Chapter 6
Love to Lose
"Restless night, cousin of mine?"
"Artanis." My voice is curt. I feel her moving beside me.
"How you manage to forget such memories, or act as if they existed not at all, is a mystery that befuddles me."
"I do not forget, cousin." She settles herself beside me. "I still remember the past long ago, when Finwe was slain. I remember your grandfather, your father and his brothers taking the oath they regretted more than any. I remember the Kinslaying, even though you saw it not at all, and I remember Valinor, and all the losses that we suffered." She sighes.
"Yet you seem to reconcile yourself well enough." My voice is bitter. "I suppose I cannot fault you for that, and I do not begrudge you your happiness, cousin, yet I ask what wrong I have done that Eru All-Father should wish to forsake me."
"He has not forsaken you, Little One." She strokes my hair away from my face. The use of the epesse all had used in my childhood stings me, I turn away. She sighes. "Come with me."
Together we walk, past the trees, and to a small shady clearing. Down the steps we go and I see the stand where a basin of silver is held. Nearby, a small stream, tumbles from a high bank of earth, into a waterfall, to rest on a small earthen platform, slightly beneath. Beside it, is a jar of lustrous chased and engraved silver. I knew that basin.
"Artanis, no." My voice barely manages not to shake. "Do not show me whatever you feel I must see. I cannot distract myself further from my task, or take on unnecessary burdens that will divert me. I will not see this!" My voice now trembles. For the Mirror of Galadriel reminded me of the Palantiri, the seeing stones, creations of my grandfather.
"Do you fear this cousin? I show you what you need to see."
"I will not see this!" My voice is more frantic with fear.
Artanis looks at me. She says, "You wonder if Hope is worth keeping, fragile as it is. You were the Hope and Joy of the Noldor, Estela, during the War of the Jewels, yet because you could not save your father and your mother, due to your youth, and your then lack of skills as a warrior, you believe that hope will do nothing for you." Her gaze is stern. "Yet I must tell you that you are wrong."
I shake my head and she sighs. "You must confront your demons Estela, to be strong enough for the task that lies before you, for as men will unite under the banner of Elendil's heir Aragorn-Elessar, so too must the elves of Middle-Earth unite under your banner." Her voice is firm. "The Noldor have chosen you as their queen. The Elves must choose you to be their High Queen upon Middle-Earth."
"As Artanaro was?" I laugh harshly to spite the pain stabbed in my heart by the name? "As Bard, called the Bowman, scion of the House of Girion was chosen by his people?" Another pain echoes once more. I glare at her. "The mere sounds of these names are my ghosts, Artanis, as well as the names of my father, Nelyafinwe Maitimo, and my mother Eleninear, my grandfather Feanaro, Finwe, Itarille who vanished, and my uncles, Tyelcormo, Carnistir, Curufinwe, Nityafinwe and Telufinwe, and all the Teleri slain, and the Noldor who died, in the War of the Jewels and the War of the Ring."
These ghosts will never leave me, and each one is a painful wound, and deep, within my heart and soul."
"Nevertheless,"she says "you need to look within this mirror, and I will have you do so, cousin." Her voice is firm. I grit my teeth together. It was, indeed, useless to defy Artanis. Even as the Queen of the remaining Noldor upon Middle-Earth, I knew, that to her, I must obey. I step forward and peered into the basin, filled with the clear water of brilliance, as if from the tears of the Queen Varda.
At first, I see only my own reflection. Yet, still, I look harder. Then the flatness ripples, and amidst clouds of colour, shapes were formed, as clear as the images found in a mirror or through a window.
I see once more...
"Valinor," I breathe, softly,and there it was. The skies more azure and piercing than the ones we see here. My imagination, immeadiately goes wild. I not only see, I also hear sounds, smell things, and even taste the things I once tasted there. I smell the sweet cool of the air there, fresh and untinged from the foul smells of Mordor and the richness of the deep earth, tinged with the fresh spice of the green. I hear the sweet chiming and sweet chiruping and cooing of the bells of crystal, glass, silver and gold, and the birds, of more beautiful melody and brighter plumage than the birds here. I see the green hills and valleys, a richer green than in Middle-Earth, the valleys more deep-cut, the mountains more magnificent and much higher, capped with snow. the majestic woods shining with a wild beauty and teem with animals, of all kinds, the bright blue of the waters there, the great rivers, springs, lakes and streams, even the oceans, shine as crystals do. I taste, once more the sweet fresh waters, and the richer, sweet honey and nectar there. The flowers bloom heartbreakingly beautiful. Their frangrances cannot be described. I wish to turn away. Yet I cannot.
Then I saw the sights of the past. The destruction of the Two Trees by Melkor and Ungoliant, the butchering of Finwe, Feanaro, my grandfather, threatening his half-brother, his rage in the Great Square, my father and his brothers, lifting their swords with him, to swear the Oath.
