They Do Things Differently In Aman

The ship takes time to build, but we make sure to take the time. There would be little point in setting sail if we foundered before we ever reached Belegaer. And yes, we're well aware that our best chance of making it down our River safely is to depart when the autumn rains run down from the Hithaeglir - but whatever the gwenwil up in Lindon might think, we are still Edhil, and all that goes with it. If we miss the rains this season, we can wait for the next - or the one after that.

So we take our time, and make sure to do everything right - and to have a good time while we do so. Laeglir takes the lead in play as in work, as he always does: when our small folk are weary from the unaccustomed labour of carpentry and joining, he always knows the perfect moment to break for a game or a song.

As for me, I'm quite content to lie back in the shade of the trees, watching as he splashes with the others in the shallows, as the river's jewelled droplets sparkle in Anor's light. Laeglir may act the fool at times, but we know him better than that. He is the heart of our little tribe, the life that drives us, and we love him for it.

I love him for it, and have done through all the long years since we first plighted our troth under the ancient stars. I love him for showing me the truth of himself - the fears, the worries, and the strength underneath it all - and for letting me know that however hard times may get, he will always be there for me.

We don't make the first autumn. We work on through fading and into winter, hoping to take advantage of the melting snow when stirring brings Anor once again to our lands. As our breath mists the air and icicles hang from the boughs overhead, Laeglir continues to urge us on. The clown of summer is gone: now he is the encouraging word, the beckoning hand that welcomes us to the fireside, the strong voice that carries us aloft on wings of song and shows us the goal of all our labours, the beauty of the West.

As the first buds begin to form on the trees of our long home, our ship is finally finished. We watch the distant mountains with mingled nervousness and excitement, waiting for the thaw to begin. Laeglir directs the hunters to gather supplies and prepare for the voyage, and when the night comes he tells us the tales that his father once told him, of the wonders of Aman and the Blessed Realm.

As we lie together in our small hut, I whisper to him, asking if he is sure this is a good idea, if we might not be better to ask the gwenwil for aid, or simply stay in the forest. And he smiles, and kisses my brow, and murmurs back, "Mîlion, my heart, the world is changing. The Secondborn are taking it for their own. We must leave - but we will do so on our own terms."

And leave we do, on a crisp spring morning when the River - our River, the River we will never drink from again - is in full flood. Our ship, clunky and misshapen and all the more beautiful for it, bears us up in her arms and carries us away, with Laeglir singing at the prow. He sings our hopes and our fears, our plans and our farewells - and by the end of his song, my eyes sting with salt water, and not from the ocean spray.

The journey is peaceful. Gaerys pays us no heed as we cross the gentle swells of Belegaer, and the heavenly light of Earendil guides us safely into harbour on a warm evening. I stand with the rest of my people by the mast, smiling as Laeglir leaps over the side and warmly embraces the throng who have gathered to greet us. I see him gesturing back at the ship, waving his hands as he explains who we are, where we have come from.

And I see the welcome on the lead greeter's face shift suddenly into confusion and disbelief, while the expressions of those around her harden into something approaching disgust. The wind changes, and in the utter stillness of the evening of Aman, I hear the greeter's next words clearly:

"What do you mean, he is your husband?"

Disclaimer: Middle-earth, Aman, and everything associated with them belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. Laeglir and Mîlion, however, are mine.

Author's Note: They do things differently in Aman. Or, more precisely: Tolkien told us in some detail how the Eldar of Valinor view marriage and sexuality - the degree to which it is connected to childbearing and -rearing, and the degree to which it isn't. He doesn't explicitly say, but is fairly clear by what he doesn't say, that they don't even think about homosexuality over there.

But they do things differently in Aman - or, as it may be, in the back-woods of Second Age Eriador…

Glossary: All non-English terms are Sindarin. Since a lot of the words are more familiar in Quenya or English, a short glossary seemed advisable.

Belegaer: the Great Western Ocean, between Middle-earth and the Undying Lands.

Hithaeglir: the Misty Mountains.

gwenwil: Elves of Aman, 'departed Elves' - in this case, the Noldor under Gil-Galad.

Edhil: 'Elves'.

Laeglir: personal name. 'Summer-song' or 'Singsong', depending on the reading.

Anor: the Sun.

fading, stirring: the Sindarin year has six seasons, with 'fading' and 'stirring' either side of winter.

Mîlion: personal name. 'Son of Tenderness'.

Secondborn: humans.

Gaerys: personal name. Osse, the Maia of storms.