse of Fëanáro had been fulfilled – their Oath was of such nature that it bound the hands of the Valar themselves.”

“Not all saw it that way,” said Elulindo quietly.

Fionwë nodded. “Not indeed; and now Salmar is lost for us forever, just as his brother and sister were lost, much earlier.”

“Lost?” repeated Elulindo. “How could one of the Powers get lost? I heard from Lord Ulmo’s people that Salmar had once been counted among the Valar but got reduced in his status for some reason I never learned. But this is the first time I hear about him having any siblings.”

Fionwë sighed. “’Tis a very delicate matter; one that is not often discussed, even among my own kin,” he admitted. “But yea, Salmar and his twin brother Ómar, and their sister Akairis, were the youngest of the Great Valar. They entered Eä after Lord Tulkas even, and fought in the Battle of the Powers valiantly. Afterwards, however, they vehemently opposed the plan to bring the Elves to Valinor, arguing that Ilúvatar had meant the Outer Lands to be their home; and when they were outvoted, they refused to bow to the decision of the assembly and removed themselves from the Circle of the Powers.”

“You mean they were cast out?” asked Elulindo. Fionwë shook his golden head.

“Nay, they left voluntarily. Well, Akairis and Ómar did. Salmar stayed, at least for the time being, accepting the status of Lord Ulmo’s chief Maia – not that he could truly change his true nature, of course: it was an act of defiance. After the death of the Trees, however, he felt that his siblings had been right, and he simply left, following them wherever they might have gone.”

“And you still know not where that may be?” asked Eärwen with a frown.

She had known Salmar in her childhood and remembered him as a kind and gentle spirit who had delighted in playing with the elflings on the shore. ‘Twas hard to imagine that the one she believed to be one of Lord Ulmo’s vassals had been, in truth, one of the Valar – and a fierce warrior at that – yet it was clearly the truth.

Fionwë shook his head. “Once one of our kind – or one of the Valar – remove themselves from the Circle that connects all Ainur, we no longer can feel them. They are lost for us, unless they choose to seek connection again.”

“I can only speak of Salmar,” said Eärwen thoughtfully, “but knowing his great love for our people, I cannot rule out the possibility that he might have returned to Endórë, to help those living in Morgoth’s shadow.”

“If ‘tis so, we never learned about it,” replied Fionwë in sorrow. “Not even during the War of Wrath, the only time when any of us set foot in the Outer Lands, did we have any tidings of our lost kin,” he turned to Lindo and gave him a prefunctionary bow. “Forgive me to interrupt your tale, Master Lindo, but I was in the neighbourhood and felt that I needed to set some things straight.”

“You Ainur seem to be ‘in the neighbourhood’ a lot,” muttered Legolas darkly. “Do you think that after all those Ages we may be able to stand on our own feet, without you mothering over us all the time?”

Fionwë shrugged. “We have always been around you, even in Endórë, where we were not allowed to show ourselves or interfere directly. That is our task, appointed to us by Ilúvatar: to be the Guardians of Eä and the Eruhíni, and only Ilúvatar can decide when that task is fulfilled and we can end our labours.”

With that, he simply faded away.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

“I wish they would stop doing that,” muttered Legolas, still not entirely convinced.

Elulindo laughed. “Why should they? They like to show off as much as we do. Powers or not, they are very like us in many ways – or rather we are like them.”

“We were certainly much alike in our grief and confusion when they finally came together and Lord Manwë spoke to them and told the tidings of Thorondor and how the chase had failed,” Lindo picked up the tale again. “At the time, even the Valar were bewildered in the gloom and had little counsel. Each one sought his home and places of old delight – now dead – and there they sat in silence and dark, pondering. Some of them, though, went to the Ezellohar again and again, and gazed wistfully at the faded Trees as though those withered boughs could one day shine with new light again.”

“But that did not come to pass,” commented Lady Vainóni softly. “Valinor was full of shadows and of gloom, and we who had been left behind by our fathers, husbands or brothers, wept and could not be comforted; less so when tidings came of the bitter sorrow of the Noldoli in the northern lands.”

“Of that I cannot say much,” admitted Lindo, “but there are those among us who were witnesses and could share their memories.”

He looked at Aracáno and Gilfanon; and with great emphasis at Arafinwë, who did not seem to appreciate the hint.

“What do you want me to share with you, Master Lindo?” asked the Noldóran coldly. “Do you want to hear how our host marched endlessly along the shore ‘til Eldamar was dim and forgotten far behind us, and the ways grew wilder and more impassable as it trended to the North? Or how the fleet, taken by force and at the cost of many lives from our kin at Alqaluntë, coasted beside us not far out to the Sea, faring with my brother’s people on board slowly in those sluggish waves? Do you want to know how we finally made it to the dreadful passage of Qerkaringa, full of evil currents and eddies of desperate strength, where islands of floating ice swim, grinding and crashing together with a dread noise and destroying both great fish and vessels, should any dare to go there? Or do you wish to hear how my brother,” he all but spat the word,” suddenly seized all the ships that had survived the long coastal journey and slipped away secretly with his sons and with all whom he deemed true to him, and put out to the Sea, leaving behind Nolofinwë and the rest of the host in Araman?”

