Chapter Twenty-Four
The darkness encircled her, torturous, gripping, draining her lifeblood and fëa it would seem. She tried to gasp for breath but found it was sucked away. She tried to scream and her voice was swallowed by the darkness swirling all around her.
This was no mere sorcerer. That much she knew.
The old woman was right. And as Estela was consumed by the darkness around her, devouring her like a ravenous beast, the maiden heard a voice.
"Spawn of Fëanáro."
The voice boomed so deep it threatened to tear her core in two- it must have only been spawned in the depths of Utumno, by the hands of Morgoth.
"Beautiful creature… So fine… so fair. Child, why so surprised? Daughter of Nelyafinwë, you knew this time would come."
Estela wanted to scream, to sob, to do anything, no matter how weak and helpless, but she could not move, nor utter a single sound, for the power devoured her in and out.
"You cannot fight me," the voice whispered. "I am in you, wherever you go, I will follow, I will find you. You cannot escape."
No! She wanted to scream. She wanted to die, then. To flee to the safety of Mandos. But it would not let her, and she had been lingering for so long, she was cursed by the Judge himself, and forsaken, just as he had said. The Doom.
Forsaken. It was a false hope.
"Yes," the voice breathed. "Forsaken. Forsaken by the very beings you prayed to and devoted yourself to following as a child. They repaid your trust, your love with… what? Curses? Doom? Pain? Your pain and suffering is of no consequence, they seek, child, to lay the blame on you and your kin. You will suffer, for what they failed to do… to rear the Foul One in. It was by their own doings, and they cursed you, for your kin trying to stop the carnage and destruction."
Images of people screaming and dying as orcs, trolls and other fouler creatures, including Balrogs raced through her mind. Fires burning thatched human homes, the destruction of Gondolin. Itarillë and her family fleeing the destruction.
"And you have done nothing," the voice purred. "Such a pity… such a pity…and still they cursed you."
The Valar truly had forsaken her then. To think they could be helping her, to think she could get away…
It was a false hope. That sharp stone, the passageway. She was truly forsaken. But she had been provided with false hope.
It was her curse. The curse Námo Lord of Mandos had placed on everyone who followed Fëanáro, whether she chose it or not. No matter who he was before. It was cruel. She had never pitied herself, always loathing self-pity, but now she wanted to scream at the skies if she could see them. Why?!
The voice chuckled. "Yes," it hissed."Yes, child of Nelyafinwë, come. Come to me. Together we can accomplish greatness in all things. Together you will never be alone to feel the aching coldness of your heart. Together we can wreak vengeance against the heartless Valar."
But the Valar did not set those fires. The Valar did not destroy Gondolin. The Valar did not put her father to torment. And the Valar did not tell her kin to slay everyone who tried to stop them from gaining the jewels. The Valar did not kill her great-grandfather, nor any other member of her family. No matter what the fault, they warned them all. Her grandfather made his choices. He had been a good elf, but then he killed those people. Other members of her family did too. No matter how bad the world was, it was nothing compared to what it could become and she had seen a shadow of it- in Morgoth's time. What it was and what it could be again
The voice hissed in rage, this time. "You will see," it hissed. "You will see in time. I will make you. I will BREAK YOU!"
And Estela knew there was no escape. Something exploded in flame in front of her. The shape of a tall being, shadowed in black, but with eyes like burning orange-yellow flames.
The eyes of evil.
Ereinion saddled his horse.
"Going somewhere?" a cool, calm voice sounded behind him. He turned. It was the Lady Galadriel.
"Should it concern you?" he asked, continuing to saddle his horse, buckling it in place. He hoisted and fastened the saddle-bags. "She is your cousin after all."
"She is my goddaughter," Galadriel responded. Her lips twitched. "I stood with her parents during her Essecarmë. And no, I will not stop you. I only warn of the road ahead."
He paused in his work.
"I know the risks," he admitted. "I know that if I die, I will leave the Noldor without a leader. And they will likely diminish." He turned to face her. "But I cannot walk away. Not even if she has done nothing to save us."
Galadriel nodded. Her blue eyes held understanding.
