The stuffy inn seemed to resound with the echo of a pint being slammed onto the table currently occupied by none other than Gorthaur himself.

However, this one particular piece of information wasn't known to any of the guests. For them, he simply looked like a weary elven traveller; which was nearly just as out of place and unlooked for.

He promptly bit the inside of his cheek to keep a scowl from overtaking his facial features and forcing them to twist into something that could only be labelled as 'horrifying', and instead dipped his head slightly in an appreciative, sharp nod.

He came to play the role of a sympathetic Nando, and he'd be damned if he failed again.

Curse Lúthien for wounding his pride. Now everything was going precisely the way he didn't wish it to go! May the Void claim her descendants with its suffocating shadows.

He settled on sending the rather inhospitable host a small, gentle smile as he calmly reached for his drink.

As the beverage travelled down his throat, nearly making him gag – he wasn't used to neither food nor drink – he focused on tuning into the conversations around him.

Farming matters, herbs and gossip about disliked neighbours.

How... interesting.

"I simply lack the proper tool. I know it exists, but I simply cannot figure out which it is!"

His ears perked up as he recognised one conversation to be about smithing. Not exactly what he came for, but it could potentially be an interesting topic, one that could earn him some amount of trust and untie unwilling tongues. Also, it would kill the time needed for said tongues to become willing to share anything with him.

Interesting indeed.

"Can you not use the narrowest you have?" The question was posed by a scruffy man in his sixties, if the grey strands in his dishevelled beard and hair were anything to go by.

And Sauron rarely guessed wrong.

His conversation partner of a similar age heaved a heavy sigh as he took a swig of his ale.

"I've tried. It lacks the appropriate support, it doesn't go as smoothly as it should. The engravings should be both thin and effortless, without any traces of a struggle. And the narrowest simply doesn't accomplish this effect."

"What will you do now, then?"

"Experiment," the smith laughed, even if the sound came out rather sour. "As any good craftsman would. Just my luck."

Saying this, unwittingly, he provided the perfect opening for a certain Maia in disguise to seep into the conversation through the crack.

"Have you perhaps thought of a wide-angled graver? A ninety-angled one, I'd guess, with a narrow tip."

The heads of the guests present snapped in his direction as one, all conversations suddenly dying out like a candle's light, and the looks of distrust creeping into most expressions were as expected as they were unwelcome. But he kept the mask of a semi-interested elven possible-smith, casting only a sweeping glance around him before letting his eyes settle on the smith.

"Trying to patronise us already, elf?" the man huffed after a second of surprise. "Can one of your kind go one day without offering to aid us, mere mortals, with their unlimited knowledge and wisdom we clearly do not possess?"

Sauron blinked, and sunk into his chair as he fixed his gaze back on his table.

"N... no, I apologise if that's how I came off as. I myself am... was, a smith, and I couldn't help remembering my own struggle with the same dilemma. I merely desired to offer my help, even if only for the sake of keeping myself in the present. I had no intention of appearing superior."

"Strange, for one of your kin. You always seem to want to bestow your wisdom on everyone in an attempt to be forcefully helpful." This was immediately answered by collective hums and grunts of agreement.

He ignored the very obvious hint, letting his forefinger absentmindedly trail circles over his mug's rim.

'Let the game begin,' an eager thought flashed in his mind, and an anticipation roused his good humour from its slumber.

"Perhaps. But I too lack, if not in knowledge and wisdom, though in these as well, then in my inability to make good use of the time that I have been given. I have naught to boast about, except mayhap the number of sorrows and mistakes I've faced, and I daresay that's no boasting matter. In fact, it's a common but private matter, so boasting is neither appropriate nor desired. And reverting to the subject of differences between us, wouldn't you say they merely compliment each other? Where elves think they have an eternity for implementing their ideas, you simply do it, without excess thought. And where you haven't had enough time to familiarise yourselves with a certain topic, can we not help you based on our experiences? One might even think a friendship between a mortal and an elf would have many more benefits than a friendship between two of the same kin."

He stopped his finger in its pointless journey, instead casting a glance at the man, who now observed him with a thoughtful frown, and perhaps with what was even pleasant surprise. In his peripheral, he noticed with no small amount of satisfaction slow nods and people leaning forwards on their chairs around the room, drinks and food becoming secondary instead of a priority. Even the innkeeper seemed to forget about his work in favour of listening.

Good.

"You're an odd fella," admitted the smith after a pause. "But your words hold a truth one could find in holy scrolls or in the mind of an Ainu. I will heed your suggestion."

"Should you find it useful, I'll forever be happy to have helped you. Sharing my knowledge and having it received well is always... it helps to stabilise oneself. So you have my thanks, as well."

The next question was a sort of finalization of his success. It came somewhere from the side, and he glanced at the one who spoke up; a farmer, he quickly guessed. However, the brief glint of hope in his conversationalist's eye was what captured most of his interest.

