Rising as if Weightless by StarSpray

And now the tide

is at its very crown,
the white birds sprinkle down,

gathering up the loose silver, rising
as if weightless. It isn ’t instruction, or a parable.

It isn't for any vanity or ambition
except for the one allowed, to stay alive.

It ’s only a nimble frolic
over the waves. And you find, for hours,

you cannot even remember the questions
that weigh so in your mind.

- Mary Oliver, “Terns”

- -

It had taken years for all of the ships to return after the War of Wrath. The fleet of Alqualondë had come back in a flood; the ships built by Círdan had been a river, and then a trickle, coming mostly to dock on Tol Eressëa, where white towers quickly sprung up and bells rang merrily to chime each hour. There was a bittersweet air of mingled joy and grief over all of Aman: joy that Morgoth was cast out of the world for ever, joy that so many were returning home, joy that there was naught but peace in both their future and that of Middle-earth across the Sea; but also grief for those who had not come home, whether slain or worse, or because they had simply chosen not to.

Elrond and Elros were among the latter. Elwing had watched each ship as it came in, had searched each face, and been disappointed each time. When at last Finarfin and Ingwion’s ship returned, the flagship of Alqualondë’s fleet, Finarfin had come to her with chests of gifts from Círdan and Gil-galad and others, and from her sons, alongside belongings of hers and Eärendil’s that had somehow survived the wreck of Sirion. He had brought her letters, too—thick packets of paper and parchment and tree bark, whatever her sons could get their hands on. They held the tale of her sons’ lives, their joys and sorrows and their memories and their hopes.

And their apologies.

Elros wrote of the great island kingdom he was to lead. Tar-Minyatar they call me already, he wrote, and I have so many plans in my mind that I can hardly get them out fast enough. We shall have magnificent cities to rival even Gondolin, and we shall have libraries and gardens, and we will make music and raise children and dance and laugh upon the green grass. It will be glorious. But I am sorry that we may not meet again; I miss you terribly, Naneth, and I am sorry that I will someday be a source of grief to you. But try not to grieve over-much! I will have along life and more of it than not will be lived in peace, and I am not afraid of what comes after.

Elrond, too, had great hopes for the future. We are rebuilding here in Middle-earth, and now that the lands are made safe again I cannot bear the thought of leaving. This is my home, and Gil-galad is my king. There are mountains to climb and new paths to blaze and songs to learn and people to meet—and there is no shadow anymore hanging over us to keep us from doing all that we would wish! Someday, I feel, my road will take me across the Sea. I am sorry. I know that you must have hoped that both of us would come west now with Finarfin and the rest. But there will be more ships, and when we have settled there will be better papers and parchments, and I will be able to write better letters.

Elwing did not begrudge their choices. She was proud of the great and wise men they had become and would continue to grow to be. But alone in her tower with only the sea birds and the winds for company, she mourned the rooms she had prepared that would now remain empty. The high cliff upon which her tower sat promised freedom; she had only to drop from a window or from the top of the tower to spread her wings and take flight to go—almost anywhere, except back across Belegaer. But now knowing with certainty that she was to dwell there alone, except for the times that Eärendil came down to rest from his voyages, it felt achingly lonely.

So as time went on she took to traveling, visiting her kin in Alqualondë, or going to Lórien to seek out the presence of Melian, though Melian was not yet recovered enough from her grief to take again physical form. She visited Tirion where Finarfin and Ëarwen welcomed her warmly, and Tol Eressëa, where Idril and Tuor and Voronwë had settled after their miraculous arrival in Eldamar one clear-skied evening.

Their house was right on the water on the north side of the island, outside of Avallónë and with a great view of the entrance to the Bay of Eldamar, and of Alqualondë on the shore. The Pelóri towered over everything to the west, their peaks vanishing into the clouds that had come in, promising rain, not long after Elwing’s arrival that morning. It was a small house with a garden and equally small orchard of various fruit trees behind it. It was a peaceful, quiet little place, and Elwing was always made to feel welcomed.

This afternoon Idril had gone into the city on some errand, and Voronwë had accompanied her. Tuor pottered around the garden, pulling a weed here or there, and plucking a few ripe peaches from one of the trees. One he handed to Elwing, and they sat together companionably, talking of little things or of nothing at all. Elwing leaned back in her seat and watched the clouds, wondering when it would rain. They sat beneath an awning, so there was no worry of getting wet in a downpour. Somewhere in the orchard a lark was singing, and out over the water a gull cried, and was answered by a cacophonous chorus of others.

Tuor noticed the visitor first. He sat up suddenly, and then got to his feet, bowing low. Elwing also sat up, wiping peach-sticky fingers on a handkerchief, and saw the tall figure in grey robes step out from between two apple trees. His face was mostly hidden beneath his cowl, but there was no mistaking him. His skin was dark as ink and his features, what Elwing could see of them, were stern and hard. She knew that his eyes beneath that hood would be bright as stars, piercing as knives. She rose from her seat and dropped into a deep curtsy. “My lord Námo,” Tuor said, without raising his head, “to what do we owe this honor?”

“Fear not, Ulmondil,” said Námo. “I come seeking Lady Elwing.” He inclined his head toward Elwing.

“Me, my lord?” Elwing rose from her curtsy. She was not afraid, exactly, but there were few reasons that she could imagine why Námo himself would come to speak with her and none of them were good. Tuor also straightened and paused a moment before excusing himself and going inside. She did not blame him. Námo had spoken against Elwing and Eärendil’s remaining in Aman and alive—she could only imagine what he had said against allowing Tuor to remain there.

He approached her beneath the awning, but did not step beneath it out of the rain. Elwing had to tilt her head back to look up at him, though she knew he was not appearing nearly as tall as was his wont. “Has something happened, my lord?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “Your sons and your husband are well. It is of your other kin that I have come to speak with you—the ones already in my care.”

For a moment Elwing was confused. “My—my mother?”

“Your mother will emerge from my Halls when she is ready. No, it is of your father and your brothers that I came to speak with you today. When Manwë made his pronouncement concerning the Choice of the Peredhil, Dior and his sons were yet in my Halls, and so in my turn I presented it to them, as it was presented to you and your husband and to your sons. Dior, if he has chosen, has not yet revealed it to me, and remains in Mandos. Eluréd and Elurín chose immediately: they have chosen as you have, to be counted among the Eldar.”

“Oh,” Elwing said faintly. She felt the need to sit down, but locked her knees against it. “Then—have they been released from Mandos, my lord? I had not heard that you came in person to deliver such news.”

“They have not, not yet,” said Námo, and to Elwing’s surprise his mouth softened into a small smile, there and gone again in the blink of an eye. “Your brothers are still very young; Mandos is not a place for children to grow. They are ready to return to the world, but unlike most others who pass through my halls they cannot make the journey across Valinor alone. Come to the gates of my halls with all swiftness, and you will find your brothers there.” He inclined his head, and was gone.

It began to rain. Elwing watched the raindrops fall onto the grass, her mind a-whirl. Her brothers were to return to the world. It seemed incredible—beyond belief, beyond hope. But also horribly backward and upside down.

Elwing’s memories of her early years were hazy; she remembered her father’s laughter and what she thought was her grandmother’s voice singing a lullaby, and she remembered the silky feel of her mother’s silver hair brushing across her cheeks. Her brothers loomed large in those memories, sources of comfort and laughter, there and gone again, for they could run long before Elwing could walk, chattering about—she could not remember what. Their voices in her memory blended with those of sparrows and squirrels and the rustling of leaves and the music of water flowing over stones. Eluréd and Elurín were her big brothers—she remembered someone saying that, perhaps scolding. Something about needing to look after her, because she was the baby and they were big boys and getting bigger all the time. Had that been their father, or had it been their grandfather?

Come to the gates of my halls with all swiftness , Námo had said. She could not linger. Elwing stepped out into the rain; Tuor and Idril and Voronwë emerged from the house, but she was already halfway transformed before they could speak. That was all right—they would understand when she got a chance to return and explain. One did not tarry after a summons from a Vala.

She sped away west over the waters of Eldamar, grey beneath the clouds and dappled with waves and raindrops, and passed from beneath the rainclouds as she flew through the Calacirya and over sunny Tirion, shining white upon its hill. The farmlands stretched out around it like a patchwork quilt, all different shades of green and gold. They faded into less neat orchards and vineyards and meadows. Little towns and villages and occasionally a single dwelling appeared in glades and meadows as forests sprang up. Elwing did not stop as she passed Yavanna standing in one of her flowery meadows in her form as a great tree, branches reaching high toward the blue skies. If she noticed Elwing, she gave no sign.

At last the Garden of Lórien appeared before her, tall beeches like pillars beneath their green canopy. Elwing slowed her flight; she had never been past Lórien, and she was not sure precisely where Mandos lay, only that it was not terribly far, if the stories she had heard were to be believed. Of course, other stories said it was very far indeed, and one could walk for days upon days from Lórien without ever seeing its walls. But she need not have worried—no sooner had she begun to wonder about it than she saw pale grey walls in the distance, tall and sheer, more like a cliff than a hall.

It was twilight by the time she alighted. The woods were no longer part of the Garden of Lórien, and they were comforting in their mundaneness. Beech and maple grew between stands of fir and groves of aspen. Birch trees stood like white pillars, shining softly in the deepening gloaming. Through the boughs the sky could be seen in dark patches, and one by one the stars appeared. Elwing found a path lined with small white stones, and followed it westward, toward the great walls of Mandos. Somewhere behind her, back toward Lórien, she could hear faint singing.

As she drew closer to Mandos, flowers clustered around the path—not niphredil, but evermind. Its scent was not as strong as niphredil but it was sweet and fresh, and Elwing paused to kneel and run her fingers over the satin-smooth petals. When she looked up she could see the tall, sheer wall, and the small door set into it. Hardly the grand imposing gate that she had imagined. She drew closer, walking slowly, and pausing before she stepped out into the ferny clearing before the door. When she looked up she could see the evening’s first stars. Eärendil’s was not yet among them.

When she looked back the door had opened on silent hinges. Inside it was very dark. Then a small pair of figures stepped out, holding hands. They wore pale undyed robes, as did all who returned to life. Their silver hair caught the starlight and seemed to shimmer where it hung in loose waves about their shoulders. Their faces were so alike to Elrond and Elros’—at least at a distance—that Elwing saw only a brief glimpse before tears clouded her vision. She turned away to wipe her eyes, and when she turned back, they had come farther into the clearing, and were both kneeling to look at the flowers. Evermind would be new to them; it had not grown in Doriath. They spoke to one another in quiet voices, and one stood up straight to look around. An owl swooped overhead on silent wings.

“Eluréd,” Elwing called, finally, “Elurín.” They both startled, and she stepped out from beneath the trees, heart in her throat. The question was whether they would recognize her—or believe her when she told them her name.

“You are not our mother!” one of them said as they ran over to her. He sounded disappointed, but not terribly so. “Are you going to take us to her, Lady?”

“No,” Elwing said, kneeling to look them both in the face. They were smaller than her sons had been at six, and somehow that was surprising. “You don’t know me anymore, of course,” she said. “You have been in Mandos for a very long time. I am Elwing, your sister.”

Both of them frowned, scrunching their noses identically. “But Elwing is only a baby!” protested the one who had asked whether Elwing would take them to Nimloth.

Then the other’s face cleared, like he suddenly remembered something, and he turned to poke his brother in the arm. “No, no, we saw Elwing in the tapestries, remember? We saw her—she went down the river with Ada’s jewel, and then she grew into a great lady and then turned into a bird and flew away across the Sea!”

“So I did,” Elwing said, managing a smile. “I told you, it has been a long time that you’ve been in Mandos. And our mother needs more time still. In the meantime you will come live with me.”

“Where do you live?” they asked together.

“By the Sea.”

“The Sea! Is it far? How will we get there? Will we all turn into birds?” Their questions came tumbling out one after the other—exactly like Elrond and Elros when they discovered something new and wanted to know everything there was to know about it immediately.

“It is quite far, and I am afraid we won’t all turn into birds, at least not now. But it will not be a hard journey. Come on. We are not meant to linger long in this place.” Elwing rose and held out her hands. After exchanging a glance, Eluréd and Elurín each took one, and they began to walk back up the path, passing out of the starlight clearing into the darker shadows of the trees. The wood was alive with the sounds of the evening, of owls hooting to one another, and crickets making their music in the grass. Flowing water could be heard now and then as the path they followed passed near little streams, and the breeze whispered through the leaves over their heads. Fireflies winked at them, and pale moths fluttered lazily by, seeking night-blooming flowers.

“Lady,” said one of the twins. “I mean, Elwing?”

“Yes?”

“Are these woods dangerous?”

Elwing considered. “I think perhaps less than you might imagine,” she said, “but nowhere is completely safe—there are wild animals and things here in Valinor still, though I don’t know how close they might wander to Mandos. But we will soon come to the Gardens of Lórien, where Estë the Healer and Irmo the Dreamer dwell, and those woods are very safe, if also sometimes strange. Just stay close to me, and stay on the path.”

They walked on for some time, until the moon was high in the sky. Then the trees began to open up, and more flowing water could be heard. The path passed over some of those streams in little arcing bridges; the trees around them were all towering beeches, and the scent of poppies hung in the air. Irmo’s Maiar were strange folk that only sometimes took on forms visible to Elven eyes, and they flitted through the gardens accordingly. Elwing could tell they were there, though, and it soon became apparent that her brothers could as well. They drew closer to her, gripped her hands more tightly.

