Apologies for the long wait... and I don't own anything.

Elwing and Earendil followed Elrond down the staircase and into the hallway. Elrond led them into the grey purple room in which they had met last night. It seemed much more welcoming than it had earlier, even though the fire was now dead. It had been cleaned out lately, probably by one of the servants.

Standing in the middle of this room were two people. They were definitely not Elves, but not exactly Men either. They seemed to be mortal, but both had pointed ears and looked old, yet were very short, about the height of a young child. Elwing wondered who they were. Then she remembered that Elrond had said that two hobbits had come along to Valinor. These two fit the description of hobbits perfectly. Then she recognized one as the person they had seen last night and who had in effect guided them to this house. He had curly brown hair and grey eyes.

The other hobbit with him was white haired, with warm, twinkling brown eyes. Despite obviously being older, he seemed more alive, while the younger seemed more listless and weary. Having been told the story of the hobbits by Elrond, Elwing supposed that the Ring's influence on the younger hobbit, Frodo, must have been much more wearisome.

"This is Bilbo Baggins, and this is Frodo Baggins his nephew, both lately of the Shire."

The two hobbits bobbed deep bows, and Elwing curtseyed back and Earendil bowed.

Elrond said, "Bilbo speaks Sindarin fluently, and Frodo is also good but still learning much." This proved to be so when the older hobbit, Bilbo, insisted on introducing himself and the other, as his grandfather's brother's great-grandson, or distant relative. Both the hobbits were very polite. Then Bilbo asked who Elwing and Earendil were.

Elwing hesitated for a second, and then saw Elrond behind the hobbits giving her an encouraging nod and a smile.

"I am Elwing, the mother of Elrond, and this is my husband, Earendil."

The hobbits' eyes grew round. "You are Earendil?" asked Bilbo.

Earendil shifted awkwardly with a small grin. "Yes, I am."

Bilbo said excitedly, "But I have heard tales where you sail the sky all the time! What do you do? What is your schedule?"

"I sail the skies during the night, and come home in the morning," Earendil said. The hobbits both nodded, obviously in awe at meeting him. Elrond cleared his throat, but not without a smile at the hobbits' reactions. He gestured to the side. "Here is one that you have met before."

Galadriel was standing there, previously unnoticed. She looked almost the same as ever. Still inscrutable. Yet her eyes were wearier and wiser than when Elwing had seen her last. She towered like a giant over the hobbits, even though she was only Elwing's height, but she was built more sturdily and was broader than Elwing.

Greetings were made between Galadriel, Elwing, and Earendil. Back in Sirion, Galadriel had been a wise adviser to Elwing. She had been a student of Melian back in Doriath, and indeed, the two were both advisors of Elwing, in a sense. But Elwing got along much better with Melian. Galadriel was powerful, but distant, far more distant than even Melian the Maia.

Elwing and Earendil also met the owners of the house, a Sindarin couple who were distantly related to Celebrian. Out of courtesy and familial bonds they were permitting Elrond, Galadriel, and the hobbits to stay in their house until Celebrian arrived. Elwing's initial guilt when she realized that the house was not Elrond's was instantly displaced at the warmth and hospitality of the couple. The wife, named Faelur, was very talkative and kind. "This house is too big for us anyways, ever since our two sons and daughter were married," she said gaily, wiping floury hands on a apron. "We're happy to share, and those hobbits love my cooking. I'm thinking of turning this place into an inn perhaps, what do you think?" Indeed, she almost reminded Elwing of a hobbit, from Elrond's descriptions, due to how energetic and chattery she was, and her curly brown hair, tied back but forever springing out. Her husband, Taerandir, was quieter and more intelligent, with black hair and grey eyes. He appeared to be a gardener and had written a few essays on botany. Elwing recognized his name, as Celebrian had read some of his writings.

"Are you hungry, by any chance?" asked Faelur. Elwing nodded, and so did Earendil. The hobbits nodded, more eagerly. Taerandir and Faelur led them out a door and into the garden that Elwing had seen from the balcony. They ate lunch there, under the leaves of some cherry trees. As they ate, Elwing studied the hobbits, who proved to be charming and generally cheerful. Elrond and Galadriel both, not to mention the servants, seemed to go out of their way a lot for the hobbits. Elwing knew what they had gone through due to Elrond's explanation of the War of the Ring, and she tried to understand what they had gone through, but somehow she failed. Frodo was very nice and polite, but very distant. Bilbo she got along with better, for he was very charming and despite herself Elwing found herself smiling and even laughing at some of his jokes. But as for Frodo, Elwing simply could not fathom what he had been forced to do. And the worst part of that was that she recognized that inability in herself to fathom Frodo's torment and loathed herself for it.

Earendil, on the other hand, got along much better with the hobbits. Frodo and Bilbo obviously looked up to him. After the initial stares of awe, they chattered eagerly to Earendil, along with everyone else. Bilbo asked many questions about Earendil's journeys.

