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amethysttribble · 3 years

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A Lesser Prayer, Answered

Earendil is unexpectedly introduced to his youngest uncle in Valinor, and he and Argon go for a bonding trip.

@maedhroswhy, this is your @officialtolkiensecretsanta gift!! I hope you like it! Also, here’s the Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28260264

In his rare moments of respite, Earendil preferred to spend his time on the ground with Elwing. No sweeping views, no looking up at the stars, no chatter… Just them, together, sitting on the beach. If he closed his eyes, then there was only the water at his feet, the salt in the air, and the warmth of Elwing under his arm. It was almost like Sirion if he closed his eyes, and it was those moments Earendil treasured the most.

Elvenhome was not Sirion, though.

The light was just slightly too bright, even when it came in through his eyelids. The breeze was never an imposition, always just right to be comfortable, and that disturbed him. The people here smiled easily, as well, and had sympathy to spare, and old, old wisdom from many people who Earendil was not sure had ever lived. Or, at least, not lived lives that could in any way be comparable to his own. They meant well, but when he or Elwing went to a cliff edge to scream until their throats were sore, there were looks and talk.

Worst of all the oddness in Valinor, though, was how when Elwing went off to be with her kin, Earendil did not know those people.

He had heard and repeated and memorized their names, naturally. Queen Earwen, her father, King Olwë, and her mother. There were uncles and cousins who had never been ‘across the sea’- how they referred to Middle Earth everytime without fail, something that started out innocuous but now grated- but seemed to live in the waves. Scores or kinswomen- well, not Women, per say- who were eager to give her a mother, a sister, a friend.

Earendil had met them all, and he thought fondly of them. A sprawling, happy family seemed to have done Elwing good. Earendil could never truly resent the peace they gave her. But a part of him- that seemed so dirty in this pure land, like something ugly, Mannish, marred about him- longed for the kin he knew. The Oropherion and Amdirion boys they scaled cliffs with, the children with pretty house names from Gondolin who he marched, marched, marched with, the girls who attended them while Elwing was pregnant and laughed at his worry. Lord Celeborn, Egalmoth, Cirdan. He missed Lady Galadriel, who Earendil would never forget his first sight of: his mother sobbing in her arms as they were welcomed into Sirion.

The people of their home.

None of those people were here. Instead, there were people with similar features, but different names, memories, hearts. There was also something… Earendil had once thought he knew Elves. The people of Valinor were more ‘Elven’ than any in Middle Earth, though, and they felt foreign.

He could never resent Elwing spending her day in their loving embrace, but preferred Earendil was kicking stones, alone.

Even he could tell that was not good.

Stooping to pick up a too-smooth rock that glittered like Feanor had forged it rather than the sea and shore, Earendil prayed.

Would the Valar please spare mercy for the dead of Sirion? he asked, though it felt odd. It was strange to pray to people whose faces he had seen.

Still, he wound his arm back and threw.

“Pass it along to Lord Namo!” he cried as the rock plopped into the water. If Finrod could be reborn in a matter of decades, surely one of those who had been killed by the Feanorions or by the war were worthy enough. Aran or Coldir or Harion, one of his friends, any of his friends. Earendil knew them, they were good and noble. They deserved life.

“Send me a friend,” he whispered, and hoped that the kind, warm wind stealing the words from his lips was Manwë’s.

He traded a glittery rock once to get his prayers answered, maybe this rock would do for a smaller wish.

Or he should stop feeling sorry for himself just because his wife was busy during his time off. Mother often said moping was in poor form, even if one did it dramatically on the seashore. Earendil’s hair wasn’t even properly tousled to make a good sight.

Laughing slightly to himself, he clapped his hands together and bowed his head.

“Sorry about that,” he muttered, “Never mind my ramblings, yeah? Maybe just… take that rock out to Numenor if you’re not too busy.”

If he squinted, Earendil thought he could see Elros’s island on clear days. It wasn’t clear today, though, and his eyes were still more Mannish than Elven. If he lingered here, melancholy, he’d waste the whole day trying to catch a glimpse of a Numenorean ship or the glint of light off a tower. He might start convincing himself that the dancing shadows in the distance were his grandchildren, and then he would have to try again to comprehend being a grandfather, when he barely felt like a father.

A piss poor one.

Damn. He really was pitiful today. Best to keep moving, best to keep occupied with this eternity he had.

