In all of her life both in Valinor and Beleriand, Gloredhel had met or heard of many peoples and creatures, great and small, good and evil, wonderous and terrifying, ones that she had never heard of in her youth. There were more tribes of elves in Beleriand than she had ever known existed. She had met and befriended Manwe's eagles and heard of the strange tree-creatures in Doriath who had interfered in mortal affairs after the Battle of the Thousand Caves. She had fought orcs a plenty and fire-drakes and watched as balrogs brought low those whom she loved.

Though Gloredhel had long been friends with Thorondor and his people, she had never met any of the fledglings of the Great Eagles. In Beleriand, they had been a subject little spoken of and only rarely alluded to. The eagles rarely speak of the dead. The eyries where the fledglings were raised were the furthest from danger and the most well-protected, but many still had been captured or had perished under the weapons of Morgoth's filth, and their deaths had been greatly mourned, and before she had perished, Gloredhel had never the opportunity to meet them, though she had greatly wished to.

But that all changed one afternoon more than half-a-year after her rebirth.

In the ensuing months since Gloredhel had learned that Thorondor had returned to Valinor, permanently it seemed, she had often ridden out to spend the afternoon with him. There was much less for him to do—no encroaching darkness to guard against, no lands to scout, no messages to carry amongst the Free Peoples, no battles to fight, no cousins to rescue off of mountain peaks—and he always seemed glad to see her. She was glad of his company, too. Sometimes he would take her flying. Sometimes they would talk. He had a very different viewpoint on things as an eagle, but Thorondor gave good advice.

But that afternoon after talking for several hours—or rather Thorondor had patiently listened for most of that time about Gloredhel complaining about politics and relationships among the elven kindreds—he asked if she wanted to meet the newest fledging, the son of Alarcroval (Swift Wing) and Dernireth (Strong Beak), and Gloredhel immediately and enthusiastically agreed.

And that was how soon after she found herself sitting in an eyrie high up in the Encircling Mountains, an eyrie that was thankfully on a peak that was lower than the one belonging to Thorondor and his mate, starring eye to an eye with a very young, rather clumsy fledgling that was still about as big as she was. Dernireth was off-hunting, while his mate Alarcroval, who had remained to watch their fledgling was at the other end of the eyrie speaking with Thorondor in the eagle-tongue about something. Gloredhel wasn't paying enough attention to understand what they were saying. It was not any of her business anyway.

Fledglings were very curious creatures, or at least this one is. The yet-unnamed eaglet, only days old, knew no Quenya but could speak a little bit in the eagle-tongue, and having never ever ever ever seen a two-legged creature like Gloredhel before, he was very curious and had many questions that made her almost break a rib laughing.

Where is your beak? I don't have one.

How do you eat without a break? Fledglings are not impressed by teeth, at least teeth of my size.

Why are your feathers (her hair) so long and strange? How do you explain hair to an eagle?

Where are the rest of your feathers?

Where are your wings? I have none.

How do you fly? I don't. If I tried, it would be a one-way trip.

Why are you so small? I'm not an eagle. I'm an elf.

If not feathers, what is that covering you have? Clothes.

Do you have claws? No.

How do you hunt without wings or claws? I have other means. Thorondor has aided me with that. She had acquired a new bow since she was first reunited with Thorondor and had made a number of arrows with the feathers he gifted her.

Eventually, the fledgling grew tired and ran out questions about the time Thorondor spotted Dernireth in the distance returning from his hunt, and after giving thanks and bidding Alarcroval farewell, the two departed. Gloredhel was still smiling and laughing softly, thinking of the strange questions with which she had just been pestered, as Thorondor began to descend toward the plain in great, swooping circles.

"My thanks, old friend, for the visit," Gloredhel remarked. He was flying slowly enough that the wind was not rushing so loudly over his wings as to prevent them from speaking a little. The next thought came to her in a rush of nostalgic memory, and she spoke it automatically, "I think Earendil would have enjoyed a visit like that."

