My parents loved the mountains. My Noldo father for their fine stone and metal ores, my Teleri mother for the the tall trees and cascading streams. And so my younger brothers, sisters and I were brought up in a small settlement nestled in the western slopes of the Pelori some distance from white walled Tirion in the great pass of Calacirya.

Of course I had visited the City, twice in my more than forty years of life,(1) but now I was going there to live in the house of Prince Feanaro as a companion to his daughter Miriel Istafinde.

He'd sent two men of his household and a serving woman, very grand in their azure and scarlet liveries, to bring me to the City. All three were mounted on fine horses and one of the men led a fourth, of a beautiful pale golden color, for me.

Of course I could have walked to Tirion all by myself in perfect safety, this was Aman not darksome, monster haunted Middle Earth. But that wouldn't have been proper, or so the serving woman Alatea told me.

According to her it was also improper for me to help with gathering wood or cooking our meals. But it was proper for the men to spend nearly an hour putting up a small tent for me at each of our three rest stops. And for all three of them to call me 'Mistress' instead of Davne. Alatea was kind but she made life in the City sound very complicated, full of rules that made no sense but had to be followed. I worried that I'd never be able to remember them all and bring disgrace upon myself and my patron.

We arrived at the hill of Tuna just as Laurelin was fading on my fourth day from home. The horses were left in the Prince's stable at the foot of the Western Stair but before entering the City Alatea took me to a room in the stablemen's quarters and made me wash my face and hands, combed and rebraided my hair and had me put on my best gown, a sea blue silk sewn all over with tiny pearls, the only one of my dresses she adjudged 'proper' for a lady of the Prince's Household, (meaning me). She just sighed and shook her head over the others.

I understood why after we'd passed through the city gates. The streets were full of people who seemed, to my countrified eyes, to be dressed fine enough for a festival all glittering with jeweled ornaments. And as we went up the terraced levels of the City the people became more and more grand and I felt more and more timid.

We climbed all the way to the Court of the Kings at the very top of Tirion. The great square was paved with colored mosaics and adorned with fountains and statues, and in its center Galathilion, seedling of Telperion, grew tall and white, his rustling leaves dark green above and silver below.

The Mindon Eldalieva, once the residence of Ingwe High King of All the Elves in Aman, faced the palace of Finwe Noldoran across the square. Each like a mirror image of the other save for the soaring silver tipped spire of Ingwe's lofty tower.

The great houses of the Princes lined the other two sides, with Prince Feanaro's at the southwest corner. It was very tall, for in Tirion they build upward rather than out, with tiers of windows and balconies rising to a glittering crystal dome and six gold tipped towers.

The front doors were of some red-golden metal inset with large jewels of milky crystal shot with colored lights, and flanked by strange towering beasts carved of white stone with horns and hooves sheathed in that same red-golden metal.

The tall doors opened onto a great pillared hall, the largest room I'd ever seen, with a ceiling that seemed as far overhead as the skies above Valinor. It was full of people, most dressed in azure and scarlet, going briskly about their business and paying us not the slightest attention.

The two menservants gave me a final bow and smile before vanishing into the crowd. Alatea didn't turn a hair just said, "Follow me, please, Mistress." and led the way briskly through an open archway into a flower filled courtyard then up a flight of steps and through another door into a big room full of women working at looms of all sizes.

A tall lady in a golden gown with gold braided into her long dark hair came to meet us. "This would be the the Lady Istafinde's new Maid of Honor?" she asked my guide, then turned to me without waiting for an answer: "Welcome, my dear. Thank you Alatea, take the lady's belongings to the Maidens' Quarters and you may have the remainder of the day to rest from your journey."

The serving woman shot me a quick smile and then the only person I knew in all this great house walked away leaving me with the strange lady - and I had no idea who she was. Not my new mistress apparently, perhaps her mother the Princess Nertanie then? (2)

"You look tired, my dear, was it a hard journey?"

"No, my Lady," I stammered, "just long. Alatea and the men made me very comfortable."

"That's good." she smiled. "But you don't call me 'my Lady', child, I am Romellie the Looms Mistress.(3)

"Oh." was all I could find to say, but she seemed to understand.

"Your Lady is away at the moment." she smiled reassuringly. "We never know quite when she'll be back, but it won't be much longer I'm sure."

I just nodded, still wordless.

"Now let me show you where you'll live."

Romellie led me up many flights of stairs to a long room at the very top of the house richly furnished with tables, chairs and couches of fine woods inlaid with precious jewels and metals, and hung with marvelous paintings and tapestries. But it was also cluttered with half finished pieces of needlework, paintings, carvings in wood and stone, musical instruments, sheets of paper covered with writing and sketches, and many, many books and scrolls.

"Where are all the other girls?" I asked.

"Sweet Yavanna only knows," the Looms Mistress sighed. "They could be in the library or the smithy or the still room or the kilns. Or gone out of the city altogether to the Princess' pleasance to practice their latest dance." she pulled aside a tapestry figured with birds and stars and ships revealing an alcove furnished with velvet cushioned couch and large inlaid clothespress. "You'll keep your things here." I pulled out the drawers, one after another, and saw not only my own dresses and other things from home but a number of beautiful gowns, each with a small box of jewels to go with it.

"I'm sure you'll feel better for a bath and a change," Romellie continued, studied the contents of my press for a moment before choosing a soft velvet robe in shades of rose with flowing, lacy sleeves. "Put this on. Then have a little lie down and I'll send Findorie, her Ladyship's chief Maid of Honor, up to you as soon as I can lay hands on her." and off she bustled.

I found the bathing room adjoining the Maiden's Quarters and washed myself and my hair, then put on the velvet dress and the silver and pearl ear and finger rings and neckchain that went with it. The skirts were longer than I was used to, trailing on the floor, and the lace sleeves netted with tiny pearls fell over my hands. But the bodice fitted me exactly and remembering how both Romellie and Alatea had been dressed I realized the overlong skirts and sleeves were City fashion not a mistake in my measurements.

Then I went back to my little alcove and curled up on the couch as Romellie had ordered. But my mind soon wandered to thoughts of home filling my eyes with tears. I got up hastily, not wanting to found weeping into my pillows by this Findorie, and looked around for distraction.

There was a window embrassure at the back of my alcove, glittering with devices in colored glass. I knelt on the seat below it and looked out onto a fine view of the shining white terraces of the City falling away to the west gate.

The nearby streets and alleys were thronged with busy people, many in brightly colored liveries, going about their mysterious business. Why, for example, was that procession of gold and blue clad men carrying saplings in pots from one house to another? And who wanted those barrels of crushed rock and for what? And why were those women polishing that wall?

Eventually I tired of looking out the window and wandered back into the main chamber to examine the various unfinished projects scattered about, being careful not to touch. My heart sank for the craft that had gone into their making was far beyond my meagre skill to match.

The short end wall of the long room was nothing more than a double row of sleander pillars with transparent curtains blowing between them. I stepped through and found myself on a high terrace overlooking the great square.

The Court of the Kings was thronged with royal looking Elves either strolling in pairs or standing in groups talking animatedly. A very tall golden haired lady clothed all in dazzling white caught my eye. Her throat and hands glittered with jewels of adamant and pearl, and she stood beneath the boughs of Galthilion surrounded by a knot of lordly admirers.

Then I heard a door open behind me and a buzz of womens' voices punctuated by the opening and closing of drawers and casket lids. Suddenly one voice rose above the others:

"But where is the new girl? Romellie said she was up here waiting."

Nerving myself I stepped back through the blowing curtains and was confronted by a battery of staring eyes belonging to a bevy of girls, all dressed in shades of rose. I felt myself blush pink as my gown and fought an urge to turn and run.

"Davnie?" the tallest of the girls asked. Her dark hair and diaphanous gown of palest rose were both powdered with crystal beads and she glittered as she moved towards me. "I am Irilde Findorie, the Lady Istafinde's foster sister."

I wondered if I should curtsey but Findorie didn't seem to expect it. "Come out onto the terrace," she continued holding back a curtain, "and we'll talk."

She sat down on one of the couches scattered over the tesselated floor and waved me to another. "Sit, relax, you have nothing to be afraid of here."

"Yes, my Lady." I whispered.

She frowned. "You don't call me or anybody but the two Princesses 'Lady'. I am Findorie."

"Yes, Findorie." I said and sounded scared even to my own ears.

She stopped frowning with a visible effort, said patiently: "I am told you are from the country and so our City ways may seem strange and intimidating to you at first."

"Oh yes, m - Findorie." I agreed wholeheartedly.

"But you musn't go around looking like a scared fawn." she scolded. "You are an important person now, Maid of Honor to a princess of the Noldor. You must bear yourself with the dignity and pride due to your new station."

"I - I'll try." I faltered.

"Each of us was chosen by the Prince himself for our skill in an art or craft that we are to teach to the Princess and her other companions." she continued. "Laniel (4) for example is a weaver of surpassing finesse. Helianwe (5) a maker of the most beautiful colors, paints and glazes and dyes. Lindele (6) can play sweetly upon any instrument. Ammalien (7) is a smith," Findorie held up her arm to show a bracelet of delicate golden chains strung with tiny glistening leaves. "she made this, she likes best to work in gold. Kentanie (8) molds fine vessels and figures of clay. And the others will tell you what they do when you meet them.

She leaned back on her couch. "What can you teach us, Davne?"

