Legolas tapped the chisel with delicate care, and the final flake fell away from the plank that would be mounted on the stern of the ship whose ribs soared over his head. Gwaelaer would be a good name, he thought as he brushed away the small flakes. All he had to do now was remove a certain portion of the surrounding wood, so that the graceful tengwar stood out in bas relief, and then sand the characters into smooth roundness.

"Nice work. I did not know that you were so handy with wood, although I should have guessed it from the stories of your work in Ithilien after the War."

Putting a hand up to shield his eyes against the bright morning sun, Legolas looked in the direction of the rich voice. The speaker was tall, with dark hair and dancing grey eyes - and a full, dark but close-trimmed beard. "Do I know you?" he asked, straightening, his eye caught by the length of silver-wood that was longer than the stranger was tall.

The grey eyes twinkled back at him, and the almost familiar sound of a belly laugh answered him. "Ah, my friend! Do not tell me that I must come to you with ancient form and straggling beard to be recognized!"

Legolas blinked. Yes, the glint in the eye and the laughter were very familiar, not to mention the faintest whiff of... "Mithrandir! Or… should I call you Olórin now?" He threw his arms about very sturdy shoulders and gave the figure a hearty hug. "I have not seen you for nearly a long-year!"

"My duties to my lord have kept me busy, but not so busy that I failed to hear of this latest intrigue arising from some of my comrades from Ennor." Olórin put his hand on Legolas' shoulder. "And because of my interest, I have been given leave to accompany you and your fellows on your exploration of the Outer Lands, if you will have me, that is."

"Accompany us?" Legolas stared. "Glorfindel returned from Taniquetil with the news that the Belain would neither assist nor hinder."

Olórin nodded slowly. "That is true, they will not. However, I am not they; and I have a good deal of curiosity to see what might come of this drive to found a new Elven settlement outside of Eldamar." His expression sobered. "I understand what drives you and your comrades, Thranduilion; I understand completely."

"Well, I cannot say that I am reluctant to accept your assistance, as we can use all able bodies. But it would probably be wise to let others know of your offer, in case they are of another opinion," the Elf said finally. "We already know that at least two of the Kings are not pleased with our ideas."

"Caution is never a vice, my young friend. With whom do I need to speak then?"

"My father, no doubt, as he already fancies himself as ruler of Avathar, once it has a permanent settlement; Cirdan, who is the one in charge of seeing the building and stocking of our first mode of exploration." The golden head tipped in the direction of the ship. "And probably Elladan or Elrohir, as it was those two whose frustrations finally gave way and brought us all together in the first place."

The dark brows, no longer bushy but elegantly arched, rose. "I can see I will be traveling a good deal in the near future, then."

"Nay. I but jested with you, old friend." Legolas broke into delighted laughter and clapped Olórin on the back. "I accept your offer of assistance on behalf of all of us, if for no other reason than I know better than they the manner of assistance you can give us. If any of the others have any issues - and I truly doubt any will - they can just bring them to me. Now…" He gave the Maia a discerning look. "Where are you staying, or have you just arrived?"

"I took a room at the inn when I arrived yesterday…"

"Then I will go with you and settle your bill there while you go collect your belongings, for you will stay nowhere else if not in my own home." Legolas chuckled at the surprise his statement evoked. "I will not see another member of the Fellowship forced to billet in hired lodgings when my home is so near at hand and holds much more comfortable accommodations at a much more reasonable fee."

"Your father may feel differently," Olórin warned. "One of the last times we had any dealings, he rounded on me right harshly for letting Elrond send you off with all those Mortals. He grumbled rather loudly something about ears belonging in jars on his desk…"

Legolas guffawed. "He has never entirely forgiven me for joining the Quest without his permission and blessing either, if truth be told," he confessed, and then leaned forward to continue in a conspiratorial tone, "but his temper has improved a good deal since joining my mother here. I am certain he will appreciate the talents of a Maia at hand when going into lands that have seen more of Ungoliant than the Eldar."

