On Tides of Light by potorov  

LERYALË

You who take away what was done: give them rest.

Eärwen, daughter of Olwë, had come down from Tirion on the fifth night. Until the lighting of the lamps she had not spoken, and even then she had offered Elwing no counsel.

She had sat at her father's left hand while Elwing told of the house of Finarfin. Angrod and Aegnor died in the fire of the Bragollach. Orodreth, Angrod's son, fell when Nargothrond was broken. Finrod Felagund, her eldest, King of Nargothrond and most beloved of the house of Finwë, gave up his crown to keep an old promise. He went into the dark with ten companions, was taken beneath Tol-in-Gaurhoth, and there slew a werewolf with his hands and teeth so that Beren son of Barahir, chained beside him, might live. Galadriel remained beyond the Sea, and no message from her had reached the West.

Elwing could not tell which names came to Eärwen as tidings and which as confirmation, for Eärwen's face did not alter. But Elwing had brought her one thing no herald of death could have brought. She had knelt before Eärwen's chair and spoken quietly, so that the hall did not hear.

"That Man was Beren," she said. "He lived because your son kept his word. He wedded Lúthien, and their son was Dior, my father. Lady, I am one life that came of it. I stand in your father's house because Finrod Felagund chose to keep faith with a mortal Man when no victory could be promised him. He did not know about me. He could not have. Only Beren came out alive to tell of it."

Until Eärwen came to the sea-wall, Elwing had mistaken the stillness of her face for a strength that grief could not enter. Then she had seen one hand close about the other wrist to steady the taper.

Now, beneath the new star, Eärwen turned in the crowd and went back up into the hall. Her father followed her, and the sea-lords followed him, and after them came those who had not gone home.

"I will speak only for myself," Eärwen said. "I have paid for that shore already. I will not make the payment a reason to abandon it."

She sat at her father's left hand again.

For a while no one answered. Then Astoron came in from the north quay. Chalk marked one sleeve; a pale curl of fresh-cut wood clung to his hair. He laid his hand upon the table as he had done when he refused Elwing.

"The hull in the north shed was laid down before most here were born," he said. "We kept making her after we had forgotten what passage she was meant to serve."

He looked at the shipwrights.

"A ship can only release what stands on a shore by bearing its weight."

No one moved to answer for him.

"I will finish her," he said. "I offer my hands. I do not offer yours."

The sail-weaver who had brought her awls stood. "You may offer mine now."

Another shipwright rose to say that his eldest hull would not take the strain of the Great Sea and that he would not send her. He could make spars for two others. The sail-weaver named the canvas she could finish. A blacksmith offered fastenings, and a rope-maker cordage. A provisioner named the stores she could release without leaving the harbour bare. Each spoke to the measure of a craft, and then sat down.

Some offered nothing. No face was turned towards them.

Vencáno came forward.

"If a ship goes first," he said, "I ask for her helm."

"Why?" said Olwë.

"Because my father died upon this quay. That is why no other may choose this for me. I choose the first helm."

He stood before the King, still angry.

Then a mariner came beside him and offered to take the foremast. Another offered to tend the sheets. A woman whose brother had been slain upon the quay offered to master a second ship, and her mother remained seated and wept. One by one they came. No mariner was named by another. No one who kept a seat was questioned. When at last no more rose, Astoron and the sea-lords reckoned the ships, the hands, and the stores.

There were enough.

Olwë looked at Eärwen, whose three sons had died in Middle-earth and whose daughter still remained there. He looked at Vencáno, who had not ceased to grieve his father; at Astoron, who had offered one hull before there was a fleet; and at those who had not stood.

Then the King of Alqualondë gave judgment in his own hall, where the stone in the doorway was a different colour from the stone around it. Three sentences were afterwards cut into the harbour arch.

"We will bear no sword," he said. "We will choose to serve. We will sail."

Olwë gave the first helm to Vencáno.

Thus the wrong done in that harbour was not avenged, and not forgotten, and not forgiven. The ships were still ships over which blood had run. The hands upon their ropes would remember. But the next voyage began with Telerin hands freely laid upon wood, line, sail, and sheet, and no oath commanded them.