Chapter Twenty-Five

"What will happen to her?" Celebrían asked worriedly.

No one could answer. Galadriel placed her hand on Estela's forehead and reached out trying to touch her fëa. She closed her eyes.

There did not seem to be anything. But she was alive, so surely there was something?

"I cannot feel her fëa," she said gravely. "There is darkness that has drained her."

"What was it?" Ereinion demanded. His face was streaked in dust and his eyes bore the signs of true fear.

"I do not know," Galadriel responded. "But whatever it is, it is not part of the normal pattern of this world. It is a darkness so dark and powerful that if left to fester…" he voice trailed off.

Elrond joined her in checking her for any sign of hurt. Interestingly enough her physical form was left unmarred. Internal or external, her body was fine. The real damage was to her fëa.

His brow furrowed as he checked her soul. Something truly was not right.

What was that thing? Now was not the time, but even as he tried hard not to panic for her, he could not help but wonder…

Had Morgoth came back?

It was a blood-chilling thought. In fact it was more than enough to make all the magma beneath Arda's crust freeze. But it was also unlikely. The Valar themselves tossed Morgoth into the void, and if he could not even get out from Angainor when he was merely imprisoned, then he had no chance of escaping the punishment they inflicted for the last time.

Thranduil had gone to report to his father all that transpired. No doubt the question of the Darkness had spread by now, throughout the camp. Soon it will spread throughout all of Middle-Earth- the stories and- he had a bad feeling about it- the Darkness itself, whatever it could be.

Ereinion had stayed. He did not even bother to change out of his forest-garb and sparse armour. It was stained with orc-blood and grime, but no one noticed. His eyes were on Estela who was so pale and listless, she could only be fading.

Her skin looked so translucent it seemed to fade in places. She appeared thinner than what she normally was- although looking at her closely and hard enough, one could see in fact, that she had not lost weight in the least. Her incredibly lush, rounded rosebud lips were pale as milk. She did not appear to move and her heartbeat was strange. It was incredibly slow- no mortal could have had a heartbeat that slow, they would have been dead at this stage- and sometimes, it literally skipped a beat.

No, there was no doubt she was fading.

The thought frightened Ereinion worse than anything ever did. It also concerned the others. Just what had the Darkness do to her? By the looks of it, it must have drained a great deal of her bodily energy and her spirit's.

Just like Míriel Serindë, her foremother.

It frightened them all.

Finally Galadriel decided on something. She banished everyone but Elrond from the healing tent, even Ereinion. Despite feeling pity for him, she knew what she had to do.

The healing process would take several days.

Vorondo was white. He had seen her and had insisted on coming with Teleprinquar. He also fought tooth and nail to get to her in the healing tent, but was ultimately banished by the Lady of Light. Now as tears formed in his eyes, he blinked them away.

Maltariel was shaking and pale also. She kept rocking back and forth. She blamed herself.

But it could do nothing now.

Oropher asked Celeborn: "Who was that ellon who claimed to be her cousin?"

Celeborn gave him a long look. "Telperinquar, son of Curufin, fifth son of Fëanor."

Oropher could find nothing to say.

Everyone talked in whispers, as if a louder tone would bring doom upon them all. No one looked happy.

The healing would take time- time needed to convince Estela's fëa to stay rather than depart.

"Something's not right," Celebrían whispered.

Her father raised an eyebrow. Of course there was nothing right at the moment.

"I sense something… Don't you feel it Ada?" she whispered. "Something's about to happen, I can feel it."

Celeborn sighed. He never knew how his daughter could sense these things coming- from her mother probably. But he always knew to heed her.

"She'll be fine," he said. She had to be.

She endured so much… surely she wasn't about to fade now.

And if she did… What would happen to Gil-Galad?

Days passed. Most of the encampment were ordered to return home. Tents were taken down and rolled away to be packed. Food supplies were checked on last time and pots and pans were washed while fires were put out.

The horses were fed and saddled with bags, but most took convincing to leave. Particularly the ones who were saved by Estela and had developed a debt, of sorts, towards her, which they felt needed to be settled.

