Chapter Twenty-Six

A few years later….

Things always change. For the elves, it takes longer than most. So when change comes, it is first a shock. But somehow, these elves accepted it gratefully and there were few, if any, problems.

Life had been hard and cruel. For all races have something that hinders them, if it doesn't render them miserable. Humans have to die someday and elves are never in control of their own fate.

Or are they?

Námo of Mandos had promised. And so the Valar watched while the remnants of the exiled Noldorin- the ones that came with Fëanáro- made a new life. They themselves seemed stunned that they were able to do so.

Unbeknownst to the elves, the Valar had not forgotten them. And neither did the All-Father. They were blessed.

Progress was slow, or rather it was supposed to be. The speed in which they adjusted was amazing by anyone's standards.

Ereinion kept his promise. And the rest of the elves were not hostile. Slowly, very slowly, they started to build a new life.

In the Land of Eregion, they started anew.

It was not the life they would have had if Morgoth had not intervened. But here they were not shunned, cursed and avoided with fear. They had redeemed themselves. The story of Estela's endurance became legend, and everyone suddenly craned their necks and sought to see for themselves, the last connecting links to such legendary figures and the shieldmaiden who shone like the Two Trees of Valinor. Not even the king, they said, could resist her spell.

They built the settlements, and soon, people had more to talk about and see. There grew shining towns and magnificent cities, pretty villages and out came an amazing array of goods- not just weapons, but ornaments, jewellery, fabrics including tapestries and clothing, sculptures and paintings, books and even new inventions- things the like of which no elf- save the ones who had met Fëanor, Míriel Serindë and Nerdanel- the ones who were taught by the Valar themselves. No one had seen the like. Of course, this meant that Eregion, who was left in the charge of Telperinquar whom the Sindarin called Celebrimbor (Estela didn't want to take any more leadership than she had had to), grew very wealthy indeed.

But some of them took more adjusting to do, in some ways.

The progress was slow, but despite being haunted, Estela knew that if something didn't kill you, it would make you even stronger than before.

She survived and more. She fought. And now she was building.

She could hardly believe it. Sometimes it felt too unreal- not even her dreams were like this.

The settlement in Eregion soon flourished like few settlements ever had. Men, Elves and Dwarves came to trade and view all that they had. Estela had taken up her crafting various things full time. She made jewellery like her cousin, and sculptures and paintings the way she was taught by her grandparents in Aman. She supervised the crafting of various things, such as furniture and ornaments, she wrote and bound books and started to weave.

She had a gift in that. Like Míriel.

It troubled her. Despite having so many things to do, it troubled her when she thought about Míriel and she admittedly resented the similarities between them. She didn't have anything against weaving, but she hated the mere thought of the cowardly foremother who abandoned her husband and child, despite knowing the misery that lay ahead. She was, in a way, responsible for all that. She just couldn't face it, and left Estela to do it instead.

She gritted her teeth. She was weaving now, and working on a very complicated tapestry. Soon she would start to work on the clothes that needed sewing. These people claimed, were finer than anything they had ever seen, but she cringed every time they said it, because they knew- whether or not they spoke it- where that had come from. She didn't relish weaving any less, but she hated the mere thought of being compared to the foremother she never knew.

Coward, she thought as she used the shuttle on the tapestry in the loom. She had a massive loom and she hated to think of Míriel when she used it. If there was one person she couldn't forgive apart from Morgoth and Ungoliant (even her grandfather had been forgiven), then it was Míriel Serindë. She wondered what she would be doing now, in the Halls of Mandos. Probably still languishing there, avoiding the husband and son she abandoned, not to mention six grandsons and a few of their wives. She still didn't know what happened to her uncle Macalaurë.

All she had heard after the news was broken and her father had died, was that Macalaurë had disappeared. He was weeping, grieving his losses and actions. No one could find him. Whatever happened to Macalaurë, the brother her father was closest to, the uncle she adored, no one knew. He was gone- lost to her forever, as were her parents, grandparents and many others. But she also forgave him.