He looked down. "I know this is not the action of a good king," he admitted. "But if I walk away, and leave her be, or let others try themselves, I will wish myself the Doom of Mandos a thousand times over." He shrugged and shook his head. "I cannot leave her to torment and death." He decided.
Galadriel nodded again. "Then go with my blessing. And may the stars shine upon you." She paused, quizzically gazing at him.
"You do not take a guard?"
At her words, someone else came into view. Someone with a stallion and armour already worn, sword in his scabbard. It was Elrond.
"Elrond," the king said irritably. "What are you doing here?"
"I could ask you the same, my King," Elrond said dryly.
Ereinion opened his mouth only to close it again. He didn't know what to say.
"Elrond," he shook his head. "This mission-"
"Is dangerous enough for a legion of elves," Elrond finished for him. "Which is why I must come with you."
Ereinion groaned inwardly. And more elves came. He was shocked to see, that one of them…
"You must be joking," he said glaring at one of the elves. "Your father would come to blows with us both."
It was Thranduil. He smirked at the High King. "My father was in favour of going himself." He grinned at the monarch who looked less than impressed and hid his embarrassment that the Woodland Prince would have caught him in a love-influenced state. "Something about repaying debts. She did come to our aid, on countless occasions, and we would have died by the thousands if not for her."
There emerged more than enough elves. Ereinion sighed. He was never going to get rid of his kingship was he?
"You have no idea what is coming for you," he glared at them all, warning them.
"Strangely enough, sire," Thranduil said cheekily. "Neither do you."
Galadriel stared at the mirror in her tent.
She tried to find something. Something apart from the vision she had seen of Estela prior to Gil-Galad leaving.
But it was never clear.
The silver basin held water from her fountain, but it was what she brought in bottles and flasks- she did not have access to a continuous supply like she did back in Lothlórien, so she had to be careful.
"Do you see nothing?" Celeborn asked from where he sat.
"The path in unclear," she replied gravely. "A darkness grows, something I have never felt before, yet feels so familiar to the weight of my soul." She closed her eyes. "No one can tell what will come next," she said finally. "For what will come, will not be like any other time that we have lived."
Celeborn frowned. He sighed, shaking his head. "Nothing of her then? In the present if not the future?"
Galadriel shook her head. "No more than what I have already seen."
"I suppose you didn't tell Gil-Galad," he said sharply. "I have seen the way he looks at her- and now he goes to rescue her? What sort of madness is this, if it is not love?"
"It is love indeed," she replied dryly. "Although I doubt she would be eager to respond in kind."
Celeborn sighed. "Maybe if she stayed on Valinor," he said regretfully. Galadriel shook her head. "What has come to pass cannot be revoked," she said firmly. "And thus, cannot be dwelt upon as deeply as if they were options."
His eyebrow rose. "But surely you cannot deny the effect the War of Wrath has had upon her," he said. "She would have long-since been married by now, and happily so, but no one even pointed the way- her mother taught her to heal the most grievously wounded, she did not even stop to think that her daughter may be the object of affections someday."
Galadriel frowned. "The possibility was omitted. You know that," she said, coming to her cousin's defence. It was her favourite cousin, after all, the one she considered more sister than anything. "After and during the War of Wrath, who would have the time, the safety, and the desire to bind themselves with a cursed line, doomed by Mandos? After what he had said…" she shook her head. "She would have remained a prize had she stayed upon Valinor," she admitted. "But Fëanáro sacrificed all hopes for a future when he decided to pursue the past in whatever madness Morgoth concocted."
"And she is worse for it," Celeborn said. "What will happen to her, even if she is freed?"
Galadriel gave him a long and heavy look. "That," she said. "Is the true question."
Telperinquar glared his blue glare at the dark of the trees. His sword at the ready, the gleaming blade reflected enough light to seem as if it were the source. And it was deadly-sharp. Telperinquar had inherited his father's and grandfather's skill in the forge. Now he bore a deadly gaze at the looming darkness.
It could have been a scene from a play, an epic saga or painting. He was brave and whatever fear that may have existed did not appear to exist now.
Clenching his teeth in rage, he swore death to any that harmed the cousin he called sister.
