Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's note: Merry Christmas! I hope you enjoy this story; I absolutely loved writing it.
Wondrous Star, Lend Thy Light
The Vingilot sailed through the smooth heavens as it had for many ages, shining bright and beautiful. Eärendil gazed out from the ship's prow and sighed at the majesty around him, never tiring of the sights gifted him during his long voyages in the utmost rim of the world, past the Door of Night. The works of Varda blazed about him in all their glory, their colors dazzling even to his experienced eyes.
The Silmaril on his brow and the flame with which his ship shone set forth their own light into the darkness between the stars, shinning brighter than all other heavenly bodies save the Moon and Sun alone. Eärendil smiled as he briefly looked over the ship that was his. Every time he sailed near to Arda, he felt pride in knowing that even in Valinor, the Vingilot was looked upon with awe.
Eärendil loved to journey in the great expanse of the heavens, but coming back to the world of his birth and to the presence of his wife was always a pleasant joy. Now that he was nearing the reaches of the world of Elves and Men, he looked about eagerly for the sight of Elwing. Valinor soon appeared small and yet still fair underneath the Vingilot's hull, and he knew that his wife would appear momentarily.
Finally, he spotted her. Like a white bird she seemed, flying up to meet him. Her silvery-grey wings shone in the light of the Silmaril, and when she came closer, her face was illuminated by the light, too. She came over the ship's edge and alighted on its deck, looking as though she were clad in starlight. Eärendil ran to meet her.
"Melamin!" he called as he threw his arms around Elwing and embraced her. He drew back and lightly kissed her cheek, and she smiled, returning the gesture. He drew his hand across her lovely face and sighed.
"Though all the wonders of heaven be fair, you are fairer still."
Her smile widened and she laughed a merry laugh. "I believe you say that every time you return."
Eärendil chuckled. "Well, I mean what I say."
Elwing grinned again, but then her expression became a little more serious, as though full of reverence. "My lord, I have some important tidings to speak with you about."
"Of course" Eärendil consented. "Come with me."
The Mariner took his wife's hand and led her across the deck to the ship's prow, where the couple gazed down at the lands of Arda slowly slipping past beneath them. "What have you to say?"
"Manwë has requested your presence," she began.
"In Valinor?" Eärendil asked, astounded. He had never been called from his journeying before; there must be a serious matter at hand. "For what purpose?"
"He did not say specifically," Elwing revealed. "His messenger only said that you are to come to Taniquetil when you sail near to it so that the Elder King may give you instruction on an important task."
"A task," mumbled the greatest of all mariners. "These are strange tidings indeed. I have never received such a request in all the years I have sailed among the stars. There must be great deeds afoot."
Elwing made no answer, and the two stood in silence thought. When at last they had sailed within the vicinity of Valinor, Eärendil left his wife at the prow as he went to attend to the Vingilot's sailing. He steered her to the summit of Taniquetil with the superb skill, allowing the ship to come to a halt only a few feet from the blessed earth of the Undying lands. Before leaving, he kissed his wife and bade her wait for him aboard the vessel. Then, with both curiosity and due respect, he leapt over the railing of the stunning ship and stepped onto the sacred ground of Manwë's mountain.
The top of the peak, upon which Eärendil now stood, was so far above the lands surrounding it that the Mariner hardly felt that he had descended from the heavens at all. The stars were not far overheard, and the sea and land spread about the mountain's roots were small and distant. These sights, however, soon left the Eärendil's mind completely, for his eyes perceived quickly the halls of Ilmarin, which were only about fifty yards away. This was the greatest of the dwelling places of the Valar, and Eärendil was moved by its splendor and majesty.
The Mariner did not have to stand ten seconds before he heard a voice calling his name and title. He turned as was greeted by the sight of Eonwë, Manwë's herald. He bowed as the herald approached, but the gesture was met with a friendly smile and a bow in return.
"Hail Eärendil, brightest of stars," said the herald again. "The Elder King requests your presence."
"I would gladly grant it to him," Eärendil replied. "Bring me before him."
Eonwë nodded and began to lead Eärendil up the mountain's slope to the entrance of Ilmarin. Eärendil thought that this must have been what it was like for his father when he first surveyed the glory of Gondolin. The beauty and intricacy of every detail was stunning, and the Mariner wished that his kind escort would walk at a slower pace and so allow more time for him to gaze upon the wonders of Manwë's tower. Though he had always known it to be an amazing sight from the sky, Eärendil had never guessed the wonder of seeing these halls in person.
