New Directions. part two. by hennethgalad

Chapter 1

Read Chapter 1

 

New Directions ii - 'Unchained Melody'

 

  The ship of Valinor skipped swiftly home, East across the great ocean, guided by the Valar, held to it's course by the very wind of Manwë; it needed no crew. The three eager sailors were at a loss. The awe with which at first they had watched the steering-oar shift smoothly into a new position, with none at hand, had faded. They had resolved to fill the idle days in learning new skills. Thus Erellont practiced scales on the lute, Falathar read aloud, falteringly, to them from Gaeros' authoritative 'Life of Glorfindel', while Aerandir rested in the hammock, examining the ink stains on his fingers, and the spatter of tiny ink drops across the front of his robe. His attempts to record the fate of Eärendil and Elwing while the grief at parting from them was so raw within him made him wonder if perhaps a time of reflection was not due. But when he had expressed his doubts, Erellont had spoken bluntly. 
 'This is the sea, Aerandir. Though the Valar protect us, they once protected the Trees. But if, when you have written your book, you should seal it in a flask and cast it into the ocean, it may be that in an idle hour Ulmo will cause it to reach the shore. ' 

 Aerandir sighed, let his arm hang over the side of the hammock and stared up at the first snowballs of cloud at the edge of the grey masses ahead of them. He sniffed the air, the distant fresh scent of approaching rain cheered his heart. They, and the ship, seemed dusty after many dry days, it would be good to rinse away the salt for a time. 
 He shifted his weight from side to side, gently, but enough to sway the hammock, and enable him to bring a peach to within arms length. He scooped it from the silver bowl and dropped it in alarm when overhead, the steady sail began to turn, ropes like living snakes slithered along through the pulleys and coiled themselves on deck, or fastened themselves onto the cleats. 
Erellont had leaped to his feet, the lute hung forgotten in his hand. Falathar stumbled absent-mindedly to the end of the sentence he had been reading even as he himself rose slowly to his feet, as the book fell from his loosened fingers. 
 
Aerandir rolled from the hammock and darted to the steering oar; it had shifted, they had been steered. The sail billowed out as the wind caught it, and snapped full. The three sailors gazed around them, and then at each other. There was a long silence. 

  'South.' Erellont said finally, tonelessly. Aerandir looked down; in such a manner might the bearer of bad tidings report the death of a loved one. Or a city. 
  'We shall be blown to the great desert and perish.' said Falathar. But Aerandir did not lose hope, his faith in the Valar inspired a trust in him. 
  'We do not know the purposes of the Valar, it may be that yonder clouds bring more than rain, and that we are steered from harm.'
 They turned to the low white hills of cloud now reaching towards them. 
 'We move deeper into the storm.' Erelont replied. But Falathar had been encouraged by the hope of Aerandir and his own natural optimism.
 'It may not be a storm at all ! There may be an island of sweet trees, where we can rest our bones and stretch our limbs. It was a long crossing, and it will be a long journey back. I may love the sea, but my heart aches for a still horizon, and a table that is not in motion. '
 Erellont smiled, his eyes opened and lifted the frown from his face. But he thought of the deep hold, heavy with fresh water, and the stacked casks and barrels filled with dried and preserved foodstuffs. The Ainumanä was fitted to endure a voyage of great length, a power certain of its course would need no such preparations. His mind remained troubled but he did not share his thoughts. 
 They moved steadily South for a day and a night, and in the afternoon of the next day, when even Aerandir had silently begun to despair, the keen eyes of Falathar caught a glimpse of a speck on the horizon, that slowly resolved itself into the mast of a small craft. Their minds were blank with astonishment - of which lost wanderer could this be trace ? Eärendil ? Tuor ? The lost expedition of Voronwë ? The last son of Cirdan ? 

 By the swift early dusk, the crew of the strange ship were visible. There were five of them at the bow, watching as the Ainumanä tacked smoothly towards them, though whether there were others aboard could not be seen. Erellont, after a long silence, finally voiced the thought uppermost in the minds of all. 
  'Those are Elves. Those are Elves but their skin is black. These must be Avari, from beyond the great desert. '
 Falathar looked hopefully at Aerandir, but he was silent. No song nor singer had ever reached Beleriand from the South, indeed the Avari were forgotten. That any had survived at all astonished him, that they could be approaching by ship, a small but elegant craft, as sleek as their own, left him speechless. 

 The craft itself had been through the storm, its torn rigging blowing aimlessly like the mockery of a flag, dark decorations of tattered sail flapped above their heads. There were two females and three males, but all were visibly starving, with sunken cheeks and eyes staring. Yet as they approached, it could be seen that their cloth was fine, and they wore many jewels, and their long hair, plaited into many braids, was decorated with great pearls of many soft hues, and gemstones of delicate cut. 

 The wind dropped away, the sail hung loosely from the mast, the two ships floated together, until they were close enough to exchange ropes. There was a brief flurry of activity in both craft as the moorings were secured, which they did themselves, then Erellont lifted the plank into place and stood on one end, holding a hand out in welcome. 
 The Elves of the South formed into a small procession, the two females in front, behind them a pair of twins, and the tallest of the group at the rear. Erellont stepped down onto the deck and stood back to wait with the others. They crossed in dignified silence, stepped down onto the deck and then parted neatly and smoothly into pairs while the tallest stepped forwards and spoke. 
 His words seemed unintelligible at first, but after a short time Aerandir felt that he recognized many words, and from context and tone, that this was a version of Sindar, far altered by time and distance, but still of the same language. When the stranger had finished, Aerandir stepped forwards with a smile, pointed at himself and said
 'Aerandir.' he gestured to the tall Elf.  The exhausted eyes looked disappointed, but the Elf pointed to his chest and said 'Ebo.' 

It took them hours, during which they brought up their finest foodstuffs and feasted their guests, to understand each other's speech, Aerandir himself resorting to drawing with charcoal when an abstraction needed expression. But his work as a scholar had given him facility with words, and knowledge of the warpings that time had wrought within Sindar and Quenya aided him in comprehending the speech of the strangers. Finally he turned to his friends and in his relief at no longer needing to clarify every word, spoke rapidly in Sindar. 
 'The tallest is a warrior called Ebo, of the N'dalatando. This is Sumbe, the captain of the ship, though not this ship, this is merely the ship's boat. She, they, were fleeing a great enemy, along with a fleet of others, intending to sail past the great desert or perish in the attempt. They were all lost, every ship, to storm, and to the pursuing enemy, until finally those who escaped succumbed to thirst. The captain did not lose her eye in the recent battle, but she did lose her hand then. The woman with her is N'zeto, the second in command and partner of the captain. '
 As he spoke, the captain and mate looked at each other tenderly, and the mate placed a hand softly on the face of the captain. Aerandir, realizing that his words were being followed by all, continued in a softer voice. 'They have been together for a long time. The brothers are riders, of powerful family, their names are Matadi and Melanjo, and only their mother knows which is which. '
 There were smiles at this, and as their shining eyes met, the smiles grew into laughter, and Falathar stood, raised his glass and sang the chorus from the Song of Welcome. Their guests rose as one, and with a swift exchange of astonished surmise, sang it back to them, but with their own word sounds. The melody itself must be indeed ancient, echoed unchanging through from the deeps of time, whence only songs remain. 

