Chapter Thirty-Nine
"Announce the news," Gil-Galad said, his eyes shining. The councillor's eyes were bewildered. No, for safety reasons, especially after the last pregnancy, they kept this one a secret.
"The Queen has given birth to a daughter."
Shock filled the councillor's features, pure and complete shock as he stared at the High King to distinguish whether this was a joke of some kind. It wasn't.
Still staring, the councillor turned and fled, but not before throwing one last bewildered look at Ereinion. It was a good thing, that with heightened senses like all elves, he could not trip.
Ereinion stared for a while, before coming back inside.
Estela lay in bed, pillows still propped up behind her, stroking the baby's hair and watching with entranced love, the mesmerized awe that only new mothers can have.
This child was a gift. And she did not need to look at her violet eyes, shining like stars themselves, richer and brighter than amethysts, to sense the light from within the child's fëa.
This child, though beautiful and probably renowned for it later on, was safe. For now. And no matter what happened, her girl would always remain alive and safe- she hoped. But she knew no matter what actually happens, her child will survive. Even as her destiny- a powerful, and important one according to the one who promised her safety and survival- was written out in the stars above that shone as if they were celebrating- Estela whispered to her daughter.
"It will not touch you," she whispered. "The darkness will never touch you, you are safe, and treasured- beloved, little one- more than you will ever know."
The child gazed at her with those eyes as if she understood.
Heart overflowing with love, she tenderly brushed the black hair away from her delicate forehead. It was so wonderful, so overwhelming, so powerful, awesome and intense this feeling of love and awe for her little child, it was impossible to know it, unless one had been in that same position.
Vanimelda stared at her mother with those wise, knowing, yet innocent eyes. Estela kissed her head, and breathed in her scent, nuzzling her tenderly.
Awe and love itself were two of the most astounding emotions one could ever have, least of all for one so tiny, yet so precious.
Amazingly enough, people accepted the news that Gil-Galad had a daughter. But Estela wondered if they should keep her existence a secret- for her own safety.
But no, this child should grow and flourish in the light, as all children, especially this one of light, should. As her brother, should have done.
She seemed to glow in the light and the dark. How unbelievable. Elves reflect starlight on their skin, hair, eyes and even clothes, but this child seemed to be light itself.
It's the Maia blood, she thought fearing and worrying for her child.
Sauron was not gone. No one knew how many people he had fooled, but he did not fool the parents of this child.
This child, she was warned, would be half-Maia. Like Lúthien daughter of Thingol and Melian, but hopefully, although she will be beloved, she can amount to more than just a tragic end.
This would not be a wasted life, like her kinswoman.
But a chill swept through Estela, as she beheld her child's ineffably lovely face. She was related, she realised. To all of them. Itarillë or Idril. Finduilas, daughter of Orodreth. And Lúthien.
The love and protectiveness she felt over this child, especially after losing the first, was enough to shatter her heart and spirit all over again. To fill her to overflowing. To die and kill for. To go and do anything for- even something as horrendous and abominable as kinslaying, blasphemous and abominable as it was.
Surely she was destined for more than a tragic and romantic end.
Vanimelda will be more, she vowed.
She would survive and live.
But a shadow crept over her heart as she thought of her son.
The Essecarmë went ahead. Estela was clothed in lustrous emerald silk, embroidered with silvery diamonds and adamants, trimmed with gold to match her robe, a circlet of mithril and adamants on her head. The little princess was wrapped in a gown of exquisitely beautiful silks and lace that her mother especially made for her naming ceremony. Estela smiled as she felt the overwhelming love and protectiveness yet again, but her heart broke at the thought of her absent son.
She had indeed been broken-hearted when he left. And she still loved and missed him, and thought about him, even then.
But at least, she thought, he was better off.
But what about this one?
What danger would she be in, Estela thought, anxiety and fear twisting her soul, if Sauron should discover her existence? He would seek to destroy her, she knew. And he would not stop until she is destroyed.
An icier fear had never gripped her insides as she twisted the cloth of her gown, though it did not crease. Her child! Her priceless, only daughter! Estela had already lost one child, did she have to lose another? She couldn't bear it, couldn't think about it.
