Tainted Light by Eldalie

Prologue

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Prologue

Galadriel

The book has been here for longer than I care to remember. Many times I have sat by it, many times I have stroked its cover, and my fingers have taken hold of it, determined to unveil its pages. But I have never done it.

Celeborn thinks that I hesitate out of fear of discovering things that I still ignore; but I know well the dark tale that in this book is told, for I have had a part in its making. It began in a day of light unspoiled, and now that a shadow has fallen on Middle-earth, and all the hopes we have cherished have withered, now this book is the only thing that remains telling me of a past long lost.

What I fear is not knowledge unexpected and unsought for; Silmë Alcániel that filled these pages was close to me, and her thoughts were mine. No, it is no secret that these pages hold, but rather a remembrance that in the years cannot fade, and yet that is fragile, a flower forgotten between the folds of a letter, a frail creation that one fears to mar with too brisk a touch. Now that I am the last of the princes of the Noldor in Middle-earth, now that the shadows lengthen and the darkness increases, my eyes made weak by this absence of light shirk the memory of the brightness that was.

But am I not she whom they called Nerwen, Man-Maiden, daughter and niece of kings? Was I not born in the light of the Trees before Valinor was darkened? Late is the hour, and my heart is heavy, but firm. Too long I have waited to read these words, too long I have told myself there was no need. The flame of my youth has grown and changed, and many other fires I have seen quenched. The legacy of our past is mine.

The parchment smells of parsley when I finally unfasten the bronze clasp that held the book closed, and the volume is light in my hand, the pages thinner than I expected. I recognize her calligraphy, her nervous letters that run across the sheet, long rows like soldiers that flee from battle. My cousin, my friend.

I saw her write, I asked her what she was committing to the frail keeping of a journal. She smiled. She knew well what I would have said if she had told me the truth. Of the two of us, she was the one who hoped to the last for better days than those we had known. The one who believed that light such as we had known in Aman the Blessed we could build anew in these lands that are now forsaken, and spoiled.

As I read she is here with me, and gently, once more, she smiles.

Chapter 1: Wine

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Chapter 1

Wine

You cannot see the roots of a tree, however tall. You cannot guess the design of the tapestry from its threads. You cannot know what the years shall bring, and what black seed is sown among the good ones. All that you can do is wait; living day by day until the centuries have accumulated behind you, and looking back you see a path that you have dug without knowing it. A path you never chose; for all of your choices seem to belong to somebody else.

At the end of the road, as you gather your things and prepare to leave, all that you can ask for is not having tasted the bitterness of regret. In this I am lucky; for even as I look at the black tale that my life has spun, even as I feel in myself the bite of guilt and unholy love, I recognize every step I have taken as my own. For one of those whose destiny was sung before the beginning of the world, for one of those who did not possess the gift of Men for shaping their own fate, it must be a rare blessing.

Not all was darkness in my life, and for a long time I knew joy to repay every pain I have felt. But now that midnight comes unexpectedly, now that night falls as a new day was rising, now I feel that the years were too short, that there are still many things that I could do, many places that I would see, and know. In the end, I am weak. Too weak even to admit that the only thing that I would not yield to fate now that the time has come to pay my debt is the very reason that brought me on this road.

If I still had the right to beg, if I hadn’t renounced it when I took upon myself this doom, I would ask for another day, another hour, another moment of joy with the one that I love. But it is late now. Far too late.

He slams shut the door of the room where he has spent the last few hours in discussion, the room where his fate, and mine, have been decided. I do not need him to tell me what decision he and his brother have taken; I know it in his brisk step as he approaches my chamber. I know not whether I shall write in this journal again, for in the air that I breathe there is a taste of fell things, and the foreboding I thought Artanis alone possessed hangs heavy upon me.

I finish this hasty note to my memories, a trace left I no longer know why, I no longer know to whom; and the fire is awoken inside me, and the passion to which I owe my joys and my sorrows in equal measure makes me rise. He shall be here, and whatever fate may come, I shall accept it, for it is offered to me on the tip of his fingers. Far more bitter poison I have swallowed in the name of this love; but in the beginning, there was only light.

-----------------------

Artanis took another, thoughtful sip of the ruby wine in her crystal vessel, and smiled.

“Your father was too generous in his gifts. This wine is exquisite.”

“And your mother was too generous in preparing our basket. I wonder how much it took to prepare such delicate things.”

I brushed off the last crumbs of the pale, creamy cake from my lips, and put the empty plates back in the wicker basket. My cousin closed her eyes leaning back, enjoying the warmth of the air. Laurelin’s light played in the long waves of her hair, making it shine with both silver and gold. My first day in Tirion after long years of absence was passing gently, the hours uncoiling languidly under the trees of one of the gardens encased in the hillside, like emeralds among the white stonework of the houses.

Many of the Noldor were out strolling at this time, and the garden hummed softly with their voices, their conversation. The clothes were brighter and more deeply coloured than was the fashion in Valmar, and beautiful jewelry, the work of the craft of the Noldorin smiths, shone golden and silvery in the light. Artanis’ next question came in an almost sleepy tone.

“Have you decided what you shall wear tomorrow, at the reception?”

“White, I thought. Unless Aredhel wished to do the same.”

“You may well expect it. She takes pleasure in remind us all she inherited the raven Finwion hair.”

I smiled between half-closed eyelids.

“As if you had need to envy anybody’s hair, Artanis.”

A pleased chuckle in her throat, then her fingers stretched out to play with one of my curls.

“Here in Tirion your Telerin silver will be much admired, Silmë. We shall find you a Noldorin lover yet.”

I smiled.

“Father could appreciate that. He despairs to ever see grandchildren. Although if you never found anybody to your liking, Artanis, I very much doubt I shall see somebody myself.”

Pointedly, she ignored the remark, closing her eyes once more, enjoying the light. Sighing contentedly in the peaceful afternoon, I let my eyes wander over the jewel brightness of the leaves, over the dappled reflection of a small, singing brook. The radiant flare of red in the light caught my attention, and I touched my cousin’s shoulder, calling her.

“Artanis. Who is that one?”

“I did tell you, you just had to look. Why, I have scarcely finished saying that…”

And then her voice died, and I felt her stiffening beside me. When I turned to look at her, she was very quiet, but her blue eyes sparkled with fury.

“Let it be,” she said between clenched teeth, “Just let it be.”

“Artanis?”

I could not understand. I looked once more to the stranger, who walked leisurely by the brook with a companion. He was tall, exceedingly so, and he had uncommon auburn hair. As I was looking, he laughed, and his laughter was easy and bright. But my cousin remained silent for a long moment, all her playfulness, all her serenity gone. At last the words came out, and they were thick with distaste.

“That is my cousin, Nelyafinwë.” There was a pause, before, reluctantly, she added: “The son of Fëanáro my uncle.”

“Artanis. Surely you don’t still begrudge the son of Finwë his simple request.”

“You call it simple. You were not there.”

“Artanis…”

She shook her head. The Noldor often possess flaming spirits, but among them hottest of all burnt Fëanáro, son of the king, and Artanis his niece. And yet between them there was little love, or better still, no love at all; and they had not spoken to each other since she had refused him the gift of one hair, which he asked.

“He wished to make beauty eternal out of your light. It was a mighty thought.”

“Light should not be possessed, not in any form. I see darkness in my uncle, a darkness that has no equal among the Elves.”

“Still, you shall not say that the faults of the father should fall upon the sons?”

“What is it to you? Certainly, Nelyafinwë is pleasing to the eye. But there is something of the obscure flame of the father that has passed to him, like all the others of his kin. I do not like the Fëanárions.”

“Cousin…”

Artanis could be immovable when she wished to, but I would not allow her dislike to have the best of me, not now. Again and again my eye strayed to the stranger, and into my heart my resolution was tied into a knot of steel.

“You promised you would make my stay here pleasant. And now you would deny me this little thing? If indeed your cousin partakes of the fell fire of his father, I will be judge of it myself. Or don’t you trust me at all?”

For a moment she was silent, looking at me intently, as if she wished to penetrate my thought. Artanis had a gift for seeing into the hearts of others; but now she shook her head.

“So unclear…”

I thought she would try again to persuade me to let go of my curiosity, but unexpectedly, without another word, she turned and called: “Nelyafinwë! Carnistir!”

Her voice rang clear and pure over the lawn, and the two companions turned, surprise upon their face when they saw who had called. Artanis beckoned them closer. They exchanged a few, hasty words (I saw the one called Carnistir shaking his head vehemently, his face sullen) but eventually they came our way. Nelyafinwë was smiling. The other followed him grimly.

“You owe me, Silmë,” whispered Artanis, but it was a moment before a smile dawned upon her lips. When she wished to, she could be charming. “What a pleasant morning to meet, cousin. Please, join us.”

“How could one refuse your invitation, Nerwen? I thank you.”

With a grace unexpected in such a great body, he sat down beside me, as Carnistir grudgingly took place by Artanis. A new warmth flooded my heart as he smiled to me, and calling myself silly I smiled back.

“A very bright morning,” my cousin’s voice was crystal now, as if she were partaking of a pleasure long anticipated, “It is indeed fortunate that we should meet, now that a long-expected friend has come to visit. This is Silmë Lirillë of Valmar, my guest and my friend. These, Silmë, are Nelyafinwë and Carnistir, my father’s nephews.”

We exchanged the bows of the head and formulaic greetings. But at the mention of Valmar, Carnistir’s already dark demeanour became grimmer.

“I suppose, my lady Silmë, that you are one of the kin of Indis of the Vanyar.”

His brother looked at him reproachingly, but Carnistir did not heed him. His black eyes were fixed upon me. Never would Fëanáro and his blood forget that my aunt had taken the place of Mìriel his mother, who had left this world out of weariness. But I would not yield to such a challenge, and my voice was cold when I replied: “Indeed, my father Olorimo is her brother. The friendship of my Noldorin relatives has long been my joy, although I have seldom visited Tirion.”

Carnistir scoffed, tossing back his head like a skittish horse. Artanis’ eyes upon him were icy, but it was his brother’s voice that broke the tense thickness of the moment. “You must forgive my brother, my lady Silmë. He meant no offence.”

I doubted as much, but when I met them the pale green eyes of Nelyafinwë were sincere. And before I could reply, Artanis spoke again.

“Who in Valinor has not felt the bite of the burning temper of Carnistir the Hasty Riser? Drink wine, cousin, and forget these grudges. Too much time has made them stale.”

It would have been hard to believe if they had told me it had happened, but indeed Artanis poured him wine, and engaged him in conversation. Her beauty, the power of her spirit would not be disobeyed. And this was a gift she was offering me, and one I should not waste. Fetching another vessel from the basket, I offered refreshment to the elder brother. He accepted the cap, and watched me pour the blood-red liquid with attentive eyes.

“I am sorry that our encounter should begin under such ill auspices, my lady.”

I put back the flask before I met his eyes. “It is not your fault, my lord.”

“I thank you for your comprehension.”

I inclined my head slightly, watching him. Upon us had fallen a quiet that was not awkwardness, but rather a pause as we studied each other, and none resolved to speak. It was him who broke the silence, a smile playing at the corner of his lips.

“Courtesy would now advise that I ask you how you find our city, lady.”

“Yes, that would be the proper thing to do. Or would not my lord Nelyafinwë have better questions to ask?”

His smile now flourished fully.

“Maitimo. Very few use my father-name. Perhaps my father alone.”

“Maitimo.” The well-shaped one. I savoured the name, and watched its owner. Undoubtedly, it became him. “Yes, it is a fitter name, and a more graceful one. And what would Maitimo ask, not being burdened with Nelyafinwë’s conventional courtesy?”

“He would ask if Silmë shares her cousin’s distaste for her relatives, and if this chance meeting is as ill-pleasing to her, as to the other.”

Surprised, I turned. Oblivious to us, Artanis kept talking with Carnistir, other wine in her cup. Her beautiful features betrayed nothing of what had passed before; but evidently Maitimo knew her well.

“My lord is not easily deceived. But as he knows me not at all, I shall ask him to take my word that there is only pleasure for me in our conversation.”

“And your word I shall gladly accept, my lady.”

He briefly raised his cup to me, and took a sip. Just then, Carnistir rose.

“Thank you for the wine and the company, Artanis, but Russandol and I should go. Mother is expecting us.”

“I would never keep Nerdanel waiting. Thank you for joining us.”

Perhaps I had dreamt of the shadow of regret in Maitimo’s eyes as he gave me back the drinking vessel, and rose.

“It seems, my lady Silmë, that however pleasing our encounter should be short.”

“It is indeed a pity. I hope that we shall meet again during my stay.”

I had not meant to meet Artanis’ eyes, but she was watching me, and I could not say what she saw in mine. For a moment she closed her eyes, and doubt crossed her face before she turned to her cousins and proposed: “You could come to the reception at my house, tomorrow at the mingling of the lights. My father would be glad.”

Carnistir could or would not hide what he thought of her invitation, before he curtly replied: “I already have an engagement.”

Artanis nodded, as if she expected as much; she let her eyes rest on Maitimo.

“What of you, Nelyafinwë? Findekáno shall be there. You could come together.”

He smiled. “Once again, who could refuse you? I thank you. It seems, my lady Silmë, that our parting shall be briefer than we thought.”

Artanis did not speak as they walked away, nor did she comment when Maitimo turned, casting us one last glance, his expression unreadable. I did not break the silence. I still held the cup he had used in my hands. When my cousin’s words eventually came, they were plain, neutral.

“I shall not ask what you think. It is far too soon.”

“And yet, Nerwen, you relented.”

She looked at me, her eyes hard, and nodded. “I am not so prideful as to refuse what you clearly desire so much.” She set about to gathering the remnants of our breakfast on the grass, and her unspoken words were as clear as if she had pronounced them aloud.

I only hope you shall not come to regret it.

Fleeting clouds cast long shadows on the pale grass. I brought the chalice to my lips, and drank.

Chapter 2: Dance

Aikanàr is Aegnor, Findaràto Finrod, Turukàno Turgon, Arafinwe Finarfin, and Fingon is called Nolofinwion as son of Nolofinwe, Fingolfin. Enjoy!

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Chapter 2

Dance

I gathered in my hand the trail of the dress and pinned it with a brooch on Artanis' hip. The pale yellow cloth, shot with silver threads, seemed to lengthen her hair in a glowing cascade upon her chest. She examined the way the gown fell with critical eyes, before nodding and turning to fix the last strand of my hair. As she pressed home the sapphire comb an impatient knocking on the door made me turn.

"Ready!"

"You had better be."

Nervous steps drummed away in the corridor. Artanis sighed.

"Aikanár can be such a nuisance. But I suppose the guests are arriving. How do you feel?"

I shrugged.

"How should I?"

She glanced at me with disbelieving eyes.

"He will come, you know, if he said so."

I smiled.

"What now? Trusting the word of a Fëanárion?"

Artanis rolled her eyes. In a sweep of her skirts, she was out of the door. I followed her.

The house of my cousins was a lace of pearly marble, a triumph of pale white where friezes and mosaics recalled the Sea hence Eärwen, Artanis' mother, came. Ample stairs, like a waterfall slowly unfolding in their opal blue shades, led down to the main portal and the gardens. The light was tinted with silver from the approach of the mingling of the lights, and the leaves on the trees shone deep green, their margins almost black. The first guests were pouring in from the open gates, whose elegant wings were wrought in a white metal whose name I did not know.

Findaráto came towards us, offering me his arm.

"Come, Silmë. I am quite impatient of showing off my beautiful Vanyarin cousin."

"You are too kind. But perhaps I should remain with Artanis…"

"Nonsense. I'll call you when I need you."

Artanis threw me a meaningful glance before she went off. Meekly I followed Findaráto, and for a time that weighed on me like a heavy veil I was introduced to their Noldorin friends, answered question on their Vanyarin acquaintances, and barricaded myself behind a wooden smile as I determinedly kept my eyes from straying to the open gate. Why, I was no longer a child of thirty. I could wait composedly for him to come.

But for all my dignity I could not suppress the readiness with which I turned to Artanis' light touch on my shoulder. Her eyebrows suspended in an expression halfway between perplexity and disdain, she beckoned me follow her in silence. I excused myself quickly, my fingers nervously settling my gown.

A child of thirty, indeed.

And then, framed by the opalescent metalwork of the gate, he was there.

I did not at first notice the way his green tunic fell on his tall body, nor how his loose hair, kept back only by a copper circlet, gleamed scarlet in the fading light. All I could see was his smile, and everything else was but a background to its radiance. I bowed my head in greeting, and turned my eyes on my cousin Findekáno.

"Glad to see you again, Fino. It's been a long time."

"Quite so. A happy occasion to meet."

In this exchange of trivialities, Artanis' voice reached me as from a long way off.

"…no need to thank me, Nelyafinwë. My pleasure."

"Still, I would like to see your father. Accepting me in his house is no small thing."

What was there in his voice that shook me so deeply, that spoke to chords that had always been silent in me? A sudden courage seizing me, I turned to them, smiling.

"I have seen Arafinwë by the portal, Artanis. I could bring Nelyafinwë myself, if you wish to remain to greet the last guests."

Her mocking little smile was almost admiring.

"Thank you, Silmë. By the way, Findekáno, I've been dying to hear all the details on Turukáno's engagement, and as he is not here, you'll have to answer my questions. And no protests, really…"

Forcing her arm into his, she steered him away firmly. Findekáno threw us one imploring glance, but Artanis kept talking as she led him away. I laughed; and Maitimo's laughter joined mine. Its sound was as pure, as compelling as I remembered it.

"My lady Silmë," he bowed to me, a hand to his heart, "The hours before this moment have been too long."

"My lord Maitimo," I bowed myself, "Your courtesy is so grand one could almost take it as a joke."

"But one should not."

His eyes held mine for a moment, defying me to answer. I did not, but did not lower my eyes. Readily he offered me his arm, and I accepted it. We crossed the garden, many greeting the son of Fëanáro, surprise on their face telling clearly how they did not expect seeing him there.

Arafinwë was indeed where I had seen him last, and when he caught sight of his nephew he came towards him, a welcoming smile on his lips.

"Nelyafinwë. Having you here at last is a great pleasure."

"Thank you, uncle."

"Whatever the differences between your father and me, I would like you to know that my house is always open to those of my blood."

"And such an invitation I will try to honour."

Of all the descendants of Finwë, Arafinwë was the one that resembled my aunt Indis the most. The contented light on his face was hers, as hers was the gesture of the arms with which he seemed to embrace the garden, the reception, the whole evening.

"I shall leave you in the capable hands of Silmë then. Spend a pleasant night, and I will consider myself honoured enough."

For some time we wandered through the guests, joining in conversation here and there, but never remaining for more than a few moments. I let him lead me, his steps slowed down to match mine, the hem of my gown gliding on the grass. Until he suggested we take some wine, and as he handed me a cup from the table of the refreshments he smiled.

"I am afraid I am in no mood for idle conversation this evening, my lady."

"I would never have said so, my lord. You can act quite graciously then, in order to hide it."

"I had good incentive."

He finished his own cup in one sip, and put it down.

"But now that the formalities have been dutifully done, and none that was here tonight shall be able to say that the son of Fëanáro accepted his uncle's invitation just to sulk in a corner, I suggest we find some authentic pleasure in this evening. Would you show me the gardens, Silmë? They are the wonder of Tirion, they say, but before today I never had occasion of visiting them."

I could not hide the smile that crept to my lips, nor the joy that seeped into my voice as I answered: "I have been here only the last few days, and certainly I do not know these gardens as well as my cousins do; but for what it is in my power, I will do my best."

Leaving behind the hum of brilliant conversation, the bright stains of the elegant robes of the guests, we made our way out of the lawn and into the bushes that fenced off the most private part of the gardens. Here Eärwen nourished the flowers she had brought from Alqualondë her home, and here were the fruit trees that were the pride of Arafinwë himself. Forgetting the reception, forgetting everything but the soft song of the birds as the silver of Telperion conquered the gold of Laurelin, we wandered on the stony paths, and wrought ones of our own imagination through the plants, the colours and scents our only guide as we sought out their hidden beauty in the casket of their leaves.

At last we came to the pond where small fish, their scaled bodies iridescent with red and green, swam idly between the water lilies. The flowers lay open to our eyes, unveiling the golden treasure of their pollen, releasing in the air their thick, intoxicating scent. I sat on a stone bench by the shore, but he remained standing, leaning against the tall elm that shaded that spot. I raised my eyes to meet his and smiled.

"Why, my lord Maitimo, aren't you quite tall enough not to stand when others sit? Already you tower over me when we walk together; but if you will have me talk to you like this, my neck shall certainly feel the strain."

His smile was nothing more than a vague light on his face.

"It would seem unkind of me, I will concede you that, my lady. But it is beautiful to me to look upon this garden, and embrace it in its entirety, and then, lowering my eyes, to see you, in the same way as to one who stood upon a mountain, and looked upon the peaks surrounding him, and felt their beauty; but then, looking down, took in his sight the lake cradled in the palm of the valley at his feet, and the light making its water glitter in a thousand sparks, and had his pleasure doubled."

I made no reply to this, but looked into his eyes for a trace of mocking, for the merry lightheartedness with which sometimes the youths of Valmar joked paying the maidens they knew exaggerated compliments. But his green irises were serious, and he looked at me as if waiting for my answer. I brought my eyes to the pond, and remain silent, my heart beating slowly, but painfully, as if it did not know whether to believe or not its hope.

At last he spoke again, his voice full of regret.

"I wish things stood not as they are now, and this place had been my asylum for many years now. But one cannot change the past, nor, sometimes, one should wish to do it."

"Is then the wedge between Fëanáro and Arafinwë so deep, so difficult to heal? For in Valmar Indis would not speak ill of her step-son, blaming all that has passed on his pain for his mother. And when I mention such facts here, my cousins will shut themselves in pride and silence, and will not say a word."

"To answer you one would have to look into the heart of my father, and be able to discern what is true from what is but the shadow of his mighty thought. No one has been able to do so, not since my mother left."

A distant sadness fell on him, a screen to hide his flame.

"Forgive me if I caused you pain. My question was indiscreet."

"No. What you ask has been the wonder of Tirion for many years now. But none that look into the spirit of my father remain unburnt; not even his sons."

"And yet you are of his blood, and, one should think, begot of his fire."

He met my eyes again, and this time I was challenging him.

He smiled.

"I know well what Artanis says, that in her cousins is kindled the same scorching heat of the uncle she detests. And yet too often I look on Fëanáro, that still fathered me, as one would look on a wonder one can only suffer or take joy from, and never ask oneself about, nor ever come to fully understand."

"Admiring and wistful seem to me your words, and I cannot deny that Artanis' thought closely resembles them. But when I saw you I saw no fell fire, but a light that was warm and gleaming, yet kind. A light to make things clearer, and not to burn them."

My daring filled me, a feeling of warmth in my cheeks as I looked at him, now without reserve.

"Your spirit blazes," he answered, his voice slow, "And its silver flame is a gentle one to see by."

There was no world for me in that moment outside his voice, his eyes; and when the sound of other words than his came, the enchantment of the evening was shattered with the footfalls of those who approached.

"…I will tell you again, Findekáno , that I'm perfectly able of performing the dance by myself."

"And I will repeat to you for the thousandth time, Artanis, that I have seen one too many of your solos to appreciate them like the first time. Besides, Silmë expected to dance. She would resent it if you took the scene."

"I am quite sure that if she isn't there already, it means that she has no wish to dance. Now come with me! They're waiting for us."

"No! Isn't there somebody by the pond?"

"Findekáno Nolofinwion! You're so…"

And with that, my cousins broke through the bushes and into the clearing.

"I am afraid the world has found us, Silmë."

"Maitimo? I was wondering where you had gotten to."

"It was completely my fault, Fino, if I spirited away what I hear should have been the dancer of the evening. I confide it is not too late."

"No. Well, glad we found you."

Maitimo helped me to my feet, and we started back. Artanis took my arm and willfully had us fall behind on the others, shooting me an inquisitive look. I limited myself to a small smile, postponing every account to later, calmer times. But at the same time I felt like I never wished to talk about what had had come to pass, as if I wanted to keep it secret, a jewel hidden between my hands.

"Here come my daughter and my cousin! Eärwen, my dear, take the harp. As I had promised you, my guests, now we shall have a dance."

Clapping the guests made a circle for us at the centre of the lawn, and Artanis and I took our positions in it as Eärwen prepared the harp. The spectators were nothing but a blur as I bent my bust, extending my arms and waiting for the music to begin. But then I caught sight of him, the light of his face purer and more brilliant to my eyes then the light of the Trees.

For him alone I would dance. And as the notes unfurled around me like a ribbon, a brilliant trail to follow, as my feet found the rhythm familiar to them, in my spirit his light shone like a gentle fire.

Chapter 3: Sea

Alcàniel means Blazing Maiden. Thank you to realelvish . net.

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Chapter 3

Sea

The tea was hot in the cup between my hands, the smoke rising from its dark surface a bluish curl in the air. Sat in front of me, Artanis chewed on a piece of bread and honey with the soulful expression of somebody who wishes she were still in bed, her hair gathered in a single braid hanging over her shoulder. From the door, open on the orchard, came the sounds of moved earth as Eärwen greeted the returned golden light by tending to the bulbs the lady Yavanna had given her as a present for her last begetting day.

The early morning was threaded with that silent expectation shared by those who are waking together when the new day comes; the promise of novel things hung suspended in the silent kitchen together with the warm scent of toasted bread and rich milk. I took a morsel of the strawberry cake left over from yesterday's dinner and started eating, my thoughts uneventful, an empty plain in the last peace before the light became full. When the day has risen you can't hide anymore.

When Findaráto came into the room I barely lifted my head to greet him, my eyes enticed by the shaft of light that played on a cobweb suspended by the corner of the window. Dewdrops shone on the silvery threads, and the weaver mended its work the hours of the brilliant night had hung with pearls of wet light. When my cousin put the letter in front of me, the sound made me start.

"Well awoken, Silmë," he smiled, "Although it looks like you might still be dreaming."

I shook my head, taking another sip of tea. Its scent was wood and smoke.

"I am afraid this morning my dreams have followed me out of bed like a trail. A letter for me?"

He nodded.

"The messengers came to the door. Yours is from Findekáno , Artanis, isn't it?"

I looked up to her, recognizing the blue seal I had seen so many times on the messages I had been sent from Tirion. But Artanis was not looking at the envelope she held in her fingers; rather at the one that lay in front of me. The seal was unfamiliar; impressed into scarlet wax, an eight-pointed star.

"The House of Fëanáro," said my cousin, her words suspended between uncertainty and her usual distaste.

Findaráto lit up.

"I was so glad you invited Maitimo the other evening, Artanis. Our reconciliation with our cousins is long overdue."

She shook her head, her eyes still on the letter.

"I have no credit for this."

She met my stare, her expression unreadable.

Strangely calm, I swallowed the last of the cake, feeling with my hand on the table for a knife. Later my heart would pound into my ears remembering that moment, as every wild supposition, every last fear and hope could have hidden into the folded message. But it was with careful skill that I cut the seal, the creamy paper thick and silky between my fingers.

My eyes took in the few lines at once, looking at the letters traced as if to a precious hint to something hidden that I wished to know. The tengwar were more widely spaced, more briskly penned than good calligraphy would advise; but looking at them it was easy to recall the hand that had written them. Hi eyes when we had said goodbye after the dance were a memory carved in the back of my mind as I read.

My lady Silmë,

my uncle's courtesy would have me free to come unannounced at his door, following my spirit's wish to find again the light that shone in that evening, two days ago. And yet the remembrance of our long sundering is too fresh for me to take advantage of such kindness, and I rein my desire in a request that I dare hoping you shall accept.

Tomorrow, the first day of a new season, the winds shall blow from the Sea, and as every year in that day I will ride with Findekáno to the coast, to breathe in the scent of the blue with the faint promise of far lands under darker skies than this.

And yet this year I cannot help but feel that the joy of the day would be marred should I contemplate its beauty alone, and the silver of the crested waves would be for me no longer a jewel to treasure in my eyes, but rather a keepsake of something left, however unwillingly, behind.

If you and Artanis wished to join us, once more I would find myself in debt of a graciousness I have no words to repay; but it is a debt I would gladly owe.

I await your reply; and in the meantime I remain

Yours,

Maitimo

My mind would not believe what my eyes had read, and again and again I would have run through the lines, the joy born into my chest a small bird that only now began to stretch its wings, and fly. But Findaráto, if too well-bred to be curious, looked at me from over his buttered bread; and a smile that was but a spark of the fire I felt growing inside me creased my lips.

"Nelyafinwë has invited me and Artanis to join him and Fino in a pleasure trip to the Sea."

My voice sounded assured, unsurprised. Artanis' was cool, a breath of chilly night unexpected as she commented: "That is, in short, what Findekáno also writes."

"I hope you shall accept. It has been too long since you have last listened to Uìnen's voice, little sister."

Artanis made no reply; merely sought my eyes. I did not nod, nor say a word; my smile remained unchanged. My determination even stronger than the day – was it in truth so close? – when I had first met him. And my cousin, that would rarely yield to plea, acknowledged my desire with a brief gesture, closing her eyes.

I turned to Findaráto, my smile now gentler.

"Be kind, cousin. Give me paper and ink."

The grass was a path of velvet under the hoofs of our horses as we ran, the promise of the Sea a blue smile at the horizon. Behind us loomed the mountains, the clouds crowning their heads with shades of diamond. The golden light filled the air with a softness that contrasted with the sharp wind, reaching our nostrils with the scent of salt and wave. Seagulls cried, another note to the symphony of the tense breeze.

Maitimo's black horse ran beside the blue roan Aikanár had lent me, while Artanis' dapple gray mare devoured the ground ahead of us, like a swift cloud of spray born over the waves by the wind.

Yes, too long had passed since the last time I had run like this, too long since I had breathed last the smell of free water. I smiled, and let the roan find its pace, without spurring it, but feeling its elation in its unrestrained race like an extension of my own. I looked aside, and met Maitimo's eyes; the green sparkle of a moment before all our senses turned again to the joy of the speed.

Soon the edge of the plain drew nearer, spiky bushes with large white flowers interrupting the evenness of the grass, and Artanis ahead halted, waiting for us. When we reached her, her cheeks were flushed, her hair had escaped the ribbons, a silver and golden halo around her face. Her beauty was such to make me smile.

"First," she breathed, "And Fino last, as I should have expected. Although I don't think you two have tried at all to win."

"Why, Nerwen, you take too much joy in victory for us to think of depriving you of its pleasure. Letting you win was far better than beating you."

"Always the witty one, Nelyafinwë."

But as she said it, she smiled. On that morning our joy was honed to a fine point, a shining peak. And when I turned, I saw the Sea.

The Sea…too few are the words one might try to say, even as many a poet has attempted to sing of the harmony of the deep. For in the face of such majesty even the best pen is broken; and the attempts are but pale veils before too great a beauty for even the immortals to ever grow used to it. Endless words have the Eldar wrought in praise of gem and star, and dappled light, and growing tree; and sometimes their words have been fair and brilliant, and have graced their objects of newfound shine. But forever the Sea escapes our words, and fills our minds with a voice that, the sages say, speaks of the Music ere the World was made. And in our silence we are uplifted, and something greater than joy, something we have no name for, grows into our spirit, and makes it great.

Beside me, Maitimo smiled.

"You shall not regret having come, then?"

"Never."

A moment more I held his eyes, as if challenging him to see past that word, into its deepest meaning; but before he could guess, I dismounted. Findekáno had reached us, contentedness a light upon his face.

"I saw no reason to run. Today is too fair a day to make haste."

"Still, as the last, you'll carry the basket all the same." Artanis dismounted herself, taking the reins. "Let us bind the horses, and then go down to the beach."

So we did; a sheer path led down from the cliff to a pebbly stretch at its feet. Contorted trees, shaped by the wind in fantastic curves, offered shade; and we spread a cloth over the stones, and took out our refreshments. Artanis discarded her riding gloves and took the wine flask, the last that remained of my father's gift.

"Breakfasting in the open again," she said, as she poured the scarlet flame of the liquid in a vessel, "It is a habit I have developed fast."

I smiled. "I have yet to hear you lamenting it, cousin."

She raised her cup as we filled ours: "Nor will you."

We drank and ate as the morning grew to full maturity, exchanging jokes, our laughter a different chord in the song of wind and wave. When the chalices were empty, the plates equally vacant, Artanis rose.

"No rest under trees for me, I should say. The light over the Sea is too pure to waste it by looking at it from afar. I will go walking."

Findekáno rose himself, offering her his arm.

"You are right, it is too beautiful a day to be spent idling. Will you allow me to accompany you, Nerwen? We can leave these lazy creatures to their catlike rest, if so they wish."

Maitimo, lying on his back, his arms crossed under his head, smiled lightly.

"Fino knows me well. Have a pleasant walk."

"Won't you come, Silmë? Russandol would deserve we left him on his own."

"No, thank you, cousin. Someone must make sure he doesn't fall asleep until the next season changes."

Findekáno smiled, bowing his head in acknowledgement. He did not see the glance Artanis threw me before they started; but that day was too resplendent for it to dim it, and even her dislike, I perceived clearly, was laced with doubt. Artanis did not understand; and this new sensation confounded her.

Soon the steps of the walkers and their voices were nothing more than an echo brought by casual puffs of wind. The seagulls alighted on the water in the peace of midday, their silvery bodies cradled in the palm of the waves like broken toys. Sitting on the cloth I watched them, as the light sowed the Sea with brilliant scales. Beside me, Maitimo did not stir, and for a moment I thought he had indeed fallen asleep. I tried to imagine his dreaming face, sleep draped over his features like a pale veil; but when I lowered my eyes the green jewel of his irises was fixed on me, and he smiled at my surprise.

"Indeed you think too badly of me, lady," he joked, guessing the reason for it, "That I should fall asleep on such a day, and in such fair company." A pause, and his expression became gentler, it lost its jesting lightness. "I thank you for coming."

I smiled at his seriousness.

"I thank you for inviting me."

A small silence followed, an empty space framed in the cry of the birds, in the green of his glance. Unexpectedly he rose, offering me his hand.

"Come, my lady. The other day you showed me something precious, and rare; and now I will try to repay my debt."

I accepted his help, feeling under my fingers the texture of his skin, his palm, and the strength resting in his hand, a force ready to spring. He let go of my hand far too soon; and I turned to the Sea, not daring to look at him. As I bent to take the shoes I had taken off he stopped me.

"You shan't need them where we are going now."

Barefoot we walked along the waterline, the Sea coming to die at our feet, the waves eternally reborn in the glassy lacework of their foam. We walked in silence, the light draped around us like a cloak; until we came to the foot of the cliff, where it came to interrupt the beach thrusting out a buttress of rock. Its sheerness was tempered by the small, golden flowers of bittersweet smelling plants; and a cleft opened among them, a dark mouth in the splendor of the day.

I stepped back; but he offered his hand again, smiling.

"It is larger than it looks, and it conceals well its treasure. Follow me." A ripple of gentle laughter ran through his next words: "Unless you fear to defy a little dark…"

"Never."

I took his hand, even the joy of touching him again forgotten in the excitement of the moment, my heart beating fast as he led me in the darkness of a narrow opening. Humid stone that had never been touched by the grace of the Trees grazed my sides as I walked; and Maitimo had to stoop to pass. But eventually we were through, the uneven floor falling into a larger opening, pebbles made smooth and round by the water under our soles.

A blue radiance filled the cave; and light fell in a gilded shaft from a rough opening in its roof, where the cliff had given in. The crescent moon of a small beach encircled the shallow water in the cave, a pool lit with brilliant blue by the reflection that came through a larger opening towards the Sea. No gem wrought by skill or chance could rival such pure radiance.

"Maitimo…"

Any other word would die upon my lips; smiling, still holding my hand, he led me to the uttermost end of the cave, were a black spot stained the water, and the pale submerged rock.

"Still, this is not all I wished to show you."

He rolled up his breeches, wading into the water, until he reached the darker stain. Sinking his arms in the Sea, he seemed to clasp something. I drew nearer, standing at the very edge of the weak waves; and when he turned, he bore in his open palm the gift of a sea star.

Red had looked black in the water; but now it shone wetly on his hand, the arms of the creature delicately probing his wrists, seeking the road to return to its element.

Caring not for my dress, I followed him in the water, and with my fingers I lightly stroked the body of the sea star. It was at once hard and supple, minuscule scales covering its tender flesh; and beneath my touch it seemed to shiver. Breathless, I looked at Maitimo, and his smile told me he knew well what gift he had given me.

"Once, long ago, my Telerin uncle showed me one such fish," I said, my voice low, not daring to speak aloud under the spell of that blue light, "But I had never seen one again…"

"Then I am glad I could show it to you. My debt, if not extinguished, is made smaller."

He bent, replacing the star among its companions on their bed of rock. When he straightened again, his eyes shone, their emerald made dark by the halflight; and his beauty was greater in that moment than ever before I had seen it. In this corner of Arda stolen from the sight of the Eldar, he was free.

"This is your garden, is it not?" I asked, "The haven when the world hangs heavy on your shoulders, and all tastes bitter to your mouth?"

His smile disappeared; his eyes now polished jade as he looked at me. But I did not lower mine, and time stood still as the sound of the wave was the only thing that could be heard. My blood burnt; but it did so in silence.

"None apart from us know of it. But so easily you see what it means to me..:"

"You always speak of debts. But bringing me here, you have given me a gift greater than any I could ever make you."

"So assured you are, my lady; and yet so wrong."

His fingers rose to my face, but never touched it; remaining suspended beside the skin, a broken caress that cut more keenly than any knife.

"May you never know the bitterness that brings me here; for Artanis is right, and of such an ill sorrow in this land that should be blessed there is kindled a fell fire."

"But not in you, Maitimo."

His eyes were softer now, and the abyss I had unveiled was left behind. He bent over me, his face close to mine.

"Alcániel," he whispered, "Too clear blazes your light not to wish to see things as it shows them. And yet they seem to me purer and better than they were before."

As they fell his fingers brushed my arm, and a shiver rippled through my muscles, as suddenly I became aware of the icy crystal of the water around our feet; and yet I could not move, his warmth binding me, my blood singing quietly in my veins.

Until a longer, stronger wave than the others rolled in the cave, drenching us to the waist. He laughed quietly as we detached, giving me his hand as we climbed back on the beach.

"It will be better to start back, my lady. The others will be on their way now."

He led the way to the cleft, diving without hesitation into the shadows. I looked back once; and the cave shone secretly in its azure light, the song of the Sea undisturbed, as if we had never been there.

A strange melancholy, a subdued elation joined in my spirit, I turned and followed him towards the open sky.

Chapter 4: Ask

If Hobbits can have golf (see LotR, Concerning Hobbits) Elves can have draughts. ;) Daro is a diminutive I made up for Findaràto. Enjoy!

Read Chapter 4: Ask

Chapter 4

Ask

What words cannot say is sometimes the only thing that is worth uttering.

Never again would Maitimo talk with me of that morning in the cave, and yet it stood between us, like a threshold that, if never crossed, still bound us. Like a jewel was that remembrance; and at the bottom of his eyes when they met mine it sparkled.

For a long season of the Trees I resided in Tirion the White, and every day brought me new delight; and if I could still pretend, in the letters I sent home every few days, that my pleasure was due merely to the closeness to the cousins I had long missed, still I could not help but feel the lie as I sealed each message before I entrusted it to the courier.

No, never did my pen trace the name of the son of Fëanáro; and if my mind faked that it was because it had no importance, repeating to me that his hold on my spirit would vanish and disappear, like foam that laces the rock before the heat dries it, still my heart denied it, and its every beat was another layer on my pretence.

For even as our fingers touched in a figure of dance, even as our voices joined in song, even as the wind braided together our hair when we went riding out over the hills, still our bond remained one unspoken and unpromised, and no ties that the Eldar would acknowledge existed between us.

Love, the word poets have spoken too often, and true lovers too seldom, remained unpronounced, suspended in the silence between his sadness and my uncertainty. We balanced our days, our glances on the edge of a razor; for when Elves grow to the age we had reached without wedding, they begin to believe that solitude shall be their lot, and they shall remain unaccompanied for all the ages of the world.

But as I played with this thought, as I drew closer to it only to flee again, for the first time I began to doubt what I had been educated to believe: that love shall necessarily come only to those who are destined to bear the fruit of new children to Arda, and that such a fate shall show itself soon, if it has to become manifest at all.

In Valinor Elves married young. We did not turn our memory to the accounts of the days before we learnt from the Valar the custom of marriage, when our love was celebrated in silence on the grass, beneath stars that shone cold and kind in a black haven like a vault over our heads.

But now I, that had come so far without feeling once the exquisite thrill that had lit with pleasure and expectation my friends' faces, now I harboured it to find that it was a different thing altogether from what I had been promised and sung of.

Maitimo and I, grown among the elaborate rituals, the elegant courtship of our kind in those days of splendor, never complied to its roles. Never he came to sing beneath my window; never he wrote for me verses, or asked for a lock of my hair. Never I pretended to forget my kerchief where he could find it, or offered him in present one of my jewels. Love as we had been described it was a thing to embroider and gild, to make graceful and brilliant, yet another of the works of art of the Eldar to be admired and to take a refined pleasure from.

For us, it was not so. We hesitated on the brink of the untold, living each day like another thread in a tapestry that would not yet reveal its theme. Not a step went too far, not a gesture took the place of the words that others would already have spoken; and yet each of his gestures, each time his skin brushed against mine, each glance his eyes bestowed on mine, I felt more keenly than all the words, all the serenades I could have expected before I knew him, when this idea, like a fluttering bird inside my mind, a tree growing in my heart, was still nothing more than an abstract notion among thousands of others.

I that had resigned myself not to know this, discovered it day by day and yet did not dare to call it by its name.

Yes, we hesitated. So many years have I spent now in this resolution, like a stronghold built around my spirit, that it is strange to look back and retrace my steps on the paths of the gardens of Arafinwë's house, and to recognize the confusion that reigned around me, as the joy of the present moment wrested with the barrier of a future that each day drew closer.

A shadow hung upon us; his unspoken pain, the abyss I had only glimpsed in that moment filled only by the sound of the waves, and my own conscience of a choice that lay ahead of me, a choice that would bear me hardship whether I resolved to take it or not.

My silence of Maitimo's name in my letters was but a procrastination of that choice; and the absence of Fëanáro, that had departed with his sons Macalaurë and Curufinwë for a long voyage a few days before I came to Tirion, was a momentary relief of the darkness that seemed to blight for Nelyafinwë even the radiance of Aman the Blessed.

I, that had been born in Valmar of the Bells in the wisdom unwavering, the unshakeable majesty of the Powers, I could not guess the depth nor the origin of his sorrow, something as alien to me as the bitterness that was woven sometimes into Artanis' strength. But those that were born in the House of Finwë have destinies that are set apart. Later I would learn it, later I would understand it, never to forget again; but now I felt this shadow lapping at my feet, an uneasiness and a dimming of the light that I had known. Not all in Valinor was spotless joy; and such a conscience was a painful and a frightening one.

And yet, light I would find everyday in the company of the one whose name tasted on my lips like honeyed wine; a different kind of light, it is true, but one that filled me, erasing my doubts when I found the jade of his irises, the alabaster of his skin; or the sound of his laughter, like that first day. My spirit found new wings; and it flew high.

In that daily joy, choices could be postponed indefinitely, the happiness of the moment savoured in expectation of a thousand more hours spent like the one that had just gone. There would come a day, one told oneself, there would come a time to undo the knot that our spirits tied as our mouths were silent, to cast clarity into the half-light of our time together; but not now. Now the brilliance was too much to mar it with the blinding flash of a certainty to pin it down in words everyone could understand; now there was still time.

Time. We Elves were born to inherit eternity; and our plans span ages in which our fears hide behind the promise of infinite days to solve our riddles. We grew to think we would never lack the chance to accomplish what we began; and when we do run out of time, we can scarcely believe it.

Maitimo never asked when I would leave, nor had I ever talked about it myself. When I woke up one morning to find my mother's letter rejoicing of my return three days from then, that whole season felt like a fabric too precious and too thin that a violent wind had snatched from my fingers, and torn apart.

I had no illusions: I had found Nelyafinwë in a fortunate twist of fate, an unpredicted bend of time where we had met and walked together. But were I to leave him behind like this, the pearls of our days together sill unconnected by the courage of a word, a final gesture, the thread that had joined us would snap.

There is a bravery that is needed to embrace the reality of our thoughts, a bravery that even the most courageous may from time to time lack; for there are territories hidden behind all our words, past our conscience itself, that we afraid to tread. And yet imagining never to speak the words that burn our tongue, never to fulfill the desire that lights our blood cuts us deeper than any cowardice; and driven by such a whip we may overcome our fear, and cloak ourselves in resolve.

Pale was my face, but scarlet my cheeks as that evening I dressed for yet another reception in the house of one of Artanis' friends; and while we walked there I was silent, my lips drawn in a tight line, my nostrils flared, as if I were breathing in deeply before diving underwater, readying myself for what I had to say. A few words, but enough to cast the die, and wait for it to show my victory or my defeat. I was going away. The time of postponing was behind, and I knew not which fear was greater in me.

Findaráto joked aloud about my silence, he put it down to the sadness for leaving so soon my beloved family; but his laughter was uncertain, and it barely veiled his concern. My cousins were not blind; and their perplexity at such an unlikely union had not been hidden by their joy at seeing the blood of Fëanáro reunited somehow to that of Arafinwë. Tonight the course of this strange encounter would be decided; and Daro loved me too well not to worry that I might be hurt.

Artanis watched me between half-closed eyelids, in her eyes the ice and the bite of the suspicion that had never abandoned her. She feared the taint of Fëanáro's fire; but she was not immune to it, her refusal to trust Maitimo begot of the same easiness to bear a grudge. Many things my cousin and friend understood; but what she could not understand she would not condone nor make allowance for.

But such thoughts were far from me when we eventually reached the house of her friend, and to the hostess' greetings I returned automatic, unconscious responses. Until the courtesies had been exchanged, the protocol preserved, and stretching my lips in a dead smile I asked: "Is Findekáno already here?"

She pointed a direction, and I followed it, gathering a chalice from a tray, sipping the wine and tasting nothing on my tongue. Findekáno was talking to the host; and when he turned to greet me, he was alone.

"A pleasure seeing you, Silmë. Together with my greeting I bear Maitimo's excuses."

"I do not understand you, cousin."

"An urgent message from his mother's kin. Nothing worrying, and he'll be back in two days. For this evening, again I have the pleasure of your company for myself alone…"

What did I say to Fino to excuse myself? Which words could I find at the bottom of a throat that was parchment and dried earth? Or did I leave him alone in silence, my eyes far from him, not seeing him anymore? To such questions I have no answer; nor do I remember where I left my chalice, or if I drank the wine to its last drop. I wandered away from the guests into a garden that was too small, too open to hide my sorrow; and like one that has abandoned this world and its toils for the Halls where all is peace, I sat looking nowhere, my hands gathered composedly into my lap.

When I tried to listen to my heart, I found only beaten ash.

It was there that Artanis found me, a long time later when she realized what had come to pass; when the absence and the conscience of my pain uprooted her mistrust for a moment, and she came looking for me bearing wine and cake as if nothing had happened, and we were still Elflings playing to be already grown to a world of responsibility and great concerns.

Wine and cake. It had started from a morning that had tasted of that; and it seemed fit that the same flavour, however embittered, should accompany this moment.

She sat by me in silence, laying plate and cup aside, asking nothing, waiting for my words to pour out, and my sorrow to speak. She did not lie to me, she did not try to console me with an untruth. When my words did not come, she spoke with a voice that was flat and cold, the facts that remain at the bottom when all dreams have been taken away, and cast aside.

"You will not wait a day more."

"No. I shall not force out of him in an hour of haste what a season of leisure could not bear to fruit."

"And yet you shall grieve."

"That I cannot help. I watched the plant of my joy grow, Artanis. Seeing it wither I pay a high price for its brief flowering."

In the silence that followed I perceived her tension, the violence she did to herself to utter the words she spoke next. As I lost Maitimo, she saw the shadow withdrawing, however small the space it yielded. But those whom she understood, Artanis suffered with; and she had known me too long not to understand me now. So in a voice that was hard and thin, the bone and tendon of words that speak even when they do not wish to, she said: "You could write to him."

"That I will do. But it is far too late."

Write I did. It was still early when I abandoned the reception, taking my leave with distracted words I forgot the moment I pronounced them; and I walked home in a silence that was the broken child of the expectation of my coming. By my side, Artanis kicked the hem of her gown, her face severe.

When we arrived home she left me alone in the room we shared, calling a messenger while I took a sheet of paper, a sharpened pen, and buried without rereading my stillborn love in a message that was as dry as my spirit in that silvery evening that held no splendor to my eyes.

My lord Maitimo,

the time of joy is the one that runs the quicker, and the end of the race comes unexpected and sudden. Two days from now I shall leave for Valmar, in my heart the memory of this season a precious and an unforgotten thing. To you goes my gratitude for the brilliance of the hours we have spent together; a memory that no distance can erase. And yet painful is the farewell, and bitter the thought of not delivering it in person. Still, such is the way this farewell has come; and before its sadness mars even our memory, I take my leave.
I remain,

Yours

Silmë

Beneath the seal I crushed what remained of my hope. I gave the envelope to the messenger, and went to sleep. I did not dream nor wake up until the next day, when the full power of Laurelin had already begun to wane. And yet, while I stood up, before me the empty bags to be filled for the next day, I felt that I had slept far too little.

Packing after a long visit is like tidily undoing the fabric of the days we spent. We throw away the papers, the flowers, the ribbons that were once precious; and what we bring back home is but what we brought from it, only sadder, blighted, a witness to something that we are bound to regret. But that we could not help abandoning.

The house was quiet that day, in the air the aftertaste of disappointment. Arafinwë made excuses and left for an important dinner with his wife, and I urged Findaráto and Artanis not to remain home. They had been invited to a reception I no longer cared for. Respecting my wish, they left. My bags ready, my hair loose, I sought the peace of the saloon, its wide glass doors thrown open on the garden; there Aikanár reached me, and together, our gestures tired in the excessive warmth of a glorious afternoon that slid unwillingly towards the mingling of the lights, we played draughts countless times waiting for the endless count of that day to end.

When we heard the knocking on the door, the prolonged sound of a call that would not be refused, I barely lifted my head, already too far in thought from Tirion to wonder. Some friend who had come to claim my cousin, no doubt. The Noldor can be impetuous, I have said that.

Aikanár rose to answer and I turned towards the garden, my eyes taking in the well known trees, the bushes, the path that had brought me to joy not so long before…but too long now. Too far, too late. I closed my eyes, and thought of home.

"Silmë."

Not a question. A statement. A voice I would answer had it been calling through fire and storm.

"Maitimo."

Dead hope that is reborn makes no sound. It does not wish to be deceived twice. Biding its time, it watches the events unfold, a suspicious light in its eyes.

Leaving the house behind we walked together towards the garden, our road already chosen by our feet. We did not speak. There was nothing in us of those whom, sumptuously dressed, had taken the same path a season before.

I was barefoot, my pantobles forgotten beneath my seat in the saloon. My loose hair fell untidily on my simple dress. Maitimo's shoes were stained with dust, the same fine grains clinging to his tunic, dimming its subdued reddish brown. Clothes to travel in. His hair escaped the braid that had hastily bound it, it spread in cloudy locks over his shoulders.

When we reached the pond we did not speak, nor did I sit on my accustomed bench. No courage in that moment, no fear. Only this wait. When he spoke, it was in a passionless voice.

"I overrode two horses to arrive in time."

Raising my eyes, finding his green stare.

"I am grateful you did."

"I have not come to say farewell."

"I cannot stay any longer."

"You cannot, or you will not?"

The fire. It burnt low, but it was there, it was in the tension of his shoulders as he bent over me, it was in his contracted face as I answered: "What would my lord wish of me that I have not already given?"

"Don't play, Silmë. Do not."

"No. I do not play. I only leave, because I have to; the time for playing is over."

"Shall this then be the end?"

"It is with you that the answers lies, not me."

So many words we waste, talking of truth. And yet it is so easy to tell, it slips off the tongue, like something of no importance. It hurts. But when we have renounced all comfortable lies, it is easy to find, because it is all that remains.

Maitimo looked at me, and the edge in his eyes cut me. The abyss, again. And this time I would look into it, or be swallowed whole.

"You do not know what you are asking for."

"I ask for nothing more than for a decision to be made. We had a season; now we will stand together, and put roots, or be swept away in different directions, as if we had never met."

"You saw the bitterness, you saw the sorrow. You saw it in me and in Artanis, and my uncle's gentleness cannot hide his own wounds. Mine is not a family that it is easy to be part of."

"Once you said my spirit blazed. I do not fear this, only the waste." I looked elsewhere, and my life stood before my eyes as clear as crystal. And as empty. "This seed was planted in me once. It shall not be born again."

"Can't you guess that for me it is the same? And yet I look at you, Silmë, and see a light that I do not wish to blight, that I cannot bear to dim. It was sweet to see by it for a while; but what my blood touches, it ruins."

"I do not care!" The words cut my mouth, my controlled despair broke its dam: "Look at me, Maitimo! Mine is the choice. Look at me, and forget the rest. Look at me, and tell me what is it that you ask of me now."

Words like knives, words like wind. Eyes that sought mine, and a hand that rose to touch my face. Reluctantly, until my fingers found it, and entwined with its own.

"Alcániel…"

Reasoned choices, choices unthought of. And the truth that slips off the tongue, as simple as the light.

"Remain. Not for a day, not for a season. For the eternity of the Eldar, remain with me."

Broken paths that eventually meet.

I let him embrace me, and his fire did not burn.

Chapter 5: Tell

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Chapter 5

Tell

I could not have counted the time that passed before Artanis and Findaráto came back, nor remember of it anything but a numbing, confused happiness that filled my mind, erasing all concern of past and future. Many things in life are pleasurable and sweet, many things can give us great joy, and crown our spirit with nobility; but only love can thus annihilate time and space, and cover our eyes as with a veil that makes the world a place we fear nothing from.

Such is the gift of love; and such is its curse. For when we look through the veil we forget that it is but a frail illusion, and that its mesh is too fine to withstand the blades of sorrow and ill times. When the veil is torn, when dreams are withered, and hopes scattered to the wind, then love is revealed as a destiny that it is hard to fulfill. But that still belongs to us.

Looking back on that evening, I can see now that we were under siege; I can recognize, with the useless wisdom of those who reflect on the past, that a path was traced for us where we would be but unwilling actors, given lines we did not wish to learn, and forced to utter them at the tip of a sword. But I did not see it then; and even swords had not yet been made, a secret and unaccomplished deed resting unfinished in Fëanáro's forge.

I look back, and I see again myself as I lean against his shoulder, his great hand holding mine, his eyes shining softly when I looked to them. Fate was kind then; and if it has been more joyful, and my love has shaded itself since then in all the colours of passion and sorrow, it is to the silent perfection of that moment that I return in thought, for I know that it was there that the knot was first tied.

We did not speak; in the touch of our hands all of our words had died. The warmth of the day faded, like a shawl falling off one's shoulders when the cold is tempered by gentler winds; and looking up I wished I could see the stars the eternal light of Aman obscured, and that I had only guessed through the breach in the mountains.

Light footfalls on the path announced the end of our solitude; and Maitimo rose, still holding my hand. A glance told me he would no longer delay nor hide in the shade of prudent words and half-truths our bond. A brisker pace joined the first, and I recognized Artanis' steps. Could she see the shadow upon us, even now? But his hand was in mine, and all my doubts had withered. Shadow or light, this was my place.

"Welcome home, cousins."

Joy filled Daro's smile as he saw us; he understood. So did Artanis; but in her tight lips I guessed her discontent, her uncertainty. In her eyes a foreboding had taken clear shape; but about it she uttered no word. And then a third one crossed the garden, and Findekáno came smiling from the house.

Maitimo's smile grew larger.

"Fino! Cousin and friend! Now my joy is complete. You came, perhaps, to say goodbye to a departing cousin; but I tell you now that soon Silmë will be back. And twice, then, cousin and friend to you, both in marriage and in blood."

Findaráto spoke, and certainly his words were of gladness, and his heart unfolded before us; but what he said I never heard. For I had steeled myself against the mistrust that I knew would be kindled in Artanis' eyes; but what I was not prepared for, what covered in ashes my newborn bliss, was something I would not have expected, and not even Artanis' wisdom could have guessed.

The smile died on Findekáno 's lips as he heard Maitimo's words, and fear flashed through them; fear and disbelief, and his voice, when he spoke again, was at once thick and uncertain.

"Certainly you joke, Russandol. How could what you say be true?"