Ebo looked down and stepped away from the table to look over the side. The ships merely drifted in the still air, and Erellont strode to his side. 
 'Will you join us ? As you see, our craft is large, we have provisions, we have food and water in plenty. It would be an honour to know you better.' He laid his fist on his heart as he said the word honour, but he could see in the deep brown eyes gazing levelly at him that Ebo understood him. Ebo echoed his gesture, then took the hand of Erellont and twisted his wrist and elbow to bring them closer together, their hands clasped between them at chest height. He looked from eye to eye of Erellont, then smiled gravely. 
 'We will join you in honour. '

  At the table, Sumbe sighed 'We have already joined them Ebo, but I am pleased to have your blessing. Shall we cast the Loyo adrift, or tether it to the stern of this ship ? This must be for our hosts to decide.' She looked at Aerandir, who looked at the others. Erellont moved to begin untying ropes before Aerandir had even begun to speak. He turned to help, saying 'Tether her, for who knows what the future may bring, and a spare craft is always welcome. She will scarcely slow us, and it may be that the wind will return when once we are prepared to face it.  Do you' he turned to their guests and gestured to them to sit. 'Do you take your ease, and eat somewhat, while we secure your vessel. You need not trouble to unload your possessions, they will be a rope-length away should you need them. But this vessel is a thing of wonder, filled with treasures of Valinor, and we can provide all that you may wish for. ' But Ebo worked in silence beside Erellont, towing the Loyo to the stern and tethering it, while Aerandir and Falathar made fast the plank. Even as they turned back, the ship stirred beneath them, though no breath of wind touched their faces. The steering oar groaned as it shifted, loud in the stillness. To the South, the grey of the cloud flashed and flickered, the muted ghost of bruising, as unseen lightning played. The air was dry and hot, Erellont felt the stifling and breathed deeply, longing for a fresh breeze. There was a sudden, blinding flash as lightning like a rent in the sky blazed overhead, a defeaning roar of thunder, and from the South, with the power of Manwë behind it, a blast, a wall of wind.  

 The Ainumanä shook itself and surged forwards, the sailors siezed on rope, table and each other as the vessel of the Valar cut through the racing sea, where white spray foamed from the wind-churned waves, on into the North. 

Erellont tasted the fresh salt wet on his lips and smiled, but Falathar was in ecstasy. His eyes swimming with tears, he began to dance across the deck, singing loudly 'We're going home ! We're going home !' Aerandir put his hand to his mouth and looked at their guests in dismay and embarrassment. Every moment, that welcome wind was carrying them further from home, further into the unknown. He looked at Sumbe, but she shook her head sadly. But N'zeto stepped forwards with a small smile on her face. 
 'I think you are sad for us, that we cannot return. But it is not so, for us there is nowhere to return to. Our homes are burned, our land poisoned by our enemy, our people...' she faltered. Sumbe stepped up beside her, put an arm round N'zeto and finished her sentence 'Our people are dead. Those we love all sailed with us, we have lost them all. '
 Aerandir nodded slowly. 
 'We too were refugees, and have lost our...'

 His voice choked, a sudden memory of Glorfindel, turning astonished eyes to them even as he fell, shouting the command to press on to his despairing lieutenant, who had dragged away the sobbing Eärendil as a numbed Aerandir had turned to follow. He bowed his head, and felt the stick-thin hand of N'zeto laid gently on his arm 
 'We all have our sorrows. Come, sit, tell us your tale and we will tell you of the great ports of the South, while the boys tell you their stories of the chase, though do not believe them when they tell you of the mighty beasts they failed to capture, for all hunters live to boast. Is it not so in the North ?' 
 One of the twins whistled softly on an indrawn breath, the other tutted and shook his head slowly 'While the fisher's lies are the treasured prize. '
 Aerandir, hearing the humour in their tones, looked up with a smile, their friendly eyes looked kindly at him, he smiled and sat with them, as Erellont and Ebo joined them. Falathar filled everyone's glass, but did not speak. There was a pause. In the silence they listened to the wind, and the hiss and slap of the spray on the bows. The ropes creaked quietly, the ship rode with the serenity of a swan, the energy concealed but moving them swiftly through the dark grey water. 
  After a while, Aerandir seemed to come to himself again, he looked around, and then his court manners returned to him. He smiled at Falathar 
 'Take up your lute, my friend, give us something from the Lay of Lúthien, we must entertain our guests !' 

 Falathar looked at him with wide eyes for a moment, then picked up the instrument. He played a rippling chord and then put his hand on the strings
 'The tale is long, Aerandir, and since the names are unknown, it will mean little to our guests. '
 Aerandir nodded, and told in brief of Lúthien, her strange parentage, and her strange love for the mortal Beren, the one-handed. N'zeto gripped the remaining hand of Sumbe, who listened with her head tilted to one side, but a wry smile on her face. Aerandir told her of the song Lúthien had sung before the Enemy, and of the Silmaril they had won thereby. When he had done, he gestured to Falathar, who picked out a few notes with his head bowed, then looked up at them, 
 'I will sing the 'Return To Doriath', I cannot endure the thought of their torment, we have enough here. '
 Aerandir nodded, for in many ways the choice of song, or even verse, was unimportant, the shared experience would enable these disparate strangers to become accustomed to each other's presence, and when next they spoke, they would have something in common to discuss, something other than the horrors in their past and the unknown future that lay ahead of them all. 

 When Falathar laid down the lute, one of the twins nudged the other, who nudged him back. The first twin held out a pink-palmed hand, and Falathar handed him the lute. He passed it to his brother, who hissed swift, unintelligible words back at him, but took the lute carefully and tested the strings. He looked at Falathar and gestured to the tuning pegs, his eyebrow raised. Falathar nodded, and leaned forward to watch. The twin, stooping like a nursing mother over the lute, tuned it to a different register, and played a haunting chord. Erellont felt the hairs prickle at the nape of his neck, he felt the eyes of Ebo on him and turned to meet them. Ebo gave him a feral grin
 'The sound of home !' he said, his deep voice caught and echoed by the lute, as the twin nodded and began to play. 

