Where the Ocean Meets the Sky and the Land by StarSpray

Chapter 15

By the time Anairë had finished the model that would be come the basis for Elwing's tower, Elwing thought that she was starting to settle in, or at least starting to grow used to Valinor, at least a little. Sindar once of Doriath came and went from Valmar, seeking her and also paying their respects to Ingwë the High King. Some roamed farther north or east onto the mountain slopes, welcomed warmly by the Vanyar, who gladly offered themselves as guides, for even in Valinor the mountains could be treacherous, especially with the Valar themselves gone off to war.

Elwing went on a few excursions but never too far into the mountains. She loved the forests and the rivers, but nearly her whole life had been spent among flat river deltas and low rolling hills near the Bay of Balar, and the thought of climbing high mountain peaks was alarming. Anairë and Lúnamírë teased her, since she could have no fear of falling, not when she could fly, but Elwing only shrugged and kept to the lowlands and the river valleys.

And then she returned to Alqualondë with Anairë, where preparations were beginning for the construction of her tower. Barges for the stones were being constructed in the harbor, and masons and carpenters and other architects and many more craftsman besides were all coming together, eager for a new project. They greeted her brightly and warmly. Mahtan was among them, though Nerdanel was nowhere to be seen, and Elwing found herself consulted over nearly everything, from the shape of the windows to the color of the wood paneling in each room.

It was very nearly overwhelming. In Middle-earth they had built for warmth and protection—repelling orcs or the relentless winter rains was more important than comfort or beauty. There had been beauty, of course, because it had been mostly the Noldor doing the building, but it had been secondary and mostly unplanned. Sirion had been a patchwork haven of driftwood and stone and most of it had been hidden in the reedy marshland of the river delta. And now the Elves of Aman were surprised to find that Elwing had no opinion on paneling and was more concerned about the tower weathering the sea storms than about which shades of grey stone would do best for the stairs and whether the counter tops in the kitchen (and what a kitchen it would be!) should be of marble or of granite. And then they were more surprised to learn that she did not know the difference between them.

"They only want to be sure that you will be comfortable," Mahtan said when Elwing finally escaped the throng, and he accompanied her down to the beach. "You must excuse their enthusiasm—they are all very young and this is the largest project they have yet worked on."

They were all much older than Elwing was, and yet she felt ancient in comparison. She sat down on the sand and picked up a handful, letting the white and pink and pale green grains fall through her fingers. Not far away a group of children was building a sandcastle, taller than they were and all the colors of the rainbow. Mahtan sat down with her, and followed her gaze. "My Nerdanel and her brothers used to do that," he said. "Autano and Carastaro would compete to build the tallest. Nerdanel's were always smaller but of strange and lovely forms."

"My sons used to build watchtowers out of sand," said Elwing. "Elros would sometimes try to build little cities, but the waves always came and washed them away before he finished." She scooped up another handful of sand, this one all pinks and blues. "They would love the sands here."

"It is the work of many long ages of friendship between the Noldor and the Teleri," said Mahtan. "But much of the gem dust has been washed away by the tides. Perhaps we should bring more stones to the beach." He tossed a handful into the air and watched it settle. "My daughter has heard the tales you told of Doriath and Sirion." The names sounded strange on his tongue. "That is why she is not here."

"I hold no grudge against Lady Nerdanel," said Elwing.

"I am glad. We have heard also that her sons have yours in their keeping. I know it will not be much comfort to you, but Russandol and Macalaurë were always good with children."

Elwing bit her lip to keep from snapping. When she felt she could speak evenly she said, with only a slight tremor in her voice, "It does not comfort me. My brothers were the same age as my sons when they were left in the winter woods to die. Forgive me, Master Mahtan, but I cannot believe that Maedhros and Maglor keep my boys out of the goodness of their hearts." Mahtan sighed, and did not answer.

A call came suddenly from down the beach, and when Elwing looked over she saw a single figure striding down the sand. He was barefoot, and his hair was long and golden and swinging loose behind him, catching the sea breeze like a golden banner. He was clad in the soft grey raiment of those new-come from Mandos. Mahtan leaped to his feet with a startled cry, and Elwing scrambled to her own feet. The children building the sandcastle paused in their play to watch the stranger's approach. They whispered to one another, and then took off running back toward the palace.

"Master Mahtan!" exclaimed the figure as he drew closer. His smile was bright as the gem strewn beach and his eyes were piercing grey. He looked, Elwing thought, rather like Galadriel. "Where is everyone? I have come from Tirion, but found it empty! Is my father here?"

"Prince Findaráto," said Mahtan. "How…?"

Elwing stared at the prince in wonder. "King Felagund!" she exclaimed.

"Felagund!" He looked at her and laughed. "I did not expect to hear that name on these shores!" Then he looked closer, and swept a bow. "Fair lady, I can see in your glance and in your bearing that you are descended from Lúthien my cousin and Beren my dear friend! So he survived and returned to his Tinúviel after all—I am glad!"

