And here's the conclusion. It's a bit long- sorry about that. And at last she meets the ones she had lost. She's different, now. It's not what she expected.


Epilogue

In Middle-Earth, Mordor…

"Where is she?" Muttered Fëapoldon harshly.

Maltariel could only shrug helplessly as the whole encampment searched for the missing Queen.

"Well, we can omit several options she might have taken," she answered.

"She didn't take us, so that means she isn't on another mission," she began. "And if she deserted then Morgoth has to be the cuddliest, sweetest fellow in all of Eä. And she has never done anything reckless, so there is no reason to think that she-"

But Maltariel was halted by the arrival of Ereinion Gil-Galad. The High King strode into the camp, and with a note clutched to his hand. No, not a note, a letter.

Stunned, the two of them could only watch as Gil-Galad made his way across to them.

"Do you know what this means?" He asked, eyes flashing, handing them the letter.

It was addressed to Gil-Galad- obviously. And it was from Estela.

My dearest, only love,

If I could spare even one more minute with you, I would.

There is so much that needs to be said, yet few can ever be put to words. And there is so little time besides.

For an immortal, the irony is that I never had much time. Not with my parents or kin, and not with you and our children, it seemed.

By the time you read this, know that the Will of All-Father and the Valar would have been done. Do not question or curse them as it is I who have undergone that decision- for all of us. For Middle-Earth and all its races, for my family, and last but not least, for you, my love and our children.

Know that I am long-gone by the time you look upon this. I was called away- summoned. And do not believe that I went lightly. My fate- as is that of all the Eldar- was never in my hands, unlike the fates and destinies of Men. They have called to me, and presented a task, and I must answer and complete it.

Ereinion, my love. No words can express how much love I have for you. There is nothing, nothing I would not do for you, nothing at all. For all the poems and songs of our race, none has ever come close to describing the love I feel for you. I have no one else but you and our children. Love was never something to play with, for us. You never came to sing underneath my window, I never gave you a token, such as a handkerchief. But what we have is likely stronger than if we had done so. The love I have for you and our children is the strongest, stronger than a river that has forced its way through rock, it seems. But no similes or metaphors are necessary. We never needed such trivial things to strengthen our bond. Even though I tried to push you away.

I did not do so because I did not love you. But because I feared that I would lose you, as I did all the rest of my blood. And you and any children that we might have would suffer as a result of the Doom hanging over my House. Our son is lost. But our daughter, not so. And one day we shall all be reunited on shores and valleys greener than the ones we see upon Middle-Earth.

Do not forget why I have left: I did this for the Noldor elves- for all the elves and other races of Middle-Earth- for our friends, even the ones I do not know, and for you and our children, Ereinion. I do this for you all. I would not leave unless I was certain it was what the All-Father and the Valar would want. And if there was a chance I might save others. Please do not forget why I did this above all else.

And keep going. Even in the darkest of nights there is light. Even a small bump of good can topple a great evil. Keep going- for the elves, for the races of Arda, for our children and for me, if there is still love within you. Do not falter because if you do so, it would all have been for nothing, and all hope would be lost.

Keep going my love, do not lose hope. And one day, we shall all meet again on shores of ever-green and we would never be parted.

Love eternal,

Estela.

Shock penetrated their features.

"What does this mean?" Maltariel gasped. "What does she- plan to- to-"

She could not finish.

"I was hoping you would tell me," the High King said. "She never conducts a mission without you."

Maltariel looked at Fëapoldon helplessly. "She never has- not before this! She's never done anything reckless! She would never do anything reckless! We were never awakened in the night like she usually would if we had a task to complete!" She said aghast.

Fëapoldon was white. "She left a set of instructions, though."

Ereinion's white face darted in his direction and his freezing blue eyes stabbed at Fëapoldon. "Instructions?! What instructions?!"

"A note saying we must proceed with the plan and go through the wereworm tunnels." Feapoldon was almost as white as Gil-Galad. And we are to join with her there."

Ereinion relaxed slightly but cursed. "What was she thinking? She has never done anything like this before!"

Maltariel could only shrug helplessly as Ereinion went off to give orders to advance- without the queen.


The new Maia soared through the skies, tearing great gusts of powerful winds through the air. The Maiar of Ulmo laughed and jumped, like dolphins through the surface and back down again, laughing, singing and waving joyfully at her.

