Day 23 - In Western Lands Beneath The Sun
Title: In Western Lands Beneath The Sun
Author: Grundy (jerseyfabulous)
Rating: FR13
Crossover: LotR/Silmarillion
Disclaimer: All belongs to Joss and Tolkien. No money is being made here, it's all in good fun.
Summary: She has awaited this day for years beyond mortal count. (It isn't just Dawn who was impatient...)
Word Count: 1589
Elwing could scarce stand still for excitement, and was barely upright for nerves.
The ship is arriving. His ship is arriving.
Finally, after two lifeages of the earth, at long last she will get to hold her son again.
If he will let her, that is. He may not wish to. But she will at least see him. No one will prevent that.
She and her husband have long been barred from returning to the mortal lands, but that does not mean they have been ignorant of what has gone on there. Eärendil sails the skies nightly, watching always over his descendants. And all who have made the westward journey bring news.
So she knows all too well that her sons had forgotten her husband entirely by the time they grew to maturity. Of her, they had only vague impressions, fragments of childhood memory. Even the manner of her leaving was unclear to them - if the Kinslayers had ever told them the full tale, it had been garbled, for in Middle Earth they say that she was chased off a cliff, frantic and hunted. A victim. Quarry. Prey.
Some slander her, saying she chose the Silmaril over her sons. She had screamed out loud in frustration the first time she heard that version. She had given up nearly everything to keep her sons safe - she had been ready to lay down her life for them. Her reward has been to wait with her husband for six thousand years on the far side of the sea.
Elros had been gone after a mere five hundred of those years, departing the circles of the world forever. How could she have foreseen that her children would be asked to choose between kindreds, much less that one of them would chose to number himself among the Edain? She supposed she should be thankful that they did not both choose that path, but it was hard to be grateful when she considered the emptiness in her fëa where her older son should be.
Elrond, the younger one, the quiet one, the cautious one, had chosen the life of the Eldar. But he had tarried long in Middle Earth, determined not to leave before Sauron was vanquished and the world made safe for Men, for his brother’s descendants.
He has lived a whole lifetime without her, and she has been warned by many that he speaks of her but rarely, and if pressed will admit that he can scarce recall her face.
But he is here at long last.
Six thousand years where she had thought a handful at most.
Her son has sons now, and daughters too, though only the youngest has sailed with him. Her eldest granddaughter, the one who looks like Luthien her grandmother, has chosen the same fate - to remain in the mortal lands for love of an adan, and to pass with him from the circles of the world.
It was foolish, but Elwing had wept bitterly when her husband had brought the news that the Evenstar too would number among the grandchildren she will never meet. Wept until she had no more tears left, as she has not wept in centuries, since the news came of Elros’ death.
Elrond’s sons and his middle daughter - the one they worry about the most, the one who has brought Eärendil to tears more than once, and caused him on several occasions even after her return to Middle Earth to illuminate Vingilotë in warlike red - remain on the Hither Shores, refusing to abandon their now mortal sister. She will be the one to leave them. Only then will they take ship.
Elwing knows there are those who would say she has little right to concern, and still less to say anything to her son about her concerns, but she cannot help but feel it was ill-done to leave Anariel in Middle Earth. Not only had the child been ripped from Arda as an infant, since her return from the mysterious land of California, she has walked in the Shadow too long. The rest of the world may call her the Slayer, but beneath it all, she was just a girl.
Worse still, she already mourned grievous losses, for her sworn siblings had died in the Ring War. She should have been brought to the Blessed Land to heal, not left to suffer further. Celeborn and her brothers may not be enough to anchor her. Even the strongest of hearts could break.
Elwing stood with her husband, whose constant fidgeting betrayed that he was no calmer than she was, and waited for what seemed like another six thousand years as the ship was piloted in by one of the princes of the Lindar.
Eärendil was her rock, the only way she will get through this. He had pointed out that they will at least see their son; they will finally know with their own eyes that he is safely in the Undying Lands. Even if he does not speak with them today, they can be sure that he will eventually find it in his heart to do so. For not only is he said to be as kind as his father, he can hardly avoid Itarillë and Elenwë, much less Anairë and Eärwen - and all those ladies will take their part with Elrond if necessary.
They stayed to the back of the crowd that had gathered, for the union of Elrond Peredhil and Celebrian the daughter of Celeborn and Galadriel brought together a number of mighty bloodlines from Nelyar, Minyar, and Tatyar alike. Many have come to the dock to greet them and their companions, Galadriel, Laurefindil, Olorin, and the periannath Ringbearers.
She tried very hard not to envy those who were certain of their reunions - like Lalwen and her husband, wild with joy at not only their son’s return, but their first sight of their young granddaughters. The entire royal family of Alqualondë were on the quays to welcome Galadriel, her daughter, law son, and granddaughter. Anairë and Eärwen had come from Tirion, as had Findarato; Elenwë, Itarillë, and Tuor made the journey from Ceutondolindë.
