Where the Ocean Meets the Sky and the Land by StarSpray

Chapter 16

This chapter was written for the 2021 Holiday Party prompt "Family"

Elwing wandered the slopes of the Pelóri, and the plains of Yavanna, and the woods of Oromë as the seasons changed and the years passed by. She went only sometimes back to the tower being built for her on the coast, when she could bear to stand at the edge of the Sea and gaze across it to the dark shadows over the eastern horizon. Little word came back to speak of the war and its progress, as the stones were piled one on top of another to slowly grow from a jumble of rocks to a smooth, elegant tower in the form of a mighty tree, with a branching crown to hold a wide, open, airy room at the top. All around it was a balcony with railings of cleverly-wrought metal in the shapes of leafy branches.

Inside, when the tower was at last completed, there were many rooms of varied sizes and designs. All were comfortable and lovely, and the artisans who made the furniture and hung the decorations consulted Elwing on every detail. The stairwells and many of the lower rooms were hung with beautiful, vibrant tapestries depicting everything from the Singing of the World to the coming of the Elves into Valinor, and other scenes beside—an homage to Eärendil and his kin. But there were many gaps, left at Elwing's own insistence. The weavers of Valinor were talented indeed, but she would weave the scenes of Beleriand herself. So a great loom was built for her in the high tower room alongside great bundles of thread in every color Elwing could have imagined and more—and more wool and silk and flax besides to be spun by her own hands if she wished.

At last the tower was finished, late in the spring. A small household was established for her, staffed entirely by reborn Sindar. Minyelmë told Elwing, laughing, that lots had had to be drawn to decide who would have the honor of dwelling with their queen. The rest of the reborn Sindar had scattered into the mountains to find dwellings for themselves; some had gone south, and there was much talk of finding a place that might someday become a second Menegroth.

On the day the last workmen and women left, and the last of the dust and dirt of construction was swept up, Elwing stood at the top of her tower, the smell of stone dust and furniture polish still strong in her nose, and gazed out over the sea. Over Valinor the skies were clear and blue, and to the south she could see the sparkling waters of Eldamar, and the great green shape of Eressëa. To the north the waters were darker, shading to green and grey rather than clear blue, and at the very edge of her vision Elwing could see the hazy beginnings of the Helcaraxë. Behind her the Pelóri reached skyward, never-melting snow shining at their peaks. But to the east the skies were dark. They were always dark. On this day Elwing could see flickers of lightning in them. Several times over the past few years tremors in the earth had been felt even in on the coast of Valinor, and once a rush of water had nearly drowned part of Alqualondë and swamped Eressëa. Elwing both yearned and dreaded to know what was happening in Beleriand.

She did not stay long in her completed tower. Lovely as it was, it was still too new to feel like a home, and was at once too big and too stifling. As the sun rose over the dark clouds in the east Elwing took flight and landed at the edge of Alqualondë just as the market began to fill up. She was long since a familiar sight in the city and received no stares as she passed through the streets, though many paused to greet her and ask about her new tower. She smiled and answered them, and in turn asked if any word had come out of the east. None had.

From Alqualondë Elwing took flight again and passed through the Calacirya, heading south and west to the Gardens of Lórien. She passed over Tirion, gleaming in the sunlight, and the green and golden fields of Yavanna. The workshops of Aulë loomed up to the south alongside the deep and dark forests where Oromë hunted. Lórien was a paler green, less entangled with underbrush and with kinder trees that let more of the sunlight down to dance on the flowers and grass and little streams.

She alighted near the pond where the niphredil grew. There were fewer blossoms this time, but they seemed to grow a little, and a few new flowers opened, when Elwing sank down among them. Their sweet clean scent smelled like homecoming. As Elwing brushed her fingers over the white and pale green petals, a breeze brushed by her, and a sensation like soft fingers brushed her cheek. When she turned her head she thought she saw, for just a moment out of the corner of her eye, a woman clad in grey with shadowy hair. "Hello, Grandmother," Elwing said softly. The breeze sighed again, and this time the ghostly fingers passed through her hair, an affectionate and motherly gesture.

When Elwing had been young she had been angry and resentful of Melian, who had reacted to Thingol's death by abandoning Doriath and all its people. But now that she saw, and felt, and heard the state of her grandmother, Elwing realized perhaps she had been unjust. Perhaps Melian couldn't have stayed. And perhaps her grief and the loss of all of her own power that she had poured into the Girdle and into Melian and into Doriath had diminished her so that this was all that remained: brief visions and mournful sighs on the breeze, and niphredil blooming in her wake.

She carefully picked a few niphredil blooms that were gong to seed before going in search of one of the other Maiar who had remained behind in Lórien when the others had gone away to war. She found one in the branches of a young beech tree, clad all in pale grey and singing in a strange tongue a song that made leaves unfurl around him and flutter in a nonexistent breeze. When he saw Elwing he ceased his singing and jumped lightly down to greet her with a bow. "Good afternoon, Lady Elwing!" he said. "What brings you to Lórien?"

"Flowers," Elwing said. "But I wish to ask a question—I think Estë would be best to ask, but she is not here."

"I will do my best to help you if I can," said the Maia. His hair shifted from grey to pale blue and then to an even paler yellow, and Elwing wondered if he was one of Irmo's folk. They were always shifting and changing the way things did in dreams. But this Maia's eyes remained the same, a steady blue-grey, and there was an air of kindness and care about him that put her at ease.

"It is about my grandmother," Elwing said. "Melian, I mean."

"Ah, Melyanna," said the Maia, eyes growing sad. "She is much diminished."

"Is she to remain so for ever?" Elwing asked.

The Maia did not answer immediately. He seemed deep in thought, his gaze drifting away from Elwing's face to look over her shoulder at the shadows beneath the trees where she had come from. Elwing waited. Finally, the Maia said, "I do not think so. Melyanna put forth much of her own power—her own self, for among the Ainur there is little difference—into her fair daughter Lúthien and into the defenses of the realm she shared with Elwë, and to withdraw and flee was to her as cutting off a limb might be to one of you Children, and her grief has been a heavy weight besides. But already, I think, she has begun to grow stronger. Before you came I do not think any Children would have caught a glimpse of her—and before you came, niphredil did not bloom anywhere in Aman. Not even here in Lórien." He smiled at Elwing. "I hope you come back to Lórien often, my lady, if only for her sake."

Elwing returned his smile. "Thank you," she said.

The Maia bowed again. "If you have need of me again, you have only to call," he said. "My name is Pallando." And with that he was transformed into a bright cloud of butterflies that flitted in a soft, whispering flutter into the treetops. Elwing watched until they had vanished from sight, and then retreated back to the pond where the niphredil bloomed. Elwing sat by the edge of the pond to bathe her feet in the cool water. Tiny gold and silver fish darted about, pausing to nibble at her toes before vanishing into the reeds. She watched them for a few minutes before beginning to speak—describing Sirion and the reedy wetlands of the river delta, and the cliffs that rose up on the coast just to the north, and the ships that came and went from Balar. There were no more sighing breezes and she saw no glimpses of dark hair, but it felt as though Melian's presence settled beside her, like she was listening intently to every word.