A/N: Hi everyone. Here is the re-write of 'The road Less travelled by' I hope you all enjoy it and don't be afraid to tell me what you think!.

Stars glittered ad swam in the darkness, dancing across the obsidian walls of the open room. Shadows darted playfully around the marbled floor to tug at the robes of the sole inhabitant before vanishing back into the void. From his place by the ornate looking glass, Námo sighed, his eyes glued to the flashes of fire and steel. One elegant hand pressed against the glass, hard enough to bleach the knuckles of long fingers a livid white. Despite the palpable desperation, the mirror stayed firm, a barrier to a face that the Valar longed for but could never touch.

With every move on the glossy surface, Námo felt his heart clench. Hidden withing a voluminous sleeve, his free hand began to drip with silvery ichor, the liquid making a rhythmic tap as it dropped to the floor; the sound deafening in the silence. He didn't hear it, his entire focus lost to another world; to the flagging image of a young boy fighting for his life.

For the longest time, the halls of Mandos were filled with an oppressive silence, like the void itself was waiting… In the glass, a fang flashed in the torch light and two small bodies were thrown backwards, wretched and broken in their victory.

The sound that escaped the Lord of Death was the true essence of despair.

Unnoticed by the Valar, a lone shadow slipped away.

Vairë had few regrets in her long life, but those that she did claim were crushing. Regret for missing Melkor's slow descent into madness. Regret for the rift that had grown between herself and her husband in the aftermath. Most of all, the pain of a child ripped so cruelly from her arms all those years ago, the loss of her sight and the damage her actions had caused those around her. Yes, the pain she had inflicted on her beloved what she truly regretted.

Melkor's fall had been a shock to all of them, a betrayal that had hurt them all deeply and left a jagged scar in the hearts of their family. Worse that that was the sheer agony of watching her brothers, those she loved above all others, tearing each other apart in a war that could never yield a victor. Beneath her fingers, her tapestry grew more wretched by the day. Scenes soaked in the silver of their blook and the ebony of black magic, painting an image of suffering that would resonate long into the future of Arda. Through it all, Vairë wept.

Then, when life had grown darkest and her weaving had become an all-consuming obsession, a single iridescent thread had emerged. Merlinor. Her little nightingale and the ray of hope that managed to pry her away from the visions of her loom and back to the gentle warmth of her beloved's arms.

For a while, they had been happy and Merlinor's laughter had brought life back to the halls of the dead. But it was not to be…

Perhaps if she had not allowed herself to be so often distracted, she might have seen the signs but alas, she had turned her eyes from the tapestry for too long. It was a failure that she would never forgive, not when it came with so high a price.

It had been late, Vairë and Merlinor had been awaiting the return of Námo from a skirmish. The babe had been cradled in her arms as she dozed lightly before the hearth. She had thought herself safe, so deep in the halls of Mandos that none would be able to reach her. She was wrong.

The attack was fast and shocking in its brutality. One moment she had been slipping in and out of Irmo's garden and the next… her child had been ripped from her arms by a flaming shadow as a calloused hand gripped her neck from behind. Unable to even twitch towards her hidden daggers, the weaver could do nothing but freeze, listening to her son's distressed wails as he was handed off to her captor. He was crying and she could do nothing.

And then she had heard it. The manic shattered laughter in the ruins of a voice that was once so dear.

What was he doing here? How was he here? Where was Námo?

"Brother!"

"Well met, sweet sister. And who is this little one?"

His voice was light and airy, a mockery of the one that had soothed and sung to her so often in the past. Now, she was sure, it would linger in her nightmares.

Vairë held her tongue. She did not know this Melkor, could not predict what he would do next. She couldn't afford to misstep in this conversation, not when Merlinor would suffer the consequences. She could only hang there. Silent and slowly suffocating in the grip of her banished kin.

"It seems that my dear younger brother has been keeping secrets from me. A nephew. Such joyous news."

He made a choked, cooing noise that made her skin crawl.

"Such a precious child. A true blessing."

At this, his voice turned cold. Sharp and cruel as Vairë's vision began to blur. The hand on her neck squeezed harshly.

"A blessing he does not deserve. With all that dear Námo has taken from me, is it not just that I return the favour? He has stolen my victory, so I shall steal his joy."

Ice shot down her spine as his intentions became clear. Desperately, she began to struggle, heedless of the darkness that was slowly swallowing her vision.

"No!"

