Not All Who Wonder Or Wander Are Lost by LadySternchen  

There is a chill to the air that creeps through his cloak, steals away the warmth of the still-glowing embers. His chest hurts, feels tight, and there is a dull pain in his head, too. Nerves. He knows this, but knowledge does not make it any more comfortable.

He has not slept for even a moment.

But now it is time to rise, anyway, the chill tells him that. It always comes when it is time to wake, wafting over the camps of the Quendi from the lake, rousing them.

How will they wake up once they are out of reach of the influence of the lake? Silly as it is, it almost feels like a parent to all the Quendi, and it is, somehow. It has nourished them, taught them, kept enemies at bay. He will so, so miss Cuiviénen.

Nonetheless he rises silently, and stretches, stifling a yawn, and shivering with cold. Elmo has sneaked under his mantle again during the night, and Elwë just cannot bring himself to wake him yet by taking the cloak away.

Olwë still sleeps, too, only a shock of his bright white hair visible under his cloak. A tender feeling spreads though Elwë as he watches his brother sleep. His little brother, even though the age-gap between them is ridiculously small. Later today, Olwë will be lord, and lead his own people. Will this be the last time they have slept side by side? Better not think about it too much. He does not need to start the first day of their journey with tears.

Activity now quickly picks up in the camp all around him. All has been packed and organised the day before already, but still fires are stoked one last time to make a last warm breakfast before their wandering starts, and Elwë knows he should do the same. Only he cannot, his stomach is already churning, only thinking of food makes him want to throw up.

What on earth has he got himself into here? What utter madness has befallen him to ever think he could lead all these people, even with Olwë's help? And why has he not insisted on leaving the day before, leaving with Finwë? They are supposed to be in this together, after all.

Lucky for him, Olwë is up now, and taking over the task of cooking breakfast.

"Thanks" Elwë mouthes at him, and Olwë grins back.

"Known you a day or two."

No arguing with that. It makes him feel a lot better, too, and a sliver of his old excitement returns to him.

Aman.

The Valar.

The Trees.

No more foul creatures.

No more deaths, no more grief.

He wants to go, really. And Olwë, loving, caring, steadfast Olwë, will always have his back, be it when it comes to leading their people or when it comes to making sure they do not starve when he feels unable to face food.

He crouches down, and gently shakes their baby-brother awake.

"Elmo, wake up! It is time. Olwë made you a nice warm porridge and I think he put all the rest of our pot of honey in it. Are you hungry?"

Nod.

"Good. Then I get my cloak back, you little thief."

Elmo sticks his tongue out to Elwë, but then giggles, and reaches up for a hug.

This is home. Wherever it wanders to.

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"Elmo!"

His little brother does not stir.

Great. As though his aching back wasn't enough already.

"Elmo, time to get down. We are going to rest here today."

Elmo is barely awake when Elwë crouches down so he can climb down. Conscience stirs. He is by no means the only one who has a small child to care for. Is he pushing this too far? Is keeping up with Finwë really worth tiring his people so early into the journey? He knows what still lies ahead, after all. The great streams. The mountains. The marshes and endless plains. Woods that will cover the stars.

He is least scared of the woods. For one, he has never met a tree that was hostile towards them. For another, Lord Oromë leads them, and no wood would ever turn against him, now would it? But to keep up with Oromë, they must do better, go faster.

Elmo whines, tearing him from his thoughts. Of course. Wake a tired-out elfling so soon after they have fallen asleep. That can only end in disaster. He remembers this feeling, too. Of being woken like this when he was little. When nothing seems right, and there is really nothing for it but to hiss at anybody and anything and curl up to go back to sleep.

He tries to save a situation that he knows from the start cannot be saved, tries to offer Elmo food, but his brother will hear nothing of it.

"I want to go home! I don't want to be on this stupid journey anymore. It's too far!"

"I feel you there, little one."

Ouch.

Hearing that from Olwë stings, though Elwë knows he well deserves this. He has pushed Olwë even harder than he has pushed his own host, so that his brother has been caught between his own impatience and his host's unwillingness to make haste.

