Ithriel's blade danced through the air, a silver arc that mirrored the fluidity of water - Salmar's elemental teachings guiding her form. With each sweep and thrust, she embodied the duality of her heritage: the grace of elven warriors and the raw strength of Maiar blood. Her feet barely whispered against the forest floor, a testament to countless hours honed under her father's vigilant eye. Sweat beaded along her brow, yet her focus never waned, eyes alight with a seafoam determination.
Each movement was a word in the silent language of combat she had come to speak so fluently. A spin, a parry, a leap - the secluded glade became her stage, the whispering leaves her audience. She imagined the real battle, the thrum of danger; it fueled her, this blend of shadow and light that coursed through her veins.
Mairon watched his daughter, Ithriel, with a complex mixture of pride and weariness. Barely twelve summers old, she moved with a ferocity that belied her age, her blade a blur against his own. He deflected her blows with ease, his movements economical, almost languid, a stark contrast to her frantic energy. Each parry, each near-miss, filled him with a bittersweet satisfaction. She was a reflection of his own spirit, fierce and indomitable, a spirit that burned brighter than any hearth fire in its ambition. Yet, she was still a child, her skill, though impressive for one so young, insufficient against his millennia of honed combat experience.
With another frustrated cry, Ithriel was sent sprawling, her small body hitting the earth with a muffled thud.
Mairon's smile held no cruelty, only a hint of amusement. "Watch your footing, Ithriel," he said, his voice low and steady.
The ground was strewn with dust and small pebbles kicked up during their sparring match, a testament to the intensity of their duel. Sweat plastered her white hair to her forehead, her knees bleeding, yet she rose again, her eyes blazing with defiance. This unwavering tenacity, this refusal to yield, was both her greatest strength and her most dangerous flaw. She didn't know when to stop. It was the same stubbornness that had burned in her mother's heart, a stubbornness that had ultimately led to… well, to the events that had shaped Mairon's life.
"Enough for today," Mairon said, his voice firm but not unkind. He saw the flicker of fury in her eyes, the growing desperation.
"No!" she screamed, launching herself at him once more. Her attack was desperate, reckless. With a sigh, Mairon disarmed her with a swift thud, sending her blade skittering across the grass and her back on the ground. This time, Ithriel's anger exploded outwards. A wave of searing energy rippled from her, scorching the earth where she lay, cracking the stone beneath her.
Mairon yanked her off the ground, putting her back on her feet. He held her gaze, his own expression stern. "Control your anger, Ithriel," he said. "If you are to learn, you must learn to master yourself."
"It's not fair!" she shouted, tears blurring her vision. "I'll never beat you! What's the point?" With a sob, she turned and ran, disappearing into the shadows of the ancient forest. Mairon watched her go, the weight of his responsibilities pressing heavily on him. He had taught her to fight, to survive, but could he teach her to accept limitations, to find peace in the face of inevitable defeat? He himself sure did not know how to.
In the serene embrace of the surrounding woods, Silmeriel watched from a distance, her presence as gentle as the dawn. Her golden hair captured the sunlight, creating a halo around her contemplative face. Eyes bright with pride, she marveled at Ithriel's display of martial prowess, the testament of their father's rigorous training evident in every precise strike.
She stood in stark contrast to her sister, both in appearance and temperament. Unlike Ithriel, Silmeriel had never shown an interest in fighting or hunting. She favored the company of books to the sword, and woodland creatures over the noisy gatherings of people. Her shy and tender nature and love for all living beings had earned her the affection of everyone she encountered.
Despite their shared bloodline and upbringing, the sisters could not have been more different. Where Ithriel embodied the raw power and skill of a warrior, Silmeriel possessed an innate magic that manifested in her gentle touch and her ability to commune with nature. Her connection to the forest and its creatures was unspoken, a silent understanding that brought her peace. While Ithriel was a tempest, Silmeriel was the calm after the storm, a serene presence that brought comfort to all who knew her. Yet, she could not help but admire her sister and best friend.
As Ithriel's frustrated cries faded into the depths of the forest, Silmeriel couldn't help but feel a pang of empathy for her older sister. Her fierce spirit was both admirable and troubling, a blazing fire that could either illuminate the world or consume her entirely.
As she observed the aftermath of the sparring match, she closed her book and, with a soft sigh, turned and followed the path into the forest, her steps light and graceful.
It wasn't long before she found Ithriel, sitting on a fallen log, her head buried in her hands. The girl's shoulders shook with silent sobs, and Silmeriel's heart ached at the sight. She approached quietly, her presence almost ethereal in the dappled sunlight.
