Chapter Text
Ezellohar lay before Yavanna like a looming shadow. Once Her favourite place in all of Arda, it now seemed a stain amidst the gorgeous lands of Aman. Melekō had greatly befouled this land, for all that he had been granted a chance to prove himself truly repentant.
She knew that Mānawenūz had fiercely desired for Melekō's assurances of his regret to be genuine but all of those hopes lay in ashes now before them. Mānawenūz was the Lord of Aþāraphelūn as intended by design of their Father, but His wish to reunite with His brother had cost them greatly - the trust of many of the Children, the lives of Children under Their protection and many lives yet to be lost to this war, and, most unfortunately, Her beloved Trees.
Nienna had sung for Ezellohar, sung for all the sadness She knew from Her part in the theme to be an aspect of Aþāraphelūn's design, and it had brought forth the last flower and fruit of the Trees. But Nienna’s song had not been able to fix the damage done to Ezellohar or the Trees. Yavanna could feel the hurt in the soil beneath the feet of Her fána. The sap that had sprung forward from the dying Trees had scorched the mound, and its once bright green slopes had turned blackened and oily. A film now covered the soil and kept precious water from reaching its layers.
With Nienna's help, Yavanna had found that She could treat the condition of Ezellohar and would eventually be able to mitigate the damage, but the pure destruction wrought upon its hills by the beast Ungweliantë could never be undone. Even if the soil was saved - which would surely take centuries yet to be accomplished in its entirety - no power of Yavanna or Nienna could bring back to Valinor and to Aþāraphelūn the splendour of Ibrīniðilpathānezel and Tulukhedelgorūs.
Ai Ninquelotë! Ai Ninquelotë! Lord of silver mists and clear bells, herald of gentle shades and soft winter snows, spring of Time! Ai Malinalda! Ai Malinalda! Lady of golden flame and ringing horns, kindler of shimmering rains and bright summer joys, companion of the brilliant dawn above Corollaire!
Such wonderful praise the Children had always sung to Her treasured Trees, so cherished had they been across all of Valinor!
The sweet memories of their songs, which had once ignited a bright pride within Yavanna, now felt like a great burden upon Her, weighing Her down with grief and anger. From the beginning of Her existence, when She had only known Ilúvatar and Her siblings and no other being, for none that lurked deep within the Void would dare come near, Yavanna had felt a deep sense of yearning that She had struggled to comprehend. But upon the first notes of Erú’s theme, She had understood with ease that which She so loved. Yavanna was meant to watch over all that grew within Aþāraphelūn, and so She descended upon the world that had sprung forth from Their Song to love all that which likewise sprung forth from the soil of Aþāraphelūn.
Yet Melekō had sought to change the theme, and it was by his design that Ungweliantë had come from beyond the world and ripped the light of the Trees from the world. It was by his design, too, that the only artefacts said to hold Treelight were gone now. He had taken the Trees from them, and he had taken their hope of restoring the Trees with him as he had fled this land.
Those thoughts kindled a great rage within Yavanna’s mind, but She knew that it would be a foolish endeavour to support Tulukhastāz’ desire of fighting Melekō directly. The damage such a conflict could inflict upon Aþāraphelūn and its inhabitants could not be risked. But Her understanding that the price was too high to intervene could not quell the heavy weight of loss that plagued Her fána as She looked out upon the bare slopes that lay ahead of Her.
Yavanna turned away from the remains of Ibrīniðilpathānezel, which She had gently mourned, and wandered along the shadowed paths across the mound.
The way before Her was set alight by a crown of gleaming jewels, a gift from Aȝūlēz. In a kinder Aþāraphelūn, She would not have needed to rely upon Her husband's works to guide Her way through the darkness. No darkness would ever have befallen Aman in such a world. Still, in this world the gems sitting high upon Her fána cast a gentle light ahead to the charcoal roots of Tulukhedelgorūs.
Yavanna startled as She saw a silhouette kneeling down before them. She stood still and observed whosoever had come here, too. They carried a small lamp by their side, and it flickered in such a way as to illuminate their face for a brief moment. Yavanna now recognised them to be a favoured protégé of Her husband - the creator of the Silmarillí who held the last Treelight left upon Aþāraphelūn, Elemelimion Fëanáro.