Findaráto laughed.

"My little sister shall accuse me of blindness, cousin, but I see now that I am not as blind as you! Maitimo, your announcement comes, you shall forgive me, somewhat late; for all in the house of Arafinwë dared to hope one day to hear it."

"The only one that should seek pardon is I; for I delayed too long. But my lady was kind, and did not begrudge me my wait."

I met his eyes briefly, and the sparkle of merriness in them was fuel to my own joy. I clasped his hand tighter; and now he turned again to Findekáno , who stood in silence.

"Yes, Fino, I was secretive, and foolishly so; for I feared both myself and Silmë's answer. You won't, my friend, hold against me my silence?"

He offered him a hand, on his lips the same, jesting smile; but Findekáno drew away, shaking his head.

"Are you mad? Do you want strife to trouble our family again, to break us apart?"

Not even Findaráto smiled now; and a silence fell on the garden, crushing my peace. Holding my breath, I watched the cousin I had known and loved all my life, and I could not recognize him in the distorted features on his face. Findekáno battled to contain himself, rage and something I could not name lighting his eyes with a maddened fire. Maitimo looked at him as if he could not understand; and my voice was frail when I said:

"All that I can do to help divisions, Fino, I shall do…"

He turned on me with a fury that I never saw in him again; and his words were harsh, as alien to his usual self as to seem to belong to a different Elf.

"Be silent! Why did you ever come to Tirion? Why did you not leave before?"

Many things he could have added; many things he wanted to, and his eyes were ablaze. But shaking his head again, as if his emotion was too much even to speak, he turned and strode away; his steps purposeful with a decision that would allow no pardon. Maitimo looked at me, and nodding I let him go; he chased after him, and the two disappeared into the house.

Daro was silent, and worried; but when I looked to Artanis her eyes were dark, full of shadows. She said nothing, but I could feel her mind reaching out to mine, a touch as harsh as the burning timbers of a dying fire.

It has begun.

Findekáno did not come back. He refused to listen or answer to Maitimo's words; and before leaving the house of Arafinwë he only looked at him, and asked: "Why?" It was one word, but in it he put the weight of his nameless, reasonless despair. He did not wait for a reply. He left, and did not look back. But when Maitimo came to me in the garden, the sorrow in his eyes was tempered and made cutting by a fierce light. Taking my hand again, he turned to Findaráto: "Cousin, I would be obliged if you let me wait here for my uncle's return."

Daro nodded slowly, still uncertain about what had come to pass.

"Of course. But Fino – "

"He fears for new discord to arise of this. But what my father shall say is mine alone to face."

There was steel in his voice, a resolve that was not there before. For now the path was settled, and in following it he had no doubt.

"Findekáno shall see that I am no longer a child to tremble and wait for approval. The faults of fathers, and their hatreds, should not fall upon their sons."

A challenge were his words, and my blood stirred. We returned to the house, and what had happened was not mentioned again. Shortly Arafinwë returned; and his joy at the news was such to obliterate for a moment Findekáno's unexpected rage.

"Shall you not return to Valmar tomorrow then, Silmë?"

"Yes. But Nelyafinwë will come with me, to present himself to my father and seek his approval."

"I cannot think of my uncle posing obstacles to your happiness, my dear cousin. And if you were to return to Tirion afterwards, know that my house shall be open to you at a moment's notice. And of you, Nelyafinwë, I expect no longer to hesitate in coming here to visit us; not now that we shall hold your betrothed among us."

Maitimo bowed his head.

"I thank you, uncle; for soon I hope to lead back my promised, and present ourselves formally before the King my grandfather, as Fëanáro my father is now away."

The name had been pronounced; the as yet unnamed fear that had hung above our heads, the silent break that run through the great family of Finwë the High King. Arafinwë smiled uncertainly; consulting with his wife with a glance, he seemed to take courage in her strength. Eärwen turned to us, a light upon her face.

"The Lady Indis will have great joy of this. No doubt, the king shall give his blessing."

She had cups and wine brought; and they drank our health. Turning I caught our reflection on a great mirror hanging on the wall; my cousins resplendent in their formal robes, while Maitimo and I among them stood out for the simplicity of our clothes. In the mirror I met Artanis' eyes, and now they were unreadable. I could see that her mind was troubled; and she was weighing the present and future on sharp scales.

I accompanied Maitimo to the door, walking with him until the gate where a season before I had greeted him. We were alone; and night surrounded us with its pale silver, its moist air.

"Great sorrow and great joy this day has brought, and I can scarcely believe we are here now." I took his hand, bringing it to my face. "I fear that if I do not hold you you shall dissolve, and all this will have been nothing but the dream that a grieving mind has woven to console itself."

He smiled; a smile that was together kind and determined.

"Fear not; for now words have been spoken that will not be taken back. All of our fears shall dissolve; all of our doubts proven vain. I have walked too long in the shadow of this endless strife; but now this joy I claim for myself."

He took my face between his hands, bending over me; his glance caressing my features, as if seeking an answer to a question he had no need to utter.

"Alcániel…"

In his voice I was born again. The touch of his lips on mine was delicate, but in it, as in all of his gestures, I felt his contained strength, the warmth of his spirit. His gentle fire. His arms encircled me, and I wished I could melt into him, and our flesh become one. We tasted each other for the first time, and when he left me I remained at the gate, watching him go; and the remembrance of his touch remained on my skin, its heat unfading.

I returned to the house with a slow pace, letting the idle breeze that had suddenly raised its fingers play with my hair. When I reached the house my cousins had already gone to bed; and I climbed the stairs to the room where I slept expecting Artanis to be already beneath the covers, her back turned on me. But my cousin and friend was fully awake, her hands busy folding clothes and brushes she put into a great bag. She raised her head when I came into the room, but otherwise did not acknowledge my presence. She kept packing.

"What are you doing, Nerwen?"

Her glance met mine briefly, and her voice was curt when she answered: "You shall need somebody to accompany you tomorrow. If you would prefer Findaráto to drive you in the carriage, you have but to ask."

"But surely you would not…?"

Silence. Her swift fingers folded a linen mantle.

"Artanis – "

"Do not thank me, Silmë. I have wished in vain for this not to happen, I have tried in vain to prevent it. I have failed. Dark are my thoughts, and darker the future I can guess, although it still is nothing more than a misshapen threat."

"And yet you will come with us."

Her hands were still. Another would have sighed; not Artanis, to whom any such manifestation of resignation was unknown. She looked at me, and in her eyes the shadows were not dispelled, but a streak of sudden understanding made them kinder.

"This choice was yours to make; and I shall not deny you this happiness, as black as the horizon appears to my eyes. For once, I hope the Valar would prove me wrong; and the Powers know the House of Finwë has not known enough of love, and too much of strife."

With a brisk movement she drew the strings of her bag, and knotted them.

"Besides, this betrothal shall anger greatly Fëanáro. And where he is displeased, my pleasure cannot but flower."

She met my eyes, her fine eyebrows raised. A bitter smile stretched her lips; but a smile still.

"Can I hope of you ever to trust Maitimo?"

The smile grew thinner; and the clouds gathered again in her glance.

"Nelyafinwë loves you," she said after a moment, her voice determined, "This much I know. And yet the shadow of his father is upon him, and of such a legacy he cannot hope to free himself. Remember this, Silmë: that poets lie. Love cannot conquer all."

Her words echoed of truth; and for a long moment they silenced me. The foreboding was over me, like a veil dropped over my brilliant joy; but I shook my head, and denied its power.

"It shall conquer over this strife. Maitimo and I will be joined in marriage, and our spirits never parted again."

"So be it."

More than a wish, less than a curse. Artanis could not yet see far in those days; but in desires and dreams already she could recognize the promise of what would come to pass, whether we willed for it or not.

I banished from my mind the undertones of her fear, and taking a comb tended to my tangled hair. The carven mother-of-pearl felt heavy in my hand, for it was Findekáno that had presented me with it. My thoughts went to him, to his strange behaviour, his unforeseeable wrath. Artanis guessed my thoughts; but when I looked to her, she shook her head.

"It is not on you that lies the key to his discontent, nor indeed to his renewed friendship; and it is not for me to say what has caused it."

"And yet you know it?"

"I guess it; but my guess was begot in days far from this. A haze has fallen on these times, and my thoughts are confused. I could be mistaken."

"This I doubt; even if by saying so I lend reality to the menace that has grown in your mind."

"And yet, if I were to wish for error to trouble me, and prove me false, it would be that. Not on you, not on Maitimo alone hangs the shadow. A reckoning draws nearer, and its threat is made larger by its obscurity. I cannot discern what lies ahead, only I know that sorrow will come from it, and the light of Valinor shall be blighted."

A season before such words would have awakened a fear as yet unknown into my mind; but now the bitterness that had found roots even in Aman had touched me, and recognizing its tainted print as it spread even into the future brought me no surprise.

"Once I believed those who said no better fate could have waited for us but the life we live here. Now I ask myself whether this light was ever pure."

My words sounded alien to my own ears; and Artanis came closer, touching my shoulder to comfort me.

"Light shall never fail completely; not as long as we live. And into the circles of the world we cannot die. Console yourself, cousin and friend; for there is joy awaiting you, even if a price will have to be paid for it."

I looked to her; and my smile mirrored hers.

"I am not afraid. When the reckoning shall come, I will be ready."

Her eyes narrowed; and she nodded, recognizing my determination as hers.

"For this, and this alone, we can all hope."

She kissed me on the cheek and unmade the bed, readying it for sleep.

"A long journey awaits us tomorrow; we had better rest. The present may still be bright, and the time that is left us shine."

Time. I looked out of the window, to the trees asleep into the silver light. The world held its breath until the morning; and when the day is risen, you can no longer hide. I listened to Artanis' words, and went to sleep; the memory of Maitimo's touch on my skin a portal into a world of kind dreams.

Chapter 6: Family

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Chapter 6

Family

The next morning came announced by a slight cooling of the air, no more of a breath of wind stealing in from the window. It caressed my feet that the light sheet had left bare, it played with Artanis' disordered hair. It tickled our eyelids inviting us to see the slow marvel of the mingling of the lights.

I opened my eyelids on a wet, silvery world, the birds still asleep on the branches of the trees, the light a promise not yet gilded by Laurelin's return. Artanis looked at me with eyes that were still hungry for further dreams, but nodding slightly she pushed the cover away and rose, her fingers combing her tresses with automatic gestures.

"Better to rise early than late."

I nodded my assent in silence, reaching out for the dress I had prepared before going to bed. A long journey awaited us. Soundlessly we prepared, gathering those bags which had still not been brought downstairs, taking shawls against the light breeze. I washed my face, and meeting my eyes in the mirror I sought a difference, something that would tell the world of the changes. This morning I knew he would come; this morning my happiness lay near to my fingertips, so close that I could almost touch it.

But there were no differences; or at least none that I could see with my naked eyes. Later my mother would tell me that I looked sadder and wiser than when I had left for Tirion, and that my eyes shone with a feverish light. To this day I do not know if it was true, yet another landmark on the road to our downfall, or if the insight of those who look back painted me in her memory with a shadow borrowed from the future.

But in that watery morning none of this was yet in my mind, and every foreboding was forgotten in the clouded hour after one has woken, as my spirit looked forward to the day that lay ahead, a ribbon that could gleam with gold or be buried in dust. In that moment, I gathered part of my hair and bound it with a comb, and followed Artanis downstairs. I left behind the unmade beds, the room that had housed our whispers and dreams during that season looking forlorn in the cold light.

In the kitchen my cousin had already laid out a substantial breakfast, honey and bread, milk and cream, biscuits and cake. A basket had been left out for us, containing our lunch, for we would have to travel all day to reach Valmar before the second mingling of the lights. As we ate I strained my ears, listening out for the rhythmic beat of hoofs on the road. Artanis noticed it and scoffed.

"He will come, fear not."

I smiled.

"I know. But home seems still so far. And father's surprise when I will tell – "

Father. For a moment his face floated before my eyes, Olorimo the proud who had never accepted Fëanáro's treatment of my aunt. Olorimo who had never hidden his wish that Indis had stayed among the Vanyarin. But Olorimo who had only me as a child; and past his sternness, that made him so close to his cousin Ingwion, I well knew that his heart was kind. I well knew that, even if he had not approved of his sister's marriage, still he had quietly envied her great family, her many grandchildren.

I lay the thought aside, reassuring myself, picturing my mother, half Noldor herself. Her people had long intermarried with those of Tirion, she had grown knowing the splendor and the skill of the craftsmen, the immense lore of the masters of the people of Finwë. Falwing would understand; Falwing would look to the son and Fëanáro and see the gentle flame that burnt in him. Or so I hoped; for after Findekáno's wrath nothing more seemed certain beneath the light of the Trees.

A shiver run down my spine, the slice of cake in my hand forgotten; and Artanis laughed briefly, rapping my knuckles.

"Such a close attention you paid, when he was not coming. Now he's here, and you have not noticed it."

I was torn from my reflection, brought back to the reality where a horse neighed in the courtyard, impatiently beating its hoofs to the ground. I cleaned my fingers with a napkin, my gestures nervous, and my feet ran the short way out into the orchard, and then, past a stone arch, into the courtyard where the grooms had stopped loading Artanis' small carriage to take care of Maitimo's horse.

He saw me as I came towards him, he smiled handing over the reins. I was breathless without knowing why; or perhaps knowing it all too well as his smile mirrored mine, as his hand stretched out to take mine in greeting, and a thousand needles burnt into my veins with his touch.

Indeed, in that morning he looked the grandson of Finwë, third in the line for the throne, his garments rich with velvet and silver, deep vine and emerald to show the world his rank. His black horse was saddled and bridled with gems, its coat shining like obsidian even in the pale light. The copper circlet I had sometimes seen him wear encircled Maitimo's forehead, and his auburn hair was braided with thin red ribbons shot with gold.

He saw me take in his attire, so different from the dusty clothes he had worn the evening before; and he smiled as if in apology.

"When one rides to the city of the Valar to ask in marriage a niece of the King, one should dress at his best."

I laughed.

"Even if you were dressed in rags I would not believe my fortune in bringing you to my house."

"Even if you were not a lady of the Vanyarin all the gems of the Noldor would not be sufficient for a worthy bride price."

Our banter fell into a silence that was like the quiet after a sudden wind; and slowly he bent over me, his fingertips caressing my cheeks, his lips seeking mine in a kiss that was like the touch of a gentle rain.

All too soon we detached, to find Artanis, her arms crossed, watching us from the stone arch, on her lips the cutting smile that was usual to her.

"We had better bring you two to Valmar soon, or Olorimo could find himself with grandchildren sooner than he would expect to."

Unoffended, Maitimo bowed to her in jest.

"Nerwen, my cousin, today even your sharp mind cannot touch me, and indeed I am so grateful to you for accompanying us that you could mistreat me all day with your wit, and I am afraid I would be too glad of my present state to notice."

Artanis scoffed; but her eyes, at least for a moment, were devoid of the bitterness that filled them every time she laid eyes on a Fëanárion. Putting on her gloves she caressed her mare, already joined to the cart, and mounted taking the reins. I checked for the luggage before sitting beside her, and Maitimo took back his horse. In a moment we were ready to go, the tall wheels of the carriage rolling smoothly over the flagstones, the hoofs a monotonous drumming on the pavement .as we travelled across the silvery dawn down the sloping roads of Tirion the White.

That day passed like a long dream, a song of broken verses and conversations left halfway through as we made our way beneath a clear sky. Artanis drove, as was her custom, with the reckless passion for speed that was usual to her; her mare enjoying the race as much as she did, her cheeks flushing scarlet as she clasped the reins. Beside the small carriage, Maitimo ran; his hair gleaming copper in the light wind.

Not even a day had passed since the tables had been turned, not a day since the withered promise of my joy had bloomed. Leaning back into the seat I looked around, the inland kingdom of the Valar like a fan spread beneath the lazy curls of a hot day. Sometimes Artanis would concede the horses some rest, the gallop would slow down to a playful canter. Then I would meet my betrothed's eyes – so strange it was to think of him as such, like cloaking him in borrowed garments. In them the sparkle of his happiness would shine, and every difficulty ahead would be forgotten.

It was towards the second mingling of the lights that the opal walls of Valmar, city of the Maiar, rose in front of us, pearly shields against the last of Laurelin's gold. The last song of the birds of the day echoed from its secret gardens, and the songs of my people joined it. The light of the Powers here was strong and pure; and the guardians at the gates greeted us with voices that rung loud and cheerful. Well known was Artanis' carriage, that many time had brought me home, or come to visit.

We greeted them back; but it was with dubious faces that they saw our companion. The intense colour of his clothes, his proud demeanour spoke of his Noldorin origin; the star embroidered upon his horse's saddlecloth, of his house. The Vanyar are the smallest of the peoples of the Elves, and all of them live within Valmar. Rarely do we marry into the other kins of the Eldar, and if we like to pretend that pride is farthest from our thoughts than any other thing, still with blank, untrusting eyes many of us shall look upon strangers that seek to pass the walls, and tread upon the shining streets of the city the Valar love above every other in Arda.

My people lived believing themselves the most perfect among the Elves, sole possessing wisdom and might; but too often I would ask myself if obedience and cowardice shall not mix, when a faithful heart is turned weak by unquestioned silence. Long before their downfall, the Noldor sought paths of their own, carved their lives in splendor untarnished even by their evil. For all the ages of the world the Vanyar would cling to their city, and not look beyond.

Artanis did not heed the guards' surprise, she drove on steadily, on her cheeks the sheen of her blushing the last trace of the day's warmth. My house was one of the last, a white building lain in emerald lawns like a toy forgotten on the hand of a green giant. The gates stood open in welcome, the garden breathed in the first coolness of the evening. Flat bowls held the pale jewel of the flame of small candles.

We left the carriage in the main path for the grooms' care, walking past the double doors that had been left open in welcome. I beckoned Maitimo to wait here, looking back to his smile as he leant against the doorpost as to the promise of the future past this moment when all hanged in the balance of my parents' approval. Artanis by my side, I walked down the hall, calling.

"Mother! Father!"

They were waiting for us in the back garden, the table laid for us among the jasmine hedges. My father rose to greet us, his powerful arms embracing me, his dark blue eyes scanning my face.

"Silmë."

He needn't say anything else. Many I would meet taller, more strongly built than him, but my father has remained in my eyes the same image of unconquerable power he was when I was but an Elfling that totteringly, clinging to his gentle hand, moved her first steps. The ages of the world could change, beauty disappear in the withering of times; but when now the regret for Aman comes to shade my heart with new pain I think of Olorimo clad in white, upon his stern lips a smile as he greeted me home. Somewhere past a Sea that is now closed to me he lies, and sometimes a fear that is almost a prophecy comes to me, that we shall not meet again as long as Arda may endure; and yet from such a thought I take a comfort that is as bitter as it is necessary to me in my exile.

My mother was a Telerin far more than one of the Noldor, in her face the kindness, the talent for love that belongs to that people. No desire for power or supremacy, no thought of brilliance that could go beyond the love and respect of those she held dear herself. Falwing had a gift for taking pleasure from simple things; and if she regretted the life she had led as an elleth on the edge of the waves before the stranger from Valmar came to bring her away, she hid it well. Strong she was, and lithe, in all of her gestures a grace that was wondrous even among the Elves. Watching her walk was like watching a dance.

"Artanis. You brought our daughter home."

It was the sharp edge to my cousin's smile that sealed my resolve, that told me that I could not put farther from me the chance of their anger at my choice. Breathing deeply, I let a smile crease my mouth, and my words were smooth where my spirit was rough with fear. I searched their faces, afraid of discovering in them the same opposition Findekáno had showed.

Taking my mother's hands in mine, I spoke.

"Long has been the season I have spent away from home, and great has been the joy I have found in the house of my cousins. And yet such a joy I expected when I set out, and it was but another thread in a tapestry that is already rich. But new things have come of my stay, and of them I will tell you immediately, for if of my choice I feel I will never repent, still without your approval it would be a happiness acquired at a harsh price."

Their eyes questioned me, and with steps that were secure only at their appearance I went into the house, and led Maitimo to them holding him by the hand. He bowed to my father with the measured courtesy of somebody who knows to speak to an equal; and never would our peoples look so different or so far as then, as when Olorimo stood for the first time by the son of Fëanáro, and looked at him in disbelief.

"Father and mother, this is Nelyafinwë, son of Curufinwë, nephew of the King. To him I gave my love, and my pledge."

My father's eyes had turned to ice.

In my memory our dinner that evening has remained like a stain, a confused dance that was the clash of wills and prejudice beneath the polish of a conversation that never became less than polite. My father and my betrothed met in each other their match; and if the first would not look at the second in any other light than in the shadow cast by his father's name, only then, watching Maitimo refusing to yield, did I for the first time fully realize the love that he bore me.

For where Olorimo's words often played on the edge of bitterness, as his talk filled with the phantom of past and present divisions, the fierce light that would one day become ferocious was kindled in Maitimo's eyes, and firmly he did not stray from his path. He ignored the resentment of the brother of Indis, he pretended his prejudice did not ring so loud in his words; and when the dinner was over, and my mother went to give orders for a chamber to be prepared for him, I looked from one to the other, recognizing in both a pride that was close kin with stubbornness. But glad, even as my gladness was still measured by the frantic beats of my heart with my fear, that none of them would diminish himself, or consent to be slighted.

Olorimo took one last cup of wine; and as he sipped it let his last weapon in their silent fight fall.

"What did your father think of your intentions, Nelyafinwë?"

"My father is not in Tirion now. First, we thought it wise to ask for your consent."

In saying this he let his hand alight on mine, looking at me in confirmation of his words. I nodded, and smiled.

"Arafinwë was the only one to know; and indeed, father, our promise was spoken but yesterday."

Our, us; the words were a novel and powerful melody to my ears. I savoured them as I spoke them; but then saw my father's eyes, and the flash of rage and pain that crossed them touched my heart with fingers of ice.

Before I could speak again, he rose, and courteously wished us a good night. He disappeared inside the house, and looking to Maitimo without speaking I rose myself and followed him. But he would not let me reach him; he locked the door of the library behind his back, as he did when he wished to think of something that had worried or upset him.

I remained standing in the middle of the hall, anger and sadness troubling my heart; and I did not hear my mother coming, startling at her gentle touch on my hand.

"Silmë."

The light of the Sea filled her eyes, and I let her embrace me, stroke away the uncertainty and the sadness, quench the anger with the kind touch of her hands on my hair.

"I feared he would act so."

She took my face between her hands, smiling sadly.

"For a long time now he has wished you would find a mate, and give us the joy of grandchildren. None in Valmar would catch your eye, and of this we were sad; hoping that perhaps one of my kin would one day come for you, as one of the Vanyar had come for me. Little love has your father for the Noldor, and Fëanáro's name speaks to him only of his sister's troubles. But it seems to me that Nelyafinwë shines of an entirely different fire, and closer to his mother and her kin, beloved of the Lord Aulë, than to the unhappy blood of Mìriel."

"Of this I cannot say; but what I know is that looking back to the years before I met him I feel as if I had been an harp left hanging from the branches of a tree, for the wind to play in its strings, and produce but a hollow and a sad music; but now chords are touched in me that were silent before, and the music that fills my heart when my eyes meet his is the one I was born to play."

She smiled, and on her face passed like a fleeting light the remembrance of springs long past.

"Such was my heart, such my spirit when I met your father. Let his anger abate; and I shall speak to him. Much of his grief comes from the knowledge that now you shall leave us, and abandon Valmar of the bells; but if you will return to Tirion, and seek your aunt's consent, he will not hinder you. He loves you dearly, and if happiness for you may be found only beneath the star of the House of Fëanáro, so be it."

I embraced her again, my words failing me, my anger taking the shades of melancholy as I recognized the truth of her words. It is the way of the world that children grow to abandon their fathers, but even the wise will be sad when the day comes.

My mother left me, and I walked back to the garden, seeking Maitimo. The great glass doors of the library stood half open to the evening breeze, and a lamp burnt behind them. Silently I came to the bushes that protected them, and listened for the familiar pacing back and forth that was my father's way of bridling his discontent. But it was his voice that I heard instead, and Artanis'.

"…many would call it a good match, and the House of Finwë is great. But I have no need to tell you, niece, what is the shadow that hangs over the Fëanárions' name."

"You know well what my dealings with my uncle have always been, and that no love lost there is between us. And indeed I have in many ways trying to prevent this to happen, telling Silmë freely of my suspicions and my mistrust. But she would not be moved; and impeding her would have caused her nothing but pain. I yielded; and what may come from this I do not know."

"My daughter always possessed a strong will; it came from me, and you, who resemble her in this, know it well. I do not blame you, and indeed nothing but good came to my ears of Nelyafinwë, whatever the misgivings that shall always surround his father. But in his features I read a similarity that troubles me, and too much has my sister suffered at the hands of the Noldor for me to let my daughter go so lightly."

An iron fist had closed around my throat, and my breath was held until Artanis spoke again, her words now harsh with distaste.

"What would you do then? Forbid her to marry?"

"No, for it would be a vane and a painful thing, and it would bring nothing but a sundering between us. I can see the love in her eyes, a flame I feared I would never see kindled. And yet I cannot ignore the voice of my spirit, that tells me that of his union nothing will come but pain."

They were the same words Artanis had uttered, and I feared she would seal his foreboding now with hers, and I be doomed to a choice that would tear me apart; but after a moment my cousin and friend spoke again, and now with a reluctance that could not hide the certainty in her words.

"Not pain alone; for even if I doubted at first, and could see nothing but shadows, still now I recognize that my cousin is sincere. Nelyafinwë loves her of the same love, and what he can do to prevent grief from touching her, he shall do. We were born to follow paths woven for us ere the world was made, uncle; and if pain be Silmë's lot, neither you nor I can avoid it, as much as our affection would push us to try. And dark times lie ahead, for all of our kind; those who can find joy in the present should be allowed to taste its sweetness as long as it lasts."

I could scarcely believe she had spoken such words, and risen in defense of an union she had so bitterly opposed. Similar to mine must be my father's surprise, for it was the aftertaste of his silence, a palpable question hovering in his reflection. When he spoke again, it was in guarded tones.

"I know well which insight blesses your views, niece, and it would be foolish of me to pretend your words do not touch me. Valinor is changing even as we speak now, and you are not alone in discerning a new taste in the light that was once so pure. When evils before unknown to us prepare, perhaps we should hesitate in hindering the fruits that happiness can still bear. But let us sleep now, and seek an answer to our questions in the silence and the counsel of repose."

They rose; and quickly I walked away, ashamed at having listened, and yet trembling with mingled hope and fear from what I had heard. The shadows were gathering, Artanis had told me that; and now in my father's own words they acquired a new reality, a new threat. And yet from such troubled thoughts seemed to come the chance for my father's approval, a last bid for happiness before light failed. I knew not what anguished me more, whether the unnamed grief that loomed ahead, or the certain one that could come from Olorimo's refusal to give his consent.

But when I came to a lawn where weeping willows sang in the breeze with the rustling of their leaves, and saw Maitimo waiting for me between the canopy of their branches, all doubts, all fears deserted me, and a joy that was boundless and needed no other fuel but his sight to exist flourished in my mind.

I walked to him, each of my steps surer; and when my fingertips touched his offered hand I knew this was my only place. He took me in his arms, and long we lay together on the grass, as I listened to his heart beat.

Chapter 7: Consent

Read Chapter 7: Consent

Chapter 7

Consent

We spent two days in my parents' house, two days in the shadow of my father's silent discontent. We rode out into the fields surrounding Valmar, tiring our horses as the light slipped by, the warmth of the season a cloak around our shoulders. We dared not abandon the city altogether, although the coldness that I could see in Olorimo's eyes when he gazed at us weighed heavily on me, and turned what had always been my home into a place where I was no more than a guest. My choices had torn me away from there. My future lay in Tirion.

Artanis' words were in my mind the only road that pointed to hope, a way out of the impossible stalemate between my will and my father's. And as I waited I forgot that new shadows lay ahead; I forgot not to remember until it would be too late. But back then Maitimo's eyes were the edges of my world; and the right to belong to him in body as I already did in spirit was the only thing that mattered.

My mother kept her word: quietly her voice argued for my sake, my happiness held high before my father as the prize he could secure showing himself to be wiser and nobler than the hatred that had divided him from his brother-in-law, and from his blood. The name of Fëanáro was never spoken; nor did the thought of him ever fall much behind my concerns. Away in one of his expeditions to explore the limits of Aman, the far shores of Ekkaia uninhabited by Eldar or beast, he still knew nothing of what had come to pass. But a wise warrior shall face his battles one by one, and I sat to eat in front of my father knowing that this field would have to be conquered ere another be fought for.

In silence I endured, never asking, affecting not to suffer when Olorimo left the corridors for a room he locked me out of when we met in the house; pretending not to feel the bitter edge of his disapproval as his eyes grazed me and then swiftly looked away, as if offended by something unworthy of their gaze. Maitimo saw what was happening, and felt its bite even as I did; but I silenced his concern for me with kisses that awakened in us desires till then silent, and space and time were lost as his fingers caressed my skin.

Artanis did not discuss again the matter with my father, nor, indeed, with me. She had acquaintances in Valmar, and disappeared for long hours at their houses, bridling her own mistrust, as if surprised herself at which side she had chosen to stand for. When at night we lay down to sleep in my room, which we shared, she would say nothing of our wait, nor reveal to me what of my father's heart she could guess. She had chosen not to oppose me; but the reasons of her help remained sealed in her heart, behind the blue wall of her eyes.

My friend still; taking my hand when hesitation made it tremble. Often I have asked myself whether she ever regretted those days in Valmar of the bells, those days when still many could think of a different fate for Silmë of the Vanyar, a fate where Nelyafinwë Fëanárion would have been but a remembrance marred by a bitter end.

But on the third evening of our stay Olorimo filled his vessel with clear wine, and when he raised it it was with a tight smile on his lips.

"I drink to my daughter's health. And to the nephew of Finwë, her betrothed and beloved."

Joy inside my heart, like a flower blooming. But sadness in my mother's eyes, like a promise of frosts to come.

***

We left Valmar for Tirion the next day. There was a King to see, and a father returning to wait for. Arafinwë's offer was accepted, my own carriage readied with new gifts for my cousin. As I locked again my possessions in bags and trunks I looked around, the chamber that had always been the shell of my dreams, and felt that now it did not belong to me anymore. Ahead I had gone; and now my safety did no longer lie within these walls.

My luggage was brought downstairs, I let one last gaze hover about the furniture, like a veil dimming away the hours of glee, locking them in the past. Here I had been happy; now, I was alive. As I descended the stairs I shedded my old self, like a snake shall change its skin when new times come. And on the threshold, I hesitated; for for long ages this had been the only life I had known, and the future ahead was a path leading through darkness to an uncertain light. But then, past the threshold, waiting for me on his horse, I saw Maitimo; and my heart beat as it had not done before.

I had thought happy the years I had spent in Valmar, thinking myself complete, as my blood flowed quietly, a silent song. But now each of his caresses was a new birth, and the world was revealed in different and novel colours; not all of them pleasant, not all of them kind; but all of them real. I had opened my eyes. And if a day should come when a price should be demanded for this knowledge, for this intensity bordering on pain, I would pay it without regret.

It is a promise I have kept. Now I know love can flay you, forcing you to live without skin in a world that is harsh and raw. But when I look back on the evenness, the serene aloofness that was mine before that day in the gardens of Tirion, I repent not. For as long as we know not what it is to live this different life, than we can trick ourselves into thinking that we lack nothing; but once we have seen which heights belong to those who fly together, then any earth is but the aborted promise of a lost sky.

He had not seen me. I lingered one moment more, taking in his strength as he restrained his fiery horse, Laurelin's light setting on fire the red gold around his neck, the embroidery on the saddlecloth. Making his hair one flame in the gilded morning. A flame, yes. But no fell fire.

He turned to me, and as he saw me he smiled. Love that we nourish in secret shall live of its own bliss, and devour our heart with a raging, a desperate need. But love that we share will tell us that we have not lived in vain.

I stepped past the threshold and into the light, towards his offered hand.

My father did not come out to see us depart.

***

Our return in Tirion was greeted by Arafinwë with joy, and the High King called us to him the very next day. Finwë was beloved among his people, his wisdom trusted to solve all their disputes, his memory, rich with remembrances of a forsaken earth beneath the stars, one they committed their secrets to. Not from him had come the fire that lit the Fëanárions, for his spirit was proud, but tempered by gentleness, and in him was the capability for great love.

That was his undoing, for I would learn that Finwë was not one to live in eternal solitude, but not one to forget either. When he took in marriage Indis of the Vanyar he did so seeking an antidote to his pain, for the living flame that Mìriel his wife had been kept consuming him long after she had departed for those Halls that have no escape. And in her son he saw that flame alive; and his preference for Fëanáro, the love that he bore him he could never hide. Nolofinwë, father of Findekáno, who possessed not Arafinwë's meekness to accept such a state, lived in bitterness he could not conceal, and his love for his brother and his father was streaked with despair.

But Finwë's talent for loving enabled him to recognize such a passion in others; and when we sought his approval we met with his smile. For us he had had a sumptuous lunch prepared in the gardens of his palace in Tirion, and he would hardly lose time with a formal request for approval. He listened to Maitimo's speech, a kind light in his eye, before rising to embrace us both.

"Your happiness comes from the place hence mine was renewed, grandson. And Silmë, my niece in marriage, has long been dear to my heart, for all that are close to my queen are close to my own spirit. No, not a happier union could I have devised, had I set out to unite once again the kins of the Eldar, that too long have been sundered. I wish you great joy; but I see that between you it is already kindled."

There was a brightness in Finwë that exacted one's trust; and for that morning his fierce son, whose return could not now be much far, was forgotten as we ate and drank, and sang in the shade of the trees that made his garden a small wood, a place where to lie down and sleep, seeking wisdom and rest in undisturbed dreams.

When the midday had passed the King and Maitmo turned to long talks of the people of Tirion, of their hopes and their lives in that time where the King himself, I guessed in his eyes, foresaw a shadow that he refused to acknowledge. Indis then rose, and exchanging a glance with me, smiled to her husband.

"Gladness is in my heart at the thought that soon your blood and mine shall mingle again, Finwë, my husband and king; and yet for one last time let me take my own family for a private talk. It has been long since the last time I saw my niece without any other present; and I see that you shall not miss us."

Finwë smiled back.

"It would be impossible not to feel that the light of the day is diminished, when such a fair company leaves us. And yet your wishes become mine as soon as they leave your lips."

He took her hand, and kissed her gallantly on the fingers; and the shade of Indis' pleasure was a deeper shadow on her pale cheeks. I looked elsewhere, feeling the strength of their bond; and then I met Maitimo's eyes. We knew then that such was our only desire: to stand one day witnesses to the newly born love of others, while we celebrated the ages that ours had withstood. In that fair day, it seemed a simple thing to ask for.

We departed, seeking in silence our path beneath the canopy of leaves. Soon we left behind the others; and Indis turned to me, in her eyes an equal measure of pain and pleasure. The similarity she shared with my father stung me, their eyes the same violet riddle, their skin the alabaster that in me had been tempered by my mother's Telerin honey. Severe Indis looked, like a blade sharpened until it becomes scarcely visible; and unconquerable, untouchable. Of her granddaughters Aredhel alone had inherited such a quality, her beauty cold and distant, her glance steel. Now such a glance my aunt let rest on me, and I was pained.

"If reproach I am to find in your words, aunt, speak quickly, so that all the grief may pass through me like one flame. I would not dwell on your disapproval; for Olorimo your brother showed me its bitterest edge."

"As much I expected. You alone were begotten of his blood and his love with Falwing, and it was easy to foresee that the day you would leave him would be one of pain for him, even if he knew that your happiness should be put first."

"And yet had I married one born and raised in the city of the Maiar, he would not have hesitated, even if his heart regretted my departure."

Indis did not reply, but looked at me, her face blank. At long last, she spoke again.

"You have no need of me to confirm that you are right. Indeed, he would not have hesitated, but rejoiced to see his grandchildren grow in the wisdom of the Powers, and in the quiet of Valmar of the bells. But you chose a fiery light over the cold one that had nurtured you; and of such a light Olorimo has no understanding, but suspicion made sharp by fear."

We had come to a secluded spot, a mossy bench beneath the great, dark branches of a cedar. We sat, and my answer was uttered in a voice made heavy by melancholy, and bitter by bridled rage.

"But of such a light he knows nothing. He that found love on the edges of the Sea shall begrudge me a marriage into the kin of the King?"

"Many are unreasonable when it comes to those they love and hate; and there are not a few that would not call your father stubborn had he not given his consent. The Noldor burn of passions that the Vanyar never cared to cultivate; and where we take pride into our obedience, into the favour of the Powers that makes us one undistinguished heart that beats in unison, they find their fulfillment in the brilliance and the talent of the single Elf. And there are those who have called presumption such a pride."

"And yet Noldorin blood flows in my veins through my mother. This light is mine, even if I am of the Vanyar in the face of the world."

Indis smiled; a smile like the pale rising of Telperion when night comes.

"This Olorimo would like to forget; and this he cannot obliviate. He would have wished to keep close to him all those that he loved, and when I departed from Valmar his uncertainty was already born. But these years that have passed have strengthened him with resolve, and now he believes his mistrust to be rooted in truth."

She fell silent, and when I looked at her I saw her lips were pressed in a hard line. Her features had turned to stone; on her fair face a mask in which her grief had been petrified. I waited for her to resume talking, but when she would not I felt a cape of lead falling over our heads, the unspoken darkness made flesh and living threat.

"Aunt, you conceal your bitterness, and seek to pretend that you never had to suffer at the hands of Fëanáro, son of the king. But even if my father would not utter his name, still I knew that it was his shadow that made his face dark."

She brought her eyes to me; eyes calm and unyielding, but cold. Beaten ash in them, the broken hope of a lost harmony.

"You love, and thus you believe your love shall be enough to conquer all. I shall not tell you to mistrust it; but only to seek in yourself the resolve to stand for it. Olorimo restrained himself out of regard and affection for you, and yet you felt the bite of his disapproval; but Fëanáro shall burn, and bear you an hatred I cannot set in words, and that will be begotten of his hatred for me alone. It grieves me that such an ill should fall upon your shoulders to bear."

Anger shook me.

"It grieves me that none shall look at what lies before them, but only at the shadows of the past! For Nelyafinwë is not Fëanáro, nor his is the fell spirit that has scorched you, and sundered the Noldor. And I am not you, but other; our destinies we shall forge with our own hands, and with our own will seek the way to happiness or doom."

There was compassion in her eyes when she looked at me; and she raised a hand to caress my face. I tensed, but did not shirk her touch.

"I wish one could escape the boundaries of one's blood, and mould new and different shapes from those that one's ancestors knew. Some may indeed break such a chain; but none that bears in his spirit the mark of Fëanáro shall ever be free of his majesty, nor of his shadow."

I made no reply. In silence I vowed I would be one of those who break free; in silence I vowed Maitimo and I would live to walk in our own darkness, or our own light.

Of the many vows I have broken it is the one I regret the most.

***

He held the door open for me as we walked into the kitchen. Behind us the orchard stretched out with its rows of newborn leaves into the indolent light of another warm day, while inside the stone walls let out a cool, almost chilly air. All was silence; a cat raised her head from the unlit fireplace, her eyes emerald gleams in the black of her silky fur. Maitimo stroked her, and she purred in delight, pausing only to sniff suspiciously my dress. Arching her back, she rose, and jumped gracefully on the floor, soon disappearing past the door.

"Is no one here?"

"The twins alone still live with my mother, but this afternoon they are with my grandfather."

I nodded in silence, letting him guide me through a small corridor, and into a luminous room. Everywhere was the chaos of somebody who cared not for order as others might understand it; a chaos not without its own grace. Among open books and discarded robes, partly concealed by unbound papers stood small statues or hurried sketches, that yet betrayed an art that I should never had been able to master.

There were no paintings hanging from the walls, but fantastic shapes and writings had been etched and scratched and painted upon them, clashing colours that solved themselves in an unlikely harmony that still spelt home. Plants had made their house in mismatched vases, some elaborately carved, their sides engraved with countless, minute details; while others in their elegant severity shone. Laurelin's light poured from windows as tall as the wall, their fine glass as subtle as air itself.

Here one could think of being happy; for in the air was the touch of a gentle and yet strong spirit.

Had I been alone, I would have lingered in contemplation of the carvings, I would have browsed the books, and admired the sketches, sitting on the floor and feeling as if time had stopped. Maitimo saw my desire, and smiled; for he understood I took to the mind that had created such things even in its print on them, and foresaw that we should rejoice of our time together.

Taking my hand, he led me past the glass doors and through the garden, to a smaller building draped in the violet sheets of flowering wisteria. As we approached I saw that it had no walls, but columns sustaining its roof; and the columns were joined by glass screens. Through them I saw Nerdanel for the first time, as she toiled in the shaping of a tall sculpture. I hesitated, lest we should interrupt her work; but without doubt Maitimo walked to the one open screen, and knocked lightly on a column. His mother lifted her eyes from the marble, and when she saw us her face lit with the smile I loved in her son.

In Nerdanel's workshop reigned the order she cared not to maintain in her house, and light was a pool on the inlaid floor. Through this pool she walked to us, tying back without art her long hair. In its copper I recognized Maitimo's own flaming locks, and his green eyes, now I saw, were hers. But something more had Nerdanel given him: and that was the gentle fire of her spirit. Without waiting for us to be introduced, she took me by my shoulders: looking at me with a keenness that reminded me of Artanis, but which lacked my friend's cold edge. Her long gaze over, she embraced me.

"Welcome."

We sat in curiously carved chairs, and she made us tea that she served in cups that had not been made to match. Her conversation was easy, her mind sharp; she asked of my family and of Valmar, and in her words no shadow could be found. Sometimes she would reach out to Maitimo, touching his shoulder with light fingertips, and they would share a look that told me that their bond was close and tight. And yet I was not excluded from it, for Nerdanel had the rare ability to partake of the joy of others, and make them share in her own; and the light that was kindled in Maitimo's eyes as he talked of our encounter seemed to suffice for her. No one thought of asking or giving permissions; and in that moment, in that place such a thing would have seemed unimportant, obsolete.

Time passed without a sound, light veering imperceptibly to silver, gold clinging to the tesserae of the mosaic beneath our feet, but its surrender now close. The cat came leisurely to join us, sitting in the lap of a carven sitting figure, a black bundle vibrating with regal authority as she surveyed us through half-closed eyelids. Soon we would take our leave; but it was easy to imagine coming back here, spending endless afternoons in chatter, or seeking the advice of one whose quiet wisdom was made only more compelling by her silent strength.

It was in that dusky hour when a day seems complete, its joy and its sorrows already laid out for the night in a tight knot, another fragment to add to one's tale, that footsteps echoed through the garden, and the cat bent her ears, silent and tense. Nerdanel's fingers tightened around her empty cup, and her eyes met Maitimo's in quick understanding. There was no time to ask; for in a moment the footsteps had reached the threshold, and when I turned I had no need to inquire the name of the one who had come.

His arms crossed, on his lips a mocking smile, Fëanaro son of Finwë leant against the column.

Chapter 8: Feanàro

Read Chapter 8: Feanàro

Chapter 8

Fëanáro

Many times, in the centuries that have passed since that day, people have asked me of Fëanáro son of Finwë, of his splendour and of his darkness. Sometimes without so many words; sometimes they would just cast a glance at me while we talked of the past. Because of my bond with his family they assumed I would know better than many; and because no blood bound us they believed I could speak more lightly than his own sons. The truth is that I never knew how to answer, and even now that mute ink is my voice and silent paper alone listens to me, the words escape me.

For Fëanáro resembled nothing as much as his own creations: the Silmarils that only later, and only once, I would see. When I first saw him I knew of the jewels but by fame, and of such a brightness and such a beauty I had had no conception in all the years of my life. Yes, Fëanáro was beautiful: the most beautiful of all the sons of Ilùvatar, so beautiful that when in years to come I would know Lùthien, daughter of Melian, I would see that in comparison to him her beauty was but a pale shadow.

A print of his fairness had passed to Maitimo; but his inner fire gave to Fëanáro a power that far exceeded the simple handsomeness of his shape. There was an intensity about him, a light that glowed, a flame unending and all-consuming that burnt in the black charcoal of his eyes. He shone, like a star that gives its own light; and his might was a tangible force even when, like now, he rested without moving. There was a sharpness to him, even more cutting than in my Aunt Indis; so fine as to be almost cruel.

Compelling is a frail word, almost a ridiculous one: but it draws closer to what Fëanáro could inspire. One felt attracted to him, in a way that went well past any possible definition of love and friendship and affection and desire, past all loyalty and devotion and admiration. One felt he could have commanded one’s heart, and have it pulsating in his hand. Such power not even the Valar possessed, for it came of a strength that they, too close to the matter of the One, could not fathom. In Fëanáro what Ilùvatar had conceived to be the majesty and the inner divinity of his Children, something not even the Ainur could foresee, was revealed full. And it hurt.

Nothing shall ever tell more of the might of Fëanáro, nor of the strength of Nerdanel, than the glance they exchanged in that moment, when their eyes met. For I saw her as taken by a sudden ill, her eyes burning with a feverish challenge. Against her will her body inched forward, as if craving for the touch it was denied; but her expression was hard, her spirit strong in reining itself back. She loved him still; she would love him forever. Her strength had freed her from the burden of their marriage, but it could not free her from her own spirit.

Fëanáro knew it; in his eyes mocking that came from this knowledge, but also a cutting regret. He desired her still; still he admired her courage and her talent. In himself, he was complete; but the better part of him had remained here. And yet too much was their pride for any of them to yield, too much the pain for any of them to bend their head and ask forgiveness. It would have been, again, but a war they were both doomed to lose. Not on this Earth they would find harmony; if harmony was for such spirits to be found in the whole of Eru’s kingdom.

I looked at Fëanáro, and was scared. A terror that was woven of the conscience of his might, a terror that had nothing to do with what he would do in the years to come. I would never fear him again; and what frightened me then was not derived from what he had done to my aunt, or from the power he possessed to crush my happiness. No, my terror had another root: the acknowledgement of the infinite possibilities that in his eyes were barely contained. For Fëanáro could have been, could have done, anything: and his majesty was too much for the boundaries of Arda. No measure, no rules, no limits for such a spirit. It is not to be marveled at, what he could achieve, or that he was the sole among the Elves that could awaken the wrath of the Powers. Fëanáro: to call him a spirit of fire was to use but a euphemism. I turned to Maitimo, and saw he had grown very white.

I understood then; that as his elder Fëanáro was the standard against which my beloved would always be measured, and forever found missing. I saw the truth of Indis’s words, and felt the pain for Maitimo. He deserved not such a fate; he belonged not to such a flame. He that I loved for his strength tempered by gentleness, he from which I craved a warmth that would not burn, should not let himself be trapped in such a legacy. But Maitimo never saw it. Maitimo never knew it. Slowly, he rose; on his lips not even the pretence of a smile.

“Father,” he said, his voice firm. “Well come. We expected you soon; that you have come yourself shall make matters easier. This is Silme Lirillë, daughter of Olorimo of the Vanyar; my beloved and betrothed.”

“It was true then; my father was not dreaming.” The mocking smile disappearing, Fëanáro uncrossed his arms, came towards us. He walked as if he owned the earth he trod; he walked as if he cared not for the world outside his skin. “I leave for a season, and such things Indis the Second Come manages to achieve. To corrupt my own son to the cause of her pusillanimous kin. To slip in his bed one of their colourless mares.”

Anger awoke in me, and my fear was forever forgotten. Rising myself, I curtseyed; but when I spoke my words were bitter and sharp.

“I would have said it was a pleasure to meet the father of the one I love; but if unkind is all you can be, and without reason, our conversation shall end here, son of Finwë.”

He turned on me his eyes, and now he looked amused.

“A fiery temper! Not so colourless then, Nelyafinwë. Perhaps that she should suffice with her fire for your lack of it?”

The humiliation took form in Maitimo’s eyes; but before I could reply Nerdanel rose herself. She was calm, the struggle I had glimpsed now petrified in her icy words.

“You came uninvited, Fëanáro; and if such are the manners you will be using in my house, I will ask you to leave. It may have suited you well to act to your own wishes, but not here. Silmë is to marry your son: to her you owe respect.”

“I shall remind you, Nerdanel, that even if you have claimed this house, in which we toiled together, for yourself, still Nelyafinwë is my son as much as yours. Without my consent no marriage shall take place; and no consent I will give. Too much already are the Noldor watered down with the blood of those who never could take a decision.”

Now wrath was kindled in Maitimo; and his voice rose with it. “I am no longer a child to wait for your wishes! In solitude I have come to my age, despairing ever to find a companion for it. And because you were away, the King himself granted permission: you would undo what your own father did?”

“My father listens to my counsel, nor would he act against it in a matter that touches me so closely. No, he was blinded once more by his Valmarin wife: for all the Vanyar touch is poison to me.”

My anger shook me; and clenching my fists I replied: “But not Indis am I! I care not for the hatred you may bear; for not you I would marry, but your son, in whom I love and find the fairness and the kindness you lack even in the first words you have ever uttered to me. If you shall consume your days in grudging discontent, and never glance at me with the affection others will have for those who complete their children in this life, so be it; but you shall not put yourself between me and the happiness I crave.”

“Vain words you utter, maiden of Valmar! For I shall not disobeyed, not in my own House; and it would take a spirit much stronger than Nelyafinwë’s to challenge my will. Or will you surprise me, son, you that seem to have had none of my talents? I should not be surprised of your choice of bride; ever you were a disappointment.”

Now I saw the abyss I had before only guessed opening in Maitimo’s eyes: now I saw the grief. But, a bitter smile on his lips, his irises darker, he said: “A disappointment indeed, your eldest neither smith nor hunter nor musician; and then if a disappointment I am, let me pursue my own way, since whatever path I may choose, it will prove unsatisfactory.”

Fëanáro smiled, shaking his head.

“Should I then let you go on the path you have chosen so lightly, your eyes made blind by beauty and desire? Should I relinquish my own son, because he has no judgement to see for himself? Should I not with my counsel correct his ways, however displeasing they may be to me even if I do so?”

“Forever you seek to mould those that surround you on your own wish, Fëanáro; but long past is the time since your son was but a sapling to grow in whatever angle the wind may blow. A choice he has made; and you would do well to respect.”

The son of the King fastened his eyes on Nerdanel, and her chin rose in defiance, countless words uttered between them in that tense silence. Long and long was their challenge protracted, the cat unmoving on its seat, looking from one to the other, its ears flattened. I dared not look to Maitimo, for I understood that from this clash of wills depended much of what would come to pass. Neither of them yielded, even if I saw the effort in her white fingers clasping the edge of the table. At last, Fëanáro spoke again.

“Yes, you would consent to this marriage, would you not, daughter of Mahtan? So that my son could be drawn farther from me, and under your wing yet again. Of all of them he is the one that resembles you the most, and the most unyielding to my touch.”

Pale was Nerdanel with wrath, but Maitimo spoke before her.

“Insult me not, father, even if you shall despise my lack of talent; insult me not, but recognize in me at least a mind of my own. Never had my mother met Silmë before this day, nor ever were we together before the Queen Indis before we went to my grandfather to ask for his permission. No, I met her one day, as if by chance; and as if by chance we fell in love.”

Fëanáro smiled bitterly.

“Nothing that happens in Arafinwë’s house shall I believe to be due by chance, but this scarcely matters. For I will not give you my consent; and what you will do of that concerns me not.”

Maitimo made as if to speak again, but Fëanáro raised his hand, imposing silence.

“Thank you for your hospitality, however unwilling, Nerdanel; I will now leave you.”

On his way out he could not help but stop, his eyes drawn, gleaming, to a statue carved in onyx posed before the door. It was like two trunks of the same tree, woven together; but looking closely one could see the two young Elves carved into them.

“Remarkable,” he said, his voice now sincere, “An admirable likeness.” He raised his eyes to the artiste, and smiled, this time without bitterness. “My compliments, Nerdanel. A great achievement.”

She nodded in silence, acknowledging his compliment. Without another glance at his son, Fëanáro left.

***

The silence filled the workshop for a long moment, before Nerdanel stepped forward and touched Maitimo on the shoulder. She whispered his name, but he shook his head.

“We must leave now. Thank you for your hospitality.”

“Remain here tonight, do not go home. It is not worth taking this fight again, not now.”

“Macalaurë will be home. I will go to him.”

“Tomorrow go to speak to Finwë. The King – ”

“He will listen to my father once again. Nothing is to be found for me in his counsel.”

Nerdanel’s eyes became hard. “I will go to my father. The Lord Aulë shall help us.”
Maitimo laughed, a laugh that touched the chords of my memory, bringing me back to that morning in the cave. Here was that secret darkness, unfolded before my eyes.

“And even if he did? No consent given shall change his words, nor his disappointment when he looks to me.”

“Maitimo…”

But he ignored her, looking to me. I sought his hand, but he did not clasp mine.

“Once before did I tell you what my family was. I would not blame you if now you have seen it you would call off your word, and erase our bond.”

New fury must glow into my eyes, for my voice was thick with it when I answered.

“So shallow then you think I am? So easily beaten? I shall not leave you for the wishes of one who never held my kin with respect. His words were no surprise to me.” It was the truth; but I hid its bite in the smile with which I turned to Nerdanel. “I thank you, lady, for your courtesy in this night. Dearly I hope we shall meet again.”

“I thank you. Here you will always be welcome.”

Briefly, she clasped my hand. At the bottom of her eyes I saw the shadows Fëanáro had stirred, the shadows she fought even now to subdue. We left her in the soft light of the lamps she had lit, their warm glow at odds with the cold the argument had left.

In silence we walked back to Arafinwë’s house, our ears deaf to the merry sounds that came from the gardens where the families dined in happiness. In silence, my hand holding his, but not his mine. He did not look at me, his eyes empty. When we came to the gate I turned to say goodbye, seeking words to soothe, words to console. But he put two fingers to my mouth, bidding me silence.

“Goodnight.”

He kissed me on the forehead, striding away quickly into the silver light. Feeling impotent and vain I watched him go, my hand resting on the bars of the gate, incapable of moving. Solely I wished to run, after him until my feet hurt, until I fell into his arms and promised him this anguish would pass leaving nothing but harmony behind. It would have been a hollow promise, and I knew it well, that conscience keeping me from every hope of a better outcome.

“You knew how it would be. I told you.”

I turned. Standing on the gravel path, Artanis looked at me, her arms crossed. I saw it then, what I had not seen before: how closely she resembled Fëanáro, even while hating him. For his was the sharp edge in her eyes, his the assurance in her every word. Bitterly, I smiled.

“Yes, you told me.”

I closed the gate. She waited for me as I walked to her, slipping her arm under mine as we went to the house. Her gestures of affection were rare and far between, and I looked at her, surprised.

“I picked my side,” she answered, barely looking at me, “I picked my side in Valmar. Nothing more is to be said. Tomorrow I shall go to speak to my uncle Nolofinwë, that Findekáno may have turned against your cause.”

“Findekáno …”

“I asked Aikanár, but he has scarcely been seen around since your fight. I know not what he may have told of Nelyafinwë’s choice. Aredhel may influence her father; she is dearer to his heart than any of his sons, and a close friendship binds her to the Fëanárions.”

I stopped, looking at her.

“Should I then think now you trust Maitimo?”

“No.” Her expression did not soften, nor her features relax. An impalpable smile appeared on her lips, but it was a tense one. “What I trust is my knowledge that your decision is made. And no joy is to be wasted now, whatever its source.

“If one day I may render you the same service, you will find me there.”

“There will be no need. For something tells me that when a husband I will choose, there shall be no need to ask for consent.”

I did not enquire into her words, for I saw that their very sound troubled her, and that their darkness was upon her face. Later she would tell me that it was then that her fears became more definite, taking shape in the smoky land of her dreams. Sometimes she would see portions of a future she refused to believe, and which she would confide to none, wishing to keep them secret and unvoiced, hoping thus to deny their existence.

That day I guessed that closer and closer drew her presentiments, but too strong was the cage of my own fears for me to wish to look further into the enclosing shadow. I took her hand, and together we walked to dinner.

***

Of what happened later I can give but a sparse account, for I witnessed none of it. On the following morning I received a note from Maitimo, a hasty scribbling bidding me not to meet him, not to seek him until he came for me. It hurt; but at the same time I understood that this battle he would face alone. Nerdanel took our cause as hers to campaign, as Artanis’ voice resonated among our relatives in our defence. In silence I simmered, for not on me was it to speak; too much had I to do to keep at bay the fears of my family in Valmar.