Once they were in Lórien proper it was not long before they came to a place made for them to rest. Two small sets of clothes were neatly folded on the grass beside a bower under a willow tree; beside it flowed one of the larger streams, and also waiting there was a bowl of fruit and a plate of fresh soft bread, and a pitcher and three cups. The pitcher held clear water, cool and sweet, and when Elwing tasted it she felt strength flow into her limbs.

Eluréd and Elurín—Elwing could not yet tell them apart, a fact which stung her heart—devoured most of the food and drank most of the water, and then almost immediately fell asleep in the bower, cushioned by soft pillows that smelled of lavender, and covered by light blankets. Elwing tucked them in and retreated to the water’s edge, where she watched the stream flow by until dawn came, and the birds began to sing their dawn chorus.

The boys woke earlier than she’d expected, and were astonished to find another bowl of fruit had appeared in the night. The pitcher had not been refilled, but that was easily done in the stream. “What are all of these?” one of the boys asked, picking with careful fingers through the bowl. “Are they all right?” There were familiar fruits, of course—blueberries, raspberries, strawberries, and a handful of apples lined up on the grass—but there were also many things that had not grown in Beleriand. Elwing reached over and plucked a chunk of pineapple out of the bowl and popped it into her mouth, savoring the burst of bright flavor on her tongue.

“If they have been set out for us, they are very safe,” Elwing said. “Try them! There are all sorts of new things to try in these lands. And when you’ve eaten, you should put on your new clothes. And since they are different colors, thank goodness, you must then tell me which one of you is which.” This made them both giggle, but they ate their fill and then bickered over who got the darker blue tunic until Elwing made them skip stones in the stream to see who would win it. The winner turned out to be Elurín, and he stuck his tongue out at Eluréd once he’d pulled it over his head.

Eluréd, however, had been distracted. Beneath his set of clothes was a note, neatly folded. He picked it up and frowned at it. “What’s this, Elwing?” he asked, waving it toward her.

“Let me see.” Elwing took the paper. “It’s a note.”

“But the writing looks all funny.”

“These are tengwar letters, not Cirth,” Elwing said. She examined the seal on the folded note. It was not one she was familiar with; it looked like a threaded needle. She broke it and nearly dropped the short letter in surprise.

“What does it say?” asked Elurín, peering over her shoulder.

“It is addressed to the two of you,” Elwing said, “with compliments from Míriel Serindë, in the hopes that you like her gift to you—the clothes, she means.” She folded the letter carefully. That was a great honor, to receive clothing made by Míriel, though of course neither Eluréd nor Elurín could know that. Nor would they care, Elwing thought. They were only six years old, and clothes were clothes. But now that she knew who had made them, Elwing could see the care and detail that had gone into them, down to the tiny intricate stitches of embroidered leaves along the hems and the sleeves.

Once the boys were dressed, Elwing took their hands again and they went on. They did not meet anyone, either Ainu or Elf, and soon came to the northern edge of Lórien, where the great towering beeches gave way to meadows and fields filled with wildflowers and grasses. In the distance herds of grazing animals moved slowly across the landscape. A river wound like a silver ribbon between the rolling hills, and the sky overhead was clear and very blue.

A meadowlark swooped down and alighted on Elwing’s outstretched fingers. “Good morning!” she said to it. “Will you find some ponies willing to carry us to the Calacirya?” The bird trilled its answer and flew away again.

It was not long before a trio of ponies trotted up to them along the road, wild and shaggy and happy to bear them as far as they would like to travel. “Don’t worry,” Elwing said as she helped the boys onto their mounts. “They won’t let you fall. Only hang on—gently!—to the mane.”

Once mounted their journey went swiftly. Elwing had them skirt around Tirion, unprepared to subject her brothers to the bustling city or the scrutiny of the Noldor. At the Calacirya they bid farewell to the ponies—Eluréd and Elurín a little tearfully—and Elwing led them up the road for their first glimpse of the Sea. “Oh,” said Elurín in a small voice as Eluréd gasped. “It’s so—so big .”

“Yes,” Elwing agreed. She did not really remember her own first glimpse of the Sea, except for that feeling that was something like fear and something like joy and something else altogether. There was nothing in all the world like the Sea. “And there is the island of Tol Eressëa, and there is the city of Alqualondë where our kinsman Olwë is king.”

“Where do you live?” Eluréd asked.

“I live to the north, up the coast,” Elwing said, pointing. “I have a tower of my own. That is where we will go first, but soon I must bring you back to Alqualondë to introduce you to our kin.”

“Why can’t we go now?” Elurín asked as they left the main road for a smaller one that would lead to the paths that wound up the coast to Elwing’s tower.

“Because even garbed in the work of Míriel Serindë, you are travel-stained and tired, and hardly fit to be presented to Olwë’s court,” Elwing said, smiling. “And…I have not met many who have Returned from Mandos, but I am afraid so many people clamoring to meet you all at once would be overwhelming.”

The boys conferred with each other with a glance, in this so like Elrond and Elros, who had always seemed to know what the other was thinking. “Would it be like going to Doriath?” Eluréd asked.

“I think there are more folk in Alqualondë than there were in Doriath,” said Elwing.

“Oh.” At this they did look rather overwhelmed at the thought, and Elurín reached out to grasp Eluréd’s hand.

Perhaps Elwing should invite Finrod to her tower for a visit. “Come on,” she said brightly, holding out her own hands again. “It isn’t very far now.”

The path was not often used, and in places was overgrown, and almost all the way it was overhung and shadowed by trees. Her tower was on the borders of Araman that had once been a cold and desolate wasteland; after the Sun had risen, life had rushed in. But even when it wasn’t visible, the sound of the sea crashing against the rocks and the cliffs. Often too there were the sounds of the seabirds that gathered near Elwing’s tower, calling to one another.

At last they emerged from the trees onto the large promontory upon which Elwing’s tower had been built. The main house looked normal enough, but the tower rose up just behind it, and that was where Elwing’s favorite room was, right at the top, where she had her favorite things and where she spent most of her time. That was ringed with wide windows that stood open except when storms came up, and the balcony was where the sea birds flocked to bring her news and gossip.

Elwing and Eärendil kept a small household; Falathar kept the small dock nestled in the cove at the bottom of the cliff, and others who had known them or served them in Sirion kept the house and the gardens. Some, like Meril, had come from Doriath—and remembered Eluréd and Elurín well. They knew her also, and Elwing was relieved to see how delighted they were at an uncomplicatedly familiar face.

The household was used to Elwing’s sometimes-erratic comings and goings, but Eluréd and Elurín’s arrival was a surprise to everyone. “I am sorry,” Elwing said to Meril. “I didn’t have a chance to send word back.”

“Preparing a room on short notice for your brothers is a wonderful problem to have, Lady Elwing,” Meril said with a wave of her hand. “Or two rooms, perhaps? There are the bedrooms we have made up…”

“I’m not sure they’ll want separate rooms yet,” said Elwing, “and those are made up for adults. Do we have anything suitable for children?”

“Not really, but that’s easily remedied. You leave it to me. And I will send Falathar to Alqualondë for fabrics; they need new clothes.”

“I have bolts of linen upstairs,” said Elwing. She had taken up weaving not long after her tower was completed—weaving and spinning. The steady rhythm of the loom was soothing, and the company of Meril and her other ladies when they had their own sewing or mending or spinning to do had passed many pleasant hours.

“And I am sure we’ll use every bit of it, and still need more,” said Meril. “Especially if they grow as quickly as you and Lord Eärendil did. Do you know when he is expected back next?”

“Not for a long time.”

While Eluréd and Elurín explored their new home and Meril saw to further preparations, Elwing sat down to write a quick letter to Finrod, inviting him to visit her at her tower as soon as he was able to come. She sealed it and gave it to Falathar; she had no idea where Finrod was at the moment, as he was not inclined to stay in one place for long these days, but the letter would find him from Alqualondë, wherever he was.

In the end it was decided that Eluréd and Elurín would share Elros’ room, which had the better view of the sea (and which would never be used now by its intended occupant, Elwing thought with a pang). Smaller beds would eventually come in to replace the larger one, but Elwing didn’t think there was need to hurry.

“Elwing, why are you sad?” Eluréd asked, coming up to her as Elurín crawled underneath the bed to see what was there.

Elwing blinked out of her thoughts and looked down at him. “What do you mean?”

“You look sad.”

She knelt. It still felt so odd to have to look down at him. “This room was meant once for someone else,” she said, “but he is never going to need it now.”

“Who?” Eluréd asked.

“His name is Elros, and he is a great king of Men now, building his own towers on an island far away from here.” Elwing tucked a stray bit of hair behind Eluréd’s ear. “I’m sad sometimes because I miss him, that’s all. But I think he would like very much for you two to have his room.” Eluréd smiled brightly at her, and then ran away to join Elurín, who was calling for him from under the bed. Evidently it was the perfect hiding place, though for what or from who, Elwing could not say.

She left them to it and went downstairs, where Meril was scribbling notes into one of her ledgers. “I am trying to remember what they liked to eat,” she said.

“They are keen to try new things,” said Elwing.

“I remember they always were,” Meril said, “but I want to give them familiar things, too. Everything else here is strange.”

“It is.”

Meril set her pen down and put a hand on Elwing’s arm. “Are you all right? This is so unexpected…”

“And very strange.” Elwing smiled at her. “Our places have been switched, and I am the big sister now.”

“They are also six years old, still,” Meril said, very gently. Elwing had to look away. “I am glad you wrote to Lord Felagund.”

“I did not tell him why I wish for him to visit.” Elwing smiled again, wryly this time. “I will take them to Alqualondë and Tirion eventually, I suppose, but I am worried about too much too soon, and I would rather rumors did not spread ahead of us.” That would certainly bring visitors flocking to see the lost sons of Dior Eluchíl.

“Very wise,” Meril said.

Falathar returned to the tower the next afternoon, his boat laden with many different colors of cloth, of cotton and silk and linen and wool, and also with other supplies and treats, including pastries and candies from Alqualondë’s market that he thought the boys would like to try. “There’s not much that’s like what we had in Sirion, that you and Eärendil liked,” he said to Elwing as Eluréd and Elurín examined some hard fruit-flavored candies. “But I know Eärendil likes the lemon candies now.”

Elurín tried one of the lemon candies and immediately made a face at the strong sharp flavor. Eluréd immediately popped another into his mouth, and made the same face, before they both started to giggle.

“I also found these,” Falathar said, pulling out a carefully wrapped package, “from Tol Eressëa. They’re made for children to learn their letters. In Quenya, but the little princes should be learning that, too.”

“Thank you.” Elwing unwrapped the package to find three books with lush illustrations, and simple and easily read calligraphy for each letter and simple word. “Oh, these are beautiful. Who made them?” She flipped through to try to find a name.

“Someone from Gondolin, I think. Or perhaps from Nargothrond—the market was loud and I was hurrying.”

Eluréd and Elurín were not very interested in the books, lovely as they were. Elwing was not surprised, and she didn’t press them. There was time—there was all the time in the world—and she suspected they would be just as reluctant to sit down to learn Daeron’s Cirth, or sums, or anything else that required them to stay still for more than a few minutes. Young children rarely were—and her brothers were young children in a brand new land filled with new things to see and touch and explore.

After a week or so they settled into a routine. Restless or not, Elwing insisted that Eluréd and Elurín spend some time each morning learning their letters. The afternoons were always spent outside, out in the gardens where the gardeners—who had once tended the flowers of Gondolin—taught both the Quenya and Sindarin names of all the flowers to Eluréd and Elurín, and showed them which plants were good to eat, and let them help pull weeds and dig into the dirt to plant new seeds. Elwing and Meril spent many hours together stitching new clothes—careful to leave large hems that could be let out, for though there was no shortage of cloth or thread in Valinor, it made little sense to either of them to be always needing to make new clothes for growing boys.

It was not long before Eluréd and Elurín came to Elwing to ask to go down to the water. The cove below her tower was safe and protected, and there was a small quay there for Vingilot, when Eärendil came home, and for Nimroval, a small and sleek craft which in name belonged to Elwing (a gift from Olwë and his queen Nemmírie), but which was used far more often by her household. By the quay was a small white beach, and the waves there were gentle, and the water was cool but not cold. The cliffs rose up on either side of them, offering shade and shelter, and beyond them the sky was clear and very blue. And beyond the cove the Sea opened up, wide and blue and rippling with white-tipped waves.

Eluréd and Elurín splashed into the waves, shrieking with delight as they scooped up handfuls of water to throw at one another. Elwing waded in after them, skirts hiked up and tied out of the way. “Elwing, why does the dock shine like that?” Elurín asked once he and Eluréd had tired themselves out splashing, and had retreated to the sand to look for seashells. He was pointing to where Vingilot usually docked; Elwing hadn’t noticed before that the wood shimmered in places.

“Oh, Eärendil comes home covered in stardust, and it clings,” she said.

“Stardust?” Elurín repeated dubiously.

“He sails through the heavens, you see,” Elwing said. “I don’t know when he’ll be home next—his voyages are often long, and take him far away from the skies over Arda.”

Eluréd was frowning. “But don’t you miss him?” he asked.

