Well, it seems I need to apologise. I didn't mean to disappear from this particular branch of my work. Unfortunately prac got busier as time went on and I just kind of ran out of time. Fair warning, I've only got enough backlog for two weeks and it'll be three before I have more to edit, so there's going to be another missed week coming up.
A Wise Elf
The greatest qualification for kingship is wisdom. Humans would make an argument that it is actually blood, and you cannot gainsay that. Few Noldor would long countenance the idea of being led by one who is not descended from Finwë. However, among the house of Finwë, it has always been considered wisdom that must decide between the candidates.
It is why the eldest of the house is the most attractive candidate, for age brings a certain degree of wisdom. Certainly, your brothers grew progressively less foolish as they aged, though such things are relative.
Of course, your house is dispossessed, and you shall never again claim the title of King. This is no excuse to allow foolishness to fester within you, and if recent events have proven anything, it is that it does. Looking back at demise of the Hahren, you had options, better options than the one you chose.
For all that your father has been much maligned since his passing[1], he had always said that there is no mistake worse than one that is never corrected. It was a lesson both he and your beloved mother had laboured long to teach the seven of you. It was, admittedly, not a lesson that came naturally to any of you.
Your attempt at understanding a new worldview by working with the Templars had been reasonably successful. Unfortunately, you suspect that is an option with diminishing returns. Once you understand something of the underlying motivations behind why someone would love that order, you can reasonably extrapolate to a number of other organisations.
This leaves you with a limited number of other options. There is obviously still the idea of finding a book. Ideally it would be a manual teaching humans wisdom, so you could learn from their mistakes. It is a somewhat disappointing option, but one that is unlikely to have any repercussions.
A second option is to do what you did last week, except with a more drastically alien mindset. Mages specifically; truly studying magic is certainly an option, as would be those who hate mages. The fear that colours the interactions of most people with Merrill and Xandar is something you simply do not understand.
You could also look into the divisions between humans and elves. That is likely to be a less fruitful option, as you have something of an understanding of that at least. You certainly have no questions about why the Teleri might dislike the Noldor, however irrational that might be.
There is also one last option. You had toyed with the idea last week, and it had been somewhat attractive. No one can deny that you made mistakes throughout the First Age, and you have never had a time to sit down and truly reflect upon them.
It can be unpleasant to remember the mistakes of the past, you certainly cannot claim that it will be an unemotional experience. Yet, even as a part of you shies away from the prospect, another proclaims that avoiding the topic is nothing less than base cowardice.
You sigh, resting your head against the wall behind you. Whatever you do will have to be done in snatched moments between the chaos of this week. There is simply too much to do and too little time.
Were you not so pressed for time, perhaps you could make an excuse to do something, anything else. But as things stand, you are painfully aware that you could be called to speak with Lanaya at any moment. Once that matter is done, you must immediately head to oversee the matter of the logging, and you must find time to speak to Ranger.
In other words, whatever you do must be something you can do here and now. That rules out spending time with elves or with mages. As for studying those who hate mages, this is likely a poor place to do so. Even if you wished to, which in all honesty you do not.
You sigh once more. Even to yourself, it is obvious that you are stalling. Your mind recoils from contemplating the First Age, no matter how much you acknowledge that it is likely a good idea. Only tragedy and sorrow lie in those memories, you have little desire to retread them.
Perhaps, if you begin by reflection on other, more recent memories that would be easier. For example, your conduct with Lanaya. Surely that could have been improved somehow.
You close your eyes and let your breathing settle. Memories of your conversations with the elf replay themselves within your mind. Certainly, you have been incautious about dealing with her culture. It is a struggle to imagine any of your kin as truly at the mercy of humans, yet it is a cultural scar you have taken little care with.
Of course, you have also not done so with the Sabrae, but an argument could be made for the additional time you spent with them mitigating the matter. In fact, a strong argument could be made that it was not any conscious choice of yours, but rather those of Lanaya that truly soured your relations.
There really is no way to avoid thinking about the First Age if you desire true insight, is there?
