Touch The Stars by cuarthol

Touch The Stars

Read Touch The Stars

Tyelpë felt like the dead.  His head throbbed, his tongue felt thick, and he could not seem to move his right hand for some reason.  Instead he rubbed his head with his left and tried to peel his eyes open, though it felt as if someone had poured sand into his sockets.  He corrected himself mentally, he felt far, far too alive; had he been dead all this misery would have been left behind.

The dim light that filtered through his curtains still seemed far too bright as he flopped his arm over his eyes and tried to remember what had happened.  The few drinks he had taken the night before could not possibly account for his wretched state, and he was certain he had not had more than he remembered.

But that thought suddenly pulled the whole of the situation into a terrifying, stark clarity and against every nerve in his body protesting, he pulled himself out of bed, only to remember he could not move his right arm.  This was quickly explained as he realized he had been cuffed to the bedpost.

And with that, the rest of reality came crashing back in.  While there was no one thing about his situation that informed him of what he knew had happened, it was the whole of it together that smacked of the unmistakable meddling of his uncle. 

It was exceptionally fortunate for him that he had a spare key in his nightstand, and under any other circumstance he might have stopped to appreciate the humor of this little facet of his life that had clearly slipped under his uncle’s notice.  Under any other circumstance but this one.

He pulled his wrist out of the cuff and barely got his shirt on as he stumbled out of the door of his quarters, running as fast as his aching body would allow.  Drugged - he must have been drugged, there was not only no other possible explanation, but it was - under the circumstances - the only one that even began to make sense.

Looking at his wrist he realized his watch was missing and he cursed, though by the growing light he could guess the time near enough.  He crashed through the doors into the mission control room and stopped to steady himself enough to look around at the readouts, panic already welling inside.

Turning to the bay of windows that overlooked the launch pad, he could see the wafts of smoke as the engines warmed up.  He fumbled for the comm, slamming his hand down on the button. 

“Uncle Káno, I know it’s you,” he said, even though he could not possibly see across the compound to identify who it was sitting in that rocket. “You think you’re hilarious, I’m sure, but get out of there.”

There was no answer at first, and a moment of doubt clawed at his mind, but just when he was beginning to suspect actual sabotage, the speaker crackled to life and after a moment of static he heard his uncle’s melodious voice speak.

“I didn’t expect you to be awake for another hour at least.”

Tyelpë did not miss the sadness in the voice, even for the scratch of the comm system.  “Thought you had plenty of time to just slip away, huh?”

“Sorry.  About your head, I mean,” he clarified.  “I’m sure it hurts like mad.  Better than being dead, though.”

“Uncle Káno, you can’t do this.  Just delay the launch until I get suited up.  I’m supposed to be doing this, not you.”

“You’ll have to tell me how you got out of the cuffs,” came the reply, a hint of amusement in his voice.  “Perhaps you are less innocent than I thought.”

“I don’t know what game you think you’re playing, but I’m ending it.”  But despite his bold declaration, Tyelpë found he had been locked out of every single system.  He had no idea how his uncle had done it as screen after screen flashed that his input was invalid.  Even the large red ‘ABORT’ button would not obey as he pushed it repeatedly.

“Your old uncle might have learned a trick or three over the years.”

Tyelpë was just starting to realize how very much that was true, turning his attention to the rocket, gauging whether he could make it across the courtyard to the rocket if he started running now.

“Uncle Káno-”

“I have to do this.”  His voice was so final, so full of sorrow but not regret.  “I have to do it.  We both know it’s a one-way trip.  We both know there’s no coming back this time.”

Tyelpë found himself blinking back tears suddenly, the futility of the moment sinking in as he fell into the chair beside the microphone. 

“No.  I can’t lose you,” Tyelpë said, and his voice cracked so badly he almost wondered if it had been audible on the other end.  But the reply answered that question for him. 

“Of course you can.  You don’t need me,” his uncle said, voice soothing as water.  “I needed you.  I needed… but you don’t need me.  You are brilliant, Tyelpë.  Maybe even more than Fëanor was.  You need to stay and finish your work.”

“Please, Uncle Káno, please.  Abort the launch.  Don’t go- don’t leave me-”

“I’ve always wanted to touch the stars,” he said, and the pain in his voice was gone, now filled with wonder.  “I’ve always wanted to kiss Arien, dance on Tilion.  Maybe I’ll get that chance before the end.”

He tried to sniff back the tears that were quickly overwhelming him, dripping onto the console and choking his words.  “Please, don’t do this.”

Káno sighed.  “I miss my brothers.  I- I miss them so much.” 

“But I’ll miss you!” Tyelpë insisted, knowing how weak he sounded and yet - he was.  He felt weak, so very afraid of being left behind.

“I know,” Káno said, and his voice carried in it the embrace he wished he could give his nephew now.  The kiss he would press to his forehead, the squeeze of his hand in comfort.  Somehow his voice conveyed it all.

“You’re all I have left,” he said. 

“You have a lifetime, still.  But me?  I spent my years long ago.”  

Silence returned then, and Tyelpë could barely even see the monitor through his tears, wiping desperately at his eyes as he checked the readings that indicated launch was only thirty seconds away.