She could have sworn she glimpsed Uinen.

Estela looked at the world with new eyes. And new memories. Given to her by all of the Ainur, especially the memories during the Creation process.

Her wings had feathers so soft- softer than swansdown- and so white, it outshone the clouds just before the sun burst through them. They were massive, and they radiated light of their own, sometimes reflecting different colours like jewels. And she used them like she had been born to do so.

And she felt good. Better than she had ever recalled feeling as an elf.

And she could see and hear all.

Was this what the other Ainur felt, when they heard prayers and calls for help?

Everything seemed brighter. The blue of the seas and skies, the green of Valinor, the white of the sea-foam even and the swans in Alqualondë.

Everything was so bright. And so defined- not even an elf had senses like her new ones.

She saw the individual drops and bits of sea-foam on the waters.

She heard the swishing of water-currents and saw the fish, moving through the waters deep below. She saw the particles in the air, swirling, dancing even. She could taste the hint of salt from the particles that came from the sea, the dampness, the freshness of the air. She could hear the birds and the peoples calling from a distance.

Estela flew to land, her winds flowing rhythmically with the wind.

People in Alqualondë turned wide-eyed at the new Maia. They had been told everything about her story. And the older ones remembered and all knew who she was. And they gazed in awe at her flying form, as Manwë waited.

She landed gracefully in front of him.

Normally a fëa who had just been re-embodied needed to get used to and learn how to be alive once more. But Estela was a Maia. No longer an elf, or a creature of the earth.

Manwë smiled with joy as he beheld her.

Estela landed, feeling the grass, a richer green than that of Middle-Earth, which she had been born to. The land which she had been born and lived out the happiest years of her childhood.

She was back.

Elves gathered, wide-eyed at the sight of the new Maia, glowing and glittering with light. As tall as could be, and shining with all the purity and beauty that no earthly creature possessed. Her soul renewed. Her form another thing entirely.

She looked the same as she did in her elven life, but brighter, much more beautiful, brilliant and splendid radiant with light.

She knelt before the King of the Valar.

"My child," Manwë said. Joy unnumbered was in his face and eyes.

"My lord," she murmured kneeling before him.

The other Valar and Maiar soon appeared. They smiled with joy as they beheld this new sister, and member of their order.

"Rise," Manwë said. She did as she was bid to do, and her eyes were like stars. The elves whispered.

"Here is Estela, formerly Princess, then Queen and shieldmaiden," Manwë announced. "For centuries she had suffered, and toiled for the sake of others, without a thought for herself, not seeking to conquer or be glorified, but to serve. She has lost all in the fight against evil. Her loved ones suffered and died, and their names were stained. And she fought not merely to redeem them, but to save others. She stood up, not simply against the Dark Lord, but against the expectations that others pressed upon her. From this day on, Eru Ilúvatar, Father and Creator of us all, has granted her a gift, never before given to the Eruhíni, for she is the most worthy. The only one willing to look past her own wants and needs, even her own desire to be loved and accepted. She looked and cared for even the ones she had never met and will not likely see for the course of her life. Who else has done so? I admit others have come close, but not at the same level as she. During the War of Wrath, any who stood against Morgoth did so because he confronted them and they had nowhere to hide left. Others simply hid. Or else what they did, they did for the ones they knew and loved. Not so Estela. Ask yourselves, did the heroes of the tales of old, of Gondolin and Doriath, who fought against Morgoth, had anything but their own goals in mind?"

And all thought about Lúthien, she confronted Morgoth and entered Angband. But she only did so for the man Beren. Not even Melian can dispute that, and the fact that Thingol, her father, refused to be involved in the fight at all. Even the Lords and Ladies of Gondolin did not fight until confronted by Morgoth with nowhere to hide. The Sons of Fëanor and their father, swore an oath of vengeance- and to get back the Silmarils even if they killed others. Even Eärendil and Elwing fled to take the jewel, and did not fight until the end. The jewel had been the most important- and the ones they already knew. All had their own goals and aims, and this was the reason why the War of Wrath, without the interference of the Valar, was a complete and utter disaster, no matter the victories won.

"And so she has proven that her deeds weighed more than all those put together and thus her good deeds weigh stronger than the deeds of others," Manwë continued. "Including her own kin."

