Chapter Text
When Idril came to wakefulness, she was on a beach with waves lapping at her body.
Her first thought was Did I fall asleep looking West again?, her second Stars, I'll have to take off my feet to clean them of salt, and her third Wait--
Her eyes flew open and she scrambled to her feet. She last recalled sailing westwards, Tuor by her side, and a mist coming upon them; nothing afterwards. Tuor was not here, nor was he in their marriage bond, and here was nowhere she recognized, with no landmarks familiar to her eye and no sign of people anywhere.
There was only the Sea before her, calm and blue, and the pebbled beach shifting beneath her silver feet, and some pretty bluffs and coastal hills beside and behind her. But when she looked up at the bluff, a vision swam before her eyes:
A house upon the bluff, two stories and two out-buildings likely to be workshops, a garden and a little orchard behind. A small child running about the garden, singing and laughing, dark of hair and round of ear. Spring flowers blooming and gulls crying, the door of the house opening and love pouring out. The child running to an unseen parent. A flash of sun on golden hair.
Idril blinked away the vision, too bright with joy for her to stomach, and instead allowed a faint, faint memory to lead her thoughts. Something about this place seemed familiar, the quality of the light or the pebbles under her feet, and if she could only tell what...
When she glanced down, she knew. The pebbles were jewels of every color, the light was Telperion, and she was in Aman before the Darkening.
This knowledge ought to have made her faint with the force of the vision it should have brought on, but nothing happened. Perhaps there was nothing to show her, already knowing the shape of the griefs to come.
Whatever the case might be, she was pleasantly not incapacitated, and that freed up room in her busy mind to think and to plan.
She'd have to go to Tirion, of course. She would do the most good there, or properly fortifying Formenos, but she needed a way to travel quickly in case she needed to fetch her grandmother from Valimar. Térasanyë would believe her about moving through Time, though likely no one else would, and she would surely help her.
Yes, Tirion first for reconnaissance, then perhaps to Térasanyë if she couldn't infiltrate Finwë's court herself. Not that she expected that she'd fail -- she could probably usurp Finwë, if she needed to and she played her cards well -- but it was good to have options.
She went up to the top of the bluff and squinted into Telperion's light. There seemed to be a road in the distance, and roads tended to have travelers, and signs for the lost. Turning her gaze up the coast, she appeared to be some ways south of Alqualondë, so she’d need to follow the road north or west, or whatever way a sign said would take her to Tirion.
A few gems from the beach would be enough to get her anything she wanted, once she found a town, so she scooped up a handful and headed for the road.
On her way, she considered her path further. Exactly what needed doing was yet unclear, but with a decent dress (and after hiding her sword someplace) she could probably pass for a woman who'd lost her feet on the Great Journey, and set about attending court events until everyone forgot they hadn't known her for ages.
Then she'd go find a shrine to Ulmo and ask him what the fuck he'd been thinking, sending her back in time -- and without Tuor!
Was this all an illusion? Some kind of test, to prove the two of them could be allowed into Valinor? But it felt real, perhaps even too real, and her long-buried memories of Aman suggested that these lands had always been so.
The ground grew rougher, away from the shore, with more brambles and grass for her salt-stiff skirts to catch on. With a growl she pulled them out of the way and stalked onwards, for the sooner she reached a town the sooner she could find clean clothes and repairs and even a workshop where she might take up her craft and forget the world a while.
Flowers were blooming about her sweetly, and birds singing in the air, and against her will they soothed her. The salt breeze carried the scent also of jasmine, and of redwoods, and her pace grew slower, easier, as the bliss of Valinor worked itself upon her senses.
Even still, when the road came into view through the trees, she hurried towards it, excited to have a well-maintained path that led her where she wanted to go rather than having to wander through the weeds.
But just as she was about to reach the path, her left foot creaked. She had half a moment to think Oh no, it shouldn’t-- before falling to the ground.
“Fuck!” she screamed, and it felt so good that she continued to curse out Maeglin, who’d made these particular feet. “Fuck you and your shoddy craftsmanship, you bastard! I know you’ve never seen the sea in your damned life, but you know what sand is! Fuck! Didn’t you ever think I might be going over rough ground? And it’s your damn fault that I’ve had to! Bastard!”
Stars above, it was satisfying to curse. She rarely had the chance in Sirion, where she had to be a solemn and dignified queen (except not quite a queen because it was best to leave her rank undefined), and whenever she did curse it was always chalked up to her hanging around sailors like her husband, as if her mariner friends hadn’t all learned from her. Tuor in particular was polite through and through and hardly ever cursed, but when he did, it was nearly all with words he’d picked up from her and Maeglin.
As if summoned by her shouting (which had luckily been in Sindarin), the sound of laughing and talking came to her ears. Idril tried to gather herself up and get to her wobbly feet, leaning on a tree to steady herself as she waited for the owners of the voices to get near.
“Good morrow!” she called cheerfully as the travelers came around a bend. Then, upon seeing their faces, she recognized them and regretted her cheer.
