To gather in a flourishing way by Chestnut_pod

To gather in a flourishing way

Read To gather in a flourishing way

It is renowned among both the Teleri and the Noldor, though perhaps for different reasons among each, that Eärwen Swan-Maiden of Alqualondë was married to Arafinwë of the Noldor in a dress broidered with one thousand pearls, and more draped around her neck and woven through her hair like sea spray.

It is known moreover that the Teleri minded their past better than any in Aman, more than the starry-eyed Vanyar with their palms raised always to the Light, and more than the Noldor who plunged their hands to the wrist in the earth and looked rather to the glitter in what they found there. The Lindai, for so they called themselves in the songs which told the story of all Quendi for those who cared to listen, preferred to trail their fingers in the wake of their boats and enjoy the chill breeze after, to dive down to the great reefs of pearl oysters but never so far they could not once more reach the surface. Masters of the middle ground of the shoreline were they, and skimmed far the shallow coastal waters to the north and south, and yet kept always the great Eastering boats that held no fear of the deeps.

Swanships, the Noldor called them, and called Eärwen Swan-Maiden, yet never asked what use a swan has for the sea, or the sea for a swan. None at all, in truth, and yet much use for the lakes and marshes of the Waters of Awakening. The Lindai of all their kindred in Aman had tasted loss in the separation of their people, and knew the weight of memory. Thus it was that they kept always their sea-ships, and kept also their wise singer-teachers that they might always preserve the song-memory of the sea currents, of the high pine forests, of the maps in the stars and the whisper of the grasslands. As every parent has told a child who cries over a mistake, there is no return to Cuiviénen. Perhaps only the swan-singers of the Lindai would add - not as it was, but there is return. Or could be.

What has this to do with Eärwen and her thousand pearls? Well, it is known among the Lindai, though less among their kin in Aman, that a young Linda must not use a gem as a token in their wedding, for the stones could conceivably be false and all unintended bring falsity into the marriage. The one exception is a pearl, whose perfection and luster can be seen by all, and whose falseness can be seen as easily as a gale hiding behind white clouds. Eärwen knew of this, being a swan-singer of her people and wise in the laws that had governed relations between people since Cuiviénen, and so when Arafinwë youngest prince of the Noldor came to beg her hand in marriage, she asked her parents and brothers to bring her pearls for her wedding, that she might not be seen as lowly in the eyes of her husband’s people and yet keep to the traditions of her own.

Her father came to her first. Although the Noldor called him king, in truth he was only the wisest of the swan-singers, full of songs of knowing from before the crossing of the sea which he shared freely whenever asked. The pearls he brought her were pearls others had given him in thanks for his wisdom, and were of all colors and sizes.

“A pearl is like a marriage,” he told her. “It is always lovely, no matter the shape, size, or color, and a setting may always be found to fit it. When you leave our people, look to these pearls and remember that the beauty of a marriage may take many shapes and loses nothing for its uniqueness.”

Eärwen placed the pearls in many-colored clusters on her skirts, and knew that she would remember.

Her eldest brother came to her next. He was a swan-singer like her and her father, learned in the laws pertaining to food, who could spend days extrapolating which fish and fowl of Aman were good to eat from what had been known at Cuiviénen. The pearls he brought her were pearls that had been worked, that had had some shadow of a flaw carefully scraped away so that they shone smaller but more perfect.

“A pearl is like the law,” he told her. “No law can be faultless, but careful work and attention may improve them. When you leave our people, look to these pearls and remember that the law can be flawed, but can also be repaired.”

Eärwen stitched the pearls onto her bodice, and knew that she would remember.

Her next two brothers came to her together. Even in those Great Years before the breaking of the world they were interested in its repair, and they tended the great banks of oysters which cleaned and purified the water which was sullied by industry and work. The pearls they brought her were the seed pearls that formed on the lips of the filtering oysters when some bit of grit could not be removed otherwise.

“A pearl is like memory,” they told her. “An oyster must drink soiled water to clean the ocean, but the memory that remains is precious. When you leave our people, look to these pearls and remember that even painful memories have value.”

Eärwen braided the pearls into her hair, and knew that she would remember.

Her mother came to her last. She herself was a diver for pearls, head of her guild and commander of much respect for her daring and skill. The pearls she brought her were the most perfect she had ever found, saved over the long years for her daughter.

“A pearl is like a scar,” she told her. “It forms only because some irritant threatens the life of its host. When you leave our people, look to these pearls and remember that to survive you must change and grow.”

Eärwen draped these pearls in ropes around her neck, and knew that she would remember.

Thus it was that Eärwen swan-singer left her family attired in the wisdom of her people and carrying it with her in song. Thereafter she dwelt for many years in happiness with the Noldor in their inland river valleys, though she saw her family but seldom and shared her people’s knowledge with only those few who knew enough to ask.

