Shore Beyond the Shadowy Sea by Quente

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Beyond the world the wayward Star

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The next day, Elfwine went to find Fëanor to warn him of Fingon’s words, but before he could, he met Fëanor at the door returning for breakfast.

“In the early hours of the morning, Master Pengolodh and I found the correct reference.” Fëanor said, eyes gleaming as he sat beside Elfwine at the table. “We deciphered the coefficient to the equation, which resulted in providing the amount of force we need to bend space and time and send you back to the correct when.”

Elfwine breathed a sigh of relief. “Just in time. I was hard pressed last night when I spoke to King Turgon and his brother, and felt certain I had accidentally revealed the truth of your paths between worlds,” he said. “Fingon threatened to watch your every move, today.”

“Well, Fingon can be at peace instead,” Fëanor said, making a face. “The only thing that I have left to decipher is from whence to launch you.”

“...Launch?” Elfwine asked, when an Elf of Ecthelion’s house came to them to announce visitors.

They rose to greet the guests. Fingon entered, leading Elenwë. She was clad in a mantle of blue that day, with gems set in her hair to mirror her shining eyes.

Elfwine felt his heart climb into his throat, and found his tongue cleaving to the roof of his mouth. No words at all came to him as he bowed low before her.

“Did I not say I would introduce you?” Fingon said to Elfwine. “Elenwë, you have struck him dumb.”

A plague on Elves! Elfwine thought, and blushed as he said, “Your pardon, Queen Elenwë! I mean no disrespect to you. I spent my fostering years in the court of Queen Arwen at Minas Tirith, and long my fæder pledged himself to her as her knight, for to him, her loveliness was unsurpassed. And yet, I find that I must gainsay him. If she is starlight, your light is as golden as the sun on the birches in the Courtyard of the Gods.”

“That’s a start,” Fingon said encouragingly. “It is always wise to compare Elves to different types of light on trees.”

“Arwen Undomíel is my twice-great-granddaughter,” Elenwë said. “Now I see how persuasive she must have found the admiration of Men!”

Elenwë stepped toward Elfwine and put her slender fingers beneath his chin. She tilted his face up to hers – she was taller by a handspan. Elfwine willed his cheeks to cease their flushing, but met her bright eyes.

“Oh, you are a child,” Elenwë said. “The only Man I know is my son-in-law Tuor, and I met him long after he attained the lifespan of the Firstborn. You are young to have been dragged into the workings of the Valar and their dealings with my husband!”

“I am young, it is true,” Elfwine said, “And yet I know that my heart has never felt more at peace than it has here, in Gondolin, most beautiful city in any realm. And seeing you within this city, like the brightest gem in a casket, I can understand why Gimli son of Gloin was moved to ask for a strand of Lady Galadriel’s hair.”

Fëanor looked vaguely disgruntled at those words. “Come and sit, everyone! Ecthelion’s household has been kind enough to lay out enough breakfast for a growing Man, which is nearly enough for all of us, provided his hunger is slaked.”

Elfwine sat, sheepishly. He felt he would never stop blushing.

“Fair words,” Fingon said, “But you shifted metaphors. Is my sister-in-law sun on the leaves, or a gem? You must pick one and stick to it.”

“Hush!” Elenwë said, smiling. “He speaks his heart, and it touches me.”

Elfwine drank in her smile, feeling himself warm all the way through at her regard.

Fingon turned to Fëanor then. “How goes your search for a path home for this young knight?”

“Oh, it’s done, save for one thing: a ship to send him in,” Fëanor said, sending Fingon a sharp glance. “And don’t worry, I shall leave my notes on the process here with Pengolodh.”

“Hmm,” said Fingon, eyes narrowing.

“A ship? That is easy enough,” Elenwë said. “My grandson has quite an extraordinary ship, and he might be persuaded to pause by Gondolin one night to take on an additional sailor.”

Grandson…ship. “Vingílotë!” Elfwine cried, leaping to his feet. “Oh, will I have the chance to ride upon her? The shipwrights of Dol Amroth shape all of our ships after Vingílotë – Mithrellas had a carved swan on the prow in her honor.”