Her brethren had discussed him before, as his works spoke well of his brilliant mind, and the Noldor took great pride in his accomplishments. Aside from Aȝūlēz, Estë was fond of him for the admiration She held for his father. Yavanna had never thought much of him beyond Her husband's respect for his talents, not before the Darkening.
But now, everything was different, and from Fëanáro’s mind had come the last, lost hope for Her Trees.
She wondered upon his strange appearance here, as she watched him sing to the black soil. Nienna's song had been one of grief, as all of Her songs were, but Fëanáro sang merely of curiosity and piercing eyes that would determine the true nature of any one aspect, of Ungweliantë's foul might. Still, Yavanna could detect the unintended notes of regret, of guilt.
So she remained, listening, as Fëanáro sang and probed what remained of Tulukhedelgorūs.
Eärwen knew she was not alone the moment she stepped into the room.
It was one of the offices in the private wing of the Palace, meant for any meetings that required a certain measure of discretion. They were firmly off-limits to the public, even to most staff, and at this time none should be here. Even Eärwen herself would usually only come here after crowded gatherings to calm down in private.
Such a gathering was currently in full swing, and she ought to be there to charm the Court. Right now, she had only sought this room out to escape the nobles hovering like vultures.
To some among the Eldar, the Statute of Finwë and Míriel meant that any elf whose partner had died could and would remarry. It was utterly absurd - but even so, there were those who thought that Arafinwë was unlikely to ever return, merely because Queen Míriel never had. Word had spread of what Princess Lalwendë had told Lord Námo during the Darkening. How she had confronted Him about the death of Queen Míriel, about all the deaths that had happened that night, about the lack of guarantee they had for the safe return of their lost ones. Princess Lalwendë had been a popular royal among the Teleri long before Arafinwë had come to Alqualondë, and her words had resonated with some of their people, those who had given up hope, those who saw such an outcome as convenient. There were always those who believed they could profit from chaos rather than peace. And right now, some of them had grown to believe that Arafinwë's death meant Eärwen herself was available for remarriage.
It made Eärwen want to scream and tremble - she had lost her husband, her father and her siblings, and her sweet children were across the sea in the hands of the Enemy, and these nobles dared speak to her of marriage. They cared not about her grief, but eyed her crown with greed in their fëar. Eärwen could not understand their hearts, for she would freely renounce all titles and power if it meant her family was returned to her. Ai Ulmo, she would give up the damn crown just to hold her children once more!
But they were out of her reach and she was here, left among nobles who saw her as a way to gain the crown. All Eärwen had wanted was to leave those nobles behind to scheme amongst themselves and spend a moment by herself. But even this secluded office, where nobody should be during the gathering, was not a place she would be left alone, evidently.
“It is quite impressive to get past so many guards”, Eärwen said.
The person standing in the shadows by the windows - once the brightest spot in the room, now barely reached by the candle on the desk - shifted and stepped slightly forward to extend one hand out into the dim light.
“Not if you have the right tool.”
From the outstretched hand hung a necklace bearing the Heir ring of the Noldor. Meant to be used at the discretion of Finwë’s heir. But Prince Ñolofinwë was not in Aman any longer, and he would not have been likely to hand the ring over to anyone staying behind.
Eärwen had heard the reports of how full of rage towards Aman and the Valar he had been towards the end. His father's son in all aspects save for the corruption and doom that had befallen Finwë - though the oath he had made was said by the Valar to bring about its own doom. If this ring was not given by Ñolofinwë, this elf must be here at the behest of Queen Findis.
Eärwen knew little of her law-sister, having only met her briefly to organise the funeral for Arafinwë, and at the event itself. Findis had always preferred Valmar to the drama within her family. Eärwen disliked how entirely she had shut her family out - even Arafinwë had visited home occasionally after being all but cast out by them - but Ara had told her once that he understood and held no grudge against his eldest sister.
Still, Eärwen had felt the sense of sadness and longing that had haunted Arafinwë wherever his family was concerned. Suffice it to say, she was still unsure of how to feel about the current Queen of the Noldor.
