Dislcamier: Not mine.

Chapter One

Without Further Ado

There are two temples that stand on Tirion upon Tuna. One was dedicated to the worship of Manwe and Varda and was by far the most eye catching. The architects had built the temple on tall and majestic proportions. The white marble was vaulted into the sky with gold gleaming on the doors, windows and capped the towers that seemed to brush the cloud themselves. Gems sparkled from the gold where loving hands had placed them long ago and the precincts were always milling with people, smiling and prayerful. Manwe and Varda were constantly within the temple walls greeting and teaching the worshipers who came to listen at their feet.

Across a wide deep valley from the golden temple of Manwe was another temple—a low building that appeared smaller but was boarder with many wide and open porches. Built of soft grey stone, this temple was unadorned save for the gentle curling vegetation that grew from garden dotted here and there among the walk ways. Sometimes the misting clouds were lower on the temple and the building would be lost to the mist and some said it was just as well—few took the long walk to worship there. It was the temple of Eru Ilúvatar.

It should not be supposed that the elves of Valinor loved their God any less than his servants for this would never be so. But Eru rarely appeared if ever in his temple. Those who chose his temple for their dwelling place who those who were singularly devoted to his Worship. He was a loving but distant God. He created the Valar for those who needed the closeness of a companion. He loved, he watched from a distance.

The temple was not lonely however. A small population lived within the cool walls of Eru's temple separate and solitary from the rest of the world, but content to be so. They lived simple lives of singing; dancing and study. They flitted from porch to porch in somber silver robes, each crowned with a silver circlet that wove into their hair. Ethereal even for their own kind, these were born to their positions within the temple and lived their lives within its grounds. They rarely left but for a celebration of the royals and even then their presence seemed determined by the mood of their leaders. The House of Eru, called the House of Calanon meaning Light, was another little world to the people of Valinor.

To say that the people of the temple of Eru were aloof might be a disservice to them. They were separate for a purpose, a good and holy purpose; yet some felt there was a selfish satisfaction that some drew from the solidarity this life. Among those who thought so was Finarfin, the golden prince of the Nolder. He and his elder brother Fingolfin stood at the foot of the steps leading to Manwe's temple and looked across the valley to where the House of Eru was just visible through the mist.

"Selfish, that's what they are,' he said again shifting the golden vessel in his hands. He was wearing a long clothe of gold robe that brushed his sandaled feet. His hair was suitably free of constraint as was fitting those visiting the temple, but the aggravated expression on his handsome face was ruining the effect of his golden visage, "Selfish and self righteous. They think all they need to do is live out their lives without lifting a finger to the rest of the population. It's as if they don't care what happens to the rest of us."

Beside him, Fingolfin yawned. Towering above his brother, the first son of Indis looked unbothered and mildly amused by his younger sibling's prattle. Clearly unaffected by the lives of the Calanon elves, Fingolfin had no opinion in regard to the goings on the temple. Being raised in a devote family, Fingolfin couldn't help developing a respect for the Valar, but he was not plagued with feelings that he must help save the world from itself. His nonchalance was expressed by his attitude and bearing as well.



Unlike his brother, Fingolfin was wearing his broadcloth and leather riding gear that was stained with horse sweat and worn to white in several places. His hair was braided down his back, the lean and hungry features brought into contrast by the deep ebony of the strands. He did not carry a gift for the Valar and it was clear to the other worshipers that Fingolfin was not at the temple to meet with the gods inside.

"Does it really matter little brother?' he drawled leaning his weight on his brother's shoulder. Finarfin looked annoyed and gently shrugged his brother off, "I'm sure that you care enough for half the island if it comes to that. Besides, the elves of Celadon are not suited to live amongst the rest of us. If they were than they wouldn't live alone on the top of a cloudy mountain.

"Every elf should be concerned with the well being of the rest of Valinor." Finarfin said stubbornly, "Father is."

"Yes. However, Father is unique and unlike everyone else in Valinor," Fingolfin answered. He couldn't help but be a trifle bored repeating this information to his brother. It was a fact long established that Finwe was one of a kind and different from every other elf in the world.

"Feanor is different," Finarfin said quietly his celery green eyes dropping to the ground before him, "He is the spirit of living fire--even he cares more."

"Feanor bores me," Fingolfin answered suddenly leaving his languor behind. The subject of his eldest brother was not one on which he chose to dwell, "He may seem different--even fascinating, but there is a strange sameness about him that makes him unremarkable. If this were Arda Marred and such a son was born into the world than perhaps Feanor would be worth the fuss, but this is Valinor--the Blessed Realm--everyone is special here."

Finarfin leveled his eyes on his tall brother and said, "You say that well Fingolfin, but I know in your heart you don't mean it."