"Ithriel," she called softly, her voice a gentle whisper that carried through the trees. Ithriel looked up, her tear-streaked face a mixture of anger and sorrow.
"It's not fair, Silmeriel," she said, her voice choked with emotion. "No matter how hard I try, I'll never be as good as him."
Silmeriel sat beside her sister, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You are already remarkable, Ithriel. Your strength and determination are unparalleled. But remember what Father always says — true mastery comes not just from skill, but from understanding and control."
Ithriel sniffled, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. "I just want to make him proud."
"He is proud of you," Silmeriel assured her. "He cherishes you so, because you are his heir, and you are just like Father. And Mother. Sometimes I wonder if they found me somewhere in the woods, because I am so different from all of you."
Ithriel laughed through the tears, hugging her little sister. "Come now, you look just like Mother."
For a moment, the forest was silent, save for the gentle rustling of leaves. Ithriel took a deep breath, allowing herself to calm. The sisters sat in contemplative silence, the world around them alive with the promise of eternity. But beyond the tranquility of the woods, the kingdom of Tar-Mairon bustled with life and complexity.
Built in just under six years by the skillful hands of elven craftsmen, guided by the meticulous and rigid supervision of their new ruler, Mairon's home stood as a testament to his power. The city looked nothing like one would expect from someone who was once known as the Dark Lord. It was constructed with a sole thought of his beloved, a creature of light, and its designs echoed those of Valimar, something they both used to know in their time of peace.
The palace was a marvel to behold, an architectural wonder that seemed to shimmer in the light. Towering spires reached towards the heavens, their tips glinting like stars. The walls were crafted from gleaming white quartz, interspersed with intricate carvings and delicate filigree that told stories of ancient lore and timeless beauty. Grand archways adorned with delicate elven rhunes invited into a realm of splendor and grace.
Sunlight streamed through stained glass windows, casting vibrant hues across the polished marble floors. Lush gardens filled with flowers and verdant greenery intertwined seamlessly with the architecture, creating a harmonious blend of nature and craftsmanship.
Despite its grandeur, the palace emanated a sense of warmth and welcome. It was a place where light thrived, a stark contrast to the shadowed past of its creator. Every corner of it whispered of love and devotion, a sanctuary built to honor the bond between the Dark Lord and his radiant queen.
Mairon's armies grew, his reach extended swiftly across all of Middle-earth west of Mordor. His influence spread like wildfire, yet paradoxically, those years brought an unexpected peace to the elven realms. With the orcs no longer hunting beyond the lands of shadow, and the hostile mortals subdued and quelled, the elves were afforded a rare respite, a chance to rebuild and recover their strength. This period of calm allowed the elven kingdoms to restore what was lost and to reinforce their defenses, all under the wary watch of their new overlord.
Mortal realms, perceiving the might and inevitability of Mairon's dominion, conceded to his rule with minimal resistance. Many bowed out of fear, while others succumbed to the sheer force of his armies. For them, submission was a means of survival, a reluctant acceptance of a new era.
However, the dwarves resisted fiercely still. Their strongholds in the mountains remained bastions of defiance, their hearts unyielding despite the growing shadow. They fortified their halls with cunning and determination, their resistance a testament to their indomitable spirit.
Mairon, though fully capable of unleashing devastation upon the dwarves, stayed his hand. He was not eager to shed the blood of Aulë's children, not yet. His focus was on establishing control, organizing his realm, and ensuring that every brick of his dominion was laid perfectly. This was his grand vision, the culmination of ages of bloodshed and strife—a realm not just of power, but of order and perfection.
Every aspect of his dominion was meticulously planned, each detail reflecting his desire for a perfect creation, even if it had to be forced upon the people of Middle-earth, fueled by the old mistrust between races. His ambitions finally coming to a fruition allowed him at last feel the sense of something akin to peace. Or at least the closes thing that could be describe as peace, that the being like him could ever feel.
As the girls emerged from the tranquil embrace of the forest, their path led them back to the palace. Upon approaching, their eyes fell upon a familiar blue-haired figure standing in conversation with Mairon and Galadriel. Ithriel's heart leapt with joy, and a delighted gasp escaped her lips.
"Salmar!" she cried, her voice ringing with unbridled excitement. With the swiftness of a deer, she dashed forward and leapt into Salmar's arms with such fervor that he nearly lost his footing.
Laughing, he caught her, wrapping his arms around her in a warm embrace. "Ithriel, my little warrior! Look how you've grown!"
