6. When all other lights go out

March 13th, 3019 T. A.

In Pelargir, the gulls sing about the Sea. I know their song.... I know the chorus of the waves on the shore, and the soft breeze bringing the scent of the sea on its wings. I know the voice calling to follow the setting sun...

Today, swords sing in Pelargir. In the head of an army you came, like a king returning to his kingdom. But the army is dead... The Dead have been summoned. A silver horn called them, in the hands of the heir of the one to whom they swore their oath, and they follow him to battle to fulfil it...

There are others who follow him, also. Not for an oath, but out of love and loyalty. My grandsons are among them, reminding me on the picture of my son fighting at the side of Elendil in the Lost Alliance. And the ranger called Halbarad rides at his side, and for some reason I feel a pang of sorrow when I look at him. He looked to the stars just before he entered the evil door under Morodruin, and his look was the look of one who wants to see them for the last time... But then his look changed to one of determination, and he entered the door without hesitation.

Oh Aragorn, you disappeared from my sight under the haunted mountain. I felt the darkness lying on my heart, the whispers of souls who could not find rest. All lights went out, and I could not show you the light of hope. The only light you had to guide you was the one in your heart...

The prophecy of Malbeth the Seer resonated in the skies like the echo of words spoken long ago, woken by the echoes of hoof beats under the mountain. From the North shall he come, need shall drive him... Need drives you, yes. What desperate need makes a man walk in the darkness and shadow of death? I saw the vast armies of Mordor, and the Corsair ships, preparing for a deadly strike at Gondor's heart. And I saw two hobbits on the very borders of Sauron's dark realm...

You have seen it too... In the palantír, five nights ago. I could only watch through the long hours of the night. I tried to touch you with my rays, but you did not see them – your mind was in another place, evil and terrible, and my light could not reach it – just like the paths under the mountain. Halbarad was with you, but just like me, he could not reach to you. But maybe you felt his presence, steadying you, the presence of a friend. Oh Aragorn, what evil did you face alone in that small room of Dúnharrow? It weighted on you like many years. I feared for you, I feared very much....

But you emerged from the darkness like the Moon after eclipse, victorious. The oath of the oathbreakers has been fulfilled, and no enemy will come to the White City in the black ships. Now the ships are yours... They are good ships, mighty and fast, although not elven-made. Their sails are black like the starless sky. Black is the banner that the fleet sails under, but from the darkness, light shines – white tree, and a crown and seven stars. The heir of Sea-kings returns to his kingdom in the tracks of his ancestors: from the sea. The singing, calling sea....

Oh Aragorn, you are mighty today. Despite the hardest ride in the shadow of the Dead, despite the weariness: your path lies clear before you. You sail to the White City. Black armies march from Mordor to turn the white walls red with blood and the light of devouring fires. You sail to war – to help your people. Elessar shines on your breast, and a white gem is upon your brow.

He was the heir of a fallen kingdom – the heir of Gondolin. But the lines of kingship, the names in the books of lore did not matter any more. What mattered were the people – both noble and simple, young and old. People lost in the darkness, people suffering. People who needed hope.... Always he liked far journeys, and the call of the sea. But now he watched the shore disappearing in the white foam behind his ship, and he knew that this is a journey that he will not return from. Only three men sailed with him. Three sailors... three friends. Falathar, Erellont and Aearandir. They had no families to return to, but he was leaving a wife and two sons behind. Heavy was his heart, but his determination was firm. He turned away from the shore, and stood on the prow, proud and tall, facing the vast waters ahead. On his breast, a green stone shone.

He sailed long and far, away from the known waters, away from the frozen hills of the North and flaming wastes of the South, away from the Mouth of Sirion and his family... Further and further he sailed beneath the starless sky, through the dark waters of unknown seas. They were calm and smooth like a black mirror. No sound was heard in the Night of Naught. The air was still and unmoving, heavy with the crushing silence. Nobody dared to speak in the ominous air of waiting. The splashing of the oars as they cut the smooth surface of water sounded almost sacrilegiously, the only sound in the sea of silence.

