The scattered fleet draws together shortly before entering the port of Avallonë. The ships approach the crowded docks. Many have gathered on the pier, including the King of the Teleri. Failwen, who stands beside me during mooring, blanches and shivers.

“Fear nothing, lady.” I give her an encouraging smile. “You have leave to return, and a promise you would receive aid and healing once home. And any of us would protect you, should it be needed.”

She looks at me. “I know. I am grateful to you, my lord. My friend. But you cannot protect us from everything.” Her attempted smile fades nearly at once.

When the gangway is lowered, she draws a deep breath, squares her shoulders and steps down on the pier. The rest of the exiles follow her; those from other ships join them. I exchange glances with Ingwil and Artanar, and we disembark also, accompanied by a part of our warriors. I notice the same happening on other ships.

Failwen casts a glance at her companions, nods resolutely and approaches Olwë. A few steps from the King she halts.

“My lord, I am Failwen, and I speak for the Noldor who once left Valinórë in pursuit of the Black Foe and the Silmarils.” Her voice rings clear and steady in the hush that has suddenly fallen. “We failed. Had the Host of the West not come, Endórë would still lie under the sway of the Enemy, and we would still toil in his dungeons, without hope of ever seeing daylight again. By the courage of our kinsfolk we have been delivered from thraldom and by the mercy of the Valar we have been permitted to return to this shore. Still, guilt and regret weigh heavily on our hearts. We repent of the bloodshed and violence we have committed against your people, and we ask your forgiveness for the sorrow we have caused.”

With these words she and the others sink to their knees and bow their heads.

The silence stretches on, and a sudden dread seizes me. Olwë’s face is unreadable. Will he refuse to forgive them?

The King of the Teleri takes a step towards Failwen and pulls her to her feet.

“Rise, my lady. Rise, all of you.” Wary, questioning eyes look up at him. Olwë sighs. “We forgive you. We offer you the hospitality of the island. Rest here. Afterwards, you may journey further to Aman, to find healing in the Gardens of Lórien, to reunite with your families. Now, rise and be welcome home. We shall build anew the friendship between our peoples.”

Most of them stand up, yet some still linger on their knees, their fingers caressing the smooth white stone of the pier. Maybe they have crafted it once. Like all great buildings of Aman, the havens of Avallonë are the work of the Noldor.

“We are grateful for your kindness.” Failwen’s voice breaks. “We… we do not deserve it.”

Olwë looks at her thoughtfully. “It has always been my belief, lady, that many valuable things in life come undeserved. Sometimes – unexpected.” Then he smiles. Faintly, uncertainly, she returns his smile.

The harbour becomes crowded. Part of the sailors get off the ships carrying their belongings. There are hugs and tears of joy as their families greet them. Some of the Teleri lead along the exiles they have befriended during the journey.

“Many of the sailors dwell on the island,” explains Falmar. “We shall ferry you to Alqualondë with a smaller crew.”

Suddenly the crowd beside us parts. A silver-haired woman rushes towards us and throws her arms around Artanar.

“You returned! I was afraid you would not!” Tears trickle down her cheeks. “I was so afraid!”

Artanar locks her in embrace. “Of course, I returned. I promised I would, Lindiel, remember?” 

Still sobbing, she hides her face on his chest.

“So here stands the cause of our daughter’s grief.”

Artanar does not let go of Lindiel. “I regret every single tear your daughter has shed because of me, lord.” He resolutely meets the stern gaze of a Telerin Elf who observes the scene from a few steps away, arms folded on his chest. “I will make amends.”

“And how would you do that?” Lindiel’s father narrows his eyes.

“By making her smile,” Artanar quietly replies. “For years and centuries to come.”

The Teler watches them both in silence for a few moments, frowning. “Do I assume correctly that you two have already decided to share those years and centuries to come?”

Lindiel raises her tear-streaked face from Artanar’s chest and smiles. “We have indeed decided, father.”

Another moment of uneasy silence follows, then her father sighs. “You better keep your promise, Noldo. Come along. You may rest at our house. And Lindiel’s mother will want to speak with you.”

Artanar looks at me, seeking permission to remain. I nod.

