The Elendilmir by pandemonium_213

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Chapter 30: Stars Upon the Jacinth Wall

Sámaril returns to Imladris where he is met with a cool reception from Elerína and admonishment from Elrond who has deduced that Sámaril, however well-intentioned, has exposed young Valandil to the perilous deep arts. Sámaril’s evident distress resulting from these events prompts Laurefin to suggest star-gazing out on the moor where they have a frank conversation.

Thanks to all my reptilian pals on the Lizard Council: Steel for a pre-read, Raksha and Drummerwench for suggestions of where to prune a bit, Russandol for catching nits, sanna, Jael, Oshun, and Aeärwen for comments, and Darth for under-the-radar philosophical natterings about the mores of the Calaquendi and the Moriquendi. There's also a little nod to one of Rhapsody's ficlets -- Prince of Hearts -- in there, too.

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Like a stone thrown into a lake, the silver peal of the guard’s horn sank into the morning fog that drowned the valley. The house’s tower bell answered, its ring muffled, but in the iron sky, a falcon’s whistle pierced the high airs. The bird wheeled around to dive down into the heavy mists. Thus my return to Imladris was announced.

Our horses picked their way along the path that skirted the cliffs’ edge and then descended into the shrouded vale. Pine and fir loomed veiled on either side of the path and gave way to oak and birch, the clean scent of evergreen mixing with the smell of autumn must that clung to the damp air. I breathed in the odors deeply, savoring the open air. Soon, we approached the wide court that opened up before the House of Elrond, its gables and tower curtained by the fog. The figures standing there resolved into Elrond, Thornangor and Valandil. My eyes swept across the court to the shadows of the porch, wondering if another had come to greet me, but I saw no one else.

No sooner had I dismounted than Valandil stood before me, his wolfhound Nella at his side, wagging her tail. Val and I faced one another in silence. It seemed I had only seen him yesterday, but now he was taller, only a few inches shorter than me. The lines of his face had changed, too, with the marks of maturity breaking through boyish softness. He held out his hand to shake mine.

“Welcome back, Istyar. Pilin told me you were on your way two days ago.”

The falcon, resting nearby on a perch driven into the stone, chattered in response, but behind Valandil, the shadow of a frown crossed Elrond’s face.

“Did she now?” I glanced over at the bird, who preened her breast feathers. “Well, I am glad to be back.”

Then he was in my arms, hugging me tightly.

“I missed you!”

‘”I missed you, too, Val. ”

He released his hold on me, and pulled back, his blue eyes brimming with happiness. “Will you tell me about the Dwarves? I want to hear everything! Oh, I shall have to tell you of the boar hunt with Galfaron! And the trout I caught last summer. He was a fighter. I made a beech wood jewelry box for Mother but locked it with a puzzle. She hasn’t figured it out yet. I’m better with my numbers, too. Lord Glorfindel is a good teacher, but it is still hard for me to figure...” He took a deep breath. “I have so much to tell you!”

“So it would seem! Yes, I will tell you all about the Dwarves. And you shall tell me what has been happening in the valley while I have been gone.” I paused before asking, “How fares your mother?”

“She is busy as usual, weaving and such with Mistress Lairiel. She still argues with Master Erestor over the ledgers. Oh, she gathered the most apples this year and will be crowned the Harvest Queen!”

Valandil had answered my most pressing question. Elerína had not left for Annúminas.

Thorno then stepped forward to embrace me, thumping me on the back.

“Hullo, old man. It’s good to have you back. I take it you have the materials?”

“Yes, and then some.”

“Good. Then we’ll store them in the treasury until you’re ready for them. I am eager to hear about the ‘and then some.’ ”

“I am sure you are, Thorno. We can speak about it later.”

“I wish to hear all about the Dwarves, too,” Elrond said, clasping my shoulder. “And then some. I daresay you’d like to rest and refresh yourself first though. Come to my quarters this evening after supper. Welcome home, Sámaril.”

~*~

That evening, after soaking away the weariness of the journey in a much-needed hot bath, I made my way with the others of Elrond’s household to the dining hall where the scent of roast duck, baked apples and fresh bread wafted from the kitchen and incited my empty stomach into a fit of audible growling. I tried not to be too obvious in my searching, but I did not see Elerína. The high table remained empty while we waited for Master Elrond to enter.