Finally, the two arrived in the throne room where Manwë sat on his throne, sapphire scepter in hand, waiting for his guest. When the Mariner entered, Manwë bid Eonwë leave and then issued a generous welcome to Eärendil, who bowed low before the Elder King.
"I am your servant," Eärendil said humbly. "What do you command?"
"Lover of the sea, do you know of the prophecy from old speaking of Eru Ilúvatar's coming into the world?"
"I recall it being a saying of the wise," answered Eärendil, "that the One would become incarnate, perhaps even as a man, in order to reverse the marring of Arda. Do I understand the matter correctly?"
"You do," confirmed the Vala, "and many more prophecies have been made in Arda concerning Eru's taking on flesh since you first took to the stars. I have summoned you because the time for Ilúvatar to enter the world has drawn nigh, and you are to play a part in His welcome."
Eärendil's mouth parted, and he fell to his knees before the throne of Manwë. "I am not worthy," he said in a shaky voice. "I am a mere vapor and speck in the eyes of the Almighty. How can I even stand in His presence?"
"Ilúvatar is worthy of all praise and glory," Manwë said, "but He is coming to the world humbly, not yet to rule it. He is going to seek and to save that which was lost, and He shall bring hope to the least and the worthless."
This was beyond the mind of Eärendil, who could not yet understand such things. He kept his head bowed, but in his soul a spark of eagerness and wonder was kindled as he thought of Eru coming to save mankind, the people with which his heart ever dwelt.
"Rise," Manwë commanded. "I must tell you of your task." The Mariner rose and listened intently to the Vala's words. "Eärendil, brightest of all stars that reign in heaven, you will be a sign to the men below of their King's coming. You must go to the farthest East and then voyage across the skies from the East to the West as a beacon for those that will follow you. When you come to the town of Bethlehem, you must stop and remain above it, looking for the sign I will send you. Once you have seen the sign, descend and hover above the house I reveal, shining your gleam upon the Light of the world that will be beneath your vessel. When you perceive that the men who followed you have departed the city, you may resume your journeys through the heavens."
"I will obey," Eärendil promised with another bow. He was anxious about the enormous responsibility, but his best was all he could give. Still, he knew that his best was far less than what Eru deserved.
Eärendil went about his duty as soon as he could. He left the halls of Ilmarin and returned to the Vingilot, stepping aboard its timbers with renewed purpose. He said farewell to his wife as he began his voyage, promising to come to her soon and tell her his tale. He then steered his great ship out into the dark expanse of space, headed for the utter East.
The first leg of his mission lasted many weeks. He sailed around the edge of the heavens, all the while with only the oceans of Arda beneath him. It was not until he finally reached the farthest East that he adjusted his course. He made in the opposite direction, his prow pointed straight West, and pursued the setting sun day after day and night after night.
During this portion of his trek, it seemed to him that the Silmaril on his brow shone with greater brightness than ever before, though his eyes endured it still. He thought to himself that perhaps it was the presence of Eru in Arda that caused the jewel to blaze forth with such glory. In any case, the additional light combined with an altitude lower than normal made Eärendil a very visible phenomenon to those walking on the earth's surface.
He kept his vigilant eyes on the ground below; looking for those whom Manwë had said would follow him. He recalled in ages past when he had led one of his sons and many of the good men of Middle Earth to Númenor after the War of Wrath. This duty was similar in a way: he was now leading people to a divine gift, though this gift was far greater than any land or realm.
At last, the Mariner spied a caravan pursuing him across the vast desert. There were great in number and wealth, and it seemed to him that there were mighty and important men among them. They were at least learned in the lore of the stars, for they tracked his course with great accuracy and skill. Eärendil suspected that they knew of the prophecies about Eru, for they chased his path with great eagerness.
It took the Vingilot a long time to arrive directly over Bethlehem. When at last it was above the small city, Eärendil leaned over the ship's railing and looked for the sign Manwë had spoken of. Soon his elven eyes picked up on a faint glowing, and he steered his vessel down and towards it. When he was very low, he saw that there was a silver rune painted on a certain house's roof, and he adjusted his position so that he hung exactly above it. When he had done so, the rune faded, and he remained the only light in the city.
