A Different Kind of Purgatory [ Silmarillion ] 2

Chapter 7: A New Design

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Years of the Trees

Tyelko always loved the month of Narquelië, watching the leaves change and air grow crisper. The time he spent in Oromë's forests during the autumnal season, after the Festival of Yavannie, remained his favorite time of every year in Valinor. This year, he, Rusco, and Hrávien had decided to go camping to the South in the Pelori Mountains.

As he sat in the dark beneath the trees, stoking the fire, he listened contentedly to the hooting of a distant owl. Hrávien and Rusco lay resting across from him. But he couldn't sleep. All he could think about were the words that Melkor had spoken to him but a month ago during the Yavannië festival.

"Your friends trust me. I ask, I beg of you, lend me your ear. Let me help you. I can assure you, there are dark times ahead, and I have seen the way the House of Nolofinwe looks at you of the elder house. Jealousy, rage, distrust... When was the last time a member of that house asked an opinion of you or your brothers."

Tyelko tensed at the memory. He started fiddling with his hunting knife, whittling an arrow absentmindedly. But Melkor's words wouldn't leave him. Especially the words he had spoken next.

"Your mother is treated second rate to the wives of Nolofinwë and Arafinwë. Don't pretend you haven't seen the way she frowns when in their company with Lord Fëanáro. Lady Nerdanel does not deserve scorn for being the wife of the greatest of the Noldor."

Huan's small whine as he approached him made Tyelko glance away from the dancing flames before him. His dog came over and laid his head down on Tyelko's leg. The elf smiled. Petting the wolfhound, he settled more comfortably into the tree trunk he sat against. He closed his eyes.

"I know your father distrusts me," Melkor had said as well, "but your Hunters like Rusco, they know I mean you no harm. I alone of the Valar will always be honest with you. I have shown Rusco things that would be useful to you as well. Ask him yourself if you won't listen to me."

And ask Rusco he had. The Hunter had shown him designs for a new weapon, for a sword. He had heard of such weapons from Eonwë, the herald of Manwë, in the legends of the War for the Sake of the Elves. But he had never seen the specs for such a weapon, nor been shown how to use one.

For the past three weeks, Rusco had been teaching Tyelko and Hrávien all he knew of the blade. He had even given Tyelko the basic designs for crafting one. And Tyelko knew just who to give it to.

Curvo would love to get his hands on the designs. If he could create a sword and show their father, perhaps their father would finally have something to be proud of since the Silmarils' creation. Even the Palantiri with their many uses could not satisfy Lord Fëanáro any longer.

"Careful Tyelko, keep thinking this hard and you might hurt yourself," Rusco muttered to him as he rose with the waxing of Laurelin.

A snickering laugh from Hrávien revealed that she had gotten up as well. "I would be more worried about you hurting yourself, Rusco."

"Is that so?" Rusco shook his head. "Well since we're rejoining the others today, I'll do my best to keep in good health between now and then."

Tyelko smirked and shook his head, putting out the campfire. "I will not be joining you."

Hrávien, hands on her hips, faced him quickly. "And why not, princeling?"

"Do not call me that," Tyelko groaned.

She picked up a steel sword that Rusco had brought for them to use. While the other elf started getting out food for them, she turned to Tyelko. "Make me!"