Beyond the Wheeling Stars by sallysavestheday

Beyond the Wheeling Stars

Read Beyond the Wheeling Stars

When Elwë wakes from the long trance of his wedding, the first reach of his mind is for Finwë. How his friend will marvel at the joy he has found! He, Elwë, the singular of heart, the solitary, the separate and apart! Not even his brothers had known of his loneliness; only Finwë has ever touched his deep silences, the quiet, tender core of him that Melian now occupies with such devotion.

The tie between them is so old, so deep. It pulses in his blood with every beat of his heart, different than what binds him to Melian, but no less profound. They move through the world together: Elwë and Finwë, Finwë and Elwë, so close in understanding that they have no need of words.

Finwë has worried for him, Elwë knows, wished for him a bond of sweetness and fire such as his own with Míriel. But always Elwë has preferred the stars and the birds and the breath of the forests in the winter air. Finwë will be astounded by his marriage, Elwë expects. He hopes he will be pleased.

But where Finwë has always dwelt in his heart, there is only stillness, and a soft, attenuated thrill: a distant call, but no communication. Elwë is alone.

He reels, disoriented – how long has it been since he stepped into the dream of love? Valinor is lost to him, and half his people: the shining road is gone.

Melian bears him up, her hand in his, an anchor and a guide. As the first of his remaining followers creep into their clearing, hesitant and glad, he feels their binding pull taut and firm. He is familiar with beginnings: Cuiviénen, Valinor, the return, the Journey. This is just one more. He grips back and smiles, already carrying himself as though he has been crowned.

Time flows past like water as the Sindar thrive and spread, led by Elwë, guarded by Melian. The soft tug on his heart does not recede, but neither does it grow. Finwë lives, he knows, but remains a mystery. An old wound, tender when he touches it, but more often simply a glow, a warmth in the background as his heart accommodates itself to Melian, to kingship, to fatherhood, to peace. He is lulled by his new life, by the sweet, soft stretch of time his people spend in joy. It is not Valinor, but it is, almost, enough.

When the blow comes, it is as though to his own body. The pain is overwhelming, and his mind is full of Finwë, suddenly, of his terror and despair. The world tunnels down to their faint connection, pulsing with Finwë’s anguish, with a formless warning of darkness and brutality and treachery and fear. Then there is nothing: no light, no warmth, no Finwë. Elwë shoves against the emptiness with everything he has, but there is only silence where their tie has been.

He mourns for his friend, for the piece of his heart that is missing. He puzzles over his last glimpse of Finwë’s mind: the sense of betrayal, of broken bonds and tainted blood and lies. Something foul has blighted Finwë's people, there in the Shining Lands. If even there, where else? Elwë girds himself against the monsters lurking in the dark.

When the returning Noldor arrive in Beleriand, grim and hard and bitter, they receive no tender welcome from the King.