The Longed For That Cometh Beyond Hope by Grundy

Eärendil sighed.

It would have been nice had anyone bothered to explain to him where to go now that they’d agreed to send help to Middle-earth. (Oh, and that they wouldn’t kill him. Apparently Elwing had decided that they were both elves. He hadn’t realized when he’d said she should choose for both of them that the Valar would get her to do it right then. While there were some lingering grumbles from Namo after that about him still being Noldorin and one of the Exiles, none of the other Valar had seemed to be bothered.) Once the business of their council was concluded, the Valar had simply all moved on to other things, other places, or in most cases, both.

Then again, perhaps they’d thought it was obvious. There was only one way to go from Varda and Manwë’s high mountain palace – down. And only one path. Unless the mountain was more changeable than he thought? He really should have brought Elwing. Or asked them to bring her, seeing as they’d been talking to her anyway.

Regardless of her choice, he was betting she would understand this place much better than he did. But he’d been hoping distance might keep her safe – and given Namo’s heavy-handed impulse, he was pretty sure he’d been right to think so.

He sighed and started down the path. He started to hear music maybe halfway down. Ammë had said something about bells in Valimar, hadn’t she? Maybe that was what he was hearing.

It wasn’t until he was lower down the mountain that he could be sure – and could see that Valimar was as packed as Tirion had been empty.

“It is a time of festival, Itarillion.”

He nearly jumped out of his skin, and narrowly missed socking Manwë’s herald on reflex.

“Would you stop doing that?” he grumbled.

Judging by the not-quite-smirk, the answer was no. Next time, maybe he would hit him. Really, if he kept popping out of thin air like that, it was bound to happen sooner or later…

“My lord asked me to ensure you find your grandmother.”

“My grandmother’s alive?”

His father’s mother wouldn’t be here either way, given the ‘no Men in Aman’ prohibition he hadn’t been aware of until Namo made it an issue. His mother’s mother had died on the Ice.

“Your grandfather’s mother,” Eönwe clarified. “She is among the Noldor attending the festival.”

Oh, goody. Wasn’t that something to look forward to – a great-grandmother he’d never met and who probably didn’t have the faintest idea he existed.

“Please tell me I’m not the one who has to tell her my grandfather is dead.”

“She is already aware of that.”

Thank Nienna for small mercies.

“She is also aware her other children are dead. And her husband.”

“You’re quite the ray of sunshine,” Eärendil sighed.

As the path wound down toward the city, Eärendil realized to his discomfort that it ended on what looked to be some sort of platform in the town square. There was no hope he’d be able to slip in quietly unnoticed.

“Do not be uneasy, they will not expect a speech. Even from the long-awaited emissary from Middle-earth.”

Eärendil hastily filled his mind with nonsense poetry to cover how tempting the idea of pushing an ainu off a cliff had just become. Even if it wouldn’t actually damage him – he’d probably just turn into a bird or something.

As they drew close to the city, Eärendil realized he was already an object of curiosity. He should have realized sooner that anyone coming down the mountain would draw attention even when the city wasn’t packed with revelers.

He’d have been far more disconcerted to be met by two people who could only be royalty – one almost certainly Noldorin but unknown to him, the other most likely Vanyarin given he was blonder than Eärendil himself – giving him the ‘who are you and what are you doing here?’ look if he hadn’t just come from talking to all the Valar.

Personally, Eärendil would have just gone with ‘can anyone point me at the Alqualondë road please?’ He had lost what little sense of direction he had on land looping around that blasted mountain so many times, but he wanted to get back to Elwing quickly. And he really wasn’t in a mood for more formality or more people.

Unfortunately, he didn’t speak soon enough – a tactical error, given he already knew how much Eönwë loved a good dramatic speech. He was stuck for it. All he could do was try not to roll his eyes too much or look overly annoyed as his unwanted companion rambled on.

He did glare at the annoying bastard at the gasp – really nearer to a scream – from one of the dark haired women standing close behind the royals when he was finally announced to the Queen of the Noldor and King of the Vanyar as ‘Eärendil Itarillion’.

“Was that really necessary?” he asked in a voice as sharp as an undertone could possibly be.

All he got in return was another of those infuriatingly smug grins before Eönwë skipped out, leaving Eärendil to deal with all further questions on his own.

