I must thank Aearwen for all of her help with this chapter.  Her suggestions truly made this section shine.  Any remaining mistakes are my own.

The Finder was still pondering the nature of her dreams when sleep overtook her once more.

She opened her eyes to discover a world of pitch black.

It was easy to lose track of time while alone in the constant darkness And though Silmariën did not know how many days and nights had passed since the ship had set sail from Rómenna, she was growing more and more certain they should have reached their destination some time ago.

Something had gone wrong, and this led to another complication. Grandfather Amandil, an experienced and capable captain, always took more supplies than were necessary; but even these were running low. The noise made by the crew when they came to collect a water barrel or a box of food grew closer and closer each day, making it inevitable that she soon would be discovered.
 
An unexpected wave pitched the ship unexpectedly, causing crates and boxes to crash to the floor and demolishing Silmariën’s hiding place just as a crewmember was retrieving supplies for the men above.  Although her cursing was muffled by the sounds of the chaos, too soon the lantern’s light, so dim a moment earlier, suddenly dazzled her eyes. leading her up the ladder and out of the hold without saying a word. The fresh air was cold and damp after the stale warmth of the hold. Silmariën shivered as she followed the crewman above deck and tried to take in her surroundings as she climbed out of the hatch. The world, which had been black for days, became silver. They were surrounded by fog so thick that she could barely see her hand in front of her face. The rigging creaked overhead, the sails and masts  lost in the mist.

‘Who’s there?’ the sailor cried as he hoisted the lantern higher and held it towards the darkness. Behind the glare of the lamp she recognized Lantakan, one of Grandfather’s most trusted servant, who gaped at her in surprise.

Silmariën seized the initiative. ‘Good day to you, Lantakan. If you would be so kind as to lead me to my Grandfather?’

Lantakan was so shocked that he obeyed without question,

A tall shadow loomed before her. Silmariën balked but the crewman walked on, unworried. She chastised herself for being afraid. Three more steps revealed that the shadow was none other than Grandfather Amandil standing at the wheel of the ship. His eyes widened in shock when he recognized her.

Without a word he motioned to Lantakan to take the ship’s wheel. Then he beckoned perfunctorily to Silmariën to follow him. He led her towards the bow of the ship and down the stairs that led below deck. By the time they reached Grandfather’s cabin Silmariën’s knees were shaking so badly she wondered that they did not collapse beneath her.

It was not until they were alone in his cramped quarters than he turned to glare at her.
His hair and beard sparkled with droplets of moisture in the lantern light. He stared down at her until she grew uncomfortable. ‘Silmariën,’ he finally said, his voice low with surprise and disappointment. ‘Why are you here?’

‘I came to help,’ she said fervently.

Grandfather Amandil shook his head. ‘How can you help, child? We are on a fool’s errand that will most certainly be the death of us all. You should have stayed in Rómenna. You are needed there, to aid your grandmother and to help lead our people.’

‘The Faithful will follow Elendil before they follow me,’ she said. ‘They will follow Isildur and Anárion.’

‘They would have followed you as well, if you had stayed to lead them!’ Amandil cried.

Silmariën jumped. She had faced the King’s soldiers without fear, but the thunder in her grandfather’s voice terrified her. ‘I am sorry, Grandfather, I did not know’.

‘Your Grandmother will be frantic. She warned me you might do something desperate but I discounted her worry. I see now I should have listened to her.’ He turned away, his shoulders slumped. ‘Now the load will be that much harder for her to bear.’

Silmariën hesitated then placed her hand on her grandfather’s shoulder. ‘Grandfather I know you do not want me here, but I can aid you in your quest,’ she insisted. ‘You have not seen the horrors in Armenolos. I have. I have seen the murders committed on that unholy altar. I have been in the prisons where the innocent are tormented before being killed. I will tell the Valar, let them look into my mind. It will aid…’

‘You have been inside that temple?’ Grandfather Amandil asked, incredulous.

‘I was trying to help rescue someone,’ she said, raising her chin defiantly.

‘And did you succeed?’ he asked.

‘No,’ she admitted.

‘And that is why you chose to accompany me on this trip without asking permission or even telling anyone of your plans?  You are most foolish.’

‘Even a fool can be of use, but you never would have agreed, Grandfather. Besides, Elwing accompanied Eärendil.’

Amandil shook his head sending a spray of find droplets through the air. ‘Child, you are not Elwing and I am not Eärendil. If I could return you to Rómenna, I would, but all has not gone as planned. We are becalmed and lost in the Shadowy Seas.’

