New Directions by hennethgalad

New Directions

Read New Directions

New Directions

 

 

 Erellont lifted his hand cautiously from the steering oar, half-expecting it to fly up and heel the ship, half-hoping... The oar shifted slightly and settled into its socket, he had been right, the ship, The Ainamána, was indeed holy and blessed; it was steering itself.

  The others were up at the bow looking forwards, Erellont smiled, Aerandir had always had his eyes on the horizon, and Falathar had been the same since he had first joined his beloved dolphins out at sea.

 

 Erellont himself looking back towards Valinor, wondering at himself, at the intense nostalgia of the older generations and the awe with which they had spoken of Valinor. He could still see the long grey cliffs, and, remote behind them the high grey wall of the mountains, seeming to hold up the low grey sky. The wind that had snapped their sail to attention lifted the waves into a plateau of lesser mountains, blew spray into their faces and sent the Ainamána skipping over the waves like a skimmed pebble. Though they had not landed, and had merely been conveyed by silent Elves into this loveliest of craft, still he had seen Valinor, and it had appeared as ordinary as any other coast; the warm sunlight had sparkled across the waves and shone in the bright flowers of the forests of the shore, but he had seen forests of the south in Middle-earth as rich and fruitful as these.

 

 He found he had folded his arms, and understood for the first time the feelings of those exiles who had left Valinor despite Fëanor, rather than because of him. He glanced down at the steering oar, feeling a jolt of alarm at his neglect of duty, but the oar was steady, the ship surged across the grey waves, and his hair flew out behind him like a flag. 

 

 Falathar glanced back in mid-gesture, saw that Erellont had relinquished the steering, and froze with horror. Aerandir winced and spun round. Erellont smiled slowly, glanced up at the steady sail, down at the steady oar and back at his friends. They had begun to lurch forwards with outstretched arms and mouths opened to shout, but paused as they felt the smooth rise and fall of the deck, and the even passage of the pale ship. Aerandir tentatively reached out and stoked the railing beside him, 'Holy and blessed.' he said softly. 

 

 Falathar laughed aloud 'By the Valar !' he cried 'Now we know what it actually means !' 

Erellont laughed, 'Even though we did not see them, or even land, they have made their presence known to us. We are in the hands of Ulmö, dear friends, I think we shall truly return to our homes. '

 

 There was a pause then, as each thought of their families; the sad remnants of former great Houses, starting anew over and over again, in smaller numbers, in smaller places, as though the Elves were a withering plant, dying slowly in poor conditions. 

 He himself was the last of his sprawling family, all slain in Gondolin. He alone had escaped, he who had been born in the Hidden Kingdom and only later named Erello (the steel one) by Glorfindel, who had trained him, he who had become a member of the Guard of Idril, and, sole survivor of his family, his clan, and his House, had thereby escaped. 

 

But Aerandir had moved to the steering oar, and reaching out a cautious finger he pushed gently at the great carven oar and stood clear. The oar eased itself back into position as Erellont realised that he had been holding his breath. Aerandir silently and slowly shook his head 

 'They will sing songs of this voyage, we will be long remembered; held in the hands of Ulmö and moved with the breath of Manwë.'

 Falathar pushed his friend and laughed 'You speak like a vain fool, Aerandir; in this war all who resist Morgoth are heroes, and while they might sing of nobles like Eärendil, we commonplace Elves will be swiftly forgotten. '

 

 Erellont frowned, his mind drawn back to the horror of the destruction of Gondolin; Falathar spoke truly, he himself had witnessed many deeds of heroism, by Elves whose names he had never even learned, all dead now, along with most of those they had died to defend. He felt the steadying hand of Aerandir on his shoulder, the darkness lifted from his heart as he looked into Aerandir's kindly smile.

  'But we will remember them, the nameless dead, though all other memory of them has perished. We shall carry them in our hearts until we are able to share our grief in song.'

 

 Falathar bowed his head; his parents had fled the ruinous attack on Nargothrond, the memory haunting their startled eyes, and moved south down the river, to a small Sindar village where he had been born. He had been happy roaming in the forest along the banks of the great river, and lived peacefully until he first saw a dolphin, far from the distant sea, exploring the waters of the broad Narog, leaping through the air, sparkling, twisting and plunging sharp and smooth as a spear into the luminous green depths, then bursting forth, unbelievably far upstream, where a great gout of hissing breath had drawn a fleeting rainbow before his enraptured eyes. He had followed the dolphin until the river became the sea.