"And if he is unimpressed by my talents as Maia - which, incidentally, my lord has asked me to use quite sparingly and only at the very end of need - then perhaps my having spent time looking into everything the Belain know of these lands will sweeten his opinion of me. Elrond and Erestor are not the only ones who keep, and appreciate, a library, you know."

"That depends. Did you learn anything interesting?"

Grey eyes twinkled with humor and mischief. "Would I have mentioned my studies if I had found nothing of value?"

Legolas carefully dropped his chisel and hammer into a wooden box filled with woodworking tools and then wrapped his arm about Olórin's shoulders again. "You may look very different, my friend, but you have not changed one whit if you think answering a question with yet another question is an appropriate response." He dragged at the Maia. "Come on."

"Legolas!" The call came from above. "Before you leave…"

Legolas turned and halted. Amid the standing ribs of the new ship he could discern a distinctive silver mane. "Celeborn! Come down and see who else has decided to join us in our folly!"

As spry and light on his feet any other Elf, Celeborn made quick work of descending the two long ladders that brought his feet back to the sand. Legolas stifled his amusement at seeing the very staid Lord of Lothlorien wracking his brain to recognize the Maia as he drew near. "I do not remember ever having the pleasure," Celeborn said finally, glancing at Legolas at last.

"You would remember him easily if he were still in more ancient guise," Legolas hinted, his glee at not being the only one stymied by Olórin's unfamiliar mien more than obvious.

Celeborn blinked, his face reflecting his subtle frustration at having only received hints. "Give over, Thranduilion. I do not recognize this Elf, and you know it."

"He is no Elf. No Elf would smell of pipeweed!"

"You are becoming as impudent as Elrond's sons," Olórin added with a good-humored glower. "Peace, Celeborn; you knew me once as Mithrandir."

"Olórin?" Celeborn blinked again, and then his face brightened with a smile. "Yes, I see it now! Your face may not reflect the Ages as it used to, but your eyes give you away." He breathed in deeply and then wrinkled his nose. "As does the smell of pipeweed, as Legolas says." He looked back and forth between Legolas and Olórin. "But, did I hear our young friend say that you intend to join with us?"

"If you would have me along."

Celeborn began to chortle. "Here and I thought Glorfindel said that the Belain had no intent to either help or hinder…"

"They don't," Olórin answered, realizing he would probably be repeating this several times, "but that does not mean that I have no preferences in the matter."

"We could use his help," Legolas stated, allowing some of his playfulness to drop away. "He says that he spent some time researching everything that the Belain know about the abandoned lands outside the Pelóri. I, for one, am curious as to what he found out."

"I am certain Círdan will be more than grateful to hear what you have to say," Celeborn remarked, impressed. "This is unexpected assistance; and I am glad to hear of it."

"Where is Círdan?" Olórin asked, looking around. "Is he not in charge of directing this construction?"

"He said that he had some business in Avallónë, but that he would return in two days' time," Celeborn answered. "In the meantime, we will have to see to your lodging…"

"I told him he could stay in my father's house for the time being," Legolas interrupted. "It will be good to have one of my old Fellowship close by again after all this time."

Olórin's gaze softened noticeably. "You still miss him greatly, do you not?"

Legolas sighed. "I miss them all, Gandalf, each and every one of them." He shook himself free of the ever-threatening grief that he'd promised himself would no longer control his life. "But I seek to honor them and their bravery, and weeping endlessly for them I now realize does them no service at all. Come on - you too, Celeborn! Let us go surprise my father and raise a toast to our future success."

"With a stop at the inn to pick up my gear," Olórin reminded him with a twinkle in his eye.

"And to settle your bill; I remember my offer," Legolas chuckled.

oOoOo

Círdan studied the front gate of the estate his wife and son shared, located near the top of a rise overlooking the harbor. Nearly half a year had passed since he'd set foot past the threshold, partly due to his responsibilities in making certain that the construction on the ships in Alqualondë proceeded according to schedule. But that hadn't been the entire reason; he'd been back to Avallónë often enough, but hired a room at an inn near the wharf rather than face things in his home. But he knew he would need to speak to his son before the departure time grew too near. It had to be done, both this encounter and the necessary shift in power alliances that would make certain the Falathrim had capable leadership in his absence; but that didn't mean that he looked forward to the encounter.