“I understand that you are going through an absolutely terrible experience, and by no means do I wish to disturb your peace”, the unknown elf said. “But I have come with a proposal that may be beneficial for both of us, from one parent to another.”
He stepped further forward, into the circle of light cast by the candle. Eärwen could see his face now, graceful features and black hair, and grey eyes that were alight with a strange fire. He wore red and gold, and a singular piece of jewelry - a pin that marked him as one of the Aulendur.
“My name is Elemelimion Fëanáro, Your Majesty, and I would have us work together for the sake of our children across the Sea.”
“You are the smith”, Eärwen realised.
The burning eyes lit up like a forest fire. Like the fires at the havens that night. It was strangely charming, however, and she could see why so many liked the smith. After all, fire could guide one's way through the darkness just as well as destroy.
“I believe Lord Aulë might object to someone else being known as the smith, though if anyone were to surpass Him in smithing, I should like to think it would indeed be me”, he grinned fiercely, and Eärwen would have believed his show of arrogance if it had not been for the regrets in his eyes. The conviction was there, but it lacked spirit.
Eärwen shook her head. What a strange elf.
“I have heard the lamps that now light our streets and keep us safe are your work”, she motioned to the chair before the desk. “Please accept my utmost gratitude on behalf of the Teleri. The lamps have done a lot to help our people, and they have made diplomatic relations between our people less fraught with tension.”
“Please make no mention of it. Queen Findis asked me and I was able to fulfill her request, so I did. Though I have noticed the lack of a lamp in this room.”
“We are prioritising the parts of the Palace that are open to the public. This room is used very little, and almost exclusively by me. I do not mind the candlelight.”
Fëanáro nodded, clearly glad to have successfully led the conversation away from his generosity.
“You mentioned a proposal, Master Fëanáro?”, Eärwen sat down behind the desk and leaned back in anticipation as much as in wariness.
Fëanáro wasted no time on any further pretty words.
“You have lost your children”, he said, piercing Eärwen’s fëa in one sentence. “I have lost my eldest.”
Eärwen was reeling, desperate to find land, to find anything to hold onto. None had dared speak of her children so bluntly since the darkness had come. She had done her best to avoid thinking of them, thinking of the wounds that marred her body and their origin -
”Let them go! Please, I'll do anything, just let them go!"
How she had fought to get through to the ships leaving the shores. How she had cursed her father for refusing to let Finwë have the ships, for not saving his own grandchildren.
Eärwen knew that Olwë had been trying to protect the lands across the Sea. She, too, feared for the people there, for her uncles and their families, their citizens. But now he was dead and Finwë had still taken the ships. And her children were with the Enemy, helpless to anything he and his servants might do to them.
It took her a few moments to respond.
“You … have my condolences. For your own loss.”
Eärwen did her best to sound composed, but in truth she had no idea why the smith would bring up such a thing. Still, she had not known that he himself had also lost a child. She would not wish this pain on anyone.
“Thank you, but I did not come here for pity. I want to figure out a way to protect my son, and I imagine you want to look out for your children as well.”
Eärwen nodded, the welling grief within her fëa rendering her mute.
“To do anything for our children, we need information - we need a way to know what is happening across the Sea.”
Fëanáro leaned forward, his own eyes glimmering with unshed tears, and she understood that there was no foul play here to be had, no deception. This was from one desperate parent to another.
“You are close with Lord Ulmo”, he continued, his grey eyes staring intensely at her.
“I am”, Eärwen forced herself to speak once more. “My people have always favoured and been favoured by Lord Ulmo, and He has always been friendly to us. But the Valar do not want us to know about the situation across the Sea. Why do you think He would help?”
“Nerdanel and I heard of how tumultuous the sea was that night, after the ships had left. And we heard you sing to Ulmo. You asked for the ships to be spared for the sake of the children - and He listened. The Valar in general may not wish to interfere, but Ulmo does, apparently, care little for that. If any Vala may be willing to help us do for our children what little we can, it surely is Him.”
Eärwen knew that Ulmo had listened, indeed - she had seen the ships arrive in the far distance. And she had seen how He had gathered the waters for a great wave. She suspected he had attacked the Enemy in some other way. He had saved her children that night, and likely other lives across the Sea. Fëanáro was right, if any were to listen to their pleas and help the children, it would be Him.