For as they learnt of Fëanáro’s opposition, pride and hatred awoken once more in them, and they threatened to withdraw their consent, should he treat them as beggars at his door, as he was treating their daughter. Letter upon letter I wrote them, beseeching them for time; but seeing in the meanwhile that no mean family strife was it the one that I saw unfolding.

For, pitched once more against each other, the sons of Finwë strove, and the King knew not where to lean, this time strained also by the wife he loved. Indis took my part; and Olorimo’s letters became even colder.

For this you have achieved, that you have divided furthermore a noble family.

But when Artanis saw me brooding upon his missive, she demanded to know what had come to pass; and when I answered she laughed in earnest.

“Is then Olorimo my cousin so blind? Has he not listened to one of my words? Or perhaps he knows what the truth is, but prefers to barricade himself behind a lie that can better serve his goals. Oh, no doubt, the situation is unpleasant: but when was it ever different here? No, Silmë: if you were to listen to them, only then would their words acquire the colours of truth. Ignore what they say, pretend it is but wind blowing; or if you cannot, better to say farewell now. Never will it get easier; only more difficult.”

My pride and my love stung, I replied: “Fear not, my choice is not likely to change. Only I wish I could now what is happening now, for this wait, more than any answer, lacerates me.”

She smiled; not unkindly, even if the shade of her ancient suspicion tainted her smile: “Fear not; when he will know, he shall come. One evening we shall see him walking down the path.”

And so it was.

One day, as the lights mingled in one last embrace ere the silver one, a light knock was heard on the door, and as we opened he stood on the threshold, his face tired with much fighting, his eyes like cinders when the fire is out. Arafinwë greeted him with much courtesy; but even as his uncle spoke to him Maitimo’s eyes sought mine, and he nodded slightly. But no joy was born into me, not as I expected; and I heard not the few words he spoke to the assembled family. Taking my hand, he led me out, past the glass doors and into the garden.

We sat on our bench, and he took my hand, looking not to me as he said: “My father gave his consent.”

“Long I have waited to hear you utter these words, and yet I see that no joy comes to you of them. Maitimo, look at me.”

Gently, with my hand I caressed his cheek, demanding he look at me; he took it, and kissed the palm.

“The Lord Aulë alone commanded enough of his fealty to ask of him to consent, but it was not without price. No affection can we expect from him, and his words were harsh.”

“Always it seems to me the son of Finwë was harsh towards you; and unjustly. But if he said yes, what does it matter?”

“A price I mentioned; and a condition he set. I could not refuse, but that he would say that my pledge to you was empty, and I faithless.”

He looked now into my eyes, and he continued: “He gave his consent, but demands that our betrothal is ten years long, instead of the customary one. And from such a proposition he could not be moved.”

I did not know what to say, torn between my joy that, however far, that day would come, and the hard grief I saw into his eyes. My voice low, I took his hand, caressing it lightly, and asked: “You achieved what you set out to reach, my love; and yet you are sad, and even this joy cannot light the gentle fire I have grown to know.”

“But why, why should I rejoice, I that once more obtained what was my right to have but for the intervention of others? How could I, that once more bent his head to his father’s wishes, and did not demand his due, be deemed worthy of your love?”

“I pray, that in all that may come you shall not utter such words again. For had you been unworthy never would my heart have turned to you; and if still you deem it so, indeed you hold my spirit and its judgements in scarce considerations.”

His eyes were softened as he looked at me now, and shaking his head he answered: “No, not scarce in judgement, but far too merciful, that you saw my love and relieved it by granting me your favour. Of that I am grateful to the One, and when we shall be one my life shall be fulfilled, and my joy ripened.” He took me in his arms now, stroking my hair. “And yet I wish I could give you your heart’s desire, an honourable betrothal and a solemn banquet, without further waiting after a lifetime spent in the belief such a happiness as you have brought me existed not.”

“All this we shall have, when the moment comes. But you are deceived if you believe that in empty ceremonies lies my contentment, for never am I content as when I am, as now, in your arms; and so absolute it is this joy that it would not bear to be augmented.”

Looking at me, he was as if on the brink of words; but no words could he utter that his fingers upon my skin, his eyes on mine did not already speak. He kissed me; and on his lips I found the answer I sought. That night we waked together beneath the opalescent sky, as Telperion wove the long hours until the golden dawn.

Chapter 9: Betrothal

Read Chapter 9: Betrothal

Chapter 9

Betrothal

Arafinwë’s garden was full of lights, like stars sown into the grass in the quiet evening of our betrothal. The robes of our guests swished softly as they moved in circles, tall chalices in their hands sparkling with the reflections of the silver dusk. A music like a veil was being played in a corner, and its notes filled the air, a filigree of sound. My cream dress, embroidered with pearls given by my Telerin family, was but another subdued note in the symphony of the day of my joy.

I would not see Maitimo until the moment came to exchange our promise and our rings, for betrothals in the land of the Valar were almost as solemn as the wedding itself. Artanis by my side shone with the beauty of the adamants arranged in her hair, on her dress only a shade darker than mine; her I had chosen to be witness of the promise on my part. Seated at one of the many tables, my father talked only with my Vanyarin relatives. For countless years he had not abandoned Valmar, not since he had led there my mother as a bride.

Falwing herself smiled, for my triumph was hers; and together we had beaten all opposition. It mattered not that when Fëanáro had come he had greeted me with scorching ice, his contempt barely hidden. Where he stood, surrounded by his sons, a darker light seemed to sparkle. And yet, a golden circlet on his raven hair, he was more beautiful than any of us, and to look at him was to behold the night of Middle-earth lit only by stars. He had denied us the sight of the Silmarils; an elaborate offence Arafinwë took pains to show he did not mind.

Artanis swept again by me, and offered me a cup of white wine.

“Nolofinwë will arrive soon. Findekáno has agreed to come.”

I took a long sip, her blue eyes holding mine with eloquent intensity.

“You still will not tell me what you can guess of his rage?”

Artanis did not answer immediately, looking into the golden surface of her liquor as if scrying for the future. When they met mine again, her eyes were clear and hard, like the stones sparkling around her slender neck.

“We only see what we wish to see. We only see what we believe can be real. I shall not speak, for I am not certain; and I shall not speak, for you would not believe me even if I were right.” She put down her cup without drinking again. “Come. As the bride-to-be it is your duty to greet them. Findekáno shall not scorn you before his father.”

I followed her, puzzled at her words; my subdued, ancient rage awakened again, like a thin mist on my joy. If Findekáno would not say what poisoned his heart against me, he could gnaw at his venom in silence. For today a seal was put upon my hopes, and they would become as clear as a polished mirror where no shadows linger.

“My cousin.”

“My cousin.”

Nolofinwë bent his height to kiss me on the cheek, his hand holding mine for a moment. Many said he resembled his elder brother, but they said it in whisper; for of Fëanáro Nolofinwë had inherited the talent for wrath, even if in him it was tempered by a wisdom too quietly strong for Fëanáro’s quick brilliance to tolerate it. And if indeed his hair was as black, his shape almost as beautiful, in Nolofinwë the fire of the Noldor burnt steady and intense, a dark promise of strength in perils as yet untried in the Blessed Realm.

Turukáno greeted me himself, and Aredhel offered me a gift with one of her rare smiles. Her dress was a silver sheen in the silver light; and as she bent forward to kiss me she whispered to my ear: “Is Tyelkormo here?”

I nodded discreetly as I took the gift, and, her smile still engraved upon her lips, she glided past us and into the gardens with long strides. And then, last of his family after Anairë had embraced me for a moment, Findekáno was before me, his neck bent in a formal greeting.

“Silmë Lirillë.”

“Findekáno.”

I bent my head, my eyes cold, for I saw that nothing had changed from the evening he had stormed out of this same house in desperate rage. He looked at me, his lips arranged in a rigid grimace, as if dominating himself took every ounce of his will, and he had not any left to pretend joy at my happiness. My rage stung, a wasp trapped within my chest; and with a smile that was as cutting as a blade I said: “For a long time I have not had the pleasure of your company, cousin; but you that were here to see the origins of my gladness born, I rejoice that you are present to see them ripen into the promise of great fruit.”

I had no name for the flame that flickered in his eyes, pain and wrath in equal measure; and a part of me regretted my words. But hatred too was there, as if I had destroyed a thing he loved most of many, and to this day I marvel that he did not answer me. I had spoken to draw blood; and blood I had had in the speechless gesture with which he bent his head again. Despising him and myself, I walked away, ashes in my mouth in an evening on which gentle stars had never shown.

Artanis reached me again as I carefully arranged the gifts on a table among many others, each of my gestures an attempt at bridling the chaos that I recognized beneath the brilliant surface of the reception. Maitimo had been right: no peace existed within the Noldorin royal family. And a sudden fear took me that such poison could taint the love that had lit my life like the star that rises into a cloudy night.

“Silmë.”

Artanis’ hand on my wrist, her eyes asking of me without words what had come to pass. I would have liked to shrug and smile; but the abortion of a laughter in my throat told her the truth.

“Silmë.”

Gently, she led me away. Strong was always Artanis, like a fortress, unyielding; but she was my friend. We sat on a bench hidden behind a great bush, the open flowers a caress to our nostrils as I shook my head.

“He hates me still, and stronger than ever, he that I thought a friend for all these long years. Is it a curse that hangs on this union, that so many should turn against it?”

“Even if it were so, would you change your mind?”

Now I laughed, and however bitter my voice rang true.

“You know the answer well. Much more would I defy to become his bride. Some shall never be my friends, and this I accept; but those who used to love me have now turned against me, and even if it is a price I am willing to pay, still my heart suffers.”

“Much greater price could you pay one day; much greater.”

But she looked elsewhere avoiding my questioning glance, and I understood that this nugget of things to come had escaped her mouth but unwillingly. Then a clear bell resounded over the garden, and Artanis raised her head like a skittish mare.

“My father calls us. The moment of the promise has arrived.” She turned to me, and a smile had blossomed on her lips. “Come. Your beloved awaits.”

My friend knew me well; and with her I rose impatiently, checking my step but unwillingly, for I would have run all the way to see again Maitimo, and in his eyes meet the answer to all my doubts. Finwë, his head solemnly crowned, stood under a pavilion that had been festooned with ribbons and silvery chains hung with brilliant gems; Artanis and I took our place among my family.

And then I turned my eyes, and saw Maitimo. A cream tunic to match mine set off his auburn hair like a brilliant fire; and the copper circlet he often wore shone softly in the evening light. But nothing I could see but his green eyes, like emeralds that held my glance; and everything else was but background noise, a worthless thing not to be considered, but cast away.

The King spoke long of promise and love, and word given and accepted; then he turned to his son with the ritual question.

“Curufinwë my son, yours is the one that asks this maiden in bride; do you give your blessing?”

“I do.”

It was the ritual answer, and now no other could be given; but in his assent Fëanáro put all his discontent, and by my side my father stiffened with silent rage. And I cared not. I met the eyes of Finwë’s heir, and my smile was untroubled by his contempt.

Not the King turned to my father.

“Olorimo of the Vanyar, yours is the maiden that is asked in bride; do you give your blessing?”

My father’s voice matched Fëanáro’s in repressed contempt.

“I do.”

His eyes flickered over me, his disapproval like a leaden veil; but it did not matter. For now, Artanis by my side, I advanced towards the King, as Maitimo and his witness came forward.

“Nelyafinwë, son of Curufinwë, what have you come to the King to ask?”

“I come to ask for Silmë, daughter of Olorimo, in bride; for on my heart she shines like the light of the Trees.”

“Silmë, daughter of Olorimo, what do you answer to this?”

“I accept Nelyafinwë, son of Curufinwë, as my bridegroom to be; for on my heart he reigns like the Sea over the sunken earth.”

The ritual words had been spoken; and now the King took our hands together, and joined them.

“Artanis, daughter of Arafinwë, and Macalaurë, son of Curufinwë, you are witnesses of the promise exchanged; may the One help those who have promised to keep their hearts true until the day their promise is renewed, and their vows bound together for the life eternal of the Eldar on this Earth.”

The moment had come to exchange the rings to signify our union, and Artanis gave me mine, a plain band forged by Nerdanel, our names engraved on it like a flowering trellis of ivy. My fingers trembled as I slipped the ring over his strong finger, his skin warm under mine; and he held my hand to give me his own ring.

He had forged it himself, although no great talent for this he had inherited of his gifted parents; and when the jewel was visible upon my finger I heard Fëanáro scoff. But it did not matter.

It was a ring of silver polished to shine white; and with bands of metal shaped like curving waves it protected the treasure of a stone shining pale blue and red at the same time. As if our spirits had been locked into one dance of flickering colours.

We exchanged a kiss, his lips light on mine; and the ceremony was over to the cheers of those present. And my mouth no longer tasted like ashes, not now that Maitimo held me in his arms a moment longer that would have been expected; not now that, taking my hand, we led the way to the tables for the banquet to begin. Seated besides the King, plate after plate was placed before our guests, and the night lengthened, the tension was distempered into the hum of conversation where all formality had been ended. And Finwë smiled the fond smile of a grandfather who sees his first grandson betrothed; and my aunt beside me shone like a cold diamond in sober triumph.

The moment of the speeches came, the witnesses raising their cups to wish us happiness and joy, and for the years before our marriage to be short and light upon our spirits, like a lengthy wait that makes the meal sweeter to one’s tongue. But when they sat again, one rose that I would not have expected. Findekáno took the word, and his countenance was pale and proud; and I looked to him as if afraid that he might speak in rage now that for a moment wine and food had made the rivality forgotten. But too great was his spirit to debase itself to such a thing, and raising his cup he said:

“I drink the health of Maitimo, cousin and friend; and of Silmë of my blood. I drink the health of love that is born and ripened.” He paused, as if looking for words, and his eyes were veiled. But quietly he ended: “I drink the health of love that is allowed to be.”

All drank with him, and gratefully Maitimo smiled, raising his vessel to his friend, an offer to tie again the knots of a friendship that had long existed, and should not die now. And Findekáno smiled back, however weakly; but he did not even glance at me.

I looked to Artanis, and wondered what passed behind her narrowed eyes, in the pained grimace of her mouth. No, she would not tell me what she guessed. But I knew as I looked at her that with painful certainty now she knew she had been right.

-------------

Thus began my long betrothal to Maitimo, son of Fëanáro, a thing of beauty and joy born in the shadow that would soon poison our whole realm. Thus it was born, and I often wonder what would have come to pass if Fëanáro had been merciful, and we allowed to wed after only a year. I wonder; but I do so idly, for even those who have endless time before them cannot turn its tide back.

And I wonder idly, for I suspect that the claim we used to laugh at in the philosophers’ mouths is real: this is indeed the best world that could ever be, for every small change in its course could but have been for the worse. The most beautiful of the spirits of the One rebelled, and all was tainted forever. And with impious mind I sometimes ask myself whether such impurity, such strife is but the other face of the harmony we so much loved, and have so painfully lost; I ask myself if this be something that not even the Valar have understood, and even those who have rebelled in pride have only served. Sorrow and war are part of Arda, and Arda remade shall not exist without them. We are only too small to see that in the end their ugliness is but a different beauty in the great tapestry of all.

But back then, in the long days that followed our promise, I forgot that anything existed outside the hours I spent in joy with Maitimo my love. Here I shall leave nothing but a print of what was, for when in pain it is only greater sorrow to remember those days when all was light, or so we believed it to be. Those years were light on our shoulders, and Artanis’ wish was granted. Never again would I be so happy, nor the future shine brighter.

We danced and laughed and rode, the earth soft and clear beneath our feet, our glances, our embraces in themselves a light greater than whatever joy the future could bring. And no world there was outside the fresh jade of his eyes; all desire was exhausted past the boundaries of his skin. And shadow, the shadow that grew, the shadow that lapped at our dancing strides, was erased in the blinding happiness those years had brought.

Fate is kind to those who are blind, for they do not see the precipice until they have fallen in it.
--------

One last time I gathered the daisies in my hand, and added the final strand to the crown I had been braiding. His head reclined on my knee, Maitimo looked up to me, an amused light playing in his eyes.

“Why, what a kingly crown you have made me, my lady. Hasten to put it on my head, or I shall certainly die of impatience.”

“Why, my lord, I thought kings should count temperance among their greatest virtues.”

“But you, my lady, have elected to take not a king, but his grandson as your betrothed. You shall have to accept that kingly virtues wane with the passing generations.”

“I shall see to reconcile myself to the thought.”

Bending forward, I kissed him, and as his hands reached to my neck he kissed me back deeply and long. When we detached, the crown of daisies was ruined.

“Look what you’ve done. As punishment, you’ll have to bear with me while I braid them in your hair one by one.”

Smiling, a feigned tolerance painted upon his face, he let me play with the long locks of red gold, the hazy light of a warm day all around us, insects buzzing quietly among the open flowers. The long grass was dressed up in white as spring advanced. The ninth year of our engagement had begun.

“Here. Deignly crowned at last.”

Tentatively, he reached with his fingers to his hair, now white with petals.

“Thank thee kindly.”

His smile was mocking me, and I looked elsewhere, pretending offence. His hand sought mine, bringing it to his lips, and for a long moment we remained thus, the silence over us woven from small sounds.

Until a different quality entered it, and he grasped my fingers more strongly.

“Will you be in Valmar for long?”

“No longer than ten days. Time to celebrate my mother’s birthday.”

“Good.”

He would not add anything else, but nine years had schooled me well in his moods and his silence.

“Tell, Maitimo. Let us not be sad in such a radiant day.”

“’Radiant’,” he laughed, “I see nothing radiant, but the lady who complies to make a pillow for me.”

He rolled on his stomach, looking at me. He still held my hand.

“But since you ask, I shall tell you. My worries are the same of the last time we spoke.”

“Your father then?”

“It has been long since the last time he met my uncle, but I am afraid that even my brothers’ wits are at their end. We shall not be able to keep them apart for much longer. And when they next see each other, I fear their sparkle may light a fire too strong for us to tame.”

“Certainly we are not at such a point?”

“Indeed I fear so. The rumours that Nolofinwë would become first in line after my grandfather have grown stronger. My uncle ignores them, holding himself above them, but my father may lend them a willing ear.”

“Certainly Fëanáro is superior to them too?”

“I wish it were so. But ever since he lent his craft to creating weapons his thoughts have grown darker.”

I shivered silently. Never had Maitimo shown me a sword, one of the long blades his father had tempered with long years of labour; but I all too eagerly felt in their mention the growing shadow of the mind that had conceived them.

“But the Lord Aulë loves them both too dearly to allow them to clash. And Finwë could never conceal his affection for his elder son.”

“No. But venomous tongues are at work.” He paused, not looking at me when he added: “You have heard, I think, what they say of the Newcomers?”

I shook my head impatiently.

“And even if it were so? What is Mankind, this new race, that we should be afraid of it? They say the Powers would consecrate Middle-earth as their exclusive abode; for myself, I doubt they would usurp those of the Eldar who have chosen to remain there. And to us who inhabit the light of Aman, what is it?”

“I wish all of our people thought as clearly as you do.”

“I wish all of our people listened only to those who speak without lies.”

Our eyes met again, and his and rose to caress my arm, left bare by my light dress.

“Silm녔

With a quick gesture his strong hands reached to me, drawing me to his body. I rolled on the grass to his side.

“My hair will be full of grass seeds, unkind.”

“My hair is already full of petals. It’s fair retribution.”

His arm held my waist, our faces close. Laughter died on our lips as I looked into his eyes, his long eyelashes a caress on my skin. Without kissing, we let our foreheads rest close.

“Maitimo…”

A long caress was his answer, a shivers from my shoulder to my hip. My desire for him smouldered in the afternoon, the daisies around us now as tall as white towers. I let my head nest in his neck, savouring my unsatisfied passion, a promise of things to come.

The long silence was broken only when I remembered what we spoke of, and smiling I raised my head to meet his eyes.

“The Eldar are wise, the Powers are kind. This shadow shall not last.”

“May the One hearken you.”

Did I know then I deceived myself and him? To this day I cannot answer. But I know that nothing mattered then, not when his heart drummed beneath my ear, as his fingers tangled in my hair. That was my world. That was the place I would belong to until my dying day.

Chapter 10: Dark

Read Chapter 10: Dark

Chapter 10

Dark

How does the day that changes all that has ever been start? Should you expect a sign, an omen, a flight of birds to tell you that today’s light you shall remember for all the time you will spend on this earth? Or perhaps, instead, this day shall be like any other day; the lights shall mingle and fade, gold will replace silver as the house awakes, as your limbs stir beneath the sheets. You will open your eyes, and find nothing that should not be there. A day like any other day. But for the detail that will change the path you walk, and bring you to a crossroads you won’t be able to come back to. But you don’t know this; and after all, you are but one thread in the endless weavings of Vairë, a small sparkle in the light of the tale of Time. It would be selfish, it would be unfair to expect you should know that the last hours are slipping away. It would be petty to demand fair notice to taste one last time the illusion that this one place in Arda is untainted.

And no power beneath the One could ever grant you to see into a future this dark.

So I woke up that day, and knew nothing. In the bed beside mine Artanis slept, her forehead creased in troubled dreams. If in them there be anything more than her confused conscience of the change to come, she said nothing. By then she had lived so long beneath the shadow of this future darkness the morning the storm broke would come as a relief unexpected, unsought for. I let her sleep. My feet bare, without changing, I walked downstairs. In the kitchen, drinking tea with Daro, Maitimo waited for me.

I saw at once the worry on his face, the painful conscience, etched in its every line, of impotence before what had come to pass. I cared nothing for my nightgown, nothing for propriety as I walked to him. I did not even say his name. I let my fingers twine in his hair, caressing it. He closed his eyes, like a horse when it’s stroked after a long run. Quietly, Findaráto stood up.

“I shall leave you.”

I nodded. I waited for my cousin to leave the room, for the discreet sound of the door meeting its post before I reached out for a chair. Maitimo did not let me do it. His hands firm, he drew me to him. Sitting on his lap, I sought his eyes, but they avoided me. Encircling me with his arms he let his head rest against mine, and so we stood for countless time, our breaths the only sound. Until at last the words came out he had come to say.

“My father is preparing to confront my uncle as we speak. They shall meet at the King’s house, for my grandfather wishes to temper their complaints and their wrath. I doubt he shall be able to do it. We could not hold Fëanáro back.”

There was nothing I could say that would change this, nothing I could say to soothe his worry. No one, not even Finwë his father, could hope to mitigate Fëanáro’s rage when it was unleashed. It was madness to allow him to confront Nolofinwë thus, madness to hope for something good to come out of it. But it was done. Had Maitimo rushed to his father, asking him not to go, the son of the King would have laughed in his face. Nothing I could say. But something I must, for this silence weighed as iron upon us.

I raised my eyes, seeking his, my fingers caressing his skin. But he shied away from my touch, gently rising, putting me back on the floor.

“Would you come for a ride? I shall wait for you here.”

I nodded, and hurried steps brought me to the door. On the threshold I turned, looking at him. But his glance rested outside the window, in Eärwen’s orchard, and in his whole great body was the tension of that morning, and of a wait he knew not for what.

Briskly I turned, and climbed the stairs to my room. Artanis woke as I came in, her keen spirit attentive to every shift in the wind, every change in the air. And now a black cloud had come to rest above us, and she questioned me with her eyes as I slipped out of my nightgown, reaching out for a dress.

“Nolofinwë and Fëanáro have come to a reckoning. They shall meet in the King’s house.”

Nothing else she needed. Throwing aside her blankets, she rose.

“I shall rouse my father. This must be stopped.”

“You know well there is nothing you can do.”

Her eyes told me she did. The obstinate set of her jaw – so similar to Fëanáro’s when he would not be moved – told me she did not care. She had rushed out of the chamber already when she came back.

“Where are you going?”

“With Maitimo. We go riding.”

Another moment, she would have scoffed. Now she nodded briskly, and was gone. I finished dressing in haste, unwilling to leave my betrothed alone now. On my way down Findaráto stopped me.

“Something he has told me, too. Is it as I feared?”

“Yes. Artanis is calling your father as we speak, but I doubt gentle Arafinwë could ever keep his fiery brothers back.”

“Nonetheless, he will try. And I will do the same.” If gentler, in his eyes the same light as Artanis’ was kindled. Silently, I wished them luck. As I turned to go my cousin’s hand caught my arm, retaining me. “Look after him.” He had no need to say after whom.

When I entered the kitchen again he was not there. He waited in the courtyard, my horse, saddled and bridled, by his. He helped me mount in silence, and in silence we started from the city. Tirion the White was soundless in the morning, Laurelin’s golden rays falling empty in empty streets where our horses’ hoofs drummed a hollow rhythm on the pale stone flags.

I did not ask where we were going; I suspected he would not tell. I followed him, our horses abreast, as we crossed deserted plains at a small trot. It was the scent that told me where we were before I saw it. When we tethered our horses to the curved trees, only then did I speak.

“The Sea.”

He smiled, the faded shadow of his light on his lips.

“I thought it would be a beautiful place to stay.”

Waiting for what, he did not say. He spread his mantle on the pebbles, in the same place we had had lunch, so much time before. We had gone there again, to swim and to watch the tide coming in; Findaráto making up for the absence Findekáno had left. Here we had been happy again. Here we lay down, looking at the Sea in silence.

For a long time I did not speak, respecting his wish for wordless companionship; he sat apart from me, not looking at me, his beauty clouded even in the light unperishing of Valmar. Sometimes I stole a glance at his frowning brow, knowing that in spirit he lay far from here, in the halls of Finwë where Fëanáro his father battled his demons without knowing where the true strife lay.

But when the waves had woven a long hour with their music, then I could not bear to bring no soothing to him, or at least try, and with my hand I reached out for his. He grasped it; but then, as I drew closer to him, he kept me at distance.

“Offer me not, my love, the comfort of your arms, for for long years my desire has been bridled; and today I have no strength to control it. Tempt me not.”

I smiled.

“Why, it takes two to take such a road. Or would you think that because I am a maiden, I feel not such a bite?”

He looked at me, recognizing the teasing in my eyes; and answering my smile with a truer one than his previous he replied: “No, I would not.”

I held his eyes, the silence now fuller of other, unspoken things; all worry forgotten before the simple truth that here had been laid. Tentatively then he caressed my cheek, a stray lock of hair stranded from its tress; and my lips touched his before he could push me away. His rigidity melted as I would not withdraw, his arms locking around me. He burnt; burnt even as I did. With light fingers I caressed his neck, and his kiss deepened. His well-controlled strength was a flame engulfing me, an unreleased grip on his muscles. My skin screamed.

And then we drew apart as a horse’s hooves drummed a hurried halt on the rocks above our heads, and we rose in answer to their haste. Slipping on the path she had run down, Artanis came in sight, her hair disheveled by the race. I never knew how she learnt we were there; perhaps, her mind clear now the storm had struck, she guessed it.

Her voice thick with concern, her face flamed with indignation, without greetings she spoke as if every word were poison to her.

“Fëanáro threatened Nolofinwë on the King’s threshold with a blade. Many saw him, and the Lord Tulkas was in the city then. They were both seized and brought to Valmar by the messengers of the Powers; they must have reached it as we speak.”

No answer made Maitimo, but he clasped my wrist, and up the path we trekked in urgency, our feet skidding and sinking in its pebbles. As soon as we regained a solid foothold on the rock he tore the reins from the branches of the trees, and hauling me in front of him on the back of his horse he told Artanis who had followed us: “I thank you for your speed. May we arrive in time.”

My horse, bound to the saddle, following us, he spurred his own steed forward; and the grass disappeared beneath its legs as it ran. Fast are the messengers of the Valar, and the ground under their hastening feet means nothing; but faster was the fear that had seized us, faster our thumping hearts. In a few hours we were there, changing horses midway, Maitimo’s black left alone to wander his way home. Cold grew my blood as we ran, and grasping my betrothed not to fall my mind was empty and dark. Valmar of my fathers shone in the plain before us, but its white walls shone like a colourless threat. The Valar were displeased; Laurelin’s light bleached and dimmed by gathering clouds.

Before the gates a ring of the dignitaries of the city was assembled, the Powers seated in majesty and judgement. My exhausted horse bore us to the edges, and, our hands locked, we joined in silence the Fëanárions, marshaled beside their grandfather. Nolofinwë stood apart, by him his eldest alone. Findekáno looked at us, in his eyes a raw rage and a naked pain. And then I looked further, to those of the Vanyar sitting in obedient glory at the foot of the Powers. By his uncle, Ingwë the High King of the Elves, stood my father, pale in wrath. Even more strongly I clasped my beloved’s hand, for in Olorimo’s eyes, as he saw his daughter among the sons of Fëanáro, I read our doom.

And then Mandos, the Doomsman, spoke.

“Curufinwë, son of Finwë,” he began. Fëanáro that stood before them, tall and proud, bore on his mouth a cruel and a cutting smile. “Your wrath had false roots, and your words have uncovered that behind them was the malice of Melkor, that we had pardoned, but who has again sown the evil seed of his black mind among those that we love. But if innocent you are of this shadow, still you threatened with the blade you had made your own blood; and such a fault we can neither forgive nor ignore.”

“So be it, Nàmo of the Dead,” scoffed Fëanáro, his voice vibrant and full, “Nàmo who has locked my mother forever away from the wind and the sky to please Indis of the Vanyar. So be it. Whatever doom you pronounce against me now, know that in it I shall read but the print of the kinship that binds you to Melkor.”

A murmur ran through those present, and the Vanyar trembled with wrath. I shivered, for such boldness none of the Elves had ever shown before the Powers before. But Varda, Queen of the stars, raised her hand, and called us all to silence.

“Be quiet now, for those things that you speak of Mìriel Therindë decided of her own heart. None deprived her of life against her counsels. And you that most of all has been deceived by Melkor’s treachery, you should show gratitude to those who now will set to punish him for what he has done.”

But Fëanáro’s face grew darker.

“Fair are your words, Varda Tintallë; but where is now Melkor, that you seek to punish? While you waste time pursuing once again the free will of one of the Eldar he certainly will have fled; while you sit solemnly in a power not yours, for you not unlike me are but a speck before the One, already the deceiver is far.”

A glance ran between Varda and Manwë, the King of Arda; and before they could speak the Lord Tulkas, the Warrior, and the Lord Oromë the Hunter had risen and started on their pursuit, their calls of wrath and challenge like a thunder above the earth.

Fëanáro watched them go; and Fëanáro smiled.

“I see, Queen, that you shall need one of the Children of Ilùvatar to remind you of the things that need be done; now I ask, make your Doomsman speak what he has to. Already we have wasted much time here.”

Varda frowned; and the heavens flashed with lightning.

“Great is your pride, son of Finwë, and great is your mistake in believing it sets you above those the One has appointed as Guardians of Eä. Today your heart is full of rage and lies; today I shall grant your hasty words a pardon. Hear now, from me, your doom: for twelve years you shall dwell in exile from Tirion upon Tùna, where your fault was committed, not to return there before the time has elapsed. In such a time you will reflect upon what you have done; and in such a time you will see if your heart can find the truth beneath all the deceits.”

Fëanáro’s mouth became a thin line; and my heart sank. But before I could look to Maitimo, and find in his eyes what he made of this, the son of the King spoke again: “This I will do. And the Noldor shall see if they like their city despoiled of those who made it great, when Fëanáro and his sons are all departed!”

Now truly all strength had abandoned me, as I realized that he intended for his sons to follow him in exile; and Maitimo held me without speaking, as if for the last time. The King then spoke himself, and his voice was fractured by the hurts of that day, and yet still great.

“My son shall not go alone. I will follow him.”

Both he and Fëanáro bowed to the Valar, but the latter’s courtesy was a perfunctory and a defying gesture, and when he rose to turn and leave I saw that he looked at Nolofinwë his brother with cold triumph. For one last time had Finwë, the King, chosen; and where his affections lay was for the Elves to see.

“Father!”

My cousin’s voice was a needle in my heart as he appealed to the King; but Finwë made no answer. And the Powers left that place to go hunting for their brother, and the Vanyar withdrew in their city. But in the dust of the plain that still the sky covered with leaden clouds remained Olorimo my father, and Ingwion his cousin, son of Ingwë.

In despair, seeing that they came to me, I appealed to Maitimo.

“What now? Will you follow your father in exile?”

He replied not, but looked past me, to where his father and brothers stood. And still Fëanáro smiled, for he knew that to such a call Nelyafinwë could not disobey.

“I cannot ask you to follow me now.”

“Maitimo! It matters not. You have no duty to stand beneath this doom yourself, but a great duty you have to me. You promised.”

“I would not remain in Tirion now, not while my father stands exiled and forsaken in the eyes of the Power. Or would you that I renounced him?”

Yes, I wanted him to; and my heart’s savage desire I recognized clearly now, as thunder clapped on the mountains at Oromë’s pursuing horns. I wanted this shadow lifted from us, and I wanted Fëanáro’s fell fire away, where it could no longer burn me. Where it could no longer crack open the abyss I saw now in Maitimo’s eyes. I said nothing; but in my eyes the answer was clear.

And there, among the rooted ranks of Vanyar and Noldor stranded in this new, dark day, he held me to his breast and kissed me, in that one kiss putting all that he was, with warmth and eagerness and despair, and his broken gentleness one last caress upon my hair.

“I love you,” he said simply, and it was a truth as heavy as the pillars of the Earth, “But this is my blood, this is my fire and my doom. Even if I renounced Fëanáro today I could not escape the print of his spirit upon mine, not if I fled a million miles far. Yours is the choice, Silmë Lirillë of the Vanyar, Silmë of the Light. I let you free to elect whether to follow me upon this path, or remain where no darkness shall ever taint you again.”

He held my hand in his, but too soon let it go; sooner than I could speak, sooner than my spirit could overcome pain and confusion, and give him an answer. He let it go, and walked away without looking back; to Fëanáro and to his brothers, and to Finwë the High King from whose face pain and determination had erased the last trace of happiness past. And then I felt Ingwion’s hand upon my shoulder, and knew that my family had come to reclaim me back.

Artanis was not there, but her voice filled the clouds.

Poets lie. Love cannot conquer all.

I looked to the sky, and it was black, torn by lighting and clouds in bleeding rags. Laurelin’s light had disappeared.

No joy shall last.

---

Chapter End Notes

Worry not, this is not the end. Necessary cliffhanger, sorry. Already rushing to chapter 11. Drop me a review and wait with trust. ;)

Chapter 11: Crossroads

Read Chapter 11: Crossroads

Chapter 11

Crossroads

As I passed the gates of Valmar I knew not, and indeed could not have guessed, how long it would be ere I crossed them again. Ingwion led me by the arm, his grip firm upon me, his face that I had never seen smile petrified in a sternness Ingwë had distilled for him in long years of cold aloofness. He was the son of the High King. He would not show the rage I saw flickering in the ice of his pale irises.

I turned once to look at the plain, but already the party of Fëanáro's House galloped away. Maitimo had mounted with Macalaurë his brother, and my horse stood forlorn in the plain, walking hesitantly, waiting for a retainer to come and pick it. Ingwion did not let me linger, steering me away. I was too empty to fight him now. The murmur of the people around me was harsh to my ears, even the weak light too strong. My father did not speak to me, nor look at me. I cared not. I was beyond it all.

Upon my house's threshold stood my mother, waiting for us. She would have come to me, embraced me, but my father signaled to her with a gesture of his hand to stay aside. Falwing's eyes narrowed, her sweetness turned to harshness at this treatment; but Olorimo paid no attention to this. Closing the door behind our shoulders, he turned to face me. Before he could speak I raised a hand.

"I know already what you have to say; you guess already what I would reply. I have ridden long and hard to come here, here to see all my hopes destroyed; and if affection for me lingers in your heart, I ask of you this thing alone, that you shall let me rest until the morning. Tomorrow we shall speak. But if you forced words out of my mouth tonight, many things I could say that you would regret having wanted to hear."

For a moment it looked as he would reply, and forbid me to leave them; but my mother walked to him, and in warning silence lay a hand upon his arm. And he kept his peace. But caring not for what he would say I had already turned, wrenching my wrist from Ingwion's hand in disdain. His eyes met mine, and I raised my chin in challenge. But truly I felt I could take no more. Mustering what was left of my courage, I climbed the stairs. Outside the great windows a rain much unlike the gentle caress that made the young wheat grow fell in sheets thick and cutting, it lashed in rage against the stained glass.

Step after step I rose to the darkness that was the first floor, leaving them all behind me. My ears heard Ingwion taking his leave with a few, brisk words; but I did not turn to watch him go, nor strain to catch my father's reply. My room was the first at the top of the stairs. I pushed open the door, and sought its refuge.

It was dark then, darker than in Aman it had ever been. Truly this storm, the rage in which Tulkas' war cry resounded, had obliterated all thought of light. I looked around, and saw but what monstrous shapes the sudden strike of lightning would allow me to distinguish. And above all I saw emptiness. In the nine years passed since the day Maitimo had come to ask my father's consent I had dwelt in Tirion, coming back only rarely, and always simply passing through. They had known when I would come, and prepared accordingly. Now the nakedness of the chamber I had outgrown stared back at me, and there was no comfort between the walls that had been the cradle of my earliest dreams.

I prayed to Estë the Kind for a gift of sleep, reaching out gropingly in the dark for my bed. There were no sheets and no covers, only a coverlet hid the desolate coldness of an unmade mattress. I was not expected. I was not foreseen. I was stranded in a place I no longer belonged to, cut adrift from the place I had elected as mine. Even the wardrobe would have been empty if I had opened it.

Without taking off my mantle I curled on the bed, the light coverlet wrapped around my shoulders like a shawl. Sleep, I begged of my unquiet spirit, sleep, and forget. Too soon the morning shall come, too soon you shall have to fight. If only I knew what to fight for.

In the dark my right hand clasped my left one, I brought the ring Maitimo had given me to my lips. In the night its stone was cold, but it was all I had left. For looking around in that deserted room it was as if he had never been; and as if I had been nothing more than a passing dream, a puff of smoke.

For one year I would remain in Valmar, and that year passed for me in a dance confused and fiery, a continuous fight and a tearing of my own heart. No messengers were sent to Maitimo; nor did he write to me. The only thing that could possibly be said now was the outcome of my choice. A choice I could not bring myself to make.

My destiny, my blood, my fire. It was not true for him alone. Fate had brought me on the edge of a precipice I would have to jump blind. For nine years I had balanced myself on a razor's cut, for nine years I had sewn together my family and my love, pretending to myself all would be well. Pretending to myself wounds older than I was could be mended by my preposterous courage, by the trust in the platitude Artanis had denounced as a lie. Love cannot conquer all.

The words haunted me; they were the background music for every new argument that rang loud and shrill between the pearly walls of the house that for a long time had known only melody, and light. For there are many kinds of love; and in that long year I saw them all fail.

As I woke up the day after Fëanáro was banished I thought I would do again what I had once accomplished so well: another impossible compromise to save my spirit from a sundering, a bending of wills to meet the one end that would spare me a pain I thought I could not take. But we had all come a step too far.

My father Olorimo that I had loved so dearly, my father that once had understood me better than I knew myself, before my proposition not to break my engagement roused a storm and a clash such as I had not suspected he had ever had strength nor will for. I stood up and spoke, I cried and beseeched; I wept tears to last me for many lifetimes of Men. But he would not bend. Again and again I fought for his approval, and the same words chased each other in endless circles; again and again he refused to listen. He who had been tender to the Elfling I had been, he that had wished for me only happiness forced me in a corner where all possibilities burnt my soul in the same degree. He cut me with words as sharp as blades through the numbness of my pain, and drew blood.

"If he had renounced his father, then he would have shown that what you repeated for long years had been true, and that indeed Nelyafinwë did not partake of Fëanáro's darkness. But he h
as chosen which path shall be his; and down such a path I will not see you walk, not unless you should break all ties that bind you to me, and no longer call yourself the daughterr of Olorimo."

Another argument, a retort final enough to end them all. Many words or none could have answered this last sentence, a judgment passed once and for all; and I left the room without looking back. Like a wounded animal I sought refuge in the thick of the garden, I sat huddling in the shade of a willow. The same that had seen me walk with Maitimo, such a long time before.

I wished for a friendly voice, for somebody whose advice I could trust; but Artanis was far in that white day, and the rare letters we exchanged were guarded. We both knew this I was living was but a trapped life, waiting for a decision I alone could take. Her mind tormented by the vision of things to come, her heart oppressed by a certainty and a fear she could no longer hide, she waited in silence for me to choose. She knew that no help she could offer would be enough for me now; and it was on my shoulders alone that the burden lay. The time for pretension and kind lies was long over.

I looked around, to the garden where birds sang, heeding not the trouble of the Elves. The place where we were born lays a claim on us, it talks to us of a bond that no time and no distance can dispel. To go somewhere else is just to grow; to renounce to our right to come back is to give up the ground we stand upon. And yet this was the only possibility before me; not unless I rejected the love that had awoken me from a long, dreamless sleep. Already in thought such a proposition burnt.

My mother crossed the garden noiselessly, she sat by me on the grass. Her face was lined with the strain that these months had proven for her, torn between her husband and her daughter. Like me, she had sought a reconciliation that was past her power to grant. She caressed my hair lightly, as she had done when I was a child, and she brought me back from nameless nightmares. I closed my eyes, savouring the lightness of her touch.

"He loves you," she said under her breath. I tensed. She let her hand fall, and when I opened my eyes slowly hers were full of concern.

"How should I believe it?"

"He does what he think is best."

"No. He does what suits best his old grudge."

"Fëanáro showed – "

"Maitimo is not Fëanáro!"

The birds fell silent. Only the leaves kept dancing at Manwë's breeze.

"No, he is not. But he chose to share his fate."

"He is his father."

"As Olorimo is yours. Silmë," she took my hand, and now she spoke in earnest, "We tried. You know I wanted to help you. You know even now I would let you go to him. But your father – "

"My father only listens to his rage."

"No! Don't do him injustice. Olorimo – "

"You still love him, do you?"

Her eyes widened in surprise, but then her face grew sweet, and sadder.

"Yes, I do. With all he is, like the day I saw him walk by the shore of the sea."

"Then you understand why I cannot let Maitimo go."

"Silmë…" Clouds now in her veiled irises, in her voice a note of subdued request. Almost a plead. I rose; again, she took my hand: "We may love more than once. We may forget those we have held dear. But we cannot have other father, other mother than those that were given us by the One, however imperfect they may be."

I looked down to her, to her eyes that shone like Varda's own stars; and I knew that I would not lose her, whatever my decision would be. I looked at her; and I saw a love that dictated no conditions, that forced on me no choice. She pleaded for my father, whose pride was too strong to allow me to come back had I disobeyed him now; she forgot herself.

I looked at her, Falwing of Alqualondë, as if I had never seen her before; I looked at her and remembered that for longer years than I could count she had not seen the land that had given her birth, she had not embraced, however warm their letters were, her parents. Far from the Sea that had sung her to sleep she begged me to renounce the same love that had led her here.

I looked at her. And I recognized myself.

I caressed her face once, gently. I kissed her on the forehead. Then I walked to the house, without looking back.

Half an hour later my horse was ready, a small saddlebag packed.

Olorimo did not see me leave, he had left the house after our argument, seeking rest and quiet in the High King's abode. Falwing stood on the threshold as I fastened the mantle, as a stable hand helped me mount. I did not take anyone as escort; I would leave Valmar without owing anything that would have to be returned. My mother did not try to persuade me, she did not try to reason with me. She looked at me, quiet, silent tears tracing silvery paths down her honey-coloured cheeks. I turned the horse to hide my own. Spurring the animal forward, I left.

I abandoned the city at a gallop, stopping not for friend nor relative, nor for the call of the Maiar who marveled at the niece of the King leaving Valmar in such a haste. The last time, screamed the rocks and the stone and the white walls; but I had chosen now, and would not come back. The open gates were the way to a new world, and no fear there was in my heart. Long and tortured may our decisions be; but when they are taken a weight is lifted, and all that is left is a light spirit. The elation of certainty is a new freedom. It was only when Valmar was no longer in sight that I let my horse slow down.

As seat of his exile Fëanáro had chosen his estate of Formenos, in the high hills in the north. It took me two days to reach it, never laying down to sleep, stopping only to make the horse rest. And strong were the horses then bred in Valinor; strong, and fast. The air grew chilly as I rode, and fewer and fewer people were to be met in these almost inhabited lands: only those whom, even if they had abandoned the starlit darkness of Middle-earth, would not completely renounce the ancient custom of hunting and ranging as free travelers beneath the sky.

The food I had brought with me was over by the second day, and as Laurelin's gold replaced Telperion's silver I watered my horse at an icy brook, preparing to move. Here the light of the Trees was paler, like a remembrance of their true radiance; and the heavens were streaked sometimes with darker tones, as if the deep blue of the night that enveloped Arda reached tentative fingers over Aman's light. It was not a good omen; but as I lay on the grass on the first night, waiting for the horse to be ready to start again, I thought I could glimpse between passing clouds the adamant twinkling of the stars.

One last range of low hills stood between me and Formenos, and my heart was awoken, it beat hard and fast as I remembered Maitimo's voice, the texture of his skin beneath my fingers. And I would have spurred my horse once again, and run all the way there; but I reined in my spirit, and passed the hills at a measured pace. And well it was, for something awaited me I did not expect.

Maitimo had once spoken to me of Formenos as a hunting retreat, a modest palace of stone nestled in the rocky side of spiky hills. But what I saw now was a strong place, a fortress surrounded by high walls, whose towers rose slender and graceful in challenge to the sky. In one year Noldoring hands, Noldorin wits had sharpened and widened the palace, they had made of it something that had no comparison in the realm of Aman. And I saw now that the voices that had reached Valmar were true: many had abandoned Tirion, and Fëanáro had called to him a whole kingdom in exile.

For a long moment I stood motionless, admiring the work of the son of the King, but a shiver ran down my spine, for if with a stark beauty was the stronghold endowed, still it spoke of growling strength, of deep-rootedmistrust. I rode on; a narrow path slithered up the hills, taking long curves that brought whoever walked it under constant gaze from the battlements. Sentinels paced them up and down, and they were armed with spears thinner and more pointed than those the hunters used.

Entrance to the path was barred by a gate, and two Elves guarded it. None of my Noldorin clothes had ever been brought back from Tirion while I was away; I had left Valmar in garments that followed the Vanyarin fashion, in subdued colours of ivory and creamy yellow. When the guardians looked at me, they saw I was of the people their lord so much hated. But when they approached me I spoke to them with tones that affected an assurance I did not possess; and I demanded they made way for Silmë Lirillë, betrothed of Nelyafinwë their prince. They looked around at the deserted plain, marveling at the lack of an escort; but they let me pass.

I climbed the long path, holding my head high, but feeling upon me the glance of the sentinels. A cold foreboding had fallen on my spirit, like a damp cloak on a windy day. No happiness could be experienced in this harsh place; and here my love had dwelt one year in doubt. I cursed my indecision; but knew well that none should be asked to make such a choice as I had had to in haste.

There was another gate at the top of the path, and here I relinquished my horse and my bags. Two courtyards I crossed, everywhere carpenters and rock-hewers, and smiths finishing off blades with sharp and cutting edges. I would not ask of them where Maitimo was, and aimlessly I wandered, my unease growing, until I heard familiar voices coming from an open arch; and passing it I found myself in a smaller court, where Carnistir instructed his little brothers in the use of the bow.

As they often did, the twins fell silent as a stranger approached; drawing together, their faces eerily alike, their cheeks hollowing as their adulthood drew nearer. They had oblique eyes, and thin mouths now pursed as they observed me. An equal destiny bound them, like a ribbon setting them apart. But Carnistir hid not his surprise as he saw me, and laying down his bow he looked at me, a dark light in his black eyes.

"You come unexpected, daughter of Olorimo," he said, "None would have guessed we would ever see you again."

A pang troubled me at his mention of my father, for even if I did not repent of the choice I had made, still my pain at it was fresh. But shrugging I forced myself to smile; and when I answered my voice was falsely light.

"There are those who would say that it is better to come late, than not to come at all; and for once I will trust them. Will you tell me where your brother is?"

Carnistir laughed; a bitter and a short laugh as he threw back his black hair. He took again his bow, and for a moment I thought he would not answer; but as he drew a new arrow he said: "I have more than one brother, but it is easy to guess which one you are looking for. You will find him in the forge. Next courtyard, the door in the gallery with the chiseled columns."

I nodded my thanks; and as I left I heard the target practice resuming. Beneath an overcast sky the voice of the twins rang harsh.

I followed Carnistir's instructions, and found myself in a long gallery whose roof was supported by thin pillars, their flanks elegantly carved. Here no one was around; I guessed I had entered a private part of the palace. I found the forge: my spirit, discouraged and beaten by such a welcome, now found new strength as I heard the hollow music of a single hammer beating past the door. I pushed the wooden wing open.

A long, low-ceilinged room, the forge was empty but for him. A white light entered from the narrow windows, falling on the empty anvils, the abandoned tools. A single furnace was open; and by it he laboured. He did not turn as I advanced, his arm keeping on hammering a long blade he was shaping. He wore no shirt; new muscles glistened beneath his skin. Even when I stopped by him he kept working; and after a brief moment I spoke.

"Maitimo."

His next stroke went wrong; the work was now bent. With a scream of frustration he threw away both hammer and blade, turning to me, a savage light in his eyes. It was then that I saw that his hair was not bound, as I had at first thought, but cut without grace, in rough locks that barely reached the base of his neck. And his face was sadder and thinner, but also harsh, as if a fury he could barely contain lit it from behind. He did not speak; but looked at me, scowling.

"Maitimo…"

I could say nothing else. Here, after my long voyage, at the end of all that had been, all my words had died. Wrong, so wrong was all this; and in my heart the fear was awoken that I had come too late. He would not break the silence; he looked at me from under the disarrayed fringe of his hair, and remained silent. A tension unnamed rested between us, it strangled every sentence I could form.

At long last I forced out: "We should speak. But not here."

For a moment I thought he would refuse. But he slammed the door of the furnace shut, and grabbing his shirt from a stool he led the way out of the forge and into the naked courtyard I had crossed before. A milky sky was above our heads, clouds like a woolen blanket spread over the roofs. He leant against a column, waiting for me to begin. But here I felt unprotected and exposed, and the windows in the walls were like eyes prying at my discomfort.

"Is there no garden here? No place where – "

"You always liked gardens, did you not?"

They were the first words he had told me; and they were thick with derision. But he preceded me past an arch and down a few steps, into a garden planted on a terrace overlooking the hills. It was a secluded spot, dark cedars twining their branches, at its center a pond where no ducklings swam.

"No fine flowers here, I am afraid. For those you shall have to be back in Valmar."

"Why are you so harsh to me?"

He looked at me, as if considering whether I was joking. Then he laughed; a mirthless, a dead laughter that the cedars muffled, their branches rustling darkly in the cutting wind.

"I can see no reason why I should be glad to see you. One must admire your precision: you could have sent me back the ring by a courier. After such a long time, I thought you had just thrown it away."

"Is that why you think I have come?"

No doubt in his eyes; in that absence of light, they were black.

"Why else?"

"There was a choice I had to make. I came to tell you what decision I have taken."

"A choice…your silence was your answer. One year! It could not have been clearer."

Anger rose suddenly in my throat, a bitter taste in my mouth.

"Do you think it was easy? You're not alone in having loyalties to answer to!"

"Loyalties! What do you know of them? Perhaps that your father threatened to ban you from your precious white city?"

"Don't you dare speaking like that of my father!"

"You would have had me reject mine like a dog at my door!"

"For the love he ever showed you, it has done you much good to follow him here, answering his call!"

"But at least I came of my own will; what of you, who remained obediently at the loom at the beck and call of your father's uncle, the King?"

"You know nothing of my life in Valmar! You never cared…"

"What was there to ask? Sometimes I think my father was right about the Vanyar…"

It was too much. My vision was blurred, my spirit incapable of accepting that this was what I had ridden to meet. Refusing to acknowledge that one year had done this to us.

"Don't you dare!"

My hand had sprung before I had thought about it, in my veins a desire to hurt and erase, to refuse this moment where I saw all my hopes wither and die. This was not him; this was not me. I wanted to quench my anger, my wrath, my grief, to drown them in pain inflicted and received. Despair filled me; and I struck. Or tried to.

He grasped my wrist before my hand touched his skin, my gesture broken midair. It hurt me when he forced my arm down, it hurt me when he grasped my other wrist, drawing me to him. I tried to wrestle myself free, but he was stronger than me. His mouth contracted in a grimace of pain, he kissed me even as I tried to draw away.

I bit his lip, without stopping until I tasted blood. He let me go and I detached from him, strong in me the desire to escape; but as he let his arms fall by his hips, as he looked at me, his eyes pools of a stark sorrow that hurt me more than my own, hatred and pity for myself and him mixed, and over and over I hit him, covering his chest, his shoulders in punches.

His arms closed around me, and I fought him, but he did not let me go; and then it was I who kissed him first, a kiss that was almost a new bite as my nails sank in the nape of his neck. Shivers shook me as his hands run along my back, rough, heavy strokes that my skin felt through mantle and dress. We fell on the ground, my nostrils filling with the scent of musk; with impatient hands he tore away the pin that had closed my cloak.

My mind was empty, desire running through me like wildfire; bitterness and pain, hope and passion mingling in the feverish gesture with which my fingers traced the contours of his back, in the spasm of pleasure that ran through me as he kissed my neck left naked by the discarded mantle, his teeth a print on my skin. I did not care; all was left behind, all was blindingly clear in the wave that took me as his hand closed around my ankle, as his palm ran up the bone, pushing my gown further up, stroking my knee.

My fingers sank in his hair, pulling his head up by it, our lips meeting again in urgency before his found the line of my collarbone, and their brush upon my skin was warm, love overwhelming me as desire washed over my spirit. Then my fingers' grip on his hair relented, then I felt my tension unknotted, destroyed in the clarity of that moment; then the words that were all that mattered escaped me, a feeble sigh in the wind.

"I love you."

His kisses stopped. For a time I did not count we lay like that, his body an abandoned weight upon mine. Over us, that pale sky. It was only when his tears wetted my skin that I knew he was crying.

I did not move. Alone my fingers caressed his hair, a quiet stroking, a gesture for the words I could not utter, but that my spirit screamed. You're here now. You're safe.

A long time before his head rose, his eyes finding mine.

"Alcániel."

He caressed my cheek. Gently our bodies readjusted, finding each other, his arms encircling me over the crumpled heap that had been my cloak. I let my head rest against his chest, the uneven drumming of his heart beneath my ear the only music I wished for. His nose sunk into my hair, he caressed me lightly, as if he wished to erase the violence that had filled our gestures before. His voice was subdued, barely more than a whisper. For a long time I listened, and did not say a word.

He spoke of his love, and his despair when he thought I would not come again. He spoke of the gray twist of time where he had lived, of the sleepless dawns when he had watched all his dreams consumed. Of the grim life Fëanáro brought with him, of the feverish fear with which he had built for himself a stronghold that still could not satisfy his need. Gray twist of time, black back of fate. Alone, listening to the madness that grew around him, for madness it was to forge weapons in the land the Powers had for so long held in peace. Listening to his brothers' voices grow darker. Forgetting who he had been, for every memory was a pain sharpened to wound his heart, until nothing was left of our ancient joy but unhealed scars.

My voice wove with his as his long speech ended, my own fear, my doubt, my endless grief at my father's deafness to my pleas unfolding in words as plain as the truth they told. I asked for his forgiveness as he begged for mine. Giving me no answer, he took my hand. Our fingers squeezed each other until it hurt. And then we rose, the sky now dark, the clouds holding Telperion's silver gift at bay. I cared not. I only wished I could have seen, or guessed, the twinkling of a star.

Chapter 12: Exile

Read Chapter 12: Exile

Chapter 12

Exile

Fëanáro did not say a word as I took a seat at his table that evening; not a word as I partook of their supper. His black eyes were heavy upon my brow; but he did not speak. In them was the burning flame of his contempt, a burden I had by now grown accustomed to; but also something I had never seen there before, nor would see again. For among the raging fire of his disdain it flickered pale and weak the spark of doubt.

Fëanáro lived of certainties, too much his strength and his might for his spirit to allow the possibility of being contracticted. And even when facts seemed to prove him wrong, when other, lesser men (or perhaps wiser ones) would have acknowledged their defeat, still Fëanáro bore on, untouchable in his purpose, mindless of all that surrounded him. But on that day something had happened even he could not justify.

It was not for myself, but for my aunt that I was glad as his glance surveyed me, as if he were not sure of what he was seeing, as if he doubted the maiden sitting by his eldest was the same he had so obstinately refused as a daughter in law. Pusillanimous and unfaithful, he had called the Vanyar. This Vanyarin Elf had come back. I doubted not he would find a way to despise even this; but in that wavering doubt there was all the triumph we could ever obtain.

