Chapter Thirty-Eight

Estela and the others arrived back in Lindon.

As soon as Ereinion heard the news, he abandoned whatever he was doing and ran out.

His eyes met hers when she arrived. Instantly he jumped to meet her, embracing her tightly in his arms.

"Estela," he whispered. "Estela."

Now he was whole again.

She held onto him. They would never be parted, but there were other things in this world.

She was calmer, he thought. More relaxed.

Estela was saved, if only for now.

She made her way and looked outside the large bay window in their private sitting room.

The sun was shining.

The sun in which Mankind were born.

She drank in its radiance, and it suffused her with a warm strength and a light, of which ageless immortals would not normally have.

How mankind lived. How did humans go on, despite being so vulnerable- to the elements, to disease, to the decaying of flesh and bone, and to death which was inevitable, even if one lived without grief or slaying? How did they go on- have the strength to go on, knowing that, one day, quite soon for the lives of the elves, their lives were to end?

Only strength- a strength which elves did not have. The strength which came from the sun.

Perhaps it was the memory and the thought about what the very first humans went through before they were risen to greatness and corrupted, which gave her strength. Perhaps it was the Maia blood she had ingested, and the strength and wisdom of the Maiar was infused within her. And her unborn child.

Ereinion watched behind her, observing his wife, in the light of the sun. Never had she looked more beautiful- the glow of the sun falls on her alabaster skin, which glowed so pale, gilding her and turning her into gold, her copper hair, especially with its gold streaks catches the light, and seems to burst into life, turning molten gold, the streaks running through the strands of the fiery copper hair and glinting, glimmering like she was touched by the Ainur.

Her beauty made him catch his breath, as her face turned. Her radiance, the light of the sun, the joy in her face and love was truly breath-taking. She was always the most beautiful woman he had ever seen- not even Nerdanel's statues, Fëanáro's creations and Míriel's tapestries could compare to this one wonder, this one creation that sprung from their glorious, powerful blood. The finess and delicacy of her bones, the glow of her face and eyes as she shone. And the smile she sent towards him.

He didn't know how he managed to pull himself together, but he did and took her in his arms. They kissed, long and deep and he and Estela gazed at each other with love, before Ereinion asked. "My love, what is it?"

"Love," Estela whispered. "I am with child again."

"Sauron has lost this battle, but this does not mean that he is gone forever." Irmo, Lord of Dreams and Master of Lórien spoke. The clouds parted up ahead in Taniquetil as the Valar held their Máhanaxar.

"He has fled Númenor," Irmo continued. "He will flee into the land he has established, wasted long ago, before Morgoth fell. And there, he will establish his kingdom. The land of Mordor. A barren desolate dry wasteland, where the very air is poison and poisonous ash clouds all. Where the only living thing is the bloated, accursed, foul offspring of Ungoliant."

"Until the orcs come," Námo boomed.

"And then what?" Vána spoke. "What then will Sauron do?" Estë asked. "He is not foolish enough to begin his invasion straight away. Is he too weak to begin the preparations?"

"No." Tulkas spoke. "He is not strong enough. But what he lacks in power, he makes up in cunning. The orcs are disbanded- destroyed in unity and purpose since the defeat of Melkor. They need a source of evil, to go on and have a purpose- they need a Dark Lord."

"Sauron," Ulmo boomed. His green eyes, like sea-light blazed silently. "He will gather them to his power- to be his strength- his weapon of choice. Them and more."

"Indeed," Manwë spoke. "And of the doings of the earthly beings we are forbidden to interfere."

They looked towards him.

"Those were the instructions we were given- unless they were conducting the Great Journey- and unless they are on Aman- their fate is not ours to interfere directly."

"And Ar-Pharazôn?" Vána questioned. "He still lives," she continued. "Will he remain thus, for all time?"

"Yes," Yavanna frowned. "What is the purpose of keeping him here, buried underneath rock and stone?"

"I would like to know that as well," Estë said quietly.

"And I," Tulkas spoke. "Why does he stay there, doomed for all time, when the fate of all men, even those with the blood of Númenor, is deemed to fade someday?" Nessa questioned.

