a daughter also was born to them, and she was named Elwing, which is Star-spray, for she was born on a night of stars, whose light glittered in the spray of the waterfall of Lanthir Lamath beside her father’s house.
The Fëanorians had torched Elwing and Eärendil’s house. Círdan tried not to feel surprised at the act of arson. It was not the only area of the Havens put to the torch. With the silent patience of a fisherman, Círdan watched the black charred remains of what had been rafters, beams, and furniture slowly smolder and collapse in the harsh shore breeze. A beam slipped free of where it balanced precariously and thudded to the ground, but the sound was muted by the heavy layer of ash. All the embers had cooled by now, and Círdan knew he could approach the ruins of what had been the house of his dear friends without fear of burns. No, give them truth in the silence of his heart as he stood and paid his respects before the ashes of their lives. Elwing and Eärendil had been his adopted niece and nephew, yet another war orphan he had taken in as his own, as Ereinion became the beloved child of this lifelong bachelor.
And because of that deep love, Círdan feared approaching closer, feared to walk through all those charred black piles, worried that it would be more than burned wood that he would find in the wreckage. His men, searching the other buildings, had already found bodies. Elven and mortal, male and female, old and young, every sort imaginable. All except bodies of orcs, and that was the key difference that confounded the searchers, for they were all veterans from Brithombar and Eglarest and all the points inland, all familiar with the aftermath of towns and cities sacked by Morgoth’s armies. Strange it was for them to find only elven and mortal dead, only those weapons, only red blood. Some bodies had burned in the arson; most had not. Identifying the dead was easy if they had been neighbors and friends. Círdan’s men had the survivors of the Havens assisting the search, looking for any other survivors, looking for the dead, looking for names to give the slain refugees. Some of the dead elves the survivors did not recognize, but they begged that the bodies collected for honorable burial, as they had tried to stop the attack or tried to extinguish the fires. Some of the buildings were still too unstable to investigate.
Círdan did not wish confirmation of which he would find in this house.
If he refused to cross the threshold, the horror remained an abstract.
The Fëanorians had also burned the docks. That he was not surprised at, for they had no more use for ships. Or at least still had the self-awareness that no boat upon these waves would tolerate them. Still, Círdan knew one ship had not been present, and thus one body he shall not find.
And, staring at the charred ruins of the home of Elwing and her young children, for the first and only time, Círdan fervently prayed that Vingilot had foundered upon the waves. The Shipwright, who prided himself on the soundness of his ships, wished this betrayal of his craft. He hoped that only pieces of driftwood returned to this beach to join the charcoal that lined it. Let not the lad return to this, he prayed. Better he dies, drowns in a storm, not seeing the destruction of his home, the death of his people. Never have I asked this of you, Lord Ossë, oh, how Círdan wept, but never allow him to return to this shore, when this sorrow is all that awaits him.
Elwing during the days she’s with her Falmari relatives while Earendil is campaigning for the War of Wrath to start hears that Eluenyanië/Eluearyon (fix name) has recently be released from Mandos and how happy Olwë’s family is to have all this family returning. Elwing does the quick mental translation to “Elu’s Remembrance” – one of my brother’s has been reborn and is now an adult? living here? getting very nervous but ecstatic to reunite with one of her big brothers she lost as a toddler. But when she finds him, looks at him, there’s no recognition on either end. She knows on her part it’s the unfortunate fact of being parted so young. Eventually he recognizes what the mistake is and clears it up- he is Olwë’s son, Eárwen’s older brother. When his parents arrived in Aman, they thought Uncle Elwë, Olwë’s older brother and senior king and the prophet who had led them (but not the final steps to see it) to the Promised Land, was lost to them forever. So Olwë named his elder son in memory and honor of their lost leader, and because Eluenyalië reminded them of Elwë in looks. Eluenyalië isn’t so sure if he looks so much like this person he never saw but who was constantly compared to and held up as this distantly recalled shining figure (and what to know who most idealized this perfect tragically-lost Elwë? Finwë, duh.) Asks Elwing. She admits she only met her grandfather a few times as an infant; she can’t say what features are a match. Elenyalië remarks that Elwing doesn’t look at all like he thought she might- he assumed and hoped she looked like Elwë. No, she answers, in looks with her dark hair and more Bëorian features, she looks like her grandparents Beren and a little bit Lúthien and therefore Melian. Eluenyalië asks about the brothers Elwing had hoped he had been. “Elurin, Remembrance of Elu. And Elured…Heir of Elu.” Cue then Elwing having to explain that one was given the name in a mix of Sindarin and Taliska, go into the Problem of Ros for the mix of Sindarin and Taliska for Elwing, Elros and Elrond’s names.Finish up the linguistic tangent, Elwing asking about why Eluentalië returned from Mandos. As she guessed, he died during the Kinslaying and Theft of the Swanships. As his father’s heir he had been among their people at the ships trying to calm nerves and reassure people after the Darkening and Fëanor’s attempts at inciting revolt. Trying to convince families it’s safe to be on the mainland, in the city, free to leave the ships, when Fëanor attacks. He leads the waves of defense- brings up that there hadn’t been any violence or fighting in Aman, such a thing was utterly anathema, that they did have small hunting bows for shooting birds that they could use. Another tangent on hunting in Aman- few actually dangerous beasts, need just some meat for the dinner table. That the Noldor hunted birds with falconry as well as bow, which they had learned from the Vanyar. That the Vanyar had mind-speech with their hawks and falcons. Call-forwards are my jam. That Eluenyalië and at least one of his younger brothers died.
You can’t tell me it isn’t canon that Olwë would not have named one of his sons something-something-Elwë and at least one of those sons died at Alqualondë and Olwë was denied his vengeance for his dead family.
Anonymous said: I’m not sure what to request! Would you like doodling something small for a fic you like, if you’re comfortable with that? Or a headcanon post you liked?
ficlet written by @squirrelwrangler. teleri, seafood (lots of it), and elwing: a masterful combination
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