Into Darkness Fell by Kimberleighe

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Into Darkness Fell

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                Idhreniel decided to simply enjoy the stars.  Instead of studying them analytically (her mind filled with equations and the mathematics of her charts), she allowed herself the freedom to run among them.  She paused beside Gwilwileth, adjusting the lady’s mirror so she could continue her eternal stare.  She begged the water-carrier to put out the fire on Menelvagor’s shoulder.  The tiny lights burnt her fingers, a meteor streaking past her head.  Sometimes, she wondered if her fae would leave this body and instead of obeying the summons to the Western halls, rush into the skies.  If the Doom of Mandos ever trapped her, she wished the great Judge would rehouse her in the skies beside Menelvagor.  Perhaps beside him, knowing that she could not move one way or another, she could be content without his touch.  Maybe then, he would reach out to her if she was the glimmer just out of his grasp. 

 

                “Are you hiding?”  The whisper acted as a dead weight.

 

Faintly, she felt the chaste kiss on her cheek.  The touch served to firmly root her to the ground and she was back in Lindon in the fragrant gardens beside the sea. 

 

                “Not well enough, it seems,” she replied.

 

                The cold sea breeze whipped around them and she quickly drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders.  She felt the thicker cloak also drop over her shoulders before Ereinion sat beside her.  She murmured her thanks, relishing the dark fur tickling soft on her cheek.  They sat silently, her gaze drawn every so often to the quiet King.  She could see the shadows in his profile, the utter weariness in his shoulders.  Tomorrow, the great army of the Alliance set out for Imladris.

 

                “Tell me a story, Idhreniel.  I am tired of thinking about war and death.”  His request reached only her ears.

 

Her mind flew through the tales she knew, but none seemed appropriate for this moment.  Instead, she simply laid her head on his shoulder.  In return, he slid a protective arm around her, pulling her close to him. 

 

                “I have no more stories,” she finally said.

 

And then she saw it: high above, a star glimmered, alternating between being all at once too bright and then disappearing.  It was a slow end, the blaze fighting to stay high in the sky.  All too soon, it plummeted towards the sea, streaking across the sky and becoming nothing more than a memory.  Idhreniel doubted anyone noticed it was missing.

 

                “I will tell you a secret instead.”  It was the only tale she had never whispered to him.

 

                “What secret would you dare to keep from me?”  She could hear his smile.

 

                “It is a star-charter’s secret,” Idhreniel replied.  “And I am only supposed to pass it on to my pupils.  You should be honored I even think to share it with you, Gil-galad.”

 

                Their eyes met and they shared a fond smile.  His fingers smoothed her windblown hair behind her ears.  Idhreniel found herself unable to look away, content to watch the shadows ease to the edges of his face. 

 

                “I am.”  His tone matched the soft caress of his fingertips.

 

Here in this public place, she could not respond how she desired.  She wanted to return the touch, to chase the darkness entirely from his face.  Perhaps her fingers could soak up the shadows, so the starlight could fill it.  He was going to the darkness; she hoped to fill him with as much light as she could.  Perhaps then…  The thought was left unfinished and she focused on gathering her words together.

 

                “My mother always showed me the Star-Kindler’s signs and whispered those stories to me,” Idhreniel began.  “Then one day, she pointed out that the Star-Kindler’s works were not the only in the skies.  There are others, stars that are not as constant as Hers.”

 

Ereinion found himself gazing up into the heavens.  In the darkness, he perceived the vastness of the night sky littered with glimmers that served no part in the making of Elbereth’s signs.  Idhreniel watched his face, satisfied at the amazement crossing over his face.  She imagined her reaction must have been similar all those years ago. 

 

                “Nana asked me: what of those stars?  Who made them?”

 

                “Elbereth,” Ereinion unconsciously answered.

 

                “That was my response,” Idhreniel nodded.  “Nana only shook her head.  She responded that while Elbereth had crafted the signs and strung them into the sky, it was Eru who fashioned the rest.  He set one in the sky for every spirit that walked Arda, so that a star rose when a babe was born and fell when that life ended.”

 

Ereinion’s gaze returned to her face with the barest hint of disbelief.

 

                “Have you seen this to be true?”  His words triggered the onslaught of memories. 

 

First, she returned to Eglarest.  Her mother was beside her under the endless night sky.

 

                “Have you ever seen a falling star?”  Ninnethril’s voice had been soft.

