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It had been some weeks since the crew of the Wingelóte had spotted land, and longer still since it had rained, sea and sky featureless both. None of them thought it natural, but little in the Enchanted Islands — or what they thought was the Enchanted Islands, at any rate — was natural. Elwing had spoken to the occasional seabird that flew past the Wingelóte, and they told her there were many islands: if those birds spoke truly, and Elwing thought they did, for birds had always favored her, all the land was shrouded from view.
But now she saw an island rising up from the horizon, dark and rolling in the distance.
“I think we might need to go ashore,” said Earendil slowly. “I cannot say I am sanguine about it; no land in these seas is without risk. But we need water.”
Both were true: their casks of freshwater were running low and when the wind spoke to them, it did not speak of rain. Yet any land was potentially dangerous. While the crew of the Wingelóte had yet to be caught up in any enchantment and while Elwing trusted in Ulmo’s protection, or at least trusted that he didn’t want the Silmaril to be lost, they had come near death more than once, attacked by sea-serpents or surprise by hidden reefs or almost drowned when what they thought was an island turned out to be a turtle sinking into the water. But if the sea had its hazards, the enchanted islands had more: they had been raised by the Valar to catch and trap or kill all who sought Aman.
Yet they needed water free of salt, and it had been too long since Elwing had stood amidst plants, seen green grass and not blue waves, and she enjoyed that strange giddy feeling of the land underneath her rocking.
“I’ll go look,” she said. “I want grass under my feet, not a wooden deck.”
Earendil looked as if he wished to protest, but Elwing knew he disliked not being close enough to reach out and touch her just as much as she disliked being separated from him. He said, “You and me then, and one other.”
So decided, they found a shallow bay to set anchor. Elwing, Earendil and Falathar rowed their tender to the low sandy shore; Aerandir and Erellont stayed with the ship and the Silmaril on board: if the other three did not return in two nights, they would sail on.
Elwing jumped out of the shallow keeled boat as soon as it hit bottom, laughing to feel sand between her toes, and helped Earendil and Falathar beach the tender; it was high-tide so they didn’t need to pull it far.
Falathar they left to guard the boat — they had lost their other tender to an inquisitive octopus, which had turned overly-possessive of the craft — and Elwing and Earendil walked inland in search of water.
It was a pretty place, with low rolling hills studded with rounded white rocks. Though there was a chill in the light breeze the sun was warm, filling the air with a golden glow: the land felt wholesome and she became more at ease. The ground was carpeted with a plant that looked like heather, the tall inflorescence a bright deep pink, not the mauve Elwing was familiar with. She had always thought that heather, short and unscented, was a very inferior plant to lavender, but the pink blanketing the rolling ground was very lovely, near-glowing in the sun and it did her good to see such a vivid color after weeks of nothing but the colors of the sea. She and Earendil came across shrubs with red berries too; she did not know the plant but the berries looked like raspberries. Elwing’s mouth watered, so tasty they appeared, and it had been so long since she had eaten fruit.
“I would like to try some,” she told Earendil wistfully, knowing she could not: several months ago on a similar island, they had found two men slumped under an apple tree, looking for all the world as if they were asleep and yet they had no pulse and when touched, their skin had the temperature of the air, no warmth of life.
Earendil laughed. “There are fish that color, or any color you please; perhaps we could sail south to find some for you. Many are quite tasty.”
“I am no sailor,” Elwing said loftily, “to survive off fish and hardtack. I need novelty in my diet.”
All their meals were fish and hardtack now; the lembas that Earendil had set sail with years ago were mostly eaten and only two cakes remained, which they were saving along with their quarter bottle of miruvor for an emergency, if someone were in dire need of restoration. And hardtack was not good, though the weevils liked it and Aerandir claimed he liked the weevils: for the crunch, he said.
“Ah, is that why you kept eying that large, talkative mouse we came across like it was making you hungry?”
The mouse had made her hungry, something about the sight of a rodent triggering an urge within her to swoop and grasp in claw.