Manwë looked grave. "I understand your concern, Nessa, but I cannot sway the will of our Father. It is He who demands thus."

"Indeed," Varda said. Her eyes burned bright.

They all turned to Námo.

He looked up from where his face was hidden in shadow. "The Will of the All-Father," he spoke. "Cannot be swayed. Ar-Pharazon and his men will remain in the Caves of the Forgotten, until the end of time- the Battle of All Ages."

Everyone fell silent on this and turned back from him.

"What is his purpose in the battle?" Nienna asked.

"That only the All-Father knows," was Námo's reply.

"But he must remain. And only the newest comer into this war may speak of the time that is to come someday- the ending of all days, the Battle of Battles."

Vairë had remained silent throughout the entire meeting, but her lips twitched into a smile. But Yavanna frowned and turned to Varda. "What is the purpose of sending Ilmarë, your companion to Queen Estela? You know that the Maiar are forbidden to match Sauron might for might."

"That may be," Varda replied. "But this will help her survive."

"What is to happen to Estela?" Yavanna insisted. "And Gil-Galad?"

Tulkas frowned and alarmed as well, he leaned forwards. "Yes, what is to happen to them?"

"Fate," Vairë finally spoke. In her hands she held a skein of threads. They might have been wool from its softness, or silk from its glimmering sheen and lightness, but the other Valar knew better.

"Fate will decide the course of their lives, as well as the lives of their children, as well as the world. "Only the Father may decide their fate."

Estela closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun. When had she last enjoyed it- well, never. But she would not go down that path.

She closed her eyes and enjoyed the warmth of the sun, and the feel of her husband near her.

"Love," Ereinion began. What had gotten into her? Since the last pregnancy did not end well, he was instantly wary and even paranoid. But her expression of such peace and serenity calmed him.

He was about to speak again, when Estela placed her finger upon his lips. "Hush," she whispered. She opened her mind and told him all that had happened within the forest of Nan Elmoth.

His eyes widened. "You can't be serious," he gasped.

"Is it true?" It sounded too unbelievable to be true.

"Yes, no matter what happens, our child will now survive." She felt the tears prickle her eyes and her heart threatened to burst out of her chest and she leaned against his chest and his arms held her.

Sauron was not destroyed. He reappeared in Middle-Earth.

So the Númenóreans failed in just about everything- humans would see their fate as an example- of what not to do. At least he had taken his revenge.

Sauron held out his hand. The gates shook and shuddered, lurching open. The tall high gates, black as pitch.

Inside, a barren wasteland, blasted with ash from the wars and fires of Morgoth, was his new land.

Mordor.

And the Lord of the Dark Land beheld his dominion. He growled as he remembered the loss he had gained. At least the Númenóreans were humbled.

But there was no great power to be had.

Apart from the Rings.

There was no chance of gaining the Three. There was something there- a powerful magic which could not be lifted. Have they been hallowed by the Valar? Or more formidably, the All-Father?

But the other rings, the sixteen- he could deal with them.

The only problem was that Celebrimbor hid them away, in Eregion. The three were safe in the hands of Gil-Galad and his kin, but the sixteen.

And Sauron smiled, the slightest bit.

But there was something else troubling him. No doubt the great High King and his pesky shieldmaiden queen would wreck chaos upon him.

Gil-Galad was legendary- he could destroy anyone and anything he desired, and nothing could ever stand against him, and hope to prevail.

Estela was equally destructive. It seemed every time she twitched her finger, everything chaos was unleashed. And Sauron, Dark Lord as he was, did not like chaos, especially if it was working against him. She did more damage with a finger-twitch than Morgoth did against his enemies in his day.

If she had been older, and her father had been wiser, he should have allowed her to fight against them. But then again, where did she get her undefeated and unstoppable, devastatingly destructive skills? From her father.

It seemed to take Sauron centuries to capture him! Then what was he to do, now that his daughter and the son of Fingon, the Valiant were free?