King Oropher decided it was best to leave. Giving a glance of sorts to Celeborn and an inquisitive one towards Telperinquar- who had by now realised everyone knew their identities, was not happy about it, yet realised now was not the time to get upset and there was nothing he could do- and mounted his horse. Thranduil left with him. He gave a glance towards the twin swords Estela had, which had been found and lay neatly wrapped in silk, and he had a look of sorts on his face; part curiosity, part yearning. It was the first time he had ever seen a person fight with more than one sword- who had ever heard of it? But Estela had been trained by Maedhros, the dread warrior prince, feared by all Dark Powers, who had been one of the few in history to have died undefeated, and was thus skilled enough to invent new ways of fighting.

He wanted to learn, he could not deny his curiosity and eagerness. But now was not the time. He kicked his horse and left with his father and army of Woodland Elves.

Those that stayed were the High King's personal guard, Elrond's, and Celeborn and Galadriel's.

As well as Telperinquar, and Estela's friends and followers.

The hours went by.

Elrond suggested they take her somewhere else, but then frowned upon the thought.

Meanwhile Estela hovered between life and death. In mortal terms, her body was already half-dead- or more than that.

She dreamed of an emptiness. It wasn't even dark- it was nothing.

But no, there was something… Or rather, someone.

Not just anyone… But the ONE. He whispered something…. But it was a voice without a sound. A sentence… a meaning… without words. Something not sound, but much larger than that.

And suddenly light burst forth… Stars exploded into existence and everything was so bright…

Then beings took form- well, form without physicality. They were light. And soon, the void around them was filled with soundless music, lovelier than anything she could possibly imagine- not even her mother and uncle could have brought something to life as the music they sung. It wasn't even a metaphor, she realised. It was life. And everything around them was light, light in the shape of… a hall? Was it a hall? The light shaped itself around those beings like a hall.

And soon the light opened up, like a wall or a door before her, before them all. All of it was in darkness… But something burst forth, springing out of the light she saw.

It was dull and dark, it was barren, but she could see it was rock…

Then the Voice- how utterly and indescribably different it was to the voice she had heard in the fortress- spoke once more. The Voice had spoken, she thought, just before the land-mass burst forth.

The beings fell downwards. They were like meteors, she thought, or comets falling to the earth- Arda unfinished she now knew- and when they landed their light suddenly turned opaque. Soon they became solid, and she cried out in surprise when she saw who they were.

The Valar stood before her.

Many things happened at once.

The All-Father saw many things done.

The Valar worked. She saw Aulë hammering and chiselling, shaping the mountains- although that was mostly the Ilúvatar's work. She saw Varda filling a great cauldron with something that exuded so much light even she with her elven eyes could not see. Then she and the Maiar scooped handfuls and scattered them up into the sky. The stars… She almost wept in wonder at their beauty.

She saw Ulmo filling his seas, stroking his fish and gently urging the coral to grow… She saw Yavanna spreading her arms, and the trees, bushes, grass and all vegetation started to grow. Nessa ran amongst the deer, urging them on. Oromë the Master Woodsman on Nahar, rode and kept an eye on the newly-formed beasts. Vána the Ever-Young scattered flowers with her sister. Manwë high on the mountaintop, held out his arms and eagles flew forth with the winds blowing.

She rejoiced. She laughed. Was this the first time she laughed? It felt like it.

But she knew something was wrong.

How did she see? There was light but it came from the forms of the Ainur, and the stars. Not the sun or moon. Not the Two Trees. But she saw a Vala hammering something…It was Aulë. And he was hammering something- or two things. And then Varda came and filled the inside of one end on both things… with something like the ones she had in her wells and cauldrons. Aulë pulled both up, and Estela saw they were two poles made of gold and silver, hammered and chiselled with designs so magnificent she had never imagined it could exist. Varda whispered something and the two globes on either end glowed with light. One was gold the other silver. She saw the Valar placing both separate places- one would go far north, she knew, and the other far south. These were the Great Lamps.

Now the world was illuminated and she gasped at what she saw. Arda unmarred. A sight no elf had ever seen.

But she knew something was wrong. Something poisoned the rivers, streams and ponds with… blood? Blood that came from dead animals… and she saw that some of the animals had turned feral, with sharp teeth and snarling, hateful eyes.

Tulkas sprang into action… she saw a dark shadow in the distance and she knew it was Morgoth- or Melkor as he was known then. She saw Tulkas give chase Oromë did too, on Nahar. But soon all was well, it seemed.

She saw Tulkas and Nessa and her eyes widened. This could not be… but it was! They were being married! Right before her eyes! All the other Ainur gathered around them and she saw dancing and feasting the likes of which she had never witnessed. But then she saw something else. A dark figure on a cliff on the horizon which did not go down to celebrate with them. Her heart chilled. It was Melkor.