Unable to muster a good excuse to put off the inevitable any longer, he forced himself to stride up to the gate and tug on the rope that rang a small, brass bell to summon the servants. He still had a key to the gate in his pocket - that, too, would be something he'd have to take care of during the next few minutes - but this was no longer his home.

"Master Círdan," bowed the servant who answered the bell. "It is good to see you again."

"And you, Morfindir. How is your dear wife?"

The dark-haired servant smiled widely. "She is well, Master. And, if you can believe it, after all this time, we are awaiting the birth of our first!"

Círdan stopped and clapped Morfindir on the shoulder. "It is about time, my friend. You said you were going to have children once you got here. I am frankly surprised it has taken you all this time…"

"It was Nimien, my lord. She wanted to spend time with her family, and then her brother Durben was released from Bannoth…"

"Well, the both of you will be very busy very shortly." Círdan made a mental note to keep track of Morfindir and his wife through contacts among the Falathrim not intending to accompany him to Avathar. A birthing day gift for one of his newest subjects would be ordered and delivered at the appropriate time. "But, unfortunately, I am not here to visit with you or your charming lady. I seek my son."

"Well. I wondered how long it would be before you showed your face here again." The female voice from the direction of the garden door was cold and emotionless.

Círdan restrained a scowl as Morfindir bowed quickly and hastened from the scene, wishing he could do the same. This encounter was not unexpected, but he had looked forward to it no more than he had the upcoming one with Aglaron. "Elunis." He bowed his head in formal greeting to his wife. "I had arranged to meet our son here at this hour."

"I know." Elunis' ice-blue eyes glittered. She swept back a long tendril of silver-blonde. "He is a little late from meeting with some of his retainers."

"I shall await him in my office, then." Círdan moved past her and headed down a familiar hallway.

"What happened to you at that meeting with all of your old comrades?" Elunis asked in a surprisingly peevish tone. "You had been content to allow Aglaron to oversee matters every time you were away from Tol Eressëa before then. Suddenly, you take charge without a single word of warning…"

His footsteps slowed, but he did not turn. "Perhaps you should ask your son what transpired during my absence to that meeting, wife, that changed my perspective. Perhaps your son would see fit to explain things to you that he has yet to justify to my satisfaction."

Elunis took a few steps toward her husband, her eyes narrowed. "You are not the same ellon I once knew. You have grown hard, and cold, and unreasonable."

"Have I? Truly?" Círdan turned at last, his beard twitching in anger. "I offer, instead, the proposition that it is you and Aglaron who have changed. When I was the Lord of the Falathrim, and you both were with me in Mithlond, my son did not question my decisions, nor did you harp at me for not letting him rule in my name."

"The fact remains that he did rule in your name for nearly ten long-years here, while we waited for you to finally have your fill of Ennor and come West. And the moment you arrived, you set him aside and just… took over, except for those occasions when you visited on the mainland, and even then, only for a short while and never with full authority."

"Mother… Father…" Aglaron looked none too pleased at whatever he had heard as he had approached the pair. "My apologies, Father, for being late. An argument needed moderation…"

"Yes, yes. I know all too well how such things happen." Círdan waved his son toward the office. "Let us get this over with."

Elunis waited until Aglaron was through the office door. "We are not finished with our discussion," she hissed at her husband.

"As far as I am concerned, we finished this discussion long before it began," Círdan replied abruptly. "I wish you a good day, Lady." And with that, he turned his back to her, entered the office and closed the door securely behind him.

"Now, Father, what was it that you wished to see me about so suddenly?" Aglaron rounded on his father almost as the door shut. "I do have business of my own to take care of, you know…"

"I have come to inform you of an important decision concerning the leadership of our people for while I am assisting in the exploration of…"

"Lands that decent Elves would want no part of." Aglaron bent a disparaging grey gaze on his father. "Do you know how many of our people have come to me, wondering what has gotten into you? Do you have any idea of how hard it is not to agree with them that what you intend is not only foolish but dangerous, for who knows what evils you will awaken there in the abandoned lands?"

