Chapter Twenty-One
Up high in the sky, high above the camp where Estela tended the wounded and Gil-Galad had started to receive more reports, high in the air, above the clouds, high, high above, the sound of its wings flapping lost in the wind, an eagle called.
Its gleaming eyes had seen all. And it had heard all.
This was no ordinary eagle. For one thing it was massive, so massive it was a wonder that it was not spotted, even by the sharpest-eyed of the earthly beings, the elves, who spotted stars in the blackest nights.
It soared past, and in its eye it held what it had seen- the High King speaking with the only maiden he loved- with Estela, poor doomed grandchild of Fëanáro.
In the eye of the eagle, deep in its reflective surface, one could see something else. It saw for a purpose.
Manwë High King of the Valar, King of Arda and Lord of the West opened his eyes.
High above the clouds, shrouded and veiled by heavy mists and fog, was a mountain. Its name: Taniquetil.
Here the Ring of Doom was formed, despite once meeting outside the Western Gates of Valmar, before the Two Trees were destroyed. The Máhanaxar as it was called were conveyed in Taniquetil, after Morgoth's destruction of the Peace of Valinor.
"We must end this now!"
"But she may yet succeed on her own, we can still wait, a moment longer-"
"Any longer? After so many centuries, we must wait longer?"
"Mercy! She was just a child! She never chose this! She could control nothing!"
"She never did. Her choices were controlled by her kin. It is they who doomed her. They are to blame."
"Enough!" Manwë's voice rang loud, as it always did, clear and strong, even more so than the winds he commanded.
The Valar immediately fell silent.
Fourteen beings there were, of such power that never originated from Arda and which Arda could not contain or hold back if they chose to destroy it. If an earthly being ever beheld the Máhanaxar, the word 'awe' could not even come close to describing it.
Manwë Súlimo, High King of the Valar stood upon his throne. Arrayed in deep blue, Manwë was gigantic in scale and comparison to the earthly beings in his immortal form. He could appear the size of an elf if he wished but this was the Ring of Doom, where the Valar met in counsel.
Manwë's eyes were bluer than the skies in which he reigned and his hair was golden like the sun. It was pure gold like Laurelin once, or Telperion if it was night. When night settled upon Valinor, his hair would be silvery-pale, like the moon. His features were noble and fair- sculpted and finer than what even elves could shape from stone. His eyes spoke of the sky the same way his hair reflected the light.
Next to him sat Varda upon her throne. The Queen of Stars wore robes that had stars- not embroidered or dyed, but real, true stars. The whole cosmos of Eä dwelt in her robes- whole shining constellations and glowing nebulae, swimming in the 'fabric' if it was even that. Her flowing hair was midnight woven with silver light, she had a diadem of stars and nebulae upon her brow, and her eyes were like amber stars themselves. They now resembled supernovas- not like ordinary eyes with sclera, cornea, pupils and irises.
Ulmo Lord of the Deep, was present as well. Who convinced him, could anyone be sure? Perhaps it was Nienna.
"Perhaps we may reconsider" Ulmo noted sorrowfully. His form was terrifying to earthly races: Gigantic, with skin the colour of the sea, a long beard like sea-foam, and a crest, like ribbed murex shell, his eyes seemed made of silver light rather than any solid substance- like Varda's they did not resemble those of ordinary beings. Ray fins protruded from his flesh.
"It was unkind," Ulmo continued. And his voice was truly deep as his domains. "That a curse should be extended upon the child as well as the parents and grandparents. And must we be so final in our judgements?"
"You know as well as I, Ulmo," Irmo of Lórien spoke. "That the will of our Father, cannot be revoked. His voice was pained and sorrowing.
Irmo was of the same proportions as the other Valar, but seemingly smaller, of a slighter build, his skin was fair, but with a warm-lit glow about it, hazy on its surface. Irmo's face was gentle, but it seemed to shift while remaining the same, a dream-like warmth and mist lingered around him, clouds of soft colour forming around his light.
Irmo looked troubled. "She is faultless." He pressed his lips together. "I do not see why she should be blamed for something she did not commit."
"Then we are all agreed in this!" Tulkas exclaimed. He leaned forward, his normally jovial features grieved and spoke of pain. "Why must she suffer? Recall her back to Valinor, call off the Doom!"
"I second that vote," Nienna said.
"I as well," Oromë agreed.
"You have heard what she said." A voice resounded. "She will not come back."
All eyes turned to the Judge of the Dead.
Námo sat in the shadows on his throne. The shadow gradually receded, revealing him. His hair was black as death's veil that covered the eyes of men, and his face was strong and noble, but his eyes lingered in shadow.
Námo was perhaps the most mysterious of all the Valar. Even Ulmo, who dwelt in his depths and rarely ever came to counsel was more familiar, and his mood more predictable. But Námo, mistakenly known as Mandos- the name of his Hall- was unpredictable, and no one knew what he would say. Was he merciless and unforgiving? Was he understanding and did he give even a small measure of hope to anyone? No one knew. No one could ever be sure.
