A Deed Unforgiven by LadySternchen  

Epilogue

Descending from his halls always felt a little strange, needed some getting used to. There was so much hustle and bustle amongst the Elves and other Ainur, alien after the calm and cold of the mountain peak. Though although it felt peculiar, it was not an unwelcome sensation. And moreover, tonight’s arrival was one that Manwë would not miss.

It had not taken Ulmo’s request for him and Varda to descend from Ilmarin, nor the pleas of Olórin. He had watched this Elf anxiously over Ages of Arda, and now that it was at last his turn to sail to Aman, Manwë felt more than obliged to greet him himself. As it was, the evening could not have been more beautiful, the setting sun painting the bay of Eldamar in molten gold, the gentle waves glittering like jewels, bearing upon them the grey ship with its gleaming white sails. Manwë smiled to himself as he watched the gulls dart around the boat, calling out their welcome to Círdan the Shipwright, the Elf without whom Elvenkind would indeed have been forlorn.

Manwë had long watched Círdan and his havens, a place he had made into a refuge and a passageway in equal measure. No-one had withstood Melkor and his servants more steadfast than Círdan, or had endured the hardships of Middle-earth for longer, or had indeed accepted them with more humility. When Ulmo had sought Círdan out in his moment of despair and told him that it was his doom to remain behind, he had accepted it, even though his anguish had been palpable even for Manwë on high Taniquetil. More, he had channeled his grief into learning to craft ships like no other in the Hither Lands, so that he might yet find a way across the sea when time was ripe, and later maintained a sanctuary for Elvenkind in Middle-Earth, when all Beleriand had been in the hands of Melkor.

And then, when after the War of Wrath the path West would have been open to him, Círdan had yet decided to stay, and built anew a home for the Elder Children in Middle-Earth. And -ultimately- had given them a way home. How many ships had he watched pass out of his sight, Manwë wondered, and how dreadfully must his heart have ached each time anew? What it must have felt like for one who had once so longed to reach Aman, to build all these ships to carry his kinsfolk over the sea to the West without being able to sail himself, Manwë could not fathom.

Still, Manwë would wait his turn to greet the Elf he had grown so curious about, be he King of Arda or no. He would not show himself just yet. The right of welcoming the new arrivals always belonged to the relatives and loved ones of the newcomers, and Círdan was no exception to that rule. What was more, Manwë rather enjoyed watching these reunions -both those on the shores of the sea and those at the gates of Mandos- from afar, seeing all the joy and tears and feeling deep down that his summons had at last come to a good ending.

Therefore he watched the small group on the pier, standing a little back in the shade of the trees, some chatting amongst each other, others had their gazes fixed on the boat. Galadriel was there with all her husband’s family, waiting for Celeborn who sailed with Círdan, and Ereinion, who had braved to invade on this family meeting so as to greet his foster-father. He looked very forlorn, and might have done so even more had not Círdan’s mother engaged him in conversation over and over again, whether to make Ereinion more comfortable or calm her own nerves, Manwë had no idea. Most likely both, he mused. It must be hard, not to fling herself at her son the moment he set foot on solid ground, but that she had declined from the start, claiming that she would much rather be the last to greet Círdan than the first, so that she might have some time in peace to reunite with him. She had passed the honour of first greeting Círdan on to her nephews, therefore, who had accepted the offer gladly. Once again, Manwë smiled as his gaze fell on the brothers, Olwë and Elwë standing by the quay wall in all regal attire, Elmo beside them in a much simpler tunic. All three of them beamed as they watched the ship draw closer, and Manwë was rather sure that had there not been so many onlookers, they would have jumped up and down like little boys.

Watching them, Manwë could not help but once again appreciate how easily the brothers had divided rule between them once again after Elwë’s re-embodiment. No claims, no fighting, just the joy of being re-united. As it was, both held court together more often than not these days, which was very refreshing to see. Manwë had been half-prepared for another strife between brothers like with Finwë’s eldest sons at first, but that had thankfully proved completely unnecessary. And still, watching them stand there in unity made his own heart ache, a pain that belonged to him alone, that he would not even voice before Varda herself- the fact that he missed his own brother. Despite all the terror he had caused and caused still, despite the fact that nothing could ever be entirely without evil due to Melkor’s fell designs, he still missed him. And that grief would never fully leave him.

More to distract himself than anything else, Manwë let his gaze wander on to where Melian sat by the trees with her sisters-in-law, chatting spiritedly with them. It was good to see her happy once more, the pain of loss slowly fading, at least from her face. He doubted not, however, that both she and her husband still mourned their daughter waking and sleeping, though having Lúthien’s descendants among them had visibly helped them coping.

Manwë sighed, wondering once again if there could have been another, a better solution. But not even he could take the Gift from the Secondborn, and keeping Lúthien from her husband… it would have been just as cruel. Any union between Elves and Men must end in agony for someone. But it seemed that at times, love simply was unstoppable, as Melian and Elwë proved perhaps more than anyone else. He had always been awed by the union of one of their own with an Elf, had at first thought it to be against all design. Only it was not. If anything, this was the design of the One, or else it would not have happened and borne such fruit. Nay, even he could not fathom all of the Father’s designs, too far were His ways above even those of the Ainur. He could but trust and marvel.

Yet Melian had paid a terrible price for her love when her Elwë had been slain, and amidst that grief, they -Manwë himself and his brethren- had added another, even greater hurt. They had terribly wronged her, wronged her even though she had done so much to bring Melkor’s rule to an end, not the least of which was to single-handedly capture Sauron and drag him before Eönwë. For that, she would truly have deserved to be allowed to live among all her kin- but that had been out of Manwë’s hands, much as he regretted it.

At that moment, the ship moored, ending Manwë’s musings. He watched with interest as the two Elves stepped ashore at last, watched as Galadriel hurled herself at her husband with a very non-ladylike squeal, watched Celeborn catch her and hold her close. Círdan himself made sure that his ship was well towed, before he turned to the many Elves who waited to greet him, and Manwë wondered if he was not indeed too overwhelmed to face them.

“A fine beard he as grown, there can be no denying that.” Varda chuckled beside him, and Manwë quietly agreed.

Ulmo and Ossë must surely be very proud of their friend and protégé. Olwë made a similar remark by way of a greeting, but Círdan did not heed it. He had eyes only for Elwë in that moment, which came as no surprise. Not when the means of their parting was so well known to everyone.

“You are here. Alive. And… whole.” Círdan stammered hoarsely, his eyes fixed on Elwë’s face.

“Of course I am. You asked me to await you here, and that I did. I waited for you for Ages and Ages, while you were busy saving the world.”

Círdan laughed, then flung his arms around his cousin with such enthusiasm that the two almost took a tumble into the water, and Melian was by far not the only one who looked somewhat disappointed that Círdan and Elwë managed to regain their balance. Still laughing, Elwë stepped back, and allowed Olwë and Elmo to welcome Círdan as well, which both of them did with no less joy. And after them came others, and there were tears and laughter and grief and joy, all while the around them, night slowly fell, and Tilion took his vessel to the skies, to douse them all in silvery light.

It would likely take until morning, Manwë knew, before the last embrace and final word of welcome was exchanged and he would have the chance to make Círdan’s acquaintance. Be it, though. Time, after all, was of no significance within this part of his realm.