And he cursed the cowards that took all and gave none.
The orcs that kidnapped her, for one, the measly alliance of Men and Elves, as the second, and the kin that decided they would all leave them by death or by departure to Valinor (supposedly, he wasn't even sure if they were allowed to arrive).
And now here he was, fighting his way to save Estela- all that he had left.
As for his cousin… who knew what was happening to her in that very moment?
He hated them all now, and once he found her, Middle-Earth and all of Arda be damned, he wasn't going to allow her to go out and suffer for these ungrateful folk anymore!
Rage flared up so brightly in him, in that moment he resembled Fëanáro, in all his courage. Say what anyone would like about the legendary elf, but he certainly was no coward.
And so Telpe marched on, daring any foul creature to jump out at him.
Suddenly he froze. He gave the signal for his companions to do the same.
All was still and quiet.
Until Telperinquar spun around so fast that even elves would have difficulty comprehending what was happening. His sword pressed itself upon the throat of another being.
And a gleaming blade of elven make pressed itself against his.
His companions drew their blades and so did the elf's companions.
Their faces were hidden in shadow. Not even blue eyes were visible, so they had no idea who was threatening them.
"Who is this that walks the same path, yet is neither friend nor foe?" Telperinquar's voice was acid.
"I might ask the same," Another voice echoed. This one was deep, majestic and powerful. "For it is not common to glimpse a Noldorin in the wild."
Telpe's lip curled without anyone seeing.
"Shall I answer that? If you were I, answers would not come so easily." His eyes narrowed. "When orcs stalk the land, invaders threaten Middle-Earth and friends prove ungrateful and one-sided-" he pressed the sword slightly more against the other elf. "One cannot find it in him to trust," he finished in a deadly voice.
"I have not betrayed my word," said the elf in a calm and even tone. "And I am no enemy. I am of the Noldor."
Telpe's eyes narrowed further. "And who might this be, a Noldorin that ventures out from the cities of Lindon and from the campsite where not long ago, his kin were fighting invaders off this land?"
"One who would not betray his friends," the voice said firmly. He stepped into the light of the stars and moon.
Telpe froze.
The ellon in front of him was tall, strong and broad-shouldered. He radiated charisma and majesty and there was no doubt whatsoever that this was a strong, purposeful leader whom other would follow. Even though his garb was not those of a king, gazing at the nobility and regalness of his bearing and features, he had no doubt who this was. His eyes were as blue and bright as his own, but darker and his hair was so black, it captured and reflected light itself.
Gil-Galad Ereinion, King of the Noldor and High King of the Elves of Middle-Earth.
Telpe wanted to kill the elf.
"So, the High King has come at last," he said quiet venom in his words. "And he brings an armed guard, I see. Is it to rescue her?" he asked icily.
Gil-Galad was as courageous as Fingon himself. He was so calm, yet he could sense the other elf, hidden in the shadows was no less brave.
"Would you have me abandon her?" he asked, meeting the place where he suspected his counterpart's eyes would be with his own. He gave the signal for the others to lower their weapons, which they did so reluctantly.
"She does not need your help." There was venom in his words. "It is because of you and others like yourself that she has suffered and is now in mortal peril." He spat out the words. "It is because of you, her own kin and the creatures of Darkness that we have been left to suffer, languishing in agony, abandoned by our family, yet accursed by those that claim to be better!" he hurled those words at the listening elves. "It is because of you, that she feels she should continuously work to save others, risking her own life, even though she owes you nothing! And now is captured, possibly dead or in torment, and you would claim you have the ability to save her? I curse the so-called Free Peoples of Middle-Earth, who take all for granted and allow such sorrows to overcome those who step forward, like her, just as I curse my kin, and the Dark Powers that stole her from us!"
Ereinion stared at the shadow calmly. He put away his sword. So this was one of Estela's kin. He certainly gave strong hints just as Estela did with Thranduil, although he revealed nothing. A person who did not know would be puzzled. But Ereinion knew. All his companions knew.
"Curse us you may, but you will fail without our help," Ereinion said calmly.
"We have faced worse," Telperinquar snarled. "We do not need your help."
