I own nothing.
The nights were darker on Elenna, but Elros had met few who minded that. Sírien had led an expedition around the island to document what plants it boasted. It had been weeks before she and her party returned (personally, Elros couldn't help but start to develop a bit of a twitch when his wife vanished for such long periods of time, even knowing how capable she was and that she was in no danger on Elenna), and when she did she would go on for ages about how much brighter the stars were here than they had been in Beleriand, how much closer they seemed.
"We did not even need to make use of a compass!" she had enthused, her brown eyes sparkling. "We needed nothing but the stars to guide our paths."
It still struck Elros how the Edain (now called the Dúnedain) loved the stars. He had grown to manhood among the Edhil, who did indeed love the stars as well, and he'd always thought of that as a trait peculiar to the race he had been born into. But it seemed that the Dúnedain, either on their own or as result of the influence of the Edhil, loved the stars as well. They gave each of the stars and the constellations names, some which they had given to them themselves, some which were borrowed from the Edhil.
There was Carnil, the red star who tracked an uneven path across the heavens. Then, there was Elemmírë. Then the Valacirca, the Sickle of the Valar, and Soronúmë, the great Eagle of the West.
Then, there was Gil-Estel, the great star of Eärendil that had guided them all here.
No one ever really questioned it when Elros would slip away from the settlement at night. He wasn't the only one to do so, and most of those who did were doing so for the same reason. The Edain had their customs regarding remembrance, and when he would go to sit atop a nearby hill, they understood, and left him alone. Even Sírien never went to find him during situations such as this, and he returned the favor when she went to remember her own family. Elros would go to the hill and sit, and there he would watch the progress of Gil-Estel across the sky.
Even now, Eärendil loved his ship. Elros knew well how his father loved his ship, and loved the sea. How much had he neglected his sons and his wife in favor of journeying the sea? All of it had been for the sake of finding Aman, of seeking the Valar's aid in Ennor. It was a worthy cause, one that had been meant to make the world a safer place for Elros and his brother; Elros knew that. He knew that, and appreciated that Eärendil had had no easy choices to make. He had learned, over the years, that a leader could rarely call any of his choices 'easy.' But he had little doubt that it was what Eärendil had wanted, and had even less doubt that Eärendil could have put in at the Havens of Sirion more often, if he had so wished.
Elrond still harbored a frighteningly intense amount of bitterness towards both of their parents. Elros rarely saw his twin anymore these days, but he could sense it every time that they met, even if they didn't speak about their parents—and they rarely did. There were plenty who treated Elrond as though his face was an effective mask for his emotions, but Elros had always been able to see through him. He hoped that his brother would leave bitterness behind him some day. Their paths had diverged too greatly for Elros to do anything more for him.
Himself, Elros had left behind bitterness when he realized that there was no more room for it in his heart. When he realized that he had a wife who loved him and whom he loved, there was no more room for bitterness. When he realized that his foster-father and uncle, for all that they had left him and Elrond as much as Eärendil and Elwing had, for all that they should never have been caring for two children in the state that they were in, had loved him, he could not harbor bitterness in his heart towards the birth parents who had been far too young and in far too desperate straits. When he realized the full scope of his responsibilities as the King of Elenna, how could he still entertain bitterness? Bitterness was of the past, and Elros was looking towards the future.
Elros remembered his mother, if only vaguely. He remembered Elwing's quiet, her sadness and subdued bitterness, the way she spent long hours poring over the Silmaril that even now shined brilliantly in the sky. He remembered her, sitting in the dark as though all the light had gone out of the world and her Silmaril was the only light left in the world. He remembered her dependence upon it. For his mother, he could have nothing but pity. She was too sad and too wrapped up in her own despair for him to feel any bitterness against her.
Never again would Elros see his mother again. She had vanished, was lost, during the Third Kinslaying; it was reported that she had thrown herself off of a cliff. How her Silmaril had come to be in Eärendil's possession, no one could say, but whether or not she was dead, Elros would never see her again. It was no use harboring bitterness against the dead.
And surely his father had what he wanted. He would never be parted from his beloved Vingilot, and he had the endless track of the heavens as his sea. Now, Eärendil, he who had hoped for aid from the Valar to bring hope to Ennor, served as a beacon of hope to all who could see him and the Silmaril he bore. He had succeeded in the impossible, and Elros could not help but be proud of him, as proud as he was of anyone who succeeded at what was thought to be impossible.
He could not be bitter against his father either, any more than he could be against his mother. Elros had come too far for that.
Every morning before Anor rose and every evening after it set, he saw his father sailing Vingilot across the sky. Gil-Estel they called him, the Star of High Hope, Gil-Estel who gave hope to the downtrodden and the desperate. Gil-Estel, who had come to help the children of Ennor when they had needed it most.
Elros saw his father, and remembered.
The King of Elenna remembered that Eärendil had not been much of a father, after all. He could admit to that without rancor; it was the truth. But as the star that sailed across the sky, Eärendil could be to his son a beacon of hope.
So Elros sat atop the hill, beneath the great firmament of the stars, and remembered hope.
Elenna—an early Quenya name for Númenor, meaning 'Starwards'; my guess is that they didn't start calling it Númenor until SA 32, when Elros is supposed to have officially taken the throne.
Edhil—Elves (singular: Edhel) (Sindarin)
Ennor—Middle-Earth (Sindarin)
Anor—the Sindarin name for the Sun