Alright, well the obvious option was the battle of Unnumbered tears. Simple, practical changes. Stabbing Ulfang's sons before his eyes then cutting off his head before the battle are all options that are attractive in hindsight, but certainly at the time were not an option.
Is that true though? In fact, how did Morgoth insert his spies so deep into your councils? Had you truly assumed that all that lived were enemies of the Dark Lord when that had already proven false.
No. You must be mixing up the timeline, you had not discovered the breadth of Morgoth's spies until the fall of Gondolin. Though, had it not been a little too convenient that Morgoth's greatest strength had fallen upon you while you had been contemplating a renewed assault? Should that not have been a clue itself?
Your thoughts quickly begin to spiral into paranoia, re-examining every interaction you had with many eldar and men after the Glorious Battle. Had there been some signs you missed or are you simply finding suspicious activity because you are now looking for it.
You pull your thoughts away abruptly. There is no benefit to be had here, even if there had been a sign, you still do not know who exactly had been a spy for Morgoth. Even the one group you are certain of, Ulfang and sons, were more Moryo's affair than yours.
Perhaps the main thing you can learn from that particular line of thought is that there are some questions that you will never have answers to. As annoyingly unsatisfying as that is.
You stand up suddenly, walking about to shake the cobwebs off your thoughts, and take the chance to scan the gates. Lanaya still has not arrived, there is time yet to reflect further.
Your thoughts skitter away from Astaldo and his final moments. That is one cluster of sorrow and grief you have no interest in re-experiencing. Quickly you cast about for some other form of self-reflection to take its place.
Yet, despite your desperate casting about, it is only a few minutes until you return to the memory. Even as you begin to shy away from the memory once more, you force yourself to stop.
You are many things. A Kinslayer, a prince, a warrior, a colder and harsher Noldo than you used to be. One thing you refuse to be is a coward. You fear these memories, the grief within them. This is unacceptable. If you must spend hours in the past, if you must shed tears to fill a river, you will overcome this fear.
The first step to overcoming fear is simply to place yourself in the situation that you fear in a safe manner. So, gently, carefully you begin to indulge yourself in reminiscences of your father's last moments.
The memory of your father's death is a bitter one. That his last words were of his precious Silmarils, of insisting that you renew your Oath. Greif had all but overwhelmed you and your brothers, held at bay only by the towering rage you felt towards Morgoth.
Once more you stand beneath the dark sky, light of the stars reflecting in your father's dimming eyes.
Kurvo is shaking, tears streaming from his eyes. Kano is silent, unable to process what is happening. The twins are looking about them in disbelief.
For your part, all you can feel is wrath. Is there no end to the cruelties of Melkor, no Morgoth, was it not enough that he took your grandfather from you? Must you now watch as your whole family dies one by one.
Your breath catches in your throat as your father speaks and, in unison with your brothers, you say,
"Be he foe of friend…"
Now tears stain your face, partly grief at the loss, yet moreso a feeling of betrayal. Had your father even noticed that you were there? Did he not see that his sons were in pain? That they needed him to say, just once, 'you are my greatest creations'.
Were you worth less that a set of jewels to your own father?
With a shaky laugh you chide yourself. You are being dramatic, you had not been children and it is not as though your father had not told you of his love before. It had not even been in your thoughts at the time. It is only now, after so long without him, after a futile pursuit of an impossible goal that the bitterness strikes.
It seems you have found the source of your fear then. It is not the grief within your memories you fear, but rather the new context that the end of the First Age has given them. Now that you doubt you will ever see your father again, you wish he had not charged you with an impossible task, but merely told you he loved you one last time.
You allow the grief and wrath to sit for a time. You try not to simply wallow in it, but merely to experience it, let it pass. It is not an easy task, yet when the time comes for you to depart, you are able to stand and walk away.
It hurt, still hurts, but you are not dead. You have not thrown yourself over a cliff or into a chasm. There is no danger in your memories, merely pain.
The Grieving Clan
The words don't make sense.
