Nothing in the World is Single by StarSpray

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Chapter 2

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Eärendil put down his hammer and sat back on his heels, gazing westward as Anor sank toward the sea. Aerandir glanced up at him, and then toward the sunset. That evening it was not a brilliant, fiery display, but a gentle easing into twilight, with only a few wisps of cloud to turn gold against the pale orange sky before it faded into night. “I suppose that is our signal to stop our work for the evening,” he said with a sigh, as lanterns flickered to life along the wharf.

That had not been Eärendil’s thought, but he nodded. “It probably won’t be long before my mother sends someone to search for me,” he said.

“Well, you are but a wee child of fifteen…” Aerandir ducked, laughing when Eärendil tossed a barnacle at him, recently torn from the hull of their skiff. “I’ll walk you home.”

As they walked through Sirion, they encountered Luinnel, who had been Elwing’s nurse when she was small. Eärendil supposed she still considered herself a nurse. After all, Elwing was his age, and few Elves understood how quickly Men grew. She greeted Eärendil and Aerandir with a smile, and asked Eärendil to give her greetings to his parents.

After they bid Luinnel good evening, Aerandir remarked, “I was a little disappointed last week at Elwing’s begetting day celebration.”

“Why?” Eärendil asked.

“You remember that rumor going around that she’d wear the Nauglamír to the celebration? She didn’t.”

Eärendil raised an eyebrow. “You believed that rumor?” Elwing never wore the Nauglamír. No one had seen it, not even any of the Sindar, since Dior had worn it in Menegroth. There was an equally persistent rumor that the Nauglamír had been lost in the sack of Doriath, and that Elwing didn’t possess it at all. Eärendil thought she did have it, judging from the closed expressions everyone in her household adopted every time it was mentioned.

“Well, you know. One can always hope.”

“Why?”

“I just want to see it. The Silmaril. Fëanor’s greatest work, hallowed by Varda Elbereth herself.”

Eärendil shrugged. He was part of the wrong branch of Finwë’s family to truly appreciate Fëanor or his accomplishments. Aerandir was half-Noldo; his father’s parents had crossed the Helcaraxë as part of Fingon’s host, and his mother was one of the Falathrim. That removed him enough from the complicated family politics of the House of Finwë to have no qualms about admiring Fëanor – and the Silmarils – at least from a craftsman’s perspective.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Eärendil,” Aerandir said when they parted, and walked off swinging his arms and whistling into the twilight. Eärendil went to the water pump in the center of the courtyard to rinse the grime and dirt off his hands and legs.

As he did so, movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He looked up in time to see a shadowy figure pass over the roof of Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel’s house. He straightened, frowning up there, oddly reminded of that story of Lúthien’s escape from the house Thingol had built in – what was that tree called? He couldn’t remember. She’d woven a cloak of her own hair and somehow that had put the guards to sleep.

Now, Eärendil wondered if her granddaughter was not attempting to do the same. He wandered around the side of the house, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of the rooftop.

In the end, his curiosity grew overwhelming, and he found a trellis near the garden wall and climbed to the roof himself.

Elwing sat up sharply. “What are you doing?” she hissed. Her skin shone particularly pale in the starlight, and her eyes were like stars beneath her hair. Eärendil found himself staring, unable to speak for a moment. Was this what it was like for Beren, then, when he first laid eyes on Lúthien?

“Get down from here,” Elwing hissed again. She sounded like a frustrated cat, which shattered the moment.

“What are you doing up here?” Eärendil asked, climbing fully onto the roof instead, moving carefully so as not to alert anyone in the room below to activity above.

Elwing crossed her arms and scowled at him. Her glare was more formidable now than it had been when they were younger, but he couldn’t really see it in the darkness. Her hair was like a living shadow, floating around her head, soft and fine as silk. “I’m up here for the same reason I was in the forest when you followed me there,” she said.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that,” Eärendil said, drawing his knees to his chest and looping his arms around them. “One of the gardeners found the whole in the wall behind the honeysuckle last spring, and it’s all covered, now. Do you still sneak into the woods?”

“Do you think I would tell you if I did?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps not. I suppose the fixed wall wouldn’t be much of a hindrance to you. If you can climb up here, you can certainly scale a wall.” She didn’t answer. “What were you doing in the forest, that day? At the pond, I mean. Staring at the water?”

