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A mad god's creation
Blues in Candy Arda
Permalink Mark Unread

The form of a dwarf is an odd one to take, at least compared to an elf. The structure is different. It's heavier, sturdier, and the chemistry more... well, more a lot of things, and less a lot of other things, but the adjective this Maia thinks he'll use to describe it is more earthy. More practical. He can see Aulë's markings all over the form; straightforward engineering solutions and economic organization in equal measure, with dashes of occasional sheer brilliance that Eru himself might be impressed by. It's beautiful and elegant in a ruthlessly efficient sort of way, which really, he can respect. Not want to emulate, were he to lose leave of his senses and suddenly decide to attempt to build a species, but he can respect and admire it.

That being said, he thinks he prefers the elven form. Not exclusively, too long spent in a single form and something starts itching at the back of his mind, but he thinks he likes it more than the dwarves. The design has Eru all over it, all expertly crafted and beautiful functions and layers and layers of perfect intricacy pulled into utterly bizarre directions. Like a master painter picked up a brush and painted a gorgeous, glittering vista, but with the perspective drawn at just enough of a skew to grate on the nerves of the viewer, even as they admired the craftsmanship. Maddening.

So of course he prefers it to the dwarven form.

The dwarves themselves were like their biochemistry; efficient, straightforward, practical. He could respect it, certainly, but it made wandering their streets unchecked a bit tricky. Also a bit boring, once he'd figured out the trick of it. Dwarves were many admirable things, and he'd be the last (well, second to last; after Aulë himself) to name them anything but a fine species, but they were so - so themselves. He'd never wish for them to be anything but, it clearly worked beautifully for them. Even so, after a while one gets very bored of bartering mutually beneficial trade agreements, properly worded contracts, and sound investments. There's only so much a Maia can poke at for personal amusement.

He's run out of options, he thinks. As delightful as their reaction to the singing mushrooms was, he can guess what would happen to anything else he threw their way. There's only so much sensible cataloging and pricing in tonal sets of singing mushrooms that he can stand, before he starts to feel less like the playful trickster deity and more like the slightly bizarre business venture deity. He adds another set of singing mushrooms in very marketable colors and tones in a nearby side cave, as a sort of acknowledgement of their skill in besting him, and then he takes his leave.

In the form of a local species of hawk, he soars above the continent, and wonders what he'll do next.

Permalink Mark Unread

And is abruptly knocked out of the sky by something plummeting down on him as a much bigger hawk; before they both hit the ground he changes forms into an Elf, tall and glossy-haired and giggling like a small child. Sánedel! Sánedel, guess what, guess what -

Permalink Mark Unread

He cackles at the surprise, slower on the uptake to switch forms to an Elf but by no means slow. They are both Elves when they hit the ground. Luckily, they're Maiar, so this isn't particularly damaging to either of them.

This does however put Sánedel quite pinned under Sauron, not that he minds. Ah, but how can I accurately guess when I've been given no hints? The Valar have become overly preoccupied with the morality in the growth of a rather colorful plant, Eru has grown bored and torn us all from the tapestry of fate and wandered off to write terrible tragedies, Mandos fell asleep and Melkor and all the dead are free to wander about as they like -

Permalink Mark Unread

Laughter. Such delighted laughter. He kisses him. 

 

They let Melkor go.

Permalink Mark Unread

It takes him a minute to register that, because Sauron is quite adept at kissing. But then, of course, he does.


... What, really? Flat disbelief coloring the tone of his thoughts.

Permalink Mark Unread

Yep! Free and clear! He's streetsweeping in some shiny Elf city. ...probably Tirion, I don't see Valimar suiting him, but he did not actually say - may not know yet - he won't even speak their language yet -

Permalink Mark Unread

Well now it's his turn to start laughing, because no seriously why would they ever do that.

No, he wouldn't, would he. Streetsweeping. They have him streetsweeping - was that your idea or his, or are they just bereft of good janitors?

Permalink Mark Unread

His idea! He wanted to prove that he'd learned his place, I think he told them. The streets don't even need sweeping, they could set it up with magic.

Permalink Mark Unread

How completely, utterly - them. How very them. He starts giggling again, because the Valar just let Melkor out! And the only reaction he can have to this is just slightly delirious laughter.

What's next, personally apologizing to everyone? Perhaps send out tasteful cards?

Permalink Mark Unread

I expect so! And flowers, probably, people appreciate apology flowers. He could design a few new species. 

He pulls Sánedel's head into his lap and starts unbraiding his hair.

Permalink Mark Unread

Sánedel hums appreciatively, giggling slightly at the visual of Melkor very sincerely giving out flowers. He only really wears it braided when Sauron's around so he can unbraid it. More fun that way.

Excellent idea. They should be in bright, tacky colors. Neon green, fluorescent orange...

Permalink Mark Unread

The Elves' eyes would bleed! They'd accuse Melkor of reverting to his old terrible tortures! Excessively ornate flowers in vaguely metallic designs, that's the vogue in Tirion.

Permalink Mark Unread

Of course it is. Giggle. New terrible tortures, flower edition. It'd be a sight to see.

Permalink Mark Unread

You could go torment the Elves with tacky flowers, dear. It'd be hilarious.

Permalink Mark Unread

Snort. Oh, it would, certainly. I'd be painfully sincere about it, pretend to be very put out by how no one liked them. Not understand why. See how many Elves put up with tacky flowers out of pity alone. He hums again, thoughtfully this time. But no, I believe that I deal more in fungi. I figured out how to make ones that sing.

Is that smugness? That's definitely smugness.

Permalink Mark Unread

Ooooooooh. ...magic songs?

Permalink Mark Unread

No, just simple tonal notes when touched. Pretty, but mostly useless. He frowns up at Sauron, mock-hurt. Do you think I wouldn't come immediately to show you if I'd managed magic songs from fungi? You think I care so little about you?

Permalink Mark Unread

I have been resignedly assuming I slip your mind for a century here or there. It's all right. Happens to all of us. He kisses the top of his head.

Permalink Mark Unread

I am hurt by your characterization! Hurt and appalled! What ever made you think I could possibly stop thinking about you for, hm.... He smiles a sly smile. Oh, more than a decade or two at the most.

Permalink Mark Unread

He grows out claws; they sink into Sánedel's skin, just slightly. A single moment in all the Ages of Arda is too long. I shall have to be more memorable.

Permalink Mark Unread

Sánedel giggles. Oh? And how do you plan to do that?

Yes, he would like to stop thinking about how Melkor is free, this is definitely the fastest way to not at all think about that.

Permalink Mark Unread

Having shared his news he is content to be distracting indeed. 

Permalink Mark Unread

Excellent, Sauron can be quite assured that Sánedel will not be forgetting him anytime soon. Or ever. He will not forget about him ever. He's much too busy failing to have coherent non-Sauron related thoughts to possibly forget anything.

Permalink Mark Unread

That is the most satisfying part! That and claws, claws are extraordinarily satisfying.

Permalink Mark Unread

Yes, yes they are.

 


Do you plan to go to Valinor, then? he wonders, after they have quite proven the many ways in which a Maia can be reduced to adoring and slightly whimpery puddle form.

Permalink Mark Unread

Oh, definitely. Come with me?

Permalink Mark Unread

Hmmmmmm, says Sánedel, attempting coyness and missing due to lingering shivering. Oh, fine. For you, my love, I'll brave the horror of the Valar.

Permalink Mark Unread

They're getting all tame! Worst comes to worst they will assign us streetsweeping.

Permalink Mark Unread

Snort. Now, now. They might let me make flowers, instead!

Permalink Mark Unread

I think you would have to grovel. Are you any good at groveling?

Permalink Mark Unread

Permalink Mark Unread

Are you any good at groveling at people who are sanctimonious buffoons, I mean.

Permalink Mark Unread

He laughs. Well I can't say I have any practice with sanctimonious buffoons in particular, but I bet I could make do. And vomit later, where they can't see me.

Permalink Mark Unread

He runs a hand through his hair and makes a pleased noise. Then let's go. 

Permalink Mark Unread

Let's!

Permalink Mark Unread

Valinor is protected by a mountain range that defies the geological principles so strenuously obeyed by the rest of the continent. It goes high enough they cannot easily fly over it, the air too thin to support any body with wings substantial enough for motion. They can go high enough up elsewhere, insubstantial, and then glide in. It's glorious. The Trees, however stupid a concept, are stunningly pretty. 

Permalink Mark Unread

They really are. He'd sort of forgotten how pretty - he's seen them once before, but it was a long time ago and he hasn't been back since. He won't indulge in a sigh, but he will look at them appreciatively.

Too bad about the local Ainur residents. He might actually like this place, if it wasn't for the annoying and omnipresent gilded-cage feel. Yes, such a lovely and perfect paradise, lit by these gorgeous trees, while all the rest of the world is dark, and all incarnates who enter find no way to leave.

Bleh. He's already annoyed about being here, and he's technically not even in Valinor yet.

Permalink Mark Unread

They glide on in, serenely, and come to rest - the winds control where - in a hilly area in the north. Once there's air they can change to songbirds.

Permalink Mark Unread

What, songbirds? What if he wants to be a cranky crow, with a grating and loud cry, just to annoy them all?

....

Yes, fine, songbirds, songbirds it is. Groveling. They can even match, that'll make Sauron happy.

Permalink Mark Unread

It does! Tirion-wards - yes, he says delightedly, Melkor's here -

Permalink Mark Unread

Do they still have him sweeping streets?

Permalink Mark Unread

Of course! They'll have him at it for years - he sighs with satisfaction - it's fine, we can wait -

Permalink Mark Unread

I suppose so, but what's there to do in Valinor? Here, everything's so still and, and. Tame.

Permalink Mark Unread

Oh, I don't mean wait in Valinor for Melkor to get off parole, I mean wait until Melkor is off parole to derail the Plan.