She saw Nessa dance, flowers scattering, growing beneath her feet. She saw Tulkas lie down and was filled with dread. She had enough lessons to know what came next.

She saw Melkor. He was up to something.

And then she saw it. He had delved deep underground, a fortress delved deep into the unwitting earth. It was cavernous, terrifying, dark and so frightening she wanted to scream. There was a pit… larger than anything else. And in it Melkor filled….

She wanted to run. She wanted to scream. But she couldn't. But thankfully the scene changed.

She saw Melkor charging. He toppled the great lamps. She wanted to gasp. He had more than enough with him- the Ainur loyal to him, she thought with sickening realisation. She wondered if Ungoliant was among their number. She wondered if the one the old woman warned her was there.

She saw them, they passed through something that seemed to be made out of night air- the Walls of Night, she knew. She saw Melkor and she saw him place a hand against Ormal- the Gold lamp. He shoved. It took three turns, and she began to feel hopeful. But she knew this story.

The lamp fell with a crash that threatened to shatter the earth. She saw the Valar freeze and the Maiar start from whatever they were doing.

And Tulkas jumped up as did Oromë. Both of them came to Manwë Súlimo and he spoke to them. They rushed after Melkor. She saw him flee.

But her heart sank. It was not going to end well.

The scene changed. Suddenly she saw the stars kindling brighter than ever. She was an elf. She loved the light of the stars and it made her laugh again.

Then she saw something. She was standing… in a bay. There was a sea. And stars overhead. She saw something… stirring. No, more than one, and not something. They were people. They were stirring. They sat up. They saw the stars and gasped. These were the first, she thought. It almost brought her down on her knees. The Unbegotten.

Desperately she searched for a familiar face from her childhood. She didn't succeed. But she saw an elf, whose hair was pure gold, clasping another elf- a maiden with the same hair- and moving forth. She saw another elf couple doing the same, moving forwards. She saw a third, with pure silver hair. They moved amongst everyone. The couples, after much wandering, found more elves. They did as the stories said, journeying and claiming the elves they found as among their group.

The scene changed. Soon she saw a rider coming into view. She knew it was Oromë riding on Nahar. He halted when he came across them. The scene showed him speaking to the elves and many of them listening, although some fled.

She saw elves conducting an exodus. The Great Journey, she realised in astonishment. There were elves wrapped in cloaks with hoods, many had horses- to ride or to carry belongings and supplies. She saw one elf leading a group of them- tall dark-haired and noble- Finwë!

Her heart leapt and screamed in joy to see him, yet it also broke, to see him alive and healthy, unmarred by Morgoth. He was the tallest of the group and his eyes glanced around looking for potential dangers all the while helping anyone who needed help- anyone whose horses were stuck, anyone whose belongings were scattered- the young who could not walk properly for too long a distance, she even saw him carrying children for lengths of the journey, always with his sword at his side. It shocked her to see him with one- it was such an unfamiliar sight to see him with a weapon- and a real one at that. The great-grandfather she knew wouldn't touch a deadly instrument at all.

Her eyes wandered, and it staggered inside her to see so many elves. She had never seen such a great exodus before. The Great Journey must have been more than anyone ever written about or spoken of. Her eyes wandered again, and they settled upon two more groups. One was gold-haired led by a figure se had known, although not very well- Ingwë- High King of the Eldar and Indis' uncle. The other group was led by an unfamiliar silver-haired elf so tall she was impressed. But next to him was an elf with white hair, like platinum. Her heart gave another leap and cry of joy. It was Olwë, her other forefather, leading the people on with his brother Elwë later Elu Thingol. And onwards they went towards Valinor.

Her heart sung and she ached to join them in their journey. It felt a lightness she had never felt since before Finwë's death. She wanted to dance, to leap, to sing, like the child she used to be.

She saw them in great ships, with swan figureheads with gold beaks and eyes of onyx and jet. The swans- she saw another sight which made her question her senses- they were leading them- the real swans not the figureheads. Tied to ropes, huge flocks of swans pulled them beneath the stars.

And soon they reached it and her heart threatened to break and she wanted to weep. Valinor!

She saw them raise cities and she wanted to break down. What she wouldn't give to join them! But she marvelled in the magnificence of it all. Even Gondolin, she decided, was a pale shadow of Tirion the magnificent city upon the hill Túna. She watched the city she had grown up in along with Alqualondë, rise to the magnificence she remembered. And she saw Finwë again.