Then he did, and there she was: Elerína walked alongside her kinsman, her slender hand resting on his forearm. Her steps measured and graceful, she was just as beautiful as I remembered. A few more streaks of silver ran through the dark hair at her temples, and the corners of her eyes creased a little more when she smiled, but her expression was peaceful. She turned that smile toward Elrond, and a pang of envy shot through me. I warred within myself, disappointed that she had not come to greet me, but angry with myself for deliberately rejecting her. At the same time, I believed that this was for the best: it was not fitting for the Followers and the Eldar to join in love.

Nonetheless, I could not take my eyes off her and found myself willing her to look at me. But she did not. Even when I took my place at the far end of the high table, she avoided my every glance. I forced merriment upon myself and soon found distraction in answering the many questions from those who sat nearby; thus I was able to ignore her presence until we had finished the apple tart and cheese that concluded supper. Then Elrond rose from his chair, and all followed his lead, ready to retire to the Hall of Fire where the first notes of Lindir’s harp drifted. When I stood, I felt eyes upon me before I saw them. I looked up to meet Elerína’s direct gaze. I saw pain and longing in her face, but just as swiftly, her regard became icy. She turned away from me. Whatever hope I had of reconciliation was dashed.

Elrond leaned over and whispered something to Laurefin who then offered to escort Elerína and her ladies to the Hall. Elrond then signaled that I should join him. Elerína took Laurefin’s arm without so much as a backwards glance even when I walked close behind them, but I maintained my composure when I turned aside and left with Elrond.

He led me to his quarters where he opened the heavy oaken door, revealing a welcoming scene of a low fire in the hearth with two cushioned chairs set on either side. A flask of brandy with two harebell-shaped snifters rested on a sideboard. Curled up on a wool rug before the fire was a slate-grey cat, a descendant of Istyar Tyelperinquar’s beloved pet and, I had no doubt, one of Istyar Aulendil’s similarly pampered beasts. The cat rose to its feet and stretched languorously before padding over to Elrond who picked it up.

"Help yourself to brandy, Sámaril, and please have a seat.”

I poured the amber liquid into the pair of snifters and gave one to Elrond. The cat settled on his lap and purred loudly.

“I’m afraid I indulge her too much,” Elrond said, scratching the cat behind its ears, “but she’s an affectionate little creature and does not divulge my confidences. With that in mind, tell me of Durin. He bears a Ring of Power, does he not?”

“He does.” I proceeded to tell Elrond of Durin’s deteriorated condition, physical and otherwise, but that a new heir had been born. I recounted Brethilion’s role in saving the baby and his mother and his reward. Elrond’s jaw dropped at that, but laughter quickly followed his surprise.

“Durin gave our good surgeon tiutarinci? Brilliant, just brilliant! Durin knows the denizens of Lórinand all too well. I am sure Brethilion will make a killing with those. Now tell me of the gold plating. How extensive is this? Do you have any idea how much has been traded with the Men of the Anduin Valley?”

“I am not certain of the precise amount, but I know that the Dwarves are enthused about this, and apparently the Men they have commerce with are, too.“

Elrond rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I hope that the Longbeards will trade fairly, but I do have concerns over this. Less than scrupulous Dwarves might pass the plated goods off as solid gold to the lesser tribes of Men. “

“I did not hear of such while I was there.“

“I expect that you would not.“

I continued to report all the knowledge that I had gathered during my stay in Casarrondo, sparing no detail for I knew that Elrond absorbed everything that I said. The night drew on before I yawned.

“My apologies, Istyar. You are no doubt still weary from your travels. I shan’t keep you much longer but...” He hesitated, clearing his throat. “There is one more matter. An awkward one.”

“What is that, Master?”

“Valandil. More specifically, what you have taught him.”

“You are questioning my teaching?”

“Yes.”

“Have I erred in some way?”

“Not intentionally, but it seems that you have taught Valandil how to wield the deep arts.”

“How so?”

Elrond lifted the cat from his lap and placed her on the floor. She mewed in protest but ambled to the rug where she lay down again. Elrond went to the fireplace and stirred the embers before turning to face me.

