Chapter Thirty-Two
Hasn't been too long since the wedding, but some time has passed. Estela has been settling in pretty easily into her new role as a wife and queen, but she hasn't given everything up. What's more, there's a BIG surprise at the end!
Ereinion smiled calmly as he beheld the number of councillors, advisors ministers and diplomats at the table.
Nearby, Estela stood silently, and her presence soothed him, certainly boosting his confidence and enthusiasm for this meeting, which without her, might have been lacking.
Estela was serene, but radiant. She wore deep green velvet with gold embroidery and lamé patterns, her hair in loose curls with few jewels woven within and a mithril circlet with adamants and emeralds including one that rested in the middle of her forehead and made her eyes glow greener and richer than the gems. She wore the pendant he gave her, but with some emeralds on a silver necklace.
Ereinion marvelled at how she seemed equally at ease and so completely in place in a palace as well as a briefing tent or a battlefield. She took his breath away and seemed to shine in his eyes. She always would.
She raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly when she caught him looking at her.
"Everything seems calmer now, but there has been news that Tar-Palantir, King of Númenor, is ill." Someone reported. "Furthermore, the 'King's Men' as they were once called in the reign of his father, have been reported as causing trouble and unrest. A number of the population of Númenor are sick of the trouble they caused, seeking nothing more than peaceful relations, and most have moved to Middle-Earth. However, this means that the number of King's Men in Númenor are growing as compared to those that want peace and good relations with us, the dwarves and the rest of humanity. They could cause serious trouble for their king, as well as for us. If there is an uprising- a revolt of any kind, we can expect the worst. Thankfully, Tar-Palantir is not unreasonable, and respected while being liked by everyone save the King's Men. But his younger brother…" The advisor trailed off.
"Gimilkhâd," Estela said all of a sudden, and all eyes turned to her (although some were already secretly staring, unable to look away). "Younger son of Ar-Gimilzôr and Queen Inzilbêth. He's causing trouble for his brother. His son also causes trouble."
"Just so, my Queen," the advisor said grimly. He was a grey-eyed elf with silver hair and now looked stern. Calassion, she remembered his name.
"Tar-Palantir has strong supporters, but many are hating the atmosphere and the trouble caused by the King's Men and moving out of Númenor. Which is exactly what the King's Men want them to do. They want the whole kingdom for themselves. Meanwhile danger is brewing, looming on the horizon, and although Tar-Palantir now conducts the yearly pilgrimage to the sacred mountain of Meneltarma and tends the White Tree, although it has slightly bloomed and recovered from its ordeal from the time of his father, they say that it is ailing, and its end is imminent."
Estela was silent.
"And Tar-Palantir's daughter Míriel does what she can, and is loved for her fairness, gentle nature and kind heart, but the human warriors do not welcome a woman so easily into their ranks. There may be trouble if the worst comes to pass and she is made queen before they can gather the strength they need."
"If we interfere in Númenor's doings, that may save everyone and solve all the problems," a female councillor said.
"But that would hardly endear us to the Númenóreans," Estela remarked. "Not even the supporters of Tar-Palantir would welcome outside interference. On one hand, it could solve the problems and provide the aid our allies need, but on the other, we risk resentment directed further towards us than it already has. These 'King's Men' as they once called themselves, though not followers of their king, will look for any reason to put us in the line of fire. Even if it means framing us for invasion and needless conquest of a supposedly peaceful nation- they are not planning war, after all."
"But we cannot let this continue," Calassion exclaimed.
"No," Ereinion agreed. "We can't."
"No," Estela agreed. "But if we want to provide aid, we must be subtle and cautious. They will be anticipating every move and looking for a way to turn anything we do, into the wrong in the eyes of others. This is more dangerous than treading through the thin ice of the Helcaraxë."
Everyone grimaced, and Ereinion shook his head.
"It appears, for now, our Númenórean allies are on their own." He said. "Until we find a solution to this mess. I will await your carefully-thought of suggestions tomorrow morning, and the council will deliberate as to the best decision in which to follow. In the meantime, there are the matters of the attacks occurring…" He proceeded to name the whereabouts and casualties of the attacks on which race, on which nation and which settlement and the recently-arrived news.