Elenwë asked Fingon, “Are all children of Men thus? His Fëa is burning so fiercely, everything is a wonder to him.”

“They were the best part of this realm,” Fingon said. “Indeed, Men ever spurred us to action, and never allowed us to take a century or two to listen to the clouds, or wait for the Valar to play their next part.”

“Vingílotë – yes, that would be very expeditious, if you don’t mind arranging it, Elenwë! Although that means we shall have to say farewell to Elfwine all the sooner,” Fëanor said.

And there it was. Elfwine had tried to prepare himself, of course. He’d always known that he must depart, that the hour of his departure would give him pain. And yet the knowledge that the day was set ached in his chest.

“We shall set the date of his departure for a week hence, then, if Elfwine does not mind the delay.” Elenwë said. “Many of our kindred are gathering here to see the city. I have invited your lady Nerdanel, Fëanor, and whichever of your sons can be persuaded to join her, and my husband’s cousins Finrod and Galadriel. Would you stay and meet them, Elfwine?”

Elfwine remembered Elladan’s words from long ago that he would meet Galadriel, and felt a shiver run through him. “I will,” Elfwine said. “My meeting with her was long foretold, and so it shall be.”

~

Afterwards, Elfwine went down to the south part of the city, wandering alone on a path that wound past many of the fountains and letting each one’s song ease the ache in his soul. But eventually, following some compulsion innate to his upbringing, he made his way toward the stables.

“I know, lady,” Elfwine said to Súretal in the language of his fæder, which was obviously the language of horses, “you have been very patient with Ecthelion and his people! Thank you for staying in this little stone house when you could have been running on the fields of the Tumladen, under the sun.”

Tuor walked into the stable. “I told Fëanor you would be here, but he led me on a merry chase pointing me south,” he said. “I’ve been seeking you, but you have eluded me this day. I hunted you by word of mouth around nearly all of the fountains, were you marking each one off a list?”

“Your pardon, kinsman! My time is short here. If only I were paper, Gondolin could inscribe itself on me in indelible ink,” Elfwine said, and Tuor saw in a shaft of sun from the stable window that his eyes were red. “But Súretal longs for open fields – would you ride with me today? I want to ride her one last time before…before I depart, and she goes back home to the sweet pastures of Helevorn.”

“I will ride with you, although I much prefer a boat, or my own feet!” Tuor eyed the Mearas skeptically.

“Ah, perhaps this fellow then,” Elfwine said, and made some arrangements with the stable master for a patient old gelding of mingled blood, large enough to seat Tuor. He saddled the horse, and together, he and Tuor set forth.

“I thought I would go west today, and see Idril’s tunnel,” Elfwine said.

“A fine choice.” Tuor directed them then, leading them westward from the Square of the King on a wide avenue set on the north and south sides by many large houses, each seeming to Elfwine the size of Meduseld. “This is the Way of the Nobles. These houses are for the lords of the eleven houses of Gondolin, aside from the king’s,” he said. “You can likely imagine how they jostled to be closest to Turgon! The politics of that choice kept us in meetings for weeks.”

Elfwine laughed to think of it, and admired the houses built in marble and stone, each sporting its device on the tallest of its spires. “It is strange to imagine that Elves have such things as tedious council meetings,” he said.

“Here more than most, too! And perhaps you did not know this, but you have spawned just such a tedious meeting yourself. I came to find you on an errand from Queen Elenwë,” Tuor said. “I hear that you have pledged yourself to her as her knight, as your father Éomer did to my great-granddaughter.”

Elfwine worked that out in his head for a moment and nodded. “It is true,” he said. “For whatever that is worth, in the days I have left here.”

“She bade me clad you in the livery of her house, the newly minted House of the Queen. I would describe the many intricacies and details of suddenly creating a thirteenth house of Gondolin, but there is no need to bore you.” Tuor took a tabard from his satchel and handed it to Elfwine.

Elfwine smiled, remembering the words of Amrod and Amras: when Men are touched by the Valar, they generally have a suitable wardrobe provided to them, even if it is entirely ornamental. “My apologies to you for yet another long meeting,” Elfwine said, draping the tabard over Súretal’s neck to look at it.