 None moved or spoke as the Elf of the South played and sang, the tune started simply, like a child in a village street, for whom the world is small and certain, then moving faster, and roaming freely over the hills, finding love and facing disaster, then reaching a tranquil peace. Erellont, who had never felt the great attraction of music, found tears in his eyes, and an unfamiliar melancholy move him, while under it, the eyes of Ebo, with the flash of the whites standing forth like snow on rock, held his attention. The very contrast with the darkness of his skin made the focus of his gaze apparent, and that focus was Erellont himself, who felt self-conscious for the first time in his life. He wished his own skin were darker, to hide the heat he felt flushing his cheeks, but as he looked more closely at Ebo, he became aware of the many shades of his skin, grey and purple under the eyes, darker grey on the eyelids, and in the hollows of his hunger-writhen cheeks, purple on the lips, and a deep reddish-tinged brown, with only a shading of that almost blue-black colour on the most weathered parts of his skin. As he looked closely, he realized that Ebo was as moved as he himself was, the blood coursed through the high brown cheekbones, and deepened even the darkest of skin. He turned to Aerandir and realized with a shock how colourful his face was, the beige-pink of his skin interrupted by the reddened cheeks of the sailor, the blue shadows of his blood vessels and  grey shadows on his eyes. His lips, decided Erellont, were the colour you would get if sand and wine could somehow be blended. He thought of what he himself must look like to Ebo and lowered his gaze. How could simple sailors from the North hope to impress these beautiful, cultured people, of obvious importance, from the mythical lands of the South. He cringed within; here they were, an old soldier like him, taken to the sea because he had nowhere else to go. Aerandir, the half-trained scholar, whose education could never be completed, and Falathar, who had had nothing better to do than follow a dolphin down the great river. 

 Ebo was still looking at him, he could feel it, he felt young again, as when a rebuke awaited him, he sighed, and steadied his nerves and looked up. His young self seemed to reach through his civilized manners and he blurted the truth out. 
 'You do not look so black close to, my friend. ' he said to Ebo. 
 Ebo grinned 'Nor you so white, my friend, nor you so white. Ha ! We took you for a ghost-ship when first we saw you, the spirits of the dead sent to take our own spirits. Indeed, I thought that I myself was already dead. But the captain, she knew you were living Elves, but we have always been told that only enemies dwell in the North, and that you would slay us as we boarded. Still we came, for those tales may be the lies of our enemy, as your enemy lied to you, and in our despair, for the water was finished and we faced the thirst death, we chose to die at your hands, hoping at least for a swift end. But instead you bring us feasting, song and good cheer, and though you share our woe, it may be that the future will be filled with many more feasts for all, and we need never thirst again !'
 They all cheered this, the longest speech that Ebo yet uttered, and raised their glasses to the centre of the table until they rang together. 

But Sumbe was scratching her chin thoughtfully with a long finger
 'It may be that M'banza-lunda was telling the truth.'
At this an outcry burst forth, in words too swift and alien for even the sharp ear of Aerandir. Finally Sumbe raised her hand, then lowered the palm. The twin who had half-risen to his feet while gesturing, sat down again with an apologetic look on his face. Sumbe turned to N'zeto, who sighed, and looked at the Northerners. 
 'There are questions that trouble our scholars, for the songs we sing tell that our ancestors destroyed the land which we now call the great desert in an act of malice against the peaceful folk who dwelt therein, and this guilt lies heavy on all our hearts. However' she held up her hand and looked around at her fellow Southerners, who all looked to speak
 'However', she continued. 'M'banza-lunda, a great one among the wise, who all, alas, are perished from the earth, told us that these songs are lies, that old scrolls which he showed to those who knew of such matters, told another tale. Our lands were invaded, long ago, and now invader and invaded can no longer be told apart. But the songs they sang drove out our own, M'banza-lunda speaks of a great burning of the works of the wise of our folk, and a dreadful slaying of the writers and scholars of such wisdom. 
 Our ancestors did once live in the lands where now there is only the heat of the desert, but the rains failed and the people were divided. Many went North, most chose to remain, confident in the return of the wind from the West. But our ancestors came South, and since that time no news or tale has come to us, nor any of our kin returned. Only the hot North wind and the burning sand.' 
 There was silence for a moment, the dark eyes of the Southerners gleaming with incalculable thoughts. Aerandir wondered if they regretted the choice of their ancestors, but Falathar, listening with gaping jaw asked eagerly
 'But what about the wise one ? What was the nature of the disagreement.' 
The twins looked at each other as if to marvel at the naivety, but they shared the thought that these were strangers, about whose tales they themselves were ignorant. They turned back to Sumbe, their valiant captain, whose hand had been crushed between two ships as she fought off the enemy. 

 Sumbe nodded slowly. 'The works of the enemy, with renewed malice but unnoticed by all, became apparent in one moment, on one fateful day. His people, it seemed, were everywhere, with a ready knife at each vital point in our cities and in our meeting places. At the appointed hour, the knives struck, our country had its culture destroyed in a day, like the bones being lifted from a cooked fish. 
 Our new leaders moved swiftly, the works of those such as M'banza-lunda were burned, and much else beside. Having taken our country and our culture from us, the old lies were forced into our ears again, that we were guilty of the destruction of the lands of the North, and must atone with slavery to our conquerors. 
 But those of us who remembered the words of M'banza-lunda began to ask if the tales told by our ancestors were all of the truth, or if lies were as old as Elves. Whether we ourselves had ever brought lies with us to replace the truths of a vanquished people. For it may be that in the increase of our herds and the growth of our cities; for we were mighty then, Elves of the North, truly mighty, but it may be that we consumed all that the land could provide, so that when the rains failed, our exhausted lands could no longer support the burden of our feet. 
 Thus there may be some guilt, but not the guilt of malice, rather of rash folly, in the blindness of our ancestors to the effects of their deeds.'
 She sighed, and looked at Aerandir 'I am no scholar, like you, but our enemy has spread so many lies that even the honest begin to doubt, to doubt those closest to them, to doubt themselves. '

 Aerandir was silent for a time, appalled at how little of the world he knew. He had barely explored the city of Gondolin, he had seen little of the Hidden Valley, and been shocked by the scale of Beleriand, like all those born within. Now here was a civilization, one of many, for all he knew, of whose very existence he had been unaware for all of his life. The shock was dizzying, his eyes seemed to fail, the faces wavered in and out of focus, the table seemed at once larger than life and tiny and remote. He closed his eyes and put a hand to his brow. N'zeto poured him a measure of miruvor and he drank it swiftly, nodding his thanks. Sumbe smiled indulgently
 'My lovely N'zeto, the best healer in the fleet.' she looked down at the arm still in a sling 'She who was forced to cut the right hand from the one she loved. No healer should have to suffer such a fate. My pain was as nothing to the anguish I felt as I watched the torment in her eyes.
Poor N'zeto, I wish...'
 N'zeto snorted in a matter-of-fact way 'The healer forced to remove a hand would always suffer. But though I was horrified to do the deed, I was awed by the endurance of Sumbe.'
 Ebo brought his fist down slowly on the table, and, his deep voice almost chanting, said slowly 
 'Sumbe !'
With eyes alight, the twins copied his gesture, but when he cried 'Sumbe!' again, they waited and then called 'Lives !'
 On the third descent of the great purple-black fist of Ebo, Falathar joined in, smiling and shouting 'Lives !' along with the twins.

