My first presentation to the Telerin Court concluded with me being presented to the Ñoldorin Court. Finwë was every bit as warm and affectionate as Olwë, and wanted me to return to Tirion with my parents. But something troubled me.
It was family. Family bothered me.
Tirion was breathtaking, so heartbreakingly beautiful as no city of humans could ever be.
The streets were wide and paved or kerbed with marble, and like Alqualondë, not a single scrap of rubbish or any filthy graffiti anywhere in sight. The buildings, the closer on got to the peak of the hill, were built of purest, polished white marble, but the closer you were to the outskirts of the city, the more the houses were built of golden, mellow stone. On these houses, vines and flowers were everywhere, it seemed; spilling from walls and rooftops, lining steps in pots, growing from window-boxes and barricades, and twining themselves around pillared archways. The flowers were present but not overly predominant; the closer you were to the city centre and the palace, but there were still there and the gems dominated. In the public and private gardens flowers grew in ornately shaped beds or simple lines, and trees lined avenues and boulevards. In the public courtyards, there were splendid tiered fountains in all shapes and sizes that sprayed crystal water and sculptures worthy of my Haruni and Haru.
Tirion was terraced, but it appeared completely natural, even the walls were not as much as for defence as for display. The waterfalls were like the ones that surrounded Alqualondë (Teleri are really attached to water, aren't they?) They seemed to blend both nature and artifice in such a degree of harmony that nothing appeared forced, yet was too beautiful to be true. I was dazzled. I saw the stairs made entirely of crystal- yes, crystal stairs and bridges too, hit with the light of Laurelin, and illuminated so that they seemed splashed with luminous colours spilling down below. They connected the city to various levels, but they weren't that long. No human would be too exhausted walking upwards. Elves certainly weren't.
So, this was Tirion. I glanced up and saw the palace and a glinting flash of silver told me that the Mindon Eldaliéva was there, though presently it did not need to be lit. I noticed that like the beach, glinting grains of diamond-dust sand could be glimpsed. This was every bit as beautiful as Alqualondë, but so very obviously a Ñoldorin city. There wasn't just beauty but practicality. The flowers and vines were never in the way of doorways and archways nor did they obscure windows. Animals could drink from certain fountains after a long journey and they were placed in convenient locations. There was more than artistry.
People got out from their houses and shops to see us pass, with eager eyes. Many of them whispered excitedly and gestured towards me though they were careful not to point. They were all focused on me.
Word must have spread about the Maiar, the dolphins and the swans. Of course, I nearly groaned.
I clutched Atar harder when he carried me up, because it almost felt like I was about to fall. How could crystal support us all, unless it was diamond instead?
All these people craning their necks just to see us- or well, me…
It was unnerving. In my previous lives, I had never been in the centre of attention.
Well actually, I might have been on one or more occasions.
I mean I was betrothed to Daeron 'the Young Dragon' and courted by Vrael in my previous lives, but none of these relationships, ended in marriage or any form of mating, though they did put some attention on me. Yet these people… They weren't looking at me as if I was something to gossip and giggle excitedly about or sneer in derision at, they were beholding me with awe. And that had never happened before.
These people weren't looking at me because I was betrothed or in love with their most important leader- a king and the head Rider. No, they were gazing at me- as if… As if…
As if I could be the one to discover the island of Númenor. Or some fantastic supernatural thing which I was sure only the All-Father, Valar and Maiar could commit.
And here I was a just a baby.
Inwardly, I scowled, remembering my shrunken state. And how I would stay like that for five more decades! And even then, I would not reach my fullest height or be considered fully mature until fifty more years!
I squirmed in Atar's arms, and he shushed me, rocking me gently.
The massive golden doors swung open, and we were ushered towards the throne room. I gasped again, I couldn't help it. Even though Olwë's throne room was no less lovely, it was a different sight. The light was flush with the rosy glow of rubies or garnets, and yellow diamonds or topazes which covered the ceiling completely and pillars of pure, solid gold shaped like trees rose to meet them.
Amazing. Not even Ellesméra, Luthivíra with its crystals and Ilirea looked like this.
The doors swung shut and Finwë stood, on either side of him, proud, regal, majestic and impressive without meaning to, Fëanáro or Haru, and someone else.
A regal, beautiful lady who made me catch my breath. Her long hair, gently waving flowed down her back like Laurelin's light itself. Her skin was fair and flawless, a smooth creamy ivory and glowed. Even amongst the Eldar she was outstanding, and her richly-coloured sapphire eyes held only gentleness.
Indis. Indis the Fair, my step-great-grandmother, niece of Ingwë the High King and ruler of the Vanyar. I would have to be an idiot not to know who she was.
Fëanáro wasn't looking at his stepmother. Huh, so their relationship was not always… Well.
This time there was the unmistakable glint of pride and joy within those dark blue eyes if his. They were like a midsummer's night sky. The only thing was, that there were silver stars within them. Eight-pointed silver stars, shining and cutting through the darkness.
Was it any wonder that the Star of Fëanáro was the symbol for our House?
My father had the stars within his eyes too, but his eyes were emerald-green like mine. Macalaurë's eyes were silvery-blue, Tyelcormo's a lighter sky-blue, Carnistir's eyes were a warm amber, whereas Curufinwë's were steel-grey. The twins had hazel eyes, though one appeared more peridot green and the other jade.
The sons of Fëanáro were all different but they all had the eight-pointed stars within their eyes. They all took after their father in some way or another.
So, this was the legendary House of Finwë, I thought as Amil- now carrying me- and Atar made their way forwards in a slow, formal pace. I had always imagined what they were like. I never thought they could be like a family.
My Essecarmë had taken place in Valmar under the light of the Two Trees. A pity I didn't remember much of it. Part of having a baby's body meant I was more susceptible to exhaustion, even though I wasn't the one doing all the walking. It was ridiculous. And beyond irritating.
I just hoped I had plenty of time before Morgoth spoiled everything.
Could I save them all? Finwë? Fëanáro? Nolofinwë and Findekáno? Turukáno and Írissë? Elenwë? Everyone?
The Ñoldor, Teleri and Sindar? Could I save them?
I wasn't stupid and arrogant enough to think I could defeat Morgoth. Only the Valar had that power.