The tabard was the gold of a noon day, and the circle upon the front of it contained a saffron and orange rayed sun, its eight rays touching the edges of the circle. Wriggling about on his horse for a moment, Elfwine pulled the tabard over his head and rebelted Naurmacil over it.

The moment he did so, Elfwine felt something shift and change inside of him.

Elfwine had fallen in love with a city, and pledged himself to its queen: for good or ill, he would never again question who he was or where he belonged. In his heart, it was here.

“Ah, that looks fine on you!” Tuor said, admiringly. “First knight of the House of the Queen.”

And then Tuor fell silent, looking at him. “Strange,” he said slowly. “I have seen one who looks like you, in clothing with this device, at Alqualonde, working amid the sailors there. But no – clearly it must be someone else – maybe someone of the house of Ingwion.”

Elfwine did not mark his words, for he touched the embroidery on his chest with wonder. How did the queen manage to work it in an hour or two? Was it by Elf magic?

And then Elfwine remembered a question that he needed to have answered before he departed, or he’d never hear the end of it from Eldarion. “Kinsman, will you tell me the answer to a riddle long posed by scholars? What happened to you and the lady Idril after you set out in a boat for the west? By your very presence here, it is clear your mission did not end poorly.”

“This part does not make it into the tales, does it? We were at sea for forty days and nights when Ossë stirred the waves against us…” Tuor said, and as they wended their way toward the west slope of the city, he told Elfwine the ending of his tale.

It was fine to ride Súretal in the fields of the Tumladen under the bright sun, and it was a wonder surpassing many to have Tuor son of Huor tell him the history of Idril’s Tunnel, and all the events before and after it, as Elfwine looked upon it with his own eyes.

As the light faded toward evening and they returned on the road to the city, Elfwine felt the joy of this day fill him to overflowing, and he felt tears on his cheeks again.

“Elfwine, what ails you?” Tuor said, concerned. “Does it pain you so much to think of returning home? I heard from Fingon that the time is set. Are you not glad to rejoin your family, and the life you left behind?”

Elfwine looked at Tuor, and then away, and Tuor sighed. “No, my words are ridiculous, are they not? Of course it hurts to depart, and know that you might never return! Elves cannot contemplate mortality for long – it confuses them to think of Men and their short lives. But for the time that you have here – do not hide from your friends as you did today; we would enjoy your company while we may have it.”

“I thought of sparing myself more pain at parting by hiding myself away until the time came,” he admitted to Tuor.

Tuor gave him a glance that was as reproachful as any of Turgon’s, and Elfwine could not help but smile. “Fine, I am persuaded,” he said, his fingers tangling in Súretal’s mane. “I am leaving the larger part of my heart here anyway.”

~

And so the glad days passed.

When the afternoon of the day of his departure arrived, Elfwine, in his livery, stood near the throne of the queen. As a prince of Rohan, Elfwine was used to such panoply, and had been a page in the court of King Aragorn and Queen Arwen often when he was in Minas Tirith – but this was the first and last time he would perform such a role for Elenwë, and he stood straight and proud before all of the curious gazes.

Elenwë radiated her quiet approval, and Turgon cast glances at him out of the corner of his eye, amusement writ large upon his usually grave expression.

Soon Ecthelion announced the arrival of guests of the House of Finarfin, as well as Lord Celeborn, High Queen Nerdanel, and her son Maedhros. There was a ceremony of welcome, of course, in which Finrod and Turgon strove to outdo each other with flowery words about opening hidden cities to endless possibilities, but eventually a cup of welcome was passed, and Elfwine was dismissed to greet his friends.

Maedhros embraced him, and then looked him up and down. “I have questions regarding your attire, young friend.”

“Ah. I found my Elf princess,” Elfwine said in return, grinning. “And Nolofinwëans, too.”

“It is difficult to avoid them,” Maedhros agreed, and turned to find Fingon standing behind him.

“And why should anyone avoid us?” Fingon asked mildly, looping an arm over Maedhros’s shoulder. “I have heard many interesting stories from Elfwine, and feel like you might be able to enlighten me on a point or two.”

“Perhaps I will be able to, and perhaps not,” Maedhros said, and let himself be led off with a backward grimace at Elfwine.