Of course, now Sauron understood what a fool Morgoth was. After all, he would have been nothing- nothing- without Sauron. And yet, he did not take Sauron's advice and provoked the Valar to coming against him. Big chance they had, to defeat them all.

Sauron had to endure the intense humiliation of prostrating himself before Eönwë, Manwë's lap-dog, he thought scathingly, and repented publicly, whereupon the herald ordered him to submit himself before the Máhanaxar and the Mercy of the All-Father.

Excellent, well, Sauron thought bitterly, there was no chance of that. So he fled and hid, cowering humiliatingly for centuries, and what does he do when Morgoth returned? Oh, well, no less than embrace him and welcome him back! Well, look at him now, Sauron thought bitterly.

Of course he couldn't pretend he didn't want the Valar to attack the Númenóreans for him! But what a fool he had been once, to risk everything for a master who thought himself invincible, and although he might have seemed indestructible, he was certainly arrogant enough not to have thought of a single plan in case anything went wrong. The Silmarils! Who in Arda suggested him to get those?

Sauron scowled and let loose a threatening growl. Finwë! Who told Morgoth to kill him anyway? He should have saved himself the trouble and them all the trouble of being attacked by the Sons of Fëanor!

And now there was a granddaughter to deal with!

Did Morgoth even know what he was getting himself into? No, of course not! Sauron could have snorted. What a fool. And to think, that he had served him so loyally. No matter, there was nothing he could do about it now. Morgoth was dead. And now, Sauron would rise and succeed where Morgoth had failed, as the new Dark Lord of the earth.

But he knew it would be a while until his 'son' would be ready- to take his place as the cause of the destruction of the elves.

Why did I let Númenor go like that? He fumed. It was like something Morgoth would do.

But he could wait. He could bide his time and wait and gain in strength, if Morgoth taught him anything useful, it was that.

And then he would reclaim the Rings.

Besides the blood of Númenor were going to be the end of him, anyway, if they persisted.

A rider galloped into Lindon's royal palace's courtyard.

He dismounted, the elf wearing a travelling cloak, dusty from travel.

Estela received him. Upon meeting him in the courtyard, she gasped, her hand over her heart as she beheld him for the first time in so long.

"Vorondo!" She gasped.

She had last seen him at her wedding. She had been told he needed to leave and she tried to stop him, but she allowed him to go.

She was unbearably glad to see him. Her eyes filled with tears as she beheld and embraced him.

"I was told the world had changed. And that you had a child while I was away." He said as she pulled away.

Estela swallowed. "Rumours. But I am with child now."

He regarded her in silence, before saying, "Then I am glad for you."

They walked together in silence.

"So much has happened," Estela said, breaking the silence.

"Indeed." Vorondo replied. "I had hoped…" he was silent.

"What?" Estela turned towards him. "What is it, Vorondo? Why did you disappear? I feared and prayed for you every night."

Vorondo sighed. "I know you did."

"Will you stay?" She asked pleadingly. "How long will you stay?"

He looked at her. "As long as you want me to."

She kissed him on his cheek.

Slowly, the cities and realms of Gondor and Arnor rose in Middle-Earth.

Out of the ashes of loss and defeat, they rebuilt anew.

This was the chance the All-Father had given them- to be better, to do a better job at living this time.

And they would not waste it.

The gleaming cities of marble rose and so did hope.

Not all was lost.

And Celebrimbor, the Ringmaker, sighed and allowed the hammer to fall from his hand. He covered his eyes in the agony of regret and anguish. His wife came and touched his shoulder. She pulled herself to him, and he felt her love, and her presence.

They had each other. That was all they needed.

Love and each other, to give them strength and courage.

Love was more than enough to endure.

Estela slept and somehow it was peaceful. Her dreams did not trouble her. She did not recall ever sleeping so well for so long. Always many things kept her up. Or else, nightmares haunted and tormented her. Not now.

Far away, Sauron opened his eyes and growled.

Nothing could touch her.

There was something there. Something that blocked her from his view. From his point of view it looked like…. Light.