Sumbe smiled at them, but a tear glistened as it slid down her smooth dark cheek. N'zeto, who would have brushed it away, was also brining her clenched fist down on the table. Aerandir could almost taste the air of fellowship growing between them, as Erellont brought his sinewy fist down beside that of Ebo, and, smiling at Sumbe, Aerandir joined in. After a few moments Ebo gave a great shout of exultant defiance and they rose and cheered, then embraced each other as close kin. 
 In the midst of their joy, Falathar spoke
'But you did not tell us the fate of M'banza-lunda ! ', which caused them all to laugh anew. Sumbe composed her face, but could not take the smile from her eyes as she looked at the innocent face of Falathar. He seemed as a child from the morning of the world, whom no grief had touched, but the pain was clear in the faces of the other two strange, pale Northerners. They had suffered as her people had done, and understood. She hoped that Falathar would never come to know for himself. She took his hand and pressed it gently with her good left hand. 
 'The enemy killed him, young one, in a nasty way. '
Falathar opened his mouth to speak, then thought of the things that others, Erellont, especially, cried out in their sleep; the untold tales, too foul for conversation in the light. 
 He nodded his head gravely and tried to smile back seriously, but Sumbe laughed 'Sing for us again, sweet-voice, but something of good cheer, to shake the shadows from our hearts !'

 Erellont, made restless by the storms of emotions and the oncoming storm itself, nodded at the singing Falathar and rose from the table, picking up a pear to eat as he turned for the wide, bright cabin in which he tended the barrels of rich soil planted with numerous herbs that the Valar had arrayed them with. As he dipped the jug into the water barrel, Ebo filled the doorway, where he lounged himself comfortably. Erellont smiled warmly but said nothing, indeed, his heart was too full for words. He carefully tipped the jug and poured the water carefully around a vogorous, bushy thyme, which grew almost faster than they could harvest. He tested the soil of the next with his finger, found it damp, and moved on. There were herbs here that none of them had seen before, and Erellont thought of the warmth of the South, and the warmth of Valinor, and turned to Ebo.  
 'Do you know these herbs ? Do your people grow them ?'
 Ebo shrugged 'I am a warrior, I know nothing of herbs, save only to recognize that which is deadly to eat. I see no such plants here. But N'zeto is our healer, she will know.' He turned and called her name. Erellont was surprised at his own disappointmen, he had felt that Ebo sought him out, and had been pleased. Now already N'zeto was moving past Ebo, who folded his arms and looked at Erellont from under thich dark lashes. Erellont found his heart pounding, he clutched the jug in both hands and stood up straight. N'zeto looked from one to the other, her lips twitched slightly with amusement, but she did not smile or speak, merely looked questioningly at Erellont. 
 Erellont swallowed and cursed his own nervousness. 

'It...' his voice faltered, but he clenched his teeth and kept his eyes from Ebo, who was willing him to laugh, or turn, or... Erellont concentrated, then gestured to a light grean herb of an almost ragged appearance, each leaf appeared to have been cut by a child with an elaborate decorative scheme in mind, but neither the skill nor the patience to carry out their lofty purpose. The herb had become a favourite of theirs, they had tried its effect upon all their foods, and found few that were not enhanced by the fresh vigour of its aromatic foliage. They had called it Lorien's Leaf, from the tales of the Dreaming Vala, for as Falathar had said, it was the herb of dreams. 
 N'zeto picked a leaf and crushed it, and breathed in the scent. She nodded, 'Yes, it is as I thought. We call this Hunter's Delight, for it grows everywhere and enhances everything. ' She smiled 'Almost everything. But do you not know this herb ? Does it not grow in the North ?'
 Erellont shook his head and looked at Ebo, who had shifted his long frame in the doorway. 
 'Alas !' said Ebo 'A land without Hunter's Delight ! Let us turn back N'zeto !' but he smiled and looked again at Erellont, who this time held his gaze. N'zeto looked from one to the other, then shook her head and gestured Ebo aside. When she had gone, and the laughter died down, still Ebo looked at Erellont, who did not look away. Finally Ebo widened his eyes, filled his cheeks with air and exhaled a great breath, which Erellont thought would never end.

 
 'But who are you, pale stranger, and why do you fascinate me so ?' said Ebo. 
 Erellont blinked at such openness, for though he himself was a soldier, he had been a guard of the Household of Turgon, and was accustomed to court manners, taking the informality of Falathar as a feature of his relative youth, but wondering if he and Aerandir, the gleanings of Gondolin, did not cling to customs whose world was vanished utterly. 
 'I am a soldier of Gondolin.' he said, as though to a commander, standing to attention. Ebo moved his jaw forward and smiled approvingly 
 'We are of the same kind, you and I. Warriors! And I see the pride of your fellows when they look at you, and their respect when they speak your name. '
Erellont looked at Ebo in surprise 
 'Do you ? Do they ?'
Ebo smiled 'These things are for the stranger to see. Trust me, my friend, if it was not there you would never be at peace until you had proven yourself to them. I think our presence has upset you, since we do not know you, or your tale, and from us there is no pride, or yet respect. Though I myself trust to your honour, and pride! I think you would not be aboard this ship of wonders if your valour were not already a matter of song. '

 Erellont thought of the massacre at Gondolin and closed his eyes. Ebo nodded; thus was the hero revealed, not in bragging of what had been done, but in mourning those his arm had been unable to protect.
 But Erellont wondered if here was someone who at last would understand that no glory could console him for the loss of... of everything, of Gondolin itself. 'The name of my city has become a word of pain in all the lands of the North. For our city was built of white towers in a hidden valley...' he told Ebo of the fountains of Ecthelion, of handsome Turgon, of silver-footed Idril and her beautiful mortal lover Tuor. And of his home in the city, of racing the other children to be first out of the gates in the morning to run wild in the meadows of flowers in the hidden vale. After a time he shrugged 'We were betrayed, the Enemy sent his hordes to destroy us, and bare hundreds escaped. I and Aerandir among them. Falathar is the son of others like ourselves, from another great city, the city of our kin, destroyed by the same Enemy. My valour... I did that which I was commanded, I guarded the family of Turgon. His child and grandchild were saved, though the city was destroyed. But the hero, the real hero, perished at our back, as we fled the beasts and demons of the foe. '

   Ebo frowned 'Tell me of these demons.'
 Erellont thought of the great eruption of smoke and flame, its power beating around it like wings of furnaced steel, and shining Glorfindel... His face worked with rage and grief, his fists clenched, his heart hammered in his chest. In a voice low and furious, he spoke to Ebo of the fire demons sent by the Enemy from the North. Ebo looked at him
 'There are tales of such creatures of darkness in the South, though I have not seen them, nor spoken with any who have. But all the songs agree, mighty beasts of fell purpose, crafted not from living flesh, but from the blood of the earth, or so our tales say.'
 Erellont nodded 'From the blood of the earth... Yes, yes, that it how it appeared, not a thing of rock and stone, but of molten earth and flame, and thick foul smokes, vapours whose stench made us retch, oh, poor Glorfindel ! All loved his beauty and grace, his blythe heart and joyful smile. To see such a one, alone against that beast...' He broke off, Ebo remained silent, picturing Erellont facing the creature that he himself could barely imagine. But Erellont looked at him
 'Glorfindel was slain, but he drove his sword into the beast, and threw himself on it, embracing the flame of the Enemy, and dragging it to its own death over the white precipice onto the rocks below. We heard it scream, and tried to smile through our tears, but there were many there who felt as I did, that it would have been better to fall with Glorfindel than to face the ruin of all.'
 Erellont sighed 'The grief begins to fade. There are times when I could almost count myself happy, but I see the haunted look in the eyes of Aerandir at times, and my own pain returns... But what of you, Ebo of the N'dalatanda, what is your tale ?'