Elfwine turned then to see Lady Galadriel walking toward him. She rivaled Elenwë in her beauty, of course, but the light in her eyes was that of a fell warrior of many battles. She was mighty like his aunt Eowyn, but ancient of years, and power radiated from her. He could see why Gimli revered her: if Arwen was starlight, and Elenwë the light upon the leaves, here was the burning forge of creation itself.

He bowed low to her. “Lady Galadriel, Elladan son of Elrond once foretold that we would meet, and lo! It has come to pass beyond the veil of the world.”

Galadriel stepped closer and closer and stared at him, and Elfwine found that while he could misdirect Turgon and Fingon, he could not fend off the pressure of Galadriel’s mind. And so he opened his mind to her fully – showing her his love for her realm, and his pain to leave it, and the sense of duty that pulled him away. And, eventually, Fëanor’s pathways between worlds.

She finally smiled at him in a way that looked – strangely – amused. In soundless words pressed deep into his mind, she said, Ah, so that was it. Elfwine Entulessë – We meet again.

“You are anticipated,” Galadriel said aloud, and beckoned forward two of her retinue.

That was strange.

But then, two people that Elfwine knew well came up to him, and he shouted in astonishment.

“Legolas – Gimli!” Elfwine said.

“Now I told you it would be here in the king’s hall,” Gimli said to Legolas. “We shall simply have to tug him into the dolphin courtyard.”

“Ah, but he said we would meet in the dolphin courtyard. Perhaps he misremembered the exact details of it,” Legolas responded.

“What?” Elfwine said. Legolas gripped one of his arms, and Gimli the other, and to the sound of Galadriel’s bright laughter, they broke away from the party.

They tugged him into a courtyard on the quieter, farther side of Turgon’s dwelling. The courtyard was beautiful, of course – it held a small fountain in the shape of a leaping dolphin, singing to the ever so slightly neglected trailing vines of morning glories. Elfwine supposed it was difficult to keep track of so many courtyards and fountains.

But then Legolas embraced Elfwine, and Gimli did as well, and they looked long at him.

“I greet you, friends?” Elfwine said, uncertainly.

“Now,” Legolas said, “Heed me, Elfwine. You will depart tonight upon Vingelot. The passage will be tumultuous, and you will fall from the ship to land at Himling Island. Do not despair when you arrive – before long, you will see us. We will land our boat upon the shore beneath the ruins of the keep.”

“We are there because we’d heard rumor that the ruin on Himling reverts sometimes to its form of old. We mean to search the ruin for books on the building of a boat to sail west,” Gimli said, “But when you see us, you will tell us that you have what we seek: a diagram of a ship. This one.” Gimli handed him a leather document case, well-oiled against water. “Ah – what else I am missing, Elf?”

“Both blueprints are within?” Legolas asked.

“Of course,” Gimli said, smiling.

“You will tell us your tale,” Legolas continued, “And we will not believe you, at first, thinking you fevered from your shipwreck. But then you will give me this –” Legolas handed him a ring of black metal, carved with crossed antlers. “It is the ring that Elu Thingol of Doriath gave to my grandfather. It has long been lost to my family.”

Elfwine took the ring and put it on, and looped the document case about his shoulders. Then he took a deep breath, feeling the beginnings of distress. “I am glad that you will journey – have journeyed – here, and that I will assist you – have assisted you – on the way,” he said. “But I shall miss you when you depart Middle-earth.”

“Elfwine, we shall not depart while you are alive in that realm,” Legolas said.

“Aye, do not concern yourself overmuch with our parting. But for now, my lad, as you sometimes say to us: You are called to feast, and revel, and enjoy. And if we can’t do that when the time is right, what is the point? Oh – and one more word that you wished to deliver to yourself: Fear not, for no time at all has passed upon your arrival home. But on your last night, avoid King Finrod the Great, for he will trap you for many an hour, when you wish to be elsewhere,” Gimli said, chuckling.

“My friends,” Elfwine said, many questions on his tongue. He decided on the most important. "The Mithrellas -- her crew, her captain. Were they spared?"

"Aye. All of them spared, found ashore near Mithlond," Gimli said.