“Last summer, I saw Valandil in the garden where he stooped to retrieve a half-feathered fledgling that had fallen from its nest. The bird was close to death. Val wrapped his hands around it, shut his eyes, and moved his lips. He did this for some time. Then he opened his hands: the bird was now whole and alive! Not only had he brought it back from the brink of death, but he had also given it strong feathers so that it could fly away into the trees. But just after he released the bird, Val fell into a swoon. I carried him to his bed but could not rouse him. He did not recover consciousness for two days. Elerína was beside herself, but I was able to reach him and draw him back.

“When he regained his strength, I questioned him, asking him how he had healed the bird that was so grievously injured. He said you had taught him to see into materials when you helped him make a wooden puzzle box, that from watching you, he learned to ‘move the smallest things’ as he put it. He repeated to me what he had heard you say in your mind. I know these words to be a spell of Making.” Elrond paused. “Valarin words.”

Now Elrond knew. There was no use hiding it from him, not that I should ever have doubted that he would have found out that Valandil had learned to see into the fabric of wood as well as that of sinew, flesh and bone.

“Yes, it is true: I showed him the interior of the wood when he kept breaking it, but that was the only time I actively instructed him in the deep arts. Not long after that, before you returned, he healed Pilin’s broken wing, but with no incitement from me. That experience did not affect him adversely, at least from what I could tell. If he has continued to experiment with the deep arts, it is not under my guidance.”

“That is what concerns me. He must be given direction. I believe his gift is natural, but that does not make it any less hazardous, especially in a mortal. You and I have noted his sensitivities to dreams and that he communes with beasts and birds more so than most mortals. The blood of Melian runs strong in him, stronger than I would have guessed.

“Apparently he has continued to apply what he learned from you. His healing of that half-dead fledgling -- and making its feathers grow -- demanded far more from him than anything he had attempted previously. As you well know, these are perilous arts; I must now teach him how to apply them judiciously. In this, I believe there can be only one teacher so I must ask that you never do this again.”

“I am not sure what to say, Master.”

“I am not asking you to cease teaching him altogether, Sámaril. He has learned much from you. More than that, he loves you. Just refrain from exposing him to the deep arts.”

“I see. You do not trust me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! Of course, I trust you! You would not be the master smith of Imladris nor even dwell here if I did not. Your craftsmanship has benefited all of Imladris tremendously. But I admit that I am circumspect about your instructing a mortal in the deep arts.”

“Because of my association with Aulendil.”

“Yes. Because of that.”

Elrond’s blunt words stung, enough that I could no longer bear to continue the conversation without fear of an angry outburst, surely ill advised with the lord of Imladris.

“If I may take my leave, Master,” I said, rising and bowing formally to Elrond, who nodded his dismissal. “I will take heed of your request. Be assured I will no longer expose Val to the deep arts. Good night.”

“Good night, Istyar.”

~*~

My conversation with Elrond had been disturbing enough, but subsequent encounters with Elerína worsened my already dark mood. After her chilly avoidance of me in the dining hall, I refrained from joining the others there for the next several evenings, pleading the excuse of work, but hoping to avoid Elerína’s presence. However, I could not avoid her entirely. We saw one another in the kitchen, where polite but cool greetings were offered, but nothing more, not even a hint from either one of us that further conversation was desired.

A particularly awkward encounter occurred when, upon opening the door to the bathhouse, I nearly walked into her as she emerged, snug in a wool robe with a towel wrapped around her head.

“Please pardon me, my lady!” I apologized with a forced brittleness to dispel the image of what lay beneath her robe, separated from me by one mere layer of fabric.

She blushed, and my face warmed, too, when I worried that my eyes might have given away my thought, but she responded with equal rigidity, “It is no matter, Istyar. Good day to you!” The she was off with her ladies trailing behind her.

I gritted my teeth and entered the steaming bathhouse, hoping to soak my misery away, where I forced my thoughts to turn to the coming festivity of the evening: the Harvest Dance.

One could not have asked for a finer night for such a celebration. The air was crisp and dry; the moonless night sky so clear that the entire dome of heaven was awash with stars. Earlier at sunset, many had gathered in the large open glade near the house, the same glade where I had swooned when I became ensnared in the Threads of Vairë.

Lindir’s music celebrated the changing of the seasons and the lushness of the harvest: the trilling of birdsong pipes vied with a lightning fiddle while drums thundered out a rhythm that set elvish feet, including my own, to dancing. I had no lack of partners, although I glanced now and then at the edges of the oak grove, looking to see if Elerína had arrived. I decided that I would make a discreet exit before she was brought into the circle to be crowned the Harvest Queen.

