Real Life happened. Then I needed time to get back into the mind of my Earendil, and address some issues that were troubling me about the Silmarillion's Earendil's crew when they ended up in Valinor.

The War of Wrath

We had more time on the journey back to admire the scenery. Reached a truce of sorts with Ulmo, who was not such a bad guy, all things considered. He just has a couple of rough edges, like Cirdan. I miss that old elf. Not so much his moonshine or his salted herring. Ulmo decided I am Manwe and Varda's problem now Vingilote is airborne and no longer on his realm. As parting words of wisdom, I was encouraged to side with Lady Varda should the couple ever quarrel as, you know, the lady is always right. He also promised to give me as soft a landing as possible should anything go wrong with the Vingilote while above his realm. I might end up with broken bones but at least I will not be dropping in on old Namo.

Oh, and he decided to make his gift to Elwing permanent so she could visit me in the sky in the form of a bird should she choose. However, he strongly discourages any hanky-panky since he could not be sure how carrying a child will affect the transformation. Unless I am keen on being with Elwing for a full year and sitting through the birth of my child on board my ship, I would consider forgoing another crack at fatherhood. That is without the logistics of getting the baby back to terra firma and leaving raising it to Elwing (whom one must confess has not the slightest idea of how to rear a child without an army of nursemaids at her beck and call). She might learn, but I think we better not chance it.

For my fellow mariners who ended up in Aman, the Mannish ones were quietly returned home to Middle-earth courtesy of Lord Ulmo while I was stuck in council with the Valar. Everyone pretended they never came to Aman in the first place. I suppose Ulmo got an earful for his troubles. Did they really think my crew was made purely of elves? I must confess no Dwarves as they have a morbid fear of water – I suppose being Children of Mahal and crafted from stone, they expect to sink to a watery end in event of shipwreck. I do believe those men had some wild tales to tell their families back home in the Havens of Sirion, if any survived the Feanorions.

The elves got to stay on in Aman naturally, and a fair number accompanied me back on the Vingilote. We worked up a roster with the Eagles as unlike me, they are allowed to set foot on land. With the new and improved Vingilote, we needed less crew to man her. After the War of Wrath and Aule's revamps, I am the only one required to steer her. Lucky me.

Found my lovely boys safe and sound. I could hardly recognize them so much they had grown. More than a little irked they were calling the remaining Feanorions 'Atto' and 'Ada'. Almost wanted to snatch them back but Thorondor stopped me, pointing out that elves are not aerodynamically made for flight and me going splat in a Feanorian courtyard during their lessons would be very traumatic for my sons. Instead, we settled behind a cloud to watch the boys – Elros and Elrond. I suppose those names would do.

Amazingly, they were speaking fluently in Quenya and Sindarin, plus a couple of other tongues they picked up from the fortress' Mannish inhabitants. Elros was a scrappy little warrior, taking on that redhead Mad Maedhros, even with Maglor on hand to intervene if things got too heated in the training yard. I know Elros was meant for big things. Elrond was more of a scholar. I was so jealous of Maglor, having Elrond taught lore and music. The boy simply adores him. Which gives me loads more reason to hate him for what happened later. What do you mean by running off like that, even if Elrond has Gil-galad to look after him? Are you trying to scar my son for his eternal life? Well, I did not know it at that time, but my sons were to take different paths in life.

When night fell on that first night, the Feanorions noticed a bright new star in the sky. Mad Maedhros had a teensy breakdown that required his brother to slap him about lest he scared the children. For their part, I like to think the boys caught on and were waving to me and not just some bright star. Never dared to ask Elrond about it even through Elwing for fear of raking up painful memories. He has been through enough as it is for several lifetimes.

The War of Wrath was my first brush with actual warfare, not some minor skirmish or tavern brawl. Between Tulkas and Aule's Maiar, I was given a crash course in military tactics before the Valar decided I would be better placed as a scout in the sky to report enemy movements. Never really understood the mechanics of sieges or battle formations. My boys picked up a fair bit from their education under the Feanorions. Elros was done with the entire business of war once he took off for Numenor but poor Elrond was stuck with the sorry business off and on until the Fourth Age.

War is the most unpleasant and messy business to ever come into existence from the Melody. One would suspect a certain fallen Vala had a hand in that. No slight to Lord Tulkas of course, but few men attain the glory of Uncle Fingon the Valiant or Finrod Felagund. Most end up bleeding out pointlessly in the mud if disease does not do them in first. Lord Aule was kind enough to provide me with a fancy spyglass I have put to good use over the yeni, just to keep tabs on what my offspring are up to.

Yes, I have been tempted on occasion to spy on pretty maidens at their baths. It does get lonely up here. Then Elwing made a teensy request of Lady Varda that resulted in me breaking out in hives should I peep at bathing beauties intentionally. It does not work for menfolk, which is a good thing since certain male descendants of mine have a habit of skinny-dipping in their father's fountain as youths just to rile their poor tutor and scandalize any royal guests in residence. Better Elrond deal with their discipline than I.

I am getting ahead of myself. Back to the First Age. By the time we were besieging Angband, my sons had been retuned to their nearest non-Feanorion kinsman – some chap named Gil-galad with a highly suspect lineage. Was he from Fingon's or Orodreth's line? Since he bumped along perfectly well with Elrond, I suppose it doesn't really matter.

I was not expecting any trouble- having a guard of Great Eagles and all. That was before that mountain broke open and the biggest dragon I have ever seen in my life popped out and took to the air. Something that big and heavy should never be capable of flight, but the laws of physics fail whenever we are speaking about evil Dark Lords.

One thing they left out was how annoyingly polite dragons could be, and not in a good sense. It is that sort of priggish, better-than-thou politeness that makes one want to poke them in the eye. How did you suppose we knew the beast's name? Ancalagon flapped languidly over to us and introduced himself. Then it was "No hard feelings, princess. It is nothing personal but my Master does want your lot dead. Let's make it as quick and painless…"

No one calls me princess and gets away with it, so I poked him in the eye with my prow. No, those bards got it wrong again. I did not go after him with a bow. I mean, did they have any idea how thick dragon scales are? Arrows would simply bounce off.

What would you know but stabbing a minion of Morgoth with a prow tipped with a Varda-hallowed gem sets the beast on fire, just like Elwing's story about that monster wolf her people had to hunt down in Doriath so long ago? Of course, it took a few more good stabs before Ancalagon fell from the skies and fittingly squashes Angband.

Author's Notes:

Although Ancalagon did not speak canonically, we have talking dragons like Smaug and Galurang in Tolkien's universe. I imagine Ancalagon speaking like Smaug in the Hobbit movies. Let's be honest about Gil-galad. No one's clear about his parentage, possibly not even Tolkien himself given he has at least 2 different family trees drawn out.