Where the Ocean Meets the Sky and the Land by StarSpray

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Chapter 11

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"How tall is it going to be?" Elwing asked as she leaned over Anairë's shoulder to look at the sketch. This one was done in pencil, and much clearer than Anairë's quickly scribbled charcoal drawings had been while they were up on the cliffs. The desk was scattered with pencils and broken erasers and rulers and other instruments that Anairë said were to measure angles.

"How tall do you want it to be?" Anairë asked in reply, and laughed when Elwing of course had no answer. She had never had to think about building a house before. "Well, how tall would be too tall?"

"I don't know," said Elwing. "We had no towers in Sirion."

"Well, there are plenty in Tirion," said Anairë. "Or even in Valmar. You have not visited Valmar yet, have you?"
Elwing sat down beside the desk. Anairë's rooms were open and airy, as were all the rooms in Olwë's palace. The desk, though, had been brought originally from her home north of Tirion, and it was of dark and sturdy wood, with so many drawers filled with pens and ink and papers and pencils and other instruments that Elwing could not fathom how Anairë kept track of it all. "I have seen Valinor—from a distance," she said. "But I have not yet visited."

"We can go on a tour of towers after the fleet departs," said Anairë. She glanced out of the window. Ships bobbed in the bay, big ones with little ornamentation, made to carry as many soldiers and as much supplies as possible, as quickly as possible. Aulë and Ulmo themselves had been flitting in and out of Alqualondë to help speed the processes. What preparations of their own the Valar were making, Elwing could not guess. It would not be long now, though, before the armies departed—the ships for the coast farther south, and the Valar presumably straight for Angband. The armies were gathering outside of Alqualondë, which was making tensions run high—everyone remembered the last time there was an army outside of their gates, and the presence of the Vanyar only did so much.

After leaving Anairë to her sketching, Elwing lunched with Finarfin and Ingwion and their captains. The conversations of late had centered around dragons—Elwing had told the tale of Húrin's children one evening, and the descriptions of Glaurung had everyone alarmed. Of course, Elwing could tell them nothing except what she had heard in the songs and tales sung of Túrin Turambar, which was little enough. There had been dragons in the army that had overtaken Gondolin, but Elwing had never heard the tale of that battle in full.

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The days and weeks passed swiftly, Alqualondë now busy as a beehive with folk coming and going and smoke pouring from the shops and smithies. Seeing the Valar walking through the streets or consulting with the captains of the armies in Olwë's palace became commonplace, though Elwing always turned around and went another way when she saw them, if she could.

And then Aulë himself called upon her. He was stocky and muscular, and sported a thick black beard with beads braided into it that gleamed like stars and clicked when he moved. Elwing had met only one or two Dwarves in her life, those who had become trapped on Balar when the roads east grew too dangerous to travel far, and the only difference between them and Aulë was that he was taller—and even then not by very much, for he was scarcely taller than Elwing herself.

"I'm told you have a piece of my children's work that Ulmo managed to damage," he told her cheerfully. "May I see it?"

Elwing stared at him for a moment before realizing what he meant. "Oh! The Nauglamír? Yes, of course, my lord. Please wait just a moment." She hurried to fetch it out of the chest where it had lain, wrapped carefully in soft cloth, since the Silmaril had been removed to be fastened permanently to Vingilot's mast. She lifted it out and brought it to Aulë, who set it on a table by a window, where the sun caught and gleamed on the gold and the silver, and glittered on the gems like fire. "Ah," Aulë said, sounding pleased and proud. "This is beautiful. Or it was, before Ulmo got so careless. His power can be crushing as the weight of miles of ocean water."

"What are you doing?" Elwing asked as Aulë ran his fingers along the wide chains.

"Repairing the damage," he said. "I do not like to have broken things lying about. And this is one of the finest pieces that my Children have yet crafted, and I would see it restored to its glory." He reached into a pocket of his apron and pulled out a handful of gems, and as he hummed softly and manipulated the necklace, the bent metal smoothed and the settings were restored, and the air around them felt heavy with Power and heat not unlike a forge, that set Elwing's skin to prickling. And finally, as he ceased his singing, he set the gems from his pocket into the empty setting. In the largest one, where the Silmaril had been set, he placed an opal of equal size and shape. "There," he said once it was done. "Not exactly as it was, perhaps, but close enough." He lifted the necklace and placed it around Elwing's neck. "Made for broader shoulders, but still quite lovely."

It felt lighter on her shoulders than it had before. Perhaps the Silmaril had added imagined weight. "Thank you, Lord Aulë." She dropped into a curtsy, the gems on the Nauglamír flashing with the movement. He inclined his head in response, and took his leave. Once she was alone again, Elwing removed the necklace and wrapped it up again in the cloth. Even repaired, even with the Silmaril gone from it, she did not have much desire to wear it.

