Justice and Death by Gwenniel

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Chapter 2

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On one warmer day the Ambarussa and I decided to go hunting. We rode in the forest, caught some prey, but spent most of the day just relaxing.

Pityafinwë was riding at the front and I was riding beside Telufinwë. “Carnistir,” he said at one point. “I think it is going to be a very cold winter and lots of snow, too,” Telufinwë said. “Just look at the trees.” I looked where he was pointing. The way the trees looked was indeed the way they always did before a snowy winter. The way their bark was frosting, the amount of berries and lots of other details, and the behaviour of the animals in the forests.

“There’s not much snow yet,” I said.

“There will be. Around midwinter I wouldn’t be surprised if it was several feet high,” Telufinwë replied.

Pityafinwë had been listening to our conversation. “That would make it easier to guard ourselves from Orcs. They always keep sinking in,” he said.

“It would,” Telufinwë agreed. “I like the snow, though. It is very nice. We seldom had it in Tirion. Why is that, do you think?” he asked me, turning the subject away from Orcs and war.

“I guess the Valar didn’t like cold,” I shrugged. I hadn’t thought about it, but it was a fact that the Valinorean climate was usually moderate or very warm.

“Yavanna and Vána’s gardens didn’t like it,” Pityafinwë said. “Manwë liked it. Why else would Taniquetil be covered in it?”

“Maybe Ulmo froze water and put it there, and Manwë couldn’t take it away…” I suggested, cracking a joke. Not very funny, I thought, but the twins laughed merrily. “Ulmo forced him to like it?” I went on, now pleased with my wit, although it was probably just a result from lack of rest or something alike. “Maybe Varda likes it so much that Manwë won’t remove it, or she’d leave him.” The twins giggled more, and their laughter was so contagious I soon found myself laughing, too. I hadn’t laughed as much for a long time, I thought later that day.

Pityafinwë suggested that we would prolong our hunting trip and not rest that night, so we kept on riding even after nightfall. He sat on his steed watching at the stars and singing softly to himself.

“Telvo, you’re making yourself known to all the animals that might be here,” Telufinwë, who was currently riding in the front, turned to look at his twin. Pityafinwë ooked down and laughed.

“I thought we had already done hunting,” he said. “Weren’t we just going to enjoy ourselves?”

Telufinwë smiled and turned way.

Pityafinwë gazed at the stars once again. “I like how you can actually see the stars in Middle-Earth. In Valinor they weren’t seen because of the Two Trees and you had to travel to the Sea to see them. I like it when it’s dark, actually. Do you think I’m turning into one of the Moriquendi?” he asked, smiling.

“Hah, if you turn into a Moriquendë I will no longer call you my brother,” I said, and he laughed.

“You know that I know that you are joking, or you wouldn’t have said that, would you?” He was right, of course.

“Did you know that the Edain in fact prefer the Sun to the Moon?” I asked him. “They say they can’t see very well in the dark.”

“Really? That’s… sad and strange. Nasty trick from Ilúvatar’s side… How do you know that, by the way?”

“Haleth told me,” I replied.

I remembered how we had been walking together, discussing matters, and walked even further from the settlement. Then she had stumbled and said it was too dark for her to see her feet. I had looked at her quizzically as she knelt on the ground, brushing off dirt from her clothing. “We were made for Sunlight”, she had said as she looked up at me, “you for the Stars”. I had given her my hand to pull her up and she had grudgingly accepted my aid. “The Stars are like the eyes of your kin”, she had said. “Ever watching us from where we can’t reach them.”

“Haleth,” my brother’s contemplating voice reached me and pulled me away from my thoughts. “It was the mortal you helped?” I nodded.

“When mortals die, do they go to the Halls of Mandos?” Telufinwë asked suddenly.

“I haven’t thought about it, but I guess so…” I said and twitched uncomfortably. In fact I had wondered about it, but that was simply because I usually didn’t like thinking about such things. My subconsciousness had assumed it was self-evident that I would meet them again.

Pityafinwë glanced at me. “Actually, Findaráto said they don’t,” he muttered. “He said they just leave Arda never to come back.” I raised an eyebrow.

“And how would Findaráto know that?” I snapped.

“He has spoken a lot with mortals. They have told him what they think will happen to them and so on,” Pityafinwë shrugged. “Then again, Death is a mystery even for Eldar.”

I gritted my teeth, not angry with my brothers or anything, but rather annoyed by Findaráto. He had always been so liked, so respected, so… adored by every single people that had ever walked the Earth. Somehow the idea of Death being a mystery disturbed me very much. I would have wanted to know. Why couldn’t the Valar have told us? Why couldn’t we just have been told what would happen – it’d be easier to face Death if one knew what one was going to go through.