“Your service in the war has ended, my friend. You are free of your duties now. Send me a message once you need those plans for the house. And invite me to the wedding.”

An expression of elated joy dawns on Artanar’s face. Ere running up the gangway to gather his belongings, he again draws Lindiel in embrace and kisses her in plain sight of everyone. I must bite my lip to refrain from laughing as I remember Roal’s words about things more convincing than words. Indeed. Artanar’s wife-to-be certainly looks convinced.

The crowd slowly disperses. We have boarded ‘The White Wave’ again, and the lines are soon to be cast off, when I notice Failwen looking around, alone and forlorn amid the emptying harbour. Olwë restrains me as I approach the gangway.

“Wait.”

Failwen suddenly freezes, her gaze fixed on a dark-haired Elf with distinctly Noldorin features who stands in the shadow of a column at the harbour entrance. She takes a few hesitant steps towards him, then halts and covers her scarred cheek with her palm. He comes close and gently pulls her hand away from her face. She lets him.

“The Lord of the Halls is merciful,” softly says the King of the Teleri.

I nod and blink away tears. As the wind fills the sails and the ship glides towards the harbour entrance, we watch the pier where Failwen stands still, looking in the eyes of the most beautiful shade of blue.

We reach Alqualondë in late afternoon. Here, too, the harbour is crowded. The sight of anxious faces turned towards the ships breaks my heart. For many, our arrival will bring nothing else than grief and loss. For too many.

“What shall we say to them?” Ingwil quietly asks. “How shall we explain?”

“I do not know.” I lower my eyes. I bear responsibility for every life lost during the last forty years. It was different while fighting. Then, death seemed so inevitable. But now the weight of doubt and guilt return with a new force.

“Stop it.” Olwë’s voice is stern. “Stop blaming yourselves. Everyone who boarded these ships did so willingly, knowing they could be slain in battle. You all went to war. And you fought and prevailed over the greatest evil of our time. Yes, people fell in that fight, but victory has a price.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Ingwil smiles faintly. “My mind knows the truth in your words, but my heart is slow to accept it.”

Olwë nods. “Grief, like joy, is a part of this life and has its place. But promise me, both of you, that you would not attempt to punish yourselves for any imagined faults. Promise you would seek aid and healing should the burden of sorrow prove too heavy.”

We promise him that.

When I am about to disembark, Olwë stops me.

“Do not lock away the grief, my son,” he says. “Speak to Ëarwen. Reveal her your heart. You may find her stronger and wiser than you think.” I nod, and he continues, “I am proud of you, Arafinwë. I am very proud of you, and I regret I never told you that before. My daughter chose well.” I am about to say something, but he pushes me gently towards the gangway. “I want no replies now. Go.”

I step down on the pier and discern Ëarwen’s slender form in the crowd. Seeing her smites me to the heart. She is far more beautiful than I recall. Her beloved face. Her gleaming silver hair. Her eyes shining like sparks of sunlight on the water. All I was missing so painfully for the long years of war. But then sudden fear chains me. Will she be happy to see me now? What will she say when she learns of our daughter’s choice? I stand frozen, not daring to approach her.

“Arafinwë!”

She runs towards me, no, she flies through the parting crowd. The spell of uncertainty breaks. In a moment I hold my wife in my arms, and we both cry.

“You returned,” Ëarwen whispers. “You returned to me.”

Once I have my voice back, I make an effort to joke. “That was your order, my lady. I dared not go against it.”

She laughs amid tears and holds me fast.

Beside us, Ingwil’s parents are greeting their son.

“Your deeds are certainly worthy of a song,” says the King of the Vanyar.

“No, father.” Ingwil looks away briefly. “They are not. I learned that there is no glory in war. There is only pain. Still, I found other things more important than glory. I found friendship. Honour. Responsibility. I do not know whether that is enough to make you proud, as I promised when leaving.”

“That is more than enough.” Ingwë laughs amid tears and draws him in embrace. “More than enough, my son.”

Ëarwen still clings to me. The inevitability of telling her of our daughter’s choice chills my heart, but then I scrape together my courage.