"What are you thinking of?" a soft voice asked her. Maltariel was beside her. She smiled. "It's strange," she murmured, as she worked. "I can think about my loved ones and all my memories and I can bear it. It's not what it used to be."

Maltariel wove with her. She complained that her weaving wasn't as good as Estela's but she had been taught to the best of her abilities. "My cousin's getting married you know," Estela noted as she worked.

The tone of disapproval was evident in her voice. She liked the maiden, but she disapproved of the speed in which their engagement progressed. The girl had come from Lindon's Grey Havens. It had been love at first sight for both of them, and Estela had been incredulous. Since when was her cousin like this?

But in a way she was glad. There had been rumours of him harbouring an unrequited love towards Galadriel. It was so stupid, it didn't even make sense. Yes, he admitted, long ago, he had been fascinated by her (who hadn't?) but that was long ago.

The courtship also made her uneasy. The idea of it, most of all. Ereinion the High King, had come to Eregion more than was necessary- one could almost think that he harboured a favouritism on the elves here, she thought disapprovingly. She was amazed his councillors didn't say anything. She hoped Elrond would, it was unbecoming.

But they all knew the reasons. It almost made her groan. It was no longer a secret.

He was there to see her. And irritating enough, he wasn't the only one. People came from everywhere in Lindon- or even outside- to see the elleth that captured Gil-Galad's attention, pretending they needed this or that. New clothes. Tapestries. Jewellery. Furniture for a newlywed's home. Ornaments like vases. A new bow. A sword by Telperinquar, or as he was beginning to be known, Celebrimbor. And it was more than the material treasures they wanted to see. It was her. It made her squirm. She had been in hiding for so long- surely they can give her some peace and time to get used to it all.

"What are you thinking about now?' Maltariel laughed. "You look like you've swallowed a good dose of vinegar."

They laughed. "No," Estela said, her eyes twinkling. "I was thinking about all the people that come here- they're not just trading and looking for things, are they?"

Maltariel sighed. "Why don't you just talk to them? They're fascinated with you. This reclusiveness will only interest them further." Estela grimaced.

"I'm not used to it all," she explained. She twined a knot. "I just… This is a chance of peace. I don't want to go back to parading, the way it used to be. Even on Valinor it wasn't like this. My parents sheltered me."

Maltariel frowned. "I suppose they didn't speak to you about courtship and marriage, did they?"

Estela suddenly blushed. It was ridiculous. She was centuries old and an experienced shieldmaiden and craftsperson at that. She shouldn't be blushing like a girl, fresh into maturity!

"What if they didn't?" she argued. "Surely it's not important?" She tied another knot.

Maltariel sighed. "It is important, Estela. You might have grown up during the War of Wrath, but you've survived all that and now you have to live a life, that you should have lived if things didn't go so wrong. You've missed out on so much and now you've got a lot of catching up to do."

Estela's face went hot again. Yes, she knew Maltariel meant well, but really?

"What if I don't want to take a husband?" she asked twining a loose thread into a knot with her fingers.

"It's up to you," Maltariel said sharply. "But you don't know what you're missing. Your family would have wanted that for you. They might have never had the chance to sit down and talk about it, but you shouldn't be alone for all eternity. No parent wants that for their child, no matter how over-protective they can be."

Estela sighed. "Well, what if there isn't one out there for me?"

"You don't know that," Maltariel responded. "And you're not blind, surely? There are elves that want you for their own. Many of them, now they've gotten a chance to look at you properly."

Her face flushed again. "Looks are skin-deep," she protested. "There's no guarantee that we can be happy, if I pick one."

"You're thinking on the right path," Maltariel approved. "But there are some who do know you." She gave Estela a pointed look.

Estela sighed. "I don't know how to become a wife," she admitted. "I've been taught to be a loremaster, a weaver, a sculptress and painter, even a ship-builder. I can speak every language there is. But I don't know how to become a wife."

"No one does," Maltariel said slyly. "Until they try."