That, admittedly, was true. Estela had shown her capability, and he had no doubt this kin of hers could. But Ereinion wasn't going to give up without a fight.
"You will have a reason for accepting our help," he said, making it up desperately as he went, trying to appear calm.
"Oh, really?" the voice scoffed.
"You have hidden in shadows for so long," he said, an idea popping into his mind. "Aren't you tired? The Free Peoples know what you all have been doing, but no one knew who you were. What if they were to find out?"
"And treat us as pariah and dangerous beasts?" he scoffed again. "We are cursed, do you think they will treat us as any other elf?"
"Maybe," Ereinion said. "They will treat you as princes and heroes- great elves of old, that knew the crafts and lessons long-forgotten by all save your kin."
Telperinquar was suspicious.
"Why not trust them?" Ereinion asked. "You have proven yourselves worthy, and saved many others. Why endure in the shadows when you can rejoice and live in the light once more?"
There was silence. Telperinquar only grew more suspicious. "Do not seek to bribe me," he said icily. "I am not for sale, and neither is my cousin, and all those who have followed us for so long."
"It is not for sale if it is freely given," Ereinion said. "You have asked for no rewards. Yet you have paid with more than your lives. And now a threat looms over the horizon that will engulf all of Middle-Earth, including yourself, and your kin. You do not wish to join us- you blame us for what has transpired. That is understandable, and you do not easily trust. Understandable also. But now, you cannot deny these circumstances are suspicious. Your cousin is the finest-or one of the finest- fighter I have fought alongside with in my years of battle. How is it that mere, crude and witless orcs have taken her, a master of strategy and combat?"
He let that sink in before continuing.
"There is more to this story than we know. And what we do not know can surely kill, even the strongest. But together, we not only have a better chance of survival but we will be able work together to find out what this darkness is, and fight it. Even you cannot deny, that if this… Dark Power is strong and cunning enough to ensnare your cousin, then it is capable of anything."
"No one knows what we will face," the voice said stiffly. "The Valar have forsaken us, even as they forsook Númenor and the elves in Utumno." Yet Telperinquar was unsure, even if he didn't want the High King to know it.
"Have they?" Ereinion said quietly. He stepped forwards slightly. "Or have they led us to a new path- yours for a life that you've earned and deserved- ours, to be saved? This is a second chance- an opportunity, not for a single being, but for us all. This is a chance to breathe anew- and truly survive, once and for all."
The silence contained many volumes.
Perhaps the All-Father whispered those words into his mind. Perhaps the Valar had not forsaken them after all.
"We could finish this," he breathed. "Once and for all. Your cousin would be safe. And so would all those that follow you. All of you."
He smiled wryly in the darkness. "That would take some convincing," he said, lowering his sword and stepping into the light.
Telperinquar, son of Curufinwë Atarinkë Fëanorion stepped forth and allowed unknown eyes to see him for the first time.
The first thing that shocked the elves present was his beauty. He had a beauty similar to Estela's somewhat, there was no denying they were kin. Estela had inherited both parents' looks- she was one of those faces that resembled her father when placed next to him, and yet her mother's, when placed with her, despite both parents looking nothing alike. Her father's looks came from Fëanor, fairest of face and form. He resembled paintings of Fëanor to an extent, but outshone them. If the real Fëanáro had passed on only half his looks, what he must have looked like in real life. His eyes were every bit as blue and bright as Ereinion's but was a paler shade, like the sky, only more brilliant.
The elf moved slowly forwards. He had an aura like the princes and kings of old and everyone knew him to be one of the last of a powerful dynasty of warrior princes that sowed dread in everyone they fought against.
Only the High King appeared to match him, different as they were.
Telperinquar's lips twitched at the corner. He was ready to listen, but not to trust completely, and he told them so.
"One would be foolish to hand trust upon a platter," was Ereinion's response.
But the two talked, although Ereinion had yet reveal he knew the identity of Telperinquar's cousin and who divulged that information. This Fëanorian might be as quick to forgive as his cousin.
Galadriel watched the basin again. It was nightfall. Celeborn stood with her. The couple's daughter Celebrían as well watched with them, her blue eyes wide.
