If you want to skip the 'history of Arda' part, go past the third and fourth horizontal line. You might ask, why put this scene? Especially as I did it for 'Shieldmaiden' but the visions she receives during the initiation rite are immensely important to her destiny because, as known, elves don't choose their paths in life the way humans did.
Chapter Eleven
Vanimelda strung her bow.
The arrow was notched perfectly. She held it sideways.
Narrowing her eyes, more out of determination than concentration, Vanimelda knew she had little time.
The target had been placed further. She was pushing her limitations.
It had been hard to make a bow the way the Galadhrim used. But she managed it, with her mother's and Almarië's guidance.
"Remember, Vanimelda." Her mother said. "The Valar have deemed you to have a great destiny- as long as you do not forget yourself and what others have suffered."
She released the arrow on the bowstring. It shot off into the distance.
Vanimelda gritted her teeth in frustration. So close.
"No one starts off an expert marksperson." Her mother mused. "But impatience only takes the arrow further from the target. Your frustration is understandable, Seldë," her voice grew stern. "But although anger and frustration lend strength it also lends blindness. It is like a double-edged blade- as easy to kill you with as it is to slaughter an enemy."
"Yes Mother," she grumbled in Westron.
Her mother chuckled and sighed. "Oh, Melda."
Vanimelda notched another arrow. "Try again," her mother advised.
"Can you see the target clearly?" "Yes Amil," she muttered. "Good, now use only the tension you need to shoot. Your shoulders are to tense- direct all the tension in your body towards the arrow, but for what keeps you standing firmly on the ground. Point your tension- delicately- towards the arrow's direction- the direction you want it to go. And keep it there. Focus what you have, and don't think too much. If it helps, your arrow's feathers- keep it at mouth level. But that would impeded flexibility."
The arrow shot off.
Almarie gathered fallen branches, bracken and other things, including fallen forest matter to create dummies with the consistency of a man's, an elf's, or a dwarf's bodies, as well as orcs', trolls' and other creatures of evil. There, Vanimelda's mother taught her to spar by showing her several techniques and movements.
"It will be a while before we spar together," she admitted. She was not, after all, actually there.
Vanimelda kept practising non-stop, until even her mother and Almarië protested and told her to rest and eat. She learned to shoot a bow over hundreds of yards- farther than any human and dwarven archer and most elves, whilst shooting from various different angles. She even managed to do so on horseback. She did so at such speeds and eventually with such accuracy, before Estela was satisfied in that she had exceeded all expectations.
She woke up one morning and found a horse- a fine strawberry roan- and learned to shoot from all sorts of angles, even bent backwards, whilst galloping, standing upright, or leaping through the air- her, the horse or both at the action- shifting and spinning around on the saddle. She thrived at the actions, at the extra riding lessons her mother gave her, and teaching the horse to fight as well- such as when surrounded by enemies, and picking up weapons that had fallen to the ground, while she caught them in mid-air.
She learned to throw a spear, how to parry and block and a number of other movements- on horseback, running and much more. She wished, painfully, with all her heart that her father could have been here to teach her. Not only could no evil withstand Aeglos, his spear, but he would have loved to have been there for her and so would she. Estela must have known this for she was saddened, yet she still pressed her daughter to go on. She even learned to catch a spear in mid-air, one that had strayed from its path or was targeting her, and spin it around before hurling it back at an enemy- usually the thrower- often a large distance away from her. She kept going and she kept on practicing. And Estela helped her. The shimmering form of her mother often appeared with a spear in hand to teach her. Estela hadn't used the spear as frequently as Ereinion Gil-Galad, the High Elvenking- Vanimelda's father- but she was more than capable. In fact, Ereinion had been the one to have taught her most of the tricks. Anyone would have recognized Gil-Galad in the way Estela moved and used a spear.
Then she learned how to move on with the sword.
Or rather, two swords. Her mother taught her to fight.
They started doing more than hacking at dummies. Again her mother's form appeared with glowing swords. First one, then two. She learned how to fight in all manner of ways- leaping, jumping, spinning, running, galloping on a horse, with multiple opponents- although how Estela managed to teach her that when she wasn't there herself was completely remarkable. Knives and daggers also came, but Vanimelda, like Estela, preferred twin swords, or a bow and arrows.
It took a long time, before Estela was satisfied in the slightest. Still, it wasn't enough. Like all Fëanorians, her mother had high standards, Vanimelda thought. And the fact that she was the only pupil to a teacher that wasn't physically there made it all the more harder. Spinning, blocking, leaping, yet managing to move like silkiest of water and the lightest of air, jumping, making sure that any opponents would be killed off as quickly as possible. In any sort of conditions- dense forest with little or no smooth ground, on the battlefield with multiple opponents- with a shield, which Vanimelda hated but tolerated and managed to master. It was tough, back-breaking work. Humans would have collapsed at this point.
It took a very long time for her to master any of this. Finally her mother deemed Vanimelda capable enough- or rather excellent- to spar with her.