Out of all the races of Middle-Earth, though Sauron hated the Dúnedain (the Elendili started calling themselves that again), it was the elves he hated the most, just like Morgoth. And out of all of the elves, it was the House of Finwë whom he loathed above all else. The House of her Ereinion Gil-Galad- and Estela.
This left Vanimelda, daughter to the High King, the son of Fingon the Valiant- whether one believed her was fostered and adopted by Fingon or was Orodreth's true successor- the acknowledged heiress of the Noldorin monarchy and the powerful House of Fëanor, as the only inheritor left on Middle-Earth, apart from her cousin Eleniel and Celebrimbor. Elrond's family- and Galadriel- did not count- they were not inheritors, though they shared blood.
So with ice filling up inside her, the fearful mother concocted a plan, in case the worst came to pass- it was a harp.
Estela finished building a large harp in secret. It was massive, although it was bigger than it actually seemed, and it was hollow inside. Big enough to fit a small child- a baby or toddler, really- to hide Vanimelda.
The only problem was, to get someone to keep her safe, at all costs.
But as Estela came out to the Great Hall carrying Vanimelda, she noticed someone.
Vorondo.
Vorondo drank from a goblet as Estela watched him, and she knew Vorondo was a minstrel, and utterly loyal to her. So just one last favour- just one. She prayed to the All-Father that Vorondo would accept and love, protect and care for this child like his own.
"Congratulations on the begetting and birth of a daughter," Ereinion turned sharply to see Celebrimbor. His face was subdued, pale and haunted. Ereinion's brow furrowed and he looked concerned.
"Thank you, cousin." Celebrimbor let out a heavy sigh.
"I heard about…" The silence spoke enough. "I'm so sorry- like nothing I've ever been sorry for."
"It's not your fault," Ereinion began, but Celebrimbor shook his head.
"You created the Three," Ereinion said. "If that didn't happen, who knows how much worse it might have been?"
"But I spoke with him," Celebrimbor's eyes, every bit as bright as Ereinion's but paler, was clouded in self-blame, misery and darkness. "I agreed with him. Estela was right. I, the grandson of Fëanáro, should have known better."
He scoffed and drank from his goblet.
"And yet I did not it. And there is no excuse for such stupidity- especially as if that stupidity leads to other things."
Ereinion's eyebrows rose. "Nothing's happened."
"Yet." Celebrimbor drank again.
"The Sixteen are hidden away. But I sense that Sauron draws near. We know that he isn't destroyed, no matter how many people might think that."
"So, when the time comes we shall be ready for him," Ereinion said with a finality.
Celebrimbor looked at him without breaking any emotion. "Yes."
They watched the celebrations in silence. Estela, her cousin noted, was talking to Vorondo. He hadn't seen him in ages.
"I've placed everyone in danger," Celebrimbor said quietly. "My daughter, my wife, my cousin who is more like my sister, you the High King- every elf, human and dwarf in Middle-Earth, if not all of Arda."
"Don't," Ereinion said in a warning tone. "How is Eleniel?" He asked him, hoping to change the subject. He also enquired about Silmiel.
It worked- for a while. Such dour things were not discussed for the rest of the day.
So the celebrations went on, and meanwhile the storms brewed in Mordor- not a single beam of natural light seeped through the skies above it. The orcs grunted and fought with one another. The volcano rumbled and spewed lava.
The spider lurked in her caves, devouring her victims.
And while the lava roared and burst, rising higher than before, Sauron his eyes glowing orange-gold like the lava, his pupils slits, observed in silence.
And soon, the swirling black hair, like silky smoke, the slim face with its chiselled features, even the eyes, disappeared. In its place was a huge figure covered in iron, a helm of iron covering his whole head, with spikes rising from within, and a mace by his side.
And somewhere the Valar and Maiar observed all.
"It is ready." Vairë proclaimed. "Or very nearly."
They watched from Taniquetil.
Manwë observed all in silence. His kingly face, was shrouded in sorrow at what was to come. He bowed his head.
Beside him Varda Queen of Stars saw all. Her stars shone in the dark of the sky, celebrating the birth of the child they had been waiting for. And waiting to guide her along the way.
Oromë looked grim, but Tulkas looked at him and both knew that everything would be fine in the end.
They all watched.
Irmo and Námo looked at each other. Nienna fingered beads, counting the time silently and the tears she would have to shed for all.
