The Color of Hope by Grundy

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Chapter 1

My prompt was

https://publicdomainreview.org/product/aurora-borealis-church

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Findekano wasn’t sure what had woken him.

A quick check showed Turvo was sleeping, curled protectively around Rillë. Even asleep, his grief showed plainly. He was bracketed on either side by Atto and Aryo.

But Irissë was missing. She had been on Findekano’s other side, an attempt to give her some distance from Rillë’s pain.

A few days ago – or at least, the period of time they judge to be the equivalent of days, for they could not be sure in the unceasing dark – he would have shrugged his sister’s absence off and assumed she had likely slipped into Ingo’s tent seeking Artë. But a few days ago, his family had all been alive and uninjured.

He tried not to make any sound as he worked his way out from under the blankets, careful not to let any heat escape, though he was loathe to leave the warmth. He would have gladly let his mouth shape the complaints his body was registering, but he knew his father and brothers all needed rest. And his niece…

In truth, Itarillë needed much more than rest. But most of what she needed, they could not give her. Light, heat, maiar of Lorien who might be able to heal the damage done to her leg, her mother…

He added a few more layers before venturing outside of their tent. It was still cold inside, but at least the tent did retain some slight bit of warmth. And it kept the biting winds out.

It was a surprise to find his sister only a few steps outside the tent, staring at the stars.

Then again, this was the leeward side, and by now everyone was wary of venturing very far alone for fear of collapses, break-throughs, or cave-ins.

“I thought I had gotten out without disturbing anyone.”

Findekano sighed.

“Maybe you did. I don’t even know why I’m awake.”

Irissë snorted.

“I could say the same, but it would be a lie. I’m too muddled and unquiet in my own fëa to find rest.”

“Did you want to talk about it?” Findekano asked.

“Not here. What if anyone else should wake?”

“Turvo’s tent?” he suggested.

Their brother had pitched his own tent out of sheer habit before he realized what he was doing. It had sent him back to a state nearly as bad as when he’d just been pulled from the water. Fortunately, they’d managed to keep that part safely out of sight. No reason to let their followers realize one prince was barely in his right mind, and might yet follow his wife.

It was hard to tell what Irissë’s expression was, for she had the fur ruff of her hood pulled fairly close to her face – another trick to keep what warmth one could.

“I’d rather see the stars,” she said finally.

“Very well,” he agreed.

They did nip into Turvo’s tent to retrieve a few extra blankets. No sense sitting on bare ice. Then they picked their way carefully to the edge of the camp, moving cautiously, and listening for any cracking of bad ice as they went.

They didn’t need to go very far – no one else was stirring, for most were only too happy for the respite with something between them and the wind. Here and there it kicked up sprays of ice particles and powdery snow, making them tumble and swirl about. Findekano would once have called it beautiful, back when he did not worry daily that his fingers might freeze beyond use or recovery.

Finally they found a bit of protruding ice that would serve well enough as a bench – and tested carefully that it was solid before committing themselves. Irissë made a pad of the blanket she carried for them to sit on, and Findekano draped his around the both of them once they’d settled in.

“So?” he prompted. “What’s bothering you?”

“They meant it,” she whispered.

“Who meant what?” Findekano asked in bemusement.

His little sister was too used to having these talks with Artanis, who would have just filled in whatever was missing from Irissë’s mind.

He wasn’t half as good at osanwë – at least, not with Irissë, and all the layers of clothing they didn’t dare remove meant any physical contact that might have helped was an impossibility.

“The Valar,” she clarified. “What Mandos said, in Araman. They meant it.”

“Oh,” he said, rather weakly.

Trust Irissë to spring something like that on him with no warning or lead-in. Though better him than Artanis, he supposed. The two of them came up with wild enough ideas back home, never mind here.

She didn’t repeat the words; there was no need. He had heard the prophecy just as well as she had. He’d been standing just behind her at the time.

“Elenwë never hurt anyone in her life,” Irissë continued. “Yet she’s dead and imprisoned in Mandos all the same. How is that fair? Little Rillë isn’t even old enough to have done anything, for good or ill!”