"Get ready," Estela's shimmering, glowing silver form stood poised.
Vanimelda took a deep breath.
Finally they charged and the swords clashed, even though one wasn't really there.
It was all a blur of light and flashes. Bending in every angle, spinning and leaping from and to all directions. Barely catching the opponent before the swords got them. Although orcs would not stand a chance, Estela was determined that even the level of elves would not exceed her daughter Vanimelda.
"Never allow yourself to grow lax, Seldë," she told her. "Even if your opponents don't meet your standards. Never grow over-confident and arrogant in the slightest. You hope and pray for the best, but prepare for the worst."
Their swords rang and flashed in the air. Their hair spun, Vanimelda's had grown past her knees by this stage. But as an elf she managed to keep it out of her opponents' ways, though she had to be careful not to be caught off guard like Glorfindel did with the Balrog.
She had to learn to do things faster than ever now. And she had to whip out weapons in no time.
Finally her mother was proud.
One night she went to sleep.
She had always slept on bracken and thistledown as well as her bedroll, ever since she fled Sapzôr. Almarië shook her awake.
Blinking, Vanimelda wondered if it was time already to start training. Honestly, it had been months now, nearly a year, and her mother seemed more than satisfied recently. But something was up. Almarië handed her an armour and told her to bathe and dress, taking her deep into the forest afterwards, to parts she had never been before, until they finally came to a stop in a clearing.
Her mother's form was waiting for her at grove.
She stood beside a great ash tree.
Estela regarded her daughter.
"Elenñaltë Vanimelda," she said finally. She looked at her daughter sadly, but with pride and joy at the same time. "You come before me a nearly a grown maiden now. I claim you as my own- my child not merely of my body, but my spirit. Though this was not the path I wanted you to follow, nonetheless, the All-Father has decreed, and the Guardians of this world, the Ainur have decreed, that this path you will walk- the path of a shieldmaiden."
A shieldmaiden! It was what she had dreamed of- joining her mother and yet….
So this was a shieldmaiden's initiation rite.
Estela beckoned to her. "Come," she said, guiding her over to the great ash tree.
It was one of the tallest ash trees she had ever seen.
"To fulfil your destiny and prepare for it, you must journey high up into the tree," Estela explained. "And within the branches, once you have rested your body, confront what visions would reveal the paths to undertake. And once that path has been revealed to you, your descent into the spirit world will take you beyond- to see the greater picture should it reveal it to yourself- of the world's fate and your contribution to such fate. You will face trials, you must overcome the challenges. You will discover and learn things you have never imagined. And once you have overcome these challenges, you shall awake from your trance and come down from high, and tell me all that you have seen."
She gave her a cup to drink. It was made of barley, she realised. Flavoured with mint. Vanimelda downed the whole drink.
"Climb," her mother instructed. Apparently, unlike what most people believed, there were no hallucinogenic mushrooms or herbs added to the mix. They did not need it.
Vanimelda took a deep breath and began to climb.
She climbed all the way, avoiding branches and leaves, high into the treetop.
It was easier for an elf, and yet, it was still challenging. This did not stop Vanimelda, though. She kept climbing.
Higher and higher she climbed. Suddenly her vision began to grow hazier and hazier, with silvery-white light. She blinked.
Finally, on a good, thick, solid branch, close to the trunk, she nestled, curling up.
She did not know when her vision changed into that from the place she was at- the great tree- to somewhere else entirely, but she saw it.
All around her, was a plain of grass. First, there were wildflowers, bursting all around, in the green. But as she looked and as she looked harder- she didn't know when they started to appear, or when the wildflowers and grass started to die, or when the golden sunlight became dark, but soon the ground was stained with blood.
All around her were the bodies of elves, dwarves, men, orcs, trolls and Uruk-hai. And other creatures. Ents, goblins and so forth.
And she stood speechless and frozen, anguish welling up in her, until she pushed it down.
Then an army approached. In the distance there was an enemy army. Dressed in black, iron armour, and carrying scraps of red banners with a single eye painted upon them.
The eye of Sauron.
They were orcs, trolls, Dark Númenóreans, and ordinary humans in Sauron's service. And they were all marching- an army so vast, she thought it could drink whole rivers dry.
The sky was blood-red. A Darkness grew in the distance.
And then things got even stranger.
Right behind her- not far at all- was an army of her own.
Eyes wide Estela saw them all raise their weapons- swords and spears in salute. They were saluting… her.
She didn't even realise she held a spear in her hand. No, it changed to a sword. Two swords, one in each hand. And since when was she on horseback?! She was riding a pure white warhorse. One sword was raised up high.
Estela gasped. The army was approaching. She had to meet them!
Just before the enemy army clashed, everything went black.
Then she was somewhere else entirely.
She was on a meadow. No, it was countless meadows and valleys. She blinked. She was standing- no horse, now. And she walked forwards.
She gasped.