Murmurs swept through the crowds.

"True," Námo said. He held out a set of scales and among the scales were glowing orbs. One was made out of pure light, and the other was stained and tainted with something dark, like ink. "The light holds the deeds of Estela. The dark the failings and sins of her kin. Let us see which one proves stronger, shall we? Is the light- all her good deeds- enough to redeem her kin? Let the All-Father decide."

And all saw. The light was stronger and weighed more than the dark. It shone brighter than ever, so much they were almost blinded.

"And thus the All-Father has spoken," Manwë said. "They are redeemed."

Everyone stared at Estela in astonishment and a number started to cheer. Estela bowed her head.

"But her task is not done," Manwë announced. "Her son was poisoned with the blood of the Dark Lord, tainted and enslaved before his birth, and remains in his clutches. Her daughter, born with the blood of Ilmarë, Maia of the Stars, has an uncertain fate. And destiny has determined that Estela and her blood shall play a part in the Dagor Dagorath, the Battle to End all Battles."

Gasps and murmurs penetrated the air. Many of them went pale at the thought of Morgoth's release.

"And this is why we need Estela and the heroes of old," Manwë continued. "For when that time comes, we shall need all the heroes we have that fought against evil. Even the ones that seemingly stained themselves. And so I call upon you, Estela. I give you this one task- with it comes the opportunity to help and save your daughter, and perhaps regain your son's freedom and save him. I call upon you, to gather as many heroes as you can- the bravest and the purest of heart, and bring them to prepare for Dagor Dagorath, with your family. We shall need them all, and all our strength for that day, and thus they have been redeemed. Now Estela, go out and claim your followers for this task, choose the shieldmaidens to help you in this task, and claim the ones that are worthy."

Estela bowed her head once more.

Cheers erupted, as Estela made her way.

She stopped.

There were some she already knew.

Olwë, King of the Teleri and his wife stood there. As did Arcalimar, her maternal grandfather, and her maternal grandmother. Nerdanel was there as well, and many of her aunts- and her cousin, she realised. They were fully grown now.

Arafinwë and Eärwen, Findaráto and Amárië were there as well. And Indis, she realised in a shock. And her elder daughter, Findis.

She was unsure of whom to greet first.

Many of them had tears in their eyes. Some openly sobbed. Tears coursed down her grandparents' cheeks.

She did the only thing she could- she curtsied, low to the ones she thought she would never see.

Instantly she was startled to find herself wrapped in such tight embraces she could do no more than to blink rapidly.

She was embraced tightly, hugged and kissed.

"My child," Arcalimar whispered. Olwë said the same thing. "Look at you!"

And she registered how strange it must be, for them to see her not only as a Maia, but as fully-grown.

She spent hours with them, as there, they embraced and held her in turn.

Of course there were some missing.

"Hinya," Arcalimar said. "Look how you've grown!" Tears streaked his eyes. "I've missed you so much, little one."

She blinked and smiled. "And I you, Grandfather."

She could feel the tears gathering in her own eyes.

Her maternal grandparents both kissed her, and her great-grandparents and they all embraced her tightly, tears flowing freely, and murmured conversation involved, before she turned to the Noldorin members of the family.

Nerdanel.

Her paternal grandmother had not changed much since she last saw her, parting ways with her grandfather, under the argument whether or not she and the twins should remain behind with her. Except that she seemed bowed down with grief, and heavy sorrow and disbelief that she was there.

Estela did not take as much after Nerdanel as she did the other members of the family, both of the Noldorin House, and the Telerin. Her father took after Fëanáro in his face and features, who took after Míriel, and a little of Finwë. Her mother she inherited half her features from, but Nerdanel's burnished-copper hair was her own, minus the gold and silver streaks that came from her mother's heritage. And her eyes were green, clear like emeralds.

Estela bowed her head, before her grandmother, sobbing, but trying to control her sobs, embraced her.

"Amillë," Estela murmured. Tears ran down Nerdanel's cheeks and Estela wondered what it must have been like, all those centuries, for her.

She sighed and embraced her. "Yes," she whispered. "I'm back."

Nerdanel sobbed. Her parents, Mahtan and Istarnië stood nearby, watching, also with tears. Nerdanel clung to her, just as her maternal family did and refused to let go.

