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The first Mingling had just drawn to a close, Silpion’s flowers drawing shut and their silver light fading from the world for the next half-day, as Malinalda waxed to full glory. The mound of Ezellohar was a popular meeting place for the Minyar, who milled about the Trees as they would—though not, at present, Malinalda. Elenwë smiled slightly, adjusting her pearly stole so it wouldn’t fly away in the wind. She had accompanied her father here—he was meeting an old friend from one of the southern settlements, but, her presence in this meeting being unrequired, Elenwë had been left at leisure to wander Ezellohar until he was ready to go home. She wove her way through the other Quendi, the soft, cool grass brushing against her legs, crunching slightly under her feet.
Elenwë had been told by her grandmother that the settlements far to the south of Aman and Alqualondë through the Calacirya existed in a state of perpetual twilight, where the light of the Trees barely reached and the stars instead were dominant. She could not imagine it, herself—gold and silver light were here brighter than fire, illuminating all it touched, banishing all shadows at their waxing. She had never known darkness greater than the darkness of a windowless room.
Great beads of golden, glowing dew were gathering at the tips of Malinalda’s glittering branches. Occasionally, those Quendi standing too close to the Tree were hit with one of the droplets and shrieked, then burst out into startled laughter, as the scalding dew stung their skin. Deeper into the shelter of the golden Tree, Maiar flitted back and forth, catching the dew in great clay jars inscribed with white stars, that glowed brighter the closer they came to being full. These Maiar flickered in and out of view—Elenwë had never known one of them to stay visible for very long. A few minutes more, and it would be safe to sit at Malinalda’s great trunk; one just had to be patient, and let the Maiar finish their work.
As Elenwë watched the Maiar go about their work, one in particular caught her eye. This was the only one who did not flicker in and out of view like a guttering candle flame; instead, they—she, maybe; it was difficult to tell, and Elenwë knew gender mattered little to most Maiar, spirits donning a guise of physical form, but the figure seemed to feminine to Elenwë’s eyes—stood nearly as solid as any Quendë Elenwë had seen. She… Elenwë drew a deep breath, suddenly finding her heart beating a little faster.
The Maia stood at an impressive height, likely head and shoulders over the tallest Quendi Elenwë knew. Over her head she wore a black scarf fringed with red braiding, whose tails dangled at the middle of her back. Her bare arms and calves, taut with lean muscle, gleamed golden-brown in the Treelight; all of her skin seemed to glow faintly with its own golden light that danced and flickered like fire. Her face was a strong one, her features strong—high, broad cheekbones, full lips, long, wide nose. Curiously, the Maia wore a gauzy white blindfold over her eyes, behind which there gleamed two pinpricks of orange light.
Elenwë stared at her for what felt like an eternity, her feet rooted to the ground, breath caught in her throat. The Maia went about her work catching the dew dripping from Malinalda’s branches, at first oblivious to Elenwë’s scrutiny, but then, she stopped and turned round. She looked over at Elenwë, frowning slightly, balancing her jar on her hip.
Who knew how long they would have stood like that, uninterrupted, but Elenwë’s father clapped his hand on her shoulder heartily, saying that he’d finished with his friend and she needed to hurry back to Taniquetil anyways.
-0-0-0-
“Mother?” Elenwë asked the next day, pausing by the dining table after breakfast. “Do you know the name of the Maiar who tend the Two Trees?”
The many windows of Elenwë’s family’s dining room were gilt silver from Silpion’s light, still glimmering brilliantly; no need for candles or lanterns here, as there might have been in other rooms. She and her mother were the last left in the room; even their kitchen maid had already come and collected all their plates. Off in the distance, bells rang low to signify the hour; others high for a wedding or a birth; others sweet and sporadic for no reason whatsoever.
Elenilmë set her book down and leaned back in her chair. “Well, Elenwë, there are many.” She tilted her head slightly to one side, her mouth twisting in a discomfited frown. “And even I do not know all their names, for there are many who do not reveal themselves to the Eldar.”