But I was interrupted from my thoughts as Finwë made his way forwards. His arms were held out in welcome and his smile was broad. I remembered Finwë from the Essecarmë. It was an interesting event, once I got over my tiredness. Usually the introduction ceremony is performed by the head of the House, but in this special case, my mother instead of only joining my father's house, is still a member of Olwë's family due to her status as the only child of the eldest child.
So, there were two kings performing my ceremony. Finwë was as tall as I remembered him, with raven-dark hair, and a regal, handsome face. He was undisputedly majestic, with his straight, imperious nose, strong jaw and only slightly full lips. His eyes were piercingly bright.
Fëanáro seemed to have blended his features with someone else's- that someone was undisputedly his mother, Míriel.
"Welcome," Finwë said warmly. Amil was holding me now and Atar stepped forwards and bowed- as was proper. Amil curtsied slightly.
"On this day, my grandson Nelyafinwë, firstborn of my eldest Fëanáro, has come to present the latest member born into this House, and his heir."
Heir, but thankfully, not likely that I would inherit.
"Her name is Eruvandë Estela Nelyafinwiel and today, we are proud to say that she joins us as a princess and a member of the House of Finwë and the Ñoldor."
Technically this should have been done right after my Essecarmë but since it had taken place at Valmar, and the presentation needed to be done on the home territory of the people the child belonged to, it had to be postponed- and done twice. Olwë had made a similar announcement a few days after my arrival in Alqualondë.
Cheers and applause surrounded us and Finwë smiled proudly, having taken me into his arms.
And so this was what it meant to be surrounded by family, their love and warmth. Well, it wasn't going to last.
Then we were surrounded by people who wished to congratulate and all the well-wishers in the world, it seemed.
One of the first was Nolofinwë. Who would have known.
"Russandol," he greeted Atar warmly. "Élen."
"Prince Nolofinwë," Amil murmured, smiling warmly just as Atar greeted: "Greetings Uncle."
"Congratulations, after so long, the All-Father has finally answered your prayers." He smiled down at me. "You are surely blessed."
"He did indeed, uncle." Atar agreed. "Though we did not expect the answer would be this…" He bounced me up and down. I giggled and cooed, playing the happy baby.
The sight was enough to make Nolofinwë's eyes soften. "She is extremely beautiful." He admitted. I should probably blush. From what I had read about Nolofinwë or Fingolfin, and heard of him, he did not give compliments out readily, though he was polite. "I pray that she finds happiness throughout her life."
"Násië." Atar and Amil both respond.
"Russandol and Élen." A lovely lady stood beside Nolofinwë. She had dark, softly waving hair and haunting grey-green eyes with fine features. Anairë, no doubt. "How very good it is to see you too- and with a little one of your own." She smiled kindly. "At long last Ilúvatar has answered your prayers. He may have been pleased with your devotion."
"Oh, we dare not presume to know the All-Father's mind." Amil said easily shifting me. Atar instead took me in his arms.
I cooed for the benefit of the audience. "I am sorry but Ereinion is currently in Valmar as of this moment." Anairë said apologetically. "As is his mother. Something to do with the family, though I know but little."
"I understand, Aunt." Atar said kindly. "Though I hope to see them soon. Do give my best wishes to all your family."
Nolofinwë nodded and Anairë did as well. They went off. The House of Finwë was indescribably large, I thought new crowd came in.
"Russandol!" A gold-haired elf with sparkling blue eyes grinned at my parents broadly. "My dearest nephew and niece with a baby of their own." He made a show of seeming to be astonished. "My, she is an exceptionally lovely one, is she not?"
The lady beside him laughed. Unlike her husband, Eärwen had hair like spun silver, skin like porcelain and a delicate, exquisitely shaped face. "Indeed. May I hold her?" Eärwen reached out her hands.
Amil smiled and gently handed me to her aunt. Well, I could see the resemblance between the two as well as with Artanis. Eärwen cooed, and fussed over me, smiling as I gurgled, but someone else approached.
Well, that was interesting.
Alright, so no one, including Fëanáro would ever presume to make a public show of familial disharmony. But somehow, something told me the relationship between my grandfather and his half-siblings, possibly his stepmother too, was not as cold as the books said. Not warm and friendly, but not downright hostile as people perceived- not so much the books like the Silmarillion, but the fanfictions.
This astonished me.
Surely the books did not exaggerate? Though you should ask, what are the chances of them all being extraordinary, this family? The sons of Fëanáro all were incredibly unique and legendary even before the Flight of the Ñoldor, Fëanáro being the most skilled and brilliant craftsman, inventing a writing system, flameless lanterns, the Palantíri and the most priceless of gems, but marrying a sculptress who could fool people into thinking that the statues were flesh and blood? All this sounded fantastical- maybe because it is, indeed fantasy.
But the books were meant by Tolkien to be written by Rúmil of Tirion, and I could understand if Rúmil treated them with an artistic license. I doubt Shakespeare would have written the exact words that Antony and Cleopatra said to one another, and the last words of Richard III was in fact: 'Treason, treason, treason!' Not 'A horse, a horse! My kingdom for a horse!' But there were numerous confusions: the Silmarillion itself remained unpublished until after Tolkien's death. Some works after all stated Ereinion's father to be Findekáno and others Artaresto.
It struck me that I wasn't so certain of the future after all.
I could try to fix things only to mess things up. I could make it even worse than what it was before! I could seriously mess things up! And I didn't even know how to begin!
Fortunately, the laughter and well-wishing is too far gone for anyone to notice my acting strange and quiet. Except for Amil. She flicked me a concerned glance, but I took no notice.
This was an impossible task.
I had never been born into a family that was facing Doom- literally. Dorne had been threatened, as was the House of Nymeros Martell, but we were in danger of extermination- plus, I had been offered the hand of the Targaryen King. And of course, I know about Voldemort. But I knew how the story would go for him and for my family. I also knew about the Fall of the Riders. I was so stupid.
To harness the sun all by myself would be infinitely easier.
Is that what you think?
I froze. Who said that?
Whoever it was that spoke inside my mind didn't answer.
I don't like this, I thought, as I gazed uneasily at the crowd.
