Chapter Four
Talking Dolls, Foresight and Preparations
Vanimelda knelt by the stream. She had just bathed in the hot spring. She couldn't get enough of bathing. After decades of being covered in soot, tar and a filthy hood, she couldn't be clean enough. Bathing was wonderful in hot spring. It stood near a waterfall. There were animals such as bears and wolves but they never harmed her. In fact, she made friends with them.
The first time Vanimelda had been there, her mother told her, "Reach out your hand." She instructed her how to communicate to the animals. She remembered her mother's uncle Tyelcormo or Celegorm the Fair had been taught by Oromë the Vala to speak to the birds and the beasts.
Her mother also taught her numerous things.
Firstly how to read and write properly. She had learnt before her parents had died, but she rarely ever used it. Ceorl and Gríma in their ignorance would have been furious that their fosterling was literate if they ever found out. They would have seen it as a threat to her submissive behaviour and believed that she was getting ideas above her station. Furthermore, they would be jealous if they didn't think it was useless to write poetry and literature.
She had barely enough time to scratch letters into the ground, anyway. But here were plants that grew which could be used to make paper. And other plants for ink. Waterfowl left quills which they discarded. Her mother also taught her to speak, and be literate in other languages. She learnt to spin and weave the elven way- or rather, her mother's way. Her mother had been the best weaver, so much so that her tapestries and the clothing she made had been worth more than gems. And if her mother wasn't there, the strange little doll who bore her likeness, named Almarië by her, was there to provide her with company and instruction.
"You will need weapons," Almarië said one day. "You must learn to survive."
Vanimelda frowned. "I've not encountered a single orc."
"Things change," Almarië replied. "This world is no longer what it used to be when your parents were children. Númenor rose and then was gone. The world changed its shape, and the elves of long ago became warped in spirit and form by Morgoth."
Vanimelda shuddered. She hated that story. She remembered her mother telling it to her.
Hard to believe but by her mother's accounts the orcs of this Age were even more twisted than the ones that emerged from Utumno.
And no, there was no guarantee of safety- not in Middle-Earth.
She dipped her hands in the stream. "Do you think I'll be able to have contact with elves? Or humans or dwarves?"
"Who knows?" The doll replied with a shrug. "But for now, you need to be kept safe.
Frowning, Vanimelda realised that both the doll and her mother were trying to keep her out of harm's way as much as possible- through isolation.
"I don't want to stay here, waiting for something to hit me," Vanimelda stressed. "I am here in the woods, and I don't know what is going to hit me, and when. That's the worst thing. I feel like something is coming and I can't do anything about it. No, I know something is coming."
Vanimelda picked up the doll and walked back to the bower-house and the maze.
"Ever since I was young," she said quietly. "I've had these dreams. Sometimes I even have them while I'm awake- visions, you may call it. Or hallucinations. But I always see something."
"What do you see, Melda?" Almarië asked.
"I saw… many things," Vanimelda said. "Sometimes I see them on ships pulled by swans."
The doll's glass eyes seemed to widen. "You mean the elves under the last stage of the Great Journey- sailing to Valinor?"
"Yes." Vanimelda said softly.
"You saw them?" Almarië sounded astonished.
Vanimelda bit her lip. "I also see… other things. I saw the elves arriving on Valinor. I saw Ingwë, Finwë and Olwë making a pact of eternal friendship and building their cities- or in the case of the Teleri, their ships. I saw Fëanáro learning the Sarati and devising the Tengwar and learning metals and crafts- and helping the Teleri build their cities. I saw Nerdanel sculpting and them teaching their sons their crafts, including…" She paused.
"Your grandfather," Almarië said gently. "Isn't that right?"
Vanimelda bit her lip. "Yes." She paused again. "And I saw Míriel Serindë weaving. I learned to do it her way- and Amil's. Do think my mother saw these things? Is that why she wove so well?"