  At last, beyond the walls and towers of Finrod's Harbour, he had finally seen the sea; at first merely walking past the small hissing waves, then out into the vastness until he was up to his chest in the heaving swell, where he stood for many hours as the tide withdrew the water from around him until it merely lapped at his ankles, and he watched the sea with staring eyes, he watched the tide swoop back, rising coldly up his legs until the accusing finger of the rising moon began to question his mind.

 But his patience brought him joy, he heard the deep hiss of the breath of the dolphin, and then saw it, rising through the broken sword of Tilion, moonlight laid across the waves. The dolphin seemed to hang in the air, silhouetted against the stars and the blackness, until it arced over and dived.

 A small boat had appeared beside him, he had climbed aboard and met Tuor and the young Eärendil, whose relentless curiosity had prompted the rescue. Now Tuor and Eärendil were both gone, among the endless host of lost Elves, and he would return to Beleriand with only memories and dreams to sustain him. He looked up sadly at his closest friends, wondering if there would be anyone left to greet them when they landed, but unable to speak the words of doubt and fear. 

 

Aerandir's mind fell back into the dark arms of his horror; the moment the alarm had rung out across Gondolin, his eyes meeting the round, child's eyes of Eärendil, with whom he had been studying, as Idril herself had hurried in to sweep her son into her arms. She had swiftly agreed to the demand of Eärendil that Aerandir be allowed to accompany them, but when Aerandir had suggested he return for his father, she had smiled sadly at him and told him that her own father was staying behind himself to defend the people. He had followed them then, and he followed them still, even unto the edge of Valinor... But their path had taken them through piles of corpses, blood had clung with sticky filth to their shoes and clothes, and the still-spreading red pools contained nameless horrors of flesh, those soft inner parts which should never be seen by the living. His stomach heaved within him, the motion of the ship seemed to turn from a gentle rocking to a nauseating shaking, his mouth felt dry yet filled with fluid, the burning in his throat drove him to the side of the magnificent ship and he retched into the indifferent sea. 

 

Falathar darted for a cup of fresh water while Erellont helped the white-faced Aerandir to turn and lower himself onto one of the cushioned benches set into the hull around the decks. Aerandir emptied his chest and took a deep breath of fresh air, then looked apologetically at Erellont 

 'I am sorry, it was the memory of Gondolin, I, I was very young then, you see, and I...' he fell silent. Erellont nodded 

 'No, dear friend, you need not apologise, it would be worse if you were not disturbed by what we have seen; for no living creature should witness such scenes unmoved. Mere animals would be appalled, yet those deeds were carried out by the most cunning of minds, from incomprehensible malice. Your feelings are natural, it is the Enemy who is abhorrent. '

 'And the eaters of carrion.'

Erellont laughed 'Now you jest, for what would become of dear Beleriand if the corpses of animals lay forever in the woods and meads ? It is part of the Mystery of Yavanna, that the bodies of Mortals and beasts return to the soil at the end of their lives.'

 Falathar laughed with them and held out the cup to Aerandir, who rinsed his mouth and spat into the sea, wondering if even such dregs would nourish an unknown tentacled oddity of the deeps. 

 Aerandir gripped the smoothed wood railing and stared unseeingly at the water. He remembered his first sight of the sea, which had made its presence felt far upstream, 

the tide flowing unimpeded across the endless shifting sandbars, up the many mouths of Sirion, bringing the salt scent to the air, bearing the sea creatures and the creatures of the air which preyed upon them. The sky had begun to brighten as they approached, the thin cloud glowing with reflected light from the sea. The calls of the gulls grew into a great chorus of desolate cries, like the echoes of the voices of the drowned, until the sky began to fill with dense raucous multitudes, forming and reforming their sinuous shapeshifting dance in the fresh winds of the sea. 

 The dunes at the end of the long journey had been cruel, each slope, slippery with tough grasses and fragile with sand, had led only to another low valley and another dishearteningly slow climb. He had been hot, exhausted, choked by the dust the company had raised, and crushed by the endless struggle over the vast expanse of dunes in the enormity of the outpouring of the mighty Sirion. 