And with him a silver-haired maiden, so beautiful, as beautiful as Indis, although in a very different way. Her heart now gave an unpleasant lurch.

Míriel. The deceased foremother that had abandoned them long ago.

There was no mistaking her- she looked like Fëanáro her son, except for her hair, silver as a Teler's and straight. Even Estela was breath-taken by her beauty but her heart grew in rage at the sight of her.

She knew it wasn't Miriel's fault that she died giving life to her son. But she could have returned. Yet she didn't.

There was a swell in front of her gown. She knew who this was.

And then the scene changed.

Finwë was there, holding a bundle of blankets. Miriel was there also, lying on the bed, looking so pale and listless, she seemed to be translucent, even transparent around the edges. She also didn't look like she had recently been pregnant- she was so thin.

"Is he not beautiful?" Finwë declared. He seemed to be blown away and gasped at the child's beauty in the light. "The most beautiful babe I have ever beheld!"

Miriel smiled, but she seemed stretched even though she was obviously happy.

"I shall call him Curufinwë," Finwë declared. "'The skilled son of Finwë.'"

"And I, Fëanáro," she murmured. "'The Spirit of Fire.'"

"A good name," Finwë added a joyous twinkle in his eyes that she had forgotten he had had, but now remembered him having.

But Míriel did not smile, although her whole attention was on her new-born child, when he was handed back to her.

"Love?" Finwë asked. "What is it?"

Míriel glanced up at Finwë and there was a pain in her eyes. Estela was shocked to see that the woman who in the previous scene had been so vibrant, had lost all trace of brightness in her eyes. It was dull. So dull and flat she had never seen the like.

"Never again shall I bear a child," she said softly. "Before his birth, I had strength to nourish and bring forth thousands, it would seem. But now, all of it has gone onto Fëanáro. This one treasured, priceless, irreplaceable child I have given you- no more."

Finwë, she saw was shocked. And grieved. Pain sprung into his eyes, and panic. "This is Aman," he said, trying to reason with her. "Is there not healing here that does not exist elsewhere? What ails you that cannot be healed? All the weary have found rest."

Rest. She knew it was what the queen longed for, secretly in her heart, although it tore her to separate from her newly-born child.

The scene changed again. This time she saw Míriel, Queen of the Noldor, boarding a carriage. It shocked her. She had grown so thin, listless, pale and weak, that she looked like she was about to break. She needed help entering the carriage, and she looked so fragile, wobbling delicately from side to side, it was painful to watch.

Finwë was there and his face was pained. "Beloved," he whispered. "Can I not persuade you to stay a while longer before you depart? Our son is growing and soon he will tread upon the green hills of Túna. Must you leave now?"

She could see agonising pain flash across Míriel's face. It was shattering her inside, yet she knew what would happen. "I have never felt more unhappiness in all my life," she whispered, and tears streaked her face. It was tearing her up inside but she was going to go. "And yet I must leave. Forgive me, in this, and in everything that comes."

It slammed into her and was so cold she could scarcely think. She knew. Her foremother knew. She knew what would happen.

And yet she never guessed it could be because she left?

The carriage departed.

The scene changed and she saw Finwë, kneeling beside the still body of his wife, covered in a fine veil all over. There were flowers in her hair. She looked so lovely, the air seemed to be robbed of her lungs. But even though she appeared only sleeping, she saw so still, and Estela knew she could only be…dead.

Finwë left. He was sobbing, although there was no one about and no one saw him. His shoulders slumped as he sank upon a bench and sobbed.

He was alone. She wanted to rush over to him, and comfort him. To bring joy and comfort into his heart.

Then the scene changed. Finwë stood before the Valar. She was shaken to the core. It was the Máhanaxar- the Ring of Doom- the Meeting Council of all the Valar.

Manwë looked troubled- they all did.

"Your wife Míriel has given her answer." He spoke. It was strong, and clear as the skies in which he reigned. "She will not return. She has demanded that we leave her in peace in the Halls of Mandos."

Finwë looked like he was about to break. Estela wanted to scream, to curse the selfish, cowardly foremother that did not want to face or even try to prevent anything she knew would happen, from happening. She knew and did not try to do anything. She was a coward. She was responsible, in part.