"No? Well, I suppose it would be rather uncouth of me to slay my own kin. Justice must be served, but there is no need to sink to his level. No matter – Mairon!"

With a flash of black fire, the fallen Maia began to reach for and Merlinor began to scream in earnest. Desperation lending a frantic strength to her actions, Vairë managed to wrench away from the restraining hold, gasping for air. Her hands shook, but she managed to seize the blades that had been hidden in her sleeves.

Too slow.

She had been too slow and could only stumble backwards from the burn of her brother's blade biting deep into her face. Her last sight: her infant son reaching for her and screaming, his small face distorted in terror as the world fell to eternal darkness.

Námo had returned to find her in a pool of blood and their son missing. The shock and resulting search had broken her sweet husband, carving out his heart to leave him a cold and stern shadow of the Valar she had married.

As for Vairë, she had retreated to her loom, refusing to be drawn away by even the most heartbroken petitions of her siblings. She had been distracted from her weaving once and it had cost her, her husband's heart, and their son's life. Never again. How could she look away when the echoes of her failure still haunted the halls of her home?

No. She would remain focused on her tapestries and guard her family from the future. If she did this long enough, devoutly enough, perhaps… perhaps she would be able to face her beloved again. Perhaps she would be able to hold him and comfort him as he so rightly deserved without the bitter guilt of her failure stealing the breath from her lungs.

Perhaps then he would forgive her.

Perhaps then she could forgive herself.

Her family was breaking. Shattered and drifting in the ruins of their former joy. They were suffering and Nienna could bear it no longer.

The destruction of their hope had begun with the loss of young Merlinor and the curse that prohibited his return. Long had her siblings wallowed in despair, seeing no solution to the tragedy, but Nienna had never been one to stop when the hearts of her family were at stake.

The curse laid upon the little Lord was enough to block him from his father's halls, lest the dark magic tear his soul to nothing more than star dust, but Valinor was not so restricted. The grey havens may have been connected to the halls of Mandos, but they were still a separate realm and in that, there lay a chance.

Merlinor could never again walk amongst the Valar, not as he once was, but if he was changed…

Even in the world he had been banished to, the young boy held enough strength in his blood that he would easily take to the form of an Eldar child. A child that would be near worshipped in the current Age in Arda now that the chaos of the wars was dying away. A child who would be given the option to sail when he came of age. And if his soul had a tether…

A beaming smile slid across Nienna's face as she slipped through a seam between words, entering a room that existed separate from everything. In the centre of the room, curled together in a nest of silk, lay the battered figures of two children. Far too pale and vaguely transparent, but their injuries were quickly mending under the gentle ministrations of Estë so that was one less thing to worry about.

Upon feeling the shift of power, the healer looked up and sighed.

"So, you are going to do this then? Truly?"

"Yes dear sister, we are going to do this."

Another sigh, this one more indulgent than simply resigned. Nienna could feel her grin stretch wider, Estë would not fight her on this. That was good.

"Then it is best that we do this well."

So saying, the older Valar's hand slipped down to brush through crimson curls of the girl child before her. A faint glow of power slipping through the connection between them, much to the surprise of the Nienna. She had expected her sister to stand aside and keep her secrets, not actively participate.

"You claimed her?"

A wan smile and lilting laugh.

"Yes. You said that Merlinor's soul needs an anchor to this world now. There is little use in an anchor who would fade before he even reaches his majority."

"But a claim-"

"Is no trouble. I have seen this child's heart and it is one that I would be honoured to claim as mine own. Courage and loyalty enough to forge a strong healer and the tenacity to keep the little Lord alive long enough to see him home."

This startled a laugh from the lady of Mercy, though she was forced to admit that, if Merlinor developed even a fraction of either parent's personality, the young girl would have to work hard to keep him out of trouble.

"Of course. Now, it is time."

Taking one last second to memorise the face of her nephew, Nienna finally allowed the spirits of the children to fade from the in between realm.

This would work.

It had to.

Broken and abandoned beneath an ancient castle, two hearts slowed to a stop. Two innocent souls fading away as they struggled against the damage formed from neglect and dark magic. By the time anyone reached the bodies, it would already be far too late.

Perched on the chest of the 12 year old boy, a phoenix keened for the child he had been unable to save.

Alone in a clearing ringed by golden trees, two hearts began to beat in a rhythm akin to a hummingbird's wings. As one, two little souls sparked to life. One by one, the trees took note, and began to hum, content and protective of their new charges. Of these young/old souls sent to walk the earth again.