But no, that was not possible. Surely after all those centuries and everything that her family had done, the Valar and Maiar would have surely abandoned her? Why show their faces now, after so much? No one did anything to help her then, during the War of Wrath, why now?

It was not possible. But either way for the time being, Estela was untouchable.

Sauron growled, louder than before.

But at least, he had time.

And he already took her son. So what was there to lose?

Let them think that he had perished within the waves that engulfed Númenor. He will wait and build up his strength. He was good at that.

So for the time being, Estela was untouched.

Estela saw the face of her husband as she woke and smiled at him. He smiled back, and it looked like he was shining from within. With pure joy and relief.

"Melmenya," he said softly. "You're awake."

"Yes," she responded. "I'm awake. And my strength has returned."

Ereinion sighed and rolled over to his side.

"We should not tell anyone you are with child." He said with a finality.

Estela looked grim. "Agreed."

He rose. "Perhaps the dawn will bring us new things."

"Perhaps," Estela agreed. She was silent for a while.

"What is to be done with our son?"

Ereinion was silent too, as he faced the large window- the curtains having been opened.

Golden light filled the whole place, but Ereinion saw none of it, and stood silently in thought.

"He cannot stay here," he said pain in his voice. Estela swallowed and kept silent. Yes, she knew he was right.

"Where shall he go?" She asked. "The Maiar you mentioned-"

"Will not arrive for some time yet," Ereinion finished. "So we must send him to wait somewhere. Lothlórien perhaps. But no, that will not work. He must be in isolation. For his own safety, and those of others, now that we know what he is capable of, he cannot be left alone, and with others who are vulnerable. Every day, his power grows, and soon not even Vilya, Narya and Nenya will be enough to hold it back."

Tears streamed from Estela's eyes. "Will he ever be free?"

Ereinion's shoulders slumped. "That I don't know. But there's always hope. Perhaps if we send him to the Undying Lands…"

Estela sat up suddenly. "Why don't we?" She demanded. "I've spoken to Artanis. She says that elves will still be able to reach there, if they travel the Straight Road, through the horizon and across the starry waters and skies of Ekkaia. They will heal him, I know the Valar will."

But then again, apart from the visits of the Maiar, encouraging her to go on the path she was taking, did the Valar ever speak to her? Why should they want to? And what of the Noldor and Teleri- and even the Vanyar on Valinor? Will they welcome her child? A tainted person, and when immortals lived, their memories were long- Morgoth would not have been forgotten, and the damage he and his Maiar wrought upon everyone's lives…

Not to mention Arafinwë would be sitting on the throne in Tirion right now, Estela remembered. And Eärwen, Galadriel's mother, and her grand-aunt. How will they react to such traumatic memories? It might not be right to blame a child, but this child was tainted by the evil that might only be cured by Eru Ilúvatar.

But then again, could they afford to wait, and let the darkness within their son grow stronger?

"Send him to Valinor," Estela said suddenly. She looked down. "We have to let him go."

Ereinion turned to her suddenly.

She swallowed. "Estela," he began gently. She shook her head vehemently. "No, I understand what needs to be done. I understand that as a mother I want to keep him close, forever. But I also understand that I will be doing him no favours, no saving of any kind, if I let him stay here, on Middle-Earth. We cannot wait for the Maiar."

He watched her for a very long time, before he looked down, and swallowed. "Very well."

"Just give me some time with him," she pleads. "Spend some time with him as well."

Ereinion nodded. "It will be as you say." He left the room.

"Amil, where are we going?" Fëanuldon asked. His lips pursed, as he was helped into his riding cloak- sturdy materials, comfortable, and of fine make, but strong, durable, water-proof, warm in winter and cool in summer. It was a material of her own invention. She pinned his cloak with a brooch. She held his leather boots out, and told him to step in them, and to stomp them down.

"Are they comfortable?" She asked her son.

The boy nodded, his lips pursed further. The leather was cushioned with soft wool inside, and was of high quality, not merely the look and feel of it, but also the durability. Elven shoes do not wear out the same way human ones, and even the ones of dwarvish make, did.