 Ebo pursed his lips 'I am no hero, but I shall tell you, if you wish it, how it was that I am aboard this ship, for N'dalatanda is very far indeed from the shores of the great ocean.' He looked out of the windows, the white spray flew past like scattered crumbs, the long grey skies were full of troubled clouds racing North in the wind of Manwë. 'The sea...' he sighed 'It is vast beyond the imagination of one such as I, it fills me with a fear so vast that I must laugh, or weep. For I counted myself mighty, Erellont of Gondolin, and none could gainsay my vainglory, for in all sporting endeavours, in every feat of strength or speed, in trials of patience and endurance, I had no equal.' he snorted 'But I was untried in battle. The enemy, as you have heard, took us at unawares, within our own citadels. But those who were not slain on that day of blood and tears, gathered in the hills to form a last army of defiance. To our rage and sorrow, many of our kin, obedient to the invaders, took arm against us. The enemy needed no demons of fire to destroy N'dalatanda, his army alone swiftly overwhelmed we few who resisted. Because of my promising strength, I was placed at the left hand of the commander, who was slain defending his fallen love. Though I was, I suppose, brave enough, there was little time for action, I was ordered to bear the body of the commander back to his father, who had become the leader of those who resisted. He it was who ordered the attempt to cross the great desert, and kept me at his side, to relive the last hours of his son's life for him, and atone for my guilt.'

 'Guilt ? You have no cause to reproach yourself ! At least you stood ! I merely guarded the fleeing women and children, I did not have the occasion to charge...I wish...' He shook his head, for the path of regret leads but to the marshes. He shook his head and looked at Ebo, as if seeing him for the first time. The starvation had sharpened the bones of his face, the high wide cheekbones and strong square jaw were very beautiful, but the deep brown eyes, with a hint of amber to them, if the light caught them so, and the dark lashes sweeping up or down seemed to move his heart, as though Ebo had stretched forth his hand and siezed his heart, and the slightest tremor of those lashes commanded his very heartbeat. The bright whites of his eyes flickered as he glanced around the room, they both took a breath, as the weight of sorrow of each other's tale sank into their spirits. They were silent for a time, Erellont pouring water carefully among the herbs while Ebo watched, thinking and trying not to think. Erellont had no notion of how comfortable their silence had been until Falathar interrupted them. 

 'Erellont, I would have your opinion...' Falathar looked at Ebo 'Your opinion I would reserve until Erellont has assured me that I am not rude or mad about this.'
 Erellont smiled 'Speak, then, and I shall judge. But say nothing to insult our new friends, they have become dear to me, though our acquaintance is yet brief. ' He smiled warmly at Ebo, and felt the reassurance of true sympathy, of understanding. Falathar looked anxious, covering his mouth with his hand, he laid the other on his hip, and looked down at the deck, then up at Ebo, whom he looked at searchingly, then turned to Erellont 
 'I wish... No, I wish to suggest... I want to make...' he stopped, looked again at Ebo, then back at Erellont 'It is the missing eye of the captain, Erellont, we could, well, I could fashion one from a pearl, and some jet stone, and a gem, an agate perhaps. I learned this skill in my youth, for my mother is... was a sculptor in Nargothrond, who worked with Felagund himself...
  As a child, I myself learned to help with the making of eyes for her statues, which even the country-folk were glad to have in memory of Nargothrond the beautiful. We could make one for Sumbe, I promise that I can match the colour of her... her eye.' he faltered into silence. Again, Erellont found himself deeply reluctant to face the eyes of Ebo. He turned at once. 
 'My friend, your people leave me as the ocean left you, helpless on the margin. I can offer no opinion, I cannot imagine what you will say, if we have offended, I assure you we do not intend to.' 
 Ebo looked from one to the other, his heart moved by the anxious kindness in their eyes and the generosity of spirit that had inspired Falathar. He smiled warmly
 'How could we take offence at your kindness ? No, I see no insult. But I know the Captain, we have been long at sea, I think it best you signal your intentions from afar, before you lower sail. '
 Falathar nodded slowly 'Talk of my mother to her ? Tell her of how I learned to make eyes ?'
 Ebo smiled a courtier's smile, noted Erellont, then laughed at himself, for if ever there were a thing that could only be recognized by another such, it was a courtier. 
 Falathar smiled radiantly at them and darted away past Ebo, who barely turned aside in time to let him past. 
 'Either I must enter your small cabin of herbs, or you must come out, my brave new friend.'

 The agate eye of Sumbe took Falathar three days, for he refused all help, and barred the door to the hold where he sorted through chests of gems, rough and polished, seeking the perfect match. A handful of pearls the size of... he tried not to think of the horror of the arrow that had taken the eye of the captain, the mere thought made his stomach heave within him. And since N'zeto had told them the tale while Erellont dallied among the herbs with Ebo, he had been unable to bear to look at the marring of her beauty by the sunken eyelid. 

 While Falathar worked in solitude, on deck Aerandir found much of delight in the wisdom and learning of N'zeto, for though they had studied in diffent realms of the mind, systems of knowledge have system as their basis, and their enquiring minds, that had led them each to this vast, desolate ocean's empty heart, met in the mazes of the mind, comparing notes, techniques and observations. Sumbe, whose healing arm still held her in her seat, listened fondly, occasionally interrupting with a thoughtful remark, or reminder. N'zeto seemed to rarely need the support or insight of Sumbe, but when such was asked for, it became clear to Erellont that Sumbe was not only listening, but had heard such words before, though there were times when some wise words or details of the craft of the Noldor caught her interest. 
 Ebo and Erellont sat with them at first, but increasingly drifted away. They would stand together in the prow of the great ship, watching the cleaving of the wave, the flickering wall of spray, that seemed solid but was not so, for on a time came dolphins, wild and free, who made sport of the wave, riding its breast, or plunging through its sheer face as though through glass, hooting with hisses of delight. Falathar was called forth and sang with joy at the sight, watching them until long after they passed them, cutting away through the swift grey sea. But Ebo and Erellont stood always side by side, mostly in silence, taking comfort each from the mere presence of the other.  Often they lingered in the room of herbs, though neither learned anything of their cultivation or their nature. 