There was a city, by the likes of the cities of Gondolin and Doriath of old, rising high into the skies. And in the distance, were more cities, all glittering like the brightest of gems and stars, polished and rising high into the clouds. Cities of different kinds but of the greatest beauty the likes of which even the elves of Valinor, even her forefather Fëanáro had never envisioned.
This can't have been in any place she knew in Middle-Earth. And yet… It did not feel like Valinor either.
There, outside the city, just as it did in Lindon, armies sparred, drilling and practicing fighting movements and styles just like her father did, just as her mother taught her.
"Come to inspect, my lady?" The voice came from her right. She turned sharply and there was a young elleth, smiling at her and bowing her head in reverence.
"The troops await your inspection, Lady Princess." She gaped. "The cities are restless. The whole realm is."
What in Arda?
She spun around, only to find herself with….
It was another plain, but barren, completely barren, riddled with poisonous ash, dust, bits of crushed and crumbled rock, and bits of burnt wood.
The sky was totally darkened by clouds.
There was a mountain- no, a volcano, blasting lava from the top…
And a dark tower. And there was an eye, wrought of flame, on top of it.
She almost screamed.
She was in Mordor. And Sauron's eye was upon her.
The Plains of Gorgoroth where her father died.
But her fear and terror vanished replaced by burning anger. She tempered it, though, remembering what her mother said.
She raised the shield in one hand, her sword in the other. And she charged.
A group of orcs appeared out of nowhere, and screeching, they charged towards her. She dodged and spun skilfully, slicing them into corpses as she spun. A troll appeared. It roared and charged clumsily, towards her. She dodged the swing of its club, and leapt sideways, running up the troll's arm. Spinning onto its head and slicing her sword into its thick skull.
She leapt off as it fell. And on she ran.
More things came up. Dragons. Balrogs, Lindworms, evil giants. Vampires, Werewolves. More and more things appeared, so foul and twisted and evil.
They all leapt towards her.
She ran gracefully. She dodged one heavy giant, threw a knife at his head, flew into the air, and slashed a vampire's wings. The thing screeched and fell, but not before she used its back as a springboard to leap higher.
The Nazgûl appeared. They screamed.
The Balrogs slashed their whips. She dodged, spinning in mid-air, and held her sword straight towards the neck of the winged beast of the nearest Nazgûl. It screeched, and she twisted her imbedded sword, steering it towards the nearest Balrog. It crashed into it, and they toppled, the Nazgûl screaming, but it did not affect her. She refused to be affected by it.
She jumped and spun in the air, slashing more vampire bats, their screeching ringing in her ears as they fell. A troll roared, bellowing towards her, raising its club. Vanimelda was not cowed. A knife found its way into its eye.
She jumped onto the head of another beast- an evil giant and pulled her bow and an arrow from her back. She shot a werewolf down, before shooting down the giant itself.
Orcs shot arrows at her, she dodged. She spun her sword, the way her mother taught her. The arrows were sliced, blocked, or completely avoided. She shot arrows upon the orcs themselves.
But it wasn't enough. They started pouring in, enemies from the masses. She needed to get to the ultimate goal. She couldn't be distracted. Minions were nothing compared to the Dark Lord himself, and that was what she needed to get. She didn't know how, but she had to escape to that tower first.
She had to get to the tower.
And as another Nazgûl came flying in, she leapt, bouncing off the head and slicing the wraith and steering its mount towards the dark tower, before she leapt, swords drawn and poised….
And everything went black again.
She was standing somewhere far from the place where her parents died.
It was somewhere… dark. Long, like a corridor, she sensed.
It was a long, carpeted corridor. The place was black, it must have been made of shiny, black stone, like obsidian. There was a ceiling so high, she could not see the top- it was shrouded in darkness. Everything was shrouded in darkness, but strangely she could see more than well enough. Even if she were not an elf, she had the feeling she would be able to see and navigate her way clearly using her other senses. Even a human would not trip, stumble or fall blindly the way they would expect. It was dark, and yet it was not.
It wasn't an evil darkness, not like in Utumno, Angband and Mordor.
There was nothing evil about this place.
Then, that was when she noticed that there were balls of light- like fire, all around she gaped. They were balls of fiery light alright, like glowing gas of stars, floating around, changing colour, from bright white, to pale sea-green, to light lilac, to cool blues. She could see things in front of her. Floating.
She recognized the glyphs of Rumil's Sarati, her forefather's Tengwar, Daeron's Cirth, Dwarven runes, human scripts… All floating in front of her.
She stared at one. It was the Quenya word for Star of the Sea. It sparkled, and glowed, then danced off hurrying to join the others.
Then bright golden glow fell upon the whole place.
She felt her skin illuminated. It was gold and silver both. It took a long time for her to realise she was the centre of the glow.
How is that possible?
She didn't even notice every surface of her skin was both shimmering and glowing. Her hair gleamed and shone brighter than polished jet or diamonds. Her eyes were utterly luminous.
