Nothing in the World is Single by StarSpray

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Chapter 3

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If Eärendil thought that friendship between himself and Elwing would continue to steadily grow, the coming of winter showed him his mistake. Elwing disappeared again, to her rooms or to the forest, he wasn’t sure, and he only saw her when the council met (which wasn’t terribly often, given Sirion’s prosperity and relative security) and when they were thrust into some social setting. And at those times they did their best to avoid eye contact, let alone conversation, in favor of discouraging rumors concerning their romantic relationship.

Or lack thereof.

Winter in Sirion was dark and grey and damp, for the most part, punctuated by squalls blowing in from the bay, and snowfall blowing from farther inland. That meant Eärendil was trapped inside most of the season, and by the time Midwinter arrived, he felt like he would go mad.

His mother’s attitude towards the cold didn’t help matters, either. Eärendil was expressly forbidden from going anywhere near the sea during the winter, especially when it was cold enough for ice and snow, and if he tried to go outside without a pair of gloves, let alone a coat, she seemed, somehow, to know, and swooped in to chastise him fiercely.

“It isn’t even that cold,” he muttered one afternoon as he dug through a chest in his room, searching for the gloves he’d misplaced.

“Humor her,” Voronwë said from the doorway. “You forget, Eärendil, she crossed the Helcaraxë. That crossing taught all to be wary of the cold, and she fears for you. My father was much the same way. Though you are more susceptible to the elements, being a child of Men, and I think your mother is right to worry.”

Feeling abashed, but also somewhat defiant, Eärendil didn’t answer. He found his gloves under his desk, in the end, and escaped into the garden. It was late afternoon, and twilight was already starting to set in, although it made no discernible difference yet: heavy clouds had obscured the sun all day, and now they were at last releasing their frozen burden. Heavy snowflakes drifted around Eärendil as he crunched through the existing drifts to the sea-facing wall. He could barely see the Sea, but he could hear it, the dull roar of the waves sounding strange in the otherwise silent afternoon. Snow had that strange, muffling effect on the world, rendering it almost silent.

Yet at the same time, sound carried more easily. Eärendil heard the swish of a skirt across the snow, and light footsteps long before Elwing came into view. She paused a moment before joining him at the wall. “Hello,” she said.

“Hello, Elwing.” Eärendil flashed her a smile, and she raised an eyebrow. Perhaps it was not as convincing as he’d thought. “What brings you out here?”

“The quiet,” she said, dropping her gaze to the wall. She brushed some snow off the top with a gloved hand. “I always forget how awful snow-quiet is, so I crave it until I step outside.”

“What do you mean?”

“After…” Elwing bit her lip. “The Fëanorians came in the winter,” she said after a long pause. “Doriath was filled with snow. It was night when they came; I’d spent that afternoon playing on the banks of the Esgalduin, building a fortress of snow with my brothers. It didn’t seem quiet, then. Our mother played with us, and the forest echoed with our laughter. But after we escaped - Celeborn and me, I mean - it was night, and there had been so much noise inside Menegroth. Shouting, and screaming, and swords and fire… Going outside was like having cloth stuffed in my ears.”

“I’m sorry.” Eärendil had never heard her speak of Menegroth’s fall. He’d never heard anyone speak of it, beyond the news brought to Gondolin by the eagles. “I didn’t mean to…”

“It’s all right. I think the quiet was a relief, then. Only now I keep thinking about my brothers. They died out in the snow. In the silence. Servants of Celegorm took them, and left them out there to freeze, or to starve. Perhaps as revenge; I’m told my father killed Celegorm himself.” She paused again. Then smiled ruefully. “I’ve never really spoken about that day to anyone.”

“You don’t have to talk about it to me if you don’t want to,” Eärendil said.

“It’s easier to speak to you than I would have thought,” she said. “Truly, I never expected us to be friends.”

“Why not?”

“Your heart is given to the sea, and mine to the forest.” Elwing glanced toward Nimbrethil. “You fear the forest.”

“I don’t…” Eärendil started to protest, but thought better of it when Elwing turned back to him, eyebrow raised. He remembered the way she’d looked, that afternoon he’d followed her into the trees. She’d been utterly at home, there, and he’d not gone a hundred yards into the wood before getting hopelessly lost. “We passed through Doriath, on our way south,” he said.

“I know.”

“Well - the forest remembered the Iathrim. Or at least it remembered Melian, and Lúthien. You could feel it in the trees, and there were strange mists and shifting shadows that folk said were a remnant of Melian’s Girdle. They said there were ghosts there. I suppose I half-believe it still.”

