Where the Ocean Meets the Sky and the Land by StarSpray

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Chapter 4

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They departed Tirion several days later, on horseback. Elunis and Minyelmë rode without saddle or bridle, after the manner of starlit Beleriand. Elwing watched her cousin spring lightly onto a great gelding’s back and shuddered before hoisting herself into her own thrice-checked saddle.

She couldn’t deny feeling relief as Tirion shrank into the distance behind them, a shining white beacon atop Túna. Minyelmë and Elunis proved to be great traveling companions, both fond of traveling songs and filled with entertaining stories to pass the miles.

The countryside was beautiful, too. They passed fields of wheat and corn and other crops Elwing did not know at first glance, and also orchards, and fields filled with nothing but flowers that filled the air with fragrances sweet and sometimes nearly overpowering. Minyelmë jumped down once to gather an armful of flowers that had been planted inadvertently and haphazardly along the roadside, and spent the next half hour stringing them together into coronets for the three of them, hardly paying attention to her horse or, it seemed, to staying on its back.

That evening they camped by the roadside, beneath the stars. Elunis sang an old song as she kindled the fire. Minyelmë stretched out on the sweet-smelling grass, humming along as the stars glimmered to life in the purpling sky as the sun disappeared behind the horizon. Vingilot was not yet visible, but it would be, sooner or later—if the Valar had hoped for constancy in their messenger, they were sure to be disappointed.

The thought might have made Elwing smile, if she didn’t miss Eärendil so much.

“Tell me more about Cuiviénen?” she asked after a while. She’d never felt terribly curious about the Waters before, but here she was with two who’d been born there, both of them older—in spirit, if not in body—than anyone she had ever known, except perhaps Círdan.

Elunis smiled. The firelight danced across her face and flashed in her eyes. “You know the Sea,” she said. “The Waters were different. Calmer. The sky reflected on the water like a mirror, so you could not tell where the water ended and the sky began. We built our homes along the shoreline, the Minyar together, and the Tatyar, and our folk the Nelyar. From the start, it was our clan that loved the water best, and the forests—though all the best hunters were Minyar…”

Minyelmë spoke of racing along pebbled beaches, and carving elaborate designs into wooden combs and beads and spear handles. She spoke of the dances her parents taught her, wild dances that made the ones still practiced by the Iathrim and Laegrim seem tame in comparison…

When Elwing fell asleep that night, she dreamed of rough animal-skin drums pounding in time to feet in the dirt, with the stars wheeling around her like diamond fire as she soared through them on silver wings.

They rose early the next day, mist drifting through the orchards, making the trees seem strangely ghost-like in the early gloaming. Somewhere she could hear singing, a song of ripening fruit and deep-growing roots. As the music reached them Minyelmë straightened, breaking into a broad grin. “Ah, I thought we were close!” she exclaimed.

“Close to what?” Elunis asked as she sprung lightly onto her horse. Elwing got into the saddle far more slowly and with much less grace.

“My friends’ home! I’ve told you about them, Ammë—Lámion and Cullasso!”

“Oh, yes! Is that them singing now?”

“That sounds like Lámion.” Minyelmë smiled at Elwing. “I met Lámion and Cullasso just after I came out of Mandos. They were traveling home from visiting kin somewhere in the south, and let me ride with them as far as Tirion, since I of course had no idea where I was going.

“Come! They’ll be so pleased to meet you—and it is the season for blackberries!”

The singer they had heard was indeed Lámion, who stood overseeing other workers in the orchards and thickets, picking blackberries and blueberries and even strawberries. When he reached the chorus they joined in, filling the air with a sweet harmony—though someone among the blueberry bushes was singing off key.

Elwing had lived mainly on berries in the days between parting from Eärendil on the shore and coming to Alqualondë. Now, as then, they made her think of Elrond and Elros, both of them wont to return from berry picking with Luinnel or Lindir with purple sticky fingers and a mild stomach ache. And thinking of them, as it always did, made something constrict painfully in her chest.

Lámion turned at the sound of their horses on the road, and with a delighted shout came running to greet them. “Minyelmë! Well met, my friend; what brings you down Tirion way?”

Both Lámion and Cullasso were typical Noldor in appearance, with dark hair and grey eyes that flickered with the Light of the Two Trees. But they were not like the craftsmen or nobility she’d met in Tirion; they were farmers, with dirt under their fingernails, and songs to Yavanna rather than Aulë on their lips. Lámion walked with them down the road to a large sprawling house, where he lived with Cullasso and a surprising number of others—many of whom did not have Tree Light in their eyes, and who called both Cullasso and Lámion Atar.