Objectively, 'the Hahren are all dead' is perfectly coherent as a sentence. The words even make sense on their own. But now, hearing them placed in that order, it is as though her teacher is speaking nonsense.
Merrill barely hears the apology and explanation Nelyafinwë offers. What could possibly have gone wrong? She covered every eventuality, didn't she? Vaguely she is aware that she is accepting the apology and informing her teacher she doesn't blame him, but that is not what she is focusing on.
The First of the Sabrae clan runs to the stable, and all but drags Dal'banal'ras out of his stall. She leaps onto his back and does not even take a second to bemoan the lack of a saddle.
In the darkness, the night of Nelyafinwë's return from her clan, she hurtles along the road towards her home.
She arrives with the first rays of the sun. The guards nod to her as she passes, but she doesn't slow or stop. She bangs on her Keeper's door until the elf opens it.
"It's not true is it?" Merrill asks.
When Keeper Marethari gravely repeats those words, Merrill breaks into tears.
Marethari wraps her student in an embrace and takes them both in into her aravel.
"Sorry." The First sniffled, wiping her nose and face in a gap between the tears. "I'm being completely immature about this."
"There is no shame in honest grief." The Keeper intones solemnly.
"Even so, I shouldn't be bawling while you hold me like a child." Merrill scrubs at her face again.
"It is no great burden." The Keeper's voice catches as she speaks. "We must put on a strong front for our people, but in here we can show our feelings freely."
It takes Merrill a long time to collect herself again. Riding through the night has left her too exhausted to deal with the spikes of grief that seem to be determined to make a home in her heart. When at last she separates from her teacher, said teacher's front is completely wet with tears.
Strangely, so is Merrill's back.
"What happened?" She asks, scrubbing her face with her sleeve. "Nelyafinwë tried to explain, but I wasn't really listening."
Marethari sighs. "After the Hahren completed the Vir'thena[2] they grew ill over the course of the week. We sent a message to you and Nelyafinwë."
Merrill's heart skipps a beat. "You sent me a message?"
"I assumed you must have missed it when he showed up alone." Marethari remarks.
"I'm sorry!" Merrill exclaims. "I should have been here, I was wasting time in the city when my people needed me!"
"Do not blame yourself Merrill." Marethari says gently. "Neither I nor Nelyafinwë could think of a solution, you being here would likely have changed nothing."
"Still." Merrill mumbles.
"The truth of the matter is their souls were rejecting their bodies, no longer recognising them as themselves due to age." Marethari explains.
She still should have been here, if only to say goodbye.
Marethari suddenly slams her fist onto a table in rage and shouts, "Then that reckless, arrogant fool tried something insane when nobody was looking and turned them all into ghosts!"
Merrill blinks in surprise. "I'm sorry?"
The Keeper takes several calming breaths, pauses, then takes several more.
"Nelyafinwë was the one to identify the problem, though of course he did not consider that aging would meet the criteria necessary." Marethari explains more calmly.
Merrill feels compelled to defend her teacher. "Well, his people are immortal and ageless. He says he's at least a thousand years old."
"He says." Marethari mutters bitterly, then sighs. "Perhaps it was an understandable oversight. I might be letting my anger get the best of me. Still, he decided to attempt to treat aging, and in the process created a set of furious ghosts that decided that what they needed was to consume the living."
Merrill winces. "Ok, that's pretty bad."
Marethari sighs and rests her head in her hands. "Naturally, the whole clan saw it, and then quickly realised the Harhen were dead."
"So everyone blamed him." Merrill says.
"As well they should!" Marethari snaps. "Because of him we lost our chance to say proper goodbyes, because of him the whole camp was flung into chaos, because of him I had to trap the souls of my oldest friends in mirrors!"
You could do that? No, bad Merrill, magic later, people now.
"I'm sure he only wanted to help." She says cautiously. "It's not like he was trying to do that."
"There's a saying about good intentions, Merrill." The Keeper replies.
Merrill flinches. Silence falls on the room.