"What ails you, Little One?" Amil's voice nearly made me jump. She had been speaking animatedly with Artanis, her aunt Eärwen, and two ladies whom I didn't recognise. I should have been more aware of my surroundings.
"I think she's not used to such gatherings, she may be shy." A lady stated. She had hair like Indis and Arafinwë but slightly darker. There was an unmistakable resemblance between them but hints of Finwë's features shone through.
"Oh, Findis." Another lady rolled her eyes. "Are you speaking for the babe or for yourself?" Titters were heard as the lady- Findis- glared down at the obviously younger lady. She was very beautiful too and she either was Vanyarin by birth or had Vanyarin blood in her. In contrast to who appeared to be her sister, her hair was a lighter gold, rich and waving, and she had less solemn, and more light-hearted features. Despite the elves' immortality, it seemed that she was so obviously youthful and the most fresh-faced elf I had ever seen.
"Oh Lalwen." Anairë smiled. "But you were always so outgoing and courageous."
Lalwen?! That name seemed equally, bewilderingly familiar to me.
"Oh, please." Lalwen pretended to pout. She held out her arms. "May I at least hold my own grand-niece?"
Wait, what?! I assumed these ladies were the relatives of Indis based on their looks. Unless they came from Nerdanel's side of the family, or my mother's however, surely…
"Of course," Amil said, passing me once again to- my apparent- great-aunt.
No…
Indis. Finwë! His features were there as well! Damn it! I didn't read the whole of Tolkien's books (more like skimmed the internet to find pieces of information that eluded me) but in the Silmarillion, they made absolutely no mention of daughters!
Although they did in his other works.
Confound it all! Rúmil must have left those princesses out for a reason! The elves- in Alagaësia and in Eä- considered both males and females equal, unlike many humans. There was no way they should be overlooked.
But then… Why was Arafinwë declared High King of the Ñoldor in Valinor once Fëanáro left with Nolofinwë to Middle-Earth? What happened to his elder sisters?
"I should probably get back." Findis grumbled. "My husband-" she shook her head. "We shall have to return to Valmar, three days hence."
"How are your children, Findis?" Eärwen asked suddenly. "They are all well, and thriving under the Light of the Trees." Findis said smoothly. "We left a few days ago, but we intended to stay for a few days in Tirion. It is good to be back- Valmar is unimaginably lovely, of course, truly magnificent but I grew up here." She looked around the hall wistfully.
"Yes well, you did make the choice to be as one with the Vanyar," Lalwen said snippily. "You could have taken a Ñoldo," she said with a droll eyeroll, "Or you could get your husband to move here. But alas, my sweet older sister had to leave our House and lands" There lay my answer.
"He could never leave Valmar." Findis said with an eyeroll of her own. "And I made my choice. Besides, there is Fëanáro with his unheard-of, magnificent brood of seven sons and countless grandchildren, and Nolofinwë and his brood-" she nodded to Anairë. "And you and Arafinwë and his wonderful offspring." She smiled at Eärwen. "And besides, you have yet to wed." She said to Lalwen.
Lalwen sighed. "I find it… Difficult to be tied down." You and me both, Grand-Aunt.
"I thought it might feel that way when I got married." Amil said abruptly. "But it didn't. It feels not only natural but wonderful."
"Perhaps," Lalwen sipped her drink. "But maybe I have yet to find the right one."
So Findis married a Vanyarin and moved to Valmar. He must have been older than her, I thought, otherwise, her offspring might have been listed as members of the House of Finwë. But they lived in Valmar. After her father's death, she must have taken her mother back to live there.
Lalwen, on the other hand… I think a few canon sources mentioned she went with Nolofinwë and may have perished on the Helcaraxë. Another said that she went because she was betrothed to someone, but eventually decided to go back.
This infuriated me. How in the world am I supposed to save the ones I love, if I what I knew from them left out so much?! How do I not mess anything up?
While I make no illusions that Fëanáro may have resented his stepmother's arrival into his and his father's lives, I could easily glance over my shoulder and see him laughing uproariously at some joke Arafinwë made. I don't think anyone remembered that- they only remember he moved outside of Tirion with his wife and family to get away from his stepfamily (and all the awkwardness involved).
I could sigh. This was impossible. I thought we were going to see the Valar anyway? I couldn't speak that well yet but I would be able to show my thoughts.
The anger, frustration, desperation and everything grew too much to handle. I squeezed my eyes shut and I wanted to scream. But I didn't.
Instead something else happened.
The celebrations were interrupted with a BANG! Everybody jumped and started at the sound. Smoke billowed out and the smell of burnt charcoal and wood was in the air.
Finwë frowned as someone came rushing in as quick as he came.
"What is it, my friend?" He asked, frowning. "What has happened?"
"Forgive me, Majesty." The ner bowed.
"Something went wrong in the kitchens."
Fëanáro's eyebrows arched, and Finwë looked puzzled. "The ovens all exploded. The stoves as well. We did not know what happened- it was lucky that all the food was already on the way to being served." And I could see just how relieved he was when he admitted that.
"Was anyone hurt?" Finwë asked quickly.
"No Majesty." His eyebrows scrunched together. "Although I am bewildered as to why such a thing has happened." Fëanáro scowled. "The ovens and stoves should not be dangerous." He said dubiously. "What did you see?"
"We were placing the food on the tables, my lord." Came the reply. "And some of us were simply on the way to the wine cellars when out of the blue, everything exploded. There were no fires lit- we made certain of this, always before we left."
I froze. Oh, snap. It was me, wasn't it? I should have realised this. I was so distressed and confused, upset and frustrated… I did accidental magic.
Accidental magic made my dolls and stuffed bears float and re-enact amusing scenes in my third life, it saved me from falling from broomsticks and in my fourth life that was how I learned to channel and harness my powers. I should have remembered! The younger a person was, the less control they had over their magic- they would find it difficult to channel and use it at first, as it was strongly tied to their emotions. The older and more experienced they became, the easier it was to control them. That was how young Riders were first taught to summon their abilities: they were ordered to pile stones using only their feet or fill ever-draining sieves of water until they became frustrated enough and that was when their magic was unleashed.
So, I had powers in this life too, I thought grimly.