“There were many children left behind when Fëanáro led the Noldor out of Tirion,” Minyelmë told Elunis and Elwing. “And many of those were left with no family to look after them, and nowhere to go—so Cullasso and Lámion took in as many as they could. More than they could fit into their home, which is why it’s so odd looking now. They just add on as they need to.”

And now those children were grown, and some had children of their own. Elwing nearly screamed when a pair of dark-haired children with berry-purple fingers came running through the courtyard. An older girl with copper colored braids and more freckles than Elwing had ever seen on one face went running after them.

“Are you all right, Elwing?” Elunis asked as Lámion went hunting for Cullasso. “You look a bit pale.”

“I’m fine,” Elwing said, as her heart slowly regained its normal rhythm. She was being ridiculous. Her sons weren’t here—and they weren’t going to suddenly appear just because she thought of them. No matter how much she might wish for it.

Both Lámion and Cullasso were delighted to meet Elunis and Elwing, because they were Minyelmë’s kin, and because they’d come from Tirion and had all the latest news. “Is it really true that new star is one of Prince Fëanáro’s Silmarils?” asked one of their adopted daughters, whose name Elwing couldn’t recall through the haze of introductions.

“Yes, it is,” Minyelmë said. “I’m sure all the bards are scribbling away furiously even now, trying to put all of the Mariner’s deeds into song.”

“But they don’t know any of his deeds,” Elwing said, frowning. She didn’t either, not really. Eärendil had never spoken much of his voyages when he returned to Sirion, at least not to her. Círdan probably knew more than anyone, but of course no bard here could ask him. Unless Ulmo or Ossë carried messages across the Sea, which seemed unlikely.

“They’ll still put them to song,” Minyelmë said cheerfully. “The Vanyar can turn a flower blooming into an epic lay half a dozen cantos long. Oh, I hope I’m present when Eärendil comes back and hears the first ones. I imagine the look on his face will be worth a song on its own!”

 

They stayed a week at the home of Cullasso and Lámion. Elwing learned a dozen new recipes, but the whole time she felt restless, like they were wasting time that should be spent doing something more useful.

“We can leave if you like,” Minyelmë said as they sat on a veranda in the late-afternoon sun, sipping a drink made from the juice of a sour fruit they called a lemon mixed with water and sugar. Elwing had not yet decided whether she liked it or not. They’d never had lemons in Sirion. “But it doesn’t really matter when we get to Lórien. Everyone will still be there.”

“I know.” Elwing took another sip and pursed her lips. “But I do want to return to Tirion before the Valar set forth.”

“It will be some time yet before that happens—long enough that we don’t really need to hurry.” Minyelmë set her empty glass down and reached for the pitcher. “The world won’t end if you relax a little, Elwing.”

“Don’t push her, Minya,” said Elunis, springing lightly up the steps to join them, Lámion at her side. “In Middle-earth it is dangerous to let one’s guard down.”

“I know that, Ammë,” Minyelmë said evenly. “That is how I died, you know.”

“It’s worse now,” Elunis said. “The Enemy’s creatures were few in number, and disorganized, then. Their strength lay in the fear they instilled in us. The thing that killed you was not the same as the things that killed me.”

Elwing flinched at the mention of their deaths, wondering what went on in Mandos that its inhabitants could return to the world with the ability to speak so matter-of-factly about their own deaths.

Lámion grimaced, too. “It’s too fine an afternoon to sit talking of death and war,” he said. “Let’s have a happier tale—Elunis, Elwing, tell us about Doriath!”

Elwing set her glass down and rose. “Elunis can tell you more than I,” she said. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll go for a walk.”

“Would you like company?” Lámion asked.

“No, thank you.”

The orchards were quite Noldorin—neat, orderly. They might have sculpted the trees like topiaries if it would have helped fruit production, Elwing thought. She walked between rows of apple trees; it was between the time of blossoming and the harvest, so the apples on the branches were small and green. Occasionally she came upon someone walking through the orchards singing songs of growth and abundance.