I couldn't think of a single thing.

"Come," she said with a touch of impatience. "the Prince would not have had you brought here if you hadn't some gift."

"I - I collect stories and new words." I offered hesitantly. Findorie seemed a little impressed and I continued more confidently. "My grandmother was among the Teleri who came last to the Light. She knows many strange stories of the Wide Lands and has taught me words used among the latecomers that we Noldor have never heard."

"That would be it then." Findorie said nodding. "The Prince is very interested in such lore. No doubt he wishes to learn from you too." crossly. "Oh don't look so scared! he is very kind and likes nothing better than learning something new. Do you write?"

"No." I was forced to admit. "There was nobody to teach me where we lived."

"I'm not surprised, it's not a common skill. Prince Feanaro taught Istafinde and myself when we were children. It is one of the things we will teach to you. The Princess is also a painter."

Findorie smiled suddenly in a way that made me realize how very fond of her foster sister she must be. "She tries to teach the rest of us but we will never be her match."

"I'm not very good with my hands." I admitted shamefacedly. "My father used to say that's why I loved stories and words so."

To my surprise Findorie just shrugged. "Don't worry about it. Nobody expects you to be good at everything. No doubt you'll do well at poetry and song. Olliante (9) will like that. How is your dancing?"

"Good enough for our country dances." I said a little doubtfully.

She looked mildly interested. "You may have something to teach us there too. You must talk to Quessetal (10), she's our dancer. Do you play an instrument?"

"Tambour and viole, not very well."

"No doubt you'll improve with teaching from the Prince's musicians." Findorie said dismissively. She straightened on her couch and fixed me with a stern eye. "We were brought here to teach and to learn but also to amuse the Princess and keep her company. We do what Istafinde wants to do. If she is merry, we are merry, is she is serious we are serious. She is not to be troubled with our problems, we are here to divert and entertain her so she forgets her own."

She smiled scornfully at my look of surprise. "A princess of the Noldor has many burdensome duties. Have you ever seen one of the Valar up close?"

I shook my head.

"You will now. From time to time Istafinde must attend upon the Great Ones, representing King Finwe and our people, and of course we go with her. Sometimes she has a gift to present, other times we dance or sing before the Holy One."

I think I went pale, I know I must have looked appalled.

"Oh it's not so bad as all that." Findorie said impatiently. "Most are very kind." she laughed suddenly. "And whatever you do don't look frightened in front of Astaldo (11) or he'll try to comfort you and then you'll really have something to be frightened about!

"Istafinde is away right now on a visit to her patroness, the Lady of the Flame. She goes alone because the heat of Ancala's halls is uncomfortable to the rest of us but she was hardened to it during the days of her service at Cullulin (12).

"The Feanori are great travellers, Istafinde wanders all over Aman from the bay of Eldamar to the shores of the outermost ocean. Usually she takes a few of us or even all twelve with her. It can be exhausting but we do not complain. Always remember, Davnie, we are here to wait upon our Lady's pleasure. Everything we do is for Istafinde."

I swallowed. "I'll remember."

"She'll be coming home soon and have a little free time to enjoy herself with her chosen companions before ceremonial duties claim her attention again. We'll go to her pleasance outside the city to dance and play games, maybe even out to the bay to swim in the sea and look at the stars." Findorie smiled happily at the thought. "She'll want to talk to you no doubt, and hear your tales of the Wide Lands. In the meantime learn our ways and try to settle in. And lose that frightened fawn look, I don't want Istafinde feeling sorry for you!"

"I will do my best." I promised, wondering if my best would be good enough - and if it wasn't and they sent me home would I really mind?
*****

1. These are Years of the Trees, each of which is roughly equal to ten Years of the Sun. Thus Davnie is over four hundred of our years old, early adolescence in Elven terms, roughly equal to a Mortal girl of twelve or thirteen.

2. My own Quenyanized form of the Sindarin name 'Nerdanel' by which Feanor's wife is known in the records of ME. I have assumed it is an epesse, a compound of Ner 'men' with Tano 'maker' given a feminine ending. The whole meaning something like 'maker of men' an appropriate nickname for the mother of so many sons.

3. Traditional title of the head of the womans' side of a formal household. Romellie is in charge of the women servants and maids of honor as well as the making of clothing for the whole household.

4. 'Daughter of the Loom'

5. 'Rainbow'

6. 'Music'

7. 'Golden Maiden'

8. literally 'Clay Wright' meaning potter.

9. 'Dreamweaver'

10. 'Feather Foot'

11. Astaldo, the Strong, is one of the names of Tulkas a bluff and hearty Valar whose kindness might very well be alarming to timid young Elf maidens.

12. Ancala the Bright is the sister of Manwe and Melkor, her domain is Fire and for a time the destructive side of her nature dominated and she followed Melkor but she repented. She is keeper of the Flame of Anar, (Gandalf's Flame of Anor, the purifying fire before which evil and falsehood wither). Don't bother to look her up in the Sil or HoME, like Istafinde she is entirely my own invention.

 Lessons, lessons, lessons! So much to learn that there didn’t seem time enough in a day for it all, and I was right at the bottom of every class!

“Well of course you are,” Laniel the weaver, whose esse was Dorme, told me kindly. “you’re new, you’ll have to catch up. It was the same for us all.”

“I’ll never catch up.” I moaned, on the point of tears.

“That’s what I thought when I was new.” Dorme answered, grinning. “And Dilme and Eleste and Serendis and Lissime and Herinke -”

“Especially Herinke!” our potter said emphatically. “I’m a country girl too, Davne, I grew up east of the mountains, in sight of Tol Eressea. It was all as strange to me as it is to you. But I learned, just as you will.”

I smiled at her. Herinke’s class was one of my favorites, it’s very satisfying to punch an misthrown pot back into a lump of clay. Mistakes in my other classes were less easy to correct, and I made so many!

I seemed to be constantly unweaving or picking out bad stitches. The colors I tried to mix all turned muddy. I cut myself as often as my wood carvings, which always turned out wrong anyway. And I’d spoiled more gems trying to cut them than I dared to remember!

But smithcraft was the absolute worst. I was afraid of the molten metal, coming liquid from the furnace to pour into molds, and of the way the sparks flew when we hammered at the white hot ingots.

“You must have a firm and steady hand.” Ammalien, our smith, kept telling me. “You are too timid, too afraid of making a mistake.” That too, but mostly I was afraid of being burned. Ammalien herself was quite fearless, handling fire like it was her native element. And the other girls seemed resigned to the occasional scald or burn.

“You’re doing well in Poetry and Song.” Olliante said encouragingly. Which was true, I’d always had a good memory for words.

“And not badly at all in music.” added Lindele, which was true too. Unfortunately the same could not be said of dance. Quessetal grimaced but kept silent.

The complicated City dances were too much for me, and my misteps threw the others off too. Just yesterday we’d tried an intricate new dance with colored streamers, I don’t know exactly where I went wrong but instead of weaving a many colored net, as we were supposed to do, we ended up tangled in our streamers like kittens in a ball of yarn. The others had just laughed, but I’d wanted to sink into the ground!

“And you’re doing very well in writing.” Findorie said quite kindly. “None of the others picked it up so quickly.”

I loved writing. It seemed a kind of miracle that I could, by drawing a few symbols, put down my own thoughts or read those of somebody I’d never even met. My hands, so clumsy with works of craft, seemed deft enough when it came to forming the elegant letters devised by Prince Feanaro.

All the girls did their best to be kind and encouraging - and to keep their patience with me though that was sometimes very hard indeed. Some like Dorme and Herinke I liked very much, but I was a little frightened of others, especially Findorie. She was so intimidatingly good at everything, and though she was always pleased with my writing she was frequently and witheringly critical of my manners and deportment which were still far to countrified for her taste.

“You must be patient with Findorie.” Dorme told me one evening, slipping into my alcove after we’d all settled down for a few hour‘s rest.

I looked at her in astonishment. “Patient?”

“Yes. She doesn’t mean to be unkind when she speaks sharply, it’s just she wants everything always to be perfect for Istafinde, and she has a great trouble of her own which gnaws at her heart.”

“Findorie?” I said disbelieving.

Dorme nodded seriously. “All the others know, so you should too. You know Findorie is the Princess’s foster-sister?”

I nodded.

“Feanaro and Nertanie have reared her from an infant, they regard her almost as another daughter. But she isn’t their daughter, which wouldn’t matter so much if she only knew whose daughter she was.”

“I don’t understand.” I whispered, thoroughly bewildered.

“It’s a strange story.” Dorme continued softly. “I’ve never heard the like, nor has anybody else. Findorie came from the Halls of Mandos, she was born in the Dark Lands and died there.”

Well that wasn’t so unheard of. Everybody knew about the re-embodied, even if they’d never met with one.

“Findorie died as an infant, too young to know her own name or her kin. And she came to Mandos alone so not even the Valar know who she was or which people she belongs to. She could be a Noldo who stayed behind. Or a Teleri, or even an Avari who refused the Journey. She doesn’t know and neither does anybody else. Istafinde says that’s why Findorie works so hard to be good at everything, and has so little patience with those who aren’t. She feels she has to prove herself worthy of belonging to the Royal Family since she has no other.”

“Poor Findorie!” I whispered, appalled. How terrible not to know your own parents and to have no chance of ever knowing them because they were back in Middle Earth. No wonder she was sometimes short tempered with such a trouble in her heart!