"Any other knowledge you'd be willing to share, then?" he asked, though try as he might, he couldn't quite conceal the urgency in his voice. "It would be a shame if it were to be wasted by such a passive individual, no?"

Oh sweet, fertile ground.

"I myself am not passive, but I can force some of my undesired knowledge on you, if you so wish." Sauron sent his conversationalist an amused wink, letting him know the joke was well-received and reciprocated.

"I do, in fact, but not regarding smith-craft," the man responded, setting his mug of ale aside.

Sauron nodded welcomingly. "I'm listening."

"Do you possess any medical knowledge?"

Sweet, fertile, annoyingly unhelpful ground.

"A little," was what he admitted with a grimace he didn't bother concealing. He wasn't a Maia of Estë, but perhaps the question would be elementary. At least he hoped so. "I am unsure on what scale I'd possibly be of assistance, but I'll try my best."

"A daughter of mine has struggled with an illness since her birth. Constantly scratching, even when she scratched off the layer of skin and blood flows freely from her wounds. Nearly unable to breathe after consuming certain foods and drinks. Often unable to sleep. We've tried many healers, yet none were able to help."

This, Sauron noticed with no small amount of satisfaction, overlapped heavily with lady Yavanna's domain, and although her Maiar would be much better suited to answer the question, he wasn't left helpless either; Aiwendil had made sure of that, he thought sourly. The younger Maia never displayed the capability of shutting up.

"Again, my knowledge isn't unlimited in this area," he drawled, putting on a thoughtful mask. "But I would suggest avoiding any dairy-related products and nuts, as well as red foods, such as strawberries or tomatoes. In fact, you could try a diet. Have her eat nothing but vegetable-based broths for a month, and then start gradually involving other things, like meat-based broths, then finely cooked vegetables in them, all of this slowly and gradually. And if she responds negatively to certain products, avoid them and move on to others."

"This works?" the man inquired after a moment of thoughtful silence.

"Based on the composition of the foods and how they might affect her, I'm fairly certain it'll improve her state. How old is she?"

"Turned nine recently."

"Then it should work. It will probably take up to a few years to get her to a state of being able to eat everything or nearly everything, but I doubt that is a problem. Her condition should also improve as she ages. Ah, and you might want to limit her interactions with animals."

He graced the man with a small smile when he saw a hopeful grin on his face.

"If this indeed works, you have my eternal thanks for your undesired knowledge."

Sauron shook his head a little, sending a wink in the other's direction.

"I could wish for nothing more," the smooth reply rolled off his tongue with ease.

The former animosity radiating from the guests was now nothing more than a memory, and the glances that were from now sent his way held next to none aversion. Now all that was left for him to do was to calmly wait for more productive questions, and from there he'd develop them into conversations that could provide him with some information. This was, after all, a place fairly far away from any real elvish settlements, and humans always seemed to have more trouble restraining their curiosity than elves.

Why didn't he pick a human form, then? Why didn't he simply blend in and spare himself the trouble of gaining their trust?

The answer was one that would make him take a defensive mental stance, because…

Because he didn't know how they worked. Or how theywere, what was appropriate or normal and what wasn't.

Shape-shifting was one thing. Blending in was something different entirely.

So being an elf would warrant more trust than being a mentally disabled human, since that would most likely be how he'd be perceived, had he attempted it.

Some other time, when he's learned enough.

Wait for attention he did not for long, though he found the nine-year-old currently settling in the chair in front of him rather unsatisfactory.

He kept his eye from twitching as he observed the child in silence, sipping slowly from his mug.

The kid finally stopped wriggling in his chair, seeming at last satisfied with his position, and folded his hands on the table.

"You look as if you travelled quite a lot."

Sauron quirked an eyebrow, slowly setting his pint back on the wooden surface.

"And I did, master..." he trailed off, tilting his head slightly in expectancy.

"Dirthan."

"Dirthan," Sauron tried the name, making the corners of his lips lift into a small smile. "Well met. Where are your parents?"

"How is this your business?"

Oh, that kid was already getting on his nerves. The Children, he could deal with. But the Children's children? They were... they were annoying enough to make his masks crack. They simply drove him insane.

"I was only wondering," he said, lifting his hands in mock-surrender. "It isn't often that you see a... young gentleman like yourself travel alone."

"It isn't often that we see an elf like yourself come here," countered the child, making Sauron a tad more irritated than he already was.

But he'd already endured less satisfying and more irritating conversations without ever losing his composure, and this time was no different. He pushed down his anger and made a twinkle appear in his eye.

"Well said, Dirthan. But if your matters are not my concern, then why should mine be yours?"

The boy's frown deepened, causing his face to resemble an incoming storm. He was visibly flustered, and knew he'd just fallen into a pit he dug himself. He opened his mouth, then closed it again when nothing seemed to come to his mind.

"But you seem rather clever, I must admit," Sauron mused before Dirthan could explode. Better steer their conversation into safer waters; after all, kids could ruin things much quicker than adults. But their attention was also very easy to shift. And their pride easy to stroke.