Estë whispered things into the night. Manwë said, "It is time to prepare."
Vanimelda slept, tired after a long day. Her mother gently rocked the cradle.
"How was it?" Celebrían asked.
Estela choked back on the pain. "Nothing like the first," she said, thinking of her son.
He was gone. How far away was he? What was he doing now? All those things tore at and haunted her, and she wanted desperately to know.
"How do you deal with the fear?" She asked as if from a distance. "And the worry and the knowing that your child's life is written out for them, on the stars? How do you deal with knowing that someday…"She couldn't continue.
Celebrían touched her hand. The warm touch sent Estela back to reality nursery and she kept rocking the cradle. It was warm, and comforting and bright, this place she had chosen for her baby.
She was speaking of both children, Celebrían knew. Estela had far too much to deal with in her life- enough was enough surely?
No, it was more than enough.
The bassinet was silver, embossed with ornate buds and flowers, and flowing stems, with a canopy above it. The sheets were silk embroidered with pearl beading. This child had been declared the heiress of both parents- something which her brother never had due to the darkness inside. Estela was glad- overjoyed and relieved for her daughter as a matter of fact. But she knew it would place an impossibly high price on her daughter's head and she would die in the most torturous ways to prevent that. Her son had lived his life in the shadows, deprived of a life in the light, like he should have. He was never even blessed in an Essecarmë.
As far as anyone was concerned, he never existed. Was this how he was meant to live out his life? Estela wanted to shout. As if he were nothing, or something fouler than a disease? What about her daughter? Would she risk a life in the light in order to be captured, tormented and killed? Was that her end? How was she supposed to live?
But she should be down on her knees, thanking the Valar and the All-Father of the gift of new life. Not this. But the worry and fear of a mother…
Was this how my mother felt?
Still, Vanimelda slept on. Estela sighed. She didn't want to be ungrateful. Whatever will happen, is in the hands of the All-Father and the Ainur who guide her. And for that she was impossibly thankful. Like her son, though, the rush of love, fear and protectiveness was overwhelming, and thus unbearable. Like with him, that powerful well of tenderness caused tears to rise hastily to her eyes. And her heart threatened to break from the pureness and force of it. How was this possible?
Let her enjoy peace for now.
The months passed. Little Elenñaltë Vanimelda grew. Although her body grew slow, her development was faster than even most elves that age.
Estela sat in the garden bench as her daughter picked a few blooms and some interesting rocks and eagerly handed it to her.
She tried, but failed to keep the smile from growing on her face.
"Seldë," she addressed. "What have you got there?"
Vanimelda, or Melda- that was her epessë and it simply meant Beloved which was also a form of endearment- passed her an interesting rock.
"A snail is in the rock!" She cried. The precious, beloved, sweet little treasure.
Estela blinked. She bent down and picked her precious little girl up.
"That was a real snail," she said. "A long time ago. Then it died, and it became covered in mud. Then over the millennia, the mud hardened and became rock. The body is gone, but the shell can still be seen- at least the imprint of it in the rock."
The little girl, more precious than the dawn, looked up with her with wide, solemn eyes and nodded. Estela gave her a kiss. "Keep it." She said. "It's mortal?" Vanimelda asked.
Estela looked startled, at her little girl. Since when did Vanimelda know about mortality and immortality just yet? But then again, she knew about death, and she knew that one can be killed with swords, knives, daggers, spears and arrows. And fire. But she did not tell her daughter that humans eventually grew old and died, whereas elves remained.
"Yes, it's mortal." She answered. "Like humans?" The little girl asked again.
"Yes, my sweet Melda, like humans. But humans live longer than this little snail, and they're definitely smarter."
"But the snail's not like us," she replied. "And humans too."
"No, Seldë," she hugged Melda closer to her. Just the sweet scent and the feel of the little girl made her feel overwhelmed with love and tenderness- and comfort. She wanted to stay like this forever- the warmth, the love, the joy- she did not want it to change. But it would.
"Humans grow very quickly, but their bodies soon decay- their bones grow brittle, like glass, and their skin wrinkle and crease, and even mottles. Their eyes grow cloudy, their hearing weakens and their hair turns grey or white. They grow easier to feel cold, pain and heat, and well, everything else. Humans do not last forever, I'm sorry to say. I've had human friends."
