Archive of Our Own

Cherish

I.

They met for the first time on Taniquetil, the day of Fëanáro’s public wedding ceremony. In the large crowd of dark-haired Noldos, she attracted attention: not only did she tower over most attendees, but in addition to her eye-catching, superior height, she wore also the headband of Nessa—sitting comfortably on her straight black hair, were the antlers of a deer and nestled within them, a violet eternal flower from the Dancers’ Meadow. Her flowing garbs matched the colors of the flower, and she was undoubtedly beautiful, and Eärwen could have looked away were it not for the sense of humility she emanated. Unlike the other Noldo there, she looked uncomfortable, teeth-bared ever so slightly in semblance of a smile, eyes dampened with an undercurrent of worry.

If Eärwen herself had not been experiencing that same worry, she might have taken a step towards her, cracked a joke, tried to make her smile, and perhaps within her new joy found comfort in this crowded and ostentatious setting. But instead, she forced herself to look away, and slid a tiny bit closer to her courter, the half-brother of the Crown Prince, Arafinwë Finwion.

Despite her own status as the daughter of Lord Olwë, Eärwen could not recall having ever attended an event quite as elaborate as the wedding of Nerdanel and Fëanáro. Decorations in Alqualondë, even in the palace, were typically made of glass, marble, or wood with a white, gold, and light blue color scheme. Here, however, everything was hand-crafted of clay, metal and rock molded to perfection, each table, flower, drinking glass a work of art all its own. Each table had its own intricate design carved into the lightweight stone material; a glazed vase filled with delicate metallic flowers, so beautiful they could have been jewelry; the cutlery and dishes at each table matched in color the flowers, with different shades of each color clustered in the same section.

Wondering if the follower of Nessa might be sitting somewhere near them, Eärwen paused for a moment to glance about, but Arafinwe soon tugged gently on her sleeve. “Come, my dear. Our table is closer to the front.”

The section closest to the front were all the reds, the most prominent color of the house of Fëanáro, but as Fëanáro did not consider the children of Indis to be family, their invite indicated the middle yellow section. In fact, the only reason Arafinwe and his siblings had been granted a table in the middle—instead of the very back purple tables—was for Eärwen’s (and diplomacy’s) sake. Finwë, refusing to malign the daughter of his dear friend, insisted that Eärwen’s table be at least towards the middle, and Eärwen, who would not have attended the event had Arafinwë not requested her company, agreed on the condition that Arafinwë, and his siblings, and their guests be seated with her. Had they any interest in pressing the point, Lord Olwë likely would have gained them a red table, but none of Fëanáro’s half-siblings showed interest, and Eärwen would have preferred to sit in the very back anyway to hasten her return to Alqualondë.

Alas, diplomacy called her name, too.

She followed Arafinwë, disappointed to have lost sight of the faithful Eldar, to their mustard yellow table, where his sisters, Findis and Írimë, waited.

“I am ever so grateful to have you here,” Arafinwë commented, as they maneuvered through the crowd. “I can’t believe Olwë offered us a table so close to the front. Can you imagine the fit Fëanáro would have thrown if on his wedding day, we ‘sea-urchins’ were sitting nearby? As if we were family?” Arafinwë’s voice took on such a haughty and dramatic tone, Eärwen burst into a peal of laughter she quickly silenced, having the drawn the attention of many guests.

Arafinwë grinned, his sharp canines giving him a roguish look Eärwen found incredibly attractive—and much more the real Arafinwë. “Are you trying to get me in trouble?” he stage-whispered, letting go of her hand, when they reached their ugly mustard table, which of course was engraved with the heraldic device of Fëanáro’s house. Eärwen bit her lip to keep herself from laughing at what surely must have been a conscious decision on Fëanáro’s part, as no other table was engraved so.

As children of friends, Findis, Írimë, and Eärwen had met previously on trips to Alqualondë and Eärwen’s rare visits to Tirion. Though they were not friends, Findis and Írimë approved of their youngest brother’s choice and smiled at Eärwen as she took at a seat in the chair Arafinwë had pulled back for her.

They spoke for a while about the wedding—cracking quiet jokes about the table’s décor, all certainly exclusively chosen by Fëanáro to irritate. Eärwen tried not to time how long before the conversation turned to the craftsmanship and tried even harder not to burst out laughing when Arafinwe caught her eye, a smirk on his face when Findis—seventy-two seconds into the conversation—remarked on the fold used to create the flowers, but of course, she failed miserably, and Findis, slightly shamed and ever an over-involved older sister, turned the conversation to Eärwen and her future plans.

“Am I remembering correctly that you work primarily with the swans, and less with your father and the day-to-day needs of your people?” Findis said. Her tone was polite, but Eärwen noticed Arafinwe shoot his older sister a warning glance. The first course, a light salad of spicy greens arrived at the tables and provided Eärwen with enough time to conjure an even-toned reply.

“I find that my father derives joy from tackling the day-to-day needs of our people, yet I feel my purpose lies not in the now, but in the past and future. I can see how my work could be misunderstood and seen as merely caring for animals, but for my people, the swans are a symbol of our culture, and caring for the flocks is more than healing sick animals; it is educating our youngest ones on our history; it is training new sailors; it is showing our respect and thanks to Lord Ulmo.”

Írimë, who recognized her sister’s line of questioning and her brother’s irritation, tried to shift the conversation: “I don’t at all mean to detract from the breadth of your work, but I find it precious that you teach the little ones! What a special role!”  

Eärwen nodded eagerly. “Indeed! It does not detract at all – it is one of the most enjoyable parts of my role. The children must come to the beach every day, so it is important that they understand how to read the swans’ emotions and treat them respectfully.” Her eyes lit up, as she continued, “Plus, as they age, we teach them how to build and maneuver the swan boats, as well.” Arafinwe gave her a fond look, and Eärwen felt encouraged to launch into a recount of this past year’s races and her pupils and the swans, and only until the first course arrived—which to Findis seemed a yen later—did Eärwen pause to eat, her face still flushed with joy.

Taking advantage of the conversation’s lull, Findis inquired, “Did you know we will be meeting Arakano’s new beau today?” Eärwen made no response, though she glanced at Arafinwë whose lip quirked.

“I don’t think it’s fair to call her a beau,” Írimë interjected. “They have been together for a few years.”

“Yes, but it’s the first time he’s brought her to a public event.”

Arafinwë snorted. “With our family, are you surprised?”

“You brought our lovely Eärwen out quite quickly,” Findis pointed out.

“Do you know anything about her?” Eärwen interrupted, trying to avoid a back and forth. Findis shook her head, and Írimë shrugged.

“I heard that she’s very young and not from a prominent family... perhaps she’s not as polished as Eärwen, so Arakano is hesitant to introduce her,” Findis mused.

