Chapter Sixteen
Estela told Maltariel all that had happened- that a woman predicted the downfall of Númenor. The elleth was astounded, no doubt about that.
"She ia just a human," Maltariel said. "How can she- it must have been her injuries, her weariness. We all know their race is vulnerable to such things."
Even more so than the dwarves, Estela thought. Then she shook her head. "Maltariel, she knew who I am," she said.
Maltariel could have been hit by something heavy judging by the look on her face. "What?" she gasped turning pale.
Estela nodded looking grim. "She didn't tell anyone, so have no fear. But she did advise me to stop being so mysterious, unseen and secretive. She told me something which I have of late, been telling everyone we have rescued- to join forces with the elven High King Gil-Galad and the other rulers of the elven realms. She laughed harshly. As if they would ever have anything to do with me.
The bitterness in her voice was impossible to mistake. But then Estela heard, an act of courage- which means to stand apart from others in willingness to do what is right, no matter the cost, separates good from ill…
She did not know whose voice it was, but she thought it might have come from the old woman, if she was what she appeared. But Estela knew she had no choice.
Beware the ones who bring gifts without price- for they are naught but lies, and all must pay.
"Morgoth had another servant," she said finally.
"Huh?" the half-Vanyarin elleth asked.
Estela looked into the flames her face impassive but hard, like a knife or a diamond. "There was a shape-shifter, a creator of terrible, terrifying phantoms and foul beasts. The most cunning of all of Morgoth's creatures, a master of Dark Sorcery, and the creator. My father never spoke his name, but I believe he was the most feared of all Morgoth's servants. A fallen Maia."
Estela kept staring hard at the flickering fire before them. They were camped out in the woods.
"Who was this fallen Ainu?" Maltariel whispered.
Estela said, "He had many names,"
They stood frozen before-
"He was a shape-shifter a being of shadows, thus he could take and discard his names as he did his forms." she said so quietly that Maltariel almost couldn't hear her. "He was a maker of such foul creatures, and if I had to guess, I believe him to be the one who gave the twisted idea to Morgoth on how to deal with Túrin Turambar. Not just the foul dragon. And if I am to be believed he was the one who captured and trapped my father and led him to Morgoth in chains."
A flash of images ran flew through her mind, just as when the old woman spoke of the giant bloated creature in the courtyard. The Thangorodrim, the Great Eagle flying into the elf chained onto the rocks with a rider on its back... She had never actually seen that but she had heard every detail when no one thought she was listening.
She closed her eyes to think. More flashes ran behind her eyelids and Estela found herself being carried back to the past. To Valinor.
To Formenos.
It had been a hot summer day, even though the weather was typically fine in Aman it was even brighter than normal. Little Estela sat brow wrinkling and lips pursing as she struggled to remember and figure out why all of a sudden she was here and not there.
It was dreadful the days after the festival. the little girl felt like she was holding her breath waiting for what she didn't know, but something bad... Something even worse, she thought, but comparable to being hit by her grandfather's forge hammer.
She remembered the hushed voices, the looks of upset worn by everyone. Everything was kept hushed up. She remembered perfectly well when the 'visitor' came- the one that grandfather had told her to run from- straight to her room as fast as she could.
She remembered grandfather coming back inside once the visitor left and the little girl knew he would never be the same.
She remembered how he would stand very still sometimes, and how when someone spoke to him after that, or interrupted him during his 'spells' the light in his eyes would grow fierce, and his face twisted into a snarl like he was Huan, her uncle's hound, when he was angry and wanted to bite- except that Huan rarely ever did do such a thing, and never looked so ferocious. Her grandfather who spun her in the air and bounced her on his knee now seemed to have some strange light in his eyes, unlike the one he had before and he was aggressive and terrifying to anyone. He also started to believe that people were attempting to hurt him and to take his items.
He had a habit of standing very still.
It was that visitor, Estela was sure of it. That visitor whom her grandfather had told her to run from, to hide in her room and lock her door against.
Everyone walked around in crowds, as if scared to wonder off by themselves. They looked scared and no one went out at night, she wasn't even allowed to sleep beneath the stars anymore like she used to from time to time. No one waved at each other, or smiled and laughed. No one even dared to speak too loudly.