Elmo sniffs. Apparently, seeing Olwë again after so long spent apart does take his mind off his misery a little.

"I tell you what, Finwë and Ingwë are on their way here so that we can hold council now that we are all resting in the same place for once. And I bet they are all a little homesick, too."

"Really?"

"Let's find put and ask them. But I am almost certain of it."

Thank you, brother, for saving me. Once again.

"Will Lord Oromë come to that council as well?"

Elmo does not like Oromë much, and Elwë cannot exactly blame him. Not when Oromë has come to take him away so soon after their parents deaths. It must have felt to Elmo as though Oromë outright stole him.

"I would guess so. But you will not be part of that, anyway. You know that. Councils are bedtime."

They sit together not long thereafter, a fire burning merrily in their midst, food being passed around. Oromë sits between Finwë and Ingwë, and though Elmo sits on Elwë's lap and thus with his back turned towards him, he can sense the elfling glowering at the Vala. Good thing Oromë does not take offence in such things.

Ingwë does, though, shooting Elmo disapproving looks.

Please, Olwë, please don't start a row with Ingwë now. We both know his take on family differs from ours.

Olwë heeds his unspoken plea, thankfully. Not that Elwë finds it any less strange that Ingwë ever keeps his family away from his duties. More, when Oromë came to take them to Valinor, Ingwë went without regret, leaving a wife and baby behind. Elwë only left his little brother, and the pain of it was a constant stinging throughout their journey. Remembering it hurts even now.

"You know, Elmo and I both feel a little homesick today, and we wondered if you were, too?" Olwë starts the conversation Elwë has known all along he would start.

"I am. Not today, but on many days. I miss my family."

Elwë would have quite liked to hug his friend. Finwë has left his parents, his siblings, everyone behind, and Elwë cannot fathom how much this must hurt sometimes.

"But I have Míriel, and we will have a family of our own in Aman. And besides, I parted from them in love. We all did what makes us the happiest, and that's the most important thing, after all. Pity only it had to be different paths."

"I miss just living." Olwë chimes in "Just waking and having nothing on my mind but going down to the water with Nowë and seeing how well our new boats will do."

Ouch.

Ouch, ouch, ouch.

Elwë reaches over to press his brother's hand. Not that this is enough, not that this silent thanks comes even close to expressing how grateful he is for Olwë's help.

"But then, as you say, Finwë, it will be over once we reach Aman. I look forward to that. See if Elwë has told the truth or just exaggerated."

"You will like it." Elwë assures him, and means it.

"Are you homesick sometimes, too?" Elmo asks him in a very small and very tired voice.

"I miss our parents, and things how they were when they still lived. But to that, there is no returning, anyway. And the place we go to is just as beautiful, different from Cuiviénen, certainly, but wonderful."

Is that the whole truth, he wonders? He knows he will miss the starlight more than anything else, and the lake. But those memories belong to a boy who is no more, who would go out to play and explore and come home to a loving home. Elwë has laid this part of himself to rest together with the mangled remains of his father. No, leaving Cuivíenen really is the only way forward.

"And after all" he says again aloud "There is no harm in remembering a place lovingly, even if that love hurts. That just means it will always be part of you."

"Wise words" says Lord Oromë, and he smiles.

"I never knew. I am so sorry to hear that."

Ingwë sounds genuinely sympathetic. Has he really left nothing behind that he loved, Elwë wonders. Nothing at all?

"But I agree with you, Elwë. I too shall think back to Cuiviénen with love, and hold the place of my birth dear. The place of Ingwion's birth. If there is one regret I have, then it is the memories I do not have, of the years of Ingwion's life I missed. But then, it was for the good of all the Quendi, after all. My pain is little price for that."

It was good to know that Ingwë did care, after all. Even if he did things differently.