How strange. She was taller than Nerdanel! The last time she saw her, Nerdanel, like all the others, had a habit of picking her up and cuddling her, carrying her around. She was small then.

"Child," she whispered. "My little one." Her green eyes, the same as Estela's was filled with tears. "I've missed you. But I knew this day would come."

Really? Estela looked surprised. Her eyes then travelled to Indis, standing near her uncle, Ingwë whom she realised in shock, was there as well.

She curtsied low, "Ingwë Ingaran." She murmured. But instantly, Ingwë said, "My lady. You bow to no one." And next thing she knew he was there, bowing to her.

All of them, suddenly bowed to her. She felt uneasy. "Please," she said. She looked at Indis. "My lady."

Indis smiled. Unlike her grandfather, Estela had had a bond with her, a genuine bond of love and kinship, as if she had been her foremother.

Which was more than she could say for Míriel. "My child," Indis' reached out her hand, and Estela remembered it was as soft and white as it was.

Indis' sapphire eyes glistened. She and Estela embraced. "We've waited so long for you," she murmured. "But we never dreamt it would be like this."

And here was Estela, re-embodied in ways she could never imagine, with the ones she believed she had lost forever.

"Lord Námo arrived to give us warning," Indis said. She leaned closer to Estela. "Your family awaits."

Heart pounding, Estela wondered what she meant.

"We are planning a celebration later," Indis said. "In Valmar. Lord Námo warned us that you might prefer to have it there."

She did. Alqualondë and Tirion… The memories were still there, and still pained her, even as a Maia.

She bowed her head. "I thank you, and although my heart weighs heavy, at least I have hope now."

Indis smiled.

"Estela," Nerdanel said. "There are others you must see."

She turned to her grandmother.

"In the Gardens of Lórien," Nerdanel said. "They are waiting for you." Estela's eyes grew wide.

"There is much yet that needs to be done," she murmured. "Are they all there?"

"Yes," Nerdanel said. "Including the ones that have yet to be released. And another,"

Confusion struck her for a minute before she looked back and forth between the two nissi.

Indis looked sad and solemn. "Your foremother," she said reminding herself that this child was not of her blood. "Míriel."

Shock hit Estela like a boulder from a catapult.

"Míriel Serindë is forever dead," she said. "She dwells in Mandos, and she refused, when the chance was given, to be released."

"She has been re-embodied," Indis said. "She is now among Vairë's handmaids, weaving the tapestries of time that tells the tale of the House of Finwë."

Shock hits Estela once more. "That cannot be. She refused. She did not want- she was given the chance…."

But she knew.

"Why?" She whispered, eyes squeezed tightly closed to contain herself. "Why now? Why did she choose to be re-embodied now? She knew what she caused,"

"Estela," Nerdanel began. "She knew what would happen to my grandfather, my father and uncles, and the rest of us. She knew. She had a vision, Grandmother. She saw it. She knew. And she chose not to return because of it."

A tear slid down Estela's cheek.

"In many ways I am glad she never did. Otherwise I would not have known you." She addressed Indis. "But what about the rest of us? What about the ones who suffered because of her decision? And me? I would have died by torment from Morgoth before they pried my children from my arms. I would still claw my way back, tooth and nail to them if I could."

Nerdanel and Indis sighed. Eärwen and Amárië watched nearby.

"You have every reason to hate her," Indis said slowly. "But are we not punished because of the past enough?"

Estela smiled, bittersweet. "That was what I was about to say. But why now? Why now when it was all too late? Why come back now?"

Nerdanel sighed. "Go to her, perhaps she can explain."

The last thing Estela had wanted as she thought about it numerous times on Middle-Earth, while still an elf, was to come face-to-face with this foremother.

But the new Estela spread out her wings and took off.

It didn't take long for her to reach Lórien.


Ereinion went through the tunnels. He disliked it instantly.

But he gave no thought of it and went on.

The tunnels smelt strongly of orc filth. And what lay strewn all over the place was best not mentioned. AT ALL.

Gritting their teeth, the Great Last Alliance moved forwards in the filthiest, dankest, most disgusting place in all of Arda.

They were relieved to breathe air again- not fresh, but at least not dank and over-cloyed with orcs' filth.

There. There was the Plains of Gorgoroth. And there, they could see Barad- dûr.