The brew master broke out casks of apple brandy. I quaffed one cup and then another and another, savoring its sharp scent and the fire that warmed my throat. Its spirits made me laugh louder and lift my feet with more abandon, spinning around and around in the circle of dancers.

Then the drumbeats ceased abruptly, and a single flute sent silver droplets like a nightingale’s song dancing around the glen. All eyes were drawn to the west side of the grove where two elf-maidens bearing torches walked into the clearing, escorting Elerína between them.

My plans to depart evaporated. I could not take my eyes off her. She was clad in a wine-red gown, cinched around her waist with a belt of green and gold leaves; the scooped neckline of the dress exposed the rounded swell of her breasts. Her unbound hair flowed over her shoulders and down her back, free of any adornment. She smiled and laughed at the cheers: “Long live our lady of the apples!” “Break out the wine! Let us drink to the Harvest Queen!” Erestor then came forward to help her step up on top of a low stump. She bent over so that Elrond, smiling broadly, could place a wreath of autumn leaves woven with wheat over her brow.

“All hail the Harvest Queen!” he declared to the cheers and applause of the crowd. Then the music resumed, even more lively than it was before. The drums thrummed with a more primal beat, and the dancers leapt and spun. The apple brandy now eroded my conviction to keep Elerína at a distance. What would be her response if I asked her to dance with me? Would she reject me or accept? I was in the process of mulling this over when I saw Erestor and Laurefin assisting her down from the stump, and then stood on either side of her, each apparently offering himself as her dance partner. She smiled at each man, but turned to Laurefin who took her hand and raised it to his lips, which lingered far too long on her tapered fingers. The look I imagined exchanged between them sent fire and ice through me.

My decision to leave became immediate. I shoved my way out of the throng of celebrants, ignoring grunts of protest and cheerful cries admonishing me to stay and have a dance and yet more apple brandy. I freed myself from the crowd, running out into the night where I loped along the path and on to my refuge: the forge.

Having imbibed more spirits that I should, I knew that work on anything delicate or dangerous was unwise so I went into my workshop, surveying it to identify a task that would calm my mind but not harm my body. I settled on sorting scrap metal. Setting up three empty coal hods, I threw odds and ends of iron, copper and steel into the buckets, venting my anger and disappointment with each clash of metal against metal.

“You have a rhythm going there, Istyar.”

Startled, I looked up to see Laurefin standing alone in the doorway. He held my cloak and pack in his left hand. Tucked underneath his right arm were his telescope and its folded tripod.

I said nothing, but resumed tossing metal into the buckets. He came across the room to stand in front of me.

“This is quite a show, Sámaril, but do not think you can fool me into thinking this is anything truly productive.” He gentled his voice. “Come now. I have your horse ready.”

“My horse is ready? For what? Tonight’s wild hunt? No, thank you.”

“Don’t be obtuse.” He raised his right arm, lifting the telescope. “I propose that you and I ride to the moor and gaze at the stars.”

After lobbing a piece of rusty iron into a hod, I searched his eyes -- said to be the color of the sea -- and saw nothing but concern and sincerity. I knew he wished to talk to me at length, and his invitation was a thinly disguised command. From past experience, I knew it was best to agree. I took my cloak and pack from him.

“Very well. Lead on, my lord.”

~*~

We rode in silence, making our way out of the valley where the call of the hunter's horn and the answering bays of Galfaron's hounds could be heard as those who would ride in the night's wild hunt gathered. The sounds of the hunt, music and laughter diminished to silence when we rode out onto the moors. A low hill rose before us, and there Laurefin called a halt. “This will do.” We dismounted, tethered the horses and gathering our packs and the telescope, we set off up to the top of the rise. There Laurefin stood, his head thrown back, and his golden hair now silver in the starlight. He turned around slowly with arms outstretched, surveying the heavens while singing.

O! happy mariners upon a journey long
To those great portals on the Western shores
Where far away constellate fountains leap,
And dashed against Night's dragon-headed doors,
In foam of stars fall sparkling in the deep.
While I alone look out behind the Moon
From in my white and windy tower,
Ye bide no moment and await no hour,
But chanting snatches of a mystic tune
Go through the shadows and the dangerous seas
Past sunless lands to fairy leas
Where stars upon the jacinth wall of space
Do tangle burst and interlace.

