Rising as if Weightless by StarSpray

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Chapter One

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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”

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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!”