While Earendil talked with the hobbits, Taerandir explained a lot about his garden to Elwing, who politely listened. The garden was indeed beautiful, situated on the western side of the house, under the balcony where Elwing had walked that morning. As always, Taniquetil was visible to the West, clear and snowy bright. Morning glories and grape vines clambered up the wooden pillars supporting the balcony, but they had been planted recently and did not reach the balcony itself yet, said Taerandir, which explained why Elwing had not noticed them earlier.

"We got the roots last year from a cousin of Faelur's who lives in the south of Valinor. We intend to try making wine next year, or perhaps the year after," explained Taerandir. "The cherries are 30 years old, a relatively recent project. They are delicious, even if they can't beat those from Yavanna's gardens. There are pumpkins in the corner over there; we picked them a week ago, and – " he gestured to the orange soup that Faelur was happily serving to the hobbits " – the proof is right here! We also have forget-me-nots here, mixed with alyssum; and strawberries in the spring. But here, here is the true treasure!" Taerandir pointed to a beautiful tree with golden leaves fluttering in the slight breeze. The trunk was a smooth silver color and in shape looked like a beech.

"This is a mallorn, from Yavanna herself. She gave it to me after I published my essay on the Rosaceae family. It is 162 years old, still quite young. In several hundred years it will be a hundred feet tall."

"I shall have to remember to tell Haldir that," said Frodo, suddenly breaking in on the conversation. Elwing and Taerandir looked at him, confused. He awkwardly grinned and said, "When I went to the Lady Galadriel's land, Lothlorien, there were many mellyrn trees there. Haldir, one of the Elves who lived there and who was our guide, said to me that he loved his land and the mellyrn, and wondered if mellyrn did indeed grow in Aman. I want to tell him, that yes, mellyrn do grow here."

Elwing nodded to show that she had understood. Taerandir continued talking about the mallorn tree and its many merits. Galadriel joined them as well, speaking about her land and the mellyrn that grew there. She grew wistful for a little, as she spoke of her husband, Celeborn, who had stayed in Middle-earth. Frodo also talked a little, about the mellyrn of the land. Occasionally he struggled with words, and then Galadriel would help find the words for him, encouraging him in a strange tongue that seemed very Mannish, to Elwing. She supposed it was the hobbits' native language.

A moment came when everyone was distracted, and Elwing was left to herself. Earendil was helping Faelur dish out a bowl of soup. Galadriel was speaking in a low voice to Taerandir, while Elrond and Bilbo were talking busily about cooking. It seemed that Elrond liked to cook, and had often done so in Imladris. Elwing was so engrossed in listening that she did not notice the eyes of Frodo on her.

"Are you really related to the Lady Arwen and Luthien?" he asked her suddenly. Elwing nearly jumped, then noticed the hobbit. Thinking it over, she supposed that she should have anticipated this question. But she replied anyways.

"Yes, I am. Luthien is my grandmother and Arwen my granddaughter."

He sat there, looking thoughtfully at her.

"Do you look like them?" At Elwing's questioning glance he added, "I have seen the Lady Arwen, and I do not think that you look much alike. Except for the eyes."

Elwing had never seen Arwen, so she could not really tell.

"I suppose I do, at least, everyone tells me so. I have Luthien's eyes and face, I think."

"Oh. Do you have the same hair?"

"No, I don't. Luthien had black hair, I have – as you can tell – brown hair." She gestured to her hair, still flowing free.

Frodo nodded. Then suddenly he was called by Bilbo to affirm the latter's skill with baking seed-cakes for Earendil. Elwing was once again left with her thoughts.

It was funny, how people who had seen Luthien would immediately note Elwing's resemblance to her grandmother. There were the eyes, and something in the shape of the head and chin. They would note Elwing's beauty. But the average nér who had never seen Luthien and did not know who Elwing was would generally give her a passing glance, like he would any other married nís. Strange, reflected Elwing, that those Elves and Men who had seen Luthien seemed to appreciate beauty more.

She didn't know much about Men, though. Elwing had met several Men in Doriath and Sirion. Dior had been much more allowing about – and unable to control – who entered Doriath, and the Men who had come to Menegroth from the south for trade she remembered quite vividly. One or two had been kind to her, with what interaction she had been allowed by her parents. The rest simply ignored her or bowed deeply to her, staring in awe at the Elven princess of the once-great kingdom of Doriath. Elwing remembered that she had been quite the stubborn child, ordering hapless Elves around to her delight or marching around, pretending that she was the Queen Melian. How mortified she had been when, on her first actual meeting with Melian, the Maia had teasingly mentioned Elwing's pretense! Elwing wondered if Melian would come to Tol Eressea, or if they would meet her… somewhere else. But where were they going to go? Not Tirion, she would refuse to go there. Perhaps Alqualonde, or maybe the Gardens of Lorien. Maybe even her tower.