"I'm a shieldmaiden," Estela said. "Not a simpering-" but her sentence was cut off.

Galadriel entered the room, with Celebrían by her side. "Hello," Estela smiled. Both maidens rose and greeted the two. Celebrían was flushing brightly.

"Why the excitement?" Estela asked, noting Celebrían's colour.

"We had best wait until Elrond gets here," Galadriel explained. Estela gave her a quizzical look, which ceased when Elrond arrived. She smiled and embraced him.

"Having a good day?" she asked. He looked… well, radiant.

"I have never been happier," and the sincerity and the depth of that astounded her. She felt as if she missed something.

That unspoken question was soon answered when both Elrond and Celebrían held up their hands. She saw silver rings gleaming on each. They were betrothed.

She stood there stunned while Maltariel gave the couple her congratulations. She quickly followed suit.

"Well," Celebrían said. "We're not the only ones getting married. And soon I heard there will be more."

Estela tried not to flush. Celebrían, Elrond and even Artanis/Galadriel- of all people, the Lady of Light- were giving her sly, knowing looks. She pretended not to notice.

No one noticed Maltariel's troubled look.

"Well good luck to them," Estela smiled. "And good luck to you, although I know you will not need it, but my blessings nonetheless."

"May we walk?" Celebrían pleaded with her. Puzzled, Estela nodded. Glancing at Maltariel who had begun to talk to Artanis who was admiring their work, she put on a suitable outer robe and pinned a brooch. She even checked her hair.

"Where shall we go?" she asked. Celebrían shrugged. "Oh, just for a walk," that was all she said.

The two strode in silence, and Estela wondered if Celebrían had something to say to her. And if so, what was it?

"The High King was here last month, I heard," Celebrían said casually. Estela winced inwardly.

That.

"Yes, he was," she said wearily. "Everyone's been going here. I heard even dwarves are impressed with Celebrimbor's work," Celebrían had begun calling him by his Sindarin name.

"Yes they are. They're making arrangements for him to come to their homeland. He's going there, to help and supervise with the building of the new city in Khazad-dûm." She said. "He's even making special doors that would allow no one to enter without their permission."

"Only you and he would have nothing against dwarves," Celebrían laughed. "And Elrond and my mother. Most elves are blinded by convention and dwarves tend to be…unconventional."

"By their standards," Estela muttered. "We are all different. It's not something to hold against with others."

"True," Celebrían responded. She looked at Estela. "What are your plans for the future?"

"What do you mean?" Estela asked, puzzled.

She looked at her strangely. "I used to ask you that when you were in hiding," she said softly. "Now that your future looks more peaceful, what are you planning?"

Estela winced. "I'm not being too ambitious," she said. "It's dangerous, I know that better than anyone. I'm happy with the way things are."

"That's not what I meant."

"Well…" she didn't know what to say. "What do you mean then?"

Celebrían looked at her sadly. "Is there no one you want to share your life with? I hear your cousin is betrothed as I am."

Estela was taken aback. "Where did this come from?" she asked bewildered. "What will happen, will happen. I don't know."

She gave her a long look. "You've been waiting too long," she said. But before Estela could respond, someone came into view.

It was the High King. She gaped. What in Arda was he doing there?

She suddenly wanted to turn and run.

Why? Why did she, though?

"What is the High King doing here?" she asked, turning incredulous, almost irritated eyes towards Celebrían. The maiden shrugged.

Estela cursed inwardly and turned, preparing to leave, but Celebrían held her sleeve.

Estela cursed and gave a tug. She wasn't even presentable! Not dressed to meet any king.

She made her way back when someone halted her. It was Vorondo.

"My lady?" he smiled. She couldn't help but smile back. "Vorondo," she murmured. Seeing him made her glad. She was glad that the friend who had followed her- not even of Noldorin descent- who had had to hide alongside them, could now move freely again.

"Where are you going so fast?" he asked.

"I-" she hesitated. "Nowhere." She smiled. "I've been busy of late. I don't know how my cousin can manage running this land, whilst still maintaining his craft."