The effect was immediate, and the child smirked.

"Now, consider," the Maia in disguise picked up, leaning forwards conspiratorially, causing the boy to mirror his movement with interest. "'Of my mother and father, yet my brother he is not, nor a maiden.' It took me close to twenty minutes to figure out, I'm sure you'll best me."

The flattering lie dripped from his tongue smoothly, and he saw the eyes of the ones observing their interaction shine with both amusement and approval. In truth, it was one of the more popular and boring riddles ever known, and Dirthan fortunately seemed to be among the very few who haven't heard it.

"Quite mighty your kin is," he murmured to nobody in particular, but made sure it was spoken loud enough for most to hear.

At that, the man he conversed with earlier about smithing cast him a small glance.

"You yourself said a friendship between an elf and a man would be most beneficial for both parties."

Sauron nodded, watching the irksome kid struggle with the simple riddle, his wriggling and shifting form making the Maia progressively more annoyed.

"The matter of friendship you discussed." spoke up another man, sitting a little further away, his face marked with wrinkles and the remnants of his most recent meal still in his silver beard. "And what have you to say about marriage?"

"Between an elf and a human?" When the man confirmed, the Maia found himself really considering the question. The more so, because he already encountered a certain elf who ended up bonding with a mortal. "It is an... odd subject. I'm afraid I don't necessarily have an opinion on that matter."

"And yet both cases have brought most helpful results... somewhat confirming the benefits you'd mentioned."

Sauron felt his brow quirk up. Oh?

"'Both' cases?"

"Lúthien and Beren, Idril and Tuor," came the reply. "How have you not heard of this?"

"I wasn't exactly well informed for the last couple of years. Pray tell, how are they beneficial?"

"Lúthien defeated Gorthaur and he's yet to resurface... or perhaps not, that would be most welcome," at which point Sauron struggled to control the urge to grind his teeth, smash the man's head on a nearby clothes stand and throw the remains into a beehive. "Then they pulled one of the Silmarils from Morgoth's crown. And recently Eärendil, Idril and Tuor's son, sailed west in search of Valinor to plead with the Valar for their aid in our struggles with Morgoth."

Oh?!

"Plead with the Valar?" was what escaped him all on its own, and the voice resounding in his head surprised him with how absent and dull it now sounded.

"You haven't heard? You're an elf, are you not?"

"I... am... the news failed to reach me."

"Yet most have heard, and travellers are often the most informed people," the man pressed, and Sauron finally shook himself from his stupor.

The news were so unexpected he let his mask slip, and now he was in trouble.

Again.

Fortunately, it was one he could afford, and lying had always been a good backup plan.

"I wasn't around to hear them," he finally provided, casting his eyes down.

"And where were you?"

"It isn't something I like to talk about, or you'd like to hear."

"I dare disagree."

Sauron took a sip, shutting his eyes briefly, setting the mug down with a trembling hand and letting out a deep sigh.

He raised his eyes filled now with sorrow, and whispered the word capable of making even the darkest-skinned man pale:

"Angband."

"YOU!"

The shout was so unexpected Sauron jumped, along with many other people, and a couple frantic coughs were heard. He then sent the boy in front of him a surprised and annoyed glare. Which the boy was not affected by in the least.

"It's you," continued the boy happily. "If not your brother or sister, yet born to your parents, it must be you. Not a cousin, or a half-sibling, or a wife. It's got to be you!"

"Yes, ah... very smart. Good job, hína," he praised.

The child beamed, and Sauron risked glancing around, only to notice the previous tension was nearly gone.

Perhaps the boy was useful after all.

After a couple heartbeats of silence, he felt the expectant eyes on him again, though now lacking the intensity.

"What were you doing in Angband, of all places? That place is cursed!"

He cast the man a reluctant glance.

"There is somebody... dear to me, in there. I wasn't exactly in Angband, far enough to not be captured, but I... I looked for an opportunity to eventually go inside, free them and not get caught, but... you are probably capable of filling in the gaps in my story. I am sorry, I am... I am unable to talk about this."

It wasn't even the best or most brilliant of his lies, but it would suffice; simple lies, though often effective enough, weren't all too entertaining or satisfying, but he wasn't now in the mood for much thinking. The information of that 'Eärendil' really did shock him, and ever since his encounter with the cursed elves, his schemes were less stable, and his masks cracked far more easily.

But he stubbornly persisted that he wasn't affected by their encounters in the slightest.

He relied now mostly on his acting and convincing everybody the story was too painful to talk about in detail.

He held in a sigh of relief when his conversationalist shifted uneasily.

"I apologise, I shouldn't have pried."

Sauron sent him a bitter smile before finishing his ale.

"It is alright."

"Still. Perhaps your spirits will be lifted when I remind you that at least it is only Morgoth now."