Earendil had been only seven when Gondolin fell, and Gloredhel remembered fondly playing with her little cousin in the preceding years and watching him somedays when Idril and Tuor were otherwise occupied. He had been a kind child and had loved animals, and she had told him many stories about the eagles, whom he had been fascinated by, watching the sky with wide eyes when they flew by. And to think he and Thorondor fought side by side. It was still hard to think of Earendil all grown up. She still thought of him as the little boy she had known long ago.

"Have you gone north to see him since your return?" Thorondor asked, still speaking in the tongue of birds.

"No, though I would be glad to see him again." Gloredhel replied, "The journey would be long by horse, very long, and Elwing has little enough time with him as it is."

I would like to see him, know that he is well despite the harshness of his task.

I would not wish to take from them what little time they have each day when he is fated to sail the starry seas every night as long as the world lasts.

Thorondor wheeled around in a great looping arc, and a few beats of his wings took him higher, and he started instead to fly north, and as he flew, he told her his plan, to which she made no objection.

It isn't like father has to send our search parties if I don't return on time.

This wouldn't be the first time I've gone wandering for longer than I originally planned.

Eärendil, on whose brow the last Silmaril was bound, was fated to sail the oceans of heaven beyond the Doors of Night, giving hope to the people as the Evening and Morning Star and guarding against the return of Morgoth. Every morning Earendil would gather his crew and leave the harbor outside Elwing's tower built upon the borders of the world. He would sail through the sky and stand guard beyond the Doors of Night and then return to Valinor every evening.

Though he sailed where those of the Firstborn and Secondborn had not been made to tread, his ship had been hollowed so that all on it, including Earendil and his crew, could survive the harsh conditions. It was growing toward evening, and soon Vingilótë would return, sailing across the sky, and dock in Valinor. Thorondor would take Gloredhel to the boat

The Door of Night was a great portal in the uttermost west, which was set into the Walls of the World and the Walls of Night. Those Walls encircled the Encircling Sea which surrounded Endor and Aman. (The Gates of Morning were the equivalent opening in the uttermost east.) What was beyond the Door of Night—beyond the far side of the gate, that is—the elves did not know exactly. Possibly the heavens. Possibly the Void to which Morgoth had been banished, never to return until the end of days. Maybe both in different regions.

The flight westward was longer than any Gloredhel had taken Thorondor, but he flew quickly and smoothly but never so high that she felt in need of a Song to ease her breathing or increase the warmth in her limbs, but finally they reached the Door of Night, a sight which Gloredhel had never expected to see in her life and would probably not see again.

The Door of Night was a massive towering gate, dark and foreboding with elaborate architecture, and its doors were just swinging shut as Thorondor approached. Vingilótë had just passed through, and for the first time Gloredhel looked upon the boat that the stories in Tirion said was the fairest ever built. It was not a large boat, but it was not small either. Of gleaming white timbers, its frame had been constructed. Its silver sails were of the finest weave, and upon the main sail was set what has to be the emblem of Earendil, a six-pointed star studded with a bright jewel. The swan on its prow was so life-like that Gloredhel could almost imagine it leaping off the boat with a cry and flying away.

Six elves manned the golden oars, and a tall, broad-shouldered man with golden hair, upon whose brow was bound a gleaming stone that Gloredhel would have recognized anywhere, anytime as one of her uncle's Silmarils, stood at the prow. The approach of Thorondor was quickly noticed and heralded with cries, though not of alarm … yet. Despite the fact that he had fought with the Vingilótë during the War of Wrath, Gloredhel could only surmise that the King of the Eagles must have flown to greet them before. The cries then became surprised, as Gloredhel's form perched high on Thorondor's back was spotted.

"I will get you close, and then you must jump," Thorondor cried in the eagle-tongue over the rushing of the winds, "Have no fear. I will return after docking to find you in the north."

Have no fear?! Gloredhel had confidence that her old friend would catch if she fell from his back, but that did not make her enthusiastic to actually jump! He can't even get that close. It's too small, and he's too big!