It was less bewilderment than rage behind the words. Irissë had adored her ‘big sister’ – and as the first in their house to marry, Turvo’s wife had taken both her and Artanis under her wing. She’d had a calming effect on both of them. (Though whenever they were with Ambarussa, that unfortunately went straight out the nearest window.)

“Rillë is still alive, and you know we’re all determined to keep her so,” Findekano said soothingly. “Between us, we’ll carry her every step of the way if need be.”

That gave him time to think, for he wasn’t sure how to address the rest.

“We were promised us tears unnumbered in one breath,” Irissë said scathingly. “Then told in the next they won’t even bother to listen to us weep!”

“You’re not exactly weeping,” he murmured – but not quietly enough.

“No, I’m not,” she said angrily, though he noted she did swipe at her face with one mittened hand. “I’m furious. Why should we be punished for going to do what they would not? We slew no kin, nor touched Uncle’s stolen boats!”

“You slew no kin,” Findekano corrected sharply. “Not all of us can say the same. Would you prefer it had been me rather than Elenwë? Or Artanis?”

“No! Of course not! Don’t even say such a thing!”

Irissë’s punch was considerably muffled by the many layers between them, and he was duly thankful for it. Without all the clothing, that would certainly have left a mark.

“I do not want you dead, nor Artë, nor anyone else who saw our kin under attack and ran to help without stopping to ask why.”

“Artanis wasn’t helping the Noldor,” he reminded her grimly. “And should we ever meet with our cousins again, that may yet complicate matters.”

“Yes, well, if we ever meet with our cousins, matters will be somewhat complicated all the same, as she wants to kill Tyelko and after what happened to our sister, I’m inclined to help her.”

Findekano sighed internally. He didn’t doubt that both girls meant it. He would have to mention it to Atto sometime when they were not in earshot.

“Leave our cousins aside for the moment,” he suggested. “We were speaking of you.”

“Very well,” Irissë muttered. “I am angry, and why should I not be? We were abandoned – and not just by our cousins and uncle. By the Valar. I am finding it intolerable to not be able to help people when it matters, yet they can sit happily in Valinor while so many are dying?”

“I suppose they would say they did not abandon us, we abandoned them.”

“Perhaps I missed a herald from Manwë proclaiming that justice would be served upon his brother?” Irissë snorted. “If not, I cannot see where we abandoned them.”

She was less watching the stars than glaring at them now.

“I suppose we should be thankful to still have starlight,” she added. “For all the good it does, seeing as Varda won’t hear us any more than the rest.”

Findekano had no answer to that, and was considering the ice by his feet when she suddenly gasped.

“Finno, look!”

He raised his head in alarm, ready for anything, only to find himself as startled as Irissë.

Brilliant ribbons of light in greens and yellow with tinges of red or maybe purple here and there were unfurling across the sky.  They seemed at once to be both far above like clouds yet almost near enough to reach out and touch. Irissë had half extended an arm as if to stroke one as she might a cat. The stars were still visible around – and in some cases, through – the colors.

It lasted only for a few minutes, but during those minutes, the sky was full of dancing light and his sister’s face was no longer troubled and angry.

“What was that?” Findekano asked in astonishment as the last of the colors faded.

He’d never seen anything like it, not even when he’d visited Maitimo in Formenos.

“I don’t know,” Irissë shrugged. “Does it matter? It was pretty. And something other than ice!”

This was the happiest he’d heard her since Elenwë’s death, so no, it really didn’t.

“Thank you, Elentári,” Irissë said politely.

“You just got finished saying she wouldn’t hear us!” Findekano protested – and promptly got an elbow in his ribs for his trouble.

“I wasn’t crying,” Irissë pointed out. “Clearly she heard.”

A single shooting star blazed across the sky as if to emphasize her point.

“All right, all right, both of you,” Findekano grumbled. “Thank you, Lady Star-kindler.”

“Come on,” Irissë commanded, tugging him to his feet. “Let’s go see if we can get some sleep before it’s time to start moving again.”