 The sight of the ocean had stunned him. The unattainable perfection of the horizon had 

transformed his sense of the world, he had had to be dragged down to the camp, and told

to eat, he could no longer keep his eyes from the horizon. 

 

 'Do you ever think of the Mortals as dirty snowballs ?' said Aerandir, turning back to them 'They arise, seemingly from nothing, the stuff of Arda coalesces into the forms of the creatures, from the lowliest worm creeping through the ground, to the eagles of Manwë high above, coalesces like a snowball in the hands of an unimaginable child, and dances for a while to the Music, before dispersing like a melting snowball. Something in their transience fills me with grief, as though they had been made by Eru to mock us, to remind us that while we may be immortal, that when this world ends, our spirits themselves will disperse like the melted snowballs, and the truly immortal like Varda, Manwë and Eru Himself, will view us as we view Mortals. '

 

Erellont put his hands to his forehead and frowned 'No, I do not. The Edain do not merely dance to the Music as we would, you know this well, they have the power to shape their own lives, it is in Ainulindalë. '

 Falathar laughed again

  'And swiftly to fall lest they slaughter us all...' he quoted, half-singing the line, taken from the half-mocking song in praise of the valiant Mortals who had fought alongside the Elves. 'But we have cause to celebrate, my friends, for not only do we now feel certain that our journey will be accomplished, but also we seem not even to need to crew this holy, blessed ship, for it steers itself ! '  

 He gestured at the steering oar, creaking softly in the stiff breeze, holding the sleek ship on a horizon-straight course, leaving a wake in the grey sea behind them as true as the path of moonlight. They seemed to be almost flying home. 

 

 Erellont looked at Aerandir, who tried to smile. Erellont thought of the factions of the Elves; Aerandir's uncle had been high in the favour of Fëanor, but his brother, the father of Aerandir, had turned away from the Oath-takers, and with them his own brother.

  Erellont, privately, had ever been enthralled by the songs of the legendary Fëanorians; to his dismay he had never had a sight of even one of the seven sons of the mightiest smith, but like every other Elf, he had wondered at the fate of Fëanor, and the purpose of Eru in creating him to cause and to endure such immense suffering. He shivered fleetingly then composed his mind. Eru had created Morgoth; but also Manwë, and Varda, Melian, Iarwain, Elves, himself...He smiled dryly, the wind threw his hair across his face, then smoothed it away. He smiled more broadly and put his hand on the upper arm of Aerandir.

 'Do you bathe and refresh yourself, while we prepare somewhat of a feast, to celebrate our first chance to take our ease since... for a very long time...' he finished hesitantly. But Aerandir rose and smiled at him and turned to Falathar 

 'Your jesting ways lift the clenched fist from my heart. I have admired your spirit since first he brought you ashore with him. I am glad you are with us, dear Falathar. As for you' he turned back to Erellont 'I have no memory of the time before we met, and for me you had always eclipsed Glorfindel, until I saw him slay that creature of fire. The notion that such an Elf says that you are made of steel fills me with awe. It would be an honour and a delight to feast with you both, and I shall be swift to return.'

 

 They opened the lockers, chests and baskets below deck, finding the stores of provisions and gifts from the people of Valinor. Falathar quietly crooned over a rich green tablecloth, its hem of solid gold studded with countless emeralds to hold the cloth down in the wind. There were chests and barrels of every kind of familiar foodstuff, and many things, in jars or baskets, that reminded them of picture books from their childhoods, the glowing colours of the myriad fruits in the unattainable land of the Valar.  Erellont held up a small red thing with spines all over it and looked questioningly at Falathar, who shrugged, then grinned at Erellont 

 'We should serve it on a small platter, just as it is, to Aerandir '

 

They carried a table out onto the open deck and Falathar covered it lovingly with the heavy jewelled cloth. As he stooped to straighten it he exclaimed in awe and pleasure, moved his arm and slotted the large emerald at the corner into a catch on the table leg. Erellont frowned but Aerandir sucked a breath in, then hurried to attach the cloth at the other end. Erellont focused on the catch and realised the thoroughness of the Valar, every detail foreseen... He stood and quoted from Ainulindalë 'the minute precision to which they shape all things therein...'