Elmo has fallen asleep on Elwë's lap by the time they have finished eating and turn their conversation to more practical things, marking waypoints on which to wait for each other, decide which parts of the journey they will make alone, and which will require the help of the Vala. Elwë decides against moving his youngest brother, cradling him softly instead. Undisturbed sleep, and a few cuddles, and knowing that one is not alone, is the best cure for homesickness, after all. That, and the hope that it will all turn out well in the end.

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"See, it was not so bad this time, was it?"

From the look on Elmo's face, Elwë is quite surprised nothing comes flying in his direction. Not that what he said is untrue, not strictly speaking, for climbing the slopes of the Blue Mountains is indeed much easier than crossing the Misty Mountains, with their treacherous ascents and deep ravines, but it has still been exhausting for everyone.

Elwë feels nothing of that exhaustion, though. He feels, for the first time since the begin of their journey, completely elated. Not even his mingled pity and impatience for Olwë and his host will dim his good spirits tonight, nor the fact that he has not seen Finwë in almost a full circle of the stars. Aye, not even the fact that his entire host is angry with him for urging them up the mountains until they refused -point-blank and in unity- to walk another step.

Be it. It is not far now. Soon, soon he will be able to show them.

And suddenly, he cannot bear to wait even a moment longer. He may not be able to do as his heart commands and simply wander on, but he can show Elmo at least. If he can get his brother to move another muscle today.

"I know you are angry with me..."

"I'm not angry, Elwë, I am dead on my feet, like the rest of the host. Just let me sleep, I promise I will be back in good spirits and ready to help you tomorrow."

"Alright, then go to sleep. I will just go a little further. It is only a few more steps before we reach the peak, and oh Elmo, you cannot imagine... will you not come with me? I promise, nay, I swear it will be worth it."

The look Elmo throws him is probably the dirtiest he has ever received, but that does not prevent a guilty grin from spreading over his face. He knows by Elmo's expression that his curiosity is roused, and thus the argument won.

It really is only a few more steps, and Elwë is glad of it, too, for Elmo in truth stumbles more than he walks. His brother might have grown into a young man during the long years of their march, but Elwë stills sees the little boy in him, and for a moment laments the fact that he cannot carry Elmo on his back again like he has done back then. Exhausting though it was to walk at the head of his host with a sleeping elfling on his back, he still misses it, misses the soft snuffling in his ear, and the way Elmo snuggled against him trustingly.

Elmo's gasp when they finally reach the ridge is reward enough, and confirmation that Elwë has done the right thing in urging him to come with him.

"Is that..."

"Yes. It is distant still, too distant for you to hear it, but this silver glint on the horizon, little brother, is the sea. Ah Elmo, I cannot tell you how much it calls to my heart, how much I long to hear it again. 'Tis a music I cannot even describe."

Elmo does not answer but just gazes ahead, mesmerised. Elwë smiles to himself, the look on his little brother's face almost as rewarding as his first sight of the sea in long, long years.

After a while, Elmo gently puts his head on Elwë's shoulder, and Elwë puts an arm around his waist.

Soon, their journey will end, and his task be finished. And then? Will they stand like that by the shores of Valinor, or will Elmo do as is their custom and marry, have children? Finwë surely will, seeing how he and Míriel are never ever parted.

And he himself? His own future seems shrouded in mist, hidden from his sight just like the woods that lie between the mountains and the sea are.

He sighs, and fastens his hold on Elmo.

What will be will be.

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“Finwë, wait, what are you… wait!”

Elwë crosses his arms before his chest, planting his feet firmly on the ground. It is not like he has not just wandered for days to see Finwë.

“You said you wanted to get away from all the duties for a moment, so that is what we are doing. And I wanted to show you ever since I first found… oh, come on!”

There is no getting around Finwë when he is like this, so Elwë sighs theatrically, hoping to at least make his point, and follows his friend deeper into the woods, away from the camp of the Noldor.