Permalink Mark Unread

Oh, well then. He might be tempted to think something along the lines of how that's not really better, but he has centuries of practice keeping the parts of himself that Sauron wouldn't approve of on a nice, neat little shelf in his mind, where they can be summarily ignored. Like so. In that case, I believe I'll wander around until I grow bored. Unless you'd like me to follow at your heels?

That last part was teasing. Or - meant to be. He could be persuaded to seriousness, but he's not there yet.

Permalink Mark Unread

Tempting. But no, wander around, get bored, make their mushrooms sing.

Permalink Mark Unread

They'll be delighted by my novelty, he agrees, and off he wanders.

Yep. Valinor. Still - pretty itself.

Have the elves come up with any neat inventions lately?

Permalink Mark Unread

There are glowing rocks! That's new. And libraries! Also new.

Permalink Mark Unread

He is so excited.

... But he does think he'll take the time to learn to read the language. And then their libraries.

Permalink Mark Unread

The libraries are quite comprehensive. The Noldor find stonework fascinating and have learned a lot about it.

Permalink Mark Unread

Absolutely brimming with excitement, this one. Stonework.

Whee.

Permalink Mark Unread

 

 

Elsewhere, someone addresses her cousin. The one who specializes in singing.

Hey, guess who just figured out a decent binding melody that can clumsily mesh the effects of two songs together!

Permalink Mark Unread

Who would bother? That would sound terrible! You could bend the laws of magic, but at what price?

Permalink Mark Unread

I will make it sound pretty later! It functions now, and when I make it functional and pretty you will go, 'Oh, Calassúrë, why did I ever doubt your ability to make pretty songs from horrific miss-mashed blends!'

Permalink Mark Unread

Me, admit I was wrong? No, no, I'll insist I had faith in you from the beginning. How's it go -

Permalink Mark Unread

She giggles a little, then sends the melody.

And if you would like to hear it in action, I warn you, I am no longer allowed to sing anything associated with it in or near my house until I have something less. Uh. That. My mother had that long suffering expression on her face.

Permalink Mark Unread

You can stay here, my family's well acquainted with the sacrifices we make for our art. When he was seven Tyelcormo tried to strangle me in my sleep because I'd been practicing scales all week, you know.

Permalink Mark Unread

No, no, it's all right, I have no siblings to attempt to mercy kill me, I'm perfectly safe!

Permalink Mark Unread

That's pretty cool. Do show me when you've gotten it straightened out - or, hmm, let me try -

Permalink Mark Unread

If you figure out a way to make it not sound awful, let me know. I'll be figuring out how to lessen the dampening effect it has on both songs. Teamwork!

Permalink Mark Unread

In the service of not torturing your mother any more than we absolutely need to. 

 

He starts humming.

Permalink Mark Unread

I'm sure she'll be grateful. Thank you.

Permalink Mark Unread

Of course. How've you been?

Permalink Mark Unread

I've been all right, I've helped a few people with their gardens. I sort of want to cackle every time I walk past them.

Calassúrë wouldn't say she specializes in gardening, she much prefers songwriting, but she can get competitive about it anyway. She will have the prettiest gardens of them all, bwuahaha.

Permalink Mark Unread

In the city? There's hardly space for a proper garden there.

Permalink Mark Unread

That was part of the challenge! How to use the small space appropriately without making it too busy.

Permalink Mark Unread

Nelyo probably appreciates you tremendously, half his job is trying to talk people down from making Tirion too busy.

Permalink Mark Unread

Poor soul. No wonder he's always so busy. I'd say he should go talk more people into coming to me to help with their gardens, but that would take more time away from song design, and gardening's still just a hobby. And it's fun when it's not the result of benign cousinly manipulation and instead sheer gardening skill. Bwuahaha.

Permalink Mark Unread

Yeah, I'd get annoyed with him if I thought he was promoting me - not that he would - which gardens are yours, so I can pick them out next time I'm wandering the city -

Permalink Mark Unread

I'm mildly tempted to ask you to figure it out, but that seems mean. She lists them.

Permalink Mark Unread

I'll check them out!

Permalink Mark Unread

Let me know what you think of them! I'll be viciously disassembling this melody to its component parts to figure out how to improve it for a while, I think, and I can talk while I do it.

Permalink Mark Unread

I will feel free to interrupt you!

Permalink Mark Unread

It will be good for my mental discipline, she agrees serenely, and then it's back to work.

Her gardens are lovely things, and lean more towards creative use of texture and color over finding the most impressive specimens to put into the garden. In fact, she has a number of abnormal choices of foliage in the gardens themselves, often considered too plain or boring for use in an Elven garden. She uses them anyway, to help draw the eyes to specific centerpieces, or fill areas to help accentuate the negative space that gives everything else proper breathing room. They're interesting, and she seems to experiment with different things with each.

Permalink Mark Unread

When he has a prettier bridge for the song he mentions that he found them charming.

Permalink Mark Unread

The sons of Feanor are many things, but they are not the types to give false compliments, any of them. As such, she cackles appropriately, and then thanks him.

She'll thank him properly the next festival, when she's likely to see him, but that'll be a while. She'll just keep obsessively working on writing songs to the exclusion of all else.

Permalink Mark Unread

This is noticed. He drops by with a plate of snacks she likes. "Are you planning to unbury yourself for Harvest?"

Permalink Mark Unread

"Thank you!" She takes one snack and nibbles accordingly.

"Oh, probably," she agrees, grabbing a second and then experimentally humming a bar and making a face of displeasure. She writes herself a note. "I don't think figuring this out will take me so long that I'll miss it, and if it does I can have it at a decent stopping point in a month or two in preparation."

Permalink Mark Unread

"...Festival's in a week."

Permalink Mark Unread

 

 

"It is?"

Permalink Mark Unread

"Yeah. This season goes by quickly, doesn't it."

Permalink Mark Unread

Wow she has been truly burying herself in work, hasn't she. She should tone it down a little, that sort of thing is probably unhealthy.

"Aheh. Yes - yes it does. Um, yes, I'll be there, I should uh. Clearly put this down for a little while."

Permalink Mark Unread

Hug?

Permalink Mark Unread

Hug. She's not willing to talk about why she needs a hug right now, but if it's just up for offer, yes, hug, definitely.

"Thanks," she says. "I'll um. Try to take better care of myself in the future and recall that time's a thing that exists."

Permalink Mark Unread

"Well, to be fair it's only sort of a thing that exists. But do take care of yourself."

Permalink Mark Unread

"Just because we have all the time in the world doesn't mean I should lose track of it entirely," says Calassúrë, smiling a little. "Yeah, I will. Thanks for checking on me."

Permalink Mark Unread

"Do I get to hear the song?"

Permalink Mark Unread

"It's less a single song and more like a - basic framework of a song that I can adapt into multiple songs that'll combine two magical effects at once." She pauses, evaluates that sentence, then shakes her head at herself ruefully. "Yes, you can hear one that I've made sound not awful. Would you like to hear it now?"

Permalink Mark Unread

"Love to!'

Permalink Mark Unread

So she sings.

She's definitely talented, but Makalaurë probably beats her in sheer singing ability. This isn't much of a surprise, he's got everyone beat in sheer singing ability. But her song is interesting, and somewhat paradoxical to itself. It's a novel combination of two types of magical song - healing and calming - and they flow together well; both styles clearly play a part in the song's structure. Below that, there is a subtle and complicated melody, binding the two together. It's unconventional, but still very pretty.

Permalink Mark Unread

"Oh, clever!!! I bet this'll be a whole new field, in a bit - you should write up how you designed it! It's lovely, too."

Permalink Mark Unread

She giggles and ducks her head, pleased.

"Thank you! I'll probably write up a paper on it once I work out all the kinks, some of the underlying principles aren't quite up to my standards yet? And it sounds impressively awful if you don't take the time to make it pretty after the underlying structure is set. The song will work, it just - you can probably imagine how discordant it can get?"

Permalink Mark Unread

"Yeah. It's not that hard to do magic songs if you don't care if they're dreadful, but - we do care if they're dreadful."

Permalink Mark Unread

"Yes. I can stomach it during experimentation if I'm trying for an end result that is beautiful structurally? But I do need it to be not dreadful eventually."

Permalink Mark Unread

"You've got the structural beauty part down, it was truly impressive. You should still get some Treelight occasionally."

Permalink Mark Unread

"Thank you, and - yeah. I'll work on that. Burying myself in songwriting isn't the worst thing I could ever do with myself, but I doubt it makes me super pleasant to talk to."

Permalink Mark Unread

"I'm not really trying to shove everyone into being pleasant conversationalists. But -" Hug.

Permalink Mark Unread

Giggle, hug.

"Sure, but I like being somewhat pleasant to be around."

Permalink Mark Unread

"I keep trying to convince my father it has some things to recommend it!"

Permalink Mark Unread

"It makes dating easier," she says, dry. And oh no she made herself sad, quick, time for a distraction from that specific topic. "But also I think there's probably been enough terrible things in the world, I don't want to add to it by being unpleasant."

Yes, good, crisis averted.

Permalink Mark Unread

"Did you read the transcripts of Melkor's parole hearing? I'd say we've had enough horrors to have earned nothing but joy and happiness for the rest of forever."

Permalink Mark Unread

"No kidding. I skimmed them, they were. Very themselves." She hesitates, wondering how to phrase 'Are the Valar sure they can let him out safely' and not figuring out a good way to word it.

Permalink Mark Unread

"I've wondered if the Valar are sure they know what they're doing but - eternal imprisonment is a very terrible thing, and they have Eru guiding them."

Permalink Mark Unread

"I do hope he can help any remaining orcs, and he can't do that while imprisoned," she agrees softly. But while it is certainly terrible, if they're wrong...

Permalink Mark Unread

Then let's hope they have a plan in place to contain him from doing it all over again. I've been unsure whether it'd be a good idea to ask them if they do or not -

Permalink Mark Unread

Maybe ask, but word it as - assuming that they have a plan, and humbly asking if there's any part we can expect to be able to help with?

