The Dark Beneath the Stars by Ithilwen

The Price of Passage

Chapter 2 – The Price of Passage

The Kinslaying (as we came to call it) was a waking nightmare.

So was the aftermath.

I have little to say about our hasty flight to Araman, for the memory of that time is evil to me. Kin were sundered from kin, beginning at the docks of Alqualondë, where we were forced to abandon to the tender mercies of the Teleri those too seriously wounded to travel – the first of many evil partings. It was on the voyage north that our brother Curufinwë lost his beloved wife Callótë to the Sea; the vengeful ocean, which had dashed so many of our ill-gotten swan ships to pieces upon the rocks, swept her off the deck in a great wave, and though Curfinwë reached in desperation for her, she slipped from his grasp and swiftly sank beneath the chill waters, leaving our brother's heart embittered and his small son motherless. My own wife was lost to me shortly after we arrived in Araman, for she quailed when she heard the words of the Doom and chose to return to Tirion with Arafinwë's host. On the long journey up the coast, she had discovered our mutual prayers had been answered at the cruelest possible time: her womb, which had so long lain empty, had quickened at last, and after listening to Mandos' cold pronouncement she grew afraid for our child-yet-to-be. When she told me of her decision I quarreled with her, for I was unwilling to be parted from her and desperate to change her mind.

"It is for our child's sake that I must do this, Makalaurë. Surely you can see that? An infant has no place in a battle host. Here our babe will be safe –"

"And fatherless, Aurel. A child needs both its parents. And you will be no safer here in Aman, for has not Melkor already struck once in the very heart of this land? Come with me, beloved! Our child will be secure enough surrounded by Noldor swords."

"Not secure enough! Never secure enough! Makalaurë, did you not listen to what Námo said? 'To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well… For blood ye shall render blood…' I cannot doom our baby to that, Makalaurë. I will not. Come back with me, husband, and beg forgiveness from the Valar. I am certain they will extend mercy to you…"

"I cannot, Aurel. The Valar have exiled my family – and they cannot release me from my Oath in any case, for it was sworn in the name of Ilúvatar Himself." For the first time since uttering those fateful words, I felt remorse. Would I have sworn them had I known this would be part of the cost of its fulfillment? "If we part now, my heart warns it will be many long years before we are reunited, for I will be unable to return until Melkor is defeated and the Silmarils are again resting in my family's hands. Would you have me miss our son or daughter's childhood entirely?"

"I'm sorry, Makalaurë." Her eyes glimmered with tears, but her voice was firm, unyielding. She folded her hands over her belly as though to protect our unborn child from me. "I can make no other choice."

And so we parted in bitterness.

You knew some of my loss, of course; all my brothers but Curufinwë (blinded by his own pain) tried to be understanding. Your clumsy attempts at consolation only deepened my misery, for all you knew was that I was being sundered from my wife, and that only for a time – for surely once we'd recaptured the Silmarils I'd be again reunited with her, or so you believed. I had told none of my brothers, not even you, Maitimo, about the child I had lost before it was even born. I have never kept many secrets from you, but this one I will never willingly share. The hurt cuts too deep.

The ocean crossing from Araman to the Firth of Drengist was cruel, but I scarcely felt the hardship; the icy sea wind could make little impression on an already grief-frozen heart. As our ship headed east away from Aman and into the darkness, I was careful not to look back.