One such was the wife of her husband’s brother, Anairë. Having traveled in years before with Eärwen’s other new sisters to the coasts, as many restless young women of the first generation born to Aman had been wont to do, she knew something of the role of the singer-teachers of the Lindai and went to Eärwen in honest curiosity.

“Tell me something the Teleri do that the Noldor do not,” she said, and Eärwen sang her the driest teaching songs of law she had ever learned from her eldest brother, thinking Anairë’s request somewhat arrogant. Nevertheless, Anairë listened, and when she had done asked many questions.

As the light of the Trees reached its mingling, she rose and said, “I see now that the Falmari see the need for order differently than do the Noldor. I thank you, and would like to speak with you again.”

Anairë next found Eärwen at a family gathering, where she stood somewhat apart. She asked Eärwen, “Will you tell me something the loremasters of the Falmari know that those of the Noldor do not?” Eärwen sang her the teaching songs her mother sang to young mariners and divers so they could know the currents and forces of the open sea, thinking in her heart that Anairë would be bored. Nevertheless, Anairë listened, and when she had done asked many questions.

When voices began to rise in anger elsewhere in the room, as they often did at these gatherings, Anairë stood quickly and said, “I see now that the knowledge of your people runs as deep as the knowledge of mine, only in a different direction. I thank you, and would like see you again where we can speak properly.” 

When next Anairë came to Eärwen in the mood to learn, she asked Eärwen, “How are your families by the sea different from our families here by the rivers?” Eärwen sang songs of love her father had taught her, for she and Anairë both had their children with them and she thought it could not hurt them to hear of love between two women, love between two men, or love between many when there was so much love constricted in their fathers’ family. Nevertheless, Anairë listened too, and when she had done asked many questions.

When the children began to nod off in the tall grass by the riverbank, she rose and said, “I see now that your family is freer with its love than mine, but that we both keep it just as well. I thank you, and would like to spend the day with you again.”

Indeed, Eärwen swan-singer and Anairë of the Noldor spent many days together thereafter, each teaching after her custom and learning in her turn. Most frequently they spent days of knowledge and bliss together alone or with only their children for company, though often they might also be joined by their sisters in marriage: tall Nerdanel of the strong grip, wise Findis who brought word and song from the slopes of Taniquetil, and laughing Írimë who cheered them all in the last of the Years of the Trees.

All Quendi know, however, that nothing lasts forever, and when the family by the rivers was sundered by death and Doom, Eärwen found herself once again as alone as she had been when she arrived in Tirion draped in pearls.

She let Arafinwë go to follow his brothers, thinking of her father and his words about marriage. She remembered that although a setting could be found to fit any pearl, a marriage must sometimes be let go, like a too-flawed pearl cast back into the sea despite the work it had taken to harvest it.

In the panic and fear of Darkened Tirion, Eärwen passed from house to house to listen to tales of empty rooms and dread, and let the stories pass through her as her youngest brothers had told her dirty water passed through an oyster. She remembered that memories were precious despite the pain remembering recalled, and let each woman speak her names in peace, without blame.

After the rising of the Sun and Moon, though Arafinwë returned, the women of Tirion and the few men who turned back no longer wished to follow the dictates of the shattered House of Finwë. Eärwen remembered her eldest brother’s words, and under the new Lights proposed with the remnants of the Noldor in Aman new laws, not perfect but worked with care and attention.

She found not the time to think of her mother’s words until Anairë came to her once more, for the first time since the rising of the Moon. Weeping, Anairë pleaded, “Tell me something only you know, for I am weary of the old laws and wary of the new, and feel the lack of my husband and children. Tell me a secret none other knows, that I might find something new to love.”

Eärwen sang to her for the first time the song-memory of the sea currents, of the high pine forests, of the maps in the stars and the whisper of the grasslands, the secret ways to the Waters of Awakening.

“There is no return to Cuiviénen,” Anairë told her.

Though once perhaps Eärwen would have responded as a swan-singer of her people and insisted - not as it was, but there is return - she had learned as well as taught in her time among the Noldor.

Instead she thought of her mother, and said, “A pearl is like the two of us. We begin as open wounds, but with care, and time, and growth we will change and so survive.”

Anairë wiped her eyes and said to Eärwen, “I see now the secret you meant to tell me, and I see also another new light that we may love.” Reaching out, she took Eärwen by the hand and so descended with her once more into Tirion.

What has this to do with Eärwen and her thousand pearls? Well, it is known among the Lindai, and among the Vanyar, and among the Noldor who remained, that there is a new city in Aman where a wide river mouth meets the sea. It is known that this city has no ruling house, though a golden prince presides over its great court, and that its people skim the sea and sound the earth with equal ease, living in the middle grounds of lagoon and beach, memory and exploration.

It is known also that there are two great teachers there, one who sings her lore after the fashion of the Lindai, and one who writes it down so that all may read it no matter the distance. Though they are not queens, every eye turns to them when they appear together in ceremony, for each of them wears a dress broidered with five hundred pearls, and more draped around their necks and woven through their hair like sea spray.