 

Idhreniel shook her head.  Ninnethril beckoned her daughter to her side, quickly pointing out a star.

 

                “There,” Ninnethril whispered.  “Do you see it?”

 

The silver star gleamed too-bright in the sky.  Idhreniel only glanced at her mother curiously.

 

                “Nana, that star is too bright to fall.”

 

                “Ah, but daughter, no star was ever meant to leave this sky, just as no Elf was meant to die.”  Ninnethril’s voice turned wistful and sad.  “A falling star is a wrong note full of silent screams and rich wails that go unheard and unseen as it falls from its lofty pedestal; a few last bursts of sparks before extinguishing into nothingness. No one mourns its loss; no one notices it missing from the night sky.”  She looked down at her daughter, a hand firm on Idhreniel’s shoulder.  “We must notice.  We must remember the names of those who have fallen.”

 

                “Nana,” Idhreniel’s response trailed off.  The star faded for a moment before returning to its former brightness.  “Do you mean that right now, someone is about to die?”

 

                “Yes.”

 

Idhreniel cried when the star flew into the sea after a lengthy battle in the sky.  Ninnethril gave Idhreniel the name of the fallen Elf days later.  She never forgot it.

 

                Idhreniel was not ready when her mind rushed decades forward, and she had to close her eyes at the painful memory.  The smell of smoke and ash seemed so real and threatened to choke the air from her lungs.  Belegûr’s army had broken down the great wall and crawled through the hole like angry ants spilling out of a hill.  Already, the fire rushed by her, seeking to destroy any trace of Eglarest.  The flames singed her fingertips; the screams haunted her.  She couldn’t move, frozen as her mother urged for her to run out of their home.  It was her father who forced her to move towards the sea.

 

                “To the boats, daughter,” he whispered, sword bright in his hand.  “Take your mother.  I will find you both later.”

 

But Ninnethril had not yet left their home and then the black creatures were setting it afire, surrounding it.  They laughed; it was a terrible sound.  Idhreniel watched her father’s lone figure set in a losing battle.  His sword was broken, his body thrown to the fire fueled with her mother’s screams.  All her childhood memories billowed with the dark smoke, disappearing with the ash.  It was Tirnion who found her, dragging her to the boats and tightly holding her as she tried to claw her way by him. 

 

                Her mind screamed, “let me go back,” as she struggled against him.  Instead, she whispered the word “no” over and over, feeling the tears prick hot at her eyes and streak down her cheeks.  Somewhere in her mind, she knew it was futile, but her heart could not accept it.  Tirnion held fast to her and whispered soft words of comfort, the grief clear in his hoarse voice. 

 

“Shh, sister.  We are safe.”

 

“But Nana, Ada…”  Idhreniel felt as though she couldn’t breathe.

 

Tirnion was quiet for a while.

 

“They will find us again.”  For once, Tirnion spoke wisdom. “When we are freed from Arda, we will see them in the Judge’s halls.”

 

She hated him in that moment, knowing he told the truth, but wishing for it to be different.  She turned her eyes to the stars overhead that faded into the smoke.  Her gaze clung to the sight of her parents’ stars, still shining bright.  For a moment, she felt hope.  Then they fell, one plunging after the other to the West. 

 

There were no words to describe the utter desolation of her heart in that moment.  The mere memory brought tears to her eyes and struck her mute. 

 

Then there had been that cold night in Lindon when she sat silently beside Elrond as he looked West.  He had come to her earlier that evening, handing her a letter and occupying his seat among her star charts.  She skimmed the letter that brought ill tidings of Tar-Minyatur’s failing health.  Elrond spoke not one word and she didn’t need him to; she understood his mood.  His eyes were fixed on the stars and Idhreniel knew he watched one in particular.  Long ago, when he had been but her pupil, she had whispered the secret of his and his brother’s stars.  Since then, both stars had only brightened consistently in the night sky.  It seemed one had too soon reached its zenith.  Elrond’s breath caught and her eyes flew to the sky.  Elros’ star glimmered, fading completely before ripping itself from its place in the sky with a great flash.  Its descent was marked by Elrond’s strangled cry.  Idhreniel closed her eyes sadly, listening to the heartbreaking sobs.  She could only hold his hand.  She had no words to comfort this loss. 

 

When she drew her next chart, it had been so bitter to leave an empty space where Elros had always been. 

