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Elwing hates the trees. She hates the forest. Hates that suffocating feeling of being lost in a sea of green, drowned in sickeningly sweet mossy lime.
She learned to climb trees before she could walk. Her mother taught her. It served her well at the Havens, for she was the most agile of them and could climb trees and cliffs to find eggs. I want you as a crewmate on my ship laughed Eärendil. I need someone to go up the mast and you could do it blindfolded in the middle of a storm.
She hates the warm and humid smell of the forest, like the breath of a monster asleep after a feast.
She knows the guise and the song of all the birds in the forests of Beleriand.
She lost her family to the dark and cursed woods. She has no memory of it, but when she closes her eyes she can picture it, dark gnarly twisted trees, bending, crushing. Roots surging from the ground, naked, white and wet, like the bones of creatures older, and meaner and angrier than any elf could ever be. Branches bending, creaking, howling, slashing, swallowing stone, ground, flesh, the crumbling, dark, decaying realm of Doriath, caves collapsing on themselves until only dust remains of the fair kingdom of Thingol and Melian.
The forest starved and killed her brothers. The Feänorian killed her parents, but the trees gave them cover.
She is glad when the trees in the woods near the Haven are felled to build boats.
The Vingilot smells like the wood and hills around Sirion on a summer’s day. It smells of flowers and of grass under the sun.
Flight
Faster, faster, amid the cries and the tears, the branches and leaves, clinging to the small boats, faster ever faster, until the forest is left behind, until the clamor and the song of steel against steel against stone against flesh fades away.
Faster ever faster to the river, to the sea.
Farewell to the tears, to the forest, to your family, to your childhood, even though you’re barely out of your crib. From now-on you’re alone.
*****
Luthien was the fairest of the Children of Iluvatar, and Dior was the fairest male, but Eärendil seems stunned when he sees her with a bride’s veil, the Silmaril at her throat, and he laughs and calls her the fairest of them all, fairer than the Valar, and he should know because his father has seen one, and he kisses her and they are wed under the stars, when the night is so full of light and laughter, and Eärendil’s hair shines golden.
He’s old even for an Elf. He looks old, and cruel, his copper hair throws flames around on the walls of her hall. And he burns bright and cruel, but she’s Elwing, daughter of Nimloth and Dior, granddaughter of Luthien and Beren, heir to Doriath, so she grips the armrest, sits straighter, digs her feet into the ground. Maedhros Feänorion all but begs for the Silmaril and she says no.
Galadriel doesn’t want to see it. Never does. It’s not mine, she says. It brings death, she says. It is cursed.
Elwing knows she shouldn’t spend too much time looking into the jewel’s depth. And yet she can’t help it. The light inside. It’s infinite. It’s glorious. And when she wears it she feels it’s heat on her breast. Alive. Full of power. Her family died for it. Her family lived for it. Elwing exists because of it.
Maybe she’s deceiving herself but she feels stronger when she wears the jewel. Her songs are stronger. The greens, the flowers, the plants, all that grows under the sky, beasts and birds and Children alike, they all grow stronger. The fires in the hearths burn stronger and the houses are warmer. The people she tends to heal faster and better. She sings and the Silmaril pulses against her skin like a second heart.
She is tending Elros. The boy is unstoppable, always running away getting his brother into trouble. This time it’s a sprained ankle. She binds it and kisses him. The kiss will make it better. How ? asks Elrond suspiciously, before running away shouting « Aunt Galadriel », followed by his brother, the boy will just not sit still. Galadriel is standing at the door. Are you crying ? asks Elros. Yes child I am, she answers, but those are happy tears. And answering Elwing’s unspoken question she says : I thought it could only bring death. I think I was wrong.
The people of Bor love their fires. She visits them at night, learns their songs and dances. To become a man they say, you must jump over a bonfire. Elros has begged to let her try. They always light a fire during the longest night of the year. To wait and remember one of the Wisewomen explains. To carry us through the night to the other side. To remember that we shall see the light again, that the sun will return. Elwing thinks of Arien and Tilion sailing through the sky and wonder if from up there they can see the devotions of the Children of Iluvatar, if they can feel the love and care the people of Bor put into their fires, small sparks carrying their wishes and hopes and concerns, guiding, urging accompanying the Sun, following it in its course. She thinks of her husband carrying their hopes, away at sea.