He considered this and decided that, in fact, his spirits were not lifted in the slightest. They already had this conversation! Why did people seem so determined to assume he, once among the most powerful and oldest of the Maiar, could be so easily 'killed' by a half-breed?

Noticing his incredulous stare, the man smirked.

"What? It is true. Are you not relieved?"

"It may be true. And I would be relieved if this was a fact, not an assumption."

"The fact remains. The princess of Doriath, in her determination to rescue her human lover, went to Tol-in-Gaurhoth." Here Sauron grimaced, but if it was because of disdain or incredulousness, nobody could tell. They already had this conversation! "Rumour has it that the Valinorian hound Huan ripped the bastard's neck open."

"And you think he's dead because of this," he deadpanned.

"Could be. Hasn't been seen since then! Vanished completely."

You clearly do not understand how Maiar work, was what flashed in Sauron's mind. But he didn't voice it; who knew, maybe he'd be in need of being presumed gone sometime in the future.

He did, however, wish to know mortals' opinions on the unholy offspring of some primitive elf and a Maia he decided to no longer acknowledge as one of his order.

And right now, he held the whole bar's attention; Eru only knew how little entertainment they had on a daily basis.

"Say..." he began, slightly pushing his empty mug aside with the back of his hand to somewhat block the view he had of the kid who was still sitting in front of him, addressing nobody in particular. "What do you think about the princess? Or her parents, more specifically?"

The reply came from behind him.

"I know you mentioned a friendship between a mortal and an elf is potentially more beneficial than between two of the same kind, and I agree that a relationship between an elf and a mortal isn't exactly terrible, but... this doesn't seem quite right."

"How so?"

"It's just..." Sauron sent the relatively young man a reassuring smile when it became obvious he was uncomfortable with whatever he was about to say.

"I will not judge, if that's your concern."

"A Maia and an elf... Maiar are older than time itself, and they met so soon after the elves first awakened," he blurted out, but visibly relaxed when he heard a few grunts of agreement. "I look at young adults as children, though they're often less than twenty years younger. A relationship between an elf and a human is already pushing it, but at least your folk grow up more slowly than us, you take more time to mature. Human and elven lives are finite, but Maiarin lives are not. And where both our kins' purposes are quite similar, the Maiar are Ainur, the holy ones! They serve the Valar, and they have a close connection to The One. It's simply... we are the Children!Children!And they do not fall in that category!"

This conversation didn't have any real purpose other than for Sauron to be once again mad at Melian for her choice. It was entertaining nonetheless, and he eased his calculating, never-resting mind that it was simply him learning about the Secondborn to potentially be able to impersonate them in the future.

And he was honestly having an amazing time.

Still, it didn't stop him from delving deeper into the topic. It was good to hear that the Children knew their place.

"It was also implied," he stated carefully, aware of the many intrigued stares shot his way, "that the Ainur are like older siblings to us. I quite forgot where, but it's what I've heard."

"But..." it was visible the man struggled, but Sauron was curious as to what he'd come up with. At last, he said: "If they really were like older siblings, then why will they not allow the Secondborn into Aman? The elves have doomed themselves and those in Middle-earth aren't allowed back, but that was their choice. We didn't have one. How are we to know that the elves weren't admitted there simply because they were immortal, which somewhat reminded the Ainur of themselves? How are we to know they care for us? How are we to know elves aren't simply allowed there for the Ainur's amusement? Whatever you might say, the Valar are the greatest entities created, and they serve only themselves, have the lesser spirits serve them, and the Children that last and are fair in appearance keep only as they would pets? The elves that rebelled were exiled. They want entertainment and no trouble."

The inn was stunned into silence, since this could easily be classified as blasphemy, but Sauron noted nobody actually disagreed.

Which, he decided, was good.

The lengthy response was, of course, very much incorrect and both elves and men seemed to very often reach these conclusions in the end, even though they were utterly ridiculous in the face of the whole context the Ainur had. But which the Children failed over and over to understand or acknowledge, and if they did, they very often disregarded it or simply didn't hold on to their beliefs.

It was humorous, really.

He could, of course, point out the inaccuracies; it would be effortless with the glaringly obvious truth. But that would mean he was helping them, aiding the Valar, and destroying what Melkor and he fought so hard to achieve.

Absolutely not.

He came to gather information, set the foundations of a strong plan for the future, and badmouth the hopeless Maia.Not to guide the Children.

He smiled calmly at the person responsible for the obvious blasphemy, seeing them pale slightly.

"It is alright. I admit, sometimes I wonder too. And to be honest, sometimes I reach those exact conclusions." The man, who Sauron classified as a fisherman, relaxed visibly. "But if you don't mind, I wanted to revert for a moment to something we discussed previously."

"Go ahead."

"When exactly did this Eärendil sail?"

The inn once again resembled a marketplace with its noise, with everybody scrambling to answer the question.

What he managed to gather was 'approximately thirteen years'.