She had given control freely to Telperinquar. She didn't regret it. She took on leadership no more than she had to.

"Well, then perhaps you would like to walk with me?" he asked. She smiled in relief. "Of course," she responded.

The two of them strode, her hand on his arm, and Estela started to relax.

"I've been thinking," Vorondo began slowly.
"Of what?" she asked. But before he could respond the High King came into view. She was startled. She curtsied.

Vorondo bowed, but for some reason he didn't look happy about it.

"My Lord," she said. He smiled at her. "Please don't let formalities influence you," he said. "I've been hoping to meet you for some time. May I?" he asked Vorondo.

Vorondo was visibly reluctant, but did as the High King asked. Ereinion took her hand.

"I apologise for being forward," he said quietly. "I simply wanted to see you again."

She didn't know what to say. Her own heart was thundering, surely he could hear it. And the fact that he held her hand on his arm…

"You are not too forward my lord," she said not meeting his eyes.

"Estela, please," He pleaded with her, almost wearily. "Must we go through this?"

She took a deep breath and met his eyes. They stared into each other, and Estela would never dare tell anyone that her heart jumped just meeting his eyes.

His did too. "Estela," he said quietly. "I've been longing to see you for some time… Everything is different now. Can we not… see each other in a clearer light?"

She hesitated. Was there a reason?

She thought about what Mandos said. Both before her conception and birth and afterwards. She then thought about what Eönwë had said.

It was all so confusing. Should she run and save Ereinion because she was truly cursed? Was she? Didn't Námo of Mandos say those words to everyone who followed Fëanáro? And he said nothing about whether they meant to follow him or not. Her own mother had faded, just as he predicted many would. Many had been slain. The Silmarils forever eluded them. He did not say anything about sparing anyone. He made no exceptions.

And yet… It contrasted so sharply with what he had said when her father came to plead with the Valar during the Máhanaxar. What is going on? She wanted to howl in frustration. Was she cursed or not? If she was, she should try to spare him of that.

But didn't Eönwë say… she groaned inwardly. This was too confusing. And there was no way of getting the Ainur to come and explain it all to her.

"You are my King," she said slowly, carefully, testing what she should do. "We may do as you wish."

She saw frustration flash in his eyes. "Estela," he said. "Do not test me. I do not want you to do as I ask simply because I am a king. I want you to do what you want."

And they both knew that he wanted her to want a certain something. But her resolve crumbled nonetheless.

"Your cousin tells me his wedding is to be held in a month," Ereinion said. "Elrond and Celebrían, however, have to postpone theirs. Celebrían is considered too young."

Well, Estela thought. She's older than me in some ways. And that was true. Celebrían had never had to grow up like her.

She had been hiding for so long, she no longer knew what to do. To relax and be joyful. It left her utterly, frustratingly clueless. And she was no longer the joyful, delightful little child she had been before Finwë's death. Could she really rebuild again.

First she needed to discover herself. But she couldn't deny Ereinion had a strong attraction that drew her to him.

She sighed. "Will you be there?" she asked quietly. He looked at her. "If only to see you," he said quietly. "And to see you smile at me."

He bowed while she stood there in silence, and both left separate ways. He turned to look at her while she walked.

Estela went back to the weaver's house. Her mind was filled. She didn't even seem to realise where she was going.

She suddenly was very awkward, for all her experience and skill at doing things, and seemed too innocent almost to the point of naivety.

She never expected to get married. As mentioned, she had given up on that expectation before she even turned it into a dream, because it was unrealistic and unaffordable during times of war, and then time spent shunned and in hiding. They were a cursed line that was what people had said, no matter what they said now. And now she was expected to… well. What was she going to do and how was she going to do it?

That was the problem.

Did she love him or was it an attraction- a mere infatuation, like the one her uncle Tyelcormo had for Lúthien? He married afterwards, although he never managed to have children.

It troubled her. It could be love, but inexperienced, and unknowing as she was in this matter- of all the matters in the world- she had no way of knowing.

