Warning- this chapter is the resolution!


Chapter Fifty

Ereinion Gil-Galad and everyone else just stood and stared as Estela brought masses of starved-looking humans back to the camp.

Everyone stared in shock. Estela got to work as a healer, handing lembas and miruvor to the starved and flogged humans.

"Are you certain about this?" A troubled, but regal High elven King asked the farmer. Elendil stood near him.

"Certain, sire," gasped the frail man. Estela knelt beside him wiping his brow with a cool, scented, water-cloth. She nudged the cup of miruvor to his lips again.

He contemplated this in silence.

Elendil stood. "If this is the truth," he said slowly and calmly. "Then we must move quickly."

"I agree," Ereinion replied. "But can we take the risk?"

"In war," Estela responded. "We must. Wouldn't you agree, King Durin?"

Durin stroked his beard. "I agree. It is a risky move, but…. If we are to succeed, then we must. Sauron is growing desperate. And when people are desperate, they grow ever more dangerous. We have little time as it is. And it sounds a good plan as any."

Estela nodded. She turned back to her husband. Ereinion looked grim. "Very well, we shall march."

Estela nodded.


And they did. Horses were fed, watered and groomed, fitting for saddles, checked for wounds. Weapons were sharpened if need be, and more were forged. Food was checked and rechecked, packed tightly and carefully. Armour and clothing checked and stowed away.

This was a journey which they had to take. They knew that for many, it would be their last once they reached Barad-dûr at the feet of the Ered Lithui. They could not move easily through the long wide plains of Gorgoroth without most of the Alliance being killed off, by Sauron's forces having empty spaces and numerous opportunities to kill them- since they outnumbered them.

And this secret way, was deep underground.

Sauron's armies had great 'earth-eaters' dwelling in Mordor once. Giant worms that crushed rock between their teeth in order for orcs to move undetected underground. Sauron had no idea that the abandoned tunnels- void now of any orcs or foul creatures- would be used by his enemies.

But Estela was uneasy.

She suspected somehow, that she was being prepared by the Valar for the fight of her life. Of course she was, but there was something different about it.

Something that made her toss and turn instead of sleeping at night.

Something that was about to happen.

Something that made her seriously uneasy and restless.

At one night Estela kicked off the covers of her sleeping pallet and stood. The stars were slowly returning to Mordor, she noted with astonishment. Sauron's reign had the skies of Mordor covered with the black smog of industry and poisonous ash clouds from Mount Doom that somehow did not harm, but was a hindrance, if anything. That, and Dark Power. But the stars were returning. What did this mean? Estela wondered.

The stars shone brighter, as if beckoning to her, as if giving a message.

There were other forces at work, besides that of evil, after all.

She bathed and dressed.

The stars seemed to whisper to her. Telling her to have courage as she cleansed and purified herself, the shieldmaidens always did. As she combed and braided the famous copper tresses, inherited from her father Nelyafinwë Maitimo- Maedhros the Tall, the Feared and Dreaded Warrior Prince of the Noldor. Hair that was streaked with the pure woven silver of the Telerin peoples of Alqualondë, the Haven of the Swans, noted for their song and love of the seas. And that of the distantly inherited pure, spun Vanyar gold, closest to the heart of Manwë and Varda as a whole.

Her heritage, the very future bloodline, depended on this.

Estela didn't know, and somehow she did.

All roads led to this.


Taniquetil, on Valinor, amidst the stars.

"It comes," Manwë intoned solemnly. "The ultimate test of which all depends on her- the future of the House of Finwë, and the House of Fëanáro especially. The choice that will determine the future as well as the story of the entire house. And it all rests on Estela's hands."

Varda nodded, her eyes grave.

Tulkas closed his eyes. Even the warrior Vala felt grief at this. Nessa looked grieved and pained- a tear slid down her cheek. Vána looked saddened next to Oromë. Irmo and Námo, the brothers Fëanturi, looked grave and sorrowful- Irmo at least. Námo was unreadable, his eyes and face hooded in shadow.

Yavanna was troubled. "Is this not enough? Has she not done enough, my brothers and sisters?"