 Late in the night, alone in their cabin, N'zeto caressed the throat of her beloved and asked her what she thought of the growing closeness of the two. Sumbe thought for a time
 'They are warriors both, they both feel as a lone outpost, their armies are destroyed, the world they knew is gone, but they cannot lay down their command, for none now live who could relieve them. And in this adversity, they have found each other, their minds understand one another as your mind understands that of Aerandir. But I think... I think you would ask me if there is more than this between them, if we are watching love begin. It may be so. If it is, I rejoice for Ebo, for both !  Indeed I have come to care for our' she paused fractionally 'new friends.' She smiled and rubbed the nape of N'zeto's neck 'Why do you ask me this ? Are you troubled by their friendship ?
 N'zeto kissed her then, but after a time looked into her eyes thoughtfully 
 'My dearest love, I am troubled by everything that is happening, by this demon wind of endless storm and heat, but never any rain to break the stillness. It is not to be wondered at that our warriors stand guard, shoulder to shoulder, knowing not what peril may assail them next .
  I am troubled by these Northerners, so pale...' a faint expression of distaste fleeted across her delicate features 'I am troubled by the sight of their blue veins under their pallid skin, it is as though they were too naked, too raw... But most of all I am troubled by the unknown future in unknown lands, with guides who seem to know very little more than we do about what we shall find if ever we reach their shores.' she shook her head. 
 Sumbe wrapped both arms around her and held her close. For herself, being still alive at all was so astonishing that she could do little more than take pleasure in each meal, or song or tale. The joy, that her beautiful lover had survived to be with her beyond the end of their world, eclipsed all else; Sumbe, who had endured so much, wanted nothing more than to find a quiet home with N'zeto, and a new culture to which she could contribute. 

 At the hatch, Falathar stood, looking cautiously around the deck. Aerandir was reading under a lantern on the mast, the others were below at rest. Falathar stole quietly over and sat softly by Aerandir, who looked up with a smile, then stopped, laid aside his book and waited. 
 Falathar reached into his pouch and drew forth a soft cloth, Aerandir knew at once what it held in it's folds. Falathar paused, then drew the cloth aside. 
 Aerandir reached out before his mind had focused on the jewel in the shape of an eye, and slowly withdrew his hand.
 'It is... it is an eye ! You have succeeded, Falathar, Sumbe will be delighted. ' He laid a proud hand on the shoulder of Falathar who smiled gratefully but spoke with caution 
 'It may not fit, it may not move, it may not... Oh Aerandir !' he wailed quietly 'I have never had to create something for a living person ! What if it should cause her pain ?'
 Aerandir snorted softly 'Compared to an arrow in the eye, i think a rough patch on a pearl will be as bliss to her. But I think that you will find that getting her to admit to any discomfort will be the challenge for you, you must be sure to convince her that remedy is at hand. You can craft another such, I suppose, if this one does not suit ?'
 Falathar nodded 'Indeed, and more swiftly, knowing what excellent tools are aboard this fine ship, and what marvellous gems there are to work with. I am enjoying the crafting so much that I may essay a little something, perhaps a ring or two, or some beads for our new friends to add to the weight in their hair !'
 'Yes, almost everyone likes to adorn themselves. Perhaps some rings for our warriors ?'
 Falathar looked at Aerandir, then reached for the wine 
 'Do you think that... I have been so engrossed in my work that their affair had slipped my mind, do you think that they...' he hesitated, his brief, troubled life had spared him no time for love, or anything else. Aerandir, little more sophisticated in the ways of courting Elves, could offer  only his observations
 'They are always side by side, but that may be since they would hunt together as hounds do, rather than to be close as lovers would. I cannot say. But I feel that neither has spoken of love, as yet. They may not be certain in themselves, for these are difficult times, and the mind distracted may hesitate to assert its judgment. '
 'The Southerners look much refreshed since they have eaten and drunk of the foodstuffs of Valinor. If N'zeto were not so in love with Sumbe I should compliment her on her beauty, for now that the bones of her face have been smoothed over with flesh, she is become dazzling, and I feel almost abashed in her presence '
 Aerandir pressed his lips closed to prevent himself smiling, and nodded gravely. 

Sumbe, wrapped in a long robe, came on deck with hear head bowed, shaking loose her beaded braids. She lightly flicked her head back and the beads settled into their colourful rows. She yawned and rubbed her eye, then adjusted her sling and noticed the two Northerners. She looked around, the swift sunrise of the South had caught them at unawares, they sat beneath the now feeble light of the lantern, huddled over a small package in the lap of Falathar. 
 'Forgive me, I did not mean to intrude.' she said, but even as she turned away, Falathar had looked questioningly at Aerandir, who had nodded. 
 Stumbling over his feet and his words, Falathar called after the Captain 
 'Sumbe, Captain Sumbe !'
She had straightened then, and turned, her full height brought her eyes on a level with those of Falathar, her stong features and ferociously intent eyes made him think of eagles... his words failed him. 
 But Aerandir the courtier was beside him, taking the package from the nerveless fingers of Falathar and presenting it to Sumbe. 
 'His mother was a sculptor. He was taught to make such as these in his childhood. Should it please you to wear it, but find any discomfort thereby, he has the skill to correct his error. Furthermore, this ship is laden with such gems, another can easily be made. '
 Sumbe picked the pearl eye out of the cloth and examined it closely, rubbing a calloused thumb over the polished surface. She did not look at the breathless Northerners, but shouted in a voice to wake the ship 
 'N'zeto!'. She continued to pore over the pearl eye, holding it this way and that to see the effect of light on the deep rich brown of the agate. N'zeto, immaculately groomed, lovelier than the dawn, stepped lightly on deck and stood beside Sumbe, who put the pearl eye into her hand. 
 'Would you have me wear this, my love ?' Sumbe asked, in the intimate tones of those who are alone. Aerandir was beginning to feel giddy from breathlessness, he exhaled as silently as he could and took a deep breath of the clean salt of the open ocean air. 

N'zeto was silent for a moment, thinking of the unimportance of the details of the face in intimate moments. But she knew the mind of her beloved, whose gallantry was a matter of song; Sumbe would never wear such a thing unless to please N'zeto, who had spent many happy hours fastening the jewels into the hair of Sumbe. 

 'My love, it would make me happy to see your face restored to its former shape. It would give me pride to see these Northerners lose their hearts to your true beauty. It would be diplomatic to appear before the people of our new friends in the least shocking manner. They will be disturbed by the darkness of our skin, as we are disturbed by their pallor. Anything that can diminish the distress we may cause them...' but Sumbe was nodding
 'I will do this. I shall wear this thing. But, N'zeto, great healer, would there need to be some oil, or wax, applied to the pearl ?' 
 N'zeto, who had been absent-mindedly rubbing the  pearl eye gently with her thumb, looked seriously at it, then up at Falathar 
 'I think wax, and then a little light oil after the final polish. It will be uncomfortable at first, however smooth the surface. ' 
 Falathar, speechless with joy and relief, clasped his hands together, beaming smiles at them. Aerandir held out his hand 
 'Shall I polish the pearl for you, Captain ? Falathar has worked through the night to complete this work, and should rest. ' But N'zeto closed her fingers over the large pearl and took the arm of Sumbe, who spoke formally, but with joy shine forth in her face. 
' I thank you, I cannot convey my, our gratitude for your kindness, we could never have dared to hope for such hospitality as you have shown us. '
 'We thought, ' she looked at N'zeto briefly 'That is, some of us thought that the tales of the enemy were true, that only demons dwelt in the North. Part of my mind, raised on such lies, fears that you will yet cast off your mortal guise and torment us, but when I see such kindness, and when I see our warriors' she laughed dryly 'Both of them, stand as one, I know that my heart is as true as my love's; and her judgment far outweighs the enemies lies. I am in your debt. Thank you, my friends.' 