Almarië sighed. "Your mother never did have a good opinion of Míriel Serindë. Ask her, if you like. I don't believe your mother saw these things, but I know for certain that other members of your family do have the Sight. Lord Elrond, son of Itarillë, and Galadriel, Lady of the Golden Wood both have the gift of foresight."
"No!" She gasped. Vanimelda's eyes widened. "You mean I have the gift of… Of Sight?"
"Yes, Melda, I believe you do," the doll sighed again. "However, I don't believe your mother had the Gift of Foresight. But she came close. She came very close. Throughout her own lifetime she could sense things coming and she gave guesses that turned out to be correct more than once."
Eyes wide now, Vanimelda asked. "Like when?"
"When she told Prince Isildur that the Ring was the source of Sauron's strength, and that it contained part of his fëa. If he lost that Ring- if it were somehow separated from him once it had already made contact and knew the bond between fëa and hröa, then Sauron would be almost invincible- unless that Ring could be cut off. And it was she that gave Isildur the idea to feign helplessness- of course Isildur never really feigned anything- his father was just killed- but he was down on the ground before he cut that Ring off."
Vanimelda was silent.
"And so… you believe that…" She continued hesitantly.
"I think your mother was close. Her line was close to gaining the Sight- she already had prescient senses. Maybe she already had the Sight but it was latent- dormant within her. But she came very close- I think the Gift of Sight was merely waiting another generation until it came again. Galadriel had it. Elrond had it. Why not you?"
Vanimelda was awed. "But how do I use it?" She asked. "Galadriel had Melian the Maia..."
"And you have me," Almarië piped. Almarië may have been made out of wax and stuffing, false hair and silks but she could actually form facial expressions. And eat. Vanimelda had someone to share her meals with and to judge her cooking experiments. So now she smiled.
"You can trust me on this." Almarië said. "But we must keep this a secret, even when you come out."
"And will I come out?" Vanimelda whispered.
"Eventually all things foul and fair emerge. We have no choice. You can feel it, can't you? You can feel it in your bones and the very blood that gave your life. You can feel it in the water, and in the earth. And you can smell it in the air. The world is changing Vanimelda. It will not end with Númenor's fall, and such a time will come when the elves must leave, whether Sauron is defeated or not. This world has become too hostile and too polluted for elves."
Dark skies. Little stars are seen, and a thick black cloud like smoke. It hovered over a city, or a fortress, more like, built out of grey stone. The fortress was in ruins, she realised.
It was cold and forbidding fortress, frightening speaking of evil. Whispering of ancient curses and malevolent spirits and unspeakable evils like dark sorcery deep within its dungeons and halls. It stood amidst a hill of snow.
It was abandoned. But not for long.
There were people. Humans, she realised, making their way on foot or on horseback.
They were a wretched people, ragged and wearing black ragged clothing- cloaks and robes. But most of them wore expressions filled with madness, bitterness and rage- not grief and desperation. They were pale to the point of being sallow. Unhealthily so. But the bitterness, sourness, rage and hate in their eyes and faces were more than enough to dissuade even the softest hearts from pitying them.
At the central command- atop a hill, stood a rider on a black horse. The rider wore a cloak of scarlet atop armour of sharp iron spike-like plates. His head was completely covered with a hood and a helm of iron crowned with spikes. And his face…
Vanimelda felt a chill turning to ice, colder than the Helcaraxe when she saw the hood. Inside was dark, so dark and hollow and cold, like the void, so empty and cold and void of life it was, she knew, just knew that there was nothing under that hood. But there was someone. Life, but not the sacred life granted by Eru All-Father, something much colder, much more evil, lay beneath that armour and helm.
And so the figure sat atop his horse, turning his cold feelings and intentions towards that cold stone fortress.
Intentions of evil.
Vanimelda gasped and her eyes came into focus.
"What did you see?" Almarië asked.