"Indeed. Is there no mercy?" Nienna cried.

Oromë turned to them. "You know that there is no choice." He said sadly, yet gently. "Were there any choice, we would spare Estela the pain. But this needs to be done. Her kin needs to be redeemed, and others need to see, to know of her story and struggle so that they may do better themselves."

"Yes, as our Father decreed," Manwë said. "And now it shall begin,"

"The beginning of something new, or the beginning of the end?" Tulkas asked, troubled.

No one could answer. Only Estela had the answer to that question.


Estela moved past them silently, she pressed letters to the desk of her beloved husband. One for him, the other for her priceless daughter.

And she needed to move.

Taking one last look at Ereinion's sleeping face, Estela knew this was how she would remember him- not as a king, but as her husband and true love. He and her children, no matter what became of them, were the greatest gift in this universe for her.

"I came not to condemn you," he said quietly. "I just want you to know that you are not friendless and that you are not alone." His hand brushed her face.

Estela squeezed her eyes shut.

His blue eyes stood out in the dark. "I found out in a dream. It was memories. And yes, I did see you that night. I saw you and ever since then I had been agonizing myself over who you were, and where you could be."

A single tear slid down her cheek, like a diamond.

"I didn't want you to leave," he whispered. They now realised that he was holding her close- close enough for their faces to touch… Or their lips.

She remembered their kiss.

She remembered his hand on her belly. She remembered holding her new-born son and daughter in her arms for the very first time, before her son's eyes had opened, and Ereinion holding them both tightly close.

She remembered the first time each of her children said 'Ammë'.

She remembered Vanimelda cuddling up close to her, Fëanuldon running towards her, Fëanuldon demanding a story, Vanimelda giving her a kiss imbued completely with love and handing her a flower.

And she knew what she had to do.

She wished nothing for to look upon all of them, wide awake once more, to look into their eyes- and to know what Fëanuldon's eyes might have looked like if they were untainted by evil. To see the violet of Vanimelda's eyes glow brighter than gems, more beautiful than the Silmarils, and she would know as she had seen them in her grandfather's hands. The same as her mother's eyes, and so pure and bright. To look upon Ereinion's blue ones that burned even in the dark.

To kiss and hold them once more.

But she couldn't.

Estela shed one more tear- for them. For her husband, for her son, for her daughter. Even for her closest friends whom she knew could not follow her- not this time. She'd shed tears for the ones she'd lost. Now she would shed tears for the ones she was trying to save- one last time.

She'd had a dream. A vision of sorts. And although they did not tell her in words, she knew what they wanted her to do.

She took her horse, but released it as soon as she reached the tunnel.

She entered, her sword drawn like the shieldmaiden she was, brave and allowing not the prospect of death to hinder or slow her.

And through the darkness on her own she went.

She emerged at the other end, two miles away from Barad-dûr, behind some rock outcroppings jutting from the barren earth. Here, Estela, Queen of the Noldor, in this barren place, would make her last stand.

Always had she lamented and been pained that they had died in such desolate places. Now she admired their courage, and could have laughed. She would laugh, too, at the face of death. And as she went, she prayed with all her heart and fëa, preparing to give everything down to her last breath for the ones she loved.

Estela knew.

She had to buy them time. In any case, they would awaken soon. It was still dark, though. She already left them instructions.

But she made her way to Barad-dûr.

The fortress towered high above her, held high by Dark Magic, and built of black adamant it seemed, and polished stone, jabbing sharply, coming together to form the fortress. But she took a deep breath and carried on.

All roads led to this.

And she went behind- far behind, until she came face to face with the rocks of the Ered Lithui. Barad-dûr, of course, jutted out from the foothills of these mountains that fenced Mordor, along with the Ephel Dúath. She sheathed her swords, and grabbed hold of the rocks, starting to climb. It was easier for her, as an elf, but still, she felt as if this would be the hardest thing she did physically in her life. And one of the most foreboding. But she climbed still, ignoring the thunder in her heart. And if she ever thought she was afraid, Estela remembered what she had thought- the courage she had, and the desire to laugh in the face of doom. And renewed in her resolves she climbed higher.

