Scattered Stars by Raiyana

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Chapter 1

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The Mountains, wreathed in icy mist and taller than anything anyone had ever seen, scared them all.

Some turned back, hesitant, fearful, but others continued onwards, chasing the promise of a new home of safety and peace.

They had little more than stitched together animal skins to protect them from the cold breath of the mountains, and the harsh gales made more turn back.

Those who continued, striding through snowstorms and thunder battles were the stubborn ones.

But stubbornness would never be enough to get them all through the mountains, Mahtan knew, watching backs bent into the icy wind. As though to encourage him to keep moving, a tiny hand patted his chest. Mahtan looked down, smiling, pausing to adjust the furs that covered the small and precious body strapped to his chest.

One of the last to be born before the world stopped making sense altogether, and the very reason they were here, instead of staying in the woodlands far behind them now. Raising his head, Mahtan smiled at the red-headed elf who had turned to look back, searching for what had made him stop. Shaking his head, he smiled at her, feeling Tindómë’s smile warm his fëa enough that he almost thought he could feel it in his chilled limbs.

The rocks fell without warning.

“Tindómë!” he cried, staring horrified for a moment, his feet seemingly frozen to the ground as she disappeared in a cloud of snow and dirt, her scream ringing in his ears.

 

Fighting his way past the boulders that had separated their small group so suddenly, he found her lying on the edge of the path, the steep drop only a hand’s breadth from her body.

White bone amid a sea of red.

Mahtan fell to his knees, reaching out with hands that shook uncontrollably, stroking softly across her cheek. Her lashes fluttered, the pale hairs kissing the stars scattered across her face.

Blue eyes met his, her breath coming in rattling wet gasps of air sucked into a chest that would never mend. Her hand scrabbled in the dirt, reaching his knee. Tears drew trails in the dust on her skin; Mahtan distantly realised they were his.

Gripping her fingers, feeling the beat of her heart in her wrist, he tried to force her to hold on.

I love you. Tindómë gasped for air, squeezing his hand weakly. Mahtan kept his eyes fixed on her face, so familiar to him, even pale as it was now, the stars across her skin standing out starkly.

“Please,” he begged, though he knew it was futile; her lower body was crushed beneath boulders, only parts of her broken chest visible. He could hear wailing. “I love you, Tindómë, please.” Do not leave me.

She smiled, a trickle of blood running down her cheek, painting a scarlet trail from the corner of her mouth. 

Goodbye, Love, whispered through his mind, her eyes closing slowly, the pulse beating against his fingers stilling. Protect our little Tinwië.

“NO!” he screamed it, shaking her shoulder. Tindë!

He did not receive a reply, had not truly expected one, but she couldn’t just be… gone.

Feeling someone come to a halt beside him, Mahtan slumped beneath Naica’s familiar fingers, running once across the ridge of his ear and pressing his head against her thigh, letting him hide from the grief for just a moment. Mahtan’s arms wrapped around the softly crying infant, pressing her into his chest.

“I promise,” he swore, but her spirit had already fled its home, and his wife did not hear the fervent oath.

Trying to reach Tinwië with his spirit was almost futile, his own grief nearly impossible to push aside to reassure the little one that she still had a parent, but he managed, his ears catching the hiccupped sobs that slowly faded into exhausted sleep as he hummed in her mind, crafting barriers stronger than stone to protect her small fëa from the storm that ravaged his own.

Naica’s fingers slowly caressed his ear, her fëa – she was one of the best in their clan at speaking mind-to-mind – wrapping gently around his own, lending him her strength.

Later, he would remember how much he appreciated her presence, but in that moment, he wanted to scream at her; her fëa was familiar, yes, but he wanted Tindómë, not his sister.

Behind him, an elfling cried out, scared by the grief that spread through their group as companions and kin realised that Tindómë was no more. Stroking Tindómë's pale cheek one last time, Mahtan got to his feet, humming a soothing tune in Tinwië’s dreams. More than a few of those clustered behind him began wailing, talking about returning to their kin in the forest instead of continuing west.

I promise you, Tinwië, I will protect you, keep you safe.

“We keep going,” Mahtan said, the tone of his voice brooking no disagreement, hard as it broke through the loud chatter. Looking up at the rest of them, he nodded once, decisively, and took the first step away from the body.

He did not look back to see if they would follow.

They did.

 

He did not relinquish the infant except when she needed feeding, a task taken by his cousin without words spoken between them, and though his heart longed to follow Tindómë beyond the veil of death, Mahtan continued to walk. 

Always west, the promise he had made driving him onwards, ignoring the fears of his companions with the same strength of heart as he had loved his wife, his daughter sleeping peacefully in his arms.

 

Mahtan looked at the sea, feeling fearful of its strangeness, but he almost thought he could hear her calling, reminding him of the promise he had made so long ago... The promise he reaffirmed every time he looked at the stars he had once traced, feeling the softness of Tindómë's skin beneath his fingers, but now scattered across his daughter's small face.

I love you. I will keep you safe.

Elves did not die in Aman, everyone said so; death could not touch those lands.

In Aman, Tinwië would be safe from her mother's fate, and perhaps watching her grow in peace and safety would heal the wounds of Tindómë's absence.

Mahtan looked at the sea, and then he looked down at Tinwië, waking in his arms and blinking slowly, her eyes the colour of the waves that stretched before him.

Mahtan looked at the sea, and felt hopeful.