“Yes, of course I do. I would not like to go with him, though—I would be miserable, stuck in Vingilot for so long—and he is too restless to stay here. And he does always return home.”

They stayed in the cove until evening began to set in, and Elwing ushered Eluréd and Elurín back up the path, their pockets laden with seashells and water-worn stones so they could wash and change before dinner. They took their meal outside into the garden, and as twilight grew the first stars began to come out. “Look,” Elwing said, pointing to the horizon. “There he is!”

“Who?” asked Eluréd.

“Eärendil, of course! He is the evening star.”

“But that looks like the Silmaril!” Elurín exclaimed. “The one that Adar wore!”

“It is, the very same,” said Elwing. “I gave it to Eärendil so that we could find our way here to Valinor, and now he carries it through the skies so that everyone, on both sides of the Sea, can see it.”

“What about the necklace?” Elurín asked.

“We removed the Silmaril from it before Eärendil took it up into the sky,” Elwing said. “I kept it for a little while, but when Finrod Felagund returned from Mandos I returned it to him.”

Eluréd was frowning. “But—that was what those Elves that came to Doriath wanted. Why they took us out into the wood, they wanted us to tell them where Adar had put it.”

“But we didn’t know,” Elurín added.

“Adar did not want to give it away,” Eluréd said.

“Not to those who attacked us,” Elwing said, “but Eärendil is my husband, and if you like you can say that he only borrows the Silmaril for his journeys. And no one demanded that I return the Nauglamír to Finrod; I decided to do that all on my own. I have plenty of other necklaces that suit me far better—and the Nauglamír was made for Finrod, you know, by the dwarves who were his friends.” She laid her hand over Eluréd’s. “It’s all right, I promise,” she said. “And if Naneth or Adar are unhappy, they can take it up with me.” If their father ever joined them in Valinor—but that was not a discussion Elwing wanted to have with her brothers yet, not for many years. “Eat your vegetables,” she said, spearing a carrot of her own and letting both boys protest before grudgingly obliging.

At the end of the next week Elwing was sitting by one of the windows in her tower, contemplating a letter to Queen Nemmírie. It seemed both silly and necessary to introduce the boys to the court at Alqualondë—but they were Princes of the Sindar, heirs of Elu Thingol, just as she was still called Queen, though she did little ruling these days. And Olwë and Nemmírie had grandchildren of an age with Eluréd and Elurín. She looked up from her paper as a gull alighted on the platform outside the window. And beyond the gull she could see a ship making its way up the coast. It had a banner fluttering in the breeze, but even without the sigil of the House of the Wing Elwing would have recognized it. Tuor and Idril did not take Eärrámë out much these days; that ship was made for ocean voyages, not jaunts up the coast, and so the mariners of Tol Eressëa had built them Alqarámë instead.

Elwing set aside her letter and hurried to the door leading outside. She stepped off of the balcony and swooped out over the water in a rush of wind and feathers. She soared over the waves and then back around the tower, reaching the path leading down to the cove just as Alqarámë sailed into it. As she landed, Eluréd and Elurín came running from the garden where they had been playing hide-and-seek among the flowers. “You flew!” Elurín cried, throwing himself against Elwing’s legs. “You really can turn into a great white bird!”

“Of course I can!” Elwing laughed.

“I want to turn into a bird!” Eluréd said.

“Maybe someday,” Elwing said. “But today we have visitors! Eärendil’s parents are here. Come meet them!” She led the way down the path to the cove, where Falathar and Voronwë were laughing together at something as they secured Alqarámë. As Elwing and her brothers approached Idril and Tuor emerged with their luggage from the cabin, and Idril set hers down to leap over the side of the ship onto the dock.

“Elwing!” she cried, embracing her. “We were beginning to worry about you.”

“Worry—oh,” Elwing had already forgotten the manner in which she’d left their house. “I am sorry. I should have written to you.”

“Where did you go?” Idril asked. “What did Lord—oh, who is this?” She had spotted Eluréd peering out from behind Elwing’s skirts. As soon as she looked down at him he turned and fled, with Elurín at his heels. Elwing called after them, but they didn’t stop or turn.

“My brothers,” she said, turning back to Idril. “Lord Námo came to Eressëa to tell me they were to be released from Mandos.”

“I did not think that was possible,” said Idril. “For the Halfelven—I mean, before you and Eärendil came here.”

“I don’t really understand it myself,” Elwing said. “But Lord Námo bade them and my father to stay in Mandos until Eärendil and I came, and then he gave them the Choice, to return to life or to continue on.”

“It seems he is not as pitiless as it is said,” Tuor remarked as he joined them. “What of your father, Elwing?”

“He remains in Mandos. I do not know if he has yet made his choice.” Elwing glanced back up the path. “I also do not know what frightened my brothers just now. They haven’t been afraid of anything else.”

“Have they met many strangers yet?” Idril asked.

“Not many—I think they only really remembered Meril,” said Elwing. “But they did not run away from anyone else.”

“They have not yet met any Noldor, my lady,” Falathar said as he came up with one of the bags from the ship, Voronwë at his heels.

“Really, and what are you then?” Elwing asked, amused. Falathar had been born in Gondolin, and his parents had crossed the Helcaraxë in Turgon’s host.

“Born in Middle-earth,” Falathar said. “Not like Lady Idril. Nor, I would wager, like the folk that left your brothers in the woods.”

“Oh,” Idril said, one hand going to her mouth.

Such a thought had not occurred to Elwing—but she had never had such fears, and after so long in Valinor she hardly gave it a second thought when she met someone with eyes filled with Treelight. It was by sheer coincidence, really, that no one in her household did not . “It is a good thing you’ve come to visit now,” she said, “else I would’ve taken them down to Alqualondë and really frightened them. Come up to the house.”

“Your brothers were older than you, weren’t they?” Tuor asked as they came to the top of the path. His expression was slightly pinched. “Yet they are children still.”

“Mandos is not a place for children to grow, so Lord Námo told me,” Elwing said. “So they’ve come back as they were when they entered—still six years old.” Idril reached out and squeezed Elwing’s hand. All of them were thinking of another pair of six-year-old twins. “It is very strange,” Elwing added, speaking lightly. “We’ve switched places and now I am the older sister.”

They came to the house, and while the servants took Idril and Tuor and Voronwë’s things to their rooms, Elwing led them in search of Eluréd and Elurín. She looked in the garden first, since that was where they had been playing at hiding before, and found them tucked away in a small hollow between a cluster of mulberry bushes and the garden wall. It was spacious enough for two small boys, but Elwing decided not to risk ruining her skirts by joining them, and instead sat down on the grass, able to peer in at them. “Can you tell me what frightened you?” she asked.

Elurín sat with his arms wrapped tightly around his knees; Eluréd crouched beside him. Both were pale, and had twigs in their hair. “The ones that came to take the Silmaril had eyes like that, all bright and strange,” he said.

“Lady Idril was not one of them,” Elwing said. “Do you know what those eyes mean?”

“Danger,” Elurín said.

“No,” Elwing said, as gently as she could, “that light in Lady Idril’s eyes only means that she was here, in Valinor, before the Two Trees were destroyed. It is the same Light that shines in the Silmaril, and that is not a bad thing.” She leaned over so she could see both of their faces. “Did you know our great-grandfather Elu Thingol had eyes like Lady Idril’s? Because he came here to Valinor and saw the Trees. And that Light shone also in Queen Melian’s face.”

“But the elves who came and took us into the woods—” Eluréd protested.

“They also came from Valinor,” Elwing said, “and of course they did a terrible thing. But they are not here. No one alive now in these lands will harm you, I promise. Especially Lady Idril. She is Eärendil’s mother—and her husband Tuor is a Man of the House of Hador, and also our kinsman.”

“A Man?” the boys chorused. “Is that allowed?” Elurín demanded.

“I believe an exception has been made,” Elwing said, laughing. “Tuor is rather exceptional—he is called here Ulmondil, the Friend of Ulmo. Don’t you want to meet him?”

Eluréd and Elurín tumbled out of the bushes, their fear forgotten. It returned for a few moments when they joined Tuor and Idril at the table where Meril had set out tea and juice and an assortment of cheeses and fruits, but when Idril smiled and spoke to them in Taliska they forgot it again. Elwing sat at the table beside Tuor, who smiled at her. “All well?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“I expected them to look more like you,” he remarked.

“They take after our mother,” Elwing said. “Where is Voronwë?”

“He went back down to talk with Falathar. I think he wants to recruit him to the Alqarámë for the coming boat races in Alqualondë.”

At last the twins noticed Tuor, and realized who he must be. “Our sister says you are our kinsman,” Eluréd said. “Are you really a Man, here in Valinor?”

“I am,” Tuor said, smiling at them. “But don’t ask how! I do not know why I have received this grace and I have been keeping quiet in case it was a mistake that the Valar haven’t noticed yet.” That was certainly untrue, since if any of the Valar would notice it was Lord Námo, and he had said nothing about it when he’d come to Tuor and Idril’s own garden on Tol Eressëa.

“How are you our kin?” asked Elurín. “We are the House of Bëor, not Hador.”

“My mother was Rían, a cousin of your grandfather Beren,” said Tuor. “She was only a child at the time of the Dagor Bragollach.”

“I remember the Bragollach!” Eluréd announced. “That was when Felagund gave his ring to Barahir!”

“That’s right,” Tuor said.

“What’s that about my ring?” called a fair voice from around the corner. Elwing rose from her seat as Felagund himself appeared. “Why, this is a merry party!”

“Hello, Cousin!” said Idril as she and Tuor also rose.

“Well met!” Elwing said. “Did you receive my letter?”

“I did. I hope you were not waiting for me too long; I have been to Elenna and only just returned!”

“Elenna?” Elwing repeated, startled. “Is that permitted?”

“Oh, yes—well, for most of the Eldar,” Finrod said, giving her an apologetic look. The ban placed upon Elwing and Eärendil had been set before the raising of Elenna, but she thought it safest to assume that the island was included in it. “I have letters for you,” Finrod went on, “and a few gifts. I would have asked if you had anything to send, but I left rather suddenly.”

“On the whim of an afternoon, he means,” Idril said, laughing.

Eluréd and Elurín watched the exchange with wide eyes, staring at Finrod like—well, like he was a hero from their favorites tales come to life. Finrod noticed and smiled down at them. “And who are these children?” he asked. “No, let me guess—children of the line of Elu Thingol, clearly, by your silver hair. And by your features I think you come also from the House of Bëor. Say not that you are Eluréd and Elurín, the sons of Dior Eluchíl the son of Beren and Lúthien?”

“We are!” Elurín said, and both he and Eluréd bowed.

“Which one of you is which? And how are we to tell you apart?” Tuor asked.

“I am Elurín, and that is Eluréd. I’m the taller one.”

“No, I’m taller!” Eluréd protested.

“No, we measured last night and I—”

“Today Elurín is wearing light blue, and Eluréd dark,” Elwing interrupted. “And they are precisely the same height,” she added, to forestall more bickering. She could tell them apart well enough by then, no matter what they were wearing, but she did not think she could explain how—it was the same sense that had allowed her to tell Elros and Elrond apart from birth, though they were as alike to one another as her brothers were.

Finrod laughed as he seated himself on the grass with the boys. Elwing handed him a cup of fresh juice, and from then the afternoon was spent very pleasantly, for all of the adults present had plenty of tales to tell, and Finrod had a great store of games to teach the boys, to their delight.

Later that evening, Elwing retreated to her room with the letters that Finrod had brought for her. Elros had written a great deal, and on better paper, and included sketches and plans of his cities and palaces and towers. I wish you could visit, as the other Eldar do, he wrote. But I understand that it is not permitted. Perhaps someday we may meet at sea, for surely there is nothing stopping you from getting onto a ship, even if you cannot set foot upon mortal lands.

Their visitors stayed for the better part of a month, and by the end of it Elwing felt that it was time to take Eluréd and Elurín to Alqualondë. It would be a brief visit to Olwë’s court to introduce the sons of Dior Eluchíl, and then they would go on to Tol Eressëa to stay the winter, for it was a far milder season in Eldamar under Uinen’s influence than farther up the rocky coast where Elwing’s tower stood. The voyage down the coast was a delightful one. It was as though Elwing was seeing everything anew through her brothers’ eyes. Dolphins followed the Alqarámë for a time, leaping out of the water and splashing Eluréd and Elurín where they clung to the railing. Elwing resisted the urge to hover; Voronwë was close at hand, and neither Eluréd nor Elurín showed signs of Elros’ worrying urge to climb anything and everything on a ship. Of course they wouldn’t, she thought as she watched them squeal in astonishment at a whale that surfaced some distance away, shooting air and water high into the air. They were not the children of Eärendil the Mariner, but of Dior and Nimloth of the forest glades.

They sailed into Eldamar, passing the white towers and ringing bells of Avallónë, and went on to the bright city of Alqualondë, where the beaches shone like rainbows with the crushed gems gifted to the Teleri by the Noldor long ago. The buildings were painted bright colors, like coral, and all was open to the sea breezes and fresh crisp air that blew down off the mountains. Through the Calacirya Elwing caught the briefest glimpse of Tirion, a flash of white, perhaps the top of the Mindon Eldaliéva.