She stands once again in the middle of her hall. Fire has breached the city, flames are at the gates. The Feänorian have come to take by murder and crime, what she would not cede. We’ll go through the dark, and meet light on the other side. She doesn’t believe they’ll survive the night.
Flight
Faster, faster, amid the shouts and the fires and the smoke, blood flowing through the streets, the wind blowing through her ears.
Faster ever faster, her body falling from the cliffs, the liquid mass pulling her down, falling faster...
until she doesn’t until she soars!
Faster faster, on the wind and the waves, under the moon and the stars, away, away from the stench of death and ruin, and betrayal and loss.
Her children! Her sons! Sweet Elros and gentle Elrond.
Lost to her. Taken, like so many years ago, her brothers were.
Farewell to Beleriand, to her home. Farewell to her family. Luthien and Beren in their green grave on Tar Galen, where Morgoth himself dares not come. Dior and Nimloth in the Thousand Caves, with no one left to bury them. Elured and Elurin lost to the forest and the dark. Elrond and Elros, her sons. Her beautiful wonderful sons to whom the world was promised. Lost to the fire and the steel.
Farewell to all. Now the silence, now the vast emptiness, now the liberation!
*****
Water and wind carry her to her husband's ship. She lands on his breast amid spray, salt and tears. They killed everyone she tells him. And our children are lost. The Valar never came. And Cirdan’s ships arrived too late. The way ahead is shut. The way behind is destroyed. Eärendil takes the Silmaril in his hand and grips it. Then we’ll make our own path.
She meets Eärendil, on the beach, on a sunny day. The retreating tides have left a myriad of little pools full of shrimps and there’s a boy her age, disturbing the water with a stick. She joins him and together they spend the morning observing the small universe, and it’s the most peaceful Elwing has ever felt and then she hears him sing.
You’re one of them ! she shouts, spitting on the ground. Elf of the fire ! You’re one of them ! They killed my father, my mother and destroyed my home !
Eärendil stays still, eyes fixed on her. Then, in a voice so low she can hardly hear it : the fire took my home too. And he adds, if it helps, I’m only half-elven.
Oh, thinks Elwing. Oh…
She climbs the mast everyday. Falahtar says it’s useless. And he’s right. The sea at the limit of the world is dark, full of smoke, and ice, and rain, and mist. You can scarcely see the prow of the ship. Sailors start to despair. So many years lost at sea. With nothing around them but the liquid masses of the ocean, empty islands, and failure. Always fighting against the wind, the waves, the current, the blocks of ice if they go too far North.
Elwing feels safe. Here, in the middle of nowhere, clinging to a small boat, to the wrinkled skin of the water. Ice, storms, rains, the cold, she can deal with all of it. The sea is treasonous, but so far, no one has ever surged from the depth of the ocean to attack her. Ice and cold never hurt her, it’s the fire that kills. Ulmo turned her into a bird and carried her to safety, to her husband. Ulmo sent Tuor to Gondolin, and later led the refugees to safety. The sea will carry them to their destination.
Elwing is of the water, and to water she shall return. She was born amid the foam of the riverfall, at Lanthir Lamath. She gave birth to her sons near a babbling brook, in a cave, with the water singing beside her, and the stars reflected on the glistening dome. The water took her away from Doriath, to the Havens, to Eärendil. And away from the Havens, to Eärendil once more. Always, it has saved her and cherished her. It will save her once more. Save them. Save all of them.
It’s getting dark and cold. Food and water are running low. But the Silmaril shines brighter. Almost alive and its light pierce the darkness. Steadfast, Eärendil presses on. Not far, he says. Elwing and him cling to each other. If we go down, we go down together, he whispers. Yes she says. And then we’ll fly. And even if we find them, what should I say ? Elwing thinks of their children. That you have two sons left on Beleriand.
They are a sorry bunch at the mouths of the river. Displaced, miserable, starved, cold and ill. Refugees from Doriath, Gondolin, Ossiriand, Nargothrond Brethil, Dor Lomin, Brithombar and Eglarest. Noldor, Sindar, Falathrim, Edain and Easterlings. All carrying with them their fears, hatred and distrust. They once came to blows. All naked, covered in mud, wrestling in the water, all beaten by life and the waves. It all stopped, only the tears remained, washed down the river. They were all brothers of misfortune, and brothers yet. And at the end that’s all they were. Naked children crying.
