Turning Point by elennalore

Turning Point

Read Turning Point

“I’m not sure if I can go on,” Arafinwë confessed. Oh, how he hoped that he could shut his eyes for a while and just let sleep take him. It was so difficult to think clearly any more. He wondered how long it was since he had slept. The whole journey from Tirion felt like a collection of blurred memories, incoherent and unreal. In the unending night it felt like the time itself had ceased to exist. It didn’t stop them getting weary, though, as their feet took them farther north along the coast. He saw the same weariness in the eyes of his brother and sister as they sat in the tent with him, pensive and thoughtful.

 

“I know how you’re feeling, brother,” Nolofinwë said, his gentle hand touching his shoulder, offering him all the support he could. “I’m not sure if I can continue myself, but I must.”

 

His brother’s words triggered a bad memory and an image appeared in front of Arafinwë. His nephew was standing there again, eyes wide and blood dripping from the tip of his sword, forming a dark pool on the marble stairs. He shut his eyes in disgust, but the sickening image didn’t disappear. Had there really been blood, or was he just imagining it?

 

Another hand took hold of his own and pulled him back to the reality. He recognized his sister’s hand, it felt firm but cold. Suddenly Arafinwë was aware that he was shivering with cold himself. Where was his cloak? They had come far from Valinor and its pleasant weather.

 

“Nolvo, is there any soup left in the camp?” he heard Lalwendë ask, and there was a sound of rustling as Nolvo went to look for a supper for the three of them. Arafinwë’s eyelids felt heavy when he opened his eyes. His sister was observing him, looking more determined than he felt.

 

“Ingoldo, whatever you say, he won’t turn back. Especially not now as the Valar have spoken. He can’t leave his people if they want to continue, and many will. But most of all he can’t leave his children. He fears that his son is now condemned for his deeds. You heard the doom of Mandos.”

 

Oh, those words kept on ringing inside him. Thinking of them made them even louder in his mind, and he gave an involuntarily shudder. He wondered if the doom affected everyone like this or if it was just him. He nearly asked Lalwendë about it, but just then Nolvo returned with three mugs of warm vegetable soup and some dry bread, and he remained silent. He took a warm mug in hand and tried to enjoy the simple supper.

 

“My children have already left with their group,” Nolofinwë commented when they had finished eating. His expression didn’t reveal how he felt about the news. “They were in a hurry to catch Fëanáro’s company, I heard.”

 

Fëanáro and his kin had left the camp much earlier, straight after Mandos had spoken his ominous words. Thick fog had come from the sea afterwards, blanketing the stars, and most of the Noldor had preferred to wait for fog to lift, but not Fëanáro. His group had set sail and the beautiful ships he had acquired had vanished in the mist. Now the strong winds flap their tent, and Arafinwë found himself hoping that Fëanáro had patience to wait in a safe harbour if the weather at sea suddenly turned worse.

 

“What about the fog?” Lalwendë asked. Arafinwë could see that she, too, was anxious to leave that horrible place behind. Did the words of the Valar echo in her head as well? Perhaps the sound of the words would fade away in the far north where they were supposed to meet with Fëanáro’s host.

 

“The wind blew it away,” Nolvo said. “Do you think we should break camp and continue?”

 

Lalwendë gave Arafinwë a wary look. “Ingoldo is exhausted. I think we all need to sleep a little before continuing.”

 

“Sleep?” asked their brother as if she had suggested something bizarre, but then his shoulders relaxed. “Perhaps it’s for the best. Ingoldo, you look terrible, like a ghost escaped from Mandos.”

 

It was a wrong thing to say. The three of them tensed up and there was a forlorn look in Nolvo’s eyes as he realized his mistake. They were still grieving for their father, and the recent appearance of Námo Mandos had left all of them badly shaken.

 

“Do you think father would have wanted us to leave Valinor?” Arafinwë found himself asking. He felt himself almost falling asleep even as he spoke.

 

“His death will be avenged,” he heard Nolvo say, but if brother had said anything else before that, it was lost on him.

 

“Ingoldo, would you like to sleep here for a while?” his sister asked him gently. They were in her tent. It was not a regal command centre like Nolofinwë’s huge tent, nor a lively family hub like the one Arafinwë shared with his children. Lalwendë’s private tent was just suitable for three and conveniently out of the way.

 

Her gesture of hospitality made Arafinwë feel warm inside. He knew he needed to sleep, but there would be nightmares. He should stay strong for his children, especially now. They shouldn’t see him tormented by those vivid memories from Alqualondë lurking in the back of his mind.

 

“It may not be a peaceful sleep,” he warned Lalwendë anyway. It was best to make her aware of the issue. “But if it doesn’t bother you, I’d like to stay. Thank you, sister.” After a couple of hours sleep his mind would work better; perhaps he could make his decision at last.

 

“I can stay as well,” Nolvo said. The lamp hanging from a hook in the ceiling made the blue of his eyes look even deeper in colour. “If you don’t mind, that is.”

 

“It would be a pleasure,” Arafinwë managed to say. His eyes filled with tears against his will. And so it begins, he thought wearily. Tears unnumbered...

 

“Thank you, Nolvo,” Lalwendë simply said and started to prepare a makeshift bed for three from those few cushions and blankets she had brought with her.

 

Her actions brought a memory from their childhood days to Arafinwë’s mind. They had gone camping together with their parents by a lake near Tirion. He had woken in the mingling of the lights when the light of the Trees was at its dimmest. The fallen dusk had felt suddenly ominous and he had been afraid in that unfamiliar place. Next to him, Nolvo had been sound asleep. He hadn’t wanted to disturb him, so he had slunk into the girls’ tent, finding a new spot close to Lalwendë. His sister hadn’t driven him away, but placed a comforting arm around him, lulling him back to sleep.