Elfwine's relief was profound. He gathered Gimli and Legolas up in another embrace, and did not ask any more of the dozen questions in his head. But his heart forbode that strange days lay ahead.

~

They feasted, and sang, and danced, while the long light of the summer evening lingered over the courtyards and gardens and spires of that white city. Her fountains sang brightly with the joy of being as alive now as ever they had been in the early strength of her years.

Elfwine stood beside his queen and watched as Maedhros and Fingon danced with each other: a twirling, complex set of steps that looked more like a duel than a duet, and ended in spins so swift that they became a blur of motion. When they paused at the end, gazing upon each other with fierce eyes, everyone’s breath was baited to see what would come after – and Maedhros broke their impasse, kneeling before Fingon to kiss his hand, to great applause.

And then Elenwë, Nerdanel, and Galadriel came forth and danced together before the mingled kindred of Elves, and the grace and sorrow of their movement was long remembered in the histories of Beleriand Risen, and called ever after the Dance of the Reunited Houses.

Elfwine remembered it in later years as a vision of the loveliness that had passed forever from Middle-earth. But many of the company wept to see it, for Turgon’s people had lived long ages without hope of ever meeting their Noldor kin in their own fair city, and great was the rejoicing now to see them at last in Gondolin.

And in the hour of this joy, Elfwine saw Finrod the Great approaching him with a curious light in his eye. Elfwine, heeding the words of Gimli, dodged swiftly into a corridor. Then he suddenly felt a hand take his – pulling him along a dark passageway of the king’s house into a room where many books lay upon the tables and shelves.

Pengolodh stood there, twisting his hands together, eyes on the floor.

Elfwine had not spent any time with Pengolodh; the Elf had spent every hour since his arrival closeted away with either Turgon or Fëanor.

“These are to take back with you,” Pengolodh said, indicating a satchel.

Elfwine looked with wonder within the contents of the bag. “This is a princely treasure indeed,” Elfwine said, seeing that it was filled with books and scrolls from the Gondolin library. “But why? Is it from Fëanor?”

“Each one was requested very specifically,” Pengolodh said, and stopped. “Oh, this is difficult!” And to Elfwine’s deep and lasting confusion, Pengolodh stepped forward and slid his fingers into Elfwine’s hair, holding his head firmly in place.

Then he leaned down and gave Elfwine a warm kiss on the mouth. Pulling back, Pengolodh smiled as Elfwine stood gaping in surprise, staring up at him. “You’ll want to translate all of those into Westron, they are in a rather ancient language at present.”

Elfwine took a breath, feeling another strange adjustment in his heart, as if the final piece of a puzzle had fallen into place. “It was you,” he said. “I saw you, in the waters of Tarn Aeluin. I saw us both there.”

“I know,” Pengolodh said, and his face was carved for a moment in sorrowful lines as his hands lingered in Elfwine’s hair. “I know well the fate of those whose faces appear in that water.”

Elfwine’s hands had risen to Pengolodh’s hair as well, and the silver of it was soft – so soft – beneath his fingers. “But how you came to your regard for me, I know not! I depart in an hour, and you have given me yet another thing to think on.”

“Do not ask me that question, or why I must give you these books,” Pengolodh said. “But I am here, Elfwine Entulessë, as I have been bidden!”

Touching his fingers to his mouth and feeling warmth lingering upon his skin, Elfwine said. “I am parting from you with more questions than answers.”

Pengolodh looked torn for a moment, but set his expression firmly. “Ever you have had more questions, and this time I cannot give you answers,” he said, tugging the curved edge of Elfwine’s ear. “I shall not see you off tonight. But be safe on your way. Be safe, Elfwine!”

He kissed Elfwine one more time, soft and lingering.

And then Pengholodh filled his arms with the satchel of books and firmly shunted him out into the corridor. When Elfwine turned back toward the door, he heard the sound of a clicking lock.

“A plague on Elves,” Elfwine muttered, sorely confused.

~

When the moon had finally set and dawn was near, a star descended to the Fountain of the King, and the company all came out to the courtyard to greet it.

Elfwine went to get his things, trying desperately hard to not find Pengolodh again and demand answers, or another kiss. Instead, he gritted his teeth and tried to think of nothing at all.