If anyone were to look upon her they would think that she was the most beautiful creature they had ever seen. But Vanimelda didn't see a thing, and she decided to go forwards.
She turned to look at the walls.
But wait. Something was up.
There were pictures. No, moving images, scenes on the walls. But they can't have been real. They were too Magnificent, spectacular and breath-takingly beautiful to be real. And yet…
They could not have been mere pictures on the walls. As her eyes watched, they seemed to move.
Too late did she realise they were actual tapestries. Weavings. Made not only of the thread of fabric, but of light, mingling and becoming one with the cloth, giving out a hazy glow.
This meant…
A horrifically icy chill and a jolt of shock resounded through her. These were Vairë's tapestries. She was in the Halls of Mandos.
It was black, the first part.
But she could make out something…. Or Someone….
Eru Ilúvatar- Father of them all.
Then light burst forth- glowing light, not unlike the balls of fiery light in the halls, yet seamless and whole as well.
And she didn't know when she stopped seeing pictures on the walls and started seeing the events taking place for real, but suddenly, she saw beings of light solidifying- barely though they were incorporeal- though they were still translucent- and forming minds and spirits of their own. They were beings of such light, powerful, pure and bright, unextinguished. Then she heard singing.
Well, 'heard' wasn't the right word to describe it. Then again, no one could describe with words of the events that transpired. She knew they were singing, she could feel it, hear it, but not physically. It was soundless music, more beautiful, wondrous and powerful than anything any elf, human or dwarf could conjure up. Yet no mortal mind could ever process it, nor could any earthly creature comprehend the power and beauty and strength if such song. The magnificent perfection and beauty was nothing less of an extension of the divinity of the All-Father.
She could feel it deep within her heart, mind, fëa and hröa. It was so powerful and beautiful, she nearly wept.
Light sprung forth into existence. She could see things.
A powerful vision that had yet come to past. And yet…
A chord struck. Something broke to the magnificent perfection and powerful beauty. A dark chord. A broken one. A shattered note which shattered through the song as a whole, marring it. It was never the same again. The All-Father stopped the music.
There was someone else there. Something growing, solidifying more and more that it became as dense as a black hole- so dense no light could escape. Melkor. She knew and it filled her with ice.
Somehow, Vanimelda managed to look away. Her eyes did not linger.
But she did see the creation of Eä. The moment when Eru All-Father gave out the soundless, yet powerfully echoing order and the beings of light toppled and fell, diving and swooping gracefully from the Heavens, from the Timeless Halls, and down, falling like shooting stars, but much, much brighter and purer, and the All-Father stretched out with His Power and a swirl appeared in the darkness of the void where the Ainur was headed. The music that had been made suddenly solidified and took form, plunging straight into the centre of the empty cosmos. There it thickened and solidified even more, taking shape and form, turning hard.
Something burst all of a sudden, whole galaxies, nebulae, swirling light, like Varda's stars swimming and flooding the whole cosmos with light whereas previously there had been only darkness. Something much brighter and more beautiful than the anything made by artifice could ever be.
Eä. And within it…
And suddenly Vanimelda saw it all.
Rock. Rough, barren rock, a train of asteroids, formed, and an even larger, more barren, rougher rocky expanse that seemed endless. First there was nothing but glowing, white-yellow-hot substance, like molten metals and rock- wait, no it was metal and rock, there was gas swirling around it, thickening, almost as hot as the metal, spinning in the darkness. It moved closer and closer towards the molten metal in the form of a flat oval disc, spinning and surrounding it, before covering it completely, solidifying and turning dark. Arda, Vanimelda thought.
Something also like burning fire filled it deep inside its core, cutting through its crust and sinking deep within.
Rough, harsh and jagged rocks jutted out towards the sky which was covered with poisonous ash, gas, smoke and steam, a dirty red which would make blood look clean. The earth moved and thrusted all of a sudden, sharply and suddenly, shaking in such a terrifying manner, quivering, violent, frightening and trembling in a truly deadly way.
Lava burst through the rock, jolting, jumping, boiling, leaping high into the air.
There were no bodies of water. Only red-gold lava. There were seas, oceans, falls, lakes and rivers full of lava. Only molten rock and fire. Toxic gas, so poisonous rose to the sky.
The world was so frightening, so violent and deadly, so terrifying.
And then suddenly, static appeared. Like lightning, she thought. Or electricity. It pulsed and cracked touching and reaching out to brush everything. A brilliant display of light and life. It affected the rising volcanoes, the rock and magma, the air, everything in the atmosphere. And everywhere, it exploded. Sparks and sprays of lava were sent flying into the air, as if they had life of their own. Mountains and volcanoes rose. The rock softened, tenderized and mixed with other substances to become earth. Lightning and energy of all kinds went together and took shape, colours burst forth. Mountains- the first kinds- appeared.
No, it was the Power of the All-Father and the Ainur.
The mountains rose higher, the first soil emerged touched by energy that appeared to be veins of light and lightning.