At night when we were resting, I looked up at the stars, contemplating in the silence of my brothers’ slow breathing. As I watched the constellations I reminisced how I always had been told how Varda had set them to light up Middle-Earth. I then remembered Pityo’s words earlier today about how there were no Stars to be seen in Valinor. But here they were in Beleriand, shining their light even upon the exiled people that my family now was. I thought about this even more and shivered a bit – was Varda keeping an eye on us even in Middle-Earth? I wasn’t sure on whether I should be glad about the Valar guarding us, but somehow I merely felt ill at ease at the thought that Varda followed us everywhere. I turned where I lied and buried my face into the the cloak that was wrapped around me. Then I remembered another thing: the stars were like the eyes of my kin. I felt somewhat more comfortable about those twinkling lights.

“In Valinor there was no Sun or Moon”, I told her as we were walking up the hill. “Did you know that they set out to sail the sky quite recently?” She smiled. “Recently in your years? That is more than a hundred generations, I would guess. I can’t even imagine a world where the world is lit up by two trees,” she sighed and halted, “What happens when you are further away from them or behind a mountain? My people and I, we need light, Lord Carnistir. In darkness, I think I would die.” I stopped, too, as I laughed at her exaggeration. “You wouldn’t. You said it was dark in the forest, but you are still unhurt.” She grinned and looked at me. “It wasn’t that dark… it was lit up by the Eyes of Eldar.”

The following morning we headed back. The air was chilly and the grass was stiff from the frost. It took some hours to get back; our pace was indeed rather slow. When we rode up to the house of Maitimo, we were approached by Tyelkormo. He was smiling slightly, though I didn’t know what made him happy or whether he was happy after all. He walked closer to us and our horses, and when I saw that he was holding a parchment in his hand I immediately knew what it was. Tyelkormo looked at me, grinning. I noticed a scar on his lower lip. “They said they’ll never surrender the Silmaril,” he said to us when all the three of of us had dismounted our horses.

Telufinwë rolled his eyes as he petted the mane of his stallion: “Well, that hardly came as a surprise to anyone,” he snorted, but Tyelkormo went on as if he hadn’t noticed:

“That means we’ll just have to go get it ourselves.”

“And you are excited about this, apparently,” I commented.

“Carnistir, I am not eager about going to Doriath,” Tyelkormo said looking at me, smiling, now with a slightly less maniacal expression. “I merely look forward to fulfilling the duty we were left with. Is there something especially strange about that?”

“Tyelkormo,” I said, “you always manage to be so…convincing.”

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“This is now open battle. We still have our War against Morgoth, but now is our chance to fulfil our Oath. If it could be avoided, we would not attack Doriath. But they are against us even after we warned them. No more shall they take pride in their loot. We will take the Silmaril, and only those who oppress us shall be killed; we do not kill those who would be on our side.”

“Now is our chance to show everybody that the Noldor are not yet lost. Yes, we have lost lives, yes, we have faced betrayal. We have shed thousands of tears, we have fled, we have burnt. But nothing of that would ever diminish our honour, our valour, our pride. Our determination to bring justice. And to get the jewels. We would overthrow the Enemy, and the foolish Sindar would finally understand. The Noldor are not ones to behold injustice! The Power of the Noldor – our cousins may have fallen, but may the everlasting darkness of Eru that we once swore upon ourselves devour us, should the Sons of Fëanáro falter in their quest!”

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A door creaked somewhere down the corridor. I lay still in my bed, listening to the sounds from outside and inside the house. I was deep in thought. We would go to Doriath in the very middle of winter – on the day when the night was at its longest. That was now less than a fortnight from today. We would march and would once again ask for the Silmaril, only this time face to face with Dior the Beautiful. Should he not surrender it, we would do what we had to do. It was no less than what father was expecting from us.

The door creaked again. I wondered which of my brothers was up from his bed and for what reason. Then I remembered that Maitimo had stayed in the sitting room even after I had gone to my own chamber. By that point all the others had already left. I remembered the brief discussion I had had with Maitimo, before I went to bed myself. He had said he was glad we finally might get a chance to gain the Silmaril. I had asked how big he deemed our chances of success. He had smiled at me sadly. “Only time will tell,” he had said.

I watched out through the window. I saw a diamond fall from the sky. The next day all of Lindon was covered in icy velvet.

What few hours that the Sun would shed us warmth were spent outside. Tyelkormo looked at me smugly when we went out and within a few moments a snowball hit me in the back-head and I shivered as the icy water ran down beneath my collar. Needless to say, Tyelkormo soon had his face in a nearby pile of snow.

“Carnistir,” he spluttered, “wasn’t that a slightly exaggerated revenge?”

“Look who’s talking,” I scoffed, brushing away snow from my hair. Curufinwë, who stood observing us nearby, couldn’t help grinning and turned away.

Several snowballs later, flung at siblings in randomised order, I stepped aside to nurse a toe Tyelko had stepped on. My brothers continued to push each others into the soft snow, and Macalaurë had begun to pile snow on Maitimo whom Pityafinwë had tackled and now had pinned on the ground with some help from Telufinwë’s part.

