A wail of horror went up from the assembled elves. Artanis' hackles rose; she had never heard anything like it before. On the other hand... where were the Trees? She turned towards them, but some shadow was billowing out from where they stood, blocking even the stars.
"Wait here!" The voice belonged to one of the Vala, she realized, not Manwë, but another of them. Tulkas, perhaps? She could hear thundering hooves. Whoever, it was heading for the Trees, or the rapidly spreading darkness that flowed from the place that should have been the source of their usual glow. The darkness by now covered almost a third of the sky.
"This is Melkor's doing!" Another voice, her Uncle Fëanor's.
Artanis stepped back as the crowd began to cry out, individual questions and pleas drowned out by one another. There was a sharp hiss by her foot. Quickly, she bent down and picked up the little snake before anyone could step on it. "Sorry" she told it, looking around for a safe spot to move it to. The sky was almost half dark and she could not make out either the voices or the shapes of any of the Valar.
The snake sighed. "I should have known better. I wanted to be unobtrusive and that's not always the most appropriate. I had no idea that the party would be this exciting." Artanis covered her mouth to keep from laughing. Of course Olórin would have been sneaking around the party, eavesdropping on the restless Noldor.
She made the most of the situation. "A good thing that I was here to rescue you!"
The snake glared at her with his little beady eyes. "A sudden change back to a larger form in the middle of this panic..."
"Would be beneath your dignity." Artanis finished smoothly.
Her father and uncles were shouting at the mob to be quiet, to calm down. Maiar moved through the crowd, comforting the elves and assuring them that everything would be alright soon. Only a small patch of sky to the west still had stars in it.
"The stars are fine, just shrouded. The darkness will disperse soon," Artanis heard one of the Maiar say.
"He didn't say anything about the Trees. Does this mean they're not fine?" She could hear the edge of panic in her own voice and hated it. The snake in her hands was silent.
"Where have the Valar gone? Why did they leave us here?" demanded Fëanor of the Maia, invisible in the almost total darkness.
Artanis turned from the last visible stars and began to make her way down the mountainside. She could hear Fëanor ranting behind her.
"If you're going to go running off," growled Olórin, "At least have the wit to make a light. And don't drop me."
It would be a long walk to the Trees, Artanis realized and wasn't surprised when the Valar returned before she was a quarter of the way down the mountainside. The darkness had begun to ebb by then, and stars had returned to almost half of the sky. She could here the commotion above, but continued on. A little later, her father and brothers came riding down the path behind her, carrying lights of their own. Many other elves accompanied them. Not Fëanor, though, Artanis noted.
"Didn't wish to hear your uncle exhort the crowd?" Finarfin asked her, knowing perfectly well she didn't. "Ah well, you didn't miss much." He passed her the reins of her horse. She pulled herself onto the saddle without assistance. They continued down Taniquetil into the darkness.
More and more of the stars returned. Much to Artanis' relief, the darkness faded from the Trees before they arrived. But when she saw what was left of them, she wished that the darkness would return. They were solid and dark, almost like ordinary trees. The tiny pinpricks of the stars and the small lights carried by the elves were suddenly very inadequate. The Valar stood under the dying trees, and with them was Fëanor, his face dark with anger.
"If you force me to give them up," he snarled, "I wouldn't be surprised. Melkor is one of you, after all."
He was speaking of the Silmarils, Artanis realized, whose light had been gathered from the Trees themselves. If it could be restored to them... She looked up at Yavanna, who stroked the bark of Telperion, looking down at a hole into its roots.
"We have little time, but I can still save them if you would only..."
Her words were cut off by the clattering of hooves as more riders came up to the mound. The Noldor moved aside for them. Celebrimbor and Curufin, Artanis realized, with their hair in disarray and their horses soaked with sweat. They hadn't been at the Festival.
"Father!" Celebrimbor called out. "Melkor... he came to Formenos... Grandfather's dead... and Melkor's got the Silmarils!"
Artanis and the others returned to Tirion, as Fëanor followed his sons back to Formenos. The lamp at the top of Ingw's tower was incredibly comforting to behold. It was the brightest light left in the world, Artanis realized miserably, now that the Trees were gone. Maybe Fëanor could make more lamps, she thought. She had left Olórin behind at the trees, but had no great hopes that he would be able to think of anything.
Her mother handed her a letter wordlessly as they entered the house, then led her father away. Artanis noted the seal, then opened it.
"Dear Artanis," Celeborn had written. "By the time you receive this, I should be in the harbor at Alqualondë. Please hurry."
Artanis ran up to her room, started to pack, then ran to Finrod's room and pounded on the door. He opened it, looking tired and miserable. Artanis thrust the letter into his hands. He read it and sighed. "Just why can't he wait? You'd think that the world pretty much ending would slow some people down."
"I'm worried about what King Olwë will do to him. I don't think he likes surprises."
"There aren't a lot of natural harbors along the coast," Finrod commented, his brow furrowed. "Still, I think the timing is pretty bad. Look, let's just make sure everything's okay. A trip to Middle-Earth is going to take some planning, and we ought to wait."
