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Starship  by shirebound

Author note:  In The Hobbit, the Lord of the Eagles of the Misty Mountains “could look at the sun unblinking”.

STARSHIP

Chapter 4: Aiya Eärendil Elenion Ancalima!


Therefore there was built for her a white tower northward upon the borders of the Sundering Seas; and thither at times all the sea-birds of the earth repaired. And it is said that Elwing learned the tongues of birds, who herself had once worn their shape; and they taught her the craft of flight, and her wings were of white and silver-grey. And at times, when Eärendil returning drew near again to Arda, she would fly to meet him, even as she had flown long ago, when she was rescued from the sea. Then the far-sighted among the Elves that dwelt in the Lonely Isle would see her like a white bird, shining, rose-stained in the sunset, as she soared in joy to greet the coming of Vingilot to haven.  ‘Of the Voyage of Eärendil and the War of Wrath’, The Silmarillion


Resting in a hammock filled with soft cushions, Eärendil’s keen senses were alerted to the subtle change in the winds several miles below him that heralded Meneldor’s ascent.  An Eagle needed moving air on which to soar, and so he had descended below the thin layer that divided the realms of star-flight from the cushion of air above Middle-earth.  The smell of Sea and land were different here than in the West, and he inhaled deeply, for a moment lost in memories of his life as a Man, a friend, a father.

When he opened his eyes, he sent a silent greeting to Arien far above, glad of her company.   Although the millennia had not dimmed his ardor for his voyages, a daylight passage was rare for him; he much preferred to steer by the stars, soaring in exhilaration among their mingled songs and feeling the Silmaril give and receive energy from those lights which shared its source.

He rose to his feet and walked aft, eager to greet Meneldor and take into his guardianship the perian so honored by the Valar.  As he ran a gentle hand along the glittering railing, his heart soared as it always did when he regarded this jewel of a ship.  She moved not in obedience to sail or rudder, but in accord with his will.  But any ship was true to its own spirit, this one not least of all – at times wayward and mischievous, at times smooth and swift... and always a joy to helm. 

“Hail, Mariner!” came a cry from below in Sindarin, and suddenly Meneldor, his wingspan as long as Vingilot, filled the sky.  Although wearied by his long flight, the Eagle alighted gently on the deck, balancing on one foot.

“Hail, Meneldor, mighty among of the Lords of Eagles!” Eärendil replied, quickly reaching up to take the bundle from the Eagle’s talons.  He was instantly aware of the lifeforce of the perian, and marveled at it.  The last mortal he had touched was when he parted from his men on the shoreline of Aman, so very long ago.

After checking to ensure that Sam had taken no hurt from his journey and was deeply asleep, he gently placed the limp, quiet form on his hammock.  He took the leather pouch from Meneldor’s neck and set it on the deck, then directed the Eagle to a large cask of fresh water.  Meneldor drank gratefully, and was pleased with the fish Eärendil brought to him.  They were from the western ocean, and tasted of deep, strange waters that he would never see.

“I was friend to Thorondor of great renown, and others of your kin,” Eärendil said.  “They would be proud of you.”

“I thank you for your words, son of Tuor, and for your hospitality,” Meneldor spoke.  “I thank you, as well, for your kindness in escorting this Ring-bearer to his new home.  When I return to my aerie, where my family awaits me, I will live in contentment with my desire fulfilled.”  He regarded Eärendil gravely.  “The realm of Sauron is ended, and the Age of Men begun at last.  Middle-earth thrives in a time of peace.”

Eärendil nodded.  “I know much of what has transpired.  You have seen the King?”

“I have,” Meneldor replied.  “His blood is true, and he brings honor to his forebears.  He stands as a bridge between the old ways and the new, and is greatly reverenced.  Your granddaughter has found her heart’s true path, at his side.  With them stand her brothers, and many descendants of Elros your son.  Your family lives, Mariner, and you are remembered by all who dwell in Middle-earth.”

“Thank you, Meneldor,” Eärendil said quietly.  “I would be most grateful if you would convey my greetings, and respect.  I have also been given messages for you to deliver, if you will.”

“I shall be pleased to do so.  Those below also send greetings -- to you and your lady,” the Eagle said, gesturing toward the pouch.

Eärendil stooped to look through it and found many envelopes, each bearing a name in either Westron or one of the Elvish scripts.  Among them he found several for his son... and here was one for him, tied with ribbons of silver and gold.  With a smile of almost childlike anticipation, he slipped it into a deep pocket.  He then removed the rest of the envelopes, and replaced them with the packet of letters from the West with which he had been entrusted by those who wished to take advantage of this unprecedented opportunity.

He and Meneldor spoke together of many things, but when the Sun moved on ahead they both sensed the winds beginning to shift.  Eärendil hung the pouch once again about the Eagle’s neck, and bowed his farewell.  Meneldor bobbed his head before the noble, shining figure before him, reverenced by all who knew his name or simply loved this star that shone in even the darkest places.  He brushed a wingtip softly over Sam, and then took to the air.  Eärendil watched him glide down, down, in long, effortless spirals, returning to the meadow where the King awaited him.

Eärendil could at last turn his full attention to the sleeping perian, and he observed him with interest.  Thanks to Elwing, who spoke the language of birds and gathered tales from all lands, and Eönwë, who brought him many messages, he understood the importance of the small one who had been entrusted to him.

“I have seen your peaceful land,” he murmured to Sam in Westron, “and regret that we will not have speech together.  Among the heroes of old you stand, and will be remembered.”

He fingered the star Sam wore, and thoughtfully examined his cloak.  That it was Elven was beyond a doubt, and its weave matched the craft of his own wife and daughter.

He removed Sam’s bulky pack, but left in place the thick cloth about his eyes.  The brilliance of the Silmaril had not bothered the Eagle, but the eyes of a mortal, especially one of advanced age, must be shielded.  But although Sam lay insensible, still Eärendil knew that the ancient and powerful energy force emanating from the jewel he wore could penetrate both body and mind.  What might come of this, he knew not.

Eärendil rested a hand on Sam’s brow, and smiled.  “I sense not in you a love of the Sea, Samwise, but perhaps you may come to find beauty in the warm, clear waters of the isle to which you travel.  Sleep well, brave heart.  I will see you safely to my son, and to your countrymen.” 

Although the Sun’s rays still warmed the ship, Arien travelled faster than did Vingilot, and there was far to go.  He unclasped his own rich cloak and spread it over Sam.  He then strode to the prow, and Vingilot instantly responded to his intention.  The Mariner felt her leap eagerly forward, cleaving the sky.

Gazing westward, Eärendil fingered the thick envelope in his pocket, shaking his head in delight at what was transpiring.  Among the many messages Meneldor was delivering was a letter from Galadriel to her husband... as well as a note to one of Durin's folk!  Of all his many voyages and ventures, surely this was one of the most unusual.   He spread his arms wide and laughed out loud, his voice echoing through the clouds.

** TBC **





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