Heget's Blatherings

They are the equal -if not greater- in worth to the Silmarils.

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“But as for our white ships: those you gave us not. We learned not that craft from the Noldor, but from the Lords of the Sea; and the white timbers we wrought with our own hands, and the white sails were woven by our wives and our daughters. Therefore we will neither give them nor sell them for any league or friendship. For I say to you, Fëanor son of Finwë, these are to us as are the gems of the Noldor: the work of our hearts, whose like we shall not make again.”

Their ships are their glory and their homes. Song cannot contain the importance of their ships to the Teleri. No words would ever hold the entirety of their meaning and worth. The ships are the unsurpassed culmination of the craftsmanship of their hands, their creativity, their love for and striving towards beauty, and the product of the collected knowledge of their people. This knowledge was built upon trial and error and by lessons learned from every watercraft that has come before. The ships of the Teleri are the legacy of their people, but also the kindness and friendship of Ossë, the first to teach then to sail and master the waves. Through this they learned to fly across the surface of the sea. The ships are a connection to their roots and also the wings that take them to the future. But most of all, their ships are the breathing present of their culture. Daily life ties to their ships like the netting that hangs from the masts. The Teleri are their swan-ships, for they have poured their souls into their sails and used the planks as the foundation of their lives. The ships are the physical manifestations of the furthest flights of fancy dreamed up by their builders. Seemingly delicate, yet expertly calculated and engineered, they are also the work of an entire community, those long efforts of many hands, of men and women, from eldest to youngest. Every hand has at least some small part in the building and maintenance of the fleet, and all have sailed upon them. Undeniably the swan-ships are masterful works of art, yet they have purpose and a practical application greater than their unequaled beauty. Tools as well as sculpture, homes as much as monuments to their creators. The movement across the bay comes from the performance of their sailors to ensure their white sails catch the winds and their swan-shaped prows cut through the cresting waves, to create a dance that gives meaning to their glorious appearance. It is with pride that their owners gaze upon the work of their people.

The mingling lights of the Two Trees dimly illuminates the harbor of Alqualondë, and even that light disappears when one takes a ship out into the bay. It would be a waste of not the just effort and craftsmanship but of the soul to chain any seaworthy vessel to the docks, especially those as perfect as these masterpieces. To Tol Eressëa they will sail sometimes, but usually there is no destination in mind. The joy of the ocean and to see the jet inlay eyes of the swan-like prows buffeted by spray is goal enough. Uinen combs her hair by the lines of the ships' wakes, her divine voice raised in joyous laughter. Out on the water there is no Tree-light, only the stars, and this darkness holds no fear if it is surrounded by the creaking of sails and the roar of wind and wave. To sail is to dance and sing and reclaim what once held fear. The Teleri can survive without Tree-light, for they came to Aman for its safety and their friends, but their ships are their lives.

When the true darkness of Ungoliant’s Unlight comes, and Morgoth destroys the Two Trees and steals the Silmarils, there is unease and sorrow in Alqualondë. It is strange to have only darkness come through the Pass of Light, and Ossë and Ulmo do not answer their demands for news or reassurance. The Teleri turn to their ships, for the vast majority live upon their vessels far more often than they do ashore. And standing aboard the gently swaying decks, huddled with their arms around their families in the cool holds, here they feel safe. The ships are the most perfected works of their people’s hands, their homes and their pride. And as long as they are aboard their ships, the lack of aught but starlight feels completely natural, whereas the dark streets of Alqualondë hold no comfort when there is no more even a faint silvery twilight. On their ships the Teleri can pretend they are somewhere else, out on the bay away from shore, out near Tol Eressëa with its high cliffs and sweet-smelling trees. This they tell their worried and afraid. One can almost forget anything dire has happened. The swaying of the ships rock their children to sleep.

The Darkness of Valinor, and the madness that comes with it, feels like a hurricane on the horizon to the Teleri. They know one that was elder and envious, fallen in pride, had come demanding works not his own, and once rebuffed had returned with violence and theft. Greed like that would return to steal what could not be given, but the Teleri think their harbor sheltered. Their ships do not falter on the waves and with hand pressed to their tall masts and proudly carved prows, they know they need but to wait out this storm and the smooth waters will return. Strength pours from the wood of their ships to calm them.

With their swan-ships the Teleri wait.

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One difference between Morogth and Fëanor, aside from the scale of destruction and murder between Formenos and Alqualondë, is that Morgoth didn't destroy the Silmarils after he stole them.