The caravan stopped at the house Eärendil had signified and went inside. Eärendil now felt an immense desire to also go inside and see Eru, though he be unworthy to look upon the face of the One. He was not permitted to dwell among men, but Manwë had not forbidden him to step on the ground of Arda at all. The longing to be physically near Ilúvatar soon became too much for the Mariner to bear, and he made up his mind to enter the house.
When the sun began to rise, he swiftly sailed the Vingilot slightly East so that its light would not be easily distinguished from that of the dawn. He then took off the Great Jewel, wrapped it in cloth, and hid it in his tunic. He disembarked from his ship, hurrying into the city and towards the house. To obscurer his glittering robes, he put on an old wrapping, and in this manner, he arrived at the house.
Knocking seemed to him a great feat, but he did complete it, and he was welcomed inside by a young man. Eärendil quickly took in his surroundings, and he was able to immediately identify the object of everyone's attention. A very young woman, perhaps twenty years old, was cradling a small child. The infant could not have seen two winters, yet the men of the caravan were gathered round in awe.
Eärendil stepped hesitantly nearer. The man who had given him entry smiled and moved aside, creating a clear path to the babe without asking any questions about Eärendil's intentions. Perhaps the man knew why the Mariner had come, or had guessed. But Eärendil was oblivious to the movements of the man, and also the looks from the lords in the room and even the smile of the mother. His gaze was focused exclusively on the child.
The baby was half asleep, cooing softly in its mother's arms. When Eärendil came before the child, the mother opened her arms so that the Mariner could more clearly see the infant's body. As Eärendil looked at the small, innocent face, the baby's eyes opened and looked at him. In them was a gleam untouched by evil, perhaps purer than the Silmaril which he bore in his tunic. This was Ilúvatar: the uncreated Creator of all; the holy One; the most wise powerful of all beings; the infinite God. Could it be? All that was the Almighty Lord was wrapped in humble rags.
Eärendil's eyes filled with tears of wonder and joy as he saw the love of Eru to mankind. That the Lord of all should come as a helpless babe and dwell among men to save them was something beyond words or feelings. He deserved everything—all praise and glory forever—and yet He was here, in this modest house among the dust of the desert. Thinking of the beautiful tower of Manwë, which was undoubtedly a shack in comparison to the dwelling Eru deserved, Eärendil marveled that the Creator could even stand to be one second in this little, dirty room with these unworthy creatures, the Marnier included.
Eärendil felt his hand irresistibly drawn to the infant until at last his fingers gently touched the child's face. The baby's tiny hand reached up and clasped Eärendil's forefinger, refusing to let go. For a brief second, Eärendil stared into the child's eyes and the child stared back into his. In that moment, Eärendil began to truly comprehend the beautiful truth that was holding his hand, and he broke down, worshipping and weeping with pure joy.
Eärendil did not have the license to stay for even a short while, and so with a heart utterly torn between great bliss and terribly sadness, he departed the house and returned to the Vingilot. He cast aside his false raiment and put on again the Silmaril, though now its glory seemed dim and soiled compared to the memory of the purity and holiness in the child's eyes. Eärendil sailed back into the oceans of heaven full of hope and gladness, and he continued his voyages of old.
But every night when he passed over Bethlehem, he eagerly gazed down at the earth below and remembered what he had seen and who he had touched. And as the years went by and the will of Eru came to pass, Eärendil found that the love of Ilúvatar was indeed far deeper than he could have ever imagined, even on that night when he had held the hand of the Lord of creation. And when he heard tales of his Maker's sacrifice and triumph, he rejoiced exceedingly with great joy.
What did you think? I believe this is the first Bible x Silmarillion crossover, so you'll have to tell me how I did. All that just means PLEASE REVIEW! In this story, I had a more formal writing style than I usually use, so I really do want some feedback on it. Should I use it more often? Is my typical style better? Let me know your opinion!
I would like to say that a couple things really quickly. One, I actually didn't make up this idea completely: some people think that a conjunction between Venus and Jupiter was the Star of Bethlehem, and since Eärendil is the equivalent of Venus, the story sort of took off from there. Also, it may interest you to learn that writing this story helped me see the Incarnation of Christ in a totally different light, and it has been one of the most rewarding one-shots I've ever written. Thank you so much for reading!