And out of the burnt-orange-and-red gas, a river emerged, which turned into an ocean. Amidst that, the dry land, now softened, nourished by the waters and no longer barren, rose up. A peninsula. Or was it a bay?
Steadily, the gas cleared and became clean and fresh filled with strong energy to sustain the life to come. The air turned a greyish-blue, and soon more land emerged. It rose higher and higher and appeared slightly green- life was growing. The grey hint in the sky was growing into something else- turning into clouds. The sky emerged, blue and clear as she remembered it. The water was just as clear, and the green of vegetation grew upon the surfaces of the soil. The mountains and Arda's crust shifted and grew in height constantly. It never stopped, she noted. Always kept growing, always rising.
The north whitened turned to frost as ice crystals descended upon it as the sky darkened and greyed up there. The clouds kept moving ahead.
That was when she saw the Ainur. They had taken shape, now, physical form. They were a part of this- this was what the All-Father did and made them do.
They were shaping things the way they envisioned it to be.
Aulë was there, tall and mighty in his form. He hammered and sparks flew from his hammer on the anvil of his forge. The mountains were chiselled. The rocks grew. The gems gave light and sparkle, many of them coloured.
Ulmo stretched out his arms. Although the king of the seas, was terrible and frightening to behold, Vanimelda knew from the stories she had heard when she was very young that he loved both men and elves. The blue-green waters rose and grew in depth and volume, mighty in power and strength, unrestrained and teeming with rich, energetic life. She saw Maiar in the water, nurturing shiny, round… blobs? Translucent or transparent blobs, brimming with a faint, weak light of their own in the dark depths of the water, nourished by the Ainur's power.
From where all life comes, from the high and the mighty, the smallest and the lowest was where we all rise, shethoughtsheheardavoicesayinherhead.
They shone and grew with a fluorescent light. They were alive, she noted. And suddenly they grew bigger and bigger, and strained as if trying to pull apart- which they eventually did. They pulled themselves in half as she watched. And they grew and split apart again and again.
Then as she watched they grew into something else entirely. They became larger, less transparent and more opaque, stretching longer and wider, growing and sprouting new features, like beady black eyes, a thin, wide mouth, sprouting fins, gills and scales- fish. They moved, no longer restricted in their movements, swimming with ease as the laughing Maiar delighted. She heard Ulmo's chuckle, as he proceeded to tell the other Valar and Maiar of the creatures' growth.
The fish leapt, and she saw it emerge from the water. She saw birds in flocks sweeping across the skies.
Then one fish's fins solidified further and hardened, becoming more solid and stocky, but still lean and limber. The gills sank into its flesh and the legs grew outwards. It changed. It was an amphibian and it emerged from the waters.
Vanimelda saw it climb out and she looked up and saw the Ainur celebrate. Yavanna spread her long arms and life grew. Green vegetation grew higher and higher, stronger and taller. It sprouted seeds. She nourished and nurtured them, encouraging them to grow stronger, faster and healthier. Vána Ever-Young danced upon the grass and flowers of different lovely flowers sprung from the green of the meadows, valleys, trees, plants and bushes.
The amphibians who had all begun to emerge, changed. They grew sleeker, longer and leaner. They changed colours. Some of them sprouted scales again, like their ancestors in the lakes, rivers, oceans and seas. Forked tongues darted out between sharp teeth. They became harder in substance and some of them grew patterns, and colours.
Then they grew larger, even larger, stronger and stouter, packing in dense muscle and bone, their scales retreated. Their noses grew and expanded, many having snouts. Then hair started to sprout on the surface of their skins- hides covered in fur. Ears grew. Tails changed shape. Teeth changed.
Oromë grinned as he saw them and upon his steed, Nahar, he encouraged them to run. Run as fast as the winds could carry them. Some of them had longer legs now, and had learned to stand straight, but not upright. They ran. Nessa, his sister, danced with joy and Tulkas laughed.
Manwë spread out his arms and the winds blew in strength, the Great and gigantic Eagles called. The wind seemed to ride upon their mighty wings. It blew.
Varda was high on a mountain. Her Maiar stirred a great pot of something, it seemed. Swirling with so much light earthly eyes would be blinded. She scooped handfuls of them and breathed life, it seemed so they took on a glow of their own, before tossing them up high into the darkening sky. Her Maiar did the same. Meanwhile Aulë hammered something bright gold and silver, as the flames of his forge whooshed and grew high. It was ornately carved and elegant in its beauty and magnificence. Wait, there were two things.
The Two Lamps.
Ormal and Illuin.
Varda filled their globes with light and they set one in the icy north, and the other in the warm south.
But something was wrong.
Vanimelda saw blood. Blood running up and flowing, staining and poisoning the rivers and streams. She saw animals, with wild and feral eyes, tearing at other more helpless animals with their fang-like teeth.
Tulkas sprang into action. Oromë mounted Nahar. It was someone. Someone in the distance. Someone who had watched them all this entire time and whose eyes glowed with hate and contempt, for all.
