Hi people around the world!
Before I start I want to thank Celridel for her help as beta of this story also I want to thank d'elfe and Ducking Cute for their encouraging reviews.
The sad story of Doriath and Gondolin has been told but now let's see how the children of the kings found in each other love but also, thanks to the Silmaril and the reckless decision of the princess, blood in the hands of the Kinslayers.
Waiting for your reviews, guys!
Chapter 73: A Falling Star
Eärendil wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. The sun was a dying sickle, slowly drowning in the sea, and its light shown on his ship. It was not christened yet, but in his heart, he called it the Foamflower.
He had always understood his father's love for the sea. Before he had reached his twentieth summer, he had heard the solemn promise in the depths below and knew he would not find a deeper truth. Or so he thought. For long years, the sea had been his only love, the only force that moved him. But one day a girl who loved the sky as much as he loved the sea had come into his life, never to leave. The sea had been a jealous mistress, but in the end, he had given the girl who wished for wings his heart.
Flashback
Eärendil walked slowly down the shore, his mind pleasantly empty, his body pleasantly tired. It had been a day of long work in salt-wind and summer-sun, under the tutelage of the Shipwright. The ocean to his left was an ever-changing mosaic of blue, shining in the light of the rising moon. Although the moon was young, the night was still pleasant, and Eärendil craved the calm and solitude. The stars were becoming brighter above him, small pearls on an ebony cloth. He smiled to himself and began to whistle. It was several minutes before he noticed the figure ahead of him. She was wading through the surf, holding her shoes in one hand, her black hair tangled and blown by the wind. He stood still for a moment, watching her smile, watching the sandpiper by her side. She seemed to feel his gaze and swiveled to face him. There was a kind of nearness to her face, something both human and Elven. Her grey eyes were interrogatory and slightly irritated.
"Pardon the interruption," Eärendil said. "I have never seen anyone here on the beach when the stars are rising, but now I found someone who outshines them."
The girl raised her dark eyebrows into scornful arches. "Is it then the habit of Elvish sailors to make a pass at every woman they see?"
Eärendil shrugged. "If I made you uncomfortable, I am sorry. Your beauty struck me, but I will leave you in peace now." He nodded farewell and walked on, but his heart was uneasy, the happiness of the evening suddenly robbed from him. The girl looked after him for a brief minute and then looked away again.
He entered the home he shared with his parents quietly and slipped up to his chamber and sat on the windowsill. Outside, the ocean thrummed. He tried to whittle, but his thoughts flew this and that like a flock of disturbed gulls, and when he looked down at the wood in his hand, he found he had shaved it down to splinters.
"What is the trouble, my son?" The voice of his mother floated to him. Years had tempered the Celebrindal, annealed her. Like any blade, she had been hammered by Fate, gone through ice-water and fire, but she had come out of her trials with a strength and a wisdom that Eärendil knew he would never have.
He turned to see Idril smiling kindly at him.
"Are you wise in the ways of women, Amil?" he asked haltingly.
Idril laughed. "Somewhat, given I am a woman."
"I met a girl on the beach tonight," he said. "She was...very beautiful. The most beautiful girl I have ever seen. She had black hair and great grey eyes...and do you know who she is, Amil?"
"She is Elwing, the daughter of King Dior. It seems my sailor-son has been trapped by the nets of Love," Idril said, sitting by him. "It happens to the best of us, aye, to the worst of else as well. I gave your heart to my father the second time I saw him."
Eärendil's blue eyes were wide. "Love? I think it is too soon to say that," he protested weakly. "We scarcely talked. Besides, I doubt she would even want to see my face again."
His mother arched a slender eyebrow. "Perhaps talk to her. Make it known that you are interested in her personality as well as her beauty. If this is from the Válar, then you will finally win her heart."
"What if it's not her?" Eärendil said desperately.
"Then it is not. Do what seems good to you, no one can ask for more." Time had passed and there had not been a day that Eärendil did not think of Elwing. He went home late each night, wishing with all his soul to find her, and it seemed that at last his request was heeded, for he found her one rainy evening, walking along the strand.
"Would you like my cloak?" he asked gallantly, feeling the blood pound in his ears. "It would be a great shame if you caught cold."
