It was weeks before she walked again. Weeks, before his sister could rise from her own bed. But she did it and was stronger than them all. She's always been that way, Maitimo thinks.
She will not limp for much longer, the healers say. But she will carry a scar over her eye for the rest of her life. He knows the people will talk, as they already do. He hopes she will not mind.
She is with the twins now. And he is to accompany his mother as she crosses the city to the prison. But it is made to keep people who have drunk too much wine, people who have stolen a fish. Not people who have killed.
Not people like his father.
But that is where his father is.
His grandfather is already there, with Atarinkë and Tyelkormo. And Macalaurë is sitting silently on the carriage seat next to him. His mother sits opposite him, with Carnistir at her side.
None of them speak, because they still cannot process what he has done.
But they must process it, Maitimo knows they must. If only to bring peace to the families of the dead guards.
The carriage stops and he steps out first, offering his mother a hand. She takes it, and his brothers follow her. Tyelkormo waits at the prison door, radiating wrath, as he has done since it happened.
Guards open the door, and they are led to the very last cell, where his grandfather and brother wait, with a plethora of guards nearby. After all, Maitimo thinks, no elf has ever been killed before now.
He does not want to look past the bars of the cell, but he does. And he doesn't see the icy fire, nor the empty shell. He sees his father.
The father that taught him to ride a horse. The father that gently washed Tyelkormo scrapes and cuts. That is who he sees.
And somehow, he thinks that the ellon at the docks was not his father. Maitimo cannot bring himself to.
But his mother is speaking now.
"Do you know what you have done?"
And she sounds so calm.
His father raises his head. His eyes do not burn, but they are not empty.
"I have done nothing."
Tyelkormo has clenched his fists, Macalaurë's breath hitches.
"But he," and his father spits the word, "has done everything."
Silmíre stares out the window. The twins are playing some game with Huan behind her, but she cannot bring herself to join in. Not because she cannot. She feels fine.
But because she cannot believe that her father did that. That he hurt her. He is not perfect, she knows that. But he loves his family. He is always loyal to his family. He named his greatest creation after her. He has on numerous occasions called the light of her soul akin to the brilliance of those three gems.
Yet, he did do it. She knows this. She sits there a while longer, as she does most days now.
And the door is flung open with a bang. She turns to look and finds the rest of her brothers. She knows they were visiting their father, however much they tried to keep it from her.
"You cannot possibly believe him!" Tyelkormo is nearly shouting.
"What else are we supposed to believe? That he just went on some killing rampage of his own accord?!" Atarinkë counters him.
Tyelkormo does not answer and instead seeks the comfort of his hound. Míre stands, intending to ascertain what they speak of, but Maitimo does it for her.
"It is entirely possible that Bauglir possessed him. We must at least consider it."
Macalaurë follows Maitimo through the door, softly shutting it behind him, "Nelyo is right. I do not think Atar was lying."
Míre intercedes, "Lying about what?"
All her brothers freeze and stare at her. Maitimo steps forward, "Míre, I don't think-"
She cuts him off, "I am not fragile. I do not need protection. I want to know what is going on."
"We know," Macalaurë answers.
"Then tell me what is going on."
They all exchange a glance before Nelyo says, "Atar claims he was possessed by Melkor… and I think it's a possibility…"
Míre limps over to her brothers, "And we don't have any proof, do we."
Their silence tells her as much.
Maitimo leads her to one of the couches, "Grandfather is going to see if he can arrange something with one of the Maiar, but it's unlikely."
"I want to speak with him."
They're silent again, but Atarinkë says, "I don't think that's a good idea. You're not recovered yet." Macalaurë nods in agreement.
"I agree," Tyelkormo speaks up, "Whether he did it or not, he's dangerous."
The room is filled with an uncomfortable silence. Disagreements like this aren't uncommon, but never have they disagreed on something this big. Something this world rocking.
And if Míre is honest, it scares her.
Her mother has forbidden her from visiting her father. For her own good. And in case it provokes him, to do what he did on the docks that day. Míre knows, somewhere in her heart, that it wouldn't. But she goes along with her mother's wishes.
Her mother's father is here now, at their large house outside of Tirion. Míre can hear him talking to her mother in the hall, their voices hushed. Her family, even her brothers, never mention anything related to the incident in front of her. They're trying to protect her, Míre knows, but she wishes they would stop.
"Míre, are you going to stare out the window all day?" Her best friend, Melléra, speaks up from the chair opposite Míre. They're researching Melkor, to try and find out if he actually could have possessed her father.
Míre picks up a scroll off the table, "Sorry, I was thinking."
"I could tell. Find anything yet?"
"No," Míre sighs, "and we've only got one book left."
"I know. But we're bound to find answers somewhere. And I know you're not going to stop till you find what you're looking for."
Míre smiles ever so slightly, "You know me too well."
They both go back to reading in silence. Míre knows their search is likely fruitless. But she can't give up. She can't stop wondering why. So she keeps looking, keeps searching.
But hours later, with a stack of finished books and not one piece of information, she's starting to think she'll never find what she's looking for.
Melléra goes home, promising to come back in the morning and keep looking. Míre saddles her horse, needing to get out and away from the smothering atmosphere that has blanketed the house of late.
After telling Moryo where she's going, because she knows he won't stop her, Míre mounts and rides off, heading out into the countryside. She and her brothers have explored every inch of the country around Tirion.
So she knows exactly where to go to find solitude. Míre ties her horse to a tree, picking her way down an embankment to sit upon a large stone, a small creek flowing past it. It's her spot, where even Nelyo doesn't dare disturb her.
She pulls her knees to her chest and rests her chin upon them, thinking.
Her father's trial is soon. She doesn't know what will happen to him if she cannot find evidence that Melkor possessed him, forced him to do those things. But, if she can find that evidence and present it to the Valar, they should pardon him, and perhaps take action against Melkor.
So she's got to find that evidence. And unfortunately, she and Melléra likely won't find anything by themselves. They'll need help and someone with access to information they can't find in books and scrolls. And a knowledge of the mind.
A Mair of Lorien would be the ideal help, but to convince one to help, she'd have to travel to the Gardens of Lorien, which her mother definitely will not allow Míre to do. But Míre could definitely ask one of her cousins to go. Artanis or Irisse would likely do it for her.
With that idea in mind, Míre remounts her horse. The sun is set by the time she is home. She enters through the kitchen door, finding her mother and Maitimo talking quietly. But the moment her mother notices her, she exclaims, "There you are! There is a Maiar her to speak with you, he's in the sitting room."
Míre frowns, "Why would he want to speak to me?"
"I'm not sure," her mother takes her hand and gently squeezes it in reassurance before ushering Míre out of the kitchen and down the hall.
Maitimo evidently knows why, because he gives Míre a pointed look before she enters the sitting room.
The Maiar is standing near the windows, a staff in hand, his white hair contrasting slightly with his gray cloak. He turns to face her and smiles, "I am Olorin, servant of Nienna. And I believe you are in need of some help, are you not?"
Míre nods, "I am my lord."
Olorin strides toward her and holds out a scroll, "Then you will find what you need here. But I will caution you to be careful, for the ground you tread upon is treacherous." His voice is kind, but Míre can hear the warning in it.
"Thank you, my lord. I will be careful; I can assure you."
"Good," he smiles again, "and do not be so hesitant to rely on those around you. They may be more helpful than you think."
To Be Continued