Until she drew close enough to the hills upon which stood Barad-dûr. There, she carefully scaled down, made a short-distance jump, and swung herself upwards and around onto the next hill. Until she reached the last place any sane person wanted to be.

She could really laugh at that thought.

And calmly did she scale the hills until she climbed upon the high ramparts of the fortress.

By some miracle it was deadly quiet there. No sign of orcs or trolls, or anything of the like. No growls and grunts and scowls. By the will of the Valar, it seemed, the minions of Sauron did not bother her, and may not even have been there to see.

But Sauron would never leave his fortress unattended.

And presently, Estela saw a light.

It burned in front of her, and she drew her blades. Approaching warily, she walked silently and saw the pulsing light disappear. A figure soon emerged, with his back turned to her.

A tall figure fair in countenance and form, who turned towards her.

"Sauron." Estela said, the name was dark in her mouth. Sauron's orange-gold and black eyes glowed before he turned.

"Ah, Queen Estela. The guards have been lax, I see."

"A pity," she said. "You never did have competent servants- or plans."

Sauron smirked.

"A wolf does not need sheep to do his bidding," he replied.

"Is that what they are then? Sheep?" Estela laughed. "A fouler flock has never been seen, 'ere on Arda."

Sauron chuckled. "How very true, my beautiful queen," he purred. "But pray tell me, how did you find out?"

"About you?" Estela was incredulous. "Oh, I knew. I saw your eyes, Sauron. Or shall I say, Mairon, once called the Admirable. You were a Maia of Aulë once, weren't you?"

Sauron smiled a thin-lipped smile.

"So out of curiosity, why did you need my cousin to forge the Rings?" Estela asked. "If you were taught by Aulë, why was he necessary?"

The smile faded completely from Sauron.

His eyes turned cold. "Come now, Sauron. There's no reason not to be civil."

How strange it was, for him. Usually he was on this end of the conversation.

"You Fëanorians," he sighed after a while. "I never could really understand you. How you could be so troublesome. How you could cause so much fear. So much damage. I tricked your father once, into being captured. True, he never lost a fight. I suppose I was fascinated. I could have gone for you, of course, truly, I would love nothing more. But your cousin was there, and he was so easy. He tried to suppress the fire that burned inside him, a fire he knew others would curse if they knew of its existence. And you- you did not understand. You tempered your fire with water, that of your mother's blood I suppose." He gave a laugh. "Your mother. The Princess of Alqualondë. That mother must have given something in you that made you so damned different from the other Fëanorians. I found you an irritation- a terror, a trouble and a danger, and yet I also found you fascinating. So I wondered. I never really did have a son. Until I thought perhaps… Well, even Eöl had Aredhel's willingness. So I had to try another way, didn't I? Someone with something as powerful as your blood… Even Morgoth could not deny you had power. Your fathers could have been greater than anything and anyone- if they hadn't killed their own kind." He smirked. "But here you were. And why not?"

Estela was silent.

"And now I ask, you, Queen Wife, Shieldmaiden and Daughter, how is it that you never felt the urge to give up? To or to take life into your own hands."

"The elves fates are decided for them written in the stars." Estela said finally. "Not our own."

"A pity. Considering that the Valar blamed you for your parents' doings and never gave them a chance for redemption, exiling you all the way through, condemning you to grief and pain, even though you were innocent… You never once felt the need."

Estela sighed. "Oh, Sauron. You really will never understand me, will you? I don't feel the need- if I ever did, I certainly don't feel them now. This is my choice- my fate in my own hands- I choose to fight- the Valar and the All-Father have given me that choice at least. To give up and to succumb to weaknesses, or to fight on. I chose to fight- why? Because I would rather die defiant and fall to the Doom for nothing, than to live submissively. And I think so would others. I do this for them. And I don't want to give up- not anymore. And the real treasures are the sparks of life- and no metal or gem could ever compensate or save them."

"A pity." Sauron's eyes glowed. He lifted his hand. "Perhaps you should have told your cousin that- before he fell into despair. Perhaps you should have told all your kin. You should have told all of them that."