“You must never, ever breath a word of this to any one, especially Findorie.” Dorme warned. “She thinks it’s her secret, known only to her and the Royal Family. But Istafinde told Ramarie, Eleste, Pelorie and me when we were appointed to her service, and we’ve told every new girl since so they’ll know not to ask Findorie about her family or talk too much about their own in front of her.”

We spent most of the next day in the smithy. Ammalien called me away from my work, (which was going badly as usual) and sent me to the treasury for jewels of beryl, opal and crystal to set in the armlets we were making. I was delighted to obey though I had to ask a serving man where the treasury was, (Ammalien had forgotten I was new and wouldn’t know). I made it there all right but on my way back, clutching my bag of gemstones, I must have taken a wrong turn for instead of ending up back in our airy smithy with its thirteen workbenches and little furnace I found myself in a cavernous foundry.

The only light came from the white hot metal running in channels from huge blast furnaces. The figures of the workmen stood out black against the white and red fires as they shoveled coal and turned levers and wheels directing the flows of metal into different vats. The heat was terrible and the roar of the furnaces and the shouts of the men echoed off the smoke darkened vault.

I stood there, clutching my bag of gems, too frightened to move. Then I realized one of the men was shouting at *me*. “Turn the wheel! I mean you, girl! Turn it!”

I jumped, dropping my bag, looked around and saw a small wheel sticking out of a long metal trough nearby. It took all my strength to turn it and I wasn’t at all prepared for the gush of flaming molten metal that surged into the trough.

A strong hand pulled me away before I could come to any harm, and I found myself looking up into a pair of bright silver eyes in a smoke blackened face. “Where are your gloves and your hood?” my rescuer demanded. “Fool girl, you could have been burned!”

“I - I - I -” I stuttered, trying to answer. And then burst into tears.

The man shouted some instructions to the workers then led me out of the foundry into an open courtyard, sat me down on a bench and got me a glass of water. “There, there, little one. I’m sorry I raised my voice to you, but you must always wear your hood and gloves or you could be badly hurt.”

“I don’t have any.” I managed, sniffling. “I don’t belong here. I got lost. I should be with the other girls in Ammalien’s smithy.”

He frowned down at me for a minute, then his brow cleared. “Of course, you must be the little girl who knows Eastern Telerin. However did you get all the way over here?”

“I think I turned wrong when I left the treasury.” I admitted. “Ammalien sent me for gems for the armlets we’re making -” I broke off, looking around for my bag. “I must have left them in the foundry.”

I started to rise but the man pressed me down. “Ambarussa,” he called, “look by the copper vat, and bring me the bag of gems you will find there.”

A moment later a boy with reddish hair, not much older than myself, came running with my bag in his hand. “Here it is, Father.”

By then I had gathered enough wits to put name and hair together and realize this was one of the youngest Princes, which meant that the man I’d been talking to - I turned bright crimson. “My Lord, I‘m sorry I didn‘t recognize -”.

“And why should you?” he asked. He wiped a bit of soot off his face with a finger and looked at it ruefully. “My own wife would have trouble recognizing me at the moment!” I started to get up and he pushed me gently down again. “None of that, little one, no point in standing on ceremony now. Finish your water and Ambarussa here will show you back to your fellows.”

And that is how I finally met my Lord Feanaro.

Every day at the mingling of lights Istafinde’s maidens joined the rest of the household for dinner in the great hall. We sat near the head of a table set close to the dais with the other unmarried women of the household below us. Findorie sat with us, though I had been told she joined the Princess at the high table when she was at home. But that evening she stopped me from taking my usual place and instead led me up onto the dais. Prince Feanaro, washed and properly dressed with a jeweled circlet on his brow, made an alarmingly impressive figure. And he was very beautiful, (some said the most beautiful of all the Elves born in Aman) so much so that I was afraid to look at him for fear of never being able to look away again. So I looked instead at the lady beside him. The Princess Nertanie was a kind faced woman with strong rather than elegant features and the reddish hair her youngest and eldest sons had inherited.

“So this is Davne.” she said. “Welcome, my dear, and forgive our poor manners for not doing so before.”

“I told you she was here, Mother.” Findorie reminded her. Fortunately she had been as amused as the other girls by my encounter with Prince Feanaro.

“I know you did,” the Princess answered, “but I have been over absorbed in this new statue group I am sculpting, and of course your father never has room in his head for such mundane matters.

“I have been busy making the alloys you need.” the Prince said. “And your changing your mind ever other day hasn’t hastened the work!” then he smiled at me. “I am afraid, little one, in this house work makes us forget all else, including basic courtesy.”

I was too dazzled to speak, but Feanaro was no doubt used to that. He conducted me to the chair at his right hand. The Princess sat at his left and Findorie beyond her. I had the twin princes, Ambarussa and Ambarto, on my right. I recognized Romillie, on the other side of the table and a few seats down, but had no idea who all these other grand looking Elves might be.

The Prince kindly gave me a few moments to collect myself, and I needed them! Turning to his wife he put five small ingots of metal on the white table cloth, they were of strange colors I’d never seen before, alloys made from the mingling of many metals.

“Will any of these do?” he asked.

Nertanie studied them, then picked out two, one a greeny-grey and the other an odd pinkish silver. “But I still need a yellow.” she said. “Not gold *yellow*.”

Feanaro looked ruefully at the three ingots left. All were shades of gold. “I’ll keep trying.”

He turned to me and I snuck a swift short look at his face, just long enough to see it was alight with interest. “You were a great find to me, Mistress Davne, I have been looking long and hard for somebody who could teach me aught of the tongues spoken by our kin left forsaken in the East. Your name is one I have never heard before, is it Eastern Telerin?”

“Yes my Lord, it means ‘she who yields’ it comes from the same root as our word ‘lava’.”

“So it is still possible to trace common roots. The languages have not diverged much then?”

“Yes and no,” I answered, becoming too interested to be shy, “the sounds have shifted, sometimes in very odd ways. Yet other words are almost the same and I don’t know why it should be so - it seems very strange.”

“Give me a few more examples.” he said.

So I did. For the first time since my coming to the City my mind was too occupied with other, much more interesting things, to waste time worrying about my manners.

And when, at dinner’s end, the Prince said: “Once I have finished with these troublesome metals for my Lady you must begin your class in Eastern Telerin, Mistress Davne, and I will be first among your pupils!” I didn’t feel even a twinge of nervousness.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Findorie said, in a smug sort of way, as we joined the other girls for the long climb back to our great chamber.

“You were right.” I agreed. “He is very kind. I wasn’t afraid of him at all.”
****

Note: Twenty-two names for eleven girls is a lot to remember so here is a list of Istafinde's Maids of Honor, in order of seniority; esse, epesse, and specialty.

Irilde Findorie, writing
Ramarie Lindele, music
Dorme Laniel, weaving
Eleste Helianwe, grinding and mixing colors and dyes
Pelorie Ammalien, smithing
Herinke Kentanie, ceramics
Dilme Vanamire, Gem cutting
Onorie Quessetal, Dance
Serendis Aldariel, wood carving
Lissime Oliante, poetry and song
Tereval Aramaite, needlework

 We spent a great deal of time in the hall of looms, either working on our own projects or helping weave the vast amounts of cloth needed by the Prince’s household. The other girls were bored by such plain work and complained about it among themselves, but I didn‘t mind at all. It was like the weaving I had done at home and I was as good at it as any of them.

We were laboring away at our allotment of linen, some girls spinning tow and others weaving, when a page ran in and announced breathlessly the Lady Istafinde had returned. Findorie promptly threw down her spindle and hurried out leaving the rest of the girls whispering with pleasurable excitement.

I told myself firmly not to be nervous. But what if Istafinde didn’t like me? I no longer wanted to be sent home, not now that I’d learned my letters. There’d be nothing to read.

Dorme, who was working at the loom next to mine read my face and said: “We won’t be seeing Istafinde today, she’ll need to rest after so long a visit to Ancala’s Halls.”

“Why?” I asked. “what does she do there?”

“Because Cullulin is very hot.” Dorme explained. “The Princess became somewhat inured during her time of service but not even she can bear it for long. And as for what she does there -” she lowered her voice, “nobody knows for certain but they say Istafinde looks into the Flame and sees visions that Ivende (1) interprets for her.”

“What kind of visions?” I whispered back.

Dorme shook her head. “Nobody knows that either. But they say the White Flame shows not what is, or will be, or might be but what *must* be.” her voice dropped even more. “I’ve even heard it said it shows the thought of Eru Himself!” she saw my eyes go round and added hastily; “But of course I don’t believe that!”

It didn’t seem likely. Even I knew Eru, the Ainur’s Father and ours, was outside the world not of it and had delegated its care to his vice-regents the Valar. Our voices could not reach Him so we venerated and served the Valar, and through them the All Highest.

We went from the hall of looms to the scriptorium at the appointed hour and waited. Findorie arrived several minutes later. “Istafinde is sleeping.” she told us. “We will see her tomorrow.”

The other girls accepted this without surprise. We opened our books, took up our pens and began our copying. My hand trembled a little as I shaped the now familiar letters. What if the Princess was as hard to please as Findorie? I was certain to do something wrong - I always did.

We went upstairs about the fifth hour of Telperion and I saw the door to the Princess’s private chamber was closed as always, but now there was a presence behind it.