Permalink Mark Unread

Yeah. I don't know what to do with the answer, though.

Permalink Mark Unread

My first naive thought is that having it is better than not having it. But then I think about getting worried about things I can't affect, and, well. I'd go crazy.

Permalink Mark Unread

I will endeavor to not go crazy!

Permalink Mark Unread

Good, keep that up. You and all of your brothers: not allowed to go crazy. Any of you.

Permalink Mark Unread

We don't strike me as terribly inclined to it, is there something I ought to be looking out for?

Permalink Mark Unread

No, just a general blanket rule because I don't want crazy cousins. If for some reason one of you wants to go crazy, I expect a filled out form detailing the situation and the reasons for the request, and I may or may not accept the reasons as valid.

Permalink Mark Unread

Do I get to demand a nice longform explanation when one of my cousins squirrels herself away and forgets what month it is?

Permalink Mark Unread

She hesitates, then:

... Yeah.

Permalink Mark Unread

What's up?

Permalink Mark Unread

Um. So. I don't find the concept of marriage itself terrifying, but the thought of getting it wrong was, and I thought it'd be a good idea to, um. Attempt to get necessary experience to mitigate any potentially stupid things I might be tempted to do through routes that were definitely safe, and. Pause. Actually you know what, screw talking around it. I dated a girl. I didn't turn out to, to, she looks away. To want to grow out of it. And then she did. And she recently married, and I can't tell if there's something wrong with me or the world and I don't know which would be worse.

Permalink Mark Unread

Hug. 

 

I'm sorry. 

Permalink Mark Unread

Hug.

Yeah, me too. I've written some really heartbreaking lamentations if you want to hear them, no one else has gotten to, considering.

Permalink Mark Unread

I would like to hear them, if you're all right with that.

Permalink Mark Unread

I think I want - empathy? Without anyone going, 'Well, what were you expecting,' or, or something. So - yeah, but - maybe not here, other people might hear it too and I. Kind of don't want to answer questions about it if there's a high chance of someone not. Not understanding.

Permalink Mark Unread

I know a pretty place up in the mountains, we could take a day trip for artistic inspiration reasons and no one'd think anything of it.

Permalink Mark Unread

Sounds lovely. Thank you.

Permalink Mark Unread

Day trip! Mountains! The view is rather stunning.

Permalink Mark Unread

She takes a minute to admire the pretty, and then she smiles a little sadly and begins singing.

They are some very pretty lamentations. Very heartbreaking. Very sincere. ... Surprisingly silly in some of the lyrics, though that tends to drive in the melancholy more than lift it. It illustrates with precision what was lost.

Permalink Mark Unread

Hug.

Permalink Mark Unread

Hug.

"Thanks," she mumbles, sniffling and scrubbing at tears.

Permalink Mark Unread

"Of course."

Permalink Mark Unread

"I - I'm pretty sure I won't dwell forever, I'm not that kind of person, or I try not to be. But. Well, it hurt. I think this helped, though."

Permalink Mark Unread

"That's good. I don't think there's anything wrong with you."

Permalink Mark Unread

She laughs, a little. "Thanks. I - I think I believe you. I guess by process of elimination that means something is wrong with the world."

Permalink Mark Unread

"I suppose so."

Permalink Mark Unread

"Thanks for being understanding. I know it really would have been easier to go, 'Well that's sure a problem you have, good luck with that.'"

Permalink Mark Unread

"I can't say I actually find being callous and horrible at people easy."

Permalink Mark Unread

"Well, it's a good quality in you."

Hug?

Permalink Mark Unread

Yeah.

Permalink Mark Unread

 

 

Ugh. Festival incoming. He does not want to deal with that many people. Nope.

I hear there are dinosaurs in the south. I am going to go learn how to turn into them.

Permalink Mark Unread

You are adorable. What kind of dinosaur will you be? Do you see yourself as a carnivore?

Permalink Mark Unread

If I don't know how to turn into every kind of dinosaur, I'll consider it a personal failing. I will sometimes be a carnivore, but not always, and I could never be one of the bigger and more stupid herbivores. I'm too pretty.

Permalink Mark Unread

And not quite stupid enough. He rakes a claw affectionately down his back.

Permalink Mark Unread

Shiver. Ah! You wound me, with your ambiguous compliments! How can I ever meet your impossibly high standards? But I must try, to win your heart. My love, for you, I will be more than 'not quite stupid enough.' I aspire to one day achieve 'nowhere near as stupid enough,' though it makes me a madman.

Permalink Mark Unread

Ah, and there your vision touches closer than you dream, for I like madmen. Go become a dinosaur, my Sánedel. Go become a dinosaur and then witness what we're doing to the world.

Permalink Mark Unread

Yeah not thinking about that at all.

Kiss.

I will endeavor to be the best dinosaur, he agrees, and then off he goes.

 

It's not particularly hard to locate them, once he's in the area. Tracking them down is interesting, as is figuring out how they work and how to change into them. Maybe an incarnate would find this slightly dangerous, what with carnivorous dinosaurs existing, but he's a deity. They could perhaps catch him off guard, maybe, and get a few bites in, but this won't permanently harm him unless they get very, very clever. Which they won't. They're dinosaurs. Besides, he can be observant when he wants to be, and also soon enough can also be a raptor when he wants to be. So this potential problem is pretty neatly solved.

Permalink Mark Unread

 


Other problems are... less able to be neatly solved.

He doesn't sit and ruminate, doesn't think about all of it at once. He learns about dinosaur biology and starts adding minor and entirely novel decorations to the local flora. Eventually, he learns how to shapeshift into all of the available dinosaurs and goes exploring elsewhere, always away from Ainur and Eldar whenever the option's available to him, and occasionally almost forgets that he's in fucking Valinor. Even more occasionally, he will let himself think of a fraction of the overall problem. And then he will put it back away and go back to looking at dinosaurs, because if he unpacked it all at once he'd completely freak out and Sauron would notice something was wrong. Nothing is wrong. Everything is fine, if he takes this one tiny step at a time. He does not want to worry his beloved with his thoughts.

He's taken time to read the transcripts of Melkor's trial, while he was in Tirion. The Valar know of all of his crimes; he saw them listed, and they have a very complete list. There's no extra information that could be brought to them to try and change their minds; Melkor's been in solitary imprisonment. What could he (hypothetically) do? Say, 'Hey I have a feeling that Melkor needs to stay right where he is forever and ever, I know, because I'm dating his most loyal conspirator'? If the Valar are stupid enough to let Melkor out, why would they ever listen to him?

And if he did, there's no way that the Valar wouldn't say why they changed their minds. Or - even if they didn't say 'Sánedel recommended we put Melkor back in his prison forever,' they'd be utterly inept enough to - to -

He doesn't want to be under their protection. The thought of it makes his skin crawl. Not only because he has seen them work, and they are fucking idiots, but because he'd never, ever be free to do whatever he liked while being under their protection. They'd take issue with how he sleeps with men or how he despises Eru with a burning passion or how he thinks that Mandos is a prick and that the Elves need just about anyone else to be in charge of their dead. Maybe they wouldn't say 'Change your ways or lose our protection,' but they would look at him with pity and contempt and think he would 'grow out of it.' And they would say that he's free to do whatever he likes, but if he does these things they don't approve of, they won't protect him while he does them. Forget Endórë, he'd have to stay in Valinor forever. And. No. That sounds awful.

Besides, it probably wouldn't even work, the Valar are, as stated earlier before, fucking idiots and Sauron is not, and -

And he can't keep thinking about that, nope, he'd have himself a panic attack. He has seen Sauron angry, has occasionally been on the wrong end of some of the milder examples of it, and no. He'll tempt playful anger, it's even fun, but actual rage? From Sauron? He knows what happens when Sauron is playfully upset with him, and he does not at all want that to stop resembling playful foreplay. There's a layer of real terror that he keeps not acknowledging and he's not going to acknowledge it now, nope. Everything is fine, he's fine, he's very happy with Sauron. The relationship is sincerely nice, he just needs to not upset him. This is pretty easy to do, he's very good at it, and Sauron's pretty obvious about what he doesn't like. It's fine. Sauron definitely has incentive to keep Melkor from being as egregiously bad this time, that's what got him caught in the first place. He'll be patient and it will be less - it will be less what it was the first time. It will be okay.

That's as far as he can bring himself to think (in pieces, always in pieces) before the impossible happens.

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The Trees go out.

 

He is far enough from the epicenter that the magical unlight does not reach him; it is dark but it is not impossibly dark, it robs the senses but does not blanket them with something else entirely. He is too far to hear screaming. 

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What.

For a few seconds, he stands, stunned and disbelieving. He makes a slightly strangled sound.

Then he turns into the fastest hawk he has a form for and flies off to find Sauron because what.

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The Trees are dead; he can pass over their mangled ruins and see the path of destruction turn north from there. And now he's in the magic darkness.

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And now he's a bat so the fact that it's magically dark is no longer his problem; he has echolocation.

He goes north.

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Path of magical destruction continues straight out of Valinor and over the ice.

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If he were thinking clearly maybe he'd remain in Valinor and try to get a better idea of what precisely happened, but he's not really thinking clearly. Mostly what's on his mind is What did Sauron do, and then some wordless screaming.

He keeps flying. If the magical darkness fades he'll switch to a form that's faster, and better equipped to handle the cold. Owl, maybe.

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It does fade. Over the Ice it's quiet.

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So very quiet. He can almost pretend everything is fine, except no, everything is terrible.

He turns into a snowy owl for the speed and warmth and continues flying.

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Sauron notices when he arrives. Did you see? Did you see? We did it!!

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I, he begins, a little shakily, and then he has to stop and start over because Sauron just killed the Trees and he is not unaffected by this. I, I definitely saw, though I can't say I lingered for particularly long. How?

