Chapter Text
I hate this place. I hate Endórë. I hate it deeply, fervently, with all my heart. We are so miserable here.
True, we were miserable already before we arrived on this shore, when the Light of the Trees faltered and faded, when despair and battle-fury took over in Alqualondë, when we heard the dire words of the Prophecy. Maybe even before all that, even while the Gold Tree and the Silver Tree still blossomed, but disquiet and treacherous whispers were already creeping through the white streets of our city. We were decidedly miserable later, in the storm, when half of the ships foundered in Uinen's wrath, and we others, we listened in horror to the roaring of waves and screams of the dying, helpless, unable to save them. And, despite our spiteful pride and defiance, we were miserable afterwards, when the ships burned at Losgar, when reek of smoke rose in the air and red glare flickered on our faces. We, the family, we were closest to the shore, and we saw clearly how the white timbers caught flames, how the white silken sails flared up and withered, how beauty unequalled was turned to char and ashes. I excused the tears in my eyes with smoke, at least in front of my father and grandfather.
But Nelyafinwë, my father's eldest brother, he understood. Defying Fëanáro he alone stood aside when torches were kindled and put to use. He stood apart, his gaze turned towards the other shore, towards those who now were abandoned to their death or mercy of the Valar. But he saw tears in my eyes, and he knew that smoke had nothing to do with them.
When we made ready to march on, he came to me and laid his hand on my shoulder. "I regret you had to see this, brother-son. I regret you had to take part in this."
And I knew he was not speaking merely of the ships.
"How shall we live now, uncle?" I raised my eyes towards him, unashamed of my grief. "After all this? How? What shall we do?"
He looked at me long, then raised his hand and brushed away tears from my face.
"We shall go on, brother-son," he replied with a faint smile. "We shall go on."
But that smile did not linger, nor did it reach his eyes; they remained sad, so sad.
Still, on we went, and our misery deepened. After the first victory over Moringotto's creatures we pressed on, in high hope to regain our treasures, and grandfather hastened ahead with but few others, without waiting for the reinforcements. From afar we heard the clamour of battle, but when we came it was already too late: even though demons of shadow and flame fled before us, grandfather was beyond any aid or healing. Yet he lived still. On the high pass of the mountains the Oath was once more set firm at his bidding. As we gazed, terrified, how Fëanáro's body was consumed by the fire of his spirit, and ashes were scattered in the bitter wind, it seemed that misery had now settled to stay forever.
Then came the next blow, when Nelyafinwë agreed to treat with Moringotto, heeding no counsel of caution. When his company departed, I too came to him and for the last time pleaded to reconsider his decision and not go, but he only shook his head.
"Understand, brother-son, if there is even the smallest chance to regain our jewels, then I must take it, for so we have sworn," he said ere leaving. “If we have them back, maybe we can return. Maybe we can go home.”
I followed them with my gaze as they disappeared in the shadows, and my heart was heavy and full of dark foreboding.
They returned not. Instead, the embassy of the Enemy came to our fortified camp with news of dread and demands of our departure. Calm and cold Makalaurë listened to Moringotto's servants, calm and cold were his words as he refused all their claims, but pale was his face, and white were the knuckles of his clenched hand that held a strand of russet hair, given by the enemies as a proof that his brother was held captive.
Even as the embassy left, strife arose among my uncles, for most of them accused Makalaurë of abandoning and betraying their brother. He listened to their reproaches in silence, but when he at last raised his head, white-hot fury glinted in his eyes. I had never yet seen him, the most gentle of my uncles, so angered.
"Is indeed anyone of you a fool enough to believe that Moringotto will release Nelyafinwë, were we to accept his terms?" he hissed. "And how can we forsake what we have sworn? Think on that, my brothers, think twice! Would you call the Everlasting Darkness upon yourselves and upon all our people? Varda and Manwë we named in witness, and Eru Ilúvatar himself; think you that an oath like this can be abandoned?"
They stood quiet before him casting fearful glances at each other as he raged. At length Makalaurë fell silent, but when he spoke again, his voice was cool and composed, yet steel rang therein.
"I am the eldest of our house here now, and you shall obey me, my brothers. There has been enough strife among the Noldor already. Our people shall not be divided further!" With these words he turned his back on them.
Without another word of objection, they left the tent. I remained standing by the entrance. I wished to speak to Makalaurë, to say I thought his decision right. When I first heard his reply to Moringotto's emissaries I was as indignant as my father, for, even though I love all my uncles, Nelyafinwë has always been most dear to me. But as Makalaurë spoke, I realized that in truth his decision, though terrible, was the only possible one.
"Uncle?" I spoke quietly, hesitantly. He slowly turned, and it seemed that the anguish in his eyes would break my heart as well. "Uncle, I merely… I merely want to say that I think you are right."
"Right?" His voice, usually so fair-sounding that it could put a spell on anyone, was now harsh and broken; he was choking on unshed tears. "There are no right decisions here anymore, Tyelperinquar, merely a string of disastrous choices. May it be so that I have chosen the least possible evil today! I truly do not believe there is any hope in saving our brother. If he is even still alive. In truth…" his voice now sank to a fierce whisper, "I hope, for his own sake, that he is not!"
And then I fled from the despair and guilt in his voice and in his eyes.
Time passed, and our misery dragged on. Even the first sunrise did little to lighten our hearts, for with the Sun came the sound of trumpets and of many voices singing, followed by our shame, as those whom we had abandoned and betrayed now stood before us. Anger there was on many faces, for their losses had been grievous during the long march over the bitter plains of Ice. Words that were spoken were cold and few, and resentment burned fiercely like coals beneath the ashes in the hearts of the people that Nolofinwë now led. Therefore, Makalaurë ordered to move our camp to avoid strife, and we withdrew to the southern shore of the lake. The days dragged on, and our misery deepened.
Nothing has changed for the better since then. Five years of the Sun have passed since Nelyafinwë rode away under stars, and misery has become a part of life we now lead here, in this hateful place. Every day is steeped in gloom and hopelessness nothing and no one is able to cure. I hate Endórë with all my heart.