Morning dawned bright and clear, the overcast skies of yesterday all but forgotten.  Tindalma found almost hard to believe the gentle waves lapping at the shoreline beyond her balcony could whip themselves into the ferocious storm that had wrecked her ship.

She found that a change of clothes had been laid atop the trunk at the foot of her bed; a button up tunic dyed the same green-grey as the sea on a chilly day, a thick woolen cloak, trousers, and a pair of calf height boots to keep out the sand.  She changed quickly. 

Folding her still sand crusted and rumpled clothes as neatly as she could, she left them on the trunk and stepped back, laying the cloak over her arm.  They'd never needed cloaks in Alqualondë.  Even the coldest days when the wind blew from the north and the tips of the mountains behind the city were hidden in foggy snow clouds, it never bothered her.  On those days her mother would start up a blaze in the fireplace, then her father would complain that she was trying to melt him. 

Tindalma muttered an irritated curse under her breath.  A hundred years had passed since those happy days, and yet they always managed to find their way back into her mind.  She slung the cloak over her shoulders and made for the door. 

The hallway was deserted, the only sound the soft pad of her boots on the floor.  As she grew near the end of the hall, her ears caught the sound of voices from below, speaking in hushed tones downstairs.  Stopping before the corner, she paused to listen. 

Nice way to treat your hosts, quipped a sarcastic voice in the back of her mind, but she ignored it.  She recognized the voice of Círdan by the gentle kindness ever present in his tone.  The other voice was familiar, but she couldn't place it.  They spoke quickly in the tongue Círdan called Sindarin.  Tindalma determined, to her irritation, that she could decipher no more than a few words of what they said.  She made a mental note to study what she could of the language in the week before she sailed home.

Home.  She smiled, gratefulness surging through her again for Círdan's kindness.

And here you are, still eavesdropping, came the little reminder.  She rolled her eyes, stepping out of her hiding place and starting down the stairs.  Círdan looked up as she appeared and smiled, waving in welcome.  His guest turned to face her, and she recognized the face of the dark haired elda from the day before. 

"Tindalma!" he greeted, transitioning hesitantly to Quenya.   "Good to see you're awake.  I was beginning to wonder if I should wake you, or if you would rather sleep the day away." 

She laughed, taking the steps in twos to stop beside them.  "I would have thanked you for waking me.  Searching for them myself will be... good for me."

Círdan nodded in grim agreement, then gestured to his companion.  "I trust you remember Veryan?  You met him yesterday on the beach."

"I do," she said, returning the shy smile he gave her. 

"It is good to see you again, Lady Tindalma," he greeted.

"I've asked Veryan to accompany you as a guide," Círdan explained.  "He speaks Quenya, perhaps better than I do, and will do his best to answer any questions you have."

"Thank you, Lord Círdan. Your hospitality is a blessing," she said. "If I may ask, is there a library in this city of yours?"

Círdan nodded quickly. "There is indeed. I am sure Veryan would be glad to show you there after your search."

The dark haired ellon nodded. "Of course. Shall we?" he asks, gesturing toward the door. Tindalma nodded, following him with a wave of farewell to Círdan.

Stepping out into the sun, she was struck by how much the city reminded her of Alqualondë. The wealthiest buildings were of white stone, accented with columns of carved wood, sealed against the wind with dark stain. Creeper vines scaled their height, twisting up the walls and pillars. Small blue and silver flowers grew from them, rustling in the soft sea breeze.

Tindalma drew a deep breath of the salt air, calming her frayed nerves. The gulls cried, circling over the piers in the flawless sky as they waited for a fisherman to toss out the unwanted bits of his catch. Then they would all dive, descending onto their target in a tangle of wings and feathers and screaming voices. Silly things.

The gull that had found her on the beach yesterday popped into her head. It's intelligent black eyes and subtle attitude. She wondered if it was among those on the warfs here.

"Does it remind you of home?" Veryan's voice startled her out of her thoughts. She glanced over at him with a smile, relishing the kiss of the sun on her shoulders and the wind in her auburn hair.

"It does. I've always loved the sea and exploration, but going home will be a relief." Going home to the familiar shores and mountains and houses. Home to her mother. The thought of Rainä struck her like a slap to the face. Would her mother miss her when she realized her daughter was gone? Would Rainä even realize she'd nearly died? That anything had been amiss at all? Judging by her mother's current state, Tindalma wasn't sure if Rainä had even registered that she'd left.