“So you wish for me to ask Lord Ulmo for information”, she sought to clarify.
“Information, yes, anything He can tell us about the lands of the East and our children there, but also anything He might be willing to help us with - if we get information about what is going on over there, we may be able to assist them from here, and we may have to ask Ulmo for more favours, then.”
“I can ask for information”, Eärwen said slowly, “but I make no guarantees. Anything beyond that - I imagine it would depend on the favour in question, presuming He is willing to assist in the first place.”
“That is all I can ask for”, Fëanáro sounded relieved. “If Ulmo decides to lend us His ear, perhaps we shall work together for the sake of our children. Any new information might be something we could use to help. But even if not that - at least we will know.”
That, Eärwen understood perfectly well. It was torture to sit here and know nothing of her children - whether they were being harmed, being mistreated, whether Princess Lalwendë could save them. Her parental bonds with them were almost gone at this distance, and she would only know it if they died.
“But if we are to do this”, she turned her attention back to the smith, “no other Vala may know of it, unless we know for certain they wish to help. Thus, we need a way to communicate that does not attract any undesirable attention.”
He pulled out a small chalkboard from one of his pockets. It was one of the portable chalkboards elflings often used in class, but this one was … odd. It was black as the darkness outside the window, and as she reached for it, her body shuddered upon contact. She took the board, but felt utterly repulsed by it.
“It is made from traces of Ungweliantë's might”, Fëanáro explained, and Eärwen immediately dropped the board as if it had burned her. It made no noise as it fell onto the desk, silent as the beasts lurking still amidst the unnatural darkness.
“Do not worry, it is not harmful. It merely conceals its writing, even from the Valar. It is, however, connected to its corresponding partner - a system based upon the connection between the Trees and the taint of the beast within their roots. If you write on it, I will be able to see it, but the Valar never will. Ungweliantë is an expert in hiding herself from the Valar if she wants to. I merely exploited what remained of that here in Aman.”
“I see.”
Eärwen's voice trembled. The chalkboard was entirely revolting. Yet, she certainly could not deny the consideration behind this device. For now, the Valar were not as safe as they had once thought, and while she still held reverence for them, she would not let them keep her from helping her children as best as she could. Eärwen decided that she did not wish to look at it any longer, no matter its necessity, and pulled open a drawer. Fëanáro watched with those attentive eyes as she shoved the board into the drawer and slammed it shut with shaking hands.
“Thank you for hearing me out”, he said, “and for agreeing to speak to Lord Ulmo. I … I rarely ask for help, but I believe we can greatly benefit from working together on this.”
He stood, and so did Eärwen.
“Be careful on your journey back to Tirion”, she told him. “As I previously mentioned, your lamps did a lot to relieve the tension between our peoples. Most have come to blame Finwë alone, if they must blame any Noldor - but I cannot speak for any singular Teler. I do not believe they would harm you outright, but there are those who do not wish to see any Noldor in Alqualondë for a while. And I cannot find it in myself to judge them for it.”
Fëanáro’s face twisted oddly for a moment. It was gone so fast that Eärwen wondered if she had merely imagined it.
“I understand”, was all he answered.
“One more thing, Master Fëanáro”, Eärwen called after him.
He paused, his hand already on the doorknob, and turned back to her.
“Yes, Your Majesty?”
“You have spoken about your son being lost across the Sea, and how you wish to do this to help the children. But your eldest son is not the only one you have lost, is he? Do you not plan to help Ñolofinwë also? If our endeavour to help our children in the East might be hindered by the oath he has sworn -”
Many emotions flickered through Fëanáro’s fiery eyes, most of them gone too fast to identify them. Still, Eärwen saw grief, and anger, and something that may have been guilt. They had fought before the Trees went dark, had they not? But all those conflicting, raging emotions were gone as soon as they had come, his eyes shuttering to leave behind nothing but the same attentive spark that could so easily ignite into a great fire.
“Ñolofinwë has made his choice, and he is not my responsibility. My son is.”
Fëanáro's tone was curt and without emotion, and he fled the room right after his answer. His words did not matter. Eärwen had already seen the guilt. She suspected that there was much more to the story, but it was not her place to pry into the smith's personal affairs.