The crowd, or at least the royal segment of it, surged closer, and Eärendil fought the urge to back away. Not that it would have done him much good – both Queen Findis and King Ingwë moved firmly and quickly to bracket him, which at least had the happy side effect of keeping most others at a slightly more comfortable distance.

The noise in the rest of the square suggested his presence had just become the topic of conversation, so he was relieved to find the people in charge steering him inside quickly. He didn’t much care where inside was, just so long as it got him away from the crowd.

He’d forgotten what it was like to be a junior prince given how short on royals they’d been in Sirion and that he was married to Elwing. He’d also forgotten what large crowds were like…

He supposed the building he’d just been escorted into must be Ingwë’s, and was a bit bemused to find it considerably less fancy than he’d expected for a palace in Aman.

He looked back to the people to find a mix of Vanyarin and Noldorin nobility regarding him in open curiosity, and –

“Glorfindel!” he exclaimed, beyond startled to discover a familiar face from his childhood among them.

But how?

The door they’d just come through burst open again, revealing another person he knew, even if he didn’t recognize the man with her.

“Auntie!”

At last, he felt marginally less lost in a strange land. This wasn’t coming home but at least there were people he knew for family.

Lalwen and Glorfindel stepped forward eagerly to greet him. It quickly turned into a group hug.

“You’ve grown!”

Glorfindel sounded delighted, and almost surprised not to find him still the little boy being carried away from the fallen city. Of course, Eärendil was more than a bit surprised himself…

“You were dead,” he whispered to Glorfindel, still shocked to find him very much not so, the arms around him reassuringly warm and alive.

Eärendil found tears trickling down his face. He thought he’d shed all he had as a boy, but they seemed to have returned along with the dead.

“We both were,” his aunt told him.

At that, Eärendil needed to be helped to a chair.

“But you were in Sirion,” he began in bewilderment, looking to her in shock.

“I was,” she nodded.

His stomach dropped as he understood.

“Who is looking after the boys then?” he asked in horror. “Elwing thought you’d gotten them safely away!”

“I did, but I was fool enough to go back for extra supplies,” Lalwen sighed. “I didn’t know how long we might have to hide in that sea-cave of yours. And that day of all days was when my luck ran out – I was caught short of the secret door. There was nothing left for it but to fight. I lost.”

“She was released from Mandos rather quickly,” Queen Findis added.

Now that he saw them together, it was plain they were sisters. He had to work not to stare.

“I suspect Namo had had his fill of Noldorin opinions,” Aunt Lal shrugged. “Either that or he worried I’d ally with Nolo and Naro and he’d have a rebellion on his hands.”

For all he didn’t appreciate the mention of Fëanor, Eärendil couldn’t help but grin. Lalwen was still the aunt he remembered. Even if she’d returned the worse way, it hadn’t changed her much if at all.

“I think it more likely someone wanted young Eärendil to recognize a few faces when he arrived,” Findis retorted. “As he doesn’t know the rest of us!”

“Yes, fine, that’s probably more like it,” Lalwen sighed.

Eärendil’s mouth worked soundlessly at that. He’d have to explain later that at least one Vala had been in favor of sending him to Mandos, not having familiar faces there to greet him!

“Don’t fret, lad,” his aunt smiled. “We’ve time and then some to catch up later on all that’s happened since last I saw you. Laurë too.”

She mussed his hair fondly as she waved forward the dark haired lady who had been so startled at him earlier.

“Ardamírë, this is your grandfather’s mother, Anairë,” Lalwen said carefully. “Ana, this is Rillë’s boy.”

Eärendil would normally have been reserved with anyone new-met, let alone someone who must be Noldorin royalty. But he couldn’t very well draw back from this ancestress who was all but drinking him in with such heart-breakingly eager eyes.

Even so, he was certain he was not what she had been hoping for all these years. Unless Aunt Lalwen had mentioned him before, Anairë might well not have known he even existed until five minutes ago…

“I am sorry, Grandmother,” he began, only to be cut off by her pressing a finger to his lips, stopping them as firmly as though he were a child caught at some minor mischief.

“You, my dear boy, have absolutely nothing to be sorry for,” she told him. 

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