“Your father… he would be so proud of you.”  Tyelpë choked at that, but Káno continued.  “I know things were rough between you, but he loved you so much.  I wish… I wish you could have known that.”

The primary engines were beginning to fire up, a deep rumble followed by plumes of smoke.

“Uncle Káno-”

“He wanted you to be happy.  He wanted you to… to reach for the stars.  And you’ve done that.  You’ve done what no one else has ever done.  But you have so much more to do.”

“No-”

“I want you to remember that.  I want you to know…”

The stabilizers began to withdraw from the rocket’s sides, and the voice from the rocket began to tremble for it.

“It’s going to look so beautiful up there,” Káno said, his voice returning to that dreamy state.  “Do you think I’ll be able to hold one?”

“Try,” Tyelpë said, knowing it was too late now, too late to stop him, too late to even try to abort the launch.   “Try for me.  Hold one and think of me.”

“Do you think… it will burn?” Káno asked.

Tyelpë felt a sob shake his body.  He couldn’t force the words past the lump in his throat.

“Look up, and know I’ll be there, watching you.  Always.”

“I-... I love you, Uncle Káno,” he managed at last, unwilling to not let his uncle hear those final words, but dissolving into even deeper sobs once he had said it.

“Oh, Tyelpë,” Káno whispered back.  “I know.  I love you, too.”

The automated countdown was beginning to read out the final seconds, now.  The rumble growing as flames spit out the bottom of the rocket. 

Over the roar of the engines, Tyelpë just managed to catch the song of his uncle before the Mornië shuddered and began to rise off the pad in an expanding halo of flames and ash-white smoke, almost obscuring the dark raven’s wings painted down the sides.

“Dear little boy, listen
To the voices of your soul
It showed you the way
Of silence and peace
Follow your thoughts and fly
Choosing all the things that you desire
Giant waves, fireflies...”

 

***

The shaking of the rocket was enough to make him nauseous, until he was suddenly pressed back into the seat, finding it difficult to even take a proper breath.  He closed his eyes and gripped the armrests, hoping he did not throw up.

After what felt like far too long, though only minutes, the whole world changed.  The weight of everything fell away.  The world no longer pulled at his tired limbs, his past seemed to dissolve, even the heavy chains of his heart released him at last, and he smiled. 

He unhooked his buckles, floating free of the seat and coming up to the window.  Above him swirled the vast stretches of Arda, stealing his voice away as he gazed in wonder at the sight.  Even his irreverent tongue could not keep from mouthing a small prayer in awe to Eru.

Then he looked down; down, down into the endless depths of space, teeming with stars, every one a brilliant jewel, a fish in a vast black ocean, sparkling like the shores of Alqualondë.  He rested his hand against the window and felt the tears well in his eye, but they could not fall here.  He wiped at them, letting the little blobs of salty water float off into the cabin.

“Oh, Tyelpë,” he breathed.  “I wish you could have seen this.”

He felt as if, indeed, he might be able to reach out and take one of those shining points of light into his hands, cup it and hold it, draw strength and life from it.  He felt as if he could fall back upon the surface of Tilion and laugh.  But it was Arien that would embrace him in the end.

Everything had been set to automatic, he was barely needed except to ensure that absolutely nothing went wrong.  He glanced at the case, solidly unbreachable - welded shut to prevent any possible lapse of reason.

Arien: the only fire in all of Eä save the Everlasting Flame itself that was capable of destroying the contents of that case.  They had debated back and forth for weeks over their options.  Bury it, cast it into the sea, send it shooting into the sun.  The last was the only way to ensure that it could never, never again fall into the wrong hands and be used.

But it was a risk.  Only one other rocket had ever been built with enough power to make it even this far, and the guidance system had failed shortly after, sending it crashing back to earth.  The only way to be sure was to have a pilot who could take over if the system failed again.

It had not even been a question.  Tyelpë would build the rocket, he would fly it, he would ensure that the Annatar was never used again, not by anyone.

It had not even been a question.  There was no way in all the depths of hell that Káno would let his nephew sacrifice himself, not after all he had lost already.  He wearied of life, this was almost a mercy.

Turning himself around, he was now looking down at the circles of the world, trying to pinpoint where he had just come from, but surely it was long behind him now.  It hardly mattered except to his mind that ascribed sentiment to seeing - if not his nephew - then at least the distant speck of where he stood.

“You will do so many great things,” he whispered, and smiled sadly that he would not be there to see them.  But perhaps - just perhaps - he might earn himself a place in history as having done at least one great thing.  It would never erase the blood he had spilt, the evils he had been part of.  But maybe it would balance them, just a little.  Just enough.

Closing his eyes and resting his face against the cool surface of the glass, he began to sing again.

 

"Your dreams will be your only shell
Your secrets, your hiding place, my son
Don't let let them try
To crush your brain
Let you go far
... my son”

---

Chapter End Notes

Text in blockquotes are lyrics from I Lived On The Moon - Kwoon which provided a thematic soundtrack for writing.

A secondary song that sort of slid in mood-wise was Contact - Trocadero