Vanimelda looked at her mother solemnly, and stroked her cheek and stretched to give her a kiss.
"I'm sorry they're gone, Ammë." The little girl said. "I wish they are happy with Ilúvatar and the Ainur. I'm sure Námo of Mandos treats them mercifully, and kindly, for they did good deeds in their lives and their hearts are good. I love you, Ammë. Everyone does as well, and they want you to be happy."
Even more startled, Estela looked at the little girl. This was the first sign that her child knew more than everyone ever said. Of course she would have been taught about the Ilúvatar and the Ainur, including the Valar, but how did she know so much?
It was bewildering.
"Ammë, come with me," Melda hopped down and pulled her mother's hand. The sweet child tugged at her hand again.
"There are flowers here, like the ones Irmo has in Lórien."
Ereinion watched his wife and daughter play joyfully in the garden and smiled.
"She's very beautiful." Galadriel remarked. "Extremely beautiful," Celebrían said. "And delightfully radiant."
Ereinion sighed. "Yes," he said quietly.
"She shines with the light of the Ainur," Galadriel said. "It is hard to miss. Even though the ones who do not know it, sense that she is a special child."
Ereinion's shoulders slumped. "I know she does."
Galadriel looked at him concerned. "But she is still a child, though." Galadriel said. "And will remain a child for a while longer."
Little Vanimelda sat on a fountain's edge. Her locks were so rich and deep a black it glowed with gold and silver light, not actual coloured streaks like her mother, but the light was bright when it was captured in the silky tresses. Her skin was exquisitely fair by contrast, the purest silver-white that would make snow look dirty, and flawless. Her features were delicate and she had all the beauty her family had to give her in her face-and more. He saw Fëanor and Míriel Serindë in her face. And Indis. A different type of beauty, yes, but somehow complimentary and harmonious just the same. Aredhel was there too- even Galadriel was. And most of all Estela and her mother- the Telerin princess who married Maitimo son of Fëanáro.
But there was something- well, someone- there as well, that was more than the House of Finwë could boast of.
And the horror and the terror struck him all at once. What if something were to happen to her?
But before he could continue in that line of thought, he noticed Vanimelda kneel down and pick a flower. He frowned. What was that? Now she had more than one flower. It was the new one, he realised.
It was strange, but soon after her birth, he noticed the strange new flower growing in such abundance all over Lindon. Lothlórien reported at having some as well. It was shaped similarly like a pimpernel, but even larger, and many of them shone and glittered pure gold, or shimmering, glowing silver. Like the sun and moon, Laurelin and Telperion. What was especially unique was that the flowers of different colours- both gold and silver- grew on the same plant. People claimed they first saw the plant sprouting and budding, soon after what Ereinion and Estela knew to be her begetting. Then the day she was born, everyone was outside, gathering as many of these flowers as they could when the announcement was made. It was seen as a sign- a miracle.
Like the Niphredil that sprung up on Lúthien's birth in Doriath.
Did they suspect? Surely they would not.
Ereinion's hand tightened around the window-pane.
Galadriel saw it.
"Ereinion," she said quietly. "Your daughter is safe. You must know that."
And still his hand tightened around the pane. He swallowed. "I know."
Outside, Vanimelda gave the flowers to her mother. "They're very nice," she said.
Estela smiled and took them, kissing her cheek. "Thank you, Melda."
Estela stroked her daughter's hair and sniffed the blooms. The heartrending and overwhelming feelings she had for her daughter was too much. The fear was unbearable.
How would her parents react?
"Ammë," Vanimelda suddenly asked. "Can you tell me a story?"
She smiled. "Of course, Melda, I can tell you a story. Which one would you like?"
"Your family," she said seriously. "Your Amil and Atar. Please tell me about them."
Estela stood, shocked into stillness. The colour drained from her face. But she supposed she would have to tell her daughter before she heard the stories.
She sighed. Going back to the garden bench, she motioned Vanimelda to come as well.
The little girl toddled over and her mother picked her up next to her.
"My parents…" She paused. "They were born in Valinor."
"The land of the Valar and the Maiar," Melda said in all seriousness.
"Yes," Estela sighed. "I was born there as well."
Vanimelda's brow furrowed as she frowned. "But then, how did you get here?"
Estela winced. "It's a long story and not very pleasant." She sighed.