But she liked it here. This charming house with its garden, the orchards with apples and pears surrounding the city, and the white shores were beautiful. The Sindarin predominance in the architecture and people, too, had just enough of her tower here to make her feel at home. Avallone was certainly a lovely place.

She roused herself, and joined more in the conversation. Elwing listened more than she spoke, but as the meal finished she started to notice that Earendil was not speaking much. The only people there whom he seemed willing to talk to were the hobbits, who were currently busily talking about the art of smoking pipeweed, whatever that was. But Earendil did not seem to be talking to anyone else – not even Taerandir and Faelur, who, Elwing felt, were the kindest here. Elwing watched her husband. She noted who he looked at, whose jokes he laughed at. At the moment, Elrond was telling a story about one of the musicians at Rivendell, Lindir. Elrond's eyes moved naturally across his audience, not skipping around. But when his eyes neared Earendil, Earendil stiffened and looked down at his feet. And Elwing noticed that he refused to laugh at the end of the story, when even the hobbits and Galadriel – who, to Elwing, had never seemed much of a laughing type – were chuckling heartily.

Yes, Earendil was definitely avoiding conversation with Elrond. Elwing repressed a sigh. Why did Earendil have to do this? She herself was speaking naturally with Elrond. She would have to speak with Earendil in all probability about this later tonight. But then her attention was distracted.

Bilbo had pushed back his chair and was standing up. Everyone was looking at him, with smiles on their faces. "I shall now sing a humble, unworthy song my dear friend and I made in honor of the Star." Earendil in his seat was looking very awkward. Bilbo took a deep breath, and began.

"Earendil was a mariner
that tarried in Arvernien;
he built a boat of timber felled
in Nimbrethil to journey in;
her sails he wove of silver fair,
of silver were her lanterns made,
her prow was fashioned like a swan,
and light upon her banners laid.

In panoply of ancient kings,
in chainéd rings he armoured him;
his shining shield was scored with runes
to ward all wounds and harm from him;
his bow was made of dragon-horn,
his arrows shorn of ebony;
of silver was his habergeon,
his scabbard of chalcedony;
his sword of steel was valiant,
of adamant his helmet tall,
an eagle-plume upon his crest,
upon his breast an emerald.

Beneath the Moon and under star
he wandered far from northern strands,
bewildered on enchanted ways
beyond the days of mortal lands.
From gnashing of the Narrow Ice
where shadow lies on frozen hills,
from nether heats and burning waste
he turned in haste, and roving still
on starless waters far astray
at last he came to Night of Naught,
and passed, and never sight he saw
of shining shore nor light he sought.
The winds of wrath came driving him,
and blindly in the foam he fled
from west to east and errandless,
unheralded he homeward sped.

There flying Elwing came to him,
and flame was in the darkness lit;
more bright than light of diamond
the fire upon her carcanet.
The Silmaril she bound on him
and crowned him with the living light
and dauntless then with burning brow
he turned his prow; and in the night
from Otherworld beyond the Sea
there strong and free a storm arose,
a wind of power in Tarmenel;
by paths that seldom mortal goes
his boat it bore with biting breath
as might of death across the grey
and long forsaken seas distressed;
from east to west he passed away.

Through Evernight he back was borne
on black and roaring waves that ran
o'er leagues unlit and foundered shores
that drowned before the Days began,
until he heard on strands of pearl
where ends the world the music long,
where ever-foaming billows roll
the yellow gold and jewels wan.
He saw the Mountain silent rise
where twilight lies upon the knees
of Valinor, and Eldamar
beheld afar beyond the seas.
A wanderer escaped from night
to haven white he came at last,
to Elvenhome the green and fair
where keen the air, where pale as glass
beneath the Hill of Ilmarin
a-glimmer in a valley sheer
the lamplit towers of Tirion
are mirrored on the Shadowmere.

He tarried there from errantry,
and melodies they taught to him,
and sages old him marvels told,
and harps of gold they brought to him.
They clothed him then in elven-white,
and seven lights before him sent,
as through the Calacirian
to hidden land forlorn he went.
He came unto the timeless halls
where shining fall the countless years,
and endless reigns the Elder King
in Ilmarin on Mountain sheer;
and words unheard were spoken then
of folk and Men and Elven-kin,
beyond the world were visions showed
forbid to those that dwell therein.

A ship then new they built for him
of mithril and of elven-glass
with shining prow; no shaven oar
nor sail she bore on silver mast:
the Silmaril as lantern light
and banner bright with living flame
to gleam thereon by Elbereth
herself was set, who thither came
and wings immortal made for him,
and laid on him undying doom,
to sail the shoreless skies and come
behind the Sun and light of Moon.