The loud call of Sumbe had awakened the others. Matadi and Melanjo were waiting behind N'zeto, ready for anything, until she showed them the eye, and in the swift words of their own tongue, told them of the gift. The twins, as usual, looked at each other first, then turned to Falathar 
 'I, Matadi, of the ship Ainumanä, do thank you for your generosity, your hospitality and your kindness.'
Melanjo repeated the words, then they each cut a fine gem from their hair, large emeralds, and handed one each to Aerandir and Falathar. Feeling a sense of ceremony, and aware of the attentive stillness of the watching captain, even Falathar found himself bowing as formally as Aerandir. When they rose, Erellont was at their side, but Ebo, holding his leg and cursing, limped towards them from his cabin. 
 N'zeto hurried anxiously to his side and raised the hem of his robe. A healing arrow-scar on his calf troubled him. She took the growing muscle in her hands and massaged it with brisk, smooth strokes. Ebo, all of a piece, unclenched his muscles and sighed deeply. 
 'Forgive me for interrupting, but when I leapt from my bunk at the call of the Captain, my leg siezed under me and I fell to the floor. ' he shook his head 'Today I would have asked your permission to exercise, healer, for I would test my strength against the might of Erellont.' his dark eyes turned to Erellont, their beauty marred for a moment by the lines of bitter pain. Understanding came to Erellont, for the shape of his own face, moving in sympathy with that of the injured Ebo, showed him the truth of the spirit, that the roots of this pain were not in the wound of the flesh, but in the anguish of loss and defeat blighting the hearts of all who had faced the Enemy. 
 But N'zeto laughed kindly, seeing their shared expression of grief  'Warriors ! All are alike ! Yes Ebo, you may begin to exercise, but you will only do so under my watchful eyes, and you will wait now until I return, for another needs my care.' 
 
 One of the twins explained the ceremonials to Ebo, who cut a sapphire from his own hair and offered it to Falathar. Falathar had stretched out his hand for it, but paused, and said impulsively 'Why not give it to Erellont ?'
 Ebo's blush was visible to eyes now adjusted to the subtler changes in dark skin. Erellont was almost as red-cheeked as an apple. There was an instant of stunned silence, until Ebo, his deep voice as steady as his warrior's eyes, moved his hand lightly towards Falathar and said 
 'I have another gift in mind for Erellont. ' and limped away. Falathar held the sapphire and stared numbly after Ebo, then turned, with the rest, to Erellont, whose neck was now almost as red as his cheeks. He stared after Ebo and said nothing, til the Elves drifted away to the table to break their fast. Erellont turned on his heel and stalked back to his cabin, wondering if Ebo saw him as a rival or as a lover. The dream of his heart, that both could be united in one person, and one of such poise, elegance and beauty, seemed closer to realisation than ever before. He bathed distractedly, and returning with a distant smile, ate absent-mindedly, while around him the others spoke light-heartedly of their childhoods, and their adventures since. Ebo, with a subtle smile for Erellont, sat beside him and ate for long in a thorough, steady way. It was only by looking at the still gaunt frame and reminding himself that the Southerners had been long starved, that Erellont could prevent himself from trying to match such an appetite, such voracious appetite. 

 In the hot dry air they exercised, all save Sumbe, who had been ordered to rest. N'zeto stopped Ebo long before his will had tired, and told him he must proceed with caution, to heal and recover. Ebo leaned against the mast, his brow furrowed, watching Erellont struggle to maintain readiness for battle with scarcely room to turn a rope in. Finally Erellont stopped, the others, busy in talk at the table, did not glance round, and missed the slow smile of approval that Ebo showed Erellont for the first time. Erellont felt his whole body begin to flush, he must be glowing, he thought, and the shine in the eyes of Ebo seemed to reflect his own. He could not speak, but dried his limbs and fought to keep his breathing steady. Ebo, seeming unconscious of his action, engrossed in the hands and arms of Erellont, licked his lips. Erellont stopped and gazed longingly at him, trying to convey the mood of his heart in his eyes. Ebo shifted his weight and stood facing him, his former serious, watchful expression gone, replaced by a tentative warmth that seemed to increase in intensity with every moment that passed. 
 Erellont became aware that silence had fallen at the table. The mere thought that others were present at this opening of hearts choked him with self-consciousness. He started, dropped his towel and saw Ebo stoop even as he himself reached forwards. Their heads narrowly avoided collision, but their hands met on the towel. They crouched on the deck, Elves reunited, warriors together, facing the unknown with courage, and their spirits beginning to soar free from their flesh, the knowledge of the love of each for the other, shining from their eyes, was as the wind which carries the gull far into the high clouds. 

 Malanje looked at Matadi, who looked questioningly back at him. Malanje sighed, and spoke to N'zeto 'Do you think then, that the songs and tales, of the Mighty Hunter who drove our peole South, might be... That the hunter was their Vala ? A Vala ?'
 N'zeto nodded thoughfully. Matadi smiled proudly, the approval of N'zeto was not lightly earned. Ebo too was nodding. Sumbe looked at Aerandir 
 'What do your songs and tales say of the Mighty Hunter ?'
Aerandir nodded with a sad smile
 'Alas, you make me question our own tales, for we have heard, from those who have lived in Valinor, that the Valar have the power to put on the form of an Elf, of great size and power, and walk among the living. Oromë chooses to appear as a hunter, seeking ever the creatures of the enemy to pursue and destroy. Our tales say that he summoned...or invited, our ancestors to Valinor, to live there under their protection. I doubt that Oromë drove away the Avari, your ancestors, since they say that he still regrets his failure to persuade you to follow him. In any case, the lands of the North are wide, fertile and well-watered, there is room for all, I can see no purpose in driving you away, especially since so many did depart for Valinor, leaving the empty lands behind them. 
 However, the Enemy, of whom he who bears the eye is only a vassal, is a master of deceit and illusion. It may be that he himself, disguised as Oromë, drove your forebears away into the South, so that your tale may be both true and false. '

N'zeto snorted 'Master of deceit and illusion' she said dryly 'It has been long since we could trust even in truth. Now all that we hear from you of the distant past gainsays our oldest songs. I only regret that we are, that we have been, so ready to believe the lies of the Enemy. '
 Sumbe sighed 'The Enemy has destroyed our books and slain our wisest more than once. If nothing survives from the past to dispute his lies, what chance did we have to learn the truth ?'
 Ebo cursed under his breath, his accent, returned by the strength of his fury to the unknown tones of the South, uttered a bitter words, that even Falathar thought he could understand. 
 But Aerandir had half risen to his feet, hands spread on the table he looked at Erellont, and then the rest of the Elves. 
 'The great desert ! Surely the work of the Enemy ! Consider Anfauglith ! ' he sighed, and sat down, then turned to Sumbe 'There is a wide plain before the stonghold of the Enemy, far to the North. Once it was green and fair, and horses ran free there. But the Enemy befouled it, and now it is 'the gasping dust', for the wind from the North carries deadly poison. I think that all the lies, all the different stories, are the signature of the Enemy; for his malice delights in dissent among kin and friend. '
 