We prepared for rest, changing to soft, loose gowns and combing each other’s hair. As Herinke did mine I told her: “I just know I’ll make some terrible mistake in front of the Princess.”

She laughed softly and gave me a quick hug. “Of course you won’t! Nor would it matter if you do. Istafinde isn’t anywhere near as particular as Findorie. You have nothing to worry about.”

But I course I did worry.
****

We rose at the first mingling of the lights, as Laurelin waxed and Telperion waned. As usual Herinke told me what to wear. Today it was a short kirtle of pale green that left arms and legs bare, plain work clothes as we had our fresh woven linen to bleach. But Findorie didn’t marshal us into line as she usually did. Instead she stood looking towards the Princess’s door. So the rest of us looked too, the others happily expectant and me quivering inside. Then it opened and my heart gave a great leap into my mouth.

I had heard the songs praising the beauty of Miriel Istafinde and beautiful she was, pale as the snows of Mount Oiolosse with a cascade of magnificent black hair hanging to her knees, and her eyes gleamed silver. She was dressed, like us, in a short kirtle the green of beach leaves and her hair was bundled into a loose plait down her back.

She smiled at us. “This is a fine welcome, having to work my first day home! I was hoping you’d finish our allotment of linen while I was away.”

“Oh no.” said Findorie, grinning broadly, “we’re not letting you out of doing your share!”

Istafinde laughed and went to kiss her foster sister. “I’ve missed you all.” she said as the girls clustered round. “But where is the newcomer?” then she saw me hesitating behind the others and held out her hand. I took it, then remembered to curtsey. The Princess pulled me closer and kissed my cheek. “Welcome, Davne. I hope my girls have made you welcome?”

“Oh yes, my Lady.” I stammered.

“Good.” her smile twisted into a comic grimace. “And now for that linen!”
****

A stream ran through the Princess’ pleasance, just below the lily pool it spread wide and shallow over a bed of smooth many colored stones and there we laid our linen to seep with herbs in the warm water, then danced on it to make it soft. Country dances with much stamping of feet to the monotonous beat of our washing songs. Then we wrung the cloth out and covered the meadow with sheets spread out to dry and bleach in Laurelin’s hot golden light.

Then we went upstream to the lily pool, shed our kirtles and unbraided our hair and slid into the pleasantly tepid water to splash and giggle and tickle the gold and silver fish hiding among the lily stems, and pick the blossoms to weave into our wet hair.

It had been a lovely morning, the most homelike I’d spent since coming to the City, and I was feeling far too happy to be nervous when the Princess, escaping from a splashy rough and tumble in the middle of the pool, came to rest beside me among the lilies at the shallow end.

“Findorie has been working you hard.” she said.

“Well, yes.” I admitted. “But only because she wants me to be a credit to you and our House. I don’t mind, I just wish I did better.”

“She told me you were willing and worked hard.” the Princess said. “And that she was very pleased at how quickly and well you had learned letters. Don’t worry about not being good at everything, none of us are.” she grinned suddenly. “I am a very bad potter, as Kentanie (2) will be glad to tell you - at length! And you haven‘t had a chance to show us your own skill yet, that‘s my fault I‘m afraid.”

“Findorie said I shouldn’t begin teaching the Eastern language until you could join the lessons.” I said.

Istafinde nodded ruefully. “I know. I’m sorry I was away when you came. I’m not usually so rude as to go off on a trip just after inviting a girl to join my companions. But my Lady had asked me to visit and I expected to be back before you came - only I lost track of time as I always do.”

This was not at all the kind of conversation I’d expected to have with the Princess. “I think maybe it was better this way, I had a chance to get used to the House and the City before...”

“Before facing me!” Istafinde said mischievously.

“Well yes,” I said, “It gave me one less person to be scared of.” and we both laughed.

“My father will be joining us to learn the Eastern tongue.” she said. “Have you met him yet.”

“Oh yes, my Lady.” I said, grinning as I remembered how.

“What’s so funny?” she wanted to know, so I told her and we shared another laugh.

“Did my father tell you why he’s so interested in the lore of the Dark Lands?” the Princess asked.

“Findorie said he likes learning new things.” I answered, but I could see from her face there was more to it than that.

“That is true.” said Istafinde. “But in this case he has a deeper purpose. My father means to return to Middle Earth.”

I stopped weaving my lily chain and gaped at her. “Will the Valar allow it?”

“They are reluctant, but will accede in the end.” she answered confidently. “After all they have no right to forbid it, we are their guests not their prisoners.”

“But why -” I was beginning when suddenly Vanamire, the jewel cutter, called out:

“Riders coming, my Lady. It looks like Prince Maitimo - and he has Lord Artaresto with him.”

“Does he indeed.” Istafinde stood and waded into the deeper water to join Vanamire among the lilies beneath the far bank.

I wound my chain of blossoms around my neck and followed. The other girls too drew nearer, watching with alert interest as Prince Feanaro’s eldest son, his companions and a handful of lords I didn‘t know, reined their horses to a stop and looked down at us.

“What’s this, sister,” Maitimo asked laughing, “idling when there is work to be done?”

“You see us enjoying a well earned rest after a hard morning‘s labor.” the Princess answered with dignity. “Ride on and see for yourself, but don’t you dare trample our clean linen with those great dirty hooves!”

“Blessed Weaver forfend! I will take your word for it, little sister.” he looked at one of the unfamiliar lords, who cleared his throat.

“My Lady, I had only just now learned of your return from Maitimo,“ he said, “so I beg you to forgive such short notice, but my mother is hosting a gathering this evening to hear the songbirds in our garden. I hope you will grace it with your presence.” His manner was formal and a little stiff - but his eyes gave him away. He was in love with my Lady.

I looked at her curiously but her eyes were veiled and I could not read their expression. Her fair face showed nothing but courteous interest and her long coils of black hair floated on the surface of the water, wreathing white shoulders and breasts.

“Nerwen will be there.” said Prince Maitimo.

Now the silver eyes opened wide, glittering with amused malice. “Will she indeed?” the Princess purred. “Then I must come, it has been too long since I have seen my dear cousin.”

A couple of the girls hid giggles behind handfuls of lily flowers. Lord Artaresto looked slightly apprehensive. The Prince wryly amused. “Misbehave yourself my girl and I’ll take you straight home, if I have to carry you!”

She made hurt eyes at him. “Brother you wound me! I will be the soul of courtesy as always to my dearest cousin.”

The Prince rolled his eyes, but Artaresto smiled. “I look forward to seeing that - my Lady!”

Istafinde laughed and splashed water at them - it fell short - then the lords all bowed and rode on upstream towards Prince Feanaro’s hunting park.

Turning away Istafinde saw my puzzled face and explained. “I do not like my cousin Nerwen, my uncle Arafinwe’s daughter.”

Findorie snorted. “Who does, apart from her besotted admirers?”

“Her parents and brothers seem fond of her,” the Princess shrugged, “though I cannot see why!” She hoisted herself, dripping, onto the bank and began wringing water from her hair. “I’m hungry. Let’s see what Irimor, (that was the kitchen master) has given us to eat.”

We ate the fruit and cakes as Laurelin’s rays dried us. Then put our clothes back on and combed the tangles from our hair and made ourselves presentable before returning to the City to prepare for the evening’s party.
****

Notes:

1. Ivende, ‘the Maiden’ is one of the names or titles of Ancala. Like Ulmo and Nienna she dwells alone.

2. Kentanie ‘clay wright’, is Herinke the potter’s epesse.

The Valian Day is made up of twelve hours but these are hours of the Trees, seven times longer than ours, making a ‘day’ some eighty-four hours long. Each of the Trees takes seven Valian hours to wax and wane, the overlapping hours are called ’the mingling of the lights’. A day begins with the waning of Telperion and waxing of Laurelin, and ends with the waning of Laurelin and waxing of Telperion. Thus the ‘mingling of the lights’ corresponds with our dawn and dusk.

In Prince Feanaro’s household formal meals are served in hall at ‘dawn’ and ‘dusk’ but those who grow hungry between times are free to send to the kitchens for a snack, like the maidens’ picnic. Elves in Aman need to sleep as Men and Dwarves do only after an unusual exertion of mind or body, such as looking into the Flame. Otherwise they rest for an hour or so a day by walking ‘the path of dreams’ - what we might call a form of meditation. There is no conventional hour for taking one’s rest, just whenever is convenient, and it would be most unusual for the members of a large household like Feanaro’s to all choose to take theirs at the same time. Normally the bright hours of Laurelin are used for work and the hours of Telperion for leisure and socializing.

We took an unusual amount of time and care with our dressing as Laurelin faded to the mingling of lights. We were all to wear gowns of the same clear light green with a shade of blue - like seawater - made of the finest and most lustrous silk and bedewed with pearls.

I had thought myself accustomed to fine clothes but this dress was so beautiful that I was almost afraid to touch it, and once it was on I was afraid to move for fear of somehow damaging it. The other girls flew around, careless of their finery, choosing and trading ornaments, gossiping and giggling.

Dorme came over to me as I sat, stiff and silent, on a stool. “I have something for you.” she showed me a fragile web of silver thread netted with sea colored crystals then draped it over my hair. “Yes, that looks lovely!” she said, and continued happily. “We’re going to have a good time tonight.” My face showed my doubts and she laughed. “Oh yes we will, you’ll see. I suppose you thought it was always work, work, work, with us. But now Istafinde is home again there’ll be parties and excursions and all kinds of fun.”