The little girl looked sad and worried- but not for herself. She stroked her mother's cheek, lovingly. "Tell me," she coaxed.
Estela paused.
"My great-grandfather was Finwë." She said. "High King of the Noldor. Soon after the Awakening of the elves, of which I told you about, in Cuiviénen- do you remember the story?"
Vanimelda's eyes brightened and she beamed. "Yes, the one with Imin and Iminyë, Tata and Tatië, Enel and Enelyë."
"That's right," she pulled the child closer to her.
"When Oromë, the Vala and Master Woodsman arrived, riding on Nahar, he invited the elves to go to Valinor. Many of them were suspicious and afraid. So three elves were chosen to go with him to Valinor and see for themselves that it was a good land- and to lead the others who chose to came, there."
She paused.
"Finwë was chosen for the Tatyar- the second clan of elves. So he led them to Valinor. And there he married a maiden, named Míriel Serindë, who was the most gifted weaver."
"Like you," Melda exclaimed, delightedly.
"Yes," Estela said softly.
"And so they were happy together, and Finwë was made king. But soon after, Míriel bore them a son, whom the father named Curufinwë- the Skilled Son of Finwë. But Míriel called him, Fëanáro- the Spirit of Fire."
And so Estela told her the story of their family. Of the birth of Fëanor, of the death of Míriel, and of the Valar's decision in allowing Finwë to wed again- and of Fëanor's unhappiness in that decision. She even told the girl about Morgoth.
She told her daughter about Fëanor's skill- his gifts with, well, everything. And she spoke of his accomplishments- the Silmarils, the Palantiri, the Tengwar- and much, much more.
She told Melda about that fateful night, when Morgoth was released. And what happened afterwards. She told her of the disagreements, the fighting- the subsequent flight to Formenos. And of Finwë's murder.
The little girl learnt what had happened. Although Estela toned down the whole story considerably- she was only a baby after all, though she seemed so much more- Vanimelda heard all. She listened intently, not showing the slightest sign of interrupting or becoming upset.
She cuddled close to her mother and nuzzled her. "I love you, Amil," she whispered.
"I love you too, Seldë." Estela whispered back. Of course, she didn't tell her about her brother.
They stayed there quietly.
"Do you think they might have been remade?" Vanimelda asked suddenly.
Estela paused. "I don't know. Námo was not very happy with them."
She turned up to her mother. "But, they tried, didn't they? To make up for what they did?"
"Maybe," Estela sighed. "And my grandfather was sad and enraged. But it's never an excuse to get other people killed."
Melda paused. Then she pursed her lips. "What happened to Macalaurë?"
Estela was surprised. Vanimelda looked up at her. "You said that he went missing. Where is he? Is he still alive?"
Estela hesitated. "I… do not know. No one has neither heard nor seen Macalaurë since he threw the Silmaril into the sea and my father died."
"I'm so sorry, Amil," the little girl said glumly. At least she didn't cry. She was just glum. "I shouldn't have asked."
"No, I'm glad you did, Seldë." Estela hugged her close. "We need to remember the lessons of the past- the good and the bad, so we can do better ourselves."
"Do you miss them?"
Estela sighed.
"Who wouldn't?"
The little girl hugged her mother closer.
The violet eyes shone as her mother worked. The Telerin Princess was no spoilt, pampered creature who was waited upon hand and foot, despite what some people believed.
Nearby, Maitimo and Findekáno sparred.
Little Estela watched with wide eyes, emerald like her father's when it didn't turn dark blue, as her little fat fingers curled around the bannisters.
Nearby, they increased their pace and the strength of their blows.
Maitimo was so elegant, so hypnotic and precise, with no unnecessary flamboyance- nothing done to show off, nothing needed extra showing off, and nothing so perfect. Every turn and twist, every swing, every blow, strike and parry, so perfect, so beautiful. There was nothing beautiful about killing, but the way her father did it, was so breath-taking. It was more graceful, more elegant than a dance. More spell-binding, more awesome.
And so Estela wanted to be just like that.
Her father shone in her eyes. He always did, and always will. Even after so much pain and trouble she forgave him- how could she not? He was the most wonderful, kind and loving person. No one knew him, like she did.
And what a king he would have been, if not for the taint of kinslaying.
And she was able to say that without the bias of an adored, adoring daughter.