"We have consulted the Father," Manwë intoned. "And He feels your pain, as he feels others. We all feel it. So it is decided. If your wife Míriel would not return to you, than consider your union dissolved and now you are free- free to take a new spouse."

There was a gasp, but no one dared to say anything. It was shocking- no more than shocking- it was unthinkable. Unthinkable that an Elda should marry twice! Many centuries later, she knew men would be able to take more than one spouse, but elves? Never. Not even death sundered their union.

The scene changed yet again. There was Finwë with a beautiful maiden, whose beauty rendered everyone who beheld her breathless. Her hair was gold, pure gold illuminated and glittering, as if Laurelin's light had settled itself in her tresses, and it was waving. This person she knew very well in her childhood. Indis, called the Fair, of the Vanyar. Ingwë's niece and Queen during the years Estela knew her. And less of a coward than Míriel, she thought scathingly.

She saw her grandfather working in his forge. Laughing with his apprentices, meeting people who laughed and were great friends with them- he made a lot of friends, she thought. Just like her own father… And with him was a lady. She had a pale complexion that flushed a warm, rosy colour. Her eyes were green and her hair was a deep and vibrant copper. Nerdanel, her grandmother.

She saw them working together. Him in his forge, and she not far away, chiselling and sculpting to her heart's delight.

And she saw their sons.
Her father was the tallest, and easily spotted. His hair was as deep a crimson copper as his mother's and his face resembled his father's- and Míriel's she thought bitterly. Beautiful in all ways, magnificently sculptured and chiselled: High sculpted cheekbones, straight, slim nose, noble brow, fine, chiselled lips. She saw the resemblance now. And she saw it in herself. It made her resentful. If Míriel wanted to leave then by all means she should stay gone and bother them no more!

Her uncle Macalaurë was there as well. He was closest to her father. He stood almost as tall, with black hair and blue-grey eyes. He had the looks of a painting, delicate and classical in beauty. His harp was slung on his back, as usual. She had to smile.

Tyelcormo, her third uncle stood tall and proud. He was golden as a lion, and shone, his hair was the lightest of all seven brothers and his eyes were blue as a brilliant sky in midsummer's day. Carnistir, in contrast was very dark, with his amber eyes being the brightest part of him, and dark hair, almost like red-wine in colour or black glass. His skin was pale but could go warm, hence his mother-name. Curufinwë came next. Telpe's father, and she almost shook at the resemblance between him and Telpe, and also their grandfather. His eyes were sharp. The two twins she knew well, they were young and her heart ached to see them alive and vibrant, whole and healthy- above all else happy. They were more like playmates to her, elder brothers than uncles.

One thing the sons of Feanaro had in common was that sometimes, their eyes changed. It was a special trait they shared with their father. Sometimes their eyes were other colours. Her father's was emerald-green, like hers. Macalaurë's blue-grey, Tyelcormo's bright blue, Carnistir's amber and Curufinwë's grey. The twins had grey-green eyes. But sometimes they changed colour to a very dark blue, almost black, with stars inside- real, true eight-pointed stars which became the symbol of their house, silver and brilliant, cutting and shining through the darkness. Fëanorian eyes they called it, although it wasn't widespread news.

She herself didn't share the trait, although she inherited many others. She had almost forgotten how strange it was to look at her father and see him have eyes one colour one minute and another the next but it was only when she thought about it- it was usually considered normal to her.

The seven of them. So magnificent and strong. She couldn't stand the sight.

Then she saw something else.

It was a great feast- the greatest celebrations she had ever set eyes upon. The Grand Hall was decorated with beautiful blossoms, some were in creamy-pale, soothing pastel shades, others in deep, rich vibrant colours, all of them were placed beautifully and artfully together. There were streamers, and banners. Mirrors were polished to a bright shine, made of artificial Noldorin glass- most by her grandfather, she could tell- framed in gold, ornately chiselled with intricate designs set in gems. There were ceramic-ware and precious-metal ornaments. Everyone was hurrying about, there were people setting seats, polishing ornaments and mirrors, using feather-dusters on the most delicate and breakable pieces. There were elves on ladders polishing the gems set in the ceiling and the gold pillars. Something was about to happen- a celebration of sorts, and she looked at the banners in the entrance- the House of Finwë, and the Star of Fëanáro, and the insignia of the House of Olwë- she gasped. This was her parents' wedding!