The images come faster, the Kinslaying at Alqualonde, looms before my eyes, the burning of the ships at Losgar, whereupon my father turned away from the rest, and the news came that Telufinwe, Grandfather's youngest son, was still within, when the ships had burned...
Suddenly, I am in Lothlorien no more. All around me, I see and perceive, what I had previously seen only in visions and in the Mirror. I see my grandfather, before him stands Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs, with his flaming sword, and his fiery whip. A gigantic dark shape, and grandfather stands firm, holds his shield high, as well as his spear, casting it towards Gothmog, but the demon's whip....
My father is rescued, on the back of a Great Eagle, servant of Manwe, with Findekano, his cousin.
I remember Elrond and Elros, the moment they are introduced to me, young children still, the grandchildren of Itarille, and her husband the man Tuor...
Then I see the moment when the messengers tell of my father's death.....
All of a sudden, everything stops. I see grey all around me, the smog and burning of the ramshackle wooden huts, all burned now. The smoke fills my lungs. horses are around me, and elves upon them. Artanis kneels beside me, not now, but centuries before.
I held a child upon my lap, a child of Men. He is young, his brown hair singed at the edges, his eyes closed, face covered in soot. Artanis took him from me, and another elf emerged amidst the warriors.
"He may yet be saved." "I wish I could believe you, my Lord."
My words were soft. The elf knelt beside me and gazed into my eyes. He was young, and his eyes were dark, yet gentle, exceedingly so. Wisdom was held within its depths, but not the weariness of many years, that even the Eldar have. Strange...
"How many children, among Men can be strong enough to survive the present, as well as the future?" I sighed. "My Lord, hope has departed me at last..."
He was silent. Then; "the Princess Artanis has said that you are the very heart of Hope and Joy. If you were to stop as such, My Lady, we would all be lost. I pray you, for the sake of all, not to do so."
I smiled. He smiled also. In days long gone, Finwe compared my smile to the warmth and radiance of Laurelin and Telperion. "What is your name, my Lady?"
My smile vanished. "You will not wish to know, My Lord. "
"I think I desire it greatly, more than anything I had desired ere this moment, save you." I stared at him. Then, hearing the sound of laughter, we turned and Artanis gazed at us with amusement. "She will not give her name so easily, she knows not your motives, nor your reaction should you discover." Artanis smiled. Unexpectedly, he laughed, and the sound warmed my heart. "I shall tell you my name, Princess. It is Artanaro, although the Sindar call me Gil-galad." He smiled wider. "And, in truth, I know your identity. I have seen you upon Valinor, although you noticed my existence, not at all. I had a bad habbit of following you, around, when I watched you play as a child, and hid, whenever you turned." He laughed with embarassment. "I hoped, even then, you would be mine someday.. even so.."He looked at me straight into my eyes, "You are Eruvande Estela Nelyafinwiel, daughter of Nelyafinwe, grandchild of Feanaro and scion of the House of Finwe."
I started. "If you knew, my King, than why did you ask?" I stared at him. "And why did you hide your identity, to play the part of a mere Lord and to come yourself, with no messenger, nor captain?"
He looked at me still, "Because I had heard from the Princess Artanis that you would be here, Princess, I wished to meet you at last, after waiting for nearly a thousand years, it has been far too long." I stared at him. At any time, I would call this empty flattery, mere pretty words, but his tone- and gaze- was sincere. It was shocking. "I believe you have left left Estela without words, my king, this is the first as such." Artanis laughed. "The child is stable, he will recover." With that she swept away, leaving us to gaze into the eyes of one another, I astonishingly, he with awe and love.
The world blurrs once more, before my eyes. I saw another scene.. A loom stands before me, and I sit on a stool. It was many years later, long after Artanaro and I had met... My hands worked quickly, with a fineness that was only seen in elder days upon Aman. The shuttle in one hand, with a spindle in the other, I wove. A spinning wheel stood at the corner of the courtyard, all voices around me were hushed or breathless with awe. The presence of Men surrounded me with their wives and children.
" See how quickly she works!" "I cannot see her hands, they are a blur," "This should take hours not seconds!" Now they speak and now they gasped. They were speechless once more, then they whisper, " What wonder is this? What magic?" "Elf-magic and the hands of an elf!" "Yes, surely, for she is the fairest maiden I ever saw, and the work of her hands!" "Almost as fair as she..." I sighed and knew my work was finished. The scene seemed, especially to men, as true reality and most wonderous beauty combined. It was a mere landscape scene, with the Sun high above the valley and mountains, and the expansive plains, where deer grazed. Their fur seemed soft, softer than imagined, the sky was bluer and brighter than any gem, and the green richer and greener than emeralds, in varying shades. The sun and its rays were as gold to them, yet I had used only yellow, blending the colours, contrasting it with the darker tones. It seemed real to them and yet more breathtaking and magnificent. They said if but one of the broideries of Miriel Serinde would ever be seen upon Middle-Earth, it would hold more value than a kingdom's worth.