And so the match ended, with Maitimo's sword pressed against Findekáno's throat.
Findekáno grinned exuberantly, like Laurelin, and Maitimo let out a laugh that rang through the skies, as wonderful as his spirit. It was truly captivating. Everything shone. Was it her imagination, but as amusing as it sounded, did the birds take flight?
He lowered his sword and the two clasped the other's arm as they finished. Maitimo was the only one who could defeat Findekáno- Fingon the Valiant, as they later called him- in a duel.
Onlookers clapped and cheered. Her mother shook her head and failed to keep the smile from her face.
Maitimo rinsed his face and wiped it with a towel. Grinning, he spotted the little girl whose eyes were wide and excited and scooped her up. Squealing, she found herself hoisted into the air, before he swung her around and planted a kiss firmly upon her cheek.
His wife sighed. "Come, now, Maitimo. Surely you've sparred enough? Besides, our little girl now wants to be like you."
Estela giggled. "And who can blame her?" Findekáno asked teasingly. "If she has half her father's skill…" he shook his head.
Estela's mother shook hers. "No, don't you dare give her ideas, any of you. I can't have my child running off to Endórë, so she can have adventures. She shares her father's spirit."
Maitimo chuckled again, and kissed and cuddled her close. He attempted to kiss and hug his wife, but she dodged him. "Clean up before you do anything, Maitimo!" She said laughing. "More guests are arriving tonight!"
Estela came back to reality. That laugh. That bright, unstained laugh. That wasted life- so many lives lost and wasted. He did not laugh so often after the First Kinslaying, and after her mother died, he stopped.
How she longed for him. How she longed for him and her mother both.
The pain, love, fear and protectiveness she felt for her children- now she understood why her father locked her up in the room, just before going out to the battle he was sure he would not survive, rather than letting her fight. Now she understood why her mother faded when she heard the news that Estela and her husband had both died.
She could not stand the thought of it.
Estela looked out the window, seeing the light of the moon. Once again, they were staying in the Grey Havens.
She closed her eyes. The moonlight over the water- it stretched like a path of silver-white over the black water. As if it was the Straight Road, which elves now claim that was the only path back to Valinor.
Why hadn't she returned yet? Even if she could, she knew it was not her time.
And it would never bring back what was lost. She gave up on homesickness a long time ago. Home is where her family is. Her family was gone, as was her home, save for Lindon and the family she had now- and even that was fragmented.
What was he doing now? Her son? He must have gone that way-
No. She refused to think about that.
She let out a deep sigh.
The memory of her father's exuberant brightness, his image, his laugh.
Er enyalin lalielya. Milyanyel Atar.
She turned back to her child. The little girl slept on.
She went over and watched her, with all the love, desperate longing and brief joy that a mother such as her could obtain, in what she sensed was a time running short. Like a mother wolf fiercely guarding and watching over her young.
Estela hoped her child would inherit something of her father's spirit- and her own father, of course. At least she will be able to go on in strength until the very end. How she loved her!
Estela leaned down and kissed the little girl's head, and stroked her hair lovingly in her sleep. Vanimelda slept on.
She prayed for it every night.
I cannot bear to lose her.
She'd already lost her son- every mother's worst nightmare- though not the way anyone would think.
"Sauron is not gone." Estela insisted.
Beside her, Elrond looked grimly at those assembled.
"You all know, he did not perish in the downfall of Númenor." Elrond said sternly.
"No." Estela remarked. "He is one of the Fallen- an Ainu, once, long ago, and still immortal. But not in the sense that we, the earthly beings are. He cannot be killed like this. He still lives."
"And he has returned to Middle-Earth." Elrond said sternly. There were gasps and murmurs across the room. "To the land which is now known as Mordor- a barren wasteland, left scarred by the remnants of the wars of Morgoth- his former master. He is building his armies."
"Sauron is no fool." Estela put in. "He will have learnt his mistakes. Númenor's downfall was what he sought all along- though he also learnt to use them.
"In his heart, Sauron knows that he can never match Morgoth in strength. He is no fool. But what he lacks in strength, he makes up in cunning. Morgoth made mistakes- mistakes based on his own pride, in strategic terms. Ask yourselves, who was it that gave Morgoth the idea of inflicting such damage upon the House of Húrin? And of the plan to capture my father, and countless others besides? Beren and Lúthien? The capture of Maeglin?" She frowned at them, while they stirred uneasily.