Elenwë sat back down at the table beside her mother, staring earnestly at her. “Whose names do you know? It doesn’t have to be all of them, Mother.” Truthfully, it would have been better to know all the Maiar’s names, but Elenwë knew that if she pushed her mother too hard one way or another, she might not answer at all.
“Well, there’s Tilion, who tends Silpion when he’s not riding in Oromë’s train, and Arien, whose duty is bent ever towards Malinalda. Ilinsor and Silmo and Nielíqui, I know, are for Silpion, and Meássë, Aiwendil and Amillo for Malinalda. Really, Elenwë, the Maiar are myriad, and for the most part, they go where they will. Naming all the Maiar who have ever tended one of the Trees will avail you about as much as trying to give names to all the stars—though there are some among our own people who are certainly trying,” she added with a snort.
“You don’t think the stars should have names,” Elenwë prompted gently, nodding. This was an old sore spot of Elenilmë’s.
And indeed, Elenilmë nodded vigorously, her brow furrowing in displeasure. “Elentári gave the stars no names—as far as she was concerned, they needed no names, and were none the lesser for having none. It is the Eldar who have seen fit to give them names, and thus diminish them; you change something’s nature by naming it, and not always for the better.” Elenwë did not point out to her that navigation for mariners and those traveling on foot would be significantly more difficult if they could not name the stars they traveled by. “The Maiar are the same as the stars—when you name them, you bind them. There really is no good in it.”
“I’ll… keep that in mind, Mother.”
-0-0-0-
The next few days brought summer thunderstorms that felled a few fragile fruit trees in the district where Elenwë lived and essentially liquefied the few dirt roads left in Taniquetil. The rain was not enough to keep Elenwë indoors—this was not Tirion, where the sight of a lady soaked to the skin was apparently a shocking one (Elenwë wondered about Noldorin sensibilities, sometimes). But the Maiar never bothered with the Trees when it was raining; the rain made it impossible to catch the dew in its undiluted form, and all but impossible to catch it at all.
The grass was cool and still damp underfoot on Ezellohar, the plains beyond glistening with water beads that would linger for days before they finally dried. The crowd was thicker today than when last Elenwë had occasion to visit, and she spied a few dark and silver heads in with the numerous shades of yellow.
The Trees’ dew had a curious effect on the ground it fell on, especially if in large quantities. For one, the ground began to glow gold and silver as surely as the Trees did, so that nearly all of Ezellohar glowed like a lantern, visible for miles around. No one was sure if it was the roots of the trees gleaming or the soil itself; no one was permitted to dig in the ground of Ezellohar.
For another, suddenly it seemed that all of the mound was suddenly carpeted in flowers. These flowers were small in size—eight pointed petals around a stigma, all about the size of Elenwë’s fingernail. Some were golden as Malinalda, others silver as Silpion, and some were as the sky at the time of the Mingling and fused gold and silver. Like the ground beneath them, they glowed faintly with their own light, as though Ezellohar was suddenly bejeweled with stars. When plucked, they lost their light, but would not lose their luster for another few hours. Both of Elenwë’s grandmothers had observed the petals to have certain curative properties—when ground into powder and mixed with water, they relieved headaches, provided temporary respite from insomnia, and buoyed the spirits of those who could find no joy in their daily lives. All attempts to grow them elsewhere, however, had failed. They grew only on Ezellohar, and lingered for only a few days, before vanishing. They bore no names that the Eldar could give them.
Wandering beneath the shelter of Malinalda’s myriad, interwoven branches, Elenwë bent down to gather a few of the glimmering golden flowers in her hands. She had, it seemed, come too late to catch another glimpse of the Maia—she saw no Maiar here amongst the Quendi. She could take some of the flowers back to her maternal grandmother, though; Sívendur would appreciate having more of them to make into her powder…
“Ah, so you’re back again?”
A low, throaty voice sounded suddenly in Elenwë’s ear, making her jump. She whirled round, noticing for the first time the radiant heat at her back, and when she saw who it was who had spoken, she found herself breathless again.
