Where the Ocean Meets the Sky and the Land by StarSpray

Chapter 12

Eärendil went to see Anairë early the next morning, and did not return until lunchtime, just in time to dress to greet High King Ingwë and his company. He dressed hurriedly as a maid put the finishing touches on Elwing's hair, having twined strands of pearl and diamond through the braids. She wore pearls around her neck and in her ears as well, and a gown of light and breezy fabric in several shades of green and blue. Eärendil's tunic matched, and bore a six-pointed star embroidered on the front in bright silver thread. Someone had made him a circlet of intertwined silver stars set with hundreds of tiny glittering opals the sizes of pinheads, and he made a face as he put it on.

"Would something plainer not have sufficed?" he asked.

"All of your Noldorin relatives would be shocked to hear you ask such a thing," Elwing said. He laughed. "You look very princely." As the maid left them, she added, "How was Lady Anairë?"

"She's wonderful," said Eärendil. "We spent most of the morning talking of Gondolin."

They had to hurry to join Olwë and Arafinwë and the rest in the courtyard before the palace. Elwing could not see it, but she knew that the whole of Alqualondë and the encampments beyond were thronging with people, of the soldiers preparing to leave and their families and friends come to say farewell. She did not think there was a single elf in Valinor who had not come through the Calacirya. Music and laughter and noise echoed all along the shores of the bay, off of the water and off of the mountains—determined gaiety, fierce celebration in defiance of what may come. It must be a great comfort, she thought as she took her place beside Eärendil, to know that though your loved one might die they would still return to you someday.

At last, trumpets and cries went up to announce the arrival of High King Ingwë and his party. They rode on white horses through the gates into the courtyard, tall and lovely and arrayed in splendor. At Ingwë's side was his wife Lúnamírë, with emeralds woven through her soft brown hair, and on his other side rode a tall woman with hair of burnished gold who could only be Indis. Behind them came Findis and her family, and Lady Nerdanel with them, and other high lords and ladies of the Vanyar and Noldor. They were greeted with appropriate pomp and ceremony, and the whole company returned inside to one of the many wide open halls, where the courtiers of Alqualondë were gathered for dancing and drinking and singing and feasting.

"How much trouble will I be in when one of my cousins asks me to dance?" Eärendil murmured in Elwing's ear as they entered the hall.

"I have no idea," she replied. "I've done very little dancing."

They had some time before the dancing truly began. Elwing introduced Eärendil to Tavron and Helegil and others of the Sindar who had made their way from Mandos to the coast. They were clad in shades of grey and green in the old styles of Doriath. There were a dozen or so in the hall, scattered through the rest of the gathering. Elunis and Minyelmë were there also, and their reunion with Lúnamírë was merry, and Minyelmë immediately brought her over to Elwing and Eärendil for a second introduction, this time as cousins and with far less formality.

As the festivities stretched into the evening and the stars began to come out, someone called for music from Middle-earth. Something from Doriath, or even from the Great Journey or before. One of the Sindar—Orondis, Elwing thought, though she was across the room and unable to see clearly—stood immediately to take up a drum, and someone else a flute. Elunis announced, "I will sing for you one of many songs that have been written of the meeting of Elu Thingol and Melian in the dark woods of Nan Elmoth. It was written by Daeron our greatest minstrel and loremaster long ago when only starlight shone on the enchanted waters of the Esgalduin in Neldoreth, when Menegroth was newly-wrought and before Melian wove her Girdle."

It was a beautiful song. Elwing had heard it before—many of Daeron's songs had survived and come down to the Havens—and by the time it was done there was no face in the room untouched by tears. Eärendil took her hand and squeezed it. Across the room she caught a glimpse of Olwë standing alone by a window, head bowed and hands clasped in front of him, with starlight shining on his hair. It was only a glimpse, for the crowd was still moving about, and when she looked again he was gone. Someone else called for another song out of Doriath, and Elunis obliged with a song that was mostly wordless, meant for revelries and dancing. The other musicians quickly caught on to the melody, and as quickly as the music had brought tears it dried them into laughter.

"Oh, I know this dance!" Eärendil exclaimed, and pulled Elwing, laughing, into the throng. It was not a complicated dance, and one that they had both danced many times at summer celebrations in Sirion.

There were many other songs sung that night, each one older than the last until the oldest Elves among them were singing in a language nearly forgotten, songs that had been crafted on the shores of Cuiviénen long and long ago, before Oromë had come, before there was ever any thought of leaving that place. Those who were not dancing gathered together to talk and laugh and tell stories, and to drink sweet wine and eat the finest foods that Alqualondë had to offer.