 

                “Idhreniel?”  Ereinion’s voice brought her back from the past, away from recalling how stars had showered down during Eregion’s fall.  History books marked that it had been a meteor shower.

 

                “I’ve seen many stars fall.”  The words left her mouth reluctantly, leaving a sour taste behind.

 

He studied her intently, as if trying to read her mind.  Finally, he squeezed her closer to him, a silent apology for his question.

 

                “Do you know which star is mine?”    

 

She had expected this question.  Slowly, she looked up at him, their faces close and breaths shared. 

 

                “It has neared its zenith,” she murmured, pointing out an especially bright one close to Menelvagor’s blue boot.  “And it seems it will only continue to brighten.”

 

                “And yours?”  His lips brushed her temple with a kiss.

 

She laughed, the same as she had when her mother had shown her.

 

                “There.”

 

Ereinion laughed as well.  Her finger had barely moved to point out the star closest to Ereinion’s.

 

                “Even in the sky you are beside me?  It must be a sign,” he chuckled.

 

                “It is a sign of my unhappy luck, majesty!”  she replied.

 

                “Unhappy luck?  I resent that!”

 

                The cold winds finally drove them inside.  They walked empty halls, most having already retired to their rooms.  At her door, Idhreniel found herself unwilling to yet part with him.  She allowed him the choice to come inside or retire himself.  There was no hesitation as he entered, immediately beginning to light a few candles to dim the darkness of the rooms.  He was no stranger to the sitting room outside of her bedroom. 

 

                “Leave it, Ereinion.”  She stood at the door of her bedroom.

 

He stood frozen with the candle in his hand.

 

                “Idhreniel…”

 

                “If you wish to spend the night staring at the four walls of this room, by all means, be my guest.”  She disappeared from his sight, easily moving through her dark bedroom. 

 

She expected him to take a few moments to debate propriety, manners and such.  The King always felt the scrutiny of Lindon’s knowing eyes.  She tapped a finger against her lips, gazing at the bed, before a solution presented itself.  She tossed pillows and blankets towards the balcony.  Tonight, they could sleep beneath the stars.

 

                “Outside?”  He lifted another heavy blanket, helping her smooth it across the floor.  “I suppose I should accustom myself to this.”

 

Idhreniel laughed softly, shaking her head, before lying on her back.  Ereinion followed, an arm slinking around her shoulders.  Instinctively, she turned her body towards his chest, eyes focused on Ithil’s progress across the sky. 

 

                Dawn was near when he finally broke their silence.  His fingers gently brushed through her hair; she had felt the weight of his gaze for most of the evening.  Yet, she knew the folly of attempting to pressure him into speaking before he was ready.

 

                “I find myself feeling regret,” he murmured.

 

                “Why?”  She tilted her head back to watch the emotions cross his face.

 

                “I feel as if I will not return from Mordor.”  He found the courage to speak his fear at the darkest moment of the morning.

 

                “You will return, Ereinion,” she whispered.  “Look at your star.  I have never seen one so bright.  You cannot fall.”

 

He did not seem to believe her, a sad smile on his face.

 

                “I am of Nolofinwë’s house.  We have never lived to tell our tales of heroism.”

 

She took his face in her hands.

 

                “You do not have to walk their paths,” she whispered.

 

                “You speak as if I ever had a choice.”  The subtle change in his expression caused her realization.

 

                “You saw this?”  Each word unwillingly left her lips.  He did not have to offer any affirmation; it was clear in his eyes.  “There is still a chance your vision is wrong.”

 

                “There is a chance,” he repeated her words.  “Tomorrow I will leave Lindon in your care and follow this path to wherever it will lead.” 

 

                When Anor’s telltale blush crept into the sky, Ereinion and Idhreniel left the protection of her apartment.  He steered her first to their offices.

 

                “I have a gift for you,” he explained.

 

Idhreniel only nodded, following him through the familiar halls.  He led her to her office and then left to his own.  She smiled, hearing his rummaging through the drawers.

 

                “If you told me what you sought, I could most likely tell you where you placed it,” she called, clearly amused.

 

His reappearance served as an answer.  When he stopped before her, he produced a small, intricately carved wooden box from behind his back.  Idhreniel knew her surprise was plain on her face.  Ereinion had openly worked on this in her presence.  She remembered when he had begun working on the pieces of thick driftwood. 

 

                “You finished it.”  She took it from his hands, admiring his handiwork.

 

                “Open it,” he urged.