The wind came suddenly, without warning. The breath of wrath, the forbidding voice from the west. The punishment for the daring. The sea swelled. Waves like mountains towered above the ship. Crush her, break her, swallow her! Up and down. They jostled her about like a toy. From side to side. They punched the deck. They bathed it in salty spray. The wind veiled. The storm laughed.

Eärendil stood upright in the heart of wrath. His hands were clenched on the helm with all his force. He was bound to it with thick ropes. He gasped for breath every time a wave flooded the deck, but he didn't let go of the helm for even a moment to wipe the salty water from his eyes.

He faced the storm with a grim determination. He resisted the elements with all his will. No, he will not turn back! He will bring hope, hope for Middle-earth! Did the wind not see his determination? Did the waves not hear his voiceless prayers? They did not calm their wrath. He fought them for the whole night, refusing to turn back in failure...

***

The morning came without a dawn. The low hanging black clouds did not allow the rays of sun to reach the ship dancing without lead on the calming waves. The trap-door to the under deck opened hesitantly, and Falathar came out, staggering. Erellont and Aearandir followed him, looking anxiously for their captain. They feared they would find only an empty deck, that the fury of waves had swept him into a watery grave when he refused to leave the ship to be turned back by the storm.

But he was there... a limp figure at the helm, hanging from the ropes that he bound himself with. The wet cords were tight, biting into flesh. They didn't yield as they tugged on the knots. Erellont took out a dagger, and cut them quickly. Eärendil fell into Falathar's arms. The sailor lowered his captain to the deck gently, and searched for a pulse.

Eärendil coughed.

"He lives..." The men sighed with relief.

Eärendil opened his eyes slowly... and then his body curled in a convulsion as he threw up the salty water. Shivering, he sank into Falathar's arms again.

"The... course?" he asked weakly.

It was quiet for a long while.

"East..." Aerandhir whispered finally, avoiding Eärendil's look.

Eärendil closed his eyes in defeat.

It is dark. I feel it. The thick oppressive darkness like a sticky web, binding and suffocating. Where? Where does the feeling come from? I am trapped somewhere underground, where the light of stars does not reach. No. Not me. It's my light, covered and hidden, unable to bring hope when all lights went out... The Phial of Galadriel. The hobbits... What dark paths do they thread? I feel their despair. It is so dark...

It was dark. The black clouds hung low, like a steady menace promising the wind of wrath to those who would dare to sail to the west, for those who would turn back after they were defeated by the wild storms.

Eärendil did not turn back. He stood at the helm of Vingilot, looking east. He did not speak for days, and not even Falathar dared to approach him. It was hard to tell one part of the day from another. It could be night, but no stars were visible.... They sailed through darkness. They sailed home, but there was no glory in their return. Just a dark foreboding and broken dreams....

Suddenly, a star rose on the east, a pale flame on wings of storm. A ray of light in the darkness. A ray of hope... Eärendil looked up, like entranced with the light. The star reflected in his eyes.

Shine! Shine through the darkness! The eternal night is strong and heavy – I feel the ancient malice standing against my light. I feel the hope of the heart that wields it. The hope rekindles the light. Shine! Drive the shadows away!

Aiya Eärendil Elenion Ancalima! You call me. I am here.... I feel my light in your hand, the light trapped by Galadriel's song in the crystal phial, the light of hope that I am the messenger of, the light of the last Silmaril, the light of Two Trees, trapped by the skillful hands of Fëanor, the Flame Imperishable itself, the light older than time, and with that light, something of my will. I am here....

The darkness retreats. The light is victorious! Relief. Haste. Out, out of here! Trapped. Webs of darkness. Another takes the light. The webs yield. Freedom....