Vingelöté dropped anchor directly into the fountain’s base, and soon a long ladder unfurled from over her side. Without waiting for his son to descend, Tuor leapt onto the ladder, hailing those above. Hands gripped his arms and tugged him into the ship, and Elfwine heard joyous greetings.

Elfwine looked upward with great wonder – for the ship was indeed Vingelöté and not the ship of mithril and glass that the Ese gave to Ëarendil, according to Bilbo’s song. The ship above him was built indeed of wood from Nimbrethil, with silver sails and lanterns, and her prow was carved into a swan – Elfwine loved her immediately.

“Is it time for our farewell, so soon?” Fëanor asked. He handed Elfwine an hourglass girded with silver, filled with faintly glimmering starlight on one side, and moonlight upon the other. “If we have the luck to meet again beyond the breaking of Arda, I will remember you, Vandameldo! And mark me, do not activate the toggle that combines the two sides until you are just before the bend in the sea; the sailors will let you know when you are there.”

Elfwine carefully stowed the device in one of his many satchels, and then turned to grip Fëanor in an embrace. “I will miss you,” he said. “Thank you.”

Then he handed Fëanor an apple stolen from the table at breakfast. “Please give this to my lady of the Mearas, Súretal, best of horses. If I could steal her I would.”

“Be content with your sword,” Fëanor said, chuckling, but took the apple and stepped back.

Elfwine bowed to the assembled House of Fingolfin, and especially its lady. He was still wearing her crest, and he saluted her. “I know that I will take up other devices and titles in my life, but this one will ever be closest to my heart,” he said.

Elenwë smiled at him. “Go, Prince Elfwine! May your reign be long and joyous! I have made you the waybread of the House of Fingolfin for your journey. It is in your pack. And it is,” she shot a glance toward Galadriel and Nerdanel, “more sustaining than some.”

Elfwine took her hand and kissed it, and looked again upon her face, so that he might remember it beyond the veil between worlds.

“May your days be blessed,” Elenwë said, and her breath hitched. “Turgon, I feel strange!”

“It is hard to say farewell to the Edain,” Turgon said, and pulled her gently back against him.

Sailors came to help Elfwine gather his things, and with one last glance around him, he clambered up the ladder, trying very hard not to simply run off and hide until they all forgot to send him back to Middle-earth.

When he pulled himself aboard the great ship, Ëarendil came to greet him. He was as tall as Tuor, but had his mother Idril’s look to him, for he was tanned and fair of hair.

“I hear from my father that you are also a sailor,” Ëarendil said to Elfwine. “We are always glad to have people assist us. Come and let me show you the ship. My father will be taking a shift or two with us as well – it is long since I have spent any time with him.”

~

When they came to the bend in the sea road, Elfwine made sure to keep hold of his satchels.

“Fair winds and following skies!” Elfwine called to Tuor and Ëarendil and the sailors, “Be warned – I am switching on the device!”

They all braced themselves, and Elfwine toggled the switch that allowed the two lights in the hourglass to meet. Duly warned by Legolas and Gimli, he gripped his satchels to him as he awaited the result.

There came a great flash as if he held a star in his hand, and noise, and a long, swift plummeting sensation. With a rough thump that utterly winded him, Elfwine landed again in Middle-earth.

“I think I prefer the Ese’s path,” he gasped to the sky, rubbing the bruises upon his side. He let himself flop back to the ground. And then he lay quietly for a while, feeling the familiar air around him, and hearing the sound of a familiar sea – and the familiar hard ache of longing to be somewhere else.

Well. He was back.

It was just evening, with a few bright stars beginning to appear in the west. Elfwine stared up at the star far above him. It seemed to hover there for a time, but before long it did a very un-starlike thing and turned about in the sky. A moment later, it winked out – which was a fine decision, for a star exactly like it was rising.

When morning came, a small boat pulled up to the shore of the island. Elfwine, who had been staring at the stars and thinking all that long night, arose.

Elfwine took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and descended the slope.

---

Chapter End Notes

• "And so the glad days passed." -- This is me trimming 4k words worth of Elfwine gushing over Elenwë in the truest manner of courtly love. Oy!