Sunset to Sunrise by Tyelca

Sunset to Sunrise

Sunset to sunrise

She traveled down her familiar path, a perfect arc from East to West. Within a short time she would land and rest, until her eternal journey began anew. She descended slowly, majestically, until the bottom of her vessel touched the marble platform and she stepped off. Cradling the golden fruit, she gently walked towards her Halls where she set down the her precious burden on its pedestal. With a sigh she clad herself in physical matter before heading outside again.

Tilion stood there, inspecting his vessel like he always did, the single silver flower of Telperion securely fastened to his chest. She watched him for a moment, then approached as he noticed her presence. As always, his smile grew brighter and his eyes lit up. He gave her a one-armed hug, the other one still busy with the straps that protected the Moon. Unlike her, he preferred not to shed his material form when soaring across the heavens.

She laughed at his newest tinkering. The vessels Lord Aulë had made for them were perfect in every way, but for some reason Tilion had found it necessary to make his own adjustments. She had to admit, after having come too close to her the wagon had needed an upgrade. Tilion straightened as he appraised his finished work and she had to smother a grin at his serious expression. “What?” he asked while his lips tweaked upwards.

“Nothing,” she waved him away. “Now, go on and join with Eärendil; I imagine he’s already launched Vingilótë and is waiting for your company.”

“I’m sure he is,” Tilion teased her back, adding an elaborate wink to his statement that she was certain took him days to perfect. “After all, my company is not something he can bear to miss. I do so wish to spare him that agony.” Now she was laughing, making shooing motions with her hands and after a quick kiss on her cheek Tilion mounted his ship and with a thought it sped forward.

“Have fun boys,”Arien called after him. Not much later she saw the pale silver glow rise in the East. Assured Tilion had made the journey underneath the World safely, she turned around and went inside again. She was the only one there and relished in the quietude. When she flew over Arda she kept watch, in her mind documenting all that she saw happening. It was gratifying work, but often tiresome. Still, between her, Tilion and Eärendil there was nothing going on on Arda’s surface that at least one of them did not know about. While generally she was discrete with her information, Tilion and Eärendil had quickly grown into the worst gossips in the whole of Arda.

She had to smile at the thought; since Eärendil joined them as Watchers in the Sky, Tilion had opened up in ways she had not previously expected. It was true she had not known him very well before; which was mostly due to her keeping her distance from his obvious infatuation. As a result they had avoided each other despite their similar tasks; Eärendil’s arrival had changed all that. Although he was not of the Ainur, he had drawn out a side of Tilion that was funny and charming. To her the peredhel had only ever been courteous and kind; in turn, she had always approached him with warmth. And slowly, Tilion had calmed down around her and in those rare moments all three of them navigated the stars, she had seen Tilion’s diligence, his dedication to his work and the care he bestowed upon Telperion’s last flower. He could be silent with contentment, but much more often she saw him talking and joking animatedly with their newest companion. He had become something more than a nuisance to her, and now she could honestly say she saw him as a good friend.

Stretching her limbs, she took the steps of a stair two by two and soon she was standing on one of the high balconies that overlooked Valinor. The air was fresh and warm and for a moment she just enjoyed the view. Looking down, she saw a lone visitor standing at the gate of her estate. She was expected.

With a gesture of her hand, Arien allowed the woman entrance. She had come before, once every year on this exact day. Asking the same question, and she would give the same answer. It had become more of a ritual than anything else. It didn’t take long for the other woman to join her; she knew her way around the mansion. For a moment they stared out together, over lands that quickly darkened under their gaze.

“How is he?” Nerdanel broke the silence. Her tone did not imply a question, which was testament to her desperation on the subject. Arien hated that defeated tone, but had no answer save the one she’d already given every year prior. “He lingers on the shores, searching for what he cast away long ago.” Nerdanel nodded, though Arien couldn’t tell whether it was in response to her words or just a confirmation of what the other woman already knew.

After a few moments, Nerdanel excused herself and turned around to leave. Arien followed her with her eyes when she spotted a glitter in the distance. The night sky was clear and Arien recognized Vingilótë with Eärendil at its prow. The pure light of the Silmaril shone brightly. Nerdanel had noticed her movement and raised her own eyes up at the sky to see what had caught Arien’s attention. At the sight of the Silmaril her mouth pulled into a pained grimace before she turned away. Arien watched her go as she descended the stairs with undeniable poise, and later when she strode out the gates again. A horse was bound just outside, and this animal Nerdanel mounted and rode away. Soon she was lost from sight.