Not the attacks again, Estela thought. Eregion was reportedly peaceful as was Lindon, Imladris, Lothlórien and the Greenwood. But something was obviously wrong, as despite there being some peace, there was trouble, attacks, injuries, homes and possessions lost and deaths.
But nothing overly-serious.
Something hit her.
It was as if someone was planning something- whatever it was- very carefully.
As if something, or someone, was growing in strength.
Celebrimbor reported nothing wrong in Eregion- everyone was thriving, including his rapidly developing daughter. They sent warriors, and Estela had joined them, although her involvement was kept minimalized due to her husband's protests, then orders, but damage was still done. There were more refugees living in Lindon, Eregion, Imladris, the Greenwood and Lothlórien than they could imagine.
But her cousin had also written a proposal. Something about using jewels he would develop- many of which he already crafted had numerous magical properties, such as shields and many others- and making some in a higher level, but Estela disagreed. This was only an invitation to trouble. Furthermore, unspoken between her and anyone else, but surely something her cousin would know, was the fact that such innovations, would remind her too ominously much, hauntingly even, of her grandfather and his creations. Celebrimbor had inherited his skill. The Palantiri- the Seeing Stones many of which went missing during the War of Wrath- and the Silmarils, most especially, were a cause of trouble.
She loathed the sight of Eärendil's star in the night sky. She knew what it really was, and the sight of it tore her heart to shreds, made tears rise to blind and choke her, and threatened to make her fall in loss and agony. She might have found happiness, but the past never erased itself.
She wished it had found destruction and death. She wished more death upon it than upon any foul creature. She wished that (although she certainly would have never admitted it to the twins, Elrond and Elros) that when Elwing jumped (even though she did not wish her dead) that the hateful, thrice-cursed thing they call a gem would have sunk to the waves with her, instead of being carried off to Eärendil's ship. She loathed it, hated it and grieved upon its image, more than anything in the world! Why could it not have found its well-deserved fate along with her father, mother, kinsmen and its own siblings?
Why was it still there? Why did it have to shine in the sky, still and torment her nightly with its passing?! It was cursed. Not one of Varda's blessed stars, under which the elves were woken, but cursed for it was the harbinger of death.
She choked and suffered every time she saw it, and she wish its glow would turn as ugly and hateful as the orcs of Morgoth's fortress.
Estela pulled herself out of this. Where was her cousin getting these ideas? All of a sudden, to believe that things crafted by an elf- even if they were weapons- could solve anyone's problems…
She shook her head. Such a thing would, and must never happen again.
She did not know what would happen, or how she would survive if it did. In fact, she was sure, she would not.
Annatar smiled as he beheld Celebrimbor's gift.
It was a gift worthy of Fëanor's making himself. Or of Aulë. After all, was not Mairon the Admirable a Maia of the Vala Smith before this?
The mithril hammer, was exquisitely-made and chiselled with engravings such delicacy. It was so polished it seemed to have been made out of starlight. He was after all, the Lord of Gifts.
And this, the first of any gifts, would pull Celebrimbor, Fëanor's own grandson into the trap he had set. Morgoth might have set a trap for Fëanor by one way, but Annatar learnt to smooth his way. He was cunning, the architect of many plans. Plans which Morgoth learned to respect, even fear.
The Fëanorians were invincible, but only on the outside. To destroy them, they had to be poisoned from within.
It was the only way. Morgoth was never completely willing to accept the fact, but the plain fact was, that they were the mightiest, the strongest and the most gifted of all the elves, if not all of the earthly races.
Celebrimbor was lending his ear to poisoned honey. And soon, he would give more than just his ear, but his silver hand.
But Estela was another problem entirely. And the fact that she was married to Gil-Galad, of all people, did not help matters.
She had to have a weakness.
He just had to wait.
"How many dead?" Estela asked, dreading the tally.
Fëapoldon took a deep breath. "Nearly twenty-thousand, my lady."
She closed her eyes. Even though she succeeded, she felt like a failure. So many dead.
