Chapter Forty-Six

Estela awoke the next day, refreshed. Taking deep breaths of air, the Noldorin Queen and shieldmaiden looked around her as she stepped outside their tent.

This was how it was. The air was crisp, and dawn was soon coming. Soon they would be riding.

Estela did her exercises to prepare herself for a long ride, and for battle.

She then took a sponge bath with lukewarm water- a luxury really- she lathered and scrubbed herself thoroughly, even washing her hair. Next, she dried herself thoroughly and anointed herself all over with Niphredil and Elanor oil. This was not merely a luxury for her, but a necessity. It cleansed and purified her body and mind, and if her mind and hröa were pure, so would her fëa.

She sat, wrapped in a towel inside the tent, and anointed and combed her hair. It had grown really long, even for her standards- as long as her mother's. The rich, burnished copper colour seemed to shame every other shade as being pale in comparison. The gold and silver streaks glowed and glittered amidst the copper- tell-tale signs off her heritage.

Estela remembered every time, her mother used to do her hair. Even if there were servants or volunteers, her mother had always insisted. She had always loved those special, intimate moments. They both did.

She would comb it in gentle, but firm, long strokes, always soothing and seemingly like a massage in its effects, even though it was not on sinew and skin. She remembered her mother rubbing her hair, cooing in her ear, gently stroking and rubbing her, just before she went to bed, or before a ball.

And she did it for Melda too.

After doing that Estela braided her hair. After weaving a circlet through it, she bound the finished braids up in rings- large loops of braids that attached themselves in hidden knots. Small gold rings too were woven in. All her hair was bound, save for the streamers- long locks, but would not hinder her in any way.

Estela sighed. The shieldmaiden's hairstyle. She had grown used to having her hair loose. But didn't Glorfindel tell her that the Balrog dragged him down when he threw it, by his hair?

I'm a warrior, now. She thought sadly. Once, long ago, I was a daughter, granddaughter, niece and cousin-and a princess even- then it was all gone. Then I was a wife and a mother, but where are my children now? My son- gone, before he even lived, ripped away from me and sent out of this world. My daughter- in Lindon and in life-threatening danger every minute of her life- likely to be tortured and killed before she could pose a threat to evil! Even I can't be sure of her safety. My crafts- I have no time for those- I must put them aside! I have only my husband, and my status as queen and shieldmaiden left to me.

She pushed aside such thoughts and got dressed. A tunic-dress and surcoat made of leather coated with blue silks, covered with stars and embroidered with gold. A cuirass which was utterly unique and more like a corset made of leather that emphasized her waist than a piece of bulky armour. But it was metal, the only difference was, it was moulded to her form, and fit around her horizontally- a gilded gold thing, that was scaled slightly and carved, fitted with hidden buckles. A gorget, which despite being designed to protect her neck, was beautiful, carved and intricate, to seem like a piece of jewellery than a piece of armour. Knee-length boots, with greaves built within. Gilded gauntlets. The rest of her armour was hidden- most of them were fluted and designed to be worn underneath clothing, coated with silks. And there was the cape. Not a pointless ornament or insignia rank itself, but also functional. Strips of cloth- the lightest, most billowy silk, this one in blues with gold lining and embroidery, that when riding fast, inflate with air- the purpose- to snag arrows being shot at her from behind. It had a light framework of wicker inside, and it was effective- she'd tried.

What was the purpose of all this unique armour- they weren't just extremely effective. They drew out the orcs' attention, and anyone else on the side of the Enemy. This was the Noldorin Queen. And she knew Sauron both hated and feared her with a passion. She might as well, he'd be looking for her anyway, and she can draw their attention to her, without risking anyone else's life more than she had to.

Estela looked at herself in the mirror, and saw her eyes narrow. It was time. Time for justice.

She left the tent, everyone staring at her, as she moved past. Many of them gawked and forgot to bow to the queen, which was fine with Estela. Where was her husband?