"And do you know how many of our people are keenly interested in establishing a new Havens?" Círdan retorted. "Most of them Elves who came Westward with me at the end."

"The whiners. Why am I not surprised?" Aglaron sniffed. "The ones who resent having to let their elders and those who lived - and died - before them telling them what to do."

Círdan's eyes narrowed, and he pulled himself very erect and strode over to put himself nose to nose with his son. "You call them whiners? Then you so label yourself - you who whimper every time I give you instructions that are not to your liking."

"I…" Aglaron's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, as if unable to come up with a defense against his own accusation.

In the meanwhile, Círdan moved with restrained fury to behind the desk, which he was not surprised to see had once more grown overflowing with sea maps and documents in complete disarray, and seated himself regally. "And now, you will explain to me, my son, why Taendir continues to command the helm of the Aearwing."

Aglaron blanched and then flushed a bright crimson. "Taendir continues to command her because she belongs to him - to his family. He…"

"Drove her too close to the rocks trying to outrun a storm," Círdan finished for him. "Two of my - our - people died, Aglaron. For what? For a few extra kulustar? I am certain the widows of both Naerdir and Túion would rather have seen their husbands safely in port, rather than be forced to wait out the time each must now spend in Bannoth!"

"But…"

"There is no 'but' that will justify, Aglaron. Two Felessil languish in Bannoth needlessly; and you and your mother have the unmitigated gall to wonder why it is that I stepped back into my role as Lord of the Falathrim?"

"Do you take away the livelihood of every friend of yours who has made a mistake?" Aglaron exploded. "Taendir realizes his error and is paying the families of Naerdir and…"

"Again he seeks to use coin to justify or excuse his intemperate actions - and you agree to this?" Círdan shook his head. "For all your long-years, it seems that wisdom has eluded you."

Aglaron's eyes narrowed. "For all your long-years, Father, it seems that you fail to note when things have changed around you. The Falathrim that I led all during those long-years we awaited you do not dispute my wisdom - or question my response to Taendir. They share in the values of Valinor; values you scoff at every time I hear you speak in public."

"Self-serving attitudes and actions benefit no one but themselves in the end, Aglaron! If nothing else, your own death in Ennor should have taught you that!"

His son blanched to almost colorless, lips trembling. "Do not preach to me about death or dying, Father. You have not been to Bannoth; you do not know…"

"And yet you, who know the byways of those Halls quite intimately, treat the entire subject casually. I cannot allow our people to be led by one who considers such things negligently." Círdan shook his head sadly. "Taendir will be relieved of his command the moment he sets foot on dry land this afternoon. You will see to it - personally." His grey eyes bored holes into those of his son, in whom he had had so many hopes. "Taendir has a brother who has been his first mate. To him will fall command of the Aearwing, am I understood?"

Two red spots on chiseled cheeks were the only color on Aglaron's face. "Yes, Father. I hear and obey."

"Good. You will take care of this action before the assembly this evening." Círdan stood and gestured at the overloaded desk. "For the rest of this day, however, I would have you collect, sort, and pack away everything on this desk. You will have no further use for it, and I am certain my successor will."

"I… I am not to lead our people while…?" The color on his son's cheeks had vanished.

"No. You have proven to me that you are unsuitable for the responsibility involved. You allow friendship to cloud your judgment, and place the value of gold over reason." Círdan sorted through the documents absently and picked out a few that he could tell at a glance would need his attention before he could return to Alqualondë.

Aglaron's hands had closed into white-knuckled fists. "You cannot do this to me, Father. I have earned…"

"What?" Círdan's sharp gaze nailed into his son's mercilessly. "What have you earned, and by what virtue?"

"I am your son," was the shaky reply.

"Yes," Círdan nodded sadly, "you are. For that reason do I leave you and your mother with this estate, and with any income you might draw from the new Lord, when I appoint him. Were you not my son, I would have you taken to the mainland and exiled there for gross negligence and dereliction of duty."

"My people will never stand for this!" Aglaron blasted, finally breaking free of the shock of his father's decision. "All I shall have to do is call together those for whom I have been Lord, and your decrees will be as so much noise in a high wind."