“I still wonder how they could cross such evil waters so begin with,” said Legolas, when Arafinwë fell silent, still shaking with anger as those horrible days resurfaced in his memory. The Elven ability to recall events long past with full clarity did have its disadvantages sometimes.

It was Elulindo who gave Legolas an answer, as he was the one most familiar with the Sea and the coastal formations of Eldamar, having sailed along the long eastern coast many times with Lord Ossë and his household.

“You must know that the coasts of Eldamar, and those coasts that continue northwards beyond Alqaluntë, trend gradually to the East,” he explained. “After uncounted leagues, more northward even than the Mountains of Iron, the Great Seas used to dwindle to a narrow strait, thanks to a westerly bend of the shores of Endórë. In those days – ere it was destroyed in the War of Wrath – a narrow neck ran out of the western lands towards the eastern shores. Yet it was of ice and snow and torn into gaps and clips – and it was all but intraversable.”

“The Helcaraxë,” murmured Aracáno tonelessly, and Elulindo nodded.

“The Icefang, yea. ‘Twas the remnant of the old and terrible ices that crept throughout those regions ere Melkor was Chained, and it maintained itself there due to the narrowness of the Sea and the jamming of the ice-isles floating down from the deepest North whither winter had withdrawn. As there the Sea was narrow, the fleet of Fëanáro could pass it without loss, and first of all the Noldoli he set foot once more upon the shores of Endórë, landing at the mouth of the firth which was called Drengist and ran into Dor-lómin.”

“The land that would be part of your brother Findecáno’s realm for near five hundred years of the Sun,” added Lord Gilfanon for Aracáno’s sake, whose eyes began to glaze over. “But that was a long way to come yet. For after the ships had landed, Maitimo, Fëanáro’s firstborn, spoke to his father, asking which ships would be spared to return and bring the rest of the Noldoli over to the Great Lands. He especially wanted to be reunited with his cousin, Findecáno the valiant.”

“’Tis no surprise,” said Aracáno with a shrug. “Fin and Russo had always been closer than brothers, from early childhood on. But how would you know it?”

“As King Arafinwë said, Fëanáro took with him all those whom he deemed true to him,” replied Gilfanon. “I was one of those; for he remembered that I had been a close friend of Finwë, since the days of Cuiviénen. Like everyone, even Maitimo, I thought that he simply wanted to be the first to set foot in the Great Lands again and would send the ships back for his brother and the greater part of the host.”

“That was not what happened, though,” said Aracáno darkly.

“Nay, it was not,” Gilfanon agreed. “For Fëanáro was seized by madness, laughing as one fey as his wrath was fully unleashed. He declared that what he had left behind he now counted no loss; that it had proved but needless baggage on the road. ‘Let those who cursed my name curse me still!’ he cried, ‘And whine their way back to the cages of the Valar, if they can find no other!’ And he ordered the ships to be burned.”

“And the rest of you simply obeyed,” said Elulindo bitterly.

“To tell the truth, we were all shocked,” answered Gilfanon with an apologetic shrug. “Even Maitimo, who alone stood aside as Fëanáro and his sons set fire in the white ships of Alqaluntë. Thus in that place, which was called Losgar, at the outlet of the Firth of Drengist, the fairest vessels that ever sailed the Sea ended in a great burning, bright and terrible. I am told that even Nolofinwë and his people saw the light afar off, red beneath the clouds.”

“Oh indeed, we saw it,” said Aracáno darkly. “Atar knew at once that he had been betrayed and left to perish in misery – or go back in shame.”

“Like I did, you mean?” commented Arafinwë softly.

Aracáno stared at him in dismay. “Oh no, Uncle Arfin, Atar never blamed you for turning back; no-one of us did! We all understood why you chose to go back, you and all those who followed your example. Atto’s heart was bitter, ‘tis true, but against the House of Fëanáro, never against you. And at the moment when we saw the fire of the burning ships, he desired as never before to get, by some way, to Endórë and meet Uncle Fëanáro again.”

“That,” said Legolas dryly, “would have been a most spectacular meeting, I deem; and not a very brotherly one.”

Aracáno nodded. “Nay, it would be not. Atto could be fierce when in rage. ‘Tis a good thing that they never met face to face again. Our House had loaded enough guilt upon itself at Alqualondë already; for not all of us had been guiltless in the Kinslaying.”

“Not even you?” asked Celebrían quietly. Aracáno shrugged.

“Actually, I was – but not due to my own valour. Had I been in the vanguard, I might have thrown myself into battle, alongside of Fin, without asking whom we were fighting or why,” he looked at Eärwen contritely. “I am very sorry, Aunt Eärwen. I fear we all were more than a little insane back then. It seems to me that Uncle Arfin was the only one to keep his wits about him at that desperate time.”

“Or perchance I was more desperate than the rest of you,” replied the Noldóran dryly, “and seeing that I could not even bring my own children back to their senses, I saw no other way than to turn back.”