Elwing has often regretted her lack of height - many reproach her for having borne her children at so tender an age, saying she had given to her sons what ought to have gone to her own growth - but never more so than today, with so many tall elves born in the light of the Trees standing between her and that which she most wished to see.
The crowd was jostling a bit, but it was all good natured, so she paid it no heed when someone bumped into Eärendil until she realized that he had all but frozen, standing stock still.
She looked around him to find herself staring into her husband’s eyes set in Anairë’s face, framed by hair that blended the beauty of both Sindar and Noldor dark and Vanyar light, a warm shade of rich brown as gorgeous as it was unusual among the Eldar.
Her husband has told her enough of Elrond’s children to know exactly who it is blinking in stunned surprise at the sight of him.
“Tindomiel,” she whispered, not sure what kindly Vala has steered this young one to them when she should by rights be at the front of the crowd with her parents.
“Grandmother?”
The reply was soft and uncertain, but there was a note of wistfulness to it that gave rise to hope. And it came in Sindarin - her granddaughter speaks the language of her people!
It was the most natural thing in the world for both her and her husband to put their arms around her, the first grandchild of theirs they have ever met.
She knows she will have to share this precious child eventually, much of this crowd has a claim on her too, but as Elwing hid her tears in her granddaughter’s hair, she was not sure when she would be able to let go. She could feel through their bond that Eärendil was just as moved.
“Tinu? Where are you, sweet one?”
The voice cut through the crowd easily, as one used to command, though now it echoed with concern - a parent’s worry for a wayward child, out of sight and possibly up to mischief.
She cannot let go. Not yet. Nor can her husband. Tindomiel remained securely between them as she answered.
“I’m here, Ada, with my grandparents.”
She nearly cried again for the sweetness of those words, never heard before.
My grandparents.
And then he was there. Her son. Her little Elrond, a man grown.
She was distracted for a moment, for Anairë was escorting him, and she nearly laughed as she watched Anairë and Tindomiel study one another, heads cocked at precisely the same angle as they took in their resemblance.
Then Anairë excused herself, though she was plainly no less eager than any other to meet Elrond’s daughter. They were left to themselves - or as much to themselves as they could be on a crowded quay in Alqualondë.
She thought Elrond was uncertain, but she could not be sure. She may be seeing only what she wishes to see.
Just before the silence would have become awkward, Tindomiel broke it.
“Ada,” she burst out, “did you know grandfather looked like Anariel?”
Ah, so that was what had brought the girl to a standstill when she first laid eyes on Eärendil.
Her son shook his head slowly.
“No, Tinu, I did not,” he said quietly. “I have not seen him since I was very small.”
Author: Grundy (jerseyfabulous)
Rating: FR13
Crossover: LotR/Silmarillion
Disclaimer: All belongs to Joss and Tolkien. No money is being made here, it's all in good fun.
Summary: She has awaited this day for years beyond mortal count. (It isn't just Dawn who was impatient...)
Word Count: 1589
Elwing could scarce stand still for excitement, and was barely upright for nerves.
The ship is arriving. His ship is arriving.
Finally, after two lifeages of the earth, at long last she will get to hold her son again.
If he will let her, that is. He may not wish to. But she will at least see him. No one will prevent that.
She and her husband have long been barred from returning to the mortal lands, but that does not mean they have been ignorant of what has gone on there. Eärendil sails the skies nightly, watching always over his descendants. And all who have made the westward journey bring news.
So she knows all too well that her sons had forgotten her husband entirely by the time they grew to maturity. Of her, they had only vague impressions, fragments of childhood memory. Even the manner of her leaving was unclear to them - if the Kinslayers had ever told them the full tale, it had been garbled, for in Middle Earth they say that she was chased off a cliff, frantic and hunted. A victim. Quarry. Prey.
Some slander her, saying she chose the Silmaril over her sons. She had screamed out loud in frustration the first time she heard that version. She had given up nearly everything to keep her sons safe - she had been ready to lay down her life for them. Her reward has been to wait with her husband for six thousand years on the far side of the sea.
Elros had been gone after a mere five hundred of those years, departing the circles of the world forever. How could she have foreseen that her children would be asked to choose between kindreds, much less that one of them would chose to number himself among the Edain? She supposed she should be thankful that they did not both choose that path, but it was hard to be grateful when she considered the emptiness in her fëa where her older son should be.
Elrond, the younger one, the quiet one, the cautious one, had chosen the life of the Eldar. But he had tarried long in Middle Earth, determined not to leave before Sauron was vanquished and the world made safe for Men, for his brother’s descendants.
He has lived a whole lifetime without her, and she has been warned by many that he speaks of her but rarely, and if pressed will admit that he can scarce recall her face.
But he is here at long last.
Six thousand years where she had thought a handful at most.
Her son has sons now, and daughters too, though only the youngest has sailed with him. Her eldest granddaughter, the one who looks like Luthien her grandmother, has chosen the same fate - to remain in the mortal lands for love of an adan, and to pass with him from the circles of the world.