Amil rocked me. Fëanáro spoke: "I should like, if it does not hinder anyone, to retreat to the kitchens, move everyone there to safety and see the damage done."
"By all means," Finwë replied. "No one is to enter the kitchens unless everything is deemed safe." He got up and went with Haru and the one who brought the news to them- a steward by the looks of things. They hurried away to inspect the damage.
I was beginning to hate my dreams.
I heard screams, shrieks of terror and horror, desperation and fear.
I could see Oromë speaking to three of them, his aura of strength and power unmatched.
This was when I could see some begin to drift apart from their own kin. But it wasn't just fear that motivated them, they gazed at the forests, rivers, lakes and other features of Middle-Earth with a wistful longing.
Though others shared the same sentimental feeling, nevertheless, they were desperate. Another thing I could tell: people were beginning to disappear.
And this was when I saw the War the Ainur waged against Melkor.
Shadows were creeping through the darkness of the wood- no, running. Running stealthily and speedily through them.
The shrill screams were horrific to hear. Those that had not made up their mind, grew even more frantic and desperate to go to Valinor- they would take their chances!
I could see husbands and wives cling to each other frantically, parents clutching their children as close and as tightly to them as they dared, eyes darting around, terrified, no doubt.
I saw the Valar and their ranks of Maiar charging at Melkor cutting down wave after wave of orcs, trolls and other foul creatures. To my immense relief, the Ainur appeared to be winning. Melkor screamed in rage- a dark shadow blurring the horizon and terrifying me worse than anything I had seen in my previous lives (with a jolt I realised it was some time since I last thought of them- normally I would still be brooding).
He retreated to Utumno. I could see the waters rushing wildly, the earth shaking violently, groaning and creaking as though to break and there were lights, bright as flaming volcanoes firing lava.
The elves were terrified.
Utumno was sealed. They battered at his gates. The sea widened, a bay was carved out and new mountain ranges rose to the sky.
And then they broke inside the fortress.
There was less than a second of shock for both Manwë and Melkor. Manwë because he expected Melkor to be so overwhelmingly strong and powerful, that it would have been almost impossible to defeat him. But Melkor must have given a great deal of his energy into his minions, letting them do all the dirty work.
Melkor because he never would have guessed that the Ainur could have broken through. But they had no time to waste. Melkor struck the first blow only to be blocked and tacked by Tulkas, the two of them wrestling. Aulë swung a chain. It looked green and red, the colours mixing and mingling together into an alloy.
I didn't know the name of the alloy but-
Tilkal. A voice whispered inside my mind. I froze. The alloy is tilkal.
What in the world was that?!
But I was distracted when Tulkas swung the chain. Angainor caught Melkor by the ankles and again by his arms. In no time, Melkor was howling, crying for mercy. I gawked, stunned. I didn't think he was capable of that.
They brought him to Taniquentil, to be judged by the Máhanaxar- the Ring of Doom.
I knew my dreams were following a predictable pattern. I was learning more and more about the history of the elves, but it wasn't always specific. Sure, I was there, but I might as well read about these events from any history book.
Time passed. My father was carefully coaching me in regards to my speech. My teeth were coming in more and more and I allowed myself to speak more and more words, both in Lindalambë and Ñoldorin Quenya. My parents knew the importance of learning through play. For some parts of the day, especially during the daylight hours, I did not play with my toys. Instead, my parents sought to encourage me to play my own games, and to join in the fun whenever they could. These games involved things like exploring the gardens, tracking or even simply Amil issuing me the challenge to sort and stack piles of books and papers in colour, size or alphabetical order. They began teaching me the alphabet through play and song, like nursery rhymes.
This was a sharp contrast in my previous lives. In my first three worlds we had the same alphabet, in Alagaësia I used the Liduen Kvaedhí, with more than a thousand glyphs and only forty-two basic components which could be rearranged depending on the context of the words and sentences. Glyphs could be combined to make the various sounds of the Ancient Language or they can be used to form sentences, phrases and large parts of writing. In that world that was the most beautiful and precise form of writing, and I was stunned that my grandfather could outmatch that flawlessly, whereas the poetic script of the Ancient Language must have taken generations and hundreds, if not thousands of years to perfect.
In Arda we primarily used the Tengwar my grandfather had invented. Elves have an excellent memory that surpassed those of mortals so they didn't really see the need for writing for quite some time. And then
Rúmil invented his Sarati, but though people were pleased at its use in messages but it had no place in the everyday life of the Eldar- or at least only with the Ñoldor. Vanyarin Quenya was not so easily transcribed and Telerin Lindalambë almost impossible. Fëanáro had changed all that. His Tengwar was groundbreaking, revolutionary.
I had to keep an open mind learning the Tengwar. In previous lives when I thought of things, I did it in English or 'the Common Tongue' and being reborn as an elf for the first time, I still thought of writings and spellings in the Latin Alphabet, with its consonants and vowels and all the various grammar rules. That had to change.
I often ground my teeth and stubbornly concentrated on the scraps of writing Atar set out before me, to his amusement. My father and grandfather had made what I jokingly referred to in secret as 'elvish horn books' or horn plate readers for me to practice my writing with ease. There were also children's books, similar to the baby books of my first and third life. It might have been too early for someone who had yet to reach their first year mark for humans and dwarves but for elves it was the right time for beginnings.
"She seems to be developing extremely well," I heard Atar speak to Haru. "Unlike my brothers, nephews, Ereinion and anyone else I have taught, she at least seems to grasp the purpose of these letters. Every other child starts off thinking that they are a curiosity but nothing which will serve an important purpose in everyday life."
Fëanáro nodded satisfied. "She struggles still at times, but her level of attention and focus..." I could hear my father muse. "Remarkable." He admitted, sounding astonished.
Well, best to leave it that way. At some point in time, if I wanted to save them, they had to start believing that I had some extraordinary skill and could be trusted and relied on. I had the knowledge of numerous lifetimes at my disposal, and the teachings of this family, but I had yet to practice my magic.
My first begetting day anniversary was celebrated with a great feast. I was astounded at the sheer level of it. There weren't many children on Valinor that could boast such illustrious names for close kindred and therefore, everyone wanted to get an invite- and see the child.