 

Again he found himself in Lalwendë’s tent, surrounded by unimaginable darkness and too frightened to make a decision he knew he still had to make. Their common blanket wasn’t thick enough and earth felt cold, but Lalwendë’s body was warm next to him. Nolvo joined them after informing his people where to find him in an emergency. For a moment Arafinwë wondered if he should have done the same, but he knew Findaráto was perfectly suitable to run things in his absence.

 

Arafinwë felt safe lying between his sister and brother. Only then he realized how terrified he had been before. The death of the Trees, violence in Alqualondë and finally the sudden appearance of Vala Mandos – those events felt like they were from the old tales of dark times in Middle-earth. And back to Middle-earth they were all now heading on this ill-omened journey.

 

They had no chance against Moringotto. Even the Valar had proved powerless against his attack.

 

Lalwendë put her arm gently around him like she had done in his memory. He heard Nolvo’s light breathing close to his ear; his brother had already fallen asleep.

 

He feared nightmares, but then he woke up from deep, dreamless sleep and felt somewhat refreshed. It was impossible to say how long he had slept, but it couldn’t have been very long, for his siblings were still sleeping on both sides of him. The weather was getting worse. Heavy winds were flapping the tent even more now, swaying the lamp in the ceiling. Fëanáro had made the lamp, like so many other exquisite objects. Now it served as their only light, and very much needed; sleeping in complete darkness felt impossible.

 

Arafinwë lay completely still, careful not to wake the others. He knew he faced a decision, and it was a hard one. But it couldn’t wait any longer.

 

Do what your heart tells you. The thought appeared from nowhere, but the voice he heard was his father’s. Was it another memory? He remembered a story father used to tell them about the time when Oromë came to their village at Cuiviénen. When asked to accompany the Vala on a journey to Aman, father had been reluctant at first; the horned Vala had felt so formidable. But then he had just followed his heart. Shouldn’t he do the same?

 

But what if my heart tells me something I don’t want to hear?

 

He lay awake a long time until his brother and sister started to stir around him. Then he rose with them and suddenly feelings of doubt and uncertainty vanished, like a veil had lifted.

 

“I’m going to turn back.”

 

The decision felt more real after he had said it aloud. Nolvo and Lalwendë stopped their preparations and turned to look at him, very solemn. There were tears in Arafinwë’s eyes; he knew this was a goodbye.

 

“I thought you might do that,” Lalwendë said at last. “I saw it in your eyes last night.”

 

“You must think I’m a coward,” Arafinwë whispered. “But my place is here. I came to realize it when I heard the prophecy of the Valar. I’m connected with this land, and I don’t want to leave like this, against the will of the powers.”

 

The ceiling of the tent was too low for them to properly stand up, but Nolvo reached out and took him into a warm embrace, still kneeling.

 

“You’re not a coward,” his brother comforted him. “You’re the wisest of us, always have been. I wish I could follow you back to Tirion.”

 

“You still can.” He had a tightness in his throat that made it difficult to speak. “You both can still turn back.”

 

Nolvo shook his head. “Too late. Although I would like to come with you, it’s my other brother whom I must follow instead. I am needed there.”

 

“I’ll take care of Nolofinwë,” his sister promised. Her eyes, too, were glimmering with tears. “Someone has to, you know.”

 

“It’s good to know that you’ll be waiting for us in Aman when we return,” Nolvo added.

 

“Or perhaps I’ll follow you later,” Arafinwë spoke in a low voice. “Just... not like this.”

 

Too soon the three of them stood outside Lalwendë’s tent. The moment of parting had arrived. Strong winds were still blowing and it felt like it was going to rain. Arafinwë wrapped his heavy cloak around him, but he couldn’t really escape the bitter cold. How much colder it would be farther up in the north? Nolofinwë’s cloak looked all too thin for those northern winds.

 

He started to take off his cloak, involuntarily shivering in the cold, biting wind.

 

“Nolvo, let’s change cloaks. This one is much better when travelling farther north.”

 

His brother hesitated a moment before starting to take off his beautifully decorated garment. “Well, if you insist.”

 

Arafinwë just nodded. He was certain that it was the right thing to do. He would walk towards Valinor and the weather would become warmer day by day. After a moment he was wearing Nolvo’s cloak, and although it was remarkably thinner the biting cold didn’t bother him anymore.

 

“Come here, brother,” Nolvo said, arms open. He held him in an embrace for a long time. Then it was Lalwendë’s turn to hug him. He didn’t want the moment to end, but finally he forced himself to withdraw from the embrace.

 

“I’m going to look for my children,” Arafinwë told them with heavy heart. “I need to ask them if they come back with me although I know what their answer will be.”

 

Later, Arafinwë stood at the freshly abandoned campsite with some of his people and watched the last Elves of Nolofinwë’s group vanish behind the cliffs. Or rather, it was Nolofinwë and Findaráto’s group now. His son had refused to turn back as he had known he would. All of his children wanted to continue. There was a fire burning in their hearts that couldn’t thrive in Valinor. And they were not children anymore, really. He had made Findaráto his heir in an impromptu ceremony. He would be the leader of the Elves of his house in his absence. Arafinwë wondered if they would see each other again.

 

He waited until the last lights of the Elven lamps had vanished beyond the cliff. Then he turned to speak to those who had stayed with him.

 

“Let’s go home.”