Ereinion stared at her choice of armour. "Impressive." Then he looked highly suspicious. "But why do I get the feeling that you are planning something?"

Estela smirked. "Probably because I am."

She had prepared herself. It was the elvish- and particularly shieldmaiden's- culture, to bathe and anoint oneself with oil before battle, and to comb one's hair carefully as well. Estela also wore into battle, the pendant that was a wedding gift from Ereinion, inscribed with her name on the inside- as if no one would know who she was- in case she was struck down.

Estela wasted no more time talking. She ate something- bowls of stew were being served, and slivers of lembas for energy to be eaten with them. Shaking her head, her thoughts wandered again to her daughter.

Ereinion sat next to her as she absently chewed and swallowed. "Love, won't you tell me what is going on?" He asked quietly, aware that they had an audience.

Estela swallowed a mouthful of stew. "I'm going to Gondor- I'm riding to Osgiliath on my own, ahead of you all."

Ereinion froze dead. "What?!"

"Keep your voice down," she hissed in Quenya.

Ereinion stared at her, "Are you mad?" He hissed. "Do you think I will let you-"

"You must." Estela hissed back. "You know I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself. And furthermore, I believe Anárion is in danger, and so is Osgiliath."

Ereinion stared at her. She could see him breathing in and out deeply, trying to rein in his temper.

"You must be joking." He finally said when he could keep his voice calm.

"Ereinion, you know this is no time for personal feelings!" Estela exclaimed in a hushed tone. "You of all people… you know this even better than me! I have to do this, Ereinion. I have to do this, or our chances of failing will triple. Without Anárion's help- and Sauron knows that he is isolated, and for now, far away from us and our aid. Sauron will conduct measures to keep you, Elendil, Oropher and Amdír, Durin and all your forces from helping Anárion. That leaves it to me, and who better knows how to conduct warfare and move quickly in stealth?"

Ereinion could say nothing.

"You know if we allow even one of them to fail, the Last Alliance will be over, and all would have failed."

Ereinion was silent for a long time.

"And what if I want and order you to stay by me?" He asked, eyes flashing as he turned to Estela.

"You must." Estela said. "Let me go- if not for the sake of our closest friends and allies, then for me, and for our children so the future would be theirs, not Sauron's and his orcs."

Ereinion looked down at his bowl.

"Very well then," and his words were heavy. "Go. But take extra care. And be wary. Do not be long, Estela." Her eyes softened.

"I love you," he whispered. "Melin, Ereinion," she whispered in return.

Anárion, son of Elendil and the city of Osgiliath was under attack.

Slashing his sword and cutting down the nearest orc, the others came, nonetheless. More orcs came. He slashed and cut them down.

They surged through the city- and soon they would also take Minas Anor.

They could not afford to lose.

Helplessly, Anárion could only kill one orc, to have it be replaced by three more in the very least. Queen Estela was right- the orcs were a plague of insects.

Anárion ducked an axe swing and sliced an orc in its belly, causing it stop dead (there's the pun) and squawk before falling backwards. But more orcs came running. Anárion yelled and spun slicing left and right. Yet still more orcs came.

"Fall back!" He bellowed in Adûnaic. "Fall back to Minas Anor!"

The men fell back, but even then, the black-shafted and tipped arrows of the orcs shot them down.

Anárion feinted to the right, and cut down the orc charging, before following his own order.

Women screamed, clutching their children to them as Anárion yelled to protect them at all costs. The archers shot their arrows and a wave of orcs fell.

Suddenly he heard a sound- not an orc horn.

He knew that sound. Riders on horseback shot through the city- elves. They rode as hard and fast as they could, shooting orcs in their hundreds, and a horse came flying into view.

Upon its back was a lady in unique armour, shining like a torch or a beacon in the early light of morning. Hard to believe they made it so fast, but there it was.