The Maiar from a few days ago stood looking down at her, a smile playing on her lips. Up close, Elenwë noticed a few thing she hadn’t before—there was a net-like gold bracelet around her right wrist, no trace of a hairline beneath her scarf, and what had seemed like pinpricks of light beneath her blindfold were actually more akin to glowing coals, so bright that even with cloth covering them they still hurt somewhat to look upon. Elenwë forced herself to stop staring, and nodded choppily. “…Yes, I have.”
As far as first words went, that was probably a dismal failure, but Elenwë could not find it in her to care. The scent of wood-smoke filled her nostrils, sweet and pungent, making her head swim. Her eloquence (or lack thereof) meant nothing to her.
The Maia brought up her hands to brush her fingers against the flowers Elenwë had gathered. They did not touch Elenwë’s skin, but she could feel the heat nonetheless, like standing next to a bonfire. Somehow, though, it wasn’t painful, as if the heat had no sting—or the sting was restrained. “So you’ve come for the flowers, have you?” She sounded amused by the possibility, but also, faintly… disappointed? “They are so beloved by your people.”
“Oh… Well, actually…” Elenwë felt her face growing warm, but she went on, “That’s not actually why I came here.” She wouldn’t get anywhere if she just stared and stammered, she reasoned with herself. She’d never even know if she was to be sent on her way or not.
“So what brings you here?”
“I was wondering about you.”
“Really?” The Maia’s voice pitched high with curiosity. “I’ve known few of the Eldar to seek me out to say such a thing. And what was it you were wondering about?”
Inevitably, the first question to pass Elenwë’s lips was, “Well, it all starts with names, doesn’t it?”
Slowly, the smile faded from the Maia’s face, though there was not gone entirely her sense of good cheer. The wind blew through the branches and the leaves overhead, knocking a few leaves loose so they landed, glittering, then growing dull, in the grass. “And what do you learn if you know? What have you gained, and what have I? If I tell you my name is Arien, where does that leave us? You know what my name is, but I do not know yours.”
“My name is Elenwë,” Elenwë told her, frowning slightly. What is this about?
“Is it?” Arien murmured. She gently pulled one of the flowers out of Elenwë’s grasp (Elenwë made no protest to that), pinching the stem between her fingers. A strong, green smell hit the air. “There are other things you wish to know, aren’t there?”
“Well, it’s the poor mind that never asks any questions,” Elenwë remarked with a soft laugh, her mind jumping to every question she had ever asked about the world around her, that no one in her family or anyone she knew outside of it had been able to answer.
Arien smirked. “Indeed. I’d hate to think you weren’t looking at the world at all. Well, Elen—“ Suddenly, a roaring wind swept across the plains from the south, rushing through the Trees and nearly blowing Elenwë’s stole away. Arien looked to the south, frowning deeply. She bit back a sigh. “Well, Elenwë, if you return here tomorrow, we can talk at length. This is a place for asking and answering questions. But for now, I must go.”
With that, she vanished, and it was as if an ember raced through the air south, faster than any bird. Elenwë stared after it distractedly, hardly noticing the pile of petals that had gathered at her feet, pulled loose by the wind.
-0-0-0-
“Where was it you went yesterday?”
The slopes of Ezellohar were steep, and the west dotted with boulders that tended to form outcroppings that shaded the ground beneath them. Few Quendi ever gathered on the western slope; children played on the east, the side facing Valmar and Taniquetil, and there were plenty who gathered on the south, where the road from Tirion and Alqualondë ground to a halt before the mound, but the northern and especially the western slopes were typically only sparsely populated. They were not shadowed from light, exactly, but sitting beneath one of these outcroppings (one big enough to accommodate Arien’s tall frame), provided privacy, thanks to the tall grass that grew around them.
Arien scuffed at the ground with her heel, digging a small furrow in the dirt. “It is of no matter,” she murmured. “Someone called to me, and I answered.”
“Who was it?” Elenwë asked curiously.
Arien grinned briefly, her lips peeling back to reveal large teeth. “A friend, Elenwë. I do not leave my friends adrift if they call for me. Now, what were the things you wished to know?”