“Or perhaps she is a perfectly wonderful addition to our table, and we should cease to make judgements on someone we do not know,” Arafinwe replied tightly.

“Oh, you know I would never be cruel to her,” Findis replied.

“I’m sure she’s lovely,” Írimë jumped in. “After all, Arakano’s got a good head on his shoulders; he’d be sure to fall in love with someone who is faithful and easy going.”

“I should hope so. We certainly have enough drama in the family,” Arafinwë said dryly, glancing at the stage. While the guests ate, an orchestra played. The stage was beautifully lit with thousands of twinkling tiny lights, giving the platform a shiny look, even as Laurelin neared the end of its glow.

“I think Nerdanel will be good for him,” Írimë said, changing the topic to their half-brother. “She has a way of getting him to see reason.”

“Fëanáro is capable of listening to another Eldar?” All at the table turned to see Nolofinwë and his courted arrive, arms interlocked. Eärwen stared for a moment in surprise, missing the smirks that blossomed on his sibling’s expressions. Though she smiled at Nolofinwë’s comment, Eärwen noticed her hesitation, as if she were uncertain of how the Finwions would perceive her. “Everyone, I’d like to introduce you to Anairë,” Nolofinwë presented her.

“It’s lovely to meet you all,” Anairë said with a more genuine smile.

“It’s great to meet you!” Findis exclaimed, as Írimë declared, “Come, sit, sit! I think they’re going to start soon.”

“Findis,” she introduced herself, raising her palm in greeting.

“Írimë.”

“We have met before,” Arafinwë smiled.

Anairë’s smile widened, while Findis’ mouth fell open, half-outraged, half-shocked. “Wait, what?” Findis exclaimed.

“Eärwen,” Eärwen interrupted, raising and twisting her palm in the traditional Teleri greeting. Much to Eärwen’s joy, Anairë nodded and asked if she could sit next to her.

“Lovely to meet you, Eärwen,” she replied, taking the seat after Eärwen assented. “And, yes, Arafinwë and I happened upon each other in Nolofinwë’s study.” Findis raised an eyebrow, glancing at both of her brothers. “He attempted to convince me that he was a Vanyar poet.”

“What?” a chorus came from around the table. Arafinwë laughed.

“The golden hair made it plausible, but his poetry left much to be desired,” Anairë teased. A chorus of chuckles erupted around the table, as a silver bell tolled, marking the beginning of the speeches. Respectfully, their laughter died out when Finwë took to the stage, but the siblings’ expressions tightened. Eärwen could not help the look of pity she gave Arafinwë, his hurt expression telling her all she needed to know: Indis had ultimately not been invited to speak, despite the Noldorin tradition for parents to speak together at a child’s wedding, a blessing of unity to come upon the newlywed couple.

Yet Finwë stood alone.

She squeezed Arafinwë’s hand, a gesture he acknowledged with a momentary half-smile before returning his attention to the stage. Eärwen, too, tried to return her attention to the stage, but she felt Anairë’s eyes on her; when she turned, the Noldo blushed slightly and looked away quickly. Eärwen, unsure what to make of this, did her best to focus on Finwë’s speech.

“--am grateful to all gathered here today to celebrate my son and now daughter’s Day. Curufinwë, you have made me proud beyond measure, not only in your vast academic and creative accomplishments, but in your choice of such a fine soulmate as Nerdanel. Any who have spent time with her are aware that she is as wise as she is fair, intelligent as she is artistic. She is a testament to the ingenuity and wisdom of our people.

Yet while both of you are incredible in your own right, this day is not about the individual. This day is about the melding of two souls. From this day forward, as long as the Eldar walk this world, your responsibility extends beyond yourselves, into each other and your relationship. I bid you to cherish each other for all time as the Eldar walk in our world. Hold tightly, not constrictively, love indefinitely, not conditionally. Your souls were meant to be connected for eternity, and while the reason may not be clear in the darkest of times, you must believe, must trust that your love was meant to be, that you all were meant to be. If you can trust and love, together, I am confident that in you all, our people shall find capable, conscientious leadership in the most trying of times.”

As the King of the Noldor spoke, under the table, Anairë noted how Nolofinwë’s fist clenched, his back ramrod straight. Findis’ attention darted between her father and younger brother, the only other sibling visibly perturbed by their mother’s lack of appearance. Írimë, entranced by her father’s words, had tears forming in the corner of her eyes, while Arafinwë looked on, an expression of polite interest etched into his face. Concerned, Anairë took her courted’s hand, tracing a heart over it, and he sighed, his fist loosening though his jaw remained tense.

Anaire bit the inside of her lip: Nolofinwë wanted to be wrong about his family. He wanted the tension and favoritism to be a feeling he had created for himself rather than the reality of the situation. She knew he wanted her to feel welcomed and seen as an equal rather than a commoner interloper into this circle—even as he, a prince in his own right, was seen as an interloper by his older half-brother. In the weeks and days leading up to the event he apologized profusely for what was sure to be a messy event.

But messy or not, Anairë reminded him, she loved him. If his family loved her than all the better, but their souls would not be intertwined with hers as his would.

She held close to her heart the look in his eyes when she said so, the way his voice deepened even as it cracked with a mixture of joy and grief, and told her, too, that he loved her. Yet she understood what he meant: her whole life, her soul had strained at its edges, desperate for connection and while Nolofinwë alleviated the pressure, she still felt the desire for more, as if despite all his love, despite her family’s love, more was needed to satisfy her desire for closeness. Who was she, then, to denigrate Nolofinwë’s desire for more? She never wanted to be his only, but she did want to be his one.

Up on the stage, Nerdanel and Curufinwe stood across from each other, and Anaire wondered as she looked to them if either had ever felt a need for more. The joy with which each looked at the other was palpable, as they began the ending of the public ceremony: forearms up, perfectly aligned all the way to their palms where their fingers fell into each other, tying them together as they created a bridge between themselves; then, Nerdanel, smiling wide, learned in and kissed him.

The hum of the closing song began, but Anaire found herself joining in only half-heartedly. Her mother always told her that once souls mesh together in marriage, they can never come apart; they are tied for eternity to each other. Anaire understood that. She felt that deep connection to her courted; she knew nothing could break their bond. Yet the question that had plagued her since her childhood, plagued her now, one she had never had the courage to ask: could soul ever be meshed with more than one other?

For all his frustrations, Nolofinwë appeared to be joining into the ending song with gusto, and Anairë leaned into him slightly, laying her head upon his shoulder and feeling his smile in her hair. When song finished, echoing out still throughout the city, he gave her a little kiss, and he and his siblings excused themselves to be the first to bid their elder brother well, leaving Anairë and Eärwen alone at the table.