And if she prayed, would the Valar and the All-Father answer her prayers?

When she had supper and went to bed, it was all she thought about- or rather, she thought about him. It wasn't like an elf to make a mistake in this matter. But Finduilas- whom some claim to be Ereinion's own sister, which she now thought was doubtful- loved more than once. And look what happened in the end. The one she chose, decided to leave her to be pierced all over instead of saving her, as Gwindor would- he must have been her true soulmate. She made a mistake, and what if Estela did as well?

If she prayed, what would be the answer?

She went to sleep, and she was glad to have slept safe. Many elves came to live in Eregion and wanted to learn under their guidance and earn new skills from the great masters whom no one had believed remained. Lindon was growing even more prosperous because of them. And she didn't think Ereinion regretted allowing them to live there, even if she wasn't among their number.

She wouldn't think about that. She needed to sleep. There were dozens of people who wanted to learn how to make a Fëanorian lamp, and that secret had long since been lost until they brought it back. Thank goodness she and Telpe had been taught that.

She wondered what Ereinion would say.

And she fell asleep before she could eliminate that thought.

She hated dreams.

They were becoming so bothersome now. She dreamt a useless dream about her time in Valinor. It was the greatest celebration, but this time, the family would celebrate firstly by themselves before with everyone.

She dreamt of Findaráto or Finrod Felagund. She rather liked him as a child. He was Artanis' eldest brother. She remembered being chased by a boy who wanted to kiss her. She had run screaming to Findaráto for help.

It was a stupid dream. And she was glad when she woke up.

Imagine- if anyone knew about all her embarrassing childhood shenanigans- especially with a family full of such legendary figures… she shuddered. She would never hear the end of it.

She got out of bed and washed and dressed for the day.

Once she was at breakfast, she spotted Fëapoldon with something- a letter in his hand. "Trouble?" she asked, getting a cup of hot milk and some honey biscuits.

"Hmmm," he said sounding worried. "From Númenor," he said. "But not that big a trouble. Firstly, Tar-Palantir and his wife has had a daughter."

Tar-Palantir was the regnal name Inziladûn had chosen for himself. Just by choosing a name in the Elven tongue spoke of how he intended to change Numenor to what it used to be. It used to be glorious, but the King's Men put up and out-roar and there was trouble in Númenor.

"What have they named her?" she asked. She knew this girl would one day be the Ruling Queen of Númenor.

"Míriel," was Fëapoldon's response.

She froze and dropped a plate. It smashed on the floor.

Míriel, the name of the foremother who abandoned them all, and fuelled everything to happen.

No, it can't be.

She turned wide eyes towards him and instantly Fëapoldon thought about how careless his comment had been. He winced. He should have been more careful.

"Well, it's not a bad name," Estela tried to recover herself. She went and picked up the plate's pieces.

"Here," Fëapoldon said. He began to help her despite her protests.

Estela was distracted throughout the day. She wove and spun, she did a few sculptures and painted the ceramics she finished the day before. She even sold a painting to a trader. But her mind was elsewhere.

Then she received word from Telpe. His wedding was drawing near, and the bride-to-be wanted a dress made by her.

She rolled her eyes, but smiled nonetheless.

She even set herself to work on the types of fabric the bride might want. The rest would go for sale. Then she sent a message to her, asking when she wanted to come for fittings.

In the meantime her mind was free to wander.

And she if she thought the memories had stopped she was wrong.

"Atar!" Estela shrieked as she was hoisted up in the air from behind.

Her father laughed his golden laugh behind her and kissed her firmly on the cheek. He swung her around and she squealed with excitement. He chuckled as he set her down.

"Ah, there you are!" he called out teasingly to his wife who had emerged from the house. Despite being royalty she loved to cook and simply be in the kitchen. "I was wondering if you'd gone back to your father!"

She raised her eyebrows. "My father? You jest Maitimo. He'd never take me away now- not even to see his grandchild."

"Mmmm," he murmured as he kissed her. "I wonder sometimes what more he would have thought up to keep me away from you, back then."