The music and dancing and determined festivity did not last as long into the night as another celebration would have, for it was with the tide at dawn that the ships would depart, and it was just after the moon sank behind the Pelóri that Elwing and Eärendil were able to retreat to their rooms. The windows were open and the gentle breeze off the water made the curtains billow gently. Eärendil's armor sat gleaming on its stand. Neither of them looked at it as they undressed and slid beneath the soft cool sheets. Elwing curled up against Eärendil, who wrapped his arms around her and sighed. They did not speak; they had already said all there was to say, already made what promises they could. Elwing closed her eyes and listened to the steady beat of Eärendil's heart until sleep found her.

She dreamed that night of flying again, of that desperate and terrible flight across the sea with the Nauglamír a heavy shining weight around her neck. In the dream Sirion was always burning behind her so close she could feel the heat, and Vingilot was always a pale speck on the horizon, and she flew and flew and flew but could never get any closer to it…

Eärendil's kiss woke her. It was not yet dawn, but the eastern sky was growing pale with the promise of it. Elwing opened her eyes and Eärendil smiled down at her, before kissing her again and moving to get out of bed. Sounds from the rest of the palace reached them, a last flurry of activity as all prepared to depart. Elwing sighed, and rolled over to sit up, as servants came in to help Eärendil into his armor and to help Elwing dress. On this morning she wore white, a gown she had had made in the style worn in Sirion—which was in turn a blending of the styles of Doriath and Gondolin. The sleeves were wide like wings, and the neckline was high; over it she wore the Nauglamír, but no other ornamentation—the Nauglamír did not need anything to compliment it. Her girdle was of silver and edged with pearls.

When he was dressed Eärendil looked as splendid as any warrior hero from a story, in gleaming mail of steel coated with silver. His helm bore a plume of eagle feathers, and his shield was so scored with runes of warding and protection that Elwing's eyes crossed when she tried to look at it for too long. His cloak he held in place with a brooch made from the emerald Elwing had given him from the Nauglamír.

Together they emerged from the palace, and joined with Ingwion and his sisters as they made their way down to the harbor, where Vingilot waited. On her deck were the Maiar who served as Eärendil's crew, all of them also clad in shining armor, ready for war. The Silmaril hung on the main mast, blazing as bright as ever, illuminating the entire harbor as soldiers and sailors streamed onto the fleet. Many ships already filled waited floating in the harbor, their colorful sails bright as butterfly wings.

Eärendil turned to Elwing and kissed her. "Farewell for now, my love," he said.

"Be safe," Elwing replied. He flashed her a bright smile before striding away. He sprang up the gangplank to Vingilot, and in minutes she had lifted from the harbor, water falling from her like gleaming gems in the Silmaril's light, and soared up and around to hover over the fleet, a flagship and beacon all in one. Eärendil jumped to the very front of Vingilot's bow, leaning out over the harbor, one foot dangling in the air and only one hand grasping a line to keep him aboard. "Utúlie'n aurë! Aiya Eldalië ar Atanatári, utúlie'n aurë!" he cried in a loud voice, echoing the words of Fingon before the Nirnaeth Arnoediad when Turgon had come from Gondolin unloooked for, but now they were spoken truly, for no machinations of the Enemy would thwart them this time. As he spoke the sun crested the horizon over the sea, red as fire, and the Silmaril caught the new light and blazed forth with new brilliancy.

For a breathless moment the harbor was silent, before Elwing cried just as loudly in reply, "Auta i lomë!" And it was taken up by the whole host of Valinor, so that the words echoed off of the Pelóri to the west and the waves to the east. Soon, she hoped, it would echo off of the walls of Angband and down into the deepest and darkest of its pits.
As the cries began to die away Vingilot rose higher, and Eärendil retreated from the prow, and Elwing stood between Indis and Lúnamírë as they watched the ships drift out of the harbor and out into the bay. Uinen rose from the waters and bowed her head as they went past, until at last the hindmost ship was gone even from elven sight, and the Bay of Eldamar was again empty and smooth as glass. Vingilot was again visible only as a star on the horizon.

"I had not heard those words before, that Eärendil spoke," Ingwë said after a long stretch of silence. "Where do they come from?"

"Fingon the High King of the Noldor spoke them, before the Nirnaeth Arnoediad," Elwing said. She did not look at Anairë as she spoke. "He died that day, with too many others, and his hope was not realized. But now his words will at last ring true. May Morgoth hear them and tremble."