The King himself sat with us, and in seeing me his face was illuminated with a smile. Indis had not followed him here. Fëanáro would not let her come. And in the traces, however far, of our kinship on my face he found again his happiness.

"Will you remain here with us, Silmë?"

I exchanged a glance with Maitimo. The matter had been discussed briefly on our way back from the garden, as we waited for the dinner bells to call us in the main hall.

"I left Valmar with only as much as a saddlebag would hold; soon I will have to leave for Tirion, but just as soon I shall be back. I hope Arafinwë my cousin shall extend to me again the courtesy he showed in the past."

"Oh, he will," Fëanáro's voice broke in, and his eyes were hard. The doubt had passed. "Whoever heard my little brother ever refuse one of his Vanyarin relatives? Even if she treats his house like a hostel along the road. But if my house you think of treating likewise, daughter of Olorimo, you shall do better to think again."

I felt tired and empty, a numb happiness and a subdued anxiety battling within my chest. But in that year I had passed through worse than Fëanáro could throw at me now, and my tiredness was my strength. I had abandoned my people, renounced my father. I was past all contempt.

Bitterly, I smiled.

"The Queen Varda was wrong, it appears, son of Finwë; for one year in the wilderness has tempered neither your wisdom nor your tongue. Your son and I were betrothed before the One, and such a bond none but us can break. My rights you cannot deny, even if you would, driven to malice in the idleness of this solitary abode."

He rose; and for a moment I feared he would let his wrath show in its full might, for shadows stirred behind his charcoal irises the smallest heat would have been enough to ignite. But his voice was calm and cold when he answered.

"It took you a long time to remember it. And know this: that the fates of those who have my blood are woven of my own fire, and looking at you I know you have neither strength nor perseverance enough in your spirit to stand such brightness. It would have been better if you had remained in your city, playing courtier to the Valar as all your family do."

He left. His voice had rung of doom. In it it had echoed the truth that so often filled Artanis'. His cold glance had been black ice on me.

I turned to Maitimo. He looked straight ahead, his skin as white as alabaster in the wavering light of the torches. Frail and bright, and dearer to me than my own blood. The thought came quicker than any reasoned judgment, quicker than any possibility to change my mind.

If this be the fire I must perish of, so be it.

I cared not.

After supper I left the hall, walking the long corridors lit only by torches. Outside the wind howled through narrow windows, fell clouds hid all light. I stopped by one of the severely cut openings, leaning against its sill. The outer walls kept most of the wind out, here, in the heart of the stronghold, its wailing was a vain threat. Still the coolness in the air was pungent, it bit now that the night was deep, the day still buried deep in the hours to come.

I looked out; in me all doubts dead, but still too much of pain to call this joy. In this dark hour I had found my love, in this dark hour I had undone what a fate that it had never been in my hands to change had inflicted on us. But still this was not enough to pretend day had come back. The coldness of the stone seeping into my skin through the thin fabric of my sleeve, before my eyes the hissing emptiness of that night, my spirit lurked on the edge of the thought that had till now had it recoiling in pain. Perhaps this stain was past healing. Perhaps our lot would be living forever in this tainted light.

He made no noise as he walked, his steps lighter and more silent than his great limbs would have suggested. I did not know he was there until he leant above me, his lips, his nose hovering an inch over my hair. He inhaled my smell, slowly. I closed my eyes. The music of his breathing, its subdued melody that to my ears erased all thought of the wind. I leant back against him, letting his arms encircle me.

"Mind not my father."

"I never did."

Another day, we would have smiled.

"I persuaded Tyelkormo to lend you one of his carrier birds. You can send a message to Tirion this very night."

"I thank you."

For one long moment we did not speak, enjoying, now without urgency, each other's warmth. At the bottom of our embrace there still lurked the fear, the faint anxiety that this could not last long. That all this long day had been but a consoling dream, a soothing balm concocted by spirits too tired of this long sundering to accept the truth. But his skin under my fingers was as real as the harshness of the wind. This was no dream.

Slowly he led the way to the tower where his brother kept his birds, creatures he had taken into his service, and that loved him of the love the Lord Oromë had taught him to inspire into them. Those who had been instructed by the Hunter could speak to most of the beasts that inhabited freely the wood, and thus grant themselves their fealty.

Tyelkormo waited for us by the door of the wooden shack where they had their nests, his figure muffled by a woolen cloak. By his feet crouched the great, dark shape of Hùan the hound, which Oromë had given him as a present to enrich his hunting and sweeten the bitterness of voluntary exile. As he saw us arrive he opened briskly the door, and let me in. Maitimo waited outside.

The interior of the shack was warm, the wafts of wind penetrating through openings in the roof for the birds to fly out of could not chill the air heated by the breath of the feathery creatures. Bright eyes like black beads followed our movements with the turning of small heads, and the birds greeted their master with a soft cooing. Tyelkorm gave me a thin strip of parchment to write on, and in my smallest hand I crammed on it a brief message. Expertly, without saying a word, he selected a strong-looking pigeon, and rolled and tied the parchment to its leg.

"Will he know the way?"

"If I tell him to."

His voice was brisk. Here in Formenos his spirit was cramped, subdued. If he had had wings himself he would have flown; even if never would a son of Fëanáro admit to such a desire. Tyelkormo spoke to his bird in a low chanting. As if bewitched, the animal looked at him, replying in a low noise. Tyelkormo held his hands high. Battling against the wind, the bird took flight. It was no more than a small, darker stain against a darkened sky.

***

They had given me the chamber Curufinwë's wife used when she (rarely) came visiting; one of the few women of the household had been assigned to my service. I dismissed her soon. Sitting before a polished mirror, I brushed my hair, and thought of nothing. For the first time in a very long time, I knew I would lie down to sleep, and not dream. There was no longer need of it.

The knock on the door was subdued, as if the one who knocked were uncertain on whether or not he wished to be admitted. Wrapping a shawl around my shoulders I opened the wing without asking who was there. I knew.

He did not smile; his voice, when he spoke, was low and careful.

"I came to say goodnight."

"On the threshold, my lord?"

A playfulness long forgotten was in my words, as light, as hesitant as the tracks a dragonfly may leave when skipping above the water. The same uncertainty was mirrored in his reply.

"I would never dare impeaching your honour by saying goodnight in your chamber, my lady."

Shadows of smiles, ghosts of things past. We did not need the banter anymore. Too much had happened. There was a starkness in this silence, a naked truth. It hurt; but it was real.

I closed the door; he held me long and tight. I learnt his body anew in the print of his bones pressed against my own.

"Is it too much to ask for the sacrifice of another ten years?"

I smiled against his chest.

"It's eleven. And it's not."

I raised my face, meeting his eyes.

"Not like a fugitive shall I be wed to you; but in the light of Tirion, and before those we call friends."

"I know."

No more to say. And yet his arms would not let me go; and yet I tried not to break their hold. The memory of that afternoon's violence was fresh; but with it went the bite of a fire that had been kindled long before.

"I should go."

A whisper. No more.

"Do not."

I took his hand, leading him, like a child who does not know the way.

"Stay."

There can be an innocence in desire; there can be consolation even in its restraining. But what are these, in the end? Just words; just breath, just air. It matters not. The body knows everything; what is right, what is wrong, even when the spirit ails without the courage to acknowledge its sickness.

I let my fingers find the edge of his shirt, I let my arms draw it high, over his head. A small gesture of their tips and it was cast aside, crumpled linen on the rug. I did not care. For the splendour of his body was all my eyes could perceive, the heat of his flesh all my skin would remember as his own fingers undid the laces of my nightgown. They trembled; even as I did.

There is a place where all words are lost; and it was in his arms in that night that I found it. Darkness was forgotten; and so was light. We were beyond them, for this night, for this borrowed silence, for the long drumming of our blood was all that existed. Lying awake in our embrace, skin against skin, gambling our promise on the sharp edge of the desire we tempered even as we resisted it. Learning patience for another ten years of wait. Dreaming not, sleeping not, until morning came.

***

Artanis came two days later, her mare a silvery, bright stain in the grayish emptiness of the plain. She would not climb the long, narrow path beneath the sentinels' suspicious eyes; she would not risk being refused admittance. Up she despatched a messenger, one of the guards who dared not disobey one of the house of the King.

I rode down to her in the same dress I had worn when I had left my house, my horse rested by two days in the stable, my eyes now full of a serenity stained with melancholy. But no more doubts, no more fear. I had found my place.

She looked at me, long and hard. She looked from my ring to my face, searching my eyes for the truth – whether our spirits had already been joined. Smiling faintly, I shook my head, answering with words her wordless question.

"There are many ways for destinies to be joined, Artanis, cousin and friend."

"I doubt it not. Down this road you walked, without looking back, a long time ago." She glanced up at Formenos, her eyes taking in the turrets, the thick battlements, the proud gates; the light of the pale day flickering like a colourless flame on the tip of the spears. She shook her head, like a horse that shakes away a fly; shutting her eyes against what visions such a sight brought to her troubled mind. When she opened them again, her irises were clear.

"My friend. I am glad you are back."

"For half a year. For the other two seasons, I am due here."

"We shall see to make them suffice."

I turned back, just once; to Maitimo looking at me depart from the tower. I raised my hand in farewell, light dancing blue and red on the stone upon my finger. He was far; but he smiled. Like a thin chain binding us together, the unspoken promise of skin on skin tied us. No need of courtly, refined vows. No loremaster had ever crafted words to suffice for such an understanding, deeper and more subtle than all the trappings the world could devise. I turned my horse, and spurred it forward; but at the same time I remained there.

Ten years is nothing to an Elvish mind; even when the Trees were bright, and the seasons longer, still the eternity that was then still young on our minds, short in our memories had spun longer tales. There was merriness in Tirion for my return; for the White City was forsaken by many who had made it fair, and many of its splendid mansions were shut.

Nolofinwë was locked in a grief that was resentment and rejected love; disappointed son, and refused brother, in that days was cast on him the blight that would last to the end of his life. Many things he could be; and many things he achieved. But forever in his mind he would remain what he was the day I first saw him after my return: a sad Elf, and a bitter one. There was a crease to his mouth that was not there before, and would never be smoothed again.

Findekáno had not forgotten his grudge. Pride kept him from journeying to Formenos; and in those days he rode long and far, knowing the shores of Aman and its plains, going everywhere his fancy, or the unquiet hoofs of his steed would bring him; but never taking the one road he truly desired. In the years of Fëanáro's exile, lost without the friend in the time of our betrothal he had cautiously drawn closer to again, he was like an abandoned thing. Like all of us, like me, he felt that the tide had changed; that the air crackled with sparks we could not see, like the sky that grows tighter and darker as lightning approaches.

But lightning did not strike. Living as we did on the edge of doom, listening for words of reassurance the Powers would not utter, for Melkor the Traitor had not been found, and evil crept closer to the Blessed Realm.

Like me, Findekáno knew all this; unlike him, I pretended to forget.

No messengers came from Valmar to claim me back; and their silence hurt more than insults would have done. No, Olorimo would not speak to me; and those letters my mother managed to send to me never even pronounced his name. For love of him, she would not come. For love of Maitimo, I had abandoned them. It was my decision; one my Noldorin relatives accepted. Arafinwë welcomed me to his house, offering me a room of my own to dwell in. Artanis said quietly she was happy to share. I had a family; I was loved. But that bitterness could not be erased. That loss could not be filled.

'We cannot have other father, other mother than those that were given us by the One, however imperfect they may be.'

And yet I could find joy, however tainted; and yet I knew the decision I had taken was the only one that would not break me. Perhaps I hoped against all hope Time would heal all hurts; perhaps I hoped against the darkness lurking in Artanis' thoughts of a future that drew every day closer that we would live on to see a day where these shores should be cleansed anew, and the evil that had been, the sundering that had broken us be forgiven. That the wounds we had suffered would be healed, and forgotten.

It seems so strange to write this now, and my fingers hesitate; for I recognise in the print of that dimming the seed and the plot of things that would come. The board was set; the pieces waiting to be moved. Perhaps it is a beautiful tale to tell, and not only a terrible one; perhaps there is a beauty, a splendour I can only guess, in the tapestry our lives have woven. All in Arda marred brings glory to the One; and even in the marring there is but a shade of his infinite Being. Even in lies there is a spark of His truth.

But this I cannot know but through mirrors, and knots unsolved; for I was one of the pieces on that board, one of the pieces that, willing or not, would be moved. A wind was to come that would sweep us away from our square, and bring us along roads whose existence we had not guessed. Not even pieces; pawns. But this we knew not. We lived; finding contentment in those days when the mist would relent, and draw away to show us again the brilliance of the light.

***

Maitimo parried; the swords clashed, the blades sparkling. It was a morning at the beginning of a new season; white clouds like fleeced lambs ran in the dirty lawns of a sullen sky. And yet the metal was polished, and Laurelin's brilliant power showed on it in intricate patterns of light.

Curufinwë jumped back, attacking again, his movements heavy, his own great strength an obstacle to him. Maitimo danced away, his movements a step away from gracefulness, too much their restrained might to allow for that. His quickness was joined to determination as he circled his brother, his sword still but vibrant in his hand. Parry, circle. Strike.

The sword's flat came down heavy on Curufinwë's wrist, he let down his own blade with a cry of dismay. Maitimo smiled; sheathing again his own sword, he bent over and picked up his brother's weapon.

"It was a nice bout."

"It was a bout you won, as usual."

"Don't sulk, Curvo."

Curufinwë looked at him from under lowered lashes, hostility a palpable wave around him. Fëanáro's favourite son had inherited his father's easiness for offence; but he lacked his might. Where his father's displeasure was a thing to be feared, Curvo looked indeed but a child sulking.

Smiling, Maitimo offered him his sword's hilt; however grudgingly, the other accepted. My betrothed walked back to where I had witnessed the training, sitting on a bench in the shade. He accepted a flask of water, dousing his hair with some of it. He had kept it short; I ran my fingers through its locks. Playfully, like a dog when it's wet, he shook his head. I laughed.

"Perhaps at last we have found a talent in you, Nelyafinwë. Even though your spirit remains but that, unskilled and unshaped, of an Elfling."

Slowly, he straightened. Fëanáro on the archway of the courtyard where we stood surveyed us with a cold glance. In the seven years that had passed since he first had come to Formenos he had not changed; not in the way the Queen Varda had hoped for. No, for Fëanáro had built his fortress on his might, and his pride – and there he had dwelt in power, as the Noldor flocked to him, and Tirion left under his brother's kingship waned. And exile and hatred and bitterness had sharpened him, like one of the blades he forged - and the light in his eyes had grown feverish and cold at the same time. Like charcoal trapped in ice, Fëanáro's eyes bored on us; lightly, Maitimo bowed his head.

"As always, father, your words bring me but honour and delight."

"Spare me. Your technique has grown better, and been refined. That much counts."

Heeding no longer his eldest, he turned to Curufinwë.

"I came to tell you I shall not be here to survey the last batch of new spearheads. I entrust the forge to you."

"Father?"

Never had Fëanáro left Formenos since he had come, even though his ban concerned Tirion alone of the whole of Valinor. Contempt seeping in his voice like cold venom, his eyes flared with wrath.

"Manwë summons me to Valmar. The prince of the Noldor is to grace his time of festival."

Respect for the Powers had been bred into my mind since my birth; his offence stung.

"Surely the King invited you. He would not summon any to him who did not wish to go."

"A command it is to me; for the Valar know well that I have no desire to visit again their city. Perhaps that you should be there, since so great is your wish to go? But I forget: I am not the sole exile here."

Six years had thought me a dead smile was answer enough to such mots; and indeed, Fëanáro turned and went immediately, heeding me no further. My sight alone tormented him; for I was a part of Indis that he could not escape, and a proof of his failure in having his way. Not often his wishes had been thwarted; and for the honour of such a rarity I paid a bitter price.

Without glancing back, Caranthir strode away in his wake. The courtyard was silent and empty, the disturbed sand the only proof of what had passed. Soon servants would come to rake it. Sitting beside me, Maitimo did not speak. After a long moment I put in words the silent thought that stung us both; uncertain whether it would bring us joy or woe.

"Nolofinwë shall be there."

"As the King Manwë himself has surely arranged."

The last time the brothers had seen each other Fëanáro's exile had been sealed; now to hope for the same doom to be undone seemed too brilliant an expectation to nourish in such times. And yet the thought fluttered before our eyes, shimmering like and emerald and gold insect which flies lazily among flowers on a bright day.

"If it were…"

"Say it not. It is no good to hope without certainty to aid the heart's desire."

Our eyes met.

"And yet."

"Time shall tell. In a few days we will know."

"If it were true…"

He never finished his sentence. Our fingers entwined; our unspoken promise filling the silence. Suddenly, he rose.

"Come, my lady. You are right: it is not wise to brood upon uncertain sorrows, or uncertain joys. Come! A horse and a ride; and perhaps a tumble down a grassy hill. Have I not, after all, an Elfling's spirit?"

Laughing in the face of scorn. Turning insult to praise. Pretending we could make gold of whatever coin fate would offer us. It was not to be; but we knew it not. Smiling, I accepted his hand. We left the courtyard behind, his sword was cast off in the armoury.

A new season sprang beneath our horses' hoofs; the plains were lit up with the white of a thousand flowers. Among them, flying lazily, the emerald shimmer of rose chafers.

Chapter 13: In Evil Hour

The account of Morgoth's coming to Formenos as told by Maedhros is one of the things Chrstopher Tolkien saw fit to leave out of the published Silm...as you may see here, I do not agree with him. 0:) The title of this chapter is a tribute to one of my favourite books by one of my favourite authors, Garcìa Marquéz...enjoy! :)

Read Chapter 13: In Evil Hour

Chapter 13

In Evil Hour

We watched Fëanáro leave from the battlements overlooking the plain, his red roan purposefully cutting open a way through the tall grass. He had taken no escort; he would go to Valmar alone. Proud was his demeanour, and he did not turn back for one last goodbye. By our side, Finwë watched his son go intently, his brow creased, as if prey to thoughts darker than the promise of that morning. He would not go. Not as long as upon his eldest weighed the penalty of exile.

Slowly, one by one the sentinels and servants returned to their work. They had all stopped to watch their lord go; for Fëanáro and not Finwë the High King was lord in Formenos, and to him went the fealty of all those who dwelt there; a fierce loyalty that was but another face of the love they brought to the King. Silently, Curufinwë left us too, his duty with the forges his father had entrusted him. The die was cast. Now we lived waiting for whichever news Fëanáro would bring back.

My hope had wavered as I had watched him saddle his horse, his raiment that, simple and unadorned, of one who go goes for a long ride. No jewels to honour the festival where he had been summoned; and the Silmarils had remained hidden, resting in the iron chamber deep into the foundations of the stronghold. He went to Valmar like a riotous vassal who knows his lord wishes to point out his faults; and yet his bearing was that of a wronged sovereign. His eyes shone fierce under his thick lashes.

For a long time I remained by Maitimo's side, listening to the wind as it shook the long blades of grass, bending them in silvery paths, entwining them in new and beautiful designs. All too soon every trace of Fëanáro's passage was erased.

My betrothed turned his back to the plain, leaning against the merlons, his arms crossed. On his face worry and relief battled. It was out of our hands: now doom was balanced on his father's fingertips. In other times, an occurrence to be feared; now, after years in exile, nothing more than the final thrust that decides the duel. Change would ride back with him; a deepening of our misery, or its end. The crystal stairs of Tirion glittered in my memory, a beacon at the end of the path. To walk them again with Maitimo would be bliss unhoped for.

But we had long since decided that to brood upon joys or sorrows that yet had to come would be pointless; and so, touching his arm with light fingers, I recalled Maitimo to the present. Meeting my eyes, he smiled, nodding his assent to my unspoken question. We took our leave of the King, going back to our usual occupations. But Finwë nodded distractedly to our salute, his eyes still fixed upon the plain; as if he hoped to catch, with eyesight keener than even the Eldar are endowed with, another glimpse of his son as he rode to Valmar.

That day passed in merriness: I wrote a letter to Galadriel as Maitimo trained with Macalaurë in the use of the sword, and when the evening came I stood on the tower, watching the lights mingle as the pigeon carrying my letter left, his flight an invisible path across the rays of the Trees, where his feathers shone like amethyst and pearl.

I slept, this I recall clearly, without a single dream. Time uncounted has passed since that night; time uncounted, and yet I marvel still. For no inkling nor hint had come to me when Fëanáro had broken our dreams with the unsheathing of his sword; but that no hint should come now seems to me proof that the fates of the Eldar are indeed sung and laid in stone before we were ever born. Against the decrees of the future no foresight shall be defense.

***

I awoke to the subdued knocking of a familiar hand on my door, and hastily wrapping a robe around me I rose. I opened the door so quickly Maitimo's hand remained suspended midair, on his face a puzzled expression. Laughing, I took his hand, drawing him inside. We huddled in my bed, playfulness a safe land where to dwell in the clear light of the morning. Curling up against his great body, I closed my eyes.

"I do not think I am quite up to riding today."

He buried his nose in my hair, laughing softly.

"Oh, but you should. I know of a wonderful little vale I wanted to show you."

"This vale of sheets and blankets is wonderful enough."

"Now now, my idle lady," in one gesture he lifted me, and rising deposited me neatly on the stool before my mirror, "Your pleas shall not move me. Now make yourself even more beautiful than you already are, and I shall wait for you in the courtyard. With saddled horses, so do not procrastinate."

I pretended to sulk; but all pretension melted as he leant over, laying a kiss on my forehead. His lips lingered a moment more than I would have expected, and shivers ran down my spine as he whispered to my ear: "Besides, new grass shall make a very comfortable blanket to lay upon."

I watched him leave in my mirror, as he closed the door behind his back. I found myself chanting a joyful tune as I chose a dress; and called myself silly as I left the room. But it did not matter.

***

The day was a long dream woven of moments of delight, all thoughts of Fëanáro and his encounter with the Powers banished from our minds. I would not have risen even as evening approached, Laurelin's light growing weaker. It had been a cloudless day. The sky was an uninterrupted stretch of gilded splendour as I shook the grass seeds off my mantle, as Maitimo untethered the horses from a low bush. Leaning over, he kissed me once more, his lips bringing to mine the seal of hours of happiness. I that would not have risen in the morning now wished I could hold the Trees still, stretching that moment to fill all the hours of my life. But Time cannot be stopped; even for those who within its boundaries are fated never to die. We mounted, starting on our way home.

It was in a companionable silence that we trotted back, the horses at ease in the warmth of the mingling of the lights before Telperion's silver brought back coolness and quiet in its wake. A shout reached us over the grass, and we stopped. Macalaurë and Carnistir had been hunting together, and they caught up with us, their game bags full, the dogs yapping joyfully, dancing among the horses' hoofs. The brothers bantered as we spurred our horses forward once more; in the soft light even Carnistir's usual scowl was sweetened. Closing his eyes, he enjoyed the last of the gold. The mingling of the lights had come to full ripening, and on the line of the horizon Formenos was a black and elegant shape, its stark beauty outlined against the pale amber of the sky.

When darkness suddenly fell, it was as if a blindfold had been tied upon our eyes without warning.

Thinking about it much later I would remember the moment of uncertainty, the timeless instant in which only Laurelin had failed, and Telperion's splendour still held out bravely against a sea of night. But it was not to last. For in a moment more even silver had wavered and disappeared, one last flicker and then a darkness where not even the stars could be seen. A darkness deeper than that which had endlessly enveloped Arda forsaken under the stars.

The dogs fell silent, their voices reduced to a whining yelp. Terror seized the horses that had never known the dark, and we called to each other in shouts, suddenly blind. None could count the time that passed before we closed ranks again, each rider holding onto the bridle of the next, finding reassurance in our presence. Our eyes tried in vain to adjust themselves to the black, and yet they failed; for that darkness was like a living thing, and its evil breath was upon us.

Fumbling Macalaurë reached for his saddlebag, and a moment later his hand came out of it shining: it held the light of a lamp. Delicate silverwork protected a crystal, shining blue and cold; and at its sight the animals were pacified, and our hearts made stronger. Of all his creations the Lamps of Fëanáro, that neither wind nor water could quench, were among the most beloved by the Eldar, and the rays of their icy light were a core of surviving hope in this unbroken blackness.

"I brought it, should we chase the animals in caves. I had forgotten it was there."

Macalaurë's voice was subdued, and indeed a silence heavier than lead had fallen upon the plain, and the hounds huddled closer to our horses. He held the lamp high; but its light could go but a few steps away. Darkness unconquered lay outside its feeble reach, and what of the grass it could light was an ethereal, unreal shape. And yet it was light; and, able now to see our way, we marched forward once more.

I let my horse stray closer to Maitimo's, and without looking at me his hand found mine. I allowed my voice to form the question that had haunted me ever since the darkness had come: "What has come to pass? Why has the light of the Trees failed?"

But before he could make an answer, if answer there could be, blows resonated from over the unseen hills; blows that made our blood grow cold and still, for a wind came over us, and a booming voice spoke words we could not distinguish. And the horses fled, casting us upon the ground, for no talent of horsemanship could master their terror; and a single cry was heard. Upon the grass, my mouth full of earth, I raised my eyes, and ahead, closer than we had suspected in the dark, I saw the turrets and walls of Formenos lit up by sudden flame, a red, raw shape as the last of the clamour filled us with dread. And then even the flame disappeared, and darkness came again.

But even as the wind fell, we could not move; and I felt my fingers, my whole body numbed and still, and my spirit could not command it; my heart was crushed in a grip of unspoken, nameless dread. It was but with great labour, all of my strength sapped and exhausted by that overpowering darkness, that I turned my head, meeting the eyes of Maitimo fallen a short distance from me, his limbs held down by the same heaviness. With supreme effort he stretched an arm, his fingertips almost reaching mine; but then he could not move further, and we lay motionless on the ground.

It was only after a time we did not count had passed that finally sensation returned to our bodies, and wearily we struggled to our feet. As soon as he could move Maitimo grasped my hand, hauling me up, his strength coming back. Still on his knees, he clasped me to his breast, as his brothers regained standing but with effort.

"What was that?" Carnistir's voice was harsh and broken.

"A spirit of great power and great evil, certainly. Maitimo, you do not think…?" Macalaurë's eyes sought those of his older brother, and Maitimo held them for a long moment, deep in thought.

"It could be. We must return to Formenos."

The lamp had fallen sideways on the grass, its light still shining, a vain threat to the encircling black. In the circle of its rays the hounds crouched, heaped together, trembling with fear. Carnistir soothed them, a mindless touch of his hand as Macalaurë and Maitimo whistled for the horses.

I called back my own, her name made unfamiliar by the dark; and she came out of the night at a guilty trot. Her silky coat beneath my fingers was like a message from times past. We mounted back, now spurring forward our horses, heedless, for what we could, of the dark; for even its threat was nothing compared to the dread of discovering what had come to pass in Formenos as that great flame struck.

Trusting the lack of obstacles on the grassy plain, we dared break into a quicker pace, and at last we could see the stronghold emerging from the black, its battlements crowned with torches, pearled with the blue of other lamps. The guards at the gate shouted in warning as our group drew closer; but Maitimo's call had them greet him with grateful, panicked voices.

"My lord…it was the traitor Vala…Melkor…"

He needed no other encouragement. We ran up the path to the main gate, and the portcullis was broken and bent, and the courtyard blackened by flames the servants struggled to tame. Abandoning our horses, Maitimo leading us, we penetrated further into the palace, to the private courts, and then to the entrance to the stairs that led down to the strong chamber.

"Curufinwë!"

At his brother's voice Curvo turned, his face as pale as chalk beneath his raven hair.

"We could not stop him! A spell was cast on us, we could not move…"

"It was like this for us too. But what happened? The guards said…"

"It was Melkor! He came like a cloud over the hills, in his wake an even blacker threat! He took shape before the gate, and we could not hold it…wherever he went our wits and strength failed, as if he sapped them with his sole presence. Only the King could resist…"

"Where is he? Where is the King?"

Grandfather, the unspoken word hung heavy among them, affection now a hand strangling them. Curufinwë's voice was thin when he replied: "He unsheathed his sword, standing alone before the iron doors of the chamber of treasure…the archway has collapsed. We are trying to move the stones…"

Moving him aside like a puppet Maitimo went on, to where Tyelkormo and the twins laboured among the servants. The roof had caved in, fallen brick and stone blocked the entrance. Anxiety seized me as it seized every of us, and for a while we worked together in silence, each removing with frantic gestures as much stone as he could carry. My nails were broken, my fingers bleeding when at last a passage was open, and Telufinwë that was the smallest of us slithered in before his brothers could stop him.

"Grandfather!"

In his anguished cry lay our answer even before we followed him and saw with our own eyes. For Finwë the High King, Finwë the beloved, lay on the floor before us dead.

***

Nobody spoke as Telufinwë cried, his twin joining him, subdued sobs choking their breath. Slowly, Macalaurë and Carnistir knelt on the ground, incapable of moving one step further. Maitimo was the eldest; on him lay a duty Valinor had never known before this day, ere this evil hour.

Carefully, as if he feared he might woke him from a pleasant dream, he knelt by Finwë's body, his hand touching lightly his white skin, his neck streaked with blood. His head was crushed as if by a great mace, his beauty destroyed. The sword in his hand was untempered and undone as if by fire, its hilt fused with his palm. Horror clenched my throat, my strength waning; but forcing myself to be steadfast I walked to Maitimo, my hand brushing his shoulder. He looked to me as if one awoken by a nightmare; and his voice was stone when he commanded: "Curufinwë. The treasure."

Curvo and Tyelkormo had remained by the fallen archway, but at his brother's order the first moved as if in a dream, walking past Finwë's body, past the iron doors of the chamber twisted and unhinged. Down the stairs he went, his steps sounding hollow as he penetrated deep into the bowels of the hills, until they stopped. And then his cry echoed from the deep place beneath our feet, and his rushing feet brought him up again as he yelled: "The Silmarils are gone! All the treasure has been taken, and the Silmarils with it!"

Cries of dismay filled the air, but Maitimo did not cry, his eyes hard and blank as he turned to Macalaurë: "Our father must know. I shall go to Valmar. Carnistir, Curufinwë: with me. Macalaurë, gather what has remained of the precious things here, and lead all our people to Tirion. We need the strength of our kin."

"Yes."

"And bring…grandfather."

Pain compressed in a single word, but no time for it. Mourning would bide its time, a black eagle haunting our steps. Swiftly the three brothers strode away from the rest, turning their backs on the pitiful remains of Finwë, that was once great. I hesitated a moment as Tyelkormo knelt by his younger brothers, seeking in vain to soothe them even as he himself fought back tears. But there was nothing I could do; and turning myself I rushed by Maitimo's side. His voice was hard when he saw me.

"Go with Macalaurë. He shall keep you safe."

"No! I will not leave you now. And the road to Valmar I know far better than you ever could."

Briefly he held my glance, but then briskly he nodded.

"Ride with me."

Our horses still waited in the courtyard; Maitimo mounted in one leap, drawing me upon the saddle in front of him. Without waiting for his brothers he careered down the path, snatching a lamp from the guards as he went. So did his brothers; cold flickers of sapphire in the onyx of the night, we traced the road to Valmar.

My senses were strained, my spirit turned to the place that had seen me being born; my soul yearned for the light that even now the Valar held. We rode in silence; they followed the instructions I sometimes gave them, recognizing the road I could not see. Maitimo held me tightly, holding the reins with one hand; the fingers of the other digging deep into my flesh. His grief was like a hood surrounding me, a tangible thing, and the disbelief that had coloured my thoughts, the sense of unreality that had held me when we had discovered the body of the King now faded. My memory filled, remembering Finwë; and hot tears streaked my cheeks in silence.

Perhaps he felt the quiet sobs that shook my chest; perhaps he guessed. Maitimo held me closer, his nose buried in my hair, my back hard against his breast. With clenched teeth, with choked breath, he too was crying.

Many enchantments the Noldor had made in song, to drive their horses faster in hunt and play and race; and now the Fëanárions said them all as we galloped to Valmar, doom hot on our heels, on our lips the news of evil times. One night it took us to reach Valmar the Silent and White; one night, or what would have been night, had night and day still existed. For any hope of the light of the Trees vanished as we came in sight of the pale walls crowned with flickering flame, and the guards gripped their spears with whitened knuckles.

But as we drew closer to the seat of Manwë, King of the World, and to the power of Taniquetil the pure, the darkness grew thinner, and through its shredded veil the stars appeared, the dome of the sky Varda Tintallë had embroidered in better and happier times, when the promise of Eä was untainted. Black was the sky, cut into glass in clean lines; and the stars were diamonds sewn in its folds. Their light was cold and far, uncaring. Nothing as beautiful or as cruel had I ever seen.

The guards let us pass, and in a silence that I would have thought could not exist, a silence where the frantic beat of our horses' hoofs was the only sound, we ascended the streets of the city to the mountain and the Ring of Doom. My heart was rended from every glance I stole of the city, for here I had thought I would never come again. The streets, the squares were full, Vanyar and Noldor assembled together to celebrate a time of feast and joy, garlands of flowers on the hair of the maidens a mocking tribute to what had been. Darkness had caught them; and where they had been standing they had crouched, trusting each other's warmth, trusting each other's frail comfort against this night. They watched us pass with empty eyes.

Endless seemed our ascent, a stretch of time outside the jurisdiction of Vala or Elf, but at last we were there: two Maiar guarded the double doors, but they let us through. And when we came in, in the Ring of the Valar lit only by shivering lights, the eyes of all those who there stood turned to us.

The Powers did not sit on their thrones; for they had been defiled. With them stood Fëanáro and Nolofinwë, and they stood, however unwillingly, side by side; and there were Nolofinwë's sons and daughter, and Arafinwë and his children by them. Artanis looked at me, and her eyes were hard, but filled with tears; like rain that washes over rock they sparkled. But I did not look at her. For by them were my family, and Olorimo my father by the side of Ingwë the High King.

Maitimo advanced, and he held me by the hand. The Queen Varda raised sharply her head, for she had been gazing at the floor, and the air was tense, as if we had interrupted some great council.

"Nelyafinwë, son of Curufinwë, in an hour of distress you come, and upon you is the shadow of a great evil. Speak, and say what you have come to tell, however bitter."

"I shall speak, Queen; and to my father above all others. Heavy is my heart, and broken my voice as I do so."

Fëanáro had looked at us with suspicion, as if he guessed that pain was to come to him of our news. And now his eyes shone like obsidian, like stars reflected in a lake; under his gaze I trembled, for I knew that Fëanáro loved his father of a love that was both great and fierce, and of such a flame now could come nothing but a grief that would burn. Like me, Maitimo knew; but he did not hesitate. Letting go of my hand he stepped forward, and said: "We came running from Formenos; the fortress has been attacked. Melkor the Vala has subdued its inhabitants with a spell, intending to sack its treasure. The King Finwë, father of my father, stood between him and his purpose, and he was stricken down. Now he is dead, and the Silmarils lost."

Cries of dismay filled the vaults; but Fëanáro said nothing. On his face he fell, like wheat when the sickle reaps it in the field, and for a moment we feared that his heart had been broken, and he had fallen dead. Nolofinwë bent upon him, concerned for his brother even as his face was twisted with pain upon hearing our news; and love and concern were written upon his brow. But Fëanáro refused all help, and rising alone he cried against the Powers assembled: "What have you done to me, that you have held me here while it was slain and stolen the better part of myself?"

The King Manwë raised his hands, asking for silence, and his noble countenance was full of grief. But Fëanáro was fey, past help, or fear, or respect, for he had lost the two things he had held dearer upon this Earth. And heeding him not he cried: "Ask not silence of me! Ask nothing more! The work of my hands you would have had, and now the blood of my father you got! For is he not your brother, your same fabric, the one who has done this? I curse him before the One and the stars over Eä! I curse him, Morgoth, Black Enemy of the World, and with him I curse you and your treacherous summons!"

His eyes were now wild, full of a savage light and a boundless hatred, grief a barrier setting him apart; and turning he fled the Ring of Doom, not looking once back. And his sons rushed after him, for they feared that in the heat of his pain he would do the unthinkable, and slay himself. Hastily, Maitimo turned to me, and taking my hand one brief moment he said: "I shall find you in Tirion." And before I could reply, out he ran.

Nolofinwë seemed for a moment determined to go himself, but Arafinwë held him back; slowly, her voice cracked with pity, Varda spoke: "Bitter has long been the heart of Fëanáro, and dark his thoughts. But few shall ever suffer as he does now, and for this pain much could be forgiven."

But Nàmo, the Doomsman, raised his head, and from under his lifted hood came his voice: "Much. But not all."

And the Valar were silent.

Artanis came to me, her pace unsteady, her tears now overflowing; and quietly, taking my hand, she leant her head against my shoulder. Thus we stood together, for we knew now that this was the darkness long years of black dreams had foretold, and the storm long announced had broken.

Still the Powers kept their silence, and the Noldor realized Tirion had been left undefended; and as the Vanyar gathered around the tainted thrones, seeking the protection of the Guardians of Eä, the Noldor orphaned of their guide prepared to leave, and go back.

Artanis straightened, drying her tears with the back of her hand.

"Findaráto, Aikanár. Angaráto. Father. We have to go."

Her kinsmen nodded assent, following Nolofinwë and his children, who already strode out of the Ring of Doom. With them I prepared to go, my heart gripped with grievous thoughts. But someone grasped my wrist, holding me back; and turning I met the eyes of Falwing my mother.

"I beg of you, do not return to the city of the Noldor! For now a foreboding has come over my heart, that if you shall leave now, I will not see you again."

"Mother, it is in an evil hour that we live now, and evil thoughts come with it. But it would be madness to allow fear to control our actions. I have to go."

"No! For me, for your father, for your whole family, remain. You heard the words of Fëanáro; and those who curse the Powers curse themselves."

And as I looked at her I saw, beyond her, my father gazing at me with a cold glance; and in his arms was Indis, whose pain had brought her to her knees. Ice there was in Olorimo's gaze; ice, and hatred. For he thought Fëanáro himself had brought upon him, and upon us all, this accursed day; and that of Fëanáro's fault all of his House partook. My heart, that so many times had cracked that night, was still for a long moment; and then it hardened in a resolution stronger than steel, and merciless to me and them alike.

It was not mine the voice that answered my mother's pleas.

"Nelyafinwë my betrothed shall wait for me in Tirion. There is my place."

I bent, kissing her forehead. And then I left, without looking back, knowing now forever that to lose this part of myself was the price I would have to pay, and that fear and grief were not the only tribute this black day had exacted of me.

When we crossed the threshold the Maiar guarding the door shut it behind our backs, and its wings closed with a sound of doom.

Chapter 14: Oath

Only Christopher Tolkien knows why he did not include the text of the Oath of Feanor in the published Silmarillion...fortunately for us, it is printed elsewhere. Enjoy!

Read Chapter 14: Oath

Chapter 14

Oath

As we left the city Valmar shivered with the murmur of ten thousand voices whispering in fear. The Fëanárions had passed through the streets like a fell wind, on the traces of their father whom, alone and on foot, had run out of the open gates, and disappeared into the plain. The guards, when Nolofinwë asked, could only say his face had been that of one against whom Fate has dealt the harshest blow; and that his eyes were too brilliant to be met.

The son of the King thanked them in a hollow voice. Raven was his hair, charcoal his eyes; but tonight all the light had gone out of him. A shell he was, an empty vessel for the Sea to sing in, for in one night he had lost his father, and seen his brother driven mad by pain.

As we walked back to the stables were the horses had been left, the retainers of our escort whispered among them that no Elf would ever see Fëanáro again; that certainly he would be reunited now to his mother and father in the shadow and silence of the Halls of the Dead. I listened not.

Artanis was by my side, but neither of us asked questions of what had come to pass. Later the moment would come to share tales of horror and sorrow, and ruined hope, and broken promise; later, when the familiar darkness of our chamber would be veil and casket to our lowered voices. Now, on the white flags of the pavements of Valmar which the lamps dulled like old bones, was the moment of strength as the only mask to a dazing pain.

Arafinwë gave up to me his place in his daughter's carriage; he followed us riding with his sons. This time, Artanis did not run.

I did not turn to look back at Valmar one last time, my resolve a iron hand holding my head, forcing me to look forward. No safety, no comfort in the past: all that had been had been erased in a stroke of Melkor's mace. Whatever future we would meet now could only be built on the sand and the blood of this forsaken night. The Trees had failed. The light of Aman the Blessed was lost.

When their lords abandoned Valmar the Noldor followed, breaking ranks with the Vanyar, saying goodbye in subdued tones. None raised their eyes with challenge as the news of the King's death spread; but lament sprang from their throats, its mortal sadness enclosed in the voices they could not find. None cried out loud, none screamed; for the heavens were heavy on their shoulders, and in the blackness every fire had gone out.

With the eyes of my spirit I know what I would have seen, had I turned back; I know what I would have seen had I not sunk in the light carriage by Artanis' side, my shawl draped around my head, my ears closed to all that was not the beating of my own heart. Valmar of the Gods, city of gentle music and cold light, a blenched and deserted outpost on the threshold of the night. On its beloved walls, the flickering light of the torches like a silent omen of fires to come.

But I did not look. I did not think. My mind empty, I readjusted my shawl; and when I realized that my fingers were still hurt after scraping among the rocks, my nails still broken, maimed, I spread my hands and looked at them as if they did not belong to me. On the third finger of my left hand encrusted blood hid the colour on my ring's stone.

Had I been one of the birds nestling in silent fear among the leaves of the still trees, waiting noiselessly for the end of their world that this unlight announced, and had my heart been strong enough, my courage blind enough not to wish to wait without motion for the end, but instead to spread my wings in one last flight in the face of this darkness, what I would have seen from the heights of a sky cut into silver and black would have stayed with me for the many lives of the creatures living on the shores of Valinor the Deathless.

In long rows, the Noldor filled the black plain, each of them bearing a small light as a safeguard against this heedless night; each of them a star in the earthly firmament of an upturned heaven, one lost hope in this spell where all the grace that had been granted us was shredded and torn. In long rows they marched, mourning on their faces, mourning in their tired bones, for tired they were as if suddenly all the long years of their lives had fallen upon their shoulders in one moment.

And if I had been that bird, perhaps I would have dived low, perhaps I would have sought their lights as one last comfort, knowing now that never again would we see Laurelin's gold reborn, nor Telperion's silver wrought in gentle evenings of laughter and song. For now night would be a thing to be feared; robbed of its delight and its rest, but instead filled with tremour and dread. And the stars would look down like blind eyes, and their splendour would be mocking.

In that moment it seemed that even the gift of Varda to the black velvet of the nights of Eä had been corrupted and turned to evil deeds, for the cold that made the tears sting upon our wet cheeks was the cold of those faraway stars, those jewels even Melkor could not unmake, but that were now revealed in the hour of his triumph. The light of our Trees, the light of our birth and joy had set. Any other light would appear a harbinger of doom.

Perhaps it was this thought that first made us remember what we were. Perhaps it was the coldness and the emptiness of that long journey in the dark, the comfortless walking among thousands of others, knowing not whether our city, too, had been defiled, and Galathilion the Beautiful, offspring of Telperion, uprooted, that made our spirits turn to song, that turned our mourning into a melody, a sorrowful music to fill the void that was spreading and devouring our minds and our hearts.

None ever knew who began; and perhaps none of us really did. Perhaps Valinor the land that had seen us born, the land our fathers had elected to belong to, spent its last magic on us that night, offering us soothing, suggesting to our exhausted spirits a music to sustain us in this hopeless journey home.

And the music began, at first a low hum on tired lips, and then growing, spreading, from mouth to mouth, from sadness to sadness like a golden thread, like a silver mesh, linking us together as one, a heart of forlorn light beating on that dark plain. Voices and words came into that music, and loss, and grief.

Telperion and Laurelin, our light. Finwë, our king.

Marred beauty of Aman forever tainted. My lips moved with those of the people I had chosen as my own, and my heart was pierced, and stirred. And when I turned to look at Artanis she gazed straight ahead, her fair body as still as statue in the courtyard of a rich palace, her cheeks sunken in the weak light. Her lips moved, last thing alive in her that sorrow made pale and bloodless, like one dead.

***

The end of our journey was the feeble beacon and the unhoped for joy of the Mindon Eldaliéva emerging from the mist, for banks of fog like woolen flakes had trailed from the Sea over the mountains, and the city was shrouded in them, shapes and sounds muffled. Darkness became gray, and our senses were dulled.

Slowly the blurred shapes of the Noldorin Elves coming home dispersed up the stairs that no light would now make glitter, and their lamps were lost among tendrils of vapour, wandering fireflies an unexpected net had trapped. The gates of the palace of Arafinwë were locked, and at our call for a while no one came. Only a few servants had been left behind to tend to the house and gardens during the time of festival, and the darkness had filled them with terror, leaving them incapable of abandoning their refuge but to secure the doors and gates.

As they opened the house for us, in broken voices they told of a swift cloud, a deeper black passing over the city like a malign wing, lingering for a moment, hesitating as if undecided whether to stoop and destroy, or fly past. And then it had been gone; but leaving all of those who had stayed in Tirion prostrated, and deprived of strength or will. Melkor's path had been the same everywhere; and as Arafinwë soothed them with kind voices, his heart unchanged, albeit so grieving, Artanis and I withdrew in the house, its familiar chambers made different and monstrous by the wavering light of oil lamps.

Eärwen followed us with dragged steps, on her fair face the haggardness of worry and the strain of dread.

"Perhaps…Nerwen, Silmë…something to eat, or drink…none of us has slept."

Her eyes were lost; for she knew that against this wave she could do nothing. And when she thought we were not looking at her she would go near a window, and strain her ears; for sometimes with the wind over the mountains would come a wailing like the cry of a dying seagull, and we knew that it was the Teleri calling in vain for light. My mother's kin; hers.

But no messenger could be safely dispatched to Alqualondë now, and uncertainty was our lot.

Briskly Artanis nodded her assent. Passing through the kitchen with gestures absent but precise she gathered on a tray bread, milk, honey. Sweet things for a harsh moment. Refusing the help of a servant she climbed the stairs carrying it on her own. Before following her I turned to Eärwen, searching my heart in vain for words of comfort. I found none; but even if I had, she would not have heard me. Leaning against the sill she looked out of the window into the blankness, her white profile sharp against the nothing of that night, her eyes dim fires as she tried to discern from afar the contours of the breach into the mountains.

In silence I followed Artanis. The house was quiet and still, a subdued sobbing in the corners telling me the servants had learnt of the High King. The stairs echoed dully beneath my steps, their sound alien to my ears. Seated on the floor in front of his room Aikanár mourned without words or tears; he did not even raise his eyes at my approach. Every other door was closed. Noiselessly I pushed Artanis' open, and slipped inside.

She had already started her random repast, cross-legged on the bed, the laden tray before her. Her eyes were puffy, scarlet-rimmed; but dry. Eating was another way of crying.

Wordlessly I sat beside her, a hunger that was an appeal for all we had lost awakening in the pit of my stomach, a greed for things that would be beautiful and kind burning my tongue, my throat. The butter was soft on my raw fingers as I spread it on a thick slice, the prosaicity of the gesture telling me of a time and place that did not belong to us anymore. One where light still existed, and Finwë was not dead. I bit into the bread, and chewed angrily. It was finished too soon, and I prepared myself another piece.

For a while we ate in silence; the same answer to an unanswerable need. When Artanis spoke it was unexpectedly, and her voice was flat and empty, as if she were enunciating a list of things of pitiable importance. But no evenness of tone could conceal and soothe the sting in her words, nor make their meaning fade.

"They had reconciled, as far as Fëanáro's pride would allow such a thing. Before the Valar assembled Nolofinwë forgave him. All rejoiced; and then light disappeared."

Her teeth were white pearls sinking into the gold of the honey, they tore away mouthfuls with brutal haste.

"It failed at its peak; even the Powers suspected no danger, and when they detected it it was too late. Like a swift bird the Lady Yavanna came to the Trees, but Melkor had been swifter: their life had been sapped to the last drop. The vats were their light had been kept had been drained."

What I had not seen painted itself vividly on the empty canvas in my mind, it filled it with stark images of the Trees contorted and lightless, lifeless shrines of the power they had once held. I met Artanis' eyes; in mine a question was screaming, the last haven at which hope clutched. But in her clear irises only cold had been left.

"Even for those who are great there are achievements that can be attained but once within the circles of Eä: Yavanna who made the Trees still cannot undo the damage that was done to them. She asked of Fëanáro the Silmarils, to break them and so with their light, last vestige of the beauty that was, restore them."

I knew what would come now in her tale; I knew, for I knew Fëanáro. Artanis uttered it clearly, her voice cut into stone: "He refused."

There was a pause before she finished her story, a moment of doubt between so many certainties. Like her uncle, she lived in the knowledge of being right. She often was; but in her, unlike in Fëanáro, there was a talent for fairness that sometimes she chose to ignore. This time she did not; this time she let herself say of what she had seen, and she let her hatred fade in telling of someone else's pain.

"He said it would break his heart to undo them."

She did not add a word more, and I knew that this had been the tension filling the air when we had come; that this had been the unanswered question weighing on their spirits when news too terrible to be born had come on our lips. Now I understood; and in Artanis' doubt I read the truth in Fëanáro's words.

It would break my heart.

The love of things that hands can make inhabits the mind of the maker, it fills his spirit with a call and a greed that are unknown to others. In all that smith can make of rock or jewel or gold there lives a spark of his spirit; and too much was the radiance of the Silmarils not to believe that in them much of what Fëanáro was had been locked. To ask for them had been to ask for his whole self; to lose them so soon at the hands of a Vala would have been to his blinded mind a seal on their curse. He burnt too much and too quick for his mind to ever cease its perpetual motion, for it to ever sit still long enough for reason to seep through the scorching flame of his thought. He would believe what his blood drummed into his veins, what his spirit felt without asking for motive.

Truly I knew now that his sons' fear had not been groundless, and that, first of the Elves to do it, he could have taken back by his own hand the life the One had given him, and slain himself.

My spirit had sought refuge in such brooding thoughts, it had shied from recollection of what had come to pass as thus the Valar sentenced, and asked. It had shied away from the memory of Finwë's blood forever etched on the borders of my mind.

When I met again Artanis' eyes I knew there would be no possibility of remit; I knew then that no brooding would keep such memories at bay. And that the only hope of healing lay in the obscure comfort of open truth. In that dark hour I collected my thoughts; in silence Artanis waited for me, her eyes fixed on the black square that was the world waiting outside the window. At last my tale, too, came; its words falling like raindrops between us.

"We were out hunting when it happened. Darkness fell; blindingly we started on our way back. And suddenly a fell wind scared the horses, and we were cast to the ground without strength; a flame lit Formenos, and a cruel voice boomed in the wind. When we rode back it was too late. Finwë had stood before the adversary, sole among all of us not to feel his spell; and where he stood in courage and majesty he was struck down."

Still her eyes bore upon me, but no more would I say. The memory of his face disfigured and destroyed by the mace, the frailty of the Elves the long years of our life in Aman had taught us to forget were a burden I would not share. Silence fell again as we finished the last of the food, around us the horror flat words could not frame; between us the bond of what our tales had joined. At last Artanis took the tray, and carefully lay it on the floor, as if she did not trust her hands to do it properly, had she not watched them.

She lay down the tray, and took my hands.

"You are hurt."

Rising she took a box of ointments from her chest of drawers, and with the water jug we used to wash our face she cleaned my hands, her fingers cold and determined on my skin. She sewed together what was left of our reality with gestures as simple as they were useless; and as she anointed the sores with a balm at last she spoke the worry that had clouded her eyes, the worry that had battled pain, that had mixed its poison with the fear of sorrows to come.

"I look into the future, and it is blank. There are no thoughts I can put in words, no prophecies I can make. Only I feel what this future will bring, and its touch is steel upon my soul. This is but the beginning; but of what, I cannot say. And I hesitate between mourning and denial, for I suspect that times shall come when all our strength be needed, and this mourning be but that black mark of a long road that we just begin to tread."

I listened to her words, and felt fear awakening in my own heart; for I knew Artanis to be fearless, and what brought disquiet to her great spirit could not but shake mine. Dread, indeed, was born in me, and it was like a cold animal that opens its eyes after a long sleep; and its touch was ice upon what hope I still retained. But I saw the truth in the proposition Artanis had made, and truth in what her courage suggested: that we should live now prepared for whatever could come our way, and not succumb to what this endless night had brought. I took her hand, and clasped it tight.

"I cannot hope to discern what is hidden even from your mind, but this I know: that it would have been in vain that blood of king was spilt, if now we hesitate and tremble on the verge of an abyss whose nature we can only guess. Without knowing all is fear; but such a knowledge we shall soon have, for even I know that an evil has come to this land such as it will not soon lose our steps, nor cease to haunt them. I say to you, now let mourning take its due; for Finwë was your grandfather, and my uncle. Let tears flow. But should the moment come, be prepared to dry them."

For a long moment she did not speak; but at last she brought my hand to her lips.

"Friend," she whispered, and I embraced her tight, holding on to her as one who is shipwrecked might do when he finds in the middle of the ocean a steady rock. She embraced me herself, her strength a bruise upon my skin; but from each other we drew new will. Without unmaking the bed, we cast a blanket upon us, and thus slept; hoping perhaps to wake but to discover that a nightmare had taunted our tired spirits, and that a new day spun its history on Laurelin's gilded branches.

It was a vain hope; but as long as we slept, it was one that we lived, holding it to us like a shield now that a new storm had struck.

***

I do not know for how long we lay there, time become meaningless and even in the absence of light. Certainly it was for long, for the world outside was too dreary a place to return to it soon, and dark were my dreams. But a knocking on the door, urgent and insistent, drew me back, and Artanis' hand was shaking me even as my eyes opened. A quick glance passed between us, the spark lighting again our alertness as she answered: "Come in."

It was Aikanár, his face lined with sorrow for his grandfather's death, but in his eyes a new and feverish light.

"One is here that asks to talk to us all. And you, Silmë, may well be glad to see him."

Casting the blanket aside I passed him, and at the head of the stairs I looked down to see Arafinwë's family assembled in the hall, Maitimo amongst them. Our eyes met, and descending swiftly I went to him.

"What is of Fëanáro? Could you reach him?"

"Yes; and none too soon. But now his grief is tempered, and if I came to see you, as we had agreed, I also came to bring a message from him." He took my hand, holding me close, but at the same time he turned to Arafinwë, and said: "Uncle, your brother and king calls you, and all of your people. All of the Noldor are summoned to the Mindon Eldaliéva, to listen to the words of Fëanáro."

"My brother and king…" Arafinwë savoured the words for a moment, as if he could not yet understand them; but at last he nodded. "We shall come."

"We shall wait for you." Maitimo bowed his head, taking his leave, and I accompanied him to the door. "I must leave you now, for many still have to be roused. I shall see you there."

"Maitimo, tell me what is on your father's mind. No love ever bound us, but I could see that his sorrow was great, and his fire burnt ever quicker. I fear rashness in counsels, especially in such an hour."

"I can only guess, for his plans he did not share with us. But where many are concerned, rashness cannot be endured; and if he wishes to speak to all of the people, the Noldor themselves shall be judges of the rightness of his counsels." He took my face in his hands, caressing it; and his voice was low and husky when he said: "Come, and be by my side. As dark this night may be, still when you shall be there no fear can touch me. And no uncertainty."

The words I was about to say died in my throat; they died as his lips touched mine, with warmth and eagerness, and pain unforgotten behind their sound. And before I could find in me the will to reply, he had left.

I remained on the door watching him walk down the path lit by torches, to the gate where two retainers stood guard. His step was assured, but sadness and grief were a heavy cape upon his shoulders. I shivered; the thought coming over me that such a cloak would not be lifted, not for a very long time. I closed the door, closing my mind, refusing to accept such a foresight.

The family was preparing, lamps were filled and lit. Shawls and mantles were prepared, for cold was the lightless night. Artanis had brought me one of my wraps, she helped me put it on with brisk gestures.

"Can you guess what is on Fëanáro's mind?"

"Vengeance, certainly, and fury. But what he could do against Melkor, even if fallen, I cannot understand."

As we came out of the house we saw that indeed the city was roused, the streets filling as the Noldor came out of their abodes, summoned by their new King. A strange thought; and the last seal upon Finwë's death. Many lamps burnt against the mist, against the dome of the dark; like veins bringing a bright blood to a golden heart. For golden was the court beneath the Mindon Eldaliéva, tower of the King lit as if by day by a thousand torches. All of Tirion answered to the summon, and there there waited for them Fëanáro.