Earendil turned away from the shores, and started trudging but up through the sand. Maybe he would go to the market. He could make something nice for Elwing for dinner, and they could make a real evening of it! Eat and drink and laugh and kiss until Tilion broke through the clouds and Vingilotë called.

Earendil hummed as the idea made him smile. He walked faster towards their tower, the wicker basket in the kitchen on his mind.

When he finished climbing the steps to their front garden, though, Earendil noticed instantly that their door was cracked open. The breath left his lungs, and though he tried to keep calm- to remember that this was Valinor, that there was nothing to fear, that you’re troubles are behind you now- he could not stop himself from jogging just a little faster.

His hands were jittery as he grabbed a garden hoe and inched inside. It was probably nothing, people were so free and loose here with coming to say hello, with inviting themselves in, with being friendly and familial and presumptuous. Oh goodness, what if it was Lossië from down the way bringing oranges again? Still, Earendil’s fingers would not loosen, he could not let go of his only protection, meager as it was, slim as he knew the possibility of threat was.

When a dark head peaked around the corner of his kitchen, Earendil took a step back.

There was a smile there, though, bright and wide, and then the Elf came into full view, saying, “Hello! Well met, nephew!”

Earendil let out a slight breath, letting the butt of the hoe hit the ground so that he could lean on it.

“Well met,” he said, flicking his eyes up and down the person in front of him, who had thick, unruly black hair and stood tall, with a certain… lightness about him. Earendil would call him young if not for the light of the Two Trees in his eyes. But Elves tended to age through experience rather than years, so he supposed the Elf in his kitchen could be a youth that predated the sun. But then again, he spoke so familiarly and there was something in how his nose and eyes were constructed that reminded Earendil of… of his grandfather.

If Finrod could be released early for great deeds and wisdom, surely Fingon the Valiant…

Earendil bowed.

“Ha! You’re a formal one aren’t you? Turukano’s influence no doubt.”

As soon as Earendil managed to stand up straight just enough to see the Elf before him again, there were hands reaching for him. He was dragged forward against the stranger’s chest into a very enthusiastic hug. Earendil had just long enough to feel bad about being so still and awkward when his great-uncle pulled back.

“It’s great to finally meet you, I’ve heard so much! I’m Arakano, your mother’s favorite uncle, and don’t believe anyone who says anything different.”

“Oh,” Earendil muttered, and breathed a little easier. Yes, Argon, he had heard a little about him. Mostly about him causing trouble with Mother and the occasionally whispered story about his early death in Beleriand. It was as much a tragic tale as any other from that age, but Earendil would much rather deal with the unannounced arrival of the younger uncle, rather than the hero.

“It’s very nice to meet you, as well,” he said with a smile. “Mother speaks of you fondly. Happy to finally make your acquaintance and put a face to the name.”

“Me as well!” Argon cried loudly and Earendil didn’t know whether to laugh or sigh at the enthusiasm.

The upsettingly smooth hands of one reborn came up to cup Earendil’s cheeks and squeezed. His face was squished and suddenly Earednil was wishing he’d sighed and maybe warned this off. Instead he tensed as his personal space was once more violated. Argon came in closer.

“You look like your father mostly, but I can see Itarillë- well, I can see Turukano and Elenwë. You’ve got the family eyes, and that is all Turno, the way you’re trying not to frown,” he laughed.

Earendil blushed, but he did take the opportunity to pull away. Elwing would be snickering at him right now, asking him where his manners were, teasing, Do you not have good cheer for our guest, when you have already failed to provide tea and cakes?

Oh Valar. If Mother knew how rude he’d been…

Earendil didn’t even know if they had anything suitable in the house!

“Ah, may I get you something, Uncle?” he asked, inching towards the kitchen.

“Actually, it’s about what I can do for you,” Argon said cheerfully, grabbing Earendil arms and spinning him around. He let out a slight yelp as Argon pulled him out of the door to the house. “So I was talking to your mother, and she said that you hadn’t hardly left the shore and the sky since you got here! And I said, I said, ‘Well, that’s unacceptable’. There’s so much to see! So I volunteered, because who better to show you around Valinor than a native and kinsman, yeah? I’ve packed us a lunch, we’re going to go for a ride, it’s going to be a great time. Wait. You do have a horse, right?”

They were in the front garden and there was still a hoe in his hand. When had they gotten to the garden?