She sighed. "He was quite the schemer, wasn't he?"

"But thankfully my father and I scheme better!" Maitimo added cheerfully, causing her to bat his arm, playfully.

"Oh, hush. You just wait. When the boys all come for Estela, I'd love to see how you'd react!"

"Huh?" the shocked look on his face was so funny both his wife and daughter chuckled although the little girl did not know why.

"Well, you know it's going to happen sometime!" she laughed swatting his arm again. "Don't looks shocked!"

"No," he said shaking his head. "Not for a very," he walked over to Estela, "very," he picked her up and kissed her again. "Long time." He finished, and she giggled at the sentence.

"I'll pity the fellow," she said ruefully. He rolled his eyes. "There's no one, prince, king or anyone else that deserves my daughter." And he spun her around again.

Estela came back to reality, and found she couldn't move. So they did hope for it, once. Or rather her mother did. And no doubt her father would have much rather have seen her wed than endure everything she had had to for centuries.

But she had given up on that before she could even start dreaming. Now she didn't even know where to go.

How did Telpe do it? She thought. How in the world did he manage to woo and become betrothed to one? After all that happened to them?

Despite settling in so well, she felt so…awkward. Like she didn't belong in the world of romance, despite what others have written, spoken and sung of her. They made her sound not only like a heroine, but like a maiden from a romance.

How wrong they were. To romanticise her…. She knew nothing of love. Yet here she was suffering the fascination of men and elves alike, because stories had spread about her! Shieldmaidens themselves had long since been objects of fantasy to males. Dwarves didn't allow any, because there were few enough dwarrowdams as it is- their women were too rare and precious for their lives to be thrown away so easily. Men had few, because most believe that a woman's place was at her home, cooking, sewing, cleaning and tending to children and their husband's needs. Elves had a number, but not that many because most ellyth preferred gentler, more refined practices- luxuries of being able to choose a peaceful life which she never had. All maidens were considered equal to ellyn, but few ever craved such a life- not only of adventure, but hardship.

She had not been able to choose, at least not for herself. She had been prevented from fighting in the War of the Jewels, but her father had taught her to fight, in case the need arose to defend herself. Afterwards she felt compelled to right many wrongs and save people.

But they were fascinating because they were so unlike other females and yet they were feminine in their own way. Instead of elaborating solely on the fashions and marriage, and having no ambitions outside of their settlements careers and homes, those that choose the path accept the ways of a warrior. It meant glory if one could achieve that level, but it also meant being hunted in some cases, being harshly treated, forgoing luxuries. Sometimes they were discriminated- common among men. And putting duty and honour above one's needs and wants- even wanting a peaceful life can at times be a distant dream. And although men dream about them- having a wife who was exotic, powerful and uncomplaining in many cases and could better understand the opposite gender as well as no one who was too needy- shieldmaidens place honour and duty before even matters of the heart. A shieldmaiden in a tale- an elleth, once criticised an aristocratic human woman for her weakness. She said that the woman was responsible for her own sorrows because of her deception (it was a long story, but the woman stole her lover and the shieldmaiden was more concerned about the deception than the actual loss itself), and scorned her saying that she could only weep and do never do anything. "Only do and speak of what only you can do and say. That is what is done by your type of maids. And while men and women wait on you hand on foot, of course you are satisfied and of course you learn to do nothing yourself."

But there were maidens who became shieldmaidens yet married and lived happy lives. A human shieldmaiden who left her adventurous life to marry and settle happily, yet whose granddaughter became a shieldmaiden and died in battle.

But how did they do it? Estela wondered. How did they manage to regain peace? Even if they did not crave adventure, surely after so much struggle and bloodshed they would have needed to adjust to an ordinary, peaceful life?

Suddenly she stiffened. Someone was behind her.

She turned slowly.

It was Ereinion. Really?

They stared at each other. The High King didn't look much like a High King. He was dressed like an ordinary soldier.