"Are you so desperate for power and prestige that you would foment open rebellion against your lord?" Círdan challenged the younger Elf mercilessly. "Perhaps, before you do, you should take yourself to a library, there to read the histories of the past rebellions here in Valinor. I suggest you pay close attention to the acts and deeds of Fëanor. I believe that while you think you might rule here, you are not king, Aglaron. Foment rebellion among our people at your peril."

"It will not be rebellion if you and your followers are gone to Avathar," Aglaron tossed out, obviously struggling to gain the kind of serenity and calm that his father had. "Those who would follow me would never even consider such folly."

"You are determined to walk this path, my son?"

Aglaron faced his father's gaze without flinching. "I am."

Círdan nodded slowly and loosed a long sigh. "So be it." He gave his son a baleful look. "A good lord protects his people from threats, both from without as well as from within." He tucked the documents he had selected into his tunic and moved toward the office door. "I let it be known that an important announcement would be forthcoming at the twilight assembly. You will be in attendance dockside without fail."

"I will be there." Aglaron's voice was soft. He waited until his father had gained the door and had his hand on the bar before saying quietly. "I rejoice that you soon will be leaving Eldamar. I hate you."

Círdan turned to look over his shoulder. Aglaron stood, glaring at him; his form straight and strong, looking so much like his mother. "And that will make things difficult for you eventually, my son. A wise lord builds upon the successes of his predecessor; he does not compete with them. Farewell until this evening."

oOoOo

Círdan would never know if the attendance at the assembly was high due to rumors sent into circulation by his son, or whether other mouths had been busy that day; but every ship's master, dockworker and sailor who called themselves Falassel crowded into the immense warehouse that served as the venue for these rare meetings. Usually, such things were called only when a matter of great import - or news of true danger - needed discussion; and neither Círdan himself nor Aglaron during his tenure had been known for calling many of them.

As Círdan mounted the stairs on the side of the building so that he could look out over the entire group - and so that they could clearly see and hear him - he noted Aglaron and some of his friends with their heads together in a tight knot not far away. From the looks on the friends' faces, Aglaron's description of what was going to happen was not a happy development.

He steeled himself. Too bad. For Ages had the Falathrim held the various Havens in Ennor and managed the harbor at Avallónë. These were his people - all of them, regardless of whom they looked to for guidance - and as such, his responsibility. Even as the Elves had divided themselves into separate groups on the long journey from Cuiviénen to Valinor and still survived, so would the Falathrim survive this division.

"My people," Círdan began, and all other discussions in the hall ceased. "Many of you have heard rumors that I would be leaving Eldamar. I am here to tell you that these rumors are true." There was a soft murmur that held tones of consternation from the floor. "An expedition is leaving soon that aims to explore the coastal lands to the east beyond the Pelóri, specifically Avathar. I will be accompanying the expedition. As my part of the preparations, I am supervising the construction of two ships in Alqualondë. When the ships are ready and provisioned, I will be sailing with them."

"But will you return?" came a shout from below.

Círdan shrugged. "I cannot say. The plans of the expedition include the construction of a harbor, where ships from Eldamar may dock and from which trade between Eldamar and Avathar can take place. Obviously, this will take some time."

"What if we want to go with you?" That voice belonged to Eglafon, master of one of the larger fishing vessels to base itself in Avallónë.

"I would not turn down any who wish to participate. As a matter of fact, that is what this assembly is about." Círdan cast an eye to his son and his knot of friends. "Not everyone is pleased that I would choose to join this expedition. Moreover, inasmuch as my choice for my successor would be other than my son, should I choose to remain in charge of the new harbor in Avathar, I have been informed that such a choice could result in open rebellion."

"No!" "Who would suggest such a thing?" "Why would you not choose Aglaron?" The calls came quickly and stridently.