Earendil was so busy trying to wrap his head around how fast things were moving, he nodded without even thinking about it.

“Fantastic! Then we can get a move on now!”

Argon pulled him along, but they were moving away from the small stable behind the house, and that was when Earendil realized Argon had no idea what he was doing or where he was going.

“Wait, wait,” he muttered, digging his heels into the dirt. Argon let go of him, and Earendil turned to wind around the house and fetch their horse. Then he turned back towards his uncle just as fast. What was Earendil doing? Argon was standing there, a pleased grin on his face and his hands on his hips, and Earendil still had a hoe in his grip.

Why was he going along with this? Hastily, he dropped the garden hoe, and wiped his hands against his shirt, trying to find any kind of excuse to get out of this.

“Wait, I’m sorry, I- I have to- I-” don’t have anything else going on today.

Damn.

Not only would Mother and Elwing never forgive him for turning down such an invitation from a kinsman for no good reason… Earendil wouldn’t even be able to justify it to himself.

He sighed, and used the time to mourn his quiet afternoon… the one he hadn’t even wanted.

Damn.

“I’m sorry, I just need a moment, this is all moving very fast,” he said eventually. “Where are we going?”

“I told you!” Argon said, though he most assuredly had not, “We’re going to go ride up to the top of Mount Osien and have lunch. Amazing views up there, my cousins used to take me.”

“We’re going to climb a mountain?” Earendil asked, feeling a little faint.

“No, no, a hill, not a mountain. A very big hill mind you, only barely misnamed! But nothing too intense for our first outing, yeah? I sure you have sea legs, but hiking’s a different game.”

“Right,” he muttered, and already regretting his choice to agree to this adventure, Earendil turned to walk towards the stables. Argon, mercifully, did not follow.

He and Elwing kept one horse. Neither of them had ever loved riding, which was why Elwing’s cousin had come at dawn to carry her down the cliff on her own horse. Mistë was a good mare, though, older and not temperamental, if slow and huffy. Earendil did not enjoy a means of transportation that had a mind of its own, but he was more than content to allow the old girl to steer herself down the steep trails she had travelled since birth and he was only just beginning to know.

Mistë also did not talk.

Argon did.

“I came to see your mother a few days ago,” he declared, swaying atop his own, not nearly as haggard horse. “I knew I had to see her before nearly anyone else. I’ve not even seen Findarato yet, and Mother said I probably shouldn’t go alone, but I mean- Come on! Itarillë is back on these shores around the time I come back to these shores? Serendipitous! No, I had to see our little girl, she…”

Argon paused for a moment to catch his breath, and Earendil took a moment to admire how he spoke so fast. How big were his lungs? He was much shorter that Grandfather, but seemed to have twice the air.

“She, ah, little Itarillë has grown,” Argon said, quieter than his other rambling.

Before Earendil could do more than blink at the oddness of that statement, he was back at it.

“So of course I’ve also met your father now too! Fine fellow, very strange. I’d never met a Man before. I think I would have liked them, though, he was very funny. I got the feeling that he would have liked to join us, but, well…”

“He can’t get around like he used to,” Earendil said softly, looking away.

They did not like to speak about it often. The Blessed Lands had certainly slowed Father’s aging, but Earendil suspected that nothing short of divine intervention would stop it entirely. Father had not been young when he, Mother, and Voronwë sailed west, and now… Earendil did not know how long it would be, but whatever the length of Father’s life, it would not be enough. Compared against eternity, nothing was for Elves.

Which… Earendil was, now.

Swallowing a sigh, he decided to pay attention again to Argon’s prattle, which had barely ceased.

“I have to say again, how you look quite like him. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I can see it in your face, it is certainly unmistakable. And your hair! You’ve got Elenwë’s hair color, but it curls differently.”

Earendil kept it short too, something people loved to comment on, never mind that it made life easier when sailing through the highest winds in the sky.

“Mother quite likes your hair, she’s mentioned it a lot. I think she’s designing you a whole wardrobe for the next time you come to Tirion.”

“That’s sweet of her,” Earendil said, and Argon nodded rigorously.

“Yeah, that’s, that’s how she shows her love, you know? Even though all of my old clothes still fit and she’s kept them in pristine condition, she insists I need new clothes. It’s all out of style by now. I guess you ran into a similar problem, your Beleriand clothes must be different from what we have here.”

Earendil coughed, and then muttered, “Yes, but I didn’t have much.”