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Melkor made a friend. Calm down, lovely, it's perfect, it's not the sort of thing you get upset about at all, no one died, all we did was muck up their pretty paradise and they'll make it pretty some other way but this isn't what Eru intended and the Elves'll stop pretending the Valar are infallible and everything is perfect.

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Well I can't say I'll mourn the loss of the pretty gilded cage, he agrees, sounding more himself. The part of him that's screaming can go on a shelf of its very own, to be ignored.

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Were you getting attached to it? Then I did you a favor along with all the rest of them. It really was a prison. Now it's not as pretty of one and Melkor thinks the Elves'll leave.

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Attached? he snorts, and then continues with sincere disdain, While they were very pretty, they were trees. Do you think me likely to mourn luminous flora? No. But leave me my moment of awe at your efforts, my love, you have hardly gotten to see me stuttering incoherently like a buffoon all that often.

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Yes, yes, stutter incoherently, there's a reason I didn't tell you in advance. It was such a neat arrangement.

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Well, allow me to congratulate you on your impressive victory. I do recall once saying all of Arda should tremble in fear of your wrath, and look how you've proven it!

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I want them to think. I want them to think and I want them to leave and that is exactly what they are going to do. Melkor also stole some of their jewelry, they will be extra motivated.

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What's more terrifying than knowledge and uncomfortable thoughts? he says lightly, then pauses. Jewelry? Why would they find petty baubles motivating?

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Elves, you know, they're very very pretty baubles.

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Oh, well, if they're very very pretty baubles, say no more. Surely they'll overthrow the Valar themselves to retrieve them. Do I get to see them, or is Melkor keeping it in a gaudy gem encrusted box and saying 'My precious'?"

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He's wearing them on his crown! It's stunning, you should come be stunned.

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Of course he is, says Sánedel, wry. And of course I will.

He flies to go see them.

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They have abandoned Utumno for a new fortress, west of there. It is intimidating. And very pointedly not Elven in design. Orcs are heading busily to and fro. 

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He wonders idly what they'll name this one. And whether Melkor would let him put up some curtains, maybe. The place is a bit dark for his taste.

Well before he goes and sees Melkor, he'll see and hug Sauron. Because of course he will, that's what he does.

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There you are, lovely. Tell me how impressed you are.

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In what fashion would you like? It is ever so hard to contain all of my admiration into a single form. I might be able to manage adoring song, or perhaps poetry - I could attempt to write an epic!

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You can greet the Elves with it when they arrive!

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I'd win all of their hearts with the sincerity of my verse. Alas, I want but the one.

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Oh, beloved. We finally did it. Melkor has some glimpses of what's coming next, and - we'll be out from under fate forever.

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The most worthy of goals, he agrees, and then kisses him.

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They can be somewhat delayed in going to see the pretty bait rocks.

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Yep.

 


But they can eventually go see the pretty bait rocks, he is curious about the jewelry, and thinks there's more to it than 'They're really pretty.'

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They are, in fact, stunning. And they move; the light shifts as they enter the room, the angles change even though that is utterly impossible; they make the room itself stunningly beautiful.

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They remind him of the Trees. Yes, the Elves would come after them, wouldn't they. Just for that reason alone.

You know, when you'd said pretty I thought it would just be the jewels themselves. I hadn't been expecting the way they make everything else more beautiful, too. Alas, we have little to gain personally from being in their presence. Since we both have beauty in excess.

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It's a nice touch, though, isn't it? He preens. 

 

There is a thick block of metal between the gems and Melkor's head.

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It is, yes. It looks good on you, though granted, most things do.

He looks at the block of metal and tilts his head, slightly.

... I had not thought Melkor would want a crown so. Dense. And blocky. Is he trying to match the Valar's ego, or?

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They cursed the gems to burn anyone not sufficiently agreeable who touched them.

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How petty of them. Is there any one of us that the gems like at all?

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It's not as if he's been having orcs poke them.

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No desire whatsoever to see by what parameter they judge by?

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Oh, it'd be interesting, it'd just also - ruin the glory of the moment a bit. 

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Ah, so when the moment ceases to require glory, line up all the orcs to poke them, one by one?

He does not care, he doesn't. Nope.

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Maybe only the bad orcs. It burns quite painfully.

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You could ask for volunteers.

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You want it, don't you.

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Who, me? Why, I would never be so bold as to say I want it, since I'm certain that Melkor will make better use of them then I, a humble and timid Maia, dwarfed in power by all around me, ever could.

Pause. ... But I do want to see if one finds me sufficiently agreeable.

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Laugh. Fair enough. Once the glory of the moment is all established.

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Indeed. Let him have his moment of majesty and shiny rocks intact. I can always be burned horrifically by them later.

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I haven't even tried myself. Let Valinor bite us one last time, I suppose.

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How thematically appropriate!

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The Valar are the ones who cursed them but they didn't make them, an Elf did that.

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Ah, of course. It is just like the Valar to curse the fruit of someone else's labors.

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Isn't it? I wonder how the Elf felt about it. 

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Could be blind trust and supplication to the Valar. Or it might not be. Personally, I'd feel burning unfathomable rage, but who knows how many Elves are anything like me.

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Kiss. None at all, I'm quite sure of it.

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Flatterer!

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If there were Elves like you, we wouldn't have needed to steal their jewelry to get them to leave Valinor.

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No, likely not. They would have been clawing to leave within a century. Though... I wonder if it was mere idle fancy, or if there was ambition behind it. Outdo the Trees, perhaps.

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Do you think they succeeded?

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I'm hardly an unbiased voice on the subject, I think them better merely by the fact that they were made by someone other than the Valar. But, hm. He considers. The Trees were grand, gorgeous creations, but the light they bestowed only ever shone upon Valinor. They were the centerpieces of a prison. The jewels are brilliant with no such bindings. I think that even if they don't outshine the Trees, what they are is more sincerely beautiful than anything that comes with a pair of shackles.

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A poet. Maybe the Elves'll show up and you can deliver your compliments in person.

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Perhaps! If I did, do you think delight or bewilderment would win?

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I doubt they'd be in a mood to be too terribly delighted about anything. 

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Gee why would that be.

Alas. Bewilderment it is.

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Maybe they'll be delighted down the road. Kiss.

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Perhaps!

He doubts it, but it could happen. It's more likely than Eru deciding to stop meddling in the lives of his creations, and Sánedel's been joking about that one for years. Which admittedly doesn't say much about how likely it is, but still. Principle of the matter. It could happen.

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Let's leave Melkor to his shinies until he's ready to share.

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That could be a long while indeed! I want to see if the shinies will bite me or not eventually, not to languish in doubt until the end of all things.

But away he goes, of course.

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Elsewhere, someone is singing. That's not all she's doing, she can multitask, but it's the primary thing she's doing, because she has a lovely voice and everyone's freaking out a bit. Singing helps. While she sings she stalks through the dark streets, trying to keep her mental list of people straight. Maitimo would be better at this, but Maitimo is not here. So she'll fill in for him and try to keep things as calm as possible. So far, it's pretty clear that there aren't any casualties, at least not here. Everyone's just confused and scared and worried about loved ones that are too far away for them to reach. This is a solvable problem. So Calassúrë is solving it and trying to prevent as much confusion as possible.

The Valar still haven't answered any questions. They're thinking, and apparently that means they don't even get clarifying blanket statements. Only silence.

Uncle, she sends, when she's in range for osanwë again, I'm back, still no casualties. Just a lot of confusion.

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Melkor, Fëanáro answers. Obviously. The idiots, we warned them, the idiots -

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Yeah. I'd - I would have thought they'd have - contingencies or better ways to prevent this or. Or something. And instead... she sends the equivalent of a heavy sigh. Here we are. At least no one seems to be hurt.

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I did not think they had contingencies. I did not think they were prepared. I thought this would happen and it did and no one was hurt here because he couldn't get this close directly but there're people elsewhere, my children, everyone in Endorë -

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Why is it that every time she talks to her uncle she wants to either throttle him or cry? Maybe both, she could probably do both.

He's right, of course, but he could maybe stop rubbing it in.

Yes, she agrees, a little miserably.

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And the Valar haven't moved. At all. Not even an inch, they're thinking -

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They could be doing something actually useful and just be so busy they can't possibly take the time to explain it to any of us, but. Yes, I'm not filled with warm fuzzy feelings on their ability to handle Melkor, considering.

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He doesn't answer.

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Sorry. Trying to give them some benefit of the doubt. Do you think if we gave them a ready-made plan we could possibly get them to listen?

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Do you have one?

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No. I'd need to know more specifics of what Melkor did and how he managed it to have any idea how to counter it properly. And if they were willing to go off of vague 'Can you just follow Melkor and hit him really hard and put him back in prison' then we wouldn't be here.

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I'm leaving Valinor.

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.... To evacuate Endorë?

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Perhaps, if that's what needs doing when we arrive there. And to stop him, if we can, and to build a life on our own terms as our own masters, instead of here sniveling for the protection of beings who cannot offer it and demand an exorbitant price in return.

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Fair enough. She thinks of the feeling of helplessness prevalent since the death of the Trees, of silent and negligent gods and the results of their failures. I'm with you.

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We are a courageous people. I think they will follow us. And I think my father will agree, now.

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Yeah. Pretty hard to disagree, really. It's not precisely safe, but I don't want safety at the cost of leaving everyone in Endorë to die, or feeling so helpless.

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And worst case, we're right back here.

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... No, worst case, Melkor captures and tortures us to insanity. But that doesn't mean it's not worth doing.

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We won't go unprepared.

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Yeah. I just want everyone to understand the stakes. I'd like for us to be better than the Valar, you know? Instead of lying by omission like they do.

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Everyone knows as much as we do about what the Enemy is capable of.

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Yes, but, hm. I worry of complacency. We've lived in Valinor for so long that it's hard to really comprehend how terrible Melkor is, how much we stand to lose. Even with the deaths of the Trees, even with all we know. I don't think our family will fall into that trap, but I don't think everyone can avoid it so easily. And I don't mind reminding people of the stakes to avoid it.

