#formenos

[ela-draws]

Is it to late for Formenos Miku ?

[mahtariel-of-himring]

When Elrond stepped upon the ship that was to take him, Galadriel, Gandalf, Bilbo, Frodo and a few others to Valinor he was nervous. So long had imagined what it might be like, and for some time even questioned if he would ever sail.

But here he was, stood upon their ship with the undying lands finally in sight after months of sailing across the unending ocean. He might be a mariners son but he certainly had no great love for boats, he didn’t have a problem with them, but the knowledge of not having ground beneath his feet still made him uneasy.

At their arrival many awaited them, to welcome the newcomers into the blessed lands.

High King Arafinwë, in Middle Earth better known as Finarfin, and his other children had come to welcome Galadriel.

Gandalf reunited with some old Maia friends of his and then escorted the hobbits that had joined them to a nice little cottage for them to spend their days in.

He himself recognized many of the faces in the small crowd. First he spotted Gil-Galad, who welcomed him with open arms. Then his beloved Celebrian, who pulled him into a hug the moment he saw her, she was much better now.

A few soldiers of Rivendell were there as well, happy to see their Lord again.

Elrond ended up settling in Tirion with all the others and moved into Celebrian‘s home. It was a nice house with a good view and easy access to the marked and other nearby shops and market places.

Tirion was flawless. The white towers with their pointy roofs, the elegant guards with their silver spears, the marked place with its various stalls and merchants.

He met many of his ancestors, some he got along with and some he didn’t.

The first he met was Turgon, it took half an hour for them to end up in an argument about the moralities of handling delicate situations within one‘s own city and when to help those in need.

Luckily his second meeting went much better. His great grandfather, Fingolfin, was much more sensible and they got along quickly due to their shared knowledge on leadership and experience of hardships throughout their lives. Though the late High King did comment to his wife Anairë later about how he was sure he‘d bite his teeth out on Elrond eventually, comparing his stubbornness to someone else’s.

When he at last met Fingon it took the elf exactly five minutes to ask if he had been raised by Maedhros. To this day Elrond didn’t understand how he did it, for he himself wasn’t aware of the small details. Like how he did his hair exactly like the fëanorian had or that he held himself with something of Valinorian regalness he definitely didn’t pick up in Lindon.

But as time went on Elrond began to realize something.

Tirion was truly perfect.

Too perfect.

Everyone seemed to have collectively decided to ignore any pains and hardships experienced in Middle Earth or Beleriand and live their lives as if everything was perfectly fine.

When bringing this up to Gil-Galad he just said that they preferred it that way, even if it wasn’t perfect, not everyone had made the journey and seen war, and those who didn’t weren’t comfortable of discussing or displaying it.

The more time Elrond spend in the white city the lonelier he felt. It seemed as if he was the only one prepared to speak of or even mention anything of the things that happened to so many of them.

The more he realized that the more he felt out of place.

Because he wasn’t perfect, he was far from it actually.

He had gone through things most couldn’t imagine in their worst nightmares and had seen horrors he wished he could forget.

He had seen his city attacked, had been kidnapped, even though that did turn out positively in the end. Had witnessed war and bloodshed from young on, had served as Herald and later taken on the mantel of Lord. He had seen so much that he just couldn’t ignore.

So one day he mounted his horse and rode out of Tirion. He didn’t have a destination or any idea where he was going but he just kept riding until he was exhausted.

When he looked up he saw a large city with high towers, but no pointy roofs were atop them, instead there stood guards. The walls weren’t made of white stone and marble but steadfast and resistant cobblestone and tall pillars.

The front guards let him in after he explained his situation, and the moment he stepped through those gates it was as if he had entered another world. No excessive jewelry was worn, but rather detailed braids and head dresses or simple circlets.

Scars of all types were openly portrayed instead of covered up and hidden as if they were sometimes to be ashamed of.

Elrond saw elves with walking sticks and missing limbs and crippled bodies. They were warriors, they were survivors, they were the ugly but real truth, and it felt so relieving too see them.