The sun already traversed much of her course when the gentle waves slid the sleek, white ship into the western shores of a continent most peculiar.

Sharp eyes of the colour of the vast sea around studied their surroundings carefully, softening at the sight of the woman staring into them intently, her own eyes reflecting the light of the Silmaril coming from above the blue ones.

The tall man smiled gently, squeezing his wife's hand to reassure her. Or perhaps he was the one seeking reassurance, because technically, they were both breaking the law and doing it very much in a way that very much seemed illegal.

But sometimes 'illegal' was the only way, and somebody had to do it, knowing that being treated like a criminal afterwards was a very probable outcome despite the need.

Sometimes a sacrifice was needed.

Eärendil glanced down at their interwoven hands, taking comfort from Elwing's warm touch.

He then looked up, and past his wife, at his three other companions. And he knew his own expression was mirrored in their faces.

Gladness, for they finally reached Valinor. Uncertainty, because they've never been here and didn't know what to expect. Hope, because they had something to accomplish, and they had a good chance at doing that. Trepidation, because they knew they were breaking the law, and knew the price. Resignation, because the hopes of avoiding the inevitable were nearly nonexistent.

Yet they were all here, by his side, their silence supporting him and giving him the strength he needed.

He gave Elwing's hand one final squeeze, desperately trying to burn the sensation of the soft touch into his mind, in case this was…

He's only ever heard of the Valar. He heard legends of how the world came into being. But he saw elves exiled, Morgoth doing whatever he pleased, their defences cracking; and he never, not once, had seen the Valar take action.

But this was their only hope, he reminded himself.

He's only ever heard of them, and didn't know whether they were cruel or not. Whether they were strict with their rules. Whether they could be moved by the Children's struggles. Whether they'd be understanding.

And for that exact reason, he remembered the warm, reassuring touch of Elwing... just in case.

His throat felt constricted and oddly dry when he tried to push words to the surface. Words of thanks to his fellow mariners, words of encouragement, of deep gratitude, of reassurance. A speech about their voyages together, their support, their faithfulness.

What came out in reality was nothing more than a pitiful croak.

"Thank you. Thank you all so much."

Yet this simple statement was enough. It was so raw there was no mistaking its whole meaning.

And the three mariners and Elwing smiled at him, with tears barely contained for his sake.

"Wait for me here, will you?" he pleaded, and knew it was needless. It was simply... a way to ground himself. "I will be back shortly."

And with that, he looked once again at his wife. His beautiful, brave, scarred wife.

"Please, wait here."

"I will not let you face this alone. Face themalone," she quietly countered.

"Elwing, please, wait here. I do not know what awaits me, but what I do know is that once a mortal sets foot on this land, their fate is sealed. You should all still be permitted to sail back, as long as you stay. Think of Elrond and Elros. I do not know if they're... if they've departed, but if they are still alive, what fate will befall them if we are not there to help them?" he drew his wife's hands closer, wrapping her fists in his palms. "Please. Allow them to have at least one parent, and tell them of the one who is their father."

He watched Elwing intently as she struggled to keep her tears from falling, shaking slightly when a sob attempted to spasm her body.

But at last, she nodded, though her eyes were blank, and a tear rolled down her cheek.

And she wasn't the only one crying.

"Will you stay?"

"I will," she assured softly.

"Thank you."

Eärendil then turned around, feeling as if he were in a dream, and let his legs carry him to land.

And when he set foot on the soft, vibrant grass, sealing his fate, he heard a quiet sob.

Now, having solely one purpose driving him, he stumbled forward, the effects of the long voyage still fresh.

Hopefully, the Valar won't think he arrived drunk.

The scenery really was beautiful, and he found himself enjoying it, despite the grim reality that hung above him like a rain cloud.

He was, by no means, a herbalist, but the exotic species of plants he saw were fascinating; the long, coarse leaves, glowing flowers, tall and thin trees. Neither did he know much about animals, but some of the ones he managed to catch glimpses of were stunning; others were odd, and some made him hasten his steps to get as far away from as possible.

And when he focused, he realised the only sounds he could hear were the sounds of nature. But no people. Only the whisper of a stream, the murmur of the warm wind, the chirping of birds, the occasional cry of a fox.

Which was perhaps the reason it was so easy for him to hear the sudden, urgent footsteps behind him.

He turned, hoping to see an elf or Maia – preferably elf, since he knew next to nothing about the Maiar and had never met any – that could help him, because quite frankly, he had no idea where he was going or what he should do.

He froze when he saw Elwing.

"Elwing!" It was a startled shout, though sharp around the edges for obvious reasons. "You promised–"

"I am sorry," she cut him off, sounding anything but, and sighed deeply when he crossed his arms. "Try to understand, I–"

"Elwing, there is no understanding needed," he said, tired. They did agree she'd stay. "What will become of the twins?"