For a long while, she didn’t reply, and he started to think she wouldn’t. But finally, she said, “I was watching the tadpoles.”

“Tadpoles?”

She gave him a look - the one that said he was hopeless. “Baby frogs. They hatch from eggs but they don’t look like frogs. As they grow they sort of…change. I liked watching it.”

“Oh.”

“You smell like fish,” she said after a moment, wrinkling her nose.

“I was down at the quays.”

“Why?”

“Aerandir and I - we like to sail around the bay. But our skiff foundered last week. It was becoming too small for us anyway, so we’re building a bigger sailboat.”

“Oh.”

They lapsed into silence. It was an uncomfortable silence, but not as uncomfortable as it had been. Eärendil looped his arms around his knees and stared up at the sky; his eyes were drawn immediately to the Valacirca, swinging in the north. The Sickle of the Valar. His mother had told him how Varda had placed it there as a warning, but did that warning mean anything anymore? Just that morning more refugees had stumbled into Sirion, Laiquendi from Ossiriand who could no longer roam as was their wont, because Morgoth’s beasts roamed too, and their numbers were larger.

After a while, Elwing spoke again. “Your parents will be wondering where you are.”

Eärendil grimaced. That was true. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Elwing,” he said, sliding toward the trellis.

“Good night, Eärendil.”

“Good night.”

He didn’t see Elwing again until a few days later, when she happened upon him in the garden. She halted when he looked up. “I thought you were at the harbor, I’m sorry.” She turned as though to flee.

“Wait,” Eärendil said. Elwing turned back, frowning. He grinned. “Not everyone dislikes unexpected company, you know.”

“Did you not come out here to be alone?”

“I came out here because the grass is comfortable and the sun is warm,” Eärendil said. He gestured to the grass beside him. “See for yourself.”

Elwing carefully sat, arranging her skirts neatly on the grass as Eärendil turned his gazes back to his whittling. “Why aren’t you at the harbor?” she asked after a moment.

“There is a council meeting this afternoon, and my mother had decided I’m old enough to attend more regularly,” Eärendil replied. “She says it’s likely one day you and I will be ruling Sirion, and it’s time I started learning how.”

“Why would you need concern yourself? Your mother is the leader of the Gondolindrim…”

Eärendil shrugged. His parents had been having whispered conversations lately that ceased the moment he entered the room. They were planning something, or thinking of planning something, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what it was. “Nothing is certain.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Elwing watched as he brushed wood shavings off his tunic. “Eärendil?”

“Hm?”

“Why do you keep following me places?”

“I’ve only followed you twice.”

“Well, yes, but why?”

He shrugged. “Misguided attempts to get you to talk to me?” Out of the corner of his eye he saw her lips twitch. “And, well, curiosity. I didn’t think you left your room before I spotted you sneaking off into Nimbrethil.” He finished the last touches on his carving, and picked up a piece of sharkskin Aerandir had given him to smooth it. As he worked, they lapsed into silence - still not completely comfortable, but still friendlier than the night before. And when he was done, Eärendil held the finished product - a comb - out to Elwing. “For you.”

“Me?” Elwing took it carefully, running her fingers lightly over the roses he’d carved into the handle. “It’s lovely.” And then she smiled - a small smile, but a genuine one. “Thank you, Eärendil.”

“You’re welcome.”

The moment was shattered a moment later by the sound of breaking glass, followed by cursing and startled exclamations. Eärendil leapt to his feet and ran inside, finding a mirror in shards on the floor, and his father storming out of the room, leaving a trail of blood drops in his wake. His mother stared after Tuor, fear and concern and helpless frustration warring on her face, before she noticed Eärendil’s presence. “What happened?” he demanded as Elwing joined him.

“Nothing,” Idril said too quickly. She moved for the broom, but Elwing beat her to it. “Excuse me…” Idril disappeared after Tuor, leaving Eärendil utterly confused, and not a little frightened.

“What…?”

“They fought, Eärendil,” Elwing said softly. “Couples fight. You should hear Galadriel and Celeborn, sometimes.”