 

They looked in silence at the table, the ship was transformed, its plainness and lack of decor now served to frame the exquisite cloth, they could feel the splendour of Valinor, as some echo of the Light of the Silmaril; and they turned back to see the western horizon, where the grey and white mountain peaks of Valinor were all that remained in sight. The wind at their backs had lifted the clouds, more and higher peaks were visible, and the brightness grew at the hem of the cloud until the setting sun began to appear in the thistledown edges of cloud. 

 

 As they carried goblets and platters to the table, the clouds cleared from the sun and the long rays cast tall sharp shadows across the deck. Erellont glanced over the railing to see the flicker of the shadow of the ship and cried out. In the distance a spout of water had appeared, a mighty whale drew breath. Falathar hurried to his side, but the whale, still far to the west, did not breach again, and they sat down to dine, and taste the food of legends.

 

Aerandir, the most educated of them, struggled to identify many of the large, brightly coloured fruits and vegetables, and as he looked in bafflement at a great green ball with a warty skin, he remembered the two bookshelves in the large cabin. He darted away and returned moments later waving a thick volume in both hands. Falathar cleared a space on the table, paused to stroke the smooth green cloth, and was joined by Erellont as Aerandir opened the great book. There, in startlingly realistic paintings, so convincing that Falathar found his hand begin to reach for a painted grape, were all the unknown fruits and vegetables on their table, along with many, many more. They forgot to dine, absorbed by the beauty of the images in the magnificent book, until the unmistakable hissing boom of a whale's blow close astern startled them to their feet.

 

 There were three great whales, in V formation; they began to separate, the first vanishing into the deep, the others taking up station on either side. The first whale leapt forth into the air a spear's cast from the prow of the Ainamána, then threw its gleaming black bulk down onto the surface, causing an eruption of spray, sparkling in the long sunset light. 

 

Erellont felt his soldier's skin begin to prickle and turned swiftly, drawing the attention of the others; behind them the water was alive with dolphins, scores of them, leaping and twisting through the water, racing towards them. Aerandir flinched, Erellont started forwards, but Falathar's hand was on his arm 

 'Wait' he said softly. They watched in silence, in varying degrees of tension, and Erellont, who had begun as an athlete and a dancer, saw the pattern of the dolphins' behaviour begin to emerge. This was neither charge nor flight, nor even pursuit, the dolphins were fast, but not hurrying. He gasped, the pattern formed in his mind; the dolphins were dancing through the waves, weaving a mesh of bubbles behind them, diving over and under each other with precise timing to produce an artwork worthy of Ulmö. As his mind struggled to turn the thoughts of his body into words, Aerandir gasped.

 'They are dancing ! I can see the dance ! If they were carrying ribbons they would be weaving a structure of beauty that would almost enable us to see them as the Valar see them. ' he paused 'And as the Valar see the Elves...'

 

The wind veered slightly, the pale timbers of the Ainamána creaked as the steering oar shifted position, and the sail, which began to sag at one side, turned into the breeze. The ship surged forwards, the white spray scattered fine droplets in their hair and Falathar smiled at them, joy in his eyes. They watched in silence as the dolphins separated into three groups, and took up postion alongside each of the great whales. The water, now deep blue as the sun sank to the white peaks of the sinking mountains, churned into glittering foam around them as the black and grey bodies hurled themselves into the air and slid smoothly back into the sea. The noise grew louder, filling their ears, but the singing of their hearts was louder. 

 'The Valar bless us indeed' said Aerandir 'They send their creatures of the deep to escort us in honour.' 

 'Dolphins !' cried Falathar 'So many, all at once ! I never dreamed... This delights me more than any treasure we might have seen in Valinor, for what can compare with the grace and beauty of these superb athletes of the sea ?'

 

 But Erellont was silent; the soldier, alert for treachery, knew the fineness of the distinction between a guard of honour and a guard. They were being escorted away, even in this ship which steered itself. His eyes, narrowed against the low sun, caught sight of black specks, he raised an arm and pointed in silence. Even Falathar, drawn from the sight of his beloved dolphins, gazed at the growing cloud of black shapes that gradually revealed themselves to be birds.

 Erellont shouted joyfully 'There are eagles ! The mighty eagles of Manwë !' 

