AN: Apologies for the lack of an update last week. I ran out of quest to adapt, due to the multiple 'mini turns' that can only become one chapter instead of the usual three. On a side note, I have begun writing other stories in addition to this one. The first of these is finished now, it's another crossover where Maglor goes on an adventure in Narnia. I encourage anyone who thinks that sounds interesting to check it out.
Proper Practice
Returning from your adventure at Soldier's Peak, you are exhausted. The physical and emotional toll, not to mention the rigors of travel, have left you reluctant to undertake the tasks that await you upon your return.
Fortunately, the rangers have nothing to report. The only thing of note that happened this week was the battle. As tends to happen after such flare ups, there is now a period of tentative peace in the forest.
Your informants, on the other hand, do have some news. A census of some kind is being taken, in particular they are looking for people with previous military experience. Fortunately, that rules out all three of the former criminals in your employ.
That the Teyrnin is preparing for war is not news to you, but the specifics of where they are in their mobilisation is. If they are surveying who they can recruit at this point, you predict they are no more than a month or two away from calling their banners.
After the letters have been decoded (the elven spies have decided to write to you as if you were their 'uncle' and some of their phrasing takes some significant thought to understand.) you feel drained down to your soul.
Your inability to assist with the rift in the Veil has left you with a desire to study the matter, especially since Solas is leaving soon and he seems to know the most on the subject. However, now you come to the task, you simply cannot muster the energy.
"The ever-burning energy of the sons of Fëanor has come to an end at last." You say with a chuckle.
For eleven minutes exactly, you count every second, you attempt to do nothing but rest. You lean back in your chair, every task you could be doing instead haunting your thoughts.
"This is not working." You state, rising from your seat.
If you are going to rest, you will need to do something. It cannot be something intensive or time sensitive, and ideally nothing that requires you to radically shift your understanding of the world.
You cast your mind back to your days in Aman, trying to remember what you did back when there was no looming threat to confront. Visiting Findekáno is obviously not an option, and the mere thought sends a stab of grief through your heart. Neither was attending a social function; those are far too tied up in local politics.
What had you spent most of your time doing? It feels as though those days had been vast stretches of nothing, where you simply laid back and watched the world go by, but surely you have not changed so much that you can no longer enjoy what once was your staple entertainment?
Ah, you mentioned something about this to Merrill when you were discussing Aman. Now you recall, you used to study. Through books or teachers you would simply choose a skill and try to learn it until you grew bored. That is what you will do now.
The only question now is what to study exactly. Something that requires insight, you think. You feel as though you are on the verge of some kind of breakthrough in that area.
"That is step one," you jest quietly to yourself. "Now for all steps until ten."
After a short moment to laugh at your own witticisms, you make your decision.
When it comes to being insightful there really is no comparison to the Quendi. The Ainur do not count, their insight is innate to their being, and not something they acquired over time. Thus, if you want to progress in this matter you will have to do so in a traditional manner.
Among the Noldor, there are relatively few who are renowned for their insight. High King Gil-Galad had the makings of it, but he was too young and new to his position to be renowned for anything. No, the first Noldo to come to mind when you discuss insight would be cousin Artanis.
Unfortunately, her famous ability to read the hearts of those around her seems to be innate rather than learned. If it is indeed something she learned, then she never deigned to share the method with you. Still, it shows a possible route, if one of house Arafinwë could manage it, then it is not for house Fëanáro to be outdone.
From such thoughts, you turn your mind to the task of considering how such arts might function. Your first idea is that it is related to thought-opening, but that seems unlikely.
Touching minds requires permission from the recipient and that was something your father in particular was very cautious of granting, yet Artanis still saw something within him that caused her to refuse his request. So that is probably the wrong direction.
Could it be the art of reading faces and the nuances of communication? Again, no. Such things would be answerable if one were to have equal skill in concealing their thoughts. From whence doe truly legendary insight come from?
You wrack your brain for an idea. It is not something you have ever looked into before. It leads you to asking questions such as 'what does insight truly mean?' Which in turn leads you down a linguistic rabbit hole that lasts for an embarrassing length of time.
In hindsight, taking this task as part of a relaxation exercise is leading to some truly sloppy practice that you would not stand for at any other time. Still, the dive into linguistics has given you the seed of an idea.
Insight is defined as, among other things, an understanding of how people behave. That, in truth, is your goal with this exercise, to understand people better. Fortunately, you have a great deal of opportunity to practice that exact skill, an opportunity only enhanced by the fact that none of your subjects are quendi.
