Chapter Seven: Of Ships and Sea Shanties

It seemed to Elrond that he had just fallen asleep that night when he heard a soft tapping sound from outside his room. Someone was knocking on the door.

"C'min," the elf called out groggily, sitting up and yawning. Who in Arda could be knocking? He probed his mind, and remembered yesterday's conversation with Eärendil. Oh, yes… he was accompanying his father to the Isle of Balar today.

Staring around his dim bedchamber, Elrond saw that stars were still twinkling outside the window. It wasn't even dawn! Just how far was it to the island?

As Elrond rose, the door creaked slowly open, spilling a bright shaft of reddish-gold torchlight into the shadowy chamber. A figure stood silhouetted on the threshold, soon revealed to be Eärendil. The elf was fully dressed and wide awake.

Elrond moved over to where a shallow basin and a pitcher of water stood on a table by the window. Splashing a double handful of the icy liquid onto his face, he shivered as his senses were revived.

"There are horses waiting for us in the stables," said his father, as Elrond dried his face and turned toward the door. "Are you ready?"

"If you'll give me a moment to dress, I'll be with you shortly," Elrond replied.

Eärendil nodded, stepping away from the door as Elrond moved to his wardrobe and selected a beige tunic and breeches. He dressed as quickly as he could, grabbed a cloak and followed his father out to the stables.

Eärendil reached into a sack that was slung over his shoulder, pulling out a russet apple and handing it to Elrond before selecting one for himself. The elves breakfasted leisurely as they headed outside.

Elwing met them just outside the stable door, a smile on her face and her sons in her arms. She gave her husband a kiss on the cheek, as she could not embrace him, and nodded politely to Elrond.

"Good luck, both of you," she said warmly. "And please be careful."

Eärendil and Elrond both nodded, smiling reassuringly. Eärendil bent down a little and kissed his sons' foreheads gently.

"I'll see you in a few days," he told his wife, pressing his lips against hers. "Take care."

She nodded sadly, kissing him again. "I love you."

"I love you, too," Eärendil replied.

So do I, Elrond thought miserably. If only you knew.

Eärendil nodded to Elrond, and they both mounted the horses Eärendil had readied to bear them to the shores of Beleriand; from there they would take a ferry to the island. Elrond prayed fervently that it was less than five miles.

But what if it was? His heart suddenly clenched at the thought. What if he and his infant self grew too far apart? He shuddered as a vision of Mandos' torn handkerchief flitted unbidden to the front of his mind, praying that nothing would happen.

As dawn turned the sky to pale gold, Eärendil again struck up conversation with his comrade. He was glancing at Elrond's cloak, which was shimmering in the sunlight; it was the one he had received from Mandos.

"Where did you get that?" he asked.

"It was a gift," Elrond replied hesitantly, but honestly.

Eärendil nodded, seemingly noticing the half-elf's unease, and did not question him further. They rode on in silence, with Elrond growing steadily more uncomfortable. He was finding it increasingly difficult to breathe; his heart now felt as if it were caught between two pairs of tongs, both pulling in different directions. Was this what it felt like to have one's soul ripped in two?

"Are you all right?" his father asked him, frowning in concern.

Elrond nodded insincerely, not daring to speak; he felt as if he might be sick if he opened his mouth. Eärendil shrugged, but glanced back at his companion every once in a while.

Gradually the wrenching feeling in Elrond's heart seemed to recede, and he soon forgot about it. The sky was a cloudless blue, and the sun was warm and bright; the wind was light and breezy. It was a beautiful day.

"Lovely weather, isn't it?" said Eärendil brightly.

"Gorgeous," Elrond agreed. He gazed around at the scenery rushing past them; the pale hues of green budding trees blended with the pastel pink and purple of their blossoms and the bright, pure blue sky in a multicolored blur.

Something suddenly caught his eye, something not fitting with the bright colors around them – a brief flicker of smoky grey. Instinctively he slowed his horse for a better look, but whatever it was had gone as quickly as it had come.

Eärendil frowned at him, halting his own steed. "What are you doing?"

"I thought I saw something," Elrond replied, catching up to his father. "Never mind, it's long gone."

But was it? For the remainder of the journey – and it was a long one – Elrond continued to snatch glimpses of grey around him, like wisps of storm clouds hovering near the earth. But at last Cirdan's home rose up before them, its pale walls bright against the sky.