“For awhile.” said Quessetal, who’d overheard. “Until the Princess tires of the City and either drags us off on some journey or leaves us to Findorie’s tender mercies!”

Dorme laughed. “Traveling is fun too.”

“Sometimes.” Quessetal conceded.

The golden door to the Princess’ chamber opened and Istafinde emerged, clad in a gown of deep, soft, brilliant blue, with a tinge of green, just the color of the sky outside our windows, and all a shimmer with crystal, silver and pearl embroideries. Ornaments of opal and adamant glistened in the abundant black hair, falling almost to her knees. We fell in behind her, two by two, and she led us down the great stair - not the back one we usually used - to the gigantic entrance hall then out the tall doors into the Kings‘ square.

As usual it was crowded with splendid looking Elven lords and ladies but tonight most of them seemed to be making, like us, for a splendid mansion, on the west side of the square. An entrance hall fully as large as our own led to a marble paved courtyard with a porphyry stair winding up several stories to a roof terrace planted with slender trees of ash and beech and silver birch. Colored lights hung from their branches banishing the shadows beneath the interlacing boughs. Songbirds of all kinds darted about calling to each other in happy excitement and bursting into snatches of song. A close clipped green turf starred with tiny flowers of gold, scarlet and blue covered the ground, spread with rugs and cushions for the guests to rest upon and Fruit and sweetmeats and pale wine were set out for our refreshment in vessels of crystal on low white tables. The King himself was there, with Queen Indis, seated on chairs of woven wands beneath a tall beech tree.

“Davne.” the Princess called me to her side. “You haven’t been presented to my grandfather yet have you?”

I gulped. “No, my Lady.”

“Then I will do it now,” she smiled kindly at my apprehensive face, “better here, informally, then at a full court reception!”

I shuddered at the thought and followed her obediently over to the King and Queen. Istafinde kissed her grandfather’s cheek and dutifully embraced the golden haired Queen, who was not her grandmother. Then she turned to me. “This is Davne, the newest of my companions.” I curtseyed.

“Welcome, Davne,” the King said pleasantly. “I hope you will be happy here among us.”

“Yes, my Lord - I mean I’m sure I will be.” I stammered. And then my Princess took me by the arm to lead me away and that was all there was to it.

“And now that’s done with we can relax and enjoy ourselves.” Istafinde told me smiling.

We settled on soft rugs not far from where the King and Queen sat, our pale gowns forming a glimmering background - like sea foam - for the Princess. Lord Artaresto came over with several companions to greet my Lady and soon we were surrounded by young lords paying court to the Princess and her companions - even me! I didn’t know what to say and was beginning to feel overwhelmed when Prince Makalaure, Feanaro‘s second son, came to my rescue deftly answering the lords’ gallantries on my behalf then settling himself down beside me so the others must in courtesy shift their attentions elsewhere.

“New faces are rare here in the City,” he explained kindly in that wonderful voice, “and so more than usually interesting - especially when they are young and fair. You will soon grow accustomed.”

“I hope so, my Lord.” I said above the pounding of my heart. Makalaure was very beautiful in those days, even more so than his father, and I didn’t try to tear my eyes away but stared my fill. I smile now at the memory - and am fortunate that I can smile rather than grieve. For I chose the best of the Princes, the only one to find his way back from the abyss, for my first love.

Makalaure named the other guests for me as they passed to pay their respects to the King and Queen, not all were of Elven kind: Ilmare and Erinti, two of Varda’s handmaidens, were there, tall and fair with bright stars glittering in their long hair and scattered over their gauzy robes. And Aiwendil, a Maia of Yavanna, clad in shades of brown and green. And a host of the folk of Vana, all dressed in living flowers and led by Timpando with his golden flute.

Then a very tall lady, all in white, with pale flowers and strands of pearls woven into hair golden as Queen Indis’ entered the garden on the arm of a tall, white clad lord as fair as she.

“That’s her, that’s Lady Nerwen.” Aramaite whispered to me. “And that’s her eldest brother, Lord Findarato, with her.”

She was also the lady I’d seen chatting with her admirers beneath the boughs of Galathilion on the my first day. Behind brother and sister came several gentlemen in blue and gold and four maidens in soft green gowns. They went first to the King and Queen and then came to us.

My Lady and Prince Maitimo, who was sitting with her, stood to greet them. Murmuring a polite excuse to me Makalaure rose to join them. The two Princes welcomed Findarato with genuine warmth. The same could not be said of their sister.

Nerwen was the taller, but by no more than a finger’s breadth, and as for which was the fairer, it was like comparing the stars shining above the eastern sea to the golden light of Laurelin - though I knew which I preferred.

They embraced, but lightly, and my Lady said: “Greetings, Nerwen, it seems a very long time since I’ve seen you.”

“You are always off on your travels, Cousin.” the other replied with a brilliantly false smile.

“Strange is it not how often you are away when I am at home, and at home when I am away?” my Lady answered, all sweet innocence, but I saw the other girl’s turn their heads to hide their laughter.

A hint of pink flushed the Lady Nerwen’s pearly cheeks but her smile stayed in place. “We are both at home now, we must enjoy each other’s society while we can.”

“Indeed.” Isftafinde agreed just as sweetly. “I hope to see you and your brothers at a small entertainment I mean to give in a few days.”

“We will look forward to it.” said Lord Findarato firmly, taking his sister by the arm. “Come, Nerwen, we must find ourselves seats before the singing begins.”

My Lady sat back on her rugs with a look of satisfaction as her brothers sighed and several of the girls giggled softly behind their hands.

Dorme explained the joke to me in a whisper; “Lady Nerwen does not enjoy taking second place to our Princess, as she must being the daughter of the youngest prince, and so takes great care to be in either Aqualonde or at her uncle Ingwe’s house on the slopes of Oiolosse when Istafinde is in Tirion. But this time she didn’t hear until too late that our Lady had come home, and now she cannot leave without all knowing why she does so.”

“Why do they dislike each other so?” I whispered back.

“It’s a long story,” my Lady answered, having overheard, “I’ll tell you all about it later. Now we must be quiet, the singing is about to start.”

The last guest had arrived and the garden gate was shut. All sat quietly in their places waiting. Gradually the many birds stopped darting restlessly about and settled in twos and threes upon the tree boughs. There were Tuilindi, Aimeneli, Lirulindi, Eleninki and Morilindi, plump and pretty with sleek feathers and bright little eyes.

Suddenly a Lirulinde lifted it’s voice in song, soon others joined in and finally the whole chorus was giving voice in merry harmony. It was wonderful to hear and seemed to last all too short a time, though in fact it must have been nearly an hour before the last songbird fell silent.

The guests took breath and began to move and talk again, and the birds came down from their branches to accept our praises and tidbits from our fingers. Then Timpando began to play a lilting tune on his flute and some of his companions raised their voices is wordless song as sweet as that of the birds who gathered round to listen and when the music ended answered it with their own.

Lindele and Findorie had brought their flutes, and Istafinde a silver pipe which they played to the birds who had settled around us. The rest of us sang, rather less sweetly than the Maiar had, and the birds sang back to us. The men did not sing as their deeper voices were unfit for this kind of music. And I saw the Lady Nerwen didn’t sing either, though she played a little lap harp as her maidens did. I had noticed her voice was deeper than most women’s, no doubt she could no more reach those soaring notes than a man.

The men resumed their polite gallantries in the interludes between the music. I did my best to imitate the other girl’s easy banter and acquitted myself none so badly, or so I hoped. I recognized several of the lordlings I’d seen surrounding Lady Nerwen that day in the square among my own Lady’s admirers and wondered what Nerwen thought of their defection.

I found myself feeling a little sorry for her. It would be difficult to be condemned always to second place by a mere accident of birth. I could easily see how Nerwen could dislike Istafinde for that alone, but what my Lady had against her I couldn‘t guess. Though I didn’t doubt Lady Nerwen had somehow given her good reason to dislike her.

The dawn mingling of lights was almost past before we finally returned to our own House to slip out of our fine gowns and settle down to a belated rest. When we finally rose, midway through the second hour of Laurelin, it was to find ourselves deluged with messages and tokens from the gallants we had met the night before. These pursued us from loom hall to potter’s shed to music room until finally we abandoned all hope of doing our regular work and settled in the library to read our notes and compose our answers, interrupted at frequent intervals by still more messengers bearing still more polite compliments.

Prince Feanaro came in pretending to be much annoyed, but anybody could see how proud he was. “I should lock you all up in my hoard,” he teased, “every time I let you go abroad I find my house turned upside down the next day by languishing gallants.”

“At least now they send notes instead of calling in person and cluttering the halls.” Findorie laughed.

“Yes indeed.” he agreed fervently. “I well remember the crowds that thronged my father’s house when my sisters first were of an age for admirers, before writing became fashionable. At least I am spared sighing swains underfoot!” he looked ruefully at the rolls of paper and pretty tokens littering the library tables. “I had hoped to begin our lessons in the Eastern tongue today, but I suppose there’s no chance of it now?”

“None at all.” Istafinde said briskly. “Poor Davne is quite busy enough - as you can see!”

I blushed brightly. It was true I had received far more than my share of tributes, almost as many as the Princess herself, no doubt because I was a new face as Prince Makalaure had said. Fortunately the other girls didn‘t seem to mind.