The warmth of the sun now seemed weak and feeble. She lowered her head quietly and kept on. For a few minutes they walked in silence. She took the opportunity to study her guide more closely. Sleek hair that fell to his shoulder blades, straight and raven black. Quizzical grey eyes, squinted against the sun to reveal delicate smile lines at their corners. He stood taller and broader in stature than most Teleri she'd met. Sharper features too.

"You ever been to Alqualondë?" she asked.

He shrugged, tucking his hands into the pockets of his trousers. "Yes."

His answer confirmed her suspicions. Veryan was Noldor, as none among the Falathrim of Beleriand would have ever seen her hometown. His gaze fixed itself rigidly on the ground in front of him, knowing she would've deduced this.

"So," she began, trying and failing to keep the chill from her tone. She'd done her best to bury her bitterness toward the Noldor long ago, but found it again rearing its head now that one was here, walking beside her. "You're Noldor then?"

Veryan visibly flinched at her tone, keeping his eyes riveted to the path before him.  "Yes."

Tindalma felt guilty before the words had even left her lips. He lived in a town of Eldar of Telerin decent.  He had to be at least half way decent.  Maybe one of Ñolofinw-  Fingolfin's people.  "Sorry, I just-"

"It's fine," he cut her off, shaking his head briskly.  "I get that a lot here."

"That doesn't sound fine."

He shrugged.  "My people made an... unforgivable mistake. We've earned this hardship."

"Maybe they did.  But you couldn't have been more than a child at the time."

With a sigh, those gentle eyes found her face at last.  "No.  I was just a young elfling.  My father was in Fëanor's host.  He went to battle and I wanted to go with him, but my mother held me back.  I've never been more grateful for her."

She nodded quietly.  "And your father?" 

Veryan's fists clenched.  "Survived through the slaughter.  Burned the ships.  Died with Fëanor."  He shook his head slowly, a shadow flashing in his eyes.  "The King won him over to madness with that speech about freedom and the slavery of the Valar.  He was hardly the ellon I knew as a child."

"I'm sorry," she said softly.

"He made his choice," he responded sharply, with more bitterness than conviction. Then his expression softened to one more of grief than of anger. "But my mother died with him."

Unsure of what to say, Tindalma kept silent, listening to the roll of the waves on the shore and the shuffle of sand under their boots.  After a few moments, she looked up again, meeting his sad grey eyes.  "Why do you stay here?  Why not come back to Valinor?  Finarfin's people turned back and they were forgiven.  You were only a child at the time and you have done no wrong."

He gave a bitter chuckle.  "I would," he murmured, barely loud enough to be heard over the crash of the waves, "But for the curse on my people."

"Curse?" she breathed in question and he nodded grimly, eyes falling to the cobbles under his feet as they walked.

"After the Kinslaying, we sailed north.  Then some split off and went by land while others stayed in the ships.  After a few days we saw a figured standing amid the stones tumbled down from the mountains.  And he gave us a warning. Some say it was a messenger of the Valar, others say it was Mandos himself. But it made no difference. Finarfin's host turned back.  The rest of us... did not listen."  He looked up at her with a sad smile. 

"We Eldar were meant to find Valinor.  Meant to stay there. But now it is fenced against us. I tried to go home.  The ship I took was caught in a heavy fog, then a storm rose up against us and we were forced back to port lest we all drown."  A slow shake of his head.  "I would've never forgiven myself if I caused the deaths of those on that ship.  I'd be no better than the rest of my selfish kin."

Tindalma kept silent, frowning out into the western horizon and Valinor beyond it. The sunlight danced on the gentle ripples, blindingly beautiful, the deep blue reflecting the cerulean sky. Beneath those waves, she knew the fury that could rise if one should make a misstep. It struck her as rather ironic, considering how much she had assumed about the Noldor and their shining devotion to their quest- and the deep trouble they'd landed in because of it. A war against a Vala...

"How goes the war against Morgoth?" she asked.

