Chapter Eleven

In Amon Lanc…

"We are preparing for war," the king said gravely.

The elves in the audience looked pale and their faces pinched. What the king had just delivered to them was akin to a death sentence.

The elves of the Greenwood, he announced faced a terrible threat. Without hesitation on his people's discretions, Oropher had chosen- in order to prepare them- to tell them of the numbers the Númenórean forces had in store for them- and their allies.

They had never been more horrified.

Elves had never lost a battle with any other race. But only the most arrogant and foolish truly believed they were invincible. They were not, no one was.

Once he had finished with the audience Oropher left with a cold and heavy heart filled with dread to prepare himself for war. "Send a messenger to Gil-Galad," he said to an aide. "Tell him we wish to offer an alliance or else we will fall."

Thranduil had found the shieldmaiden quicker than he had dared hope for, but although she had promised to come to their aid when they needed it, she refused to commit to a public alliance and mingling of their forces. She was very secretive, Oropher thought wrinkling his brow.

He remembered the exact words of the shieldmaiden from what Thranduil had told him. He could not have been more confused. Thranduil doubted though, that she meant any harm. So what were her reasons and her motives?

They did not even know her name. She had refused to give it to them. Whoever this maiden was…

Oropher knew a few elves who had red hair- but they were the red of autumn leaves not burnished copper. And the ones that he knew were Wood-Elves- of Sindarin and Silvan heritage. She was clearly no Wood-Elf.

But that would make her...

"No," he whispered.

Could it be?

Oropher looked back at all his lessons and his memories- the Sacking of Doriath. The sons of Fëanor- there were three out of the Seven- three with copper hair which they had inherited from their mother who had never left Valinor.

But this was ridiculous. Oropher thought as he angrily shook his head. Fëanor had seven sons no daughters by any account. Yes, he had later learned that there were more members of the House of Finwë than was previously recorded- he learned that Fëanor had two-half sisters- one which stayed in Valinor the other which mysteriously disappeared- possibly dead- not long after she arrived in Middle-Earth. He also knew that Fingolfin had another son who died in battle, but never in any account whatsoever did Fëanor have any female offspring, although they said that he did try- with more sons as a result. But what about...

There were no records whatsoever that the Fëanorions- the Sons of Fëanor- had any children themselves- or even if they were married. He knew that it was unlikely that the twins Amrod and Amras- the two youngest- had been as they were very young at the time of death.

So who was this maiden? there were no answers, he feared- not her, but the Evil Men that prepared to invade Middle-Earth.

In Caras Galadhon, Lothlórien...

Amdir the king of Lothlórien looked ashen and the council of lords and ladies were no better, Galadriel noted. Beside her Celeborn made the same observation- his brow furrowed and his blue eyes narrowed as he watched them shouting, gesticulating, making panicked eyes towards each other and loudly disagreeing with any ideas they all had.

It was the usual story, especially when war was imminent, she decided. She sighed. Hopefully, she wouldn't be missed. She needed to leave.

She spoke in her husband's mind: the atmosphere in here does not bode well for thought. I need to leave and consult matters with our source.

Agreed. Celeborn said. Murmuring excuses, Galadriel rose and left.

She went to a window and broadened her inner eye- the one that was trained by Melian the Maia. Estela, her mind whispered, calling silently yet over huge distances. Estela.

The mallorn trees rustled their leaves, but there was no wind. The elves of Lothlórien did not notice anything amiss and carried their daily lives in the flets and on the forest floor. The news had yet to reach them.

Galadriel remembered the days of the Trees. She remembered the lovely silver-haired cousin that laughed with a voice like crystal music, she remembered also the other cousin with tall and magnificent with copper hair gleaming in the light. She remembered them with a pang in her heart that hurt so much she wished she would merely suffer and bleed than feel this.

Artanis, that was the name her father had given her. It meant 'noble maiden' and her mother had called her Nerwen- 'man-maiden' for her height and strength. Her mother had been Olwë's granddaughter- the reason why she was welcomed in Doriath. But what few in Middle-Earth knew was that Olwë king of the Teleri, had another granddaughter.

Arcalimar had been her mother's eldest brother, and his daughter had been the Telerin princess who married the eldest of the sons of Fëanor. They lived for many a century, very happily, but they never did have any children. Until both had gone to the Fëanturi- the brothers Námo and Irmo and their sister Nienna. Galadriel had gone with them and she remembered what they had said.