The hardest part of this task is going to be observing people interacting with each other without unduly changing how they behave. Given that many of the people are those you employ, simply being around is likely to change how they behave.
There are the Dalish, or possibly Xandar and Merrill. You could study them, try and get a glimpse into their minds. It would still be a little strange, given the Dalish's secretive nature and the fact that generally friends do not carry out studies on their nature.
Perhaps it might be best if you simply tried to observe your staff in as unobtrusive manner as possible. If you get caught after a time it might even be beneficial to understanding how your presence changes their actions.
There are a few options available. You will be visiting the Dalish later this week, you could observe them while you were there. Or perhaps you could investigate the 'imprinting' process Mabari are said to have. Ultimately you discard both options as too likely to distract from other tasks.
No, your best option will be to observe your staff as they go about their days. It might unnerve them somewhat to be observed by their employer, which might be informative on its own. Still, out of consideration for the humans who work for you, it might be prudent to attempt to conceal yourself as you investigate them.
As with most of your plans that begin with the best of intentions, it quickly proves to be untenable. Between your height, clothing and the fact that you just are not that stealthy, you quickly find that there is basically no way for you not to be immediately noticed when you enter a room.
Perhaps if you had removed your chainmail you might have had more success, but that would likely only have delayed the time it took them to discover you. Most of the staff, the women in particular, are very good at keeping a watch out of the corners of their eyes.
"Can I help you, yer lordship?" Karla asks you.
"I simply wish to observe my staff as they go about their tasks." You reply. "Consider it a surprise inspection."
While the housekeepers do indeed go about their tasks, they keep glancing at you. When one of them slams her head into a door because she refused to turn away from you, you decide to head elsewhere.
It is as you are leaving that you get a glimpse of something useful.
"Alright, any of you stolen anything?" Karla asks the three Dalish.
It seems that they have underestimated your hearing, and believe that you can no longer hear them.
"No Karla." The three chorus, though one of them also adds 'that's racist'.
"Then why the hell is he doing a 'surprise inspection'." The human asks.
"Why do you think?" One of the Dalish, or former Dalish it is unclear, mutters.
"Don't seem the type for it." Karla says consideringly. "Maker knows if he was interested, that Merrill girl'd be all over it. I always figgered he played the other team."
"Maybe he's actually trying to make sure we're actually doing our work?" Another elf asks. "I mean, even if it's not the best pay in the world we still get a fair bit. Would be awful easy to slack off and just live the high life, you know."
"I still say he's eyeing us up for 'extra service'." The first Dalish grumbles.
"You've been listening to too many horror stories from the Hahren." The third replies. "He's not done anything to earn this kind of suspicion. The way some of the traders talk about him you'd think he was Andraste reborn."
You walk away as the four return to their work, gossiping about the traders from Gladesville.
Your supervision of the farmers yielded no additional information, but applying your technique of eavesdropping once you have 'left' you find they too find your 'surprise inspection' suspicious.
A short way into the forest, there is a stump surrounded by nice flowers. You sit upon the stump and consider what you have learned today. In Aman, there would have been no question of why you would perform an inspection. To make sure that everyone was working optimally, and that there was no interpersonal friction that no party was willing to disclose.
A part of you wants to write it off as a quirk of humanity, yet the Dalish had also been suspicious. Most crucially, the Men of Beleriand had not been.
You are not stranger to the concept that how one views the world is affected by their people, yet this unity across peoples is not one you have seen before. Were it not so tragic, it might be a heartening tale of how the children of Eru are, deep down, all the same.
You sit on your stump and reflect until the sun goes down.
Consequential Conversation
The day is over, you have had a rather tasty meal and you are in a sitting room with a glass of wine. You are just realising that your library is bare when there is a knock on the door.
"Enter." You call, grateful to have something to do.
Solas opens the door and walks inside, expression firm.
"We need to talk." He says.
"On that matter we are agreed. Come, have a seat." You gesture to a chair across from you.
The elf hesitates, but in the end sits across from you. Silence stretches out, neither of you quite sure how to begin.
Solas sighs. "I suppose I should begin."
"Are you certain?" You ask, more out of politeness than anything else. "If you have questions, I should be able to answer them."
Solas runs his hand over his head with a complicated expression. "No, if this conversation is to go anywhere I need to establish some sort of equilibrium, or we're going to keep talking past each other."
"If that is your belief, I will not gainsay you." You reply.
Solas smiles wryly. "What do you know of the Evanuri?"
"I know that June was one, and thus it is likely some kind of title." You reply. "From there I can conclude it likely has some association with the Dalish's gods."