He had no idea where he had ended up in, but he already knew it was much better than Tirion.

No one was putting on a fake mask of perfection and instead just acted as they truly were.

Elrond walked through the streets, talked with some of the locals and listened to their stories.

He heard everything from ex soldiers to healers like him to guards and even some escaped thralls of Angband.

It was so much better than the flawlessly perfect white city. It wasn’t fake.

Elrond ended up in what seemed to be a throne room. At the end of it stood a elf, dressed in a long robe, his hair littered with many braids and a elegant silver hammer in hand.

His eyes were of piercing grey and his hair as black as the night, but his gaze familiarly gentle.

Elrond knew before he spoke.

Elrond knew before he looked up.

Elrond knew before he stepped closer.

Elrond knew before he even acknowledged him.

He knew where he was, and he knew he would stay.

[feanarocurufinwe79-blog]

Formenos Aman Valinor

Feanor's Fortress

[silmarillion-ways-to-die]

Knock knock.

Who's there?

Melkor.

Melkor who?

Melkor who's going to murder the fuck out of you, Finwë.

[overlord-of-fantasy]

How very positive!

Namo, in Mandos group therapy: Not all things you experienced were bad! Which city changed your live?

Olwe, glaring at the Feanorians: Formenos!

[bluepickle36]

imagine being one of the sons of feanor and your dad goes off to the festival on taniquetil and leaves you at home with your grandpa and then an evil darkness which has no name shows up with melkor and you flee from the horror but your grandpa refuses to come with you and then after the darkness leaves you come back and find your grandpa dead and your house ransacked and all your jewels gone including the silmarils your dad is so proud of and you have to explain all that to your dad--

[anna-dreamer]

I am so NOT over Finwe’s death! 

[aylen-san]

In Formenos, where the gray days and the darkness of the night seem to merge into one, every corner is imbued with a sense of antiquity and mystery. The majestic walls hold memories of the past, and the twilight lighting gives this place a special significance. Time seems to slow down here, allowing you to feel the weight of the long nights, when shadows are longer and light is a rare guest. At such times, Formenos comes alive and reminds us of its former days, when its inhabitants, hiding from the world, created great artifacts and wove the threads of Arda's destiny. The darkness of night that shrouds Formenos hides secrets and seems to call out to touch the ancient mysteries left in this forgotten corner of the world.

[yellow-faerie]

I think quite a lot about Formenos.

Like, how at first it must have been a home built by Nerdanel and Fëanor together and the walls they made with their own hands housed their children as they grew up, how those walls must be infused with all that love and laughter.

But then the children grew up into adults and their father made the Silmarils and their lives started to revolve around Tirion which left Formenos slightly abandoned until Fëanor is exiled with his son's and father and Nerdanel leaves them all to return to her father's halls.

And Formenos is where Finwë dies and the Silmarils are stolen by Morgoth and that tragedy likely overpowers the Better Times that hadn't been touched in some years and that if you went to the stronghold after the Darkening, you would only see the crumbling remains of something that holds the taint of evil.

And that it would only be the truly brave who go in, who might find any remains of the family home it used to be before Fëanor's paranoia got the best of him and his sons turned fell and fey and Nerdanel left the place to it's ruin.

Who would be that brave, that reckless?

All of Fëanor's followers took off into exile: if they died, it is only darkness and a long imprisonment in Mandos' halls that awaits them, and the others would not risk returning to the land of the Valar even with a supposed pardon.

The other residents of Valinórë would not dare step foot within, and Nerdanel forsook her family (although perhaps, like her grandson, she has not in her heart, and she wishes for them - all of them - to return to her side).

But someone must for there is a hidden beauty to Formenos and it was made by Nerdanel the Wise and Fëanáro the Bold in the hayday of their creation. It yearns for its original purpose, to be a home again, even as trees grow through broken windows and ivy coats the rooftops.