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If you like. I think they will go on all the same.

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Probably. I'm likely being overly touchy, but there are worse ways to be overly touchy than overcompensating for the Valar's. Valarness.

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Yes. Distractedly.

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I'm going to return to trying to keep the panic to a minimum, maybe try to get information about what Melkor actually did. Let me know if I can help with any of your projects. Good skill, uncle.

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Likewise.

 

 

 

The news comes a few days later; it's hard to count, without the Trees.

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Then through the throng came the sons of Fëanor, flying from the North, and they bore new tidings of evil. Maitimo spoke for them. ‘Blood and darkness!’ he cried. 'Finwe the king is slain, and the Silmarils are gone!’

Then Fëanáro fell upon his face and lay as one dead, until the full tale was told.

 'My lord,’ said Maitimo to Manwe, 'it was the day of festival, but the king was heavy with grief at the departure of my father, a foreboding was on him. He would not go from the house. We were irked by the idleness and silence of the day, and we went riding towards the Green Hills. Our faces were northward, but suddenly we were aware that all was growing dim. The Light was failing. In dread we turned and rode back in haste, seeing great shadows rise up before us. But even as we drew near to Formenos the darkness came upon us; and in the midst was a blackness like a cloud that enveloped the house of Feanor.

'We heard the sound of great blows struck. Out of the cloud we saw a sudden flame of fire. And then there was one piercing cry. But when we urged on our horses they reared and cast us to the ground, and they fled away wild. We lay upon our faces without strength; for suddenly the cloud came on, and for a while we were blind. But it passed us by and moved away north at great speed. Melkor was there, we do not doubt. But not he alone! Some other power was with him, some huge evil: even as it passed it robbed us of all wit and will.

Darkness and blood! When we could move again we came to the house. There we found the king slain at the door. His head was crushed as with a great mace of iron. We found no others: all had fled, and he had stood alone, defiant. That is plain; for his sword lay beside him, twisted and untempered as if by lightning-stroke. All the house was broken and ravaged. Naught is left. The treasuries are empty. The chamber of iron is torn apart. The Silmarils are taken!’

Then suddenly Fëanor rose, and lifting up his hand before Manwë he cursed Melkor, naming him Morgoth, the Black Foe of the world.And he cursed also the summons of Manwe and the hour in which he came to Taniquetil, thinking in the madness of his grief that had he been at Formenos, his strength would have availed more than to be slain also, as Morgoth had purposed. Then with a cry he ran from the Ring of Doom and fled into the night, distraught; for his father was dearer to him than the Light of Valinor or the peerless works of his hands: and who among sons, of Elves or of Men, have held their fathers of greater worth?

 

After him Maitimo and his brethren went in haste, dismayed, for they had not known that he was present when Maitimo spoke; and now they feared that he might slay himself.  

- (Morgoth's Ring)

 

 

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Calassúrë has a brief moment of indecision. On one hand, yes absolutely, go after Fëanáro to make sure he doesn't do anything rash, right now, everyone, go. On the other hand - if everyone goes then there's no chance that the Valar might be convinced to take some fucking responsibility at any degree of speed.

Maitimo, she sends, an edge of panic to the tone of her thoughts, how desperately do you need me to come with you - maybe I can get the Valar to have a shred of fucking responsibility but I won't try it if it could cost your father's life -

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No, try that - we'll find him  -

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Okay. I love you. I wish you the greatest of skill and haste, cousin.

Her uncle's probably still in range of osanwë, so she sends, Uncle, I love you, I'm so sorry, I'm going to try to get them to take responsibility and help because how dare they try to abdicate it after - she doesn't say it. I love you, she repeats instead, because that seems like the absolute best thing she could possibly say to him right now.

She takes a steadying breath, attempting to swallow her own fear to speak. It's one thing to realize that, logically, someone needs to try to get the Valar to see reason, and it's another to stand utterly, painfully alone and condemn the king of the gods for inaction.

"My lord Manwë," she calls, the strength and clarity of her voice almost entirely the product of years of practice singing, "on my family's behalf, I beg of you all possible haste in action. The death of the Trees and their Light is among the greatest of evils, but Melkor could not steal and twist them to his own malevolent purposes. He has proven to be devious and inventive, can we but stand by while he prepares his latest machination? You yourselves wanted my uncle's great creations - dare you imagine what Melkor could do with them now that he has them? The longer he is left alone the more powerful he becomes!"

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The Valar stand frozen around the corpses of the Trees, motionless and unreadable.

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Anger proves to be a passable remedy for the cold pit of fear in her stomach. Her hands are barely even shaking, now. How dare they not even acknowledge her or anyone else. They have a responsibility to everyone under their care, and they aren't living up to it.

She raises her voice. "Our king is dead and all Light in Valinor either stolen or forever extinguished. I do not ask that you do not grieve their losses, but we will suffer greater tragedies if we lose ourselves to grief! If you cannot act, speak! You once promised that Valinor was a place under your protection, did that promise's binding die with the Trees? Are we not your charges? Did you not swear to protect us from harm? The harm of ignorance is a subtle, insidious one, but it will nonetheless tear us asunder if we let it. While you stand silent, Melkor may exploit the confusion and torment your silence dooms the Eldar to!"

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"Have patience," Manwë says after a moment. "Our grief is far greater than yours, and we are considering how best to preserve good in the world."

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Oh, holy shit, she actually got him to say something.

"I do not challenge the depth of your grief, my lord, nor try to compare mine to yours. Nor do I ask you to charge thoughtlessly in the opposition of Melkor. But deliberating too long on the best method for preserving the good in the world while it is extinguished is detrimental to the purpose itself. Every second spent in deliberation is another second Melkor could use to breed more orcs, or twist the Silmarils to his purposes, or torture our still unaware kin in Endorë. Do not spend them heedlessly on grief, even a grief greater than I can comprehend. We will have time to grieve after Melkor is returned to his prison."

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"The return of Melkor to his prison cannot be achieved by any means, and certainly not by hasty and thoughtless pursuit. Urgency will lead only to grave mistakes of judgment."

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"Thoughtless urgency, certainly, but in times of crisis, some measure of urgency is required if anything good is to be done at all! Even if Melkor cannot be returned to his prison, can a new one not be made? Even if one cannot be made, surely you could offer some measure of safety to our kin in Endorë? They are at his mercy! Even if he cannot ever be imprisoned again, should we not try to reclaim the Silmarils from him, so that his evil could be as contained as is possible?"

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"These are the questions that we are considering, and that we are now interrupted from considering in order to dissuade you from rash and thoughtless conduct. We will now return to considering them."

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Oh, fuck you.

"While you consider," she hisses, "can you not send trusted Maiar to aid the people of Endorë, to learn of Melkor's power base and offer counsel in how best to fight him?"

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"That is among the things that we will consider."

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"Please, do not wait for the entire plan to be considered in depth before you act to the benefit of your charges. Sending trusted Maiar to Endorë would not disturb your deliberations, would pose minimal risk while guaranteeing help towards those at Melkor's mercy, and would keep you appraised of what Melkor is capable of so that you might respond to him accordingly."

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"And also pose disadvantages that you are not aware of and that, in the spirit of the urgency you seem to prefer, it would be absurd for us to attempt to summarize."

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It is really, really hard to actually talk to these people with their constant infuriating condescension.

"I do not know all of the disadvantages of the action I would counsel you to take," she agrees, "nor do I need to know. But I believe, and forgive me for my bluntness and my arrogance, my lord, but I would see that we not waste time with dignity while in such a crisis, that you have something to gain from an incarnate perspective on urgency as well. Can we not take part in your consideration, respond to Melkor's evil with cooperation of very different beings rather than dissent and condescension between them?"

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"You can indeed take part in our deliberations, but this would slow them considerably and should not be framed as a concern of urgency."

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Rrrrrrrgh so sick of the condescension.

"So are the Eldar to simply do nothing for fear of getting in your way? We have more to offer than obedience and silence! Would you have expected my uncle to create the Silmarils?"

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"There are parts of this project in which your assistance will be invaluable, but for the time being shouting the first suggestions that come to your mind is not the way you can best aid in repairing these evils."

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Do not start shouting, do not start shouting. Do not. You are currently representing a family that is bad at anger management, do not do so by proceeding to be bad at anger management.

"Then what is?"

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"We are deliberating on this. Give yourselves time to mourn and time to calm down."

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"I cannot mourn while people are still dying. Can we not be aided in helping our kin?"

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"People are not dying. It is precisely when you are in this state that you are of least help to anyone."

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Twitch.

"People in Valinor are not dying. But it is not just for those in Valinor that I care for," unlike some people, "and my lord, I think your own grief causes you to overestimate how grief affects my mind. I am mourning, it is true. But I am not lost to it. I am angry, scared, and grieving, but I am not incapable of making rational decisions."

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"People outside Valinor are also not dying; Melkor has not attacked them. I hope this information enables you to better absorb our counsel: wait, and permit us to learn as much as we can and decide a course of action."

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This is so hard, is Manwë just thinking of the absolute most condescending thing to say and then going with that? Because that is definitely what it feels like.

She has to take a few seconds to avoid snapping. "... I would like to stress the value of communication along with deliberation. Is there some way that you might share what you learn with us, so that we might better help defeat this threat?"

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"Of course we will do so."

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"Because you haven't been," she snaps. Damn it, she'd been doing so well, too. She takes a breath and starts again. "I respect and support the necessity for foresight and careful consideration before action, but you have been utterly silent to all in Valinor. Even if," she somehow manages to avoid stressing that syllable, she deserves the highest of praise for this monumental achievement in patience and diplomacy, "you have a perfect handle on the situation, we cannot know that if you are silent, and we will seek to try to combat him without you, and both you and we will be the lesser for it. The only one who would win is Melkor."

