Until the final flicker of life’s embers by Quente

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Tall ships and tall kings

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They lingered a while over their breakfast, rice porridge topped with pickled radishes and shredded dried fish, eaten on one of the many terraces that overlooked the bay. It was a fair morning in late summer, and the fog lingered around the bird-prowed ships in the harbor until it dissipated in the sun.

Dior sipped on the mint tea. He felt a coldness in his gut, wondering if the lightness he’d felt ever since his escape from the Halls of Men was to be short-lived. He’d told himself that any amount of pain was worth facing, for the joy of finding Nimloth again. He hoped that he was right.

Finally, reluctantly, Olue began his tale. He recounted the history of Beleriand, and the part that Elwing had played in summoning help. It took some time to tell, and before Olue had told of the final battle and Eärendil’s part in it, he noticed that Dior was trembling.

Olue called for wine.

“We are almost at an end,” Olue said, “but I see now that this news is painful for you to discover, for it concerns our family.”

Dior took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, pressing his hands to his eyes. Lúthien had drifted over to the stone wall of the balcony, staring out at the water as she listened to the tale of the agony of her grandchildren.

Elwing. Hunted and hounded, abandoned and thrust into power; motherhood and suddenly forced into a decision: to keep the jewel from those who served the enemy’s purpose and abandon her children, or stay and be slain… The decision was impossible, and yet Elwing had done her best.

“I am…proud of my daughter,” Dior said, keeping his voice level with some difficulty. “Yet I am ashamed that she was forced to carry the weight of our expectations while barely full grown. And I fear for my lost sons. And…it is so long ago that my rage cannot now have a purpose.” He could not describe his feelings, save for one: sleep in the Halls of Men would have been a blessing, compared to this. He nearly wanted to go back.

Olue nodded, pouring the wine. Dior took a swallow, and then drained the cup to the lees. Olue poured him another.

“You will need it, the tale has one turn left.”

And then he spoke of the ending of Beleriand, and the part that Eärendil played in slaying Ancalagon – and the damned jewels, again, driving Nimloth’s murderer to his suicide, and the last remaining brother to fading on the shores of the world.

But the very worst news was that Dior’s country was drowned: the trees, mountains, and caverns that he’d known and loved. Menegroth and all the kingdoms of the Elves in Beleriand – every part of it was under the waves.

At the end of the story, Dior stood and joined his mother at the balcony’s wall. His sons were lost forever, then. Sweet Elúrin, loving Eluréd, lost beneath the waves. Where did they stray, that they could not even be housed in the Halls of Men?

After a time, Lúthien put his arm around him, and waited as he wiped the tears from his eyes.

“I see,” Dior said at last. “My daughter is doomed to remain in that tower, waiting for her husband, trapped upon his ship. I feel…I feel that there is much left to learn, and mourn, and think on, and what I must do next is be with her, with them.”

“I am sorry,” Olue said. “I am greatly sorry. But you are here, and in my heart I rejoice that something at least was spared from the victory.”

“Was it a victory?” Lúthien asked, and her expression was a match to what lay within Dior’s heart.

~

They returned to Uilon’s house that afternoon.

Dior was lost in silence, contending with his thoughts. He grieved, and would grieve for a long time: for his sons lost to Arda, for Beleriand lost to the sea, and for the home he’d loved. Even his first fair home on the island of Tol Galen was under the waves, although perhaps his second home, abandoned at the foot of Lamath Lanthir, still remained.

Líson, who had been with them to listen to the tale of Dior’s children, pulled Uilon aside and spoke to him softly. They had a quiet dinner that night, and Dior was given the peace to dwell upon his memories.

They agreed to stay for some days before moving on, so that they could adjust to the ways of their new life, and gather things for the road. Lúthien said she would travel with Dior to greet her granddaughter, before finding Nessa.

“But I think I have a purpose now,” Lúthien said, thoughtfully. “It is not enough that I dance. I must dance in memory of Beleriand, and bring it to the minds of others, that they may know its beauty along with its darkness.”

That night, Dior could not sleep, and walked the shell-lined streets to the harbor instead. Standing on a stone pier, he watched the waves lap against the pillars of a docks. The sea held everything for him now – it cradled his home in its vast lap, holding it close in its sleep.