He wore not the crown his father had born, not even a circlet shone about his forehead, and his tunic was still the unadorned, scarlet one he had donned to go to Valmar. And yet when he turned to greet his people it was clear that he had claimed his bloodright, for the power that had always been his was now enhanced, and a new authority rang in his voice. All of his seven sons were there, their faces pale with grief and pride; and his servants were about him.

Nolofinwë and his family stood by, and we had been among the last. Soon silence fell where a crowd had murmured approaching, and all the eyes were upon Fëanáro. He did not greet us; he did not hesitate. He spoke, and his voice was powerful and deep, wrath and woe woven in its chords, promise and a dark hope in his words. I stood by Maitimo; and he clasped my hand.

"Noldorin Elves! People of Tirion the White, brothers and sisters in kin! Beneath the vaults of the night your lights shine, for day is forever gone! Morgoth the Enemy has stolen your light, the light of the Trees, the light of the gems Noldorin hands had made. Morgoth the Enemy has slain you King, Finwë my father that you loved."

A dark murmur stirred the crowd, for in his words echoed their pain.

"But who is he that has done this to you, who is he but one of the Valar, that had lured us here from the starlit darkness of Middle-earth? Safety they had promised us, and eternal bliss. But now bliss is gone, and safety ended at the hands of one of their kin. Noldorin Elves! The Powers we had obeyed and worshipped, but what have they us in exchange? Thralldom and death! Death, for it is in forgiveness to one of their own that they let Morgoth free; and thralldom, for while here we grieve and anguish in pain and mourning, a new kind awakens in Middle-earth!"

His words stung me, for I recognized in them his maddened, unreasonable grief, but also the print of the lies of Melkor. And yet his countenance was firm, his passion poured in his words; and looking around I saw that many nodded in assent, and that their eyes sparkled.

"A new kind, short-lived and weak, a new kind to inherit the lands that were ours by right. A new kind to usurp those of the Elves the Valar left behind! But I say to you, shall we accept it? Shall the Noldorin Elves, mightiest among the Eldar, let themselves be locked out of their own right? Aman the Blessed is no more, Valinor the Glad is tainted; but we bear not the shame of its taint! We deserve not to suffer in its agony! New realms await us beyond the Sea, lands unconquered and free beneath the stars of Middle-earth!"

His eyes were as bright as the fire of a new star, never his beauty had shined so brilliantly, never had his full power been unleashed. All that he was, all the boundless possibilities that had so frightened me were displayed and forged into a speech whose might went unequalled in all the years of the world, a speech to rouse and to light spirits that grief had dazed. My soul struggled to remember its own thoughts and counsels, and all around me I felt the Noldor beating as one with his heart; and in Artanis' eyes a flame was kindled such as I had not seen before.

"Freedom and power! For ours should be that new Earth, ours should be the right to found kingdoms to govern according to our own hearts! Ours are the Silmarils that were stolen, to the Noldor belongs their light! And where the Powers have trembled, where the Powers have failed, we shall succeed, and reconquer what the One had decreed was ours since the beginning of the world!"

He paused, and a silence as deep as the Sea was upon that crowded square, and all of the Noldor were silent, their spirits drawn to his, as arrows when they fly to their target. And in that silence Fëanáro spoke once more, and the fate of the Noldorin Elves was forever fixed.

"Elves of Tirion! Follow me, and I shall lead you forth from this place of imprisonment, and towards the new world beneath the stars! Follow me, and your glory shall echo through all the ages of Eä!"

"Fëanáro!"

One scream from all of their throats, one cry and one pledge, for then they took him as their lord, and then they claimed his purposes as their own. As one their spirits cried; but there was one who spoke against such ill-counseled judgment. My spirit was with Nolofinwë as he asked for silence, and my doubts were his as he spoke.

"Fëanáro! Brother and king! Let not this darkness dim your counsel! Let not this grief darken your heart! Let not this pain make you forget the bounty the Valar ever showed us, the protection they offered. Against them Morgoth has sinned, not against us alone. Let us not make of our rightful anger a fell wrath, nor in haste abandon the land where we were born, the place where we have ever dwelt in joy."

On Fëanáro's face there spread then a cruel smile; and with a cutting light in his eyes he replied.

"Nolofinwë, brother in blood, what prudence has turned your spirit to such meek thoughts? What fear makes you quail? Shall I have to think you then a coward before this challenge?"

"No! Not a coward, but one who wishes not for his people to go forth in darkness seeking an uncertain future. Those who stumble and go unseeing all too often fall."

Beloved he was by his people, and at these words some of the Noldor wavered in their resolution, for they felt a deep truth in their prince's words. A long glance went from brother to brother, and Nolofinwë held Fëanáro's eyes without a doubt; and for a moment it seemed that Fate would hesitate, and the threads of our lives be saved from doom. But then Fëanáro spoke again, and the scales were tipped.

"Nolofinwë, must I think you have already forgotten what you promised me before the Valar you hold in such high account, ere the light failed? Have you obliterated the words you uttered?"

Without making reply the other looked away; and I saw on his face that his own words were now a blade held to his throat. Never would Nolofinwë take back his pledge. Never would he forget it.

"There you swore that where I led you would follow. Will you follow me now, Nolofinwë?"

On his answer hung the destinies of many; and in his eyes prudence battled with the love he bore his brother. For Nolofinwë loved Fëanáro, and all the more desperately as he could not reach him, as the other refused to acknowledge their bond of blood. And now, called in companionship in this deed, his heart put to test, he put aside all fear, all doubts in an answer as clear as adamant.

"Yes."

The Noldor acclaimed them; and perhaps then still Arafinwë would have spoken, trying one last time to rein in this madness. But by my side Artanis stepped forward, and on her lips were words I could not have guessed.

"Fëanáro! Brother of my father! Nothing we know of Middle-earth, here we were born far from it; but in your words I see the blazing splendour of its stars, the boundless extension of his plains; in your words I see the realms that there we would make! I shall follow you!"

The eyes of the King turned to her, and never would they, he and her, again be so alike;:their eyes twin gems, their wills twin iron. I understood then that all prudence was forgotten, and all hope lost. Any words I might have uttered were choked forever, any hope of sanity destroyed in the quiet answer Fëanáro gave his niece: "Then forth we shall march."

He unsheathed his sword, and its polished blade shone like blood in the light of the lamps.

"Nelyafinwë and Canafinwë! Turkafinwë and Morifinwë, Curufinwë and Pityafinwë! Telufinwë! My sons! To you, as to me, goes the legacy of our vengeance!"

He called them to him; and they answered. Then I would have cried, then I should have wept; then I should have begged, for as Maitimo left my hand to go I knew that he went to decide his doom. But I did nothing; for the fates were stronger that day, and on all things they cast the shadow of Necessity that stands no appeal.

The sons of Fëanáro unsheathed their own swords, and joined their tips with that of their father's blade; and an oath they swore, more terrible to hear then the fell cry of Morgoth as he assaulted Formenos, for they chose it of their own will, and once they had taken it never could they break it within the circles of the world. They bound themselves to its words, words whose keeping was crueler and harsher than any betrayal in this life.

"Be he foe or friend, be he foul or clean, brood of Morgoth or bright Vala, Elda or Maia or Aftercomer, Man not yet born upon Middle-earth, neither law, nor love, nor league of swords, dread nor danger, nor Doom itself, shall defend him from Fëanáro, and Fëanáro's kin, who hides or hoards, or takes in hand, finding keeps or afar casts a Silmaril. This swear we all: death we will deal him ere Day's ending, woe unto world's end! Our words hear you, Eru Allfather! To the everlasting Darkness doom us if our deed fails. On the holy mountain hear in witness, and our vow remember, Manwë and Varda!"

Perhaps those around me cried or trembled at such words; perhaps fear finally touched them. I would not know; for I saw nothing that was not Fëanáro, the white light of madness upon his face. And his sons were like him, and in their eyes my father's words were made true.

None of Fëanáro's blood can ever escape his darkness.

They sheathed their swords, their fury sated. Upon them now a mark to last, unlike glory, for all the ages of Eä. The Noldor cried, and Fate was sealed.

Woe unto world's end.

Chapter 15: Blood

There are several guesses about how much time passed before the Noldor actually left Valinor. I am going with the shortest.

Read Chapter 15: Blood

Chapter 15

Blood

The argument broke out as soon as we reached home, but I took no part in it. Sitting aside I looked at Arafinwë as he showed, for the first time in my memory, a talent for wrath; I looked at him as he saw for the first time that his children had inherited none of his gentleness. Findaráto alone tried to temper their spirits; but Aikanár honoured his mother-name, and his words burnt of a fell fire.

"Never have I listened to Fëanáro, never have I chosen his counsels above your own, or above those of Nolofinwë my uncle; but now I see that in his words shines a promise that here we could never hope to bear to fruit. He is right: the joy of Valinor is lost."

"Angaráto! Do you share your brother's folly?"

"I spoke to Findekáno. Our Nolofinwion cousins are all determined to go. Whichever doubts our uncle may still nurture, he would remain here at the price of losing his children."

"I doubt it not! Findekáno would follow Maitimo to the gates of the Void; and as for Aredhel and Tyelkormo…" he shook his head. "Turukáno always trod the way his elder brother showed, even if should endanger his infant daughter. But you, Angaráto! You too have a family. You do not think of your son?"

"Orodreth will come with me. I do not despair that my wife shall see reason…"

"Reason! You speak of reason!" Exasperated Arafinwë sat, his body heavy on a pale armchair. Daro leant against the doorpost, his face dark; but beside me Artanis sat composedly, her eyes black in the weak lamplight.

"And what of you, daughter? Certainly, your uncle's speech was mighty, such as to bewilder older and wiser spirits than your own; and yet your ready assent surprised me. I cannot remember of a day when you were not divided from Fëanáro by a deep wedge. I will not believe your choice to be made."

For a long moment, she remained in silence. But when she rose a calm that was not of this world was upon her face, and in a cold voice she replied: "And yet I shall march. If love you ever bore me, and you would not be parted from me, follow me; but do not hope to be able to hold me back."

Without waiting to listen for what her father would say she left; and when she closed the door behind her back Eärwen silently slid down on the upholstered settee, burying her face in her hands. For she knew her daughter well; and in her voice she had recognized a finality such as to truncate all hope. Aikanár went to her, and with light fingers caressed her cheek.

"Do not cry, mother. You know well that we would not leave you behind. Come with us."

She closed her eyes at his touch, as if enjoying a beloved pleasure for the last time. But when she spoke, it was to refuse him.

"Children shall grow to forsake their fathers; they shall grow to pursue their own roads. And yet madness is the path you intend to tread, and on such a path I would not follow you. If your eyes are made blind by Fëanáro's spell – for always in your sister and you the blood of the Finwions burnt quick and hot – if no wisdom can temper your counsels, then go; but I shall not forsake my land, nor the grace of the Valar, at the caprice of a maddened Elf."

Aikanár straightened slowly, his hand clenching into a fist. Many words were on his lips, many words that he would say – but he uttered none. And the pain he felt he did not express; like a crack driven through his eyes it was, but no tears he would shed.

"So be it," he murmured. He left the room at an even pace; but his muscles were contracted and tense, like those of an animal that readies to spring.

When the door closed Angaráto sat down, his mouth compressed in a thin line, as if his siblings had already said all that there was to say. The set of his jaw was the obstinate one that so often I had seen in Artanis, and his arms were crossed. Still Findaráto remained in silence; and in despair Arafinwë turned to me.

"What of you, Silmë? You said no word on the subject; and yet I daresay you would not agree with my brother…"

The choice I had put aside, a thought pushed to the back of my mind since we had left that illuminated court. The dagger waiting to tear me to shreds; and yet a decision already taken in the words Maitimo had boomed. I would not leave him. I looked to Arafinwë and, once more, discovered that heaviness is a quality of truth. Given the chance, it needs no pushing out. It only requires to be allowed to fall.

A deep silence followed my words, and in that silence I departed.

***

When I came to our chamber I knew what I would find; and yet the sight of Artanis packing on the floor was one last seal upon that unreal, blackened day. Drawers and chests stood open, her solid leather bags gaping mouths around her. And yet it was no visit that she was planning, no short vacation out of Tirion before a swift comeback; and in those few satchels she would pack what of her life in Valinor she would not bear to leave back.

"Your mother shall not come."

"I know."

The voice was flat; Artanis' best mask when she wanted to pretend she cared nothing. I sat on the bed, detached; the words of the Oath ringing inside me, as the tolling of a bell shall long echo in an empty tower. Neither law, nor love. I could not have asked him to stay back. No; he had chosen Fëanáro's star as his own, he had made of his blood an armour and a path to tread at any price.

I was never gifted with foresight; but I could feel the leaden weight of a curse.

I listened to my heart, and it was quiet. Of many things I have marveled in my life, but to this day that moment remains unexplained, a spot of darkness in my spirit; for as I had chosen to follow the Noldor on their way to exile I had not trembled. I had not hesitated. It was the road I would take, one that it seemed I had expected since the day I had left Valmar in haste. There are choices in this life we can take in a moment, or never; things we know without necessity of thought. Of such decisions we should be afraid, for the instinct that answers them is the one that does not lie. Such choices are but mirrors of ourselves. I look to myself in that far day, and know that no other life would have been possible.

I lingered for one moment more before rising, crossing the room to my own wardrobe, taking out dresses with fingers distracted and numb. Artanis did not pay attention to me, carrying out her preparations with grim resolve – allowing herself no moment for doubt. It was then that I asked.

"Why?"

She made no reply; but paused, her elegant hands still in her lap. Silence was distilled in my quiet wait, silence as clear as crystal. From outside our window, from across the garden, came the faint echo of a city in turmoil. But when Artanis answered her voice was calm, her eyes full of shadows.

"I envy you. For if the Lord Mandos summoned you to judgment, and asked you why you leave, you would answer that you do it out of love. It would be simple – it would be clear. You would not have to say a word more. But if he asked me why I leave, my lips would not part. For if my answer were to be truthful, I would not recognise my own words; I would not say before the Powers what I understand now."

Her glance was hard to bear, it was honed to a cutting blade.

"Ungrateful many would have called me if I had spoken before. Ungrateful, ambitious. Perhaps some of them might have guessed the truth I see only today. And yet for the years of my life I have gazed at the breach in the mountains – I have sat on the edge of the Sea, and never seen the beauty of their limits. I only asked myself what was beyond. And for the years of my life I would look upon those who rule us – upon those who decide of us – and asked myself if I could not have done better."

Her glance was finally lowered, her gaze resting on her pale hands. Her final words were a murmur that required no reply.

"In truth I have fallen under my own bitter insight. For even on me is a shadow and a flicker of Fëanáro's fire."

She would not acknowledge it again. Quietly, I turned to my drawers, and started to empty them.

***

It was Arafinwë that came to tell me – he stood on the door, surveying the packed bags, the locked chests. He said nothing; Artanis' eyes the only answer he needed. He turned to me, and one last hope burnt pale behind his blue irises.

"Olorimo is here."

He did not call him uncle; I did not call him father. Nodding, I walked past him, down the stairs, and my limbs were heavy, my steps slow. Too much in that day already to wish for this. Too many the words to find to frame this farewell.

He waited for me by the glass doors, beyond him the garden a black, silent heart. He spoke before I could do it – he spoke before I could greet him, or chase him away. I looked at him, straight-backed and proud on the threshold, and knew that thus I would remember him for all the long ages of this world. Silently, I took my leave.

His words, when they came, where but superfluous notes to a chronicle already sealed.

"I brought my sister back. She could not leave alone – not now. Short has been our voyage, and yet we come to find that the last of the Powers' laws has been defied. We come to see once more that no bound there is to Fëanáro's arrogance."

He looked at me, his head cocked, as if waiting for me to fight back. But I made no answer. I did not trust my voice. Still standing, I looked back at him. My eyes were blank, blind walls. Not now. One day it would fall upon me, what this moment meant – one day I would feel in my flesh the bite of this farewell. But not now. Now my resolve, like Artanis', was unfeeling steel.

With an intolerant gesture he seemed to wave me aside.

"You shall not reply, I see. Am I now unworthy even of your contempt? Perhaps I should desist, renounce asking what you chose. Perhaps I should expect it to be clear."

He talked as one who is certain, and yet his eyes sought me again. Proud, and yet their pride was broken; distant, and yet closer than in many years they had been. At their bottom lurked a hope that could not conceive being disappointed. At their bottom the silent maiden before them was still the toddling Elfling his hands had sustained; one that would not leave him.

At their bottom was somebody I had renounced all rights to claim I had been. I made no answer, and it was answer enough.

"I see."

His voice was measured; as my gestures were. Perhaps we were, one last time, similar; perhaps we both knew one word too much, one gesture too much would have unleashed the cries we choked. Or perhaps I deceive myself; and the chains that bound him were nothing more than dead love, and those that held me bitter guilt.

"I did not escort Indis back alone. Amarië has come with me upon hearing the news."

My aunt's lady-in-waiting; Findaráto's betrothed. One of the shadows that had hung upon him as he wordlessly watched his family quarrel.

"She is one of Valmar; she would not leave. Not if Arafinwë's eldest should turn to folly, and challenge the debt we owe to the Powers. For Amarië knows where her place is. Truly she is one of the Vanyar."

Just as truly you are not. Unspoken words; and yet heavy upon my head. Black ashes of accusation in my mouth. I wished I could tell him then – the thorn and the longing, the light that had drawn me to the walls of their city even in the unlight that Morgoth had brought. The pain that had seared me when Fëanáro had cursed them. And yet I knew that it would only matter in his eyes that such an allegiance had not held me back.

Seeing my silence, he turned his back on me, disdainfully looking out of the window.

"To be accursed in the eyes of those the One entrusted with the lordship of this world touches you not, it is clear to me. Too long have you dwelt by Fëanáro's side. Too long have you been tainted by his madness. What could touch you, indeed? Perhaps if your father would beg? Perhaps if he would remind you on bended knees what love, what devotion you have thrown away when you left us? But I shall not beg. For if your blood does not awaken, if it does not recoil in disgust at the thought of losing us forever, then no words of mine can have effect."

It was then that I felt them, tears burning my eyes, tears fighting for a way out I would not concede them; tears that broke and cracked my voice when I spoke, my silence shattered before this. For many things I would have accepted from him that day; but not that he would believe I loved them not.

"Father," it was pitiful my voice, insignificant as I moved one step forward, "You gave me life. Of a spark of your spirit, joined to my mother's, I was born – you shall be part of me unto the breaking of the world. No choice shall erase this bond; but if I abandoned Nelyafinwë now, I would lose him until Time should last."

He turned towards me, slowly, and his eyes sparkled; and for a moment I believed he had at least understood. But as his hands sought my face in a caress, as he spoke I knew all strife was vain – that in my words he had seen but a weakness to be used against me.

"Come back. You said yourself you cannot be free of your affection, of your bond to us. You shall love again; this I promise. Whoever you shall want, I won't interfere. Some of the Noldor shall remain here, one of them you could wed, if you wish for one of your grandmother's kin…"

I tore myself from his caress, wrenching back my spirit. Anger was now born in me, one last defense against grief.

"Cannot you believe that none I would want that was not Maitimo Fëanárion? Cannot you see that if we were parted now my long existence would be but the unfulfilled consuming of a tired flame? Cannot you see – "

"Silence!"

The command came sudden, unexpected; and surprise closed my lips, for on his face wrath now flamed.

"Silence. None of this shall I hear – none! And you that refuse even this appeal, you that despise this last request…you indeed refuse all claim to be of my kin. Call yourself Silmë of the Noldor from now on; and hasten to wed your cursed lover beneath the empty skies of Middle-earth. For if they shall not call you wife of Nelyafinwë, they shall not know how to refer to you; the daughter of Olorimo you have killed with your own words."

Tears then I could not hold back; and my mouth opened as if to speak, but no sound escaped it as he marched past me. And he would have stormed out of the door, had not one barred his way. Unseen, unheard Maitimo had walked in; and now he faced my father without intention of stepping back.

"What father could ever speak thus to his only child?"

"Do not talk to me of fathers, son of Fëanáro; for on yourself you'll feel what ruin can a father bring. Step aside; yours is this maiden. I know her not."

There were no more words I could say; no more breath in my chest. Maitimo saw my face, and when he replied his voice was low and urgent.

"If she would stay, I would not force her to go."

Olorimo laughed.

"Fear not! She shall follow you, follow you past blood and fire! Follow you, like a faithful dog; or should I say, like a she-dog in heat."

Anger twisted Maitimo's face; but on me the words rang empty. For dead was my heart in that moment, and my spirit absent. As from a faraway place I observed my betrothed taking breath as if to answer, his fists clenching; and never had he been so tall, never so great. But a cold voice stopped him; and both he and my father turned, for the words were full of authority.

"Maitimo, step aside."

It was the first time that I heard Artanis calling him by his mother-name.

Advancing in the hall she stood by them, and her slender hand pointed the way to the door.

"Your deed here is done, Olorimo. Now go."

"I…"

Ice were her eyes, and there, for a moment, he saw himself through her disdain. The empty place where his love for me had been twitched, struggling back to life. I shall never know what he could have said; I shall never know if his shame would have been cloaked in anger or plead. Somehow no answer would have been right.

"Out."

Artanis' voice admitted no appeal; and raising his chin in defiance, without looking back, my father strode on.

"Amarië!"

Past Artanis I saw them, Findaráto and his beloved by the portal, past the hall; I saw them embraced as if no power of Vala or Elf could divide them. And then I saw the maiden detaching herself, and I saw her pale countenance as she went by my father's side. No love would make her abandon this land; no love would make her forsake her allegiance. I lowered my eyes; I did not see the two Vanyarin Elves when they abandoned Arafinwë's house.

***

Artanis waited for the door to be closed; when she spoke, it was as if nothing had happened.

"Nelyafinwë, I have received a message from Findekáno. My brothers are not yet ready, we shall march with him and Nolofinwë."

He nodded.

"I cannot leave my father; he drives us all forward with feverish haste. His grief for the King's death haunts him."

"You do well in standing by him." She turned back on the threshold. "I shall wait for you upstairs, Silmë."

She was gone.

I did not know how I came to be sitting in one of the low armchairs; I did not know my tears had broken their dam. I knew nothing until Matimo knelt by me, taking my hand.

"My love."

I could not reply. With light fingers he dried my tears, and I did not shed others. I took his hand, holding on to it for a silent moment. His next words were uttered in a low, pained voice.

"I would not blame you if you stayed back."

Eyes wide with surprise met his; I could find no words. In my silence, he spoke again.

"Your father was right in his mistrust; I cannot untie myself from Fëanáro. I am his eldest son; mine is his legacy. But you could have –"

Two of my fingers sealed his lips. A long moment we stood thus, until my words were bound together in a plot I would not undo.

"In the freedom you leave me lies your love. But he that would have chained me to his door, truly like a dog in his master's court, he has now erased whichever duty I had to him."

My words were harder than the pain that still throbbed in my chest; but my eyes demanded he accepted them. Silently, he did. He took my hand, and kissed it; when his eyes found mine our lips met with breathless haste.

My fingers entwined in his short hair; and it was with effort that our spirits mastered our need, and we detached. To give in to comfort in that hour would have meant to lose all resolve; and then were needed wills of steel. I rose, wiping away all trace of my tears.

"I shall see you in Alqualondë."

He nodded in silence. One last time he kissed my hand, before he departed.

Slowly I walked to the stairs, my thoughts soldered together, seamless enclosures to keep my grief from seeping in. Sitting on the last step was Findaráto; his head lying on his hand. I sat beside him, my fingers finding the nape of his neck.

"Tell, Daro."

When his eyes met mine I knew the answer before he spoke.

"Olorimo spoke the truth. She will not come."

His heart beat quietly. Behind a closed door, we could hear his mother crying.

"Stay here then."

My voice had been barely more than a breath. Findaráto looked at me, and in his glance I saw the dead memory of such a hope.

"I could not abandon my siblings."

Quietly, I laughed.

"You are a better kinsman than I am."

"Never say that. My mother I leave behind, as you do with your father. You have no brother and no sister, Silmë; if you did, you would understand." His hand caressed my face, as he had done when we were children. "None that has seen you with Maitimo could ever doubt nor question your choice. Some of us are blessed with love; but others, and you among them, are cursed with it."

Findaráto shared Artanis' gift for foresight, even if more rarely he would speak; hoping with silence to subdue his prophecies. I looked at him; but in that day even such words could not chill me. Stretching a hand, he helped me to my feet, and ascending the stairs he left me on Artanis' door.

When I came in she was checking her bags.

"Are yours ready?"

I nodded, and sat again on the bed; waiting for the moment to leave, my eyes on the void beyond the windowpanes.

"Silmë."

No need to speak. We shared a glance, and, slowly, I nodded.

"Thank you."

She held my hand, briefly. Then she sat beside me, waiting for the long count of those last hours to slip away.

***

Findekáno came to the door to call us, his pace brisk, his long, dark hair braided in tighter tresses than usual. He had dressed simply, in blue and green – and by his side hung a sword. Fëanáro's idea had not remained confined to Formenos alone.

He waited for us to collect our luggage, for us to sling it on the back of our horses. But when Artanis and I came to him he looked past us, to the house.

"Your brothers?"

"They'll come later. Father and Findaráto...they take a long time to prepare."

Findekáno frowned. The unsaid words in Artanis' voice – for they do not wish to come. But the column already was slipping by our gates, a tense silence lit only by lamps. The fog had subsided, a clear night was revealed. Above our heads, the stars shone bright, and hard.

"Come then. The Fëanárions have left long ago."

"We know."

The words had slipped off my tongue, an uncaring remark checked by his glance. A mixture of pain and despair whose reason I could not guess; but a blade whose edges the years had not dulled. He said nothing. Briskly, he took my horse by the reins, leading her away. She protested at his brusqueness – his fingers caressed her, a soothing stroke.

Artanis closed the gates behind her back. Where my eyes indulged one long moment on the house I had inhabited for the years of my betrothal, she looked back but once; and swiftly. Her farewell to her mother had been a private, brief affair, a few moments behind a closed door. Now from the house of her childhood she took her leave painlessly, and without remorse.

For one long moment I waited for memories to rush back; I waited for images of times long past to come back and sting, for the lost joy of Valinor to bite me with regret. By this gate I had kissed Maitimo for the first time, sixteen years before. By that pond, that the darker shadow of the trees hid, long hours of happiness had been consumed. But no memory came; the dark lay on everything a dull and an equal veil. A house, no more; an empty shell. Lamps by its windows were useless beacons for those who would not come back.

The metallic wings clinked soberly between my fingers, by my side, looking elsewhere, Artanis waited. I took the bridle of my mare, and joined the march.

Thus we left Tirion the White, Tirion upon Tùna the Noldor had made splendid. Dull where the palaces the Elves left empty; everywhere the traces of a hurried leave. Fëanáro had not allowed his people to tarry. Some would wait for Arafinwë to leave; on their doors, ready, they waited. Those who stayed back did not watch us pass. Unseen, behind closed windows and drawn curtains they listened to our steps pass, and fade; counting not how many would not be there to hope for a new day. We would not wait; we would go forward to seek a different light.

Strange were the roads in this silence; by every corner torches had been lit. And by their light we looked around, and recognized nothing; for we were not used to darkness and its tricks, and it was as if with the light of the Trees the city we had known and loved were gone. Some tarried by a corner, looking into a garden they had loved; others stooped upon stairs of crystal, seeking in vain to make them shine. But the reflection of the torches upon them was like spilt blood.

Artanis did not look left or right; she marched on, her hand firmly on the harness of her horse. Without glancing at me, sometimes her palm would brush the back of my hand; as if checking for me to be there. I would smile then; a taut smile in this strange hour. But she would not see it.

The last houses where left behind; now only a few more mansions stood in the empty vale before the breach, and the road to Alqualondë and the Sea. This path I knew well: many times I had trod its stones, many times with Maitimo I had sought this way. And my head turned, as it always did when I came to this point; looking ahead to the well-tended orchard, to the tall cypresses framing the door. Knowing not whether to expect the darkness of departure or the subdued light of refusal.

A light I found, but it shone brilliant; its red broken by the shape of the Elf leaning against the post. Nerdanel watched us pass, her face that of a statue where grief has been etched into stone, but her body still and quiet, as strong in her resolve to stay as others had walked quickly in theirs to leave. Our eyes met; but she did nothing. Still she remained, the black cat at her feet velvet in the silk of that night; her eyes following me, but her frame motionless. And then we had passed.

The journey until the Sea was devoid of thoughts, an unbroken stretch where my feet walked quietly among those of many. None sang; too much the fear mingled to excitement, doubt too closely woven with anticipation. Any voice raised in melody would have broken. Swiftly and silently we passed, and at our last ascent before the final march to the city some turned back, love for what they left behind a cold finger upon their hearts. They turned; but no regret touched them.

For beautiful was Tirion, even in that night; but empty. The white lance of the Mindon Eldaliéva crowned with flame was an accusing finger pointed to the sky, and it reigned untouchable over a city of death. Cold, and deserted; forsaken abode abandoned by joy or grief. Its stones were now silent, and still. Those who had turned back looked forward once again. Already the head of the column was descending; and at our feet there stretched the turquoise tiles, the flat roofs of the city of the Teleri.

In the blackness the Sea was still, deceivingly calm, a plain mirror for the stars to gaze at themselves. Its voice came far, a quiet whisper through the colourless cloth of the night; but to its voice we did not listen, for as we looked at its border, orderly Swanhaven where many ships were moored, flame and scream took our eyes and ears; and down we gazed in wonder and dread.

To Eldarin eyes the quays were near, as if at hand: and on their pale stone, encrusted with pearls, Noldor and Teleri were locked in a deadly dance. Many times I had seen the sons of Fëanáro training in the use of the sword; many times I had heard the clash of steel on steel. Sometimes an awkward attack had been stricken, and blood spilt; but nothing that I had seen then, in the peaceful light of afternoons spent in practice, could prepare me for this. For then the fight had been but a game; the fighters bonded by affection and blood. For the first time now I, and with me the whole of Findekáno 's host, saw what it was for hatred to be armed with a blade.

Artanis' voice came to me as from a far place.

"They refused to give up their ships…"

The swan-ships Uìnen herself had taught them to make.

"It's on the Valar's orders that they oppose us!"

I never knew who it was that said it first; I only knew that it spread like wildfire. Amassed on the hill above the city we watched, and what we thought the truth was spread before our eyes; and with each cry that reached us our anguish grew.

"Lord Findekáno! Shall we leave our kin to die?"

It had been a standard-bearer to speak; in his hand, blue and silver, Nolofinwë's colours flying. As one our column turned to Findekáno, to his sharp profile bent upon the city at our feet, to his keen eyes fixed, as if chained, on a spot at the margin of the fray. It was then that the thought my mind had ignored, the truth my spirit had denied, dulled into disbelief by what my eyes saw, came back and struck me with force; it was then that I looked where my cousin did, and with sinking heart I recognized the bright sword, the copper head of Maitimo standing his ground against two of his enemies. And all pity for my mother's kin was forgot; all thought for the truth behind this blood unimportant.

I raised my head; and in Findekáno's cold voice I recognized my own need.

"No."

He unsheathed his sword; and running he descended the steep road to the haven, the Noldorin Elves behind him finding in their throats the will and anger to yell. And the Teleri turned, seized by dread; for Findekáno 's host was upon them like eagle on unthinking sheep, and heavy blades tempered in Tirion made short work of Telerin small knives. Blood ran crimson on tainted pearls; and the Fëanárions raised their voices joining them to those of their saviours, and the Sea-Elves were chased back inch by inch.

All this I saw, and I knew the horror of kin voices screaming in wrath, in pain inflicted and received; but I heard them with deaf ears, for in the fray I ran down with the warriors, caring not for my own lack of arms: in my mind the thought of Maitimo one blinding, irrefutable call.

In the battle I looked for him, slipping unseen between Elves meeting, now, on the tip of sharpened blades; and I would not have found him, but death that no Elf had known ere this day would have come to me, shadow that would lay me on the stone flags where blood ran free, had Carnistir not found me first.

"Silmë!"

I had not heard the Telerin Elf approaching, I had not known of his raised knife; now I turned to watch him die, one last scream truncated by an upthrust sword. Open eyes, open mouth where no sight, no voice would now ever be; and his body fell heavily at my feet, spraying my dress with blood. I looked at him, conscience of what had come to pass struggling to hit me swift and hard; but Carnistir cared not for my stupor, he overstepped the fallen, grasping my wrist.

"You utterly maddened, you crazed Elf."

Dragging me away he brought me back from the alleys where I had come looking for his brother, back to the open field of the quays; and his sword was raised, streaked with blood not his, and at its sight the Teleri fled. For they saw now that the battle was lost, and fighting they cut their way out of the strife and to the defense of their houses and walls; and the Noldorin lowered their swords, and let them go.

I looked up, and saw Maitimo standing by his father, on his face a dazed expression, his sword lowered almost to the ground; and his vest was black with blood, but his bearing was that of one who is not wounded. And I would have run to him, but my path had to be chosen carefully: for the quays were sown with those who had fallen.

It was then, as I walked to the one I had come to seek at the peril of my life, that I fully saw it, what had come to pass here; it was then that I saw what my ears and eyes had refused to acknowledge before. Teleri and Noldor lay together before my feet, their lifeless bodies joined in death past the strife, their blood mingled, dropping as one in the water where the lamps of the Teleri shone sickeningly white. I walked, and as I walked I stepped over the dead; and my steps were careful, as if I feared to wake them.

We have done this. They fought…we did this.

It mattered not whose hand had held the knife.

Perhaps I should have wept. Perhaps I should have cried, or fallen to my knees, as many of those around me did then. Perhaps I should have begged for forgiveness of that clear, uncaring sky. But I did not. My progress halted before one last body, a maiden laying on her back, her arms sprawled, across her thrown the corpse of her killer cut down before he could turn. Noldor, Teleri; it mattered not. I looked at them through eyes that could take nothing more, and my heart was dead. Where no grief, no horror could suffice to express what it wanted to scream, my spirit fell in a daze where my body stood numbed. I looked at the bodies; I saw nothing else.

"Silmë."

I did not raise my eyes; I did not want to know. I remained still, listening for the sand of my endless life to trickle out, and for the hand of justice to strike me down. For I could not be standing when those at my feet had fallen; I could not be breathing when their chests were still, their spirits fled in fear to the Halls of Nàmo of the Dead.

"Silmë."

A hand slipping in mine. Two fingers raising my chin. His eyes, mirrors of my own – his face, streaked with sweat, and blood.

We have done this.

His arms, as strong around me as I remembered. His guilt, companion of my own.

It matters not whose hand held the knife.

His head had sunk into my hair.

For I do not want to see.

Tears gathering behind my eyes, grief weeping to unmake this knot. Until the words stopped it.

"Seize the ships. We have won them."

Beyond Maitimo's shoulders, Fëanáro standing. Blood on the bright sword he had forged for himself, blood on the crimson of the tunic he wore. His eyes surveying that quay; and mercilessly. Seeing not what those who followed him had done; seeing not the empty shapes of the fallen. Seeing only the ships he had conquered; a means to bring this voyage one step forward. A means to carry on the vengeance he had wrought in words and oath not to be broken before the World was undone and remade.

Death we shall deal him ere Day's ending.

My finger's grip on my beloved tightened, one last reminder of joy that had been, innocence we had lost. My eyes were dry.

Chapter 16: Doom

The words of Mandos' Doom are Tolkien's own. Methinks he wrote it to chilling perfection. Enjoy.

Read Chapter 16: Doom

Chapter 16

Doom

When Arafinwë arrived it was all over and done with. The ships had been seized, the bodies removed from the gangplanks where the Teleri had stood until their last breath. The Noldor unfurled the sails, loaded the luggage, readying to go. Nolofinwë had hesitated until the last; he had only come with his brother, and the last of the Elves to abandon Tirion. Now he came to survey a scene of devastation; his son, standing aside, still had not sheathed his sword. Still he had not wiped from its blade long streaks of dark blood.

“What has come to pass here?”

Findekáno looked at his father. There was no answer he could make.

I sat with Artanis on an upturned crate, our hands locked. When I had met her, after the strife, her gown had been sprayed with blood, as mine was – blood was on her hands, blood on her cheek where a cut interrupted the ivory of her skin. I cleaned the wound, asked no question. It was not an hour for them. We would never speak again of the slaying of the Teleri, of the killing of our own kin – the kin of our mothers. The blood that had been spilt was our own blood. That line could never again be crossed.

Macalaurë had taken our horses for us; Maitimo had seen to it. With nothing to do, nobody to turn to, we sat in silence, in the deathly, pearly light of a lamp. The stars still shone; and no lamp could darken them. Arafinwë came to us, walking carefully, as if his path was occupied; but nothing impeded his steps, save his horror, his fear.

“What happened?”

His brother’s own question; Artanis met his glance, her eyes empty. Nothing left in them to grieve or pray. She was not Findekáno; she would not let silence hang like a curtain between them. When she spoke, her words were clear-cut, and simple. Like swords, and the death they bring.

“They would not let us take the ships.”

Us. Our fault, our stain, until the end of the world.

Arafinwë took a step back. If he would have asked what I had had no heart to, how we had come to be drenched in the blood of the Teleri, whether order, or sheer willfulness had kept the Elves of Alqualondë from conceding their vessels, his bravery was not enough for it. Nodding slowly, he walked back. Artanis watched him go, saying nothing.

It was then, as her father left us, that I saw them – Nolofinwë and Fëanáro face to face, eyes in eyes, a mute challenge going from one to the other, wordless, useless defiance, for in the eyes of the eldest there shone the same certainty, the same cruel necessity that had rung in his voice as he decreed the exile of his people, and the wrath etched in Nolofinwë’s features seemed to be made not to disappear for all the ages of the world. But at long last, as he had always done, as he forever would do, Fëanáro won. Nolofinwë bent his head, his rage quenched, a silent assent in his bended head.

“We shall go by land,” he announced. His whole host, many of those that had been with Findekáno when we came to Alqualondë, followed him. Maitimo came to fetch Artanis and me, in his eyes a naked courage, a hopeless denial of what was. Not allowing himself to see the corpses that still littered the quays.

“Silmë, Nerwen, come. The ships are ready.”

I looked at him, the pale shape of the vessel beyond him, riding at anchor, its unfurled sails unquiet spirits the lamp painted with curved shadows. But he offered me his hand, and I took it. The blood had washed away. Its memory lay on my spirit as much as on the fingers that had held the sword’s hilt.

“Artanis?”

For a moment I thought she had not heard me. Her eyes were fixed on the King, where he still stood, directing his people, giving orders – she looked at him, boring into his face which the uncertain light cut up in black and alabaster white, as if asking questions that, she knew, would never have answer.

“Artanis.”

Still she would not look at me. Fëanáro had turned. His eyes met hers, they held her gaze for a long moment, as if he understood. As if he could have healed her, erased with a word, a glance the weight that had descended upon Artanis the Fearless, the guilt as heavy as lead upon her shoulders. As if he could have done all this; but wished it not. For he turned his back on her, and would not look at her again.

“Artanis.”

“I shall walk.”

She gathered her blood-stained gown in her hand, and rose. A caress to my hand, ever so light. Saying that she did not lay on me this fault. But she walked away from me, to where Aikanár stood. They exchanged a glance, no more. They understood each other in it. Nolofinwë’s host prepared to march.

“Aboard. The tide shall not wait.”

Taking Maitimo’s hand, I joined the Fëanárions on the first vessel.

***

The Noldor were no mariners; it was only in a long time, and with long labour, that we detached from the quays, leaving behind the battle and its tainted rests. No wind to fill the sails – the Sea bore the ships over water sullenly calm, as dark as night. All of those with me found themselves to be busy with rope and canvas, incapable of throwing one glance back – all but me. Standing by the railing I watched the pale piers of Swanhaven being left behind, a wedge of black silk opening between us and them; and the blood was now dry and black on the stones, on the ruined pearls, and those who had fallen slept in peace.

Slowly, one by one the Teleri came out of the houses, and they walked to the edge of the Sea; silent guardians at the gate of our voyage, in their far eyes a dark reproach. Silent; their voices raised neither in insult, nor curse. They had no need. No wailing would they raise against the slayers who fled; for their voice was in the waters, and the Sea had ears only for their sorrow.

Beyond them, past the breach above the sullied streets of Alqualondë, the last memory of Tirion upon Tùna was a lost and a colourless light.

Ossë the Thunderous, guardian of the waves, let us go past. A dark shape was the Maia of the Sea, servant of the Lord Ulmo; a dark shape crouching upon a rock by the mouth of the haven. He, that seldom took form, he that preferred to speak in wind and foam, and tempest, brooded at our passage, and held his fury; and his eyes, pearly slits in a black face, slipped upon us as upon something unworthy even of his wrath. The Noldor bent their heads in shame beneath his glance, and prayed to the One that watched above the circling stars; but Fëanáro looked to him without shame or regret, and neither of them could stare the other down. And then we had passed on.

Maitimo came by my side, his hand upon mine as it rested on the wooden railings. Wordlessly, I let my head rest against his shoulder, and his arm found its way around me, holding me closer. His vest was stiff with spilt blood; and against my hip I felt the cold metal of his sword’s hilt. But slow and strong beat his heart against mine, and closing my eyes I knew nothing else mattered. Under this shadow we stood together. And neither of us talked, for no words there were to fill the void of the hour of our guilt; each other’s warmth the last landmark upon an unknown road. The ship cleaved the water, black wings laced with white bearing its prow over our unseen route.

It began with the wind. Like fingers skimming the surface, at first, like a maiden playing by a fountain in an idle day. Then stronger, pulling our sails, filling them with a crack that startled us, a powerful, brisk call from vessel to vessel. The waves now nudged the keel along, they probed it with curious fingers, they shook it like a child that does not know his strength. And then the waters, like ribbons, like snakes, slithered around the prow; with cold hands they grasped it, and the Sea heaved its bosom in fury, the wind now its voice, the tempest its angered cry.

With powerful tears the fleet was taken from the chosen path, the vessels tossed in wrath from wave to wave, toys hurled by a whimsical child. The water rose high above us, it towered in strength and might, black wall that fell like melted iron over the flooded decks; dark hand that broke the slender prows, with hungry claws like steel ripped apart the hulls. The wind, like a hound, pursued us; and it howled for our last breath.

Maitimo shielded me with his body, and on our hands and knees, like toddlers, we fought our way away from the railings, from the closeness of the open mouth of the Sea screaming and claiming us back. Many of those who were with us slipped and fell in the mounting waves; and without a cry they disappeared overboard.

And then the voice of the wind took form and shape, and its tone was known to our ears; and in its fell words was implacable hatred.

Slayers! Treacherous and cursed! Slayers of those that I loved!

“It is Uìnen!”

My scream was drowned by another wave – I closed my eyes huddling between Maitimo and the mainmast, drenched already, and to the bone; my dress, my hair one net that whipped my skin with every furious breath of wind. All around the Noldor secured ropes around their waists, their ends tied to the mast, one vain defense against death by water in that moment when even the stars had disappeared, the boundary between water and sky erased in the embrace of air and water, in their dance that to us spelt death.

I had not been alone in recognizing Uìnen’s voice, the wailing of the Lady of the Waters, the spouse of Ossë that so often had tempered his wrath; the Maia of fair breeze that unleashed her power, now, in the cold fangs of a merciless storm. The Noldor called to her, imploring her with beseeching voices; and she who had listened to so many, she who knew pity for all creatures that sail the waters above the sunken earth, she closed her ears to their lament, and taking the stolen ships into her liquid palm she crushed them one by one, bringing them like driftwood to the bottom of the Sea.

For in her heart still rang loud the cry of the Teleri as they lay dying; for on her fingers she had collected the drops of their blood. Gentleness turned to wrath is fearsome to see. Nothing could one do against the fury of the sea; and closing my eyes I held on to my betrothed, my only fear to be torn from him, cast adrift, alone, in this endless night. He sank his nose into my hair, and together we waited for death or relief, beneath us the deck screaming in pain, its planks creaking and wailing with each new wave. Only once did I, again, cast my glance upon the storm: and it was when the voice of Uìnen became call and curse.

Fëanáro!

He clang not to railing or mast for security; he stood tall and sure among us who crouched in fear, and his waist was unhindered by rope. He let the water whip his face, and in the face of the fury of Uìnen he smiled.

***

No tempest shall blow forever. No Sea shall remember its anger for more than a few hours. Havoc may the water wreak, and the spirits of the deep claim a tribute of life – but at last the water shall tire, and the waves calm themselves; and the howling of vengeance be quietened, for the count of the dead has risen enough. Then those who have survived the storm shall look at each other across water like glass, and the stars shall twinkle anew; for behind the sullen cover of the clouds they had never ceased to shine.

Thus it was with us; and the Sea eased its fury into an unsettling calm, the swan ships riding low in the cup of the waves. Slowly those who still breathed undid the knots of their ropes, and looked around; and the lamps hung from the masts were lit again. In their uncertain light I met Maitimo’s eyes, green jewel under the wet fringe of his hair; his soaked fingers cold upon my cold skin. Salt water tasted bitter on our lips; drops of Sea or tears that before we had had no heart to shed. I clasped his hand, and counted the ships that now flocked to us, to the silver star flying heavily beneath Fëanáro’s own standard upon the mast.

Lost fireflies in the dark were the beacons of the other vessels; calls from home were the lamps of Nolofinwë’s host, when we turned to the land. They had watched our struggle from the coast; and now, their march halted, they searched the Sea with feverish eyes for those they loved and that had gambled their lives on the stolen ships, on the unquiet wave.

With luminous signals they called us closer, they asked us to lay anchor; and Fëanáro gave order to our pilot to comply, for the tempest had brought us far North, away from the lights of Alqualondë, to forsaken Araman where no plant grew. Nearing the cliffs, our eyes saw her, and in awed murmurs we whispered her name; but perhaps it was just a trick of the fading light of our lamps, or of our crushed spirits the last wish. In the shape of a crying woman, her head laid low on her arms, her long hair trailing down upon the rock, Uìnen weeping.

***

We came ashore in longboats, beneath our feet the hard soil a new blessing. Stumbling in the low water we reached the pebbly beach, the outstretched arms of those who had waited there. Nolofinwë greeted his brother, on his face relief mingled to his bitter sadness after the slaying.

“We thought none of you would survive.”

“If this be the worse that the Powers can throw at us, then our passage to Middle-earth shall be swift.”

Arafinwë that until then had stood aside rose in anger at such words, on his face wrath and pain.

“Fëanáro! Have you not challenged enough the fury of the Valar? Have you not stained already this deed with the blood of our kin?”

“I know only one kin, and only one allegiance: that to those who shall follow me.”

“It is folly that you ever speak! How do you propose to lead us to Middle-earth, you that have long since forgotten reason in any of your counsels?”

Fëanáro’s eyes lit with anger, and their sparkle was the terrible light of the stars when they are dying; but ere he could answer a sudden wind chilled us to the bone, and a dark voice called into the night: “Elves of Tirion! Hearken now the voice of the Valar, your lords!”

Fear gripped our hearts, and turning we saw, looking down to us from the high cliff, a tall and a black figure; a hood hid its face, but the voice was deep and loud, and even the last in our hosts heard it. And in it rang the truth of doom; doom that only one among the Powers ever comes to announce. In his words our destiny was set down, and for us a path was forged in iron and blood.

"Tears unnumbered you shall shed; and the Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains. On the House of Fëanáro the wrath of the Valar lies from the West unto the uttermost East, and upon all that will follow them it shall be laid also. Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue. To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well; and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass. The Dispossessed shall they be for ever. You have spilled the blood of your kindred unrighteously and have stained the land of Aman. For blood you shall render blood, and beyond Aman you shall dwell in Death's shadow. For though Eru appointed to you to die not in Ea, and no sickness may assail you, yet slain you may be, and slain you shall be: by weapon and by torment and by grief; and your houseless spirits shall come then to Mandos. There long shall you abide and yearn for your bodies, and find little pity though all whom you have slain should entreat for you. And those that endure in Middle-earth and come not to Mandos shall grow weary of the world as with a great burden, and shall wane, and become as shadows of regret before the younger race that comes after. The Valar have spoken."

Silence fell upon us, silence like rock falling from a high mountain, silence crushing our spirits with guilt and dread. And none looked to his companion, for fear of seeing in his eyes the shadow of the same curse; and none dared to look again at the figure of the messenger, who towered above us, his voice still echoing in the dark wind. By my side Artanis found my hand; and I clasped hers, our courage sustaining itself in that dark hour. But in the fearful silence of the Noldor one voice was raised, and it was that of Fëanáro; scorn and pride erasing fear from his words, madness obliterating rightful dread from his defiance.

“Do not hide your face as you speak to me, Námo of the Dead! Do not think you can, with threatening words, bend the will of Fëanáro, and of the House of Fëanáro! An oath we made, and we shall keep it; a path we chose, and we shall tread it. No shadow of cowardice shall fall upon our name, should every other insult be thrown into our face; and you, courier of Manwë, go back to your master saying this: that not a step back shall Fëanáro take, but forward he shall march, and his deeds and the deeds of those who follow him shall echo in glory until Arda may last!”

His voice was full of power, and I felt that in his words, too, was a shadow of the truth. The Lord Mandos then uncovered his face, revealing in majesty his power; and he stood tall and proud, and he shone of a dark light.

“Glory you seek, and glory you shall have; but dear-bought glory, and in blood you shall pay for it. And your courage shall have two edges, for it will be tainted by your own curse; the shadow of evil shall mar even the brightest of your deeds. Go forward, Fëanáro! Bring your flame into the darkness of Endor under the stars. But to me you shall come soon.”

Like smoke that dissolves in darkness when the fire is suddenly smothered, as swift as he had appeared Námo was gone. And dread lay heavy upon our spirits, for they were crushed with the weight of things to come; and among the mists of the future we could discern shreds of truths and evils to be, and fear was like a fist choking our breath. But Fëanáro was silent, his eyes as hard and as clear as adamant, as pitiless as tempered steel. Arafinwë then raised again his voice, and he said: “You hear, fools, what the Valar decree unto you! You hear to what ends this shall road lead you. Never we should have left Tirion the White, land of our fathers; and there now I will go back, retracing the steps of this evil, hoping to undo its threads for a new hope. And those who shall follow me shall be welcome; and together we shall see if the Powers may have mercy upon those who had gone mad.”

Many among us, and especially those who had come last with his host, murmured approval at his words; but Fëanáro laughed.

“Indeed, why did you even put yourself on the road, little brother? Why? I could have told you myself, if you had asked, that in your heart was not courage nor strength enough for such a feat. Go back then, go back like a beaten dog; and all those who will may follow you. For such servants of the Valar I have no use.”

Turning he left us, and aside he stood among his House; and a mocking light was in his eyes as he watched the hosts dividing.

But Arafinwë, if he was stricken by his brother’s words, soon overcame his grief; and turning to Nolofinwë he said: “And you? Do not tell me that you swore to follow his lead; do not tell me that you hold yourself in debt to such a promise. Folly now inhabits him; and none shall bind your oath to the actions of a maddened Elf.”

But ere Nolofinwë could speak, Findekáno had stepped forward, and on his face was the shadow of decision that nurtures no doubt.

“If you would go back, uncle, you that would not have come in the first place, then do it; but know that all those who marched before you now fall under this doom, whether they will it or not. And it shall not be said of the House of my blood that we have no courage to see to their end all of our actions, however bitter that end may be. Father, if you would listen to your brother, and go, our ways part now. I only wish we shall meet again, ere Arda is remade, or after.”

And having spoken he stood aside, and for many then the decision was made, for they loved their prince dearly, and would not abandon him. Nolofinwë said nothing; but he embraced his brother one last time, and he went to his son. Arafinwë bit his lip, and tears were in his eyes; but he held them back, and turning to his children he cried: “Will you too forsake your father and kin? Even you, Artanis, my only daughter, shall not see reason, even now?”

I looked to my friend then, and she was paler than she had ever been; and her lips were bluish in the light of the torches. But her eyes were gems, and her will unbent.

“Farewell, father. My love for you, and for my mother, I bring in Middle-earth under different stars.”

Arafinwë cried then, a wordless cry; and only then I saw to what depth could his grief descend, he that I had always known to smile, and be gracious, like one who cared nothing but for those things that make life pleasant, and easy. And he turned, covering his face with his cloak; and his host followed him in silence. On the shore they trod, rollers coming to die at their feet, a long column retracing its steps in the lightless black. And they said no farewell; and soon the night swallowed them.

Artanis then sat heavily upon the beach, her eyes tearless, but fixed; for now one last line had been crossed. And I was torn, ad if a knife had been sunk into my heart; for only now I felt fully the weight of what had come, and the light of the Valar, in which I had grown, I missed like my own breath. For this disobedience, this curse hid from me the guidance I had always sought; and I was like a thing cast aside in a storm, for the wind and the rain to play with at will. For a long moment those of us who had stayed behind were lost, as if they knew not whether to turn their steps.

Maitimo then clasped my shoulders, and shaking me he called me back. His voice was painfully low, broken and cracked, as if his throat were full of shards of ice.

“Run. I pray of you, run. You may still reach Arafinwë now, you may still go back.”

For a long moment I looked at him, as if I did not understand; and then comprehension dawned upon me, and even as the crack throbbed into my heart, I shook my head.

“Never.”

“Ever you have been faithful to me; ever you have followed me. But under this curse I shall not let you dwell; I will not let your spirit be marred, and your life be shredded and ruined. No, such a fault shall not weigh upon me; you I will not let you stand under this doom.”

I looked to his eyes, and I saw that they were frail, like crystal through which light shines. And his broad shoulders were curved as he realized what weight had been lain upon them; a weight from which he would shield me. For one long moment I listened, anew, to myself; and a part of me died on that day, and a part of me forever I forsook. For Silmë of the Vanyar died on that shore, and I killed her with words I uttered with voice loud and clear, looking into the eyes of the one I loved. Knowing then that Findaráto was right; that this would be my blessing, and my curse. But accepting it; knowing that if I turned back now I would live to see my spirit consumed in pain and regret.

“I take upon me the Doom of the House of Fëanáro; I take upon me their destiny and their curse. I take them upon me of my free will, and not a step I shall take to go back. If Valinor be fenced against me, and my spirit denied asylum because of my choice, then so be it. But I shall not leave you alone. I shall not be parted from you.”

His tears broke their dam now; his arms iron crushing me as he embraced me, despair bitter on his lips as he kissed me. And my heart was healed; a black scar running where my old allegiance had been. My spirit crying; wailing as my past died in that moment. No other love, no other pledge than those that surrounded me was left. When we parted I saw that Maitimo cried no more; strong in my resolution as I was in his. He left me, one last caress upon my face a seal upon our promise. He went to organize the column; and I sat by Artanis’ side before the black face of the Sea, in the hissing of the wind a forlorn memory of Uìnen’s grief. We did not touch; but each other’s presence we acknowledged without words.

Still my heart grieved; but in its grief it had found new strength. The test had come; and it had chosen. As I sat by the Sea I knew not, and I could not have guessed, that ere long time had passed it would have to choose again. And that then it would break not to be healed again for long years beneath the stars.

***

Four more days of march brought us to the uttermost end of Araman, last shred of Valinor before the ice of the Northern straits. We had gone swiftly, but our progress had not been easy, hindered as we were by luggage; the ships following the column, steering with difficulty against wind and tide. Nolofinwë led those who walked; Fëanáro had retained control of the ships. I divided my time between the two; for Artanis had grown grim and silent since she had said farewell to her father, and her heart was hardened in willfulness to keep grief at bay. We marched; and she seemed to care not for the cold that had many of our companions shiver and cry. It was then that the first of our horses died.

It was a long march; and it was bitter on us that had never known other things but the sweetness and the ease of Aman the deathless. Light felt even our cloaks in the cutting winds that came down from the frozen plains of the Helcaraxë that none but the Powers had trod; and some cursed under their breath the moment they had decided to follow Fëanáro upon this road. I looked at them, and they fell silent.

For me that march was an interregnum of sanity, an empty space where to collect my thoughts. I walked, or sailed; sewing together what remained of my affections, mending my heart day by day. When we rested I would sleep upon the deck in Maitimo’s arms, covered in his cloak, each other’s warmth our only comfort; a timid smile coming to our lips when we woke up together, resuming the journey. There was a light before me, a light I could follow; a light of which I would not be deprived. Hope was reborn in me under the gentle caress of his fingers.

When I was with Artanis I would remain silent, respecting her grief. She mourned; mourned for those she had left behind, and her pain was clear to my eyes. Findaráto was always with her; for to us what to others looked like willful pride was the shield behind which she hid her pain. And with each day, even as I did, she mended her spirit; and her choice was strengthened and laid down in stone. When we came to the end of Araman she, too, was healed; a darkened wound where her joy had been.