Flight
Faster, faster, amid the rain and wind, the foam and the salt, riding the crescent of the waves.
Faster through the grey-rain curtain and the silver glass, to the fragrance and songs on the wings of the wind.
Faster the white shores and beyond them, a green country under a swift sunrise.
Farewell to darkness and ice and mist and water. Now spring, now life, now salvation!
*****
On the beaches of Valinor, far away, stands a white tower, glistening in the sun. They say it’s the first thing the sailors from Tol Eressëa, or the Grey Havens see when they reach the earth. All the birds of Valinor come to the Tower.
In the Tower, there’s a Lady. She’s the Queen of the Birds. They say at night she turns into a swan. Her songs are the sweetest and the saddest.
She sends seagulls to the lost mariner, and larks to comfort children, and falcons to the hunters, and sparrows to eat the crickets and protect the harvest.
They are greeted by the birds, the land isn’t yet in sight. Seagulls, albatrosses, and some strange birds, she’s never seen. Red, with a feathery tail like a flame. The air in Valinor is very still. And so pure it almost hurts to breathe. A gentle breeze carries sweet unknown fragrances.
Every night a nightingale comes to the Tower to sing. Some swear to have seen the bird turn into a woman. The most beautiful woman they ever saw, bearing a striking resemblance to the Lady in the Tower.
She’ll find none of her family on Valinor, she knows it. But one day a couple comes to visit. She is barefoot, and he is tall, with the blondest hair she’s ever seen, and her heart skips a beat because for one blissful second she thought he was back again on the ground.
And then she laughs, because of course they made it. Ulmo has always answered her prayers. And the next night she tells Eärendil she saw his parents, and her husband cries.
She lives alone, but is not lonely. She gets visits from all the folk that live nearby, for she is wise and has seen much. She tells stories of a country long gone, sleeping beneath the waves. They say Ulmo dines every week with her.
While Eärendil pleads, Elwing meets the Teleri. They greet her, the only surviving descendant of Elwë. She tells them of Doriath, and of Gondolin, of the sufferings of Beleriand. She sees Alqualondë and thinks it’s the fairest city she ever saw. Some ask about the ships. What happened to the White Swan ships ? They burned, answers Elwing, crying. They burned. Everything burned. Her house got a Silmaril back, she doesn’t know if it is fair. Doesn’t know if the debt is repaid.
Why should we help them ? ask the Teleri, through clenched fists and gritted teeth.
We shouldn’t, thinks Elwing. And she thinks of her sons. Captives and more likely dead. And of her brothers, lost to the woods. No jewel could ever pay for that. And yet.
The Silmaril brought us here, she answers. My husband is of the Noldor. And she tells them of Cirdan and Ereinion. Of the Edain, of Beren and Luthien, of the people of Bor. Of the Tree-shepherd.
And when she’s brought before Manwë, the Teleri come with her.
She listens to the wind and the birds. They tell her the stories of those who still live across the ocean. Your husband killed a dragon. Of course he did. She catches Elros before he departs beyond the circles of the World. He is old, so very old, and so very wise, and she is so very proud. Forgive me, she asks. There’s nothing to forgive, Mother, he answers, and tries to kiss her, but his feä is slipping away.
Flight
Faster, faster, on the wings, her wings, on the wings of the songs.
Faster through the skies and the clouds, over the mountains and the stars, to Manwë's domain, and past that to the Circles of the World.
Faster, to that small ship and the oceans of heaven. To the greatest sailor that ever lived, and the Star of Hope.
Faster where the air is pure and everything is so vast even the Valar feel small.
Faster, always faster, for miles and hundreds of miles and thousands of miles, through the night and the dark, faster to light, Arien and Tilion laughing and joining the race.
Farewell to all that was known or is. Now the space, now the heavens, now the light!
*****
There once was a star who fell in love with a bird. And they loved the Children of Iluvatar very much. Some say there were Elves before, some say they were Men. Perhaps they were both. And they had to choose, the Earth or the Sky. They loved both, so they didn’t. One lives on the Earth, the other in the Sky, and every night they meet halfway. The star shines over all that live in Middle Earth, bringing hope and strength. The bird greets all that come to the Undying Lands, bringing comfort and healing.