8. The winged crown

May 1st, 3019 T. A.

Et Eärello Endorenna utúlien. Sinome maruvan ar Hildinyar tenn' Ambar-metta!

Out of the Great Sea to Middle-earth I am come. In this place will I abide, and my heirs, unto the ending of the world.

The words still echo in the skies, spoken several hours ago, reverberating between the stars, mixing with a memory: It is the second time that I have heard them. Just like the first time, they mark a new beginning. Elendil was the first to speak them, after the fall of Númenor. But almost, almost his words were not true. The line of his heirs faltered, and its end seemed near. Years became centuries, and the throne of Gondor stood empty under the white flag of stewards. Proud towers became ruins, and the last hope of the kingly line struggled like a flickering flame in the wilderness. Tales of fame became legends and Númenoreans became Rangers as the world shrouded in darkness. But strength cannot become weakness, and the blood of the Heirs of Isildur was still strong and true – the blood of Elros. My blood.

The crown of the Sea-kings is winged. You stand on the walls with the crown on your head, and let the wind play with your hair. The reflections of stars on the green stone on your breast match the light of Númenor in your eyes. It is my light that reflects there... Not Aragorn, The Chieftain of Dúnedain stands there, but Elessar, the King of Gondor. Elessar, Elfstone, carrying the name of the gem that I bore on my breast once. That gem helped to heal the wounds of the Mouth of Sirion. Bearing its name, you will heal the wounds of Middle-earth...

You take down the crown and turn it in your hands. Is it too heavy for you, Elessar? I know it can be, and it will be sometimes, but I know also that you are prepared for it. You trace the beautifully crafted wings of pearls and silver with your fingers. Out of the Sea, they flew like a shining bird once, carrying the faithful remnants of the fallen Númenor. Out of the wrath of the waves, to a new home. Out of the Great Sea to Middle-earth I am come.

The air was clear like a bright crystal with sharp edges reflecting a sweet song, almost inaudible and yet present deep in the heart of the breeze. The Sea was infinite in every direction, a cover of deep-blue satin guarding the secrets of the depths, as for almost the entire journey since the shores of Middle-earth disappeared behind the horizon. But in the West, a faint light shone like a thin line of pale dawn. Yet the morning passed long ago...

It was a blue outline first, a mirage blending with the blue of the sea and blue of the sky. With the shortening distance the blue shattered into colours. Green for the woods and white for the shores, shining like diamonds under the clear sky. Blue and grey and white for the mountains, a mighty wall touching the clouds, with one peak rising high above the others, into the heavenly streams where the stars sail. The music resonated in the air like its very substance.

Eärendil stood on the prow of Vingilot, clutching Elwing's hand in his. He felt his heart beating rapidly in his chest, and through their connected hands he could feel her heartbeat, matching his. For a moment, their hearts turned not to the East, mourning over the tragedy in the havens of Sirion and the uncertain fate of their sons, but to the West. The shores of Valinor... After all the perils of the journey, the wrath of air and water, of waves and storms, the shores of Valinor shone before them. In awe they passed the green hills of Tol Eressëa, but did not stop there. The Bay of Eldamar opened before them, like dazzling white arms of a fruitful land, awaiting. So sweet, so calm, so unlike the shadows and enchantments protecting it before those who arrive uninvited...

Sand rasped under the hull of the ship. The movement stopped suddenly, and sent them stumbling forwards and clutching the rails for support. Then everything was quiet, as if the very land was holding its breath. Eärendil felt the sweat on his palms. For weeks Vingilot was the only firm ground under their feet, dividing them from the blue depths. For centuries Middle-earth suffered under Morgoth's darkness. But for all the ages, the foot of a mortal didn't stand on these shores...

Eärendil took a deep breath, and jumped over the rail. Salty foam embraced his feet as they sank into the soft sand. He staggered - a sailor used to the swaying deck of his ship. For a few steps, he struggled to keep his balance, but then laughed aloud, and sank to his knees. The light of the Silmaril shimmered in the white sand with thousands of reflections. The sand clung to his clothes... but it was no sand. It was the dust of diamonds.

Out of the Great Sea to Valinor I am come.

Too soon the laugh died. Eärendil turned back, to the deck of Vingilot, from where his wife and the three sailors followed him. He remembered his task, and all the sorrows of Middle-earth. He reached the shores of Valinor, but did not succeed yet. He looked into the eyes of each of the sailors in turn. Fallatar, Erellont and Aerandir, trusted friends and companions in the dangerous journey. And at last, he looked into the eyes of his wife, and held her sight for a while. "Here none but myself shall set foot," he spoke, "lest you fall under the wrath of the Valar. But that peril I will take on myself alone, for the sake of the Two Kindreds..."