And yet, Eärwen knew he was hiding from something he was not willing to confront. She could only hope that whatever it was would not affect his desire to save the children - for that much was genuine, she knew.
For now, there was the matter to be brought before Lord Ulmo.
Eärwen could not deny that it made sense to ask Him. If they knew what their children were dealing with, they could ascertain whether there was any possibility of sending assistance. She dearly hoped they could help.
Focus, Lúthien.
The Princess of Doriath sighed and reached out to the world once more.
Feel every inch of the land around you. The trees, the grass. Leaves, flowers, blossoms, fruits, soil. They all surround you and welcome your touch.
Lúthien felt herself drawn past the Girdle, out to Estolad. She could see Nan Elmoth, the tall, dark trees reaching out for the distant silver starlight high above their branches.
The winding forest paths, where her parents had once crossed paths.
She thought the story ever so romantic. Her mother, seeking out her beloved trees like Lúthien herself sought out the forests to dance beneath the dark sky. Her father, traveling west, intending to journey beyond the seas once more and join the Valar in their lands with his people. Yet so stunning the sight of each other had been to both of them that they had forgotten all around them, unable to move or perceive the time that passed as they stared in each other’s eyes, lost in the moment. It made Lúthien desire so to come across a stranger beneath these trees as her mother had, yet Daeron was the only one who would join her to watch her dance. And she loved Daeron dearly, but he was no more than a brother to her, though she knew his heart yearned for more.
Lúthien. Do you feel the forest around you?
She did. She walked those paths now cast into darkness and noticed how the trees reached out for her. Black branches swayed without wind, and odd, sickly flowers grown in shadows turned their blossoms to face her presence. Lúthien followed the small glimpses of light out of the woods, all the way to the river Celon and the edge of Doriath.
Why is it of such concern to you that I learn of this? We have the Girdle. Your power protects us all from anything that happens here in the world outside. Is that not why you created the Girdle?
But the Song has been sung, and there are notes that no craft of mine could protect you from. Some destinies cannot be challenged, nor should they be. The cost may be higher than you are willing to pay, mellhên.
What could be so important I should not relinquish it for all the lives kept safe within the borders of the Girdle?
Not what. Who.
Who? Of whom do you speak?
That, I do not know. Not would I tell you if I did. All I know is that nothing in this world is made to last eternally - which includes any measure of protection I can offer.
I do not understand.
Someday, you will.
Sometimes, nothing frustrated Lúthien so much as speaking to her mother. Their people revered Lúthien not merely as a Princess, but as part-Ainu. Yet ever so often, she was reminded of the difference that her elven blood made - the way her mother saw the world.
Lúthien could explore it from within the confines of Doriath, but she could never see all that her mother did. She could never know the world as it grew from Song. All she would ever hear was the Song reverberating throughout Ardhon, yet she could never hear the themes crashing into each other in a battle of dominance, could never witness the voices of the Ainur create all that she knew. She loved her mother, but she would never match her in might - why should she try? And still, Lúthien did not want to deny her mother and cause her sorrow.
Her mind flew beyond the borders of Doriath and out into the dark, suffering world.
She smelled the scent of the ocean as she looked west from the Falas, and watched the Laegrim in their bland clothes sing to the bubbling rivers in Ossiriand. She could feel the stone of the mountains slumbering as they waited - for what, Lúthien did not know. There was a fog covering some fields up North, and she delighted in the sharp coolness, and the gleam of the fleeting starlight cutting through the rolling grey mists.
Yet this world had grown dark once more, and the Girdle had been created for a reason, and so their stretching minds came upon Thangorodrim eventually. Lúthien had welcomed the refreshing fog, but abhorred the poisonous vapours that rose from the pits of Angband. They bit as she neared, and clouded her thoughts.
Neither of them wished to come close, nor should they. The Enemy would surely notice it if their minds sought to infiltrate the seat of his power. They remained at a distance, extending in what little capacity they could afford lest they be discovered and draw unwanted attention to their wandering spirits.
And they both drew back sharply.
“Did you feel that?”, Emel asked, out loud now that they had returned to their bodies.
Lúthien blinked rapidly. Her eyes always grew dry while she left to look outwards.
“What was that?”
