Author's Notes: It's Tolkien's, just remixed by an insane Warg. This chapter is dedicated to Lord Valentai for an in-depth review via email at five in the morning. Thanks, Peter!
By the time Miriel reawakened, the Elwing was almost upon her destination. Peeking through the half-open door, the queen could make out little but ship and fog. Nevertheless, an odd, earthy scent and the distant reply of a seabird to Giladrian's cry of challenge let her know that land was not too far away, even if the sudden murkiness hid it from view. The trio aboard the Elwing had had good sailing weather for the majority of their trip, courtesy of the ancient accord with the wizardly elves, but Valinor was ever surrounded by a cloaking haze that hid it from the view of aspiring mortal eyes.
Despite the fog, Miriel could not shake off the strong, uplifting feeling of inevitable homecoming. "When did you finally see sense and turn around, Palansül?" she asked the mist, truly smiling with delight for the first time since boarding the vessel. Certainly, her voyage had created more problems than it had apparently solved, but somehow Tar-Miriel no longer feared the threat of her cousin. She was the rightful monarch, not Pharazon. If his threatening sneer shadowed her mind, there was a certain pair of shining gray eyes to brighten her mood. Whenever Pharazon's hard hands hurt her, a more gentle, gnarled pair would be there to soothe the pain, at least in her memory, if the sailor would not stay in court. He would do well as a naval commander, the queen thought to herself, laughing slightly at the mental image of informal, messy Palansül in dress uniform. As ridiculous as it seemed on the surface, Miriel filed the notion away as a method to oust her cousin from military power. Even if the captain of the Elwing was not as good at martial strategy as cruel, war-mongering Pharazon, his fame as an explorer and development of the telescope should go far towards earning him respect amongst the navy.
"Mistress Miriel?" The main subject of the woman's daydream knocked lightly, sticking his head within the opening. Backing up so as to avoid a collision with his suddenly emerging cranium, the queen readjusted the oversize robe Ragastion had dressed her in as she permitted the seaman entrance. Palansül stood in the doorway, expressionless as he took in her appearance. Still emaciated and waiflike, Miriel's color had at least improved, the painful red giving way to a rosy tan. She stood tall and proud, the same as the queen had upon their first meeting. However, perhaps it was only her loose hair cascading down her back, but Palansül thought that Miriel seemed to lack that initial stiffness in his presence that she had displayed before her illness. "Well, it's a wonder to see you up and about," the sailor spoke at last, self-consciously breaking into a smile that widened considerably when he saw it returned.
"It feels good to be able to stand upon my own, but perhaps we ought to sit back down," Miriel returned, placing her hand on the crammed bookshelf for support. "I am not yet returned to my full strength." The captain offered her an arm for the few steps back to the bed, and for once the headstrong queen did not refuse it. She seated herself primly upon the side of the bed as if the down mattress was no more padded than her father's throne, and then with her diplomatically welcoming gesture, Palansül slouched back next to Miriel.
"I just dropped by to see if you needed anything," the seaman ventured slowly. "We're nearing shore, and now that you're awake, I suppose you'll want to get ready for departure."
"I suppose so," Miriel replied, pushing her hair back from her shoulder. As glad as she was for her apparent return to Andor, she did not know how to explain her clandestine disappearance. More importantly, she was not sure how she might convince the captain to stay with her after she disembarked his ship. "But I want to thank you before I leave, Palansül. I would not have survived if it hadn't been for your care." Looking about as she rummaged through her mind for the proper words, Tar-Miriel seemed to notice her surroundings for the first time. "You even lent me your quarters."
The sailor was the one to break eye contact this time. "I meant to from the first, but I didn't get it cleaned out in time. Figured you wouldn't mind as much when you just needed it for shade. Radagast was really the one who got you safe, I just fetched and carried."
"Ragastion has ever been a friend to me, and I will thank him when I see him." The captain realized that his hand was upon Miriel's bare shoulder, and hers lay atop his. Whether he had placed it there upon his own unconscious urgings and she had clasped it in reassurance or she had intertwined her smooth, long nailed fingers with his rougher ones before resting them upon her newly tanned, sensitive skin was not in his memory. Either way, Palansül was at once apprehensive and optimistic of the implications of this turn of events. "But you have been a very dear friend to me as well, Palansül the Grayhavensailor, and I would like to continue this friendship."
If she looked him in the eye at that point, the seaman knew that he would lose himself. He felt her hand tremble upon his and knew she felt the same. Miriel was queen of the greatest human empire in the known world, threatened to the edge of sanity by her power-hungry cousin. Palansül was an explorer, an eccentric inventor who had no more than a small ship and its cluttered contents to his name. Yet in this endless moment, they were simply a man and a woman, afraid to fall for one another, more afraid of going on alone.
"But of course. I won't leave you, my friend." An odd thought occurred to him as he tried to ease the awkward silence: "The first woman in Valinor." Palansül did not realize he had spoken the last aloud until the lady asked him to repeat himself. "You will shortly be the first mortal woman to enter the Gray Havens, Majesty. And while there are plenty of elves, I've noticed a distinct paucity of men there," With a self-conscious grin, the sailor removed their entwined hands from her shoulder, raising her fingers to her lips. Holding her delicate, mutilated left hand as gently as he could, the captain picked up her right as well; stroking her palms with the vague, well-meaning wish that there could be some way to make them whole once more. The scars in her wrists would always be there, symbols of her scarred heart. He knew that as well as she. Palansül could only prevent further ones, if he were gentle enough with her. "If I may be so bold as to question the actions of a wizard, do you think Radagast set us up?"
"You're always bold, dear friend," Miriel replied with a smile, caressing his hands. "And always ready to brighten my mood. If it was Ragastion's intention to put us together, they do say that the decisions of wizards are generally wise ones. But we are upon Valinor? It feels so much like home." The queen stood, walking unsteadily to the door that the captain had left ajar. Palansül followed her, standing right behind her in the doorway as she peered out into the mist.
"It does feel like home, from the first time one approaches these sacred shores." As he inhaled the heady vapor of the western lands, the wanderer could feel Miriel lean slightly into him, and Palansül felt more than ever that he was home at last.