Ithriel clung to him, her arms and legs entwined, a picture of pure, unrestrained joy. "It's been so long! I have missed you terribly!" her excited voice were muffled with the folds of his clothing.
Salmar laughed warmly, replying, "Surely this is because your father is a much stricter teacher than I am." He then revealed the purpose of his visit. "I come bearing gifts," he announced, extending a finely wrought sword to Ithriel. The blade, forged from the finest Valinor steel, gleamed with an ethereal light. "This is a gift from your grandfather, Finarfin," he explained.
The sword was a work of art—light, yet razor-sharp and unyielding. Its hilt, crafted from silver and adorned with white wood and turquoise stones, caught the light, mesmerizing Ithriel with its beauty.
"Thank you!" she whispered, awe-struck by the magnificence of the weapon.
Next, Salmar turned his attention to Silmeriel, who stood shyly at the distance. Lowering himself to her level, he stroke her golden hair in a warm gesture. "And you, my little Celebrian, getting more and more beautiful every time I see you. Just like your mother. Your uncle Finrod has heard of your great love for the birds and beasts of the woods, and sends you a very special gift," he said, his eyes twinkling.
He opened a crate that had been set aside and gently lifted out a young pup. Despite its youth, the wolfhound was already impressively large, too much for Silmeriel to hold. "This is Cúron," Salmar explained, presenting the pup to her. "One of Oromë's bunch. He shall grow strong and big, and will protect you, wherever you go."
Mairon's brow furrowed, giving away the flood of unpleasant memories from the past. He was definitely not a dog person. Surely Finrod knew well what he was doing, picking the "special" gift. But the joy that lit up Silmeriel's face was a sight to behold, and so the pup had to remain. Galadriel couldn't help but smile at his loud thoughts. Well deserved, meleth, she thought to him.
As the girls celebrated their new treasures, Salmar explained that his visit would be brief. "I must return swiftly," he said to Mairon and Galadriel with a hint of regret. "Ulmo is recalling me back into service, expecting my immediate return. So I will be gone for a while—though the work shouldn't take too long, just a decade or so."
Ithriel's joy evaporated like mist in the morning sun as she absorbed the news. "But you just returned! I have been waiting for you the whole year!" she cried, unable to mask the disappointment in her voice.
Salmar sighed, his expression one of deep regret. "I know, Ithriel, and it pains me to leave you all. However, duty calls, and I cannot refuse." He placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, but his words offered little solace. With tears welling in her eyes, Ithriel turned and ran towards the gardens.
"She'll get over it," Mairon remarked, "just needs some time alone, but she'll calm down. Lately her fire burns unchecked. She gets too emotional."
Salmar, however, couldn't ignore the sorrow in Ithriel's eyes. "I shall probably—" He gestured in the direction she had run and followed swiftly before finishing the sentence.
He found her in her familiar hiding spot, nestled among the rocks beneath the small waterfall. With quiet steps, he approached and sat beside her, tilting his head to catch her gaze. After a moment, she looked up, her eyes brimming with tears.
"This is so unfair!" she cried, her voice trembling with emotion. "I wish you could stay longer this time!"
Salmar smiled warmly, his heart aching for her. "I know, my little Moon. But I won't be gone for too long."
"Not long? Ten years is forever! It's almost as long as I've been alive!" she retorted, frustration and sadness mingling in her voice. "Take me with you, Salmar! Let me go with you to the Undying Lands."
Salmar searched for the right words to console her. "I don't think your father would allow such a thing. Besides, you cannot shift your fana. How would you survive in the depths of the sea where I dwell? Otherwise, I would gladly take you with me, Ithriel. Remember, the tides always return to the shore," he continued, his storm-gray eyes locking with her green and wide. "As shall I, when the time is right."
With a heavy sigh, she finally conceded. "Fine," she muttered. "But when you return, you will marry me, and we will be together forever."
Salmar was taken aback by the earnestness of her declaration. He couldn't help but laugh gently at the innocence and sincerity of the child before him. His laughter, however, faded as he saw the hurt in Ithriel's eyes. He realized she was entirely serious. With gentle care, he chose his next words carefully.
"Oh, my dear Ithriel," he said softly, taking her small hands in his. "Your heart is so pure and innocent, and I am deeply honored by your affection. But you are still so young, with so much of life ahead of you to explore and experience."
Ithriel's lower lip trembled. "But I love you, Salmar. More than anyone. More even than father and mother."
Salmar nodded, his eyes full of compassion. "And I love you too, little one. But there are many kinds of love in this world. What you feel now will change as you grow older. The love between us is special - the kind that friends share. But marriage... that is something different, something for when you are grown and have seen more of the world."