“That was a beautiful ceremony,” Eärwen commented first, snatching another little cookie from the tray at the center of their table.

“Definitely,” Anairë replied, deciding to reach for another sweet as well. “A bit ostentatious, but the stage is lovely, especially in Telperion’s light.” She paused to munch on the cookie. “Are Telerin weddings anything like this? I’ve visited the surrounding beaches of Alqualondë frequently, but I’ve never attended any official ceremonies.”

Eärwen hummed in thought. “I have never attended such an… opulent ceremony, even among people of my social status, but I imagine Fëanáro had ever intention of outshining every marriage ceremony since the Awakening.” Anairë laughed, and Eärwen paused to grin before continuing more seriously: “We exchange necklaces instead of rings. Rings are much more prone to falling off, and especially at sea, you’re likely to never find your treasure again if you lose it. And, of course, the words to our songs are in Telerin, not Quenya. But otherwise, quite similar.” A silence settled, then Eärwen asked, “What brings you to Alqualonde with frequency?”

“Oh,” Anairë beamed. “My family and I are glassblowers.” At Eärwen’s blank look, she explained, “Glass is made of sand… we travel there almost once a week. Honestly, I sometimes wish we simply set up our shop in Alqualondë, but my parents love Tirion and would never consider moving. It’s a pity. The water always looks so nice, but our trips are all business, no pleasure,” Anairë sighed.

“That is a pity. I love going for swims in the sea. The water is always perfect.”

“Oh, truth be told, I do not know how to swim,” Anairë confessed. Eärwen’s mouth fell open. “I know, I know! But I am not even a yen old, and I—”

“Would you like to learn?” Eärwen interrupted.

Anairë lit up. “Yes! Absolutely! It’s been a dream of mine since I was an elfling, but my parents do not know how to swim either, and we only occasionally dip our toes in. There’s much fear of water among my family.”

Eärwen nodded, understandingly. “Yes, I think only our people live without that fear, but we do teach our children early on to love and respect the water. When will you next be in Alqualondë?”

“Probably in a few days,” Anairë said. “But when we go to Alqualondë for business, it is typically a quick trip. We do not spend more time there than necessary, but I can likely gain their approval to spend some time with you?”

“Oh,” Eärwen’s brow furrowed. She wanted to ask why Anairë would need her family’s approval for anything, but she was quite young and perhaps her family was simply more strict than Eärwen’s had ever been—that, or she allowed them to be, rather than fighting tooth and nail for independence as Eärwen had. “Well, perhaps you can gain their approval to spend more than a little time; I wouldn’t mind hosting you for a few days.”

“Really?”

Eärwen shrugged. “Why not? There is much to do in Alqualondë if you’re interested. More than what could be seen and done in one day’s time.”

“If… if that wouldn’t be an imposition, I would love to do that.”

“Not at all! I don’t frequently come to Tirion; I make Arafinwë come and visit me,” Eärwen laughed. “My home is special to me, and I love sharing its wonders with others. It’s truly a place like no other.” Her smile became fond, and Anairë felt a warmth spread throughout her. A place like no other. Though different, that sounded like the heat that came from the forge, the concentration required to make the smallest bends that might result in fracturing an entire piece of art.

“I can understand that,” Anairë said softly. Eärwen cocked her head slightly. “It’s different for me, not a place, but a feeling. Like, when I twist a tiny piece of molten glass and it forms this perfect curve, and it looks like exactly what I pictured in my mind.” An unconscious smile unfurled, as she described it, “and then someone sees it, and it speaks to them, it’s something they didn’t even know they wanted, needed, but it’s there.”

Eärwen looked straight in the eye, holding her gaze, then nodded slowly. “Yes, that’s it. A place, a tradition, a person you didn’t even know you wanted and needed but suddenly, they’re there.” And as she spoke, Eärwen was no longer certain she spoke only of Alqualondë.

II.

The day of her visit was unremarkable: the typical perfection of Valinor, warm air, slight breeze, a permeated smell of meadow the soft light of the Trees bringing a glow to all the colors of the forest. Eager to arrive, Anairë kept Larcatal at a gallop, a pack strapped to her back with a small picnic basket containing some of Eärwen’s favorite Noldorin delicacies. The breeze passed through the thin fabric of her new robes, a foreign feeling, as Anairë typically wore thick leather to guard against burns in the workshop. But she needed a light cloth, one that would dry quickly after a swim.

The thought of the cool water both filled her with dread and excitement. She feared the water where her body would be subject to the whims of the sea, but she looked forward to spending the day with Eärwen; and though she had only known the Telerin princess for about a year, she trusted her.

Eärwen was powerful. Not powerful like Nolofinwë for his way with words and his role in society, but powerful for almost the opposite reason. While Nolofinwë relied on compromise to make space for himself, Eärwen created her own place in the world, one that did not hurt others around her but was all her own. She was sensible, kind, and passionate about her people and culture. Whenever she came to Tirion (which was more frequently now), she always stopped by the studio, dragging Anairë into the grassy fields and beautiful plazas, and the two endlessly chattered about their passions; she even came to Anairë’s dances in the meadows with Nessa, watching with such a smile on her face, Anairë felt guilty that sometimes, she danced not for the Valar but just to see that smile.

That smile was why she had crafted a gift for the visit. Of course, it was only polite to bring a gift, particularly when one was being hosted for the night, but Anairë had placed special care into these gifts, making them herself in the family workshop. Once, Eärwen had commented on the utility of Anairë’s headband—the cloth ribbons the Teleri typically used fell out of her straight, platinum hair with ease—so Anairë had designed a hairclip that would not fall out. The circlet, made of thick, sturdy sea green glass, was intricate, molded carefully to look like the waves of the sea, as well as adjustable; its wearer could make it thickness of a pinky or the circumference of a fist, depending on the amount of hair they wanted to hold steady. Despite being proud of her creation, Anairë decided to take it one step further and create a matching set of earrings and her favorite blue eyeshadow.

Perhaps it was too much.

No. It was just enough.

She reached Alqualondë just as Laurelin began to shine alone. In Laurelin’s light, the golden seashells that ombre’d the bottom to the middle of the palace’s enormous pillars shone, and the thick blue windows, designed in such a way that the glass undulated, as if the glass were the sea itself, were just see through enough that the shadows of Eldar who passed through were visible. But most importantly, Eärwen stood at the doors, a large smile gracing her face. Anairë swung off Larcatal, grinning back. “Hello!”

“I hope your trip went well,” Eärwen said, bowing her head in greeting.

Anairë returned the bow. “It was a good trip, though I am sure Larcatal is ready for a rest,” Anaire said, gesturing at the mare beside her who gave a pleased whinny at the mention of rest. Eärwen smiled fondly at the mare who looked at her with interest.