Silmariën stared at him, aghast. The old stories had whispered about the snares of the Shadowy Seas. Many elven vessels had sailed into those waters but only one had ever found the other side. There was nothing to tell of the unfortunate mariners’ fates save vague tales of a labyrinth of enchanted islands where any who set foot would instantly fall asleep. Grandfather was correct; she had been a fool to stow away on a hopeless mission.

Grandfather Amandil was speaking again. She almost did not hear him. ‘Since you are here you will help the crew,’ he said sternly. ‘I’ll have no dead weight on my ship.’

‘Yes, Grandfather,’ she said, scuttling to the door.

‘And tell Lantakan to find some spare clothing for you. Your fragrance is hardly flora.’

Blushing furiously, Silmariën backed out of the door.

She awakened disheveled and displaced in the Telerin ship. The newly risen sun cast long shadows to the west. The sailors went about their tasks with the grace of the elves and the efficiency of millennia of practice. Silmariën watched them working together to adjust the sail to best catch the wind. They reminded her of someone; and while the memory was vital, it remained stubbornly out of reach, like a dim star that can be seen only from the corner of the eye.

Frustrated, she searched for Eonwë instead; not because he could offer her any information but because he offered a different sort of aggravation. He was standing in the prow of the ship, looking to the west. With his dark hair flying in the wind and his cloak billowing behind him he cut quite the heroic figure. Silmariën shuffled next to him, feeling quite insignificant and anything but heroic.

Directly before them the Pelori rose straight from the fathomless bottom of the sea. A mountain taller than the rest was on their left. Its peak was white with everlasting snow. It rose to such a great height it was possible to imagine the top resting among the stars.

‘Taniquetil,’ she breathed in awe.

‘Upon which rests the Mansion of Manwë and Varda,’ said Eonwe. ‘Few of the Second Born people have looked upon it and lived.’

Silmariën bowed her head. ‘Perhaps I shouldn’t look at it, then,’ she mumbled.

‘You, however, seem curiously immune.’ Eonwë continued as though she had not spoken.

She opened her mouth, a sharp retort on her lips, then thought better of it and snapped it closed again. She had no desire to swim across the bay.

Elvenhome was stunning. White sand glistening in the morning sun were festooned with glints of red, blue, green and gold; the jewels the Noldor had crafted long ago, strewn about for the enjoyment of all. It was incredibly beautiful yet as Silmariën looked at it she could not help but imagine how a crew of mortal sailors would react to the display of riches.

The Elves of Valinor obviously had very different ideas of what constituted riches.
 
The ship sailed closer and closer to the white sand at the head of the bay where a stream joined the ocean. It suddenly lurched as the keel slid upon the sandy bottom. Silmariën pitched forward and caught herself on the prow of the ship. A fiery burst of pain shot up her arm.

Eonwë did not appear to notice her clumsiness. He leapt into the water and waded towards the shore.

Silmariën looked after him in dismay. For all that she had been summoned and all that she had already set foot upon Tol Eressëa, the natural dread of stepping onto the shores of Valinor filled her heart and froze her in place. She looked up the Calacirya, the cleft in the wall of the Pelori, and shuddered.

The white walls of rock looked permanent and deceptively solid but there had been a time when those stones had rained down upon an entire army. When the dust had settled, it was as though those thousands in their splendid armour had never been there at all. Of all of the host of Ar-Pharazôn, all the men, all of their princely mail, all of their horses in rich livery, all of their banners and trumpets and deadly weapons, all of it had vanished beneath the mountains. Was that not the dust of the catastrophe still hanging in the air before her?

Yet for all the slaughter, that had not been the worst of the events of that fateful day. Silmariën looked east, beyond the waters of the bay, beyond the horizonless expanse of ocean, beyond Tol Eressea to where her home should have been.

The ground shook beneath the ship and the sky turned to black. A great wind came from the west, driving the helpless ship to the brink of doom while the sailors cried in fear and despair.

‘Silmariën.’

The sky was clear once more. Eonwë was standing on the beach, watching her. There was no sympathy in his fair face.

Shaken, she looked to the elves for support. They were watching her curiously; and plainly wanted to be rid of the Afterborn passenger so they could return to their homes.