Not even his siblings were sure.
Irmo stirred, as if uneasy. Nienna caught her breath.
"She will not come back," Námo repeated. His voice, though not as deep as Ulmo's was strong. He sighed. "You have heard what she said. She does not fight to prove to Arda and to us, that she is different and they can be redeemed. She fights because she does what is right. She fights because she feels she might. And I let her believe she is cursed so that she may yet redeem her kin and break the Doom."
There was an intake of breath all around. "Námo what do you mean?" Oromë demanded. "What do you mean 'break the Doom'? Námo this may be your realm but we all know full well that there is no 'breaking the Doom' as you have just said."
"Indeed," Aulë repeated. He frowned all the way to his copper-brown beard. "Námo, if we knew nothing of your goodness then we would have believed you were trying to deceive us."
The Lord of Mandos scoffed. "Nay, Aulë, I do not jest, nor do I deceive you. You yourselves know me, and I say what has long since been decided, between only myself and our Father."
"What?" "What is this?" the demands for more answers came up, until Manwë banged his chased rod of gold upon the floor. "Silence! Let Námo explain!"
The sound thundered and echoed all around. They all fell silent, although all eyes looked upon the Judge of the Dead, expectantly.
The Judge of the Dead raised his hooded eyes. They still remained in shadow, as they always seemed, but now a light shone out of them. All those who knew him interpreted this as a good sign.
"As you all know," he began slowly. "When Fëanáro committed that terrible treacherous act, and soon after he and his host arrived on the shores of Middle-Earth, I came in person to deliver the Doom- his punishment, and the punishment for all those that followed, for the deeds he had committed."
They waited. Tulkas and Oromë frowned. Everyone already knew this.
"And so I conferred with our Father," Námo continued. "And we both agreed.
"Those who knew Fëanáro before the Kinslayings and the murder of his father, spoke of a different being," Námo's voice was loud and clear. "They spoke of a devoted son, an adoring husband and a father who worshipped his children and grandchildren. They spoke of a prince not only respected, but loved by his people, and remembered when he built Alqualondë and numerous cities, buildings and so forth. They remembered him as one who taught and treated his apprentices well and was fair and just in his doings. Thus it kept on like that. Until the day Morgoth, then Melkor came to him."
A silence louder than the clap of doom resounded throughout the Máhanaxar. Nienna looked sorrowful and turned her grey eyes towards Oromë. Nienna always, or nearly always wept, in an incredible rate. Water streamed out of her eyes and onto the floor- it was the same amount as two rivers.
Manwë looked stricken and covered his forehead with his palm. Varda's eyes appeared to dim.
"And so I looked at his deeds and the deeds of his sons, and I compared them to the many deeds they had done, and the good they were capable of, and I was in a conundrum. What fate shall be given to them, without appearing to be unjust in any way? It was my duty and my responsibility, Fëanáro, his sons and followers should pay for their crimes, yet what must I do? Ignore the good they have done, the good beings they were prior to this madness? Although we cannot be certain, I suspected Morgoth-Melkor- had something to do with his madness.
"And so I spoke, begging our Father to give me an answer, for I must do the task He has set me to do, and thus He answered."
"What did He say?" Tulkas asked eagerly.
"Tell us, you have kept this to yourself for too long," Nessa reproached.
"He told me that although Fëanáro and his sons must pay for their crimes, good deeds are never unnoticed and the end is not always the end. Hope is given, renewal of spirit is learnt, and so Fëanáro, his sons and followers, do not face the eternal end, as most assume they do? How could they? If I am to be just, and pronounce my judgement with the Father's support, thus must I follow the solution he has set out for me. Fëanáro and those that followed him must pay, yet they must be given hope, and a chance to renew and be set free."
The Valar looked upon each other in astonishment. Daring not to breathe Oromë asked, "What… hope?"
"The Hope the mother named her child upon the moment of her birth," Námo said. "The child we and our Father promised her. She may not have known the full horror of the future and what it held in store for her child, but she sensed the child would be hope. So she named her Estela- Estel- Hope."
The Valar looked at each other. "What hope is this?" Estë asked, also breathless. Her dreamy blue eyes, hazy fair complexion and shimmering, glowing golden hair, and the hazy light all around her would make mortals feel a desire to rest and delve into sleep, but her eyes were wide and this time she was fully awake.
"Estela is a chance of redemption, freedom and a hope to many- not just a chance of survival to those that have none," Námo confirmed. "If she fulfils the task that the All-Father has set her out to do- f she would show courage, even in her greatest fears, face temptation, torment as well as the agony of her fëa- if she faces the trials that has set out for her, prove herself even more selfless and show restraint in the worst times, then things may change. If she shows restraint against allowing Darkness to manipulate her and turn her into her grandfather, show courage in turning a different path than others take, even facing death if needs be, resist temptation, only then shall the Doom be broken and the House of Fëanáro be redeemed once more. And so shall their followers. All shall be redeemed- but it depends on this one girl. The Father has said that he would not destroy their house, if one had strength, and thus was righteous enough to change the course of fate. I believe that for the House of Fëanáro, the Noldorin, the elves or Arda in general- it may come down to Estela."