Eärendil could easily imagine Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn arguing. Both of them were strong-willed and proud, Noldor clashing with Sindar. But his parents? Idril and Tuor never fought - at least, not like this. Things did not break when they argued. He almost said so, but decided against it. Instead he took the broom from Elwing. “You needn’t clean this up, Elwing.”

“I want to help,” she said, taking it back. “Fetch a rag and clean up the blood before it sets into the floor.”

Deciding one argument was enough for one day, Eärendil obeyed, and together they set the room to rights, minus the mirror. Eärendil turned over one of the larger shards in his fingers, frowning, as the cook brought them lunch, along with news that neither Tuor nor Idril would be attending the council meeting that day. Elwing thanked her graciously, and when she left, said, “You will be expected to take their place, Eärendil.”

“I don’t know anything about leading people,” he said.

“I don’t think anyone will expect much leadership today,” Elwing said. “We will be going over the harvest and what needs to be done to ensure we survive the winter. Celeborn thinks we will need to send out extra hunters in the coming weeks, but the harvests the past few years have been unusually good.”

Eärendil set down the mirror shard and picked up a slice of cheese. “Have you heard why?”

Elwing glanced at him sharply. “What do you mean?”

“They’re saying your Silmaril is responsible. It’s good luck, or a blessing, or some such thing.”

To his surprise, Elwing scowled. “It’s not the Silmaril,” she said flatly. “What good have the Silmarils ever brought anybody?”

Eärendil blinked. “I’m only repeating what I’ve heard,” he said. “But weren’t they hallowed by Varda Elbereth…?”

“Maybe, but a jewel in a chest doesn’t make the crops grow. Good weather and good farmers make crops grow.” Elwing closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I don’t like talking about the Silmaril, Eärendil.”

“Then we won’t talk about it,” he replied. Somewhere in the house he heard muffled shouting. It sounded like his parents. He grimaced. “What do you suppose they’re fighting about?”

“I could not say.” Elwing smoothed her skirts with one hand, running her thumb over the comb he had given her with the other. “Have you heard what else the people say, Eärendil?”

“They say a lot of things,” he replied.

“Yes. One of those things is that you and I would make a good match.”

He looked up sharply. “And what are you saying?”

“It would be a terrible idea, I think. We would argue all the time.”

Eärendil laughed. “I doubt that. We’d hardly spend any time together at all. You would disappear into the forest and I would sail the sea.”

“We would meet only at mealtimes, I suppose. Between your voyages, of course.”

“And on special occasions. Festivals, and the like.”

“And we would look so terribly odd. You a Noldo and I a Sinda.”

“I don’t know about that. Galadriel is a Noldo, and Celeborn a Sinda.”

“Galadriel is a descendant of Thingol’s brother Olwë, so that hardly counts. You are Noldo through and through.”

“Technically I am only half-Noldo, since my father is a Man of the House of Hador,” Eärendil said.

“As my grandfather was a Man of the House of Bëor,” Elwing replied with a small smile. “And there you have it: we are both Halfelven, aren’t we? Perhaps the only thing we have in common.” She glanced out of the window, and stood. “The council will be meeting soon. I hope you’ve a good explanation for your parents’ absence ready.”

Eärendil grimaced. “Will Lady Galadriel be there?”

“Of course.”

“Maybe she’ll have an idea.”

In the end the members of the council had to be satisfied with the simple explanation, “Lady Idril and Lord Tuor are indisposed.” They certainly could not demand more detail when Lady Galadriel looked down her nose at them. Most seemed to forget about it anyway, when they saw Eärendil take a seat beside Elwing. He did not miss their looks of approval, or Elwing’s sigh. He wondered if the fact that they ignored each other for almost the entire meeting would do anything to lessen the rumors, but he doubted it.

Sirion thrived on gossip, after all.

When Eärendil returned home, he found his father in the courtyard with Voronwë, laughing about something. If his hand had not sported a bandage, one might think nothing had happened. Eärendil dodged their questions about the meeting and went inside, where he found his mother in the parlor, sitting by the window overlooking the sea. She held a mug of mulled wine, and her eyes were unusually swollen, and rimmed with pink. “Nana?” Eärendil hovered in the doorway, not sure if she wanted to be disturbed.

But she smiled and held out a hand. “There you are, Eärendil. How did the meeting go?”