There, when the smell of the ice was a fist hitting our tired lungs, we stopped; and Fëanáro came ashore among the murmurs of our host, to discuss how to complete the journey. If he was aware of the discontent that surrounded him, he hid it well; in his eyes the maddened light had now quietened in silent strength, resolution that would not yield. At his passage the murmur stopped.

On that day I had walked; coming ashore Maitimo reached me, and we were together as the sons of Finwë discussed.

“We cannot hope to pass the ice; a long and a hard journey, and one whose end many could not hope to see. Our only way is the Sea.”

Like a fist the straits of Helcaraxë grasped and joined the ends of Aman and Endor; and beneath its jagged arch a bay stretched between them. Mist now hid the other shore; but a thrill run through us, for now we were nearer than ever we had been to our destination. And some smiled even as their lips cracked with the cold, for they thought the end of the voyage near.

“The ships are not enough to carry us all at once. It will have to be done in two crossings.”

Nolofinwë nodded at his brother’s words, agreeing: “You shall have to ferry your people across, then come back for us. Perhaps in a day or two we should be done. It will depend on the tide.”

“I will start immediately then.”

Countless times since that day I have thought again of Fëanáro’s face in that moment; countless times I have gone over my memory of his eyes, his voice. Countless times I have looked for a clue to tell me what would come to pass. Countless times I have found nothing.

For then he spoke calmly; and reasonably, like one who is only concerned for the journey to progress without further trouble; and none that looked at him would have guessed to which heights his anger could rise. When I reflect upon that day now I suspect that his very calm should have frightened me; but then I was tired, and at peace. Such reasonable counsel was balm to soothe deep wounds, and I said nothing.

There was mistrust when the arrangements were announced; for by then fear and suspicion had seeped among the ranks of the Noldor, making their blood run bitter. And the words of the Oath, the words of the Valar’s Doom echoed heavy in their spirits, and like angry bees they spoke in low murmurs against Fëanáro. But he acted as if he cared not; and, faithful to his word, he walked to his longboat. I accompanied Maitimo, as yet undecided whether to go with him, or stay back; but as we reached the boat Fëanáro looked back, and in his amused tone he asked: “What, Nelyafinwë, shall you not lead your Vanyarin bride with us? How ungallant; I thought you would have dreamt of the moment when you would first set foot in Endor together.”

Maitimo turned to me, taken aback; for indeed, our mind absorbed by our long march, our memory struggling to forget what had passed in Aman, we had not thought of the end of the journey. And after a moment my beloved smiled; for now the end of our toils was at hand, and there was time and strength again to play such games. With brilliant eyes, he offered me his hand.

“My father speaks the truth. Upon this new land, Alcániel, I would first tread with you.”

I smiled back. Like a ray of light was his offer; like a memory of things long past. I turned to Artanis, my voice light: “If you will forgive me then, friend, I shall see you when you will come.”

But she made no answer; her eyes fixed on Fëanáro, and she was frowning. As if she did not understand; as if a thought troubled her she could not yet frame into words. But at last she nodded, shaking her head as if to chase an unwanted thought.

“I shall see you then,” she answered.

Playfully, as if a weight had been lifted from his spirit, Maitimo took me in his arms, and lay me himself in the boat, so that my dress would not be wetted; and when he jumped in and took my hand I saw that his eyes sparkled as they had not done since the morning – was it only days? – when we had ridden forth from Formenos in the golden of Laurelin’s light. And then the boat pushed off, the rowers bent on their instruments.

Artanis waded into the water to her knee, still looking at us; in her eyes the same, perplexed question.

The ships, riding at anchor at some distance from the shore, were soon ready; and Maitimo and I stood by the railings as the anchor was taken in, and the sails unfurled in the feeble wind. Rowers then put out their long oars, aiding the vessels; and the prows were turned like the nose of curious animals, and Middle-earth drew nearer with each stroke.

Upon the beach we could see Nolofinwë’s host rearranging their baggage, some sitting down or lighting fires, preparing to wait; the other shore still hidden by fog. But the cold and the dreariness of the land, for once, weighed not upon us; and Maitimo’s hand rested light upon my waist, our eyes meeting in expectation. For now, once this journey was over, the moment would come for our long-held promise to be fulfilled, and for us to be wed beneath the different skies we had chosen. And in that moment oath and doom seemed far, infinitely farther than the new hope of Endor closer with each moment that passed.

It was in that lightness that he spoke, when he asked of Fëanáro, who stood near: “Which shall we ferry across first, father? Shall we first bear Findekáno the Valiant and all his blood?”

Clear were his eyes; and unsuspecting. A memory to bite me until the end of the world. For at his question, Fëanáro laughed; and when he had laughed his answer was spoken in a cold voice, like a sentence that stands no appeal: “Nobody we shall bear! I hear them cursing, and I regret them not; let them follow the steps of Arafinwë the Coward! Let them weep and bend, for this is all that they avail to; let them go back to their thralldom under the Valar’s rule! For I shall burn the ships as we will land; and none of them shall come this way.”

And as he fell silent I saw in his eyes the fire of his madness burning ever brighter, brighter than in the hour he had spoken his oath; and it was as if the margins of the world had blurred in his spirit, and he could no longer see what even in his folly he should have spared us and himself. He walked away from us, without looking back.

My eyes and Maitimo’s met, and despair was in both; and grasping the railings we turned in vain to the shore where unsuspecting our friends waited, Findekáno and Artanis and Findaráto, and Nolofinwë, all of their host; and anguish was in my voice as I cried: “Something must be done!”

I know not what I thought we could do; I know not whether I had, myself, gone fey in that moment. I know only that I turned, and Maitimo’s eyes were empty, as if broken; as if one last stroke had finally fell all resistance that he still harboured against his father’s wishes. He stood aside; and in silence.

My words were heavy when I uttered them.

“You shall do nothing.”

His eyes then sought mine, and the abyss I had guessed in that far day in the sea-cave, the abyss in which I had lived with him in the years of our exile, was open and bottomless; and it hit me hard and fast and sudden, full comprehension of what it was, now, to be Fëanáro’s eldest; to be tied to his will, to bear his legacy in one’s blood. Part of his spirit, spark of his fire, until the world should end. No, he would do nothing; for nothing there was he could do.

But in that abyss I saw my own; and I that had renounced my family, I that had disowned my blood, I that had dreaded for one of the slayers as my mother’s kin was killed, I saw then the one allegiance I could not betray. My heart was broken as I tore myself from him; my spirit screamed in pain even as my resolution became steel. Artanis, cousin and friend, was my sister in this; with her I shared the knowledge of what I should do. And I was young then. I was strong. I could recognize what hurt this would do me, and choose to take it.

In one gesture I grasped the railing, heaving myself above it with all my strength; and ere he could reach me I was beyond it, below me the water churning with crested foam. No hesitation I could afford; and I jumped.

“Alcániel!”

His cry followed me as I coursed through air; and the water was iron when I hit it. I did not look back: knowing that the ship left me behind with each stroke of its oars, knowing that Fëanáro would spare no boat to retrieve me. Knowing that I could not have faced looking at Maitimo again, without breaking in two.

My dress drenched and heavy, my spirit wounded, I swam. Rarely I had done it in the Sea; never in such rough waters. And death would have been welcome then, welcome to my broken fëa, welcome to my cloven heart. But from the shore they had seen me jump; from the shore that was still near enough for them to discern me.

Nerwen, Man-maiden they called her; and in truth Artanis was stronger in body than many an ellon, and without hesitation she came in the water, swimming out to meet me. Not alone: for in that hour Findekáno forgot his reasonless hatred, and I was again his cousin, the friend I had been, the maiden he had known since we both were Elflings; and he dived along Artanis, coming to me.

This I knew but later: for in that moment I knew only of the water that won my resistance, of the numbness that it brought as it burnt my throat, it choked my breath. It was death; and it was bitter and sore. From it, strong arms took me, and swiftly I was borne to the shore. Many rushed to meet us on the waterline, and only then I recognized my saviours, incapable of saying a word as I vomited water, Findekáno and Artanis still holding me, for my ankles, my knees had melted.

My vision still blurred, I looked up: to Nolofinwë’s eyes, to the question burning on his lips. In choked words I spoke; but he heard.

“They won’t…come back…”

Perhaps I fainted then; perhaps I dreamt of his scream. Perhaps no voice of Vala, Man and Elf can hold such pain, and only in hallucination could one hear it. But my spirit knows that when I folded in Artanis’ arms, my strength exhausted, I still could discern; and that it is no dream my memory of Nolofinwë as he advanced in the water, as clawing at the Sea he cried, and in his cry were anguish and wrath, and rejected love.

“Fëanáro!”

But his pain and his cry were drowned by a fell wind.

Chapter 17: Ice

To try and reconcile the different chronologies Tolkien gives us for the Battle Under the Stars and the first rising of the Moon has proved impossible; with the precious help of Dawn we have tailored a timeline for this chapter.

We know of the manner of Elenwe's death from HoME.

Read Chapter 17: Ice

Chapter 17

Ice

For a long moment none of us spoke; for a long moment the whole of Nolofinwë’s host remained still and silent on the shore, their eyes fixed on the lights of Fëanáro’s fleet fast retreating. Word was passed then, and swiftly, like a bitter fruit that one shares not to bear its savour alone. Kind news treads heavy and slow, it reaches one like honey that is spilt, advancing but an inch at a time; but ill news is a raven with bronze wings, that never tires, and flies light and fast upon the wind. For one moment more, all were silent; and then came the wailing.

Like lost seagulls, like abandoned children the Noldorin Elves cried, their hands held out to those who could no longer see them, no longer help them. To those who had left them behind. All loyalty broken, all friendship forgotten on that black day; and laying as I did on the cold sand I watched them as their faults and their doom fell upon them, for they were now truly alone, their home barred to them, those who had led them to this land departed without them. And pity should have touched me then; pity for them, and for myself. But numbness was over me, a thick cloak covering my mouth; and I said nothing.

Artanis held me in her arms; and she did not wail, she did not cry. For a moment in her eyes rage and wrath were awakened, and hatred that had been nourished on suspicion alone then grew never again to die; fed on the truth of that cold betrayal, of that pitiless damnation. Fed on the bitterness of the hour where all of her fears became true. She was silent; her lips tightening, steel filling her eyes. Biting back every word of anger, for anger was a luxury not to be afforded when all our hopes had died.

Her fingers sank into my flesh, and iron rang into her voice when she said: “Silmë, stand up.”

Feebly, I shook my head. No bone and no sinew left in my tired flesh; the Sea a promise of painful but final rest. Like Mìriel, I was empty. No fire left, nor will. Just this tiredness.

Artanis heeded me not.

“I said, stand up.”

It was she who drew me upright, her nails digging deep marks into my skin, her eyes daring me to fall again. I remained standing. Even a childish defiance would have been past my reach.

Nolofinwë was still in the water, his hands clenched into fists; his eyes dampened flames. His scream had died; his pain had not. Like a dragon, it clawed at him, it would not let go. Artanis reached him with heavy steps, splashing in the water like a dying animal. But her voice was firm when she lay a hand upon his shoulder.

“Uncle.”

For a long moment it looked like he had not heard her. For a long moment his eyes did not abandon the horizon, the departing ships one last flicker of the lamps before they disappeared into the mist. When he turned to her it was as if a veil had fallen into his eyes; a deep chasm opened by a knife’s stroke. But Artanis would not allow him to fall into such a grief. Not now.

“We must cross the Ice.”

“We cannot.”

A tired voice; an obvious answer. Around us, the Noldor sitting on the sand, silent tears now digging silvery streaks on their cheeks.

“We must.”

Adamant into her voice; the same certainty that sparkled in Fëanáro’s will. But Nolofinwë’s irises were clouded, and faded.

“We could go back.”

“I shall not. I made my choice; now I will not beg.”

Without another word she strode ashore, her pace brisk. Her beautiful face contracted halfway between anger and pain. Like a bird of prey, she looked around with hungry eyes. Seeking a way out of this limbo where no choice had been left.

“Findaráto.”

His arms had been around a fallen Elf, his soothing voice had consoled her despair. Now he rose at his sister’s call.

“Help me rouse them. We must go on.”

“You mean…?”

“The Helcaraxë is the only way.”

“Yes.”

The same wisdom; the same will. Ere he began Daro looked to me.

“Silmë?”

“She will be well.”

A sharp glance, cast my way. As if defying me to challenge her words. Slowly, I nodded. The only allegiance I could not have betrayed: that to her, and to myself. As they organized the host I stood aside. I had no baggage left, no horse. Just my tired, numbed limbs, and the soaked clothes the wind blew against me. It was cold. My aching skin was the last part of me left alive.

Sitting before the Sea I watched the rollers come to die at my feet, the black water fringed with icy foam. Its delicate lacework draped the pebbles like a shawl. Even here there was beauty. Perhaps the One could look down upon us and recognize in our solitude His purpose, His design. But as I looked around me I could not. All I saw was loneliness in the place where all things we had valued ended, and lost themselves.

My fingers, when they rose to hold my face, were a cold touch. I looked at them as if I could not recognize them, as I had looked at them when the carriage had brought me back from Valmar after Finwë’s death. A few days before. The wounds upon them had not yet healed, their margins were scarlet and raw. Upon the third finger of my left hand, dulled in the weak reverberation of the torchlight, my ring. Slowly, I caressed it. It was cold and hard beneath my fingertips, a memory made of stone. Silent tears fell from my eyes, they blurred my vision, hiding the sharpness of the night like a merciful veil.

The coldness outside, the emptiness within. Two faces of the same coin. My hands abandoned in my lap, I looked to the black, wished I could melt into it. No more pain. Just a dreamless, endless sleep. I did not think of Maitimo. There was no need. My spirit was torn, one jagged wound burning for his loss. In a corner sat the conscience of the rightness of my choice, a small voice telling me even now that disgust at my cowardice would have been harder to bear than pain. But it was no consolation; just another, sharp absence against which to cut myself.

I did not hear him approaching, I did not turn when eventually I recognized his steps. I did not expect him to speak; and truly he did not. Silently, his gestures curt, he bent over me, letting his cloak enwrap my shoulders. With brisk movements his fingers settled it better, they fastened it beneath my chin. It was only when I heard his steps leaving, his quick, unthinking pace, that I turned to watch Findekáno walking fast to rejoin the host. He did not look back.

Slowly, I turned again to the Sea, to its unbroken surface whose voice was a whisper upon the shingles, a murmur among the sand. A lightless, hopeless night stared back.

***

Artanis came to me when the host had already begun to march, in her hand a torch held high. She made no comment upon the cloak, no comment upon my swollen eyes. Her own told me she would shed no tears. There was a hardness now to her jaw, like a chain settling it more tightly against her rigid neck. This new bitterness she would never lose. She offered me her hand, and I accepted it.

Slowly the column moved, and we made our way to its head, where Nolofinwë opened the march, leading the rest. At the close were Findekáno and Findaráto, making sure that no one strayed. My eyes sought my cousin, but he would not look at me. He carried a blanket around his shoulders now, fastened with a brooch that shone preposterously bright against the coarse fabric, at the light of the torches. Another memento from a world we had lost.

Nolofinwë spoke not when we reached him, he stepped slightly aside to make way for us. His pace was that, slow and heavy, of one who nurses a grievous wound. His eyes were black now, black unbroken; in them his mourning like a sunken wreck beneath the surface. A cold season covered his beauty with the trappings of frost. Anairë had not come with us, she had remained behind, filling the void of their house in Tirion with unanswered calls. Perhaps the women of the Noldorin were right; perhaps no love could be worth this sacrifice. The blood of the Teleri, and now this.

But even as my reason recognized such truth my split heart throbbed, and I knew that no mercy could have saved me from this doom. All of my choices I would have taken anew, again and again, even if I had known that they would have led to this abandon that smelled of death. The greater price that Artanis had foreseen for me had come; with each step I took I paid it. And looking at Nolofinwë I knew that in such a mourning I was not alone.

There are many kinds of love with which to be blessed; many kinds of love with which to be cursed. My steps lengthening, matching my cousin’s, I walked on.

Beneath our feet the sand became harder, the last of the pebbles froze. The cold closed itself around our throats, and our remaining horses neighed feebly, as if they knew what lay ahead. We had reached the ice.

Artanis did not hesitate, she opened the way into its blinding white, among its hard sheets as clear as water. We followed her, our memories a burden heavier than our bodies as we left the last of Valinor behind. Looking back, the host of the Noldor was a tired snake slithering slowly across the plain, their torches weak defences against that forsaken night.

The fires of Fëanáro’s ships tinged the sky with blood on the far shores of Middle-earth.

***

Not many accounts have been written of the crossing of the Helcaraxë; not many tales are told of its endless pain. Not many; for it is a memory that burns with frost the minds of those who were there to live it, a memory tainted and stained with the empty eyes of those whose bodies were left behind us in the march. No, not many words shall I say of it; and in my mind such passage is but a remembrance of cruel white.

No animal, no plant could live there, for the power of the Grinding Ice far exceeded its simple inhospitality; and its cold was like a living thing, a prying animal whose fingers and paws probed and wounded our skin. No heat could be found in the flame of our torches; no heat in the frantic movement of our bodies starving for warmth. And after a few days our steps became heavy, and those who lay down to sleep would not awake.

It was then that we knew of another death, death by cold that came like the illusion of a pleasant slumber; death with muffled steps and soft hands taking away our breath if we dared stop. Death wandering transparent and fine, like an unquiet spirit haunting our steps as we walked; death talking of other worlds, of rest and untroubled dreams. Many gave such a death their hands in pledge; and they lay down upon the white.

The horses died first; one last, inaudible neighing, one last appeal against such an unkind fate. Then their legs, once strong in canter as in rest, would bend, and they would lie down closing their eyes like black pearls in the unrelenting white of ice and snow. Their great hearts would stop, and if their masters shed tears at their departure the drops turned to diamonds of frost upon their skin, breaking it.

And then, after three days of march, for the first time some did not rise when called, their forms abandoned upon their cloaks sprayed with frozen dew, their eyes open, looking at the stars. The name of Elbereth on their lips one last prayer. Naked was the sky above the Helcaraxë, for in its cold no mist could gather; and the heavens were a vault of crystal sealed above our heads. The stars gems woven of unshed tears. The eyes of Varda watching our progress with distant pity; leaving us to the fate we had chosen.

We did not close the eyelids of those we left behind; we took their cloaks, their shawls to warm the living. When we looked one last time at them, their skin was pale, alabaster untouched and pure, beauty Arda took back with fingers of ice. Their spirits had fled, in the shadow of Mandos they abided, knowing nothing of what those who remained suffered.

All this I watched with numbed eyes; all this in my mind passed like a fleeting cloud. And Helcaraxë was to me like the place where all illusions were lost, where no dream could survive. Truth had waited for us beneath the cover of the snow, truth had come to us, and it spoke of a lonely death. Had I been alone I would have lain down with those who stayed behind, and watched the stars circling above my head, my eyes open until a starker truth would fill them. It would have been sweet to do; it would have meant laying aside a burden I could not carry. The last gift to the Eldar when their eternity becomes too harsh.

It was not his absence alone that I mourned; it was not the remembrance of his touch, his laughter alone that I missed. No, even if every step brought back a new memory to sting and bite, a new burn upon my charred heart. For after twenty-six years of the Trees I had come to know Maitimo like my own self; for even now I could guess the thoughts of his spirit, the beatings of his heart. His pain, his confusion and guilt I felt upon me; his anger, his frustration mingled with my own, and in our shared pain the cold was a temptation to which I would surrender. Truly then it was revealed foolish the law of the Valar that says that it is the union of bodies alone that can wed two spirits; untrue it was shown their belief that only in the making of new life shall souls mingle. For while I was parted from Maitimo, still I was with him; and his grief and mine were new ice upon my frozen heart.

But Artanis watched me, and her keen eyes guessed which thoughts inhabited me; and never would she leave my side, her hand upon mine as she led me on. Her voice echoed fair and clear over the ice, a call to go forward, beyond our pain; and her body sustained mine when my steps would falter.

“You shall not die.”

A vow she made through gritted teeth.

Her stubborn friendship, her unrelenting will held me to life; her eyes told me she would not take my loss. For love of Artanis I bit my lips that the cold had cracked; for her affection I slept standing not to fall into the sweetness of the slumber of the ice. And when others would fall to their knees, and refuse to rise, then a new strength would be born in me as a new flicker of doubt and sorrow crossed her blue irises; and with a voice I did not feel as mine I would incite others to go on on the same path I would forsake. The spark of joy in my friend’s eyes when another would find the strength to progress was the last fair thing I had left in Eä.

No account of time could be taken in that eternal night under the stars; but perhaps no more than ten or fifteen days were necessary to us to cross the boundless bulk of the ice. In one hour we shall not forget we looked to the horizon, and it was black; opaque, unyielding land where no more ice we would find. And then our heart rejoiced, remembering again how to beat in thrill; our blood warming for a brief moment our white cheeks.

It was then, as our goal lay close to our fingertips, that Helcaraxë sneered; it was then that it revealed to us that gentle death by cold was not the only weapon it would use against the host of the Noldor. And again the wrath of Arda itself fell upon the Kinslayers.

***

Joy had run through the host at the sight of the land, Endor solid and dark growing closer with each step; and no one more would lay down, not now that all our efforts were woven together at the approach of our heart’s desire. The column spread like a fan, and friend encouraged friend to walk faster; for now the cold relented as the mainland neared, and the ice beneath our numbed feet yielded more and more. An unwilling joy had curved Artanis’ lips as she counted those who had come; much less than had left Araman under the dark omen of Fëanáro’s pyre, but many more than any could have guessed or hoped for. And her smile touched me, like a ray of light on a sullen day; and I clasped her hand, a similar smile forcing itself upon my lips.

“It is to you that we owe this victory.”

“But not to me alone.”

“In the end, Artanis, of no ungratefulness you shall be accused; for the fabric of kings has shown in you as we passed the ice, and your ambitions prove legitimate at last.”

No answer she made, her smile dying; bitterness erasing it as she remembered whom, now, would be called King among the Elves. But ere Fëanáro could cast once more his shadow upon that day, small hands covered our own; and the trill of a child’s voice came sweet to our ears.

“Aunt Nerwen! Aunt Silmë! Is that Middle-earth at last?”

Together we bent above the smiling face of Itarillë, Turukáno’s daughter that had come with his spouse and him across the Ice; and her face was lovely, if raw with cold. I remembered then, as if after many years, what it is to look at innocence untainted; and Artanis’ voice was gentle when she answered: “Yes, it is. A few more hours, no more.”

A new smile blossomed upon the child’s face, and calling to her mother she ran to her. At her passage many more recalled then what it is to be joyful, like children, for few of them had come on our voyage, and fewer still had survived; but in Itarillë’s silver voice the Noldor recognized the promise of a future we might still conquer. Elenwë held out her arms to her daughter, her eyes seeking her husband, that walked with his brothers; and in that hour the spell had been broken, and our doom left behind once more. We should have known then what price would forever be asked for the joy of the Noldor; but together, one last time, we smiled. Too close was safety now to think again of peril. And when ice cracked beneath Elenwë’s foot for a long moment our stunned spirits would not believe in what had happened.

The Helcaraxë was not a fixed land, a tongue of earth rooted into the bottom of Arda; but rather a shifting snake of floating ice, a string that tied Aman and Endor according to the caprice of season and tide. When we crossed it it had just frozen over, for a cold wind had been blowing, last harbinger of the dead season; and in its middle the cold itself had held it together, making it as solid as dry land. But in the short days of our passage the wind had died; and now the closeness to the land changed the ice, it made it treacherous. Suddenly, under our weight, it gave way; and Elenwë and all those who stood around her disappeared when the white fangs of the ice opened, swallowing them.

A cold silence followed their disappearance, a cold silence Turukáno’s scream filled with anguish; and the ground slipped beneath my feet as with Artanis I ran to the borders of the caved hole, as I sank my hands into icy water reaching in vain for a living Elf. Unthinkingly, the whole host had flocked there; and growling ominously the ice crumbled yet more beneath our feet. With rushing hands we clawed back to what remained of the ground, and many of us achieved again safety; but those who still had not been rescued were now forever lost.

Looking around, I searched for the saved; knowing well that those I would not find I would not see again, not until my spirit should seek asylum into the Halls of Dead. Turukáno stood aside, Itarillë held to his breast; rocking her back and forth, warming her with his arms. But his eyes did not look at her, and his lips were tight; for his irises were fixed on the gaping mouth that had opened into the ice, to the water where Elenwë’s last memory was the shadow of her Vanyarin hair beneath the surface. Lost.

For many days now I had walked within this white death, for many days now I had desired for myself its kiss; but now that hope was reborn this new stroke was too heavy. And as Artanis staggered to her cousin, even her sure feet made uncertain by this last blow, I sat down in dazed silence upon the melting ice; and holding my knees to my breast I closed my eyes. Tears burnt them; but tears would not suffice now. Maitimo, screamed my spirit, Maitimo; his touch his arms his heart his skin…wandering my mind lost itself on the edge of this new void, its last defenses falling; any allegiance forgotten in this renewed pain. But as my soul tottered on the brink of falling a hand brought it back to this hour; firm upon my shoulder, and heavy. I turned: and Findekáno sat beside me without looking at me.

“Do not surrender now. It would be an unworthy defeat.”

Surprise widened my eyes; and uncertain was my voice.

“You speak as if you knew of my grief.”

“You were not alone in being betrayed.”

His eyes met mine then; and hatred had disappeared from their depth. They were mirrors of my own; but lost in bitterness uncountable in disappointment and betrayal. The words came to my lips, the last balm I had to give.

“He knew not what his father meant to do. Ere he discovered his treason he asked when we would bring you across.”

Truth is heavy, I have said that. It fell in the black pool of his eyes, its consequences rippling in his choked voice. Suppressed emotion that pain marred.

“And yet he did nothing.”

You cannot understand, I would have screamed then; but something in his gaze held me at bay. The bottom I could not understand, the roots of his ancient grudge against me, the source of this new shadow I could not name. He rose; and having risen he offered me his hand.

“Yes, an unworthy defeat. On we must march, until we reach Endor.” I took his hand, his strength drawing me to my feet. “To meet the fruits of our choices, and their bitter ends.”

As he let go of my hand, briefly, he squeezed it. Why this forgiveness, I would have asked. Why the sundering that preceded it. But I said nothing. I clasped his fingers back. Fino again, my cousin, my friend. No reason I needed; no reason I asked.

Artanis had by then regained her control, she and Findaráto gathered the strayed host. Nolofinwë incited them on the last stretch. Side by side Findekáno and I reached them, raising from the ground those still prostrated. Soon all were reunited; and the march resumed at Artanis’ clear call. Turukáno looked back once; and even the shadow of Elenwë beneath the water had disappeared.

Middle-earth drew ever closer, but now it promised us no joy.

***

Our journey to Endor was over as a steep chain of hills rose before us, broken teeth fencing off the land we had strived to attain. The ice died ingloriously in muddled pools on a naked plain before them, and our feet were dragged in it in one last effort ere we arrived. But as we climbed the hillside a new will was born in us, hard and cutting and clear; a stubborn pride for having come thus far, and at such difficulty. And when we reached the peak, Nolofinwë nodded to his standard-bearer; the colours of his House unfurling as musicians blew trumpets whose call echoed loud, unchallenged over the hills.

Middle-earth under the stars stretched at our feet; and Artanis’ hand clasped mine, her withheld breath telling me of her emotion. Dark trees rose tall in the vale that we would have to cross; jagged mountains in the distance defied an easy passage. A silent, a stark beauty there was to this new world, a beauty unlike the easy grace of Valinor; but a beauty that we could conquer and possess. Endor had been made for us: and the Valar had forsaken it. The first step we took in it reclaimed it for the Eldar that had at long last come back.

Slowly the host followed us, aching feet choosing a careful passage among jarred stones, and when we reached again the plain without need for orders we stopped, the Noldor looking around in wordless wonder. Finding eventually ease for comfort and grief.

“We make camp.”

Nolofinwë’s order was passed rapidly, acknowledged by a grateful murmur. We had passed the Ice. The very lament of our muscles and bones was proof of our undaunted life. Middle-earth that we had finally reached would cradle our wounds, give us time, now, to heal. Bonfires were lit among the trees, like flowers of flame opening beneath a sky now mercifully veiled with torn clouds. I shared a light meal, all that remained of our provisions, with Artanis and Findaráto; but my mind was far from them, my eyes wandering above the trees, my glance a bird that did not know where to alight. Thinking back to the wish that all that had happened had turned in a regret that scorched.

Upon this new land, Alcániel, I would first tread with you.

Grief is a conjurer. Out of a simple memory he knows how to weave a torment that only unconsciousness can put to rest. His smiling face a seal upon my dreams, I fell asleep.

Wakefulness came with frightened cries. For a moment more I lingered on the edge of sleep, wishing not to go back so soon, but a hand was shaking me, an urgent voice calling me back to reality.

“Silmë!”

I opened my eyes upon a world at war.

Tired Noldorin Elves unsheathed their swords, the women gathering the few children, the host gathering together for protection. For a moment I could not understand the menace; for a moment I doubted of the reality of what I saw, laying the blame on the memory of the Slaying of Alqualondë still raw upon my bruised conscience.

But as the enemy our sentinels had announced with angered trumpets came crashing out of the trees I knew that Middle-earth was showing us nightmares of its own. For the first time then I saw the Orcs.

Many years have passed since that day, centuries have slipped away on the face of Arda, and many things have changed. Like us, the Orcs have waned, their Elvish roots betrayed in their bond to our own existence. Weaker they have grown, and smaller, pitiful creatures their masters must augment with the use of shady arts. Monsters they are now; as in the eyes of the Aftercomers they have always been. But the eyes of Men are weak, and easily deceived. To Eldarin eyes the crime Morgoth had wrought in ages past was written clearly upon these creatures’ faces.

For when they came out of the forest in our first hours in Endor the Orcs for which we had as yet no name still bore upon them, however tainted, the far memory of their roots; in their clumsy steps still lingering a shade of their lost, marred grace. In their eyes, made yellow and narrow, eyes of beasts, still were the ashes of the spark that had once burnt.

The harsh tongue in which they cried as they assaulted us we could not understand, but in their hands were raw weapons, ugly to see, and whose metal shone dull, unpolished; but whose cut was as fine as a silk thread, whose blackened blade sliced through Elvish flesh in the evil triumph of their coarse war cries. We knew not what these creatures were; and what of them we could guess filled us with pity and dread. But the exhaustion of the Helcaraxë fell from our shoulders as with what weapons we had we defended ourselves; and new life flooded our pale countenance with each stroke.

The interregnum was over. Arda and its harsh truth had claimed us back.

The battle did not last long; our despair, that our passage through the ice had honed to a fine peak, crushing the mindless brutality of our enemies, unleashing grief and mourning in violent outcry. Findekáno led the warriors in pursuit of the fleeing creatures, his cry savage and fierce, a challenge beneath the silent heavens of Middle-earth. Trumpets echoed again, calling each other among the trees; filling the hearts of those who fled with dread. The Noldor have come, the high trills proclaimed; the Noldor have come.

I met Artanis’ eyes as the host regrouped, the few casualties gathered together with hurting care. A price in blood that already this new land exacted; new horrors that it put before our eyes. But it was to the creatures that had attacked us that my mind went.

“What do you think they were?”

Her eyes were clouded, worried.

“They said Morgoth had wrought for himself fortresses in Endor beneath the earth; they said that there his mind was bent to the marring of a creation he could not enrich. But what he did, the Powers would not say.”

“But you too saw it, I am sure.”

“Yes. Upon them was our same print. Like a memory of what we were ere we crossed the Sea to Aman…do you remember the ancient stories, of a Hunter that took our kin from their grassy abode upon the hills?”

Slowly, I nodded. A design and a guess entered my mind, and scarcely could words frame what was my suspect. Artanis and I shared a look, our minds joining in a blinding guess; but before we could speak a different surprise filled our faces, and together we turned to the forest. For from its depth a different call had answered Findekáno ’s trumpets, and hunter’s horns blew dark. Horns that I had heard sounded on the last day of Valinor’s light.

“The Fëanárions…”

Ere the echo of my voice died Artanis had turned, her light feet fast upon the ground, her face distorted in anger deeper than her cold countenance could have betrayed. A desire for vengeance deformed her features, a biting need to pay back her sorrow with bleeding pain. My heart beating to a different rhythm, I followed her.

The horns blew again as we ran, a confirmation of what otherwise I would have thought to be just a fevered dream, an exalted concoction from a mind already pushed to its limit. But my ears had not deceived me: truly these were the horns of the sons of Fëanáro, gifts from the Lord Oromë whose sound was deeper than that of any other horn. Artanis had always been faster than me; her dress a white stain before me, I followed her through the wood, my blood thumping in my ears, filling them as if with the roar of the Sea. Until we came to a clearing where all sound of horns and trumpets had stopped.

Findekáno and his warriors faced with proud countenance the mounted Elves before them; their haggard faces badges of valour before which the brilliant armour of the others faded. Leading the forces of the House of Fëanáro was one I recognized despite his tall, plumed helm; and my heart sank in disappointment it guiltily denied as Carnistir removed his helmet.

“You passed the Ice.”

His words were quiet; his voice as dark as I remembered it. In his black eyes respect and regret mingling. Findekáno ’s answer was just as subdued, his voice as strong as the pillars of Eä.

“Yes.”

Carnistir’s horse neighed, unquiet; its master calmed it before saying, his voice even lower, but firm: “I knew not of what my father had decided. Had he asked my counsel, I would not have agreed.” A bitter smile drew his lips into a taut line. “But I imagine this makes no difference to those who have perished.”

“No. It does not.”

Their eyes met, a silent tension between them; a mutual understanding still marred by spilt blood. Just then Nolofinwë, followed by the last party of the pursuers, came into the clearing, and the sight of the Fëanárions he acknowledged with cold words.

“Nephew.”

“Uncle.”

Again, the horse neighed.

“You destroyed the creatures we pursued. I thank you for it.”

“You know what they are?”

“Servants of Morgoth. Their nature is not clear to us.”

Nolofinwë remained silent for a long moment ere he asked the question that I knew had burnt his tongue.

“Your father?”

“Morgoth’s forces engaged us in battle. His stronghold is in the North, past an empty plain. In his service he has demons of fire.”

We had heard tales of the corrupted Maiar that had served Melkor in his first rebellion; but in Carnistir’s face was written the full power they could unleash.

“My father and brothers I left there many hours ago. I was sent to make sure Morgoth’s fleeing rearguard did not cut us out. They must have found you on their path.”

Nolofinwë heeded not his explanation; in his face only one desire clear, his eyes clouding, but steel entering his voice when he said: “You shall lead me to your father.”

It was no question; but a demand. Carnistir’s face hardened, for his spirit was proud and harsh, and Fëanáro alone could command him without suffering the penalty of his anger. But guilt haunted him, too, and with bitter voice he replied: “It is easy to guess that were I to refuse, still you would follow us with dogged steps. Take one of the horses the fallen left behind; ride back with us.” He put on his helmet again, and his last words were muffled, but still audible. “For between two such brothers not even a nephew and son can guess what new sorrow will come.”

Findekáno was ordered back, with the host; and he obeyed his father’s wish, his warriors’ last glance to the Fëanárions an embittered and suspicious one, as if they had been ill at ease with leaving with them their lord. Artanis then stepped out of the trees, as the three retainers Nolofinwë had chosen to ride with him mounted; and she faced her cousin with the same determination her uncle had shown.

“You can spare me a horse, Carnistir.”

He laughed; from beneath his helmet, a hollow sound.

“None shall keep you back, Nerwen. Many we have left on the plain; too many horses are now without riders.”

His eyes traveled past her, upon me that, silent, still lingered beneath the trees.

“You left us in a hurried manner, Silmë; but I have long since ceased being surprised at your changes of mood.”

His words stung; but no answer I could made, for with a harsh cry he had commanded his warriors forward. Artanis waited for me to me, too, to mount. We rode in silence, barely taking in the forests of Endor that slipped by, our steeds running close to Nolofinwë’s own. Keeping together; the warriors of the House of Fëanáro leaving us space, the distance between us the hollow the betrayal of the ships had dug.

My heart beat slowly; knowing not what to expect. Once more Nolofinwë went to meet his brother, once more he went to fight his losing battle; and now, as then, our destinies hung in the balance. None could forget Fëanáro’s betrayal; and yet in Nolofinwë’s features was written his pain at the sundering of the Noldor. Was it vengeance and pride that drove him, or still his listless, impossible need? None could tell; perhaps not even himself. And I was driven by a kin desire; one that throbbed within my chest, my wound still unhealed bleeding anew. At the end of this road lay Maitimo; a dagger against which I would again cut myself.

And yet a call I could only obey.

For long hours we rode, in our silence different wishes, different thoughts conflicting, until before us the naked saddle of a mountain pass came in sight, and Carnistir stopped.

“Beyond that mountain is the plain. It’s not long now…”

But his word trailed away as, upon that pass, there came a strange light: the sapphire rays of Fëanáro’s Lamps burning bright among the rocks. Carnistir frowned; and digging his heels in its flanks he urged his horse forward.

We followed, the animals choosing their path carefully upon the steep hillside. The horns blew again, announcing our arrival; but the trumpets that answered them blew subdued, and mournful. The cold knowledge of an ill omen seemed to seize Carnistir, for there was a quality of despair in the haste with which he climbed the last distance to reach the pass; I turned, seeking Artanis’ eyes, and they were full of darkness.

A darkness nourished by the presentiment of the sight we met as we reached Fëanáro.

Later we would learn of his last battle, Dagor-nuin-Giliath under the stars; later songs would be made of his duel with Gothmog, Lord of the Balrogs: for Fëanáro fell in the glory he had promised Mandos with proud words. But then we knew nothing of this, and to see one so mighty laid down against the rock, his sons around him, knowing his hour drew near, was pain to seize even those who had ever born him little love. And Nolofinwë dismounted, even as Carnistir cried out to his father; rushing to his side as the son of Finwë remained where he was, as tree felled by sudden blow. But turning Fëanáro saw him; and upon his pale lips bitter laughter came.

“So far you have come, brother! And now you shall have your victory, for you will see me die while you still stand. But worry not: I leave enough of woe in this life to last you for many ages. Look!”

Curufinwë sustained him, and with effort Fëanáro turned his face, looking past his sons. The pass overlooked a grassy plain, and at its horizon a dark mist hung, enshrouding tall towers. Taller than the Mindon Eldaliéva had been; but cruelly shaped like fangs that hungrily tore at the night sky.

“Look! There lies the Enemy, the Enemy that has, at last, stolen even my life. Fight him, then! But know, all of you know that as I have fallen you shall fall. He is one of the Valar. This world they shaped to their whim. In this world they cannot be beaten.”

Countless wounds had torn his chest, and the singeing of the fire of Morgoth’s demons was upon his hair and garment. But his face was still beautiful; and the light of his eyes terrible. For prophecy was in his words; and now turning away from Nolofinwë he looked to his sons. Maitimo stood closest to him, etched on his face unspeakable pain; and in his eyes a sparkle of the same light.

“Morgoth, eternal foe, thrice I curse you even as I lie dying! For the stars above our heads and the Sea that we crossed to come here, for the life you have taken from my father and me! May Fëanáro’s curse haunt your steps to the edge of the Void; may the Silmarils you took unlawfully burn you! May my Oath ever deny you peace, until the end of Time shall find you whimpering on your knees, begging for your release!”

With one last effort Fëanáro straightened, and his hand grasped Maitimo’s right; his eyes like stars fixed upon his sons, as he uttered his last command: “Sons of Fëanáro! In you alone shall live my fire. You I bind to my doom; to you I leave in legacy my quest, and the duty of my vengeance!” He fell again, his body heavy upon the rock, and this time he would not rise again. “Woe unto world’s end.”

Like a whisper his last words; like a breath of fire. One last spark before the flame goes out. And then his eyes shone, as clear as diamonds in the bluish light of the lamps; and with one last breath his life escaped his lips.

Thus perished Fëanáro, son of Finwë, greatest and most terrible amongst the Elves; thus his flame disappeared from a world that could not have sustained it. And as his spirit abandoned it, his material form withered and burnt, consumed by its own fire; ashes that a sudden wind brought away like smoke. A gasp of surprise came from all, and those of his house cried out in dismay and pain; but silent was Maitimo when he rose, tears in his eyes, but steel in his voice when unsheathing his sword he repeated: “Woe unto world’s end.”

His father’s legacy that he took upon himself, until the breaking of Eä.

Our eyes met then, understanding and sundering made into rock; between us the scattered ashes that had been Fëanáro, the uttered words that had chained us in inescapable doom. In my heart the conscience, now final, that he would not walk out of this shadow until his life should last.

Artanis seized my arm then, in her fingers a tension made of steel. In her eyes the far remembrance of tears as hard as crystal.

“Silmë. Come.”

Looking back to him, again; the dread of that hour, the weight of that Oath upon us. In Artanis’ words the unspoken certainty of an ill fate.

“Silmë.”

Without a word Nolofinwë had mounted again, biting back his grief, his loss as he spurred forward his horse. In Artanis’ voice now a low command.

“Silmë!”

Taking back me at least from this bitter doom. Slowly, Maitimo nodded. His eyes were empty. And one last time I listened to my cousin and friend; one last time I ignored the need that bit my spirit, devouring it. I took my horse, and rode away.

As we left the pass behind us the sky was tinged with silver and white: in the forsaken land of Middle-earth, herald of the Valar that this world had shaped, the first rising of the Moon.

Chapter 18: Absence

Next time I'll be posting two chapters at once...don't worry one's not a chapter, just one of Artanis' side notes. Enjoy! :)

Read Chapter 18: Absence

Chapter 18

Absence

Our journey back was a tired cavalcade beneath the new light. The retainers spoke in low voices, they pointed to each other the silver face of the new lamp that filled the black havens of Middle-earth with white radiance, like spilt mercury polishing them. The stars were erased and hidden within its reach: the vessel triumphed over their cold light. Even as Telperion had done; but where he had covered Valinor with a dome of woven threads, where all remembrance of the dark had been erased by his presence, this novel light was weaker and paler, white rather than silver, as if no new radiance could ever substitute the one we had lost.

Work of Valarin hands, no doubt: for it was beautiful and close to the forsaken earth. Their power had followed us into the dark, a reminder that our rebellion could not go unpunished, a reminder that this world was their fiefdom and their charge, for them to light and darken at will. And even while our hearts welcomed its coming, our spirits looked up to the round, bright circle, and its light was to them cold and aloof. It lit our misery, it flooded it with indifferent white.

Misery. Clinging to our limbs, trailing from our garments like thin, humid mist. Clouding our eyes, dimming our voice. Weighing down with lead our every gesture. A sorrow and a mourning spoke beneath the pearly skies, grief too raw to be put into song. Fëanáro was dead. The fall of the Noldor was complete.

What he had done to us, his curse, his hatred, had left upon us a print that would not fade: in the shadow he had cast we had walked in doom. In the legacy he had left all our hopes, all our dreams withered and died. But he had been our prince; he had been our king. The brightness of his spirit unrivalled among Elf born since the beginning of the world. Even his evil had been made noble by his blinding light, even the burns and sores his fire had brought us bore the taste of his pure flame. And now he was dead, he that had walked like a giant among us; he that had crushed us with careless waste. Where he had fallen, how could those he had left behind succeed?

Artanis rode beside me, her eyes fixed upon the reins. Empty, cold eyes; eyes like dimmed glass where adamant had been. For I saw now that her hatred for Fëanáro had led her across the Ice; I saw now that in its fell fire she had found strength not to surrender to coldness or dread. She had ridden to him, in her the burning need to give hurt for hurt, wound for wound. But he was no more, a fleeting shadow in Mandos’ Halls. The words of the Powers made true so soon; and the death of one that had been so similar to her, even if his talent for darkness had driven her away, spoke of her own doom. We had fled Aman when it had been tainted by death; we had left its shores telling ourselves we would be leaving our curse behind. But our curse had followed us, its footfalls soft and silent: now it breathed upon our neck like cold wind, and its blade was stained with blood.

Nolofinwë ahead rode with his head held high, in his dark eyes tears that would not overflow. He would not scream; not now. Even the strength to cry had been lost. And in his measured gestures he caged his pain: a raging beast devouring his spirit, his heart. For his love had been unanswered, his forgiveness, or his wrath, escaped, and Fëanáro had left this life mocking him. Even unto the threshold of death he had refused him, and his spirit had remained sharp, and unyielding. Few shall be changed in the face of death; many more shall reveal naked the full make of their hearts, the true colours of their thoughts. Fëanáro had lit his brother’s life with doomed light: unattainable, and desired with maddened will. Now he left him in the dark; and the last remembrance was that of his scorn.

My cousins’ mourning, its strange mingling of sorrow and rage, enveloped me like a thin cloud. And in it my sense were dulled, for my own heart struggled to reason with itself. Silent tears I shed: for Fëanáro, and for Maitimo. For Carnistir and his broken cry. For Nolofinwë who would not weep, and Artanis who could not. And for myself, whose destiny this death had sealed with melted iron. I, whose happiness Fëanáro had destroyed, felt the void of a world where the light of his eyes no longer shone; I felt the cold of a time where his flame no longer burnt. But with sudden rage I felt that truly he had left us in chains: the chains his Oath had tightened around his sons, the chains that would fall upon all those who followed them.

I had followed Artanis; I had been wise. I had left behind Maitimo, the darkened emerald of his eyes, the broken will with which he had sworn anew. His father was dead. In his eldest hottest and darkest smouldered the remembrance of his flame. Artanis who had lost so much had called me away, and now I had recognized what scorching remaining would have brought me. Fëanáro’s curse burnt into my soul in letters of fire.

Thus reasoned my shaken mind; but my heart was silent, and gave it no answer. Its every beat was painful, and in this new void that the white light of the Moon cut into white and black it was like a lonely and a forlorn traveler, last living thing upon forsaken shore. From such nightmare it would not awake. For such a riddle there was no answer it could give. Stranded as it was in this new world that had been made without its choice; lost in this empty space where it could find no solace.

And the arrival at our camp was like the awakening to a harsher place, a naked reality where no hope was left; I dismounted, my conscience an armour protecting me even as it cut through my flesh. On our faces must have been written the heaviness of our doom; for Findekáno stepped forward, and the eyes of the whole host were upon him, eyes of animals lost into the night. Nolofinwë himself gave the news, his voice mantled in ice not to crack.

“The King is dead.”

The King. He did not say his name. For three years more, he would not; and when he would finally allow himself to utter it again, it would be with the aching voice of one whose wounds cannot heal. But then the word fell upon us like a broken sword, might made useless by stronger fate. Even those who had hated him cried out in dismay; even those who had cursed him quailed in fear. The death of Fëanáro brought us no joy; and the curse we had woven under his guide did not slacken.

“Nelyafinwë is now king then.”

Findekáno’s answer cloaked itself in the same coldness, hardening not to break. Nelyafinwë. His other, sweeter name did not belong to us anymore. In that hour, Maitimo was lost. The third of the Finwions had been brought to the crown: an ill wind, a strange fate had lain it upon his copper head. His life was not his anymore. For kings have no choice but to follow their doom.

It was in silence that our temporary camp was dismantled; in silence that our things were packed. Our dead had been burnt, new ashes beneath the cold light. What Fëanáro had not lived to see was an empty lamp shining over his death. And when we marched, Nolofinwë calling us forward with a harsh cry, Findekáno came by me: his hand finding mine, clasping it until it hurt. He walked away immediately without looking back. But I understood.

Sole among that large host that this death left alone beneath the vaults of the sky, sole among those who grieved, we had lost twice. Fëanáro’s last blow had been dealt to us; and our love, and our hopes, shattered.

I looked to Artanis, wishing not to linger on this thought. Hoping that still her strength could resist, hoping that it would not have faded. But when I looked at her I found a grieving wrath, a pain enraged with itself; a sorrow born without her consent, a woe that could find no solace, for she would not express it. Empty eyes; and that the novel light of the Valar filled with pale light, making them dull, and dead.

***

In later times we would call Mithrim the lake by which we camped: a polished mirror beneath the newly arisen light. Trees enclosed its distance, leaving only a soft border of grass by its shore. Here our tents were pitched, and, laying a guard all around, we lay down to sleep. But sleep I could not, as much as I would have, and I tossed beneath the blankets, their folds swathing my body like bandages, or chains. I could find no rest; and eventually I rose taking a cloak, and walked outside and to the edge of the water. Artanis sat there, upon a rock made soft by moss, her fingers tightly wound around her knee. She said nothing when I sat by her, and together we waited for time to unwound itself, and bring a balm to our spirits.

A restlessness had come over me, and unquiet my fingers tormented the thin blades of grass, staining my skin with their green blood. Mud stirred quietly with each new wave that came to die a few steps from us, and sometimes the quick flicker of a fish would break the still, hard surface of the lake. Behind us the host had lit fires, they slept huddled in cloaks and shawls. Across the water was the camp of the Fëanárions, an orderly enclave that already some toiled to fence with wood. High upon a pole flew Fëanáro’s red standard, that a black list now darkened in mourning.

Tomorrow, the day after, if days could be called the endless hours this new light would count, the new King would ride to his camp. Crownless king, as his father had been; but in his hands would be the lordship over the Noldorin Elves. And across this water he would have looked to those to which forever, whatever their grief now, the name of the Fëanárions would spell grief, and betrayal, and mistrust. Evil seeds that is allowed to flourish cannot be uprooted; it taints the garden like a pest. Fëanáro’s last legacy was a sundering not to be mended by love or blood.

Across this water I would see him come back; and I could not have gone to him. But once more my mind refused to face the pain of a separation to last forever, once more it tried to frame in words, in thoughts a compromise that could save me from such grief. Nelyafinwë was not Fëanáro. He would not allow such break to run among the Noldorin Elves. But will as he would, the betrayal of the Ice he could not undo; and those that had died because of his father he could not call back to life. In the Halls of Mandos Fëanáro would not walk alone.

But all such thoughts seemed vain, even as their hope was sweet to my tongue, soothing to my sore spirit. All my wishes had been turned into a child’s games, fantasies I had never been able to see realized. Even now, my love shielded itself from the raw truth. Even now it pretended there were choices we could make, as if all of our choices had not been presented always on the cut of a sharpened blade. No compromise was possible. Not now.

My eyes clouded, my lips tight, I did not expect it when Artanis spoke. She did not look at me, her eyes fixed on the far peaks of the mountains, on the saddle, barely visible at the edge of the horizon, where Fëanáro’s flame had burnt itself, and turned to dust.

“Still you would cross this mere swimming if you could reach him now.”

A long moment of silence; and then, upon my lips, a sad grimace that could be called a smile.

“You have no need of my answer, friend.”

“No. I do not.”

Quiet returned; ere again she let words fall like raindrops in a hot day.

“As we crossed the Ice I thought I would kill him with my own hands. I imagined the feel of a naked blade, the softness of his skin beneath its edge. The warmth of blood as it poured away. The last sparkle of his eyes before they became dull.”

I had no need to ask whom she would have thus slain.

“Oh, I imagined his smile…its crazed glint, its spiteful mocking. I imagined to destroy and unmake him, and thus undo what he had done to us. Or perhaps I deceive myself. I cared for nothing but to see him suffer. I would have had him beg on his knees for release from pain. And then I would have smiled, smiled as he has done, when he has taken our destinies in his hand and he has broken them.”

Empty her voice; toneless. Her hands now so tightly entwined her knuckles had become white.

“But then I have seen him die, and no joy has touched me. In his defeat he was more glorious than we shall ever be in victory, and he has departed untouched, unblemished from this earth. All that he has done, all that he has taken has not stained his flame. As if his own splendour could put him above evil and its contrary.”

Her voice now lower. No tears in her eyes; they were hard and clear, and sparkless.

“Untouched. And now that he is gone I know that none that shall live can understand now why I came upon this road, and which other roads I shall take. For he understood. On the quay at Alqualondë he looked at me, soothing not my guilt – but understanding. He denied me solace, but he knew for what I would have asked. Which words would have released my conscience. He looked at me – as if he were telling me that such was the price of my dreams. Yes. He understood. Now I am last.”

I looked at her. Motionless, composedly she still sat. My own words felt inadequate ere I uttered them, they stumbled inside my throat, lost lambs.

“Artanis…”

“Speak not.” A demand. “I know what you would say, and it is precious to me. Your friendship I value high, highest among the things that I have left. You, my brothers. But none of your words can reach me, and even with open eyes you could not fathom what has come to pass.” Extending now a hand, touching my cheek lightly. “For yours is an altogether different curse.”

Often Findaráto and Artanis would speak the same words, knowing it not.

Before I could reply to her, before I could decide whether any reply could be made, her sharp eyes left me, looking across the lake, to the other camp.

“Messengers,” she said, “And they ride in haste…”

Ere I could turn she had risen , walking back to our camp, demanding of her uncle in urgent tones. I followed her: one glance telling me what she had seen. A file of three riders entering the Fëanárions’ fence, the white light showing their faces in a mask of worry and despair.

Nolofinwë came forth from the tent where he had lain sleepless, Findekáno following him. The eyes of both sunken as if bruised in features creased by too many of these lightless days.

Artanis told them what she had seen, pointed to the camp where a new group of riders hastily approached. Among them three of Fëanáro’s sons; and Maitimo none of them. Where the other four were, none could say; but borne across the water was the ill wind of new pains. My heart beat faster, a shade of dread coming over it; my eyes looking to Nolofinwë, my words hasty when I spoke.

“Could not messengers be sent to them?”

For a moment he hesitated, his grief still too fresh for him to think past the few moments of our future; caring not for what now happened to his brother’s House. Fëanáro he had loved; what he had left behind was ruins reminding him of what was. But at long last he nodded.

“Signal with fires. If no answer comes, dispatch a rider.”

It was Artanis herself who manned the lamps, using the system in Valinor we had devised to communicate rapidly from Tirion to those who lived scattered in the countryside. Again and again she signaled, her gestures quick; but the only answer that came was short, a fear and a dread crippled by the necessity to use few words.

Distress. Stand by.

New messages were not answered. Together we stood on the shore as Nolofinwë’s messenger departed, using one of the horses Carnistir had given us; and I wished I were with him as we watched it circle around the lake, the rapid hoofs choosing a way among the beaten grass. I sought Artanis’ hand; and held it. For fear grew ever stronger in my heart, fear even as I told myself that surely Morgoth would not attack again, not so soon, not while still Fëanáro’s blows were new and bleeding among his armies. Not now that the king to lead the Fëanárions to charge would be Maitimo.

Maitimo: the name I had called him by ever since I had known him. The name my heart whispered as the messenger disappeared inside a thick of willows coming down to the water’s edge. Flying with it for the last stretch of his journey, as the Fëanárions’ camp drew nearer; having no eyes for the last group of riders that entered it from the other gate. My eyes straining to distinguish the messenger’s horse when it would emerge from the trees.

But unexpectedly the gate closer to the water’s edge opened, and from the camp in haste rode away another courier; one that met ours midway as it covered the last stretch, exchanging few, hastened words, ere together they came back towards us. Running, and now truly in haste and fear and need, cutting corners to gain time, the horses splashing through the water, the only sound I could distinguish in a night that had gone silent and black. Certainty now filling me; certainty as all my hopes were reduced to fuming ash, dust forgotten upon the earth.

Heeding not Artanis’ call I ran towards them, meeting them before they could reach our camp’s guards.

“What passes?” I cried, my dress stained with mud from my race across the grass, and the messenger of the Sons of Fëanáro drew to a sudden halt, his horse rearing. I recognized him then: one of Fëanáro’s retainers, the guard that had admitted me to Formenos, one day, six years before.

And seeing me he stopped: seeing me he hesitated, as if he thought that what he had to say I should be told before all else. From the camp had emerged, called by the commotion, Nolofinwë and Findekáno; and upon their arrival the courier’s mind was made up. Talking to none, his voice loud with pretend assurance, the fake indifference of those who bring news of distress, he spoke what he had to say; and his message rang void into the night.

“The King is dead.”

Silence; silence where no sound could fall. Silence where I looked to the courier, and his words tolled hollow inside me, as if I could not understand them.

“Morgoth called a parley and a truce; and the King Nelyafinwë rode to it. He mistrusted the call, but would not refuse it, bringing an armed escort for his safety. He was himself well armed. But the Enemy was more treacherous.”

Findekáno ’s face was now bloodless, as pale as the white Moon. What did he see coming that my dazed mind could not understand, what had he guessed that my numbed spirit could not imagine?

“Balrogs were hidden among Morgoth’s party. They slew the escort. Captured the king. They brought him to the fortress of Utumno with them.”

The messenger’s eyes were empty. A task to be fulfilled to its last.