Someone will return to Formenos - whether of Fëanor's ilk or not - and it will hear the sounds of someone's first words, and feel their first steps, and perhaps it will be a place of healing and home again.

[lordgrimwing]

Feanor and Finwe in Formenos

“You know,” Fëanáro said, leaning his head back to look up at the sky. The stars were faintly visible right before and after the mingling this far north. The Valar sought to punish him in banishment, but Formenos was his refuge from their overbearing influence. Even the treelight—that which tempted his father to lead a group through the dangers of Arda to reach Aman—hardly reached him here.  

“Know what?” His father prompted when he failed to finish the thought.

“The Valar—Manwë is not so wise as he would have us believe.” That was not what he intended to say, but his mind had changed from the softer paths it wandered before. The words were old, familiar, bitter on his tongue.

Finwë sighed, deep and long. Fëanáro felt how his chest fell with the loss of air given up to prevent the old argument from resurging. After everything, Finwë still loved the Valar; notwithstanding, he loved his son enough to risk their displeasure by taking up the same exile they forced upon him. He’d all but given up his crown when he rode north, leaving Tirion in Nolofinwë’s care. Even the other Noldor who joined them in Formenos looked to Fëanáro before Finwë.

It filled Fëanáro’s fëa almost to bursting to see the undeniable truth of his father’s love displayed so clearly in his deeds. He was treasured. He, lone son of Míriel, was most beloved in the King’s eye. 

He wished, almost, that his brothers were here to see his triumph. 

He turned his head to rest his cheek on his father’s shoulder. Finwë lifted a hand to smooth his hair and caress the sharp line of his jaw.

“Let us not speak of such things at this hour,” Finwë murmured, voice soft with the stillness that was unique to these times and places beyond the reach of the light of the trees. He turned his face and kissed his son’s scalp.

Fëanáro hummed a wordless agreement to not be difficult. He pressed his back against Finwë’s front and stretched his legs until their feet were tangled together. Comfortable, he lifted his face and closed his eyes and let his father kiss him slowly—tenderly—lovingly—on the mouth.

[mahtariel-of-himring]

In the early ages of Valinor there was a festival celebrated by the Noldor. It was very secretive and secluded ceremony so that not many outsiders knew a lot about it.

It was called the starlight festival, a ceremony in celebration of their first guides. The stars.

The first elves were born underneath starlight and lived under it for many years, the stars were their guiding light for long, before they came to Valinor.

The tradition was started by Queen Míriel, who loved the stars most of all her people, for her own hair shone like them and made her feel a special connection to the lights in the night sky.

Traditionally the Noldor wore pure white gowns with detailed silver embroidery which where very light and easy to move in to make it easier to the dance.

The embroidery was personalized for every single elf, making every piece uniquely fitted and decorated to represent said elf.

It showed whatever represented them most and was often connected to their craft.

A mariner or fisher would wear some type of waves, a weaver string and needle, a smith, depending on his specialty, gems, jewelry or whatnot. Those who took to other physical labor would often wear their tools, modeled after the real thing.

Additional to the white robes a flower crown made of pure white flowers was worn atop the head or, if someone wished, braided into the hair.

The flowers used to make them were unique and shone like the light of the stars themselves. Of great beauty and with soft, silky petals. They came in all sizes so it wasn’t uncommon for someone to have dainty small ones and another large ones that came down into their face.

The festival happened under the first clear night of the year, all light would be put out so the stars could be seen particularly well and the Noldor would dance beneath the sky that first welcomed them into the world.

After Queen Míriel died the tradition was largely abandoned due to King Finwë being unable to handle the grief of being reminded of his late wife.

Years later during Fëanor‘s exile to Formenos he brought the starlight festival back to life, teaching his son‘s and wife the traditional dances, helping them design their robes and make their flower crowns.

After the flight of the Noldor the tradition was lost a second time. Thought the son‘s of Fëanor carried on with it the war made it as good as impossible.