Everyone knew there would be two ceremonies- one for the Noldor in Tirion, and the other in Alqualondë for the Telerin people. And now she was witnessing the Noldorin wedding. Both families went into a great deal of trouble for this- both were to be the events of the year. Ingwë was invited to both weddings while those who could not come to both, came to one and had to forgo the other.

The guests started to arrive. The High Kings Ingwë and Finwë- Olwë arrived later. She spotted Arafinwë and Eärwen who looked utterly radiant and happy to be there. Artanis, her daughter, and her three sons were there as well.

As was Nolofinwë and Anairë, she noted, the half-brother her grandfather loved least- or liked the least, depending on when one referred to her grandfather- before or after Melkor's visit. Their four children were there as well, including Findekáno, who was closest to her father. It struck her how much like Ereinion he looked, with his sapphire-blue eyes and midnight hair. Maybe he was truly his son after all.

The music filled the air. She knew Macalaurë's playing and her eyes misted. How she had almost forgotten! It was sweet music and her father walked to the platform with her grandfather by his side.

He looked so tall and magnificent- he was in his most glorious of days, although the capture and torment in Angband did nothing to diminish his glory. Dressed in forest-green with trimmed with gold embroidery in fine branches and leaves, and soft grey trousers lined in gold, his boots polished to a high shine and tooled with exquisite detail. If only they saw him here, she thought sadly. They would think of him more than mere kinslayer. His copper hair was rich and vivid, bound with a gold circlet and his green eyes gazed impressively throughout the audience, offering acknowledgements to those that caught his eye. He looked like a prince- no, a king, more than any other elf.

And all waited while the sweetest music played. Her mother arrived with her maternal grandmother by her side. Dressed in white, the colour of brides her gown flowed and trailed behind her in a train. It was pure-white silk covered with such delicate exquisite lace, embroidery, pearls and actual adamants in such gorgeous patterns, rich and fine, yet simple and elegant. She even had a delicate veil with beautiful patterns and a mithril circlet beautifully-made with mother-of-pearl- made by her grandfather, no doubt. It hurt her, to see her mother so happy and radiant- so different from the lady that faded from grief. She was as beautiful as her cousin Lúthien, in her daughter's eyes.

And even more tragic, as everyone thought she would be forever happy starting from that day onwards. Guided by her mother, she made her way to where Nelyafinwë Maitimo stood and gently accepted his offered hand.

Estela watched the ceremony. No one knew. She searched the crowd for any sign, any sign at all of foreboding, and nothing entered her view. This wasn't what people said. Even about her grandfather, those that never even set foot upon Valinor said, 'They should have known, he hated his siblings didn't he? Even then they should have known!' But it was the most nonsensical thing she had ever heard. Because no one behaved that way towards her grandfather and people that did knew him before Melkor was set lose, could not reconcile the kinslayer they had heard of, to the person they once knew- or heard about, even. Of course no one knew!

So how did it come to be?

Seemingly in answer, the images rushed past. Suddenly it stopped right before her eyes and Estela saw her father standing before the Valar.

What was he doing there? She could not have been more alarmed and bewildered. Was something wrong? Did something happen that she did not know about. But her father's words to them answered everything.

"For decades now, we have been married," he intoned solemnly, beseechingly to the mighty Ainur. "Yet as my brothers themselves and our kin marry and beget offspring, we are childless, our arms and hearts empty with none but each other. We long nothing more than for a child. Any child, male or female."

She saw the Valar look at one another.

"We have prayed to the All-Father. We have striven to be the best we can be in heart and deeds. We have even helped others that needed it, with their own children as well. Yet it is agony to see others play and laugh with their own children while we are empty and childless."

The Valar looked upon him with pity. She saw Nienna give a reproachful glance at the other Valar. Námo shifted, as if uneasy. She saw him give a glance to his brother Irmo. The Fëanturi exchange glances and somehow… they knew, Estela was ice-cold. No one else knew, but those two brothers and the All-Father.

And her foremother.

They all looked at each other. "Give us time son of Fëanáro," Manwë spoke. His strong voice echoed all around. "You shall have your answer by the next night when Telperion waxes to its fullest."

An odd time to give an answer, Estela thought. But it then hit her. If the Valar promised something it was bound to be one of the most powerful and promising things- more than you could hope for- with a powerful destiny.

And that child… Oh, that child… it was her.

The scene changed and soon her father stood again before the Máhanaxar. Silver light surrounded them, and she knew Telperion was at its strongest.