"Eärendil... there is, in fact, understanding needed. I love them deeply, do not doubt that. But we live in dangerous times, and there are many things I hold dear that are far away from each other. I am now here, with you. The twins..." her voice broke momentarily, and she hastily collected herself. "They are far away, and you already know of Maedhros and Maglor. I don't rule out the possibility they found them, and my heart breaks at that thought alone. But these times are dangerous. When I'm close to one thing I cherish, I prefer to stay by it instead of trying to find my way to another, only to find it gone and beyond reach. Because then I'll turn around to return to the thing I'd left, and I'll see it has become far enough for it to be destroyed as well. I do not want to go back to find them gone, and know that neither do I have a husband to return to anymore. It is a cruel thing, to have to choose, but there is no going around it. I will remain by your side."

In truth, he felt relieved. He had his partner in crime... partner in life by his side. And that was enough to give him just a little more courage.

And, as heartbreaking as she admitted it to be, her choice was sound.

They continued their journey holding each other's hand, gradually more and more unsettled by the lack of life they encountered. But, then again, they haven't quite reached a populated area just yet.

It wasn't until they approached the pass of Calcirya that Eärendil stopped and looked Elwing solemnly in the eyes.

"Where I go now, you cannot follow," he announced, and continued hastily when he noticed she looked ready to argue. "It is my fate, my fate alone to bear. Please." With a serious, sombre look, he squeezed her palm. "Stay."

Elwing stayed silent for a while, but managed a shaky nod.

"You have my word. I will await your return, then."

And if there was a question in her declaration, an 'if', neither argued against it.

"I will try to hurry, for your sake."

With that, he continued, the loneliness once again weighing his mood down.

And when he neared Tirion without hearing anything, not even a single voice, his biggest fears were confirmed.

It was empty.

Yes, he was stumbling blindly forward, not knowing exactly where he was heading, but he had hoped he'd eventually come across someone who'd help him, guide him.

But Valinor was empty.

He stepped hesitantly through the gates, and was met with the unmistakable sight of a deserted city.

What did…

What happened?

He looked around frantically. His feet swiftly carried him deeper inside, and it was only when he stepped into the city's empty market-square that the realisation hit him with full force.

Valinor was empty.

No windows were opened, no doors moved, no shadows shifted. Everything was just... still. As if frozen in time.

The only thing that did move was the hot air above the city streets, making him feel ever so slightly nauseous.

His mind searched desperately for any explanation, and when it came, he forgot how to breathe.

Did evil reach even the Blessed Realm?

But... if it truly was abandoned…

Who could help the people of Middle-earth defeat Morgoth? If even all the Valar weren't able to protect themselves?

He collapsed into the neatly laid out stone tiles, not even hearing the loud, echoing crack of knees hitting stone.

He failed.

As soon as the thought reached him, he pushed it away. No, it was the Valar that failed.

Or maybe there was nobody at fault; after all, nobody blamed those that fell victim to Morgoth.

But if that was the case, what was he to do now?

He didn't know how long he simply knelt there; for all he knew, it could've been hours.

The voyage was so long, and he had left his kin to find help. And now, if it all turned out to be for nothing... all the years wasted when he could've helped the people of Middle-earth by staying, the parents he deprived his sons of, it was…

As soon as he remembered the twins and what their last moments that he knew of were, the history of what happened to Elured and Elurin flashed in his mind, and his body trembled.

Shaking his head vigorously, Eärendil looked around one last time, and when his eyes spotted no movement, with a final, shuddering sigh, he turned around to head back.

Maybe he'd at least be able to find his sons when he got back. And rip them from the kinslayers' claws.

His footsteps echoed in the empty streets, and then in his own head when he exited the city and was once again walking on soft dirt.

And then, an unexpected gust of wind hit him from behind, and he fell to the ground, his ears now only filled with the powerful flap of wings and the roar of air.

When the unexpected gust and sound calmed down, he cautiously turned around, only to find himself face to face with a tall, radiant being.

Their face was firm, but kind, framed by long, silver hair, kept in place by a breathtaking circlet. But what caught Eärendil's eye first were the white, mighty wings, reaching high above the being's head and nearly dragging on the ground.

And Eärendil knew in that instant that he was facing a Maia, and not just any Maia, but Manwë's famous herald himself.

He never felt himself fall to his knees this fast, in an attempt to show the powerful entity in front of him the proper respect.

However, when he bowed his head, a pair of hands grasped his elbows gently and guided him back to his feet.

"Do not bow to me." The words were kind and pleasant to the ears, reminding Eärendil of a gentle breeze in summer, or the warm wind in early spring. "Rise Eärendil, son of Tuor. Come, let us go. My Lord sent me to bring you before him."

The mariner felt relief sweep over him akin to the gale the wings of the Maia caused before.

He no longer had to stumble blindly around, without any knowledge of what he should do. Now he had a guide, and one that at least seemed welcoming.

And he realised that if his former beliefs and understanding of the Ainur were askew, as Eönwë was already somewhat proving, then his mission had more chances at succeeding than he initially believed.