Estela took a comb and combed her son's hair. She had given him a bath, and washed his face and teeth prior to this. Estela was silent for a long time, and the boy grew frightened.

But she had little comfort to give him.

She placed the comb down.

Estela touched the brooch.

"Do you see this?" She asked her son.

The boy nodded. She fingered the brooch's crest.

"Your father's crest is a field of stars on a blue field, like midnight. But mine is the one of my father's and his father's before him. We are a proud house, Fëanuldon. But I admit, that pride often caused us to fall to sorrow."

She paused.

"The symbol of our House is the eight-pointed star." She continued. "The greatest warriors, feared by evil, undefeated by them, and unbent before them, wore this star. And now, I pass it onto you, my son."

She rose. The little boy touched the brooch, now mesmerized by its meaning and craftsmanship.

"The satchel." She passed the satchel to his bodyguard.

"My friend," she said, her voice breaking. "You I trust above all others to do this. To Valinor the Blessed, so evil can be purged and cleansed from this world and this boy. Save him, please. Save my boy, I beg you, not as a queen, but as a mother."

And the warrior looked at her, saw the tears in her eyes and nodded.

His name was Artaro.

"Mother?" Fëanuldon's voice sounded frightened. It was heartbreaking.

"Go," she told him. "And remember always, Fëanuldon, I love you, Yonya, no matter what happens, no matter what comes next, I love you, and I will never stop loving you, even if I die. Even if I suffer the Doom of my fathers. I love you and all I do, I do for the ones I love, even if I must suffer and die in the most heinous of ways, than I shall. And I do this for you, Fëanuldon, so to protect and save you. I love you- forever. Infinitely more than my own self."

"Mother," now there was panic in his voice.

"Go," Estela could not meet his eyes. "Go and say farewell to your father. He is waiting for you in the other room."

"Mother!" Now there was panic and fear, and a desperate helplessness that threatened to shatter her in over a million pieces. She choked back a sob and fell to her knees, as Astaro pulled him away.

"Mother!" He screamed. "Amil!" He reverted to Quenya, but Estela did not see him through eyes blurred with tears. She broke and wailed, sobbing and howling her heart to the Heavens as Fëanuldon was led- no, dragged- away.

Sauron closed his eyes. If he could not sense the mother, what if he could no longer sense his son? If there was something protecting her, there was likely something protecting him as well. And if he was protected from Sauron's gaze, then…

Then there was no chance of victory. Not without the Rings of Power. Not without Celebrimbor to create the Ring he desired. Not without Avanwion, his son, to bring death and destruction to Middle-Earth and lead his armies of chaos to victory.

He had to act fast.

The orcs were regrouping. The trolls were being awakened deep underground and prepared for war. In fact, new orcs and trolls were emerging.

New war machines, faster and deadlier than ever before, were being finished. The remnants of the King's Númenóreans that didn't die in the sinking of their island nation, also flocked to him for strong leadership. Dark Númenóreans, they renamed themselves, to set them apart from the Elendili.

The army was nearly ready. But the boy was needed.

And the Rings- including the yet-unmade One Ring.

And so Sauron set his mind on his most terrifying plan yet.

Fëanuldon departed. As no one even knew that the High King even had a son, apart from rumours, no one gave a ceremonial farewell and blessing.

Instead, the boy left, with only a few guards, fewer than those elves who travelled to the Grey Havens to go to the Undying Lands, would have. The High King and his wife could not risk any more lives than necessary.

Perhaps that was a mistake. Or perhaps that was wise.

But that was the last anyone had ever seen or heard of Fëanuldon, the son of Gil-Galad and Estela.

As one can easily imagine, with his parents believing he had gone onto the Grey Havens and nothing being discussed out of the pain of it, and out of the secrecy that was needed to protect the boy, no one ever knew what became of Fëanuldon until it was too late.

In Eregion, Celebrimbor knew the time had come.

The armour were ready, the smiths working away at the weapons' finishing touches. The Sixteen Rings of Power, safely hidden.

Or so he thought.

While they hammered on, somehow, Celebrimbor, son of Curufinwë, knew that his time was soon up.