The three gathered around the basin, watching intently. But the images were foul and unclear and more than one of the four were tempted to throw it away entirely, but none gave up.
Clouds of darkness swirled around the mirror's surface. Images of orcs fighting, slaying, a maiden with copper hair striking them with a sword…
"That's it!" Celebrían cried. She leaned forwards slightly, her eyes eager.
Estela was seen fighting yet more orcs.
"Is this the past or the future?" Celeborn asked puzzled. It could not be the present, her twin swords were found discarded on the ground.
"One cannot be sure," Galadriel murmured. "But it may be the future."
Celeborn's brow furrowed. "That does not mean that she survives." He looked worried. "This is murkier than it has ever been."
"One thing is clear," Galadriel intoned. "A Dark Power grows, and it becomes more powerful with every passing day. The darkness surrounds us all, and it has long waited in the shadows, preying upon the sudden chance to rise again. This world will be changed, that much I know. And soon it will never be the same."
With that happy thought, the three elves continued basin-gazing.
Telperinquar had no choice but to accept their help. Alwion had told him that if he acted with hostility, they would respond tenfold with suspicion and mistrust. As Fëanorians, they had ten times more to prove, even if others didn't know it.
So he was resigned more than anything.
Thranduil placed a slender, long-fingered hand upon a tree-trunk. He was communicating with the trees, just as Telpe did.
His icy blue eyes suddenly snapped open. That direction, he said, jerking his head towards the right.
Alwion was confused. "But we've already been and checked that place, there's no sign-"
"Because it is covered with magic," Thranduil responded calmly. "The trees tell me that a spell of concealment dwells upon the path. And they carried her unconscious upon their backs."
Ereinion stood. "We'll go in that direction," he said an urgency in his voice that was betrayed by the harshness of his tone. "Hurry, we have no time to lose." He was certainly desperate.
There was nothing he wouldn't do. And whenever his eyes went out of focus, he could see her… His Estela lying broken, bones shattered on the ground, her blood staining the earth, her face pale and devoid of life. He shook. He had kept calm so far, because he was focused but now…
He was white and cold as ice. He could not bear it. It tore him, and shook him inside. His head was screaming at him to stop. He couldn't help it. He lost his father, his mother, almost everyone he knew since childhood, and now…
He wanted to scream and weep at the stars. Why? Why him and why her? Had they not done enough? Had they not been punished enough for what they did not do?
Everything inside him was screaming at him to tear through everything until she was found. But he swallowed it and listened to everyone else's advice, not noticing the way Estela's cousin was gazing at him, his calculating look slowly fading before his blue eyes widened in shock.
The mud was damp. There were faint scents here and there, but nothing to give any lead. They smelt smoke- very faint- and burnt meat- also faint which was a good thing, because once they received the hint they believed that a stronger scent would make a human vomit and an elf cringe.
But there was nothing specific. They did note, however, that there was an orc footprint imbedded in the thick mud. Ereinion and Elrond knelt down to inspect it. Telperinquar and Thranduil were unsatisfied.
Telperinquar walked, his boots only slightly printing in the mud. He gazed into the darkness between two trees, and sensed… something. He drew his blade.
"This way," he said.
"How can you be sure?" Alwion asked him.
Telpe ignored him and kept on walking. The others followed suit.
I remember this place, Ereinion thought. He knew it somehow, yet could not recall…
Telpe sliced the air with his blade. Murmuring something in Valarin, he sliced through the air, and something shimmered.
"There." He said finally. "There are traces of magic, but it appears to be the strongest in this direction. That means that the source of this magic… is this way."
"How can you be certain?" Alwion asked sceptically.
Telpe smiled. "Because if you were using magic to conceal something, you'd want to cover that thing up the most, don't you? But it has a weak point. All magic has traces. And I can reveal its weaknesses."
"Where does this lead?" Gil-Galad asked. Unbeknownst to everyone else, he was eager, and impatient.
And only he could tell why his heart raced.
Everything was in darkness. Everything was despair. She had been forced to live every moment that she lived, once more. All her joy, all her pain and regrets. It was worse than what Morgoth did to her father.
Whoever this is, he was more twisted than Morgoth had been.