Solas waits for several moments, before prompting. "And?"
"And that is the sum total of my knowledge on the subject." You explain.
Solas laughs softly. "Yes, I suppose they are hardly the cultural touchstones they once were. I fear I must explain them so that you understand why I thought what I did."
"I must confess," You interrupt. "That I find it strange that you are being so forthright when until now you have been so unwilling to reveal anything of yourself."
Solas nods. "I can't say I'm surprised. In truth, now that I have concluded that you are not an Evanuri I am much less concerned with keeping secrets from you."
"Then I suppose I must ask what an Evanuri is." You reply.
Solas raises an eyebrow. "Perhaps if you had not interrupted me, you might know by now."
You raise your hands in surrender and apology, and the elf continues. "The Evanuri were the rulers of Ancient Elvhenan. They began as generals, powerful mages, war heroes. Slowly, they amassed power, until eventually they were revered as gods."
Your gaze hardens. "At which point they went mad with power, demanding that all kneel to them and worship them, committing acts of ever escalating evil to ensure it?"
Solas tilts his head. "The did demand worship, and I would hardly say that their rule was kind or gentle, but that is not how I would describe it either. It is better to think of them as tyrants, alike to those you may know in this time in manner if not power."
You frown, and Solas continues. "Eventually they were overthrown and imprisoned by Fen'harel. The Veil stripped them of their immortality and bound the Evanuries in the Fade forever, once their bodies were destroyed. Then their prisons ensure they cannot get up to any mischief while they dwell within."
You give Solas a considering look. "How do you know all this. If the Veil prevents immortality among elves, surely you cannot have seen it personally."
"I saw it in the Fade." Solas says.
"You saw the ancient history of your people in the Fade." You state flatly. "In its entirety, despite it contradicting everything you believe and accepted it as the truth despite the realm's reputation, and observed tendency, for deception?"
Solas smiles enigmatically. "The Fade's reputation is greatly exaggerated. I have many friends in the Fade who are happy to guide me where I need to go. Besides, you found June's prison, is it such a stretch to believe I found it also?"
You do not believe a single word. "I was looking for June, I had a lead. The odds of you stumbling across it by accident in a realm such as that must be vanishingly small."
"If that is what you choose to believe I cannot stop you." Solas replies with a shrug.
"One more question." You say. "You are certain that these Evanuri were elves? They are never associated with anything else? Never call 'a creature of shadow and flame' for example?"
Solas scratches his head. "I can't say I've ever heard anything described that way. A rage demon maybe? No, I'm as certain of their nature as I am of my own. They were elves."
Despite your concerns and questions, you relent. Nothing will be gained by pushing Solas right now, perhaps later in the conversation you can interrogate him about his 'friends in the Fade'.
"Now, as you have no doubt gathered, when I first heard of an elf with powers beyond that of any other, I leapt to the obvious conclusion." Solas finishes. "As such, I came to you, not earnestly seeking answers but aiming to ensnare you in a trap that would reveal where you came from, so you could be returned there."
"It seems strange that you would not strike immediately and interrogate later." You observe. "Better to trap them behind the Veil than risk them free."
"Yes, but I decided at our first meeting that you were not one of the originals. You were too kind, you cared too much for those they would have considered slaves. That, and one other factor, convinced me that you were likely some kind of new version, either born from the same conditions or directly descended from an original." Solas explains.
"What changed your mind?" You ask.
"Well, I have never seen anything like that display in the Fade, and believe me I have seen just about everything possible in the Fade." Solas replies. "So, I concluded that I had no idea what you could possibly be."
"You mentioned." You say wryly.
The corner of Solas' lip turns up. "So that leads me to my question, how did you come to this land? Assuming that I believe your tale of coming from another world."
"Which I did." You restate.
"For the sake of this explanation, I am willing to entertain that concept." Solas states agreeably.
Silently, you contemplate your options. Strictly speaking, the only explanation you need to give him is the same one you gave June. You swore an oath and leaving Arda was the consequence of failing to fulfill it. How you arrived here is unclear, but you suspect it has something to do with the invisible force that pulls people to the ground.
Yet, you hesitate to do so. Perhaps it is because it was the evasive answer you gave June, but it feels like doing so would be deceptive at a time when you and Solas are supposed to be allowing yourselves to be honest. A small part of you argues that it is no more so than his incredibly abridged version of his own history.
That small part is quickly drowned out by the point that you have not exactly been keeping your history a secret, and it would be easy for Solas to discover your deception. Though part of you cannot believe you are going to, it seems you will be giving him the full story.
