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It’s a day no different than others, a little bit cloudy, a little bit windy and waves that come lazily crashing against the cliff. And despite all of that, Elwing feels restless, as if there were something very wrong in the air. The birds feel it too. They are circling the tower and crying again and again. She stays at the window, waiting for the tell-tale cry among them that will tell her of Eärendil’s return. She can do little else. She tried painting earlier and the brush was disobedient and the colours turned muddy and dull. And she broke a glass. And the bread was burnt.
So, she waits.
And when she hears it — her favorite sound after Eärendil’s laugh, no matter how inelegant both of those are — she immediately takes flight.
❦
Vingilótë is as pretty as always but there is a somber mood to her. Her crew is working in an eery silent and Eärendil is there, standing motionless in the middle of the deck and looking at nothing. It takes a moment for him to realize Elwing is even there and it brokes him. He throws himself into her arms, whispering her name in the most desperate tone she has ever heard from him and it feels so so wrong.
“Oh Elwing, Elwing, I’m so sorry…”
It hurts, knowing something is wrong with the world but not knowing what. And when she looks at him for answers, she can only see the mass of his blond hair as he holds her tightly against him as if all he wanted was for them to be solely one.
“Eärendil? Eärendil what is it?”
A sob. Her husband is crying. She has seen him cry before, of relief, of knowing her safe and in his arms, and of happiness at their wedding and the birth of their children and when they first called him father. But this is neither, this is tears of sadness, despair even. And she has to strain her ears to understand what he is saying and for a second, she regrets trying. It may be her husband's voice but it is the worst thing she ever heard.
“Our boy… Our beautiful boy, Elros… Oh Elwing…”
She knew, of course, that this time would come. She knew her sons had been given the same choice as her and Eärendil. She knew what they had chosen. She knew Elros was mortal. But she also knew his warmth when he was first put into her arms, a small little thing, breathing softly against her breast. She knew his smile at six years old. And his unending tears when he fell down the stairs. And his bright laugh — another one of her favorite sounds — as he tried to hide in her skirts and Egalmoth audibly faked not knowing where he went. And maybe six years wasn’t a long time, just a blink of an eye for an elf, one she wasn’t initially, but she had been haunted by her babies the second she had to leave them hidden in a wardrobe in their nursery, hoping they would stay safe. And she had avidly consumed any news regarding them. She had worried for them in the hands of the feanorians. She had been immensely relieved when she had learned they had been given back to Gil-Galad. And she had cried when she had learned of Elros’s choice but she had then followed his kingship and the founding of Númenor and his wedding and the birth of each of his children and their weddings too. Any little information she could gain. Any news Eärendil could bring her back. He was her baby and a happy child and a scared six years old in a wardrobe and a father and a king and a beloved mortal man.
And now, he is dead.
She is crying before she realizes it, holding Eärendil with the same strength and desperation. Even for the mortal men, it isn’t in the order of things to bury a child. And she won’t even be allowed to do so. She has only been allowed six years with him out of the hundreds he lived. It is no wonder the world felt so wrong earlier. Her baby is no longer there.
Eärendil finally raises his face to her, tears rolling down his cheeks, and he cannot bring himself to say the words. Nevertheless, she can read them in his blue eyes and in each tear and in his downturned mouth that was made for smiles.
They stay like that for a long time, forehead against each other and tears falling to the point she doesn’t know which are hers and which are his.
❦
Eärendil is the first to notice they have docked, Vingilótë almost an extension of himself. He tries to softly dry Elwing’s tears with his thumb and then his sleeve when it’s not enough and does the same to his face. It only irritates further the thin reddened skin around his eyes.
As they walk home, he mentions planning to stay with her for a few days. To an outsider, it sounds like he is doing it mostly for her, to take care of her while she mourns, but she knows better. He is as stricken with grief as her, maybe more, and he needs to stay with her, with the one person that understands what it is to be half-elf, what it is to choose between death and forever, what it is to lose a child you barely knew yet knew so much of. Had he been alone, he would have chosen to be a men, hating that never ending life of grieving everyone and everything, again and again, forever and ever. But she was here and he took her choice, for rest without her wouldn’t be rest and a life with her would never be pain, even now.
She asks him if he will be allowed to stay with her, and if Middle-Earth won’t miss their star of hope and he replies softly that he hopes they will understand the need for a father to mourn his son. Maybe they won’t understand. And maybe some will think it is the sky mourning their king. Elrond will know. He will be crying for his brother and he will know his parents are too. She doesn’t know if it will help but she hopes it does.
They reach the tower and she feels hungry. She thinks about making tea and some toasts but when she enters the kitchen, she is faced with her burnt bread. It is a stupid thing to cry over, especially compared to the loss of her child, but she is tired and fragile so she does. Eärendil is immediately at her side, ready to comfort her but he sees the burnt bread and bursts out laughing. It is infectious. She is laughing wetly with him, her beloved sunshine, her own little star of hope. They are miserable and they are weary but they are together and suddenly, the world isn’t as wrong as it was. It may be sad and difficult at times but Elros was happy at the end of it and they still have Elrond and each other and a new loaf of bread to bake.