"Morgoth would have never reached half his strength were it not for Sauron."
"The Queen is right." Círdan said. "Already, do I sense his coming."
"My Queen," Artaner said hesitantly. "Perhaps, if what you say is true and Sauron indeed lives, then perhaps his stint upon Númenor has weakened him? Surely he cannot be well and truly ready to attack us now?"
"Perhaps not," Estela conceded this. "But expect it to come, and to come soon. We've waited long enough. So has he?"
"Where will he have gotten his strength?" Exclaimed Artaner.
"Orcs are naturally drawn to the strongest dark presence- naturally with Morgoth gone, that falls upon Sauron to lead them. You know after the fall of Morgoth, they were scattered. They started attacking and killing one another. Their numbers were dramatically reduced. If they weren't killed, then they died through starvation, illness, weakness of the body. They had no strength- no purpose with no darkness in the world to nourish and lead them. The orcs increased when Sauron returned to Middle-Earth, after centuries of hiding. And they have not decreased in numbers and strength now- we've had several orc attacks lately. This means, Sauron is still alive and out there."
Estela did not tell them that as the sickness was never cured from her son, also meant that Sauron still lived. After all, no one else knew.
Her daughter's life, and the lives of the few children born to the elves, were in danger as it is.
Estela was desperate to save them, even though she did not show it.
Outwards she was the calm, composed queen. The lethal shieldmaiden, perhaps. They could not see everything that had reduced her to the emotional wreck she had become inside.
"We need to start making alliances," Calassion said quietly. "Gathering supplies. Mustering the troops. Readying them for war. We have no time to waste."
"But they will want proof!" Another councillor exclaimed. "If we are at war, then our allies will want proof!"
"They will get it soon enough," Círdan said darkly.
Estela stole a glance at her husband. Throughout the course of the meeting, he remained silent. Unusual, but he was clearly in deep thought.
"Perhaps we shall work upon gaining proof," she said finally. "In the meantime, we must be wary and watchful, and I must ask this meeting to be adjourned."
Everyone muttered and nodded, and all started to leave. The shuffling and dragging of chairs, the rustling of clothes and low voices were all that was heard. They said their goodbyes to the High King and Queen before they left. Estela nodded, but Ereinion seemed barely there.
"Melmenya?" Estela asked concerned. "What is it, what are you thinking?"
Ereinion shook his head, and straightened from where he stood.
He walked over to the window. Estela waited. She learnt never to be hasty when he was like this a long time ago.
"What is Vanimelda doing?" He asked her.
"I put her down for a nap." Estela said. She was aware of the irony of it, treating her daughter like an ordinary child, although she was so much more. But she was a child. Ordinary or not, let her have a childhood that was as normal and happy as could be, for as long as the All-Father willed it to last.
Ereinion nodded.
"You're worried about her," Estela realised. "We both are."
He grunted. "Aren't we all?" He turned to his wife and shook his head.
"It's no use. Sauron is still out there, but he's being clever. As you said, he won't make the same mistakes as last time.
And people in Lindon already know of our daughter. Was that wise? Our Houses both need a recognized heir. But if Sauron finds out."
"Ilmarë promised me he could never touch her," Estela said instantly.
"What about his servants?" Ereinion asked. "I can't bear it if anything were to happen to either of you," he admitted. He sighed. "It's not very admirable for a supposedly noble High King to admit his weaknesses and vulnerabilities, I know, but that's the truth of it."
Estela looked down, and stepped closer to him. "How do you think I must feel, Ereinion?" She hugged him from behind and he turned around and kissed her.
He breathed out a sigh and held her close.
"Someday, we shall all be together on the diamond-dusted shores of Valinor and the hills which are forever green." He murmured. "All four of us- and the ones we've lost."
Estela bit her lip. Her heart jolted in her chest, feeling like it was sinking and breaking. But her parents were gone, forever doomed by Mandos for the sins of the kinslayings. Nothing would ever be the same- even if the haunting memories of it were able to be overcome.
"I hope so," she said quietly, and pulled away. But she doubted it.
Such a beautiful day, Estela thought. It really was beautiful, the Grey Havens.