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Then, at long last, Elwing received word that Eärendil was returning. That evening she hurried down to the harbor as his star began to grow larger—and larger, and larger, until Vingilot itself was visible. It sailed down and onto the clear waters of the Bay of Eldamar with hardly a splash, and when it did the harbor and the city erupted in cheers.
Eärendil appeared at the bow of the ship, leaning out over the railing as Vingilot approached the docks. Elwing had already made her way to the end of one of the very few empty ones, and when he spotted her his face lit up brighter even than the Silmaril. His hair was windblown and his cheeks were flushed, and he shimmered as he moved, as though someone had sprinkled diamond dust all over him. He did not even wait for a single rope to be thrown from the ship before he leaped down onto the dock to catch Elwing up in his arms. "I missed you," he said into her hair.

"Welcome home," she replied.

It took a very long time to return to the palace. It felt as though everyone in Valinor had come to Alqualondë, and all of them wanted to catch a glimpse of Eärendil. Elwing kept a tight grip on his hand throughout the walk, half-afraid he would be swallowed up by the crowd. He laughed and waved to those who called out to him, and eventually they escaped into the palace itself, which seemed empty and near-silent after the clamor outside. Only when they reached her rooms did Elwing let her grip on his hand loosen, and Eärendil turned to embrace her again, kissing her soundly. "Ah, Elwing!" he said. "It's incredible out there! To see the stars from the stars—and to see the whole earth stretched out beneath you—I could see everything! I may like it even better than sailing the Sea!"

"I didn't think such a thing was possible," Elwing said, which made him laugh. "But Eärendil, what did you see? What is happening at—in the East?"

He sobered immediately. "I found our boys," he said. "It took the better part of the year, but I finally saw them, near the eastern end of the Amdram. They've grown quite a bit—but Elwing, they are with the Sons of Fëanor. I wasn't certain at first—even with the spyglass Eönwë gave me, since I've never seen them before. But Maedhros is unmistakable."

"I dreamed that they had been taken," Elwing said. "But I hoped, perhaps…"

"They looked well," Eärendil said. "I cannot say if they are happy, but they are healthy, and cared for."

"By Kinslayers."

"I would rather see them as they are than fallen prey to orcs, or worse," said Eärendil. "In any case, there they must stay—Beleriand is near overrun with the servants of the Enemy. I think it is only Maedhros' reputation that keeps that little fort safe. Ossiriand remains mostly untouched, but the only other island of safety is Balar. I know that the Valar have not been idle, but they need to march forth soon, or it will be too late."

"They plan to set out any day now," said Elwing. "It was why you were recalled—Arafinwë and Ingwion will want to hear all that you can tell them. But it can wait until the morning," she added as he raised a hand to stifle a yawn.

"Better not wait," Eärendil replied. "Or not that long, anyway—I would like to have a bath first, and a meal cooked in a real kitchen."

"Both are waiting for you," Elwing replied. This earned her yet another kiss, before Eärendil retreated to wash away the glittering stardust and whatever other grime accumulated when one sailed the skies. He did not linger, and emerged in fresh clothes and smelling properly earthbound—of lavender scented soap, rather than the strange metallic scent that had followed him from Vingilot. He and Elwing dined alone, giving her the chance to tell him who was there, and to warn him about which relatives to expect—Anairë, of course, foremost among them.

"What is she like?" Eärendil asked.

"She's lovely," said Elwing. "You can see Idril in her smile."

Eärendil's own smile was brief. "Have you spoken of my mother with her? Or my grandfather?"

"No. I think she knows or suspects already that Turgon is dead. But she has not asked me. Most of our conversations have been about the tower she is designing for me."

"A tower?" Eärendil repeated. He leaned forward. "Tell me all about it."

After the meal they went to the council room, where Olwë's sons Aiwë and Ëarion were seated with Ingwion and his sisters, and Arafinwë. They all rose and bowed when Elwing introduced Eärendil, but formalities were quickly dispensed with, in favor of information and strategy. Elwing sat beside Lintanis and watched as Eärendil leaned over the maps to point to encampments and strongholds, and to trace the movements of both the Enemy and their own peoples, and a little bit of the movements of the Dwarves in the Ered Luin—but they seemed to have retreated beneath the mountains, and Elwing could not blame them. The picture that Eärendil painted was not good. It was worse than Elwing had feared, though if anyone else in the room felt any fear, they did not show it.

"When do you set sail?" Eärendil asked finally.

"Three days' time," said Ingwion. "And you will be our herald, Cousin."

Eärendil's grin was fierce. "Gladly."

They spoke and planned late into the night. After, curled up together in bed and listening to the sea outside the windows, Elwing traced her fingers down over Eärendil's face. "At least I do not need to fear for you," she said softly. "Unless there is some other devilry brewing in Angband. You'll come back."

"Of course I'll come back." Eärendil caught her hand and kissed her palm. "I always will."