The Elves of the South looked thoughtfully at one another. Ebo opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it again and sat back, his eyes fixed on Sumbe. She nodded after a time
 'I fear that you are right. Though it makes little difference, except perhaps to the hearts of we here. For how shall we convey this new tale to our people ? The great desert is there, and we cannot cross it. And if it should happen that we do return, then our tale would be merely one among the many stories, and though some, the few left who remember us, might take us at our word, what end would it serve ?' She put her hand to her forehead and sagged, her elbow on the table, the long jewelled braids trailing across the smooth green cloth. There was a silence. N'zeto put an arm around the shoulders of Sumbe and murmered
 'Captain, you must rest, you have been severely wounded, you are not yet healed '
 But Sumbe inhaled deeply and smiled at N'zeto 
 'It is my heart that has taken the wound. We had no notion of the seriousness of the threat. We could not defeat even his advance forces, and, though we have heard only fragments of the tales of the North, it seems that your people have fared no better. Unless your Lord Eärendil and his jewel of Light can achieve some feat of wonder, I see little that can be done.' she sighed, then smiled; her face was lit from within by her courage and fortitude, and her beauty enhanced by the already-forgotten new eye, they all found themselves smiling back. She nodded approvingly. 'So, my young counsellor,' she said to Falathar 'What fragrant vintage have you for us ?'

As the wines eased their hearts and lightened their spirits, they passed the lute among those who could play it, and their songs became less formal as the light began to fade. Aerandir lit the silver lanterns as the twins began to drum their fingers on the table, in sinuous rhythms that hastened the beating of the heart. Erellont found that Ebo was close beside him, their thighs touched beneath the laden table, and their breathing was fast and shallow. Erellont became vividly aware of Ebo, the pinkness of his fingernails, the emeralds in his hair, the muscles of arm and thigh, so close to his own. He could not turn, he could not speak, he could scarcely catch his breath. The dry, heavy air seemed to intensify the heat between them, the endless flight before the oncoming storm had made his skin feel raw; all sensations were overwhelming. Erellont reached for his goblet, the effort seemed greater than lifting the trunk of a tree from the ground. He sipped the smooth wine, marvelling at the sweet taste of the summer of the South, struggling not to think of what had been in the mind of Ebo as he carefully made his gift. 
On his other side, Falathar gave a wordless exclamation and darted down into the hold. He returned moments later with two small drums. Without speaking, the twins held out their hands and took the drums. 

 This time the beat was mesmerising. Falathar, who had remained on his feet, began to dance. To the surprise of Erellont, N'zeto, after a brief kiss for Sumbe, joined Falathar, her long braids swinging, the pearls in her hair gleaming under the light of the silver lanterns. Aerandir took up the lute and set the strings dancing, a flowing, rippling air winding through the complex layers of sound from the drums of the riders of N'dalatanda. Ebo spoke softly in the ear of Erellont. 
  'Will you dance with me, Erellont of the North ? Let us show these "counsellors" how warriors dance !' he paused, then put his hand on the arm of Erellont 'I hope my words do not offend you, perhaps it is not your custom to dance ?' But Erellont could scarcely dare to look at Ebo, his spirit in turmoil, his heart dancing faster than the swift pulsing of the drums. Doubt plagued him yet; he felt, indeed, he knew, that passion and desire would show in his own face, but that the gift of Ebo might in truth have been merely a token between warriors, that Ebo himself might be offended by his presumption, that it was indeed a small ship, and a long voyage ahead. But he was a warrior. He rose to his feet and met the eyes of Ebo. 
  'Show me how they dance in the South, and I will show you the ways of the warriors of the North !'

  Ebo grinned, his white teeth and the whites of his eyes gleaming in the lantern light. He rose to his feet, his eyes level with those of the tall Erellont. Already the foods of Valinor had worked their healing power upon him. His face had lost the withered aspect of the starving, his cheeks had smoothed into beauty, his eyes, his entrancing eyes, no longer started forth from his face, but seemed to glow with hidden wisdom, a tantalising secret that held the promise of wonders that would be more vital to Erellont himself than any marvels of the Valar. The long lashes flicked closed, then the dark brown eyes opened again, gazing at him, drawing Erellont deeper into their luminous depths, fascinating him with hints of gold as Ebo turned his finely-sculpted head. Though time seemed to have slowed to the pace of a snail for Erellont, the warrior in him knew that only moments had passed. But he knew also that he and Ebo, in the language of the body, had already spoken their love to each other. They were warriors, they understood the small gestures that signified the intent of enemy or friend, and despite their unfamiliarity with the customs or even language of each other, yet their understanding had opened their spirits to each other, their minds were attuned, their hearts sang of love and joy, and Erellont, with the suddenness of quiet peace that comes when the door is closed to the wind, felt that he had at last come home, that henceforth his home would be in the eyes and arms of Ebo, or fighting by his side in the days to come. He smiled without reserve, his love shone forth, his grey eyes radiant with joy. 

 Ebo stamped on the deck as he danced, until all were stamping along with him, the other dancers, the grinning brothers, trying to outpace each other in ever more elaborate patterns of sound, and the injured Sumbe, nodding along with the dancers, stamping her feet on the smooth deck, smiling at the flying braids of her love. 
 The warms rains of the South began to fall on the dancers; the storm was upon them. They did not seek shelter but, laughing with delight, let the drops run down their faces, or splash into their mouths. Sumbe herself rose and came forth to join them, her arm round the waist of the laughing N'zeto, she let the soothing rain wash away the dust and cares of the long, troubled voyage. The twins looked at each other with mischievous grins, then lay aside their drums and leapt out from under the awning, stamping in time into the puddles that the increasingly heavy rain formed even on the gentle camber of the deck. They sang a song of the hunt, full of the gallop of great racing horses and the eager calls of the hunters, while the dancers around them stamped and shouted along with them. 

 As the wind strengthened, lightning dazzled their eyes, and mighty bursts of thunders began to tear through the clouds above them.  The rain blew sideways, hard into their faces, and N'zeto led the still-singing Sumbe back under the awning. Falathar and Aerandir lowered a sheet of canvas to keep the storm from their table, and the twins darted back under the shelter, shaking sparkling droplets from their jeweled braids. But Ebo took the hand of Erellont and looked intently into his eyes. The rain ran slanting across their faces, but neither paid heed to anything beyond the pools of each others eyes. Erellont held up his other hand and their fingers entwined. The moment seemed endless, the eye of the storm, the core of their lives. 
 All doubt had fled from the overflowing heart of Erellont. His smile was carefree, trusting, open. Ebo smiled warmly back at him. Erellont nodded once, and said 
 'Now ?'
 Ebo nodded and moved closer, laying his lips softly on those of Erellont. They could scarcely hear the cheering of the others as they embraced, oblivious to the rain, the ship, the sea and the storm. But as their arms slid around each other's waists, Sumbe gave a great cry, and with her hand pointed West, to where the tattered edge of the cloud had revealed the black of clear night air. Erellont sighed and lifted his head, and, still in the embrace of the Elf of the South, saw the Light of the last Simaril shining, ascending the sky as though Vingilot had at last taken wing.