"Where is she?" Fëapoldon whispered. "Where is the queen?"

As if in answer to his question, a figure on a lanky black horse came forwards. The mare seemed brow-beaten and worn, lanky and strange in her shape as she slumped forwards, slouching. The figure itself was clad in iron armour.

It was obviously not an orc, or even a man-sized Uruk-hai. This was a Dark Númenórean.

The man was sallow. And that was the thing with Dark Númenóreans. Their colourings differed greatly from the Dúnedain, despite coming from the same ethnic group. Some were so unhealthily sallow, it looked as if they were drained of blood. Not even pale-skinned people of other races looked like that. While others were swarthy, it didn't look natural either, instead, they might have dyed their skins with something like foul-smelling plant-extracts.

This one smiled evilly under his helm. One could tell that he was pleased about something. Dark Númenóreans hated elves.

"Greetings, O' Great King," Rasped the man. "I bring welcome from Sauron, my master."

Ereinion looked icily at the man. It was frightening to behold.

"And I bring gifts for you," he whispered. "To show our honourable goodwill."

Oh please.

The man gestured back at him.

There were others- Dark Númenóreans like him, who were carrying something between them.

It was a casket made of shiny gold. Engraved and ornately-carved, it was enamelled with red and gold and laced with opals and jade. Ereinion was stunned. He recognized this as the work of Celebrimbor.

They must have taken it when Eregion fell, he thought. Along with many other treasures.

The man smirked.

"Sauron sends you this, undefiled and unmolested, to show his goodwill- apart from that which has already been done in the night," he smirked again.

Ereinion went ice-cold inside. Not even the Helcaraxë felt this icy. Not even the dread of Mandos' appearance could feel like this, this growing dread and horror, because he knew Sauron, would never bring gifts unless it brought much sorrow.

Slowly, warily, he looked inside. As did all the others.

What they saw they would be haunted for the rest of their lives, if not horrifically scarred in fëar.

Ereinion screamed and howled as the Dark Numenoreans, relishing the heartbreak, shock and loss of the Elven King, tried to supress their glee, at the sight of Gil-Galad upon the sight of his wife's dead body.

Howling to the heavens, everything shook it would seem. It was a scream that shook them all to their very core, which all would remember for the rest of their lives, especially in their darkest moments. Maltariel too, screamed in denial, weeping uncontrollably while the others wept and made cries of rage and threats.

The elven body of the Noldorin Queen, lay dead in the casket. Peacefully sleeping, it would seem, with a slight smile on her rosy lips, save for the horrible angle on which her neck was bent- the spine had been crushed utterly in that area, and the gaping wound was present in her lovely neck like a swan's. It was a terrible hole through her flesh and bone, great dark and gaping.

She was dead.

Ereinion howled with grief and sorrow, bent down as Elrond, himself, trying to contain his own grief, tried to support him. The elves gave cries and wept openly, not caring for the Dark Númenóreans' glee.

"A pity," purred the messenger. "She was so brave. So beautiful. So much suffering. But the Dark Lord was merciful."

Ereinion froze. Eyes flashing in anguish and hate, faster than human eyes could follow, in his anguish, he struck.

The blow stabbed the man's neck and he lay gurgling upon the ground, choking on his own blood. The next one fell soon after- too soon, for Ereinion's liking. And the other one. At this point Ereinion and a few others, including Estela's companions, decided to butcher them themselves.

Until all lay dead.

But as the High King howled in his grief, he knew it could never bring Estela back from the dead.


Maybe not them.

Estela landed on the soft grasses of the Gardens of Lórien. More breath-taking than any else upon Arda.

There, amidst gardens, flowers and pools of unimaginable great beauty, Estela raked her eyes.

She had been in the Gardens of Lórien before, as a little girl.

And she tread softly and carefully.

There, at last she saw someone. There was a maiden with straight, silver hair, flowing.

The person turned and she saw with astonishment, her face. And it was a lot like her own. It was narrower, though, but as finely-boned and chiselled, sculptured well beyond an artist's masterpiece. The chin was small and rounded, narrowing from the rest of the face. The cheekbones were high and very fine, beautiful. The nose thin, high and straight. That was the least of it. All in all, this was the face she had seen, in her grandfather and her father.

Míriel Serindë at last met the descendant she never knew.