Estela charged through the streets of Osgiliath, riding faster than the wind, shooting arrows from her bow, as unique as her armour. The arrows were shot in their hundreds- countless arrows shot felling even more orcs, their corpses, splashed about like water. Estela changed position. In a daring move that was sure to be immortalised in texts, songs and poems alike, Estela changed positions, and lay flat on the horse's back, before rolling to one side, and using her legs to guide the reins while she shot arrows while lying on her side, shooting them and massacring hundreds of orcs all the while, as she raced throughout the city.

Sauron apparently thought Osgiliath was going to be easy.

Estela switched to the other side, and then lay flat on her back, and spinning until she was back to front, still shooting countless arrows from behind. The orcs kept falling. She spotted a troll. Time to get close. She moved back, facing the front, as she shot. Galloping as fast as they could, Estela's horse reared at her behest, and she crushed the skulls of the flaying orcs, while jumping into the air, and shooting the orc in the soft tissue of the eyes.

She was airborne for a while, before she landed on the horse which had galloped to catch her.

And there she went, shooting the orcs, and jumping upon the very few trolls she saw.

"Shield wall!" She shouted to her warriors, still shooting.

They grouped together. "Archers, behind- fire!" She shouted. They fired their arrows into the air, and onto the orcs.

"Swords and shields- charge!" Estela shouted. They pushed forwards, and Estela dismounted to do the same.

She fired her last arrow, as she flew off the horse, then drew her swords. At the sight of her charging they were already afraid as it was.

Estela and the others pushed them back. The archers whom she had instructed to take the high posts, shot down at the arriving- then fleeing- orcs. Then they jumped down at her signal, and Estela drove them away.

She was right. They were in trouble.

"Fire the flaming arrows!" She shouted.

They did so at the retreating orcs. The orcs squealed and squawked as they fell.

Estela finally pulled the swords backwards in a swiping motion, getting rid of most of the black blood that was slathered upon it. "Set a watch," she instructed one of the lieutenants. He immediately nodded and went about it.

Estela turned to a very stunned, gawping Anárion and his knights. She sighed. "Anárion, Prince of Gondor and Arnor, I am sorry to say that this is no time for formal greetings. Your father, brother, and other members of the Alliance are heading this way. We need to fortify and get everyone out of here. Then and only once they have arrived, can we move."

Anárion mutely nodded and sent his men to help fortify their city.

"So Sauron is apparently too cunning, but not cunning enough," Estela said calmly. She declined a goblet of wine. Even though elves don't get drunk as easily as humans and even dwarves, she was taking no chances- though she had never been drunk a day in her life. A shieldmaiden kept her head clear at all times.

"Yes," Anárion said wearily. He didn't decline his. In fact he needed it.

"It's best that as soon as we get the people out of the city, we leave for Mordor," Estela said. "But we must know where Sauron intends to strike next."

"I think I have a way to figure that out," Anárion said softly. Estela raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

He looked highly apprehensive. "Come with me."

It was strange that he took her to a bridge of all places, and then up into the tower. He then nodded to the guards who unbolted and unlocked the door. Estela was puzzled. What in the world could they be keeping that was so valuable?

It was a while before they reached the top of the tower. Estela's eyes widened when she saw what was at the top. A large round room, underneath a domed ceiling of painted and enamelled, midnight blue with gilded stars scattered throughout.

"This is the Dome of Stars," Anárion said. There was a small stone plinth in the centre of the room.

There was something on the plinth. A perfectly round and smooth orb, made of what appeared to be black stone, or at least, heavy crystal, polished to such a gleaming sheen. It was massive, alright. Very large. So deep a black, it was, that she had never seen the like, save for her daughter's hair- but that was shiny. It had greyish-white rings, like the patterns seen in stone or rings in wood. But this object neither emitted nor reflected even the tiniest beam of light. But there was light. A medium-sized crack in the middle, she saw, coloured a deep, but glowing, red. But as she registered in shock, that it was not there before, because it appeared to be growing in length and width and light. Furthermore, the patterns like grey or white rings seemed to swirl and swim, the red light glowed brighter and increased in size and breadth.

Estela gasped. This was not a stone or crystal object- at least not an ordinary one.