The only city that Eluréd and Elurín had known was Menegroth, and then only briefly and when there were far too few people in it. They gazed in wonder at the busy streets of Alqualondë, and the sheer number of homes and shops, and on the northern side of the city by the water, the sprawling palace of King Olwë. The royal quay was where Voronwë and Tuor guided the Alqarámë. Elwing gave into the urge to fuss as she straightened Eluréd and Elurín’s clothes—robes in the style of Thingol’s court in Menegroth, just before his death, embroidered with the niphredil of Lúthien along the sleeves—and smoothed their hair, which was styled in the simple braids after the fashion of the House of Bëor, and fastened with golden beads. Elwing herself was styled in the manner of Sirion, plainer and with few ornaments, but with elements Sindarin and Noldorin and Edain styles all blended together in the stitching and embroidery on her gown. Her hair was braided and coiled into a bun at the base of her neck, threaded with white ribbons, and she wore a diadem of pearls that had been given to her by Queen Nemmírie soon after she had first arrived in Alqualondë.

Finrod went before them, and by the time they arrived at the palace the herald was ready for them. Eluréd and Elurín slowed, staring at the frescoes and mosaics that decorated the walls and floors and ceilings: here an underwater reef replete with fish and kelp and shells of all kinds; here the skies and mountain peaks of the Pelóri, and Manwë’s eagles soaring above them; here a trio of silver-haired brothers, the tallest in the center with shining eyes and a grey mantle draped over his shoulders. Elwing ushered them through the entrance, following Idril and Tuor, and they came to the great wide and open hall with the side facing the sea more window than wall. Olwë and Nemmírie were holding court, and a hush fell over the room briefly as Princess Itarillë and Lord Tuor Gondolin that Was were announced. Idril swept into the hall, resplendent in pale green, her golden hair falling in rippling waves down her back, and Tuor on her arm in the colors of his house, tall and broad and lordly. Usually they were of Tol Eress ëa , and Elwing suspected that Finrod had been behind the change. No doubt he himself had been announced as King of Nargothrond that Was.

Next came Elwing’s announcement, Queen of the Sindar in Aman, Lady of Sirion, heir of Dior Eluch íl of Doriath , and immediately after, Elur éd and Elurín, sons of Dior Eluchíl, Princes of Doriath that Was . Elwing stepped forward, her brothers on either side of her, holding her hands. A hush fell over the room. Olwë and Nemmírie were already standing, but Elwing could see that Olwë had gone very still at the sight of them. She kept her head high as she and the boys passed through the room; soft whispers spread through their wake, but neither Eluréd nor Elurín faltered. At the dais before the thrones they released her hands and bowed in perfect princely fashion, hands of their hearts, as Elwing dipped a queenly curtsy.

There was a pause as Olwë visibly collected himself, taking a breath and swallowing. His eyes were very bright but his voice was unwavering as he said, opening his arms as though he were ready to scoop the twins up in an embrace, “Welcome, sons of Dior, to Alqualondë, come beyond our hopes or expectations!”

For weeks Elwing had been distracted, gazing out eastward toward the horizon. Eluréd also watched the horizon, trying to see what she was looking for. Was it his imagination, or was the evening star growing brighter?

Four years had passed since Eluréd and Elurín had emerged from Mandos. The world was still very big and very bright and there was still so much to see and touch and taste and discover—it was overwhelming, sometimes, until Elwing reminded them that they had all of the time in the world, and they didn’t have to see it all at once.

That was just as well, Eluréd thought as he took another bite of his porridge. He didn’t think Elwing would approve of Elurín’s desire to see the Helcaraxë—even from a distance. And there were plenty of other places to go and things to see.

Abruptly Elwing rose from the breakfast table, hurrying to the window. She flung it open and leaned out over the sill. “What is it?” Elurín asked. “What are you looking at?”

Meril, seated by the hearth with her mending, chuckled. “Vingilot, I would guess,” she said. “Yes, definitely Vingilot.”

“Elwing!” Elurín cried, rushing to the window where Elwing had just vanished. Eluréd was at his heels, and as they peered out they saw her soar up and away in her shape of a great white bird. The sun caught on her wings and made them shine, diamond bright against the water. As she wheeled up toward the sky, Eluréd gasped, seeing a ship descending from the sky. He knew it would, of course, but hearing the tales and seeing it were very different. “Look, is that him?” Elurín gripped Eluréd’s arm, pointing. “Is that Eärendil?” There was a figure at the prow of the ship, gripping a rope and leaning out so one of his feet dangled in the air. The thought of doing something like that made Eluréd’s stomach churn, but Eärendil seemed entirely at east. He flung out his free arm and caught Elwing as she transformed back into herself upon reaching the ship, and the spun down onto the deck and out of sight.

From behind them Meril said, “Well go on down to the docks! They’ll be there soon.”

“Race you!” Eluréd yelled, and took off running down the stairs. It was along way down, for they had been breakfasting in Elwing’s tower room. And then they had to make their way down the path to the cove, which was steep enough in places that they couldn’t run. Eluréd had the head start, though, and his feet hit the dock a full two seconds before Elurín’s. “Ha! I won!”

“Good morning, young princes,” said Falathar from the deck of Nimroval. “Here to greet Lord Eärendil?”

“Yes!” Elurín said, as Eluréd was still catching his breath.

“You’re just in time. There’s Vingilot.” Falathar set aside the sail he was mending and pointed out of the cove; on the open water Vingilot was clearly visible, descending and touching down smoothly onto the surface, hardly sending up any waves as she glided from flight to sailing. The whole ship seemed to shimmer in the light of the sun and the Silmaril, which was fastened to the mast above the helm. Figures moved about the deck and among the rigging, sometimes visible and sometimes discernible only through some other sense that Eluréd had but could not name. Falathar glanced at him and smiled. “Eärendil can’t sail Vingilot alone, so it is crewed by Maiar of Elbereth. They come and go as they please, and it seems to delight them to go sailing through the heavens with one of the Children.”

Eluréd wondered if it would be permitted for them to go on such a journey one day. Perhaps he would ask Elwing. He and Elurín trailed after Falathar to the end of the dock; Falathar caught the ropes that Eärendil threw to him alongside his greetings, and let Eluréd and Elurín help to tie them. He’d been teaching them sailor’s knots of late, and Eluréd thought that he was becoming rather good at them.

Neither Elwing nor Eärendil bothered with a gangplank. Eärendil leaped down first, landing lightly on the dock, and caught Elwing when she jumped after him; he spun her around before setting her down and turning to embrace Falathar. Elwing had said once that Eärendil always came home covered in stardust, and now Eluréd could see that it was true. He brushed it off of himself, and it fell to the boards of the dock, sticking there like diamond dust. “Eärendil,” Elwing said, “these are my brothers Eluréd and Elurín.”

Eärendil turned to them with a smile. He was shorter than Eluréd had expected, and looked somehow younger—young and fierce and full of joy, and shining in the light of the Silmaril like a lord of the Maiar. Eluréd almost felt shy, though Elurín did not seem bothered, and stepped forward to take Eärendil’s hand as he greeted them. “I am very glad to meet you at last,” he said.

They walked back up the path to the house, Eärendil with an arm around Elwing’s shoulders, holding her close as though he did not want to let her go even for a moment. Elwing leaned into him, stardust catching in her dark hair. “You look like one of Lady Elbereth’s handmaidens,” Elurín told her. That made Eärendil grin and kiss her until Eluréd made gagging noises and they had to stop because they were laughing.

The household greeted Eärendil joyfully. The day was spent out in the garden, where Eärendil lay on the grass proclaiming how he had missed solid earth in between telling them about the wonders he had seen on his voyages. As he listened, Eluréd felt his desire to see them himself growing, and when he looked at Elurín he saw the same desires reflected back in his eyes. “Could we go with you one day?” Elurín asked finally.

“When you’re older,” Elwing said immediately. Then she and Eärendil exchanged a glance that Eluréd couldn’t read.

Eärendil said, “Certainly. I would enjoy the company, and there are many wondrous things to see out there.” He rolled onto his stomach and plucked a clover blossom from the grass. “But we’ll talk more when your sister deems you old enough.”

“In the meantime, there is another voyage that we can all take together,” Elwing said. “I have spoken a great deal with Finrod about it, and he promised to have all in readiness when Eärendil returned.”

“Oh?” Eärendil looked up at her. “Where are we going? I thought you hated long voyages.”

“It isn’t that long. And I won’t tell you yet. It is a surprise.”

“But is Finrod coming with us?”

“Yes. We’ll take Nimroval to Eressëa tomorrow.”

“Oh, good,” said Eärendil as he rolled onto his back again, stretching his arms out as though to run his fingers through as much grass as possible. A butterfly landed briefly on his nose before flitting off to the roses. “I hope you will allow us time to visit my parents.” Elwing only kicked him gently in response; he caught her bare foot and kissed her ankle. Elurín rolled his eyes at Eluréd. Were they going to be so grossly affectionate all the time?

The next morning dawned bright and clear, and they all boarded Nimroval to set sail down the coast. Vingilot remained in the cove, shining like the star it was with the Silmaril still hung on the mast. “Shouldn’t you put that somewhere safe?” Elurín asked Eärendil, pointing to the jewel.

“It is somewhere safe,” Eärendil said. “There is no one here who would steal it.”

Eluréd looked back at the Silmaril, shining brightly in the silver setting that someone had made for it. He had never seen it except set into the Nauglamír, and it was strange not to see a thousand other smaller gems surrounding it, all gleaming with their own inner fires in response to the Silmaril’s. But he’d seen the Nauglamír several times since, for Finrod wore it often, and had gotten used to that. He turned away and ran to the prow to look for dolphins. Falathar stood at the helm, and Eärendil swung up into the rigging as they passed out of the cove, letting down the sails as they turned south. It was a familiar voyage, more familiar than the path on land that led from Elwing’s tower down to Alqualondë and the Calacirya. Eluréd and Elurín had not been back through the pass since they’d come to live with Elwing; she did not want to overwhelm them, she said, with too much travel too young. But they were ten years old now, and if Elwing had not already told them that her surprise involved a voyage Eluréd would have hoped that they were at last going to see Tirion at the very least.

By early afternoon they had come to Eldamar, and to the quays of Avallónë. Everyone who happened to be at the harbor called out greetings to Eärendil, welcoming him back, some asking how his voyage had gone. Eärendil answered all of them, often by name, and always with a smile. Eluréd and Elurín kept close to Elwing as they disembarked; perhaps, Eluréd thought, she was right to worry about overwhelming them.

It was better when they left the harbor, and passed down a tree-lined street to Idril and Tuor’s house—where they found Finrod also awaiting them. Idril embraced Eärendil, and Finrod scooped both Eluréd and Elurín up into his arms. “Soon you’ll be too tall for me to hold you like this!” he exclaimed. “Good gracious. Are you ready for our trip?”

“Yes,” said Elurín. “Where are we going?”

“Oh no, you won’t get me to ruin the surprise.” Finrod was resplendent that afternoon, wearing the Nauglamír over a set of very bright green robes, embroidered with golden flowers and sunbeams. His hair was a loose cloud of gold falling about his shoulders. In a low voice he added, “Let us go out to the garden and let your brother greet his parents properly, hm?”

Eluréd loved Finrod, with his easy laughter and unending store of tales, and his quiet understanding when, on occasion, Eluréd or Elurín woke from troubled dreams of dark snowy woods and the smell of smoke and blood lingering in their noses. He was also one of only a handful in Valinor who knew Taliska, the tongue of their father and grandfather. He was also the one to tell them about their nephews, who Elwing had had to leave behind when they were only six years old—the same age that Eluréd and Elurín had been when they’d been left in the winter woods of Doriath. They had not died, Finrod had been quick to assure them, they had in fact grown up into great heroes and, in the case of Elros, a great king. He had chosen the fate of Men, and ruled over the Edain on the island that the Valar had made for them. Neither Elwing nor Eärendil were allowed to go back to Middle-earth, but it was unclear whether they could go to Elenna, though Finrod said it was unlikely.

“What your sister and Eärendil did saved the whole of Arda from Morgoth’s power. But for such deeds there is always a price to pay. Your grandfather lost his hand and your grandmother lost the life of the Eldar, for their deeds. Elwing and Eärendil lost the chance to set foot again upon mortal lands.”

They had not been in the garden more then a few minutes before Voronwë wandered out and asked if they would like to go to the market with him. Of course they did, for both Finrod and Voronwë could always be counted on to buy sweets, even when Elwing scolded them for it. The market of Avallónë was bustling that afternoon, shops with their doors and windows flung open, stalls with vendors hawking their wares. The air was thick with the scents of flowers and perfumes mingling with the smells of cooking meat and baking bread. Many musicians were playing many songs all at once, and over the music was the roar of voices talking and laughing and shouting. The first time Eluréd had gone to the market he had wanted to leave immediately—there had been too many people all in one place, more even than in Great-uncle Olwë’s court that first time they had visited Alqualondë. But few of those people paid him any mind, and now it was one of his favorite places to visit, for there was always something new to see.

Today there was a dance performance in the middle of the square, right by the fountain. The crowd gathered was so thick that Voronwë picked up Eluréd, and Finrod Elurín, setting them on their shoulders so they could see. Many other children were lifted up the same way, and when he was not watching the dances spin and leap and throw one another high into the air, Eluréd waved to friends and playmates. They also visited their favorite baker, who presented her newest creation to Eluréd and Elurín. She was from Doriath, and called them her little princes, and always had small versions of her tastiest treats for them. These new cakes were sweet and rich chocolate filled with orange flavored jelly, juicy and tart. Eluréd did not like oranges as much as he liked pineapple, but they were Elurín’s favorite, and they went much better with the chocolate. The baker also had lemon tarts that Voronwë bought for Eärendil.