Estela did not know how to approach this person. In life she thought if she had ever gone to the Halls of Mandos, she fully intended to curse and make hell the existence of this being.

But now all her firepower, all her hate, all her rage, was gone.

"Míriel Þerindë," she said coolly, knowing that this person liked that pronunciation of her mother-name.

Míriel slowly went before her descendant. The same descendant that suffered because of what she chose not to go through.

Estela saw her foremother's eyes were dark blue- so dark it was almost black. A dark brilliant blue, however. So clear and with a silver-star with eight points cutting and shining through the darkness, making it very bright.

Except instead of the pride others spoke of, they were instead clouded with grief, shame and guilt.

She knelt to the ground.

"Eruvandë Estela." She whispered. "Have you come to condemn me?"

"Would you blame me if I did?" Estela asked coolly. This person was a stranger to her, despite sharing the same blood.

"No," Míriel whispered. The silver tresses swayed as she shook her head. "I would not."

"I thought you said not to blame you for what happened and what was to come- isn't that what you said? To my forefather?"

Unbeknownst to them, they were being watched by just about everyone there.

"You knew," Estela said. "What have you been doing since you came back to life? Weaving the tapestries of time?"

"The deeds of the House of Finwë."

"Including those of your forsaken son." Estela said bluntly. Míriel looked as if she had been flogged with barbed whips.

"You wish to hate me, you wish to brow-beat me," Míriel said. "I won't stop you. But I very well know what you have gone through all these years. Lord Námo made me aware of everything. I watched everything from all the tapestries hung in the Halls of Mandos. I saw…"

"I know you must have. And yet I must say it. I think we deserved to be heard in the very least. So I will say it nonetheless. Countless millions suffered from your decision to run away. It was nothing short of cowardice. Even though you were weary, the real reason you went to Mandos, and the reason why you chose not to return was not because you felt weary. But because you did not wish to see what came next, even though you could have prevented it. You know you could have. But you chose not to face the problem. You chose to run away. And how has that worked? Moreover, you chose to forswear the duty of every parent of every race in Arda," Estela said sternly. "Even if you could forsake your husband, you cannot un-wish or get rid of your own child. I myself had a son, destroyed and taken, possessed and warped by the Dark Lord, and did I abandon him?

"Even though I know his future would be of countless masses slain and tortured, I chose not to. I sent him to Valinor, only as a last resort. I never abandoned him. I was never willing to. Not for him or for my daughter. Sauron would have had to torture me and Morgoth turn me into one of his accursed minions before either of them or their foul servants pried my children from my arms. That was your duty. The love of a mother. And could you blame him for what happened next? His only parent- the only one he knew, slain? The last time he saw my grandmother just before he parted, he accused her of abandoning her own children. Could that not have reflected on what he felt? Towards you? Elves plan their parenthood. They do not have children in times of war and destruction and try to be there as much as possible as best as they could, for their offspring. You didn't. And yet you chose to destroy your son's life, and your grandsons, and the rest of your descendants' lives, because you chose to run away, forsaking all duties. You wanted the child, you should have been there. That was the necessary role of a mother or a father. But you weren't there. And we were all destroyed.

"My grandfather was Doomed. He died by the hands of Gothmog the Lord of Balrogs. My father threw himself into a pit of fire. My other uncles were slain, save for Telufinwë who died when he chose to stay in the ship at Losgar whereupon it was burnt, and Macalaurë, who still lingers, disappeared from all history, mourning his loss.

"And there are my children. One poisoned by the blood of the Dark Lord, warped and possessed and lost to me before I even had the chance to hold him. And now in the clutches of Sauron and Evil. The other… in danger every second of her life. No, despite what you told Finwë you cannot deny your responsibility for this now, especially now that another mother who fought for her children confronts you in this very moment."

Tears streamed down Míriel's face.

"A shieldmaiden once told a lady, after everything she had was lost and she sat there mourning, 'Only do and speak of what only you can do and say. That is what is done by your type of maids. And while men and women wait on you hand and foot, of course you are satisfied and of course you learn to do nothing by yourself.' You stayed. Others have paid- and your own flesh and blood, no less. And you must weave and look at those tapestries for all eternity- you cannot compensate for what has been lost. Nor can you deny your responsibility for all this." Estela's piercing gaze struck Míriel to the core. "But for all it matters, I forgive you. I have made peace with my past and now I wish to let go. Farewell, Míriel Þerindë. You may be my foremother, but this may well be the first and last time I may ever see you."