This was a Seeing Stone. One of her grandfather's.

"How did you get this?" Estela demanded in a shaking voice- shaking with rage, pain, and terror.

Anárion looked taken aback at her reaction. And by his look, her expression must have truly been frightening and unique.

"I-" He started. "We brought it from Númenor."

"Númenor had the stones?! The Palantíri?!"

Anárion's jaw dropped. He looked shocked- no, astounded beyond belief. Yes, her look must have truly been one of a kind.

She staggered, and fell to the floor, not really seeing anything. "My lady!" Anárion cried out, but she pulled away when he tried to help. He knew something was really wrong. Elves don't fall or trip. And in truth something had been torn out from deep within Estela's self, for what she felt, in a way no weed had ever been.

In a shaking, but quiet voice, Estela whispered, "Do you even know what you have here?"

At this point, Anárion, Prince of Gondor and Arnor, could have hit himself. Hard.

"Your grandfather," he whispered. "He made the Seeing Stones."

Estela just stared unseeing at the plinth from where she had dropped onto the floor on her knees.

She couldn't even speak. She couldn't even move.

But then she could. And what did she do?

She unsheathed her sword, and in a cry of fury and rage, she charged towards the Seeing Stone.

A good thing they weren't alone there- Anárion might have been Númenórean, but he would have been neither fast enough nor strong enough, to hold her back. One of Estela's old followers held her back. It was Maltariel.

"My lady," she hissed. Estela gave a wretched moan. "Estela."

It was a sign of how they used the Palantír so frequently that they really didn't think too much of it until now.

At the sound of her name, Estela gave a choked moan and again sank to the ground. Maltariel held her there for a long time.

Of course Fëanor made the Palantíri, just as he made the Silmarils and devised the Tengwar.

Estela emptied her thoughts and breathed deeply. After what seemed like an eternity, she finally found the strength to stand up.

"I don't know what you've been doing," she said numbly. "And I don't care to know. I understand your reasons, but-" her voice grew icy. "It doesn't mean I have to like it. And you should know that even though these…. Things…. Cannot lie, they nonetheless try to deceive those who are not true masters at deciphering what they say."

Anárion was on high alert. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that these… things… show you the past, the present elsewhere and the future. They allow you to communicate if you have the skill, with other holders of the same kind. They will always show the truth- what they show will always come to pass, if it has not already. But whoever observes what this object has to say will come to a conclusion- nothing that can be helped, of course, any being will immediately come into some conclusion instantaneously upon seeing something or hearing it- but in this, it tries to deceive you. Be wary, my prince. Keep inside your mind that this is a mere window to a much larger view. And upon seeing that window, a holder that is no true master of the stone, will as such, come into a conclusion, a conclusion that might be far from the truth, or not near enough at least."

Anárion absorbed all this in silence. "So it seeks to deceive us, and yet, not lie to us?"

"Yes," Estela wasted no words. "Look within if you may, but do not expect me to taint my mind, nor allow my reasoning and my soul to be tampered and tarnished with such an object." She left the room.

"My prince, she is right." Maltariel said softly. "Fëanor crafted this stone, with the idea of deceiving all those who are not masters and have neither developed the sufficient ability nor had the training, to master the stones. It was a measure of safety. It is dangerous, also because we do not know where the other stones are- and who might try to spy on us using that."

Anárion's face grew white. "So, be careful," was all Maltariel said, before leaving to follow her queen.

"We can ride to Mordor soon enough," Anárion said. Estela looked at the window. The mountains were so solid and thick, not the tiniest beam of light shone through the most minute of cracks. It was hard to believe that they were mountains, but no fence could be as thick, towering and solid, not even the Black Gates of Mordor. Ephel Dúath was the most frightening and formidable of things, it seemed, of true and utter evil. But the true power of darkness- the evil, lay behind it, within Mordor.

"It's almost time for us to leave." Estela said, as if from a distance. "Are you ready?"

Anárion hesitated, then said quietly. "For anything? Yes, my lady."