It was foolish, but Elwing had wept bitterly when her husband had brought the news that the Evenstar too would number among the grandchildren she will never meet. Wept until she had no more tears left, as she has not wept in centuries, since the news came of Elros’ death.
Elrond’s sons and his middle daughter - the one they worry about the most, the one who has brought Eärendil to tears more than once, and caused him on several occasions even after her return to Middle Earth to illuminate Vingilotë in warlike red - remain on the Hither Shores, refusing to abandon their now mortal sister. She will be the one to leave them. Only then will they take ship.
Elwing knows there are those who would say she has little right to concern, and still less to say anything to her son about her concerns, but she cannot help but feel it was ill-done to leave Anariel in Middle Earth. Not only had the child been ripped from Arda as an infant, since her return from the mysterious land of California, she has walked in the Shadow too long. The rest of the world may call her the Slayer, but beneath it all, she was just a girl.
Worse still, she already mourned grievous losses, for her sworn siblings had died in the Ring War. She should have been brought to the Blessed Land to heal, not left to suffer further. Celeborn and her brothers may not be enough to anchor her. Even the strongest of hearts could break.
Elwing stood with her husband, whose constant fidgeting betrayed that he was no calmer than she was, and waited for what seemed like another six thousand years as the ship was piloted in by one of the princes of the Lindar.
Eärendil was her rock, the only way she will get through this. He had pointed out that they will at least see their son; they will finally know with their own eyes that he is safely in the Undying Lands. Even if he does not speak with them today, they can be sure that he will eventually find it in his heart to do so. For not only is he said to be as kind as his father, he can hardly avoid Itarillë and Elenwë, much less Anairë and Eärwen - and all those ladies will take their part with Elrond if necessary.
They stayed to the back of the crowd that had gathered, for the union of Elrond Peredhil and Celebrian the daughter of Celeborn and Galadriel brought together a number of mighty bloodlines from Nelyar, Minyar, and Tatyar alike. Many have come to the dock to greet them and their companions, Galadriel, Laurefindil, Olorin, and the periannath Ringbearers.
She tried very hard not to envy those who were certain of their reunions - like Lalwen and her husband, wild with joy at not only their son’s return, but their first sight of their young granddaughters. The entire royal family of Alqualondë were on the quays to welcome Galadriel, her daughter, law son, and granddaughter. Anairë and Eärwen had come from Tirion, as had Findarato; Elenwë, Itarillë, and Tuor made the journey from Ceutondolindë.
Elwing has often regretted her lack of height - many reproach her for having borne her children at so tender an age, saying she had given to her sons what ought to have gone to her own growth - but never more so than today, with so many tall elves born in the light of the Trees standing between her and that which she most wished to see.
The crowd was jostling a bit, but it was all good natured, so she paid it no heed when someone bumped into Eärendil until she realized that he had all but frozen, standing stock still.
She looked around him to find herself staring into her husband’s eyes set in Anairë’s face, framed by hair that blended the beauty of both Sindar and Noldor dark and Vanyar light, a warm shade of rich brown as gorgeous as it was unusual among the Eldar.
Her husband has told her enough of Elrond’s children to know exactly who it is blinking in stunned surprise at the sight of him.
“Tindomiel,” she whispered, not sure what kindly Vala has steered this young one to them when she should by rights be at the front of the crowd with her parents.
“Grandmother?”
The reply was soft and uncertain, but there was a note of wistfulness to it that gave rise to hope. And it came in Sindarin - her granddaughter speaks the language of her people!
It was the most natural thing in the world for both her and her husband to put their arms around her, the first grandchild of theirs they have ever met.
She knows she will have to share this precious child eventually, much of this crowd has a claim on her too, but as Elwing hid her tears in her granddaughter’s hair, she was not sure when she would be able to let go. She could feel through their bond that Eärendil was just as moved.
“Tinu? Where are you, sweet one?”
The voice cut through the crowd easily, as one used to command, though now it echoed with concern - a parent’s worry for a wayward child, out of sight and possibly up to mischief.
She cannot let go. Not yet. Nor can her husband. Tindomiel remained securely between them as she answered.
“I’m here, Ada, with my grandparents.”
She nearly cried again for the sweetness of those words, never heard before.
My grandparents.
And then he was there. Her son. Her little Elrond, a man grown.
She was distracted for a moment, for Anairë was escorting him, and she nearly laughed as she watched Anairë and Tindomiel study one another, heads cocked at precisely the same angle as they took in their resemblance.
Then Anairë excused herself, though she was plainly no less eager than any other to meet Elrond’s daughter. They were left to themselves - or as much to themselves as they could be on a crowded quay in Alqualondë.
She thought Elrond was uncertain, but she could not be sure. She may be seeing only what she wishes to see.
Just before the silence would have become awkward, Tindomiel broke it.
“Ada,” she burst out, “did you know grandfather looked like Anariel?”
Ah, so that was what had brought the girl to a standstill when she first laid eyes on Eärendil.
Her son shook his head slowly.
“No, Tinu, I did not,” he said quietly. “I have not seen him since I was very small.”