It was extraordinary, really. Here we were rolling in the snow, forcing each other to sink into the soft piles, knowing we would in a matter of days head for Doriath to complete an Oath which had completely twisted our lives. Amidst the preparations for our campaign to Doriath, it was strange that we would actually enjoy ourselves by playing outside in the snow as if we were elflings. I watched Macalaurë start to build something out of the snow, and the twins continued their attempts at feeding Maitimo snow while the elder tried to keep his mouth shut when he actually was laughing. Laughter. Maitimo was laughing. I wondered when was the last time I had heard that sound and we had had this fun. I decided that my toe didn’t hurt any more, if it in fact had hurt at all, and rejoined my brothers.

“Are you coming to eat some snow, too?” Curufinw asked me from where he was kneeling on the ground, making a stash of snowballs for later use.

“I hope not,” I answered. Then I noticed that I was laughing myself.

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One early morning we took our horses and left. Our troops rode at a quite slow pace, slower than was necessary. No one spoke, least of all I, since I was never the talkative type. I fell into my thoughts and allowed myself to linger on them longer than usual. We were in no hurry. An eerie mutual understanding had entered our hearts – it didn’t matter how quickly we got to Doriath, the importance was in getting there. The journey seemed to be our longest ever. It was as though our slow pace was our last way to postpone our errand. The errand from which we could nor would not turn away. I shook my head. I thought too much.

During our pause we stretched our legs and had something to eat. Still unseen by anyone apart from a few birds, our plan was working so far. Maitimo was talking with some of his followers; I saw them debating vividly over something I didn’t care to listen to. The Ambarussa stood further away discussing silently with each other. I didn’t see Tyelkormo or Macalaurë, but Curufinwë stood nearby brooding by himself, and I went over to him.

“What are you thinking about, brother?” I asked him. He looked at me, and took his time to reply.

“None of us has set a foot in Menegroth before,” he said. I nodded. We all were uncomfortably aware of that crucial drawback. “Where is the Silmaril? Hanging on Dior’s breast, locked away? What do you think?”

“I’d say he wears it – to show off,” I replied, unsure of where my brother was leading our dialogue. But he merely nodded. “What about it?” I asked.

“The element of surprise will be our ally, intuition our guide,” he answered. “But even if we don’t find it at once, we still have to keep on searching for it, killing everybody in our way.” I tilted my head. What was his point. He sighed and looked at me intensely. “Everybody,” he repeated. “Once the wheels are rolling they can’t stop until the hill is behind them. We have to ransack the whole place, down to the very last child that might be hiding our treasure.”

“I know that, Curufinwë,” I snapped, “I’m not a Vanya. You don’t have to preach me about the Oath; I took it as well.”

Curufinwë stared at me offended, but I refused to back away from his gaze. “I beg your pardon, brother,” he said at last. “But I just wanted to tell you that whether the element of surprise is on our side or not, we are playing it on their territory.” He looked down. “I know what we have to do, but…” his voice died out, but I could complete his sentence for him. He feared. We were armed more strongly, but in a place where we fought blindly, the enemy had such a great advantage. There was no room for showing mercy, because we wouldn’t receive it either. And once in battle, there was no turning back, even if we wouldn’t get what we came looking for. No wonder even Curufinwë was anxious. I understood him perfectly and therefore remained silent, at which Curufinwë looked up at me. His lip curled when he saw that I knew what he meant without further explanations. And it was one of his rare genuine smiles. A smile not of mischief or contempt, but of gratitude.

Tyelkormo spared us from prolonging the silence, as he walked up to us.

“The wind is turning,” he said. “It is currently on our side, and the beasts of the forest wouldn’t notice our scent were we to arrive to Doriath now. We should speed up.” He glanced behind him, at a bird to whom – I now realised – he had been talking.

“What did they say?” I asked him.

“They told us we’d need good luck to come back alive,” he said, shaking his head. Once again I noticed the small scar on his lip. Such a petite detail, but I saw it. And I saw that it hadn’t healed, although should have by now, because it was a long time since I first had noticed it. He had a habit of biting his lip whenever he was upset or nervous. He had been biting it for over a month now.

We rode further. Once again we spoke very little. But at some point Macalaurë slowed his pace and waited until I caught up with him. I spared him a questioning look. He smiled at me and after a moment he spoke.

“I have started to compose the song we spoke about the other week,” he said. “It’s not even halfway done, because I still have some troubles in my composing…” his voice faded.

“Tell me when it’s complete,” I said. “I’d like to hear it.”

“Of course, you will be the first one to hear it. It’s your happy song.”

“My Happy Song?” I said mockingly. “Don’t make me sound like a baby.”

“Oh I will, Moryo,” Macalaurë laughed and his eyes sparkled. “Since you are my younger brother it is my duty.”

I snorted. But truthfully, Macalaurë had cheered me up. He somehow managed to cheer me up quite often – unlike my other brothers, he wasn’t loud and obnoxious. And knowing my strange ways of showing appreciation, my brother continued to ride by my side.