To Look Across the Wide Seas by StarSpray

Chapter 1

It was a bright, warm day. Elwing opened all of the windows in her workroom, letting in the sea breeze, and the scent of the many flowers she had planted about the foot of her tower. Her workroom was at the top, and she could see for miles up and down the coast, and out to sea. She stood for several minutes watching the swift sleek ships out of Alqualondë, racing each other or out to fish, or simply out to enjoy the day—for it was a glorious day, without a cloud in the clear blue sky.

Elwing hummed as she settled herself at her loom, a great basket of pale blue silk thread at her side. The rhythm of weaving was soothing, and she intended to spend nearly the whole day working; Eärendil had set out again the morning, and the first few days after his departures were always the loneliest, until she got used to the quiet again.

Well, the relative quiet. Her tower was very rarely without visitors, especially ones with feathers, and they were hardly ever silent. Elwing listened to their chatter just outside her windows with half an ear as she worked. Most birds cared very little for the doings of Elves and Men, and so their gossip had more to do with where to find food, and the latest nesting or mating disputes, than with anything Elwing cared about. But some birds took a great deal of interest in the goings on of Alqualondë and Avallónë, and were more than happy to share their tidbits with Elwing.

A great deal of indignant squawking and fluttering announced the arrival of a large brown hawk, who alighted on a windowsill and then hopped inside to the floor, transforming in the blink of an eye, so instead of a bird a man stood there. His skin was brown as the hawk's feathers had been, and his hair but a shade or two lighter. "Good afternoon, Lady Elwing," he said cheerfully.

"Good afternoon, Aiwendil," she replied, smiling at him. The birds returning to the windowsills and balcony railing chattered and scolded Aiwendil for giving them such a fright, but he only laughed at them, as he laughed at most things. Elwing left her loom to join him by the window, settling down for a nice long chat; Aiwendil had a great deal of news for her that her bird friends would never have brought. Today most of their conversation centered around the building of a second Menegroth, south of the Calacirya where the western foothills of the Pelóri met the great forests of Oromë. Where the first had been built in memory of Valinor, this one was a memorial to lost Beleriand; Aulë and his folk had been eager to help, just as the Dwarves had long ago helped Thingol. Plans for it had been long in the making, and since there were now enough Sindar come to Valinor—especially those come from Mandos with Doriath still fresh in their memories—that a city of their own was needed, construction had at last begun. Elwing received frequent letters from her mother, who was happily in the middle of it all, but she had visited the site only once—it had been like standing in the midst of a gigantic anthill, and she had been only too happy to leave it.

Eventually, the conversation faltered when Aiwendil happened to glance out the window. "Hello, what's this?" Elwing followed his gaze to see an albatross approaching the tower, gliding easily down to land on the balcony, causing none of the uproar that Aiwendil's own arrival had. Elwing had a particular fondness for albatrosses, as they frequently crossed back and forth unhindered across the Great Sea; it was from them that she received much of her news of Elrond. This one, however, had a string of beads around its neck that flashed and glittered in the sunlight.

"How magpie-ish of you, my friend!" Aiwendil laughed as the large bird came to settle itself just beside the window for a chat. He reached out and slipped the necklace from the bird's neck. "Where did you get this?"

The albatross looked down its beak at Aiwendil. "It is not mine," it said. "I have brought it for Lady Elwing, as a gift."

"Well, thank you," Elwing said, as Aiwendil handed it to her. The beads were of glass, cleverly wrought and brightly colored, of varying sizes and shapes but all fitting together quite pleasingly. "But where did you get it?"

"Tol Fuin," said the albatross. "It was given to me to bring to you by your brother Eluréd."

Elwing looked up sharply. "What did you say?"

"I thought at first he was one of your descendants, Lady Elwing," said the albatross. "But he told me his name was Eluréd, and he was Dior's son. It was on Tol Fuin that I encountered him; his brother he said was exploring elsewhere on the island. Not that there is much there to see," it added disdainfully. "I understand it was once part of some forested highlands, but now it is only a nesting place for sea birds. Gulls, mostly."