Just one musty trunk on a small boat. Elwing had nothing. Not even the clothes she’d jumped in.

Unbidden, the stray thought of the Fall of Sirion conjured in his mind the horrible scene that was his wife’s last memory of home, and he drew in a long breath. There was little more than fire and red beaches and shadowed faces, and Earendil knew what his imagination created was likely worse than the reality, but it kept him up at night. Something he wasn’t even there to see.

His last memory of home was of warmth and lights, and he walked away from it, when she hadn’t wanted to run, and it was so unfair to her-

“You’re a quiet one, huh?” Argon said suddenly, cleanly cutting through Earendil’s thoughts.

He was so caught off guard and so mortified by his horrible manners, he whipped his head around to gape at his uncle.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered after a moment where he was able to shut his mouth, “I’m not much of a conversationalist.”

Elwing could talk to the birds and the waves and they would speak back, she was so charming, compelling, clever. Earendil hadn’t needed to be talkative in a very long time, not with her right there and so willing to make small talk and make folks leave him alone when it was a bit much. He’d gotten too used to her telling all their little friends to buzz off when they were children and the crashing water sounded like a dragon’s roar and Earendil lost his words.

He could no longer remember if he was more chatty before Gondolin fell. Mother and Father had never commented on his ‘quiet nature’ with anything other than the odd look of concern, so Earendil didn’t feel like he had to ask. They all had their scars.

Or, well-

Earendil could not begin to guess if the Reborn were allowed to keep their scars.

The skin around Argon’s silver earring was puffy and inflamed.

For his part, Argon grimaced at his apology, the first expression besides a smile Earendil has seen on him.

“No, goodness, I’m sorry. I don’t mean anything by it, I just want- You know, you can tell me to shut up if you want. It will not be the first time or the last, so I’ll take no offense if I’m bothering you!”

“Oh, oh no,” Earendil sputtered, struck with the acute feeling that he’d failed at his manners and Cirdan was about to frown at him disapprovingly from across the sea. “You’re not a bother, I dont mind really, I- I could, ah, use a little conversation. I don’t get much of it.”

Argon laughed heartily at that, and any trace of contriteness seemed to have left him.

“See, that’s what your mother said!”

“Did she,” Earendil muttered, fighting a small flash of irritation.

Argon just laughed harder at him.

“She said you’d get huffy about it too! That you pouted mightily when she made you play with and talk to the Sindarin Princess, and now you’re married to her, so you just need a push sometimes. Congratulations on the marriage, by the way.”

Though he had to fight the urge to roll his eyes, Earendil managed to say, “Thank you,” with an appropriate amount of felicity.

As Argon started up an erratic retelling of the courtship and marriage of Turgon and Elenwë, the ground slowly plateaued and the smell of salt on the air faded away. They were riding further inland, down roads that Earendil did not recognize. Everytime he’d travelled to one of the land-locked cities, they gone primarily on river boats. He also hadn’t been paying much attention in general, neither he nor Elwing. He could barely remembers their missions to go petition the Noldorin and Vanyarin kings, or to meet the Valar on their mountain. Looking back, Earendil was pretty sure he was half-mad at the time.

Perhaps now he could appreciate the golden, rocky beauty of the city Argon was describing with such glee.

“And Turukano always said he’d like to live in a city like that, all stripped-down and sheer and a thousand natural colors. Itarillë said they modeled your city after it! What do you think, do they compare?”

“I don’t really know, I’d have to take another look,” Earendil said, looking out onto the fields of wildflowers he couldn’t begin to identify. How had he not known this was out here, just behind them? Too used to Sirion, where to leave their walls meant death and the ocean was the only escape, he supposed.

“Elenwë will be out soon enough,” Argon said, far more softly than he had spoken before. When Earendil looked over to him, he was smiling more gently, as well. “Maybe she can show you around Valmar. I think you would like it, especially with her. She’s like you. Quiet.”

There was nothing to say to that, but Earendil did laugh.

Argon did not prompt him to speak again until they reached the base of the hill they had intended for, instead prattling on about the different virtues and problems with the various cities in the Blessed Lands. Tirion was filled with anything everyone could ever need, but was so built up and out you could forget there was a natural world beyond it. Valmar gleamed and glittered and felt like the most lovely place on earth at first, but was a little austere with time. Alqualondë was fun, filled with waterways and sunlight, but eventually one got tired of being damp, you know?