Months later….

The pains were mild. Nothing like the pains felt by humans. Nothing like what she had gone through in her first labour.

So, no one else was there. Ereinion took her arm, and led her, as they walked around the room.

Finally she stopped, and allowed herself to be lowered on the bed.

With pillows propped beneath her, Estela pushed.

Suddenly she heard an intake of breath. A new voice.

Ereinion's gasp sounded throughout the room. "A girl," he whispering, breathing the new scent in. "A beautiful, perfect girl."

Our girl.

Our girl.

Tears shimmered in his eyes, spilt, the way it rarely ever did.

So much love and joy within, threatened to overwhelm and overflow all. His tears shone and flowed unchecked, as hers, as he handed her, the new life, wriggling and breathing, her eyes opened- the miraculous new life- to her mother.

And his heart would have broken and spilt over with the love and happiness in their alone.

That was how they both felt.

Tears spilt from Estela's eyes as she beheld her beloved, miraculous, treasured- priceless even- adored little girl. So perfect and precious, so miraculous it was, that she merely took breath, and so amazing that she only stared. And especially when she saw how breath-takingly, impossibly, ineffably beautiful her child was.

The little girl was the most shockingly beautiful thing she had ever beheld. She had said it, about her mother and Ilmarë, but now she must say it for her own child. She was so pale, her skin glowed silver-white. They glowed so amazingly bright, she might have been made from the light of Telperion. Her hair, by sharp contrast, was so deep and rich a black, even the mere colour was shiny. Her features were the most delicate, yet the most perfect she had ever seen. Not a single flaw, anywhere in her heart-shaped face- a tiny delicately-upturned and tapered nose, a small, lush, rosebud mouth in rich deep soft red, and a hint of high cheekbones. Her eyes were a wonder. They were stars. Her beloved, precious, priceless little girl. They were so richly-coloured, so bright- violet, like Estela's own mother. She seemed to literally shine, and that took Estela's breath away, as well as her beauty.

Tears rolled over and spilt unchecked from her very eyes, as she beheld this lovable, wonderful, amazing, awesome, miraculous wonder- this amazing, astounding, perfect beautiful child. The one wondrous thing that would live and go on, even after she was gone.

The truest, most amazing and wonderful, fulfilling gift, the All-Father and the Valar had given her. Them.

She felt Ereinion come from behind her, and wrap his arms around both of them, kissing the child's head, and blessing her.

"What shall we name her?" Estela whispered.

He looked up, tears still in his eyes. The relief, the joy, the love- everything was too much.

He took a deep breath.

"Elenñaltë," he said. Star of Radiance.

"Similar to your name," She said in surprise, "Gil-Galad." He looked at her in surprise.

"I'd forgotten that," he admitted. Then they both laughed. "But it suits her more than me, if I must say so in all honesty.

"What shall you call her?" He asked his wife.

Estela regarded her daughter.

"There is only one thing that I want more than anything for her. I know she has a destiny, but there is one thing I want from her. To be happy, safe and loved. She has more than enough beauty. But I want her to be loved."

"So what shall you call her?" He asked the mother.

"Vanimelda." She replied. "Beautiful and beloved. Let her not go through life alone, without love. With love, everything can be endured- and won."

"On that, I agree with you," and he nuzzled and kissed them both and held them close.

Nothing could spoil the joy of this day.

The love and happiness, the pureness of it- and the relief.

But their son was not here.

Once again, I thank Merin Essi ar Quenteli for the Elvish names!

The reference, Dark Númenóreans, applies to what the Tolkien texts called the Black Númenóreans- the one that left their nation before its downfall, but I don't call them Black Númenóreans, as it's racist and anyway they aren't actually black in terms of dark skin- most of them appear really sallow and pallid.

Vanimelda is an immensely important child, as you might have guessed.

Sadly, she will not meet her elder brother until centuries later. Fëanuldon's part in this story has ended- but you'll see him in later sequels. I'm not giving away any spoilers. But there is joy for now.

P.S Sorry for the length of the last chapter!