Rising as if Weightless by StarSpray

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Chapter Three

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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.”