He fully expected Elwing to explain to him that there were no ghosts in Doriath and that he was being ridiculous, but she didn’t. Instead she said, “There are no ghosts in Nimbrethil. Perhaps when spring comes I can teach you some woodcraft.”

“Only if you let me teach you sailing,” Eärendil replied. “But you know, such things will fuel the gossip mongers of Sirion. They’re already convinced we’re more than half in love.”

“Let them talk.” Elwing tossed her hair out of her face, shaking some of the snowflakes free. “I’ve decided I don’t care what they say.”

“What if they aren’t all wrong?” Eärendil asked, leaning against the wall and tilting his head back to watch the snowflakes fall towards them. Elwing fell silent; he could feel her eyes on him. He almost regretted saying anything.

“Then I still wouldn’t care what they said,” she replied finally. “I would have other concerns. I’m going to go inside, now. Good evening, Eärendil.”

“Evening…” He sighed, once she was out of earshot. “Wonderful work, Eärendil. Now you’ve probably ruined everything.”

As darkness settled across the land in earnest, Eärendil retreated back inside, and retreated to his room. Círdan was spending the winter in Sirion, and he had been locked away with Idril and Tuor for the past few days, discussing plans no one seemed particularly eager to share. Eärendil thought it had something to do with his father’s growing restlessness. He could hear their muffled voices as he passed by the door, and it took a large portion of his willpower not to stop and listen at the keyhole.

The next morning, however, found his parents, Voronwë, and Círdan going to visit Galadriel and Celeborn across the way, leaving Eärendil to his own devices. He slipped into the study, and found plans and sketches spread across the desk, filled with both his parents’ handwriting, plus an unfamiliar, firm script that must have been Círdan’s.

They were planning and designing a ship. Eärramë, it was to be called. Eärendil frowned as he examined one of the papers, outlining a list of supplies needed for the building. That did his parents need a ship for?

As he left the room, he found the cook wandering the halls, apparently looking for him. “Oh, there you are, Master Eärendil. Lady Elwing is here to see you.”

Eärendil froze. “She is?”

“I’ve shown her into the parlor, and I’ll send Ivorin out with some tea.”

“Thank you.”

Eärendil entered the parlor unsure of what to expect. He’d practically admitted he was in love with her, and Elwing’s reaction had not been particularly encouraging, after all. “Good afternoon, Elwing,” he said carefully, taking a seat across from her, by the large window that overlooked the sea. It was where they had sat the last time she had taken tea with him. “Hello,” he said after a moment of awkward silence. “What brings you here?”

“I needed to get away,” Elwing replied. She sat with her hands clasped loosely in her lap; if she felt as awkward as Eärendil did, it didn’t show. “Círdan has been teasing Celeborn all morning, telling tales of him as a child.”

Eärendil frowned. “Celeborn was once a child?” It was hard to imagine, although, when he thought about it, less difficult than imagining Lady Galadriel small enough to be bounced on someone’s knee.

“Mm. I left when the tales turned to what Lúthien was like when she was small.” Elwing paused as Ivorin entered the room. Eärendil thanked her as she set down the tea tray, and when they were alone again Elwing added, “Talk of Lúthien usually leads to talk of me.” She wrinkled her nose as Eärendil poured the tea. He almost stopped to ask what was wrong with it, but she continued, “They like to compare me to her. As though anyone could compare to Lúthien Tinúviel.”

“And I’m the only person you know who never met her, and thus cannot make such comparisons?” Eärendil raised an eyebrow. Elwing shrugged. “I’m almost insulted. Here I thought you came to visit because you enjoy my company.”

That made her laugh. “I suppose your company is enjoyable, as well.” She accepted her teacup with murmured thanks, and sipped the steaming liquid thoughtfully. “Do you know why Círdan is here in Sirion for the winter? I thought he rarely left Balar.”

“I think he’s going to build a ship for my parents. Or help them build it. Or something.” Eärendil sipped his own tea, struggling to keep his expression impassive. “But I don’t think I’m supposed to know that. I slipped into the study and found plans on my father’s desk this morning.”

“Your father does speak often of the sea,” Elwing said. “I’m a little surprised it’s taken this long for him to think of sailing.”

“But where would they sail?” Eärendil asked. “To Balar and back? It’s not a fishing boat they’re planning in there, but one for long voyages.”

Elwing shrugged. “You’ve spoken of taking long voyages.”

“Yes, but…” Eärendil stopped. He had been about to say that he was not nearly as old as his father was, but realized that that was the first time he’d truly thought of his father as aging. “Well. That’s different.”