So beautiful it made her heart ache. The golden light of the sun touched and created a glow above such blue, clear waters, flanked by the majestic crags and cliffs that framed the horizon. The straight road where the elves sailed to go through to Valinor.
And it was not her fate.
Why after so much grief, did her heart and fëa not cry out for the sea? She wondered. Normal elves would have either faded, killed themselves or felt the urge to sail, by now.
Eluréd and Elurín, the sons of Dior… their bodies were never found. Was it possible that they faded? She was no judge on their sufferings, whether it was greater or lesser than hers, but they must have faded if their bodies were never found. It was unlikely orcs consumed them. Humans yes, and each other, but not elves. Orcs hated elves in all ways.
The white ships bobbed nearby, their exquisite swan figureheads with beaks of gold that flashed in the sun. Their onyx eyes gleamed as if for the promise of taking flight and going on adventure.
So why did she survive? She had longed so badly for Valinor, but gave up on her homesickness. But why did she not feel the need to sail? What gave her the idea that the All-Father wanted her to remain?
The trees rustled. The white stone gleamed and the green of the plants looked vibrant, the waters alive, and the skies sang. But Estela felt that she would not get on a ship, even if the Valar allowed her, to go to Valinor.
Even before her beloved children were born, she felt compelled to stay.
There was something else that needs to be done.
Her daughter, yes, but something else.
One more task, she felt. But what?
Estela, Queen of the Noldor turned away. If that was true…
She only hoped her daughter would endure, survive and live to be the person she would be. The priceless treasure should not fall to the hands of the Dark Lord-to-be Sauron.
As she made her way back to the palace she was staying, something caught her eye. It was the flower that Vanimelda had given her the day she told her daughter the story of her family.
A flower, similar in shape to a pimpernel, but much larger, and the colour of purest, burnished gold and silver.
According to Celebrian and Galadriel the flowers started popping up everywhere the exact day her daughter was born.
Like the Niphredil that sprung to herald Lúthien's birth, that looked like a more delicate, exquisite snowdrop.
This flower was Elanor- that was what people called it. It meant Sun-star in Sindarin, and it made her wonder if it had something to do with the powerful secret that her daughter carried within her veins.
But it also made her think that the All-Father and the Valar might not be frowning on her very existence after all. Didn't they bless and save her daughter?
And it shone, that flower. Shone with the promise of hope and joy.
Estela sighed and picked some. Perhaps she would hold them as a reminder, when things looked bleak.
Celebrimbor awoke with a startled gasp.
Something was not right.
By far.
Beside him, Silmiel murmured in her sleep. She woke, however, soon enough.
"Beloved," she said sleepily. "What is it?"
He did not answer her. He could not answer her. How could he?
He only looked at her with wide eyes, wondering just how long they had.
Sauron's eyes blazed as he looked down at the barren, ash-riddled plains, where orcs in crude iron armour made ready.
The gates of Mordor opened. It would not attack Lindon. Or the Greenwood. Instead it went by another road.
The orcs marched for war.
And they marched to gain not only the upper-hand, but to gain the Rings from Eregion.
I realise I haven't done a glossary of Quenya words- of which you will find aplenty here. Quenya is used as an 'equivalent to Latin' in Middle-Earth, but Gil-Galad, Estela and Galadriel would have spoken it as cradle-tongues. They in turn would have passed it onto their children, and used it in private while Sindarin was for public use and meeting strangers- like Thengel, father of Théoden spoke Sindarin and Westron with his family in private and Rohirric in public (his wife was Númenórean).
The problem is Gil-Galad really is popular isn't he? If he lives, everyone would be happier- including Estela. She did pray for her never to outlive him or their children. But if he lives, then the story-line, as someone rightfully pointed out, of Lord of the Rings, would be ruined.
But as I've been repeating- the end is not the end.
"Er enyalin lalielya. Milyanyel Atar." -"I still recall your laughing. I long for you, Father."
Yonya- "my Son."
Seldë- "Daughter."
Essecarmë- Elven naming ceremony in which the Father-name is announced publicly.
Melmenya- "My love."
Endórë- Quenya word for Middle-Earth- Endor is Sindarin.
Atar- "Father."
Amil- "Mother."
Atto- "Dad/Daddy."
Ammë- "Mum/Mummy."