Finarfin didn't explain further but there was no need too. Both of the second sons of Finwe knew that deep in the breast of their siblings there lay a profound love for their elder half brother. He did not treat them with much love, more cold civility, but they were all drawn to his fervent life and vitality. They all knew that Finwe favored Feanor—many of them tried to pretend they didn't care—yet Finarfin was right—they couldn't help but love him.

"If you're going into the temple you might as well hurry," Fingolfin said brusquely, "I've things to do."

"Weren't you coming in?" Finarfin asked in surprise, "You said you were."

Fingolfin flashed a smile at his brother, "I shall—but today the temple of Eru calls to me and it is there I shall worship."

"Among the careless?" Finarfin said sternly but with a slight teasing pull to his mouth.

"Among the careless," Fingolfin agreed, "It might be pleasant to get away from all of you driven and vigilant folks. One always feels one must be doing something of import. Perhaps among them I shall have time to relax. Besides, I could use a long walk."

"I shall see you at the house this evening," Finarfin replied as he started up the steps to the temple.

"Oh, little brother?" Fingolfin called leaning against the pedestal of the stairway, a teasing air playing over his features, "Is Earwen worshiping today?"



Finarfin flushed faintly pink and refused to answer, resuming his walk to the temple with the echo of his brother's laughter ringing over the courtyard.



The morning had dawned clean and cool, a delicate dampness hung on everything in Calanon. The wards where the priests and priestesses slept were slowly filled with the delicate early light of Laurelin, the pink tendrils spreading down the grey walls and resting on the slumbering elves. There was little to no furniture in the sleeping room, simple mats served each as a bed and these were easily rolled up and tucked aside in the day time. Long windows that reached from the floor almost to the ceiling stretched nearly every wall. A few candles winked in their sconces on the walls creating circle of yellow illumination that were overwhelmed by the superior light of the golden tree. One of the elleth lifted her head as the light touched her and allowed her face to be bathed in the light.

It was a serious, oval shaped face, clear and ageless, grey eyes set a little too close together for beauty. The light shone in her eyes brightly as she absorbed it from the window. Rising to her knees, the elleth raised her hands at shoulder height and cupped her hands as if to catch the precious brightness if only for a moment. Strangely the light hovered still over the woman as if wanting to hesitate with her a fraction more than usual. An ellon entering the room on silent feet paused during this little benediction until the light subsided reluctantly away and the room was once again in twilight. The elleth lowered her hands gently and sighed.

"Good morning, Mnemosyne," the ellon whispered.

"And to you, Nestaron," Mnemosyne answered in the same hushed whisper.

He looked out the window where the light was waning down the mountain side. The subdued radiance cast the golden beams up to the temple's level, "The morning lingers again."

Mnemosyne bowed her head, "Shall you woke the others or shall I?"

Nestaron shook his head, "I will extinguish the candles first and then we'll wake them together."

"Very well," Mnemosyne rose to her feet fluidly and gracefully. She wore a loose grey tunic and trousers as did Nestaron and the rest of the temple inhabitants. She had scarcely risen when she went to a low table near the inner door where circlets of silver lay. They were simple unpretentious items being made of a single band of silver curved to the shape of the brow and dipped to a point between the brows. At the ends of the band long ropes of silver hung and were braided swiftly into the hair of the wearer. Mnemosyne completed this work easily, her fingers moving confidently combining the brown and silver strands without the aid of a mirror. The force of habit was strong.

Once finished with this, she went into the courtyard and washed her face in a pool of gurgling water that trickled from a fountain shaped like a dolphin. The water was icy cold and refreshing to her skin and she whispered a prayer of thanks as she washed away the staleness of the night. Far below the city was coming to life slowly. Across the valley the temple of Manwe and Varda was already drawing the morning worshipers and the smoke of increase rose from the altar. The smell floated on the air and over the valley and Mnemosyne inhaled the scent—it was so familiar, comforting.

A warm hand on her shoulder made Mnemosyne turn. Nestaron smiled, "Come, the others are awake."

The rest of the temple family was awake and greeting each other in quiet voices as they washed and put on their circlets. The small crowns had been made by a smith from Arda long ago and while the number of priests and priestesses altered the number of circlets was always enough. Some of the members, Mnemosyne knew, would leave for various reasons, but whether or not they stayed for a life time, the elves that chose to live in Calanon were forever changed. As they all moved into the porch that dominated the front of the temple, Mnemosyne couldn't help but feel the tangible bonds that wrapped around them all.

"Mnemosyne, would you lead the dance this morning?" Nestaron asked her.