Frankly, the heat that radiated off of Arien had grown faintly dizzying, but Elenwë cleared her mind and thought through every matter she had ever had questions about, that had yet gone unanswered. There were so many, and some of them, Elenwë knew, might raise eyebrows—curiosity ever demanded satisfaction, but she had been warned by her mother that some of her questions of old might engender displeasure if less understanding ears heard them. Finally, she settled on one she thought uncontroversial. “Where did the Trees come from?”
“Yavanna hallowed Ezellohar and Nienna watered it with her tears.” There was the rote answer, the one Elenwë had heard all her life, coupled with a wry, “You will find no better fertilizer for the land. Imagine what the crops would look like, if Yavanna and Nienna blessed farmers’ fields in such a way.”
Elenwë wrinkled her nose; there was no mistaking the teasing note in Arien’s voice. “You haven’t answered my question—that wasn’t what I meant at all.”
A low rumble of laughter, badly suppressed, made Arien’s chest tremble, the yellow fabric of her short dress rippling like water disturbed.
It wasn’t a rebuke, or even simple discouragement. Elenwë stared earnestly up at her face and asked, “Where did the seeds come from?”
“Do they seem unique to you?”
“There are no trees like them,” Elenwë pointed out. She wanted to touch Arien’s hand, or her bare knee. She refrained, fearing she might be burned. “They are unique. Aldasilion and Teleporno, and even Lindelaurë in Taniquetil, they do not give off light as the Trees do. Mustn’t the seeds of the Trees be unique?”
Arien leaned back on her elbows, tilting her head so that it rested on her left shoulder. “There are some works that can only be accomplished once,” she said at length, slowly, as though she had need to measure her words carefully. “Yavanna said thus of the Trees, that their light will not shine twice in this world. They are unique in that. But in physical form, they do not have to be the only ones of their kind.” She raised an eyebrow. “What if I told you that Malinalda is a malinornë tree, and Silpion a birch?”
“I’d tell you that Silpion doesn’t have any winged fruit, and that Malinalda’s trunk isn’t silver, and its branches are too low to the ground for a malinornë,” Elenwë answered her, twisting the edge of her embroidered stole in her hand. This felt like the questions she exchanged back and forth with her paternal grandmother when she was home from her wandering. Elenwë did not get the impression, however, that Arien would withhold an answer just to make Elenwë delve into some obscure book the way Airanis would have (Arien didn’t know what books Elenwë had access to, after all).
“True.” Arien turned her gaze up at the sky, smiling absently. “But that’s not to say our Trees couldn’t still have their origins in ordinary trees.” She looked at Elenwë, and it was as though the lights behind her blindfold pierced straight to Elenwë’s mind. Her skin prickled under such scrutiny. “What do you think?”
Elenwë drew her knees close to her chest, and let her chin rest on top of them. “I think they must be unique,” she said softly. “They were made to fulfill a purpose that nothing else can. Why would you take something that already exists to be the light of Aman, when you can make something specifically suited for the task?”
The dancing light under Arien’s skin flared, making her gleam like a firebrand. “Why indeed?” she murmured.
-0-0-0-
In Taniquetil, there was a surplus of young Quendi suitable for positions of high service in the royal court; thus, in the royal palace, there was a surplus of highly-placed servants. Elenwë was counted too young to be a handmaiden to the queen or one of the princesses, and her family too junior—truthfully, she was actually rather glad not to have a profession so demanding of her time. She was instead cupbearer to Princess Almáriel’s table at suppertime. Just supper, though, when Malinalda’s light was starting to wane, but Silpion had not yet ignited. She was at leisure for the rest of the day, and as with many servants and courtiers in a similar position to her, she had the run of the public parts of the palace when her services were not required.
Silpion’s light had begun to fade slightly, but there was only the faintest hint of gold gilding the wide, tall row of windows that lined the long hall that Elenwë wandered down, alone. The Hall of Tapestries was all but deserted. Queen Sildalinquë and Princess Airamírë had gone to visit Indis in Tirion, and had taken their retinues and a sizeable number of unconnected courtiers, craftsmen and artists with them. Meanwhile, Ingwë held court in the Hall of Justice, settling minor disputes between his subjects, and most of those inhabitants or regular visitors to the palace who’d have reason to be out in the open, away from the servants’ hallways, were there in attendance.