Thorondor was actually able to get much closer to the deck of the Vingilótë than Gloredhel would have ever expected, and the way he banked as he flew past meant that she didn't have that far to jump, but there were Words primed on her lip to slow her fall or help her attempt to catch herself if it all went wrong, but nothing did go wrong, and seconds after jumping from Thorondor's wing, she found herself with her feet on solid ground again on the deck of the Vingilótë.

Gloredhel rose from the crouch in which she had landed and saw that she was the center of much attention. I may be the most interesting thing that has happened in many, many years … at least on this side of the Door of Night. She returned their surprised and puzzled looks with a polite smile.

"Êl síla erin lû e-govaded 'wîn,"[1] Earendil greeted Gloredhel politely in Sindarin before she could speak, "Your arrival is unexpected, my lady, but since Lord Thorondor brings you, you are not unwelcome. Have you been sent by one of the Powers?"

You must not remember be then. There was a slightly puzzled look on the mariner's face, but no instant recognition. You were young when Gondolin fell and last we met. So very young.

Gloredhel returned the greeting but then shook her head, keeping her speech formal for the moment, "Nay, my lord. I was not sent by the Powers. I am honored enough to be able to count Lord Thorondor as a close companion. While we speaking, our conversation turned hence to you, and he brought me of his own accord, though not unwillingly on my part."

He has his father's build. Tall, broad-shouldered, shaggy golden hair.

But his mother's eyes. Those blue-grey eyes were all Idril.

Earendil nodded and then motioned for Gloredhel to come up the steps to the upper deck at the prow. "Come! Come and sit, my lady. Your face is familiar to me, but if I knew you long ago, my memories of my childhood are dim."

You were as one of the Secondborn then.

Only when you made the choice would you have gained the memory of elven-kind.

A blessing for you, perhaps.

The memories of Gondolin's fall might dim, while for us we will remember them in detail as long as our lives endure.

Gloredhel climbed the ladder up to the upper deck with ease. Though she had rarely been on boats, only occasionally having gone with her cousins to Alqualondë before the Darkening, there was none of the tossing with Vingilótë as one would expect with a boat upon watery seas. "My thanks. I would have been surprised, I must confess, if you had remembered me, for you were only a child when I died at Gondolin's fell."

That drew a gasp of surprise, and Earendil almost collapsed into his seat beneath the back of the swan, his eyes wide. "Aunt Gloredhel?" He asked hesitantly, and she nodded. A wide smile broke across his face, lighting up his eyes. "Of course! Lord Thorondor. I should have known. Who else would have he born here so willingly?"

Gloredhel smiled, her eyes glancing off for a moment to sneak a peek at the world below. Then she starred, seeing how the world had changed since she died. She gasped. The familiar coastlines and mountain ranges that she had known from maps, for she had never been so high before, were gone. Stars above! Beleriand had been broken apart and sunk beneath the waves, and the land she looked down upon was entirely different. It was one thing to hear of it, quite another to see the result with her own eyes.

"It's different, isn't it?" Earendil's voice carried a note of understanding. He had lived through the War of Wrath and the changing of the world. He had known Beleriand as it had been and now nightly looked down upon Ennor as it now was.

She nodded, shocked into momentary speechlessness. Stars above!

"My son, Elrond, is down there, did you know?" Earendil gazed down over the railing of the ship as he spoke. His seat was close enough that he could look down upon the land even while sitting and resting, "Elros, he died fifty-eight years ago. I haven't seen them but from afar since they were six, before the Sack of Sirion."

Not even during the War of Warth?

"I have heard a little from my kin," Gloredhel replied, "I grieve for you and your wife."

For that is a grief even more piercing than mine.

"They were given the choice like Elwing and I were," here Earendil's voice broke, "Elros chose the path of men."

The path of men led to a fate beyond the circles of the world. Earendil would never see his youngest son again, not in this life.

What will happen when the world is remade, whether they will return, only Eru knows.