If there was another thing that Amil loved as much as her garden, dance, sailing, sea-life and song, it was the art of cooking. In all honesty, it was no wonder that Amil was Fëanáro's favourite daughter-in-law, even above Curufinwë and Carnistir's Ñoldorin spouses. She had not been born amongst the Ñoldor but she lived and fully embraced their customs, culture and way of life, while at the same time, refusing to relinquish her own. It certainly endeared her to the countless Ñoldor that she lived like them and sought to befriend them, admired their works and yet fought to have recognition of her own. The Ñoldor burned with a flame within their spirits, none brighter than my grandfather himself, they find pride in the accomplishments and merits of individuals. This was a meritocratic society. You would never be given great acknowledgement for your ancestry alone- you have to prove yourself.
No wonder we were all proud.
I had to prove myself- the Ñoldor were a proud people, they would not listen to me unless...
Unless what? Fëanáro himself was not always such a controversial figure. In fact, right now, he was downright popular. There was a reason why his sons and his people all followed him, in spite of the dysfunctional family.
Was it dysfunctional in the way humans perceive it, though? I don't think so.
Morgoth knew Fëanáro's weaknesses- he knew the weakness of every elf in Arda. Stealing the Silmarils was a diabolical stroke of genius. Getting Fëanáro to turn against anyone that he might have deemed responsible for his father's death and anyone that stood in his way... In more ways than one, I was disgusted not just at the actions of the Fëanárions and Morgoth alone but countless others: Thingol, the dwarves that killed him, Lúthien and Beren, Dior, Elwing- shiny rocks, no matter how much beauty they held, were not worth irreplaceable flesh and blood! The madness of grief, yes I understood that. But slaughtering countless innocents? Risking lives for those three gems, or even at least one of them? Refusing to give them up even when you know the price for that is blood? Taking it and throwing yourself into the sea and leaving your own sons behind to be captured, and risk being killed?
It filled me with disgust.
But disgust and plans would have to wait. Atar, my uncles and a few attendants had brought out large feasting tables and covered them with tablecloths. Flowers on vines or potted blooms were arranged just so, in lovely backgrounds and patterns. We were in a richly wooded area, so it already looked like a fairytale. You could almost expect Sleeping Beauty or Snow White with their woodland friends to come dancing through, birds twittering around them.
The apprentices and attendants put up intricately craved arches hung with fragrant blossoms like wisteria, cherry blossom or anything native to Valinor, purple and white garlands twining around the arches, and blossoms like white light or snowflakes hanging down to brush your hair. What really gave it an otherwordly glow that stopped your breath were the lights. Like Lothlórien in the films, it was the lights, the Fëanárian lanterns that made the whole area shine with silver-blue and white lights reflected in pools of clear water around the place.
I heard someone talking excitedly in the background and heaved a mental sigh. Itarillë. Still on a permanent sugar rush, the future mother of Eärendil, I thought.
I smirked. I hoped that Tuor was just as hyper.
People were chatting excitedly. I had been whisked away by Artanis and dressed in a new gown, specially made for this occassion, and the feast was brought- large trays, platters and dishes of vegetables, meat, fowl and fish, as well as the desserts, all spit-roasted, grilled, baked, boiled and fried. Amil, Haruni, Eärwen, Anairë and some of my aunts had been planning for this feast. Although people volunteered to cook and assist, Amil felt it was necessary to do most of the cooking herself- she enjoyed it enormously anyway.
The party began.
Grandfather Elulindo and Grandmother Eärlinda were among the first to embrace me, peppering me with kisses and crushing hugs. Unlike Fëanáro they had one grandchild, so this was understandable. But two guests caught my attention and made me gasp.
Two Valar. They both radiated so much power I could feel waves of them humming in the air particles and seeping into my skin, flesh, bones and blood. I could hear my heart thunder, the blood roaring in my veins. It was a different sort of power, and though they took a 'humanoid' appearance, you would never mistake either of them for elves or humans.
The Vala was tall and more built than any elf. His hair was brown like the rich earth, the fur of a deer and the wood from trees, touched with gold like Laurelin sunlight. He was more built than any elf or man, muscular and undoubtedly strong, yet lean, confident and graceful in poise, more radiant energy emanating from not only his very being, but the very place he stood at.
Then I saw the hunting horn at his belt, and knew this could only be Oromë.
From behind him emerged the Valië. Her aura radiated a softer, gentler light, peace and serenity. Golden light seemed to shine from her very being. She was slender and graceful, and though you would think that everything about her looked youthful, almost like a human teenager, and her very light seemed to touch my soul.
She was fair-skinned, her skin flawless and completely unblemished, but the light throughout made her seem strangely both ancient and yet far-younger than a newborn infant. There was a youthful cheerfulness, and a glow of such young innocence yet ancient wisdom everywhere about her. Her hair was as golden as Laurelin, as gold as Artanis'. Her soft, gentle serenity, that glow everything was as powerful as her husband's albeit in a different manner. To say that this person was an elf or a human would be to call a drop of water a raging river or Ekkaia itself. Thick flower garlands were in her hair, trailing down the gentle waves that flowed past her feet and skimmed her bare feet.
Vána the Ever-Young smiled graciously as everyone instantly stood, not merely in awe, but joy. While the Valar were the object of prayers and fearful awe in Middle-Earth, in Valinor they were there.
"My lord, my lady." Atar, Amil and my aunts, uncles and grandparents all bowed. Oromë bowed in return, hand over his heart as did Vána, smiling sweetly.
"Greetings to you Nelyafinwë and Eärélen ,prince and princess of the House of Finwë and Olwë." Oromë's voice was as rich, strong, untameable and wild as the world itself, its trees, mountains, forests, rivers and lakes. His eyes were an ever-changing shade of,green, like the richest leaves of many trees, darkening or lightening every now and then, reminding me of wind blowing through the forests. "And to your kin. Most of all, a very happy begetting day for the little gift. May she be blessed for all her life."
"Násië." Vána smiled. Her smile only grew as Artanis approached carrying me in her arms. Oromë and Vána's eyes were fixed entirely on me and seemed to stare right into my heart and soul.
Welcome Little Gift of the Father, I heard a rich, strong voice say in my mind. I froze. I wasn't even aware- unlike all the previous times in all my lives- that someone was speaking in my mind. We finally meet at last.