“Tomorrow then,” Feanaro conceded reluctantly, “but no later.” and he left us to our labors.

Each little scroll had some small token attached to it to bring the sender to mind, such as a golden flower for Prince Findelaure or a harpstring for Makalaure, and was inscribed with a complimentary linnod often related in some way to the token. Findelaure’s compared me to a flower transplanted from a peaceful mountain dale to a City garden. And Makalaure’s likened my voice to the high clear note of a harpstring.

Findorie explained that courtesy required I answer each and every message with a linnod of my own, capping the sender’s. Olliante helped me compose them as I was not as practiced in fashionable poesy as the other girls. But she liked my linnod for Prince Makalaure, that a harpstring needed fellows to make its music, very well.

“A bit forward,” she said, “but a good use of the image.”

“Too forward?” I asked anxiously.

She smiled kindly. “For some perhaps, but Makalaure will understand.”

I blushed and wondered if I really wanted him too. But I couldn’t very well withdraw the poem after Olliante had approved it and so I sent it off with the others, though with much fear and trembling.

***

Notes:

Timpando: a name from the Lost Tales, apparently meaning flute player or warbler.

Tuilindi = swallows; Aimeneli = robins; Lirulindi = larks; Eleninki = starlings and Morilindi = blackbirds. Except for Eleninke all these names were coined by the Professor himself.

Findelaure means ‘Hair of Gold’ care to guess who this is?

Finally the last poem was sent off with the last messenger. We returned the unused paper, and the pens and inkwells to their proper places, collected our letters and tokens and took them upstairs to our own quarters. I put mine on top of my clothespress then followed the other girls through the golden doors into the Princess’s chamber.

It was perhaps a third the size of our own common room, and its walls were covered with hangings and tapestries of the most marvelous needlework I’d ever seen, finer even than Aramaite’s, their rich colors glowed in the light pouring through the crystal dome overhead. Istafinde sat in a high backed silver chair twined with clusters of golden flowers, with Findorie on a lower seat beside her. The rest of us gathered round them, settling ourselves on cushions, benches and chests.

“Now then,” said the Princess, eyes glittering with mischief, “what sort of entertainment should we give?”

“A picture competition.” Eleste suggested brightly, and all the girls laughed.

“No,” said the Princess, “that would be too obvious. We must give my dear cousin at least a chance to shine.”

“A musicale or poetry tourney then.” said Findorie. “She and her girls are good at nothing else.”

“No, be fair, Findorie,” said Dorme, “Silpien is a passable weaver.” More giggles, the Princess joining in.

Clearly the grudge between our Princess and the Lady Nerwen was of long standing, and extended to their maids of honor.

“Poor Davne,” said Istafinde, smiling at my bewildered face “We must sound very petty and malicious to you.”

“No, no of course not.” I stammered.

“Oh yes we do.” said Dorme affectionately, taking my hand. “And we are, but once you get to know Lady Nerwen a little better you’ll be as bad as the rest of us.”

The other girls nodded emphatic agreement.

“But what has she done?” I asked.

“Nothing,” Istafinde answered a little wryly, “nothing but be of like age and temperament to myself, but very different in tastes and talents.” she shrugged. “We were born to be rivals.”

“You are nothing at all like Nerwen.” Findorie said, tight lipped. “She’s arrogant, and selfish and cruel!”

“So am I, my dearest sister,” the Princess answered tenderly, “you don’t see it because you love me.” she sighed. “And at least I know when I’m behaving badly - I’m not at all sure Nerwen does.”

I thought I understood. I had a cousin and a few neighbors back home I disliked for much the same reason as Istafinde said she disliked Nerwen. But Findorie’s white face and shaking hands showed she had a far more real grievance. I wondered what Lady Nerwen had done to her.

“A poetry tourney then.” Istafinde decided. “I will have my grandfather set the themes and we will sing and dance to inspire ourselves.”

I noticed the other girls were carefully not looking at Findorie, giving her time to recover herself.

“Where?” Aldariel asked. “Here in the house or the pleasance?”

“The pleasance of course.” said the Princess. “My mother wouldn’t thank us for imposing a hostess’s duty upon her when she’s so busy with her casting. In the orchard I think, I noticed the trees are in full blossom.”

“Shall we serve a full banquet or just fruit and sweets?” Vanamire asked.

“A banquet.” Istafinde said firmly.

“What dances shall we do?” Quessetal mused, “Birds Flying of course, that’s our best.”

“And Lindele must play ‘The White Ships’.” said Findorie firmly, joining in. Apparently quite herself again.

It was Eleste who told me why Findorie hated the Lady Nerwen, and why the rest of them did too on her behalf. “It was years ago, soon after I joined the Princess‘s maidens, Findorie won some sort of contest against Nerwen - a footrace I think it was - and she was annoyed and after the prize was awarded asked Findorie why her parents weren’t there to see her race.”

Knowing what I did about Findorie I gasped, then said trying to be fair. “But Lady Nerwen couldn’t have known she shouldn’t say something like that to Findorie.”

“No,” Eleste agreed grimly, “she couldn‘t, and of course we didn’t tell her. But she saw at once that something was very wrong and she kept at Findorie nonetheless. Asking what her parents’ names were, where they lived, why she didn’t visit them if they couldn’t visit her and so on, and on until the King finally put an end to it. Istafinde can be cruel, just as she said,” Eleste finished grimly, “but never as bad as that - ever.”

****

I didn’t give my first language lesson the next day, nor did we begin preparations for our party as we had intended. We had just risen from our rest, an hour or so before the dawn mingling of lights, and were still in our loose gowns with our hair uncombed when the door unexpectedly opened and Prince Feanaro came in looking grim and unhappy. He walked past us as if we weren’t there straight to his daughter’s room and went in. Findorie followed him, leaving the rest of us to exchange alarmed looks. Something must be very wrong but what?

We combed our hair but didn’t dress as we did not yet know what had happened or how it would affect our plans for the day. It seemed a very long time before the Prince finally came out of Istafinde’s room.

Now he did see us and gave us a smile, but he didn’t speak and hurried from the room. He looked as if he had been weeping. Now we were really frightened and turned to Istafinde, who had followed her father into our room for an explanation.

She smiled reassuringly. “It’s nothing dreadful, just sad. The Lord Lorien sent to say my grandmother’s body has finally fallen to dust, and to return the robes and jewels it wore.”

We sighed in mingled relief and sympathy. Poor Feanaro! a strange and terrible fate had befallen his mother Queen Miriel. Soon after his birth her spirit left her body to go to Mandos and refused to return - not even for her husband and son‘s sake. Eventually she chose to stay in the Dark Halls forever and King Finwe had been allowed to marry his second wife, Queen Indis.

“At first the handmaidens of Este kept her body whole against her return,” the Princess explained, “and after she had chosen never to return they continued to tend it for my father’s sake as he would visit it from time to time.” she turned to her foster sister: “He took us once, Findorie, do you remember?”

She nodded. “Yes. We were very small, not yet twenty I think. I remember I was very sleepy the whole time we spent in Lorien and that the Queen had silver hair.”

“She was kin to King Olwe on her mother’s side.” Istafinde said. “Some time ago Lorien and Este advised Father to cease his visits, as they were feeding his sorrow rather than healing it. He agreed and they allowed her body to begin to decay. Now it is gone.” she sighed. “It is for the best but still it is very hard for him, and for my grandfather too. Neither of them can bear to keep the things she wore on her last day and so they have decided to give them, along with a thank gift, to Vaire in whose house my grandmother’s spirit now dwells. And I am to present them.”

A shiver passed through the other girls and I blurted out; “We are to go to Mandos?”

“I’m afraid so.” the Princess said, looking apologetic rather than frightened. “I am sorry but I am the only woman of my Grandmother‘s blood, there is no one else.”

“It’s not as if we’ve never gone before.” Lindele said steadily. Then to me: “It won’t be pleasant but truly there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“We do not enter the Dark Halls.” Istafinde assured me quickly. “We will go no farther than Vaire’s garden. We will see her and her handmaidens, and perhaps Lord Mandos, but no houseless souls.”

I could only nod. That sounded quite bad enough, especially the possibility of seeing the Doomsman.

“And when we have done our duty we will go to the Outer Ocean and watch the stars set.” she finished, as if offering a treat. The other girls certainly seemed to consider it such, they brightened a little at the thought.

***

We left the hour after the mingling of lights, walking in formal procession down the levels of Tirion to the gate and the crystal stair. First came a troop of noble sons, including Makalaure and the twins; then the heirs of the Noble Houses, including Prince Maitimo, Lord Artaresto and Lord Findalaure; and then the heads of the twelve Noble Houses followed by musicians playing harps, viols and pipes; then Lord Moritarno, King Finwe’s herald and Talagant the Prince’s harpist; and after them the Princess escorted by her father and grandfather with her maidens following three by three and a second troop of musicians bringing up the rear.

My very first lessons had been in deportment, including how to walk in a formal procession with folded hands and lowered eyes, and how not to trip over the fashionable overlong gowns, (the trick is to glide your foot along the ground, pushing the folds of your skirt ahead of it) . Even so I was glad to be nearly invisible between Olliant and Aramaite at the end of the line of maidens. We wore pale gowns and dark, gauzy veils that hid our faces to the chin and fell down our backs to the knees. The Princess too was veiled, but her dress was deep grey shot with silver so it shimmered softly like Telperion when he faded. The others in the procession were clad in sad colors, soft greys and purples and blues, so were the people who lined the great avenue to see us pass. They looked very solemn but I doubted anyone save Prince Feanaro and the King still grieved for the Lady Miriel after so many years.