“Sirion is well set for the winter,” he replied, going to sit on the floor beside her, resting his head on her knee like he’d done as a child. “Are you well?”

“Of course,” she said, running her fingers over his hair. “I saw Elwing with you earlier. Have you finally decided to become friends?”

“Maybe. But earlier…”

“Your father and I fought. It happens, sometimes. You needn’t worry, Eärendil.”

Eärendil frowned, but let it go, not sure that it was really his place to push the issue.

Eventually Eärendil left the house. In spite of his mother’s words, the tension was so thick inside he felt difficulty breathing. There were still several hours of daylight left, so Eärendil went down to the beach to see if anything interesting had washed up with the tide.

He walked a ways down the shore, away from Sirion, meandering between the wet and dry sands and letting the cold water wash over his bare feet. It would be too cold, soon, for that. The steady sound of the waves rushing in and dragging out was as calming as ever, drowning out everything else, except for the cries of half a dozen gulls wheeling overhead.

The high tide had left behind plenty of seashells, and it wasn’t long before Eärendil’s pockets bulged with them, and he entertained thoughts of stringing them into a necklace. For his mother, maybe.

As the sun sank westward once again, he turned back toward home, seeing the lamps at the harbor already winking into life in the distance.

And closer, there was someone else on the beach, with dark hair and a pale gown damp with the spray, and soaked at the hems. He smiled, and picked up his pace. “I thought you didn’t like the Sea,” he said when he met Elwing, who had stopped to pick up a seashell of her own.

“I saw you come this way, and thought I would follow.” She turned the shell over in her fingers. “See how you like being followed.” She glanced up, with a sparkle in her eyes he’d never seen before - and that was definitely the curve of a smile on her lips.

“Better than you, anyway,” he said, taking her arm and moving them back from the water; it was getting uncomfortably cold, and neither of them wore shoes. He grinned at her. “I told you, remember, not everyone dislikes unexpected company.”

She tossed her hair over her shoulder, regarding him with a mix of curiosity and vague amusement. “Do you never then yearn for solitude, for the company of nothing but your own thoughts?”

“Yes, of course I do.” Usually that was when he escaped here, to the beach, to watch the sun set. He glanced toward the horizon, already flaming with vibrant pink and clouds shot with threads of gold. “Usually I like watching the sunset alone.”

“Why?” Elwing looked to the west as well.

“I don’t know.” He didn’t look away from the sun; to do so would mean missing it. “But it’s incredible, isn’t it?”

“It’s beautiful.”

“And there will never be another sunset just like this one. It is utterly unique, and so fleeting, this one moment between the light of day and the twilight.”

They stood together in silence as Anor sank at last beyond the western seas, and the sky faded, as the gloaming set in, stars winking to life like diamonds. Elwing tipped her head back, gazing at them, fiery gems flung into the sky by Varda Elbereth so long ago. She looked so pretty in that moment that Eärendil felt the most ridiculous impulse to kiss her.

But before he could even start to lean forward, she turned away, the wet hem of her dress whispering over the sand. “We should get back before it gets too dark, or they will worry.”

“Right.” Eärendil took her hand and together they ran across the sand.

Then, suddenly, Elwing started laughing, slowing to a walk and releasing Eärendil’s hand. “What is that in your pockets?” she asked. Her nose scrunched up when she laughed, and a dimple appeared on the left side of her mouth. It was the first time Eärendil had seen her genuinely smile, and his suspicions had been right: it was lovely.

“My pockets?” Eärendil realized suddenly the seashells he’d collected were clinking together, making him sound rather ridiculous when he ran. He joined Elwing’s laughter, and pulled one out to show her. “I was collecting seashells.”

“They sound like strange bells, clinking together like that.”

“Sea bells, perhaps. I was thinking of stringing them together...”

Eärendil did not take her hand again until they reached the steep path leading back up the cliffs. Then he clasped it firmly, guiding through the deepening shadows, and catching her when she stumbled - which wasn’t often: Elwing seemed to have no more trouble seeing in the darkness than an owl, and only tripped when she overstepped.

In the courtyard, they took turns rinsing the sand from their feet, and then Elwing flashed Eärendil a smile. “Good night, Eärendil.”

“Good night, Elwing.”