Beyond the Sunset by elennalore

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Beyond the Sunset

“I never had a chance to visit his grave,” Lalwendë told him. “And now that I know its location, it’s too late.”

 

The world was on fire. Arafinwë had known it was going to be bad, but this felt like the end of the world. He could hear the mourning of the land as violent convulsions shook the dying earth. The fallen Vala was captured, the one who had killed his brother. He had seen a glimpse of him in the huge tent where the Valar were holding him. Lord Aulë had let him have only one look before he had driven him away. There had been a desire for vengeance in his heart before, but after seeing the wretched figure hunched in the corner the desire had died out. The fallen Vala was already defeated.

 

“He’s not there, really,” Arafinwë said to his sister. “His fëa has returned home.”

 

“Turgon built a cairn there, I later heard. I never knew where his secret city was located, so I couldn’t go there. We only knew that an eagle of Manwë had taken Nolvo’s body. But even that news was a relief.”

 

Thick clouds were hanging low and even though Lalwendë tried to point out the mountain range where Nolofinwë’s grave was, the visibility was poor.

 

They had left the battlefield and the collapsed iron fortress behind. What remained of Moringotto’s fortress was crumbling into dust in the north. Arafinwë had found his sister in the battlefield. She had fought with a mixed company of elves and secondborns, her banner proud in the wind. The mixture of relief and fear for her had been almost too much. There had been dragons! He would never forget the stink of a fallen dragon.

 

After the battle, he went looking for her as soon as he could. He had found her sitting in a tent; a healer was taking care of some minor burns she had got; those had been her only injuries.

 

Before their host had landed on Middle-earth, Eönwë had revealed him that he wouldn’t meet Nolofinwë there. No one of them who stayed in Valinor had known about his fate before, but now Eönwë told him about his brother’s duel with Moringotto. It sounded like Lord Manwë’s eagles had been watching them afar. He hoped the eagles would have intervened sooner, but they must have had their reasons.

 

“I tried to hold him back, but he went there anyway,” Lalwendë told him now. “His eyes shone with cold fire that scared all of us. Even Fingon couldn’t stop him.”

 

“He wanted to make an impact,” Arafinwë said. “He had come this far. I know he didn’t want that all your efforts were in vain.”

 

Nolvo had made an impact. The fallen Vala had been wounded in the duel. Was there any other elf who had done something so courageous? Arafinwë shook his head. Compared to his brothers he was nothing special, but he didn’t envy their fates, he decided.

 

“I want to visit his grave,” Lalwendë said, “but they say it’s too dangerous to go there.”

 

Something was happening to the world. As if the presence of the host of the Valar had shaken the balance of the world. Or perhaps it was because Moringotto had lost his control of the land; the wise ones said that he had poured a lot of his power into the earth, corrupting even the land itself. Even this far from the battlefield the land looked sick and barren. Earthquakes hadn’t stopped, either. Dangerous fumes rose from huge chasms that kept appearing in unexpected places. Some mountain ranges had already collapsed. Their brother’s grave could utterly vanish in this cataclysm, he realized. But Nolvo wasn’t really there.

 

“True, we can’t wander far now. Eönwë told me that there will be an evacuation soon. We must travel to the seashore where the fleet of the Falmari is waiting.”

 

It was going to be a big operation, and he was still nervous that Moringotto stayed amongst them even though he was guarded by the Ainur. What if he escaped? But he had looked powerless, chained and crippled by pain.

 

He turned to study his sister again. Lalwen – she had shortened her name as well as her hair – had taken off most of her silvery armour, but not her breastplate. There were still enemy archers hiding on the hills. In her eyes there was a fierceness that felt alien. Most of the exiles had the same fire in them. His brother’s eyes must have shown the same determination when he faced Moringotto in a duel.

 

“Eönwë promised that everyone can return to Valinor,” he told Lalwendë. Of course she knew it already. All of the exiled were talking about it, pondering their options. Some had already refused. His daughter had been one of them. Arafinwë hoped that Lalwendë would follow him to the West, but if she decided to stay, she would take care of his daughter. As if Artanis needed that.

 

Lalwendë remained silent and turned towards the mountains where their brother was buried under a cairn. So many of them had died here, Arafinwë thought. Even now he felt a shadow over the land.

 

“Will you come?” he finally asked.

 

She seemed to be pondering her answer still. Her expression was unreadable. Just when he was about to ask again her eyes widened in surprise.

 

“Ingoldo, look!”

 

The clouds had parted and the distant mountain peaks were suddenly lightened by the last rays of setting sun, giving the peaks a rosy colour. Now they could see them clearly. Somewhere there their brother’s body had been laid to rest.

 

“They are beautiful,” Arafinwë said, but he had a foreboding of upcoming disaster.

 

“What is it?” Lalwendë asked and took his hand in hers.

 

“It’s not going to last,” he whispered. He hated his premonitions, but they always appeared unasked. “The mountains are going to collapse. Everything will be buried under the waves.”

 

“Everything?” asked Lalwendë. Her eyes were full of worry. “What about your daughter?”

 

“I asked him to travel east,” Arafinwë said. Only now he understood why it had felt so important. “Everyone who wants to stay should go east.”

 

Lalwendë didn’t let go of his hand. She didn’t fear his strange premonitions.

 

“I’ll come with you,” she promised. He felt a huge sense of relief as he heard her words. They hugged each other, unable to speak.

 

The night was already falling. Tomorrow they would start their final journey towards the sea, and he would bring Lalwendë home.

 

* * * * *

 

Epilogue: Thieves in the night

 

Earthquakes kept Arafinwë awake that night. Finally he got up and went to walk around the perimeter of the camp. He was in a restless mood. Was something moving in the darkness or was it just his imagination? His hand found the hilt of his sword; he thought of Moringotto’s corrupted beings and feared for a sneak attack. Orcs wouldn’t try something so foolish when they were clearly overpowered, would they?

 

Just as he was about to alert the guards two figures emerged from the shadows. To his surprise, he recognized his nephews.

 

Nelyafinwë raised his hand in commanding gesture and Arafinwë stayed silent. Only when they had come closer, he opened his mouth: “What are you doing there?”

 

They had met briefly on the battlefield, but everything had been so chaotic then, they hadn’t got a chance to speak, really. He would have liked to ask about the last moments of his other brother. But this was clearly not the moment. Fëanáro’s sons were in a hurry.

 

“Nothing important,” Nelyafinwë said. “For you, at least.” There was a grim determination on his face that made Arafinwë step aside.

 

“Can we talk later?” he said although he had a feeling that he was interrupting something. “There are some questions I’d like to ask you about your father.”

 

“Perhaps,” Nelyafinwë said and glanced at his brother. Then they were gone, just like that, and only then Arafinwë started to feel suspicious.

 

Suddenly there was lots of shouting and commotion, and he started to run towards it, his heart filled with foreboding.

Chapter End Notes

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