Grandfather Elulindo and Grandmother Eärlinda were chatting away, while I was being held by Grandmother but my attention was focused solely on the Valar.
Tyelcormo was eagerly relating to Oromë the adventures he and Huan had gotten up to and Oromë was laughing uproariously to their tales and Huan's excited, eager expression.
Amil and Vána were smiling and conversing with one another, whilst more Valar came.
The next Vala to arrive was a tall, even more powerfully-built Vala with a ruddy-tinge on his fair skin, who radiated a dangerous, powerful aura, deadly, lethal, challenging and unpredictable. I could almost see the golden glow all around him, when I narrowed my eyes, but when I opened them again, there was nothing. Just his strength. I doubt that even Hercules could have been built as he was. He had a wide grin and a loud, boisterously infectious laugh. His thick hair and beard were a glossy golden sheen.
Tulkas, I thought wonderingly. The elves of Arda in later days would probably never imagine this: walking, laughing and socialising or being taught by the Ainur, the Valar themselves. Most of them wouldn't even know that Gandalf was a Maia!
Otherwise they wouldn't have disregarded Gandalf's advice in the Hobbit so readily.
Or maybe that was just the movies?
Tulkas was accompanied by a Valië. All around her was an aura of light and laughter, sunshine or Laurelin's light dancing and bouncing off trees, laughing merrily, trees and flowers dancing gaily in the breeze. Deer skipping and lambs. Sweetness, joy, Laurelin, laughter and unsurpassed, luminous radiance shining and bounding all around, filling us up everywhere. Her hair was long and silky, though it was hard to tell if it was golden or brown, it kept shifting and changing. As did her eyes: I couldn't tell if they were forest green, like Oromë's, her brother's or brown like the rich, rich earth or wood.
Her smile was sweet, and small blossoms starred her hair. Her figure was slender, willowy and light, quick-footed and graceful, like a dancer's- which she was. She wore no shoes on her feet and her dress was cut at the ankles. Every movement she made was so liquid, she glided and floated without meaning to, she danced without knowing, every twitch in her arms and hands, the way she turned her head... She was a dancer. Any idiot could tell. Yet no one could dance like her. No one.
Nessa laughed sweetly as Tyelcormo and Huan related more tales towards her. By now guests were arriving in multitudes. Finwë had arrived with Indis, Mahtan and Istarnië, yet the Telerin royal house was not completely there.
It took some time for them to arrive, but then the party began and everyone was enjoying themselves. I was passed from one pair of hands to another. When the music played, everyone began dancing toting me along. I barely managed to blink. When did this happen?
When my Telerin great-grandparents arrived, it was to the sound of applause. Olwë immediately swept me up in his arms and I let out shrieks of glee. This was never feigned.
This whole time I felt I was home. I felt like among family.
Don't misunderstand me. I was rarely unloved in my previous lives. I was proud to be a Martell, a Greengrass, a Stewart, a member of the House of Miolandra. But though I wasn't unloved, I was mostly left to my own devices. Alone. I had 'House Elves' taking care of me, while my father and mother worked and increased the family fortune, went to the office, ruled the kingdom of Dorne, or ran a lot of things in Du Weldenvarden while siblings ran off either following the same things, going to school, or becoming Riders.
Here they still had a number of things- but they were all family, and everything seemed to revolve around... Me.
Not that it did. But my parents made it seem that way. And that was perhaps strange to me, but oddly comforting and welcoming.
I never did have a start like this. But I knew what was going to happen-
A nudge startled me.
One of my aunts had me (seriously, I had yet to tell which one was which, though I knew that Macalaurë's wife was a silver-haired Teler, like my mother) and passed me, and I found myself face to face with a Vala, his aura slamming into me, filling and surrounding me completely.
Seriously, what was with these Valar and their auras?
This one was wide-reaching, deep, powerful and enveloped all the corners of the earth, that's what it felt to me.
His eyes were bluer than the skies, bluer than sapphires, and his hair was... well, it seemed golden like Laurelin's light, but turning silvery with a strong presence of blue, like Telperion and the sky. The blue of his eyes were all I could see, bluer than anything I had ever thought possible or imagined. His features were noble and fair, even more so than the statues my grandmother carved.
Manwë Súlimo King of the Ainur upon Middle Earth. And with him, a lady- a Valië whose beauty and loveliness beyond living hearts and all limits. So gracious, majestic, and yet ever-so compassionate, I could feel it in the air all around her. Benevolence and gentle, kind light. Her hair was of the deepest midnight-black, blacker than the hair of many of the Ñoldor had, but also blue-black, flashing with a lovely, luminous Prussian blue, or the blue of bioluminescence. She wore a gown and robe of stars- not embroidered stars, or dyed, but real true stars. The whole cosmos of Eä dwelt within her robes; whole shining constellations and glowing nebulae, swimming in the 'fabric', if it could even be called fabric. They were living and moving within her clothes. She wore a diadem of stars and nebulae upon her brow and her eyes were burning stars themselves.
"Welcome Little Gift of the Father," Manwë murmured. His voice was strong and seemed to echo from all around me.
"We have waited for you."
All around me I heard everyone and everything fall silent. When did that happen?
Manwë smiled. Hello, little Hope. You have been foretold.
He knew about me?!
We all knew. We sensed your presence the minute your fëa itself entered Eä. Ilúvatar himself warned us you were coming. A chance to save, a hope for those who have none.
Suddenly a burst of visions came forth, like my dreams, whereupon I could see clearly:
I saw... My father.
He was standing surrounded by the other Valar. The power in their appearances, barely constrained, auras and more, filled the entire space that it was a wonder that the room itself did not burst along with all of Eä.
I was frankly astounded at his courage at simply being there, much less standing before them, and not cowering into a little ball, as I wanted to do- and it was just a vision.
"For decades now we have been married." Atar spoke, beseechingly to the Ainur. "Yet as my brothers themselves and our kin marry and beget offspring, we are childless. Our hearts and arms empty save for each other. We long nothing more than for a child, any child, male or female."
The Valar regarded him in silence.