And then the whispers grew furious, and her grandfather grew even more furious, so much that Estela often hid whenever she heard him talking- or arguing. She often came out though and tried to comfort him. He seemed to relax, to smile, to be happy, if only for a little bit. But it never lasted.
Then one morning her mother woke her. Gently shaking her awake, she selected clothes and helped her dress. She was wearing travelling clothes, sturdy, warm, but cool enough, and riding boots. Her mother then picked her up and went outside the house. They stood there, waiting. Her grandfather had his face turned away, and her uncles and aunts were there, her forefather the king too, but not his wife the queen. Where had she gone? And not her granduncles either.
And yet the king was coming, dressed as a traveller. Her mother handed her to her father who held her close and together they rode all the way to Formenos.
She had always loved the place, had always been happy there. But this time it was different; again she was never allowed to go to play outside and everyone was constantly watching her. At times, however, she would often dance and sing and act out plays she had composed herself with her cousins, and everyone would smile and her grandfather's features would soften- but again it would never last.
And then the little girl would wonder what else she had missed out. They weren't there to enjoy themselves anymore.
But before she could wonder further a shadow loomed ahead. The little girl looked up, thinking it might have been a huge cloud, but there was nothing.
She frowned. Maybe the cloud had passed, and then looked back down only to discover that the sky wasn't getting lighter like it used to. In fact it was getting darker- much darker. Startled she looked up again, and found that it was still darkening and indeed not her imagination as she had thought. Eventually it went black.
She jolted. No, it couldn't be. It was the middle of the day, and Laurelin was shining so brightly. And if Laurelin did not shine, Telperion always would.
Yet neither the gold of Laurelin nor the silver of Telperion shone through the black colour of the sky. No longer blue and cloudless, but utterly dark.
The sky grew darker, and then before she could move or do anything something hit her.
A great and terrible dark power slammed into her, hitting her with more force than a shockwave. It pulled at her and rooted her to the spot, and she saw the red of pain along with the black colour of the newly-darkened surroundings, sucking her energy, pulling at her most painfully. She almost couldn't breathe.
The more she tried to move the more it pulled at her, the power tugging her so painfully, it increased with every movement attempted. She couldn't open her mouth to scream. And if she tried, no sound would have come out anyway.
Thunderous footsteps echoed in the silence of the atmosphere. She moved her eyes- the only thing she could do. She would have screamed if she could
A gigantic bloated shape, so massive in size it was hard to distinguish the dark of the surroundings from its massive, dark form covered all over with bristles, jabbing painfully as if stabbing the air. The legs, which she could see were eight, were so huge they bent upon themselves with their own weight and the weight of the body, covered with the same bristles. The thing turned.
It moved across the courtyard, the footsteps echoing almost deafening in its booming, and Estela saw that as it moved, another shape emerged.
Roughly the shape of an elf, it was, however, gigantic, colossal and vast, gigantic, even more so than the first creature, though not bloated. It towered so high she could not see without moving her head which was impossible at the moment.
The presence slammed into her like an icy cold shock only it was infinitely worse and it delved deeper than anything and lingered. Even centuries later, she refused to think about the presence, refused to remember it and relive it, even while she relived so many things.
The tall figure raised a giant fist and at the signal the first creature turned, sickle-shaped, tusk-like pincers opening as it spat out a jet of something black. More darkness even deeper than before engulfed all around her. She could see nothing, not even outlines. Not even the stars of Varda which the elves had woken under and had guided them throughout the great journey- the stars which her father had promised would always be there, could be seen.
There was a silence which was soon broken by the noise of thunderous footsteps, one even deeper than the other making her ears hurt when it rang across to the inside of the palace compound.
Ice flooded through her. She knew where they had gone. Whatever they intended to do she knew that nothing would ever be the same.
There would be no return to their old life, no return to peace. No joy.
Inside someone shouted. Finwë! The lone voice ringing strongly across the palace compound demanding to know who enters and what purpose they had. Then the scraping of metal against metal.
But after silence another sound shattered through the silence of the air.
It reverberated so deep, it was deeper than the depths Ulmo knew. Yet it vibrated like a shockwave and was so violently deafening she would have screamed in pain if she could. It echoed, which did not help and then...
She heard booming footsteps again, from both creatures, then the dense cloud of darkness vanished, but so did the creatures.