At the foot of the crystal stair we found fifteen horses, including the pale gold I had ridden to the City, waiting for us. The two extra were for Lord Moritarno and Talagant who were to go with us. And a troop of serving men already mounted and each leading a packhorse.

We rode west over the processional way, the Vansamirin, that led straight as an arrow’s flight from the walls of Tirion to the golden gate of Valimar. It was made of fine white stones, so cunningly laid that no joints could be seen, and bordered with channels of bubbling water wherein blue and yellow irises grew. Here and there the road became a bridge arching low over one of the many streams that ran down from the mountains to the plain, or passed through a grove of shady trees, or widened into a square adorned with fountains and lined with arcades where a traveler might rest and take refreshment.

We did not stop but rode steadily for nearly three hours until the silver domes of Valimar came into view. My Lady beckoned and I urged my horse forward to ride beside her.

“Have you ever seen Valimar, Davne?”

“No, my Lady, not even for the festival, though my parents took me twice to see the celebrations in Tirion.”

“We will be passing through the City on our way to Culullin.” she said. “we will spend a few hours at my Lady Ancala’s house and take some rest before continuing our journey. There will be no time for sightseeing I fear, but perhaps on the way home.”

“Thank you, my Lady.” I managed. We would be visiting one of the Valier, even staying in her house? Oh dear!

Valimar had no walls but there was a gate across the Vansamirin to mark the city edge. It was made of gold in the form of two trees, their branches meeting and interlacing to form the arch, and its golden doors stood open. Inside the great road split into many streets winding between the gardens and parks that surrounded every dwelling. These ranged from great palaces to little cottages built of many colored stone and roofed with gold. There were Elves among the people playing in the gardens and strolling the streets, golden haired Vanyar for the most part with some dark haired Noldor and Teleri, but I knew many were Maiar by their height, a head or more above that of Elves, and by the light in their faces.

The silver domes we had seen from afar roofed the vast feast halls of Varda and Manwe which stood at the center of the city on one side of a great square. On the other rose a tall house with many glittering windows and a high tower adorned with figures and frettings of bronze from which came a great noise of mingled shouts and laughter.

“That is Lord Tulkas’s house.” Dorme told me. “Hear his companions at their sport!”

Pearly walls rose above a wide lake full of lilies. “That is the house of Lisinen, the Lady of Sweet Waters.”

An avenue of great oak trees led to a dark and cavernous door in what seemed to be a green turf wall around a grove of tall trees. “There lie the halls of Orome the Huntsman.”

A music of harp and lyre rose behind walls of sea colored stone. “That is the house of Salmar, Master of Music,” said Dorme. “And there close by is the home of his brother Omar the Singer.” This was built of ivory pale stone with pillars of honey colored marble upholding a wide spreading roof thatched with flowers. “Omar’s wife, Nieliqui, was one of the maidens of Vana Everyoung.”

As we approached the western gate of the City we passed a small, relatively modest house of grey stone glinting with veins of silver. In the garden a group of dark Noldor sat gathered close around the feet of a fair Maia modestly clad in sober grey, listening attentively to his talk. As we passed the Maia glanced up and I caught a quick flash of brilliant eyes before he returned his attention to his pupils.

“Do you know who that is?” Dorme whispered. Of course I didn’t. “That’s Melkor himself - no, don’t look back!”

I resisted the urge with difficulty and hissed: “What is he doing in Valimar?”

“Didn’t you hear? He’s repented and been forgiven. Or so they say. Lady Ancala told the Princess she doesn’t believe it, so of course neither does Istafinde. Feanaro will have nothing to do with him but, as you saw, there are plenty who will!”

I shivered. Even if Ancala was wrong and Melkor had truly repented how could he ever show his face to his fellow Powers or Eru’s Children after the things he’d done? And how could anybody bear to be near him? Then we passed through the western gate and my first sight of the Trees wiped every dark thought from my mind.

The mound of Ezellohar rose high and green before us with Teleperion and Laurelin standing like twin towers of silver and gold upon its crest. The Silver Tree was unlighted but his white blossoms and the pale undersides of his leaves glinted in the radiance of the Golden Tree. It was half passed her fourth hour but she still shone dazzling bright with light falling like a golden rain from her hanging clusters of flowers to run in fiery channels to the great vats ranged around the northern end of the mound. Similar vats full to the brim with the silvery dews of Telperion stood at foot of Corolaire’s southern slope.

Dorme nudged me. “There is the Mahanaxar, where the Valar sit in council.” it stood to the right of the road, between the mound and the gate, a circle of fourteen mighty thrones each richly decorated with the devices of its owner in precious metals and gems.

At the foot of Ezellohar the road split into two branches, one leading north, the other south. “There lie the Courts of Aule.” said Dorme, pointing southward at what seemed to be a walled park with the smoke from many chimneys drifting above it. “And there the gardens and groves of Lorien.” these were dark trees of yew and cedar, cypress and pine lying like a shadow on the green plain.

Northward the road ran past the Mahaxanar then bent between the golden vats of Laurelin’s light and the first terrace of hanging gardens of golden trees and flowers that gleamed near as bright as the great Tree herself. And on the topmost terrace stood a great hall of red gold its windows glittering like great adamant stones. I didn’t need Dorme to tell me that was Culullin the house of Ancala of the Flame, our Lady’s patroness and our hostess to be.

Three Maiar were waiting to receive us at the foot of the stair leading to the first terrace. They wore the seeming of a man and two women, all three tall beyond the measure of Elves with long fiery red hair mingling with flowing garments of scarlet and orange and gold that rustled softly and shifted in hue as if the Maiar were garbed in living flame. It was hard to look at their faces, which seemed to waver slightly, like a furnace at full heat, and their eyes burned too bright for Elven eyes to bear.

The man wore a mantle of hot, bright white over his firery draperies, and held a spear of blue-white flame in his right hand. This must be Makarion, herald and champion of Ancala. “Back again so soon, Little One?” he asked our Princess, “and with companions too.”

“Just a passing visit,” she answered, “we are on our way to the Halls of Mandos on an errand for the King.”

One of the Maiar women shuddered. “Poor Istafinde! You will find a warmer welcome here,” her attention shifted to the maidens clumped behind the Princess and her voice took on a teasing note; “perhaps a trifle over warm for some.”

“I think I speak for us all, Sari, when I say we much prefer your hospitality to Mandos’.” Findorie replied, and the others nodded emphatic agreement.

It was only the Princess and her maidens who followed the three Maiar up to the hall. Moritarno and Talagant had stopped in Valimar to visit their own patrons, and the serving men were happy to remain with the horses on the green plain. We climbed past terraces wrought of colored stone and planted with trees and flowers that glittered like gold because they were made of many hued gold; red and rose and green and white as well as all shades of yellow. And these strange gardens were both lit and heated by fountains and cascades and pools and channels of Laurelin’s fiery light.

It was very warm, a stray fold of my veil clung to my damp cheek and my gown hung hot and heavy on my body. At last we arrived at the porch before Culullin’s great hall. Massive pillars of red-gold, etched with coiling flames, upheld the golden roof. The great center doors and flanking side doors stood open and flames leaped high in the tall bronze braziers set between them.

The Lady Ancala was there to meet us, attended by three of her handmaidens. She was even taller than they, half again the Princess’s height, with hair the red-gold of flames in sunlight flowing over the near blinding whiteness of her gown. Her bare arms were adorned with rings of massy gold glittering with stones of adamant and topaz, sapphire and ruby.

It was impossible to look directly at her for long, so bright was she. My already dazzled eyes stung and watered and I quickly glanced aside, but not before I saw my Lady run to her as a child runs to a favorite aunt.

“Your eyes will become accustomed in time.” Ammalien whispered to me. “But don’t look too steadily at any of them, especially Ancala.

We followed the Valier and my Princess into the hall and I gasped then choked on the searing air. The interior of Culullin was like one Prince Feanaro’s forges. Through the wavering heat I saw a double row of massive red-golden columns upholding a yellow golden ceiling ablaze with jewels. Elf-high flames burned in the fire bed running nearly the length of the floor, and in the braziers set between doors and window casements in the side aisles. My head swam with the heat and I clutched at Ammalien’s arm, though she seemed little more stable than I.

“You and your girls must get out of those heavy clothes before you smother.” Ancala told Istafinde. “Fortunately we have not yet drained the tank in your room. By the time you come back I will have had some of these flames doused.”

****

A blessed coolness blew through the door as the Princess opened it and we stumbled eagerly after her into a vaulted chamber of pale golden stone, or perhaps it was white stone tinted gold by the light for it stood open to a terrace overlooking Ancala’s gardens. The cool air came from a knee high stone tank in the center of the room.

Istafinde pulled the long veil from her hair then shed gown and kirtle and left them in a disordered heap as she headed for the tank, and we were quick to follow. But when I saw it held not water but the silvery liquid light of Telperion I hesitated. The other girls did not. Sitting or kneeling on the low, wide rim of the tank they scooped the radiant stuff up in their hands and splashed it over face and breast. Across the tank Istafinde dipped her long black hair in it then flung it back, streaming with silvery beadlets of light, to smile at me.