Eärwen squeezed his hand. “Well, I for my part was deliriously happy that you chose to come back. Losing our children was already more than I could have dealt with alone. Losing you, too, would have been beyond my strength. And what would have become of our people, the ones who remained in Tirion, without your rule and guidance?”

“I am fairly sure they would have managed somehow,” replied Arafinwë.

“Mayhap so,” allowed Eärwen, “but I could not have held out without you. Or rather I would not wish to continue living on in Aman alone. You promised me to stay with me ‘til the end of Arda – I would not accept anything less.”

The mighty King of the Amanian Noldor actually blushed at that, and everyone pretended not to notice it. To steer the conversation back to less personal topics, Legolas turned to Aracáno.

“Was the rest of you truly so guilt-ridden that you would rather brave the horrors of the Ice than your Telerin kin?” he asked. “We of Middle-earth are glad that you did, mind you, but I heard that it was a long and wretched journey.”

“That it was; as long as it lasted for me,” replied Aracáno with a self-deprecating grimace. “I died early enough, truth be told. And so did Elenwë, the poor thing.”

“The rest of Nolofinwë’s host wandered on, though,” supplied Lindo, “and their valour and endurance grew greater with each hardship they had to face. For they were a mighty folk, newly come from the Blessed Realm, not yet weary with the weariness of Arda; and the fire of their hearts was young. Thus, led by Nolofinwë and his surviving sons, and by Findaráto and Artanis, who would not be denied, they dared to pass into the untrodden North and – there being no other way – they endured the terror of the Helkaraksë and the cruel hills of ice. Few of the deeds of the Noldoli thereafter surpassed that desperate crossing in hardness and woe.”

“I imagine that it was so,” commented Legolas. “Is it true that it took them ten years of the Sun to cross the Ice?”

Gilfanon nodded. “Yea, and many aside from Lady Elenwë and Prince Aracáno perished there. It was with a lessened host that Nolofinwë set foot at last upon the North of Endórë, where those of us who had turned away from Fëanáro after the burnings of the ships met them.”

“Little love for Fëanáro or his sons had those who still marched behind him and blew their trumpets in Endórë after the first rising of the Moon,” added Lindo.

“The Moon!” cried out Aracáno in dismay. “Master Lindo, you promised me a tale of the making of the Sun and the Moon! How did we end up with recounting the events of our dreadful flight instead?”

He seemed close to tears, like a small elfling that was denied a long promised treat in the end. Gilfanon looked at him in sympathy.

“Forgive us, my Prince; sometimes a tale just wants to be told, whether we plan to tell it or not. We shall end this particular tale here, for Lindo has lengthened it mightily, and it is already well beyond midnight. But we shall fulfil our promise to you. Let us have another tale-telling, three nights hence. It shall be one of greater ceremony, and music here shall be when all dwellers of this house are gathered together at his feet to hear Lindo relate the making of the new Lights.”

That promise mollified Aracáno considerably, but the Noldóran shook his head in regret.

“I fear that we cannot stay much longer,” he said. “We have already delayed our return by several days; we need to set sail tomorrow at first light. And Lady Meril is expecting Celebrían and Aracáno back, I deem.”

Gilfanon smiled, knowing that it was well within his might to deal with that problem.

“I shall send a message to our Queen and invite her for a visit, together with her other charge,” he promised. “And if Lady Celebrían and Prince Aracáno do not want to remain in the inn alone, they can move to our house. We have room enough, and we would welcome their company.”

Arafinwë was clearly of two minds about that suggestion, but Celebrían, remembering her first visit in the House of the Hundred Chimneys, agreed enthusiastically. Seeing her delight, Aracáno promptly chose to come with her; truth be told, he dreaded the thought of staying in the inn alone, under strangers. Thus arrangements were made and messages were sent, and it was agreed that the two of them would remain in Tavrobel a little longer.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

In the next morning, the royal party of the Noldóran left the Rowan Tree Inn for the harbour, where the Tinwerîna, Elulindo’s ship, was waiting for them to take them back to the mainland. With them went Elulindo himself – not that his sailors could not have crossed the Bay of Eldamar safely without him, but he had been on land for days and was growing restless.

Before boarding the ship, Arafinwë took his leave from his nephew, warning him to go on things slowly, as he was but recently reborn and needed to grow into his new life gradually. Then he turned to Celebrían.

“We hope that as time goes by and your healing makes headway, you will come and visit us in Tirion,” he said. “It was once the home of your ammë, after all; and now it is your home as well. Who knows, you may even like it there,” he added, smiling, but there was great sadness in his eyes.

All of a sudden, Celebrían felt ashamed for her reluctance. These were her grandparents, after all, and she was the closest thing they could have to their long-lost daughter.

“I will, I promise,” she said, and she meant it. “I just need a little more time. I am still getting used to be separated from everything – and everyone – I knew and loved all my life. ‘Tis confusing and frightening. But I shall come.”

“Take all the time you need,” her grandsire said. “Whenever you come, we shall be ready to take you in, for as long as you want to stay.”

With that, he and Eärwen kissed her and Aracáno on the brow and turned away to board the ship. Just a little later, the Tinwerîna was but a faint glimmer upon the waves.

~TBC~