There was silence. Námo spoke again.
"But she must face what comes," Námo said slowly. "As hard as this is, as painful and difficult to restrain ourselves and not pluck that child from her pain, she must do what must be done. For I believe that her line and her fathers have a part to play in the Battle for Arda, and the End of All Days."
No one could speak. Until Nienna did.
"Is there no mercy?" her grey eyes spoke of anguish. Tears flowed harder. "Has she not suffered enough? She has been ripped from the safety of her cradle, forced to be shunned along with her kin, unable to see many loved ones and witnessing their demise, one by one, in terrible agony. Now she has fought tirelessly to save others- surely that is enough?" she was pleading.
Námo looked pained. "Nienna, you know this is not just about one person- even though she has suffered so much. I can promise you that she will have enough strength to go on- she has after all this time, and we are able to help in this- but to redeem others and to set in motion what will topple darkness and save this world from chaos, Estela must play her part before she finds peace."
"And what of Gil-Galad?" Nessa demanded. "What of his feelings towards her?"
"His feelings towards her are no accident," Námo frowned. "I do not believe that this is a coincidence. She has too important a role, and so does he. Both are inheritors of the Line of Finwë, although of different branches born from different wives of the patriarch."
"And they have both been so alone," Nienna whispered. "For so long, enduring such agony and torment." Her tears flowed.
"But not without hope," Vána pointed. Her eyes were bright now, before they had the pitying, compassionate sorrow of a child. Now they seem almost excited. "Now surely, there is hope?"
"Yes, but how much shall she endure?" Nienna countered. "How much does she have to bear?"
"That," answered Námo "is the question."
A horrified moment of contemplation entered for all the Valar.
Námo sighed. "Not even I know what trials she must endure. But they are not at the end. Estela's blood is among the most important the Eldar has ever yielded. Her line will help save Middle-Earth, and again play a part in the Battle of Battles."
"Her story will forever be counted upon as among the most dangerous, most painful and most courageous of all the elves," The Queen Varda finally spoke. Her eyes glimmered. They became such bright points that any mortal would find it painful to look upon. She sighed. "Is there no way to avoid this?" she addressed the question both to Námo and to her husband.
"Not if hope is to be kept alive," Námo said sternly. "Countless others require her to perform her role. Not just the dead souls of her kin. If the future pieces of the game is to be set to win against Darkness, then Estela must stay."
Tulkas frowned. "There must be something we can do to help her- to help them."
"I agree with you Tulkas," Aulë spoke. "But we can give her strength. And she has been given gifts many earthly beings cannot hope to match." He sighed. "She is her grandfather's grandchild. His blessings are also hers as are his curses."
He shook his head. Fëanáro had been the greatest of his pupils once. He had been the most promising, not merely in skill, but in many ways. Was this his fate? To be betrayed by his dearest friends, even if they were deceived or took the path of Darkness through choice?
Aulë's strong shoulders slumped. His skin, the colour of the earth that he was a master of, darkened. He felt Yavanna place a gentle, nurturing hand upon his shoulder and raised his head once more.
"Estela is hope," he finally said. "And yes, I believe the grandchildren of Fëanáro must be given a chance to show the world and regain the happiness they were so cruelly robbed of. And all must be given the chance for redemption- even if they waste it."
The way Morgoth, then Melkor, had wasted his.
"Let her have peace, though," Yavanna said sternly. "Even for a time. Let them all have peace."
"Yes, let them have peace. They must know some measure of happiness before they all suffer again," Aulë said.
"Then it is agreed," Varda said. "Surely no one objects?"
And no one did object. But then someone spoke:
"What of Telperinquar?" it was Irmo.
Nessa frowned. "What of him?"
"He is Fëanáro's grandchild as well," Irmo explained patiently. "An inheritor, just as Estela is. Do you think he will ignore that?"
Tulkas leaned forwards again. "You sense something from him?"
"I sense something from them all," Irmo replied. "And I do not believe that Telperinquar has a lesser role any more than Estela does."
The Valar regarded this in silence.
"We must be patient," Yavanna said. She stirred and it sounded like the stirring of leaves. Her gown appeared made out of earth and moss. "Let them have peace, at least before the storm hits them," she was almost pleading.
"Yes," Nienna agreed.
"Until the wind blows and the storm changes and the leaves wither and fall." Manwë agreed.
And so the council agreed. And thus, they dispersed.
Weellll, looks like there's more to the story after all!
Things are about to get even rockier and juicier (pardon my metaphors)! Of course we have a case of dramatic irony- if you've read the canon. But what does the future hold in store for Estela? The old woman promised daughter she had to keep safe (and is she going to get married?) and now they speak about Estela's line. What are the Valar planning? What's in store for them- Gil-Galad and Estela?
What about the 'other ellon' that secretly loves her?