“Voronwë,” Elurín said as they left the bakery, “do you know where we are sailing to?”

“I’m afraid I have been sworn to secrecy,” Voronwë said gravely. And then he distracted them with the news that Elemmírë of the Vanyar was visiting the island, and they were going go see her perform at Finrod’s home that very evening. She was going to sing songs of Valinor’s Noontide, and of the War of Wrath. “And perhaps if we ask nicely,” Voronwë said as they passed out of the crowded market onto the quieter streets, “she will sing something of Beleriand. The Lay of Leithian, perhaps.”

“Or a part of it, anyway,” Finrod said. “I find it’s always a little awkward when someone requests that when I’m in the room. And my father has finally managed to extricate himself from the shocking complexities of Tirion’s politics to come to visit for a time. I expect him at any moment.”

Elurín wrinkled his nose. He had a bit of orange jelly stuck to his cheek. “Will we have to bow and present ourselves to him like we did when we met Great-uncle Olwë?” he asked.

“Absolutely not,” Finrod said. “We shall be at my home and I have forbidden all bowing.”

“His subjects find this rule very disconcerting,” Voronwë said. “For they still hold him to be their king, you see, even though Nargothrond is no more.”

“Even though I gave up the crown long before!” Finrod exclaimed. “I gave it to Orodreth!”

“I thought you cast it on the ground,” said Eluréd.

“Well, yes, but someone picked it up afterward, and I gave it to Orodreth before I left. Very informal as far as coronations go, but I was very annoyed at the time, and also Beren was impatient to be gone. Either way, I was not a king when I departed from Nargothrond, and I continue to not be a king here. I suppose I am a prince still, and if my father decides to hang up his crown I shall have to take it up, but I’ve more than half a mind to hand it straight over to Idril if that happens.”

They were returning up the walk to Idril and Tuor’s home then; the windows were open, and Idril leaned out of one to say, “You certainly will not! Bad enough everyone on this island continuously comes to me with their problems after you send them away.”

Voronwë leaned down to half-whisper to Eluréd, “This is quite a different argument to the ones happening in Tirion before the Noldor departed!”

The talk of kings and crowns made Eluréd wonder what the Sindar in Valinor thought of his sister. She only rarely went out to do queenly sorts of things, mostly settling disputes that could not be taken care of by anyone else. Most of the Sindar lived on Tol Eressëa, and seemed to be among those who bothered Finrod or Idril. But surely someday there would be more Sindar in Valinor—come across the Sea or come from Mandos—and then what would they do?

“What are you thinking about?” Elurín asked him after they delivered the pastries to the other adults and retreated back out to the garden.

“Kingdoms,” Eluréd said.

“Why?” Elurín wrinkled his nose. “We don’t have to worry about any of that. There’s not enough Sindar here for it to matter, anyway.”

“It’ll matter someday,” Eluréd said.

“But that’s the best part of Elwing being the oldest now. She’ll have to worry about all of that, but we won’t.”

That didn’t seem right. They would when they were older. “Do you think our father will come back from Mandos?” Eluréd asked.

Elurín frowned at him. “Why wouldn’t he?”

“Well, he got to choose, like we did.”

“And well all chose the Elven life,” said Elurín. “Why wouldn’t he want to join us?”

“Elros didn’t,” Eluréd said. “He’s going to die, just like Grandmother Lúthien and Grandfather Beren—and Grandmother Lúthien chose that, too.”

Elurín frowned at him. “Why are you thinking about all that?” he asked. “Stop being sad, and let’s climb that tree out by the garden wall.”

“But I’m not sad,” Eluréd said, even as Elurín ran off, no longer listening. “I just want to know.”

Elwing called them in as the sun began to sink toward the Calacirya. Finrod’s party that evening was not formal by his standards, but they still had to dress the part of princes. Elwing herself was already dressed in shimmering white and silver, with pearls in her hair. Eärendil’s robes were deep blue, shimmering with tiny diamonds scattered across his shoulders like stardust. Eluréd dressed in his favorite robes, forest green with tiny elanor blooms along the buttons. Elurín had decided he preferred red, and his robes were the colors of autumn leaves.

The splendor of his guests was of course nothing compared to Finrod, who not only wore the Nauglamír but practically dripped with finery. “Cousin, you look like a walking dragon’s hoard,” Idril said as he greeted them at the door. To this Finrod only laughed and gestured them inside. Not far into the wide room where the party was gathered, they met King Finarfin, who was dressed in pale green and silver and wore significantly less jewelry than his son. Queen Ëarwen was with him, and they greeted Eluréd and Elurín kindly, and embraced both Elwing and Eärendil.

Elemmírë, the guest of honor, had ink under her fingernails, and splatters of it on her sleeves. Her clothes were fine but not new, and ever so slightly rumpled, as though her mind was so full of other things that there was no room left for such silly concerns as dressing. When they were introduced she peered at Eluréd and Elurín curiously from her seat beside a large harp inlaid with gold and silver leaves. “Well met, young princes,” she said. Her speaking voice was disappointingly ordinary, only a little deeper than was usual. “I am glad to meet you at last.” Her smile was kind, and made her eyes crinkle up. “Do you have any requests for me this evening?”

Eluréd looked at Elurín, who bit his lip, hesitating. Then he blurted out, “Do you know any songs about the Edain?” Elemmírë surely had never seen Middle-earth herself, but if she was a loremaster as well as a singer, as Eärendil had said she was, surely she had learned some songs…?

“I do,” Elemmírë said. “I rarely have the chance to sing them. You are of the House of Bëor, are you not? Findaráto has taught me some of their old songs. I will gladly sing some for you tonight. Though I must beg your pardon if I do not sing them quite right, for I learned them from Findaráto’s memories, and not from those who first wrote them.”

“That’s all right,” said Elurín.

“Thank you, Lady Elemmírë,” said Eluréd.

They found Elwing and Eärendil seated already with Idril and Tuor, near the hearth where a small fire crackled cheerfully—more for the sound and the light than the heat, since it was a warm evening. The four were all leaning comfortably into one another talking and laughing quietly together, the very picture of a happy family. Eluréd did not stare, because he did not want Elurín to scold him again for being unhappy. But the sight of Idril with her arm around Elwing’s shoulders made him very suddenly and sharply miss his own mother.

He forgot about everything else, though, when Elemmírë began to sing. Her voice was like silk, soft and smooth and so light that at first he almost did not notice that she had begun. She sang many songs, including half a dozen Bëorian songs that, according to Finrod’s whispered commentary, dated back to their wandering days. She also sang many other Elven songs, about the Two Trees and about their destruction, and also about the making of the Sun and Moon. Those were all sung in Quenya in a mode older than the dialect now spoken, but Elemmírë’s power was such that one didn’t need to know the language to understand her, for her songs conjured waking dreams so strong that Eluréd could almost feel the heat of Laurelin on his face, and the mist of Telperion’s dewdrops as they splashed into the great starlit vats arrayed on the hillside.

Eventually he really did fall asleep, and only half-woke to find himself being carried back through the dark, quiet streets. It was Tuor carrying him, and when he said something, his low voice rumbled in his chest, somehow comforting, and Eluréd fell back asleep, only to wake when the morning sun fell on his face in his bed by the window. Elurín was curled up beside him, still sleeping deeply. Eluréd sat up and leaned on the windowsill, watching the boats of the Teleri flit about the bright blue waters of Eldamar. The bay was always so different from the wider sea, so much calmer, the water clearer. He didn’t know if that was the power of the Teleri or the power of the Valar.

He and Elurín spent most of the day on a long stretch of white beach where most of the island’s children congregated on sunny days, playing games and building sandcastles and paddling in the shallow waters. They met many of their friends there, and when Elwing came to call them home they were sunburned and sand-covered, and eager for supper. “Are we leaving tomorrow?” Elurín asked her as they walked back down the lane.

“Yes, with the morning tide.” Elwing seemed almost as excited as they were to leave, though hers was tempered by unaccountable nervousness. “So you need to be in bed early.”

“Yes, Elwing,” Eluréd and Elurín chorused dutifully.

They did go to bed early, but they didn’t sleep, instead tossing and turning in between whispers about Elemmírë’s singing, and continued guessing about there destination. Elurín thought they were going somewhere far to the south along the coast, but Eluréd wasn’t sure what Elwing would want to take them there for. All he knew about the southern reaches of Valinor was that once upon a time the creature Ungoliant had dwelt there, before Morgoth had found her. Elurín reasoned that there must be something, and if they knew what it was it wouldn’t be a surprise.

Eluréd had expected them to take the Alqarámë or Nimroval on this voyage, but instead when Eärendil and Elwing took them to the harbor they found Finrod and Falathar waiting for them aboard none other than Eärrámë. Elurín whooped and raced up the gangplank. Eärendil turned to Elwing with raised eyebrows. “This is a seagoing ship, love,” he said.

“So it is,” Elwing agreed.

“Are we going where I think we are?”

“Maybe. I suppose you’ll have to wait and see.” Elwing kissed him and followed Elurín up the gangplank.

“But it isn’t allowed!” Eärendil protested as he sprang after her. Eluréd went to help loosen the first ropes on the dock before the workers ushered him away. He ran up the gangplank, and Falathar pulled it up after him. Elurín was already scrambling up the rigging to the crow’s nest. Eärendil had followed Elwing below decks, and Eluréd could hear their muffled voices.

“Are they arguing?” he asked Finrod.

“No,” Finrod said.

“Are we doing something we shouldn’t?”

“No. Here, help me hoist the sails.”

The sails unfurled in a great fluttering of undyed canvas, so unlike the brightly colored sails of all the other ships Eluréd had seen. Except Vingilot, he thought as he watched the wind fill them. Vingilot, too, had undyed canvas sails, and both ships had less ornamentation. Eluréd walked down the length of the deck, running his hands down the railing, as Eärrámë drifted out of the harbor, thinking of the trees these planks and rails once had been, and of the soil in which they had grown, no long vanished beneath the waves of Belegaer. That was the same soil that grew the trees under which he had been born, that his own hands had dug into…

Except not these hands. Eluréd looked down at his small hands where they rested on the pale, smooth wood. These hands were not the same hands that had held onto his mother ’s skirts or tugged at his father’s hair, that had gripped Lúthien’s as she swung him up and around, dancing beneath the stars to the music of Lanthir Lamath. These hands had been spun out of magic and memory. The hands that he had been born with were long ago turned to bone and then to dust, and they too now lay at the bottom of the Sea, buried in the wreck of Neldoreth.

He had stopped near the prow of the ship, and Eärendil joined him as they passed out of the bay onto the Sea. “You look terribly serious,” Eärendil remarked. “What are you thinking about, Eluréd?”

Eluréd looked up at him. “Did you really know it was me, or did Elwing tell you?”

Eärendil’s smile did not quite reach his eyes. “I do have some experience with twins, you know,” he said. “Oh, but don’t ruin my confidence and tell me I’ve got it wrong and you are really Elurín!”

Eluréd giggled. “No, I am Eluréd. Elurín is in the crow’s nest.”

“Ah, good. But what are you frowning at? I thought you were excited for this voyage.”

“I was thinking about dying,” Eluréd said. Eärendil blinked. “I mean—I had a body, before. But that body is gone now and this one—I was born in Middle-earth but this body wasn’t, and I only just realized, because I was thinking about the ship and the trees that the wood came from, and…” Eluréd found his eyes stinging with tears that he didn’t understand.

“I see.” Eärendil ran his own hand over the railing, and leaned forward on it. The ship caught a wave and water sprayed up over them, cool and refreshing. “You know, your body would not be the same even if you had not died in Beleriand. We are always changing—our hair grows, and our fingernails. Your teeth are falling out and being replaced. Your body would still not be the same body that walked beneath the trees of Doriath or Ossiriand.”

“I suppose,” Eluréd said. And it didn’t feel different—even when he’d first stepped out of Mandos, he’d felt a little clumsy and slow, but that had been more like waking up after a very long sleep. “It just doesn’t…feel fair.” And of course it wasn’t fair—only in the opposite direction. If things had been fair, he and Elurín would have long ago passed out of Mandos to wherever it was that Men went. So really it was stupid to feel upset, and he said so. The sun was shining and the world was at peace, and there was no reason at all to be upset still about things that happened so long ago and that he should have healed from in Mandos.

Eärendil rested a hand on Eluréd’s head for a moment, the weight of it warm and comforting. Not fatherly, but older-brotherly. “Meaning no disrespect to Lord Námo,” he said, “I don’t think healing works like that. I think you have to understand what happened in order to heal from it, and you were too young then, and in Mandos, for that.”

“Do you think I’m too young now?” Eluréd asked.

Eärendil glanced down at him. “I don’t know,” he said. “I wish you were too young to have known any of it.”