"I…" Vanimelda froze. "I saw a fortress. Made of stone…" She began to relate her vision to Almarië.
The doll frowned.
"That fortress. Describe it."
Vanimelda described the fortress. "A ruin," she finished, summing it up.
"Yes," Almarië said slowly. "A ruin. But not a harmless one. A place filled with an ancient evil once, full of curses and dark sorcery. A place which was the root of dark evil. Abominations, even. Carn Dûm."
Vanimelda sat astonished after a long while.
"Carn Dûm?" She echoed the startled response. "What is that place?"
A seat of ancient and cold evil to the north of the kingdom of Arnor." Almarië replied. "A place of such terrible and unspeakable evil that I dare not speak of it."
"Except that you said it isn't harmless," Vanimelda insisted. "So what does this mean?"
Almarie didn't answer but turned her eyes towards something behind Vanimelda.
"Melda," A voice called out.
Vanimelda turned to behold the image of her mother. She wanted nothing more than to run to her and embrace her like she did as a child- as always. But no, it was not possible. Her mother was not there completely. Only in fëa.
"Ammë," she whispered softly. Her mother smiled sadly. "Melda Seldë. So I see you have discovered your gift."
"So I do have the Sight," Vanimelda said. "Did you ever deny it?" Her mother asked.
"Melda, be careful. Use the Sight and use it well. But take great caution. For several reasons- one is that seeing glimpses of the future- and I know that people will never know completely the whole story, just pictures- one forms a thought- we think things will turn out this way- but remember this: the future seeks to test us; to deceive us, always. Do you know of the Palantíri your great-grandfather, Fëanáro devised?"
Vanimelda nodded. "Yes, Amil."
"Then you know of its tricks. The future never lies, Vanimelda, but they still try to deceive. The Sight will show you the past, the present at work elsewhere, and the future. Just like the Palantíri, but often- though not always- the Sight and the Seeing-Stones try to draw you into a conclusion that is false- misleading and mistaken. Therefore, you may not know, but your actions after coming to that conclusion- may- not always- spur on that future, or it is not what it seems. It does not tell you the whole story, Melda. Few things in the future are set in stone.
"Furthermore, when you seek to use it, it can draw you into a trap. You enter the spirit world, my child. The world of shadows. Therefore your body is vulnerable to whatever attacks you in the outside world when you cannot defend yourself, but lie in an unconscious state of mind. And your fëa is vulnerable to attacks by dark and malevolent creatures who do not need a hröa to sustain their existence. Not all creatures are tied to Arda, my child. And not all of them are good."
Vanimelda nodded. "Learn to use it, to shut it out, to call upon it, to sense when there is something that needs to be seen and heard. And I will protect you the best I can, with my fëa in the Shadow World."
"Thank you, Ammë," Vanimelda whispered. Almarië crawled over to Vanimelda, onto her lap and hugged her tight, allowing to be embraced for comfort.
"You have great beauty, Melda. It is increasing enormously day by day. Let there be beauty and light within. That is where it matters most." Her mother smiled sadly. "You must be a light in the oncoming darkness."
"I don't want to see darkness. But if I have to face it, I won't be a coward."
"That's my daughter," her mother said softly. "When you see me, one day and your father, we shall never be parted again."
"Really?" Vanimelda asked. "Yes." Her mother said firmly. "I swear I have always loved you, Melda. And I always will. You are never alone."
Almarië snuggled deeper into her. "And you have me," she whispered.
"Yes," Vanimelda said. She should have realised. She was never alone. And come what may, she would face the oncoming storm.
Yes, you know what I'm talking about.
I wanted there to be a subconscious echo of what Galadriel says in the Fellowship of the Ring prologue and what Almarië advises Vanimelda. And I do believe that Sauron and the Witch-King can very well attack through the Shadow World, so her mother's spirit is there, to keep her safe, to hide her and shield her from their eyes and powers. And yes, it was the Witch-King she saw. I think you know that.