Year 2 of the First Age

LAKE MITHRIM - THE YOUNGER HOUSES

Eve watched Itarillë's golden hair sparkling in the sunlight as she danced upon the shore of Lake Mithrim to nothing but the music in her heart. Finno protected them from Morgoth with his missions far afield battling the orcs. But Eve had found purpose too; protecting the precious child in front of her, nothing would keep Eve from attending to this mission.

Itaril didn't speak much these days. She preferred to keep to herself, or explore the shoreline looking for seashells. That was fine. Eve didn't mind sitting in the grass as Itarillë walked barefoot around their home. Inside the wooden walls, they were safe. The war against Morgoth stayed outside.

Clouds drifted away from the sun again, allowing its golden light to shine where the girl now twirled in circles. Sometimes, Eve could see Elenwë in Itaril's rich golden curls and shining grey eyes. She couldn't breathe. Eve felt her heart constrict at the thought.

Harsh words had been volleyed between both families when she and Káno first reached the second host of the Noldor. In anger, they'd tallied up the dead like some kind of competition. It hadn't taken Eve long to scream that she'd had enough.

Finwë, Pityo, Aro, Elenwë, none deserved to become pawns in the family feud. They were dead. Could they not mourn them? If they could not mourn them together, then at least mourn them in peace!

"Eve! Look!" Itarillë bounded up the short, grassy hillock overlooking the shore.

Eve wiped away her tears and smiled at her. "What did you find?"

"It's a snail!"

Eve laughed as Itarillë held out her small palm. Among a couple of damp, dirty pebbles indeed crawled a brown snail, oblivious to the grinning child transporting it what must've been worlds away for the little creature.

"I saw three," Itaril said. She continued to smile down at the snail. But as she held it up closer to eye level, the smile fell.

"What's wrong?"

What wasn't wrong? But Eve couldn't say that. She couldn't be the one to cry over her dead brother, consumed by flames. Or her captured brother, used as a bargaining chip by the devil. Or her best friend, whose death her own husband wouldn't speak of.

"Nothing," Itarillë said. She lowered the snail from in front of her face. But her nose scrunched up and tears welled in her eyes. "I should put it back. It probably misses its home. It doesn't like it here." She choked back a sob. "It wants to go home." She tried to look away from the snail but couldn't. "It wants to go home."

Eve's whole body ached as she stood from the ground and ran a hand through Itaril's hair. The girl never let the tears fall. But she cradled the snail and pebbles to her chest like they were the Silmarils themselves.

"Let's take her home then." She rubbed Itaril's back for a moment, giving a gentle nudge towards the shoreline.

Of all the crimes that Eve held Fëanáro responsible for, robbing this perfect, gentle, beautiful girl of her mother ranked highest on that list. Eve watched as Itarillë stood barefoot on the shore and allowed the cold lake water to wash her feet. She made sure that snail got home.

As Itaril turned back from the lake, eyes filled with tears but never faltering, Eve tried to release the breath that had been stuck with the words in her throat. This little girl had survived hell. She had walked through it barefooted and head held high. Of all the House of Finwë to come to Beleriand, none were stronger.

She knew they could not go home. Through no fault of hers, an innocent, like all the children who had been brought to this shore, Itarillë still had to bear the sins of her forefathers. Lost in the wilderness of Beleriand. But not alone.

Never alone.

Eve took her hand. She gave it a quick squeeze, but offered no false smile when the girl turned her sparkling grey eyes upwards. Itarillë squeezed her hand back.

"Come on. Back to my tent," Eve said. "I want to take advantage of all the sleepovers I can get with you before your father steals you back!"

That made Itarillë smile. They had crafted a little cot of blankets and pillows in Eve's tent for her while Turvo and Finno were away. It stood in the center of the massive encampment on Lake Mithrim, flanked on the right by the smaller tents of the lords and ladies of his house, and on the left by Nolofinwë's. Turvo and Irissë had tents beyond his. But she had done her best to decorate their makeshift home with the blankets she made and little flowers she found that could grow without the light of the sun.

"Tomorrow, can we walk the border?" Itaril asked. "I want to see the soldiers."

She changed out of her blue dress into a fresh white cotton gown. Snuggled in between blankets and pillows, her golden hair splayed out all behind her head, she looked up at Eve with eyes still holding back tears.

"Of course," Eve said.

She sat down beside the girl. Taking her hand, she playfully yanked the girl upwards. Itaril giggled as she flew into Eve's open arms. Eve hoped that every ounce of love she had in her body could be given to her through osmosis. Elenwë had been stolen from her, from them. Eve knew she could not replace her. But she could help.

She had to help.

They stayed in that hug for almost five minutes. Eve could feel her shirt dampening where Itaril's face smooshed into her side. But she didn't say anything. Eve let the girl cry in peace. They all needed to let out the tears sometimes. She had cried for what felt like days after reuniting with Finno.

She had gained so much and lost so much in that moment. Her brothers hadn't spoken to her since she'd left, months ago. Not that they'd talked before. Telvo rode abroad with Tyelko, releasing his anger in the wilds. Curvo busied himself following their tirade to set up mines and forges wherever the hunters found rich deposits. Káno kept to himself. He and Moryo rarely left the settlement.

And Nelyo. Eve tried to keep her trembling breaths steady as Itarillë rested against her body. But agonizing fear gripped her heart at every thought of Nelyo in the clutches of Morgoth. He had to come home. He had to come home because she had to yell at him for not being there to hug her when she heard of Elenwë's passing.

She looked down. Itarillë's eyes were closed, exhaustion leaving the girl deep in dreams. The elves did not sleep but they could not go on forever. And for Itaril, it seemed to have finally caught up with her.