“Ëarwen…” She looks up at me. “Ëarwen, as you see, I… I return alone. Artanis… she remained in Endórë. She sees her place there. She wants to help rebuild it, to aid those who dwell there still. She thinks of Middle-earth as her home now.”

A shadow passes over her face, and she watches me in silence for what seems to be eternity. “Is she happy there?”

“Yes, she is. She is wed; they love one another deeply.”

A tear trickles over her cheek, then she brushes it away. “That is enough for me.”

Ëarwen does not let go of my hand as I walk around the harbour offering condolences to those who have lost their loved ones in the war. Ingwil is doing the same. Weeping mingles with laughter. Joy and sorrow. Happiness and despair. Like life itself.

The din of voices around suddenly seems strange, like a dream, and I half-expect it to fade and to awake to the noise of battlefield or to the silence of restful camp. I stand on the emptying pier looking around, blinking uncertainly in the light of the setting Sun.

Ëarwen notices my confusion. “You are weary. We shall stay in my father’s house today and travel to Tirion tomorrow.”

I nod, grateful to her for taking decisions. I am indeed too weary to do it myself.

Olwë’s palace is close to the harbour, and we retreat to our rooms at once. I pass the doorstep and look around, at the walls of pale stone inlaid with pearls, at the filmy curtains stirring in a breeze by the tall windows, at the large bed, covered with sheets of dark blue silk, bedposts carved of silver-grey driftwood. When visiting Ëarwen’s father, we have always stayed here. This sight should be familiar, yet somehow it is not.

“Arafinwë, are you well?” Ëarwen looks at me with concern.

What do I reply? For much of our time in Endórë I desired nothing more than to return, to go back to the life of peace. I am back now, but this is not how I imagined this. I am changed. I look at my wife’s face with eyes that have seen violence and terror. I hold her palm in a hand that has been covered in the blood of enemies and friends. I am a different person now. How do I tell her that?

“Ëarwen, I…”

I attempt to withdraw my hand, but she does not let me. Her slender fingers link me with something I once knew but now have nearly forgotten.

“You do not have to say anything. Come.”

She leads me to the bathing chamber where air is full of steam and scent of herbal oils. With a sigh I sink in the hot water, and the heat and the fragrances soon make me drowsy. Ëarwen remains beside me. She washes and combs my hair, she clothes me in light garment. While doing that, her eyes and her hands linger on the scars lining my body, and tears tremble in her lashes. I want to speak, to say that these are merely faint marks, and few at that, that they do not bother me at all… but I remain silent.

I remain silent and lie down. The silken sheets are cool against my skin, and Ëarwen’s hands, too, are cool as she is tracing my face, as if to remember, to recall every line, every curve. I close my eyes. I do not deserve her tender care.

“Why would you think so?” she whispers, clearly aware of my thoughts, and presses a light kiss to my temple.

“I have failed you, Ëarwen,” I reply wearily. “I returned home without our daughter. I returned with stains of blood on my hands, with stains of darkness on my soul. I have failed you.”

“No.” She shakes her head. “No, you have not. I had but one request – that you return to me - and that one you have fulfilled. Our daughter has her own life. Her choices are hers only. And I care nothing for the blood on your hands. I know that not a drop of it was spilt needlessly. The darkness in your soul will fade in the morning Sun as we shall walk side by side again.”

Gently she brushes away tears that gather in the corners of my eyes.

“Tell me of Endórë,” she then softly asks. “Tell me how it was.”

And I tell her. Maybe one day I will be able to tell her everything about the battles and the terrors of Angamando. But now I speak of nightly watches with lonely fires burning under a starless sky. I speak of endless marches over fields and mountains, of bitter rain and cold. I tell her of weariness that goes deeper than body, weariness that chains me still. She wraps her arms around me and listens in silence, and when my words cease, she holds me and hums a soft wordless tune. Wind carries the scent of flowers from the gardens, and white stars kindle over the Sea.

The Light is still there.

~ The End ~

Thank you for reading! And, once again, my sincere thanks to Ellynn for beta-ing, for spotting errors I was no longer able to notice and for offering great suggestions!