Her father looked up, she saw the light of desperation, the silent pleading and the hope in his eyes. And maybe even fear, although she had never seen it in him.

Manwë told him. "Let the brothers Fëanturi speak." And he left it to them to address her father.

It was Namo who spoke. "The promise of the All-Father is given and it is thus: that come the next year when Telperion glistens and gleams the most, your child shall be born outside the cities if the Noldor. Hope she is and hope she shall be for all those who have none- but beware son of Fëanáro. For the deeds of the Father shall be the child's future- unless she be strong enough and brave in heart to change it. Whatever shall be done, your child shall burn brighter than any flame, yet live and feel the pain and suffering of loss should Darkness grows. And she shall grow great and 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."

Then she saw her father Maitimo sitting down with his family, and his wife. "What did he mean?" one of her aunts said, puzzled. "He speaks in riddles," Carnistir grumbled. Artanis was there as well, holding her mother in an embrace. "Well one thing can be clear," she sighed. "Whatever he means- the two of you will have a child. And," there was a twinkle in her eyes. "Did you hear what else he said?" They looked at her puzzled. "'She'." Artanis smiled. "They said 'she'. I think you did not have any sisters. But now I believe you will have a daughter."

There were cheers all around. Particularly from her grandparents who never had the daughter they longed for, and only grandsons. The daughters they had were someone else's before they married their sons, but now they were going to have a granddaughter. Estela could not bear to look. She knew what the Vala meant.

But did she?

'Unless she be strong enough, and brave enough to change it'- was that not what the Lord Namo said?

What did he mean? She was not one of Men. She did not possess their gift to forge her own destiny- hers was written in the stars, along with the other Eldar! She was no mortal!

And yet… There have been cases of immortals differing from the rest. Her own forefather married twice. Does this mean… she truly had a choice?

She survived all that, didn't she? What if she was truly stronger than she ever thought of herself? She always believed she went on, because there was no other path to take- no alternative. Yet, she started to realise that there was. There had been many cases. She chose to fight for what was right, to save others. Yet she could have lived out the rest of her immortal life in obscurity, content with her skills at crafting. But she chose a life of hardship and struggle, in spite of all she endured.

It hit her. She was strong enough. Stronger than she ever knew herself to be. She survived- and that wasn't just a curse, but a blessing.

It was a shock, she knew it all along, yet it never dawned on her. She always believed that it was because there was no other alternative. But there was. And she chose to do something else entirely- not for glory, treasure, vengeance- she chose to be similar to her kin and yet different. She made different choices.

She was strong and she didn't simply endure, but survive. She could survive through this.

And as Estela came back to reality, she felt freedom for the first time in over an Age.

"It's taking time," Elrond murmured.

Everyone was waiting for her to recover.

Gil-Galad was sitting on the floor, or kneeling, by her bed. He barely slept- and hardly ate. His eyes were fixed on her with such an intensity Elrond was beginning to feel annoyed.

He sighed. "We have done all we can. And we have managed to pull people back from when they were fading before. Hopefully, she will get the message. And this will only make her stronger."

Galadriel looked at Ereinion. "He is right," she said. "There is no more that can be done, that has not already been done. Rest," she advised the king. He frowned at her. "The danger has passed."

Telperinquar's eyes were also on Estela.

After a great deal of convincing (and they only managed it because they asked him- the High King no less- to do something useful), Ereinion left the tent.

Estela's followers were growing desperate and restless. Elrond thought that soon gossip would spread about the King and the shieldmaiden that turned out to be the Fëanorian. After all, most of their company had returned to Lindon.

Suddenly Estela's eyes snapped open, and were in focus. She had been in a fading sleep, so her eyes were closed. Elrond saw and so did Galadriel.

"Ah, Estela," Celeborn said dryly. "Most of us were beginning to get quite worried."

She blinked and sat up. Elrond started because, for a moment, he could have sworn her eyes were blue-black with silver stars within them.

But they were emerald. And they were clear, gazing at everyone. "I-" she blinked. "What happened?" she asked.

"We might as well ask you?" Elrond spoke. "We could consider ourselves incredibly lucky. That darkness that overtook you… whatever it was, it was not of the normal world. If I hadn't remembered the part where the Valar arrived during the last days of the War of Wrath, I would have assumed it was Morgoth."

"No," Estela said quietly. "But close enough."

