Chapter Thirty-Five
Estela gazed up at the skies. Winter was swiftly on the way. And winter had its own beauty and its own ugliness to it.
Estela looked up at the grey clouds thickly covering the sky above as snowflakes fell. Her winter cloak was wrapped around her, and her husband came forwards, wrapping his arms around her, and kissing her head.
She often felt bad about that. About many things.
Not about the kinslayings. She was not responsible for any of those- although it was difficult to get rid of the guilt she felt when she remembered Olwë and Arcalimar, her great-grandfather and grandfather respectively, standing up to Fëanáro, her other grandfather in the height of his madness, to convince her to stay along with their treasured ships.
Winter was coming. Only now did she feel the winds.
"Melmenya," Ereinion whispered, coming from behind her and enfolding her in his arms. She leaned back and smiled up at him. "My love."
Estela felt the tears in her eyes rise again, but she closed them. Even though there were winds that would have blown them away and dried her cheeks, she still could not release them. To release them was to release hope.
Ereinion sensed this and enfolded her tighter and closer to him. She could feel the heat in his body, despite the cloak and the layers of warm clothing. It was a welcome sensation, as was the love and emotional warmth he provided. A comfort that she had to go so many centuries without, which she now realised how much she missed.
"Sauron has gone." She said blankly. "We cannot find him anywhere."
He held her tighter. "He will not hide for long. If he intends what you believe him to intend, he cannot do it, cowering in the shadows. Even Morgoth struck when he could."
"Don't I remember," Estela expelled a breath. "The problem isn't merely when and where he would strike, but whether or not we would be prepared when the time comes. How is it, the orcs answer to him now? What draws them to him- the strength of his power, their fear of him? Their desire for protection, or for someone who would let them kill and torture all they want?"
"Who knows what the orcs truly feel?" Ereinion asked. "But yes, they are drawn to him. You are right. Nothing ever truly ceased."
There was a rage, a burning rage in the two at that, and a pent-up grief and pain that they had lost their child before they could even know him properly. Before they gazed into his face, his eyes. Oh, his eyes, Estela thought. She couldn't imagine. What would they have been like if he had not felt the bitterness of the poison of Sauron's veins? Would they have been green like hers? Or perhaps blue, like his father's? Would they have been grey-green, like Anairë's, or dark blue like Fëanáro, her grandfather? Would they have resembled any of her cousins, both Noldorin and Telerin? Or perhaps his Vanyarin kin? And that wasn't the question she would like most to be answered.
What would he have been like, she thought, without the poison? Tormenting herself with these thoughts, the mother of the doomed child could not help but repeat them? Would he have been full of laughter? Playful? Charming? Sulky and whiny as an infant? Would he have enjoyed being played with? Would he have had a hearty appetite? Would he have enjoyed solid foods or milk more? What would his smile have been like? Or his cry?
She was wrong to think of this, she scolded herself. She had dwelt and cursed the past for so long, she should have thought more about the future, and what would have happened if it had been lost. Of course she had given up hope of a future like what she was experiencing now, but now that she had lost it, what was she going to do? She should have thought about it then.
Although she had no idea, no imagining that such a thing could happen.
The breeze whispered, and bare, brown leaves danced, pulled by the winds. Her hair blew in strands and brushed Ereinion, but he did not seem to care. Fëanuldon could not eat food, or drink milk like a normal child. Instead Elrond had fixed him with a tonic (she tried not to shudder or feel bloodless when she thought about the tonic that resulted in all of this), that provided him with the necessary nutrients. It took several attempts, but they managed to come up with up with one he actually liked and could swallow without coughing up.
Shockingly the base of which the other ingredients were mixed with was animal blood. And as the teeth matured, she could only feed him raw chunks of meat, cut small, but things like liver and kidney were a favourite of his along with the tonic. Of course his system required him to eat cooked food, but he preferred the meat cooked rare. When they tried to get him to eat vegetables, he vomited them out as if they were toxins. The only vegetable he could eat, was some vine, spiky and similar to a nettle, fibrous and bitter, although Elrond claimed it was actually beneficial for anyone's health the reason as to why no one ate it was understandable- it was viler than anything anyone had ever tasted. But it was very good for him, and considering there were so few things that he could consume they planted it in great quantities and even made it into a drink- a shaken one, similar to what children loved to drink, except theirs were made of milk and sweetened with sugar, honey and sweets crushed and blended in. He also ate berries that were considered sickening or even poisonous by men and dwarves. They were a treat for him and were also mixed in the drink.
Estela turned her head to the distance that, unseen to all eyes, save hers because it was carefully hidden, the house that hid her son.
