The Light is Still There by Aldwen

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Chapter 27

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None wants to remain among the barren rocks any longer, so we move our camp to the coastland, just above the tideline, and wait for the ships. Hope, so slowly kindled but blown to flames after Eönwë’s words, is everywhere now: in smiles, in bright eyes, in lively conversations about the future.

“If you were to build a city, lord, how would you do it?” Tyelperinquar asks me one evening as we share a meal by the fire. “How would you start?”

“I would scout and chart the land, first,” I reply, somewhat surprised by his question. “Terrain, soil, watercourses. Then find the exact place where I want the city to be.”

“Locate places for quarries and acquiring timber,” adds Artanar.

“Yes. Then draw the plans – of the whole city and every single house. Of the streets, gardens, fountains, whatever else you want there. Only then comes the building itself.”

“I see.” Tyelperinquar nods.

“Why do you ask?” I am curious. I do not recall my brother’s grandson taking interest in any other craft than his own.

He looks into flames. “Because I want to build such a city,” he replies at length. “A place of beauty. A place where everyone is free to create. A place where one can see the mountains. And far from the Sea.”

“Valinórë is wide enough for that, I am sure.” I smile.

Tyelperinquar raises his eyes and looks at me gravely. “It is not in Valinórë where I want to build it but here, in Middle-earth.”

“What…?” I stare at him. What does he mean…? It cannot be that he…

But his next words leave no doubt. “I will not take a ship. I am staying.”

“You cannot truly mean this…!”

“Do not attempt to reassure me, lord.” Tyelperinquar shakes his head. “I have decided.”

Bewildered I look as he retreats in the shadows.

“Let him go, father.” Artanis restrains me when I half-rise to follow him.

I sink back on the ground. “How… how can he even consider remaining here?!”

“It is his right, my friend,” says Artanar. “This land… They have suffered and bled for it. Does it surprise you it has become their home?”

“Home?” I turn towards him abruptly. “What kind of home this may be after… after all that has happened? What is there to stay for? Valariandë is destroyed, nothing remains of it!”

Artanar nods. “Yes. But there are other lands east of the mountains. And to build anew is to prevail over the past suffering. Do you not see? What would you do if enemies destroyed Tirion? Would you flee to Valmar and never look back?”

“No!” The thought of Tirion’s white towers in wreck terrifies me. “Of course not! But that is not the same at all!”

“How is it different?” My friend tilts his head.

I throw a piece of driftwood into the fire with greater force than necessary. Sparks fly up and scatter in the air. Then I look closely at Artanar. “You said – they.”

“I do not think Tyelperinquar is the only one to think and feel so.”

My daughter and her husband sit silent during our exchange.

Artanar’s words trouble me deeply. In the following days I closely observe the Elves we rescued from Angamando. I ask cautious questions. Most of them are desperate to return to Valinórë. But some…  Some, mainly craftspeople – smiths, stone masons, woodwrights - gather around Tyelperinquar. Oft his melodious voice rings by one of the fires as he speaks of his dreams for the future, and his face glows with excitement, with the bright flame of his spirit, kindling the hearts of those listening. The likeness of what he is doing to what my brother once did terrifies me.

On one such evening I pull him aside. “What are you doing? Why are you denying them a chance of healing they would receive in Aman?”

He counters my anger calmly. “I do not think healing may be found only in the Gardens of Lórien, lord. I believe doing what we love may also heal.”

“You should not reassure those who want to leave!”

“I am not doing that. But I believe everyone has the right to decide for themselves. For too long they have been denied this right. I am merely giving them a choice I myself have made. That choice was not easy for me, yet I know it to be the right one.” He falls silent and considers me closely. “I know you want what is best for our people, King Arafinwë. But so do I. Most of them would still return to Valinórë, yet, for some, staying here is for the best.”

After this, I do not argue with him anymore.