Atar pressed on: "We have prayed to the All-Father. We have striven to be the best in hearts and deeds. We are not alone in this; other Eldar are begetting less and less each year whether they be of the Ñoldor, Vanyar or Teleri. Fewer and fewer children have been brought into Arda for the past four decades and we are wondering why."
One of them- I did not see which one- spoke after a long, hesitating silence: "Indeed, Nelyafinwë. This we are aware: the cries of those longing to be mothers and fathers, whose pain strikes desperately within their hearts cannot be stifled, nor ignored. But little there is that we Valar may do. For you are Eldar and your fates have been written within the stars under which you were born. The price of your immortality, knowledge, fairness and wisdom is a cost which cannot be forgotten. And this is the price, for now the Eldar are passing the youth of their days, the youth which saw your father, Curufinwë Fëanáro begotten along with his brothers and their sons, which include you. But now the winds of change are upon you, and the Eldar are beginning to lose the youth which they have grown accustomed to. Fewer and fewer children will be born every age and century, as is the price of immortality."
I could see my father despairing. His eyes were still pleading desperately.
"But for this... We may yet have hope."
Atar's eyes flashed to the speaker- I still did not know which Vala this was, only the speaker was definitely male.
"Give us time, son of Fëanáro, you shall have your answer by the next night when Telperion waxes to its fullest.
The scene changed and I saw my Atar standing within the circle of the Máhanaxar, the Ring of Doom.
I couldn't describe the look on his face: desperation, hope, fear.
The same speaker 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 of the Ñoldor and Teleri. Hope she is, and hope she shall be for those who have none- but more than you know. For gifts she shall be given, and the All-Father has seen into the light of your fates, and sought to lift you from such horrors and tragedy. Your destinies and fates still lie written within the stars but listen to her words, her wisdom, and the dark may be lessened, though it may not be stayed. She shall grow great and glorious and beautiful, even in comparison to the Two Trees of Valinor, but beware, Nelyafinwë: there is always a price. This, is the Promise of Eru Ilúvatar."
And suddenly I was back in Manwë's arms once more.
And he gave me a knowing look.
Of course. Of course!
The feast passed without a glitch, yet for my first begetting day while people whispered excitedly about the Valar's presence- every single one, even Ulmo- at this event.
All the Valar. And I knew they were whispering, wondering what this meant. Of course they could simply be here out of courtesy for Fëanáro and Nerdanel, Finwë and Olwë and their respective kin. But never more than a few at a time, unless it was during one of the Eldar's most holy feast days.
And this was a begetting day.
It was after most of the guests had gone and Atar and Amil had set me to sleep that I had a dream- unlike the ones I had before.
Everything was light. I walked down a mysterious garden path, a lane.
As I walked along its paths, I noticed several things: one, I was going about as if walking with ease and familiarity in my previous lives, even though I very well was not familiar with this lane at all, with its deep banks and great overhanging hedges. And the trees that lined the path, like the Yellow Brick Road in Oz, seemed to rustle, even though they did not move and there was no breeze. They rustled as if...
Whispers, I thought. I could hear voices whispering and murmuring. Countless, indecipherable voices, male and female, old and young, voices of humans, elves, dwarves and more. And worms- glow-worms. I noted, recoiling in astonishment. Giant ones. I hurried along.
Another thing I noticed was that I was not walking as I used to but... Was I floating? Why was everything so warm, so comfortable, despite such an unfamiliar place?
It was dusk. I strained to see the edge of the path I was set on. There was a gate, I noted in astonishment. A gate of lattice-work, shining golden in the dusk (was it dusk?).
Frowning, I reached for it, only for the thing to swing open of its own accord.
And everything disappeared in a flash of gold light.
"What the-" I muttered. This wasn't like my other dreams! What the heck was going on?
"Come child." A voice that I had heard during my begetting day celebrations sounded.
"Wha-" I spun wildly, only to freeze. There, robed in blue, with eyes bluer than anything I had ever seen, smiling down at me, was Manwë Súlimo, Lord of the Breath of Arda, King of the Ainur and the Valar upon Arda.
"Welcome, Nelyafinwiel." He smiled. "So at last you have walked the Olórë Mallë, the Path of Dreams. Here, only here, shall the souls of mortals and Eldar alike, shall gaze and walk within the gardens of Irmo in Lórien. As of now, so shall you. They have named you Eruvandë Estela- a fitting name. The Promise of Eru, your father called you, and Hope according to your mother."
I opened my mouth, but found myself speechless.
"Why am I here?" I finally managed. "Why is this happening?" I tried not to cringe at my childish voice.
He chuckled gently. But then his face turned sad. "You wish to know why you have been born again and again?"
"And in many different worlds," I pointed. "In worlds which are purely fiction in my first life. First I ended up in Dorne on the tip of Westeros, a Martell princess and the bride-to-be of a Targaryen king, secondly I ended up being a student at Hogwarts and the daughter of a pure-blood family, thirdly, I was born an elf in Ellesméra, a member of House Miolandra, before I became a healer to the Riders on Vroengard and Ilirea."
Manwë nodded gravely. "Yes. I know."
"But how?" I almost demanded (but refrained from doing so- this was the king of the Ainur upon Arda, I wasn't that insane). "And these worlds... They're supposed to be fiction!"
Manwë cocked an eyebrow. "Are you sure about that?" He asked quietly.
I froze. "What?" I choked. "How?"
"You were quite the voracious reader in your first life," Manwë- King of the Valar- replied thoughtfully.
"Wait a second- how did J.R.R Tolkien-" I choked out.
"He didn't create this world. Eru Ilúvatar, as he is known to elves, dwarves and men- or at least will be known to them someday when they wake- or Allah, Yahweh Elohim, or simply God did. Every single dimension, every single universe including Eä."
"Then how did someone from England, know about it? A certain J.R.R Tolkien?" I pressed, trying to keep my patience. "Or a certain Christopher Paolini, George R.R Martin, J.K Rowling and- who else did I miss?"
"None," The king of the Valar was chortling in amusement again. "But the reason for this is that some people, such as your favourite authors, are simply more attuned to the cosmos, and the tapestry of fate more than anyone else."