“Eluréd!” Elurín called down from the top of the mast. “Eluréd, look!” As Eluréd and Eärendil both turned, Elurín leaped from the crow’s nest. Eärendil cursed and leaped forward, but there was nothing to catch as a silver-winged bird soared out across the water with a cry like laughter. The bird—Elurín—turned and circled back around the ship several times before alighting on the deck, where he turned back into himself in the blink of an eye, just as Elwing did. “Did you see?” he shouted, spinning in a circle before throwing himself at Eluréd. “D’you want to try? Come climb up with me!”

Eluréd looked up at the rigging, and shook his head. He was not nearly as daring as his brother. “No, I don’t think so.”

Elurín tried only one more time to convince him—he knew better than to push, and when Eluréd insisted on remaining on the deck Elurín ran off again, jumping off the prow of the ship this time to take flight again. “Elwing!” Eärendil called, “You’d better be ready to fetch your brother if he falls into the Sea!”

“He won’t fall,” Elwing said as she came to join them by the railing. She rested her hands on Eluréd’s shoulders. “It takes a great deal more than an afternoon of flight to tire that much.”

By the time evening came and Elurín could be convinced to return to the ship for supper, they had passed out of sight of Valinor, save the peaks of the Pelóri in the far distance. All around them was the Sea and it seemed to stretch on and on forever. The winds were brisk, and as the sun sank westward, painting the clouds bright orange and gold, a whale surfaced near Eärrámë, shooting a great spout of water high into the air before it sank back beneath the waves.

“In Sirion it was said to be good luck to see a whale while out fishing,” Falathar told Eluréd and Elurín as they prepared for their supper. “They are beloved of Lady Uinen, as the dolphins are the favorites of Lord Ossë.” He paused in thought and said, “We did not see whales on our voyages into the West.”

“Not until Elwing joined us,” said Eärendil.

They sailed on, until one evening Elurín was back in the crow’s nest, and called down excitedly, “There is land ahead! I see land!”

Elwing had been sitting with Eluréd on the deck playing a game with cards. Now she got to her feet and gazed to the east. “It’s Elenna, isn’t it?” Eluréd said. “We are going to Númenor.”

“Not quite to Númenor,” she said, “but to its waters. Finrod sent word ahead, and they should be watching for us.”

Eärendil swung down from the rigging. Both he and Elwing seemed excited and apprehensive all at once. Eluréd wondered what it was they were doing there, if they couldn’t visit the island itself—and who was watching? Elros?

“Elwing, may I fly out to the island?” Elurín called down from the crow’s nest. “Please?”

“No, Elurín,” Elwing said, voice suddenly and uncharacteristically sharp. “Stay on the ship.”

Elurín didn’t argue, and after a little while he came down to the deck to watch with Eluréd as the island grew larger and clearer in the distance. “Look!” Eluréd exclaimed after a time. “There is another ship, coming towards us!”

Eärendil and Falathar scrambled around the ship to adjust the sails, slowing Eärrámë and preparing to meet the other ship. Elwing alternately sat near the prow or paced across the deck. Eluréd had never seen her so nervous, not even when they had been introduced to Olwë’s court for the first time. It had to be Elros on that other ship coming to meet them, Eluréd thought. How strange to meet his nephew, who was not only grown up but grown into a great king.

At last the ship came close, and Eluréd could see a figure at the helm leave it to someone else before running to the prow, catching a rope to hold himself steady as he leaned out over the water. His stance was just like Eärendil’s when he had descended on Vingilot from the sky, one foot dangling out over the waves, one hand raised to shield his eyes against the sun’s glare. He was tall and his skin sun-browned, and his dark hair blew like a shadowy banner in the wind.

Beside Eluréd Elwing ceased her pacing with a small, almost pained sound. Eluréd looked up to see her standing stock still, her hands covering her mouth, tears in her eyes. “Elwing?” he said. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s—he’s so tall,” Elwing choked out.

“But why’s that making you cry?” Eluréd asked.

Elros did not wait for their ships to come close enough together for a gangplank to be laid across the gap between. Instead he left the prow and, as the ships came up beside one another, he took a running leap from his deck to theirs, ignoring the cries from his crew to stop and wait just a moment. He stumbled when he hit Eärrámë’s deck, but didn’t fall. As he straightened, turning on his heel to face them, Eluréd felt the air rush out of his lungs as though someone had punched him in the chest. Beside him Elurín sucked in a breath, and grabbed at his arm.

Of course, Elros wasn’t looking at them. “Naneth,” he said, half-gasping himself.

“Oh, Elros!” Elwing rushed forward, and Eärendil swung down from the ropes above them, and even though he was taller than both of them Elros disappeared in a tangle of hair and arms and tears. All three of them were talking at once, and Eluréd couldn’t make out any of it.

“What is the matter?” Finrod asked as he joined Eluréd and Elurín. He had been calling back and forth with the Númenórean sailors, exchanging greetings and jokes. “You two look as though you have seen a ghost.”

“We have,” Eluréd said, as he finally began to catch his breath again.

Elurín added, “He looks like our father.”

“Ah.” Finrod glanced at the reunion. “My mind goes always to Lúthien—but of course, I never got to meet Dior. I am sorry no one thought to warn you. But come meet the other mariners! They are eager to meet you.”

Finrod helped them across the gangplank to the Númenórean ship. It was strange and delightful to see so many Men at once; Eluréd realized that he’d only ever known one at a time—first Beren, and then Tuor—and now there were Men from all three of the Houses of Edain and more. They were more than happy to answer all of the questions Eluréd and Elurín had about Númenor—about the Meneltarma and about the cities they were building. One older man told a tale of bears coming together on an evening in the summer, how he as a boy watched them dance together, slow strange dances beneath the moon. His companions teased him and some said it was only a tale for children, but the man insisted that he had seen it with his own eyes.

Eventually everyone gathered on the deck of the Númenórean ship, which was larger than Eärrámë, for a feast brought by Elros and his mariners. It was then that Elros was formally introduced to Eluréd and Elurín. He sat himself between them; his eyes were a little red still, but there were no traces of tears on his face. “So you are my uncles,” he said. “I am very glad to meet you!”

Elurín wrinkled his nose. “You’re too old to be our nephew,” he said, and Elros laughed. He did not sound like Dior, at least. He sounded more like Eärendil, or Tuor. “And if you are a king, where is your crown?”

“I left it at home,” Elros said. “I dropped my very first crown into the Sea the week after I got it, and Elrond never let me forget about it. So I leave it at home when I go sailing. It isn’t as though the crew doesn’t know who I am. But enough of me—I want to know more about the two of you!” He peppered them with questions, some of which were more about Elwing than about them, and he reciprocated with tales from his own childhood in Sirion. For most of those tales he drew in Eärendil or Elwing or both of them, beginning them with, “Naneth, Adar, do you remember…?” They were all happy tales, full of sunshine and sandcastles and sailing trips in Vingilot around the Bay of Balar. And in them Elros was never alone, even when Elwing or Eärendil were not present, for Elrond had been there—in a way that he was no longer, and could never be again.

They spent several long, cheerful days there just within sight of Númenor. Elros, Eärendil, and Elwing spent almost all that time together, whether with the rest of the company or a little apart, talking for many hours. Eluréd supposed there was a great deal to talk about, since they hadn’t seen one another since Elros had been a young child. The same age that Eluréd and Elurín had been when Doriath was attacked. For their part, they spent their days learning about Númenor and the mishmash of cultures and languages and traditions that were slowly coming together to create something new.

On the morning of their visit’s last day, Eluréd found himself seated near the prow of Eärrámë, alone, as Elros emerged from the cabins of his own ship. He spotted Eluréd almost immediately, and made his way over to join him. “Good morning, Uncle,” he said, just to make Eluréd wrinkle his nose at the title.

“Good morning,” Eluréd said. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.” Elros sat down on the deck, long legs sprawling out in front of him. His resemblance to Eluréd’s father was not so startling anymore, though it was still strange.

“Why did you choose the way you did?” Eluréd asked. The question had been in his mind from the start, but there had not been a good chance to ask it. He didn’t want to do so while Elwing was there, to remind her of just what Elros’ choice had been.

For his part, Elros did not seem surprised by it. “Choosing the fate of Men, you mean?” he said. Eluréd nodded. “I’m not really sure that I can explain…do you know why you chose to be counted among the elves?”

“We were in Mandos,” Eluréd said. “And I’m not sure now that I really understood what it meant. There was a doorway that we could choose to go through, and we could see many spirits of Men passing through it. Or there was another doorway that hardly anyone was passing through, except maybe one or two at a time, and it was through that door that we knew we would see our mother again. And that was really all we wanted, was to see Nana.” He swallowed a sigh. “Only she hasn’t come out yet.”

“I’m sorry,” Elros said. “But at least you have your sister, and Lord Felagund, and I’m sure a whole flock of other relatives.”

“Oh, yes,” Eluréd said. “We aren’t unhappy. But I don’t know which one I’d choose now.”

“I think yours is a special case,” Elros said. “Elrond and I were already grown when we were given the Choice, and we had just survived the War of Wrath. I chose as I did because it felt right. We are neither Men nor Elves, but to hear of that door through which the spirits of Men pass—it doesn’t frighten me. I want to know what lies beyond it—though not yet, of course. In my youth all I knew was death and destruction and fear, and there is a part of me that has been greatly wearied by it. Now the world is at peace at last, and I hope that it will last, but someday a shadow will rise again. That is the way of things in Arda Marred, and I do not think that I can face something like that again. Once is enough. But while I am here I can build something that will last, something beautiful and meant for peace, for generations upon generations to learn and grow and live and love without anything like the fear that I once knew.”

“What about Elrond?” Eluréd asked.

“He chose as he did because it felt right,” Elros said.

“Is he afraid of that door?”

“I don’t think so. There isn’t much that Elrond fears. And I think fear would be a poor reason to make the Choice one way or the other.”

Elurín emerged onto the deck, then, and with a running leap took flight, soaring up in a spiral around the mast. “Can you turn into a bird?” Eluréd asked Elros.

“I never tried,” he laughed. “And I had better not start trying now. I’d fall and break something, and that’s hardly a very kingly thing to do.”

They did not say farewell until late that night, when the moon was high and the stars were bright. Eluréd did not hear what Elwing and Eärendil said to Elros, for they stood clustered together apart from the rest. When Elros at last returned to his own ship, and the gangplank was removed, Elwing came to wrap her arms around Eluréd and Elurín; her face was wet with tears. “Are you all right, Elwing?” Elurín asked as Eluréd wrapped his own arms around her.

“Yes, I’m all right,” she said. “I know that he is well, and doing what he was always meant to do.”

As the ships drifted apart, Elros returning to his island kingdom, and they to their seaside tower. They would meet again, Eluréd thought. Not often, for this was the sort of thing that skirted too close to rule-breaking, but as Elros’ ship disappeared into the distance, a whale surfaced in the water between them, just briefly, grey and blue and massive, exhaling like a great sigh before sinking back beneath the waves.

Sailing through the heavens was both brighter than Elurín had expected and darker. There were so many more stars visible from Vingilot, which had not seemed possible before, but also they remained for the most part tiny pinpricks far away, and the space between them and Elurín seemed vaster all the time. He could hardly imagine how the Maiar of Elbereth flitted between them in the space of a thought, one minute on Vingilot’s deck and the next in some great star nursery far away, singing new ones into being, or else tending to aging stars that were fading away, or else preparing to explode into something brighter and more brilliant even than the Silmaril. This Elurín desperately wanted to see, but it was all happening so far away that even from Vingilot Elven eyes could not see.

And then there was Arda, which itself was bigger than Elur ín had ever thought—though he readily admitted that he hadn’t thought about it very much at all. The shape of the continents was easily made out, like a map in living color, and with the aid of a marvelous spyglass gifted to Eärendil by Aulë himself they could look down into the cities and even pick out particular faces. This way, Elurín had his first glimpse of Círdan, sitting on a beach outside of Harlond one evening, and of Gil-galad, pacing along the walls of his palace in Forlond, and of Elrond, busy turning what had been a refugee and military camp in the mountains into a home.

Word of the war against Sauron had come to Valinor on many ships from the Havens before Elur ín had finally convinced Eärendil to take him up in Vingilot. Eärendil had refused until the war was over, insisting that such a thing was not something Elurín should witness, even from afar. Especially from afar. It was only after Eärendil came back with the news that, thanks to aid from Númenor, Sauron had been beaten back to his strongholds in Mordor, that he had relented and brought Elurín on board.

Elwing had been worried—but she was often worried, even now that Elur ín and Eluréd were grown, and lately she tended to focus those worries on Elurín. He was more restless than Eluréd, who had taken up healing and spent much of his time these days in Lórien among Estë’s folk. Elurín had ridden with Oromë for a time, and spent a season in Aulë’s forges, and another with Yavanna’s people, but he knew that the elves looked a little askance at him, flitting from one thing to another as though he didn’t have all of the time in the world.

It felt like he didn ’t have time, but Elurín thought that that was just his mortal nature rearing its head. Lately he had thought a great deal about the Choice given to them in Mandos, and how unfair it was that he’d had to choose when he was so young. He hadn’t understood what it meant, not really. He and Eluréd had just wanted to see their parents again. And they hadn’t even gotten to do that yet.

He perched in the crow ’s nest of Vingilot, gazing out into the vastness of the heavens as his thoughts spun in circles. He did not think that he regretted choosing as he had, but he also did not think he would choose the same if given the chance to do it over now. Below him Eärendil moved about the deck, and Maiar flitted about, helping where they were needed, or else just providing company or news from Valinor, or a bit of music. Elbereth’s Maiar were strange—their voices were not like Elven voices, but Elurín couldn’t quite work out what they were like. Nothing in Arda. Perhaps it was the music of the stars; he hadn ’t yet figured out how to ask without it sounding like an insult.