He knew what he wanted. He knew what weakened her. He knew and he wanted her to break. To fall to his side, to fall to darkness.
She was weak. She was fading. Oh, did Mandos have no mercy? Can she not fade and leave in peace, or must she suffer this dangerous temptation?
But she was not Míriel Serindë, her weak foremother whose inability to face life led to the path of destruction and ill brought by a misguided son who had lost the only parent he had ever known. If there was one thing time had taught her, it was that an escape would bring far worse consequences than she imagined had she not taken the choice if escape. So with that knowledge, she gained strength.
The Darkness hissed in rage and increased its efforts. She felt the clouds of black substance- thicker than smoke, yet not solid- drain her of everything further- her energy, her voice, her strength to live, her ability for happiness, her hope, the remnants of her voice…
And her fëa, or at least the flame that burned this whole time, keeping her spirit alive.
Now, separated from everyone she had left, including the one she thought of, unwise as it was, she had truly lost the last thing she had to lose…
Herself.
Galadriel's hands clenched the edge of the basin. It was useless, after all. She was going to try a different approach.
Closing her eyes she reached out with her mind, to where Gil-Galad-Ereinion, Elrond, Thranduil and the others went. Telperinquar was with them, she noted with surprise. Although she sensed he wasn't happy about it.
They moved towards a fortress. It was set within a mountain. An ancient dwarvish realm, long-forgotten. There, she decided. There would Estela, daughter of her heart, like her own, lay. She would help them with her magic.
She only prayed they would reach there soon.
She saw nothing. She felt nothing. She was so diminished, she could have been even less than a twig, if souls were physical forms themselves. She had endured and resisted. Yet she had paid the ultimate price.
Suddenly there were shouts and screams. Orcs screeching in fear and panic as something cut them down. The shouts of elves. Through her blurry vision, swirling with the dark wisps of cloud, speeding all around her, she noted the shapes and colours of elves rushing in, but was too drained to care.
She was exhausted. She wanted rest. But cruel as the Darkness was, it would not give up without a fight.
She remembered the Darkness lunging towards the elves, then suddenly, someone stood in front- two elves- one looked remarkably like her cousin. The other… like the ones she longed for, but dared never to admit.
The elves fought magnificently, and none more magnificent than him. But although he fought like her father, it was not enough. The Darkness lunged.
A light flashed, it was Telperinquar's sword- and suddenly the darkness fled. It was weak, she realised, almost as weak as she was.
The last thing she remembered before everything turned black was someone- someone she knew- calling out her name in panic.
"Estela!" Ereinion rushed towards her. Orcs came but he cut them down. Most of them decided that with the Darkness gone, they were better of having fled. He sliced them with his blade before falling to his knees to support his beloved.
Instantly he could tell, it was worse than he could have imagined.
She was pale as ice- so pale, she seemed transparent. She looked so drained, so ghostly was her beauty that the only sign of her former vibrancy was her copper, gold and silver-streaked mane.
"Estela!" He whispered urgently. "Estela!" He panicked and it reached its peak. His eyes had traces of tears in them. Please, please, don't let her be dead. Please….
Elrond hurried over and dropped to his knees by her side. He laid his hand upon her brow and reached out for her fëa.
"What was that thing?" someone gasped behind them. It was what would be thought about… But first they had to get her to safety.
Whatever it was, it was far from good. And as the High King carried the fallen shieldmaiden out of that fortress, they knew the time was running out.
They may have won a victory against the King's Men, but what new enemy awaited them? And what was it that was so foul, so dangerous, that it drained her until she was nearly dead?
Well, ladies and gentlemen, no more disgusting scenes like in last chapter! Now what's going to happen?
And I do believe that he was more twisted and cunning than Morgoth in some ways- he had to make do as he wasn't as strong. But what would happen next. Now everyone basically knows what the High King feels for her, and she's admitting it to herself- but remember, even if she does get better, this is someone who's grown up in grief, pain and war. Remember what I said about her parents teaching and advising her little about love? She doesn't remember how to open her heart that much for anyone who will be more than a friend. She gave up on that future long ago.
But what will happen next?