Before anyone could ask them anything, the tent flap drew open and there stood… Ereinion.

Her heart leapt but she knew not what to say and so she cast her eyes to the ground.

His hands dropped to his sides. "You're awake," he said, almost shocked.

She blinked. "I survived," she gave a rueful smile. "I just needed to remember that I survived far worse."

She started to get up. She felt Elrond restrain her. "Not yet," he advised. She glared at him, but sighed.

"Stay for a few more days," he advised. She frowned. "How long had I been unconscious for?"

"Three days," was the response. She groaned inwardly. Three days wasted. Elrond seemed to know her thoughts and smiled. Galadriel rose. "I will go see to the preparations," she said, and left.

She winced. Instantly Ereinion, the High King, she had to remember,was by her side. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she sighed. He gazed at her in wonder. "You don't appear to look like you were fading." She frowned. "I wasn't fading! Was I?" she looked at everyone anxiously. They automatically shook their heads deciding it was an easier answer to bear.

A voice cleared his throat. She nearly jumped out of her skin when she realised it was… her cousin.

Telperinquar stood in the corner of the tent with his eyebrows raised.

Instantly she felt like a child who had been caught in the act of doing something naughty. She took a deep breath. She had to face it.

"So," he said. "You nearly had everyone worried, and I went to look for you after you revealed yourself to everyone and got yourself captured. Then everyone, it turned out, figured out who you were." She looked shocked.

"Who we are," he corrected. "They know." "How?" she nearly whimpered. She stared at Elrond and Ereinion. The former looked sheepish. "Did you?" she gasped.

"And Galadriel," he admitted. "But no one hates you, Estela."

"Of course they didn't," The High King growled. "In fact everyone's curious," Elrond added.

She frowned. "Curious? I'm curious to find out what happened while I was out."

"Nothing that you already didn't know," he assured her. "And Inziladûn is returning to Númenor to be crowned." She frowned. "The King's Men won't make this time easy," she said.

"But he's not alone," Ereinion said. "No one ever is." And she knew in her heart of hearts, that he was correct.

Everything seemed to turn upside down. She didn't know what to do.

Ereinion had made some kind of promise to her kin and followers. She was astounded when she found out.

Meanwhile in Númenor…

Queen Inzilbêth gazed at her husband's face as he lay in his coffin draped in black. She was behind Inziladûn, magnificently robed as he too looked at his father's face. He was now King. King of a land now at war with one another- not in act, but in everything else. The Faithful and the King's Men hated each other. And there was bound to be trouble.

He wanted, in his deepest heart, for the Valar and the All-Father to forgive them. He wanted the King's Men, to see reason and for them all to live in peace- to not turn against their fellow man and beings simply because they do not have what the others have- or because differences are scorned. That was for the ignorant.

He would rebuild Númenor in a new light; he would make sure he did. His wife- well, bride, they were not yet married- stood not too far away from him. She shared his views- his dreams.

As did his mother.

As the dowager queen stared at her husband, she tried to learn how he had grown to hate. There had been little- if any- love in their marriage. Yet they had both been very happy when the wedding began. They had been happy and light had shone from every part of him. Yet greed, envy and paranoia had taken root and so did hatred. She saw no part of the man she married in him afterwards. Not even as he lay in his coffin, did she see any peace.

No, there was no peace for him. And she longed to ask him, was it worth it? And how would he answer? Perhaps he would be too proud to tell the truth, but deep down, he would know the wrong in his actions. He was gone now anyway, and the dead could not talk to the living.

She sighed, and agreed that things would take time to rebuild. Estela had warned her that. She advised her son against any radical action yet both knew what they wanted.

Soon it will be time for change. And they would start anew. There was hope. Estela had given them that.

Wow, I'm really sorry for the length of this chapter! I never knew it was this long until I finished it! I had to cut it in half. Things will change drastically in the next chapter and Ereinion and Estela's relationship will progress, but don't expect it to be easy! As I've said, she's had no experience in this and she's grown cautious. It's hard for her to trust and open up. As for Celebrimbor, well honestly, if you look in the game the Shadow of Mordor, he had a wife and child of his own and appeared to be leading a settlement that was thriving to say the least. I don't know about his supposed feelings towards Galadriel, she's already married by this time with a daughter. And yes, Elrond and Celebrían will end up together. They've already met by this time, I've decided. Everything will change in the next chapter and a span of time will have passed by then.