She should follow Eonwë. He was expecting her to do so. Years ago she had followed her grandfather easily enough even though she had been specifically told to stay on the ship. But then she had been young and foolish. Now that she was old and somewhat less foolish, she wanted some reassurance. ‘Lord Eonwë, a moment, please.’

He watched her impassively giving no sign of disapproval for the delay but no sign of encouragement, either.

‘You desire me to follow you?’ she asked.

‘You have been summoned,’ he replied.

‘Yes, I know,’ she said, unable to entirely hide her impatience. ‘But the last time my countrymen set foot on Valinor there were grave consequences for others. I would not have that happen again.’

Eonwë regarded her coolly. ‘You have been summoned,’ he repeated.

‘Yes, yes,’ she said through gritted teeth.

‘And you are hardly an army,’ he continued as though she had not interrupted. She looked down at her travel worn clothing and threadbare boots. No one could possibly conceive of her as a threat, except, perhaps, to the family silverware.

Face blazing, she turned to the Telerin sailors. ‘Thank-you,’ she said in Sindarin. They nodded in brief acknowledgement.

Taking a deep breath, Silmariën grasped the gunwale and leapt over the side of the ship. Water poured into her leaky boots. She sloshed inelegantly to the shore. Behind her, the sailors had jumped into the water. They pushed the ship into deeper water and easily leapt aboard. The ship quickly came about, her prow pointed towards the north-east.

As she removed her boots and poured out the water, Silmariën watched the ship leave with a twist of regret. She was not comfortable alone in the company of Eonwë. She had felt inferior in the presence of the elves, but that was nothing compared to the sense of sheer inadequacy engendered by the Herald of Manwë. If Eonwë had been carrying any burden, she would have felt compelled to bear it for him.

She regarded the Calacirya. A stream rushed down the centre of the cleft, its whispering waters pouring into the sea; and beside the stream a white road wound into the depths of the pass, climbing as it wound ever higher towards a green hill. A white city, magnificent in the morning light, stood gleaming like an enormous pearl upon the summit of the hill.

‘Tirion,’ she whispered.

Eonwë said nothing, gave no indication he had noticed she had spoken. He walked along the white road that began at the edge of the beach. Silmariën trudged along beside him, her boots squelching with every step. The only concession he made to her presence was to slow his pace. This he did without any show of impatience.

Silmariën found walking the road extremely disconcerting. Her eyes were continually trained on the ground rather than the wonders around her. It felt, she decided, like walking through a graveyard or over the scene of a great battle long after the bones of the dead had been picked clean and the earth had covered them over. She desperately wanted to walk faster but as much as her spirit desired to quit this place, her body was unable to comply. Her left arm ached and she had neither eaten nor drank since the day before.

Leaving the road, she approached the stream. It bubbled merrily over a bed of white stones. Kneeling down, she cupped her hands and greedily drank the cold, clear water then splashed it over her face and hands.

Eonwë was waiting for her when she returned to the road, her face dripping and red from the cold. If he was perturbed by the unannounced delay he gave no sign of it.

‘If you require nourishment, it shall be given you in Tirion,’ he said.

Her stomach growled loudly at the mention of food. Eonwë stared at it. ‘Pardon me,’ said Silmariën, blushing to the roots of her hair.

‘What was that noise?’ he asked.

Silmariën’s mouth dropped open. ‘My stomach is reminding me it is empty,’ she said.

He continued examining her midriff with something that might be called curiosity if it was possible for a statue to change its facial expression. ‘The stomachs of the Second Born are capable of speech?’ he finally asked.

‘In a manner of speaking,’ said Silmariën. The conversation had taken a strange yet somehow familiar turn. ‘It’s involuntary.’

‘What is involuntary?’

‘It means that I did not tell it to make a noise just as I do not command my heart to beat,’ Silmariën said after a long pause. It was exceedingly difficult to explain something as commonplace as an empty, rumbling stomach.

‘The bodies of the Afterborn are capable of such things?’ he asked.

‘All of the time,’ she said.

Eonwë continued to watch her stomach as though he expected it to do something interesting. ‘Can you do it again?’ he asked.

‘Not on demand,’ said Silmariën, shifting from foot to foot. She was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation. It had the potential to go in many, many embarrassing directions.

‘Is that part of being involuntary?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she said, staring over his shoulder.

‘Is that why your face went red?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she confessed, the heat of a flush rising from her neck once again.

‘Interesting,’ he said. Much to Silmariën’s relief he began to walk towards Tirion and mercifully let the subject drop.