The Ring glowed on his finger. It was bright. So bright and gleaming. Gold had never looked more luminous, more exquisite, more entrancing and gorgeous. It was so breath-taking and it whispered promises to her, the red tengwar dancing, as graceful and elegant as she.

Like the Silmarils.

And they all flashed before her eyes. Not because of some miracle, but she remembered it all. The presenting of the Silmarils. Her grandfather holding the three gems, glowing with the Light of the Two Trees, in his hands, to the wide-eyed little Estela, laughing joyfully at the wonder on her face.

She remembered Finwë's shout. And running fast in tiny feet, crawling to where his broken and bloodied corpse lay. She remembered the cry that the Silmarils had been stolen. She remembered her grandfather's rage. The madness that danced and burned in his eyes, the rage he shouted with, and the way her grandmother turned from him.

She remembered Lúthien and Beren- the two hapless lovers, sacrificing all for this one gem. Of Thingol ordering a necklace, refusing despite his Maia wife's warnings to relinquish the gem. Of him being slaughtered by the hands of the dwarves. Of Dior, his grandson, being killed by her uncles, his wife as well, and his sons tied and abandoned in the forest by vengeful servants. She remembered how Elwing, mother of Elrond and Elros, daughter of Dior jumped with the Silmaril, leaving aside her own sons, to bear the gem to her husband and Valinor.

She remembered the gem that her uncle cast into the sea, and disappeared henceforth. She remembered the gem that caused her father to leap into a pit of molten fire and rock.

And she remembered his final words. Their parting.

"Please Atar," she begged him. "Please."

Her father looked at her, the strain of grief written in his handsome face. His loss of his soulmate was written all over, clear as the light of day. And his dark eyes, seemed a darker indigo in their grief.

"I am forever cursed, forever bound to go," he said hollowly. His resolve threatened to break and crumble as he beheld the form of his only child. "But I cannot lose you as well, Melda Selde, no, I never can," he shook his head to shake the tears that formed in miniscule beads in his eyes.

"I won't let you do this!" she was becoming hysterical. She clutched at his sleeve. "Atar, I won't let you do this!"

Maitimo went silent. Then he lowered his head. His face remained in shadow. "I cannot let you die," he said hoarsely, hollowly. "The way your mother suffered and died. I cannot let you be slain, the way many others were."

"Then stay!" she almost shrieked, tears coursing down her face in alarming quantities.

Her father looked up. "You know what to do," he said in a voice that tried to remain emotionless, empty, but came out as hoarse and hollowed even further, by grief at not only what had happened, but what also would occur.

He looked so hollow and blank as soldiers came up and held Estela by her arms. "What-" she started. Then she shrieked: "Let go of me!" They pulled her back, to the fortress. "Atar-"

"Melanye tye, melda selde" Her father whispered, raising his head, and for the first time, his tears flowed unchecked. "I will always love you, no matter where I go,"

"Atar!" the first time she screamed outright. "Atar, please-" The elves dragged her away.

"Pleeeasse!" The scream was also was sob. The utterly hysterical scream that ripped through the air, her sobs shaking her chest, "Please, Atar!"

"Atar!" she screamed before the door closed and bolted for good measure.

And then he had burnt- risking his life for a gem- all to jump into a pit of fire.

What had it given her? That jewel? She never asked for it- never wanted it. And yet… It had taken from her everything. Her home, her loved ones…

And how many times did she look up in the skies and cursed the remaining gem that travelled through the night, that others looked upon in wonder?

And now another had come to take its place- and she would give her children and her husband the life her fathers had given theirs, all because she fell into temptation.

No. She would not do it.

"No," she said quietly, but strongly. And Sauron heard her. He froze. "What?!"

"I said, no." Estela said in a voice imbued with strength from above. "I will not give my loved ones, the life- or death- I was given because I chose a trinket over the life they should be allowed to live. Not for them. Not for any of them."

She raised her sword.

Sauron growled, and then transformed. In his place stood a figure so tall and clad in iron-spiked armour, with spires pointing from his helm and a great mace in his hand.

He struck. She dodged the blow, and twisted, leaping to the side.