A new tapestry had been hung recently, the work of a weaver patronized by the queen. It had apparently not proved quite as popular as the queen had hoped, for there had hardly been the clamor over it that there had been over the last two tapestries added (One of Varda breathing the stars into being, and Manwë with his Eagles). Elenwë had not even heard what the subject of this new tapestry was.
Finally, she found it, hung up in place of another tapestry that had been taken down to have repairs performed upon it. Elenwë paused and frowned.
Most of the tapestries depicted the Ainur. Besides Varda with her stars and Manwë with his Eagles, there was Vairë sitting at her loom (sometimes with handmaidens miniscule beside her, and sometimes without), Oromë leading wild hunts through the forests of Aman, Nessa running in the wilds with the deer at her side. There were the Sea-Maiar frolicking in mansions of coral, Makar and Meássë caught up in their violent dance, Ilmarë walking alone through the endless track of stars, lost Melyanna surrounded by nightingales. Present was a scene of Aulë with his stunted people, and Ilúvatar standing behind him in discovery of his disobedience, depicted as a shaft of pure white light. Another tapestry there was, that must have been the maker’s vision of the Ainulindalë, for the Ainur floated as colored smoke in the Void before Ilúvatar, a shaft of pure white light (That was how he was inevitably portrayed in artwork).
Typically, the only tapestries Elenwë ever saw whose subjects were not the Ainur were the Trees, or Taniquetil, or misty Lórellin or the like. It seemed almost like sacrilege to depicted anything there that did not glorify the Ainur in some way. And yet, this new tapestry was not of the Ainur, nor their works.
Elenwë quickly identified the subjects as being her own kind—Quendi, Minyar, Noldor and Falmari together. The dwelled beneath dark trees and an unnaturally dark sky, the stars their only light as they wandered shadowed lands. Some wore expressions of uncertainty, others of confidence, while some looked behind them, clearly torn. There were three, however, at the head of the crowd, who were bolder than the rest, leading the way for them. They were fairer than the other Quendi, clad in nobler raiment, the light of the Trees shining in their eyes. Compared to the others, they were as lords of the Maiar; they seemed almost to glow. With a jolt, Elenwë realized that the Quendë at the very front of the crowd was almost certainly her own king.
Is this supposed to be an image of the Great Journey, then? Elenwë pondered, staring curiously at the tapestry. She had never seen the Journey depicted in art before; all she had of it were her grandparents’ stories (Her mother never cared to tell any). As far as the Minyar were concerned, the past was the past, and the time before Aman barely even worth acknowledging in art and music. After all, this was the Blessed Realm. What was a dark, benighted land worth?
Who can I ask to confirm what—
“Are you admiring the new tapestry, Elenwë?”
Elenwë turned on her heel, sketching a hasty bow as she did so. Princess Almáriel, tall, spindly, her pale sandy hair loose about her shoulders and back, shot her a questioning look. “Yes, Highness,” she murmured. Sensing an opportunity, she added, “I had wondered why this tapestry was not as well-received as the others…”
Almáriel grimaced, her thin mouth pulling in an almost grotesque line. “Yes, Mother was quite disappointed, especially since the weaver put so much effort into it.” She sighed and took a step past Elenwë to lay her hand on the tapestry itself, the tiny, black glass beads sown into her white dress tinkling as she did so. “As to why, you will find that many who were not born under the light of the Trees do not wish to be reminded of their origins under starlight.”
Elenwë frowned, digesting the information as best she could. “But there’s… really no point to that, is there, Highness? Denying the past does not undo it.”
“Indeed, it doesn’t.” Almáriel pursed her lips. “It hardly reflects well on those who do. We live in bliss and safety by the grace of the Valar alone.” She raked her fingernails over the threads and muttered, “If not for them, we would linger in darkness still, vainly naming the stars as to invoke them for an equally vain protective incantation.”