Before Elwing could reply Ëarwen came racing down the beach. She cried out wordlessly and threw her arms around Felagund, who staggered as he caught her. And then there were tears and questions and much laughter. Felagund was exclaimed over by everyone who met them on the way back to the palace, and most of all by his grandparents and aunts. His coming was unlooked for but more than welcome. In the commotion Elwing slipped away, neither wanted nor needed at the moment. She was relieved to go back to her own rooms where it was quiet, but for the sound of the waves on the sand outside, and the birds calling cheerfully to one another in the garden. The breeze off the water made the curtains billow inward, and she slipped between them out onto the little patio. It was nearing evening, and she could see Eärendil on the horizon. She sighed, and sank down onto the top step to watch until he disappeared into gathering rainclouds.

The next week or so was rainy and grey, though Elwing could not call it exactly dreary. She kept to her rooms and left the architects and craftsmen to their planning, after assuring them several times that she trusted their judgment, and that Anairë knew her desires, only please do not ask her anymore to choose between cherry wood or oak or pine, or this color or that color. It all made her head spin, and she was glad to retreat out of everyone's way, especially with all of the commotion surrounding Finrod's unexpected return.

When the skies finally cleared and the sun came out again, Elwing went down to the little stretch of beach outside her rooms to cool her feet in the water and feel the breeze on her face. She sighed, tilting her head back and closing her eyes, listening to a group of gulls calling to one another, complaining of elusive fish in the bay. Then she heard someone singing, and turned to find Finrod Felagund walking along and singing a song that she had hard often in Sirion, from the mariners that lived on Balar. It was not a song for polite company, and he startled when she sang a few lines along with him. Then he laughed, and splashed through the waves to bow to Elwing, the courtly gesture a little ridiculous with him wet up to his knees and his hair windblown. "Well met, Lady Elwing!" he said. "I beg your pardon, I didn't think anyone was about to hear me."

"You needn't apologize to me, my lord," said Elwing. "I grew up around sailors and very few of them cared whether a young princess was about to hear their songs."

Unexpectedly, Finrod sobered. "My mother told me what you have said of Sirion, and of Doriath. I am sorry."

"Did you not see what happened?" Elwing asked. "I mean—I have heard it said that all the doings of the world are recorded in tapestries in the Halls of Mandos by the Weaver."

"So they are," said Finrod, "but the longer I am out of the Halls the harder it is to recall all that went on in them, or all that I saw. It is like trying to remember a dream upon waking. I remember watching the weavings of Nargothrond's fate, but very little else. Alas for Nargothrond, and my brother Orodreth, and my poor dear niece Finduilas! That was hard to see. And the dragon in my beautiful halls!"

"Oh!" Elwing had almost forgotten from where the Nauglamír had come before it came into her grandmother's possession. "Not all from Nargothrond was lost, Lord Felagund!" She turned and hurried back into her rooms, to the chest where she kept the necklace wrapped in soft cloth. The gems glittered in the sunlight through the window as she lifted it out, and the opal in the center flashed and sparkled. She carried it back out to the beach where Finrod was waiting, a bemused expression on his face. This faded into wonder as she held out the necklace. "Húrin Thalion brought this out of the ruin of Nargothrond, and gave it to Thingol, and when Thingol was slain it came to Lúthien, and so to my father Dior, and so to me. Now I am glad to return it to you."

Finrod took it with careful hands, as though fearful it might dissolve at his tough. "I did not expect to ever see this again," he said. "Thank you, Lady Elwing. It looks different—this is new." He ran his fingers over the opal, and so Elwing told him in brief the tale of the Nauglamír from Húrin's finding it in the ruin of Nargothrond, to her falling into the sea with it in Sirion, and Aulë's coming to Alqualondë himself to repair the work of his children.

"I must thank Aulë, when next I see him, then," said Finrod. "I think I like it best without a Silmaril of Fëanor stuck in the middle. But this necklace means more to you now than to me, Lady Elwing. It was a gift from dear friends, but it is now an heirloom of your house, and I know the store that Men set in such heirlooms."

"I would rather have had my parents than that necklace," said Elwing. "It is a beautiful thing but I shall like seeing it better around your neck than my own."

"Very well, then." Finrod reached up and clasped it about his neck, and looked only slightly ridiculous, in his plain clothes and loose hair and bare feet, with no other ornament but the ornate and glittering treasure at his throat. "I thank you again, Lady Elwing."

They spoke for a short while longer, of Alqualondë and what had changed and what had not since Finrod had last seen it before the Darkening, and how Elwing liked it, before Finrod wandered off back down the beach, singing an older song from the days of the Trees, of starlight on Eldamar and the silver and golden light spilling through the mountains to meet it. Elwing watched him go, and after he vanished around a bend she turned leaped into the air to fly up into the mountains, suddenly hating the sea all over again and missing desperately the trees and rivers of her earliest childhood, when Lúthien had danced beside Lanthir Lamath and Beren had held her in the shallow water to paddle her feet.