Her mother looked equally as surprised as Lúthien herself felt.
“I do not know”, she answered her. “It was none of the servants known to follow the Enemy, but that power … it did not resemble an Ainu, but it is stronger than any Child of Erú I have met, with the exception of you yourself. Whether it is some unknown creature that has joined the ranks of the Enemy, or a foul craft devised by one of the Úmaiar, it is certainly a matter we should keep in mind.”
Emel sighed.
“In any case, it is vital that we remain cautious around Angband. For now, the Girdle will keep the Enemy and his servants at bay - but we should not grow complacent.”
Lúthien still did not understand, but she did not prod further. Their lesson was concluded for now, and she could think of better ways to spend her remaining time before dinner than to listen to more cryptic musings.
Tyelko had suspected that this would be a bad day as soon as he'd woken up.
There had been a rustling within the leaves outside despite the lack of wind, an ominous shivering of the long branches of the oak next to his window.
On his windowsill, he had found the spider he had been talking to for the past few weeks now, dead. He would quite miss her - she had had the most poetic descriptions of the taste of flies, and she'd delighted in the knowledge that one of Tyelko’s brothers was a weaver like herself.
Of course she would return eventually.
The animals of Aman never stayed dead for long, and never required to heal as much as Elves did, else Tyelko would not be able to bear hunting them.
Not that they hunted many animals, these days. The Hunt chased after foes of the Enemy now, after the malicious things left behind with that cloying darkness. They had spent the last month clearing out a swamp that was infested with strange tentacled sea creatures. Lord Ulmo had personally requested their removal as a favour from Lord Oromë. They were highly invasive, killing all the smaller animals native to the swamp and disrupting the natural food chain. Some of Ulmo's Maiar were also concerned about the possibility of environmental pollution, but they had, fortunately, found no evidence for that.
And, to worsen his already bad mood, yesterday Tilion had announced that he would be leaving the Hunt to assist with a project some of the Valar had specifically requested him for. Tilion was one of his closest friends in the Hunt, and known to sneak him drinks Tyelko was, technically, still too young to consume. He always had a great anecdote to tell Tyelko, and often gave his fána silver hair to match Tyelko's - although the latter he did mainly because the Maia loved all things silver. Still, the horns of Tilion’s favourite form were brown and covered almost entirely in dark green moss, so Tyelko would count the silver hair as a nod to his own influence.
It had greatly upset him to learn of Tilion's departure. The Maia had said little of when he was to return, most of it evasive, and it worried Tyelkormo.
Had they not already lost enough people?
Maitimo was gone, Irissë was gone … he even missed Prince Ñolofinwë somewhat, though his father's best friend had always treated him slightly coolly.
Tyelko had tried to go after them, but a group of Maiar had caught him and dragged him before he could truly set foot upon the Ice. Since then, animals would follow him constantly without his calling them to him. Oromë's spies, no doubt. Tyelkormo adored his Lord, but this was quite irritating. He might have tried to enter the Helcaraxë once, but he had since seen how much his family suffered from the loss of Maitimo already. Tyelko was not ready to spend much time at home right now, but at least he could stay here in Aman where they could remain certain that he was not actively throwing himself at the mercy of frostbite like Maitimo.
Or at the Enemy's forces in Valariandë, eventually.
Tyelko's mood had become worse and worse, and then, right after breakfast, Atar had quietly asked him and Laurë if they could follow him for a talk. Nothing good could possibly come from that, and Laurë had looked equally suspicious.
But this … this went beyond anything terrible Tyelko could have imagined.
Haru was there, and the things he and Atar told them … Tyelko glanced over at Laurë, whose face became more and more closed off as Atar and Haru continued talking. The expression looked terrifyingly out of place on his usually so very open and loud brother.
Tyelko did not wish to know what his own face looked like at this moment. He felt incredibly nauseous. He did not want to be here.
They finished their explanation. That horrible story of a different world in which they had all become monsters, Atar, his brothers … and Tyelkormo the most horrible one of them all. Someone responsible for so many deaths, for the deaths of children, someone who would lock up a nís and wish to force her into a marriage … Ai, Erú!, the bond between two Elves was a sacred gift to each other, to be worthy of it was an honour, not something to be taken by force!