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"Now you are informed: we are considering how best to repair the damage Melkor has done and protect the world from him. Your impatience indeed serves your enemy, and we believe that he sought to provoke you to it."

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Oh, so instead of trying to ameliorate that at all, you just sat around talking about it among yourselves like -

She stops that train of thought. She's trying to be a diplomat. She will not be any better at what she's doing right now by adding shouting to the mix. Even if the Valar are so blatantly, terribly awful at their jobs that it makes her want to scream at the top of her lungs.

"Might I ask," she says, in a tone that aims for gracious and overshoots right into sarcastically saccharine, "what other things you believe he is attempting to provoke us to do?"

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"To reject the peace and safety of Valinor, to turn from Eru..."

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"In what ways do you expect that the former can be used against us? Draw us out where he can hurt us?"

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"Yes, and rob Aman of its bliss and potential."

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There are so many things wrong with that statement, she doesn't even know where to start. How about she just doesn't. Yes. Excellent. Perfect solution. Best diplomat.

Ugh, fine. She'll ask for clarification and then probably try to explain why that statement is terrible.

"Rob Aman in what - sense? In the sense of what those that would leave could accomplish if they stayed?"

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"Did you not recently prefer that we set ourselves at once to the task of choosing a response and acting on it? Because that is incompatible with devoting ourselves now to explaining things to you. The promise of Aman is a safe place free from the strife and horrors of Middle-earth, where those who witnessed them could be confident they would never come again. If such strife and impatience and misbehavior is invited among your people as a consequence of Melkor's actions, the potential for Aman to serve that purpose is forever diminished. By contrast your renewed commitment to the bliss of Aman will demonstrate that it endures the behaviors of the Enemy."

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Twitch.

She is getting very sick of being treated like a misbehaving child. Her parents didn't treat her like this, even when she was a misbehaving child.

"I think you do not realize the value of explanations and how providing them is in fact quite compatible with action. For example, failing to talk is not putting action on hold, it is action itself. Because you have been silent to all of your charges, you have inflicted harm to the 'bliss of Aman.' The Eldar's trust in you has been shaken. Even if you are right, which we aren't certain of since you let Melkor out in the first place, your argument as to why we should listen to you is not, 'here is what you should do and here are our reasons why,' it is, 'we are right, you are wrong, you are being unreasonable, we're smarter than you could ever be so sit down and shut up.' Which is not how you get people to listen to what you have to say at all, it's how you get a large portion of your population to leave in disgust because they dislike that the bliss of Aman does not involve being treated by their preferences."

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"We will not engage with threats and rudeness. They will be regretted when your hearts have had time to cool."

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If he said anything after the second sentence, Calassúrë certainly didn't hear it. Instead, the only thing she hears is sound of her own blood, pulsing through her head at a volume that is surely loud enough that it's strange no one is worrying about whether her skull might crack from the pressure.

This is it, she thinks, this is how I die. Not by sorrow or by sword or even by Melkor himself. This. My head will explode because the Valar are so frustratingly stupid that they drove it to burst.

She can't possibly think of what to say in reply. Something should be said in reply to that, but the correct words aren't connecting to each other to form useful sentences. Oh, she can still form sentences, but all of them are completely unhelpful to her goals. There are a thousand possibilities, each one born from one of their thousandfold mistakes that she could pick out and dissect in front of them, to maybe make them see how the framework they're thinking with is flawed, how they're wrong, and if she's honest with herself, to hurt them. She's spiteful enough right now to say something cutting just to hurt them. It's not pretty, but there it is. The Valar suck, and she wants to hurt them out of spite. Calassúrë has never been this angry in her life, never felt as if her own soul were made of fire and like if something were to puncture her skin everything nearby would just be caught in the ensuing immolation.

It would be terrifying, to suddenly become this molten being when she'd been a perfectly ordinary Elf before, if she had any percentage of her own head to devote to something other than the rage. As it is, she doesn't. It just feels like a perfectly ordinary state of being. Sometimes she's an Elf, and sometimes, she's a fiery rage monster. It's a thing that is part of her life now, nothing to really worry about.

As much fun as it would be to say, 'Bitch, you will know when I threaten you, because you'd better believe I will back up every single thing I say, and if you think I and my family can't tear you sanctimonious assholes down from your thrones in a fit of rage you haven't met any of us,' she can't, because it would just be proving them right. And she'll be damned if she proves these assholes right. Nor can she say, 'The fact that you consider criticism to be a threat proves you are not even fit to rule a particularly thriving pond filled only with very stupid wildlife, let alone Valinor,' as much as it's completely and utterly true. Insults are not the way to go, justified as they are. That would not be her representing the family well, and they would not be inclined to listen to her, and her words would be wasted. She's a songstress, she's spent Years working to use her voice with the utmost skill and grace. She's not going to start wasting it now because of these people.

Pride's a vicious beast that will drive many to their own ruin, but hers gives her inferno direction. Her pride is a snarling hunting dog that helps lead her to her final quarry. They made her angry, and because they made her angry, they do not get to win. They do not get to prove themselves right by tempting her to do something stupid. She is better than that, she will be better than that, because she will be better than them.

She takes a deep breath, and she falls to the absolute basics for anger management. She counts to ten. Onetwothreefourfivesixseveneightninethisisn'tworking. Why would counting help? No amount of time could possibly quench her burning rage, why would she think something so simple as numbers could? Clearly she needs something that, to her, is more certain. The only thing that's keeping her from unleashing a primal scream is her own sense of responsibility. She recognizes this, and she switches tactics.

As infuriating as this is, it has been the first coherent conversation the Valar have managed since the death of the Trees. It has been, along with the most frustrating conversation she's ever had, surprisingly informative. There is likely more that can be gained by continuing it, and there's no one else to manage it besides her. If she loses her cool and stalks off, that's it, no more information. They might not even reply to anyone else that tried. She gets to walk up to Maitimo and look him in the eye and say, 'I lost my temper.' He'd understand, probably tell her that she did fantastically and bring up excellent reasoning for why she did. He wouldn't blame her for not being able to deal with these people. She knows that. But she also knows that Maitimo has a family that is filled with hot-tempered geniuses that have perfectly good reasoning for why they go off the deep end. She knows that his father is already going to require a lot of his attention.

There is no way that she's adding to that. She is the one thing in this life that she can control, she's not going to lose that control just because she's angry.

Calassúrë takes another deep breath, and the firestorm in her soul - doesn't quiet. It reorganizes itself. She does not cease to be a fiery rage monster, but it is not going to burn anything that she damn well doesn't mean to burn. She is going to say the right words here, and if she can't, at least she won't say the wrong ones.

She's going to have to apologize. Ugh.

"I apologize for any implied disrespect and my impertinence," she says, and she's surprised by the clarity in her voice, "but I Swear before Eru that my words were not meant as a threat. I desire to warn you of potential results of actions, and the results of them in your charges, to help build a better future between the Eldar and the Valar. I must speak of potential darkness in order to attempt to shield us from it."

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"Your commitment to the wellbeing of Valinor is noted and appreciated. We are trying to determine how best we can protect you and everyone else. This involves attempting to see far into the Years ahead of us, a process that is demanding of our attention. If you counsel that we delay it in order to instead calm our people, we will."

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"How long do you estimate it would take to see far into the Years ahead of you so that you could know what path to take, and how long do you estimate it would take to calm your people?"

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"It will take months, perhaps a Year, to foresee the effects of each of the courses we are considering and select one from among them. We would hope that reassurance could happen more quickly."

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"By what method do you plan to reassure the Eldar?"

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"Song, the language of creation and of your people and of Eru's plan."

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"Magic songs, or just pretty soothing ones."

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"Calming songs."

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It's a good thing she's still a rage monster operating entirely off of figuring out the most efficient way to get what she wants and then doing that, because otherwise, she might be tempted to introduce her forehead to her palm. Idiots.

"I do not believe calming songs would result in the outcome you desire," she says, without inflection. "And highly recommend you don't sing any mind affecting songs to those under your care. I am not Ainu, so I cannot tell you specifically how it would go awry, but I am very certain that it would."

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"Then we will return to trying to decide on the best course of action."

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"Forgive me for delaying you further, but might I ask for all knowledge of Melkor's preparations in Endorë, so that while you decide we might make preparations that might counteract them?"

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"We think that would be unwise since it might provoke you to reckless courses of action."

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She pauses, to consider her phrasing.

"I believe that reckless courses of action can be prevented or mitigated by giving the Eldar a useful project that they know is worthy, and that not doing so will incite many to find one of their own, which might not be as well-aimed and might fall under the category of 'reckless.'"

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"We are debating between several worthy projects for the Eldar, all of which involve restoring light to the world using the remnants of the trees and new inventions."

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Okay, not awful, but perhaps not something that could keep her uncle from leaving Valinor the most expedient way he has available to him.

"A worthy goal." Because it is, it's just maybe not the one she needs right now in order to keep everything from exploding into fire. "But not one all Eldar could pursue. Are there other potential projects available?"

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"That is what we were discussing when interrupted. When we settle on more we will tell the Eldar about them at once."

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That sounds like it's the best she's going to get. Good. She's sick of talking to the Valar.

"Very well. Thank you for hearing me, my lord. I will do what I can to preserve peace and Light in Arda."

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"A worthy ambition, child."

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Yes, she knows.

But she bows, because she is not going to burn this bridge just because she wants to, and murmurs a, "Thank you."

And then she turns to depart. She'll need to find herself a horse. Absently, she notices her hands have blood on them. When did that happen? She hadn't been doing anything that would cause anything involving blood, does prolonged exposure to Ainur cause -

Oh. No. Those are four little crescent marks, on each palm. Self inflicted. Yes, that makes sense.

She finds a horse, she gets directions as to which way her uncle and cousins went, and off she rides.

Maybe she'll calm down a little before she finds them.

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It takes a long time.

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Well. That's probably for the best, really. She doesn't want to try to talk to people she actually likes while she's this angry.