"I'll admit myself to be impressed," she said smartly. He arched an eyebrow in amusement. "You have an uncanny ability to arrive on scene whenever I am feeling… strange."

"'Strange?'" he asked. He gave low chuckle. "I simply sought you out."

She stared at him. "As the High King," she began, "I have Elrond running Lindon in my absence," he replied before she even finished. "And a number of councillors."

She looked at him suspiciously in the eye. "Do they know you're here?"

"No," he replied casually, leaning against the wall. His eyes wanderedto a tapestry. "They think I'm going on a hunt."

"I'm amazed they would think that," she scoffed. "People have been spreading stories about me… and you."

He straightened and went to her, kneeling by her stool. She looked at the tapestry before meeting his eyes.

"And what do you think?" he asked softly but with a strength in his tone that was hard to miss.

"I think that I am unsuited in many ways," she said quietly. "For the things they say about me. I am not an object to be adored and fantasised over. I remember nothing of love."

He was still for a moment. "You were a happy child in Valinor," he said finally.

"How can you know that?" she asked quietly. His face was so close to hers, he almost could…

"I never forgot," was all he said, and it was in a whisper.

She felt a touch on her hand. It was comforting, and she saw it was his hand. His fingers slid across her delicate ones, and grasped her hand. He rose, and pulled her gently with him. He then took her other hand… like they were about to do a dance.

It confused her. It puzzled her. She felt awkward and foreign. She didn't really belong there. But all thoughts dispelled from her head when she looked up and met his eyes. She saw gentleness. Now not even the brightness and richness of the colour in them distracted her. She saw strength.

He pulled her closer.

"Live, Estela," He said. "Don't hide in the dark anymore." If she didn't consider courtship and marriage with him, at least she could do that. He would be content. That was what he told himself.

But as he made his way back to Lindon, he knew he would not.

Estela saw him whenever she closed her eyes. It created a burning in her she never could have imagined. It was as if the further he went, he was pulling something inside of her in his direction. It sounded sappy and strange and she could have laughed if it wasn't so serious.

She sat down in her loom and sighed. Now what could she do?

Her hands started to work. She worked faster than human women, so it would be finished in no time.

Her hands danced, danced without her really seeing what was in front of her. Dyes, woven cloth, loose threads and her shuttle in her hand… her hands worked on instinct. She often wove anyway, when she was not fighting.

And they danced as if to a strange music…

Maybe she heard music- her uncle's music. He was a singer whose voice was told far and wide, and his skills with any instrument as well, although he loved the harp best.

And as her hands danced she wove many things.

Maybe she was sick of the stories, the rumours whispered about her, the songs and poems, and most of all, the accounts of her family, particularly her father, uncles and grandfather. She would remember them her own way.

And no one could say a damn thing about it.

And they danced furiously, weaving a story. She abandoned sleep, food and any type of recreation and other crafts in favour of this one tapestry.

Perhaps she would write one day, but first, she wanted everyone to see. To see what she saw in actuality, for themselves. Not to imagine a pale version of events.

Everyone whispered, and soon Telperinquar even came himself. She didn't even hear what he had to say. She didn't hear Celebrían come either, and didn't know about it until later. A spell had fixed her and by Vairë, for once she was going to get her story out and not some twisted or embellished account of her family's history and her life. She was sick of all they said.

She didn't care. Now, she no longer cared. She would get things out. And everyone could damn well go to Mandos if they didn't agree with her.
It was the only way to get it out. She had kept it in for so long. Now it would come out. It felt like unlocking chains.

Suddenly she finished. She stood and startled beheld her work in silence.

Someone who had been spying or 'keeping watch on her', ran to fetch Galadriel, Fëapoldon, Maltariel, Celeborn, Celebrían, Vorondo, Telpe and everyone she knew.

"It's finished." she whispered. And she meant more than the tapestry. Tears rolled down her cheeks, unchecked for the first time, and she didn't care who saw it.

As everyone started to arrive they gasped in wonderment at the tapestry- at its length and its beauty.