Entirely for practical reasons of course. Definitely not out of a spiteful desire to shame him by comparing how open you are with your story compared to how evasive he continues to be with his own. Such behaviour would not become a prince.
"I must warn you; it is a long tale many centuries in the making." You say.
"Well, I have nothing better to be doing." Solas replies, settling back into his chair.
"Very well. Our tale begins in Aman, the Blessed Realm, where nothing ages or dies." You begin. "My people, the Noldor, were the largest kingdom of the Quendi who dwelt there. So, it was us who Melkor sought to divide."
"He came among us in fair guise, and whispered words that Ñolofinwë, son of Finwë High King of the Noldor by his second wife, sought to supplant Fëanáro his firstborn." You smile wryly. "Naturally Ñolofinwë and his followers were fed a rather different tale, of an elder brother gone mad with paranoia, who would slay all challengers to the throne."
"An ancestor of yours, I presume?" Solas asks.
"My father." You reply with a smile. "I am the eldest son of Fëanáro, my name Nelyafinwë means, in context, 'Third in succession of House Finwë'. A direct challenge to Ñolofinwë."
Solas blinks twice. "You were a child when this was happening?"
"I was full grown." You reply. "My father and uncle never got one well, mostly due to my father. Melkor sowed his discord along fractures already present."
"So he was more the trigger than the cause then?" Solas asks.
You give him a flat look. "If you continue to interrupt I will never reach the end of the tale. To answer your question, no. Though my father disliked my uncle, it would have progressed no further. It was only when Melkor bean his whispers that we began to forge swords and prepare for what, at the time, seemed an inevitable civil war."
Solas winces, and you continue. "It was during this time that the Silmarils were forged. Gems that captured the light of the two trees that stood in place of the sun and moon, though they were more beautiful. The Silmarils were more beautiful still, and Melkor desired them.
"To simplify matters, Melkor allied with the dark spider Ungoliant, destroyed the two trees, slew my grandfather, High King Finwë and stole the Silmarils." You summarise.
Your voice grows heavy and your eyes distant. "It was then that my father and my brothers swore our oath:
As you speak, you are no longer in Endataurëo, but back on that mountain. The torchlight casts your father's face in flickering fire and shadow, twisted in rage and terrible to behold. The words weigh like chains upon your heart, even as you remember the burning rage that had compelled you to say them.
Solas is silent when you finish, and you take a moment to compose yourself.
Once you have returned to the present, you continue. "Father renamed Melkor Morgoth, the enemy of the world. The Valar forbade us to pursue him, but we did not heed them. The Teleri, the ship makers, did and refused to grant us passage across the sea to face him. So we killed them, and took their ships by force."
Solas' face has become blank, concealing his thoughts, so the tale proceeds. "The Valar exiled us for our crimes, cut all ties and left us alone."
From there you relay the tale of the war of the Jewels, you detail the death of your father, your imprisonment on Thrangodrim and rescue by Fingon. You tell the tale as only one who was there could, with the complex emotions that lay behind the bare facts.
Finally you come to the second Kinslaying.
"When I heard that Melian was gone, that the Girdle had fallen, I realised we had a chance." You continue tiredly. "With the Union shattered and Himring fallen I saw no way to take Angband, but Doriath? That we could manage. The thought nagged me, every waking moment."
Solas gave you a cold look. "It is the pragmatic decision, to attack a rival while they are weakened by internal problems and a recent war."
"Thingol was not our enemy." You remind him. "There is no defence for my decision, not truly. I just… No, it does not matter. I sent letters to Dior, first asking, explaining why it was important. Then, when he refused, I demanded. Finally, I threatened."
You smile grimly. "I believe he thought I was bluffing."
"You do not seem the type to bluff." Solas observes. "And was this Dior not the son of Tinúviel? Would he not already know the extent to which you and your brothers were willing to go?"
"Perhaps his anger at the dark history between us blinded him." You theorise. "Or perhaps hearing of such things is different from living through them. Whatever the reason, he refused my ultimatum. When I read his response, I recall I made some black joke. 'If this is his answer, let us deliver my reply personally' I think it was."
"A strange time to jest." Solas observes.
"It was easier than thinking on what I was committing to." You say, staring into the fire. "It may also have been because I could not bear to give the actual order, though I fail to see what difference the jest made in the end."
"We are often irrational when we face a choice we do not wish to make." Solas says thoughtfully.