But how, Dior thought in anguish, how could any who had lived in Beleriand, Golodh or Sindar or Man, stand to know of it and continue their lives as usual, knowing that the home they’d bled for was utterly gone?

For that, Dior had no answer, nor could he answer it in himself. He was torn between flinging himself at the Valar and demanding they right the wrong that they and their cousin Morgoth had done to the land – or dwelling silently with his grief in whatever way he would, since the destruction of his home was long over. He came to no conclusion, and remained staring at the sea until Uilon found him the next morning to lead him back to breakfast.

~

But that day, and throughout that week, it became clear that the citizens of Alqualondë knew, somehow, that Dior and Lúthien had Returned. But they pretended very hard that they did not know who was staying at Uilon’s house.

The denizens of Olue’s city filed by the door of Uilon’s house, leaving things behind. “I hear you have distant cousins staying with you, Uilon, newly Returned,” one visitor said loudly, leaving some folded quilts upon the table. “I wish to leave a few gifts for their household, in thanks for all that you’ve done for us.”

“And on their behalf I thank you,” Uilon replied, chuckling, “although you know I’d trade you fish for your fine quilts any day!”

And quietly, over the days that followed, the house began to fill with goods – fair garments that were gifts from the weaver’s quarter. Baskets and pots and packs made with travel in mind, from Uilon’s neighbors; pairs of boots with the sturdiest of felted soles from a relation of Líson; preserved fruit and fish from the elves around the market; and waybread baked by Olue’s wife, the princess Váialóre herself.

One day, near the day they’d marked for departure, two hardy ponies arrived at their door, all decked out in travel tack. The messenger who led them, a graceful elf with white hair tied up in strands of pearls, bowed and delivered words from Prince Olue. “The Prince bids you to visit again, when you may, and bring your daughter and son-in-law with you. He desires to take you out on Canuahen, where Váialóre is captain, and will bring you to explore the many islands in the bay.”

“I desire it!” Dior said. “Please give him our thanks. We will return, if the Valar allow.”

~

They bade farewell to Uilon and Líson early the next day, before the sun rose to touch the mist of the harbor.

“I will remain a while at my daughter’s tower to the north, along the Araman road,” Dior said to them. “Come and see us when you next wander, and bring Líson with you!”

Uilon would accept nothing in return for their hospitality, save an opportunity to see Lúthien dance once more, someday. “It has stuck in my head,” he said. “Powerful-like, as if I’d seen a force of nature alight and take on the shape of all my sea longing.”

“I will return and dance for you,” Lúthien said, “and for my uncle’s court. After I finish it, you will be the first to see the whole of Beleriand Lost.”

“We eagerly await your return,” Líson said, smiling. They clambered up on their ponies and headed through the city and out of the great gates.

~

Birds circled them as they approached the lonely tower. It stood on a spur of land that sloped down from the coastal road to the east of the Pelóri, standing tall from the wood that surrounded it.

The building was strangely constructed – it was composed of two tall buildings set side by side, with a high platform at the top between them that looked almost like a high wooden dock. No flags or pinions adorned them, but on the rooftops of each there were beacons built of mirrors, angled to refract the light of the sun by day, and great lanterns by night, high into the sky.

Terns and herons, pelicans and storks, mighty seahawks and narrow-beaked ibises flew toward them, and circled about their heads in a noisy honor guard, the closer they came to the towers.

Lúthien looked up and laughed at all the turning and squawking and wheeling. “Be at peace,” she said to the birds, and sought in her pack for crumbs of waybread to scatter. “We are kin here.”

When they arrived at the cleared yard before the towers, they saw a silver-haired figure emerge from the door, and Dior felt his heart clench in his chest. He suddenly regretted the years he’d missed in forgetfulness and sleep, for here was Elwing, grown to her full stature, standing tall amid the birds.

Strong she was like Nimloth, and just as wild, with all of Nimloth’s silver hair. But Elwing’s face was formed of Dior’s own long bones and pointed chin, and she was staring at them both in perplexity and suspicion as they dismounted and walked forward.

“You,” Elwing said to Dior, “You look like my Ada, but not as he was in portraits – you are more elven, and should not be, for my father was half Man, and is with them in their Halls. And you,” she turned to Lúthien, “Look much like the tapestries of my grandmother in her youth! Who are you, and why do you come to haunt me thus?”