No one had ever known that the benevolent, yet frightening Lord of Mandos could convey such pity in his gaze. But it wasn't for the couple's childlessness, but for what was to come, she now knew. After a meeting at Taniquetil, the Fëanturi returned and she saw the pain and sorrow in their gazes.

"The promise of the All-Father has been given and it is thus; that come the next year, on the night when Telperion gleams and glistens the most your child shall be born outside the cities of the Noldor. Hope she is and hope she shall be for those who have none- but beware, son of Fëanáro. For the deeds of the fathers shall be the child's future- to suffer for any deeds of ill that hath been wrought by the forebears, and to flourish and thrive in their skill and achievements. Whatever will be done, your child shall live and feel the pain of suffering and loss- and she shall grow and be great, glorious and beautiful even in comparison to Laurelin and Telperion, and as a beacon of hope, so will hands reach out for her- in a desire for hope or to destroy it."

The child had been born as stated; outside of any Noldorin City and in the light of Telperion- which was unbelievably bright that night. The child's father had named her Eruvandë- the Oath of Eru- as she was the promise that was kept by the All-Father. but the mother had named her Estela- Hope in the Telerin dialect, for she sensed the girl would be the hope that was to come.

And a hope she is, Galadriel thought sadly. But not to herself. Never to herself. She lived in darkness, hiding and running from her family's dark past, fighting to save others, without even the hope of saving herself. She had suffered and the most sad thought was that it was never her choice. She heard the news when Melkor was released. She felt his dark power and witnessed the brutal murder of her forefather Finwë. But she did not stand in the Great Square nor did she raise a sword and repeat the words her grandfather had so infamously uttered- the words her own father would regret, weighing so heavily upon him. She never made the choice to leave Valinor, certainly she did not take part in any of the kinslayings. She was so small then, Galadriel remembered. So small everyone's habit. including her own, was to pick her up, cuddling her close, instead of allowing her to walk from one place to another.

And it was that, which enabled Fëanor to insist upon her coming to Middle-Earth. She had been special that child, with the gift to bring joy into everyone's lives, and the two grandparents had argued ferociously about her and their twin sons on whether they would leave.

"She is too young- much too young!" Nerdanel had begged, her copper hair was dirty and hanging in strands the like of which Artanis and those that witnessed this had never seen. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes."Fëanáro, please-"

"She is my grandchild," he had hissed, the light in his eyes frightening her. Fëanáro had had dark blue eyes, so dark it was almost black, but with brilliant silver eight-pointed stars shining and cutting through the dark with their light. His sons shared the same eyes, only the light had been very different in each save the twins. Fëanáro's light was at times, bright and proudly shining, but at times, it had a crazed feverishness, such as when she saw him at work with one of his greatest achievements, and now it was there and it multiplied by the thousand. She also saw the light of rage, vengeance and hate in them. Never again would Fëanáro be the same. "My only granddaughter. The only child of my eldest son- do you really expect me to leave her in the clutches of those that allowed this to happen?"

He had done the unthinkable- he blamed the Valar for allowing Melkor- or Morgoth as he had renamed him- to go free, and Artanis knew the trust had been broken and he would never allow his granddaughter or his two youngest sons to remain in the hands of the Valar- not even if the future should hold even worse in store for them. "Or perhaps," he had hissed. "This is what you wish. Is this what you wish, Nerdanel? That your husband of many a century be abandoned by his own sons- his grandchildren? That the child given to our family by Eru, the All-Father should stay here, going to waste, allowing her gifts of great promise be unused in the fight against evil? Is that what you truly wish- to go against me, against us?" his voice was filled with rage. "Was it Aulë that persuaded you to say this? Did you choose to listen, to sway my mind? They all decided to come with their father and grandfather. Abandon them if you will Nerdanel," she heard him say with a poison he had never spoken to his wife before. "If you should choose to stay. I never will leave them in this cage which never saved my father from harm."

Nerdanel stepped back, as if stabbed. Then very quietly with a voice like steel, she said:

"Even you, Fëanáro, would not have them all."

It was the last time they had ever spoken to one another- the husband and wife that had lived very happily and begotten seven children and a great many grandchildren. She closed her eyes, grief rising.

"Surely you cannot believe-"

"Maitimo, he is your father, your own father, there is no way, he can never-"

"He is not my father!" Maitimo shouted, all restraint leaving him. Shocked by this outburst they all started. Even Arafinwë, her own father stepped back. Her cousin,
Eärelen, sucked in a deep breath and moved to reprimand her husband.

