last made but first planned by Chestnut_pod

last made but first planned

Read last made but first planned

Even now that the sun shone warmly on the waters of the sea and the towers of Alqualondë, there was little to mark the passage of time in Valinor. The Amanyar made do, nevertheless. The Noldor had their intricate clockworks and the bells of their schools and workshops, the pious Vanyar likely saw the seamless slipping by of hours and days as just another element in their ecstasy, and the Teleri marked the passage of weeks and months by the king tides and neap tides. And now, by the coming and going of Vingilótë, infrequent but regular as the roving of the wandering stars. 

Each half a tide cycle, the light in the East would seem to pause on its journey, and then slowly grow brighter, larger and surer. On the evening of the last day, when the waves washed a happy, gentle strand of kelp and gems across the middle of the beach, the light would resolve: a ship, long and strange and sail-less, grooved like a whale and undulating strangely in the wash of a light so pure and thick it seemed to lick the sides of the ship like seawater, trickling down from the brow of a man half-seen in the prow. 

Their kin in the East must miss their Star of High Hope when Eärendil the Mariner came down to dock, but his day of rest was a day of joy for the Teleri. For these evenings the Lady Elwing would come down from her high tower on the cliffs, veiled like a bride, and walk a winding path through the city, from the pearly domes of the king to the shingled fishermen’s cottages and through the districts of the shipwrights and canvas-makers, and down to the strip of sand where the Noldor had once scattered jewels. 

As she walked, the work would cease, and the front doors of every dwelling would open, and the soft sound of singing would drift out to follow her, a wave of song and peace following behind her as the sun dimmed and the stars shone out. Down she walked, out onto the long pier to throw her arms back under the strange shimmer of the Silmaril. Somehow her outstretched fingers would feather, and her neck lengthen, and a great pelican would be seen winging her way out to the strange ship, swallowed up by the light. 

When at last the star came down to dock, the women of each house would light two candles and lay out bread and wine. The Lady Elwing and the Mariner would walk the long winding path back to the lady’s tower, Elwing with her veil thrown back and the Silmaril at her breast, and they might pause by one of the open doors and bring the light, the light. And they would want for refreshment, and the Silmaril would want for remembrance of its kindred that hallowed the world’s seas and secret fires. Two candles then for what was lost, and wine and bread for those still living, and perhaps the Lady and the Mariner would stop by and illuminate the fishing hut, or mansion, or craftsman's workshop with hallowed beauty. 

At least, that was how it had begun, that hope for a tangible reminder of the past, of victory and hope against the odds. It seemed now that it had been that way since before the days of the Trees. Two candles for remembrance and safety, and sustenance for those at the table and those far away who wanted for it.

Still though, the people would whisper, ”The Lady comes," when Elwing walked the path back to her tower, husband in tow, light itself around her neck, and as these things do among the Teleri, it passed into song. The Lady comes, sing to praise her. 

And perhaps Elwing, who had been a symbol of a righteous fight thrice over, came to love being a symbol of peace and rest and joyous togetherness. As ever, though, the bringers of happiness find their gifts grow greater than themselves. The world may curve and the straight path grow crooked, but the Teleri have their Lady, and their children for whom three stones and rings and wars are just Tengwar in their history books have a night and a day of holy peace. And if one is to be swallowed whole by a legend, perhaps it is best that it be one where heroics are gently shouldered out by quiet love.