From Evereven's lofty hills
where softly silver fountains fall
his wings him bore, a wandering light,
beyond the mighty Mountain Wall.
From a World's End there he turned away,
and yearned again to find afar
his home through shadows journeying,
and burning as an island star
on high above the mists he came,
a distant flame before the Sun,
a wonder ere the waking dawn
where grey the Norland waters run.

And over Middle-earth he passed
and heard at last the weeping sore
of women and of elven-maids
in Elder Days, in years of yore.
But on him mighty doom was laid,
till Moon should fade, an orbéd star
to pass, and tarry never more
on Hither Shores where Mortals are;
for ever still a herald on
an errand that should never rest
to bear his shining lamp afar,
the Flammifer of Westernesse."

As Bilbo finished his song and clambered down from his chair, everyone applauded, including Elwing and Earendil. Bilbo looked very pleased with himself. Elwing was no poet, but she thought the poem was beautiful, and that it praised Earendil to the heavens, literally. As for her own mention of it, it was also cheerful, a positive version.

"I hope that I was not too presumptuous," Elwing heard Bilbo whisper to Frodo. Frodo shrugged and whispered back that he did not think so. He obviously adored the old hobbit.

After Bilbo's song the group sang together various songs. Some Elwing and Earendil knew, others they didn't. As they sang Anor gradually set behind Taniquetil. The stars came out gently; Elemmire, Borgil, bright Morwinyon of the West.

Elwing looked across at Earendil. He looked tired, his head bowing down. The mental strain of the day, Elwing supposed. She stood up.

"We're going in." Elrond nodded as Earendil stood up, bidding them a good sleep, and the hobbits, Faelur, and Taerandir all chorused "Good night." Galadriel nodded at them with a smile.

They walked inside and went up the stairs, and then somehow managed to find the correct room in which they were staying. Both dressed quickly. Finally, Elwing, sitting on the rocking chair and brushing her hair, broached the topic that she had been meaning to all during dinner.

"How are you doing?"

Earendil looked at her. He was busy hanging up his clothes. "I don't know," he finally said. "It's just awkward."

"I know. But we need to talk to him, Earendil."

"Well, I want to, but… Elwing, can we talk about this tomorrow? I'm just really tired and want to go to bed."

"Fine, then. But we'll talk about it tomorrow." She laid down the brush and asked, "Did you like the song by Bilbo?"

"It was well done, though I didn't have such an rich array of clothing! Bilbo said to me afterwards that he must change some details – and he would love me to help make sure everything was accurate. We're planning to do so tomorrow. Good night, Elwing." Earendil got into bed, and was asleep within minutes.

But Elwing herself did not feel sleepy. Earendil was plainly tired and perhaps cross, and he had clearly welcomed her intervention and being able to leave and fall asleep. She was worried. Earendil with his refusal to talk with Elrond and the others was going to hurt the healing that had begun today between them. Time would be needed to heal this all and get rid of the awkwardness that still pervaded between them.

She walked over to the window and opened it. It looked out over the courtyard to which she and Earendil had come last night. A lit lamp hung there in the middle, surrounded by silver maples whose leaves whispered and rustled in the sea wind. Elwing looked over the house on the other side of the courtyard, at the eastern sky. There shone the same stars that had swung over Doriath, over Sirion, over Imladris.

How was she to fix this all?

The slow clops of a horse drifted up to her on the wind. Presently the horse itself came into view, carrying a cloaked figure. They dismounted, and knocked at the door, just below Elwing. Almost immediately it was opened. Elwing, peering below, saw the brown head of a elleth peep out and exchange a few words that, strangely, Elwing could not hear. The figure nodded and walked inside the house behind the elleth, closing the door behind them loudly. The echo of the bang resounded around the courtyard, and left silence.

And then the answer came to her.

Apologies for the long wait – almost three months! I'm terribly sorry, but this is probably going to happen again – with longer waits, too. :( I know, it's sad. But everything is just building up. Plus, I draw more than I write. :P

The Song of Earendil is shamelessly stolen from Tolkien Gateway. It's long and I didn't want to type it all out… much thanks to them for doing so! And it's always worth a reread, so, go back and read it if you didn't. ;) I most definitely do not own that!

The scene where Frodo says that he shall have to inform Haldir that there are indeed mellyrn (plural of mallorn) beyond the Sea is inspired by the (relatively) recent New Zealand Air safety video, which Elijah Wood sees two enthusiastic fans, smiles at them, sees the fans' gaping stares, then awkwardly turns away. You really should see it; his reaction is perfect. :D

I decided that "Forgiveness" was really too cliche and cheesy for a title. Plus, there is so much more going on here than mere forgiveness; they have to get to know each other properly still. So, that's why I changed it. At least the new title is more original.

Now, what do you think is the answer? Review please… it makes my day!