As battle and bloodshed slowly took over Beleriand they took to making flower crowns out of paper if they could or had the time for it, if not they simply thought of it, remembering the peace and quiet of the near sacred night their people used to celebrate and longed for the flowing robes and soft crowns.

When Elrond and Elros were kidnapped from Sirion Maedhros made an effort of making sure they knew of this tradition, in fear that if Maglor and he died no one would remember it any longer, and their grandmother’s legacy would fade.

After Maedhros died and Maglor disappeared the world seemed to have forgotten about the starlight festival, the great joy of Queen Míriel of the Noldor, who‘s hair shone like the light of the sky and who loved the nightly glow above all others.

But if you visited Lindon in the second age, and were around at the right time, looking out your window at the correct moment, you might saw a figure, dancing on the rooftops of the elves city, dressed in white, with flowers atop their head and gaze turned towards the stars.

[dfwbwfbbwfbwf]

Firos

They called the old ruin Firos - the Dead City. Six thousand years of the Sun later, and no one, Elda or Ainu, dared approach the place.

Húna, they called it. Cursed.

The wall had crumbled to its foundations. The buildings had disappeared, lost to time and scavengers. Only the keep itself survived. The crenellations, machicolations, and murder holes had long since worn away. Weather scraped off the whitewashed exterior and left the bare stone. The wood floors had moldered and exposed the interior to the open sky and merciless elements.

Only the vault remained intact.

The smiths had wrought it from mithril. It stood in the center of the keep, a cube five paces long, five paces wide, five paces tall. Not a hint of rust marred its surfaces or polluted its crannies. The door was shut and locked; the key sat in a pile of ashes under millions of pounds of sea water.

The lock was impassable without the key. To gain access, one would need to puncture through the walls.

(No one ever came close enough to try.)

The inside of the vault was the same as it had been when its master had closed it the last time. Not a speck of dust disturbed the scene frozen in time. It was still. Silent.

King Finwë's remains smeared the interior. He was everywhere - the walls, the floor, the ceiling. Bone shards littered the ground. Blood drip-drip-dripped in a slow, steady rhythm. A heartbeat of death.

It was a grave.

No one, Ainu or Elda, dared approach the place even six thousand years of the Sun later. They called the old ruin the Dead City - Firos.

[silmarillion-ways-to-die]

[grey-gazania-fic]

Five Letters Caranthir Sent His Wife (And One Letter He Didn't)

When Fëanor is exiled to Formenos, his seven sons accompany him, but Caranthir's wife stays behind in Tirion. A selection of their correspondence. Rated PG.

1

My dear Parmë,

I have no idea how long it will take for this to reach you; there’s not much in the way of a postal service up here, so I’ve entrusted my letter to Herenyo, who’s headed back to Tirion now that he’s seen his sister safely settled here.

We’ve arrived, as I’m sure you’ve guessed. The place hasn’t changed much since we were last here. Remember standing on the banks of the Híri and looking up at that ring of mountains -- the bright snow on the peaks, and the way the light reflected off the water and brought out all the bands of color in the stone? It’s still as beautiful now as it was then, though I’m having a harder time appreciating it when I know I’ll be stuck here for twelve years, instead of just visiting for a few weeks.

I miss you already.

Atto made all his preliminary construction plans on our journey here, and he’s already started the work. He intends to build into the mountains as well as settle on the plain -- a precaution for the winter, I suppose, or maybe he just wants a place he can fortify. I admit I haven’t asked, because he’s still in a filthy temper about the Valar’s judgment and I’d rather not get my head bitten off. In front of the others he puts on a cast-iron show of leadership, but when it’s just the family, he’s worse than a snapping turtle. Haru is the only one who can calm him.

Curvo is already running himself ragged, trying to do everything Atto asks and trying to keep Nyellë from exerting herself now that she’s expecting. 