“Messages have been sent claiming that the King is an hostage, but his brothers know what being brought to Morgoth means. The new King, my lord Canafinwë, thought well you should be alerted.”

Bending his head. A duty accomplished. Findekáno ’s eyes now abysses I could not look into. Artanis’ steps reaching me the only sound. Someone, somewhere, was wailing. Someone was crying, because new blood had been spilt. A good prince had died.

Artanis’ fingers touching my arm. No more sounds. Only an empty word filling my mind.

Dead.

My mind struggling to understand it. Fleeting pictures, Finwë, Fëanáro, the slain Teleri on Swanhaven’s quays.

Dead.

Comprehension dawning, disbelief shielding me. My spirit stretching, extending past that hour. Reaching the place where my love for Maitimo had been. Finding a raging pain, like a sea ready to swallow me whole. Artanis talking; and I listened not. My eyes upon the messenger, for on everyone else there lay the same doomed pain. A truth I would not see.

“You lie.”

A compromise. A denial. Walking away from Artanis’ fingers, wrenching them from my arm with a strength newly found when she tried to hold me back. No might in this world could have done that.

“You lie!”

Proclaiming it aloud, a voice not mine, a scream not mine following it. Slapping away the hand Findekáno held out to me, looking away from the tears that would not fall congealed in his black irises.

“YOU LIE!”

Turning and running, grass that slips under the feet, mud that cannot hold them, water splashing when, like the horses have done, you cut a corner; voices and steps behind you, but you leave them back, for not even Nerwen the Man-maiden can catch you now. Not even the Valar could reach you, no more a maiden, who cares for the thorns that tear at your dress when you cut through the bushes, no more a maiden, no, just a thought, a thought running on the edge of a lake, a conscience promising, frantic words, you shall not leave him, you shall not part from him, you shall follow him, a spirit crying that it cannot be, that it would have known, that it would have felt it had he been dead.

The willows looming ahead, weeping branches for a weeping day, tearing at them with unhealed, clawing fingers that start to bleed again, stumbling upon the roots, wrenching yourself upright again, running and running out of the trees, to the open doors where they waited for a messenger and they see a running maiden, mud-spluttered blood-stained, looking not at them, passing past them and into the camp where they sit in circles empty-handed, empty-hearted, because the King is dead.

Seeing them not.

Until the tent, richer than the others, where those who have been left nurse their spirits through another loss. Pushing aside the guard, tearing away the flap. Six of them around a chart spread on a table. Six of them. Your spirit telling you again it cannot be. The messenger was a liar. He will come soon. Looking at the tallest, black hair black eyes, looking at him with a mute question to which his answer is an outstretched hand. Blood-stained, mud-spluttered himself. And you remember him on another day, dressed for a feast in Arafinwë’s garden, when with Artanis he witnessed your promise being exchanged.

You hit the hand. You cry out the words with all the breath you have left.

“It cannot be.”

He looks at you, and in his eyes is all the sadness of this world.

“It is.”

No more thoughts. Just one last hope, a child’s defense. One last gamble in the face of fate.

“SWEAR IT!”

Hard eyes.

“I swear it. I would not have called myself king if I had not known it. Maitimo is dead, Silmë.”

Someone cries. You do not know whom. Whoever it is, their pain grates like a growl, the last challenge of an animal that is dying. Your throat hurts. Your knees are unknotted, unmade, like a puppet whose strings a spoilt Elfling has cut.

***

Later they told me it was Carnistir that lifted me from the ground, and brought me back to Nolofinwë’s camp.

***

The five years that followed that day remain in my memory like a haze, a thick fog where I moved blind, my senses dulled. The Sun rose, following the Moon – gold that shone pale beside the remembrance of the warmth that was when Laurelin still lived. Bards entwined songs about what we had left behind, lords set a-conquering the kingdoms they had promised themselves. I watched it all as if from afar, a spectacle that did not concern me, where I was but someone forgotten and left aside, like a trunk cast adrift by the current, far from its native forest.

I lived, yes. Eating and drinking, walking and talking. Answering questions, mostly: for when I was not questioned I would sit back, absence painting itself on my face. I looked out of the window, my chin abandoned on my bent hand. They respected my silence as they would respect a widow’s mourning; and they marveled at my lack of tears. Artanis alone looked at me, sometimes clasping my hand. Looking into my eyes for the Elf I had been.

But I was not there. Living in those years was like breathing underwater. When left alone I would cock my head sideways, like one who is listening. Waiting, unconsciously, insensibly, for the endless count of eternity to pass.

I did not die. There are some who shall relinquish life when it becomes a burden to them, some who shall knock on Mandos’ doors of their own accord; but I was not one of them. Artanis and Findaráto watched me closely, waiting for grief to swallow me, waiting for a despair they could soothe: they met with an absent voice, distracted eyes that looked beyond them. Docilely, I followed them on the isle of Tol Sirion. Docilely I accepted the new clothes the maidens wove for me, a new horse to substitute the one I had lost. I never went again to the Fëanárions. From the opposite shore of lake Mithrim the Noldorin Elves faced each other; but I no longer cared for it.

Life still held joy for me, the smile a newborn flower would bring to my lips, the silent warmth of the Sun. And yet all was strange, subdued, colours and sensations incapable of touching me. Almost within my fingers’ grasp; but not quite. The world was far and distorted, as if I watched it through a thick glass. Sometimes Artanis would fall silent, her lips drawn into a tight line, her spirit reaching out to mine tentatively. Again and again she met with the void my mind had made: an empty space to protect itself.

Findekáno had locked himself in a world where he lived alone, a harsh reality of sharp truths, where no room had been left for such things as joy, or at least gladness. He would lead the soldiers, guard the borders against the creatures we had learnt to call Orcs; but his eyelids were red-rimmed, his skin taut above his cheekbones. He looked around with the eyes of an hunted wolf, one whose pack the pursuers have already taken down. He walked alone, and the past stalked his steps, a shadow and a regret.

Some called his pain excessive. After all, they said in whispers, he has lost a friend, however dear. Not a father, not a sibling. Not a lover.

When he caught them whispering he said nothing. He turned on them pupils as ardent as coals, pupils where there was written the truth sometimes people forgot – that in his veins, too, ran Fëanáro’s blood. A kinship spoken in darkest times.

Such bottomless pain I could not share. For on that first morning after the news had reached me, when I woke in a tent whose corners had been stuffed with shawls to keep out the noise of a mourning camp, for a long moment my eyes adjusted to darkness, and my mind groped in the void dark dreams had left, looking for the dreadful void Maitimo had left behind – but it found nothing.

For the bond that had united us had not changed, nor been broken; for the world was still the one I had known, one his presence had made precious to me. Truly then I discovered the Valar were wrong when they told us that only wedding vows shall unite two spirits; truly then I acknowledged that the union of bodies cannot forge a bond if spirits have not already tied it.

For I reached out into the void, and found his presence there: an aching and an hurting one, as if still once his spirit had left his flesh the wounds of this life could touch him. But he was still within the circles of Eä. And silently I listened for his pain to unfurl in the long years of his absence, like a cold touch upon my mind. The Eldar do not abandon Arda, not until its breaking. Still his spirit was with me, and it called to me with beseeching words.

In the Halls of Mandos, reunited to his father, calling me back.

But I did not die, I have said that. In what had happened I recognized the print of a deserved punishment, the design of a project of atonement, and redemption. To be sundered from him was the penalty that had been sentenced upon me, the price to be paid for the Kinslaying at Alqualondë; one that I accepted, even if it cut through me like daggers of fire.

Breathing slowly, living lightly, I waited. For the Valar to be sated by my silent, noiseless grief, and the Doomsman to decree that the sentence had been served to its last. The bitter cup must be emptied to its dregs. Then one day death would come to me, and the count of this eternity of the flesh ended in the light of his spirit that I would find again.

His remembrance behind my eyes was the only thing upon this earth that still made my heart beat.

***
Such were my thoughts, such were my days when there came a time of festival, and Artanis, Findaráto and I made our way to Mithrim, at Nolofinwë’s call.

Chapter 19: Call

In the end I didn't need Artanis' note. The song i pretend was made by the Noldor is a slightly adapted quote from the Song of Salomon. Enjoy! And do drop me two lines. ;)

Read Chapter 19: Call

Chapter 19

Call

The feast had already gone on longer than I cared for. Nolofinwë was careful not to make his guests regret the banquets that had been given in Tirion in the days of the splendour of the Noldor, and when the ninth (or was it the eleventh?) course was cleared away those seated around his table had been suitably made merry by the harsh wine of Mithrim’s hills. Talk of the war, talk of the strained relationship with the Fëanárions; the usual chatter, the empty buzzing of Elves five years of reigning in a new land had grown again into a sense of safety, however precarious. At their lord’s table, eating and drinking to a new life. The dead had been left behind, abandoned in a shaded land dimly lit by a cold light.

My attention had been swayed long before this moment. With absent eyes I looked up to the narrow windows of the hall, palace of stone that Noldorin hands had made out of the tents that were. Strengthening their hope with each new foundation laid. Paneled with alabaster cut out from the hills, blinded flights of bats dancing in shadows behind the windows, like drunken guests when the party is long over. Shadows was all that feast was at the borders of my mind. For my spirit wandered in a different time, a different day. On my skin the remembrance of a touch an uneresable print.

By my side Artanis exchanged comments on the last skirmishes with the Orcs, her tone sharp, clear. No platitudes ever came from her mouth, but a criticism edged with the hard conscience of someone who knows she is right. Sometimes she would look at me, the flicker of a glance five years had taught me to recognize. Under the table her knee brushed mine. I brushed her back. Yes, I was still here.

Her eyes went back to the one on her other side. Slowly, the flame had come back in her pale irises. Hardened and pure, as if tempered into adamant and steel. Often those she talked to would quail in fear.

At long last the sweets were also brought away, along with the trees of golden wire that held the fruit. I cleaned my fingers of cream and crumbs, sipped one last time the wine. Tasting already in my mouth the velvety solitude of a moonless night, the unbroken black of a garden whose scents would be awakened by the gentle touch of the fingers of the dark. The stars would shine cold and lost, frozen tears. Beneath their light, memories could grow and feed upon themselves, the past live anew.

Ere a suitable moment could be found to excuse myself, Nolofinwë rose.

“I propose a toast. To my son Findekáno , and to his warriors, whose strength keeps our borders secure!”

“To Findekáno!”

The toast echoed down the table, the seats rasping on the stone flags as the guests hastily rose, bringing their cups to their lips. Wetting my mouth, I sought my cousin’s eyes. Beside his father he sat in gloom, his eyes fixed upon his fingers, twined around his vessel’s stem. His pupils rose to meet mine, and imperceptibly I inclined my cup to him in silent tribute. He frowned, upon his face, as always when we met, stronger the grief, the regret. But I already looked elsewhere, detached, far from that place and time, again.

When the toast was over Findekáno rose, and silence fell. He rarely spoke in such occasions, accepting thanks and homage in stubborn silence, lightly bending his head. Now he raised his cup himself, his voice deep and hoarse, his pain a growl at its bottom.

“To the warriors.”

“To the warriors!”

The guests sat again. Findekáno remained standing.

“To the warriors. Living and fallen.”

“Living and fallen.”

A murmur across the hall. The musicians in their corner had ceased to play. Throughout the banquet their music had been like a frail veil enveloping words and deeds. Now the only sound was the enraged flickering of the torches.

“Living and fallen. And prisoner.”

Findekáno looked down to his father. Nolofinwë understood. The silence thickened, but ere the lord of the hall could speak his son had carried on.

“The doubt has become certainty. The Orcs we take prisoner to question them say nothing, held by a terror stronger than the one we can inspire. But for five years now they have died taunting us. They say we have left our king to languish in their thrall.”

Nolofinwë sighed, and it was clear to those present that Findekáno had brought in the clear something they had oft discussed in private. I turned to my cousin. Something strived beneath the still surface of my mind, something struggled to make itself known. Something I pushed back.

No pain. If I did not draw closer I could not feel it.

“Son, it is not the first time that you bring such tales to my attention. But I ask of you, would Canafinwë have taken the crown, had he believed his brother to be alive?”

“Morgoth has many malices. My cousin overstepped the mark, believing him more cunning, or more merciful, than he is. Having a son of Fëanáro in thralldom the Enemy would not grant him the grace of a swift death.”

At the mention of his brother Nolofinwë winced. Mastering his own grief he replied: “And yet no other word you have but that of spiteful, corrupted creatures, creatures that shall say nothing but the lies their own masters tell them.”

“Orcs are simple, brutal rather than deceitful. Such subtle malice would be past them. They hurt with strength rather than cunning. What they say I believe above the reasoning of those that surround me.”

“Do not give hope to your heart. Reconcile yourself to your loss. Nelyafinwë is gone. Or would you have me endanger many of my people to chase after a wild dream?”

Findekáno ’s face was contorted and broken by a spasm of rage.

“Silmë of the Vanyar!”

My name echoing across the hall. My forgotten lineage. And my conscience, that had fought to hold itself back, that had strived to keep away that taunting hope, that novel sorrow that Findekáno held up to it, was wrenched away from its blissful indifference, to his harsh voice.

“Silmë my cousin! You are bound to Maitimo by love given and received, by promise exchanged. Like me you feel in you a loss that does not pass. Unlike me, your spirit is tied to his with chains that none but you can break.” An ancient grudge passing in his eyes, a remembrance of a distant sundering. But it was a moment, and then it was gone, not to return again. “Silmë! Tell my father, tell me, you that alone among us can know the truth. Has Nelyafinwë, son of Fëanáro, abandoned this world?”

The words faltered upon my lips, his black eyes arrows bearing into mine. I have accepted my punishment, I wanted to scream, I have taken my burden. Do not torment me further. But even as I wished to cry something held me back, the hesitation of a moment, that unbroken bond at the bottom of my conscience, that hurt that still stung past death. His spirit, calling to mine in pain. Words rushing to my lips, words dying.

But ere I could frame an answer to his voice, ere I could defy and silence the eyes of the guests hungrily fixed upon me, Artanis rose.

“That is enough.” Cold authority, hard words. Her pale blue irises staring Findekáno down. “Spirits that are joined in love cannot be sundered by the death of the bodies that host them. You all know this. To my cousin her betrothed is alive as the day he was bound to her. Still his spirit lingers within the circles of Eä, and thus no true sundering can she feel. But she has suffered enough.”

She sat again, her eyes lingering upon Findekáno like a leaden threat. He would have spoken again; my eyes now lowered to my fingers, seeing them white in effort. I had clutched the table’s edge until my nails had broken.

“That is enough.” Nolofinwë’s words echoing Artanis. “Son, I shall not hear another word on this. You shall ignore what the Orcs say. I am certain it is uttered in malice and spite, nothing more.” He turned to me, his eyes now kinder. “I should be sad if this evening were darkened for you, cousin. You promised you would sing for us. Will you?”

My body numbed, unfeeling. My mind raging. Slowly, I nodded, rising. Clenching my hands into fists, so that none would see the fingers hurt. Sitting beside the harpist, that now plucked his chords. The first bars of a song the Noldor had made in the exile of Middle-earth, since we had learnt to feel upon us the black shadow of death, flourished from it.

Set me like a seal upon your arm,
Like a seal upon your heart,
For love is as strong as death
Its fierceness as cruel as the grave.
Love flashes like fire, the brightest flame.

Tears I had not summoned coursing down my cheeks. Artanis’ eyes upon me, her lips pursed. Pity and foresight mingling into them. Findekáno ’s eyes upon me, in them a stern request that granted no appeal.

***

Artanis reached me as I ran down the passage to my room, her fingers closing on my sleeve. I did not look at her.

“Let me go.”

“You should not listen to what Findekáno says. It’s only hope and denial that speak in his voice.

“And yet he says the truth.” I turned to her. “Do you not wonder that I do not cry? For five years now I have felt Maitimo’s presence, his spirit reaching out to mine. I had thought that it was from Mandos’ Halls that he called, and yet – ”

“And yet, I see that our cousin’s folly has touched you too. He should not have spoken.”

“But if the Orcs said the truth, if he were alive…”

Her eyes turning away from me, and now it was I who grasped her sleeve.

“Artanis.” My voice soft and low, and dangerous. “What is it that you are not telling me?”

A long silence, her irises into mine. At long last, words coming out of her lips, hissing.

“A power stronger than mine guards Utumno, a darkness I cannot defeat hides it. I cannot know with certainty what is it that I feel, and my guesses are as good as nothing.”

“But you suspect.” I let go of her, my voice broken. A grief I had striven to keep at bay seeping through. “You suspect that he still lives.”

Impatiently, she shook her head.

“Something gives the Enemy pleasure, someone cries out for help. Sometimes I think that I can feel, through Morgoth’s malice, a different kind of call…but how can I know that it is Nelyafinwë? And even if I knew, what good would it be?”

When I replied my voice was shaken, cracks driven through the words.

“You should have told me.”

I turned away from her. Outside the window the world was asleep beneath the white face of the moon, its light like spilt milk falling upon the trees. Lake Mithrim a polished shield; on its far shore, the lights of the Fëanárions’ abode. Inside me, a different kind of lake spreading, my ancient despair breaking its dam. Demanding, now, to be listened to.

Artanis reached out to me, her arm drawing me to her.

“I do not know.” Low voice, worry vibrant in her words. “What good would it do to you if you knew that he is prisoner? And you cannot. I never told you, because I never could be sure.”

Slowly, I met her glance.

“I believe you. But what you say, joined to Findekáno ’s evidence, cannot but convince me that it is true. And how can I live in peace while he suffers?” I took her hands. “I thought our sundering was a punishment inflicted upon me, and I accepted it. But to live knowing that he is in torment…no, this I cannot do. This I shall not accept.”

“But what would you do then? Nolofinwë shall not give you soldiers for this deed. All the other lords are far too weak to help you, even if they would.”

“There are the Fëanárions.”

Anger flamed into her eyes, and she drew away.

“They are his brothers. Had they believed something could be done, they would have acted before.”

“Macalaurë thought him dead. But now…”

“…now he shall not listen to you all the more. You have no siblings, Silmë; you cannot understand. Macalaurë took the decision to declare Nelyafinwë lost. He needs to think it was the right choice. To think to have left him to thralldom and torture…” She shook her head.

But my mind, till now so dazed, so uncertain, now awoke. Steel I had not felt for a very long time forming anew, the hard shell of a choice I would not back away from.

“Carnistir will listen to me. He shall persuade the others.”

“Even if he did you could not hope to conquer the fortress with their forces alone. You saw what the Enemy can do.” A pause, and when she spoke again, her eyes were steel. “You heard what Fëanáro foresaw as he lay dying.”

A bitter laughter coming to my lips.

“Would you believe him then? Where is now Artanis the Fearless?”

“No fear inhabits my heart, but hatred of waste. Nelyafinwë is lost, be he living and prisoner, or dead. It is high time you accepted it. It is high time you lived again.”

“But I live.” Smaller my voice then I would have liked, or thought. “I live, and it is for you, and Daro. If it had not been for you I would have forsaken this life long ago.”

A sudden tenderness shining in her eyes, and her fingers caressed my face. “Then let all this go. Rest, dream. Tomorrow it shall hurt less.”

“Perhaps.” My own hand reaching out for her cheek. The skin was pale, and smooth. Like mother-of-pearl in the moonlight. “Perhaps. I know that all you do, you do for my own good.” Unsaid, unuttered the thought my mind framed. Even if you cannot understand. “Goodnight now.”

“Goodnight.”

She kissed me lightly, and then we parted, Artanis remaining in the passage, watching me go. The light shone on her white dress, it wove silver threads into her hair. Her eyes were invisible, drowned in the deep shadow her brows cast.

Thinking back to that evening now, I know I did not deceive her, not for a moment.

***

When I reached my room I locked the door behind me. Incapable of sitting, incapable of standing still, I paced back and forth, my unquiet feet digging deep scars in the soft rug spread on the floor. I did not notice. The roaring of my blood filled my ears, an enraged ocean.

Maitimo. Prisoner, tortured. Calling out in vain. My spirit reaching out for his, finding again that immutable, faint call. Only we could break the chains that bound us together; but still I could not know what was that kept us apart.

Kneeling on the floor, hugging my shoulders with my hands, trying to think. In vain. My mind an empty plain where Findekáno ’s words alone had been left.

We left our King to languish in their thrall.

My king. My love. My atonement and my punishment, my blessing and my curse.

I rose. Gropingly my hand searched the bedside table, upturning a bottle of perfume. It stung my broken skin, it stung my mouth when I sucked my fingertips. Bitter taste on my tongue. Such a small, such a trivial pain. Nothing compared to torture. Nothing compared to the conscience of having been left behind.

I sat on the bed, listening to my heart beating. Framing and reframing in my mind words that could move, words that could persuade. Knowing every word would have been in vain. As always, Artanis had been right: no help could I hope to find, not for this. And yet knowing that I could not live until this doubt had been dispelled.

The spilt perfume had spread, a scented pond lapping the silver lamp I had not lit, the wooden box where I kept my jewels. Carefully, I opened it. At its bottom a hidden compartment, I place I rarely, if ever, opened. A present sent four years before by Macalaurë, one last gift to the one that would never be his sister in law, nestled in the velvet.

Nerdanel had been a gifted artist in many fields. Miniature-painting was not the least of them.

In the cold light of the moon Maitimo looked at me from the small portrait, a smile playing around the corners of his lips. A mischievous glint in his green eyes, the copper mass of his hair, almost a living thing in the slanting light, falling unbound over his shoulder. Young then, not yet thirty, his body still slender, in his bones the promise of the might he would achieve. His eyes still without shadows, his face unlined. Too much had happened to the boy in that portrait; too much time had passed. But to him I still owed a promise that had not been fulfilled, a love that that youth could not yet imagine had come to unite us. And I would not forsake him now.

Clutching the miniature, I rose. My mind empty, but of a different void. A decision had been taken, and now all doubt was past. Come what may, my grief had been temporarily assuaged in this blinding choice. I wore the traveling dress with which I had ridden to Mithrim, a stout cloak. Thick gloves concealing my hands, and the silver sheen of my ring. On the door I hesitated, looking back to the desk, where a bejeweled, sharp paper knife stood in its leather sheath. But I would have not known how to use such a weapon, and eventually I closed softly the door behind my back.

On the threshold I hesitated for a long moment, listening. The small sounds of a palace asleep surrounded me, even breathing of those who dreamt, rhythmic pacing of the guards. Silently I slipped along the polished floor, in and out of the sharply cut pools of light the windows let in. Somewhere in the garden an owl hooted its melancholy to the night.

The stables were as silent as the palace itself, the horses snorting, breathing heavily away in the uncharted land of their sleep. Softly I called to my mare, and she awoke, a subdued neighing in the dark. With my fingers I felt for her harness, my hand finding the wooden edge of her compartment. A movement, barely more than a whisper of sound in the silent stables, and I looked around in alarm.

Swift rustling of straw, quick steps behind me; and ere I could turn strong fingers had seized my wrist, and someone taller and mightier than me had turned me briskly to him.

“What are you doing here, Silmë?”

I tore my hand from his.

“Findekáno. I could ask the same of you.”

For a moment we remained silent, facing each other. I relented first, my blood still boiling. Findekáno had long since schooled himself in a silent brood.

“Your words recalled me as from a long sleep. I shall seek the truth. If Maitimo be truly prisoner…”

“Do not speak foolishly. You shall do nothing of the sort.”

His voice was harsh, dry. Anger closed my throat; and only then I saw, beyond his shoulder, his own horse, already saddled, patiently waiting for its master.

“It seems we were driven here by the same wish.”

“So it is. But your pursuit ends here. I set forth tonight.”

“My right – ”

“Your right is untouched.” Softer now was his voice, gentler. But just as firm. “But what possibility of success could you hope to have? Where are your provisions for the voyage, weapons to defend yourself?”

“I – ”

In the darkness, annoyance at my own foolishness. I would have ridden out into the night without a drop of water, and my silence told Findekáno as much. But he caressed my cheek, lightly.

“You are no warrior, cousin. Let me try this road. If I do not come back, there shall be enough space for you to follow me.”

He leant over me, kissing me on the forehead.

“Go back to bed. It would help me more if I knew you shall be waiting for my return.”

I bit my lip, angered at my incompetence, but anguished, now, for him. To put my own life at stake would have been easy. To know that he would be risking his awoke new despair in me.

“All these years,” my voice was subdued, words long since owed forming but with difficulty, “All these years I saw your pain, its depth. I wish I could have done something for you now. I wish you would not risk your life without necessity. If truly this be nothing more than Morgoth’s malice at work – ”

Findekáno laughed.

“So hasty on putting yourself on the line, still you would instruct me in prudence, Silmë? Worry not, I have no wish to die. But like you, I cannot live with this doubt. Wait for me, cousin. And if truly something you must do, then pray.”

He walked past me, his horse following him. I watched him go, my heart beating feebly, as if crushed. The question burnt in my throat, it burnt on my lips. One last thing to ask, one last occasion to do it.

The word rolled off my tongue, round and heavy.

“Why?”

He stopped. Beyond him I could see the courtyard, flagstones painted white by the moon. His eyes fixed on me, another, soft laughter, subdued in his throat.

“Why would you have done the same?”

His question took me aback, my reply guarded.

“Out of love.”

“Love,” he savoured the word, his face thoughtful, “Such a small word, is it? Such a great burden.”

He mounted upon his horse, gathering the reins in his hand.

“Go to bed, Silmë,” he repeated, “And do not ask things whose answer you do not wish to know.” His face softened, a small smile spreading on his lips. “Wish me luck.”

He released the reins, spurred his horse forward. And then he was gone.

***

I fed my horse, caressed her back to sleep. Her nose was soft and humid beneath my fingers. Nibbling my gloves, she fell again into the deep waters of dream. I retraced my steps, this time caring not for who saw me, my steps heavy. I lost my way and wandered back through the great hall, guards armed with spears against the night clicking their heels at my passage.

Until at last I came again to the long passage. Lozenges of moonlight tinged with streaks of red checkered it, for as it set the moon darkened. My door waited, closed as I had left it; and as I pushed it open it was as if the heaviness of that night had fallen off my shoulders. Inside, quiet shadows draped on the bed. And on its edge, sitting silently, Artanis.

A moment of silence; then a tired smile stretched my lips.

“You guessed.”

She nodded.

“I preceded you to the stables. When I saw Findekáno I knew he would persuade you to stay behind.”

I took off my gloves, undid my cloak’s brooch.

“You all seem to know far better than me.”

“Do not speak so.” She rose, coming to me. “I consider what Fino is doing ill-advised, and sure to bring him to an evil end. And yet, our fates rest in the hands of the One; and in the future He sets down for us I cannot discern but shadows, and flames. There may still be hope, even amid such pain.”

Kicking away my shoes I reached for the bed, and lay down.

“If something can be done, he shall do it. I thought that I alone could understand such a loss, but now I see that his need matches my own.”

She remained silent. In the dark, an unspoken question, an unspoken answer. Her words at my betrothal, so many years before.

We only see what we believe can be real.

What I could believe had changed throughout the years; and an answer to his grudge, to his pain now fluttered in my mind, like a bird alighting swiftly, creasing the water. It mattered not. Whatever reason guided him through the night, whatever love, I wished Findekáno luck.

I curled up, closed my eyes. Sleep. Artanis lay down beside me, embracing me. Together, and sweetly, we dreamed.

***

The palace awoke to the news of Findekáno’s departure. Scouts were dispatched after him, but he was already too far to reach. Nolofinwë paced back and forth the length of the courtyard as he waited for them to come back with news, and when the horses galloped their way back he screamed with rage.

He glanced to me and Artanis that in a corner waited in silence, and it looked as if he would speak; but then, as if afraid that once unleashed his wrath could not be mastered again, he kept silent. He strode into the palace, anger a dark mask upon his face. In silence, a part of my spirit had hoped that Findekáno could be persuaded to come back, saved from his own courage; but now I knew that what he had started, once again, he would see to its bitter end.

I looked to Artanis, a mute question in my eyes.

“Waiting is all we can do,” her voice was toneless, hard, “It now rests in the One’s
hands.”

It seemed a simple thing to say; once it had been a simple thing to believe. But too many curses, too many dooms had been laid on the Exiles of Tirion to think that anything they began could now reach a fruitful end. Left alone with my hope and my fear, incapable of raising prayers to a sky that had seen us guilty of so much blood, I waited. And the long count of the days of Middle-earth seemed to slow, as if Time itself were waiting with me.

Findekáno’s horse came back, alone and riderless, on the fourth day. It was not hurt, it bore no trace of combat. Unthinkable that one trained to battle, one that had served its master faithfully in many strives, would abandon him so easily. It had been left go, sentenced the master of the stables. Wherever Lord Findekáno had gotten to, he had had to continue on foot.

Without a word Nolofinwë left us. Worry and remorse, a nameless anger bit his heart, and in those days he would not speak. But Artanis and I exchanged a glance, knowing what this meant. Findekáno had reached the shadow of Thangorodrim, where no horse could hope to pass. And in our hearts the last of our hope was crushed, our spirits hanging on the frail thread of confused visions of an uncertain future. The dread, subdued but present in Artanis’ eyes, that soon from Utumno’s deep another voice would be calling out in pain.

I looked to the sky then. It was sullen and overcast, thick clouds like sullied wool covering it, a tightly woven cloak from one corner of the heavens to the other. Perhaps it was blasphemy what I thought then, that Eru had covered Arda, hidden it from His view. As if he no longer wished to see what the Ainur and His Children had made of His creation.

But beneath such gray skies, one felt alone, cast away. And all prayers remained unspoken, crushed beneath heaven and earth by the leaden dome of a bleeding sky. It started raining, and the Elves all around us ran for the shelter of the palace.

Alone, Artanis and I remained beneath the falling water, tears from a sky that, sole among us, could know what had been of those who had left us.

To wait is to spin a thread that every day grows heavier; until the waiting is over, and the thread simply falls from your hands.

***

The sentinels sighted it long before it reached us. In alarm they called, one voice from one to the other, till the palace was alerted, and Nolofinwë’s court poured like spilt water into the courtyard. They pointed to each other the great stain, fast moving against the wind, that came from the North; from the ill vapours of Utumno and their malice. Artanis and I had been in the garden, and when we joined the others not one could tell what the flying creature was.

Keen Eldarin eyes scanned the sky, and together we waited for the great bird to come closer, perplexed glances exchanged, archers training their bows upon it, for great upon us was the fear that it could be yet another of Morgoth’s tricks. And yet our eyes could not leave its sight, as if our eyes, enchanted, could not bear to cease observing the slow music of the beat of its wings. Until it came close enough for us to recognize what it was, and Artanis was the first to cry out in surprise.

“One of Manwë’s Eagles!”

The cry echoed from mouth to mouth, many now distinguishing the powerful beak, the noble profile of the great beast, greater than any simple eagle Arda could nourish. For it was one of Manwë’s own messengers, and a spirit of great power.

And as I looked at it, I marveled, elation long since forgotten filling my spirit, for only good could come from the King of Arda, that knew no evil. But as I watched the Eagle drawing ever nearer something else I saw, nothing more than a small shape, an uncertain stain clinging to its neck, a darker colour between the delicate bronze of its feathers.

“It bears someone…”

Grasping Artanis’ shoulder, I pointed out to it; and ere she could reply I cried to the guards: “Open the gates!”

A stunned expression on their faces, but too much was the urgency in my voice, the unexpected hope in my cry, for them to think of disobeying.

“Open the gates, quick!”

Artanis’ voice joining my own, and Nolofinwë’s joining it, for now he, too, had seen it, the small thing the Eagle flew, its progress steady, its wings cutting the wind as if it were nothing against its might. The pulleys were manned, and the thick wooden doors opened; and we ran out into the wide lawn, the stretch of open land that had been cleared of wood as a defense between the palace and the lake. For it was unthinkable that the eagle could alight inside the courtyard, too small to fit its great size; and alight it would, circling ever lower, its shadow upon us obliterating the light.

Until, with a soft rustling, an elegant folding of its wings, it came to rest upon the ground.

For a long moment no one spoke, the eagle surveying us with great amber eyes, stern and liquid, their golden glance taking us in one by one. Powerful its spirit; and no less strong the spell it could work. Until an urgent call broke it.

“Artanis! Silmë! Father!”

Findekáno ’s voice; but ere we could rejoice at his safety, ere our hearts could grow light of the burden that had oppressed them at his departure, ere our hurrying feet could reach him, he was struggling to descend from his mount, his movements hindered by the weight he carried. A weight that fell limp upon his arm; a head dangling lifelessly from the crook of his elbow.

And it went silent then that whole lawn, silent, voiceless those who peopled it; and the shapes themselves were but a blur in my eyes, my blood pounding furiously even as my heart slowed down almost to a stop. One word, one thought filling my mind, even as my feet did not cease running.

Maitimo.

Time stretched itself in that few moments, that short pause before my hands could reach out to him; that immobile instant before my fingertips touched his skin.

Here. Saved.

As reality had unraveled and paused, a badly woven cloth fraying at the edges, thus it bounced forward, faster than I could follow it as soon as his weight, his cold skin rested upon my palms. Artanis and Findaráto by my side, we took him from Findekáno’s hands, and lay him on the ground. A short passage; and yet enough to strike me with the sudden, terrible conscience of how light, inconsistent his body was. A body tortured and brought past recognition even by those who had known it best.

There is something defenceless, innocent about an unclad shape; something terrible about the weakness of a form laid out for examination, the limbs a map for the wounds to display themselves. Past all love and desire, when hurt a body becomes but a piece of ruined flesh. And the spirit it hosts a prisoner screaming out from a locked jail.

I looked at him, my love whose strength I had known so well. I looked at him: and five years of torment washed over me, the silent cry that had filled my head, my dreams taking now a terrible meaning. Before us it was shown then in full what Morgoth could do: before us it was shown that there are destinies far worse than death.

Before such a spectacle, all my words died. And all hatred was forgotten as Artanis framed the words my broken mind could not pronounce: “What have they done to him?”

Might that is broken is terrible to behold.

Slowly my eyes looked him over, as Artanis’ expert fingers checked him briskly: for five years of warfare had taught her more about what hurt a physical form can receive than she would have wished to. I looked at him, my heart now tottering on the edge of despair. My love, my spirit could only repeat, a broken charm, and a useless one. My love. In me the certainty that aid had come too late.

Gray was his skin, gray. No colour, no blood left in it, filth encrusting with dried blood many and different wounds. Whips, hammers; knives. Bones had been broken, and had healed crookedly; and those which had been left whole now stretched the skin painfully, the tendons standing out like chords, as if they were an inch away from breaking that frail, ruined cover. His tall, strong shape now reduced to an empty shadow.

His hair had grown out, straggling locks whose copper dust and dirt had dulled down to a different kind of gray. They covered a face where the eyes were shut, the eyelids twitching; the mouth broken and dried, the lips cracked and bloodied, as if flayed by thirst. His cheekbones sharp above sunken cheeks.

Down I looked to his face; down, to the square, cutting angle of his shoulders, to the cliff of his collarbone; down to the thin arms where the veins marked raised paths beneath the skin. Artanis cradled in her lap his right arm, her hands staunching with a kerchief a wound I could not see; not until she looked up to Findekáno that had slid down the eagle’s flank, that now looked at us with lost eyes.

“Fino…”

His voice, when he answered, was so low we could barely hear it.

“He had been hanged by one of Thangorodrim’s peaks, his right wrist caught in a band of steel…I could not break it. I had to…there was no other choice.”

Artanis looked at him for a long moment; then, she nodded. And I lowered my eyes: seeing now of what she had been talking.

For Maitimo’s right arm ended now abruptly in a bloodied stump, like a broken branch on a mighty tree; and the hand of the sword had been cut away. The skin of his wrist was tormented and raw, blood exposed that no clean thrust could have drawn. The mark of the cuff that had held him in thrall. I comprehended in that moment the pain of Findekáno’s choice; even as my heart understood its rightness. He had brought him back. No price could have been too great.

Under Artanis’ touch Maitimo seemed to come to his senses, his eyelids trembling, struggling to rise, his parched lips forming unintelligible words. With practiced hand she held him down, calling with a gesture of her head Findaráto and one of the guards.

“Take him, quick. He must be attended to immediately.”

With care they raised him from the ground, and I rose with them, meeting as I did so the Eagle’s glance. Passionless it had stood by, observing us; and now to it I bent my neck.

“Thank you, my lord.”

Such small, such meaningless words. But the Eagle bowed its head, as if acknowledging them; and with a swift step of its claws it drew apart, spreading its wings to take flight. The sky was clear on that day, a mirror through which Eru could look. And smile.

As the bronze sheen of the Eagle rose the bearers were ready, suspended among them Maitimo, as limp, as weak as drowned flesh. With trembling fingers I reached out for his left hand, their tips caressing his skin, its coarse texture. And that body, apparently utterly spent, sparkled of one last ray of strength, his own fingers meeting my own, however weakly. And the wedge in my heart was healed, as pain at his wounds was the only thing left. Beyond all hope, past any prayer, I had found him. That much counted.

We hurried to the house, Findekáno following us with staggering steps, exhaustion taking his toll. Later I would cry, later I would thank him with all the thanks Elvish tongue could frame; but now my world began and ended in those closed eyes, in that broken skin, in the frail hold of those fingers on mine.

It was Artanis who spoke to Fino; her voice at the same time tender and brisk.

“You should rest, cousin. Let your father take care of you.”

“But Maitimo…”

“We shall see to him. But you need repose.”

He did not question her, his steps stopping, perhaps his strength now truly failing him. Of his deed the bards would sing until Elven songs be remembered; but when we stopped at the palace’s door, waiting for it to be opened, and I turned to him, he looked at us with lost and broken eyes, his hands abandoned at his hips, as if he no longer knew who he was, or what he had lost that he could no longer find.

But Artanis hurried us forward; and we left him behind.

As we coursed down the corridors I held Maitimo’s hand in mine, and nothing else could matter under the visiting Sun.

Chapter 20: Crooked

This chapter is dedicated to Araloth, who persuaded me that Carnistir is hot property - and fittingly identified him as the 'odd man out'. Enjoy.

Read Chapter 20: Crooked

Chapter 20

Crooked

We laid him down on the bed in an empty room, Artanis demanding water, ointments, bandages. The guard bowed and walked out quickly, gone to fetch what she asked for; Findaráto leant over Maitimo with her, his own eyes taking in the damage. Still holding my betrothed’s hand, I knelt by the bed.

I looked at his ruined, gray face, at the closed eyelids he still had no strength to open; and the light of that day had taken a different colour. Findaráto’s voice reached me as from a far place.

“Shall he heal?”

Even without looking at her I knew Artanis had shaken her head.

“He was strong. We may heal his body…but what his mind has suffered, he alone knows.”

Her words stung, for in my joy at Maitimo’s delivery, made sharp and cutting by pain at his hurts, I was like one who lives without skin. Artanis’ doubt touched me, but I chased it away. Maddened, broken I would still have loved him. I would be with him as his spirit wandered in search of healing. Nothing else mattered.

The guard came back, his steps urgent. Servants followed him bringing what Artanis had asked.

“Water, and balms for the stump. Then you will have to help me reset his bones.”

Her tone was flat; her words held the certain promise of new hurts. I looked up to her, my own voice small.

“Is there anything I can do?”

A brief hesitation in her eyes, compassion crossing them, and understanding.

“For now, just hold his hand. And do not look at what I will do.”

I nodded. I did not take my eyes off his features, the lineaments I recognized and loved even in this mauled form. I had no other Sun. On them I traced the progress of Artanis’ actions, my heart beating in unison with his pain.

“Thread and needle. Clean the cut, quick now. Hold him.”

In Aman we had had no need for the arts of medicine. Here Artanis had learnt a physician’s cold passion, the healer’s silent struggle against death. Faceless flesh the ones she cured, behind their names, be them familiar or unknown, the same shadow. The same unbeatable enemy. I clasped his hand, bringing it to my lips. His skin tasted salty upon them.

Artanis sewed together the margins of the wound, cleaned the steel’s sore.

“A neat cut. Now the limbs worry me. You shall have to hold him tightly. I must break the bones again for them to heal well.”

Rustling of clothes, small steps behind me as Findaráto and the guard took position. I leant over Maitimo, whispering quietly to him. What I said, I remember not.

“Be ready.”

Again, her cold voice. Behind me, the sickening sound of shattered bone. From Maitimo’s throat it escaped a hoarse cry, the hopeless lament of one who expects no reprieve. I flinched; his body suddenly relaxing, going limp beneath my touch. Artanis’ toneless words were tinged by a shade of relief.

“He passed out. He shall feel no pain now.”

Quickly, she finished her work.

“You can go.”

A small noise, the guard bowing, going away. Slowly, hesitantly, I raised my fingers, reaching out for Maitimo’s face. As if in fear of breaking it, delicately I brushed against the profile of his cheekbone, his exhausted, spent features now lost in merciful oblivion. A quiet happiness, a harrowing grief filled me.

I felt Findaráto’s touch on my shoulder.

“I shall leave you.”

“Yes. We should suffice now.”

Artanis’ voice, still detached. Away her brother went, closing the door behind him. One short moment of silence, and only then I turned. My friend looked at me, in the uncertain light that came from the window her eyes dark.

“Help me,” she said, a note of gentleness tempering her words, “Help me clean the other wounds.”

Silently, I nodded. With a soft cloth I washed him, his skin emerging slowly from under layers of encrusted dirt, the full, raw design of his scars revealed. Artanis immobilized his broken limbs, and then stood back, her lips pursed, as I wiped away the dust from his limp hair. I covered him with a sheet, only then turning to her.

“What shall happen now?”

“Fever shall ensue, out of loss of blood, shock, and possibly infection. He may rave. We shall nourish him, but lightly, with milk and water. In a few hours, or in a few days, he will come out of it.” Hesitation, again; but my eyes demanded the truth. Her own were clouded. “And then we shall see what of him is left.”

I nodded, slowly. My mind courted her words, it examined them gingerly, like a scalding cup in which white hot liquid has just been poured. If he had gone. If his spirit had been lost, chased away in regions when I could no longer reach him. But I could not think of this, not now. His body was saved, helpless, in need of care. Later there would be time enough to despair about those things which we could not control.

“You may go, if you wish so. I shall stay here.”

My words were calm, almost cold. She looked at me, and understood. Her fingers brushed lightly against my right arm.

“I will come back every hour to check on him.”

I bowed my head.

“Thank you.”

She was gone before I had had time to look up. The sound of the door as it closed softly was her only trace.

I remained standing, listening to her steps fading down the corridor. It was only after their last sound had vanished that I turned to him, to his abandoned form, like a horse asleep. So powerful, so defenceless. So ruined. I sat by the bed on a low stool, without touching him. My eyes lingered upon him, his form outlined under the sheet, his unconscious face beneath his humid hair. Looking at him was like violating a secret, his helplessness more intimate, more private than any caress had been. For a long time I had believed him dead. For the first time in a very long time, we were together again.

Even if he didn’t know it.

I did not count the time I passed in that manner, simply gazing at him, like a thirsty steed shall drink at a fountain after a long run. Filling my eyes, filling my heart. His simple sight, even now, the only balm my hurts needed. A servant came in after a while, bringing fresh water, warm milk and honey. I dismissed her without a word.

Slowly I wetted his lips with the milk, I used the honey like a balm on his cracked mouth. The hours that followed were a kaleidoscope of moments I would remember clearly, a mosaic of sharp instants where my life was taken to pieces, and glued together again. I watched him sleep. I watched him struggle from unconsciousness to tormented dreams, I listened to his ragged breaths, trying to make words out of the sounds that escaped his throat, and failing. Listening, my heart beating painfully, to the whimpers that fled his lips as slowly his body became aware of the pain, the splintered leg, the tightly bandaged ribs. Such small, such pitiful noises from one so great, and yet so undefended.

Sometimes, hesitantly, my fingers would reach out to his shoulder, the smooth skin, the rounded head of the bone beneath it. But uncertainly, as if he were a frail, a precious thing an uncouth movement might break. Artanis came in time and time over, gliding silently to the bed, feeling for his temperature with her long, slender hands. Murmuring below her breath that all was according to previsions. I did not answer. My world in those hours ended at the borders of his bed.

He tossed and turned in his fever, his eyes still tightly shut, and I struggled to hold him still, his body thrashing in pain. He dirtied himself in his unconsciousness, and I cleaned him, whispering softly to him to sleep, sleep. Until all would be better, all well. In another world, another life. He raved, calling out harshly, sounds too maimed by grief and anger to distinguish them. Once I thought I recognized my name; but I could not know it.

Slowly the raving slid into a shivering, halting sleep, his limbs twitching nervously, like those of a scared animal. Without haste I let my fingers crawl upon his, my hand nestling inside his own. And thus I stood, singing below my breath to him, a frail enchantment against the night, the sickness, the hurt.

Nightmares I could not know assailed him; and in their grip, eventually, he opened his eyes. His hand grasped mine with unexpected strength, his eyelids uncovered briskly his irises where fever had reduced the pupils to small, bright jewels. They looked at me, as if he did not recognize me; but then his voice framed, shakenly, the first words I could understand.

“Don’t go.”

“I won’t.”

Simple my answer, solid. Like the truth.

“You always say it. You always go.”

He fell back upon the pillows, his eyes closed. His words cut deep into me, another part of a punishment I had deserved. Even now we paid for what had been. Perhaps our debts would never be made even. But for his fear, at last, I could offer consolation.

“No, I will not go.”

I whispered it into the back of his hand, brushing it with my lips. He made no answer, shivers rattling his bones like old bells. Carefully, without letting his hand go I lifted the sheet, the light cover, climbing into the bed with him. Carefully I took him into my arms, draping my legs around his, taking care not to crush his cracked ribs, his broken thigh.

Soothingly I whispered into his neck, my fingers finding again a familiar path beneath the thin locks of his hair, down the curve of his head, the indentation of his nape. All else had changed. This familiar path spelt home.

Under my caresses, like a tired dog, he fell asleep, his head turning to me, his nose against my cheek. I closed my eyes. The perfect fit of our bodies, their usual twining that we found even now. Once upon a time, a safe place among many others. Now, the only one that had been left.

So frail his body in my arms, so uneven his breath. His heart beat flutteringly, like a scared bird inside his wounded ribcage, skipping a beat for every new, dark dream. All I could do was lend him my warmth; with whispered words, undead love keep the night at bay. Insensibly, behind the paneled window, the day had slipped away.

I kept him closer to my heart, and slept.

***

We had long since learnt that it is in sleep that lies the best defense of a broken body, in sleep that healing takes his mysterious path. Haltingly, laboriously, his wake and his dreams scanned by bouts of raving, he slept for the better part of two days. I fed him with thin milk, spoonfuls of honey when I could coax him into taking it. Sometimes he would shy away from me, as if from his worst enemy, fear and pride in his eyes. Sometimes he would call to me, as if he could not see that I was there. Sometimes his irises would meet mine, and I would know that he saw me, he recognized me; but always at the back of his conscience was that fear, that imploring prayer he did not utter, that I would not go away.

Then I slipped beneath the covers with him, then I sang to him, and he would speak, as if resuming a long dialogue interrupted more than once. He would count them, all the times I had gone away. He would count them, all the times he had called in vain. Soon I understood he thought me no more than a dream; soon I understood he knew not where he was. He spoke, as if he battled his own evil spirits; but in doing so he exposed my many faults, and his pain chastised me. I bit my knuckles not to cry.

Artanis came, and pronounced his progress steady. He did as well as could be expected. It could not be said when the fever would subside. I nodded slowly, and waited. In another room, she told me, Findekáno lay, dehydrated and feverish himself. Any hope came unexpected out of this tormenting hour.

I waked upon Maitimo, falling asleep but fitfully. My hair was tangled into knots, my dressed was stiff with sweat, odorous with sickness. In the room the air was stale. When the fever eventually declared itself won for that day, when it abandoned the battlefield of his body, receding like a tide, leaving him stranded on new, unknown shores, I was wandering in the misty planes between sleep and wake, my head abandoned upon my folded arms.

His left hand rose hesitantly, it reached, tentatively, for my head. His voice was uncertain and low, cracked.

“Silmë?”

I raised my head, my eyes clouded, as if I thought that his calling existed only in my dreams. But his head was turned sideways on the pillow, his eyes focused upon me. He saw me; he knew that I was no longer a hallucination, of his raving a torment and a treat. He saw me; and now, his hand falling heavy and light upon my hair, he touched me.

“Maitimo.”

In the silence that followed our names vibrated, chords struck by a lonely musician in an empty hall.

What followed could be nothing but useless platitude before that silent acknowledgement. Unspoken words filled the air, a silver thread between us.

I have found you.

We looked elsewhere at the same moment, our own intensity heavy upon us. His words, when he next spoke, were evasive, fragmented, broken nuggets scattered to the wind.

“Where…?”

“In Nolofinwë’s palace. Findekáno brought you here.”

“Yes…I remember.”

He looked away, the silence tainted by the unspoken remembrance of what had come to pass. A cloud upon his face, his spirit struggling to reconcile itself to this different dream. Safety must be now like strong wine. Embarrassed, I tried to speak.

“Artanis is taking care of you. She says…”

But what Artanis said I would never tell him. For he turned upon me his eyes, and their green gaze was full of an ancient grief; and at the same time their light was the only thing the Enemy had not touched. Beneath their gaze my will was shattered, and shaking I slid down the stool, kneeling onto the floor. Broken sobs escaped me, crushing my chest; and vainly I hid my tears with my hand.

“Silm녔

His voice, confused and beseeching, as if from another world. And I hated myself for all that I had done, and all I should have accomplished, but had not; and leaning forward I lay the palms of my hands upon the bed, daring not to look at him.

“Forgive me,” I murmured, “Forgive me.” I looked up to him, my face streaked with tears. “I…forgive me.”

He looked at me. He did not say a word, not for a very long time. And behind the emerald of his eyes, slowly, his answer took shape.

“You are real,” he finally uttered, his voice final, “You shall not leave.”

I shook my head, still trembling.

“No. Not if you will allow me to stay.”

He lay back his head, closed his eyes.

“Then you forgive me for all in which I have disappointed you.”

I would have wanted to laugh. Instead I kept crying, long shivers shaking me, sobs racking me for all the five years in which I had mourned in silence. This harsh happiness was too much. Incapable of speaking, I covered with kisses the palm of his hand.

A flicker of tenderness came into his eyes, a relic from a long-forgotten age, a lonely ray between his clouds. Like so many times he had done, he raised his right arm, wishing to caress me. The bandaged, blunt remains of his wrist emerged from the blankets.

He lay very still, and I raised my eyes, seeing that he looked at it intently, as if he were studying something new, and unguessed. Unexpected. Then he turned to me a wistful, ironic smile.

“It seems that if you want to be caressed, now, you shall have to give me my left hand back.”

And then, so suddenly I could not prevent it, he screamed. It was a long, piercing cry, the despair and the anger of one who had been mighty, and then had been seized, and tormented, and unmanned in solitude and thrall. He screamed, and his body shook with his voice, his broken bones, his marked skin giving him a pain that doubled his cry.

I let him scream. Then I leant over him, taking in my hands his right arm.

“It does not matter.”

Slowly, purposefully, I lay a kiss on the top of the stump. Through the bandages he felt it, pain and pleasure, and he shivered. I looked at him, and in his eyes there were shadows I could never fathom, a burden I could not share; a new hardness at their bottom, a pitiless, merciless wrath. At himself, and at fate, and that at the one that had done him this. The Enemy should have killed Nelyafinwë, son of Fëanáro, when he had him at his bay. Now he had made of him something new, and harder. A fighter born from the ashes of a quiet Elf.

But among this novel pain, this newfound strength forged in torment, something I knew and loved still held forth. A shade of the Maitimo I had learnt to know, the Maitimo I had unlearnt to live without, such a long time before.

“I wish I could believe you.”

“I will make you do so.”

He was still frail. With the same care, the hesitating prudence of the first time I went to him, embracing him. Laying my head, delicately, upon his shoulder. The words that I pronounced were subdued, but clear.

“I thought you called from the Halls of the Dead. But still you were here.”

He buried his nose in my hair.

“I called to you, and you would appear. But as my fever went, as my tormentors came to me you would vanish into thin air.”

With what remained of his strength, heeding not his pain he held me near. My reply was muffled, subtle against his neck.

“Not now. Now I shall stay.”

I raised my face, looked at him without words. Our kiss was light and short, no more than a caress of his broken lips upon mine. But our promise was exchanged anew in that moment, as our spirits met each other again, they reached out eagerly from our half-closed eyes.

Set me like a seal upon your arm, a seal upon your heart.

He let his head rest upon my own. I let my heart slow down against his.

Tomorrow there would be tales to tell, horror to be unfolded for hope of forgetting it to exist. Tomorrow healing would grow closer, or come farther off. But now night like a curtain draped the window, and the wind whispered softly beyond the glass. Together, we slept.

***

I woke to his presence, my head drunk on sleep. I blinked uneasily in the mellow light of the lamps. His shadow was great and black in the demi-darkness, his face obscure. Findekáno filled the doorway, looking at us as we slept.

Gingerly I rose upon an elbow, wishing, perhaps, to call to him; my long-due thanks, my happiness at his return burning upon my tongue. But he did not stop; he did not came to me. He turned and left, his steps light, a finger raised to his lips, asking for silence. Forbidding me from awakening the one who slept by me, his arm thrown across my waist truly a seal in the dark gold of the light.

Thus Findekáno left, saying nothing; and my mind denied my spirit what it believed it had guessed.

In the black obsidian of his eyes, more pain than I would see in any Elf’s countenance for the years the One would think it fit for me to live. An aching need, and an unsatisfied one, burning them.

I lay down again, Maitimo shifting as he slept. His fingers clenching and unclenching. We believe what we want to believe; I called what I had seen a dream. But ere I slept, the words fluttered again through my mind.

For love is as strong as death, its fierceness as cruel as the grave.

Such a small word. Such a great burden.

***

Artanis came the next day to find him awake, drinking with small sips milk and honey. She felt his forehead, which the tepid sweat of healing made humid, and she checked his bandages. The wounds were clean, healing well. She straightened, a thin smile upon her lips.

“Welcome back.”

Even as she said it I saw her retreating, the healer’s triumph putting an end to the truce. He had come back from his thralldom one to be pitied, a waif and a thin memory of the one he had been; not the one who had sailed away leaving us behind. But now in his eyes she could find again the Son of Fëanáro. The truce was over.

He bent his head, lightly.

“I thank you.”

Artanis took a step behind. The wedge between the Noldor still existed; even if their King came back from the dark, the Helcaraxë could not be forgotten. Nor forgiven so easily. Maitimo saw it in her eyes, his words struggling to sound even.

“Do my brothers know that I am here?”

A bitter smile upon her lips.

“It could not have been kept a secret, even if we had wished for it to be so. An hour after you had arrived their messengers came galloping. I answered that you were still too weak.”

He bent his head, lightly.

“If I could ask you to call Macalaurë. And my uncle. I must thank him.”

She laughed, briefly.

“Oh, Nolofinwë shall come of his own accord. As soon as he can come to terms with the fact that his son was right.” Her laughter died. “Fino was the only one to believe. He snatched you back from torment.”

“No amount of years, no amount of thanks can ever repay my debt. But where is he?”

“This deed took its toll from him. But he shall come to see you, too. Now rest.”

She went to the door, pausing on the threshold.

“I sent messengers to your brothers’ abode before I came to see you. They should be here shortly.”

And with this she left.

The faintest of smiles creased Maitimo’s lips.

“Artanis does not change.”

“No. She doesn’t.”

I looked at him, my hand finding his left wrist. Had he changed? There was that hardness at the bottom of his eyes, like rocks beneath the light lacework of the foam. In the uncertain light of the dawn he had awoken, he had whispered into my ear words of which I shall leave no trace. The memory of his torment remains like a haze at the back of my conscience, his voice conjuring images that would not abandon him. Nor me.

I looked away, taking again his cup from the bedside table.

“It’s still warm.”

Thinly, he smiled.

“No more milk and honey. Or have I truly become as helpless as an Elfling?”

The bitterness at the back of his voice, and I took back the cup.

“You shall heal. You shall be strong again.”

“Some things will not be the same. Or should I say, all things.”

Absently his left hand rose, it tormented the long locks that fell upon his neck and shoulders. He looked to the window, the gray sky of that day reflected into his eyes.

“When I rise, I must crop this forest again.”

A vain try. Going back to the normal world, one where overlong hair still counted. Weakly, I smiled.

“I could cut it for you.”

He turned to me, a dim light in his eyes.

“I would be grateful.”

