A Different Kind of Hell [ Silmarillion ] 3

Chapter Five: Red Skies

[ writing resumed sept 2021 ]

ARAMAN

He smelled the ashes before he ever saw the flames. Murmurs had woken him, a rumble all about him, as the Noldor loyal to Nolofinwë had been roused from sleep by smoke and fire. The evernight loomed overhead as Finno stood up off the ground, shivering slightly at the breeze that carried the stench of burning wood their way.

The crowds didn't part for him. His golden ribbons and silver circlet meant little to the elves who had a prophecy, a curse, hanging over their heads. So he forced his way through. He gently moved the children and shouldered past the adults until he came to stand at the edge of the dark, pebbled shore.

The boats were gone. Across the narrow strait, black ash and red flame mingled until it filled the horizon, a conflagration so great that had Finno not understood what it meant, he would've been impressed. But he did understand.

Gnawing hatred crept into the pit of his stomach. Fëanáro Curufinwë, exiled king, had betrayed them at the last. The Spirit of Fire had sealed their fate with flames. The younger houses could not turn around, and they could not go forward.

Then he felt a punch to his gut, and the wind left his chest. Eve had been on those boats. The hate curled into pain. Finno staggered back for a moment, pushing against the crowd that continued to grow. Wails and moans, shouts for revenge, the sounds crying children all filled the air. Finno couldn't think. The agony grabbed him and wouldn't let go.

"Finno."

Arakáno. His youngest brother's voice sounded small amidst the chaos. Finno couldn't bear to look to his right, to look into Aro's eyes. He could only watch the dancing flames on the dark sea.

"Finno, father needs us."

Eve needed him. Elmendë, the woman who so firmly believed the houses could unify, the woman whom he would trade his life if meant only that she could see happiness, needed him and his father had the audacity to ask for him? Finno's anger raged again. It raged like the fire

A hand touched his left arm. Finno jerked away. He found himself looking at Findárato whose grey eyes never wavered from looking into his own. Then he looked past Finno.

"Aro, go to Nolofinwë. We'll follow."

Around them, Finno heard his cousins and brothers and the lords of their houses getting control of the masses. Turvo's voice lifted highest above, but he could hear Angaráto as well. Looking back across the ocean, another wave of anguished pain rushed over him and he stumbled.

Findo steadied him. "Eve is strong, Finno. Whatever we may think of our half-cousins, they love her as well, and will not let harm come to her." He sighed, shaking his head. "If anyone is prepared for the loss we may encounter across the sea, it is Eve, who has lived it already."

Finno squeezed his eyes to force tears away. With a single nod, as he could not find his voice, Finno turned from the flames. Placing one foot in front of the other, he followed Findo through the crowd to where his father had just finished addressing them. The murmurs had quieted, the crying settling, until a cold silence fell over the world.

Nothing had prepared him for the small, innocent voice that greeted him when he reached the royal families.

"Where's Eve?"

Itarillë stood barefoot on the stones, her little toes curled around the larges she had found to perch on. Beside her, Elenwë sat on the ground. Tears stained her face. Finno paused, the group going quiet, and looked only at Elenwë. The woman closed her eyes and covered her mouth, choking on a quiet sob.

"I'm sorry," Nolofinwë sighed. Not much else could be said. "I fear she will not be the first we lose on this quest."

As Finno stood there, he watched his siblings, cousins, and father debate their course. He watched as their mouths moved, and arms flailed, and brows furrowed. But he didn't know what was said. He couldn't concentrate, not on them.

His mind was bent on the flames. The anger came rushing back. How could Nelyo do this? Had centuries of friendship, of brotherhood, meant nothing to him in the end? His knuckles turned white as he thought of his cousin.

Then the doubt crept in. What if Eve had left on purpose? What if the fierce and impassioned words of Fëanáro had spurred her on and regained her loyalty? What hope had the three houses at unity? She must've seen that. She had to have seen that. Why wouldn't she go with her brothers?

"Findekáno?"

He jerked his head up at his father's voice. All around him, his family watched him closely. Finno straightened up. "What?"

"We cannot go back–"

Finno sneered, cutting his father up. "We will not go back."

"You agree then?" Findárato asked. "The Helcaraxë is our destination?"

The Helcaraxë. Snow, darkness, isolation. Grinding ice and frigid waters now was the only means of reaching Middle-Earth. But the fires at Losgar had lit a fire in his own heart. He would reach Middle-Earth and when he got there, he would find Nelyafinwë, and his cousin would answer for his betrayal.

"Yes."

Nolofinwë nodded. "We are agreed then. It will be a hard road. This will only work if we work as one, no matter what house we belong to."

Findo nodded. He had become the leader of the house of Arafinwë since his father had turned away. "We will follow you. You have but to ask of us."

"When we reach Middle-Earth, Fëanáro and his house will have much to answer for," said Nolofinwë. He looked out beyond then, across the shore to the sea and beyond. "We will reach the hither shore and when we do, if will be to the sounds of trumpets and valiant, victorious cheers."

Finno raised his chin and followed his father's gaze. His father could have Fëanáro. He could have all but Nelyo. Finno would deal with him. Nelyo would answer to him, and him alone.

Nolofinwë dismissed them. They would need to start early in the morning. There would be no use lingering. The Helcaraxë waited for them, cold and harsh.

His feet dragged him back to the shore. Most of the elves had turned away. They moved to higher ground, averted their gazes from the still lingering flames across at the Bay of Losgar. But Finno did not turn away. He tried to picture Eve in his mind. But her brilliant auburn hair turned instead to raging fire, and her grey eyes to smoke. He flinched at the images. His eyes snapped open but reality brought him little comfort.

"I am glad to have heard you speak."

Findo came up to stand beside him, their shoulders just brushing. The touch comforted Finno just a bit. Findo's calmness did the same.

"How could Nelyo do this to us?" His voice sounded hollowed to his own ears, but Finno continued all the same. "How could he leave us?" Tears sprang to his eyes. "I followed him everywhere since I was but a child. I tried to be everything he was. And now he has fallen so far into darkness, and he has taken the woman I love as well."

"Peace, Finno. I don't know Nelyo's heart, and neither do you."

"He left us!"

Findárato flinched at Finno's raised voice. "Do you really think that Nelyo could stand against his father? Even had he wished to aid us, Fëanáro has fallen too far to consider it. He has only vengeance on his mind." Findo turned to look at him. "And vengeance is a dangerous motivator."

Finno met his gaze. Everything his cousin left unsaid was clear to him. He could not allow his hatred of Fëanáro or bitter anger against his sons to guide his actions. With a few deep breaths of the cold air, he tried to calm down. At least Nelyo cared for Eve. She would be safe.

She had to be safe.

Though careful to swear no oaths, Finno decided, as he looked out at the dying firelight across the dark waves, that if he ever saw the sons of Fëanáro again and Eve was not safe, they would find themselves as unrelenting an enemy as the Noldor had become to Morgoth.