"You seem troubled."

Eärendil started at the clear, strong voice beside him, and found that the chuckle that followed didn't help in schooling his surprised features one bit.

When he first set off on his journey to Aman, he never would've believed he'd be having a casual conversation withEönwë himself.

"I assure you, we are having a casual conversation right now... or could be having…"

"Did I... did I say my thoughts out loud?" he asked weakly, feeling his cheeks burn.

"No," came the amused reply. "But it isn't hard to discern what you're thinking when your thoughts are so clearly written on your face."

Eärendil... didn't know how to reply. Instead, he decided to answer the previous question before his whole face changed its colour.

"I indeed was troubled. I thought Valinor to be deserted."

"You came on a day of festival, so your conclusion doesn't surprise me. Many elves didn't remain in Tirion." Here the herald glanced at Eärendil's brow, where the Silmaril was. "And the sight of the Silmaril disturbed many who saw it, and they came to Valimar to inform the Valar."

The information was so unexpected and opposite to his previous conclusion that he couldn't contain his startled laughter.

When he finally calmed down, he glanced at the Maia's face hesitantly, not knowing how his outburst would be received. But Eönwë didn't seem displeased in the slightest.

"Are your thoughts at peace now?"

"Yes. They are."

They fell into silence after that, until an urgent question appeared in Eärendil's mind.

"How should I address the Valar?"

The herald considered his question for a heartbeat before answering.

"A simple 'Lord Something' will suffice."

'Lord Something' was something the mariner never would've thought he'd hear coming from the Eönwë, despite the Maia's obvious attempts to make Eärendil feel at ease, and he let out a bark of surprised laughter.

"I am completely serious."

"I am aware, it was just unexpected," the man finally provided when his laughter subsided.

"Does being Lord Manwë's herald and chief of Maiar automatically make me a stiff know-it-all with a 'holier-than-thou' attitude?"

Oh, Eönwë was good. So much so, in fact, that Eärendil forgot all about his previous nervousness.

"No," he laughed. "It doesn't. Forgive me if that's what it seemed like I was thinking."

"Seemed?"

"Alright. The thought did indeed cross my mind once."

"'The thought did indeed cross your mind once'..." the Maia repeated with fond exasperation.

"Alright!" the man admitted, throwing his hands into the air. "It was what I worried about."

"That is much better," praised Eönwë, sending the mariner an amused wink, catching him off guard yet again, and probably very well-aware of that fact. "Now let us go face the Valar, hm?"

Kneeling before the Valar after being presented, Eärendil found, was a lot more nerve-wracking than he initially expected, but also oddly reassuring. At least he didn't feel tongue-tied or intimidated out of his wits. He simply felt... felt the need to show them respect, and having the wise, powerful, but also just gazes fixed on him didn't make him tremble.

It did, however, make him fully realise how small he was in comparison to the world, and what a great responsibility was thrust upon him.

But he was determined to succeed.

When Eönwë's last words rang out in the vast room, the Maia sent him one last reassuring smile before stepping back, giving Eärendil the sign he was free to speak.

'Lord Something'... a truly amazing advice.

"My Lords, Ladies," he began, gathering his courage. He glanced up, looking at the serious faces, and continued once he was sure all eyes were on him. "I come, as I suspect is already known to thee, to plead in the name of both the kin of elves and men, being descended from both the Firstborn and Secondborn. If you allow me to present my case without any disturbances, I would be most thankful."

Manwë – he knew it was the Elder King, there was no mistaking him – made a small gesture of agreement, and that was all Eärendil needed to let his tongue loose.

"I am the son of Tuor and Idril, both of whom remained faithful to thee and The One, their deeds always just and fair, and I myself followed thy rules with all my heart. I wish to present the case of the elves, and plead in their name. I am aware of the misdeeds of my elven kindred, and I do not seek your understanding for the atrocities they committed or the mistakes they made, and still are making. I only ask that you allow those of them that are trying their hardest to tread the path of light to come back, should they feel the longing to return to thy land. The mortals have the Gift of Men bestowed upon them by The One, and they are granted rest after death. But the elves, those that deeply regret their decisions, simply followed the ones they trusted in their wrong-doings, or have been born to parents whose deeds branded them as trespassers, they are bound to Arda, unable to leave it, and they have no possibility of relief. The happenings of Middle-earth grieve them, and they are bound to fade if no alternative is posed to them. Even those everyone considers fair in actions will fade. They will either hold onto the light with no hopes for a reward, or stray into darkness in their grief. I plead that you give the elven kind one more chance to prove their determination to do good, so they know they are not doomed by the wrong-doings of others. And for both the Firstborn and Secondborn, I plead that you aid them in their struggles against the Dark Vala known as Morgoth. Is he not your kin? Should this struggle not be yours as much as it is ours? 'The Children', we've been called. How can we ever hope to defeat him, who once was the most powerful of thee, and whose darkness spreads across Arda more every minute, akin to an incurable disease? I beg of you, help us. We can never hope to defeat him, not even the mightiest of us. Have we not tried, ever since we first awoke? Every day, we struggle progressively more, every day we wake up with dread in our hearts, and every night we fall asleep with sweat on our brow with the knowledge that when we awake, his influence will have spread more. I beg of you, aid us, for we are unable to do this alone. We have tried countless times, only to have our families and friends killed or captured. I know I transgressed the rules by setting foot on the land of Aman, and I will accept any punishment you see fit to place upon me. I only ask that you aid my elven and human kindred in their struggles."