"Do you hate him now?" She asks vulnerably.
Merrill isn't sure what she'd do if the clan and Nelyafinwë were at odds. Her people were her home, her whole life; but her teacher had given them, given her, so much. It would feel like a betrayal to do anything against him.
The Keeper sighs once more. "No. I don't. I'm furious with the arrogant, pig headed moron who is apparently old enough to know better! But I don't hate him. I know, intellectually he was trying to help. If he had succeeded I would have just about sworn the whole clan to his service if he asked. But he didn't, and I can't just overlook the results because he meant well."
"Paivel, I have a new student for you." Marethari said.
Merrill shuffled behind the Keeper's leg as all the children turned to stare at her. The elf at the front frowned.
"Is this the new First I've heard about? Shouldn't she be with you for lessons?" He asked.
Marethari replied, "She's only four Paivel. She needs some time with children, I can't keep her locked up away from everyone else."
A hand gently pushed Merrill out in front of the Keeper.
"Say hello Merrill." Marethari said.
"Hello." Merrill whispered, wishing she could hide behind something.
Merrill didn't see it at the time, but later her teacher would describe Paivel as having the 'most put upon expression of all time'. Still the elf walked over and went down on one knee across from the young child.
"Hello, I am Paivel, and I'm going to be teaching you to read and write." He said, smiling down at her. "Could you tell me your name?"
Merrill mumbled a reply.
"Sorry, but I didn't catch that. I'm going deaf in one ear, could you speak up?" Paivel said gently.
"Merrill." The elf child whispered.
"Well, Merrill, do you know how to write your name?" He asked with another smile.
Merrill shook her head.
"Come on." Paivel said, extending a hand. "I'll show you."
Merrill stares at Paivel's still face. It's strange, looking at a body. She's seen them before, obviously. Dead animals, dead elves, even the occasional dead human. This feels different though, Paivel was a rock in her life. He'd taught her to read and write, and always been willing to answer her questions about her people.
Now he's gone. Or maybe gone, there might be something with the mirror his spirit is trapped. In some ways the uncertainty is worse than simply knowing that he's gone forever.
"Have we organised a funeral?" She asks quietly.
"No." Marethari responds, staring at Sarel. "It seemed, cruel, to do it without you."
"Should we preserve the bodies?" Merrill asks nervously. "I mean, I don't want to engender false hope, but if we still have their spirits…"
"Merrill." Marethari says sternly, waiting until her pupil looks her in the eye. "We are not stooping to necromancy."
"I didn't mean that, but what if we find a way, they'll need a body, right?" Merrill clarifies.
Marethari shakes her head. "We'd have to take their organs out, it'd make the bodies useless as bodies. No, better to put them in the ground, where they can become one with the soil that sustains us."
"Right. Ok, so should we organise the funeral?" Merrill asks.
Marethari shakes her head, turning back to stare at Sarel's corpse. "In a minute."
Eventually, the two are sat with a random assortment of elves. Merrill recognises most of them, Auriel is there, as are a number of others. She is just unsure why exactly she is meeting with them. After all, Vanowen might be the best weaver in the clan, but why is she being consulted on funeral preparations?
"So, if we hold it in the evening, will that interfere with the craftsmen?" Marethari asks said elf.
Vanowen fidgets. "Uh, probably not? I mean, Ilen might know more."
"Ilen declined my invitation." Marethari stated. "If we do the funeral tonight, is that too soon?"
The group looks nervously at each other, there are shrugs and people say that they need to check. Except Auriel, who says it's too soon, that the hunters need time to schedule a break, and check food supplies.
It is only after she finishes speaking that Merrill figures out what the problem is.
"Perhaps everyone can check and come back tomorrow?" She suggests.
Marethari frowns, then shakes her head. "Yes. A good idea. Everyone, speak to your groups, find out if anything is stopping us from a funeral in, let's say three days, at sunset."
The group files out of the aravel slowly. When they are gone, Merrill turns to her teacher.
"You can't expect them to know how to lead yet." She says carefully.