 

Curiously, she studied his face for a hint of what might lay inside, but his expression gave nothing away.  Her fingers found the hinge and swung the lid open.  She froze, unsure at what she saw within.  Her eyes flew to Ereinion, but he simply pointed to the item within.  It was a ring, made of silver and dark blue gems.  She lifted it out of the box, looking again to Ereinion with uncertainty.

 

                “There is an inscription.”  Until now, he had hid his anxiety.

 

Her attention turned to the small script that circled the inside of the band: I would move the stars to catch you.

 

                “Ereinion, you must explain,” she whispered, trying to contain the hope that swelled within her. 

 

                His fingers gently plucked the ring from hers.  He slid it onto her index finger.

 

                “You have been patient, Idhreniel, accepting that I would speak no vows on this shore.”  His words were slow and well-thought.  “I find that I would not leave for Mordor without giving you some promise, some reason to keep waiting for me.”  He shook his head, cutting off her reply quickly.  “The ring is my promise that I will replace it with a gold one when we meet again.”

 

Idhreniel remained silent, her eyes focused on the gift.  The blue stones glimmered in the light, small sparks caught within them, representative of the night sky she loved.  He fumbled with the collar of his robes, producing a thin chain where a simple silver band hung.  A smile slid across her face as she realized the true nature of the gift: betrothal.  She needed no announcement or fanfare, only for him to come back unscathed. 

 

                “Gift or not, I would have waited until Arda Unmade.”  She embraced him. 

 

                “Then perhaps I shall take it back,” he teased.

 

                “You will not leave this room if you try,” she said her threat with a smile.

 

He stole one long kiss.  Their foreheads rested against one another.  Her fingers softly replaced the chain and ring under his robes, trying to smile as the time intruded upon them and pushed them towards the morning departure.

 

                “Whether it be this shore or the next, I will find you again.”

 

It was this gentle declaration that carried her through the morning business and kept her standing tall when he rode away.

 

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                Idhreniel sat in her office alone, spending this night pouring over reports.  The ship-wrights of Mithlond demanded higher payment for the many ships she had requested.  Yet, there was little left in the treasury to be pulled from.  The ships were necessary in case the war in the South went ill, but she could find no solution to Mithlond’s demands.

 

                “Is there no respite for the lady of Lindon?”

 

Idhreniel dropped her pen, gaze flying to be sure of the voice’s owner.  Elrond stood at the door of her office, still dressed in his light armor.  He stepped inside, closing the door behind him and then crossing the space between.  Idhreniel slowly stood, stepping away from her desk to meet him.

 

                “Do I greet a victorious herald?”  Her voice did not betray the frailty she felt. 

 

She could feel the soft stirrings of hope as she studied his face, the fantasy that maybe, just maybe, her eyes had deceived her.  Nearly a year ago, she had gone to search the sky, to be sure of Ereinion’s safety in Mordor.  Instead, she watched the stars rain down for hours.  It had been more terrible than Eregion.  There had been a split second moment when suddenly his star dimmed.  Her heart had caught in her throat.  But then it returned to its glory, even brighter than before.  Idhreniel remembered how she had smiled, pride gathering in her chest.  It had been just as quickly chased away when the star burst into a million glimmers and rained down into the West.  She had stared for hours at the empty place in the sky, unsure if her sight had been true.  So, she pretended that she had never seen the star fall and put away her charts.  She locked her tears and grief within her chest, and waited for news of the Alliance’s defeat or victory.  Yet, deep within her heart she knew her stars never lied.

 

                There was no joy in Elrond’s face, and Idhreniel knew she had none to spare for him.  He took her hands and nodded.

 

                “Sauron has been defeated,” he murmured, “but we lost many to achieve this.”

 

Idhreniel felt her hands tighten around his. 

 

                “Tirnion?” It felt safer to begin with her brother.

 

                “He travelled here with me.  He is waiting in the hall,” Elrond answered.  “Círdan and Celeborn lead the army North.  Thranduil takes the Sindar back to Greenwood.”

 

They circled the question, though both already knew its answer.  Idhreniel released Elrond’s hands, turning towards her desk.  She could not bear to see his face when she spoke again.

 

                “And what of Gil-galad, Elrond?  Does he also lead our victorious army North?”