"Maitimo! What is it that you are saying? Fëanáro will always be your father, no matter what happens! Did he not beget you? Did he not raise you and love you, teach you how to write, how to shape metal?" she exclaimed. Her eyes were wide, violet, an unusual colour, richer and deeper than amethysts. She shook her head, her hair, more brilliant than woven silver, almost blinding impressive even for a Teler.

Maitimo shook his head. "He is not the same." he muttered. "He will not listen! He will never listen. And my mother is gone."

There was silence. Then Maitimo took a deep breath and said, "He has insisted that Estela accompany us to the Outer Lands."

There was a shocked gasp from members of the Telerin royal family and the court. The mother of the child herself went so pale, it was alarming even for her. Her delicate hand clutched at the carved arm of the chair.

"What?" the other grandfather of the child shouted. "Is he mad?"

"Mad?" Maitimo let out a harsh, terrible bitter laugh, "Of course he is mad! He is mad as literal as that word could ever be! This is not the father I have known and loved- this is not the grandfather that protected my child! This is not the same person that helped construct your cities and often met with you in good will! And I warn you now, that he insists on going to Endórë, and taking my child with him! I cannot disobey now that he is king and I do not know what he will do, but now that we have sworn-"

He closed his eyes. "I should have never sworn," he whispered, sinking into a couch. "I should have never sworn as well." But this regret would be nothing like what he would feel when the kinslayings occurred, when the ships at Losgar burnt, when his family started dying.

Maitimo opened his eyes. "You cannot stop him," he whispered. "No one can. He is leaving Aman, leaving for the lands that have long since been abandoned by the elves save the Avari. I pleaded, begged with him to let Estela remain with her mother here in Valinor, but he would not have it anymore than he would from my mother. I am also here on his orders-"

"He wants ships," Arcalimar realised. "he wants them to sail to the Outer Lands."

Maitimo closed his eyes again, nodded and buried his face in his hands. "I told him- we both did," he said gesturing to Macalaurë, his brother also married to a Teler, "that the Teleri value their ships as much as we value the work of our hands: our jewels and metals. And that you have every right to keep them. But he wants vengeance, my father, he wants it so badly much." Maitimo could not describe the madness that burned in Fëanáro's eyes.

Olwë took a deep breath. "I will go to him," he said standing. "I will remind him that there is no need for such hasty actions- we have always been friends in the past and perhaps I can remind him of those days."

"I will go as well," Arcalimar announced, also standing. "I am Estela's grandfather as well, and perhaps I can remind him of that, and never to trade her safety for the desire for vengeance."

Maitimo raised alarmed eyes at the two of them. "You cannot stop him," he whispered. "He is mad. He is not the same person you once knew. He has lost all reason."

"We must try," Arcalimar said.

"No!" Everyone started at Maitimo's alarm. "It will only incense him further. He is already enraged! Don't! You do not know what he will do next- what he might make others do!" He was no pleading, no, begging them.

Artanis sat frozen watching her cousin, while her other cousin, his wife, was like ice and snow herself.

Olwë looked grave. "We must try," he said. "This is a child of our family. These are our ships. And Fëanáro and his father Finwë before him have always been our friends. We cannot let him lose his reason.

Needless to say their reasoning did not work and resulted in the First Kinslaying at Alqualondë. Galadriel now realised that what the Fëanturi had warned her cousins were true. Estela had suffered the consequences above all else. Was it kindness to bring her into a world so her destiny would be to suffer?

She wondered if it had been the right thing to ask the Valar and the All-Father for a child for her cousins. Fëanor had refused to let the child remain in Alqualondë and was mad with rage when they had refused, accusing them of breaking oaths of friendship just as he had accused his wife.

Galadriel sighed and blocked the memories from her mind. She reached out again, broadening her line of thought. Estela.

There was a warm mental wave throughout the air of the forest. Then after a silence, came a response.

I am here.

Yeah I know- it's frustrating when the elves have so many names- the ones their fathers gave them, the ones their mothers gave them, their patronym, their family, their nicknames, the ones the Sindar gave them, and so forth. Flashbacks would mean that the ones that were present on Valinor when all that occurred would remember them as the names they had before the Sindar gave it to them, but when, for example, Galadriel, comes back to the present, she remembers them as being what the Sindar would call them. As for the italics, I know that Estela didn't have italics in her flashbacks, but possibly that's because the memories were much stronger and much more traumatic for her. And soon, they will figure out exactly who she is- the daughter and granddaughter and niece of kinslayers. What will happen to her then? How will they react?