“'Stars upon the jacinth wall',” I said. “I have not heard that song for a long while. Mother and Father used to sing it in memory of Eärendil.”

“Nor have I sung it for some time now. It just seemed fitting.”

Laurefin unfolded the tripod and set it in position while I unfurled an oilcloth on the ground, tossing our packs and bedrolls on it. I watched him in the dark, while he locked the telescope onto the tripod, and then looking through the eyepiece, he made adjustments in relationship to the Pole Star until at last he straightened and beckoned to me: “Come look, Sámaril.”

I peered into the eyepiece of the telescope. Through powerful lenses, I gazed at two stars, distant beyond elvish comprehension. One was red-orange in color and the other blue-white, so close that arms of fiery mists reached out to encircle one another in eternal embrace.

“Those twin stars -- the Lovers -- were her favorite objects in the constellation of the Harp,” Laurefin said. “I remember when she first showed them to me through this very telescope when we were in the hills of Eregion.” He paused, letting me continue to stargaze in silence before he spoke again.

“Do you remember when I first met the Istyanis, Sámaril?”

“Yes, Laurefin. I was there.”

This was not the first time we had this conversation. He rarely spoke of her, but when he did, it was with me -- the brother of her heart -- and one of the few remaining touchstones of she whom he had lost. He said nothing more for a time, but continued to move and adjust the telescope so that it was aimed at a milky island of stars uncountable that swirled majestically in the depths of Ilmen: a “galaxy” Laurefin called it, the harsh Valarin word grating against its mysterious beauty. Then he picked up his reminiscence where he had left off.

“It was when she unveiled Galadriel’s Mirror.”

His voice became remote as he reached back into deep memory, but he retained the presence of mind to walk over to the oilcloth where he sat down on his bedroll, stretching his legs out before him. I followed and opened the jug of apple cider we had brought with us, pouring a generous amount into each of two silver cups. He took one from me and sipped it while I settled myself on my bedroll, wrapping my cloak around myself and listened to his familiar tale, but one that revealed new details each time he told it.

“I had come to Ost-in-Edhil with Elrond. He told me about the Istyanis and her mother, the Lady Culinen, not long after I returned to Middle-earth. After all, Elrond and Culinen had been friends for many years, well before she left Lindon to travel east with her kinsman, Tyelperinquar. I must admit I was curious about her daughter. I had seen Lúthien once when I accompanied Findaráto into Doriath and was allowed to pass the Girdle of Melian. Tinúviel was a beautiful woman but no more so than Artanis, Itarillë or Irissë. Yet when she sang and danced, she cast an enchantment over all and indeed became the fairest of the Children of Ilúvatar. So I wondered if there might be any similarity between her and the Istyanis.”

“Were you disappointed?”

“Yes and no. At first glance, the Istyanis was rather ordinary, plain compared to Lúthien. It’s not that I didn’t find her attractive, but she was not my type, and there were lovelier women present at the unveiling. But when I heard Mélamírë speak and witnessed what happened when Lady Galadriel put the Mirror through its paces, I knew I had to meet the woman who possessed the kind of mind that could create such a thing. That she turned her mind toward me was a gift. But I squandered that gift, Sámaril. That is why I asked that you come here with me tonight so that we could talk. Do not make the same mistake I did.”

“I fear my mistake is irreparable.”

“Maybe, but maybe not. I know that you and Elerína are both miserable.”

“But I thought...when I saw you with her,” I stammered. “She seemed so happy.”

“You assumed she had taken me as a lover, did you? You were seeing through the fog of apple brandy. For my part, I tend to dally with men these days when I dally at all. But even if I had an eye for her, Elerína wants only you, my friend. If you are not aware of that, then you are blind.”

“I am not blind. It’s just that this is so hopeless.”

“Why? Because she is mortal?”

I nodded silently in the darkness.

“It is true that your time together would be short, but wouldn’t a short time be better than none? Do you love her?”

“Yes, but I am at a loss of what to do.”

“Sámaril, I may not the best one to be giving advice to the lovelorn. I have been betrothed three times.”

“Three?” I had only known of one.

“Yes. First to a maid of Vanyar in Aman. Beautiful, pious, of noble birth but none too bright. Mother and Father considered her a good match. I left her behind in the Rebellion. I suppose I have Nolofinwë and even Fëanáro to thank for saving me from a dull marriage. Then I was betrothed again in Ondolindë because of pressure from Lord Turukáno and to provide a distraction from my involvement with Ecthelion.”