Mordor.

Estela had never set eyes upon the place, even in her travels. The land was a remnant of Morgoth's wars. It was once a fertile-enough place, but thanks to Morgoth's wars and ministrations, it became blasted and barren, so poisonous, it was void of life, save for the orcs, trolls and other foul creatures that dwelt there. Only a portion of the land was fertile- the non-toxic ash from Mount Doom had landed in Núrn. That part held the inland Sea of Núrnen. It was fertile due to the ash blown and deposited there, and was rich with nutrients in the soil to allow for farming. There must be humans living there- if they were not enslaved to farm and work the lands for Sauron to feed his armies.

Perhaps they would give them their freedom and their home. But Estela could not fathom as to why Sauron needed to farm for food for the orcs. Orcs loathed the taste of human food, although they were partial to the taste of their enemies' flesh. Perhaps they were for the Dark Númenóreans and any other willing human under his command. Feeding the slaves however, was undoubtedly not Sauron's top priority.

Estela had freed many slaves in her life. She wondered if marriage, motherhood and queenship had caused her to become idle. She still fought but not on the same scale as she used to- and she did not immerse and surround herself in danger the way she used to do. But if it was for her husband and her children, it certainly was worth it.

Vanimelda, Vanimelda, Vanimelda…

The voices whispered inside her head, swirling softly but persistently around her, like flies. Inside the nursery, the stars were out, but the very small girl was not in an undisturbed sleep. Technically, it was not restless, but it wasn't as easy as it should be. She was dreaming yet again.

Two Trees. One gold and the other silver. The sun and moon rising. A harp, carried by a fair-haired elf. Several faces. A human's noble, but harsh in his good looks, and stern, an elf's noble and wise, yet filled with courage and fairness. And another elf's. They whisper to her.

And again, her name: "Vanimelda."

She woke up.

Estela rode on. Yes, her mind was on her daughter, but there were many other things besides.

"Your sons go with you?" She asked Anárion. He nodded. "The older ones. They are young, but not unprepared, and have been well-trained."

Estela accepted this mutely.

She could say nothing as they mounted their horses, while watching the large exodus of women, elderly and children exiting the city in their masses. The women looked beaten-down, worn and the elderly was resigned and ashamed of their own state, and inability to help, but they were all determined. Some children were frightened- no, clearly terrified- others stared uncomprehendingly from their parents' arms. Many clutched a doll, a soft blanket, a stuffed animal.

They were all leaving in broad daylight, knowing orcs hated the darkness. Estela waited silently. She knew Sauron would never attack now, even if the orcs and trolls could move within daylight. He knew she was a strategist. So he would wait.

She exhaled. She knew exactly what he was waiting for.

Soon enough, the Last Alliance came. Isildur and Elendil looking shocked at what they were witnessing. Apparently Anárion went and filled them in on what happened before they could get there.

Ereinion gave a raised eyebrow. So she was right. How did she know?

"You knew?" Ereinion asked her. He did not have to say what she was supposed to know.

"No," Estela said. "But we had yet to reach Gondor's lands and Mordor. So I suppose Sauron would be seeking to weaken us in any possible way- and who's cut off from us and with little help? Anárion and the people of Osgiliath of Minas Arnor. Without his knights and him, we would be weakened, have no doubt, and Elendil and Isildur too, not just the people of Gondor and Arnor. They would have lost a son and a brother."

Ereinion sighed in frustration. "Now why didn't we think of that, before?" He ground his teeth in frustration.

Estela touched his arm soothingly. "But you already did think of that, certainly you have- I heard you." She added with a touch of amusement. "You just could not spare the warriors, since Sauron's eye will be fixed on the journey of our large host onto Mordor."

Ereinion rolled his eyes. "True enough. But I wish I could have done something, and furthermore, made a point to get here quicker."

"You would have," Estela pointed out. "And you did get here. But as I said, you have the disadvantage- and the advantage- of being leader of such a large host. I do not."