“Elwing. I am Dior indeed. I will tell you how this came to pass,” Dior said, holding very still, feeling as if losing all of Beleriand might be a fair trade for having this piece of his heart returned to him.

Elwing came forward a cautious step or two. “There were many elves who came to me in the guise of friendship, in Sirion, who were not. And I hear the Maiar walk this earth in many guises as well, and I sense this power in you two. And yet I do not trust what I see or feel, for my father is dead, my grandmother is dead, and should be beyond the earth in peace! I would not wish my father to be remade here, for all that he loved has passed away.”

“Oh, I know,” said Dior, his words heartfelt. “When I learned of all that had happened, I nearly ran back to the Halls of Men. Let me share my mind with you, Elwing, and you shall see how it is that we are here.”

“I suppose,” said Elwing, coming to him. “And if you take any liberties with my mind, I shall not hesitate to call my birds upon you.”

Dior smiled, feeling a surge of pride in his heart for his brave child, threatening him in her uncertainty. “Here.”

And between them, carefully, carefully, Dior and Lúthien shared their memories with Elwing, revealed the truth of their journey – Lúthien awakening amid the quietness of the Halls of Men, Dior’s similar awakening, their escape and travels with Uilon, their meeting with Olue, and learning of Elwing and all that had transpired in Beleriand.

“I yield,” Elwing said, after taking all of this in, and with a leap, threw her arms around Dior’s shoulders. “Ada. Ada! You’ve returned, beyond hope, and beyond the walls of the world, amid death, and loss, and destruction, beyond all despair – you’ve returned.”

~

“I think you will come to love Eärendil,” Elwing said, standing beside Lúthien and Dior on the high platform in the early morning to welcome her husband home.

The Silmaril sang a greeting in Dior’s mind as Eärendil slowly steered Vingilot closer, and Dior steeled himself for it, sighing. “Yes, there you are,” he muttered. Somehow, this jewel of power had remained in the hands of his family through all the wrinkles of Beleriand’s history, and they were not rid of it yet.

The jewel shone with a painful brightness to welcome its previous bearers, and Dior closed his eyes to fend off the wave of light that reached for him. But it felt different, Dior thought – and realized that his mortality was no longer an impediment to his reception of its power. Well, there was that, at least.

Dior wondered how Eärendil dealt with it, with the slow corrosion of the Silmaril against his mannish nature. Maybe living in Aman helped?

Eärendil tied his glass-and-silver boat to the high dock, leaving the Silmaril in a lantern hung on the mast, and hopped off to come and greet his wife. When he saw that she was accompanied, he called, “It is rare to see guests here – is it kin of mine?”

“Beyond all hope, and unlooked for, it is my own father Dior, and grandmother Lúthien too,” Elwing said, smiling as she placed Eärendil’s hand in Dior’s. They clasped hands, and Dior stared, and stared – it was not every day that two peredhel met.

His law-son was of a height with him, tall for a half-Man, with hair that was a bright shade of gold. Something about his clear blue eyes felt instantly recognizable to Dior. It was the slightly bemused look of a man who’d been forced to deal with elves his whole life, and Dior felt that expression deeply.

“Out of the many questions I have, I will settle on this as my first one – how does a peredhel live in Aman, rather than be forced to depart to the Halls of Men?” Dior asked. “My mother and I had to creep our way out.”

“I was given a choice, to live out the fate of my elven nature, or take up the gift of men,” Eärendil said. “Elwing chose to join her fate to Arda’s, and so to be with her, I did the same. All our children have this choice too.”

“Would that such a choice was given to Dior as well,” Luthien said, brow wrinkling.

“I could not be at peace in the Halls of Men, knowing that Nimloth was here,” Dior said. “She has not emerged from Mandos yet – perhaps she grieves Beleriand as I do – but I will gladly live all my years until time’s end beside her when we meet again.”

“And I will say this to you,” Eärendil said, smiling, “I finally understand why my sons have dark hair.”

Lúthien laughed, and then fell silent, her thoughts far away for a moment. “Your son…before we left the Halls of Men…we saw a tall, noble king with hair like ours. We felt a kinship with him.”