She felt she could move her feet. She twitched her fingers, flexed her knees. Then when there was no resistance she sprang upwards, heart pounding faster than it ever had been in one of her games and ran inside.
Finwë!
She did not stop to think when she heard her parents scream her name from outside. She did not stop when she heard Huan barking madly trying to get in and to find her. She didn't hesitate- not when she knew nothing would ever be the same.
When she ran inside she saw that the archway had collapsed. Mounds of rubble crushed as small as dust, and chunks of broken stone with jagged edges blocked her way. She kicked the lightest ones aside and scrambled in on her hands and knees.
Scurrying in, her eyes needed no time to get used to the darkness as she frantically searched scanned the room. What she saw made her heart stop. The outline of an elf splayed on his back, a broken sword at his side. His head was a mass of dark liquid- blood, sinew and bits of white bone. Finwë.
The small girl went and knelt, taking his large hand in her tiny one clinging onto it, silently pleading his already-departed fëa not to go, as the king of the Noldor, Finwë lay, crushed by Melkor's blow, while his little great-granddaughter pleaded uselessly, tears streaming down her face and eventually became silent.
The next moments were a blurs of sobs, cries, screams and shouts of dismay.
Her vision blurring, the little child felt herself being lifted, only this time she did not care, being passed from one set of hands to another.
She felt the horses hooves pounding the earth beneath them. She felt the rush of air, and whoever it was- father or mother- holding her close, like a baby, covering her with a cloak and attempting to instill some comfort into her.
She was unaware when they arrived in Valmar, the city of the Maiar and the Vanyarin elves. She was vaguely aware when they were in a hall and screams, wails and sobs echoed around her.
After their return to Tirion, she listened as the whispers grew frantic, the movements hurried, the shouts panicked. She heard the whispers: War... Endórë...Oath... What they meant she did not know.
Later she would know all too well.
Estela opened her eyes into the present, as her golden-haired friend gazed in concern at her. Maltariel, like so many of her companions, had learned not to delve deep into her memories or question her about them. It would only make things worse. Estela was grateful. Maltariel and everyone else she knew did not need to possess the knowledge that she had seen Ungoliant and Melkor up close. Or when Finwë died. There were some things that can never be forgotten.
Tomorrow she would face reality. Tomorrow they go to Perlargir.
It was time to fight.
A few days later...
Ereinion looked out over the plain. They were at Perlargir.
The shieldmaiden, he had heard was a creature of tremendous resourcefulness and cunning, so much he could admire. She had, as he had heard, not only saved the horse-lords, but also destroyed the remnants of the Easterling armies, using various tactics and methods that only only chewed away at their numbers but also drove their minds mad with terror. Then she had forced the Dunlendings into retreat and liberated the Northmen along with her forces whom she had apparently been at a great distance with.
The fleet of the King's Men had been stalled- or rather the surviving ones were. Most were sitting at the bottom of the ocean, thanks to the work of Ossë Master of storms, for which Ereinion was absurdly grateful.
His mind wandered back to the shieldmaiden and his blood boiled even while his heart moved stronger and in a faster tempo. He took a deep breath and swallowed.
There was no doubt that the maiden that made him react this way was the shieldmaiden. The question was how to find her again? His heart beat so traitorously and seemed to quiver as he reminded himself that he was not finding her for himself but for the sake of everyone else who needed her.
Somehow, despite the constant repeating of that, he found himself unable to be convinced.
In the meantime they would meet the Haradrim and their giant mûmakil would arrive in Perlagir soon enough.
And when the Númenóreans came, the King's Men would have their due.
Oh boy, I'm sorry, I actually wrote this out more than once- the first time it was deleted accidentally when the computer moved onto a new page without my consent- for some reason- and I had to write this again- and I don't think it's as good as the first time. So please tell me what you think- is it bad-does it need improvement?
Yes, I think we all have a case of dramatic irony as we know exactly who the old woman- if she was that- was talking about- if you've read everything that is- and yes I suspect he might have had something to do with the Children of Húrin's demise, not just Glaurung the Dragon and Morgoth- after all he was said to be even more cunning in some ways. Sadly the war was never over for Estela. Hopefully the suspense is building up in time for Gil-Galad and Estela's next meeting.