The dwarves were sobbing. This settlement- nothing more than a small peaceful town- to be subject to a brutal attack… Mothers hugged crying babies and small children to them, while grown dwarrows sobbed openly into their soot-stained hands.
Some of the children were openly screaming. Their elves took care of them, giving them milk flavoured with honey of they were old enough, warm blankets and even sweets, or treats and toys to soothe them and take their minds off the death they had seen. But it did not erase the damage. Estela held more than a few in her arms, singing them to sleep. She ordered food to be brought out and distributed, as well as blankets and fresh water.
Bedding, clean, warm and soft was brought out underneath hastily-erected shelters. They would have to rebuild the village, but with stronger defences, but to rebuild lives lost…
It was nearly an impossible task. She would know.
Estela laid out many of the small children to sleep, and made sure the surviving mothers had enough to eat and drink and to sleep. All the wounds sustained had been treated and the dead would be buried shortly. Their warriors would keep a strong guard.
"Estela," she heard a voice.
It was her cousin. Celebrimbor, in his armour, made his way to Estela, his sword sheathed.
She stood.
"Yes?"
He took a deep breath. "I've been meaning to talk to you," he said. "About the idea I proposed."
"I gave you my answer," his cousin responded. "And it was no, and it still is."
"Just listen," he said exasperatedly. He sounded desperate. "My experiments, are going well. If we increase the amount of energy, they could not only cause flora to grow and whatever needed to be found easily and aplenty, but borders could be protected, even more easily than with mere guards." He was desperate.
"No." Estela repeated. "Look at them," he implored. Estela gazed back at the weary, grief-stricken dwarves. "It is obvious that something is going on, and these attacks are connected. Do you want this to end? To stop their sufferings? To make them safe?"
"Of course I do," Estela snapped. Her patience, always plentiful, was not wearing thin.
"Then let us collaborate on this," Celebrimbor insisted. "Speak to your husband. I have, he agrees, and believes it might be for the best. Only your agreement is needed."
She was touched and thankful they thought of her so well.
"Listen to me, brother of my heart," she said quietly and slowly, stepping closer to him. "These things, will neither bring safety, nor slow down the destruction for anyone. If anything, they will only cause trouble- to speed and magnify any destruction that comes."
Celebrimbor stepped back.
"So that is your answer, sister of my heart?"
"Yes," Estela said firmly. "It is."
"I take it, that everything is not going well?" Annatar asked.
"No," Celebrimbor fumed. "It is not!" He paced up and down the hall of his home in Eregion.
Annatar watched, mildly amused, but also annoyed. Estela, it appeared, was the wisest of all the Fëanorians. She would put her grandmother to shame.
What an opponent.
Outside Eleniel played with her mother. Celebrimbor planned to join his wife and daughter soon, but for now…
His nerves were too grated. Could she not see the obvious? He loved Estela, but Valar, she did try him!
"Well?" Annatar said. "Gil-Galad has given his permission. Everyone else thinks it's a good idea. And furthermore, why the elves first? They are the best-protected of all the races. "It's the Dwarves and most especially the Men, who are the most vulnerable. Morgoth, after all, targeted Men the most."
"You don't have to remind me," Celebrimbor grunted. He sank down on his throne. It wasn't comfortable, but it was something.
"The Dwarves and Men might be protected by you and your cousin, but officially, are they under the shelter of the elves?" Annatar asked. "No one in Lindon or Eregion has been attacked, and after the Greenwood incident, no elf has been harmed."
"Yet." Celebrimbor responded.
"Yet." Annatar agreed. "But the Dwarves, your greatest friends and allies apart from your own people and the Elendili, are in greater danger than they had ever been in the War of Wrath. And the Men as well. It is clear that some people- or someone- is targeting them because they are vulnerable. They have lost more than lives, they lack what they need to rebuild. Should we not give to them the strength, the ability, to provide for their own people and shield them from whatever harm there is? And your experiments have proven trustworthy and successful. Should not these people have some manner of protection over their lives?" Annatar pleaded. "It is a good idea. More than that, it may be their only hope, the only choice we have. For what other choice is there? How do they defend themselves? The greater authorities- Durin, the leader of the Elendili, are hard-pressed, and you said yourself, they themselves are desperate."