It looked so real, yet too beautiful and magnificent in all ways to be real, or even a dream or a vision. The detail was minute and perfect, the knots and threads tightly woven to be compact- yet so expansive were the scenes, so bright and rich did the colours shine that it could not possibly be fabric. But it was.

Only in Vairë's tapestries could they expect something like this. Yet here it stood before them.

Estela paid no heed to them. She looked at the fabric, at every scene woven and dyed into lush cloth. Her life through her eyes.

And in the beginning there was only light. In the end, there could only be light. Her life would not end in darkness, she had decided that. If Námo gave her a choice than she would take it.

She would never push Ereinion away.

Telperinquar's wedding celebrations was kept to a minimum, just the way both bride and groom liked. Estela finished the wedding dress and veil.

The air during celebrations were festive even if they weren't overly-grand. She was truly happy for her cousin. She strayed to the hallways of the citadel, though.

Her eyes were upon the tapestry. She still wouldn't be sure if she wanted it to hang permanently there, but now, there was no better place.

They were rebuilding a new life here. And for the first time since before Morgoth's release she felt free of shadow.

"Why are you smiling?" She knew who it was.

"It's hard to describe," she murmured. She touched the cloth.

"It's hard to believe that this is actually real," he stated. "Not some magic window."

"It's my life, through my eyes." She said. "It's not what everyone else said happened during these times, but it's what I saw and what I did."

He studied it. Ereinion allowed his eyes to go into a certain scene. There a little girl with copper hair streaked with gold and silver staged a play with two boys with red hair and another one who looked remarkably like Telperinquar. He chuckled.

"When was this?" he asked pointing.

She smiled. "Spring festival. Artanis- Galadriel decided to surprise everyone, by having us do a play. It was a comedy. Imagine our surprise when we realised a few of the Ainur were among the watchers! Even some of the Valar!" He laughed.

"And this one?" he asked pointing to another scene. "The first time I helped with the building of a ship," she said. "In Alqualondë. My grandfather Arcalimar allowed me to come with him. I had been taking arts and crafts and could sculpt because my grandmother Nerdanel had taught me. I sealed the jet eyes and the gold beak in place the way I was taught by my paternal grandfather and my father." She smiled wistfully. She no longer flinched from speaking to him and calling her grandfather as her grandfather.

"It's hard to believe they're fake," he said touching the threads, still in wonderment. But he was more in awe of her.

She touched the tapestry, her hands running lovingly through the happy memories- dwelling not on the pain. Suddenly, she bumped into his. He held her hand.

He smiled at her. His eyes looked moist. The High King crying? No one could imagine it! Yet she no longer saw him as 'the High King'.

"Estela what is to happen to us?" he asked quietly. She swallowed. "That is for you to decide. I'm taking your advice, after all."

He allowed himself a small smile before he asked: "Will you come with me to Lindon?"

She hesitated.

"Yes, I will," she said, and the pure joy bursting on his face shone brighter than the Two Trees for her. Brighter than the Silmarils and their false light.

Things have definitely changed. There is little to no action in this scene. Is it boring? Is the romance between them both getting too dry? But then, remember he's not a poet or a singer. He's a warrior and so is she, even if she did take a break.

Yeah, we really delve deep into Estela's awkwardness in her new situation. She can adjust to the practical things really well, but romance? She really didn't know how and what to do. But things will get more intense in the next chapter. Don't worry, no more disgusting scenes like the orcs in Chapter Twenty-Three! That was too much for anyone to bear, even a shieldmaiden!

P.S, the Shieldmaiden information and stories Estela claim to have heard and read are from real-life Norse Sagas. The shieldmaiden who spoke to the aristocratic lady is Brynhildr speaking to her love-rival Gudrun who stole Sigurd the Dragon-Slayer from her. The quote is changed and the story Estela supposedly readin different. The other shieldmaidens mentioned are based on the Hervarar Saga- the one with the grandmother and granddaughter who pursued the same life, but had a different ending. Tolkien based a lot of his work on Norse myths, so why not be influenced even a tiny bit?