The last of his words echoed in the vast room, and as their last notes ebbed away, Eärendil's ears were filled with deafening silence.

He risked a glance at the Valar, and seeing the thoughtful and somewhat distant expressions on their fair and serious faces, he realised they were engrossed in discussion.

So the mariner waited with bated breath, not daring to disturb the powerful beings sitting on their thrones.

At last, after what seemed like hours and he started getting worried this would last for days, the Elder King straightened from his relaxed, thoughtful position, and Eärendil nearly flinched when the piercing blue eyes met his squarely.

"Your plea has been heard," the voice was calm, but filled the vast chamber in a way there remained no room for any other sound to ring along it, and Eärendil bowed even deeper, filled with anticipation. "Take pride in your boldness and desire to help, mariner, for by virtue of them, the people of Middle-earth shall be aided, just as you requested."

It took a moment for the verdict to reach him fully, but when it did, he felt relief sweep over him with the force of a tidal wave.

He wasn't quite able to discern the words among the whirlwind of emotions, but the sense was clear.

He succeeded.

His eyelids fluttered when his vision went blurry, and he realised there were tears streaming down his cheeks. But he didn't care; the Valar would help them. They were no longer alone. That was all that mattered.

He forced himself to calm down and listen when Manwë spoke again.

"However, as you yourself have mentioned, no man is allowed to set foot on the land of Aman, and word has reached us it was not you alone that had done so, but Elwing as well. Know that, were you indeed fully mortal, the punishment would have had to befall you. But given that your blood is neither fully human nor elvish, it is your right to decide your fates. So I ask you, Eärendil, son of Tuor and Idril: among which kin do you wish to be counted?"

Being stunned was an understatement for the state Eärendil now found himself in. He stayed silent for a long time, but nobody pressed; time was not a factor among the immortal.

"If you would permit," he finally said, his uncertain voice cutting through the silence like knife through butter. "I ask you to allow my wife to choose for the both of us."

"You would let another choose your fate?"

"I know it must sound odd, but I do not wish for us to be parted. I myself do lean towards one of the options, but if she were to choose the other, I could not bear for her to be grieved by our parting. She has already suffered enough."

Eärendil didn't know whether it was just the sunlight seeping through the window dancing on the Elder King's face that made him look as if he smiled for a brief moment, but his fears were lessened, and he knew he made the right choice.

"So shall it be. Eönwë," at that, the Maia stepped forward, bowing his head. "Bring Elwing before us."

It was late afternoon the next day that Eärendil and Elwing sat outside one of the houses in Valimar that they were to regain their strength in for the next couple of days.

They sat by the table on the front porch, engrossed in conversation about their choice – Elwing's choice – when a merry voice interrupted them.

"Need an opinion on that, youngsters?"

The both of them startled and shot their gazes in the direction of the two elves that approached them.

Neither couple spoke for a while, one full of wonder and disbelief, the second full of happiness and relief.

"Mother." Eärendil finally breathed. "Father. You're here!"

"Indeed," Idril provided happily, swinging lightly her hand with which she held Tuor's, who flashed her a grin. "And we've come to see our son and his sweet wife. How are you two faring?"

"Quite well," responded Elwing, stunned as well. "We are regaining our strength, and our three friends have been given supplies and sent back. And... how are you?"

"Glad to see you, kids." This time it was Tuor that spoke, smiling at them. "It's been some time."

"Yes..." Eärendil agreed, and, unable to stop himself, blurted out: "You kept your beard."

Elwing kicked him lightly under the table, but Tuor only laughed heartily.

"Indeed, I have. Why should Círdan be the only elf with a beard? I am planning to beat him in its length."

"Elf?" The mariner echoed. He already had his suspicions, but... it still sounded rather strange.

Tuor's grin only widened.

"I werea man, yes. It caused quite the uproar among the elves here when I arrived, didn't it?" he directed the question at Idril, who only responded with an innocent shrug. "But your mother was, I daresay, persistent."

'Were you indeed fully mortal, the punishment would have had to befall you'... it would seem the Valar were more lenient than they let on.

"That is... amazing to hear," Eärendil admitted earnestly, and his already good mood was lightened at the knowledge that both of his parents were alive and well, never to be parted.

Say what you will, I'm a firm believer Tuor was allowed into Valinor.