Days pass in waiting. Weeks. Then – a month. Signs of life appear in patches of the barren earth on the seaside – greenish-grey stalks of grass, tiny white and yellow flowers on short stems. Other living things return, too. Birds start nesting in the crevices of the cliffs. Butterflies with delicate, nearly transparent wings flutter above the blossoms. Tiny furry creatures, maybe something akin to field mice, scurry over the sand. All these things, seemingly so small and insignificant, move us to tears. Now and then I see someone kneeling beside a patch of flowers or observing the seabirds’ flight with nearly reverent attention. Sometimes I am doing this myself. The return of light and colours after forty years of grey bleakness is a gift beyond price.

The waters are calm this evening. The Vessel of Arien is nearing the horizon, and tiny waves carry reflected hues of the sunset. Artanis stands by the waterline, a light breeze playing with strands of her hair. She mostly wears it loose now – a river of shining gold that falls over her back and shoulders, different from the time in Valinórë. She loved intricate braids then, and I, being more patient than Ëarwen, often plaited her hair.

When I approach, she turns towards me and smiles. I return the smile, my heart swelling with pride and affection. My little girl has grown into this wise, brave and kind being, into someone towards whom others look for guidance.

Artanis reads my mind effortlessly and blushes. “You think too highly of me, father.”

“No, I do not. You have returned hope to many, Artanis. When we were at loss, you knew what to do, what to say. You had the understanding we did not have.”

“It is only because I know these stories so well, father,” she replies quietly. “I have witnessed their broken destinies again and again. They are all similar, in a way.”

She falls silent. I sense her grief and set my arm around her. She lays her head on my shoulder.

“Do not grieve, Artanis. The healing is nigh. The ships will be here soon, and we all shall return home.” She tenses, and I pull her closer. “Fear nothing. As I said, mother has long since forgiven you. She will be overjoyed to see you and your husband. Fear nothing.”

“Father…” Artanis frees herself from my arms, takes a step back and stands still, looking down. My heart skips a beat. I freeze and hold my breath. What will her next words be? Ilúvatar, please, let her not say…

She raises her eyes. “I am not going back to Valinórë.” Her voice and gaze are both resolute and sad.

The world around me seems to fall apart. Waves fall silent. Colours disappear. Everything goes black and deadly quiet.

Then… I blink and shake my head. My senses return. How long has it been? A heartbeat? An age of the world?

I look around me. The Sun has already disappeared beyond the skyline. The wailing of seabirds sounds like a lament. Artanis’ frightened gaze meets mine. She is supporting me.

“Forgive me this new grief, father!” Tears glisten on her cheeks. “Please, forgive me! But I… we… we cannot go back now. Not only because of Celeborn’s love for Endor. I love this land too. I want to stay and help rebuild it. I see my place here, not over the Sea. Please, understand me, father! I want to accomplish something! Something meaningful, something good!”

She speaks on, and my reasons against her staying fade one by one, like seafoam left behind retreating waves, and those that remain take their being merely in my selfishness. Artanis is right. She can do so much more here, in healing this land and those who will choose to remain. Her strength and her wisdom are needed here much more than they are needed in Aman. But realizing all that does nothing to dull the clawing pain in my heart, and for a long time I find no words.

“Please, speak to me, father,” Artanis whispers. “Say something. Be angry, reproach me. But do not stand thus in silence.”

I draw a deep breath. I cannot add more guilt and sorrow to the burden my child already carries.

“I understand you, Artanis.” She looks at me with apparent disbelief. I take her hands. “I truly do.”

“So… you will not try to dissuade me?” she asks hesitantly.

“I will not. I trust your wisdom and respect your decisions.”

“And… mother?”

“I will explain her everything.” I seal away the cold that rises at the thought.

She embraces me tightly and hides her face on my chest. “I am so grateful to you, father! I hoped you would understand.”

“I understand.” I hold her close for a few moments, then step back. “Go, speak with your husband. He will want to know this.” She hesitates, but I shake my head. “Go, daughter. I will be well. I shall walk along the shore for a while yet.”

I do not know where I find the strength to smile.

She considers me closely, then lightly touches my cheek ere leaving. I watch her retreating form until she disappears among the tents. Then I turn back towards the Sea. The waves still shimmer with the reflection of sunset. Hot tears rise to my eyes, and I squeeze them shut. In vain. The tears find the way, and I sink to my knees on the cool sand.