I've taken over all the cooking, mostly because I can and it beats babysitting or making nails and door hinges.  But I keep thinking how you've probably gone back to living on tomato & cheese sandwiches and raw mushrooms. (I still don't understand why you eat those. Ugh.)  Promise you'll eat some real food at least occasionally? Meet up with Amarië for lunch or something.

I miss you, but you'd hate it here.  It's all noise and shouting and people everywhere, hardly any quiet.  I don't remember things being so loud even when I lived at home, but I guess there were fewer of us then.  And things are strange – Tyelkormo is out hunting most of the time, as usual, and Curvo fusses over Nyellë while she tries not to snap at him, but now Haru tries to placate Atar, and Maitimo tends to the twins and is quietly miserable.  Not that he's confessed it to anyone, but it's plain enough, at least to me.  

How is Tirion holding up with so many people gone? Are things calmer at all?

I can’t sleep through the night anymore, not without you beside me. I know why you stayed behind, and I understand, I really do, but I already miss you so much it aches.

All my love,

Carnistir

2

My dearest, beloved Parmë,

I’m sorely tempted to toss Curvo in the river, and you know, I think Nyellë might applaud me if I did. He’s smothering her with all his fussing, which is clearly driving her mad. I had no idea the two of them could argue so fiercely. So now we have not one, but three people in a constant state of bad temper. Family dinners are approaching open warfare.

I’m not blameless myself; I’ll be the first to admit it. I’d forgotten how hard it is to live with so many people under one roof. It was so much better at home with you, just the two of us. You’ve always been my even keel, my oasis, the cool water to quench my hot temper. It’s difficult being here without you. It feels like we’re all taking after Atto, snapping and snarling at each other. Not even Maitimo can keep the peace these days, and he was always the one who smoothed things over among us.

I think he misses Fingon desperately, even if he won’t admit it. The two of them argued before we left, and they must have exchanged some truly bitter words, because Maitimo’s heart feels like it’s surrounded with nettles now. I’ve tried talking to him – I thought maybe I could help draw out whatever’s poisoning him inside – but my efforts have gone nowhere. He’s locked part of himself away, like he doesn’t want to feel his own emotions. But the pain is bleeding out of him, even if I’m the only one who can see it.

I miss the days when we were happy. I miss my mother. Most of all, I miss you.

Your cousin is here, did you know? Alassinkë, I mean, and her ridiculous husband. They’ve been trying to curry favor with Atto through me, but I’m having none of it. Why should I give them the time of day, when they never treated you with the respect you deserve? I know that once we married, Alassinkë only ever saw her relationship with you as a means to an end. I won’t reward that kind of loveless conniving.

I was glad to hear that you’ve been spending time with Amarië. Please, offer her my congratulations on a successful first date with Findaráto. He’s been pining over her for years, but I thought he would never work up the nerve to ask her out. And while you know I’ve never been particularly close with him, I will say that he’s always been the least objectionable of Arafinwë’s brats. Amarië could do a lot worse.

I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I could say it a thousand times, and it still wouldn’t be enough. I feel like I left a piece of myself behind in Tirion with you. Please, try to come for a visit soon, even if it’s only a few days. I think Canyanis would give you the time off if you asked. She adores you, and you’re one of her best archivists. Try, please. I would give anything to see you, even for a little while.

All my love,

Carnistir

3

Parmë, my Parmë, light of my life and dearest in the world to me,

I know I said this before you left, but I need to say it again: I am so, so sorry for how Atto treated you while you were here. I knew he was angry that you stayed behind in Tirion instead of coming here with me, but I never thought he would have such harsh words for you. I’ve tried to convince him that he owes you an apology, but he won’t listen to anything I say. He sees the fact that you stayed behind as a betrayal, just like he sees Ammë staying behind as a betrayal. He’s even accused me of being “blinded by my love for you.”

I told him that was nonsense, and that when we married we promised to love and cherish each other, not to always agree with each other. I’d be nothing but a petty tyrant if I’d tried to wheedle you into coming to Formenos with us, and I never could’ve done that to you, anyway. You love Tirion. You love the archive. You love your work, and your friends, and the garden that you’ve tended to for so long. I know you’d be miserable here, away from all of that, and I can never bear to see you unhappy.