Ithriel sniffled, trying to understand. Salmar continued gently, "When I return, you will have grown so much. Perhaps you'll have found new dreams, new loves. And I will always be here for you, in whatever way you need me."
"Promise?" Ithriel asked, her voice small.
"I promise," Salmar said solemnly. "Now, shall we rejoin the others? I believe your father mentioned something about a feast before my departure."
Ithriel nodded, wiping her eyes. As they stood, Salmar ruffled her hair affectionately. "Come now, let's not waste another moment. You will still have to show me what you've learned, my little warrior."
Together, they walked back towards the Hall, the air between them lighter. Ithriel's heart still ached at the idea of Salmar's impending departure, but it wasn't as painful anymore. She was not one to dwell on sad thoughts as her emotions were ever-changing.
As they reached the courtyard, Mairon watched from a balcony above, his expression unreadable. He had witnessed the entire exchange, and while part of him bristled at Salmar's influence over his daughter, another part recognized the gentleness and wisdom in the Maia's handling of his unruly young child. A complex mix of emotions churned within him - pride in his daughter's fierce spirit and concern for her impulsive nature.
Galadriel joined him, tracing his gaze down to the laughing pair. Her hand rested lightly on his arm.
"She is so much like you," Galadriel murmured, her voice tinged with both amusement and concern. "Sometimes I wonder, is there is any elven blood in her at all."
Mairon sighed, turning to face his wife. "Perhaps too much so. She doesn't know when to stop, when to accept her limitations. It worries me. Do you know what she just did? She proclaimed her love to Salmar and demanded his hand in marriage!"
Galadriel's eyes, deep pools of summer blue, met his, as she laughed softly. "And is that not a trait she inherited from both her parents?" she asked, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "Besides, she is just a child. Everything looks larger and more dramatic to her than it actually is."
Mairon couldn't help but chuckle, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "You may have a point, meleth nín. But she has to grow up fast. The world is changing, growing darker. She needs to embrace her future, both our daughters do."
Galadriel's expression grew serious. "What troubles you, my love? What shadows do you see approaching?"
Mairon's gaze drifted to the eastern horizon. "There are whispers from Rhûn," he said, his voice low. "A Shadow from the East. I have left that evil stir unchecked for far too long. And beneath it all, I sense... same presence. Something I had hoped never to encounter again."
Galadriel's grip on his arm tightened. "You don't mean..."
Mairon nodded grimly. "Morgoth could not possibly recover so soon. But his wicked tendrils linger still, and will not be erased from Arda forevermore. I wonder if it is another one of his underlings. The last one caused quite a disaster in Numenor. I cannot let his darkness infiltrate Middle-earth once more, or else the Valar will hold me accountable for it."
"What will you do?" Galadriel asked, though she already knew the answer.
"I must ride east," Mairon replied, his voice filled with resolve. "I must see for myself what threat is growing there, and if necessary, cut it out before it can spread."
Galadriel's heart clenched at the thought of her husband riding into danger, but she knew better than to try and dissuade him. "When will we leave?"
"In a fortnight," Mairon said. "The sooner I confront this shadow, the better our chances of containing it. But there will be no "we". Until I know for sure what we are dealing with, you remain here."
Galadriel's eyes flashed with defiance. "Back to the old ways! You cannot expect me to stay behind while you face unknown dangers alone, Mairon. We are stronger together."
Mairon's expression softened as he gazed at his wife. "I know, meleth nín. But I need you here, guarding our realm and our daughters. If this threat is as grave as I fear, we cannot leave our kingdom unprotected."
She wanted to argue further, but the wisdom in his words was undeniable. With a resigned sigh, she nodded. "Very well. But promise me you'll be cautious."
Mairon pulled her close, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I promise. I have far too much to look forward to, to be reckless now."
As they stood there, wrapped in each other's embrace, their eyes drifted back to the courtyard below. Ithriel was now excitedly showing Salmar her new sword, demonstrating the forms she had learned. Silmeriel sat nearby, Cúron's head resting in her lap as she stroked his fur, her eyes never leaving her sister's animated display.
The scene before them was one of peace and joy, a moment of tranquility in a world that constantly teetered on the edge of darkness.
"We should join them," Galadriel said softly. "Let's enjoy these moments while we can."
Mairon nodded, allowing himself to be led away from the balcony. As they descended the stairs to the courtyard, he pushed thoughts of the looming threat to the back of his mind. For now, he would savor this time with his family, storing up memories to carry with him on the long journey ahead.