Morgoth. Or Melkor as he was then known.
They gave chase and Melkor fled.
But Melkor ran, hearing the laughter of Tulkas behind him. He ran in hate and fear.
He fled, and Tulkas and Oromë returned. The Ainur sang and danced, feast tables were set up and Nessa arrived in a white gown with flowers in her hair. She and Tulkas joined hands. They were married.
And after a while, Tulkas lay down and closed his eyes.
And Melkor took his chance.
Melkor. He had destroyed her entire family along with Sauron.
He smashed the Great Lamps.
Tulkas sprang awake and Oromë mounted Nahar. But Melkor had created a fortress. Vanimelda felt fear, terror and icy dread in her heart as she beheld Utumno. Though she was not one to scare easily, she felt that she could faint. That was where the first evils of Arda had been created.
The Mountains had been raised. Tulkas and Oromë not finding Melkor, had been called back. They needed to repair the damage.
Varda's stars shone brighter than ever.
Vanimelda gasped and snapped out of the images' power. She was still in the Halls.
But the mithril-coloured light which had surrounded the tapestries had faded.
She blinked. There was another light. In another section of the tapestry.
It was the same tapestry- one long and joining.
The light surrounding it was gold mingling with silver.
And without warning, before she even knew it, she was seeing the history of Arda again.
The stars shone high overhead. It glowed brighter now that the Lamps were no more. Yet Arda was still in darkness, and there was an eternal sleep set about everywhere.
It was in Endórë, she thought. There was a bay. And a sea. Not a lake, as she first thought. But the waters were so clear a blue and reflected the light of the stars. There were mountains. Mountains nearby. The air and breeze were cool and clean and fresh. The waves lapped gently on the white shores.
She gasped. There were people
Several figures lying within the shores.
Elves. This was Cuiviénen.
Birthplace of the elves.
They slept on.
Until one of them blinked and stirred. The others did the same, and they stirred, gradually beginning to awake.
The first elf that woke up was gold-haired and blue-eyed. He- it was a male- looked around, his eyes sharpening, a look of wonder about him, and joy. He set eyes upon a young gold-haired blue-eyed maiden near him. They stopped and stared at one another. Slowly she began to smile, and with a look of awe about him, he smiled as well. It was love. She knew it.
The next elf she saw was different. He was dark-haired and his eyes shone. He stirred. A curiousness, an excited eagerness to set about, explore, do things and make things, discover and learn was about him. He shone and brimmed with excitement. He caught the eye of a dark-haired maiden who looked just as curious and excited and grinned. She blinked a few times then smiled to match his own, in joy and eagerness.
A different love. But no less great.
The third ellon had hair like woven silver. His eyes were like the sea. His eyes were drawn in wonder and eagerness at the sea, and followed the movements of the shores, all the way to the horizon. There was a young maiden, with silver hair like his own. She was closer to the sea and reached out to touch the waters. He caught her hand in his, she nearly jumped and both of them stared in each other's eyes as if they were drowning in their depths.
The three couples, Vanimelda thought. Imin and Iminyë. Spiritual Patriarch and Matriarch of the Minyar elves who would become the Vanyar. Tata and Tatië. Heads of the Tatyar elves of whom some would stay and become Avarin tribes and whom others would become the Noldor. Enel and Enelyë. Leaders of the last ethnic group- the Nelyar, who would split off into various groups- tribes of the Avari, Sindar, Silvan and Nandorin amongst them and the Valinorean Teleri or Lindar as they were known- or the Falmari.
There, the three couples set out. Vanimelda saw Imin point something out. He claimed them as his own- his own clan. They were gold-haired and blue-eyed like him and his mate and it was revealed when they woke them up. They had that same look of wonder and awe about them at the beauty, the desire to devote themselves to something- or someone. To worship who brought them into this world, to unite for a common good. They straightened and look cultured, sophisticated and groomed, even at the primal beginning of their immortal lives. That was something her mother always said about the Vanyar. They were devout people, known for their sophisticated love of high culture and poetry. They hardly engaged in conflict, but if they did they used spears, unlike the shield and swords of the Noldor and the bow and arrows of the Telerin peoples. Belatedly, she remembered that her paternal grandmother was one of them. Her father's mother. The wife of Findekáno or Fingon the Valiant.
And my great-great-grandmother Indis, sherememberedinshock.
She never thought about it. But there it was. She had a connection to all the three ethnic groups of Valinorean elves- most prominently the Noldor, but also the Vanyar and Falmari/Lindar/Teleri. High King Ingwë was her great-granduncle to the third degree.
She never thought about her Vanyarin roots before.
She wondered if Ingwë was among them. And his sister.
But the scene didn't stop there. They kept walking, Tata then spotted elves with dark or auburn hair like her mother. There were nine pairs of elves, evenly matched, male and female. They were doing all sorts of things. Some were studying the behaviours of insects and small animals, watching them carefully, excitedly pointing things out to their companions. Others were whittling with sharpened stones, and metal fragments- though how they came by that Vanimelda had no idea- in broken logs and stones. Others were watching the stars. Tata excitedly claimed them as his own especially when Imin refused to take them.