“Maybe.”

Elwing seemed to sense his sudden discomfort, so their talk turned to other things - the weather, their mutual longing for spring, the ragtag group of Men who had stumbled into Sirion early that morning. The dead of winter was not a good time for building, so finding shelter for all of them - including a half a dozen children under the age of five - was proving to be a struggle. “Their leader and his wife visited us last night,” Elwing said. “They had encountered some of the Green Elves in Ossiriand, but I think Galadriel frightened them more than a little bit. And they found Celeborn terribly intimidating. I don’t know why they didn’t come here, Tuor being a Man and all…”

“What did you think of them?” Eärendil asked.

“The man - Crandor - reminds me of my grandfather, a little. His wife, Auriel, is pregnant. Their third child, they said, but the first two did not live beyond their second year.” She shuddered. “And not even because of orcs or marauders. They just got sick.” Elwing sat her teacup down and clasped her hands in her lap again, tightly this time, white-knuckled. “I greatly admire them. Their strength of will, I mean. They traveled here all the way from the Ered Luin, with their elderly and the very young.”

“We’ll be happy for their swords later, I think.”

“Mm.” Elwing leaned back, casting her gaze out the window. It was snowing again, a light flurry that sent snowflakes whirling and tumbling through the air on the lightest breeze. The sea was calm, steely grey beneath the paler sky. “Eärendil, what you said last night…?”

“You’ll have to be more specific; I said several things last night.”

She gave him a withering look. “You know what I mean. Did you really mean it?”

“That depends on how you feel about it.”

That made her roll her eyes. “You are so - ”

“Hopeless?” Eärendil suggested.

Her lips twitched. “Incorrigible.”

Eärendil laughed out loud. “I think I like that better. Because I’m really not hopeless, you know. I’m filled with hope. Filled to the brim.”

“Hope for what?”

“Lots of things. That spring will come again. That someday you might actually like me…”

“I do like you!” Elwing protested. Then she blushed. “I mean, I enjoy your company. On occasion.”

She was saved from further embarrassment by the return of Eärendil’s parents; Círdan still lingered in discussion with Celeborn. Elwing greeted Tuor and Idril politely, but excused herself almost immediately.

Idril watched her go with a knowing look in her eyes, while Tuor flashed Eärendil a grin. “Nice to see you two getting along so well,” he said.

Eärendil felt his face heat up. “She only came here to escape your boring talk,” he said.

Idril laughed. “I would hardly call stories of Celeborn’s youth, and the Great Journey, boring. But perhaps Elwing is yet too young to appreciate learning history from those who were present.”

Tuor shrugged. “Or maybe she only sought an excuse to come see Eärendil. I think that’s more likely.”

“You’re as bad as the fisher wives by the harbor,” Eärendil muttered, turning to start cleaning up the tea. “Honestly, you’d think there was nothing more important than my relationship with Elwing - or the lack thereof.”

Idril laughed and embraced him. “Let the fisher wives talk, Eärendil. Such gossip is harmless, and a good distraction in these dark times.”

“Like sketching shipbuilding plans?” Eärendil asked, keeping his voice light. Both his parents froze. Then his mother sighed, and his father muttered something under his breath about remembering to lock doors. “Why is that such a big secret? Where are you planning to sail?”

After a very long pause, Tuor answered, “West.”

Eärendil blinked. Then he frowned. “What do you mean West? To Balar? You hardly need…”

“No, Eärendil,” Idril said gently. “West.”

“To Valinor? You mean like Voronwë tried to sail to Valinor? How everyone else who has ever tried since the Noldor came to Beleriand have been shipwrecked or drowned?” Eärendil’s voice rose with each word until he was shouting. He did not know whether he was angry or frightened or merely confused - or perhaps a combination of all three. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Calm down, Eärendil,” his mother said sharply.

“When were you going to tell me you were leaving?” he demanded. “Were you going to wait until Eärramë was finished?”

“Of course not,” Tuor said. “It will take several years to complete Eärramë - and how do you even know that name?”

“He’s very thorough in his snooping,” Idril said dryly. “Eärendil, we were going to discuss this with you as soon as there was something to discuss. At this point we have not even decided for certain whether we will attempt to sail West.”

But Eärendil could tell from the look on his father’s face that he, at least, would sail. Tuor had felt the pull of the Sea ever since he first beheld it in Nevrast, and Eärendil knew that it had only been growing stronger as they dwelt by Sirion. And when he did sail, Eärendil did not think he would return.