And all of that, for gems. Tyelko had never seen the Silmarils before Atar had given them away but he could not imagine any jewel, not even his father's greatest works, to be worthy of such horrors.
And yet, Haru would not lie about such a thing.
Laurë still did not say anything. His face was pale but he just nodded slightly, his gaze far away.
Tyelko closed his eyes. He did not want to see any of their faces. Haru’s guilt, Atar’s pain, Laurë’s stoic façade. But as he did, an image came to his mind unbidden, of himself covered in blood, surrounded by corpses. He was a hunter, he knew death, but Elves were not supposed to turn weapons against each other. Only the foul, twisted servants of the Enemy did that … and yet, Tyelko had done so. His other self stood amidst his victims and smiled, like Tyelko would when Huan greeted him after waking up, or when he found a sweet and chatty squirrel.
Animals were friends, and they were only to be killed for food, only quick and painless. And they returned easily, for no thought of their deaths plagued them for long.
No elf had yet returned from death. Haru claimed some had eventually returned in that other timeline, but only after a long time. And they were forever changed by it.
How could Tyelko ever do such things?
The occasional punch to the nose of someone insulting his family was the worst Tyelko could ever remember doing. Or punching one of the Maia who dragged him off the Ice. But he had not seriously hurt any Elf or Maia, never.
In another world, though, he had.
Tyelko rose to his feet, shaking. Atar started to get up, reaching out for him, but Tyelko left the room before his father could try to soothe him. His bow was still sitting by his chair in the dining room and he grabbed it before running out. Out of the house, and through the streets, away from the voices calling after him.
He could not stand to be home, to be told of even more horrors. A monster like him should not be around others. He did not want to hurt anyone.
If he could do such terrible things, what was keeping him from harming his family?
Tyelko should just return to the Hunt and never go home again. At least under the watch of Lord Oromë he would not be able to hurt anyone else. Tyelkormo turned around for one last glance at Tirion, Atar’s lamps lining the streets. The city shone in the darkness. The light was inviting, warm and comforting, so unlike the forests that used to hum and glitter with life beneath the Trees. He wanted to turn back home so badly. But Tyelkormo gripped his bow tighter and walked out into the looming forest.
“And you trust Fëanáro’s intentions?”
Lord Ulmo's voice rolled over Eärwen like waves crashing into the shores during Ossë’s storms. She tilted her head up to gaze at His tall fána towering over the bay.
“I know very little of him, it is true - Arafinwë rarely spoke of him, and only knew him from Ñolofinwë’s letters. But I could find no hint of falsehood in his voice, nor within his eyes. He is … refreshingly straightforward, if anything. The only time I caught him hiding anything occurred when I inquired about Ñolofinwë, and he was quite bad at trying to disguise his guilt over their fight. There was nothing Fëanáro hid from me regarding his wish to help his child, however.”
Seafoam danced upon the Vala’s face as He leaned down to listen to her. This close, Eärwen could taste salt in the air.
“I know now what it is like to lose your children. To watch as they are taken beyond your grasp, to distant lands where you cannot protect them. And I saw that same feeling in Fëanáro’s eyes. So, I accepted his proposal. I want all of our children, mine and his, to return home safely. Will you help us, my Lord Ulmo?”
Among the Valar, Námo was the judge. He saw the fëar of the Elves, every aspect of their being, and His insight was invaluable to the Valar. If a matter regarding the Eldar was brought before the attention of the Valar, Námo’s voice held immense weight. Yet to her people, the Sea had always been a fair judge. Ulmo was kind when He could afford to be, and if He could not, the ocean buried its victims mercilessly. But He also listened to the Eldar and valued their concerns, more than any other Vala. When Eärwen had needed Him to listen, He had. He had spared her children. Would He help them now?
Ulmo considered her for a long while. Eärwen began to shiver as a cold wind blew silver hair back into her face. Finally, the waters swirled around her, gentle and warm.
“Yes”, He said, and Eärwen nearly wept with relief.
It was only later that she thought of the chalkboard in her desk drawer with some guilt. But Fëanáro was right. Ulmo was kinder than most, but the Valar as a whole had proven that They were capable of mistakes like all others. It was better this way.