At the edge of the orchard a field of grass and wildflowers opened up before her, like a many-colored carpet, swaying in the breeze. Wild carrots were growing in abundance, here, their lacy blooms a pale counterpoint to the bright poppies and yellow daisies and dandelions growing beside them. A flock of birds took flight as Elwing waded into the grasses, and she watched them flutter into the sky and shrink into small black dots in the distance.

“Lovely, aren’t they?” A voice at her side made Elwing jump, and then trip over her skirts to fall over. Laughter like a songbird followed her down, and Elwing found herself staring up at a man with feathers in his hair, and a light in his eyes that was more than Treelight. A Maia, then. “I’m sorry,” he said, extending a hand to help her up. “I did not mean to startle you.”

“Yes, you did.” Elwing grasped his hand, and he pulled her to her feet as though she weighed nothing. “Who are you?”

“I am called Aiwendil,” he said. “I know who you are, Lady Elwing. You’re Melyanna’s granddaughter. Do you miss it?”

Elwing blinked. “Miss what?”

“Flying, of course! You haven’t taken wing since you landed here.”

“Of course not.” Elwing dusted pollen off her skirts. “I can’t.”

Aiwendil laughed. “Of course you can! Ulmo could not have saved just anyone in the manner he saved you, you know. If you ever want to fly again, come find me! Or perhaps I’ll find you. Farewell, Melyanna’s daughter!” And with that, he twisted, in a burst of feathers transforming into some kind of hawk, before soaring up and away into the sky. Elwing watched him until he disappeared, like the meadowlarks before him. Could she really fly again, if she wished? Perhaps it was possible—Lúthien had done dozens of incredible things. But Lúthien had been Melian’s daughter, and the daughter of Elu Thingol, a powerful Elf in his own right. Elwing was only Lúthien’s granddaughter, and she’d done nothing at all incredible in her life, except run away.

When she returned to the house, Elwing found Elunis still entertaining Lámion and Minyelmë with tales of Doriath, when it was still called Eglador, and ungirdled. Cullasso had joined them, also.

As Elwing stepped onto the veranda, one of the younger children ran outside. “Maltien is home!” he announced. “And Master Mahtan and Lady Nerdanel are with her!”

“Mahtan came himself?” Lámion lurched to his feet. “All I sent for was horseshoes!” Cullasso laughed as Lámion rushed inside.

Minyelmë raised her eyebrows. “What’s Mahtan doing here?” she asked.

“Shoeing our horses, apparently. I don’t know why Nerdanel came with him,” Cullasso said. “I should greet him also, but I’ve been on my feet since sunup. Tatharon, take pity on your elder and fetch some more lemonade, won’t you?” The boy who’d brought the message rolled his eyes fondly, and disappeared with the nearly-empty pitcher.

When Tatharon returned, two women trailed behind him. The first had to be Maltien, because the second was clearly Nerdanel. Elwing had braced herself for a shock of red hair, but was surprised to find that Nerdanel herself did not resemble her sons in that way. Her hair was brown, with only a hint of red in the rosy glow of afternoon sunlight hitting the veranda. Her features were softer, too, more given to smiling.

“Hello, Atar,” Maltien said. She leaned down to kiss Cullasso. “And Minyelmë! I thought you were still in Valmar.”

“Change of plans,” Minyelmë replied. She rose to clasp hands with Nerdanel. “Well met, my lady. May I introduce my mother, Elunis? And this is my cousin, Elwing.”

If Maltien or Nerdanel recognized her name, neither showed it, and after the requisite pleasantries, Nerdanel excused herself. “I’m afraid I did not come to pay a social visit,” she said, a little sheepishly. “Lámion said I may wander your orchards to sketch.”

“Yes, of course!” Cullasso waved a hand out toward the trees. “Please, feel free to wander wherever you like. Only forgive me for not getting up to show you the best spots.”

“Oh, it’s all right,” Nerdanel laughed. “Tatharon told us you’ve been on your feet all day. I’ll be fine on my own.” And with that she was off, heading the same way Elwing had gone on her own walk, hair swinging behind her with each step. Elwing watched her go; whatever she’d expected, Nerdanel was not quite it.

“How was your walk, Elwing?” Minyelmë asked as she sat down. Maltien disappeared inside with Tatharon, saying something about dinner, and washing the dirt of the road off her.

“It was nice,” Elwing said, and smiled at Cullasso. “Your fields are beautiful.” He smiled back and raised his glass to her. Elwing accepted the glass Elunis handed to her, and took a sip. It tasted sweeter then, than it had before.