Earendil didn’t know, and told Argon as much, with made him laugh.

Earendil also didn’t know the best way to tie a horse to a tree, and Argon was still laughing when he settled Mistë in for a long wait with an apple, but Earendil was a bit more embarrassed about that one. In fact, he felt thoroughly useless as Argon handled the horses and swung around a large wicker basket and led the way up the hill.

“I can carry that,” he offered, but Argon waved him off.

“Nah, nah, this is my expedition! Besides, you do enough work for all of us, up there in the sky every night.”

Earendil was grateful Argon was five steps ahead of him and had his back turned, because he felt his body go cold and his expression drop.

“It must be very exciting. I cannot imagine how much you can see. Hey!” Argon said excitedly, turning on heel to look at Earendil while jogging upwards backwards. “Have you ever seen the Lake of Cuivienen from on high, or what’s left of Father’s fortre-”

Earendil’s face must have looked something awful, to make that expression of shock flicker across Argon’s. The second after his uncle’s expression faltered, though, that smile, nearly as bright as the silmaril, was back. Earendil had to blink at the full-force of that good will.

He could almost not believe this boy was Grandfather’s brother, did not recognize the way he sung his limbs around in any of Mother’s careful mannerisms. And though he didn’t linger on the comparison long, Earendil could see no Maeglin either.

Perhaps I should visit Lady Anairë again, Earendil thought as Argon swung back around and beckoned him onwards. Perhaps her character was as bright as her youngest son’s, though on first meeting she’d seemed very circumspect. But what did Earendil know? He hadn’t even been aware one of his uncles had been reborn.

“I think you’ll really like the view from here, all the same,” Argon said, lively as can be, changing the subject like the wind, no stumble or awkwardness. Earendil appreciated that. “You can see the ocean!”

Argon then picked up the pace of their trek. Conversation lulled for the time, but Earendil did not mind. He’d gone months without someone to talk to before, this was nothing. What was more astounding was that Argon did not seem to mind. Perhaps his manners were just truly impeccable, but when Earendil jogged forwards to walk besides him, he could not see any dissatisfaction in him. No resentment or displeasure or… pity, when most people usually had at least one of those feelings when Earendil failed a conversation.

Instead, Argon started to speak again when they reached the top as if nothing awkward had happened.

“Irissë and I camped out here with Angarato and Aikanaro when we I was a child, once. Mother and Father wouldn’t let me going hunting with them yet, so we came out here and they let me pretend we were on a grand expedition. I’ve seen crazy sights now, but I still think this is pretty grand, yeah?”

Earendil turned to look at the view, and just like Aegon promised, the ocean could be seen in the distance. What caught Earendil’s eye, though, was the field that had just been traveling along, bursting with flowers. His breath caught at the sight, as the red, blue, yellow, purple, white, and all the green before him. He had never seen flowers, seen a field or any land quite like it. Nothing but life lay before him, and it nearly stopped Earendil’s heart.

“Of course,” Aegon cut in upon his reverie, “then I tripped while throwing rocks at birds and tumbled half-way down the side of the hill and busted my chin open. Aikanaro yelled at me for so long! Because he knew it’d be his skin if I got really hurt, and he was right too, he got in so much trouble. So you’ve go to promise me, nephew, no stupid injuries! I don’t want to get yelled at by your mother. That would be too weird.”

Earendil snorted, tearing his eyes away from the horizon. He barely managed to say, “Got it,” before Argon was on the ground, spreading out a blanket and reaching deep into the basket.

He pulled out biscuits and jams, cheeses and meats, and a bottle of wine. helped him Earendil spread their ‘feast’ out around them. It was quite the lunch, and Argon proudly declared, “I made it all with Itarillë! I never had much interest in cooking before, but let me tell you, after the Halls and the Helcaraxë? I want to eat everything and know how to make it.”

“Now that I understand,” Earendil said, cutting open a biscuit and slathering it in marmalade. “When I would go on long sailing trips, it would be nothing by steamed fish and salted meats and plain fruit. Once I shot down a seagull and barely cooked it, I was so despreate for some variety. Nevermind that the seagull meant that I was close enough to shore that it was entirely unnecessary.”

Argon laughed, and said, “Really?” so loudly it distrubed the birds settled on the other side of the hill.

His joy was infectious and Earendil laughed, as well.