Círdan raised his hand. "My reasons for not merely allowing the lordship of the Falathrim to fall to Aglaron are, in my mind, sound ones, based on experience and the fine points of leadership. Be that as it may, I am convinced that such a rebellion - should it come to pass - stands too good a chance for causing bloodshed, and I am not willing to be responsible for such a thing. Therefore, I have determined that the Falathrim shall divide into two peoples: one loyal to me and willing to relocate to Avathar when the time comes, the other those who wish to give their loyalties to Aglaron and remain in Eldamar."

The floor of the warehouse exploded into a cacophony of voices, all calling out to Círdan, Aglaron, and also to each other. Círdan noted with some satisfaction the look of surprise and dismay on his son's face. Good. Let him take note that open rebellion is not a matter taken lightly in Valinor.

"What does the King say of this?" demanded one loud voice that carried above the rest, and the hall grew quiet again in expectation of the answer.

"I have not spoken to our King about this division of the Falathrim; but he is reluctantly neutral as far as the expedition itself is concerned. He finds it difficult to understand the reasons some of us would want to leave Eldamar, but can find no good reason to prevent it." Círdan glanced at Aglaron and his friends again pointedly. "Once this assembly is finished, I will be carrying news of it and the decisions made here to him."

"How can you ask us to separate into two peoples? You are perhaps asking brother to turn away from brother, or son from father!" another called out.

"Ever have our people allowed those who disagreed to turn aside," Círdan answered evenly. "How else did the Telerrim, the Golodhrim, the Thindarim, arise if not by choosing to turn away on the Great Journey or continue on to Valinor from our awakening at the shores of the lake? We were all one people in Cuiviénen; and now, generations later, we count ourselves as Miniel, Golodh, Thinnel, Avo, Falassel; even Galadhel and Imladhrel, if some of the stories are true. This will be but the latest in a long line of divisions."

"How do you want us to decide, Lord Círdan?"

"Look deep into your hearts. If you are content with how Aglaron managed the Falathrim before I sailed West, and if you have no interest in helping to forge a new land for our people, then you are best suited to remain here. If, however, you would rather have me as lord, and if the idea of founding a new Havens in Avathar piques your interest, then your choice is clear. No onus is placed on any of you to choose one way or the other.

"Now, I have summoned an impartial ellon to bear witness to the choices made." Círdan beckoned, and a dark haired ellon mounted the stairs and stopped only a few steps below Círdan. "This is Cullas of Alqualondë, son of Camaen, of the Tellerim. To him will each of you give your choice." Círdan held up a small square of parchment. "When you reach the table where Cullas shall sit, you will write your name and then either a quesse if you choose to follow Círdan or an ungwe if your choice is to follow Aglaron."

Círdan gave a signal, and a table was carried to the front of the hall, along with a chair and a large clay pot. "There will be no indication of anyone's choice this night. You each will fold your piece of parchment and put it in the pot. Cullas' responsibility will be to supervise the voting, so that no man here is forced to make a choice against his conscience by anyone; and then, after the assembly, it will be his responsibility to make two lists from the accumulated scraps of paper, one for me and one for Aglaron. Only at that time will choices be known.

"There will be no obligation to choose one or the other as your lord. Each person shall be responsible for his own choice only. You may discuss the matter among you as you wait, but only one man at a time will be writing their choice." Círdan bowed in Cullas' direction. "If you will take your place, my friend…"

Cullas descended the stairs, and the crowd of Falathrim fell back a few paces to give the table full room. "As each one comes to his decision, step forth." Círdan cast an eye over his people, seeing confusion and worry and no small amount of determination in nearly every face. "You may begin when ready. This assembly is at an end when the last of you has made your choice." Finally, he turned his eye on his son. "Aglaron, you and I will now withdraw from the assembly, as our choices are not in question."

He pulled his chief advisor aside once he descended the stairs. "Your task, my old friend, is to see that no violence visits this choosing."

"That I can do, my lord." Arnon bowed and hurried away.

"Aglaron." Círdan's voice cut through the hum about them. "We will leave now."

Reluctantly, Aglaron bowed his farewells to his associates and accompanied his father from the warehouse.

"Did you speak to Taendir?" Círdan asked, his voice tight.

"I did as you ordered," Aglaron snapped back. "Even though, once this ridiculous exercise is through, I shall unmake your decision posthaste."