Princess Almáriel moved on without another word. Elenwë stayed behind, frowning at the tapestry, remembering her mother’s words about the stars.
-0-0-0-
“What have you brought me?” Arien exclaimed in surprise when Elenwë took the green-and-gold braided cord from her pocket. The wind blustered over the plains, buffeting the long grass and making the cord flap back and forth.
“It’s something of my grandmother Airanis’s,” Elenwë explained brightly, curling her hands shut when Arien’s closed over hers. “She’s a wandering priest—I’m not entirely sure where she is right now—but she didn’t really see the need to take this with her. She told me that when she dealt with Quendi who were possessed, if they proved violent, their wrists—and ankles, sometimes—would be bound with a cord like this.”
Arien made a noise in the back of her throat. “And how was this to restrain a possessed Quendë? Any invading spirit would make them too strong for such a restraint to be effective.”
“A priest would invoke the stars in an incantation to bless the cord. After that, you couldn’t break the cord no matter how much you strained against it.” Staring down at the cord, Elenwë felt the need to add, “They… they weren’t dyed back when she actually needed to use them.”
But Arien didn’t seem to care overmuch about the dye. She smirked at the cord. “This is the first I’ve seen of any of your priests’ equipment. They’ve never been eager to show them to the Ainur; I think they believe we’ll find it…” Her smirk sharpened “…offensive.” Her brow furrowed, the lights behind her blindfold growing, if that was even possible, even brighter. “So why have you brought me this?”
Elenwë narrowed her eyes, turning her gaze to the ground. “I… wondered if you knew any of the Quendi back when they were still traveling here from Endóre.”
Arien stiffened slightly and shook her head. “No, Elenwë,” she said shortly. “I never appeared to them.”
“Why not?”
The Maia drew her hands away from Elenwë’s, resting them instead on her lap. She smiled bitterly. “The fire-folk often tormented your people, Elenwë. My appearance among them was more likely to inspire fear than trust, or even curiosity. Why did you wonder such a thing?” she asked more softly.
It seemed such a simple thing now, almost silly, but, “…I wondered if you knew what they named the stars, before they came to Aman.”
Arien paused, frowning. She sighed pensively. “Are the names so important?” she asked, but the absent tone of her voice made it sound almost like she was asking herself that question, rather than Elenwë. “You leave them nameless, and they can be anything. They are…” Her jaw tightened. “…unbound.”
Elenwë frowned in concern. She laid her hand on Arien’s hand, not even pausing to wince at the heat. “Arien…”
Arien clutched Elenwë’s hand in her own. “In the beginning, I was nameless,” she said softly. “I could be anything, if I chose. But then, a vision of my future came to me, and when I chose my name, I bound myself to it. When I became ‘Arien’, this future became fact—one day, I will be sundered from you. From all of you. I will never walk this earth again, but instead bear a burden from which there can be no relief.”
“What burden?” Elenwë asked, her voice cracking slightly. A hot, dry wind blew through her hair.
“I cannot say. The future does not reveal itself to me in full. I—“ Arien drew a breath through gritted teeth “—I know only the shape of it, not the actual form.”
Elenwë’s heart beat a staccato, uneven rhythm, almost painful beneath her ribs. “So… You’ll be alone.”
“Yes.”
“With no way to return here.”
“Not without bringing about calamity.”
“Then…” Elenwë hesitated, struggling for words. “…Then why bother living in this world at all? Why would you risk growing attached to anything, or anyone here?”
Arien laughed suddenly, and said in a strange voice, “I live on sacred ground, the better to prepare myself for the coming day. And…” She leaned closer over Elenwë, until their faces were almost touching. Elenwë did not pull away—in fact, she almost had to restrain herself from leaning closer still—but the heat soon became overwhelming, and she found herself lightheaded. “…And,” Arien murmured, “so there will be people here who remember me.”
-0-0-0-
Later, there was a single burn mark on Elenwë’s back. She could not tell the shape, but somehow, she knew it to be a handprint.