Elwing cared little for what had become of Dorthonion. "But Eluréd and Elurín are both alive?" she cried. "But—how?" They had died in Doriath—or had been left to die, and Elwing could not understand how they had survived. No word had come of them out of the Halls of Mandos, but she had thought that was only because theirs had been the Fate of Men, to pass beyond the Circles of the World.

"I do not know," said the albatross. "I did not ask—I did not wish to linger very long. But Eluréd asked me to send you his greetings, and to give you that necklace for him, which I have done." It tilted its head slightly, regarding Elwing with a single sharp black eye. "Does it not please you? I thought it would."

"Oh, it does!" Aiwendil said before Elwing could reply. "Or it will, when she's able to feel anything but surprise."

Before long, Aiwendil departed, and the albatross retreated to its usual nesting place. Elwing remained for a while in her tower, her weaving forgotten, running the string of beads through her fingers. Then she set them carefully aside, and stepped out onto her balcony, and then into the open air. A quick drop, the wind rushing past her ears, and then she was flying, soaring low over the waves and then up over the sails of one of Olwë's ships, where he stood on the deck with his wife and one of his sons; Elwing was only briefly aware that they recognized her and called out greetings, but her thoughts were elsewhere.

Many years ago, now, when Avallónë had been built anew for the returning Exiles and others who came West after the War of Wrath, Nerdanel had brought to Tol Eressëa one of the palantíri crafted long ago by Fëanor. This was the greatest of his seeing stones, and the largest, and had been placed in the tallest tower of Avallónë so that any who wished to look into it to see the lands of Middle-earth may do so. It was to this tower that Elwing flew, to the top room where the palantír was kept, through one of the many windows that stood open, letting the sunlight illuminate the intricately painted tiles on the floor and on the walls. The room was empty, the great seeing stone covered with a dark silken cloth, which fell away with a simple tug, revealing the stone itself where it sat on a low table of carven stone.

Looking at it was like looking into the depths of a starless sky; it made Elwing shiver. She knew how to use it—Finrod had brought her here once to show her. Using the stone took a great deal of concentration and strength of will—both of which Elwing had aplenty—and she had used it once or twice to see her sons, often finding them both in Númenor, before Elros died.

Now she stepped up to it, brushing her fingers over the smooth surface. It was cool, but warmed swiftly under her touch as she brought to mind hazy memories of her brothers. In them all, Eluréd and Elurín were in constant motion, always wanting to wander away to explore.

In the stone images flickered into view, blurred at first but clearing swiftly, but flashing by so swiftly she could hardly identify them. She saw a beautiful valley nestled in the feet of tall, snowcapped mountains, and she saw two dark figures slipping through the trees with weapons drawn, and then she saw the entrance to Menegroth on a bright day beneath the brand new sun, with niphredil blossoms covering the ground like snow—and then other things come and gone too quickly for her to understand what they were.

At last, the image settled, and she saw a small boat casting off of an island. There were only two mariners, and they moved around the small deck with ease, never getting in each other's way. As they grew larger in the palantír, and clearer, Elwing could see that they were laughing, though she did not know what they were saying. Their dark hair was pulled back from their faces in plain, tight braids, but like her own hair it was unruly, and already starting to escape to blow about their faces like wisps of shadow. The island was surely Tol Fuin, where they had met the albatross. Which was Eluréd and which was Elurín Elwing could not tell, for they were as alike in face as Elrond and Elros had once been.

The image blurred, and then faded, and Elwing stepped back. With trembling fingers, she lifted the silken cloth to cover the palantír again; she was light-headed from the effort, and giddy with emotion. This was the best news she had received since word had come that Nimloth had returned from Mandos. Nimloth, yes—she needed to tell her mother.

But that would have to wait. Nimloth was away on the mainland, and Elwing was too drained to fly so far today. Her head began to ache as she descended the winding stairs inside the tower, but even that could not dampen her spirits. She made her way to the harbor, where there were always ships coming and going, to Alqualondë and other places along the coast. It wasn't hard to find one willing to take her back to her tower. Elwing sat at the prow and closed her eyes against the spray on her face as she leaned down to let her fingers drag through the water.

Somewhere, hundreds of miles away, her brothers were also sailing this same sea.