“Ah.”

“Yes, for all that the maidens now coo and whisper over our 'doomed and forbidden' romance, in reality, ours was a dangerous affair. Turukáno was a traditionalist in many matters, and he interpreted the teachings of the Valar with strict orthodoxy. He did not look kindly upon men who...well, you understand what I mean.”

“I do.”

“I don’t know that he would have thrown us from the walls, but had Turukáno chosen to do so, he could have shunned us, made us into pariahs like the released thralls of Morgoth but confined within the walls of Ondolindë. Turukáno had shunned two of his courtiers who had become involved and were less discreet than Ecthelion and I. What a terrible life to lead: trapped in the city but spurned by all. It was something that Ecthelion and I wished to avoid. So that betrothal was a sham. I am not proud of this. She was a lovely, gracious woman, worthy of one better than I, or at least the man I was then.”

“What happened to her?”

“She died in the Fall of Ondolindë. Cut down by orcs as she tried to flee. I saw her death but was helpless to do anything about it. She was too far away.”

“I am sorry, Laurefin.”

“Thank you. I am sorry, too, and I paid my penance in the Halls of Mandos, at the times when I was aware of my existence, that is.” He shuddered briefly. The subject of Mandos was not one that he ever discussed in detail. “When I was reincarnated, I made a promise to myself to better obey the Valar's edicts. I have not held fast to that promise. I feel guilt when I succumb to my desires, but at other times...” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I tell you this in confidence, my friend: sometimes I question the teachings.”

“As do I, my lord. But I, too, understand the guilt when the hröa’s desires overcome the discipline of the fëa.”

“That has happened often enough that I have been accused of being a rank opportunist, but I adhered to the teachings strictly for some years after I set foot on these shores again. But then one pretty face and another tempted me. Backsliding and then praying to Nienna as penance became a way of my life.

“Then I met the Istyanis. She was the first woman who saw beyond my looks and the heroics of my first life. She was actually interested in my love of mathematics and astronomy. Not only was she interested in these subjects, she truly understood them! At last, I had met an intellectual equal, and truth be told, in many ways, my superior. The woman who had been merely attractive became beautiful to me. If Lúthien was the nightingale’s song, then the Istyanis was the fire of making.” He laughed, but it carried the bitter notes of regret. “I imagined how appalled my parents, especially Mother, would be if I joined with this woman who had such a checkered family background, but that just enhanced her allure. She must have seen something in me, too, because we fell in love.”

“Why didn’t you marry her?” I knew the answer, but I also knew that he wanted me to ask the question.

“Because I hesitated, Sámaril. I had been in Eregion for three years, and we were betrothed for two of them. War was inevitable. I begged her to flee while there was still time. But she and Culinen were determined to stay. In part, this was because of their loyalty to Tyelperinquar, but Mélamírë did not want to leave me. So I drew away from her -- gently, I thought -- in hope that by letting our ardor cool, rational thought might prevail and she would leave for the protection of Gil-galad’s kingdom or even Númenor. So I invoked the teachings in order to forestall marriage. I recited them to her: the Eldar do not marry in a time of war. I did this knowing full well how much she wished to wed.

“My strategy failed miserably. She returned her ring of betrothal, smelted and forged into the metal of my helmet. She left the city only when she was taken captive. I tried to save her, Sámaril, but when he blocked my way -- when he turned his hatred and fury on me -- there was no hope then.

“So I will give you this advice. If you love Elerína, tell her. Do not cast away happiness when it is presented to you. Even if it is fleeting.”

“But the fact that I am married remains.”

“Yet we are capable of loving more than one in our lifetimes. So it was with Finwë.”

“Look what happened with that!”

“True, but what is left unsung are the lives and loves of the Moriquendi. It is said that the Valar, when first encountering our people, were entranced with our song and speech, but appalled by other behaviors that they considered licentious. Our ancestors were barbaric in the eyes of the Valar. So those of our forefathers and foremothers who sought the Light in the West were expected to embrace the guidance handed down from the Valar. But the Dark Elves are different than the Exiles and our descendants -- a feral, rustic folk, we say -- but perhaps more like the One meant us to be. And that includes loving another when a spouse dies.”

“But what if Nierellë lives?”