She turned to him and curtseyed. "The daughters of Doriath do not catch cold easily. Perhaps you should save your cloak for yourself, my Lord. I have heard that those with fair hair are more prone to such things."
"Hardly," Eärendil returned. Her eyes turned his veins to ice and his heart to the frantic pounding of the hummingbird. "But why the curtsey?"
She raised her eyebrows as if such a thing should clear to all but the most fantastic of fools. "You are a Prince, my Lord, are you not?"
He nodded. "And you are Elwing, daughter of Dior the Fair.
"Yes," she said thoughtfully. "And here we are. Fate works in strange ways, I suppose."
"I suppose," Eärendil answered. "But it seems darker hands then Fate was at work."
"Yes. Doriath fell for a jewel."
"Gondolin fell for Lust."
They looked at each other, recognizing their similarities: two souls that had suffered slaughter and destruction in their childhood, losing loved ones to an unforgiving war.
Elwing cleared her throat, seeming suddenly shy. "Perhaps I should apologize for how I spoke to you when we first met, my Lord."
"No," he said earnestly. "There is nothing to apologize for. I should not have come upon you like that. And if you would call Eärendil, I would be quite grateful."
Dior's daughter smiled, a smile that Eärendil was sure he could look at forever. "Eärendil is a beautiful name."
"My mother and father do not believe in pomp and fanfare. So how did you know I was?" Eärendil asked.
"I asked around," she said. "It seems many maidens find you quite handsome."
"Do not feed my vanity," he warned. "Would you like to continue your walk, my Lady?"
"Elwing," she corrected, smiling at him.
"Elwing," he repeated, the name as sweet as honey in his mouth.
End of Flashback
"Atar! Atar!"
"Gwanûn! Gwanûn!" he called back, his voice as excited and cheerful as theirs. The twins surged into his knees, and he bent to hug them both. "How are my angels?" he inquired.
"Angels?" his wife's voice said and he knew without turning that her eyebrows were raised in questioning arches. He took her hand and kissed it. "How are you, my love?"
"I would be better if these two were in truth angels," Elwing smiled. "And you?"
"Good," he said. "The ship is nearly ready."
Elwing's grey eyes grew clouded and she looked away from him. "Nin gwanûn, would you go into the library and read?"
"Read?" Elros demanded incredulously. Like Elrond, his eyes were strangely silver, his hair blue-black, a constant reminder that not all their ancestors had earthly origins. However, unlike Elrond, he preferred to spend his days outside, ripening to a deep brown from the sun. "The sun is out, Amil! It is not time to read!"
Elwing knelt so that she was level with her child. "Son, what was the rhyme I taught you?"
Elros looked down. "When a child is young, he must heed the rules, so that when he grows, he may use them as his tools." He sighed and turned into the shade of the house, dragging his heels as Elrond followed eagerly.
Eärendil helped Elwing to her feet, putting a hand around her waist. She stiffened, keeping her face turned away from him.
"Elwing," he pleaded. "Please talk to me. You can shout at me or weep on me, but please talk to me."
Her jaw was clenched when she looked at him, her eyes dry and hard. "I do not want you to go," she said. "I am sorry to say this, Eärendil, truly I am, but none have heard from Idril and Tuor. Not even the birds. Perhaps it is a warning. What will I say to our sons when their father does not return?"
"You will say nothing for it will not happen," Eärendil said. "This voyage is blessed, darling. Lord Círdan told me that Deep-Dweller himself guided him to make the ship."
Elwing sighed, knowing she would never alter her husband's course. "When will you set sail?" She asked.
"I sail tomorrow."
"I will watch for you."
He hugged her, and this time she allowed herself to be surrounded by his strong arms, arms used to building ships. "You will see me. Vingilótë will ride the waves," he whispered in her ear. "It will take me there and back again to you, Elwing. I promise. I'll come back."
She turned and kissed him passionately. "You will," she said, smiling through her tears. "Or I will drag you from the Halls of the Guardian to kill you myself."
That next morning dawned golden and Vingilótë gleamed in that light, a thing of great grace and beauty. The oars were gold and the timbers white, and its sail were as the argent moon. Her prow, fashioned with Elven skill into the head and curving neck of a swan, bobbed in the tide, as eager as her master to be sailing.