As she tucked Itarillë beneath the snuggly blue and yellow blankets curled up in a corner of Eve's tent, the rustle of the door flap opening sounded behind her. She turned to see Laurefindil in a green and gold tunic, golden hair tied up in a bun with loose pieces falling about his shoulders. Eve stood off the ground.

"I came to check on the princess," he said. Laurefindil kept his voice low as he stepped inside, the flap closing and leaving only the light of the low fire in the middle of the tent to illuminate them. "I am glad she has you to look out for her, now, my lady."

Eve tried to smile. It came out half crooked. She joined him away from Itaril. The girl had lost her mother, an unthinkable experience. Eve knew what that felt like. She's lost her own when even younger than Itarillë. And Turvo had lost a wife.

But Eve had lose her best friend. Tears welled up in her eyes and a lump formed in her throat. She pulled Laurefindil aside.

"How did she die?"

The question hung in silence. The crackle of embers and shifting of blankets filled the space around them. Eve could've cut the tension with a butter knife.

"I deserve to know how my best friend died, do I not?" Eve wanted to scream. She wanted to stamp her feet. But she couldn't. Instead, she stepped closer to the elf lord. "I am still a Lady of the Noldor, am I not? A princess of the House of Finwë?" She took a deep breath. "Tell me how she died!"

Laurefindil let out a small breath. He looked to his own hands, then to the girl dreaming on the floor. "I did not see all of it," he said. "The ice sheet split beneath her feet. The waves pulled her down."

Drowned. Eve listened as Laurefindil, voice right as he held back tears, finally told her the truth of that fateful day. Elenwë, beautiful, kind, sassy Elenwë who had fought almost as hard as Eve to keep their families intact, had died screaming into a void while freezing water rushed into her lungs?

Fire had betrayed more than just Pityo and the House of Fëanáro, then. Eve looked over at the small fire pit in the center of her tent. It had stolen her brother. It had stolen her best friend, plunging Elenwë into the frozen waves. Her makeshift hearth had burned low to only glowing embers. Good.

No wonder Míriel had abandoned the Spirit of Fire.

"Any news of my husband and Turukáno?" Eve said.

Laurefindil shook his head. "Nay, my lady. But they were not due back until tomorrow." He sighed, pushing one of the long, loose strands of his blond hair behind his ear. "Though it may seem a simple thing, I am dearly glad we found you well with the elder house."

Eve looked back at him, turning around where she'd been studying the coals. Laurefindil's drawn face glowed with a golden hue in the low light, the slightest sign of bags under his eyes.

"The princess needs you," he said. "Now more than ever, Lady Elmendë. She asked of you frequently on the journey. When we could get her to speak."

"I can't replace Elenwë," Eve said. "But I will die before I allow harm to come to her. She is my family, and I don't abandon my family, even if my brothers separated me by force for a time."

The ghost of a smile crossed Laurefindil's lips. "Indeed." With a small bow, he turned to go. But he halted before the flap of the door way. "I do not mean to overstep, my Lady, but I believe your family will have need of you before the end of this war. Both sides."

He left before she could respond. She licked salt off her lips as tears streamed down her face. Her brothers felt so far beyond her aid now. Káno, alone with his thoughts brooding and angry. Tyelko and Telvo, hunting abroad. Curvo and Moryo, obsessed with their work. And Nelyo. Her breath hitched as she stifled a sob, pressing her hand against her mouth as if to stuff the cries down.

The tent flap moved not long after. Eve had sat crossed legged on the blankets stop her wooden bed, hugging to her chest the fur cloak she has knitted for Elenwë so long ago. She looked up to find a familiar youthful face in the shadows.

Dark hair partially tied back, grey eyes keenly taking in the entire tent, stood Hyamindo. How in a matter of months she had come to trust someone with her life as much as this young guard of Nelyo's house, she didn't know. He shared her grief. Perhaps that was enough.

"My lady, are you doing well?" he said, speaking low so as not to disturb Itarillë. "I was kept away longer than expected with the lords of Prince Turukáno's house."

Eve nodded. "I am as well as can be expected. Any news?"

"None."

"You're troubled, though?"

Hyamindo shifted from left to right, standing closer to her so he could keep his voice down. "I know that we, that I, an in no position to expect aid." He frowned. "But, my Lady, I fear the time to save Lord Nelyafinwë may be slipping through our grasp."

Eve also frowned. She looked back at the fire. The reds and golds of sparks waiting to explode stared back at her. Just beyond, the gentle face of Itarillë, dreaming of what, Eve couldn't tell. Pain shot through her leg, a memory of pain. Then the face of Pityo, screaming. Fire had stolen so much.

She didn't want it to steal anything more.

"You're right. I'll speak to my husband," Eve said.

Hyamindo bowed. "I will be just outside, my lady."

"I know." She pulled what should have been Elenwë's cloak closer into her chest. Tears welled up. "And thank you. For staying by my side, even when all others of our house abandoned me."

Hyamindo stops straighter. "As I have said many times, my lady. I will die before I allow any harm to come to you. Both for your sake, and for Lord Nelyafinwë's." He flashed a small, wry smile. "He would have my head anyways."

Eve chuckled, bidding him goodnight as he left to take up his post outside her tent. The last time she'd seen him, Nelyo had told her that he had tried. He had tried to rescue Finno with the ships. And though she has tried once to tell Finno that his cousin has not abandoned him in the end, he had not been willing to listen.

Looking at Itaril, she sighed. Perhaps it wasn't that he hadn't been willing. Perhaps he had been unable.

But fire had stolen too much. She would not let those creatures of Morgoth of shadow and flame steal another of her family.