They continued their journey, teaching and developing new words, and when Enel heard and saw more elves singing, without words, and with silver-hair like him, he eagerly claimed his group after Imin refused.
Vanimelda watched as they continued their journey, Tata, Tatië and Enel and Enelyë claiming more elves. It was different, she thought, when she witnessed this for herself, rather than hearing about it or reading it off paper.
They settled down in Cuiviénen, but she saw one day, a rider riding a magnificent horse, magnificent himself, spectacular and splendid. It was Oromë.
He spoke to them, and Vanimelda did not hear anything. But she saw that he appeared to be greeting, soothing and…encouraging them?
They hesitated, though a number looked eager. Finally, Oromë stretched out his hand and invited three elves to come forwards.
Vanimelda's eyes widened, for she knew who they were.
Tall, stern, noble and magnificent, yet gentle and kind. Ingwë, Finwë and Elwë.
They were all of them related to her by blood. Finwë she was directly descended from on both sides of the family. Ingwë… he was the uncle of Indis. Elwë… Her heart caught in her throat. He was the father of Lúthien known as Elu Thingol and brother of Olwë, her forefather on her mother's side.
He was inviting them. They sped off to Valinor.
And she saw them witness the wonders she herself only saw through her mother's eyes, and heard from her mother's voice.
No wonder her mother had not wanted to leave.
She saw them- the three elven kings persuade the others. All of the Imin's group- the Minyar decided to go as a whole. These were the Higher Authority they had been waiting to serve- the life of comfort and refinement they wanted to live. But the two largest groups hesitated. It took some persuasion. The most curious, Vanimelda noted, the most eager for a new and better life, the most adventurous, wanted to go. The others were afraid, reluctant due to the love of the place in which they lived in, the surroundings they were used to and did not want to trade- they feared change and they mistrusted authority other than themselves as individuals.
So they whispered amongst themselves, looked fearful and retreated deep into the forests while the others excitedly packed for their journeys and their new lives.
Not all of them would make it.
Vanimelda saw there was another watching.
It was Melkor. His eyes filled with hate and an eager maliciousness to destroy others, especially their hopes and dreams.
Melkor whom she saw luring the elves deep into his fortress of Utumno. There he tortured and mutilated them, their bodies and minds, until their souls fled to Mandos, whereupon they described the loathsome deeds of Melkor to the Valar and the Maiar. The most loathsome deeds in the Eyes of the All-Father.
Many left on the Great Journey. Vanimelda knew it took fifty years to reach Valinor. But before they had left Melkor ensnared many of them. The Valar were forced to act.
Deep inside his fortress surrounded by dark and forbidding mountains, Melkor had a pit. A pit so deep, that it was no wonder humans would later speak of stories in which the most evil and damned of the deceased would be sent to. At first she saw nothing but then…
She gasped.
It was a chasm, alright. And she saw nothing but the black shadows of eternal darkness. But there was something moving down there- no, writhing. It was hard to see, even for an elf. Suddenly, unnatural, terrifying light dawned upon her vision and the indescribably vast and bottomless chasm showed itself truly for the first time to her eyes.
There were countless forms lining the walls of the pit, waving their arms, climbing and seeking to clamber on top of one another, but never succeeding to escape, because something kept pulling them down. The muscles of their forms had withered away leaving them skeletal and their skin looked as if it had been burnt and roasted to a crisp charcoal-shade and consistency. Some parts were peeling so that charred and blackened bones remained. Their eyes were feral, hateful and evil, or just desperate and angry. Their wails, howls, shrieks and screams turned utterly bestial in a way no animal would be and raging mad. They sported other deformities too- their teeth were chipped-looking and sharp, like bits of sharpened bone, disease-ridden and stained with blood and ash. Some skins were sallow, like the blood and other juices had been drained from them, drop by drop. Their bones, even that of their skulls, were twisted and deformed, utterly broken. The hair crisped away by unholy fire. Lips that were too thin like they had been cut and curled inwards.
These were elves turning into orcs.
Vanimelda had never felt so faint- so void of courage- not in her entire life, when Ceorl and Gríma were beating her. Not when she faced Sapzôr whose vile features were nothing compared to the horrors Melkor bestowed upon the unfortunate. Not when she was under the spell of the Avari Queen.
There were other tortures- outside the pit. Worse things she could not describe or possibly even imagine. There were things forming in the depths of the pit- a great, growing ball, growling and filled with malicious energy. She knew she was looking at the beginning of the first dragons or trolls.
Vanimelda felt ill. Unlike an elf, but yes, she did. She was not ashamed to admit that.
She wondered if any of the elves she had seen in Cuiviénen were among them.
And so the Valar acted.