Finally, E ärendil called him down. “Look,” he said, handing over his spyglass. “Cuiviénen is no more—the world has changed too greatly—but look at what our kin who stayed behind have built.” Elurín put the glass to his eye and peered down over the rail. Arda was a glowing gem in the darkness, all greens and blues and whirls of white. When he peered down he saw a great city rising up out of the plains, beside a wide brown river up and down which sailed many barges. The city was made of wood and stone, with trees lining the streets and lush gardens filled with flowers. Elurín could almost smell the heavy sweet scents of the flowers. And that was not the only one. There were other equally prosperous Elven realms in the far eastern lands, and some of Men, and some where Men and Elves lived together side by side, mingling freely.

“Do you think there are peredhil there?” Elurín asked Eärendil, handing the spyglass back.

“Impossible to tell from up here,” said Eärendil. “There was only myself and Elwing in Sirion, but circumstances were very different there.” He glanced at Elurín. “Any peredhel there would, I think, die a mortal death. The choice given us was a special case.”

“Quite special, in my case,” Elurín said lightly, “since Eluréd and I were already dead. I have often wondered why Námo bade us remain in Mandos until you and Elwing reached Valinor.”

“Elwing thinks it is because of Lúthien,” Eärendil said. “Lúthien moved the Lord of Mandos to pity once, and he may harbor a soft spot for your family.” Eärendil leaned on the railing, gazing down at Arda as the lands slowly moved beneath them. Elurín wondered what the eastern elves thought of this star and its sudden appearance. They had never known the Trees, had likely never heard of Fëanor or his Silmarils. What did it mean to them? What did it mean that some halfelven got to choose their fate and others didn’t?

“Were I alone I would not have chosen this,” Eärendil said suddenly.

Elur ín startled. “What?”

“The life of the Elves. Were it not for Elwing, I would have chosen a mortal life, as Elros did.”

“I didn’t know that.”

E ärendil’s grin was a little crooked. “I’ve never said it aloud before. Elwing knows, because she knows me, but we’ve never spoken of it.”

Elur ín ran his fingers down the smooth wood of the railing. “Do you regret it?” he asked.

“No. No more than Lúthien regretted her own choices, I think. I feel the weight of years, but between this task of mine and being able to return home to Elwing whenever I wish, it isn’t so bad. And I get to see all of that.” He gestured down toward Arda. A storm was gathering over a wide plain; Elurín could see lightning flickering in the clouds.

It wasn ’t until they passed over the Misty Mountains again, and could see the warm lights of Elrond’s home that Elurín made his own confession: “I think I would have chosen differently, too, if I had been older.” He had let his hair fall forward into his face, and glanced at Eärendil through the strands. “But don’t tell Eluréd.”

“He can probably already guess,” Eärendil said. “Are you unhappy, Elurín?”

“No!” Elurín shook his head. “I just—I wish we hadn’t had to choose when we were children. That’s all.”

“It’s a hard enough choice as an adult,” Eärendil agreed. “If you do find yourself unhappy, speak to Nienna, or one of her people. For that matter, if you are unhappy about anything, Lady Nienna will listen.” He picked up his spyglass again, this time training it on the land of Mordor, where Sauron sat and stewed on his defeats. It was only a matter of time before he sallied forth again. In the meantime, orcs scurried about Mordor like ants, doing whatever it was Sauron wanted doing when not at war. Elurín supposed they had to get food from somewhere.

“Is anything interesting happening?” Elurín asked as Eärendil lowered his spyglass.

“No. And the longer nothing happens, the more nervous I get.”

Not long after that, E ärendil abruptly decided to return to Valinor. “If I keep you any longer your sister will grow very worried indeed,” he said.

“I can’t think of a safer place than on Vingilot,” Elurín protested. “What can harm me out here except if I fall off somehow?”

E ärendil laughed. “It isn’t always so safe,” he said. “There are creatures out in the darkness, strange and dark and often once-allied to Morgoth. Part of my task is to fend them off if they come too close, and Elwing would not be pleased if you were caught in the middle of such a fight.”

Elur ín had never heard tales of that sort of thing. “Does that happen often?”

“Not as often as it used to,” Eärendil said. “And, honestly, none of them have been quite as bad as Ungoliant.”

“When did you fight Ungoliant?!”

“I know for a fact there are songs about it,” Eärendil said, amused. “How have you not heard them? Aerandir was telling all the loremasters in Sirion and Balar who would listen when we got back. Dírhavel took copious notes, though he was busy with his Narn at the time. I hope someone rescued them, for Aerandir’s sake anyway.”

“That does not answer my question.”

“It was the last…no, second to last voyage before Sirion fell. Vingilot needed so many repairs that Círdan joked about taking her apart to just build a new ship.” Eärendil went on to describe that voyage, when they had been driven south by strong winds out of the northwest that carried the chill of the Helcaraxë, to lands where the sun beat down so strongly the heat was almost like a physical weight. In spite of the bright sun there had been places of darkness, and in one such hollow, where mountains met the sea, Eärendil and his mariners had met Ungoliant, who had emerged upon hearing them singing. She had been massive, a terrible creature of living darkness, and the tale of the battle was surely longer and worse than Eärendil told it. Elurín thought that he would ask Falathar about it later; Falathar did not believe in omitting details from stories.

At last, they descended from the skies, trailing stardust. The sea came rising up to meet them, and as they neared Elwing ’s tower Elurín could see figures at the top watching them come in. There were more of them than he had expected. Elwing and Eluréd were there, of course, but there were others… “Who is that, Eärendil?” Elurín asked, as the figures disappeared inside.

“Visitors, it seems,” Eärendil said.

“Yes, but who?”

“I’ve never seen them before.”

Vingilot made the transition from the air to the water so smoothly that if he hadn ’t been watching, Elurín would not have noticed. Eärendil stood at the helm, and called to Elurín to do mundane sailing things with the sails and ropes and things that had not been necessary in flight. For a little while Elurín forgot about the visitors to the tower as he scurried over the ship, occasionally tripping over one of the lingering Maiar, who when it came to sailing upon the seas were less than helpful.

They sailed into the cove, and Falathar was there to catch the mooring ropes. Elur ín jumped onto the dock just after Eärendil. “Falathar, I’ve only just learned that you faced Ungoliant with Eärendil! Why did you never tell us that tale before?”

“You wouldn’t want to speak of it either, if you were there,” Falathar said with a grimace. “Unless you are Aerandir, and even he needed a drink or three before Dírhavel got him to tell everything. Eärendil, what did you tell him about it, for?”

“I was only saying the void creatures aren’t nearly as bad,” said Eärendil. “I thought surely he knew the tale already—there must be songs sung of it somewhere.”

“Not here,” said Falathar. “No one speaks of Ungoliant if they can help it. But enough of her—you have guests up the path. Or coming down it, rather.” He tilted his head back toward the path, and Elurín looked up and did not see Elwing leading the small group, to his surprise. Instead it was—Elrond? But no, Elrond was all the way across Belegaer, nestled at the feet of the mountains. Then…it must be…

“Adar?” Elurín breathed, feeling like he suddenly couldn’t breathe. And just behind Dior was a figure with a head of silver-white hair tumbling loose down her back— “Naneth?”

“Go on then,” Eärendil said, nudging Elurín gently toward the path.

Elur ín stumbled, and then found himself running to throw himself into his father’s arms. Dior caught him, laughing that familiar laugh, and Nimloth pulled him into her arms as soon as Dior released him. Through mingled laughter and tears, Elurín was faintly aware of Elwing passing them by on her way to greet Eärendil, and of Eluréd standing a little farther up the path. “What are you doing here?” Elurín cried. “When did you return?”

Nimloth laughed, taking his face in her hands so she could kiss his cheeks, just like she had done when he was a child—when she had done, though without the smile, the very last time he had seen her—and said, “We only arrived here a week or so ago. Imagine our confusion when we stepped out of Mandos and found only one son awaiting us, when we had been told to expect two!”

“We should have expected you to be off exploring the stars, though,” Dior said, tugging on one of Elurín’s braids, his fingers coming away shimmering with stardust. “You have always been the boldest of our children.”

“Still, I wish I had been there.” Elurín leaned into Dior’s embrace, feeling six-years-old again, enveloped in warmth and strength and the faint smell of violets that had always followed Nimloth. One of Dior’s hands cupped the back of Elurín’s head, and Nimloth kept running her hands up and down his arms, as though they were as astonished as he was at this reunion.

After the excitement calmed a little, Elwing brought E ärendil over, and it began all over again. Elurín saw tension ease out of Eärendil’s stance as Dior and Nimloth greeted him with more restraint but just as much joy. Eluréd slung his arm over Elurín’s shoulders. “How was the voyage?” he asked. “Did you see our nephew?”

“I did. He’s doing quite well for himself in the mountains. You should have come; it was very exciting.”

Elur éd laughed. “No thank you. I love the stars but I shall enjoy them from here, if it’s all the same to you.” He tugged on Elurín’s braid—a habit he had long had, but that Elurín had never known before came from their father. “I hope you’ll stay on the ground for a time now,” Eluréd went on. “I missed you, even your horrible habit of popping up unexpectedly wherever I am.”

“What’s the use of being able to fly if I can’t go wherever I like whenever I feel like it?” Elurín replied. “But I promise, I will stay on the ground until you are sick of me, and then I shall accompany Eärendil back up in Vingilot. It really was marvelous, Eluréd. There is so much of the world that we have never even heard rumors of!”

“Tell me all about it, then,” Eluréd said, as they turned to follow everyone else up the path. As much as Elurín really had enjoyed his voyaging, he was glad to be back home. He was truly happy, so long as he did not let his thoughts wander down strange paths. There was so much left to see and do—and to show Dior and Nimloth, now that they were at last returned and their little family made whole again.

The next morning he woke to the sun peeking through his window. He and Elur éd still shared the room that Elwing had given them as children, and Eluréd slumbered in his bed across the way. Elurín sat up and leaned on the windowsill by his bed, watching the horizon brighten to rosy pink with the coming day. This he had missed while sailing upon Vingilot. Sunsets and sunrises did not look at all the same.

He opened the window, careful not to wake Elur éd, and dropped out of it, taking flight to soar out across the waves. As he swooped low over the water’s surface a pod of dolphins leaped out, chattering and whistling their greetings to him. Other seabirds were waking, too, and coming to gather at Elwing’s tower to share gossip and news—and to seek their breakfast. Terns erupted out of their nesting grounds a little north of the tower in a great rush of wings and a cacophony of calls, to descend upon the seas in search of fish, or maybe just to dive below the surface and shoot back out for the sheer joy of it.

When Elur ín returned to the tower he landed in the garden, where he found Nimloth sitting in the dewy grass. She was dressed in a plain tunic and leggings, and her hair was draped over one shoulder in a single unadorned braid. “I saw you drop out of the window,” she said, as Elurín sat down beside her. “I hope you don’t do that without warning when you know there are others watching.”

“I think everyone has gotten used to it by now,” Elurín said. “Elwing does it too.”

“I am not used to it,” said Nimloth.

“I shall endeavor to warn you, then, Naneth.” Elurín leaned his shoulder into hers, and they sat in silence for a little while, watching the sunrise. “I missed you,” Elurín said finally.

“I missed you too, my love,” Nimloth said. She put her arm around Elurín and kissed his temple. “I cannot believe how much you have grown!”

“Eluréd will tell you that he is taller, but that’s absolutely a lie,” Elurín said.

“Yes, I know. Elwing informs me that you are precisely the same height.” Nimloth chuckled at Elurín’s exaggerated sigh. “And Eluréd is a healer, and you a little bit of everything. I would like very much to hear one of the songs you composed under Elemmírë’s tutelage.”

“They aren’t very good,” Elurín said.

“Let your audience be the judge of that,” Nimloth said. “Now, come here…” She nudged him around until he was seated in front of her, and she could unravel the braid he had slept in and finger comb the tangles out of his hair. “Tell me all about what you saw of Middle-earth,” she said. “Is there anything left at all of Beleriand?”

“Some of Ossiriand survived,” Elurín said. “Lindon. Gil-galad rules there now—there and across most of Eriador. And…” He hesitated a little. “I think perhaps Tol Galen survived. But the land is so greatly changed it is hard to tell.”

“I would like to think it did,” Nimloth said. “That not even the power of the Valar and of the Enemy combined could destroy the joy that Beren and Lúthien brought to that place.” She began to part Elurín’s hair for braiding, and the feeling of her fingers against his scalp was both soothing and strange, as though he’d been transported back in time to Tol Galen, where Lúthien was singing and Beren bouncing baby Elwing on his knee on the grass beside Lanthir Lamath. “Oh, it is marvelous to have a body again. I did not even know how much I missed being able to smell the fresh air and use my hands until I had them again. How do you normally wear your hair, Elurín?”

“Today I would have worn it how I woke up,” Elurín said. “At least until Elwing told me to go fix it.”

“She has very much taken to the role of older sister,” Nimloth said, both fond and sad. “And mother, I suppose. You needed more mothering than sistering when you returned, I think.”