 

There was the rustle of movement behind her; Elrond placed something heavy on her desk.  Idhreniel moved her head slightly to gaze at a broken Aeglos.  The once great spear had been fractured in half; it no longer shone, a dull reminder of its former glory.  She couldn’t help reaching out a hand to brush across the faded designs, remembering when they had been new.  She remembered Ereinion’s delight when he had been given the great gift.

 

                “I regret to inform you that Ereinion Gil-galad, son of Findekáno, son of Nolofinwë, and high-king of the Noldor was struck down by the Dark Lord, Sauron, in battle.”  Elrond’s words sounded practiced. 

 

                She spared him a quick glance, noting how firm and stern he seemed.  The formality gave him strength.  She found hers completely sucked away. 

 

                “Then I am in your service, Elrond, son of Eärendil, son of Idril, daughter of Turgon, lord of Imladris and heir to the kingship of the Noldor.”  She kept her composure, bowing her head in respect.

 

                “Please, Idhreniel, not now.”  Elrond’s quiet plea caused her to look at him.

 

They met in a firm embrace.  Idhreniel could not stop her tears, shedding them against the cold and unyielding metal of his armor.  He did not shush her sobs or feed her the lie that everything would be fine.  Instead, he simply held her and mourned alongside her.  Slowly, the tears subsided and she wiped her eyes.  Elrond offered her a sad smile, using his thumb to brush her cheeks.  His own eyes were bright with grief.

 

                “He would have never let you live down all these tears.”  He attempted humor.

 

Idhreniel felt the laugh catch in her throat and could only shake her head.

 

                “No.”  She took a deep breath.  “He would have teased me for centuries.”

 

He opened his mouth to say more, but a knock cut him off.  Tirnion entered, remaining within a few steps of the door.

 

                “Go, and see your brother.”  Elrond released her from his arms.  “I will need you tomorrow, Idhreniel.”

 

                It was not until after all the councils and meetings; after Elrond easily divided leadership of the Elves away from the centralized post of high-king to a state-based rule; and after he dismissed the High-King’s former counselors from their posts, that Elrond found another moment alone with Idhreniel.  She stood in Ereinion’s office.  At any moment, she felt as if he would sweep inside.  He would offer her a small smile and bit of humor.  Yet, the office remained eerily devoid of his laughter and song.

 

                “I thought I might find you here.”  Elrond came to stand beside her.

 

There was no response that sprung to her lips.  Elrond took her hand, leading her out into the evening air.  He motioned for her to take a seat, briefly disappearing to fetch a bottle of wine and two glasses.  Ereinion had always kept his most prized bottles of wine in his office.

 

                “I find myself in need of a drink.”  Elrond’s wry tone matched his expression.  “I found little pleasure in dividing everything Ereinion built.”

 

Idhreniel watched him from her seat.

 

                “It was necessary, Elrond.  I believe every person was satisfied, and that is a task within itself.”

 

Elrond laughed then, offering her a glass of wine.  Idhreniel accepted, taking a brief drink as she watched the sea.  After a moment, Elrond reached over, taking her hand.  Idhreniel squeezed his hand softly, content to pass the minutes beside him. 

 

                “Did you see it, Idhreniel?”  Elrond spoke first, his gaze drawn also to the sea.

 

For the first time since Ereinion’s star had fallen, her gaze returned to that empty spot.  The sky glimmered distantly, and she took no pleasure in it.  Instead, she simply felt tired.  She sighed softly, taking a drink. 

 

                “Yes, Elrond.  It was beautiful and terrible,” she whispered.  “His star was so bright, so lovely.  It faded only once and then burst into a million pieces.”  Elrond’s expression was hidden from her.  She slowly withdrew her hand from his grasp to sigh, “Did you see it?”

 

                “Yes,” came his reluctant answer.

 

                “Will you tell me?”  Her tone carried her apology.

 

                Elrond was silent for a long time.  He became stone, a statue frozen in place beside her.  She sipped her wine, outwardly patient, though her heart screamed for Elrond to tell her.  She had seen the star fall; she needed to know what had befallen its owner.

 

                “It was always night in Mordor.”  Elrond’s voice matched the stoniness of his body.  “We never knew if it was day or night; it was just always dark.  For seven years, we fought in a starless night.  We were slowly gaining ground.  We had fought our way to recent victories and both Gil-galad and Elendil were becoming optimistic that we might yet be able to overcome Sauron.”

 

                “Go on,” she whispered when he fell silent.