It leaves languidly, taking its time to burn through her. But given long enough, and it finishes running its course, like all fires do. Until all that's left is exhaustion and willpower. She might be tempted to just fall off her horse and sleep where she lies, but her uncle is out there somewhere and while his sons probably have it covered she wants to be sure of it first. And she isn't sure on how to best use the information she got - Maitimo should get it, and he'll have some idea of what to do with it. And then she can find some hole to crawl into and - not die, she can't even joke about that right now. A hole to crawl into for sleeping and recovery purposes.

But not yet.

On she rides, with only occasional breaks for her poor horse's sake. They don't do well, in this dark, and even horses from Valinor cannot run forever, even when ridden by a songstress that can bolster its strength with magic. She will not tip into cruelty, even now. It can have its rest. She'll find her kin eventually. Eventually she'll be in range of osanwë, even if she has to ride all over the countryside in order to get there. She knows Makalaurë the best of them all, so it's his name she calls.

 


Makalaurë?

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Yeah?

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Oh, excellent, I found you - how's your father -?

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Going to live.

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Good, she says, with palpable relief.

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Yeah. We're leaving. We were going to anyway, but now it's urgent.

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... I don't disagree, Valinor definitely seems like it's not the place anyone should live, but I hope you didn't think I neglected to go running off after your father with you to only show up later with 'They were silent and I learned nothing and I hate them.' They were not silent, and I learned a lot, and I hate them.

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Do tell.

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I don't even know how to summarize. By the end I was just livid, and pretending I was Maitimo and trying to say the exact thing that would result in something non-awful instead of actually engaging in the conversation. I'll probably just dump the entire thing on him and go crawl in a hole for a while to hate everything, actually. But - according to the Valar no one in Endorë is dying as of - yet, anyway. Which is I think the major thing to relate before I try to disentangle any of the other shit.

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Yeah, that's good to know. We're not going to leave overnight, we were thinking about a Year to gather supplies, train, plan, scout...

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Sounds wise. I'll help how I can. .... Even if it means talking to the Valar some more, if I turned out to be good at it. I didn't feel very good at it at the time, but. I did get an answer, and they did tone down the condescension a bit right around the time I became livid. Which might be as good as anyone can really manage.

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I've sure never got them to tone down the condescension. I don't think they even do it on purpose.

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Probably not, but that doesn't make it any less infuriating.

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What'd they say, aside from that no one's dying yet -

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She sends him the conversation. Sending her own parts feels kind of strange when she's not actually upset anymore. A lot of the structure of how she was thinking is built around what is now a vast, expansive void. There are still residual traces of annoyance, but it's not the earlier inferno.

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Okay. Thanks.

 

- we're going to go back to Formenos, bury my grandfather, gather everything we'll need, then come meet the rest of the host in Tirion and tell them what we plan to do.

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Okay. Is your dad in a state where he'd appreciate a hug? Because I kind of want to hug him.

There's their group now! Excellent. She pats her horse. Good horse. You did a good job.

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Yeah, probably. He - feels like this is all his fault, he knew it was coming and didn't do enough -

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I think it's all Melkor's fault. But if we split the blame, then it's the Valar's after him. Anyone else gets to come long after those two groups.

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Thanks for coming.

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Hey, what else was I going to do? Stay home and garden? C'mon, I got to yell at deities, the pleasure's all mine.

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And the garden wouldn't be doing too well.

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Is that doubt in my gardening skills? I'd find a way. I could grow mushroom gardens, I hear someone found ones that make music.

She's almost to them, now. She waves, a little tiredly.

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They don't wave back. They look exhausted. They do nod when she gets closer.

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Well, that's perfectly understandable. She's pretty exhausted, too. But before she crawls in a hole to hate everything, she has important things to accomplish.

She dismounts her horse, walks up to her uncle, and promptly hugs him.

"Hi," she mumbles.

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Hug. "We should have left long ago."

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"They made it very comfy and safe and told us we had all the Ages in Arda and weren't very overt with their themness until there was a crisis, of course we'd settle in and try to tap the available resources as much as possible before deciding to leave the utopia. That just makes sense."

To Maitimo, she sends, Makalaurë relayed the conversation with the Valar, right? I can send it if he didn't, I'll start trying to figure out how to approach that later when I have more brain.

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Yes, he did. Later's good. Congratulations and thank you.

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Thanks, for both. I uh, probably didn't handle it as well as you could have? But I think I did pretty well.

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You were brilliant.

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.....

Well, she could feign modesty, but on principle that's just silly.

Eeeheehee yes I was!!! I need to go regrow some brain matter but ahahaha in your face Valar!!

She squeezes her uncle a little, reassuringly. "We'll do okay."

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"We'll stop him."

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"Yeah." Gentle unhug, with a reassuring smile. "Good skill, I'm going to go be comatose for a little while now. Someone please take care of my horse for me." She pauses, and considers. She looks at Tyelcormo, and then at Huan. Then she sidles closer to the big fluffy dog.

"May I please collapse into your fluff," she asks, in a low whisper.

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Huan does not talk to people. He does stretch accommodatingly, though.

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She'll take that as a yes, and collapses into the fluff accordingly.

"Best dog," she mumbles, and then she is free to stop doing things and can just hate the world in peace.

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Yeah. No one moves for a while. Then -

 

we will return to Formenos and bury my father.

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Nnnnnngh she doesn't want to be functional right noooow.

She can go not be functional in Formenos, though. She doesn't want to actually hinder them doing stuff. Getting on a horse is doable. She can do that.

She sends an affirmative that's only slightly hazy, then extracts herself from the fluff. Huan gets brief scritches for his service, and then she goes and gets on her horse.

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And they head north. It's slow going, in the dark.

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Well. She's not impatient. She's not really much of anything, just tired.

(Maybe she should have tried to talk Huan into letting her ride him, so she could be buried in the fluff for the trip. No, no, that would be kind of rude.)

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They stop to rest. She can be buried in the fluff then.

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Fluff.

"Your dog is the best," she mumbles, in Tyelcormo's general direction.

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"Yep," he murmurs back, and hugs his father tightly, and sleeps.

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Yeah, sleep sounds like a pretty good move. Long day. Or - long darkness. Whatever.

Zzz.

 

When she wakes she's feeling a bit better. Not great, but better. She probably shouldn't push it, but she can operate off of more than just a vague sense of responsibility and the promises of fluff to collapse into.

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Fëanáro does not look any better. Anguished and exhausted and hollow. They head north.

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She hugs him again, before they head out. Just because it might help.

North. Everything's so dark. It's so hard to get used to, everything, everything looks so different. She could get lost, if she's not careful.

She wonders how her parents are doing. Probably fine. They're probably fine. They're both pretty stable, they'll be worried about her... But she'll stay with her cousins for now, they perhaps don't need her, but they can use some kind of emotional support, all of them. Her parents will understand.

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Formenos is shattered. It looks like Melkor just melted buildings as he went. The stone is strange and glassy and very cold. 

Fëanáro refuses food.

There is not that much left of his father to bury. This doesn't help.

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No. No, it doesn't.

He wasn't her grandfather, but he was her king. She sings for the loss of a great man.

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And after a little while he stitches himself together. Very, very breakably. He wants all of the plants gathered to take with them as food, he wants wagons with these specifications, he wants people at the forges making the following things, he wants songs developed for healing and for endurance and for sleepless travel...

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Endurance and sleepless travel together sounds like a good combination, and like it's up her alley. She can develop something.

(She hates that there's nothing obvious she can do to fix it. Her uncle's hurting and she doesn't have song or salve to heal it. It bothers her.)

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"I can kill him," he says to her one day, when everyone's at work gathering the things they'll need to leave. He's supervising the forges. He's let the ash settle into his skin until he looks like he's made of it.

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She glances up from her musical notation. It's hard to write in the dark, but she's not going to subject everyone nearby to the cacophony that is her in-progress song design. She'll hum occasional bars to herself, to test how well the two song types mesh, but a lot of the song design stays safely in her head where no one can suffer from it.

"... I believe you," she says, after a thoughtful pause. Her heart seems to be doing something strange in her chest. The Valar were idiots but how wrong were they? How close is he to doing something rash? "But perhaps make sure how you do it is from far away?"

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"I was not planning to charge Angband and challenge him to a fight. But we do need the Silmarils back. With them I could do it from a thousand miles off."

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"Yes." She hesitates, then continues, "But I think he knows that. I don't - my faith is not in the Valar, but I think there was some truth to what they said. We should be wary of falling into a trap."

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"He knows that they're important to me. He doesn't know anything about what they can do, he thinks I like them because we're Elves and like pretty things. You're right that he probably thinks he can bait us with them, but I'd rather he try, because he doesn't know what he loses if he loses them and he might be too eager to use them as bait."

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"Maybe," she allows, "but the Valar wanted them, too, and I don't think it was for their beauty. He might not know precisely what he has or how to use them, but I don't think it would be wise to stake a plan on the Enemy's ignorance."

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"If he knew how to use them we'd all be in a world he ruled already. I think it is safe to assume he doesn't."

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"Knowing how to use them and knowing that they can be used are different. I'll trust that he doesn't know the former, but the latter..." She shrugs. "The latter, I'm more hesitant to put faith in. The Ainur do not see all, but one might be able to see the potential inherent in them."

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"I do worry the Valar won't ask to take them, next time. Some of them seemed tempted, Aulë told them to back off, but -"

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"I - could see that," she murmurs. She thinks of the Valar saying they will reassure the Eldar with song and shivers. "There might be a way to talk them out of it if they tried it, but. I could definitely see that."

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Nod.

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"There might be value in - there are the remains of the Trees. When we leave Valinor, I don't expect we'll be able to come back, or want to. There might be value in helping the Valar get some part of the Trees restored, so they might not feel so tempted to steal."

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"I am sure that's a valuable thing to do which people other than me will do quite competently. But it's the project of Years, we don't have that long."