His words only reinforced the impact on Gloredhel of how much time had passed. Earendil had only been a child himself when last she had seen him, and now he had children of his grown and married, and one had already perished. She wished she knew the words to comfort him, but losing a child … forever … was something she had no conception of. Even her grief for Maeglin could not compare. She knew she would seem her cousin again sooner or later. It was only a matter of time.

But not so with Elros.

To that Gloredhel could say nothing, but after another minute, Earendil shook himself and looked away from the world stretched out below, "Forgive me. This is a heavy task that has been laid upon me, and sometimes my thoughts grow dark."

But perhaps … they will return, and the parted will be reunited again.

Thingol and his daughter.

Aegnor and his lost-love.

Earendil and Elwing and their son.

Moryo and Haleth.[2]

Perhaps if Eru wills, we will all meet again.

She wished she understood all the circumstances that had driven the Valar to their choice, because in many ways their decision about Earendil and Elwing's fate … never to set foot on the far shores again, never to see Elros again, never to see Elrond again unless he sailed … seemed more than a little

Cruel.

Terribly unfair.

Can none escape from the curse on our House?

"There is nothing to forgive," Gloredhel replied immediately, "If I were to be ever parted from those that I loved forever, only able to watch from afar, I doubt that I would think differently."

Life without Rog, without Glorfindel or Ecthelion, without her family … even the thought of being parted from them forever sent a shaft of agony through Gloredhel's heart. Life parted forever from her husband and her kin, it was almost not a life without living.

We are not made to be solitary creatures.

Sometime about her words seemed to trigger some memory, and Earendil's eyes went distant for a moment before he started and asked, "Your brothers? Lord Rog? Have they been reborn, also?"

Gloredhel shook her head, blinking back sudden tears. No matter the many months that had passed, their absence was only a little less painful yet. "Nay, not yet, but one day."

One day.

One day.

"I only remember pieces of the escape," Earendil murmured, glancing again over the edge of the spoke, "but I remember Adar and Naneth telling me of your fall. I was terribly sad. I could barely understand how all three of you could have fallen. You were, in my mind then, undefeatable. I have often missed Lord Ecthelion's flute playing. I think my children would …" His voice trailed off, but Gloredhel understood.

All the children loved hearing Ecthelion playing.

Gondolin had been a land at peace, apart from the dangers of Beleriand, for many years … for too long, considering the isolationism that had been fostered within the city, and many children had been born there, many children who had never been able to experience life beyond the Tumladen, beyond the walls of Gondolin. Beleriand had been a dangerous land, a land at war, but it had possessed beauty of its own, and there were so many peoples to meet apart from the Gondolindrim.

Ecthelion could attract a following like non-other when he was playing outside!

I rarely saw him happier than when he was entertaining the children.

"If Ecthelion had lived to see you grown and your children born," Gloredhel replied with a wistful smile, "you would have had to steal his flute and his willow-whistles to keep him from playing for them."

"But it was not to be," Earendil's words are soft.

At least Elrond and Elros lived.

Gloredhel's mind went to another Kinslaying, another pair of twins. The tidings that Thorondor had brought of the Sack of Doriath, the deaths of her cousins, and the fall of Dior and Nimloth had said that it had been Tyelko's servants who had taken Eluréd and Elurín away. If that were true and not a construct of corrupted news or anti-Feanorion sentiment, Gloredhel could only hope in her heart of hearts that Tyelko would have been horrified if he had known. She could not imagine her cousin wanting to see a child hurt, and she wasn't sure she could bear it if he had been so far lost as to think otherwise.

At least they lived.

The two forced the conversation away to lighter topics at that point. Earendil asked for news of Tirion, and Gloredhel told him of her and Finrod's readjustment to life and life in Valinor. She spoke of light things where she could, telling him of having to be fitted for new clothes and being stuck like a pincushion in the process—you always grew so fast, and you hated standing still for fittings—of the tedium of being reintroduced at the High King's court—at least the politics are less complicated in many ways than at Turgon's court, and I'd rather follow Atar now anyway; of meeting the survivors of the Houses of the Golden Flower and the Fountain and her attempts to dodge their attempts of her (temporarily) taking up the headship of both houses; of her reunion with Thorondor and her meeting that day with the new fledgling … that was as big as her, relating as faithfully as she could all of his inquisitive questions.

