A Trail of Things Lost by Nitheliniel

Chapter 1: Trust

Fire, its shine and its warmth, had always been a comfort to her. The cheerful flicker of flames and the dull glow of embers, throbbing when hit by a small gust of wind, stood for nights spent in the open beneath Varda’s stars, cloaked in Telperion’s silver sheen, while in the centre of their company the fire burned. It stood for sizzling meat, stories told, songs, and laughter. It stood for adventures and freedom, for carelessness and being devoid of obligations.

Or so it had.

Around her, individual cries are joined by voice after voice, rising in surprise and shock. Outstretched arms point to the far shore, only visible because of the warm orange flicker that has appeared a moment ago and is now growing in size in front of their wondering eyes. The clouds gathered above the hither shore reflect the light with a sombre red. It looks almost nice, this fire that the distance makes appear tiny, when in truth it had to be raging high above the heads of Elves: not at all friendly, but wild and untamed, and all-devouring.

Artanis knows what it feeds on. She knows long before the chorus of indistinguishable voices turns into anger, rage, and despair. While she watches her idea of fire lose its innocence, she berates herself for not having seen this earlier. How could she not have known? – She of all people, who prided herself on knowing the hearts and souls of others. If she were true to herself, though, she had known: Her uncle’s fiery soul has ever been consuming in nature. It burns himself as much as those close to him and eventually, she is certain, will leave only scorched hearts and ashes behind. Artanis has kept her distance accordingly. More so, Fëanáro’s perseverance in asking for locks of her hair, not taking her refusal for an answer, had long taught her to distrust and to dislike him. In the end, she had repeated her rejection only for the sake of the lesson he refused to learn.

Here, before her hardening gaze, she has the proof of her own wisdom – one she chose not to follow.

A soft touch to her elbow makes her look up into her brother’s grey eyes, reflecting the light of burning ships. She has not seen him for a while and thought him to be with Turukáno. Since they had been forced to wait for the return of the ships that would now never occur, her brothers had deserted their customary place in the rear where they had stayed after their father had left the train and returned to Tirion with his people, but without his children. And when after a long wait it became clear that Fëanáro and his sons had left and taken with them all the surviving ships from the onslaught at Alqualondë and the long journey north, Nolofinwë had led some of his people up into the mountains of Araman to keep watch for their return. He had been loath to believe in his brother’s betrayal despite their enmity and all that had passed. The most trusted of his leaders had remained with the bulk of the train close to the shore, but his family he had taken with him, unwilling to part with those whom he held dearest.

But time had passed and even without means to measure it, it had become long. Artanis had followed her uncle’s call but remained with Eldalotë and Artaresto, until her sister-in-law’s fussing about how Angaráto had first made her follow him and then left her to join his friends, had effectually driven her own son as well as Artanis away. It is not that she generally dislikes her brother’s betrothed, but she finds herself wishing, Eldaloté had been as strong as Amarië, who had known herself well enough to remain in Valimar, suffering the separation from the man she loved.

She inclines her head now, welcoming Findaráto’s presence and together they watch their hope of safe journey burn to cinders.

"I listened to him and believed him. With my heart and my soul I believed him!" Bitter are her words as bitter she feels.

Findaráto’s answering smile is the saddest she has ever seen him wear, a mirror of the misery that parting with Amarië has introduced to his kind heart. Every blow to their cause – the Oath, Alqualondë, the messenger of the Valar, and Mandos’ Doom – has added to that sadness and the warmth in his once easy smile decreased in correlation with the temperature of their surroundings.

"We all did, nettë [1]. We wanted to."

Anger is her intuitive reaction, resenting this implication of their own responsibility even though her thoughts have already turned into the same direction. She feels it flare just like the far away flames and only barely in time before her reaction may deepen her brother’s sorrow, she checks herself.

"I still do," she confesses. "I still want to see them become true. Now maybe more, then when I heard them first."

It is hard, recognising how her own dire wishes have impeded upon her better judgement. Little does it reconcile her, that she has not been alone in her misjudgement.

He nods solemnly, his gaze still not turned towards her, but towards the Sundering Sea.

"In Cuiviénen sweet ran the waters under unclouded stars,” he cites and easily Artanis falls in, Fëanáro’s fateful words close to her heart even in this second instance of his betrayal:

"…and wide lands lay about, where a free people might walk.”

Unlike his earlier smile, Findaráto’s chuckle is sincere, as some of the life that usually burns bright within him returns. It warms her when he lays an arm around her shoulder and pulls her close.

"You will not walk, methinks. You will run and you will put the wind to shame."

He knows her well: It is this picture she carries with her since their departure. They all have similar ideas driving them forwards. At his words she feels the idea of a wind pulling at the tresses of her hair. It is a wild and demanding wind, a wind inviting her to chase it into a land unknown, a wind Valinor does not provide. 

"We will see that land, Artanis. We will roam free in it, we will fight for it, and eventually, some of us will die in it. But lay our eyes on it we will."

In her old life she would have frowned at his words and discarded them as mindless truism, meant to soothe but not to respect her sentiments. They are spoken, however, with the clear note of truth, with the sincerity and certainty of one who has seen them become reality. She might not yet catch glimpses of the future as her brother is able to, but her own gift filters the truthfulness of his speech from his eyes, his lips, and his heart. "Some of us will die in it.” – She will remember those words in the millennia to come, long after they have become true. For the moment, though, she concentrates on his last sentence and her eyes struggle to see past the pyre of dying ships to behold the lands beyond.

[1] Q: little sister