Aerandir opened his mouth but said nothing, behind the eagles he could see great swans, far larger than the largest swans of Beleriand, with a faintly shining bird of especial beauty at their front. The scores of eagles parted smoothly and held their positions above the dolphins, vast wings floating on the wind that carried the Ainamána in its steady embrace. 

 'There are fourteen swans' he said finally 'But the shining one... Is it...'

The Elves were almost breathless with silence as the elegant white swans tilted gracefully into V formations between the dolphins and the ship, but finally Falathar laughed aloud; his spirit soared with the creatures of the air, the exhilaration of the speed of the ship, the beauty and vigour of the dance of the dolphins, the fresh sea wind in his hair, the splendour of the effortless birds and the dazzling beams of the setting sun filled him with joy, the sail shook out its last ripple, the very ropes of the ship of Valinor hummed and sang in the wind of Manwë.

 

 The shining swan, far greater than the largest of the flight, circled the ship and came to land on the swan's head prow. There was a moment of blinding light, then Elwing herself was leaping lightly to the deck, dressed, as they say, for Cuiviénen. Erellont ran into the cabin and found a robe, while Falathar greeted her enthusiastically. She smiled silently at them until she had clad herself and drunk a deep draught of spring water. Finally she sighed. They looked expectantly at her, then Aerandir remembered his manners and invited her to sit with them. 

 

They asked her no questions and merely treated her as their dear friend returned, for which she seemed grateful. The fruits of Valinor were as novel to Elwing as to them, and there was much laughter as they sampled each new fruit, the strange sweet flavours did not please them all equally until they came to the one called Yavanna's Apricot, a legendary favourite of the Noldor exiles. Only the colour of its flesh resembled the apricot, for in size it was large enough to overfill the hand, and the tough rind had to be pared away before the intoxicatingly aromatic flesh could be tasted. They were silent as they ate, it seemed perfection in the form of fruit, the fruit of dreams, the fruit of Valinor. Erellont sliced off all the flesh and looked carefully at the smooth oval stone, it had the look of something that had been long on a shingle strand, smoothed into shape by the relentless hammers of the sea. He looked curiously at Elwing.

 

 'Do you think we could plant this seed in Beleriand ? Would the plant grow ?'

She pursed her lips, then sighed.  

 'Dear friends, I had to plead to be allowed to merely bid you farewell and to bring you hope. I can say nothing, for nothing has yet been determined, but I bring you hope. I have spoken with Eonwë, the herald of Manwë, and his message is hope.'

 

 Erellont snorted 'We would have remained in Beleriand if we did not have hope ! '

 

Elwing frowned 'I think there will be... I think something will be done. I know nothing of the mood of such creatures as the Valar and Maiar, but I felt in Eonwë an eagerness and sense of anticipation that gave me cause to accept his word. To see such mighty spirits as Eonwë being moved to enthusiasm fills my frail flicker of spirit with new courage. The Valar will act against the Enemy, I am sure of it. But I wonder...' She paused. 

 Erellont thought of the carnage in Beleriand, of even the mightiest of princes like Galadriel and Oropher fleeing into the east, and thought he could see why Eonwë had offered nothing but hope. 

 'The Enemy has destroyed so much in merely thwarting the Elves. If the armies of Valinor, if the Valar themselves ride against him, the destruction will be... unimaginable...'

 'But we have hope ! ' he looked again at Elwing, whose eyes were filled now with shadow.

 'Dear friends' she said, looking round at them, 'I would beg a favour of you before I depart.'

They were silent, their hearts seemed to perceive the shadow of darkness at the end of vision, the wind felt colder as she spoke again 'I would have you find our sons... I would have you tell them of our love for them, of what we did, and that we did it for them. To bring hope.' 

 

 She stood, and as one, every creature following the ship sounded, there was an instant of thunderous, bewildering noise, another blinding flash and the great shining bird leapt into the air, her mighty wings wide as the sail she rose, while behind her the empty robe slid to the deck. Elwing circled the ship once more, then flew swiftly towards the last visible tips of the mountains and the glowing sunset over Valinor. 

 

Their ears still ringing from the fanfare, the Elves watched in awe as the creatures of air and sea turned smoothly in their formations and arrayed themselves in the living train of  Elwing, while the wind of Manwë carried the Ainamána away over the vast empty ocean.