“Elros,” Elwing said, her expression turning sorrowful. “We heard. He chose the fate of men – glad am I that he stood beside you in those halls, if only for a little while. His brother Elrond lives still, and helped lead our people to the slopes of Ossiriand, after Beleriand fell. He chose the fate of elves – and perhaps, someday, he shall meet you.”

A grandson. Dior felt a new, troubling ache grow in his heart. His sons might be gone, but he still had someone to worry about, dwelling in whatever land remained. “I would like that.”

Eärendil sighed, and then yawned. “I beg your pardon,” he said, his voice sheepish. “Whenever I return to these shores, it takes my body a moment to get used to the strength of Aman’s energy. But I am home for a few days before I set out again, and would speak more with you tomorrow.”

~

The next day, they walked to the rocky shore below Elwing’s tower, and stared out at the tossing waves of Belegaer while they spoke of many things.

Elwing recounted her own story of her last days in Sirion, and of the choice she was forced to make, to leave her children. Eärendil stood beside her, holding her in the curve of his arm as she spoke.

“I thought I was jumping to my death,” Elwing said, staring into the water. “The Silmaril knew the Golodh only as evil, as tools in the hand of Morgoth, and did not wish to remain with them. I could not fight them and the Silmaril’s power both, for they were mightier than me – and in despair I took the only path that seemed to remain. I do not thank the Silmaril for winnowing my choices to none, in the end. Had I held any other jewel, I would have ransomed it gladly for the lives of my sons. I hope that someday, I may tell Elrond of this.”

It was a comfort, and a blessing, for Dior to be able to speak to his daughter that tell her that he was proud of her decision, even though the choice was bitter.

“When I placed you in the arms of Daeron and put the Silmaril into your pack, and bid him flee, I did the same,” Dior said. “I knew I would face death, and chose to do so, rather than flee with you. I did it to delay the Golodh so that you would live on, but I know that I placed a heavy burden upon you. For that, Elwing – I am sorry.”

“Our line is unlucky in this manner. We have all left our children,” Elwing said. “But maybe someday I will have the luck of my son returned to me.”

Eärendil spoke then of his part in the final battle, and the strange fate that set him into the sky. “And now I sail alone, save when my father Tuor joins me.”

“Tuor? But is he not a man?” Dior asked. “How can that be? Should Tuor not be in a place of honor in the Halls of Men, in the line of your son Elros? And yet we did not see him there.”

Elwing pointed southward and eastward, to the land that lay amid the encircling arc of smaller islands and the curve of the long bay. “The house of Tuor and Idril lies on Tol Eressëa. He remains, as does Eärendil, by the grace of the Valar. They were like second parents to me in Sirion, for a while – I think you will enjoy them, Ada.”

Lúthien furrowed her brow, and Dior turned to her, seeing her distress. He guessed where her mind might have strayed.

“It is unfair,” Lúthien said. “Vastly so, for has Beren not done as much good for Arda as any of the race of Men? Only one thing keeps me from returning to demand his release: he was at peace, slumbering there.”

Lúthien glared out into the sea for another moment, and then sighed, her shoulders slumping. “Once before I sued for his release from the Halls of Men, before the very throne of Mandos. When we find our places here, Dior, and know whether we can ourselves remain – perhaps I will try again to sue for his release, or finally join him in his slumber.”

~

Working around the tower to prepare for Eärendil’s next voyage, Dior found that he liked his law-son greatly – they had much in common as peredhel, but Eärendil also shared Dior’s newfound love of the sea.

They moved fresh stores aboard the delicate ship, and wove fresh ropes out of a strange silver cord.

“After my parents and I fled Gondolin and Elwing took us in at Sirion, I had my very first glimpse of the sea, alongside a father who could not wait to set sail on it,” Eärendil said, smiling at the memory. “It was Tuor who taught me my way around a boat, and he is never happier than when he is aboard one.”

Eärendil told Dior that his father had built a new boat, Gwingwiril the foam-flecked (he’d sent Eärrámë back with Círdan’s sailors), and often sailed amid the islands. “After all the time that he and my mother and their friend Voronwë spent aboard Eärrámë making their way here, and getting quite lost along the route, being on a boat is second nature to him now.”