The rest looked at her for an answer. Mnemosyne looked over her companions, golden haired Isle, dark Istuion and many, many others who were equally capable. Normally the duty fell to Mnemosyne as one of the eldest priestesses; she had been at the temple nearly as long as Nestaron and Aearion, a short, sturdy elf with bristling silver hair. Of the three the dance came most naturally to her, but something about the morning whispered to her to step aside for this ritual. Today was not the time for leading, but for following and observing; what she was looking for, she did know, but she must be aware.

"Not this morning, thank you," she bowed her head, "Isle, perhaps if you care to?"

"Certainly," the elleth answered moving to the front of the group. Mnemosyne took up a place in the second line beside Aearion who beamed a smile at her.

"Feeling humble this morning my dear?" he asked.

"No indeed," she answered as they moved delicately into the first movement, "I am listening."

"And waiting to hear what?" he quizzed.

Mnemosyne answered, "I will know before the day is out, I feel sure. Although it has been a long time since I've had a listening."

"When was the last time?" Aearion asked his burly form moving with a grace that was surprising in such a short body.

"Before I came to Calanon," she answered softly, "In Arda."

Aearion frowned toward the horizon, "do you think that you will leave us?"

"I do not know," she answered her voice calm, "I cannot deny that the thought had come to me, and I cannot say that the idea isn't worrying. I love Calanon—more than all of Valinor."

"Don't say more, my dear," Aearion reprimanded her gently, "Because if Eru calls you away it will be for your greater happiness. Who is that insolent fellow?"

Distracted by Aearion's sudden change of mood, Mnemosyne followed his gaze without breaking the pattern of the dance. Over the edge of the porch, were a low wide stairway ran was a tall, handsome ellon, his dark face intent and amused watching the Calanonians in their morning devotion. There was a smirk around his lips as if he found them funny; when his eyes dropped to Mnemosyne however his expression changed. He looked taken aback and then confused and simply curious.

"I'll go see what he wants," she said.

"No, no," Aearion answered, "I—"

"Aearion," Mnemosyne cautioned, "He was looking at me, not you. I am sure I will have more success."

She slipped through the dancers around to where the stair began. The ellon noticed her leaving and looked disappointed at her departure but did not seem to realize she was coming to speak to him until she stood by his elbow. She was a tall woman but this elf was even taller than she was.

"Can I help you?" Mnemosyne asked.

He turned, a little startled and smiled, "I knew you would come after me."

It was her turn to be surprised her own answer dying on her lips, "How?"

"I just did," he answered.

"Would you like to go into the temple? I can take you there if you wish."

"I'm hardily dressed for the occasion," he answered gesturing to his sweat stained clothing, "And I don't worship often." His grin was disarming although his words shocked her, "Must I leave now?"

"You may remain as long as you wish," she answered, "But I must warn you that your observation of us was disrupting some of the priests --if you could observe without letting you amusement show to plainly on your face?"

"If the end result is seeing –speaking to you—no," he grinned handing a hand back through his thick black hair, "However, if you went walking with me everyone could be satisfied."

Mnemosyne bristled and was surprised at herself for it, "I do not leave the grounds unless the all the members leave for a celebration." Something was tugging at the back of her mind, something about this ellon was familiar, and he reminded her of someone she had seen before.

"And I am not much of a celebration am I?" he smiled again especially at the flesh of pink that grew in Mnemosyne's cool cheeks, "Well, we will part friends—we shall be friend-shan't we?"

"I—do –who," Mnemosyne stuttered.

"Don't tell me, I already know," he laid a finger on her lips to stop her, "And if I am wrong you may tell me—you name is Moneta isn't it?"

Mnemosyne could not answer for a full moment. An amazed look came over her face as she gazed up at him as if she had received a revelation. The color heightened in her cheeks and suddenly, quite suddenly Fingolfin leaned forward and kissed her.

It was a tentative, untaught kiss; his lips were soft against her own. At first she was so surprised, Mnemosyne was rigid with astonishment and then she leaned into him, her hands finding his own and their fingers intertwining.

Fingolfin broke the kiss pulling away but not letting her hands free. They stared at each other until they felt the gaze of the dancers. They looked up and caught the look on Aearion and Isle faces some couldn't help but look scandalized. It brought Mnemosyne back to herself. She coughed.

"I think you should go now," she said, "This is a temple precinct and this kind of behavior is strongly discouraged."

"I see. I will have to pull you away from the temple then," Fingolfin said readily. He pulled her closer but not too close, "I'll come back tomorrow or the next day or the next."

He cupped her cheek for a moment and was gone, striding over the path and out of sight. Mnemosyne touched her face and turned to Aearion who leaned over the porch to her level.

"Who was that?" he growled.

Mnemosyne opened her mouth and closed it again, "I—really have no idea."

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