The earth groaned and creaked. Bright lights a billion times brighter than forest fires, sprung up in the cold north.
Outside of Utumno while the elves were getting ready for their Great Journey, they heard and saw thunderous lightning, up high in the north, and the earth shook, frightening and terrifying the elves.
The host of Valar and Maiar came down upon Utumno. The Great Sea widened. The Bay of Balar carved outwards and the Sirion River was formed. Dorthonion and Hithlum grew new mountains.
Suddenly Utumno was unroofed. Melkor fled, retreating deep underground in the fortress, while the Valar and the Maiar flew and fought their way in.
At long last the Valar and Melkor stood face to face. Manwë and Melkor were both shocked. Manwë because he expected Melkor to be overwhelmingly powerful, too powerful to overcome. But Melkor in his desperation had transferred a great deal, if not the majority of his strength to his minions. And so they engaged him.
Tulkas wrestled and threw Melkor to the ground. Melkor howled, a howl of fear, desperation, fury and disbelief. Still he kept on.
And there they bound him, with the chain Aulë had forged. Angainor, made of copper-green alloy called Tilkal, stronger than any metal, bound tightly.
But they had not seen all.
They did not delve deep underground. They did not see the other things he devised. They did not know Melkor's servant watching them silently, swearing deathly vengeance. Those eyes which were black as the night yet burned like molten fire.
Melkor was brought, chained before the Máhanaxar. They judged him and threw him in the void.
Vanimelda let out the breath she was holding unknowingly as she saw the scene change.
Elves on horses and on foot with canes, dressed in heavy travelling cloaks with hoods, packs on their backs and saddle-bags. They set off. Ingwë, Finwë and Elwë. But she knew what became of Elwë, she didn't have to see him encountering Melian to know. Olwë her forefather led the Teleri who went onto Aman.
And then the vision changed. Varda and Yavanna knelt before a mound of soil. Their powers reached out and combined and Nienna went forth and watered the mound with her tears.
The Two Trees grew and blossomed. The elves who finally arrived split up, built cities according to their tastes and liking. And a child was born.
Fëanáro.
And Vanimelda witnessed her great-grandfather's birth, his mother's abandonment, the way her mother had described.
But they were fleeting compared to the rest.
Her vision pulled out again. This time to another section of the tapestry filled with copper-coloured light.
She swallowed. Vanimelda saw the unchaining of Melkor, the death of Finwë, the destruction of the Two Trees, the theft of the Silmarils. The Oath Fëanáro- her great-grandfather and his seven sons, including her grandfather, took. The Kinslaying at Alqualondë.
The War of Wrath. But also the rising of Laurelin's last flower and Telperion's last fruit, in the skies, guarded by Arien and Tillion.
The Awakening of humans. Their stirring. Their discovery by the elves- and by a delighted Melkor, now Morgoth.
The other kinslayings. How could gems mean so much? She thought incredulously. The Silmarils lost all beauty in her eyes. No wonder her mother loathed them. And it wasn't just the sons of Fëanáro. Elu Thingol, Lúthien and Beren, the Dwarves who killed Thingol, Earendil and Elwing… How could they put the gems beyond any kind of life?
It disgusted her. The Fëanorions might have faced their Doom. But the others walked free. They disgusted her too.
Then the emergence of Númenor. Her father… And her mother.
Her father rose to greatness. Her mother too, knew high levels of unparalleled success. They met, fell in love, and married, as her mother redeemed her family name and earned a place for her and her remaining kin in Middle-Earth.
Then the rise of Sauron. The appearance of Annatar. The forging of the Rings of Power.
It was all too much. She already knew these things from history but why was she seeing this now? Her vision was supposed to give her clues- hints about the future, her destiny. Morgoth was chained. Sauron was gone.
What in the world was she supposed to learn? She already knew these things from history lessons with Almarië and her mother!
What is the future? She wondered. What was the point of this vision?
What am I supposed to see in all this?
And suddenly, though she wasn't sure she had walked- she found herself standing before a great granite throne.
Námo Lord of Mandos sat before her.
He rose and without a word turned around. There was another corridor, she saw. Leading away from the hall. He headed towards the door at the end. Before he reached it, he looked back. His face was hidden in shadow, but Vanimelda sensed that he wanted her to follow.
And so she did. She followed him and there was a light at the end of the dark corridor.
A shining, bright, blinding or overwhelming light. It didn't hurt her eyes, but she could not see what was beyond.
She kept walking… And she allowed the light to consume her.
Everything disappeared in a flash.
The Initiation Rite here was what is based on what Maria Kvilhaug, author of the Seed of Yggdrasil who found information in the Poetic Edda texts and made a video on YouTube. It tells of a young maiden who went into a trance and climbed the branches of the World Tree to send her spirit into the otherworld to face trials, learn lessons needed and discover her destiny. If Tolkien based a lot of things on Norse mythology, might as well, but the writers of the Sagas, Maria Kvilhaug and Tolkien own these things- I only own the characters and certain events I write!