Elwing stood on a cliff and watched that ship dwindle into the distance. Every sunrise and every evenfall, the inhabitants of the Mouths of Sirion saw her standing there, waiting, tall and straight as a spear, shining like its point.
Havens of Sirion, FA.538
Elwing locked the door to the watchtower with cold hands. It stood high and alone on a lofty crag that overlooked the Great Sea.
A year ago, a messenger had come to Havens to find her standing by the sea.
'Who are you and what is your desire?' she had asked, and thought she knew him from a time before.
'I bear a message from Maedhros, Firstborn of Fëanor. The Lord of the Red Hand bids me tell you to surrender the Silmaril that his father wrought, and that is his by right. Will you grant it freely?'
Elwing studied the messenger impassively. 'O lackey of the Kinslayer, tell your master this. The Silmaril is not yours. I will drown myself before I hand it over.'
'So, you wish for war?' the Elf asked.
Elwing smiled at him. 'No. I wish to kill you and your master. And if you do not leave, I will kill you.'
And he left, but not long after one more returned. This time all the Elves of Sirion were gathered behind their Lady, who wore the Silmaril upon her breast.
'Maedhros wishes to show mercy. He asks one more time, will you grant the Jewel?'
Elwing laughed in his face. 'Maedhros wishes to show mercy? Hear that, all you survivors of the Sack of Doriath?! How merciful was he then? But I will not grant you the stone, the Silmaril that Beren won and Lúthien wore, and for which my mother and father was slain?! Begone, and take your lies with you, for they reek of blood!'
She had prepared for war, but Maedhros and Maglor had swooped down on them like a hawk on a cony. When the Havens were turned into a charnel-house, she had taken her sons to the cellar of the watchhouse, kissed their heads, promised she would be back for them, and locked the heavy oak door. Then she had fled up the winding stairs, to the highest room and waited there.
It was not long before she heard footsteps. Fear rose hot in her throat, with a taste of blood when Maedhros' voice came.
The Silmaril gleamed in her hand, cold and heartless and white.
"Lady of Sirion, let us have done with this."
She closed her eyes and felt a child again, a child stumbling through snow, screams frozen in her throat. She thought of birds. Birds flying. Birds in spring, filling the white skies that had just begun to thaw.
There was a splintering crack as Maedhros hit the door. It gave with chilling ease under his might.
Then he strode into the room, the giant she remembered in nightmares, his hair and cloak a chaos of wine-red, his armor stained with drying blood.
"Come, Lady," he said, with the air of one accustomed to obedience, his voice one of deep-toned resolution and strength of will. "There is no need for this. Give me the Silmaril."
She took a step backward, found it was very easy. She took another one, and another until she felt the window at her back.
Outside, the air was very cold, and pale clouds danced attendance on the moon.
Maedhros was reaching for her. She wavered on the windowsill. Something dark moved into the room, a shadow dressed in black, lunging for Maedhros. But Maedhros was intent on her. He snatched for her with a speed that she could not believe, even as she threw herself backward. The air whistled through her ears, and the sea parted for her, enfolding her in restless waters. The water was silver at first, then dark blue, and finally black. Icy peace filled her bones. As the cold the stone in her hand was, the water was colder and the Silmaril did not shine. She closed her eyes and waited.
Then it seemed a hand or great wave was on her back, pushing her upwards. The water thundered and beat upon her face as her body fled upwards, and the Silmaril began to shine like a white flame. Her darkling head broke the waters, the wave clashed about her knees and spread away as Elwing rose in a snowstorm of white wings and brilliance beyond compare, looking back for one last time. Saltwater trickled down her face, but she spread her wings and was gone.
The fight inside the tower was short and brutal. Maedhros was a trained warrior, stronger than Laura had ever believed possible, but she had caught him by surprise, leaping onto his shoulders and after a brief struggle, she smashed Maedhros' head against the wall and he fell sprawling on the stone floor, unconscious. Laura stood up, seeing a flash of white through the window. Then she turned away, tottering ungracefully, a touch away from falling. During the struggle, Maedhros had broken her shin bone. She hobbled first, then limped, and then sprinted as her healing factor knit her together, searching for the sons of Eärendil.
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