Fëanor might be mistakable, but Maedhros was not.
Still, she kept up her smile and said, “Whither are you headed? And is there any chance I could come with you? I've hurt my feet, you see.”
But in these old days, Cousin Maitimo was friendly and vibrant, and he immediately invited her, before any of his family could dissent. “Of course, my lady! You could ride one of our horses, if that’s not too much exertion.”
“I’ve ridden with injured feet before, and I daresay I’ll do it again,” she said, and unsteadily walked over to the group.
It really was striking how short Fëanor was, she mused as he helped her to a horse. It was long enough before the Darkening that he still had manners, clearly. But she’d always remembered him as he’d been when she was a little girl, and now she was one of the tallest of her family, only a scant few inches short of Maedhros and her father.
She hadn’t known, and would never have guessed, as to Fëanor’s kindness to travelers, but he and Nerdanel helped her up onto the horse, which was when the two of them caught sight of her feet.
“How fascinating!” said Nerdanel. “And what fine work! I imagine they’re the source of your injury?”
“I’m afraid so,” said Idril. A lie sprang easily to her lips. “I was boating, you see, and a sudden bout of foresight knocked me down. I woke on the beach, but these don’t much like the salt and sand, and I’m still not sure what year it is, only that I’m heading to Tirion.”
Nerdanel laughed. “Ah, foresight! I should have guessed. But it is the year 1443, and we are headed to Tirion ourselves.”
“And I could have a look at your feet later, if you like,” said Fëanor, in the kind of tone that meant I am clinging to manners with my fingernails but I desperately want to have a look. “That is, if you’re not heading to their maker for repairs.”
“Their maker is in Mandos. A terrible accident with a high cliff,” Idril half-lied. It certainly hadn’t been an accident. “It’ll be some time before I can see him.”
Maedhros winced, but said nothing.
Fëanor said, “Then I’ll see what I can do when we stop for rest. I don’t have all my tools since we’re traveling, but if nothing else I’m sure I can see to fixing them at my workshop in Tirion. They really do look uncannily precise...”
“Ammë, Atya, we haven’t introduced ourselves,” said Maitimo. This explained a lot about him, Idril decided, the fact that he’d always been the diplomat in a family of crazed craftsfolk.
“You can call me Tyelperintal,” said Idril. She already knew them all very well, but that was suspicious, even if they were public figures. “A star shines upon the hour of our meeting.”
“I’m Nerdanel, and this is Fëanáro,” said Nerdanel. “Our boys here can introduce themselves when they’re done bickering with one another.”
“We may be waiting several years,” Fëanor deadpanned.
Idril laughed. “Not to worry! I understand perfectly. I know siblings who are much the same.” Here she affected a frown, and let her gaze drift to the middle distance. “Or I have known them, or I shall. It's hard to tell, just after a vision.”
“Are you in need of something to eat, then? I hear that bouts of foresight tend to leave people hungry,” said Fëanor, as if his habit of being consumed by craft and not eating for days weren’t legendary.
“Stars, yes,” said Idril. She didn’t know how long it had been since she’d eaten, but it had likely been days, and healers had given her strict orders to stop missing meals, lest her body begin to think it was on the Helcaraxë again, weakening her so as to use less energy. At least that could also be chalked up to having undertaken the Great Journey.
“Tyelkormo, get over here,” Maedhros called back towards his younger brothers. “You’re the one who knows where we put the food; find something for our traveling-companion.”
Celegorm grumbled at being sent for, but came anyhow. “There’s some in your bag, Nelyo. Hand it over.”
Maedhros handed his brother the pack he wore, and Celegorm rummaged around in it, finding a small jar of olallieberries and some bread. Idril could tell from a distance that it was the sort of tangy, crusty sourdough she’d so missed in Gondolin, where she could never quite make the same flavor and texture, and it often turned out too dry.
She accepted these with the standard response of “I thank you for this sharing of Yavanna’s bounty” and tore into the sourdough roll with enthusiasm. The bread was soft enough to pull apart easily, but the crust hard enough for a satisfying crackle under her teeth before the perfect sourness flooded her mouth.
The berries, too, were tangy and tart, with a ripe sweetness to them, and Idril couldn’t care whether or not she got juice stains on her already-ruined clothes, so she ate them with ravenous abandon. How long had it been since she’d had olallieberries?
She felt the eyes of Nerdanel on her just before Nerdanel said, “It must have been a mighty vision, if you’re this hungry afterwards.”
“I imagine I was also drifting on the waves for a while before I woke up,” said Idril, “but -- yes. It was beautiful and full of terror, and I don’t think I’ll be myself again until I’ve had a good long day in a glass workshop and slept it off.” Perhaps she’d make some stained-glass pictures of Beleriand, just to keep herself from thinking it had all been only foresight.
Oblivious to her thoughts, Nerdanel said, “That’ll sort you out for certain. We should be in Tirion in a few days, if the weather stays fair, and then I hope you’ll be our guest.”
“I would be honored,” said Idril, and thanked her lucky stars. This would let her start her plans immediately.