“I can tell you that without your presence in Aman, it is extremely unlikely that she has reason to come back to the living. That is the way of things. Yes, some have been returned to their bodies made whole and new again. Many have not. If the situation were reversed, what would you expect of Nierellë?”

“I would wish her to be happy.”

“Even if that meant that she found happiness in the arms of another man?”

I thought about this for a moment, and then answered sincerely, for there was nothing more I wished than for my wife to find joy.

“Yes, even with another man.”

“Look into your heart. What do you believe she would wish for you?”

A brief vision of Nierellë’s floral blue eyes with their fringe of brown lashes fluttered within my thought. I felt a phantom’s kiss on my lips.

“I believe she would wish me to be happy, too,” I whispered for fear of my voice catching on the knot of sorrow in my throat. “Nevertheless, by our laws I cannot marry Elerína.”

“No, you cannot. But you can love her.”

Laurefin’s words sank into me, but I said nothing to him. We lay silent, watching the stars wheel overhead, each lost in his thoughts, until the sky behind the mountains became grey. Laurefin sat up and rubbed his face, turning toward the growing light in the East.

“Let’s pack up and head back. I’ll fix kaffea for us.”

The dawn promised an even more beautiful autumn day than the one before. We stripped off our cloaks after we escaped the chill wind of the high moor and descended into the gentle clime of the valley, now glowing pink in the early light. By the time we stabled our mounts, the sun had climbed to mid-morning and the kitchen was bustling with Astaron’s staff, cleaning dishes, pots and pans left from breakfast. Laurefin set to grinding his roasted beans and brewing coffee while Maidhel ensured that plates of toasted bread with blackberry jam, butter and rashers of bacon were placed on the long table before us. I had already devoured the bacon and was slathering butter and jam on the toast when Laurefin placed a steaming mug of hot black kaffea in front of me. He took a long sip, sighing with pleasure.

“O sweet devil-nectar, how I love thee!”

“You ought to write a poem about kaffea.”

“Maybe I shall.”

Likewise, I sipped the hot drink, finding it too bitter for my taste, and reached for a small pitcher of cream nearby, pouring it into the kaffea to mellow it.

Movement in the doorway caught my eye. I looked up to see Lady Vórwen, coming into the kitchen like us for a late breakfast. I rose, inviting her to join us, which she did, sitting by my side on the bench.

We made idle talk, and then Laurefin excused himself, picking up pack, telescope and tripod, and he left the kitchens. I waited until Lady Vórwen finished her breakfast, and then stood when she did, walking with her out of the noisy kitchen. Before we parted, she to her quarters and I to the baths, I spoke to her in the solitude of the corridor.

“If I may have a word, my lady?”

“Of course, Istyar.”

“Do you think Lady Elerína will be willing to talk to me?”

“Yes, I should think so, Istyar. I am surprised that you ask such a thing.”

“She has been rather cool to me since I returned.”

“She might say that you have been the same. It is time that you speak to one another.”

“Will you ask her then if I may speak to her alone? Truly alone?”

She raised her eyebrows at that, but then a gentle smile formed on her aging face. “I will ask her, Istyar, and will let you know.”

Later, after I had returned to my quarters from the baths, Vórwen knocked on my door.

“It is a fine day for a walk in the valley, but I fear that I have a headache so I will not be accompanying my lady this afternoon. She intends to hike along on the path that runs above the river. I believe you are familiar with it?”

“That I am. Thank you, Vórwen. I hope you feel better soon.”

I sat by my window for most of the morning, ostensibly reading an obscure treatise on the crystalline and amorphous forms of copper written by a Dwarven-scholar of the Blue Mountains, but more often than not. I looked outside. When I at last saw a slender figure walk across the court and disappear down the steps on her way to the path that ran beside the Bruinen, my heart leapt to my throat. I set aside the scroll, counted to one hundred and forty-four twelve times, and then left my quarters to follow my fate.

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Chapter End Notes

The verses Laurefin sings are from one of the early poems JRRT wrote about Eärendil. See Tolkien, JRR. “The Tale of Eärendel.” The History of Middle-earth, v. II, The Book of Lost Tales, Part Two, ed. C. Tolkien. 2002; HarperCollinsPublishers, London: 274.

Kaffea is my own speculative concoction of a Haradric term for coffee with a nod to the Kaffa region in Ethiopia and the genus Coffea.