“But I know," Earendil continued, "you might climb a rigging and tie a knot as well as any mariner I’ve known, but.” He tugged her closer and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You are not called to be a sailor, oh lady of shore and sky. I always think you prettiest barefoot in the sand and with the waves lapping around your feet.”
She smiled and bumped her shoulder against him, and when he bumped her back it turned to a small play-fight. Elwing wished it could turn into more, and it might have, but Earendil paused, said, "listen," and when she did, she heard the bubbling of moving water. So she pressed a quick, closed-lip kiss to his mouth, and they walked on, hand in hand, walking towards the sounds of the stream.
They saw it soon enough, after cresting the next hill: another hill, and this one steeper than the rest, with a rocky face, and from one of the rocks a stream sprang out, trickling down to fill a pool. Next to the clear pond was an ewer of silver. Elwing and Earendil turned to look at each other.
“I should be discomforted,” said Earendil, “and yet I am not, for I sense no danger.”
“Perhaps, but this must be one of the Enchanted Islands,” said Elwing, "And though I believe that Ulmo at least favors us, we are standing on earth, which is not his domain.”
“But water is,” Earendil answered. “Not that I feel ready to drink from this stream! I suppose one of us must, to test it, for we do need water to refill the casks. I can do so and you can watch. If I fall asleep, you can bring me back to the ship; if I fall dead, the Wingelóte and Silmaril can go on.”
“What makes you think I’ll let you be the one to drink?” said Elwing, but before she could say more, they heard a creaking noise and turned back to the hill. A door had appeared in it; Elwing touched Earendil’s mind in apprehension even as he grasped her arm, for neither had noticed it before. Perhaps they had been unobservant. Perhaps it had not been seeable.
A man came forth, as tall and straight as an Elf-lord; there was a pale cold light around him, visible even in the golden brightness of day. His hair and short, trimmed beard were silver, but his face unlined and youthful. He was no Elda, but neither did he seem to Elwing to be a Man. As he walked closer, Elwing breathed in: there was a smell about him, not one that a perfumer would seek to bottle but not unpleasant in any way: he smelled of cold, the scent of someone entering a house after a long winter walk, and he smelled of night and emptiness. She remembered Idril saying the Ainur had a scent about them, even when not visible.
She reached out to Earendil with her thoughts: He does not seem to be Man nor Elf, and certainly not Dwarf or Ent. A Maia? There is a power about him, but I cannot claim to have any knowledge of their kind; while I am told I saw Melian as a babe, I have no memories of her.
I cannot say I have met one either, said Earendil, and yet he is has an aura of might about him. Perhaps a Holy One. Probably even, but perhaps not. There are many things in Arda we do not know. I don't feel unsafe, though; we should speak with him. If nothing else, it would be rude to turn and walk away.
When the man reached them, just over an arm’s length away, he stopped and bowed. Elwing bowed too, mostly out of instinctive politeness.
“I bid you welcome to my home,” he said gravely. His voice rang like a bell. “I am Ramandu. Forgive the inadequacy of my greeting — I have no food nor drink nor comfort prepared. It has been a long time since I had visitors, and I was not expecting you."
“Our many thanks,” said Earendil, voice just as grave, “and we in turn apologize for any trespass. We did not know any lived here, but landed in search of water to drink, for we are running low: we are mariners, my wife and I; Elwing and Earendil are we called.”
“Mariners? But I have seen no ship approaching from the sky, and I perceive that you are…” Ramandu trailed off. Elwing frowned.
“We sail the sea,” she said. “The one composed of water. Our ship is anchored a little off the shore; I don't think you could see it standing on top of your hill.”
“Ah,” said Ramandu. “What I perceived has not yet come to pass. But do not apologize — I am glad for visitors! It has been some time since I have spoken to another, save for the birds, and I can't get anything from them but gossip, or what passes as gossip among the feathered. There were some of Eru’s children who lived here for a time, and my daughter, but the children have left and my daughter gone too, to dance in the sky."
“Then you are not one of Eru’s children? We had wondered, Elwing and I.”
“Not as you are. Though he made me too, before Ea came to be.”