I blinked. "Some not all, are able to tap lightly or delve deeply into the various universes. Sometimes, it is when they sleep. Othertimes, they are fully awake, washing, cleaning, mending fabric, various things like that. Or the images simply appear to them in the train station, much like J.R Rowling and Walt Disney among others." He laughed at that. My eyes bugged at the realisation; heck, even that was real.
Mickey Mouse existed.
Either that or he was taking the Mickey out of me (I know, it's a terrible pun).
"So am I the only one?" I asked. "If so, why me?" Then I turned bitter. I looked up at him, trying to stifle my tears. "I tried and I failed! Numerous times!"
I once thought to save Daeron Targaryen, and prevent a Blackfyre Rebellion, the Tragedy of Summerhall, the War of the Usurper and the War of the Five Kings, but instead I ended up dead, felled by a poisoned arrow meant for Daeron the Young Dragon. And two worlds later, I even managed to die before Vrael and failed to prevent a fall."
I looked at him. "I am the last person who is able to save them." I said bitterly. "I was a failure. I tried and I failed. So why me?"
"Alas, we can never truly understand the workings of Eru Ilúvatar." Manwë sighed, looking at me with gentle, sad understanding in his eyes.
"You know what is going to happen," I insisted. "If you've seen it all, you know."
Manwë shook his head once more.
"There are layers within layers of many," he said enigmatically. "Layers within layers of a single universe, which itself, is numbered among thousands, or more accurately millions.
"Realities and dimensions," He explained, seeing my befuddled look. "Think, Estela. The published Silmarillion seems to contradict itself.
"The book you read in your first life was one version among many. The great genius who saw these realities and wrote them down, saw many versions and realities, and as a result, never finished it the way he did the Lord of the Rings or the Hobbit. You yourself had rarely heard of Findis or Lalwendë until you beheld them with your own eyes. And even then there were countless realities and versions, waiting to be explored. Some versions this incredibly remarkable being wrote down: the ones you were familiar with. But some details may blur, and there are realities waiting to be finished and explored.
"Perhaps you may save your father, your mother, uncles and cousins," Manwë remarked thoughtfully. "In some worlds, the sons of Fëanáro were slain by Melkor in Formenos." He and I both winced simultaneously.
"In some, Maitimo himself was slain before being remade in the gardens of Lórien. He was never bound by the oath of his father and brothers, and thus never committed the kinslayings in Alqualondë, Doriath or Sirion. At one reality in the very least, your uncle Macalaurë in the aftermath of the War of Wrath woke from his slumber at his house in Tirion to find his brothers alive and well and his wife with him at last. Thus he was never subject to the sad and lonely fate he suffered in some versions."
"But this does not mean that I will succeed." I said bitterly. Manwë's eyebrows shot up.
"Child, if you have learnt nothing from your past, then I will be very surprised." He stated bluntly. "In Westeros and Alagaësia, did you even try?"
I gaped at him, aghast.
"You threw yourself in front of the Targaryen king only to have him struck by a second arrow. You were still in Dorne. This was not a safe place for a conqueror. You died before the Fall of the Riders even truly began."
"Galbatorix killed me," I mumbled, flushing. "And yet you knew you could not stop him," Manwë said firmly. "At least not in such a way. Think, Estela. In order to win, then you must know your enemy."
I was sullen but silent. And yet, I recognised the truth of his words, only an idiot wouldn't. Of course, I was such a fool!
"Use your gifts, Estela."
"What gifts?"
"Think. What have you seen in your dreams?"
I paused. "The past," I said, reluctantly. "Perhaps you have yet to see what comes after." He smiled at me.
I blinked. "Wait just a minute," I began. "Are you, perhaps, saying that..." I trailed off.
Manwë sounded a large, booming laugh. "You do know of your cousin Artanis, or Galadriel, do you not? And of your kinsman Elrond?"
I gasped. "The sight?"
Manwë laughed again. "They'll never believe me," I said dubiously. "Even if I do have the Sight, they'll think me possessed or in league with the Dark Lords."
Manwë sobered and he looked at me gravely.
"Then give them reason not to," he said, almost silently, but somehow, still very clearly. "Think, Estela."
He was right. I was thoughtless and careless before. And now... Now, when I am myself, Eruvandë Estela Nelyafinwiel... I had a world, I had my friends, and most importantly, I had my family now...
It was a whole new world, a whole new life. A fresh, new and brand-new, brilliant start for me. I had everything to lose, even more than what I had before.
"Two more things," I began again. "Each universe's brand of magic is different from anything before. Yet some things are similar. As it was I barely managed to figure out how to create that blood-replenishing and other potions to heal the Riders and Dragons. And depleting my sources of energy? Having to store it to battle Sauron and Morgoth- oh, by the way, is there a chance of you not releasing Melkor?" I asked hopefully.
Manwë shook his head. "Not a chance," he said slowly, sadly. "With each passing day, he grows in strength. The more ages he remains chained with Angainor, the more he grows stronger. Already he was the mightiest and most unrestrained of the Ainur. If he is to be left as it is, he will break free. And by then we would be powerless to stop him."
I restrained the urge to curse.
"As for your magic... You know how. You only need to seek the answers. As to your other unspoken question, how to use the Sight... Well," he smiled sadly. "You only need to look. You only need to remember. You dreamt of the past did you not?"
"Are you saying that if I want to see the future I'll have to dream it?" I asked, sceptically. That didn't sound very helpful. If I wanted to look for a specific something...
"Do elves sleep?" Manwë asked suddenly. I started in surprise.
"Of course they do," I responded. "Just... Not in the way humans do, I suppose."
"Waking dreams, as Men would later call them," Manwë mused thoughtfully. "Or that is how they shall see it."
Waking... My eyes widened and I gasped.
I started again when Manwë leaned down and kissed my forehead. I felt a surge of... Cleanliness. Purity. It seemed that everything, all my sorrows, pain and failures from my past life, were rushed away from me, leaving me brand-new. Clean. Pure. Whole.
"Sleep," Manwë murmured, and everything went black.
There a few explanations, and a way forwards. Now she knows how to use her 'gift'.
Oh and here's the Disclaimer: I don't own J.R.R Tolkien, Christopher Paolini, J.K Rowling or George R.R Martin's genius works- otherwise I'd be ten times richer and a million times more confident. So all credits go to THEM.