Chapter Four

The subject was her grandfather Fëanáro.

The Elves that discussed such things were unknown to Estela. One had golden hair, yet silvery with the sheen of stars, much like the Sindar, whom she would later meet. One was dark as most of the Noldor were, indicating her birth. They were ladies of Finwë's court, yet, she had never met them. She had little contact with such members as she did not live within Finwë's palace, and saw him only at family gatherings, where members of the family were informal and at peace, or else at occasions such as this one.

The Fair One spoke first: "What of Míriel Serindë? How did she come to pass?"

The Dark One said: "I know what they say. I have heard everything. But I was there when the Queen Míriel, presented her son to her husband, the King. Finwë wept that day, tears of joy, and, within minutes of speaking to the Queen, was even more jubilant. He announced to all that the High Prince was to be called Curufinwë- the Skilled Son of Finwë as his father-name and his mother had called him Fëanáro- meaning the Spirit of Fire. Yet when no one was present, save the King, the Queen Miriel, and myself a lady-in-waiting, she spoke of how, after such labours, that never again would the strength to conceive and bear a child rest upon her, for such strength that would have nourished and brought forth so many more, had gone onto her one treasured, most beloved son. Our King had despaired at such words." She took a swig out of her goblet.

The Fair One asked. "Really? Was having one child so hard that it compelled her to give up all the joys and pleasures of life?" she sounded incredulous. For all the Eldar believed that when one had children, it was the happiest days of their lives.

"When I saw her," the Dark One continued as if she were not interrupted, imbibing more wine, "all fire had seemed to have drained out of her fëa - her soul- and the strength of her body. She would never, and I knew this to be true- be the same. For even though she loved her son and her husband the Queen Míriel left for the gardens of Lórien and at their parting, the King, believing it to be brief, despaired and called out to her, saying that their son would soon speak and walk upon the green hill of Túna- shouldn't his mother be there and miss nothing on his life? But the Queen Míriel said although she would have wanted nothing more to be with her son, her body and soul were so weary, she couldn't even weep! And yes, I believe she was so weary she couldn't even move an arm herself, drained as she was. All her strength had drained away- all to the son she bore. Yet she had pleaded that neither her husband, nor her son, should he come to realise such things, blame her for this, nor for anything that may yet come to pass."

"What will come to pass that she would be blamed and not thanked?" the fair one asked even more incredulously. "Look at everything her son has done!" She wasn't exaggerating. Fëanáro not only made the three Silmarils- the three most prized, most beautiful of all gems, and the palantiri-the Great Seeing Stones, he also improved the basic Sarati, turning it into the outstanding Tengwar, and created the Fëanorian lamps- that could go without needing fuel or burning out- it didn't even need fire. He also made numerous other things and rebuilt and redesigned many cities- Alqualondë, Tirion and Valimar included.

"True, that this, my friend, shall make a mother tremble with the greatest pride." said the dark one, "But what of his treatment of the Queen Indis and her sons?"

"What of them?" the fair one asked. "He has treated them with all the greatest of courtesy and respect I have noticed, as befitting, not only the Queen and High Princes, but also his father's wife and his brothers."

"In such public notice." the dark one stated. "Yet, although I know he bears little animosity towards Prince Arafinwë, and none towards Princesses Findis and Irien Lalwendë, as they stay firmly out of his capricious moods, always, does the presence of his stepmother and High Prince Ñolofinwë, prick, not like a thorn within his side, but as a knife, with wounds too close to the heart, no matter how they have tried to please him."

She knew the reason why, even at such a young age. The Valar, pitying Finwë in his grief, promised him, when his wife refused to return, he would know the joy of not only marriage again, but also new offspring. So not long after Finwë married Indis, niece of Ingwë High King of the Elves and King of the Vanyar, and had children with her.

"Why didn't she return the Queen Míriel?" asked the Fair One. "Why wasn't she remade?"

"Míriel our queen was taken to the Gardens of Lorien, whereupon, after laying her weary body upon the soft grass, she had fallen into a deep sleep, and in weariness, her spirit had departed towards the Halls of Mandos. When Finwë, our king begged the Lord Námo to return her to life, Míriel, our queen, had answered through him that she desired peace and demanded that Finwë leave her in peace! And thus, did the Valar decide that their union be dissolved. But why? For those that return bear not the weariness of their old forms. Míriel, the queen would have been given strength anew, to rear the son she bore, yet she chose not to return. Why? Did she foresee something within her son's fate, hints of darkness? That, we cannot know for certain, but if I were to guess, yes." The Dark One was now drinking heavily.

The words gave Estela a chill, for she knew that elven mothers had the ability to sense what their children would become when they carry them. Her own mother had said that she would bring light and joy and hope and thus named her Estela. But what could her foremother have seen that she would have feared to witness her son's future? Míriel had loved him so-

And in an instant Itarillë, her cousin, whom Estela had entirely forgotten about pulled her aside to hide behind a pillar of gold (not glass). "Don't believe it," she hissed. "Any of it. They were just jealous."

Estela stared at her incredulously. "Itarillë, they were not being jealous! She was too drunk otherwise to stop talking and clearly believed what she was saying! She was there- when my grandfather was born! She would know, wouldn't she?"

"What?" she demanded. "What has your grandfather done? He has done nothing but create-" but before she could finish, Maitimo, Estela's father, laughing with Findekáno, Itarillë came over and scooped them both up.

Shortly after, Estela and Itarillë were called upon to act in a play along with the Ambarussa and Telperinquar. Macalaurë winked at Estela before picking up his harp. It had been a comedy- Estela and Nityafinwë played two eloped lovers, and Telperinquar was the jealous lordling who loved the maiden (Estela's character) and was in turn loved by Itarillë's one, who was in turn loved by Telufinwë's character. The two of them had to flee and were pursued by the jealous suitor and the other maiden, and the other jealous one all of whom swore to make sorry whoever had their desired ones' love and chased them all the way round Sunny Valinor. By the end of it, nearly everyone was laughing so hard there were tears. When little Estela acknowledged their applause with a bow, they only clapped harder. Then she had jumped into her grandfather's awaiting arms, all ill words forgotten by her. But then Finwë's herald announced the arrival of none other than Aulë, the Vala Smith.

"He need not stand outside to wait!" Finwë exclaimed. "Pray give him entry!"

And so the Lord Aulë came, and in the strength of his powerful form, more powerful than any of the Eldar, grimness emanated, he spoke, graveness written among his face and the tones of his voice:

"I bring you the gravest tidings."

All voices stopped. All breaths, it had seemed. For as respectful as they were to a Vala, they also knew his news held deepest of terror, whatever it may be. Estela's grandfather held me tight, as if to shield me from such news.

"Melkor has been released."

The next moments were blurs of screams, gasps and it was as if all of Untumno had been released, which was terrifyingly close.

Maitimo, Estela's father grabbed his child and her mother and pulled them outside. Somewhere overhead, a bell was tolling- tolling the coming of sorrow, the coming of terror, the coming of grief and pain.

More pain and grief than any before.

The two were thrust into the awaiting carriage and they drove off into the night, the screams of fear accompanying them like the howling of the werewolves Melkor would soon command once more.