No one ever knew of his existence. Not the members of the court, not even friends. He had never been declared the heir to the throne and the Houses of Fingolfin or Fëanor- or Olwë, for that matter. They would keep his existence a closely-guarded secret- until they could find a cure that would leech the poison from his veins.
Until then the power of Narya, Vilya and Nenya, the three rings to keep the evil at bay, within him as well as outside their boundaries. For once, she could imagine what her son might have been like- a small glimpse into his real character had he not been poisoned. For once she was grateful for those creations.
It was worth more to her than anything.
That must have been what her parents felt, Estela thought. The kind of love, and the desire to do anything, anything at all, for their offspring. And now she felt the same way for her own son.
But would he ever be free? Free to live his life in peace and joy- to be whom he is deep inside, and who he should be without Sauron's curse? Would they be free?
As she thought, she should have counted her blessings, as little as they seem.
"What now, my love?" She asked her husband, slipping into their native Quenya, the language they preferred.
He turned his mournful sapphire eyes towards her. There was something there- something steady- like the anchors of a ship, holding on and keeping everything in place, and without it, everything and everyone would be lost.
Estela- hope. Her mother named her well. Ereinion's eyes were filled with weary sadness, but a powerful strength as well.
He was the High King. Chosen to succeed Fingon the Valiant. And now…
"Our time in Middle-Earth will soon come to an end," Estela said. "One day, our people will leave these shores as they came. And not only they- but the elves of the woods- the Sindar and Silvan. They will all come. And we would be forgotten, but in a few remnants of myths, legends and tales. The dwarves too, would vanish into their mountain halls, as Durin himself had come from beneath, so too will they retreat the way they came. This much I feel in the depths of everything I have."
"And man?" Ereinion asked, looking at her. He still held her close. He didn't want to let go. But if what she said was true, then they would do this together. And they would not leave their son behind.
"Man will stay," Estela said. "Perhaps it will be their world entirely, after we are gone. I only hope they make it a better place, free of evil."
The boy slept. He never made a sound. He no longer cried. He had been well-fed, and was healthy. His development proceeded rapidly. Not so much his body, but his mind.
Avanwion, or Fëanuldon, ate well, slept well and did everything else well. So why were they so uneasy?
He was in his cradle. Estela watched him as he slept, his hair spilled onto his pillow. The rush of love, fear and protectiveness swept through her, and threatened to make the tears rise to her eyes. It was too overwhelming.
She couldn't give up on him. She never would, not even if she could.
She stroked his hair gently. The little boy did not rouse from his slumber. Estela loved him, so. How could she bear this? How could she not love him?
It threatened to tear and shatter her heart. How was it she still had hope?
She kissed him. He did not even stir. It was only when she turned to leave the nursery after a while that a small voice piped up, "Mother?"
She stopped and turned. "Yonya," she said warmly smiling trying to keep her sadness from this beloved boy. My son.
"Amil," he responded in turn. His mind was very quickly developing. Humans would be amazed by elven children's rapid mental development and the development of their abilities, but it was normal. Although in her son's case, he developed there much quicker.
"Yonya, did I wake you?" She asked quietly in Quenya.
He blinked and shook his head. "No, Ammë," he said, responding in turn. She hoped speaking to him in the tongue of the Valinorean peoples would bring him slightly closer to light.
"Do you wish me to stay, or leave?" She asked, smiling slightly. The boy looked at her firmly. "Stay."
"Very well, Fëanuldon." She said, moving towards him again. "Are you going back to sleep, or do you want to wake up? It's early morning."
"Why are you awake?" He asked, almost accusingly.
"Because I am your mother," she replied. "And I wanted to check on you."
"Then where is Atar?" He demanded.
Her smile grew strained. "Your father is busy at the moment. You know he comes as often as he can, it is hard for him to get away." She stroked his fine silky hair
"Is it those people again? Why do they always bother him?"
She hesitated. She did not want to give reasons as to why he was not declared High Prince, so in actuality, her son had no idea that his father was a king.
He was that isolated.
"Because they have to," she sighed. "It is not a matter of choice. Your father is a noble person and would do anything for any innocent in this world."
He looked like he was about to argue, but that wasn't what caught Estela's attention. His eyes glowed like molten lava rocks, emphasizing just how black his pupils were.
At least they were not slits like a snake's.
But even she can sense the anger, the rage and the eagerness of something chained to be unleashed in full fury.
"These matters cannot be disputed. He who calls himself Sauron has made matters far worse," Astaro, one of the best advisors, said.
"But Celebrimbor has taken back the Rings of Power," Ereinion said calmly. "What will this mean?"
"Hopefully, Sauron cannot unleash his plans until he has them." Astaro replied. "But Nenya, Vilya and Narya must be hidden at all costs."
They were what kept them safe, Ereinion knew. But they were still so carefully hidden and rarely put on- only to strengthen the boundaries and keep the poisonous blood of evil at bay inside his son.
