Mother of the Flame by Kaylee Arafinwiel

Mother of the Flame

“Open your eyes, Daughter.”

The elleth opened her eyes reluctantly. She was standing on a cliff’s edge, looking out into the night, and the cold air whipped her long hair back from her face. She wrapped her arms around herself, warding off a chill that went deeper than her naked skin.

It was always like this. She couldn’t remember how long it had been like this, as she stared down at the group of Elves, wending their way toward Doom and tears uncountable. She shed tears of her own, now, too, and hugged herself harder, shivering. In the distance, the Ice stretched past the horizon. She turned her face away, only to have him gently turn it back.

 “See you what hath been wrought here, Daughter?” his voice, painfully gentle, breathed in her ear. Tears welled up in her eyes and she swallowed, mouth dry.

“I see, lord,” she whispered.

“Know ye what will come of it?”

“You have shown me this before, Lord. It is past and long past. I know what has come.” She paled, unsure how she dared to be so belligerent, and the smile he graced her with was colder than the snows of the Helcaraxë her loved ones would face – had faced. She felt her knees weaken, and struggled not to collapse.
“Thou knowest, Daughter, but thou hast not learned.”

She shook as he held her firmly in place, watching her son and her loved ones walk into Death’s embrace…

***

“Open your eyes, Daughter.”

It was a different voice, this time, she thought dimly, surprised by this. Warily, she opened her eyes. She was still on a cliff, but it was a different one; not the sea-cliff of before. This was on the heights of Taniquetl, and she shivered, though she found herself covered by a sheath of white silk. “M-my lord?”

The Elder King of Arda’s gaze was compassionate as he gave her the use of his Sight, to see what was too far for even her elven eyes to see. The ships had burned. The Elves were at war. Her sons and grandsons were at war; a war her husband had lost ere their people had left these shores. The Elder King of Arda held her still, and as she watched, her son’s fire, too, was quenched; his fëa burning hot to the last.

 It consumed him completely, and she broke down, weeping. “My Feanaro…”

The ending of her House had begun.