Arien then left the balcony, disappearing inside again. A thought lit the candles and hearth and a pleasant warmth spread through the house, but Arien didn’t feel it. She didn’t understand the grief Nerdanel carried, but it nonetheless affected her deeply. Her mood was always sad when the woman left, the only mother who’s children were not honored after death. Personally, Arien had had little to do with the tragedy of the Silmarils and aside Eärendil and occasionally Nerdanel she had no contact with the Eldar, but she couldn’t help but wish there was something she could do to help the grieving mother who was too proud to open up her heart.

In a way, Nerdanel was not so different from her, and Arien wanted to do something to make the other see that. Normally, she would ask either Tilion or Eärendil to talk to the woman, but in this case she refrained. Not that she doubted their ability to talk, to empathize and to draw out hidden sentiments, but for Nerdanel they were not the right people. Tilion might perhaps find the right words to talk to her, but Nerdanel could take offense from his role as guardian of Isil, which pale radiance reminded of the Silmarils, and for obvious reasons Eärendil was out of the question.

Arien closed her eyes and banished all thoughts of Nerdanel from her mind, for they invited unwelcome emotions and she held no desire to analyze them. The fire was warm and burning merrily and she forced herself to enjoy the silence. Sometimes she wished she was that fire, without a care in the world and able to slowly fade out. Not that she was unhappy with the eternity Eru had given her, but sometimes things got too much. All the violence and misery she witnessed every single day brought her down and in those moments she longed for the peace that reigned in the Timeless Halls. She had made her choice, long ago, to enter Eä, knowing there was no return until after the end but there was were instances she regretted that choice.

Sounds came from downstairs and Arien glanced out a window to discover the source. She smiled a tender smile as she saw Eärendil touch ground, busy and scurrying around Vingilótë until the ship was fastened to his satisfaction. He glanced upward and caught Arien’s eye. A big grin formed on his face as he disappeared inside, only to meet her a few moments later as he joined her in front of the fire.

He started talking about everything that happened that night, all the juicy gossips and the movements and the conspiracies and the murders. Arien suspected this was his way to deal with his task as observer, to let all of it flow out immediately. She was glad to listen to the sometimes not entirely coherent tale, the horrors not touching her in the comfort of her own home. In a way this was soothing for herself as well, knowing she was not alone in her anguish. The fire burned on and on and eventually Eärendil fell silent. These were the moments that gave her the strength to go on and continue to take care of Laurelin’s last fruit.

They remained seated that way until the fire had died down and Tilion returned. The Maia of Oromë stood in the doorway, looking down on them. Arien met his eyes and nodded silently to Eärendil, who had fallen asleep against the armrest of the sofa. Tilion moved in and without saying a word he scooped up the unaware Elf-lord in his arms and carried him away, to one of the many bedrooms that the mansion boasted. When he returned Arien noticed he had also changed; gone were the intricate layers and soft leather straps that protected Telperion’s flower. Now he wore a dark blue flowing robe that glittered with silver thread. It looked stunning on him; in earlier times he would’ve made some remark that while respectful, still made her feel uncomfortable, but now he only sat down next to her and put his arm around her. It was the gesture of a close friend, not a trace of the insufferable romantic Tilion had been, and she nestled against his embrace until she rose. The night was almost over and it was time she went back to work.

Outside she readied her vessel, not yet discarding her physical form. The fire in the hearth had made her drowsy and the predawn air was cool against her skin. She inhaled deeply. Tilion now also came outside, and he stood a little off the marble platform. He smiled.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he said softly. “Perhaps I’ll even come to you before then.” A smile accompanied his statement, a teasing reminder of earlier times.

“I’ll singe you if you appear even a second earlier than you should,” she retorted, but he could tell she didn’t mean it.

When she deemed her vessel ready she entered the Hall that currently held both Isil and Anar, and she carefully picked up the golden orb. The fruit pulsed gently in her hands and as she shed her garment of flesh. With a thought the vessel rose in the air before dipping down to dive underneath the world. Just before Valinor was lost to her sight she glanced back; Tilion had raised his hand in a slow wave. Then he was gone.

She focused on the long road ahead as she sped up, faster and faster below the surface until she arrived at the eastern edge of the world. Without slowing down she changed her course; almost straight up did she race her vessel until she eclipsed the surface again. When she did so her vertical movement changed into a graceful arc that signaled a new day and offered new hope to those who needed it.

She held Laurelin’s last fruit close and lost herself in her duty. The Sun had risen again.