As was her habit, she stood at the prow of the ship, waiting for land to appear on the horizon. As was his habit, her older brother came to stand by her in silence, slipping a protective arm around her slender waist. Without a thought, she leaned against him, despite the involuntary wince of pain the contact of their bodies would inevitably cause. She closed her eyes and sighed, but for a long lapse of time, she did not speak.

It was Findekano who broke the silence, then. His voice was a soft rumble, but it did not quiver as he spoke.

“Ireth,” he said, quietly, “what ails you?”

It occurred to her that he should know, and maybe he did. Though he loved her and she loved him, her brother's heart and mind sometimes remained a mystery to her. Mayhap she was blinded by sadness.

“He did not even see the shoreline this time,” she whispered after a long silence. Fingon sighed. “I know,” he said after another long moment of quiet. “We shall make the Enemy pay this price as well.”

Aredhel thought that perhaps she had heard anger in his voice. That, at least, did not surprise her. “Aye, we shall,” she said with grim determination. “Will you stand with me, when the time comes?”

He nodded that he would, holding her a little tighter, protectively, though she hissed and he let her go with a small, rueful look. Thus was the remainder of the day spent, and often the siblings would gaze together upon the stars and thing about what had been, what was and what would be.

Sometimes, Galadriel would join upon the bridge. It seemed to Aredhel that her brother and her cousin had made their peace, and she thought well of it, for it seemed to give Fingon some solace. Aredhel, however, never quite found it for herself. There ever was something in the way Galadriel looked at her that spoke of untold secrets and somehow made her squirm with discomfort. Though Galadriel had helped her, she felt that her cousin's eyes were heavy with judgment, as though the lady of Lorien knew the deep secrets of her soul. It was unsettling.

Alas, however, the confrontation could not forever be avoided. That eve, Fingon was off aways, speaking with Angrod and Aegnor. When Galadriel addressed her, Aredhel was almost startled, so deeply she had delved in her own contemplations.

“Cousin,” she heard, “if you would not be loath to converse, it would please me greatly that we share our thoughts.”

Though she was the elder of the two, Aredhel could not ignore the fact that she had sworn herself into Galadriel's service, and so she acquiesced to her request. Walking side by side on the deck of the majestic ship, under a starry sky, they were silent a long while, until Aredhel nigh turned on her heels to return to her lodgings.

“Pray tell,” Galadriel uttered quietly, “I wish to know one thing.” Wary but trapped, Aredhel nodded, though it was with dread. “I would know,” she went on, “if in your heart, truly, you have forgotten all that you were taught, and all that came to pass. It seems to me that you have forgiven the unforgivable and made your peace with the sons of Feanor, though what Tyelkormo did was not so different from what you endured in Nan Elmoth.”

At this, Aredhel was struck and conflicted, and for a time, it seemed she might altogether abandon all courtesy and forego the conversation, but somehow, she spoke. “For a long time,” she told Galadriel, “I was utterly angry at Celegorm. But he ever had my heart, though secret it may have been kept. Although it was through his treachery that my brother died while passing the Helcaraxe, though my brother Turukano lost his beloved wife because of this betrayal as well, though he seems to have lost his faith in be for Luthien, oh, alas, Artanis, my heart is true.”

Her words were quiet and shameful, but they were spoken in earnest, and Galadriel looked sad for a long and weary moment, though unsurprised. “What of his brothers?” The question was asked at long last.

Here, Aredhel's silence was thoughtful, but then she spoke again and her words were weighed carefully. “If truth be told,” she said quietly. “I cannot fault any of them for being loyal to their father. It is ill done to lose faith in those who give us life. Nor can I fault them for staying true to their oath, for it is shameful to be forsworn. No, my cousin, it is my uncle Feanaro whom I fault, for speaking in folly and in wrath. It is he again whom I fault, for not heeding wise counsel when it was given, and for what chagrin he gave my father.”

At this, Galadriel frowned and looked wroth, for her anger was deep rooted. “They betrayed my brother while in his hospitality, though he did not hold the Silmarils. They held Luthien captive, although she was of no importance to their quest at the time. How can you excuse them so liberally? No, you are blinded by affection and do not know good from evil, cousin.”

Aredhel sighed and closed her eyes, but she knew her cousin spoke true. “Pray not make judgments on my person,” she said at last. “The Doom of Mandos is upon them, as it was upon you and I. Forget not that we also disobeyed the Valar, and that we also have made our mistakes. Neither you nor I were in Doriath or Nargothrond, and so we know not what truly came to pass.”

At this, Galadriel looked angrier, though she said nothing further, as she simply disengaged from their stroll and abandoned the exchange she had requested herself. Left to her contemplation, Aredhel paced the deck, fretfully. For the remainder of the crossing, the tow women did not speak, and Fingon grew uneasy, soon leaving the company of his sister for his friend's, and vice-versa.

Aredhel feared that her brother might become estranged to her as well, for she felt guilty in her heart, and mayhap thought she might have deserved it, but he did not, though ofttimes their silences were less companionable. Nonetheless, they gazed at the stars together, and often she would speak of Valinor, or of their brother Turgon, for she wondered how he fared. Findarato, they never broached, and he ever remained an uncomfortable matter, though both of them loved him well and longed for his soothing presence. There were thoughts as well of Celebrimbor, who was on another vessel, and whom neither had seen since boarding.

Often they would scan the skies for more friends or foes to advert or greet, but the starry heavens remained clear and the calm waters remained still. From time to time, Ulmo would make his presence known, as though to remind the Eldar of his protection. However, he rarely did take any shape other than the one he was seen in when he vanquished Morgoth's dragon with lances of air and water. Tall and frightful he was, with his three forked spear and his deep green gaze, and he towered over the ships' masts. Yet he was only a silent presence to get accustomed to, and he only remained a while before he rejoined his heralds in skip over the waves in the shape of a large white dolphin. Aredhel then allowed herself to marvel, as did her brother, her cousins and all the elves manning the ship, and for a short while, her heart was at peace.

It was in one of those moments that the houses of Finarfin and Fingolfin were united in joy. Then Galadriel offered her peace with a gentle smile and handed Aredhel a silver thread to tie in her short black hair. “This,” she told her, “is only a token of the love I bear you, cousin, and should not be construed as agreement to your views. Yet this ship is small and the fates are unkind, and united we must be. Wear it, then, as a token of friendship, that we must never forget to face the enemy together, and not apart. In fairness, cousin, I tire of this feud.”

At this, Aredhel hesitated, though her coquetry already lusted for the pretty bauble. Yet in was in memory of the brother she had lost, she accepted the thread and embraced her cousin. “Pray believe my words when I tell you,” she said, “that I never intended to disregard you or your brothers, and that I hold my cousins in the highest esteem. Let us be friends, then, and no longer quarrel.”

And so there was rejoicing and embraces, and when Aredhel found that her brother was relieved, she knew that she had spoken well. Perhaps it was chance, then, or perhaps it was fate, but the great white Dolphin jumped higher, much to the Eldar's delight.

On the morrow, she found yet another emotion to battle with. Anticipation and trepidation filled her when at last she heard the call...

“Earth.”