"That is already done." Ereinion said. Estela refused to take a Ring of Power on pain of death, she declared. She was only grateful for the protection they offered to their peoples, and their son.
"But what of Sauron?" Calassion asked. "He will not give up."
"No," Elrond confirmed.
Estela fought the urge to sigh and rub her hand over her face.
"He will retreat somewhere, and gather as much strength as he could." Estela admitted. "As an Umaia, he would be able to accomplish great miracles, though not the wonderful kind. But he would need something more to cover a second darkness over Middle-Earth."
"Like what?" Calassion asked.
"A ring." Estela looked at him. "Another Ring of Power. This time, to manipulate and bring the bearers of the other Rings and bind them to his will, turning them until they no longer have anything left- no semblance of their former selves- not even their fëar and hröar."
Everyone shuddered. "It is poisonous to them," Estela thought of her son. "It draws everything- their identities, their loves and hates, their dislikes and likes, their memories and experiences, their knowledge- to the new Dark Lord and he directs them and makes them see things the way he wants. They will have no more identities other than what he will give them. They cannot even die, for they are already lost."
There was a long, horrified, shocked silence and nearly every face was white.
"Abomination." Someone whispered.
Estela thought of her son. She wanted him and her husband with her. She wanted her baby in her arms.
But he wasn't just her baby. He was Avanwion, Son of the Forbidden.
No matter how much she insisted he was Fëanuldon.
Sauron smiled as he observed his forces down below.
The orcs gathered, mumbled and growled, baring their teeth, but not in a threatening way. Their eyes did not look up.
They were more than just afraid. They were paralyzed with terror and awe.
And the cause was the upcoming battle.
His lip curled in annoyance. That damned queen and the High King knew this was coming, and he knew that they would be a nuisance at the very least, or more likely, a genuine threat to everything he had worked so hard to build. Centuries of planning… Lost, or would be lost if Gil-Galad and the queen were to do something.
The House of Finwë were far more than a thorn in Sauron's side. They were the foul, bitter, dangerous, loathsome poison in his mouth. They were the executioner's sword about to strike. They were the disease, the plague that threatened them, sweeping and raging just outside his door. Morgoth felt the same way.
And ultimately Morgoth tried to ignore them- surprise. They were more dangerous than he thought and Sauron never repeated mistakes- his or his former master's.
It was vital- no, more than vital even if such words could ever describe such a thing- that their offspring would not come forth into the world. Bad enough with father and mother like this, and grandparents too, but an all-powerful elven king descended from the greatest heroes, coming to take action against him? The idea was unthinkable.
At first, Sauron thought about killing the queen and the unborn child. But then he had a plan. A plan that would turn a great future threat into a powerful tool- his greatest lieutenant. He had no intention of being imprisoned or destroyed, but if he did…
This child would be to him as he was to Morgoth. He already decided that.
As for the others…
Gil-Galad, Celebrimbor and Estela, the three inheritors, and the child of Celebrimbor would have to be exterminated.
Sauron ground his teeth and his eyes flashed orange-gold in rage, their pupils turning into slits. He needed to recover the Rings from Celebrimbor.
He would make certain of it.
Estela twisted and turned in her restless sleep.
She saw darkness, Dreams of twisting dark floods, of mass orc armies, of blood. And yet…
She saw light.
How was this possible?
Everything pointed to danger and yet…
A Maia stood before her shining with light. Not Sauron, but a true Maia.
She held out her hand. Do not despair, my child.
My child.
You have prayed every night for our help.
She did, but she never dreamed they would answer.
Ah, but we would. Something is about to happen, but make no mistake, the end is never the end. After all has calmed and the world is changed, when the waters have swallowed the rotting carcass of the once-magnificent, great beast and washed clean its filth, come to me. When the waves overtake the ships, and your home seems lost to you forever, come to me.
Come to me in the forest of Nan Elmoth, like your kinsman Thingol once cameto Melian.
Estela woke with a start, astounded.
What did she mean? The world changed? A great beast? Ships and waves? Nan Elmoth?
Dreams were so confusing for her. But she clung onto this, this unsolved riddle, this one shred of hope, like a lifeline.
Suddenly she was filled with a new strength to go on.
In the meantime, trouble was stirring. But there was more hope than before.
Sauron's black eyes gleamed. His armies streamed forth from the underground pits and tunnels.
Now was the time. The world was ripe for taking.
With the 'Free Peoples' divided and quarrelling over their own petty squabbles, now was the time to strike, and to win.
And strike hard and win he would.
I know it's been a while and I'm sorry. I'm also sorry over the disturbing content of the last two chapters. But there is more to the story. As she said, the end is never the end!