“Would he be willing to take on an apprentice in his craft?” Dior asked, feeling a surge of hope. “I want to learn how to ride on these waters!”

“We shall ask him to come, and you can press the question to him yourself. Elwing – can we borrow a bird?”

Elwing whistled down a large gray gull from the crowd of birds that flew nigh her wherever she went, and after Eärendil wrote a note for his father to come and visit them in vague yet urgent terms, the messenger-gull was soon making its way southward over the waves.

“Useful, aren’t they,” Elwing said cheerfully. “They can be loud, but they’re wonderful for sending messages in a pinch, especially if Tuor and Idril are at sea.”

~

In the days that followed they talked together of the future, and Lúthien spoke of her plan to go and dance with Nessa, if she would allow it.

Eärendil offered the use of his ship to take her over the Pelóri to Nessa’s halls. “I do not offer this to many, but you and Dior have held the Silmaril yourselves – it cannot harm you or tempt you more than it has.”

“Far from it,” Dior said, glad the stone was still on Vingilot.

“But I thank you, my grandson. I am curious to see Aman from such a height,” Lúthien said. “And forgive me, but I do not have the heart to meet with Tuor quite yet. It would be a torment to me, and I intend to choreograph an elegy to Beleriand, at least, before I return to Beren’s side – or win him free.”

The journey was resolved, and soon came the day of Lúthien and Eärendil’s departure. The light now bound to Eärendil’s brow was reflected and refracted by the ship of mithril and glass and silver around it, until it became so bright that Dior shielded his eyes, glad that his mother’s nature would protect her from the searing glow.

“And if Nessa forces her to return to the Halls of Men – take her into the sky, Eärendil!” Elwing said. “Make sure she is not driven there without choice.”

“It will make for an interesting journey,” Eärendil said, wryly. “But I shall take a gull with me, and send it back to you with the decision.”

~

Dior remained with Elwing, tending to the lanterns and their reflectors on the towers, helping to forage and farm her small garden, and fishing in the little cove below her tower. He had the time now to speak to her about the short years they’d been together, and the long years they’d been apart.

Elwing’s presence was a balm to Dior’s pain, for she and Eärendil had lived through the last years of Beleriand and the final battle for it. Watching her memories in slow increments helped Dior to understand it, and see how the land had been poisoned and destroyed by the enemy even before it was destroyed by the Valar.

Elwing understood Dior’s moments when he became caught in his memories, too.

“I still find it difficult to face any of the people who were with me in Sirion, let alone our own family,” Elwing admitted one night, while they sat staring at the embers of the fire. “No matter why I jumped, I was going to fail someone, and I feel as though choosing the Silmaril’s path meant that I had abandoned them all. That is why I am glad to remain here, although I am often alone – better to be alone than responsible, again, for anyone else.”

“No, Elwing!” Dior said. He gathered her against him, tucking her head onto his shoulder and resting his hand upon her hair. “None of those who think ill of us have felt the pressure of the Silmaril within their own minds – the pressure that bent our wills and sapped our bodies in its pursuit of its own path. It is a harsh thing, that power – it would have killed me too, ere long, as it hastened the end of my parents. None should fault you, and if they do, they do so out of ignorance.”

“I wonder why the stone chose our family as its servants,” Elwing said, wiping her eyes against his shirt. “And lo, we serve it still.”

“That, I do not know.” Dior said. “Eärendil’s fate is hard indeed, and yours with it.”

Dior added this injustice to his list, for the next time he ran across a Vala.

“It is not so bad a life,” Elwing said. “There is joy in pleasing none but myself. I have my birds for company, and every day I learn more of the history of this world, and I have my husband still when his travels allow. And now I have you, Ada – and hopefully Emil soon too?”

“Me, for as long as the Valar will it,” Dior agreed. “But speaking of Nimloth’s return, I had an idea for building a small house near yours, if you would let me?”

“Of course. Law-mother Idril will be glad of some building to do, when she arrives – Princess of Gondolin as she was, she absolutely cannot sit still.”

~

Soon, the gull returned bearing a message from Lúthien. Nessa has agreed, under the condition that I join Beren again in time. I will not sue for his release, but at least I have more time here to create this art.

Dior considered whether this was good news or ill, and eventually decided it was both.