I would’ve stayed with you if I could, but Atto never would have forgiven me. Plus that would’ve been tantamount to declaring allegiance to Nolofinwë, which is something you know I’ll never do. If he hadn’t listened to Melkor’s lies and tried to usurp my father’s place, none of us would be in this mess.

At any rate, Atto and I aren’t speaking now, because of what he said about you. Maitimo hasn’t even tried to get us to reconcile, which tells you all you need to know about how well he’s doing. Curvo’s taken sides, of course, so now he’s not speaking to me either. Tyelko’s been smart enough not to offer an opinion, and I think the twins are too young to really care. Makalaurë hasn’t said anything to Atto’s face about it, but in private he told me that Atto was out of line and that he doesn’t blame me for being angry. He said if Atto ever spoke to Melindil like that, he’d be furious, too.

I don’t know what Melindil and Nyellë think, but if I were them, I’d be nervous. You were always Atto’s favorite daughter-in-law, and if he’ll talk to you like that, they must realize he’ll do the same to them if they misstep. Though they came with us, so Atto is seeing them in a better light than he sees you. Loyalty has become very important to him, but I’m concerned by how strictly he seems to be defining it. I think if Haru had stayed behind to continue ruling in Tirion, Atto would’ve fallen apart completely.

Again, I’m sorry. I know it wasn’t my fault, but you deserved better. If you don’t want to come back, I’ll understand, and I won’t fault you for it.

I cherish you, Parmë. More than the stars in the sky, more than the light of the Trees, more than all the gems in the earth.

All my love,

Carnistir

4

My dearest, darling Parmë, who has the cleverest hands,

I was a bit surprised when your package came, but oh, melissë, you outdid yourself. It's beautiful! And so warm – I swear it's the warmest blanket in the fortress. You must have been working on this quilt for months. The embroidery alone must have taken you weeks. Truly, it’s a work of art. I’ve never seen a quilt so fine, or so unique. Every time I look at it, I feel like you’re here with me, your arms wrapped around me. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

In other news, Nyellë's had the baby. It's a boy. His name is Curufinwë Tyelperinquar. Typical. I’ve always thought this family already had more Curufinwës than it needed, but it seems Curvo disagrees.

There's not much else to say about him; he's little and bald and red, and he cries a lot. He looks to take after Curvo, at least in his appearance. Atto is thrilled, but Nyellë wants to try to arrange a visit with Ammë, so I'm not sure how long the good mood will last. Nyellë’s in the right, though. Ammë deserves to meet her first grandchild.

Little Tyelpo’s birth has cheered Maitimo up, too, which I’m grateful for. He’s clearly enjoying being an uncle, not to mention having a baby in the house again. I always thought he would make a good father. He loves children more than anyone I’ve ever met, and certainly more than I do. He’s having a grand time teaching Pityo and Telvo how to properly handle an infant, though so far they’ve refused his diaper-changing lessons.

Nyellë and Curvo are both exhausted and clearly appreciate the help. Even I’ve been charmed by the little dumpling, though living in a house with a baby is a new one for me, as you know. By the time Curvo and the twins came along, I was already settled in Tirion with you.

I do wish he didn’t cry so much, but when I made the mistake of saying that to Maitimo, Maitimo told me that I cried ten times as often and ten times as loudly when I was a baby. If he’s telling the truth – and let’s face it, I have no reason to doubt him – I was the unhappiest infant in all of Aman.

Will you come to see your nephew? I think Atto is in a good enough mood that he won’t snap at you again, and as always, I’d love to see you. I know you know nothing about babies, being an only child, but Maitimo and I would teach you, and I think Nyellë would like to see you, too. I know she said she’d like to thank you in person for the baby clothes you sent last month. They’re a little big – Tyelpo came a few weeks early, and he’s small – but he’ll grow into them. That’s one thing I do remember about babies; they grow faster than you’d think.