Slowly I rose, taking the scissors Artanis used to cut his bandages. My hands trembled, my heart uncertain. Last night we had been together; last night our separation hadn’t counted. But now, in the crude light of day, my uncertain spirit wondered whether the damage had been too much to be mended. Whether in his cracked heart there could still be space for the agony and the ecstasy that our love had been.

I hid the trembling, but it remained in my eyes, in the uncertainty of my fingertips as they lifted the locks from his forehead, his neck, cutting them one by one. He looked at me, eyes intent, as if looking for something he had known beneath a new change.

“There you are.”

I gathered the cut strands, like copper threads, in my hands. Now I could bend my head. There were tears behind my eyes, but I would not shed them now. His voice, when it came, was low and husky, as if his throat had been full of wool.

“Silmë,” he said, quietly, his left hand reaching for me. It touched my arm, my skin shivering. Love and desire and longing, together, mingling. Ice and fire. If he had told me it could no longer be. If he had told me that too much had happened, too much changed. Now that he was here, now that our bond was truly put to test, at the thought of losing him Mandos’ Halls appeared closer. Cold seeped through me, and I dared not look at him.

“Silmë,” he repeated, and now his hand reached for my chin, raising it, the gesture once familiar, now almost painful.

“Maitimo.” Our names, like the night before. But so different now. My throat was knotted tightly, no air could pass through. My unshed tears burnt. In his eyes would be my answer, and my spirit, that had so long locked himself in indifference, now lived a harsh life. Throbbing one last time, like an animal that shall soon die.

He looked at me. And when he said the words, they fell like rocks into the silence.

“I love you.”

Words overused and worn, meaningless words. But true and naked, and sharp, as he pronounced them, declining them like a song of knives. The truth. Which would only take itself as a reply.

“I love you.”

It was there. A bridge, over the five years that had passed, over the betrayal that had preceded them. And he took my hand in his, clasping it, as much as his faded strength would allow him.

“I am damaged, Silmë. More than the day you accepted me as your husband to be, and then already I was marked for shadow, condemned to darkness by my own blood.”

The knot in my throat strangled me, swallowing it was painful.

“I don’t care.”

“Truly you believe so? I am maimed. I am not whole. I am…”

“You are Maitimo. Nothing else matters.”

He looked at me, eyes and nose and mouth, and trembling lips, my face I saw reflected in his own. Until he took my hand and brought to his mouth, kissing it.

“I believe you.”

And it was all that could matter. The endless count of eternity was over. I gathered once more his cut hair in my hands, and now my fingers did not tremble.

***

Macalaurë came announced by brisk steps in the corridor, but it was not his the hand that pushed open the wooden wing, nor his the voice that greeted us. Rasping irony against the lead of that moment.

“Then you’re truly back from the dead, brother.”

Carnistir’s voice was a blade honed to a fine point, its cut invisible. He surveyed the scene – Maitimo, propped up upon pillows, his hand, his bandaged stump lain neatly in his lap. Thinner, weaker in body; but in his eyes shining a harder light. I sat by his side, and me, too, Carnistir looked over with scalding eyes, amusement burning in them. I held his stare. Simply, he scoffed. Before he crossed the room in two strides and took his brother into his arms.

“Welcome back.”

Artanis’ own words; and no need to add something else. In the shade of the door Macalaurë lingered, biting his lip, his thickset body, more muscular than his brothers’, hunched in shame and guilt. Carnistir sat upon the edge of the bed; looking not at his older brothers as they confronted each other silently, and the air grew heavier, sown with the dark seed of incomprehension and regret. Quietly, I rose.

“I shall leave you.”

Maitimo nodded lightly. Macalaurë did not look at me when I passed him, nor did I glance his way. I would not add to his shame; his burden already heavy enough. Carefully, as if I were afraid to break it, I closed the door behind my back. I had not crossed the corridor when it flew open again, and this time it was shut with a loud bang.

Surprised, I turned to look at Carnistir. Darkly, he smiled.

“Better to leave them to it.”

His untended hair fell in stranded locks upon his forehead, down to the undone collar of his tunic. I smiled back.

“Better, yes.”

Silently, I sat on an upholstered settee, against the opposite wall. Carelessly, he settled on the floor, by its side. I could not help myself at the sight of his lanky body folded in that strange position, his left leg abandoned on the marble tiles, his right knee bent. I smiled again.

“I could make room for you.”

“I’m comfortable like this.”

Silence fell. Birds chirped outside, on the branches of the trees in Nolofinwë’s garden, but subduedly. A strange, milky light flooded the skies. From behind the closed door no sound came, no sound but a quiet murmur, like the Sea dying quietly upon the shore, some distance ahead. The voices were low, controlled. Another moment. Then, suddenly, Carnistir laughed. His was a curious laughter, utterly different from the contagious, tolling note that had once belonged to Maitimo; his was a throaty sound, almost muffled.

“I told him,” the words came breathlessly, the way a child would speak, telling what he deems to be a very good joke, “I told him, five years ago, that the Enemy would not be so kind as to kill him. That he would want his amusement, that he would have liked to play. But Canafinwë could not take it…he would only see the easier road. Mourning instead of fighting. Very much like him. Without Maitimo he is lost. But that is just the odd man out speaking.” Again, bitterly, he laughed.

I regarded him, curiousity and surprise in my glance. Among the sons of Fëanáro, truly he was the lonelier; but somehow I had always thought it a natural condition to him, part of him as much as his scorching humour, his sincerity bordering on brutality. Carnistir walked alone. I had never considered it could weigh upon him. Truly we only see what we expect to find.

Quietly, I replied.

“He was not alone in taking that road.”

Silently he considered me for a long moment, his eyes dark coals. I saw then something I had not noticed before: that although Curufinwë resembled his father the most, it was Carnistir that had inherited Fëanáro’s burning eyes. They made me uneasy, torches from another, darker world. Heralds of an unkind fate. I looked away, fearing his scorn, and calling myself childish for this. But when he spoke again, he was not laughing.

“It was understandable. And after all, even I, who had guessed the truth, what did I do? I waited; waited for others to tell me I was right. Well, no one did it. No one will now. I should have done myself what Findekáno did; and I should have done it long ago.”

Our regret filled the air, twin remorse unspoken. The birds had flown away, a soft rustling of wings as the wind rose.

“The most one can do is try to mend what they once did wrong.”

A low chuckle came from him.

“Very wise, my dame Silmë. Shall I then finally call you sister?”

His eyes rose to met mine, and I smiled coldly.

“I have many faults. But I was forgiven. I will try to deserve it.”

“Deserve it.” He savoured the words as if they had a bad taste. “Deserve it? What did any of us deserve? You chose your own blood when the betrayal came. He did the same. None is to blame.”

I looked at him, surprised.

“You understand then? I thought…”

“I may be harsh. But blind, I am not. We have trodden paths where every choice was wrong. The only thing we could do was try and see where the lesser evil lay.” A bitter grimace twisted his mouth. “Had we been as brave as we like to call ourselves, such paths we would never have taken.”

I made no reply, but looked at him. In his words, a different world showed itself. One where Fëanáro’s folly had been challenged, and stopped. A different world. One that would never be. Carnistir was right: we could not call ourselves brave. Clouds came into my eyes; and no joy could dispel them. I looked away, and his voice rose, firmer.

“Still, you have found each other, have you? I suppose it is some consolation.” It seemed that he could smile no smile without a sharp edge to it. “As if I knew anything about love.” He rose, suddenly. I turned, and saw what he had seen beyond me, Nolofinwë coming up the corridor with long strides.

I walked to the door, and knocked. A brief silence, before Macalaurë opened it. I did not look at him, but to my betrothed lying upon the bed.

“The lord of the house is coming.”

Strangely, he smiled.

“The old saying was true. You speak of the wolf, and soon his tail shall appear.”

Macalaurë turned to him, his voice thick.

“I deem your proposition hasty. Inconsiderate. It is not a step that it is yours alone to take.”

Maitimo’s eyes hardened, green, solid rock.

“It is my right to accept or relinquish. This decision, at least, you shall leave me.”

Macalaurë flinched. His guilt was a sore that would remain raw for a very long time. Maitimo saw his pain; more kindly, he said: “I know you mean well. But I shall not change my mind.” He looked to me when he added: “If you could leave me for a moment with Silmë, I would be grateful. Our uncle shall be glad to see you.”

For a moment it seemed as Macalaurë would protest once more; but he walked out of the door, head bent, and closed it behind him. My face a puzzled mask, I went to the bed, kneeling by it.

“What is it that concerns Nolofinwë, and Macalaurë does not approve of?”

Maitimo’s hand rose to my face, caressing it lightly. I closed my eyes, feeling at peace. When he spoke, it felt as if he mentioned things that were far away from us, unimportant.

“Would it disappoint you not to become a queen?”

I opened my eyes, the same, irrational fear as before seizing me.

“If I did not wed you, you mean…”

“No. I am asking you if it would disappoint you, were you to become the lady of Maitimo, and not the queen of the Noldorin High King.”

For a moment, I looked at him, without understanding. Then I saw it, as one guesses a mosaic when the tesserae are all laid out.

“You intend to relinquish the crown to your uncle.”

“Yes.”

Matter-of-fact was his voice, without uncertainty. The voice of a king, even in the wisdom of the words it uttered next.

“As long as they feel bound to our House by duty, the Noldor shall not unite again. In the face of this Enemy we can afford no division.” Almost lightly, he smiled. “It seems fitting that at last this title should go to him.” He turned to me, his eyes dark and clear at the same time. “Already there are too many dooms lain upon my head. A crown would be just one too many.”

A strange warmth flooded me, and unthinkingly, as long before I would have done, I leant over him, my mouth meeting his. His hand cupped my head, his teeth grazing my lower lip. Frail, he still was, and soon we detached. But a new strength and an ancient pain were written in his eyes when he looked at me.

“Time to rest, and heal. Others can call themselves kings. I shall have to learn again how to live, and fight.” His voice lowered, his fingertips traced the contours of my cheeks. “And love.”

A brief glance between us. And no uncertainty would I feel again. I rose.

“Time to go upon the stage then. Shall I call the king-to-be?”

“Do. But hurry. My milk and honey waits for me.”

A grimace, the ghost of a laughter in his throat. Past pain, beyond sorrow. To healing.

I went to the door.

***

Many have spoken of the noble dialogue of Nolofinwe, son of Finwë, and of Nelyafinwë his nephew, as he relinquished to his father’s brother the crown and kingship above the Noldorin Elves. Many have sung of the nobility of their words, and of the wisdom of their choices. Many have done it before; and I have no reason to echo them.

Truly, I was there; and to the words of the bards I shall add only this: that in Maitimo’s green eyes shone the gold of a pain that could not be forgotten, and the steel of a path he would forge anew. And that in a corner of the room Carnistir, his brother, looked upon the scene without a word, upon his lips his crooked smile.

Chapter 21: Healing

Sorry for the late update - sailing boats in the Aegean are no place to update a fic, especially when five minutes' spells in internet cafés are all the time you get with a computer (and Greek keyboards are the devil's own work. :P)) Without further ado, here goes the new chapter...fortunately, Tolkien tells us Elves heal fast. Hope you enjoy. :)

Read Chapter 21: Healing

Chapter 21

Healing

"Perhaps it's still too early for such a step."

Artanis shifted Maitimo's weight from her shoulder, letting his body rest again on the edge of the bed. Twenty days had passed since his arrival – twenty days, and now his bones were almost healed, in the quick way Eldarin limbs would. But he was yet weak, his feet uncertain on the floor. Impatiently, he smiled.

"Too late, you might say. Bear with me, cousin. I promise I shall be back on my own legs soon."

Artanis looked away quickly, on her lips a taut smile. No apologies could be offered for what had come to pass; the only bridge between them could be the retrieval of the strange, lopsided esteem that had once existed. It was a bridge Maitimo built with his every word, in his voice a shade of the teasing easiness that had once filled it; and Artanis accepted it but guardedly, at the bottom of her eyes the shadow that now never left them.

But she nodded. She could imagine the restlessness, the anguish of one forced to stay in bed.

"Take his other arm, Silmë. Let us try again."

I let my right arm slip around his chest, my hand pulling his left arm around my neck. Beneath the fingers I felt the new flesh that had begun once more to cover his bones, the ribs now again elastic, almost healed. Turning he smiled to me, apologetic. Then he looked away. He could not bear the thought of weighing thus on others.

"Together now."

The familiar brusqueness in Artanis' voice. Together we hove, dragging him up. His long body hunched, for we were shorter than him, his feet struggling to find a hold on the polished pavement. This time, his knees seemed to sustain him.

"As for the first part, we are here. Now try and move a step."

A moment of hesitation. I did not look at him, only at his still lean thigh beneath the edge of the short tunic he wore, at the way the muscles contracted, trying to remember a long since forgotten action. For a moment it seemed they would succeed; then his knees buckled, and only our support kept Maitimo from falling. His fingers dug into my neck as he strove to right himself. Under his breath, he swore.

There was a moment of silence before Artanis' voice, flat and merciless, came.

"Again."

I closed my eyes.

She had warned us. Once the fever had gone, once the bones had been reset, and the wounds closed, the convalescence in bed would have been comparatively easy. A long wait for his body to mend itself, recuperate some of his strength. Until the moment would come to rise, and stride again into this life. Striding. At this moment, the most unconquerable of goals.

Maitimo said nothing. Just nodded, bracing himself for another try. The minutes slipped by, as his feet did before they eventually gained a foothold. His arm was heavy across my shoulders, his body leant against me. Stronger, yes. But not strong enough.

Those twenty days had been a land that had belonged to us alone. We found each other, reconciled to each other in the small gestures with which I attended to him, in the smiles with which he accepted them. In the knot our bodies entwined at night, when I carefully lay down beside him. Our kisses grew more daring as his conditions improved, his caresses heavier and warmer upon my back. Desire reborn in him as he bit my neck playfully, his left hand playing in my hair; until, out of ancient habit, his right arm would rise, as if his right hand could still join it.

Then he would remember; and he lay still as I covered his scarred skin with the light caress of my lips, erasing pain, erasing uncertainty. My voice a continuous, broken spell. It doesn't matter. It was easy to say. Harder to believe.

His brothers would come to visit him, without order, as fancy struck them. Macalaurë came most often – then I left them alone, withdrawing to the garden with a book, or embroidery. They had been close friends once; now their friendship they mended, careful stitches drawn over absence, betrayal, guilt. Day by day, Macalaurë would walk straighter, slowly regaining, with his brother's love, affection for himself. It was hope that it was sweet to watch as it grew; but from a distance. I respected his shame, did not intrude upon it.

Tyelkormo and Curufinwë came together, and only once. Embarrassment on the face of the first; the usual, careless arrogance on the features of the other. They dared ask what even I would not frame in words: how it had been. Maitimo had smiled a taut smile, offered no reply. No account of his pain I shall leave here; and perhaps to me alone, and to Findekáno, he said something of what had come to pass. A core of steel would those years be in his marred spirit; but a hidden one.

The twins came always with Carnistir. They would arrive, three horses without an escort, riding in without sounding of horns. Carnistir made no mystery of the dislike he still, as ever, nourished towards the house of Nolofinwë; coming like one who does not love what he is doing, but must. I remained in the room as he talked with Maitimo, their conversation easy, practical matters discussed with almost brutal realism. Carnistir treated his brother's convalescence like a common nuisance: something to wait out in impatient expectation of other things. He may no longer be king; he was still the head of the House of Fëanáro. As such, his responsibilities had not waned.

Their younger brothers sat in a corner in silence as they discussed, on them the silence that I had learnt to know. They seldom spoke. Time and pain had made their features sharper, their likeness even more accentuated, like statues carved in the same rock. They were adults now; and yet a boyishness remained to their faces, a quality of unconscious innocence that was disturbing more than tender. Like children, they seemed to retain a complete lack of knowledge of the distinction of good and evil.

They would only go near the bed when, exhausted all conversation, Carnistir would rise, proposing to me a stroll in the garden. We closed the door behind us, leaving them in that strange limbo, a room where time did not pass, a sheltered place in the tumult of the world; and then I saw the twins eagerly leaning forward, and a smile painted on Maitimo's lips. The youngest of the Fëanárions lived enclosed in a world whose laws they alone knew: a world which Carnistir respected, and which Maitimo's affection alone could penetrate.

As for Morifinwë, the Dark as his father had seen fit to call him, in that odd twist of time where we all lived, a misshapen sympathy flourished between us; a strange understanding, born of the lack of judgment that now came to colour our mutual words. He no longer scoffed at me. I did no longer wonder at him. Together, we waited; for our lord to heal, and our lives, that the flaming strength of a Balrog had once left stranded in an unknown land, to take again their rightful shape.

On such a road, the uncertain steps now Maitimo moved were but the first.

"Again."

His fingers tightened upon my skin. I put all my strength in keeping him upright.

The afternoon unraveled itself slowly, every inch of floor trodden a new, small victory in the face of pain, recovery a path shrouded in mists that an hesitatant wind was beginning to lift. We had reached the upholstered stool against the opposite wall; and here, carefully, Artanis laid him down to sit.

"Not a small progress, for the first day. Tomorrow we shall try again."

Beyond her shoulders, the sunset painted the glass panels of the window red. Maitimo looked at her, on his lips a struggling smile.

"I thank you. You are very patient."

She shrugged, briskness a sharp quality to her words.

"I only do what I must. Now rest." She turned, as if to go, lingering only one moment on the threshold. "Silmë, before you come down to dinner, I would like to see you in the garden."

I nodded, and she left, closing the door behind her with a dull sound.

Maitimo met my eyes, a shade of tired triumph in them.

"A good six foot I walked through this room. Indeed, soon I shall be measuring Middle-earth with my steps."

"Do not belittle what you have accomplished. Every long voyage …"

"…begins with the smallest trait. Yes, I know the old adage of the wandering Elves. And yet this is a journey I would like to have already left behind."

He sighed. I knelt by his knee, my fingers tracing swirls and paths upon the back of his left hand. He lowered his eyes on me, and without looking up to him I knew he was smiling.

"Temptress. Your touch evokes desires my broken body is not yet ready to follow with deeds."

Lowering my lashes, I pretended innocence.

"Why, my lord, I cannot imagine what I could possibly be doing to deserve such a censure."

My fingertips climbed the angular curve of his arm, sliding on the linen of his tunic; finding its unbuttoned collar, and loosening it. A shiver ran through his skin as I found the hollow at the base of his throat. He leant forward, as much as his still aching ribs would allow; and my lips met his, a lingering touch as my right arm encircled his waist.

It was but unwillingly that we detached.

"One day, Silmë, I shall give you back this sweet torment moment by moment."

"I shall wait for it."

Our eyes met briefly, the ancient, playful challenge back in them. Healing was a tide that every day brought back small nuggets of a happier past; just like its winds revealed clearly that some things could never be found again. But living this stolen moments was a gentle life, a sheltered repose ere the harshness of the world claimed us back.

His fingers twined among my hair, and I listened to the subdued music of his breath as he lay back against the wall, in the air the expectation of the words he was framing. When they came, they did not surprise me.

"I have spoken with my uncle today."

"Yes. I habe seen him."

Nolofinwë had walked quickly, like one relieved of a great burden, as he walked away from his nephew's chamber. He had met me as I came, a light nod all his greeting, as if his mind were taken in the mesh of glad thoughts he would not relinquish. Now I looked up to my betrothed, waiting for him to speak.

"We have agreed that it would be unwise for the House of Fëanáro and the House of Nolofinwë to dwell this close. Mithrim is not a vast land; truly, one might say, a land far too small for the animosity that is contained in it."

"I thought your relinquishing the crown had soothed many a spirit."

"Many; but not all. If the princes of the Noldor fill their mouths with praise, the rank and file of my uncle's warriors still looks askance at those across the lake. And them I could not blame, even if I would."

"Surely time could help?"

"Time." He laughed, his new bitterness tainting his words. "Time is a powerful word, but one that has no meaning for those who mourn forever."

He looked at me, as if hoping I could deny his words. But he was right; and to his glance I could return nothing, but a small nod.

"No, this new world we have claimed is far too great, far too complex for us to waste time brooding upon each other's faults." He spoke with the strength, the assurance of one who has long thought, and now has come to a long-sought conclusion. "Our only path is to leave this place."

He looked at me now, waiting for the words I would speak. Thus Maitimo had taken his counsels of late: debating them only with himself, and only after they had become sharp and defined revealing their pattern, and his decision. The torment of his thralldom had cleared his mind of superfluous scruples, it had filled his resolve with the burn of its steel.

"I see the trail of your thoughts, and undoubtedly you are right. But where were you thinking of leading us?"

The last word I chose carefully, letting it slip off my tongue with false carelessness. My lot was now truly and irrevocably cast. I did not look at him, but felt his eyes upon the nape of my neck.

"In the North," he said slowly, "To the marches surrounding the plains of Ard-galen. The Enemy must be closely watched, and for such a duty the House of Fëanáro has the strength and the hatred. I would not entrust such a watch to anyone else."

"The North…" I rose, looking out the window. The sunset faded gently as night approached, like a rich fabric that is folded in a canvas of opaque black. "The mountains and the hills. Have you already chosen a place for your abode?"

"Carnistir has long scouted those lands. He tells me of a solitary hill, Himring it is called, that would be fit place whence to guard the lands. For himself he would choose to dwell near another lake. They are cold lands, and shrouded in dark forests. But my brothers are not easily swayed by difficult places, and it is time that they had their own lordship."

"Himring," I repeated the name, harsh consonants, narrow vocals in my mouth. " 'The Ever Cold'." I turned, smiling. "It is fortunate that I shall have somebody with whom to share my sleep for warmth."

"Silmë."

The resigned scolding in his voice. His hand offered to me, like a soothing gift,

"I would not make such a dreary place your house as a bride. I would rather you still dwelt with your cousins, until this menace has passed."

He must see the hard line in which my jaw was set, he must see the refusal in my eyes.

"I would not be for long. The war – "

"The war. I have seen the war the Elves are leading, I have seen the skirmishes they call battles. And I see that they are but small things, things not fit to bring a swift triumph, but rather bitterness distilled and hidden in many meaningless glories."

"You speak the truth. And such a war I shall not lead, but instead strive for our lot to be cast in one place and time. But such work is grim, and dark. I am broken yet, and already my mind must turn to new bloodshed. It is not a destiny I would share with you; it is not an evil that I would see tainting you. No flowers shall grow in Himring, no flowers but those which wreath the tombs of the fallen. I would rather think you here, waiting for me. I would rather you did not see this new stain upon my spirit." He laughed, a mirthless sound, like rock that is broken by many strokes. "A worry to be laughed at, for one whose soul is already black."

I turned to him then, the harshness now written, a deep scar, on his beloved face. His eyes were empty; or perhaps full of something I could not yet read. I did not return to him, but stood by the window, my voice made of stone.

"I wish you would trust me to take the burden of this decision. You talk of a grim fate; but such a fate we all took upon ourselves when we left Aman with massacre and shame, and no other destiny can be wrought for the Noldor in Middle-earth. You speak of a taint from which you would preserve me; and I shall tell you then that you cannot defend me from something which has already touched me. None of us can escape the weight of this war; whether we dwell on blood-stained, warmthless Himring or on the shores of Mithrim made gentle by newborn flowers."

He looked at me then, and it was as if he saw me for the first time.

"I thought that I alone had changed, in this long time that has kept us apart. But now I see that your spirit has hardened, even if differently than mine has."

"I know now what it is to lose. And I have learnt which price I would pay to avoid it."

I went to him then, kneeling by his side to look him in the eye, taking his hand in mine.

"You do not force me upon this path; I choose it for myself. It is my right, and my own fault."

"I doubt not your strength of will, but rather fear for what you may be forced to witness. It is not the war alone that I dread. The Oath shall not sleep forever." For a long moment he looked at me, for a long moment memories of Alqualondë, of Helcaraxë vibrated in the air, making it chilly. "The tribute of blood has not been paid in full, and Nàmo's Doom is far from being fulfilled. If you were wed to me ere these things showed themselves in their naked sorrow, then no other choice would you have but feel in your spirit the wounds that mine shall receive, even if you would avoid it. And I would not bind you with such a chain."

His love that would shield me even from myself. But it was too late now, and even if it had not been, I would not have looked back. And now I saw with clarity the only way in which his doubts would be solved, in which we could be together past his guilt and his worry. When I spoke, my voice was low, but uncracked.

"Do not bind me, then. Here I renew my promise to you; and here to it I add a clause. That we shall be joined in marriage only when this peril has passed, and this world has become one where our spirits be united in joy to spark new life. Until then I shall follow you, your betrothed in the face of the Elves, and bound to you by my own free choice, by my own uncoerced will. For I would not have you believe that my love to you is to me a duty that I must fulfill."

When my voice died his eyes met mine, seeing in them, finally, a promise I would not take back. A promise no power in Arda would break. The last of the dreams we had brought from Aman had withered. Now what bound us was a bond we had forged in blood and fire, and one infinitely different, infinitely stronger than the one we had once woven in graceful words, many years before in the Light of the Trees. Through all that had come, we had changed. But we had not lost ourselves, nor the fiery trace that our love had been.

When eventually he answered me, his words were made of the same steel.

"Your promise I accept. Even as I promise to you that what is in my power to be worthy of such a pledge I shall do; and that my spirit belongs to you until the breaking of this Earth. And beyond."

Immortality echoes in the promises the Elves make. But this we already knew. And no other words were needed in the darkness that eventually fell in the chamber unlit by any lamps; the future a seal impressed with unknown colours upon the final choice that spelt its rules on the touch of his lips on mine.

***

When I reached the garden Artanis sat alone by the fountain, her fingertips skimming the water, a light touch she embroidered on its mirroring surface. Her hair fell unbound from her careless braid, its long waves opalescent in the azure light of the candles lit in alabaster bowls. At the sound of my approaching steps she looked sideways, her head tilted, an animal listening for what the night may have brought.

I sat down on the grass by her, embracing my knees, my chin resting upon them. She paused a long moment before speaking, as if tasting the air, the unspoken things suspended among us.

"A decision was taken."

"Yes."

"You shall not abandon him again, that much was always clear."

"Truly it is so. But I shall not be wed to him. Not yet."

"A wise decision."

In the darkness, I smiled.

"Can you really hope for me to go back on my choices?"

In the darkness, quietly, she laughed.

"Truly, no. But fate has ways of surprising us."

I turned to her, guessing her face, pearly in the halflight.

"Such platitudes you utter this evening, Artanis. You surprise me."

"I surprise myself." Silently she slipped down from the fountain, kneeling by me. "He shall heal fast, even if he cannot yet believe it himself. Today he showed strength."

"Yes. But also a will darker than I had hoped for."

"Still you shall stand by him."

"It ceased to be a choice long ago."

Artanis snorted, like a horse when it is impatient.

"Now who it is that utters platitudes?" For a long moment she was silent, before saying: "Today a message came for me from Doriath. Queen Melian invites me to dwell with her."

Elu Thingol had founded in Middle-earth the only kingdom we could recognize as such with his Maiarin queen; a spirit of great power, and akin to Artanis. Such an invitation was easy to foresee.

"You should go. Soon I shall leave for the North."

Detached my words, the acknowledgement of the place where, after years so long and brief, our roads parted. But while we did not look at each other our hands met, grasping each other with strength.

"Yes, I shall. On the day the Fëanárions shall depart, I will go my way."

Still without looking at each other, for a long time we lingered in the shadow of the garden, our hands locked.

***

The afternoon unraveled its warmth like a ring of gold through the skies, a path of hot wind tracing its way among the scattered clouds on our last day in Mithrim. The grass had grown tall on the edge of the lake – a soft carpet beneath our feet as we reached the flat rock where once Artanis had sat, her voice full of darkness, and hatred. But now her eyes were intent, fixed upon Maitimo's long legs, that cut a path through the lawn without hesitation. Her hand hovered at his elbow, ready to grasp him should he fall; but it was with a measure of elegance that he finished his stroll, eventually sitting down on the rock.

He said nothing, but looked up to her, the trace of a satisfied smile on his lips. She looked at me – exasperation in her own irises, and for a moment, as the Sun painted gilded tales upon the ground, it could have been a happy moment in Aman, many lifetimes before. But then our eyes turned again to Maitimo, to the smooth, rounded end that his stump had become as it healed; and the weight of Middle-earth fell again, and fully, upon our shoulders.

Still, Artanis nodded, and when she spoke her voice was assured.

"You are as well as I can make you, Nelyafinwë. Your convalescence is over."

"I feel as if but the easiest part lay behind me, cousin; but for what you have done, I thank you."

She bent her neck briefly, acknowledging his thanks but curtly. Another twenty days of exercise had restored to Maitimo the faculty of walking; and if he had lingered in Mithrim, loath of compromising his healing by unnecessary moves, from the stool where he had insisted on sitting every morning as soon as he woke he had given clear orders. Across the lake what had been the camp of the Fëanárions was but an empty palisade; and at dawn we would ride forth to lead them on their march North. In my room the remains of five years of life waiting without hope for this moment had been already packed.

"Where you walk, soon you shall run. And where you write, perhaps one day you shall fight again."

No worry had ever blunted the cutting touch of Artanis' truths; and without regard she looked to Maitimo, penetrating his unspoken worry with the ice of her eyes. He held her glare; his smile now disappeared.

"You always saw farther than common Elven eyes could, Nerwen; and your words give me hope. I would thank you for this, too; but there is a bitterness in your voice that tells me that you are not pleased of what of my future you can guess."

I looked away then; knowing my cousin and friend too well not to imagine what she would say now.

"Your words and your deeds shall always have two edges, son of Fëanáro; and so shall your sword do, when again you shall be able to brandish it. One day its cut may sever again what ties this time you have spent here may have mended."

Clouds gathered in his eyes; and stepping forward I sought to dispel them.

"But still that day must be far, and never the future was clear, even to those whom, like Artanis, could fathom a measure of its depth. Let this last day be devoted to friendship, and healing."

Heavy was the blanket of the words that had been pronounced, like a veil dulling the light of the Sun; but Artanis straightened at my plead, and only then I saw that her shoulders were bent as she spoke, as if she were herself weighed down by what of the future she could guess. She took a brisk step towards the lake, turning her back on us; and Maitimo took my hand, his touch offering me a consolation he could not himself feel.

And in my mind I looked for words that could bring again light to that forsaken moment, a moment marred by dread and regret, and by the bitterness of the farewells that we would have to utter. But then a light pace, a gentle swishing among the grass broke the silence where only the slow coming of the small waves could be heard, and a voice called to us in greeting.

"Artanis, Silmë. Maitimo."

As one we turned to see Findekáno coming to us across the grass.

Since the night when I had guessed, as if in a dream, his shape across the threshold, I had not seen him again, for he had fled my presence; and sometimes Maitimo would tell me that he had come to see him, in hours when he knew me to be elsewhere, whiling away time with Artanis in the peace of Nolofinwë's gardens. Such an absence had hurt me like an undeserved scorn; and secretly I had asked myself whether again his reasonless grudge had been awakened from its sleep.

Nothing I had said of it, for it would seem ungrateful to lament such a thing, when the one I loved the most had been given back to me beyond all hope. But still, when sleep was late in coming to me, I would lie looking at the ceiling where shadows played, and ask myself how it could be that my friend I lost every time my love was with me. And Artanis' words, words from another life, came to taunt me; and the suspect that had come to me that night in the stables would make itself known once more.

Until my spirit would grow tired of such a sterile hunt, of such a pursuit for pain; and closing my eyes I would listen to Maitimo's heart beat, and joy would fill me slowly, singing me to sleep, with the slow rhythm of his breath.

But now all doubts were erased, and a glad confusion took hold of me as Findekáno strode through the tall grass, on his lips the blossom of the smile that had once lit his eyes, when our days sparkled of continuous joys.

"Your last day. Mithrim shall soon be a different and a drearier place."

"It would have been a day I would not have seen, had it not been for you, my friend."

Findekáno took Maitimo's hand, and came to his side as instinctively I drew away. For too radiant was their friendship, and in my confusion at my cousin I would not stand there. But Fino turned to me, and if in his glance I could not find again the brotherly love that had once lit them, still his eyes were full of a subdued affection, the gentle caring that he had shown on the shores of Aman long before.

"Silmë. I wish you every happiness for your life in Himring. And may your wait be short."

Common words; but he uttered them as if in his eyes they acquired new and deeper meanings. And I nodded my acknowledgement; any word of thanks dying upon my lips.

Artanis let her hand slip under my arm, and gentle came her voice when she said: "Come. Let us take this moment for friendship; ours, and theirs."

Away we walked by the edge of the lake, until we stopped by an upturned trunk; and here Artanis sat, looking into the distance. I turned: and by the rock Findekáno and Maitimo were conversing easily, laughter coming between them, however subdued. And I turned to my friend; my doubt and my confusion tearing at me, but this last hour was precious, and soon all thought of Fino had vanished from my mind.

For years longer than grief or joy Artanis and I had dwelt together, our secrets, our thoughts shared in the darkness before sleep, our friendship growing beyond sisterhood and kin, the only bond I could not betray, the only one that could have called me back when Fëanáro had forsaken us. Now another allegiance, another path brought me away; as she pursued a different life, a deeper knowledge with a queen of many secrets. No distance could sever our tie; but even a small distance would have been painful.

"One would have said we had grown long ago, and that our childhood is but a dream. But, Artanis, cousin and friend, truly I feel the last shred of my innocence shall leave me when I will be parted from you."

A thin smile spread upon her lips.

"Innocence. It was a sweet word to utter, when we still had a right to it."

Silence fell, for no words could fill the emptiness that would take our place tomorrow. New paths to forge; and on our own.

"I suppose it would be childish to ask you to write."

"Yes, it would. Already I know I shall borrow Tyelkormo's birds."

"You will be a nuisance of a sister-in-law."

"No worse that you would be. And not a sister-in-law, just yet."

She turned to me, and on her face was the light of the remembrance of better times, and the equal light of regret.

"Sometimes I have asked myself if something would have changed, had I not brought you to breakfast in that garden in Tirion, such a long time ago."

I strove to keep my smile; and failed.

"Must your thoughts always stray on such dark paths?"

"Dark you only call the paths you do not like; but if you would let my words come to their just conclusion, I would tell you that always, when I ask such a question, I answer myself that it would not have mattered. Our fates are decreed; and perhaps, if something had changed, to this day we would have come by other, even grimmer ways." She closed her eyes; as if savouring a bitter truth. "And then I tell myself that all of our light is but a drop of gladness we pay back with darkness and pain." Her eyelids lifted; and she turned to me, her face luminous. "But these are truths guessed as if through an opaque glass; and I cannot vouch for them."

"I have long since learnt to trust your truths; even the most opaque." I took her hand, and my voice was now urgent. "What do you see?"

Briefly, again her eyes were veiled; but a small smile was upon her lips. "I shall not lose you, however far. You shall not leave Maitimo, however high the price. And I shall find for myself peace; even if I do not yet know how, and already I can guess that it shall be of short duration." Her smile waned; but assured were her words. "Still, it is not a small thing to see. Much worse things I can guess; but to them, at least for a time, I can still close my eyes."

She looked at me then, a proud defiance in her eyes; and her face was terrible and frail, and her strength was a light that encompassed and surpassed the great beauty of her lineaments. I loved her then: sister, and friend, and conscience and counsel I would not deny, and mistrust I would yet win back.

Words rushed to my lips; words drowning each other as I knew the only thing that would tell them all. And I embraced her then; Artanis who seldom allowed such close contact. She embraced me back, the locking of our arms that told all that friends shall say when they part. That told all that we would not utter; for we were proud, and loath to pronounce a platitude.

When we detached, clouds had covered the Sun; a gray afternoon lay now on the grass, like a forgotten veil. And in silence we made our way back.

***

The morning that came out of a sleepless night was a cold farewell, a frosty bite on our cheeks as we mounted our horses in the courtyard. Mists shrouded the lake; mists enveloped the hoofs of Carnistir's horse, that waited for us outside the doors. Mists clung to the cloaks of Thingol's envoys that had come to escort Artanis away.

Mists; chilling tears ere they could be shed. Taking our minds to other things, filling with the simple desire of warmth the longing for those we left behind.

Mists: hiding my eyes as I looked to Artanis one last time, making softer her last, brisk nod, for all words had already been said.

Mists that could not dull out the coppery gold of Maitimo's hair; nor deafen my ears to the low call in his voice, as he pronounced my name. His only word as we lingered ere we came away. For in those mists he left behind his pain; and in those mists he sought to forge his new path.

Upon the threshold of his house Nolofinwë watched us go. And by his side his firstborn looked to us, a wordless farewell clad in sorrow upon his lips.

Chapter 22: Himring

Read Chapter 22: Himring

Chapter 22

Himring

The horses snorted, their breath turned to fog by the cold air. It hung in tattered clouds over the frozen earth, a broken caress over the dark moss. The hilltop rose aloof from the surrounding forest, black trees ranged in tight ranks at its feet, the siege of darkness under the cover of a pale sky. Nothing grew where we had come to stand; the last bushes deserted the fragmented track lower down the side, leaving the top bald and naked beneath a light cloak of dying moss. All here lived; and yet all here looked dead, in the inscrutable silence of the place that no flight of bird, no twig snapped by prowling beast could break. Nervously Maitimo's black rapped the stone with its hoof, unspoken fear as it shook the bridle an esquire held. My betrothed did not turn; crouching on the earth, his fingers feeling lightly, as if in a gentle stroke, the surface of Himring that he would make our abode. A harsh place: a place where to atone.

I had not looked around, for my mind could guess what my eyes would see: the black sea of a dark wood, obscurity spilt over leaf and trunk, the land invisible beneath a canopy of cutting forest that had never let the Sun touch it. And no mist hung in the clear air, air cut into glass and diamond, where no light sparkled, and all was dim. Subdued colours in a silent fan of dark green and black. Past the hills, like broken teeth hemming in the tide of the wood, the plain of Ard-Galen was a grassy mantle made flat by distance and cold, water caught by a sudden frost, an opaque mirror for an unseeing sky.

Slowly, Maitimo rose; careful movements of one who is not yet sure of whether his body shall obey him or not. But when he turned to me, he was smiling; a sad smile, and a proud one. There was no bitterness in his countenance, no bitterness on his face where the scars of his pain were now but thin lines, mementoes of a time scorched into his memory. But now strangely far, even as Thangorodrim's peaks hung on the horizon, a darker line over its blended cut.

"Here we could stand. And fight."

A smile that mirrored his own took shape on my lips, and my skin tickled, cold tingling with the remembrance of other frosts. But I chased it away, my eyes lost in Maitimo's as he drew close, the warm print of his hand on my waist all I needed to free myself from the memory of Helcaraxë like a dark shape emerging from deep water. As Elenwë's last sight, printed behind my eyelids for the long eras of this world. Not alone was Maitimo in carrying a burden he could not share; but now, as he leant over me, his lips brushing my hair, I closed my eyes, and for a short moment pretended I could forget.

His voice, when it came, was subdued, almost chastised for his sad joy.

"And yet still my proposition stands. I would not hinder you if you would go back to Mithrim."

Secretly, I smiled; but they eyes that I raised to meet him were hard.

"Enough. My decision, I told you, was made. Or must I believe you would rather live an hermit's life in these sad regions?"

He made no answer; his hand rising, lightly, to trace the contours of my jaw. His eyes were too deep and thick with things unsaid, shadows and secret lights behind their mirrors. I looked away; feeling my own prickling with tears I would not shed. Wordlessly, he embraced me, and the threshold we had stood upon was crossed. A new life, and a cursed one. But together.

When we detached we saw that discreetly the esquire had withdrawn down the path, and retrieving the horses we descended slowly. Noldorin architects and engineers would now climb the rutted tracks, they would measure and sound the place their lord had chosen. No more a silent hill; and for this, for the breaking of the leaden cover that hung above us, for the song of hammer and nail, I was grateful.

Carnistir and Macalaurë awaited us at the foot of the hill; the first his arms crossed, kicked away the stone on which he had been leaning and came to us.

"Then?"

"We stay."

He assented distractedly, looking away. Past the bulky dome of the hill, past the wood, lay the land he had chosen for himself, and that now only small squads patrolled.

"Our brothers sent messengers. Curvo and Tyelkormo have remained past that hillrange. The twins have preferred to go into the woods, further South. They are trusting their defenses to the trees."

Maitimo looked at him, eyes of elder brother who knows those of his own blood.

"I would not blame you if you would proceed yourself to the lake. We are strong here. We can resist, even without your spears."

Carnistir laughed; the dark sound I had learnt to recognize.

"As always our brothers are impatient fools; and they haven't gone far from the protection you can offer. The small ones are bent on learning the stealth of savage wars; but as for me, I have waited long enough for my own lordship not to want to rush it now. Build your stronghold, Russandol. For my own, the time will come." He spat on the ground, turning as if to go. But at the last moment, as if an afterthought, he said: "One day we may well need a place where to hole."

It sounded like a prophecy; and many had said that it had come from Mìriel Therindë, the Weaver, the far-seeing blood of Artanis and Findaráto; and that the Fëanárions, or at least some of them, may well partake of it. And for a long moment a deeper silence lingered above us, as Carnistir strode away briskly, his steps thudding over the frozen ground.

Slowly, my betrothed turned to Macalaurë.

"What of you, brother?"

The other shrugged.

"Carnistir is right: we need a strong place. The gap cannot be manned in safety unless we have a covered retreat. I shall wait."

"My brothers, my love, and my land. One would say the One is smiling."

Maitimo clasped his brother's hand; but there was in their words' that moment's hesitation, the dark conscience that, never, here, the fates would smile. We celebrated the birth of a warring base; and that this was all we would celebrate now was a print of the times in which we lived. But when Maitimo turned to me, letting his hand slip into mine, on my face he could read nothing but content.

And in sincerity it was born into my heart as he walked with me around the base of the hill, describing with words what now was but flat design on parchment. For I could see his eyes sparkled as the counsels of his mind took form and shape; and a fortress I could see rising from the naked earth, defying an empty sky. We sat on a flat rock, the camp hidden behind the hill; and here for a long moment we lingered in silence, before us the forest a blank wall. Until, taking his hand, I gathered a smile, and spoke.

"You said no flowers would grow in Himring; and truly I see that you were right. But I ask you if still you would let me try and make a garden in this stronghold you shall build; so that even in war and coldness we may remember that beauty exists."

"What is it that your mind envisions?"

"Moss, and rocks; and birds, such as could be persuaded to nest there. And perhaps a pond. And ivy, to be trained to the wall. Not rich with colour, perhaps. But beautiful still, and starkly. A beauty to endure."

There was apology in the smile with which I closed my speech, offering all I could give to this enterprise he would make. Knowing that on one thing he had been right: that slaughter would be written in Himring's stones. Knowing that I cared not; and that what my unarmed hands could offer, I would give.

For a long moment Maitimo looked at me; and then, slowly, he leant over me, his forehead touching mine.

"I would be glad if you would tend this place. There I would sit with you, and gaze at the stars."

My voice was husky when I answered; love gripping my throat.

"This warring lord sounds sweet in his words; should his soldiers worry?"

"Never. But his lady should know it is to her that he has left of gentleness goes."

He stroked my cheek, his fingers light. And closing my eyes to darkness and wood and stone and cold, for one moment I believed his hope. That today, at least, the One was smiling.

Like a flower of stone the fortress sprang from the earth, its walls rising like petals opening to a sunless sky. Paths were made in the hillside, mules climbed them bearing the burden of stone, brick, tool. Swiftly, more swiftly than I knew fingers could work hands shaped the towers, the battlements, the merlons; swiftly hands dug trenches, opened portals, forged portcullis. Great portions of the forests were cleared, trees felled to make palisades as advanced defenses, land flattened and emptied to make the hill even more naked, lonely, aloof above the ranges. And the peaks of Thangorodrim looked closer, the sweet plain of Ard-Galen within reach.

Maitimo had forbidden me to enter the keep as it was built, its interiors, he had announced, a surprise to me. And he had smiled mischievously as he did so, the ancient playfulness glittering in his eyes; eyes that watched his ideas coming alive, earth and rock. And he would train his warriors as they maneuvered in the plain, and I would watch him from the walls where I ascended with a letter or a book.

Few women there would be in this household; and most of them healers. I helped them setting the healing house, a nook protected and walled at the donjon's base. I waited for the small courtyard assigned to my garden to be completed; and as the days passed I watched the talent of the Noldor unfurling, their faces now alight with the joy of making. And I understood how in less than a year Fëanáro had made a hunting retreat into the first stronghold of Arda; but none mentioned his name, even if among them many there were who had helped build Formenos that had not protected those within its walls.

Rarely, if ever, did the work cease; day and night the Elves worked, taking turns. And their princes were not above them, and would help with what talent they had inherited. And Himring grew, and took shape, growing as a challenge against Morgoth's strength, its gates a snarling mouth.

One day the stonemasons declared the main court finished; and they retreated to the outer walls. And there, unseen, my betrothed and his brothers met, with swords.

I had seen Maitimo trusting his strength, more and more; I had seen him walking faster, striding among his soldiers. I had seen him practicing writing with his left hand, his letters becoming surer, tengwar unlike those he had once traced, a different inclination to them, but the same will. Now, silent in a corner, the only presence allowed, I watched him take a blade.

There was silence as Carnistir sat by my side, and Macalaurë unsheated his own sword. Maitimo held for a long moment, looking at it, the new blade Curvo had forged for him, for his ancient sword, that Fëanáro had made, had been lost when he had been captured. This new one he wielded, uncertainty in his wrist, and arm; his own mind refusing to recognize such a different, and contrary action. But at last he met his brother's eyes; and he was not smiling.

"Do not spare me."

Without a further word he threw himself at him, sword held high.

For the six years of my exile I had watched countless bouts, sometimes with idle eye that seldom left the page of my book, sometimes with amused interest. For back then, ere the Kinslaying at Alqualondë taught us what ravishes can a sword inflict, fighting was a game to practice within a courtyard; a violent sport for princes with much time on their hands. There was none to fight, nothing to combat for; and any wound was but an accident soon forgotten. And in those far years, when still we told ourselves this most deadly of Fëanáro's creation could exist but to fill long hours, the hidden grace of fencing had been all eyes could detect, ere hatred and despair came to mar it.

Time had passed; the Trees had died. We had been taught despair. And through suffering all grace had been lost.

It was painful to see Maitimo stumble; painful to see his sword fall. Painful to see him circling, his balance off, Macalaurë holding back where the clumsiest of Orcs could have slit his throat. Painful to watch the fury awaken as my betrothed fell on his knees yet another time; and unable to do anything. Painful to hear the hurt grating in his voice as he rose, slowly, and looking at his brother he hissed between clenched teeth: "I had told you not to spare me."

Macalaurë lowered his sword.

"Perhaps it is still too soon."

"Or perhaps too late! What aid it is to make a fortress, where I cannot defend it?"

"We have time. Your warriors could – "

"My warriors shall not be the shield to hide my weakness! What commander could lead them to victory, that could not share their dangers?"

"Maitimo…"

"Do not spare me!"

This time he caught him off guard; his blade almost reaching him in a desperate pass. Until long practice awakened in a swift parry, and Macalaurë sword sliced through fine skin, opening a gushing cut on his brother's left arm. Maitimo's sword fell to the ground, and he clasped his arm. Before I could think I had risen, my spirit throbbing, but wordlessly Carnistir grasped my shoulder, and held me back. His eyes commanded my silence, or my retreat. And I sat by him, then, hurt tearing at me as I watched Maitimo examining his wound, shrugging away its pain. Picking his sword from the ground.

"Again."

But Macalaurë shook his head, taking a step back.

"No. It is too soon. This is insane. You cannot fight – "

"I shall not be made into a crippled dog!"

Beneath a white sky his rage echoed, chords screamed in anguish against impotence, despair. And any joy we had found here was erased; made nil before the possibility of a recovery denied. My ancient, broken spell now proven empty.

It does not matter.

But it did, and all too much. Macalaurë's face was a mask when he sheated his blade.

"No."

Maitimo growled; a wordless sound, anger and grief packed in his rasping throat. But he straightened; and blood oozed thick and dark from his cut, it trickled down upon his sword's hilt. He looked not to his brothers, but to the blind, unseeing wall before him when he called: "Carnistir."

Macalaurë said nothing; in his eyes the plead to see reason. Morifinwë did not stir: but his voice was even when he replied: "Are you sure?"

There was no hesitation as Maitimo turned, and his eyes were hard, glass and steel.

"Yes."

Slowly Carnistir rose, his long body distending, his fingers finding his own sword. Macalaurë opened his mouth, as to speak, but Maitimo turned his back on him, wielding the sword. My heart was empty as Carnistir took position, witnessing now strength found again turning once more to weakness, in this fight whose outcome only the hidden strength of will could decide.

And the last of Maitimo's ghosts unfurled cold wings over his eyes as he repeated, one last time: "Do not spare me."

He did not.

Silence echoed in the empty space where the last of the hammers had fallen silent, it echoed under the angular domes where many pillars met. The door of the keep had been closed behind us, the long shadows we had cast cut abruptly as light disappeared. Now, as Maitimo stood by my side, my eyes adjusted themselves to the dark, open space where I breathed slowly. The brush of his fingertips on my wrist all I needed to feel.

"Surprise."

He did not ask if I liked it. Indeed, he said nothing, nor moved as I took my first, hesitant steps inside the great hall, ample stairs like water falling from the upper floor. Curving; stairs that could be held in one last fight, step by step. But beautiful: their spiral carved into onyx, inlaid with alabaster. The inner core of a shell revealed by a sudden light.

Slowly, the shadows took a more definite shape – there were narrow windows here, like a serpent's eyes where only a few rays of light could penetrate. Truly, a keep. But from their demidarkness there emerged, now, a pattern, of curves intertwining, embracing the starkness of the walls; and I saw the pillars rising from a pavement inlaid with pale, green stones, strong columns, but like trees in their softening, tapering shapes, whose branches of stone met into archways, whose branches spread, like bejeweled fingers, upon the ceiling. No flowers there were; for Maitimo had been true to his word, and the only gardens we could make here would be gardens of stone.

But he had brought inside the forest that sieged our walls, a truce and a wergild for the trees we had cut, their life stolen and raped now made into something to endure for all the ages of Ea. And here I moved, my steps echoing dully, as if I were entering a sacred place, wood once unviolated now renewed, world we had locked outside our castle brought within. I walked; and when I turned still he stood framed by the portal, long scrollwork of sculpted ivy meeting in an acute arch. I went to him; and wordlessly I watched him, his beauty hidden in shadow, his eyes invisible.

"Thank you."

It echoed beneath the arches, deep truth I would not hide; words too simple where words mattered nothing.

"You have not seen all."

"Maitimo..."

"Come with me."

He took my hand: later he would show me the great banquet hall, where roaring lions chased each other in a long frieze, and deep entwining forests hid their famished eyes; later he would show me the library he had had made, stone shelves like trays treelike creatures held in long, leaf-like hands; but now he led me up the shell stairs and down a long corridor, cut by the narrow windows in partitions of pale light. Until a door hidden behind a tapestry, a work I recognized as coming from Aman, and woven, in days far gone, by Mìriel his grandmother. The first, unwitnessed wars of the Valar for the dominion of the world shone darkly, a design of silver and black that concealed a narrow opening. And up other stairs he led me, until a circular landing where two doors opened.

"Here, my lady, shall be your chamber, if you will accept it."

I looked to him; and in eyes was a gentle light, and pride in offering me the work of Noldorin hands. In silence I opened the door; and when I crossed it was as if time had never passed, and never had we left Valinor the blessed.

For on the wall opposite to me, frescoed by fingers that had known its beauty, was a vision of Tirion upon Tùna, the White City of the Noldor as we had last seen it, the Mindon Eldaliéva a forlorn ray in the last night of Aman. The last moment ere the Kinslaying robbed us of what was left of our heart. And at the corner where two walls met there was a high bed, its curtains made of lightest silk; blue, as the blue shore of the Sea painted behind it, a simple landscape of a pebbled beach, and of contorted trees. The setting of a haven long lost, for gentle dreams. Upon the ceiling that covered us, in silver and gold brushstrokes shone the lost light of the Trees, mother of the Silmarils whose curse had brought us thus far; and beneath our feet a mosaic of pale tesserae revealed a design of the skies, the embroidery that the Queen Varda had wrought of diamonds like stars.

My breath was taken away, and when I turned no speech would come to my lips; but gently, a secret smile curving his mouth, my betrothed led me across the threshold, and made me turn. Once shut the door fit seamlessly into the wall, and now turning I saw that this, too, was ornamented by a fresco of exquisite hand; and my throat was closed by thick nostalgia, for there it shone, whiter than pearls or silver, Valmar of my fathers, and its light was the purest shining of the mingling of a time long lost. I turned to Maitimo; and hiding my eyes against his breast let beauty and regret ebb through me, as love suffocated every word inside my mind. He held me long; until, swallowing my heart, I met his eyes again.

"No gift could have been more precious."

"No gift could have been more gladly given. I wish – "

Two fingers to his mouth, imposing silence.

"No more."

Silently he nodded; and his lips disclosed, kissing lightly my fingertips, and I closed my eyes as his hand was warm on the small of my back, and his mouth caressed my hand, my wrist. Until, with a sigh, he detached.

"Perhaps now it is time we let our people in. They will be glad to leave the camp."

Our people. But holding his arm as he turned to go, a light smile on my lips, I stopped him: "Will you not show me your own chamber?"

For a moment he hesitated, as if willing to deny this to me; but at last he nodded, and led me out of my room, a painted world left behind for the coloured halflight of the landing whose window was made of stained glass. He opened for me the door opposite to my own; and standing aside let me pass through. He closed the wing when he had entered, a dull sound. And I turned in confusion to face him; confusion painted upon my face. For his chamber was naked.

No paint, no tapestry hid the starkness of its stone walls, no fresco graced its domed ceiling. No beautiful furniture there was, none of the cushions, none of the settees and small tables scattered throughout my own.

No: a bed of black iron was against a wall, and a chest of dark wood against the other. A large sheepskin rug covered the floor, of unadorned stone. No mosaics here. And turning I saw that where my window, framed by a fresco of the breach in Tirion's hills, opened upon the wood, his own looked out to the gap in the mountainrange and past, to the empty menace of Ard-Galen, its sterile green. And to the challenge of Utumno's perpetual black, suspended above the horizon, a threat unveiled before his eyes. The last thing he would see ere he slept; and the first when morning would come.

I understood why he would not have shown me this.

"Why?"

He looked away; and his words, when they came, were as stark as the walls that surrounded us.

"To remember."

His eyes fell; and his mouth twisted in a bitter grimace.

"As if there were further need."

The imperceptible movement of his maimed arm.

For a long moment I stood still; his pain, his scars that he would shroud from me with lightness and smiles now bared. Listening, in that empty room, to their echo; like a wailing trapped within its cold. A chastisement; and forever so. Reminding himself of the only duty that would remain.

Purposefully, every movement as heavy as if my limbs had been cast in iron, my fingers took his right wrist, they held it against the movement with which he tried to draw back. Purposefully I leant over; until my lips touched the smooth skin, the rounded head of the bone. As I had done long before, on the night of our reunion; telling him that truly it could not matter. Not to me.

When I straightened he was looking at me me, his eyes those of one who searches a depth he has never fathomed before. Seldom had he touched me with his right arm; but now it was with it that he drew me to him, and I felt his strength fully regained, his might restored. Our desire had been restrained in the long nights in which we had lain together, when his body was still a fragile thing, a breakable branch around which I wove myself, as ivy might climb a supple tree. But now all carefulness had disappeared as his lips met mine, impatience in kisses that felt my jaw, my neckline as I shivered, my blood ice and fire as my hands ran along the smooth lines of his back, his flesh hardened by long exertion.

Even Elves shall be clumsy when passion burns them, even Elven feet shall stumble, and Elvish bodies fall heavily, fingers losing all deftness, tearing at laces, fabric now a prison one wishes to escape. Lips finding the hollow at the base of his throat, hands tracing the long contour of thighs between drapes, pleasure a wave that floods muscle and nerve, that reaches its peak ere it can be fulfilled.

Pleasure that tears the mouth, a strangled cry, a strength that fails as the breath catches in the mouth. And all limbs are undone, all purpose unmade; lying without thought, without will, skin trembling. The blood slowing down as desire denied once more takes its fleeting triumph, a broken heaven in the torment of a long wait that now resumes. A tainted pleasure, and a wasted one; without union, without rights. A small victory of bodies that once more have not found each other, kept apart by the impatient bliss that should have united them.

Together we lay, our proposition gambled once more on a razor's edge, our fingers entwined. Maitimo's head rested, cradled against my neck, and with light lips I kissed his damp forehead, the untidy locks of his hair. He had closed his eyes; frail and strong in my arms, against my skin through the loosened folds of my dress.

At peace; for life was delicate then, and yet invincible.