So he is one of the Holy Ones, or claims to be. I do not think he lies, Earendil told Elwing in thought.
“I joined myself to Ea,” Ramandu continued, “following my lady of the dark cold expanses and bright burning suns. I was once a star, and looking down at Ambar, I saw the first of Arda’s children awaken at Cuiviénen. But I grew tired, for I am very old, and left the sky for this island to rest a time. The birds bring me fruit from bright Arien’s garden and I grow younger. When I am as young as a babe just born, my tiredness shall pass and I shall rejoin the stately dance in the dark expanse of space. I think we might see each other there, oh jewel of Arda, my brother.”
A star, calling you brother! Elwing said to Earendil in thought, what a strange thing to say.
If he is a star: a strange man to say strange things. But I think he is. Well, a retired star, I suppose.
“I don’t know if we’ll meet again,” said Earendil. "We seek the Blessed Lands, to ask for succor for the beleaguered peoples of Middle-earth, the land east of the great sea, to beg for pity ere we...” He trailed off, but Elwing knew his unspoken words: ere the wrath of the Valar fall upon us, ere we die.
“If you are one of the Holy Ones,” added Elwing, “might we beg you to give us a blessing? Aman is warded against Eru’s children who live outside it, the innocent children and guilty both, and the Enemy let loose from Mandos seeks to enslave of slaughter them all. Us all, oh star who calls my husband brother. Please, brother, if you can guide us..."
“I cannot break the enchantment laid over these islands,” said Ramandu, “nor leave this island: I am weary now and do not have the strength or knowledge to guide you. But you and your companions can rest here and recover your own strength for as long as you need. I did not have food prepared for you, but I will prepare some, and all the water of the spring shall be yours: that task of yours at least, I can make that accomplished.”
Elwing was not surprised at his refusal, or inability, but she and Earendil shared the disappointment in their joined minds.
“Thank you,” Earendil began to say, but he was interrupted.
“But I say to you,” the star told them. “May you find what you seek. Maybe you will find it. After you do, we shall meet again."
Elwing was inexplicably chilled by the words, though she sensed no malice in them nor in the man who said them, but she perceived that Earendil was comforted.
They took their temporary leave of Ramandu to return to the shore where Falathar waited, so that the crew could begin the process of transporting and filling their casks with water from the clear, fresh spring. Later all five of the mariners dined with Ramandu at his table. He had promised them that no sea creature or trickery of the sea gods would cause harm to Wingelóte or cause it to drift from its anchor, and the feast he served was excellent: wines rich and light both; cooked meats and fishes in a variety of sauces sweet and savory; warm white bread and saffron-rice studded with nuts and fruits; dressed greens and a cold salad of apples and fennel; roasted vegetables; a soup of gingered carrot, and one with lentils, and another soup of creamy chestnuts. For dessert, there were cheeses and figs and pears in a honey-wine sauce. Half-way through the meal, Elwing realized there were no birds on the table. When she next caught Ramandu's eyes, he smiled at her.
The food tasted restorative, as if it fed the soul as well as the body, and when they drank the water from the stream, Elwing felt refreshed, the burden of her cares lightened, if only for a night.
Later, again at sea, Elwing and Earendil sat together on the poop deck, hand in hand and staring at the white wake left by the ship cutting through the water. Ramandu’s island was still visible in the east.
She opened her mouth to speak, for she was still discomforted by the star’s words, for all their lack of threat, but closed it again. Earendil’s mood had been lighter since they had left the island, and she would not risk disturbing it; their task lay heavy on him and he was prone to fits of despair. If it gave him hope for a star to say that he would reach Valinor, Elwing was glad.
She heard the flap of wings and calls behind their back. Birds, approaching the bow of the ship. Most flew past the Wingelóte, but one stopped and perched on the rail in front of them. It was black feathered and larger than a raven, an ember held in its beak: fruit from the garden of the sun, Elwing thought.
The bird looked at her with its black eyes and tilted its head. Sister, it cawed, be well, and flew off with a glowing berry for a tired star. Elwing shivered, though she was not cold.