“She has been an excellent sister,” Elurín said. “And she was a great mother, too, while she had the chance with Elrond and Elros. Did Eluréd tell you about the first time we met Elros? We almost thought he was Adar come back to life.”

“Elwing told us, except the other way around,” Nimloth said. “That Dior looked like Elros. There.” She finished the braid; she had taken several smaller braids from either side of Elurín’s head and combined them into one thicker rope down his back. “This is the style my father preferred,” she said. “Though he always had pearls and diamonds in his hair.”

“I’ve never liked many things in my hair,” said Elurín. “Except for special occasions. They’re too heavy for everyday.”

“Ribbons would look very nice, though. Dark blue, perhaps. Or green, to go with the silver.” Nimloth got to her feet, and Elurín rose to take her arm as they turned inside. The sun had risen fully, and the pink clouds had dispersed into gold and white behind them.

Inside the smell of fresh-baked bread drifted out of the kitchen, and from the dining room laughing voices could be heard, and the clinking of cups and plates. The tower was always homely, but usually it felt rather empty, with just a handful of people, them and the small household, rattling around in it. Now it felt fuller and cozier. Elwing came forward to say good morning; her cheeks were rosy and her eyes bright, and it seemed like a weight had been taken off of her shoulders that Elur ín, to his chagrin, had never known was there before. “Good morning, Elwing,” he said, and kissed her forehead, as was his habit since finally growing tall enough to do so.

“It is a very good morning,” Elwing said. “Come sit down; breakfast is nearly ready.”

As soon as word reached Eress ëa of the final defeat of Sauron, and of the Ringbearers’ plans to sail west at last, Celebrían leaped into action, scribbling plans and calling upon carpenters to modify several rooms in her house and add more furniture for the comfort of the halflings. “I have never met one myself,” she told Elwing, when they met to laugh and cry together over the news, “but I do know a thing or two about comfort, and I know how to shrink things down to Dwarvish size, and Elrond tells me that hobbits are only slightly smaller. He has also warned me that they like their food, though I wish he had also sent some recipes, or even an idea of what is eaten in the Shire. They seem to be simple folk, but how adventurous might they be?”

“I daresay they’ve had their fill of adventure,” Eluréd remarked as he looked over a few sketches of furniture, drawn to scale with normal elven things.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Finrod. “There’s a difference between adventures in the dining room and out in the wide world.” He waved a hand vaguely eastward. “Surely there are some folk from Rivendell here already, Celebrían, who know Master Bilbo’s tastes?”

“Oh!” Celebrían brightened. “I hadn’t thought of that! Thank you, Uncle.” She swept out of the room.

“Will you be at the docks when they arrive?” Finrod asked Elwing.

“No,” said Elwing. Finrod’s eyebrows rose slightly in surprise. “There will be a crowd already, and anyway it’s Celebrían that Elrond will truly want to see. I have waited two Ages to see Elrond again; I can wait a few days more.”

“Also,” Eluréd said, setting down the drawings, “we cannot be certain when Eärendil and Elurín will return.”

“Eärendil has no excuse to be late to this reunion,” Finrod said. “He’ll be able to see the whole voyage from up there! But I see your point. Does Celebrían know?”

“Does Celebrían know what?” Celebrían came back into the room.

“That Elwing is not going to go with us to meet the ship.”

“Oh, yes. We’ve spoken of it already.” Celebrían smiled at Elwing, radiant in her happiness. It was only slightly dimmed by the news of her daughter’s marriage to Aragorn; Arwen had long been a faithful letter writer, and Celebrían had known for many years of her choice and her hopes for her future with Aragorn. It was bittersweet, but something she had long come to terms with. “Though I wish everyone else was half so thoughtful—for they have less than half the right to be asking about coming to Eressëa the minute the ship is docked to meet him. It isn’t Elrond’s fault he’s related to nearly everyone in Valinor!”

“I’ll fend them off for you, don’t worry,” said Finrod. “You can’t blame them for being excited.”

“I can certainly blame them for wanting to all pile into my house at once,” Celebrían said primly. “Not to mention the poor Ringbearers. Everyone wants to meet them, too—everyone from Rúmil to Daeron to every king in the land! I won’t have them overwhelmed, of all people. From what my husband has written of Bilbo he wouldn’t mind it, perhaps, but he is quite old—he’ll be more than one hundred and thirty when he sails!—and Frodo most of all will need rest and quiet.” She glanced sidelong at Finrod. “And I include you in that throng, Uncle. You mustn’t pester them with all the thousands of questions I know you have in mind.”

“I promise, I shall limit myself to only one question per visit until I am permitted otherwise,” Finrod said solemnly.

With all of the work that Celebr ían had to do, time seemed to fly by until at last the day came when the ship bearing the Ringbearers was expected to arrive in Avallónë. Elwing and Eluréd had arrived again to Eressëa a few days before, and were waiting for Eärendil and Elurín at Dior and Nimloth’s house. As the sun rose golden-pink over the sea, Elwing climbed to the tallest tower in the house to gaze out over the sea. Rainclouds gathered over the sea not long after dawn, obscuring the horizon with rain falling like a silver-grey curtain over the water. Somewhere in a nearby garden a mother was singing to her child as she tended the flowers; inside Elwing could hear Nimloth laughing with Eluréd downstairs. Elwing smiled to hear it; sometimes it struck her all over again how marvelous it was that their family had been reunited beyond hope and death, there in the Undying Lands.

Quiet footsteps on the stairs behind her heralded Dior ’s arrival, bearing a tea tray. “Any sign yet?” he asked, handing her a cup.

Elwing inhaled the fragrant steam off of the tea, and shook her head. “No. I saw Vingilot descend just before sunrise, though.” She glanced northward, and caught a glimpse of white sails coming down the coast. “There is Nimroval now.”

They stood in silence for a little while, sipping their tea and listening to the sounds of the city below them, and the sound of the waves washing gently up onto Eress ëa’s shores. Elwing gazed out at the rain falling on the sea and found herself thinking of rainy days in Sirion, cozy afternoons when she’d been able to leave aside her duties and curl up with her boys to watch the rain, or tell stories, or play whatever little game Elros or Elrond had invented that day. Someone had gifted them a set of brightly painted wooden blocks, and Elros had loved to build them up as high as they would go, or else arrange them in carefully laid out little cities on the floor between their beds. Elrond had liked to build cities too, but he had liked even more games of hide and seek throughout the house. He had been the best at finding; Elros had been the best at hiding. “I wish you could have known Elros,” she said aloud after a while. Elros had been in her thoughts a great deal of late.

“There are many who I wish I could have known, Elros not least among them,” said Dior. He looked at Elwing. “Have I told you lately that I am proud of you?”

Elwing smiled at him. “I don’t think I’ve done anything remarkable recently,” she said.

“You are always remarkable,” he said. “As are your children, and their children too. You endured far more than you ever should have had to, and still here you remain, thriving where others would have wilted.” He put his arm around her and pressed a kiss to her temple. Elwing leaned against him, and they watched Nimroval come swiftly down into Eldamar, skimming around the island until it came to Tuor and Idril’s home on the water. Elwing leaned out over the balcony to wave when she saw Eärendil glance up.

As he waved back, Dior straightened. “There, Elwing. Look!” She turned to see the rainclouds parting like a curtain, and out of them came a pale shape, almost shining, like a pearl. Her breath caught in her throat, and she gripped the railing as Dior turned to call down to Nimloth and Eluréd, who rushed up to see the ship as well. Minutes later they were joined by Elurín, flying up on white wings, and Eärendil, out of breath and flushed from his sprint up from the dock.

It seemed as though another Age passed before the ship came into port, and all of the bells in Avall ónë rang out in welcome. Elwing saw Galadriel on the deck first, golden hair shining in the sunlight. A shorter figure stood beside her, clad all in grey, and up from the cabin came another figure, dark-haired and clad in blue and silver. He was accompanied by a pair of very small figures—but there was no mistaking Elrond, there at last. He moved to the ship railing by Galadriel, and Elwing watched as Celebrían rushed out from the crowd, and Elrond did not even wait for the gangplank to be set before he leapt from the ship onto the dock and into Celebrían’s arms.

They disappeared in the confusion after that, as the other passengers disembarked, and Elwing imagined Finrod stepping forward to take charge of them all, and keeping the crowd at bay, eager though they all were to catch a glimpse of everyone. Someone started singing, and many joined in—a song of welcome and praise for all of the Ringbearers; the words of it reached even up to Nimloth and Dior ’s tower.

Once the crowds began to disperse, Elwing left the tower. E ärendil followed her to the room they shared when visiting her parents, and he collapsed onto the bed. “I must admit, I am glad we didn’t go down to the docks today,” he said. “I am very tired, and I want to be properly awake when we see Elrond again.”

“Are you nervous?” Elwing asked. She was, all of a sudden, and unaccountably. It would be a happy reunion, if perhaps a little awkward.

“I’m too tired to be nervous,” Eärendil said. He had closed his eyes, and Elwing only then noticed that he was barefoot, having evidently not bothered with shoes at all that morning. “Anyway, he’s our son, not a dragon. It’ll be fine.”

“You speak wisely, my love,” Elwing said, laughing. She leaned over to kiss him. “Go to sleep. I’ll wake you for lunch.”

Sooner than Elwing had expected, they had visitors. Galadriel came to renew acquaintances. With her came Gandalf, clad all in white with a wide brimmed hat that Elur ín immediately stole to wear himself as they sat in the garden. They spent the afternoon exchanging tales and gossip, and both Galadriel and Gandalf smiled and laughed more freely than anyone. It was as though they had built up a dam through the dark years in Middle-earth, and now they were free of rings and responsibility it had broken and joy poured out like floodwater. He had much to say about Frodo and Bilbo Baggins, all of it deeply proud and fond. They both also spoke of Elrond, and of his children—Galadriel’s grandchildren. It was always somehow startling to remember that.

At last, though, Elrond came. It was late in the afternoon, and Elwing was alone in the garden reading a book. E ärendil had walked down with Eluréd, and she was not quite sure where the rest of the household had gone. A nightingale alighted on the table beside her chair, and when Elwing looked up at it she saw two figures coming up the path, both tall, one silver haired and the other raven-dark. Elurín had his arm slung around Elrond’s shoulders, and both of them were smiling, laughing. Elrond still had dimples in his cheeks, just as he had when he was small. Elwing snapped her book shut, startling the nightingale into flight, though it settled again on a branch just above her head.

“Elwing!” Elurín called out when he saw her. “Look who I found coming up the road!”

Elrond was clad in plain robes of dark blue, and his hair was unadorned and falling loose about his shoulders. He was, of course, the spitting image of Elros, taking after Dior and L úthien. His bearing, though, was not the same. He was not a king, and did not carry himself like one. All of the joys and sorrows of his long life could be seen behind his eyes, star-bright and grey as a starlit evening. Something about him made Elwing think of Idril. But the dimples were his own, and the quiet strength and wisdom and assurance in his bearing. On his finger he wore a ring of gold, set with a deep blue gem—Vilya, mightiest of the Three. “Elrond,” she breathed when she found her voice again, and ran up the path to meet them. Elurín stepped aside, and Elwing flung her arms around Elrond. He was taller than she was, and smelled of fresh sea air and the lavender that Celebrían preferred in all her soaps.

“Where is Eärendil, Elwing?” Elurín asked as Elwing drew back so look at Elrond again.

“Down at the water,” Elwing said, “with Eluréd.”

Elrond laughed quietly as Elur ín strode off to fetch them. “I was not expecting to find uncles and grandparents awaiting me, too,” he admitted.

“I hope that Celebrían warned you,” Elwing said.

“She did.”

They began walking, following Elur ín more slowly, going arm in arm. “I am so glad you are here at last,” Elwing said finally. “You must be weary of all the questions—but I know your voyage was smooth and I am certain that you and your companions are settling in well, for Celebrían has been working to that end ever since we first received word of your coming.”

“We are all very comfortable,” Elrond agreed, “but how did you know the voyage went so well?”

“Most of them do,” said Elwing, “but your father was watching. He landed here only hours before we saw your ship on the horizon.”

“I admit that I have never been sure what he saw of us,” Elrond said. “But I always liked to think that he was watching me.”

“He was,” Elwing said, squeezing his arm. “And, more sporadically, so was Elurín. But they could not see everything.”

“There he is!” Eluréd’s voice floated up the path to them, and Eärendil appeared, damp and barefoot and sandy up to his knees, as he usually was when given half a chance. Eluréd and Elurín were just behind him, but Eärendil hardly slowed down, almost knocking Elwing and Elrond over when he embraced them. Once the excitement calmed down everyone had sand all over their clothes, and they were breathless from laughing and talking over each other all at once.

As they turned back to the house to find Dior and Nimloth, and Tuor and Idril, more nightingales flew into the garden to sing a joyful chorus in the trees; niphredil was blooming about their feet, pale green and white, and filling the air with sweet fragrance that mingled with the roses Nimloth had planted. Elur éd started to sing a song to harmonize with the nightingales, and Elurín joined in, the two of them quickly abandoning the harmony in favor of making up sillier and sillier words.

There was still so much to say, stories to tell and questions to ask and answer. But for the moment none of that mattered. Elrond was home at last, and the whole life of the world stretched out before them that no shadow could touch again. , Elwing felt as though her heart was so full it might burst.