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"It might give us some way to defeat the Enemy at a distance, too, without needing the Silmarils at all," she points out. "And then you could just kill him and pick up the Silmarils after. I'm not - I don't think you should fling yourself at it with wild abandon and work at it for Years pretending Morgoth doesn't exist, but it might be worth looking over to see if it could be of any value to us."

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"I will have Curufinwë take a look at it. It would astonish me if it were sufficient to kill the Enemy from a distance."

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"That's fair," she says, with a hint of a smile. "It's not really my line of expertise. I wouldn't know if it could or couldn't."

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"We'll explore all possibilities."

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She nods.

"And then we'll defeat the Enemy."

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Fervent nod. 

 

 

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"Good skill, uncle."

And then it's back to songwriting.

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So what is to become of the Elves, when they arrive? 'Join us in rebellion, we're clearly correct,' or - what?

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I think we'll leave them alone. Unless they attack us to avenge Valinor or something, then maybe try to convince them to sit down and see where we're coming from - it'd grate me to apologize for their pretty trees but it certainly improves on entertaining them while they try to be at war with us...

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Snort. Yes, because that would go so well. I suppose Melkor won't want to part with his pretty, pretty prizes, though.

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The Silmarils? No, those are ours. Have you checked how much they scorch you, yet? It varies. I lost a whole hand.

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Oh, dear. He kisses one of Sauron's hands, just to make it up to it. ... Then the other, in case that one got jealous. Or if he got the wrong one. I'm sorry, my love. I haven't checked - I wasn't aware Melkor was letting anyone near them. We can check now, if you can stand to see the sight of me burning.

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I think I shall enjoy it. Shame Melkor won't let us steal them to play.

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Your concern for my well-being is ever so appreciated, beloved! Very well, come along, we'll see what I lose to Valinor's final bite.

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And they go down to the throne room.

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The Silmarils are waiting. Beautiful as ever, making everything around them bloom with dazzling light. Not merely pretty themselves - centralized beauty is easy. Much harder, is to bolster everything around. Sharing, magnifying it instead of hoarding it.

As he steps to touch one, he's afraid. He'll make light of it, certainly - oh no, poor Sánedel, the gems are going to burn him. Woe and despair and whatever garbage the idiots on the other side of the ocean parrot. The pain wouldn't matter, nor would the loss of limb. Pain's ephemeral, and bodies are simple to repair when one is a Maia. He wouldn't really mind, if it were just those. But it's not. They're beautiful, powerful, in a way the Trees weren't, in a way the Trees should have been. Brilliance and ingenuity and defiance towards the natural order. Shining proof that the Eldar can eclipse their Ainur guardians, if they just reach for it. That they can bring a better thing into this world. One that draws everything around after it, to the stars, to infinite potential.

It would hurt, to be burned by such a thing.

(Perhaps that's why Sauron wants to watch.)

Bah. Enough of his hesitance. If he is to be burned, so be it. It will be soon and then it will be done. He reaches out with a hand, and touches it.

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It's slightly cool to the touch, and impossibly smooth.

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What?

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...

He starts laughing.

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"Oh, darling! The Valar think you're unobjectionable! What a terrible insult!"

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"I," he giggles, "don't know whether to be delighted with their bizarre metric of judgement or ashamed that I somehow pass it! Both! I am both! What is this! Do I need to start blaspheming in front of it for it to count?"

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"One wonders!" Hug. Kiss.

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Kiss!

"There's that delightful blasphemy out of the way, thank you beloved, let me finish up the list. Yes, pretty gem, I did just kiss a man, and you should see what he's going to do with me later! Eru is a madman! The Valar are beaten in intellect by most species of moss! Valinor is horribly tacky." Boop. No burn! He cackles.

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He laughs. "Well, well, isn't that something."

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"It is, isn't it!" He smiles slyly at Sauron. "Why? Do you have something in mind, beloved?"

(Damn. Damn. He knows that look, of course Sauron has something in mind, damn damn damn -

No, away, onto the shelf with you. He's busy.)

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"You should petition our lord for permission to play with the shinies. Figure out how to break things with them."

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There it is. That didn't take long at all. Sauron would like to use it to break things. What a surprise. He is shocked.

(He's not angry, he's just disappointed.)

"Me? Break things? Why, I'm not sure I'd know where to begin!" But he has long learned that 'no' should not be in his vocabulary. "But I suppose I could make the effort to learn."

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"Would you, dearest? It'd mean so much to me."

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"I would hate to disappoint you if I don't have the talent for it, or if the pretty jewels are just pretty. But I will make the attempt."

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"I am very sure you won't disappoint me." He bites down lightly on his ear. "You so rarely do."

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"I do try ever so hard to impress you," he agrees, lightly, pretending that wasn't at all a subtle threat. His heart rate doesn't have to be dependent on his emotional state if he doesn't want it to be, he can just neatly unhook that and pretend everything's fine. Everything is absolutely fine.

(Moved to threatening early, didn't he?)

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"This really matters to me." Kiss.

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Kiss. "It does? Why, you were so subtle about it, I had no idea."

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"You really matter to me. And you know you're very clever. Figure it out."

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"Flattery will get you everywhere. Very well."

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He beams at him. "You'll have so much fun, you know you will."

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(Ah, yes, and then what will Sauron ask him to do?)

"Oh, most likely. It does look like an interesting problem."

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"And you liiiike them."

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"And I like them!" he agrees, laughing.

He clears his throat. "My lord! May I have leave to study the Silmarils?"

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Permission is granted to study one of them, for a Year, and to report in great detail on progress at that time so Melkor can consider the wisdom of continued study.

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He is ever so excited to play with the shinies.

(Somewhere in the back of his mind, where it safely cannot upset the precarious knife's edge upon which he balances, something in him screams.)

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Calassúrë is starting to become strangely accustomed to darkness. Before, it had been rather like living in a waking nightmare. Like the whole world had been submerged in ink. There had been darkness in Valinor before - indoors, in the shade of trees - but never like this. Never everywhere. She'd looked upon the darkened world and thought that there would be no way anyone could become used to this. The way it slowed everything down, made everything more difficult.

But without the Light of the Trees, she can see the stars, twinkling in the sky. Their beauty could never really compare in a direct contest to the Light from the Trees, but Calassúrë decides she likes them. While they are cold and distant, there's something very solid about them. Something quietly comforting. Maybe there's something to be gained from such a tragedy as the Darkening, like there is something to be gained from silence instead of a symphony. The symphony is prettier, more well put together, but in the silence you can really pick out the details of something. Hum a tune all your own, and compose something new, now that the symphony is out of the way.

She takes to songwriting under starlight, for the practicality of having light to work by, and because it's pleasant. There's something poetic about it. Humming stray bars of an unwritten song to the stars. It's peaceful. Peaceful and comforting.

It's about the only comforting thing around, really.

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Fëanor surely isn't. He does inquire about the project to relight the world - expected to take about five Years, and to serve as a beacon of hope to the world and provide an opening to the forces fighting the Enemy. "So it's not a reason to stay here, but rather a reason to be sure we're there by then. Not that I am willing to spend five years waiting."

Food is gathered. Swords are forged. People are having nightmares - long, lingering, astonishingly clear ones they nonetheless cannot relay to anyone else.

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She gets a few of her own.


There is a numbness, in her fingertips. A casual clumsiness that isn't there in life. She tries to compensate for it, but every now and then something slips through her fingers when it shouldn't. It's subtly upsetting, casually annoying. Few things are as aggravating as seeing what should be done and then failing to be able to do them. She would expect a flash of anger at her own little failings, a muttered curse or a hiss of breath. Instead, there's just sorrow. Sorrow and a deep, aching loneliness.

She feels useless. Or - not useless. Held back, perhaps. Like there is more that she could be doing, but there's some reason she isn't doing it. In her mind she knows it to be true. In her heart, she feels like she's not doing enough. Like she's never done enough.

Even so, she works fanatically. It's like when she was lamenting her lost almost-love - she shuns people by choice, skips sleep by nature. Works and works and works until all she wants to do is slide to the ground and sob from frustration and exhaustion. She doesn't. Perhaps she can't. Perhaps she's become like Fëanáro, trying so hard to prove herself worthy, and destroying herself in the process.


With a choked sob, she wakes from the all-too-real nightmare. She can't help but cry, but she can keep it very, very quiet.

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They depart for Tirion.

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Calassúrë is glad to be going home. Even if home won't look the same.

She doesn't talk about her nightmares to anyone. What would be the point? They're clearly the result of her current situation, her uncle's fragility mirrored to herself. A magnification of her own clumsiness in the dark, her own subtle feeling of helplessness. Everyone else has so much to deal with already, she can handle these on her own. They're just nightmares.

Aren't they?

It's a solemn trip.

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Tirion is lit by torches. It's cold and smoky and quiet.

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It barely even looks like home, now. The layout's the same, but everything looks smaller, emptier. The streets are empty, the gardens have withered, and she has to quietly excuse herself from the main group to quietly hum a calming song to herself to keep from openly sobbing. She wants to hold herself together until she's at home with her parents. Something about the emotional vulnerability in publicly crying bothers her. So she won't, and she'll walk very quickly to her home and call out to her parents and sob there, instead.

Mother, Father, she sends, I'm okay, I'm here - are you okay -?

A bit shaken, but everything's mostly calmed down, now, says her father. We're working on a better light option than the torches, enchanting's possible but takes a bit too long to work city-wide, we think we might be onto something with -

Are you near the house? interrupts her mother, gently cutting off the technical ramble before it properly begins.

Yeah, I'm coming home right now, are you both free, I kind of want to hug you both and then cry.

I'm at the forge, but I'll put this down, be there presently, her father says, a little distractedly. Calassúrë is briefly overcome by a moment of fondness. Nerdanel's sister had somewhat similar taste.

She returns to a home that is dark and dismal and a welcome sight despite both, and she falls into her mother's arms and she lets herself cry.