Chapter Five
The Problem, Self-conflict and the Test
Years passed since Vanimelda first arrived in the woods of Anfalas.
The Kingdoms of Arnor and Gondor had been split after the death of Isildur- well, just before that, actually. Isildur had handed the control of the Kingdom of Gondor back to the sons of Anárion, his brother. Isildur's heirs now ruled the kingdom of Arnor, but a number of them were not as content, and were more ambitious than their forefather.
Vanimelda grew. She was a maiden a young one, by the standards of the elves, but a grown maiden.
And all the while she stayed in Anfalas. But something was not right.
"What shall I do?" She asked Almarië. "That is up to you," the doll replied, putting aside the piece of ribbon embroidery her diminutive hands were working on. She sat on a tiny rocking chair that Vanimelda had made for her.
"I know something terrible beyond words or imagination will sweep this land," Vanimelda said quietly. "And I'm not too happy about it. Furthermore, I've had dreams about Ceorl and Gríma."
"Ceorl and Gríma? Those two peasants?" Almarië grimaced. "So I take it they're still alive?"
"Yes," Vanimelda said bluntly. "And they're suffering."
"And you're sorry for it?" Almarië laughed. "Goodness, Vanimelda. I thought you were happy that they suffered as you did- because of what they did to you and Vorondo. You did destroy their house, after all."
"Yes," Vanimelda said softly. "I did feel satisfied. I should feel happy. But I'm not. And yet… They murdered him in cold blood in a callous and cowardly manner- not to mention stupid. They made my life a misery. Why should I not feel happy that they are suffering? But I don't."
Almarië smiled. "You have a good heart, little Melda. What did you see?"
Vanimelda paused. "I saw… They have food and have rebuilt their shack, but it's so filthy and they don't have enough for the winter."
"Hmmmmm," the doll mused. "And I suppose you do realise that if you help them, they would be far from grateful? And that they would be angry and bitter towards you instead? And you might even have to run for your life- if you are able?"
"I know." Vanimelda said, quietly. They were inside the bower-house, enlarged over the years. It was dusk. "It's still a risk."
"What are they lacking in? You said they had food."
"Clothing." Vanimelda said. "And lighting."
"No oil lamps? No oil? Or firewood? Can't Ceorl or Gríma gather some? Or make candles."
"They did." Vanimelda replied. "But the sticks were puny and soaked. And they have no oil. Their candles are even punier and weak, of such bad quality. Winter is coming. I hate them for what they did to Vorondo. At the same time I can't let them die. It's not my place to judge that. I was too hasty."
Almarië smiled. "Melda, my dear," she said. "You are growing up indeed." Then her expression turned serious. "Maybe oil. Maybe candles. But don't give them the Fëanorian lamps. They will get rich and fat like they did with your labours, selling something that is not theirs to sell."
Vanimelda nodded. "But even if I give them candles and oil they will simply run out, not make them last long and then they will have nothing. I know it's something they have to learn but…"
Almarië sighed. "Say no more." She put aside her ribbon embroidery and took up her knitting. She and Vanimelda knitted, spun and wove, Almarië using fishbone needles, filed to sharpness. They didn't have sheep but there were plenty of unexplored materials in the forest, such as the seedpods that burst producing that thick stuff, and the materials that the elves themselves invented.
"Come now," she said. "Let's get started. Maybe if you produce things of high quality than Gríma would be able to sell them and they won't go hungry."
And with that, soon animals were loaded. But Almarië refused utterly to allow Vanimelda to go. "It's not worth the risk," she said. "You are no longer small. Therefore you are easily spotted. And I am not allowing them to go anywhere near you again."
"Alright then," Vanimelda decided. "The animals can go. I'll ask them."
A horse, foxes and animals that were difficult to catch. She worried about them immensely, but Almarië assured her they would come to no harm. As did her mother when she next appeared.
Vanimelda expected her mother to be livid, but Estela only sighed. "You have a good heart, my child. But take care it does not overtake your head. Not everyone is as kind as you."
Vanimelda nodded. "But that light…"
Estela sighed. It was clear that something very great was causing her grief and agony inside. "If this is the direction where your heart pulls you, then you must undertake this one test. The Valar have a destiny in mind for you, Vanimelda. Something far different and far more than Lúthien."
Apprehension and excitement dawned on Vanimelda.
"Leave Anfalas," her mother said. "Go to the woods of Ithilien. There you will find a cottage."
"And what lies within this cottage?" Vanimelda asked.
"A witch," her mother replied. Those words sent a thrill of fear and excitement through her again. "A witch by the name of Sapzôr of Dark Númenórean descent, but she does not care for her kin, or anyone else save for herself. Go to her, Estela and play along, but be wary- she will not hesitate to consume you- for that is what she does- she consumes young maidens to gain youth and beauty. At many times she appears an ugly old crone, dreadful, frightening and malicious to look upon. But other times she is a beautiful young woman- when she has sucked youth and beauty from maidens that is. I do not know how she will be, or if she will succeed if she tries an elf, instead of a human, but please, Melda. I beg of you. I have no power to stop you, but think wisely before you make this decision."
Vanimelda was silent for a long time. "Amil," she said. "I understand what you said. But if the Valar have a destiny in mind for me, I cannot wait and hide here forever. One way or another, sooner or later, dark things will come for me. And I must be ready when they come. And even when you come and train me, passing to me your gift with the swords, it is still not enough."
"But she is dangerous, Melda." Estela said quietly. "More dangerous than you can ever imagine."
"Yes," Vanimelda said. "And so are the ones you face who will come after me, when chance comes upon them."
This is a short chapter. But then again, the previous chapters were short as well! The name Sapzôr was something I coined myself- from the Adûnaic words Saptha, meaning 'Wise' and Zôr meaning, 'Fire'. Vanimelda isn't about to let her conscience go so easily- yeah the peasants may have deserved this, but hey, she's better than they are- people have to be.