Círdan nodded. "As I expected." He grasped his son's forearm and dragged him over to where they could look back toward the city itself. "We will make this transition a smooth one. Those who choose to follow me will have until the second full moon from tonight to settle their affairs here and make arrangements to relocate to Alqualondë. I will be speaking to my treasurer and have him divide the treasury by the number of Falathrim in attendance tonight, and the total will be divided between us to match the vote. Is this acceptable to you?"

"Anything to get you out of my way." Aglaron pulled his arm free and stalked down the dock toward the street leading back into the city.

oOoOo

"You did what?" Silivien stared at her husband. "Tell me this is but a jest!"

Dinenon shook his head. "This is no jest. You know how I feel about the way my brother values gold, to the point that two of my friends - my friends, Silivien - now languish in Bannoth. When asked to choose, I threw in my lot with Lord Círdan. The Aearwing will join the ships leaving Alqualondë for Avathar."

Silivien felt around with a numb hand for the seat of the chair nearest her and sat down heavily, her dark hair tumbling forward as she slumped. Fearfully, she rested her hand atop the large mound that was their unborn child. "What about me? What about our son?"

"I have heard the talk, my love, and I believe it not to be as dire a place as many say. The ones who would lead us are of the finest who remained until the very last in Ennor. And they will be in need of talented fisher folk." Dinenon sank to his knees next to his wife. "Look about you. We are but poor folk. Taendir has shared little of the wealth he brought in with his reckless deeds with his family or crew. As the new master of the Aearwing, I have a chance to make a better and more decent life for you and our son - and for those who would stay with the ship when she sails."

"What of all my friends here?" Silivien asked softly.

Dinenon smiled gently. "We will not cut all ties; messages will flow back and forth once we have a safe port established. And there will be the others who are just as fearful of this as you." She could feel the encouragement in the supportive arm that slipped about her shoulders. "You can make new friends, my love."

Silivien stared about her in the candlelight. It was true that their lot was a fragile one here in Avallonë; that she relied heavily on the thrice-weekly sea harvest that Dinenon brought with him as his share of the profits to augment what her labors as a laundress could purchase for them to eat. Their home was barely adequate for the two of them; and with a child on the way, she had wondered how she would be able to continue her work as her time drew near. "I am afraid," she admitted finally.

"I know," her husband told her tenderly. "But I just know that this is the right thing for us. Think of it - a chance to build a whole, new life for ourselves."

She stared into his eyes, sparkling with excitement in the candlelight. "I will trust in your choice, my husband."

"Good!" Dinenon rose. "Then begin your packing. We will want to have our belongings aboard the Aearwing as soon as possible, because her next journey will take us to Alqualondë to await the order to sail for Avathar."

"And if Taendir will not hand over the Aearwing?"

Dinenon shook his head. "Taendir received his walking papers from Aglaron himself this very day. He is not the master of the Aearwing any longer - I am. He has no say in the matter."

"Have you spoken to the rest of the crew?" Silivien persisted. "What did they choose?"

"I spoke to them before I made my choice. Most of them have been unhappy with Taendir since he foundered the ship trying to run for port and landed two of our number in Bannoth." Dinenon's expression hardened. "I believe only one or two chose to remain in Eldamar. We will have more than enough to man the ship for her next voyage."

"And they will be bringing their families aboard as well?"

He nodded. "I told them to prepare to leave within three days, when the repairs will be completed."

Silivien stood up and wrapped her arms around her husband's waist and held on tightly. "I hope you have made the right choice." She sighed happily when his arms encircled her. "There is little to pack. I can be ready in the time you have given me."

"Good," Dinenon nodded against the top of her head. "Good."

Sindarin Vocabulary:

Aearwing - Sea Spray, a fishing vessel

Bannoth - Mandos' Halls, where elven faer go upon the death of the body

Belain – the Powers, the Gods (sing. Bala)

Ellon - male Elf (pl. ellyn)

Gwaelaer - Wing Song, a transport ship

Kulustar - (Quenya) gold coins (sing. kulusta)

Quessë - the tengwar letter for C

Ungwë - the tengwar letter for G