 

                “Sauron came out from his black tower.  His appearance seemed to embolden his armies and their attack was fierce.  I was separated from Gil-galad for only a moment, but then I heard him.  He was yelling out a challenge to Sauron.  I prayed for the Dark Lord to ignore him, but he heard.”  Elrond covered his eyes for a moment, emotions breaking through his stony expression. 

 

Idhreniel found herself rising and kneeling beside Elrond’s chair.  She reached up, moving his hand away, not allowing him any privacy to grieve. 

 

                “Hiding it will cause your heart to turn to stone,” she whispered.

 

                “I wish it was stone tonight,” he replied, the tears clear on his cheeks.

 

                “Tomorrow you will realize the folly of that statement.”  Idhreniel placed a hand over his.

 

Elrond took a deep breath, using his knuckles to wipe the moisture from his face.

 

                “I found a way to Gil-galad’s side before Sauron.  I told him this was madness; I tried to stop him, Idhreniel,” he whispered.  “He just smiled at me, smiled, Idhreniel.”  His tone and expression revealed his incredulity at the King’s actions.  “And then he was gone, fighting Sauron.”

 

Elrond recounted the duel.  He spoke of the great song that sprung up, how Gil-galad had reminded them of the greatness of the Noldor.  While Sauron sang of darkness and treachery, Gil-galad’s themes were of light and unity.  When words failed, then they took up their weapons. 

 

                “He seemed to shine, Idhreniel.  He was named Gil-galad rightly.  For hours, they sparred, their songs mixed with the clang of their weapons.  Sauron drew first blood, his mace catching Gil-galad’s shoulder.  It seemed our King barely felt the blow for he returned with such strength.  But then Sauron caught him again, and then again.”  Elrond recounted how Elendil had leapt to Gil-galad’s defense.  The man had fought well and greatly wounded the Dark Lord, but Sauron ultimately threw him back, breaking Narsil beneath the man.  “By Elendil’s sacrifice was Ereinion able to drive Aeglos into Sauron’s back.  But a mere spear, even one as great as Aeglos, could not fully finish the Maia.  Sauron turned on a weaponless Gil-galad.  I do not know why Ereinion did not run or try to evade the attack.  Sauron was merciless.  I heard the final blow; the mace broke through armor, bone and skin, catching directly in the chest.”  Elrond shuddered as if reminded of the terrible sound. 

 

Idhreniel had pressed a hand to her lips half-way through Elrond’s words to suppress any sound.  Elrond’s gaze was apologetic as he looked down at her.  She blinked quickly, attempting to hold back her tears so as to not dissuade Elrond from finishing his report.

 

                “Was it quick, Elrond?  Was he gone already?”  Her hoarse tone betrayed her sorrow.

 

                Elrond could not tell her the truth.  While he had survived the pain of re-telling Gil-galad’s fall, he refused to relive the tormenting hours spent clasping Gil-galad’s hand, hearing the raspy and labored breaths.  All his wisdom and knowledge accounted for nothing in that moment, for not even Elrond could will flesh to knit itself across such a massive wound.  Elrond remembered praying at each inhale that it would be the King’s last.  He pleaded for the Valar or Eru Himself to end the King’s torment.  Elrond would never tell her that it had been her name on the King’s lips that accompanied that final breath. 

 

                “Yes,” he lied.

 

Perhaps she knew his lie, for she simply covered her face and wept again.  Elrond slid down to his knees to hold her.

 

                “You should not have asked me,” Elrond whispered.

 

                “You would never have told me,” she countered, wiping her eyes.  “Look at me reduced to a weeping maiden.”

 

Idhreniel tried to find some glimmer of humor.  Elrond chuckled sadly once, standing and then helping her to her own feet.  He took up his glass, lifting it towards her.

 

                “To Gil-galad,” he murmured.

 

Idhreniel lifted her own wine glass with a small smile.

 

                “To Ereinion,” and unconsciously her gaze turned to Menelvagor.

 

To her, it seemed that the starry huntsman had moved ever so much closer to the netted lady he sought.  Her thumb brushed over the ring she wore and she remembered his promise. 

 

It was time to go West.

 

 

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Chapter End Notes

Characters/Notes:

Gwilwileth (S): constellation

Menelvagor (S): constellation

Fae (S): spirit (fëa (Q))

Ninnethril: Idhreniel’s mother

Belegûr (S): Morgoth

Tirnion: Idhreniel’s brother

Tar-Minyatur: Elros