It is as though they are back at Cuiviénen, going on an adventure together, Finwë taking the lead as usual, Elwë always initially side-eying his friend’s enthusiasm. Does he himself still seem as boyish to his own people, he wonders, as Finwë does to him? Elflord though he is, his friend has lost nothing of his childhood-enthusiasm and somehow, that realisation makes Elwë breathe more freely than he has done in a long time.

They are still the same. They will be the same again, once this is all over.

Through the thicket of hollies, Elwë hears water murmuring, gay and joyful, not the rushing of a big stream, yet more than the bubbling of a brook. The sound inevitably makes him smile. It is the sound of adventure. The ground ever rises, so that they are soon climbing up a steep hill, clambering over rocks, ducking under branches. Moss soon replaces the forest floor, and when stepped on, oozes water. There must be underground springs, which is good, for Elwë is rather thirsty, and the promise of a refreshing sip of water deeply welcome.

By the time they emerge from the trees, both their arms are rather badly scratched, and one look at his tunic tells Elwë that he will spend the days after his return to his own camp mending what there is to mend.

Only a few steps separate them from the top of the hill, and once they reach it, Elwë hears himself gasp. This view is certainly worth a few scratches and a torn tunic. Before them, the hill falls steeply towards the river, bare rock replacing the mossy boulders. It is a formidable drop alright, but beautiful. In the absence of trees, the stars are visible overhead, and they seem to smile at them today, encouraging, promising.

Caught by a sudden feeling of whimsy, Elwë whirls around, dancing on the hilltop until Finwë catches him by the arm, unnerved.

“Careful!”

Ha, Elwë thinks, you don’t like it any better when I am the one taking risks for once.

He does not say it, though, for just thinking it gives him quite enough satisfaction. And besides, Finwë is not entirely wrong. Losing his footing here would mean certain death. So instead of dancing, he lets his gaze wander over the forest that stretches as far as the eye can see -which admittedly is not all too far due to the trees- on the other bank of the river. But it is lighter, softer, the thorny leaves of the holly-trees replaced by the sleek grey trunks of beeches.

“There is a furth further north, where the river is easier to pass.” Finwë says, which makes Elwë grin.

“Ai, you do know me well, my friend. How would I love to explore these woods. But that, sadly, is not to be. Not with my people so unwilling to move, and time running late.”

Finwë hums sympathetically as he lets himself drop to the ground, to sit cross-legged overlooking the river. Elwë joins him with a sigh.

“It is not their fault, of course. They are tired, and I really cannot blame them. But I cannot wait for this journey to end.”

He lies back, looking at the uncountable stars overhead.

“Can you promise me something, Finwë? When we are all safely in Aman, and everyone has settled in, promise me we will meet on the beach and lie on the pearls and pebbles and look up at the skies and laugh about all of this and then just sleep?”

“Of course.” Finwë replies, and Elwë can hear him smile.

He so misses his friend. And he will miss him still more, on this final leg of their journey, and maybe to most challenging one. But there is light on the horizon, quite literally speaking. And to that light, they are headed.

For a long while, they lie side by side, heads cocked in order to be even closer. They have done this as long as Elwë can remember, and the knowledge that they will do so again in their new home is immeasurably heartening.

Then suddenly, Finwë rises.

“Up. No time for falling asleep now, who knows what might eat us otherwise. And I have to show you something more.”

Bewildered, Elwë once again follows his friend, until he is suddenly… gone.

“Finwë?”

Try as he might to keep the rising panic out of his voice, he cannot. Where on earth has he got to?

The answer, quite literally, is nowhere. Because Finwë has gone under the earth.

“Down here!”

There is a narrow fissure in one of the rocks, one Elwë has not previously noticed, just wide enough for their slender forms to fit through, and Elwë does not tarry.

The fissure opens into a small cave, and Elwë can hear running water. So there are more underground springs in this hill.

“I discovered this place the first night we camped in this woods. I have not dared explore further on my own, but I think there must be a whole system of caves in this hill. Wait for it, you’ll soon know why.” Finwë whispers, delight radiating from him like heat.

A breeze rustles through the leaves outside.

And it makes the caves sing.

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