Artanis finished packing and ran downstairs to find her father. He was in his study, rubbing his face and sniffling. Artanis stopped in the doorway. Of course, he'd been crying, she realized with a shock. His own father had just been murdered. Before she could manage a tactful retreat, he looked up at her. "Yes, Artanis?" He managed, hoarsely.
"Umm, I just wanted to tell you. Finrod and I need to go down to Alqualondë for a few days. Celeborn's come back."
"I think you should wait. I'm delighted that Olwë has finally relented, but... things are a little serious here."
"Ah, that's just it, sir. King Olwë hasn't relented. Celeborn built a ship and sailed back and I'm worried that the King will just lock him up or something."
"Built a ship! How? Never mind." Finarfin sighed and wiped his face. "Go, find your mother. She'll sort this out."
As Artanis, Finrod, and Eärwen prepared to go, a servant ran in. "Highness! They're gathering in the square. Prince Fëanor has returned!"
Eärwen pulled open the curtains. The square in front of the house was filling with elves, and much to Artanis' dismay, most of them seemed to be wearing some kind of armor and carrying swords.
"Bother," said Eärwen.
"There's Uncle Fingolfin." Finrod pointed out the window. Sure enough, Fingolfin and his sons were coming out of their mansion next door. They had armor and weapons too. No Valar or Maiar in the crowd, though, at least not any that were visible.
Fëanor climbed the stairs of Finw's empty mansion and turned to address the mob. "If we want the Silmarils back, if we want to avenge the murder of our king," he shouted, "We'll have to do it ourselves! The Valar won't do this for us. They won't even fight him for themselves. They're in council, I'm told. In council! Not on their way to Middle Earth. Middle Earth, where we should have been all along. But no, they're saving Middle Earth for something called Men, while they keep us here as pets!" The crowd began to cheer and shout Fëanor's name. Artanis retreated upstairs to her room.
A little while later, she heard a knock on her door. It was Finrod. "Our mad uncle, with some encouragement from the mob, has declared himself king and ordered us all to relocate to Middle Earth. All but the cowards and toadies that is."
"He didn't!"
"Name any names? No, but anyone who tries to stay behind will be judged a traitor to the Noldor. Dad's trying to persuade them at least to pack. Fëanor thought that was dumb. Look, we've got to get out there. As royalty ourselves, we have some obligations."
Artanis nodded and shouldered the bags she had packed. She forced her way through the crowd toward the stairs of Finw's house. Fëanor, who was approaching the peak of his rant, drew his sword as she reached the bottom step. Artanis stopped short, but he wasn't even looking at her. She watched, horrified, as he swore to retrieve the Silmarils, from anyone, anywhere, who would keep them from him. It was an unbreakable oath, she realized, as one by one his sons came to his side and did the same. Her cousins suddenly seemed as dangerous to her as fallen Maiar. There would be no rest or peace for any of them now until the Silmarils were theirs again.
"Artanis!" She almost jumped up the stairs as someone took her arm. It was Celebrimbor, grinning broadly and wearing all sorts of shining metal armor and a sword as long as he was tall.
"You're mad! Do you know what you've just done?" It was Turgon's voice, booming from the doorway of his father's house. Fëanor and Maedhros started shouting back, and the milling crowd forced Artanis and Celebrimbor up the steps toward Fëanor and his sons. She could see her father trying to calm the section of the crowd near his house, but Finrod had climbed up onto Fingolfin's stairs and were shouting as well. Fëanor looked down at her and fell momentarily silent. Artanis realized that at least part of the crowd was looking at her.
"Listen!" She cried out "I'm going to Middle Earth anyway... Part of my family got left back there... And I'd like to at least see it... But if you want to go, pack! Don't just troop off after... someone with nothing to eat and no plans of what to do when you get there, never mind how you're going to get there." To her astonishment, many of the elves staring up at her nodded. She realized she was still holding her bags. At least they'd helped her make her point.
Fëanor began shouting again as soon as she paused for breath, and she took advantage of the distraction to bolt down the stairs and work her way back to her father's house.
"You did well," Finarfin assured her. "Just about as well as anyone can under the circumstances. I'm afraid my brother can be difficult to resist when he's in this state, and has an angry mob mostly under his control. Just cooperate and do your best to buy time."
But I meant it, she thought and did not say.
Fëanor had worked his way over to the steps of Fingolfin's house and the two camps of the Noldor seemed to be reaching some agreement. Finarfin went over to make sure that they did eventually agree on something, and the twins went with him.
"I see that you are ready to go." Eärwen looked at her daughter, still carrying her bags. "Well, no better time than the present, and I think your father is better off dealing with this himself."
They left by the eastern gate while the Noldor argued.
"Mother, how does Fëanor plan to get to Middle Earth?" Artanis finally asked.
"Left that part out, didn't he? I can think of only one good way, and I hope they've all calmed down before they work it out." Eärwen said grimly, and ordered the coachman to make all possible haste to Alqualondë, as best he could by starlight.
It was either the ships or the ice, Artanis realized. No one but Valar or Maiar had ever dared the ice, and the Teleri wanted no part of Noldorin troubles. This could not end well.