Sauron's mace created a cavity deep within the ramparts. He struck again, and Estela danced, leaping out of the way, high into the air, spinning and landing a distance away.

Her eyes flashed. Dawn was rising in the distance.

Sauron howled as she spun, and danced. The two clashed weapons, despite the great mace, she withstood them. They sparred, dancing a dance of death, the Fallen Maia, and the Shieldmaiden Queen. The ringing sounds of metal resounded, and she danced, spinning out of the way, twisting and dodging, aiming blows to distract and frustrate the Fallen Maia, rather than to actually incapacitate him.

Again and again they clashed weapons.

Until the mace's shaft locked with her swords and she twisted with all her strength, calling upon the Valar and the All-Father.

She pulled one sword, quick as a flash, and swept his feet from underneath him, pressing the blade against the throat of his armour.

Astonished, the Dark Lord and the Elven Queen stared at one another.

"It is over, Sauron." Estela said, breathing deeply and hard. "My son lies in Valinor, and the House of Finwë has not been defeated. The High King, my beloved, marches with an armed host- the largest ever gathered by the foes of evil, on the plains of Gorgoroth. Even if you survive, you shall be defeated."

Sauron's hateful eyes glared at her. "Oh, I don't think so. Your son is still in my grip."

She was shocked. "No, it cannot be. He is in Valinor."

"Is that what you think?" Sauron laughed harshly. "Did you ever check with the ones at the Grey Havens? No, I don't think you did. Your son is mine, Estela. My servants intercepted him before he reached the shores. He will never see the Blessed Light of Valinor. The House of Finwë is mine!"

Something much worse than anything Estela had ever imagined, landed upon her. No, it can't be…

But it was not over. Not yet.

"The House of Finwë will never be yours. And neither will the Noldor, or the elves. Or any of the races of Middle-Earth. I have seen to that. You have one inheritor of that House, Sauron. But not an official one. And you do not have them both."

Sauron stared at her in shock.

"It is over." Estela repeated firmly. "Release him, and leave them all in peace- including the two of them I must add, and you may just be spared. You've lost."

Sauron growled. "If that is the case," he said. "I will smite the last of your wretched house until it is naught but the ash that we can taste upon our tongues in this land!"

"You will try- and you will fail- lower than you once were, Sauron." Estela replied, raising her sword.

But before the sword fell, Sauron cast one last desperate act of cruelty.

An image flashed before her eyes.

Her two children, laughing, holding hands- A dark-haired, green-eyed boy and a black-haired, violet-eyed girl. It would never distract her infinitely- but it did for a split millisecond, which was time enough.

Sauron's hands closed around his mace, and he brought it to her neck with a force that she never even processed the pain, before it sent her flying.

Estela never remembered landing upon the ramparts either, never saw the figure of Sauron. All she saw the image of her husband and her children.

All she had done, all that she had tried to do, all that she had failed- was in the judgement of higher beings than she. And she made her peace with that.

She saw the image of her beloved children and husband. Shining. She saw her son as a bright, care-free green-eyed prince, and her daughter as a beauty that would rival Lúthien. She saw her husband with his blue eyes, burning brighter than flames or sapphires lit by the Two Trees which could never be replaced. But neither can loved ones.

And she prayed for them, for she gave herself up for them.

And so the last thing she saw was their image, calling, beckoning to her, and a bright shining light bursting through the sky above, as the dawn broke nearby, the sun rosy and shining, speaking of new promises, of release.

And peace. A peace she never found in life in Middle-Earth.

And so Sauron towered over her, perhaps he could feel confused, even cheated as to why his adversary lay with a gentle smile on her face, as she did as a girl running under the light of the Trees, and as a bride and a new mother, before she felt her soul fly, free, to places lit with gold and silver light.

Something he would never understand.


I'M SO, SO, SO, SO, SORRRRRRYYYYYYY! SORRY, I'M SO SORRY! I KNOW YOU WEREN'T EXPECTING THAT! I'M SO SORRY!

But this was necessary- and it's not the end! There's more! This isn't the end of her story- there are more chapters- wait and see what happens to her! And him!