“Then let’s not waste time. The stables are this way,” Eärwen gestured, and the group began to walk over. “You will be well taken care of and fed plenty of treats,” Eärwen informed the horse. The horse’s eyes widened at the mention of treats, and once in the stable, Anairë took off her pack and pulled a green apple from the bag.

“Green sour apples are her favorite.” The mare confirmed, taking a large bite of the apple, chewing happily.

“I’ve never heard of horse that liked sour apples,” Eärwen giggled as the horse took the second and final bite. “But I’ve also never seen a horse quite so unique as this one.”

“Oh, yes, she is blessed,” Anairë smiled, patting the mare’s neck, where the unique pattern—a criss-cross of what looked almost like white veins across the mare’s other’s dark grey coat. “She was given to me by Nessa years and years ago. The Vala have blessed her with the swiftness of a thousand deer and a long life. In exchange, I have promised to set her free: every time I set on a journey, some hair of her coat will whiten, and when her coat becomes pure white, I shall take her into the forest and allow her to live free there.”

Eärwen frowned slightly. “That sounds lovely, but of course, a horse can refuse at any time to take on a rider?”

Anairë lifted and dropped her shoulders, her brow furrowing. “I can’t pretend to understand the will of the Valar, nor do I ever intend to. But as long as Larcatal’s coat bears the slightest hint of grey, I am told she will take me as a rider, and I demonstrate my loyalty by never riding her again upon the whitening of her coat.” Larcatal nuzzled Anairë, looking at her meaningfully with her large brown eyes. “And, of course, I would never force her to take me as a rider, white coat or not.”

Eärwen nodded seriously, and Anairë felt at once surprised and content. Not all the Eldar were as accepting of Anairë’s beliefs. Some seemed to regard the Valar as equals, rather than the deities they were. Yes, the Valar were kind to them, spoke Quenya and Vanyarin for the Eldar’s comfort, and gave them the light of the Two Trees. Those were acts of love, for the Eldar are loved by their deities—but, as Anairë had argued to more than one Noldo, there was to be no mistake: the Valar and the Eldar are not equals.

“That’s lovely that Nessa would do that for you, though I am not surprised. You are unwavering loyal to her.” Eärwen reached out her hand for Larcatal’s permission to stroke her mane. The horse assented, and Eärwen enjoyed the feel of the horse’s soft hair for a moment before pulling her hand away and asking, “So, we are together in Alqualondë, and we have the entire day to ourselves…shall we visit the beach?”

Anairë nodded eagerly. “Yes! Although… should I take my bag?”

“Probably for the best. Your clothes seems appropriate for swimming.”

“Excellent. I’m looking forward to this lesson.”

Earwen grinned. “I look forward to teaching it.”

“I’ll see you later, Larcatal,” Anaire leaned her forehead against the mare’s. The mare gave a soft whinny and walked herself out of the stable. “She’ll be alright,” Anairë said quickly at the surprised look on Eärwen’s face. “She doesn’t like to be cooped up, but she will always return. She has a knack for knowing when I need her.”

The beach was a ways away, but they walked slowly, discussing the week since they had seen each other, and Anairë asked many questions about the buildings, and Eärwen made suggestions for places they might visit. She hoped Anairë might consider spending longer than a day; there was so much to see, and Eärwen wished to share with her. Anairë was different than other Noldor she had met. Most, and even Arafinwë to some extent, felt the need to control nature to shape it into something beautiful—and while they without a doubt produced both beautiful and useful tools—they did so without regard for the beauty of nature, without gratitude for the living thing in its original state.

But Anairë understood. She knew the sands for the colors and textures. Eärwen had watched her, the way she rubbed it between her fingers and really felt it. She saw colors Eärwen had never even noticed, and she took only what she needed for her creations, never wasteful as if the sand had no purpose other than to serve as raw material.

As they exited the forest that bordered the beaches, she noted with pleasure as Anairë’s eyes widened in wonder, her lips stretched in a perpetual smile of awe. A small gasp escaped her as they came upon a family of swans waddling through the forest. Eärwen chuckled, and they paused to watch until the swans disappeared, then continued until they reached the sand dunes.

More swans paddled about in the sea, and at their side a group of elfings ran out, vases in hand. They raced to the edge of the water, going in as deep as their little knees, where their laughter did out, and a solemnity fell over them as they bowed their heads at the sea, then dipped their vases in, pulling them out full of water.

“Are they gathering water?” Anairë asked.

“Yes,” Earwen answered. “The Noldor craft ways of simplifying life through technology, but we have chosen to continue our traditions. After all, we are blessed to have eternally clean water beside us—how could we not drink from the water given to us as a gift from Lord Ulmo?” 

“The water is drinkable?”

Eärwen nodded. “Yes, and it tastes nothing like the water of Tirion. Come!” She pulled Anairë forward, and the two rushed towards the shore, garnering the attention of the nearby swans who eyed them warily until Eärwen clucked her tongue and they resumed their business. She stepped forward until the water reached her knee and gestured to Anairë to come closer. Though she seemed wary as the swans, Anairë took careful steps forward, until she finally reached Eärwen, who resisted the urge to laugh: Anairë was much taller, and the water only reached halfway up her calves. A smile broke through, and she took Anairë’s hand gently, then bent down to model, scooping some water into her hand and drinking from her palm.

At the sight of Eärwen, hunched over, drinking water from her palm, even as she held Anairë’s hand with her other hand, Anairë felt an overwhelming confusion. Attempting to avoid any comments at the slight redness of her cheeks, she bent down immediately after Eärwen, letting go of the Teleri’s hand (all fear of water forgotten) and scooped up her own palmful of water and drank.

Without thinking, she immediately took a second palmful. The water did taste different than Tirion’s. It had a hint of sweetness Anairë had never associated with water, and in the strangest way, Anairë swore she tasted history, as if in drinking from the sea, she was infused with the happiest of her memories and feeling of contentment rushed through her, just as the water did.  

“Good?” Eärwen’s voice was soft, and Anairë pulled herself away from her hand to look up at her platinum-haired friend and nod. Eärwen smiled and led her back to the grass before the sand dunes, where they took a seat upon the grass, and Anairë laid down her pack. They were both silent, a rare occurrence in their meetings, but the knowledge that they had the entire day together and the ambiance of the beach necessitated a solemn yet comfortable silence. Rather than speak, they watched as more elflings sped into the water with their vases, sometimes parents trailed behind and greeted Eärwen and Anairë; sometimes, the parents took a seat also in the dunes or the grass, and sometimes, they merely bowed their heads towards the water, took a sip, and retreated back into the forest.

Anticipating the question, Eärwen explained, “The water is sacred to us, and we make time to pay our respects. It is common for us to come down to the water at least once a day to do so. Plus, many take the opportunity to teach their children to love and care for the water as well.”

“It’s a lovely tradition,” Anairë replied quietly. “I find that many do not pay their respects, nor see such tradition as important.” Eärwen’s brow furrowed, sensing Anairë had more to share. Indeed, the Noldo faltered for a moment, then explained, “Nolofinwë said something the other day that bothered me. He was trying to compliment me, but he said that the dancers of Nessa were a tribute to their people and our skill… I tried to explain that our grace is born of Nessa’s and all the Vala, that she and Oromë brought me to a greater understanding of nature and its movement, its flow, that only with that awareness and knowledge was I able to move myself so. He nodded, but I could tell he didn’t mean it; he doesn’t understand.”

Anairë sighed, and Eärwen took the opportunity to comment, “Does he need to understand?”

“I don’t know,” Anairë admitted. “We are bound, though we have yet to declare and make public in ceremony, and I love him…but I have wondered for a long time if that’s…enough? I was always told that upon marriage, your soul intertwined with your partner’s. No one ever suggested that that wouldn’t be enough.”

Eärwen frowned. “Of course, it wouldn’t be enough,” she interrupted. Anairë frowned back, startled by the statement. Eärwen shrugged. “Think about it. Just as my soul is connected to the water, yours is connected to the meadows, the land, to Nessa. Someday, it will be connected to your children as well, won’t it?” Anairë nodded slowly. “Then, of course, it is possible for your soul to be intertwined with your husband’s and also capable of connecting with others.”

“But it’s a different connection?” Anairë protested, half-heartedly, though she wanted to believe this perspective.

“How?” Eärwen challenged. Both Eldar sat up straight, their world now condensed into them and their conversation.

“Because all the other things you mentioned, they’re shared. The elflings will not only be mine, but they will be his, too. The Vala and the meadows belong not to me, but to all Eldar,” Anairë reasoned.

“By that logic, nothing is ever only yours,” Eärwen pushed back.

Anairë shrugged. “Perhaps nothing is ever meant to be ours and ours alone.”

“I would agree with that,” Eärwen smiled. “I find most meaningful that which is shared.” Eärwen paused. The swan boats were special to her and her people, and they were rarely ever shared with non-Teleri, but she felt a bond building between herself and Anairë, and perhaps it was time—time to share. Eärwen stood up and held out her hand. “Come.”

“Where are we going?” But Anairë stood up anyway, taking her hand for balance, as she swung her pack onto her back.

“To share something,” Eärwen winked. Excited at the prospect of showing her friend such a special part of Telerin culture, she began to run along the grass, laughing, Anairë following, looking confused but eager to learn.

III

The run got them to the harbor swiftly, and there were few Teleri there. Eärwen, a common sight at the harbor, was greeted with welcoming cries, and no one batted an eye at Anairë’s presence, though Anairë herself felt a nervous nausea as she realized what was about to happen.

The swan boats, she had of course heard about, but no one had warned her how large some of the boats could be. She felt tiny looking up at the massive, beautifully carved ships, and even when she spotted a smaller one that looked like it could only hold four or so Eldar, she felt dread at the sight of how it bobbed in the water, unstable—dangerous.

But to that ship was exactly where Eärwen led her.

Eärwen boarded the ship easily, beaming at Anairë who stood, petrified at the dock. “It’s okay,” Eärwen encouraged, seeing the fear in her friend’s face. “We don’t have to go anywhere. Just step on. I promise you’ll be okay.” Terrified, Anairë placed one foot onto the ship, giving a little shriek when she felt it give the tiniest bit. Eärwen quickly cut off her laughter, and grabbed her arm, which terrified Anairë even more as she felt the boat shake when Eärwen moved. “It’s okay. You’re okay,” Eärwen whispered. The Teleri tugged gently on her arm, and without thinking, Anairë took the second step, fully aboard the little boat, eyes screwed shut.

Eärwen allowed herself a little chuckle at the sight. “You can keep your eyes closed if it helps. Just focus on the smells.”

The smells, Anairë wondered.

“Take a deep breath,” Eärwen whispered. Her hands were on both of Anairë’s arms, steadying her, and Anairë could feel Eärwen’s hair tickling her. Anairë breathed deeply, trying to smell whatever Eärwen was referring to, until she heard Eärwen’s soft chuckle and opened her eyes, confused. Eärwen was biting her lip like she might burst into a peal of laughter, and then Anairë realized.

“There is no smell is there?” Anairë asked.

Laughing, Eärwen shook her head. “But it got you to focus on something else!” Anairë rolled her eyes, but she had to admit that she felt less scared of the boat’s swaying. “How would you feel about taking a little trip?”

The Noldo’s eyes widened.

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Eärwen said seriously.

But as Anairë looked about at the rocky harbor, she could see the buildings in the distance, the treetops, the sand of the nearby beach, and it occurred to her that she had never left land. Hadn’t she been saying earlier that she wanted something for herself? This was her chance, an experience unique to her, yet shared with a trusted, experienced friend.

           “No,” Anairë said suddenly. “I want to. Let’s go. How do you move this thing?”

           Eärwen’s face flashed from disappointed, to surprised, to worry, and finally settled on amusement. “I will steer this ship. You will stay away from the edges and sit and keep me company,” Eärwen ordered.

           Anairë, her initial spurt of bravery fading, gratefully nodded and took a seat on the bench near the middle of the boat, as Eärwen went through the preparations and finally had them at sea. “Where will we go?” Anairë asked finally.

           “Lord Ulmo will take us wherever he sees fit,” Eärwen replied with a small smile, taking a seat beside her. Anairë nodded, wondering where that would be, and if he might have them at sea the entire day—a prospect she no longer found scary. She reached into her pack to grab some food and then remembered.

           “Oh! I have something for you!” She pulled out the gifts, feeling a bit shy as she presented them to her friend who immediately gasped.

           “What is this?” Eärwen said, awed by the craftsmanship. The little blue circlet looked like a round comb, but its sides had been carefully designed to look like the waves of sea, falling and rising along the top of the circlet; she loved it immediately, just as the blue earrings were tempting to put on in the moment.

           “I remembered that you once commented that it was hard to keep your hair pinned up, because the ribbons you usually used would slip out of your hair, so I made you a hair pin similar to mine,” Anairë explained. “You can adjust the size once its in.” She showed her friend how to make the circlet bigger or smaller and helped her get it on. “It looks nice,” Anairë smiled.

           “This is perfect!” Eärwen exclaimed, as she put on the earrings as well. “I had been wondering what I was going to do once the wind picked up—oh, thank you! These are so lovely!” Anairë smiled shyly but held Eärwen’s gaze. “I really appreciate you, Anairë,” Eärwen said, her voice quieter now.

           “I really appreciate you,” Anairë replied back, finding little else she could reply with her heart so full at such a genuine sentiment. They sat back on the bench, food all but forgotten, and Anairë finally found her voice again: “Will you tell me about the swan boats?”

           “Of course. I will not allow you to sail it, for that is not our custom. No one but those taught to create the ships may sail them, and their creation is a secret passed from generation to generation.”

           “I won’t inquire about their make,” Anairë promised.

           “You wouldn’t be able to make one even if you tried,” Eärwen explained. “Putting them together requires a song of power.”

           “A song of power?”

           “Yes, and such power can only be accessed if used for the right reasons. Creating a ship is not about the craft. These ships are beautiful, yes, but the beauty of the ships can be made by hand. We collect the wood; we create the paint; we carve the image of the swan. But the boat floats entirely on trust.”

           “What?” Anairë’s eyebrows skyrocketed.

           Eärwen laughed. “No thought goes into whether or not the ship will sink or not when placed out into the water—that is why you see ships of all sizes and designs, each unique to builder’s taste. The boats float entirely on trust,” Eärwen repeated.

           “Then… the boat trusts me?”

“No, you trust me,” Eärwen smiled. “The boat would have begun to sink slowly if you truly didn’t believe in my ability to steer us or keep us safe.”

“So that was a test?” Anairë asked dryly.

“No, well, I suppose,” Eärwen mused. “I assumed you would trust me. It never really occurred to me that you wouldn’t.”

“I trust you. I certainly did not trust the boat,” Anairë admitted.

“It’s not all bad, is it?” Eärwen asked with such a look of genuine concern that Anairë immediately felt guilty.

“No, not at all!” Anairë said hurriedly. “I am a little nervous about being surrounded by water, but it’s nice to be in a private space, almost as if one is alone in the forest. I appreciate the quiet. I like Tirion, but it can be a noisy, busy place.”

“Yes, I find Tirion to be rather stressful,” Eärwen admitted. “Alqualondë can be as well, especially as a princess in the palace. My father hoped that I would become involved in the daily affairs of the state, but I find his meetings rather tedious. We have a moral code: it is rooted in our history of being respectful to the environment around us in order to serve the good of all. No one gets too much so that no one gets too little. We all know this. It is a matter of living it and passing it on.”

Anairë nodded. “Yes, although in Tirion, I wonder how that will change as Curufinwë gains support. You have heard of the lamps he recently created?”

Eärwen nodded. “Yes. I could see how they might be useful, but the Trees provide enough light for all our needs.”

“Well, they certainly are useful within the forges or any work done within four walls of a home, as we do not use the same glass structure that you all do for our homes. But Curufinwë refuses to share the secrets of his creation so that other smiths might create.”

“Really?”

“Yes, it is quite frustrating. Not even King Finwë can convince him otherwise. Curufinwë insists that one’s creation is one’s own, a unique work of art. Many oppose him,” Anairë noted, “but he grows in popularity as his creations make our lives easier. After all, he refuses no one who requests one be made; he simply will not allow others to make them.”

Eärwen stood up suddenly. “What’s wrong?” Anairë asked.

“Does the shore look closer to you?” Eärwen asked, all conversation about Curufinwë forgotten. Anairë stood up to get a better view. The land did indeed seem closer.

“Yes, I can even see the river that flows out into the sea,” Anairë commented.

“There’s a river that flows out into the sea?”

“Of course. It flows down from the mountains. I’ve never visited it, but I know of it. If we were sailors, I’m told it would be the easiest manner of transporting sand between Tirion and Alqualondë.” 

Eärwen hummed. “I wonder where Lord Ulmo intends for us to go. Never has he taken me to this river. I go out to sea, and then return when the time is right.” Hungry, and a little apprehensive about the river and their chances for returning to Alqualondë today, Anairë was grateful now to have brought along her pack. She opened it up and pulled some fruits and bread from the sack, offering some to Eärwen. They ate mostly in silence, both uncertain of where they might be led. Before long, the shore neared, but boat, rather than wash up on the sand went to the mouth of the river.

At the mouth they heard a loud whinny. “Larcatal!” Anairë exclaimed rushing to the edge of the boat to see if she could spy her mare. The whinny was not at all one of stress or worry but rather a pleased one, and Anairë gave thanks to Nessa for helping her mare find her and keeping her safe.

“I think I see her!” Eärwen said, suddenly beside Anairë. The Teleri took her hand and guided it to where the mare cantered, half-hidden by the bushes but following them in their course upriver. “It seems she knows where we are headed.”

“Laurelin is waning,” Anairë noted the fading yellow light and increasing silver glow of the forest. “We must have travelled quite far.”

Eärwen nodded in agreement. “Yes, I doubt we’ll be returning to Alqualondë before Telperion shines. I’m sorry. I know you planned to return.”

Anairë scoffed in amusement. “What? Not at all, I am rather thrilled by the thought of this adventure: I trust Lord Ulmo and Nessa will keep us safe, and I trust you will be the best of companions on this journey.”

Eärwen grinned. “Agreed.”

They waited anxiously at the edge of the boat. Anairë had completely forgotten her fear of boats and water and stood close to the edge, looking about the forest, eager to discover what awaited them. The forest looked like any other Anairë had seen in Valinor, nothing special. But the Valar must have some plan for them.

When the boat finally stopped, it did so on an unremarkable bank, and Larcatal came to greet them. The mare nuzzled Anairë, who whispered to her, “Do you need to take us somewhere?” The horse nodded, and Eärwen, equally puzzled and excited by the turn of events, got on behind Anairë, holding on tightly as Larcatal took off on gallop. But just as quickly as Larcatal took off, she slowed.

The cottage, Eärwen thought, seemed very bland and while not rundown, it was clear that it had remained uninhabited for some time. Ivy grew about it, untamed, the thatched blinds were half-eaten, and what once must have been a beautiful garden was overgrown in meadow grass. “What is this?” she heard Anairë whisper. 

“It’s ours,” Eärwen blurted. Anairë whipped around to look at her. When she spoke, Eärwen had not thought through those words and yet that seemed right. She could see the start of the rocky mountains that surrounded Tirion; they had to be somewhere between Tirion and Alqualondë, accessible to them only – the only Noldo with the right to travel by swan ship since King Finwë, yen and yen ago.  “It’s our place,” Eärwen said, her voice certain of that idea until she realized she wasn’t as certain Anairë would accept this.

But Anairë smiled, the glow of Telperion, lighting the flower of the meadow that had first caught Earwen’s eye. “Yes, it’s ours.”

Part II: After the Flight

IV

           The cabin reflected both cultures: sea-shell lined windows of metal frames, perfunctory garden of herbs and vegetables dotted with swans prowling about; the cabin’s white exterior was lined with blues of all shades from aquamarine to royal navy. Equidistant from Alqualondë and Tirion, Eärwen liked to think that the cabin symbolized a promise of an eternal, happy medium between her and Anairë.

           The subject of her thoughts danced outside, practicing for her return to Nessa’s company. The First Gathering of Fruits was only a few days away, and Anairë insisted on practicing for hours and hours. Eärwen did not mind. Anairë was a gifted dancer—and someone who frequently avoided ruminating by dancing. The next few days would be rough on them both: a yen had passed, and only now was Anairë willing to return, a faithful to the Valar who had banished her family; a yen had passed, and Eärwen felt like she might be able to return to Alqualondë.

           She ventured out into the yard with two steaming cups of tea in hand, brewed from the mint in their garden. After setting them down on the table Anairë had crafted for them, Eärwen took a seat on the grass while she waited for Anairë to notice her presence. Her eyes followed Anairë’s every move, the way she leapt forward, hands close to her chest, literally going out on a limb before reeling back, always with her head, her torso curved forward – then she fell backward, her back nearly hit the ground before her knees bounced her back into crouch—looking straight at Eärwen.

           Both Eldar stared at each other, mouths slightly open. Anairë breathed heavily, still not quite recuperated from the physical exertion of pulling up her entire torso, while Eärwen came to the realization that her Noldo friend intended to mimic the sea. “Morning,” Anairë recovered first, exiting from her crouch to walk over, then plop down next to Eärwen.

           “Are you dancing to the rhythm of the sea?” Eärwen asked point blank.

           Anairë bought some time by sipping at her tea. She knew even as she was dancing that Eärwen would question her motives. They never spoke of Eärwen’s decision to stay here instead of returning Alqualondë or joining Arafinwë in Tirion, but Anairë was certain that Eärwen had yet to forgive the Valar or her husband. Truth be told, Anairë wasn’t sure why Eärwen had asked her to stay. When they found each other at the cottage—entirely on accident—Anairë had offered to leave, recognizing that Eärwen was unlikely to want the company of a Noldo at the moment, much less—Anairë felt the knot in her throat form again—the mother of a Kinslayer. But Eärwen rarely spoke of it. She shared of her experience that day in Alqualondë; she said she could forgive neither Findekáno nor Nolofinwë, not even the Valar themselves, and then she stared at Anairë defiantly, as if expecting Anairë to dispute. Anairë had no words. At the time, she herself was uncertain if she could forgive her husband and her children for forsaking their lives in Aman and found herself torn by the Valar’s decision to banish them forevermore.

           But now, years after she fled Nessa’s summons and escaped to this little piece of perfection that still existed in her life, Anairë felt the strength to confront all. That was why she tried to replicate the sea. The sea where blood was first shed, the sea that took away her children and husband, the sea that severed the tie between the Noldo and the Valar, the sea, forbidden, forever reminder of what was lost one yen ago. She refused at first to dance, because to do so would be to pretend that all was right, the same as it had been for thousands of years—if she were to return to dance, she would only do on the condition that she be allowed to remember and remind.

           As true as her motives were, she struggled to find the words to answer Eärwen’s question. Finally, she settled on, “I don’t want them to bury it.” Eärwen shifted, frowning at Anairë. “When she called on me, all those years ago,” Anairë stumbled through her explanation, “she made no mention of… anything. It was like business as usual. We live on land, and we are forbidden from the sea. I just… I want to bring to light that which we have been told all our lives to ignore.”

           Eärwen smiled slightly. “Are you rebelling against the Valar?”

           Anairë blushed and laughed. “In my own small way, I suppose.” Though her mouth smiled, her eyes were serious, and Eärwen found herself speechless for a moment.

           After a pause, she recovered: “Then you’ve got a lot to learn about the sea, dear,” Eärwen sipped at her tea. “It took me too long to realize your subject, and I daresay I’m an expert when it comes to the water and its flora and fauna.”

           Anairë smiled. “I look forward to learning from an expert.” She drank her tea, thirsty from her dance, and her mind wandered into more worry. She opened her mouth, glancing at her silver-haired friend a couple times before daring to ask: “Will you come?”

           “To your performance?”

           “Yes,” Anairë confirmed.

           “I haven’t decided yet,” Eärwen said shortly, standing up, then holding out her hand to Anairë. “Come on, let’s have our morning meal.”

After their morning meal, Anairë went on a gathering walk among the berry bushes nearby. Despite her ever-stormy thoughts on attending her companion’s performance, she did support Anairë’s return to the fields, and so, every morning, when Anairë left the cottage for a long walk or berry gathering, Eärwen had been crafting a beautiful cloak to be worn on her journey back to Tirion. She had chosen a deep black color, a lovely contrast to Anairë’s pale skin, and symbolic of her mourning, though the cloak retained an overall pleasant air with the blue ocean waves that shimmered whenever the cloak swished. Grey mountains bordered the edges, a reminder of their first meeting at Taniquetil, where they had met for the first time at Fëanáro’s wedding ceremony. Her final task was adding the glowing hedges of orange and silver, the memories of Laurelin and Telperion, and the stars of Varda they spent many a night observing.

           As Eärwen worked, she wrestled with Anairë’s earlier comments, her rebellion. Eärwen had forever been a rebel, marrying a Noldo in her hundredth and forty-fifth year, going off on ships by herself, working with swans like an average Teleri might; but Anairë had always been one of the most faithful to the standards of the Eldar and the Valar. She was a healer and a dancer for Nessa, a stay-at-home mother who kept astride of politics without ever becoming involved. Of course, so much had changed, but Eärwen had not expected such an admission from her friend.

           When Eärwen learned that Anairë had decided not to accompany her family across the sea, she felt her heart heal, if only a little. She had yet to forgive the Valar for their lack of intervention, and Nolofinwë and Ingoldo for their decision to abandon their wives, and much less Findekáno—who she had always regarded as having a kind heart—for pushing Nolofinwë to go through with the move; but she could forgive Anairë, because in that moment, when tensions were high, Anairë chose not to rip the fabric of their society for something so foolish as a new land.

           Not like Ingoldo.

           She didn’t want to go to Tirion, because she didn’t want to see Ingoldo.

She loved him, and for that reason forgiving him seemed all the more impossible. She tried, time and time again to justify his action, to console herself with the thought that he turned back after the massacre without participating—but that meager gesture paled in comparison to the disruption of her family, her home, and her peace of mind.

           Tears blurred her vision, and she quickly stored her materials. Anairë was due back any minute, and it would not do to damage the cloak with her tears. She opened her drawers in the bedroom, stashing the fabric and sewing thread at the very back, underneath her own clothing, before returning to the garden outside to feed the swans their afternoon meal.