The Queen Vaire the Weaver, wife of Lord Namo, had indeed given me a gift. She had taught me, and murmured once, "Yours is the gift of your foremother's. Take care to cherish it, but do not be blinded by pride and such beauty."
Then I sensed the movements of more men coming forwards, I turned and lifted my head, pushing the radiant flare of pure copper, with silver and gold, flashing in my hair. They had gasped, these people to see my face, and the brilliance of my hair. I paid them no heed, instead focusing my attentions on what appeared to be a leader. A man, young was he, even by the standards of men, dark hair had swept over his brow and his skin was the colour of rich honey. His eyes, dark and piercing stared into mine's and his face held a perfect, straight thin nose, high cheekbones and sensitive lips. The beauty of Men will fade, this I remembered, never will his flame burn forever, lingering within this Earth. Like a blossom when winter comes, he will shrivel and die. I stood, and raised my brows, the men around him murmured, rather absently and not so soft, "She is an elf." My ears must have been exposed then, for these men to confirm it, but I sensed they would have guessed anyway. "Yes, I am one of the Eldar, " I replied, my brows raised. "My work here is done, do you like such things?" I asked. These men must be warriors, for they carried swords in sheaths as well as knives and shields, and the lead one had a bow, and a quiver strapped to his back. All of the Eldar loved beauty greatly, yet never did I believe that all men, even warriors would appreciate weaving.
The lead man answered." Pardon us for intruding, but until such a moment, we have never seen such a sight. " Yet his eyes were fixed upon mine and my face, rather then the tapestry. "Surely, " I said, "You have seen women amongst your people weaving. If I may ask, where do you come from?" "From Dale, Lady." He answered. "Dale!" I exclaimed." I believed the people there had left, when Erebor had fallen to the greed of Smaug the Dragon!" "They have, my Lady, but they will return someday, and rebuild what has been lost." He answered evenly, his eyes never leaving mine. He is undeterred from this, his mission. I realized. He stands tall, he is proud, yet not too much so, and he is strong. He has courage, and this is a man whom many could call king.
"If I may inquire as such, what is your name?" I gazed straight at him. He answered, drawing himself straight, as men do when others ask them as such, others they wish to impress. But he was not the boastful kind. "My name is Bard, scion of Girion's House, he who was the Lord of Dale, before Smaug took the mountain, and destroyed our homes." Pity swept through me. "Ahhhh.." I sighed. "You are young, and not likely to have ever seen or remembered Dale, yet you must feel the pain of such a seperation from safe refuge and happiness, as well as the burdens of leading your people and the fate you have chosen for their sakes. I too have lost a home, and so my kin and I were sent from safe refuge to fight an evil whose strength seemed without limit, even to elves." He stared at me. " You have known exile, Lady?" I nodded. " But who would exile you? What darkness would be so foul an evil, to do so unforgivable an act?" I was amazed at his incredulity. " A terrible darkness, which not even Smaug the Dragon could compare, good Lord of Dale, for he had dragons aplenty and he used them to the most terrible affects, as did he his other minions." My voice darkens in forewarning. "I wish you well, Good Lord, Bard of Dale, for I hope you can do what I cannot yet as such, return to your home, and place your people in their rightful places, as I hope the Dwarves of Erebor would one day do the same." They stared at me. "An Elf-Lady would wish the dwarves well?" One of them asks in incredulity. I laughed. He reddened, but I notice that all around smiles have spread, without meaning to, even the grimmest men seemed bright with joy, and a flock of birds started to sing. Even the lead man could not help his smile, and I return it as such. Brightness seemed present. The voices of the elves have ever been so pleasing to many, even beasts. "The Dwarves were friends to my people when we first arrived in Middle-Earth. In the arts of craft, we shared much in common." I sighed. "Even if they do not remember. I arrived in Dale once, and the village, grew to a town, and then something greater. I was there and I first taught the women to spin and weave on their own." They blinked. One asked, "How can this be, Lady, for you are but as young as twenty, at most!" "You dolt!" Another said "She's an elf, she's immortal !" Many of the people stared at me, "Are you?" a woman asks, hand on her heart. I look around, faces like blossoms, to me, before winter comes. "Yes." I reply. "The Life of the Eldar lives within me, as do my youth. My people mature slower than Men, and at twenty you would have thought me seven. But our kind do not wither when the years have passed." They gaped at me, but Bard looks pained and torn. "Ah," he said, "you are a star, born in ages past, a light that will never fade. I am but a candle, gazing upwards at you, the brightest in the sky and I can never reach you." His voice held pain and hurt. More than than the words he would speak of his slain kin. "My light will dim and fade, though you shall burn bright, and I can never reach you."
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