White are the walls of Minas Tirith, reflecting the light of stars like the dust of diamonds on the shores of Valinor. You do not look to the West, though. You look to the North. There, in a hidden valley, blossoms a fair flower of twilight that you left for the sake of all free folk of Middle-earth, not knowing if you will see her again. You took the peril of that fight on your shoulders, and you were victorious! But where is she? I see the longing in your eyes. Does the flower blossom for you still?

But Elwing answered: "Then would our paths be sundered for ever; but all thy perils I will take on myself also..." and she leaped into the white foam and ran towards him.

In Rivendell, many lights are lit. Horses wait in the courtyard, and riders in cloaks of grey silk, like cobwebs glistening with dew in the morning, standing as silent as statues, each holding a lantern that casts flickering shadows on the arches and balconies of the Last Homely House. In the door, a maiden stands, with hair like the wings of night. She has no lantern, and yet she shines in the dusk, an Evenstar rising in the sky. My granddaughter.

She looks at the house once more. A long, wistful look – the last one. Then she turns, and closes her eyes. Two tears roll down her cheeks like pearls. But then she smiles, and opens her eyes. She looks forwards, and her look is full of hope and expectation – a bride taking leave of her parents' house. Elrond approaches her quietly, and she slips her hand into his. He leads her slowly; his step almost ceremonial, and helps her to mount a white mare. Then the entire company mounts, and they ride into the night, leaving the Last Homely House behind. She does not look back.

And I smile like one who knows about a secret surprise. The groom stands on the walls of Minas Tirith, looking to the North with a wistful expression while behind him, a celebration is going on. The music sounds and calls to dance, and in the light of torches mead shines in the goblets like liquid gold, and wine is a ruby with flickering reflections. He sighs, and tears his sight away from the long miles dividing him from his Evenstar, not knowing that with every moment, they are shortening.

Then he turns back to the city – to his people, and smiles again. Still the City bears the scars of war, and the tears of widows have not dried yet. But today, all horrors are forgotten. This night is the night of celebration, for today, the King returned! Suddenly flowers of light blossom over the city. Fireworks! Blue, and green, and red, and yellow, they rain in thousands of sparkles on the astonished people. And at the end, a white light blossoms, and there, the White Tree shines in the sky, with seven stars and a winged crown. The picture imprints deeply in my mind, and for a moment, I see nothing for the bright lights. But when it abates, there are two figures on the walls. Olórin's white robes are smeared by soot in places, but he smiles broadly, and Aragorn laughs.

Then they walk down together, and join the crowd. Aragorn talks to the people, and soon, as if from nowhere, a glass of wine appears in his hand. He toasts with soldiers, and peasants and nobles, and smiles. That smile even broadens, when he toasts with the hobbits, and watches them alternately dance and teach the minstrels the "proper Shire music". It is the night of celebration...

I should have a bottle of wine somewhere on my ship, too... It was untouched, since Arathorn died. To too many of my descendants I have toasted on their last journey, the bitter wine thorough tears. But now, it is a toast to a new beginning. Cheers!

I sip the wine slowly, and follow the dance and music below. Only one thing bothers me. Aragorn, my son, tell me, why the coronations are always held in the mornings? Ah yes, evenings are for celebrations, I know... But I wished to see the moment when the winged crown was laid on your brow. I wished to see it, like a proud father – like I wished to see Elros' coronation. Two ages are between you, and yet you stand next to each other in my mind: two tall men, dark-haired and keen-sighted. Is it that spark in your eyes that reminds me on him? A light of command and kindness, in eyes grey like the sea after a storm.

I didn't see the coronation, the moment when all the years of hard work came to fulfilment. But I saw those years, the tireless labour whose goal seemed so far and uncertain. I didn't see the coronation, but I saw the king. The crown does not change much. It is heavy with responsibility, like a marriage with the land that you will rule. The responsibility that you lived for almost all your life, expressed in a white crown. The title changes - how many names and titles did you have during the years! – but the man does not. No ceremony can change who you are, it just shows it. You are a king, like you have always been...

Like Elros, my son.

Out of the Great Sea, from Middle-earth I am come. That is the place I left behind, for my heirs, unto the ending of the world...

quotes from:

J. R. R. Tolkien: The Return of the King, Book VI, Chapter 5: The Steward and the King

and Silmarillion, Chapter 24: Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath