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Elros was reminded of his mother every time he and Ûriphel visited the coasts of Númenorë. If they went far enough, the white birds would swirl around them and he would be surrounded by white feathers that made it feel like shrieking clouds closed in on him. Often, they were seagulls - probably one of the most disliked birds - and their shrieks filled the air like fumes from the sea.
Elros had never actually seen his mother turn into a bird; he had later been told by one of Maglor's followers - what had his name been? He had been kind to them - and had not believed him. Or maybe he had, he could not remember what his reaction had been. Maglor and Maedhros had never denied the rumour and maybe that had convinced him that it was true.
His mother - a bird! And the Elves from Tol Eressea said she could now speak with Ulmo's birds and they carried her news in her tower, like a princess from fairytales.
When he had told Ûriphel this, she had laughed and said:
"It is a fairytale, dear. A fugitive princess, driven from her home and parents by barbaric princes from across the sea and at last driven over the edge by them, her parents' murderers, abandoning her twin sons in desperation. But in the end, she is redeemed for all the grief, for she is given a tower in the Undying Lands with her husband, the greatest hero of the Age."
When she saw Elros' displeased frown, she laughed.
"I say it in jest, dear. Just know that this is how your family history is recounted by the bards and not without reason. It is set up perfectly for it."
"Maglor once said the lives of nobility and royalty is a public life belonging to history books," Elros remembered. "I guess he was right."
Ûriphel raised one of her eyebrows in an unimpressed look. "I'm glad he was aware. Then he must have known what role he played in others' stories."
Elros scoffed and glanced at the sea. It roared, like it always did against the shores of this island, as if the waves had yet not realised that where there once was only water, there was now land. The seagulls had moved further away but they could still make out their shrill voices.
"He played the part someone had to play. But remember the real villain; he never personally shows up in the story, and those are the worst of all."
It was not an actual disagreement between them, but whereas Ûriphel had been told the stories of the kinslayings and inner dealings of the Elves by Gil-Galad's people and the Sindar as an outsider, Elros had lived parts of it. She thought he was partial; he thought she had already been told from a partial perspective. It lent to their discussion on history and tales of old, about how true they really were.
Either way, Elros often thought of Elwing when he visited the seashore, especially in the beginning of the kingdom. By the time his children were born however, the thought faded more and more, and eventually the sea was rather accompanied by the memory of Atanalcar's daring dive into the deep or Vardamir's accidently dropping a book into the waves. His children, as always, chased away the old grievances of the past, as the future is wont to do.
Across the sea to the east, his brother Elrond faced a similar situation over the years. Lindon was not foremost a portcity, but being built on what eventually became a coast with the sinking of Beleriand and with the Falmari as residents, the sea was ever present. Elrond, like Elros, was raised in the woods except for those years in the Haven, and had never been faced with the memory of his mother so blatantly.
Círdan, ever perceptive, had been the first to remark on Elrond's frown when looking out towards the sea.
"Ulmo blesses us with good wind and waves; they never reach higher than that within the bay."
Elrond looked up guiltily, as if he had been discovered doing something forbidden.
"Indeed, he is merciful."
Círdan raised an eyebrow at the stilted words and Elrond flushed in shame and looked back out at the water in the bay. From Lindon, it looked as if the mountains on each side embraced the sea like a lover. Círdan had pondered at the sight many times.
"When I meet with Ulmo's domain - and indeed Uinen and Ossë's too - I see my people for the first time finding the water at Cuivenen," Círdan told him. "My brethren thought it magic, how it had caught the stars in its reflection. What do you see?"
Elrond was silent for a moment before answering:
"Beleriand sinking."
Círdan sighed. Who in Lindon did not dream of fair Beleriand sinking into the dark deep? Who was not chased out of Lórien's pleasant realm by the memory?
"But I think of my mother," Elrond continued quietly, as if he did not want Círdan to hear.
"Ah," Círdan said, understanding dawning on him. "Fair Elwing escaping but being saved by Ulmo. That is a heavy reminder every time you look out your window."
"Did you know that we never actually saw it?" Elrond revealed. "We were told by Lumbion, Maglor's former steward."
Círdan had not known. The twin-sons of Elwing and Eärendil had always been tight-lipped about their lives, Elrond because he did not wish to share with anyone, Elros because he only shared with those he thought close to and such people he had not found among Círdan's and Gil-Galad's people. But then, Círdan had never asked about the Haven of Sirion or their personal experiences of what was now famous tales told to elflings.
"Did you believe it?" he asked instead. "It is not something you hear every day."
Elrond gave him a wry smile. "We did. We were too young to do otherwise. And our parents had always been a bit strange, I suppose, with our mother being queen and our father always gone on some important quest for our people. It was not very far to think a Vala had intervened."
"Your family has a certain reputation, I suppose," Círdan mused. They both knew that was an understatement and one seldom made in Lindon. It was only in recent years everyone had come to terms with that Elrond, the only elven heir to so many crowns and duties among their people, would rather serve a king with lesser claim than he.
"So it has."
"But you have many far greater persons in this city," Círdan felt obliged to say. "Galadriel and Celebrimbor among them. You are still young, though I bless Fate every day that you have more sense than many other elves your age. Just remember that family of yours is not everything you have to your name. The sea does not always have to remind you of Elwing; you have a choice to make new meanings, because you are here and those you think of are not."
That seemed to hit the younger harder than Círdan had intended, but he saw it was not of hurt, but rather realisation. It would do him good, for it was the truth.
"I- Yes, you are right," Elrond said at last, slightly flushed and startled.
Círdan never mentioned Elwing and the sea again, but he did not often see Elrond gaze at the waves as often as before and he thought he had taken his words to heart. The coming decades would prove him right.