“Really,” he said, and his voice was so soft it could barely be heard above the wind but Aegon was still listening, “Elwing saw all the feathers on my boat and yelled at me for it, too. Said that if I had eaten one of her friends she would never forgive me.”

“Wait, she’s friends with birds? Like, close friends? No one’s ever mentioned she can speak the languages of birds and beasts, that’s really amazing!”

Earendil hummed and lazily tiled his head from side to side to neither confirm nor deny. Instead, he took a moment to reach for the wine and drink straight from the bottle. Then he felt prepared to begin this explanation.

“It’s less that she speaks their language and more they listen to her. There is very little that will not respond when she speaks, and birds are chatty. We think it is a gift from her grandmother. Actually-” Earendil paused to laugh a little. “The seagulls especially respond well to her. We often joke that the nightingales were for Luthien and the gulls are for Elwing, not half as elegant, but twice as loud.”

Argon did not laugh as Earendil had been expecting him too, but when he looked up, his uncle was smiling. He grinned wider and held his hand out for the bottle, which Earendil passed him. Argon drank, and when he came up for air, he said, “You look so much like Turno when you talk about your wife. I’d love to meet her!”

“I think she would like to meet you, as well,” Earendil said, and he laughed as he took the bottle back again.

He told Argon, then, a story he had never divulged on this side of the sea. It was the tale of how he and Elwing had married one another in secret in the hull of one of Cirdan’s boats. As he and Argon passed the bottle back and forth, Earendil told him about how they made up their vows by stealing the traditional words from several different Houses of Men, and how it was Ereinion- not yet the great king, Gil-galad, just Ereinion- who found them first. They’d been flush with embarrassment and the new rush of emotions bonding their souls had caused, completely caught of their guard. They hadn’t really expected the Elven marriage bond to take hold in their mized blood. Earendil and Elwing had not regretted it, though.

The wine was finished off by the time he finished recounting the look of horror on Cirdan’s face, how he had moaned, How ever do you expect me to explain this to your Mother? To Celeborn?

Argon laughed hard enough that Earendil feared for a moment that he was going to be sick from it.

“I’d be scared,” he cried between gasps for air, “of Itarillë in that instance, too!”

Then he collapsed, falling onto his back, and Earendil was truly worried for a second before he felt Argon’s hand grab his sleeve and tug. He followed Argon to the ground, and laid back to look up at the sky, wide and bright blue and dotted with stars. Earendil had never gotten used to seeing stars during daylight, but here they never truly faded. Just another of those things in the Blessed Lands that felt too good to be true. Just another thing made less special.

But maybe it was just Earendil that had changed. How could a star be impressed with other stars, after all?

“I’ve missed this,” Argon said dreamily.

“The stars?” Earendil asked without looking at him.

“No. Sleep.”

Earendil snorted, but then it really registered what had just been said and he burst out laughing so hard he had to sit up.

“What?” he laughed, turning to stare down his uncle fully.

“Sleep,” Argon said, his eyes closed and a wicked smile on his lips. “You don’t sleep in the Halls and I’ve really missed it. I’ve missed enjoying my rest, missed sitting in the sun and feeling so safe and happy that I just… drift off. Enjoying something so simple, something I didn’t know I could lose. I mean, I know they say that sleep is the brother of death, and all, but being dead was too much, too much like a dream you couldn’t wake from. I missed the low stakes, missed feeling… safe in sleeping. Does that make sense?”

And Earendil was still smiling when he laid back down, but there was a dull ache in his chest. Because, yes, it did make sense.

He missed sailing. He missed the sun on his sky and the wind in his hair and the smell of the water and the rocking of the boat and the look of the sails caught in a gale and the feeling of ropes in his hands. Earenedil missed undocking a boat with Elwing at the helm, and their friends milling around on deck uselessly as they sailed far enough out that their parents could see that they hadn't drowned but couldn’t see what they were doing.

He missed the one memory he had of taking Elrond and Elros out to sea, and watching them laugh and clap and shriek with joy at it all.

Did they like to sail? It would be in spite of, not because of him if they did. Had. Elrond did, Elros had.

But instead of telling Argon all of that, Earendil said, “It may be because I’m tipsy, but, yes, that makes sense.”

Argon hummed contently.

“I’ve missed talking, too,” he said, and his words were getting slower, softer. “In the Halls you don’t really talk, it’s all-”

Argon waved his hand lazily around his head.