The last story especially drew howls of laughter from the entire crew.

I didn't know I was that good a mimic.

"We all fought with Thorondor and his folk during the War of Wrath, including against Ancalagon," Earendil explained when he had finished laughing and had wiped away the tears streaming down his face, "It's hard for us to imagine the eagles as anything …"

"Less than massive, terrifying, awe-inspiring?" Gloredhel suggested, "Or should I continue?"

Not what one expects to be clumsy and fuzzy and so very inquisitive?

Where are my feathers, indeed?!

That, too, drew snorts of laughter.

"Exactly my point," confirmed Earendil with another laugher,

The conversation broke off at that point when Gloredhel realized two things. One, the shadow of land on the horizon was much nearer and much less shadow-like than when the story-telling had begun. Two, a great white bird was flying towards the ship and coming closer by the minute.

Elwing had come.

Thorondor landed in a rush of wind and swirl of dirt near the base of Elwing's tower only minutes after the Vingilótë had docked at the shore and its crew had disembarked. A kind offer was made for Gloredhel to stay for dinner, but she declined, wanting to get home to Tirion and not wanting to keep the two from their precious time together more than she already had.

I got my wish, to see Earendil again and I know how he is doing now.

And I even met Elwing. Not that it had been the most auspicious of first meetings. Granted, it was largely my fault. I should have left off the reference to "my cousins" when extending my sympathies for all she has suffered.

It was well into the night, and the stars were shining brightly overhead when Thorondor landed upon the plain near Tirion and Gloredhel slid from his back somewhat ungracefully. After a long flight, it always took a few moments for her legs to remember what standing on solid ground was actually like.

"Farewell! Wherever you fare, till your eyries receive you at the journey's end," Thorondor bid her farewell in his own tongue.

Gloredhel bowed and thanked him for a pleasant day, "Farewell! May the wind under your wings bear you where the sun sails and the moon walks."

They had met now many times since she had been reborn, but they still always bid each other farewell the same way as they had bid each other farewell in Beleriand where there was not always a guarantee that they would ever meet again.

Finrod was sitting on the great stone steps that led up to the main entrance of Arafinwë's palace when Gloredhel slowed Rochallor, who had met her upon the plain, having not returned to the stables on his own accord, to a stop in the courtyard and dismounted.

"You've been gone a long time," Finrod greeted her, "It's almost midnight."

Oh!

I didn't realize it was quite that late.

Were you worried?

"I've been on an adventure," Gloredhel explained, "that began and ended with Thorondor, so I have been quite safe. Let me tend to Rochallor, and then we can go raid food from the kitchens—I haven't eaten since I left—and I can tell you all about it."

Raid the kitchens like we haven't done since we were children.

At any other time of day, a servant would have cared for Rochallor for her—or, at least, offered to—but the servants were asleep, and Gloredhel would not have even dreamed of waking a groom up to do a task she could easily do herself … if I were about to collapse from a battle-wound, yes, but when I'm quite well, no.

It was a lesson she had been taught in her youth. Being one of the royal house and enjoying the benefits thereof—having servants willing to tend to any of their needs—that was a privilege, never a right.

Finrod sprung to his feet as Gloredhel began to lead Rochallor toward the stables, his hooves going clip-clop on the cobblestones, and easily matched her pace with his longer legs. "This should be an interesting tale."

Trust me. It is.

A very interesting tale and a very interesting adventure.

[1] Sindarin. "A star shines on the hour of our meeting."

[2] According to some of Tolkien's works, Caranthir had an unnamed wife, presumably an Elf. For the sake of this series, I am ignoring that writing, though if one is fond of rare-pairs, one could assume Caranthir and Haleth were married, and that record became corrupted by time or prejudice against the Second Born.