No! Do not cover the light! Do not hide it! The darkness lurks. It waits on the border where the light does not reach. A malicious will, an ancient evil in dreadful form. Oh Valar! The darkness... it is like the poison that killed the Two Trees. Like the webs of Ungoliath.... No, please no! Do not hide my light! It is the light of hope...

The light neared, like a white cloud exceeding swift beneath the moon. It wasn't a star. It moved too quickly, and in a strange course. It grew ever brighter. Eärendil followed it, not averting his eyes for a moment. Nearer and nearer it came. It illuminated the dark waters and the drops of foam were like pearls shining in the sun. It enveloped his ship in a globe of purity, in an island of light amidst the shadows.

That shine... he knew it! But how? How could it be... the Silmaril? The Silmaril! Carried on the wings of a bird – a beautiful gull with pristine white feathers. From the last bits of strength the gull reached the ship with swan-prow, and sank exhausted on her timbers. Eärendil caught the bird in his arms, and felt the little heart beating rapidly against his on chest, a quick melody in harmony with his own steady heartbeat.

"Elwing...?" he whispered.

It was then that, after the centuries in Morgoth's crown, the Silmaril became a symbol of hope. After it had been the reason of a fateful oath, after it had been imprisoned by darkness, after it had been the price and proof of love and then awakened greed and jealousy again, after all these sad events it received a new meaning – the meaning that it will bear from now on. Hope....

Fury and determination. A sword in hand. Bravery without pride. Loyalty. And hope.... It stands against the darkness. It stands, where the most courageous would waver. Where does that strength come from?

I know the strength in the middle of a battle, when blood boils and weariness and pain fade away in the sound of a battle cry, when not the mind but the heart moves the lips in defiance and fury, and you realize it is your voice first when you hear it echoing above the battlefield. I know the strength of the last stand, born of desperation, when there is nothing to lose, and the hope in that moment, born of everything noble and pure that is worth dying for.

But now, for the first time, I sense another strength. It does not taste of battle and glory. It tastes of simple things – of carefully grown strawberries in a fertile soil, and beer among friends in a warm evening. Some say that it is an honor to die for one's king. But here is another honor, quiet and selfless, doing great things in secret – for itself, not for the eyes of watchers. It is an honor to live and die for a friend....

There is the strength that comes from the belief that the world can be a good place where people can live a simple and joyful life in peace. For that belief, the sword does not waver when darkness is most horrible. For that belief my light shines now with a bright flame, and the darkness retreats, defeated by... a hobbit.

A hobbit. For centuries I have watched the face of Arda and those living in the mortal lands. I have witnessed great battles, bitter losses and glorious victories. I have witnessed the earth changing its shape, the rising of islands and falling of mountains, just like the kingdoms of my descendants rising and falling. I have seen both glory and diminishing of my line. But not often did my sight stray to the green land in the heart of Eriador. I noticed the strange folk that have settled it, coming from the valley of Anduin – it feels like just a short time ago. But it seemed not much was happening there, and there were other, greater things to watch. I see now how much I missed....

That land is peaceful now, under the starry sky of early spring. Just some of the round windows in a hillside shine with golden light into the night. A child is crying behind one of them, and then a woman's voice, rich like the warm soil of a sunny field, sings a lullaby about apples and ladybugs. A fiddle sounds from another window, and the sound of laughter, clinking glasses and dancing feet. There is a celebration today. Someone has birthday, maybe....

My little gardener, this is where your courage comes from. This is why the Ringbearer in not one of the Wise, nor a warrior. I wondered about the strange fellowship that set forth from Rivendell three months ago, counting four Periannath. I wondered about the decision that one of them should carry the fate of Middle-earth in his hands, in the form of a small golden ring. Now I wonder no more.

The grass in the Shire is green, and the first blossoms peak out of the soil and stretch their colorful petals to the sun. And at the borders of Mordor, two hobbits wander in the shadows. When all other lights go out, mine will shine. Not in the Phial, but in your heart. It is called Hope, and it tastes of strawberries....