“You can’t really hide anything or force it down and it’s hard to keep on one topic. Everything just spills out of you as your thoughts and feelings come in. I’ve missed talking rather than that, because… picking words is different than having thoughts. It’s more fun, more deliberate. And you’ve been so nice, just left me talk and talk, and say all kinds of stupid things. Thanks for that.”

“Thank you,” Earendil said. “I think… I think I’ve actually missed having company that does talk. The Silmaril doesn’t.”

Argon laughed softly, and the last thing he said before he fell asleep was, “Be thankful it doesn’t sound like Uncle Feanaro.”

Earendil did not know when he also drifted off to Irmo’s Garden, but he was warm and safe and he could not remember the last time he’d slept.

The sun was low in the sky when he woke up. He had a brief moment of panic thinking about the time, that he was going to be late, that he would ruin his one responsibility. But then Earendil took a deep breath and the calm of the day came rushing back in like the tide, to strong to be swept away. He was… happy today, and he would not be ashamed.

If Tilion was occasionally late and erratic, so could the Star of Earendil be.

But he was still packing up the food when Argon blinked his eyes open.

“I’m sorry,” Earendil told him, “but I have to get home soon, preferably before the sun sets.”

“Oh no!” Argon cried, fully awake in a instant and scrambling for the blanket beneath them. “I’ve kept you too long, okay, okay, if we hurry back we should be fine.”

Earendil just laughed at him, though, startling his uncle into blinking up at him owlishly.

“I very much doubt Mistë will want to hurry anywhere. If we head back now we should be fine making a leisurely pace.”

The smile he got in return could light up the night’s sky.

On their journey back, Earendil laughed and laughed at Argon’s story of being horrifically late for one of King Finwë’s celebrations, and how he all but crashed into the grand hall of Tirion’s palace half-dressed.

“I thought my father was going to grow ill with embarrassment, but Grandfather just sighed and invited me up to the High Table, thanked me for making time for them.”

“I do believe my grandfather would not have been so gracious in such a situation.”

“No, absolutely not! Oh Valar, at Itarillë’s naming day I think I nearly killed him with my behaviour.”

Argon was still dsecribing the full extent of Turgon’s immaculate moritfication when they came to the crossroads. One path led further into the country, up and up a cliff where a tower could just be seen at the top, Earendil’s new home. The other went towards the city, closer to where Mother, Father, and Voronwë lived these days.

“I promised Itarillë that I wound’t bother you too long, that I’d be back for dinner at her place,” Argon said regretfully, already veering left. “But hey! I’m also supposed to invite you and Elwing to lunch tomorrow!” “That sounds lovely,” Earendil said, and surprisingly wasn’t surprised to find that he meant it.

He even waved a little as Argon rode away.

For his part, his uncle waved until he was nearly out of sight.

Mistë got them up the steep hill easily enough, and Earendil was still smiling when they reached the top. He gave her another apple when he stabled and rubbed her down, thanking the old girl for working more today than she likely had since coming into their possession. From what Earendil could tell from her horsey expression, she seemed grateful enough.

Who was not thankful, though, for how long he’d loitered in the stables after returning, was his wife. When he rounded the corner of the house, Elwing was standing in the doorway, holding the garden hoe too tightly. She only relaxed when he came fully into her sight.

“Where have you been?” she demanded, looking thoroughly aggrieved.

She must have been so confused to come home and find him gone, vanished. Valar, what an awful fright that must have given her. Earendil felt ashamed to have not left a note, but not even that ruined his mood.

Instead of apologizing and explaining as he should, Earendil rushed forwards towards Elwing and grabbed her around the waist. He lifted her and stumbled backwards into the garden, and then spun, laughing like a mad Man. Elwing gave a small squeak, but dropped the hoe and wrapped her arms around his neck. After a moment in the air, she laughed.

“You’re in a good mood,” she giggled when she was back on the ground with him.

“I am,” Earendil said, pressing his forehead against hers. “The best one I’ve had in a long, long time.”

“Oh? And what caused it?” Elwing asked, pushing his hair back from his slightly wrinkled eyes gently. The gesture was so warm, so kind, Earendil’s eyes fluttered shut and he felt the same joy he had early today, just happy and safe in good company. He could not stop smiling.

“I think I made a friend.”

#earendil #argon #turgon #the silmarillion #tolkien #tolkiensecretsanta2020 #fanfic #Tribble Post

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