Celebrimbor was silent. "Look to them first," Annatar said. "They will need it, more than we do."
Celebrimbor finally spoke. "You are right, Lord of Gifts."
Estela sat on her vanity.
Her loom bore the finished work of yet another tapestry. But there were smaller looms, recently put away, which held fabrics of good quality- soft and fine, but sturdy and durable. These would be fashioned to shirts and tunics, trousers, and dresses of all sizes. They had already been dyed and embroidered. Now all they needed was to be cut and fitted to the shapes of the dwarves that had lost their homes. Coats and blankets were made as well.
Boots and other shoe-wear were crafted in Eregion. Estela had ordered more than enough for the dwarves of all ages, and for all seasons. Tools for smithing, so they could re-start their trades, farmlands that had been supplied with the ash, and other nutrients to make fertile, seeds and livestock, anything to rebuild their lives.
Durin, King of the Longbeards (not the first, but the third one) could not have been more grateful for the assistance to his people.
But even though a part of Estela wondered if her cousin was right, the majority sensed she was right, and it sent an icy dread to imagine what would come next, if those jewels were suddenly made and distributed. The fights for one of them- for not all could be given. The assassination attempts. The thefts. The slaughter of countless innocents.
She would not go there again. She would not remember the painful past.
Especially now.
Her belly felt queasy as if the thoughts were affecting her very physicality. Estela sighed.
Ereinion walked into the room.
"The ceremony of burials will be conducted tomorrow." He said slowly and gently. He walked forwards to her, and touched her shoulders. She leaned back, smiling up at him. He smiled.
"I love you, my Estela." He whispered. "And it gives me pride as well as joy, to call you my own. Although I sometimes shudder inwardly at the thought of someone gazing covetously at you, the way I have seen some do."
"That will never happen," Estela chuckled. "I'm married to you, my love. I chose you, and no one else."
"And I thank the All-Father, every single moment of our lives," Ereinion murmured as he leaned to kiss her.
Estela frowned. "Did you really think that my cousin's idea is a good one?"
Ereinion, who had walked over to the wardrobe, frowned. "Why not, then?"
She turned back to the mirror she faced. It was a great gilded thing, inlaid with polished gold in sections and carved with glyphs in Tengwar and mystical runes and images of birds and magical beasts. Ereinion sighed and moved towards her.
"I know the past is more agony than I can imagine," he said quietly. "And if I could, I would take each and every tiny part of it into me, so that you will suffer no more. But sometimes, the future of many can be helped, with something from the old, combined with the new."
Estela remained silent.
The burials of the dwarves would take place in rock. They would be entombed in stone, for from stone they came. As the laments were sung and speeches commemorating their lives, and calling for strength came and condolences were made, Estela said nothing, until she and Ereinion reached the Grey Havens.
The swan-ships stood anchored by the shore. The waters padded silently on the wharf and the shore. The sun was setting in the distance. Everything was so peaceful, so quiet and calm. She closed her eyes. The cool of the sea-breeze soothed her. A gull cried. The setting sun warmed her, but she did not want to see the path which she could never take.
She breathed the fresh air of the sea, tinged with salt from the sea-spray.
Her black cloak was wrapped around her, but she did not need the warmth. Ereinion came next to her and she took his hand.
For a while, they just stared, or felt with her eyes closed, at the sea.
Then Estela opened her eyes. There was something she had to tell him.
Something which would be their greatest hope. Fresh hope such as this, gave strength, and this would give more joy than anyone could possibly wish for. For it was something, she had never dared to hope for, something she believed would never happen. And although some lives would end in sorrow and mourning, others would begin in greatest joy.
"My love," she whispered, smiling. Ereinion turned towards her.
"I am with child."
Not too far away, lurking in the shadows, Annatar's eyes gleamed orange-gold like Angband's flames.
Aha! I bet you weren't expecting that!
But there is a big decision to make- should I end the story here, or keep going? Please let me know!