The Tale of Tar-Ciryatan's Daughter by Kaylee Arafinwiel  

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Arrival at the Grey Havens (Instadrabbling and SWG March 2026) Summary:

The Wilwarin comes to port in Mithlond proper, and prepare to meet with Lord Arminas of Mithlond, one of Cirdan's nobles with an interest in the colony's doings.

(Arminas is probably *the* Arminas, who brought warning to Orodreth an Age ago about Nargothrond and was ignored, though I haven't settled on that for certain yet.)

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"I've always said all the rules are made for bending."

"Of course you have, zimra." Gaerondur smiled wryly, bending to kiss his wife as she lay alone in their bed. Not quite alone, he corrected himself; she was nursing their twin children under the golden light of the lantern. "And what do Niphredil and Ulmondur say?"

"They say their atto is a silly goose," Ailinel smiled impishly as she spoke, though her eyes were still troubled. "What news from the shore, my love?"

Captain Gaerondur sighed. "And in the sweetness of friendship let there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures." It sounded like a quote to Ailinel's ear. "Would that all could be so."

Ailinel sat up. "What's happened?"

Gaerondur exhaled. "Governor Meneldur has been called to the scene."

Ailinel licked her lips nervously. "What did he find there?"

"The ground, still red--well, dark brown, now, with blood. The silence was the loudest thing they ever heard, the messengers said." Gaerondur shuddered.

Ailinel blinked back tears. "Have they found who committed the murder?"

Gaerondur smiled grimly. "Only a message written at the scene. "It is that my hands are also my father's hands."

Ailinel blinked. "What does that mean?"

"As of yet, it remains a secret."

A message came just past dawn, when the mists off the sea still hung over the Wilwarin.

"'Tis from Lord Arminas of Mithlond, zimra," Gaerondur informed Ailinel.

She blinked wearily and sat up. "What does he say?"

"The Sea just sits silently--but sometimes, she does more," Gaerondur read slowly.

Ailinel blinked again. "What does that mean?"

Gaerondur shook his head and continued.

"There comes a half-formed memory, with the coming rain."

Ailinel arched an eyebrow.

Gaerondur shrugged. "Go not to the Elves for advice," he murmured with a twisted smile.

"And yet, we must. Have we permission to come into port?"

"Aye."

Ailinel sighed in relief. Perhaps they would meet this Lord Arminas and get real answers.

When Captain Gaerondur brought the Wilwarin into port, a litter was brought to transport Ailinel and her babes to the shore. She chafed at the delay, and hoped the Elves would not think her weak for needing such assistance.

The peaks of the Ered Luin towering in the distance were snow-capped, and Ailinel shivered. Immediately Gwilwileth brought a shawl to wrap about her shoulders and the twins slung at her breasts.

"M'lady, don't you fret now," the midwife said, keeping pace with the litter as their crew carried it. "You'll be under shelter soon enough. Just look about you, and see what there is to see."

Obediently, Ailinel looked, hearing Elven and Mortal shanties both being sung as the dock-workers labored. "Let me be lawless and beloved, and I know you'll never count the tears you've cried," came the thread of a tavern song, one of the Battle of Unnumbered Tears if she was correct. Such songs were sung among her own people as well. But they were passing the tavern, The Everlasting Flame, and going up past it.

"Looks like we'll never be together our whole life through, There might be changes in the weather, but not for me and you," another thread of song picked up as Ailinel and her twins were carried up the path winding up from the docks, away from the grey mists and sea-spray blowing in from the edge of the waters.

The litter jostled a little as they walked the wooden paths and stone bridges, crossing over the canals below.

"For what reason is Lord Arminas summoning us so far from the harbor?" Gaerondur asked one of their escort.

The Elf gave him a cool look. "He has his reasons."

Another Elf shook his head. "He does. But another message has come from the colony, young lord."

"What is it?" Gaerondur controlled himself so he would not turn too quickly.

"Grief is not the only geography I know.

Every wound closes."

They passed the Mindon Falassiéva, which lit the harbor with its bright tower, and Gaerondur glanced up, wondering if the tower was built in memory of the towers of the West. The mind-picture it called up made him smile wistfully for the briefest of moments.

 

"Delays are dangerous," he murmured to himself, but they had to go slowly and carefully for the sake of his beloved and their children across the raised walkways and bridges.

Below them, their own cargo of pumpkins, woad, and mustard was being conveyed by canal the same direction as their destination. Other boatloads carried wood of Nísimaldar and other such goods.

"What will Lord Arminas have to say to us?" Ailinel asked, sounding sleepy.

"I imagine he will wish to speak of the thieves' quarrel," one of their escort mused.

Ailinel roused. "What do you mean?"