She left Míriel there, weeping hard, clutching fistfuls of grass. Estela walked away. She did not look back.

Estela breathed deeply the air of Lórien. Actually, she knew they all watched her.

But her time was not done.

"Estela." A voice resounded.

She knew that voice.

She turned. A tall red-haired elf with a face as fair as Míriel's stood before her. He was one of- if not the tallest elf she had ever seen. There were more besides.

His eyes were emerald, like her own.

They had been dark blue, with silver stars, same as Míriel's, before they turned.

Her father.

And beside him a maiden of such breath-taking, devastating beauty, with hair of the purest, woven silver, so brilliant and bright. It cascaded down her back like a waterfall, well past her knees.

Her eyes were violet like Vanimelda's.

No words can describe the tears, the embraces.

Estela's mother wept.

After a while she drew back. Her mother traced her fingers wonderingly at the feathers of her wings.

Her father, like Miriel, knelt to the ground. And she saw others do the same.

She recognized them.

Tyelcormo, called Celegorm the Fair, with his golden-blond hair, knelt, Carnistir, the Dark One, Curufin, father of Telperinquar and the twins- Pityafinwë and Telufinwë. They all knelt before her.

And there was one. Whom she could see with her new eyes and senses.

Not re-embodied like the others, but kneeling, nonetheless, bowing down in respect and to honour her, shaming himself, with his head bowed low.

Fëanáro.

But her family was not complete.

Carnistir spoke. "We thought," he whispered. "You would despise and reject us, when you saw us."

"What is done is done. If you wish to redeem yourselves the task is yet begun," Estela said. "There is much to do. And I have never hated you. Nor had I ever felt rage towards you."

They bowed their heads.

"It is done," she said gently, bidding them to rise. Tears in their eyes, like everyone else it would seem, they looked at her.

She looked at her father. She looked down. His hands. He had two, now. Like he did before the dark days.

"Atar," she said. Maitimo's eyes glistened. And he embraced her. "Forgive me," he whispered. "You were right. I could not sacrifice all to avenge the past, least of all your future." He broke down and wept. Estela's mother wept. "Estela, Estela, Estela," she whispered the name, tears in her eyes, as if she could never say it enough.

Her father had never wept. But there he was. Begging forgiveness after he had knelt before his only child.

"We all made that mistake," Curufinwë said hoarsely. I above all. Was the voice of her grandfather, Fëanáro.

"As I said, now is the time for redemption," Estela said firmly but gently. "And I have made peace with my past. Now is the time for the future."

And Estela had been told what to do.

She closed her eyes.


Estela searched. Her inner light, a Maia's, one searched. Her fëa no longer needed her hröa to remain among the living.

And so her spirit flew. And searched with her mind's eye.

A harp.

There was a hollowed harp.

And a rude cottage, a shack, amongst green pastures.

And inside snored two unscrupulous human peasants who had recently committed murder.

And inside that cottage, a little tiny figure huddled.

She was covered with soot- not because of her own doing, but because those two peasants had literally smeared her with soot and covered her elven ears with a hood of awful make.

She was near-starved and beaten. The rod still stood at the corner. And while the peasants snored, she lay on the wooden floor she had been forced to scrub.

Vanimelda.

The girl opened her eyes, they were violet, richer and brighter than gems, filled with the light of the Ainur, and she responded to her mother's call.

Fin.


And that's the end of the first story.

What Vanimelda's doing there, it's explained in the sequel, the Hidden Princess. Which I'll put up later on. Wow. Never thought I'd finish this!

Yes, we know what happened to Gil-Galad. But I don't think it will take long for the two of them to reunite.

As for Estela, she is a winged Maia. Tolkien did say that the Valar were mistaken by some humans to be gods, but they always insisted otherwise. But they were, according to Tolkien, the influence for many gods and goddesses. Including the ones in Norse mythology it seemed. And if Tolkien wanted to play it that way, then why not? Estela is now something of an angel, and a Valkyrie, who had wings like hers and chooses the bravest warriors to prepare for Ragnarök - So yes, Estela now chooses the worthy to prepare for Dagor Dagorath- her task.