I’ve included some chrysanthemum seeds with this letter, for you to try in the garden back home. They grow wild up here, and these are from a plant with blooms that were a lovely shade of peach that I haven’t seen before. I hope they grow, and that they make you think of me.

All my love,

Carnistir

5

My darling, dearest, precious Parmë,

It was so, so good to see you. It’s amazing how much more peaceful the place is since little Tyelpo arrived, though I’ll be the first to say that that’s an awful lot of weight to put on a two-year-old’s shoulders. But if it means you can come and go without trouble, then I’ll take it. Selfish of me, I know, but I’ve never claimed not to be selfish. Thank Canyanis for me, will you, for giving you two entire weeks?

I hope there’s no trouble in Tirion over the fact that you’ve been coming to Formenos. I worry that some people there might view you with suspicion, or think you’re spying for Atto somehow. I know things are tense both here and there, and I’m glad that you’re doing your best to navigate both simultaneously. Selfish of me again, maybe; mostly I’m just happy I’ve been able to see you.

Tyelpo’s taken to dragging the blanket you made for him around with him everywhere, to the point that he cried when Nyellë took it away so that she could wash it. It’s displaced the bunny Ammë sent as his favorite thing.

I planted the rose seedlings you brought with you along the wall outside my bedroom window, so that I’ll be able to see them when they grow. They’ll make the place feel a little more homey. Not that it’s ever going to be home, for all that we’ve already been here three years and are due to stay another nine. Home isn’t here. Home is with you.

Tell me, has Findaráto asked Amarië to marry him yet, or is he still dragging his feet? He’s lucky she loves him so much, or someone else probably would have stolen her away by now.

I know, I know. I shouldn’t criticize. I proposed to you with no planning and no rings. But I’d known for years by then that you were the only person I would ever want to marry. I was just waiting until I’d turned fifty. Findaráto is well past fifty. He needs to get a move on things, or he’ll be like Maitimo, unmarried forever.

Of course, don’t tell him I said any of this. I doubt he has any desire to take relationship advice from me, considering how poorly we’ve always gotten along. His loss, though. I think I have the happiest marriage in the entire family.

Write me back quickly. I know I just saw you, but I already miss you.

All my love,

Carnistir

+1

Parmë, my love, my life,

It feels unfair, having to stay here for so long. It was Melkor’s lies that drove Atto to do what he did, and the Valar haven’t even managed to find Melkor. But they banished Atto anyway, even though they haven’t managed to fix their own mistake. Maybe Atto’s right, and we would be better off in Endorë rather than caged here. I don’t know. I just think a fresh start sounds tempting.

Would you come with me, if we were to really leave? I’m afraid to ask. I’m afraid the answer would be no, and then we’d truly be sundered. Formenos is two days’ ride from Tirion. Endorë is an entire ocean away. But I know you don’t feel hemmed in here the way I do. You’re happy in Aman. You have your work, your friends, your family. I see the way you light up when you talk about the archive. I see how much joy your craft brings you.

If I’m honest, I’m not just afraid to ask; I think I’d actually hate myself if I ever did ask. I could never demand that you make that choice.

I’m afraid to ask the other question, too. If Atto did decide to lead us east over the sea, and you didn’t want to join him, would I stay with you? Or would I go with Atto? I don’t know the answer to that question, and that terrifies me. I love my father, but I also love you. I think having to make that choice would tear me in two.

Atto has been commanded to appear before Manwë at the festival, though the terms of his banishment haven’t been lifted. Haru has refused to go with him, and Atto has told the rest of us to stay behind as well. But I’m worried. Maybe it’s nothing, but I just have this feeling in the pit of my stomach that something is about to go wrong, that there’s some great malice at work that we can’t see. I’ve been dreaming of darkness rolling across Aman and choking the light.

I’m afraid. I wish  

Carnistir set down his quill, screwed up his parchment, and fed it to the flames.