The keening cries of seagulls hailed the two travelers as they approached the haven; they wheeled high above a tall figure who was coming to greet them.

Eärendil smiled as he dismounted his horse. "Lord Cirdan, it's good to see you again."

Cirdan was a tall, silver-haired elf, clad in a cream-colored tunic and breeches, and a turquoise cloak that matched exactly the hue of his bright eyes. What set him apart from every other elf in Middle-earth was that Cirdan sported a neatly-trimmed beard, the same color as his hair.

"Lord Eärendil," he nodded, beaming. "You look well. I was thrilled when I heard the news about your wife… twin sons! Both healthy babies… and…" Here Cirdan lowered his voice dramatically.

"Are the rumors true? Did the Fëanturi actually attend the celebration feast, invited by the elf you chose to be your children's' godfather? That would have been a sight – I'm sorry I couldn't be there!"

"It was indeed an event to remember," said Eärendil, smiling over at Elrond. "And yes, the lords Lórien and Mandos did in fact come to the feast; they were invited by none other than my good friend Lord Elrond, whom you see here."

"Maetul, a mae govannen!" (Welcome, and well met!) cried Cirdan, shaking Elrond's hand heartily. "I am indeed honored by your presence."

"Thank you, my lord," Elrond smiled. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Cirdan smiled warmly, and the two elves' eyes met and locked. A small, puzzled frown replaced the smile on the shipwright's lips, and Elrond shifted uneasily.

"Has anyone ever told you," Cirdan said quietly, "how much you two resemble each other? I could easily mistake you for close kindred, or even father and son. Though I know you can't be… Lord Tuor and Lady Idril have long since sailed to Valinor."

Eärendil nodded, a flicker of pain entering his grey eyes. Elrond felt a sharp twinge of sympathy for his father. Had he, too, lost his parents as a child?

But Cirdan's voice broke into his thoughts.

"Come in, sires. Lord Eärendil, your ship is waiting in the shipyard."

"Thank you," Eärendil smiled, striding forward and following Cirdan, who was rolling up his sleeves as he reentered his haven. Elrond hurried along in their wake.

The trio rounded a corner, and Elrond found himself staring at a half-assembled ship beside a pile of timber. The curve of its not-yet-finished hull was like a wall in the distance; it lay on its side, as if it were halfway through rolling over.

Cirdan smiled at his companions, his turquoise eyes sparkling. "Shall we get started?"

----

The air resounded with the thud of hammers striking nails as shipwright, mariner and apprentice toiled steadily. Eärendil and Cirdan cheerily sang sea shanties as they worked; Elrond kept his head down as he crouched over his workspace, knowing full well that every nail he knocked into place was hastening his father's departure.

He was frustrated with everything; with his father, for leaving so soon; with his mother, for not trying harder to get him to stay; and most of all with himself, for not being able to tell his father when the Fëanorians were really coming. Elrond vented all of his anger onto the nails, slamming them furiously into the wood. His fist was sore from holding his hammer too tightly, and his eyes stung with sawdust and tears of helplessness.

Eärendil was beginning another song, a slower one; Elrond paid close attention to the words this time, as they plucked at the strings of his heart:

"The wind's in the bay, and the high sky is blue
And I'm setting sail, so far, far from you.
Elwing my love, though I know you're forlorn
'Tis West I must go, on this fine April morn.

Oh dearie me love, I'm so sorry to leave.
And though I must go, for you I shall grieve.
The sea's in my blood, it's the mariner's curse
And tarrying does naught but make it far worse.

The winds from the East are all filling my sails
And my ears are ringing, as sadly they wail.
I'll never forget you, our hearts are entwined
And with miles between us, I'll still call you mine.

Oh dearie me love, I'm so sorry to leave.
And though I must go, for you I shall grieve.
The sea's in my blood, it's the mariner's curse
And tarrying does naught but make it far worse…"

Elrond couldn't hold back the tears anymore. They slid softly down his dusty cheeks as he listened to his father's heartfelt song. The repeated refrain stung him most of all. Couldn't Eärendil tarry just a little longer? Long enough to get to know his children, at least, if not to see them grow up?

No, whispered a familiar voice in his head. I am sorry, but you must let him go.

Elrond gasped, quickly straightening up and whirling around. Halfway there, he bowed to the Lord of Dreams, who was standing just a few feet away.