Their lesson took Eärwen and Anairë’s mind off of their thoughts, but when night fell, and the two lay cuddled on the bed, Anairë’s head on Eärwen’s chest, Anairë’s anxiety returned. “Do you think—what do you think they’ll say?”

“About?”

“You know what I mean. I abandoned Tirion for years, and it wasn’t all because of the Valar.”

“You can’t help what your family did,” Eärwen ran a hand through Anairë’s hair.

“I can’t, but it doesn’t change the fact that I’m a mother of a Kinslayer,” Anairë replied flatly. “How can I wear the headband of Nessa—I was once her pride a joy, and I have spent the last hundred odd years staying as far as possible, running away when I was called.”

Eärwen scowled slightly. “Do you regret coming here?” she asked quietly.

Anairë turned her body slightly, parallel now to Eärwen, and wrapped her arm around her. “Of course not. I don’t even plan on staying in Tirion—I mean, unless, do you plan to return to Alqualondë?”

“I’d like to visit,” Eärwen said slowly. “But I’d like to remain here—with you.”

Anairë smiled. “I do very much enjoy being here with you. It’s peaceful, and yet not as if the madness that occurred never did. I don’t think I could ever have calm in Tirion.”

“Nor I in Alqualondë,” Eärwen added.

Anairë’s smile faltered for a moment. “I cherish you, Eärwen,” she said quietly, burying her face into Eärwen’s shoulder, holding her close.

“I cherish you as well,” Eärwen said softly. “You are the dearest companion one could have, and I feel similarly. I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to return to Alqualondë and see it as I once did, and I love Ingoldo, but it will take me a long time to forgive him for what he did and didn’t do, and even once I do, I don’t want to live in Tirion and return to royal status. I want to live here, with you, and go to your dances and train the swans and go on walks and make meals. It’s the existence I wanted—a simple and happy one.”

Anairë smiled. “I know what you mean, and I’m glad that’s what you want. It’s what I want, too.” She placed her palm up facing forward, and Eärwen placed hers upon it, fingers matching up, warmth shared between them, a simple yet meaning-filled touch.

Fingers intertwined and stayed that way through the night, as they slept.

In the morning, Anairë awoke with her fingers still intertwined in Eärwen’s. She smiled softly, though her heart was heavy with the thought of what awaited her and her selfish desire for Eärwen to accompany her so that they might not be parted. Slowly, carefully, she released Eärwen’s hand and got out of bed. She had just picked up the comb, when she heard Eärwen yawn and turned to see her sitting up, blinking sleepily.

“Let me,” Eärwen said softly, wiping her eyes and hopping out of the bed, hand extended for the comb. Anairë smiled, complying with her companion’s wish and taking a seat. Eärwen dug the comb through her hair gently, and for a while they were silent and the world was silent, and Anairë wondered if that moment might just last forever.

The loud squawking of the swans soon interrupted such a fantasy, and the two burst in laughter at the sound. “I have decided to go to Alqualondë,” Eärwen told her, once they finished their laughter. “I don’t want to stay here alone, but I’m not ready to be among crowds of Noldor, much less anywhere near Tirion.”

Anairë moved to nod, but Eärwen took strands of her hair to begin braiding, so Anairë replied instead, “I understand that. To be honest, I hoped to sneak out and avoid presenting you with such a dilemma. But as always, you are too light a sleeper for such adventures,” Anairë teased.

Eärwen chuckled. “Indeed.” Another silence.

When Eärwen finished the braiding, Anairë turned to look up at her. “What should I tell Arafinwë if he asks how you are, or if he can see you?”

Eärwen sighed, turning away to pick out her clothes for the journey. “Tell him... tell him, I’m well, and that he doesn’t need to see me... When I am ready, I will come see him.” Anairë nodded solemnly.

“I will do that,” she promised. Eärwen pulled on her travelling clothes, and for a while, only the sound of the fabric was heard.

“Are you packed?” Eärwen asked her. Anairë nodded.

“I decided to travel in these clothes, rather than dirty another pair. I’ll change when I arrive.”

“Food?”

Anairë rolled her eyes. “I have plenty of lembas, and they will not starve me at the festival, I’m sure.” Eärwen cracked a smile, but the serious expression returned quickly.

“How are you feeling?”

Anairë shrugged. “Nervous. But I would feel so regardless, so I prefer to not dwell on that. What will come to pass, will come to pass.”

Eärwen nodded.

“How about you?”

Eärwen shrugged. “I won’t be seen, I don’t think. I’m not ready for questions, or family. I just need to see the beach, see if I can see it the way I did before.”

Anairë bit her lip and came closer to Eärwen. “Eärwen... I don’t think you—I don’t think anyone will ever see the beach the same way again.”

Eärwen looked away, then turned back to Anairë, a look of defiance and desperation on her features. “I misspoke. I doubt I will ever see the beach and find the same joy—but perhaps now I can look at it and feel less hurt.” Anairë nodded and wrapped her arms around her, embracing her tightly.

Then Eärwen pulled away suddenly, and Anairë looked at her in confusion, but the Teleri has already exclaimed, “I have something for you!” and had gone off into her drawers to dig for the item. What she brought out Anairë at first was unsure of its make. It seemed to be some sort of (beautiful) tapestry with fine fabric that shimmered, just, Anairë realized, like the waves crashing upon the shore in the light; the orange and silver circles glowed—and then Eärwen unfurled it to its length, and Anairë recognized it as a cloak.

“I made this for you,” Eärwen said, holding out the gift, and Anairë at first did no more than feel the fabric. “Remember, remember when you made this?” She handed the cloak to Anairë to gesture at her glass hairband, the one she wore after all these yens. Anairë nodded.

“You always wear it,” Anairë smiled.

“I do, and it’s beautiful, but most of all I loved that you gave me something practical that would help me in my endeavors. You sought not to decorate me for your or another’s visual pleasure; you took note of one small statement, one little complaint, and you helped. You always help, and I relish that everywhere I go, I have something that reminds me of you...and I want you to have something beautiful and practical that reminds you of me.”

Anairë hugged her tightly as well. “I always hoped you’d find my gift to be meaningful, symbolic of our relationship. I am ever so grateful to have this work of art.” Eärwen blushed, chuckling into the smile, until she began to cry. “We’ll be reunited soon, dearest.” Eärwen nodded.

“Yes,” she said, wiping away her tears. “We each have our own journeys, but we will always be there to support each other.”

“Always,” Anairë repeated softly, placing both hands on Eärwen’s cheeks. She bent forward and placed a gentle kiss on Eärwen’s forehead.

Eärwen smiled. “Always.”