You describe the destruction of Doriath in as much detail as possible. Partly because the detail is supposed to be what convinces Solas of the truth of your words, but the greater part is that it simply feels wrong to gloss over the Second Kinslaying.
When you finish your description, a heavy silence falls upon the two of you. The tale of the fall of any kingdom is a hard one to tell, but Doriath's is a particularly sorrowful one. Solas for his part seems upset, likely more at the concept of a war over a jewel than the horror of a Kinslaying.
"What I do not understand, is how that brought you to this land." He says eventually.
"That is because the tale is not yet finished, I still have the third Kinslaying and the War of Wrath to describe." You explain.
Solas grimaces. "I assume the third was much the same as the second? If so, we can safely skip it."
You laugh bitterly. "Oh no, the third was far worse. We were more hungry, more tired, more desperate. The Havens were less well defended, refugees and the lost. Their Queen, Elwing, was young and naïve. Ëarandil was perhaps the mightiest of their princes, and he was rarely home."
Solas' face pales noticeable, even if he keeps his expression neutral.
"In the end, his flight to the Blessed Realm brought the wrath of the Valar down on Morgoth, and he was defeated at last." You continue. "If at the cost of Beleriand."
"Well, ceding control of territory you barely controlled is hardly the worst price to pay." Solas says.
You laugh once more. "Oh no, I mean that literally. The might of the Valar was such that their contest with Morgoth broke Beleriand and it sank beneath the sea. In the aftermath, we tired one last time to retrieve the Silmarils, and this time we succeeded."
You trace the shape of the gem on your left hand. "But they were enchanted such that nothing evil could bear their touch."
Solas' eyes widen in realisation. "The oath had become impossible to fulfill, so the penalty clause kicked in."
You blink, taken aback by the speed with which he had come to that conclusion, then you recall that he had clearly perceived the weight of the oath you made him swear when you first met.
"In essence if not detail." You agree, unwilling to discuss your end. "My spirit was cast into the everlasting darkness beyond the circles of the world. I saw many different worlds within it, like stars in the sky. How I arrived in this land from there is a mystery to me."
"It can't be the Veil, it doesn't have that ability. The orb might make sense, but you haven't been anywhere near it…" Solas trails off thoughtfully.
He shakes his head and sighs. "It seems I must now seek a 'soul magnet' pulling people from the gulf between worlds. As if I did not have enough on my plate."
"You believe me?" You ask, somewhere between annoyed, amused and disbelieving.
Solas chuckles. "Either you are the single greatest storyteller, who has laboriously constructed a fictional history, complete with verisimilitudinous descriptions of the assault and sacking of three fictional cities, for the sole purpose of deceiving me to no clear end. On top of which, you just so happen to be an anomalous entity I have never seen the like of in all my travels in the Fade. A coincidence so hilariously unlikely even my paranoia has trouble believing it."
The elf heaves a great breath after his long rant. "Or you are telling enough of the truth for the lies to be meaningless. So yes, I believe you."
You sit in silence a moment, feeling like a dog that has finally caught the thing he was chasing, only to be lost on what to do next.
"What happens now then?" You ask.
Solas looks out the window. "I have wasted too much time here, I should have left the moment I realised you were not an Evanuri. There is much I need to do, things I need to see."
"If you ever wish to return, even if it is only for a short time, my door is always open." You offer.
"That is a generous offer." Solas replies. "But I fear I will be travelling far away, and I do not expect to return anytime soon."
"I see." You reply. "Well, the offer stands. For all that you are a suspicious, secretive and rather rude guest, you have been helpful."
Solas huffs a laugh. "I am glad to see that I have made an impression if nothing else."
You smile, before moving to a more serious topic. "Will you join me in fighting the Blight? It should be coming soon, in a month or two. If you could delay your departure long enough to participate, I would be grateful."
Solas looks thoughtful for a time, then sighs. "I suppose I have some business I can do in the area for a month or two. I suppose I shall return here in two months, and you can give me more details then."
"That is thoroughly agreeable." You nod. "When do you intend to depart?"
"Tomorrow." Solas states firmly.
You give the elf a betrayed look. "You should have told me; we have not prepared a proper farewell. I do not have time to find a gift."
"I see how it is, suspecting you of being a monster is fine, but making you be rude is unacceptable." Solas laughs.
"It is more that I do not have to hide how displeased people forcing me to be rude is." You reply, already scheming what gift you can get on short notice will be double edged enough to punish Solas.
The next day as you publicly sing a translation of one of Maglor's more flowery farewell songs to the elf's immense chagrin, you are deeply satisfied with your, admittedly petty, vengeance.