Marethari sighs harshly. "I know Merrill."
Merrill hesitates, then extends a hand out to rest on her teacher's shoulder. "I'm sorry about Sarel. I didn't realise he was a, well, I guess I never thought…"
"Merrill. It's. Thank you, but I'd rather not talk about it." Marethari says.
The two sit in silence for a time, reflecting on those they have lost.
The afternoon passes in relative calm. Neither elf is exactly in the best state of mind, but they are functional enough to take care of some of their work. The fact that most of the clan is in a similar state goes a long way to ensuring they can stay on top of their work.
Merrill still suspects that she would have been unable to complete it without her teacher. She suspects the reverse is also true.
Dinner passes in quiet silence, and Marethari retires early. If Merrill happens to hear whispered prayers to the Elvhen gods from her room, she says nothing on the matter, despite her suspicions as to their nature.
The next day, the Keeper looks tired, but not to the point that Merrill fears disturbing her.
"Um, Keeper, can we talk?" She asks nervously, before breakfast is finished.
"Of course, Merrill." Marethari replies. "I'm here for you."
"It's just that, well, it's not really about the Hahren, and I don't want to add more problems or anything…" Merrill trails off, uncertain.
"Merrill, look at me." Marethari says.
Merrill's eyes flick up, to see her teacher's expression looking sad and tired, but still welcoming.
"You are my First." The Keeper says. "One day, you will take my place. Until that day, you are my first priority. If you need my help, I will drop everything to ensure you get it. Do you understand."
Merrill felt tears gather in the corner of her eyes. "Well, technically, I'm not going to replace you unless something terrible happens, since we're immortal now."
Marethari gives her a fondly exasperated look. "You know what I mean. What's bothering you."
Merrill bites her lip, hesitates for what feels like an hour, then speaks.
"I messed up." She says quietly. "I was trying to talk to Lanaya, I was worried about her. She's been acting strangely, but then I brought up Nelyafinwë and suddenly she got so angry. I don't know what I said, but she… I'm worried she's going to do something foolish."
Marethari thinks for a long time before she replies, "Normally, I would say that the stress of being Keeper can make people act strangely at first. I'm not going to insult you by saying that you were overreacting, but I would like to know why you think this is more than that."
Now it is Merrill's turn to think for a long time before speaking. "It's a lot of things. Little things at first. Like getting mad at Nelyafinwë."
"Not everyone finds him as, endearing, as you do." Marethari says gently.
"I know that!" Merrill exclaims, face burning. "But it's not like Auriel, but more like Tamlen."
"Why is that a problem?" Marethari asks. "Unless you think there is an issue with Tamlen also."
"It's, Tamlen's a traditionalist. Lanaya isn't." Merrill explains. "We used to talk about things that bothered us about life, and she's never really liked the way some of the Hahren talk about the world. She's always said that the outside world isn't our enemy, just some people in it."
"So, you're worried that she seems to be drifting away from her position? Could it just be that she has a new perspective now?" Marethari asks calmly.
"Maybe, but it's so sudden. And it's like she thinks Nelyafinwë is trying something, like he's the enemy she needs to protect herself from." Merrill says. "I just want to help her, to make her understand that he's trying to help."
Marethari looks out the window of the Aravel. "We all wish that we could convince everyone of what we believe. Part of growing older is learning that you can't always do so. That there will always be people who disagree with you, and there's nothing you can do."
"What if she does something stupid?" Merrill asks. "I don't want to have to choose between my best friend and my teacher. Or worse, my people and my teacher."
Marethari, who had been on the verge of teasing her student, sags in her chair. "I'm sure she won't, she's a Keeper of the Dalish. She has responsibilities."
"What if she does though!" Merrill asks again.
Marethari looks tired, and sad and old in a way that is more than physical. "You will simply have to do what you believe is right. That's all any of us can do."
[1] Though none had dared say aught to his face, save Finwë-Ñolofinwë
[2] Way of Awakening – some liberties have been taken due to Elvhen not being a complete language