At this Veryan brightened somewhat. "Surprisingly well." Then his eyes darkened. "For now. King Fëanor was killed in the first battle, and his eldest, Prince Maedhros, took control. After we made camp, Morgoth requested parlay, then ambushed and captured the new king, demanding the Noldor's surrender for his return. His brothers refused. Some assumed Maedhros would be killed, but others doubted after seeing the orcs...,"

"Orcs?" Tindalma decided she did not like the way he said that. Nor the look of disgusted horror in his eyes or the trace of his tongue over his dry lips before he made to speak again.

"Elves, taken captive by Him. Tortured and twisted and bred into foul creatures." He took a deep breath. "I pitied them at first, but there is nothing of our people left in them. They're monsters. Full of mindless bloodlust and hate. They serve him and him alone, bound to his will. And they are not the only things He's made."

Tindalma's shoulder brushed that of a passing sailor and she jumped, chills running down her spine. "Do I dare ask?"

Veryan shook his head grimly. "Morgoth rules from a fortress in the north, dug into mountains he raised himself. It's called Angband, meaning roughly, 'Iron Prison'. Not far off from the truth. There's no telling what else he's broken to pieces and remade in those pits."

She shuddered, the Noldo's words spiraling through her head in a muddled mass of fear and pity as they mingled with Círdan's tale from the day before. "What happened to Maedhros then?"

"He was rescued by Fingon, son of Fingolfin. He found out what happened after they arrived from the Helcaraxë and he went immediately to rescue his cousin. What's more interesting, is that he had help from an Eagle of Manwë."

"So the Valar have not completely abandoned these lands," she mused, Círdan's words about Ulmo's favor popping again into her thoughts. She shook herself. "But did Fingon succeed in his rescue?"

"He did."

"He went into Angband to save his cousin?" she asked in disbelief. If one elf of Valinor, having hardly seen hardship before Helcaraxë could break into this 'fortress' it must not be too terribly dangerous.

Veryan shrugged slightly. "Not exactly. He found Maedhros hanging from a cliff above it by one hand."

Tindalma gave him a look of horror. "How did he free him?"

"By cutting off the hand," he replied flatly.

For a moment she had to stop and ease her spinning head. Veryan halted as well, eyeing her nervously.

"You alright?"

"Yes, I just-" she took a deep breath- "This is not Valinor."

The Noldo gave an outright laugh. "No, indeed, Tindalma of Alqualondë. It is not.

~ * * * ~

The search so far had proved fruitless. Noon had come and gone and now evening was coming on. The sun dipped lower and lower in the western sky with every passing minute. Further up the firth as they were, the wind was stronger and the waves higher, rolling in from the open ocean upon the sands.

Tindalma planted one booted foot firmly on the battered remains of half a wooden rib from the hull a few side planks still nailed to it. She sighed heavily, kicking at the sand piled against it by the higher tides.

It came as no surprise that Faelon and Aearion were nowhere to be found. As much as she'd hoped, she'd known it would come to this.

"Anything?"

Tindalma broke free of her reverie, tearing her gaze from the remnants of her ship. She looked up at Veryan, striding across the sands toward her, his dark hair tossing on the breeze. Silently, she shook her head, catching the hem of her billowing cape and pulling it tight around her. It did nothing to ward off the cold inside.

Veryan dropped his gaze with a sigh. "I'm sorry."

Taking a deep breath, she raised her chin resolutely. "No. This was good. I will see them again some day." A slashing grin broke across her face. "And they'll give me hell for my steering."

He gave a quiet chuckle. Silence enveloped them for a moment, then Veryan was reaching into the folds of his cloak to pull something out. When he turned it around, she found her smile fading.

"I found this." He extended it to her. The broken off head of the swan from the prow of her ship. It was dented and scraped, but whole. The eyes gleamed in the sunset light as she took it gently between her weathered hands. Tears stung her eyes.

"Thanks."

He gave something between a nod and a shrug and she chuckled.

"Won't you try to come back with me?" she asked, but he shook his head.

"I can't. I'll wait this out. Maybe I'll survive to see the curse broken and get to come home again." His eyes twinkled as he smiled at her. "You'll be the first one I look for when I land."

"Very well," she said, tucking the swan head under her arm and stepping back from the wreckage. "Shall we head back?"

He nodded and set off, taking long strides across the sand. Tindalma followed, walking beside him back toward Eglarest.