[piosenniel]

. . . it came to pass that the Silmarils found their long homes: one in the airs of heaven, and one in the fires of the heart of the world, and one in the deep waters . . .


The fishermen had agreed to sail the ship well out beyond the breakers. ‘We’ll set the sails and secure the wheel. West, you say, aye?’ The tall fisherman narrowed his eyes as he looked toward the horizon. The sun was just dipping below the rim of the sea, and across the darkening waters spread a carpet of burning white fire. ‘Winds will have to take it after that,’ he went on. ‘Can’t guarantee they’ll cooperate.’ He eyed the three Elves, trying to read the thoughts behind the seas of their eyes. But their minds were hidden from him, the planes of their faces set smooth and impenetrable.

Endamir thanked them, giving into each of their hands a number of gold coins for their trouble. ‘The grace of the Valar be with you!’ he said in the old tongue as they turned toward their ships. And some paused, looking back at him, the last of the bright white light of day playing about his face. The words they did not recognize, but the force behind them caused more than a few to bow their heads to accept the blessing.

~*~

Fair and marvelous was that vessel made, and it was filled with a wavering flame, pure and bright; and Eärendil the Mariner sat at the helm, glistening with dust of elvengems, and the Silmaril was bound upon his brow. Far he journeyed in that ship, even into the starless voids; but most often was he seen at morning or at evening, glimmering in sunrise or sunset, as he came back to Valinor from voyages beyond the confines of the world . . .


They watched from the shore as the fishing vessels left their erstwhile companion to sail on her own. The sun had set, and in the moonlight and the starlight the little brown boats peeled away from the ship which bore the bones like little ducks leaving the wake of a fair swan.

The bones, the skulls were lit with a soft, glimmering light as the ship kept to its westward course. And above the far edge of the waters Gil-Estel, the Star of High Hope, appeared, shining bright against the black dome of night. It seemed to draw the ship of bones toward it, a beacon of promise set against the overweening darkness.

‘Hail Eärendil, of mariners most renowned,’ came the soft voice of Endamir.

‘The looked for that cometh at unawares,’ took up Orëmir.

‘That longed for that cometh beyond hope!’ whispered Lindir, his eyes as bright with tears as were the others.

And then in unison and in silence their thoughts went mightily across the waters . . .

Hail Eärendil, bearer of light before the Sun and Moon! Splendour of the Children of Earth, star in the darkness, jewel in the sunset, radiant in the morning.

~*~

Still as carven stones upon the strand, the Elves stood and bent their keen gazes upon the ship until the waters fell away beneath it and it sailed beyond their knowing and their sight.

And as they turned away, climbing up the narrow slope to where the fortress stood, their thoughts returned to their other companions and their need to find them, to finish this task of last farewells they had begun.

Endamir paused as they reached the grassy sward, calling to his brother and to Lindir to look where he pointed. In the west, Gil-Estel still blazed, and the other stars seemed to have caught his light and glittered like bright diamonds, outshining the moon himself.

He smiled, and recalling the words of the old tale, he spoke it aloud.

‘Eärendil stood before the Valar,’ he said, his eyes glittering as brightly as the stars he’d pointed to. ‘Do you remember?’ Orëmir nodded, a smile playing about his face. He put his arm about his brother’s shoulders and drew him near.

‘And pardon he asked for the Noldor,’ Orëmir continued, ‘and pity for their great sorrows, and mercy upon Men and Elves and succour in their need. And his prayer was granted.’