Ereinion sighed. "And I thought Sauron would be wise to our strategies, now."

"Oh, have no doubt. He's more cunning than his master, some say. But he was expecting me to be with you, like I was during the Battle of Belfalas, and the Battle of Perlargir. Ever since I met you, I've been glued to your side. Sauron knows this. He studied me. He knows things about me, that I barely take note of." She looked down at the ground. "That was how he managed to get Telpe, Silmiel, Eleniel, the whole of Eregion and the Rings."

Ereinion looked to her, feeling the pain she felt, himself. "You cannot blame yourself for that," he said quietly. "You know, it is not your fault! We have discussed this, Estela," he sounded almost pleading.

Estela looked up at him with clear, but very deep, emerald eyes. "Oh, I know. And I do not wish to dwell on the past- on what I cannot change. But Sauron knows me, Ereinion. And that was how he managed to win. He knew me, and he adapted to me. And I should have known better. We all must know better. But Sauron learns too."

Ereinion was silent. "And yet, we know him as well. We know what he is like, and what he aims for."

"And yet," Estela said. "I have a feeling we need to do and learn more."

After a while they set off. Estela's mind wandered when she saw the stars. First to her children, the time she spent teaching them and telling them stories under the night sky, spangled with stars, telling them stories of their people gone by.

And then to the stories and times she had had, with her own family. How many centuries ago was it? She didn't want to think about it.

And there was the Battle-Under-Stars.

She was not there to see it. She only knew that despite the great success- apart from the unrealistic goal of destroying Angband and slaying Morgoth- and the great courage and success of her father and uncles- that fact, could not be disputed by anyone, even their enemies- her grandfather had died, thrice cursing Morgoth, in sight of Angband- after attacking a Balrog.

She remembered her father and uncles, they said, had pushed forwards, slaughtering any foul creature they found. They could not save their father, though. He had died before the moon rose for the first time.

Realistic. She could have scoffed. Just how realistic was their goal in defeating Sauron- more cunning than Morgoth, though less powerful? In destroying his armies and the Tower of Barad-dûr? Of getting the Ring of Power off his finger?

In answer, she could have laughed bitterly were she alone. They had little to no chance, at all.

"Do you remember the stories of the Awakening in Cuiviénen?" Her father asked. She nodded eagerly.

"I want you to tell me another story," she demanded, her lips pouting exquisitely.

Her father laughed. "Like what?"

"You and Amil," she insisted, standing up on her short legs on his lap, and clinging to his shoulders so she didn't fall. "How did you meet?"

Her father laughed. "What brought this on?" She shrugged. "I heard Uncle Findaráto talking about it, with Aunt Artanis."

He rolled his eyes. "Of course you did. They would know, wouldn't they?" She grinned and he grinned back.

"Did you love her, then?" She asked eagerly.

"Yes," Maitimo admitted. "Though she was not sure."

Estela cocked her head. "Why was she not sure?"

"So many questions," her father teased, grabbing hold of her, and covering her face with kisses whilst tickling her, making her giggle.

"She was hesitant. But I loved her, and love won out." He answered, finally ceasing to tickle her. "She just had to discover the depth of any feelings. It took a while, as you can imagine."

Estela snuggled close to her. It was a universe where she could never imagine how something could ever go wrong. Oh, how wrong she was.

The Battle-Under-Stars took place in sight of Angband, when they had just arrived in Middle-Earth. Fëanor had was slain in sight of Angband when he attacked a Balrog- Gothmog the Lord of Balrogs. He died cursing Morgoth. The battle took place before the moon rose in the sky for the first time, which was when Fingolfin arrived too late.

Estela's unique armour was purely a figment of my own imagination, I took details of Gil-Galad and the Noldorin colours and fabrics worn with armour, something like the leather, or metal corsets worn by Sonja and Selene in the Underworld Series, along with the Japanese horo cape, made for snaring arrows when retreating- it really worked. I should warn you, though, we are close to the finish- I won't say how many chapters, but that we are close.