“Go ahead, Davne, that’s what it‘s here for.”

It seemed faintly blasphemous, but timidly I obeyed, laving face and upper body like the others. The light was cold and wet but didn’t feel at all like water. It had a slightly viscous quality, like fine oil, and it tingled on the skin.

Dorme handed me a golden dipper. I looked at it blankly and she laughed. “To drink with, silly!” She scooped up a cupful, took a sip then handed it to me. “Go ahead.”

I took a small, cautious sip, and then a much larger one eagerly emptying the dipper. It was like sweet icy wine and spread a welcome coolness through me from head to toe.

Herinke tapped my shoulder. “My turn.” I gave the dipper to her and looked around to see what I should do next.

Aldariel and Quessetal were on their knees pulling lengths of diaphanous flame orange silk from a pair of long stone chests. These proved to be loose gowns which we put on, wet as we were. Istafinde smiled at my dubious expression.

“Never fear, we’ll dry quickly enough upstairs.” she smoothed back her dripping hair with both hands and looked around. “Ready? Then let‘s go.”

***

The fire bed in the hall had been banked down to glowing coals, most of the braziers put out and the adamantine casements thrown open to admit warm breezes from the garden. It was still very hot but bearable, fortified as we were within and without by cooling draughts of Telperion‘s dews, and clad in nothing more than a drift of gauze and sandals to protect our feet from the scorching floors.

There were long tables on either side of the fire bed, and a third, shorter one on the dais at the head of the hall. These were spread with scarlet cloths, worked with gold, and laid with heavy golden plate glittering with jewels. Bright fire spirits with hair and robes of flame were already seated at the tables, apparently waiting for their guests.

Istafinde’s place was at the high table exactly opposite Ancala, and flanked by her maidens, six to a side. Findorie was seated on her right and I had been given the place on her left, probably because I was new. Ancala’s handmaidens, including the two who had come to greet us, sat on her left hand, and Makarion on her right, across from me, with several other male Maiar seated below him. After one quick look I kept my eyes on my plate, which was made of many colors of gold, intermingled in a strange, wavering pattern, and set with jewels of adamant, ruby, sapphire and beryl.

Then other Maiar brought platters loaded with coimas to put on the tables and filled our goblets, which were Maiar not Elf sized, with a pale golden liquor.

“That’s limpe, the drink of the Ainur,” Vanamire whispered on my left. “brewed from the mingled light of the Trees.”

“You have a new maid of honor.” Ancala said to my Lady, catching my attention and killing whatever appetite the heat had left me.

“Yes, this is Davne.” Istafinde answered her, then said to me; “Have you heard the story of how I came to be in Ancala’s service?”

I shook my head. “No, my Lady.” in fact the identity of her patroness had surprised me a great deal. I had never heard of Ancala taking any of the Children into her house.

“As you know it is the custom the Royal House, like many others, to send their children to foster in the Courts of Aule.” my Princess began: “And so Findorie and I became in due time handmaidens of Yavanna. But Nerwen was also among her court and being young and foolish we allowed our enmity to pass all bounds and soon had had all the handmaidens and apprentices divided into two warring camps, turning poor Kementari’s house into a battlefield -”

“It was all Nerwen’s fault.” Findorie grumbled.

“Not all.” said the Princess, and continued: “In the end matters became so bad that Yavanna turned to Varda for advice, and Elentari brought the trouble before the Valar upon their thrones in Mahaxanar.”

“Sitting in solemn council over a schoolgirl quarrel.” Ancala snorted, surprising me into looking at her. She seemed both amused and disgusted.

“The Valar have taken a special interest in our family ever since the difficulty with my grandmother.” the Princess explained. “Of course all Nerwen and I really needed was a firm hand - which my Lady here decided to provide.”

“Somebody had to, and it was clear my noble peers hadn’t the least idea what to do about a pair of malicious little girls.” Ancala said crisply.

“But you certainly did.” Istafinde said ruefully. “Nerwen and I were far to frightened to make any trouble here, and kept too busy at our separate tasks to quarrel. At first the heat was almost unbearable - for my Lady showed us none of the consideration she now shows to her guests! But every few days she sent us to Lisinen‘s house in the lily lake to recover.” Istafinde smiled at her patroness. “Only after a time I stopped needing to go so often, or wanting to. And finally Nerwen was allowed to stay with Lisinen for good.”

“She had found her true teacher.” said Ancala. “And the two of you are better apart.”

“But you wouldn’t take me, Lady Ancala!” said Findorie, clearly an old grievance.

“Your gifts would have been wasted here.” Ancala answered. “Aule was the teacher you needed - not I.”

“You weren’t a troublemaker,” Istafinde laughed. “I doubt Yavanna and Aule would have been so ready to part with you! And it‘s not as if we never saw each other at all.”

“That’s true.” said Findorie.

After that Istafinde began to talk of high matters concerning the policies of Kings and Valar that I didn’t even try to follow, devoting my attention instead to plate and cup. The coimas was unlike that baked by my mother and aunts, being both crisper and stronger in flavor. The liquor was delicious, though it savored more of mulled spiced wine than the icy sweetness of Telperion’s undiluted dews - but no doubt Laurelin’s rain, unmixed would have been far to hot for Elven palates. It was also very strong and I found myself growing sleepy.

But the sound of Melkor’s name roused me. “I saw him at his teaching when we rode through Valimar.” the Princess was telling Ancala.

The Bright Lady frowned. “You must do everything you can to keep your people from his influence, Istafinde.”

“I know. My father has forbidden all his household and following from having anything to do with Melkor, but I fear not all obey him - including some of his own sons. And my grandfather insists on receiving your elder brother whatever Father or I say. If the Valar have seen fit to give Melkor back his place among them, he tells us, why should the Elves shun his company?”

“The Valar are not always right,” Ancala said grimly, “And even if we were that is no reason for the Children to refuse to use their own judgment.”

“So I have said.” said Istafinde. “But my Lady is it just to fault my grandfather and my people for thinking like children when they have all their lives been coddled like children?”

“Another example of our fallibility,” said Ancala. “The Children are not ours to shelter and spoil. You belong to Eru and were sent into Arda to do his work. We should never have brought you here.”

“That is one mistake at least that my father means to mend.” said the Princess. “Davne has joined my maidens to teach us all the language of the Eastern Elves, or at least what was their language at the time the last ships sailed.”

Ancala’s fire bright eyes turned to me and I hastily looked away. “Good. Feanaro must be seen to prepare himself for the return, to prove to my peers he is in earnest.”

“He is in earnest.” said Istafinde. “As are we all. We want to go home.”

Home. The word struck oddly upon my ear and my limpe addled mind. Valinor was home, not darksome, monster haunted Middle Earth - wasn’t it?”

“Give my greetings to my brother Ulmo, and say to him it is time he visited Valimar again.” Ancala was saying to my Lady when I took notice of the conversation again.

“I will.” Istafinde promised, and rose to her feet. “But now we must go to our rest.”

My feet wavered under me and Vanamire was forced to support me on the walk back to our cool, stone walled chamber. “I’m sorry.” I said to her.

She just smiled. “It’s the limpe. You’ve never had it before have you?”

I shook my head.

“I thought not. We drink it often, whenever we guest with one of the Valar. You’ll become accustomed to it too in time.”

The chamber had only two couches of stone, softened with silks in all hues of red. The Princess took one, and Findorie the other. The rest of us used more silks to make ourselves nests on the long chests, the wide tank rim, or the stone seats that lined the terrace beneath of canopy of golden cloth.

I curled up in one of these and fell instantly asleep, for the first time in my life.

My wide white wings beat the air in long lazy strokes. The night wind carried the scent of water and evergreen trees and the stars of Varda burned around me like lanterns. I was not alone other swans flew at my right and my left, their wingtips inches from mine, all of us part of a spear-point formation of some dozen or so. At a signal from our leader I angled my wings downward and we descended smoothly, still in formation, onto the grey surface of a large lake.

Mist stood above the water like pale flames and reeds rustled along the shores. Behind them grey-green sward rose in a smooth slope to a dark wood of hemlock and pine. My companions and I glided across the water to the shore. Then suddenly the lead swan turned into my Princess, standing ankle deep in water and draped from shoulder to heel in a cloak of soft white feathers. The other swans too began to change into my fellow maidens and then I did something and became Davne again.

I was wearing a cloak of swan feathers, just like the others, and the water seemed colder to my Elf feet than it had to my swan's webs. I followed the others through the rushes and up on to the grassy shore. And then we saw the stranger Elves, little more than dark shapes at the forest's edge.

Istafinde's voice quivered with excitement as she greeted them in the Eastern tongue. They came closer. They looked none so different from Amanyar, a bit shorter perhaps, most dark haired but some with pale locks that glimmered under the stars, but the light of their eyes seemed strangely dim.

One answered my Lady, but his accent was different from my grandmother's making him hard to understand. Uncertainty flickered over Istafinde's face. "Nolowende."

I moved swiftly towards her, as if I had been called -

- Then suddenly it was full light, bright as Laurelin at his third hour, yet it was not Laurelin's light though very like it. Our swan robes lay on the green shore of a clear pool, fed by a small waterfall and dotted with stones worn smooth and shapely by the water. The trees that crowded close around, larch, rowan and cherry, were in full, springtime bloom.

We had been bathing in the pool but now we were all staring at the three men who had intruded upon us. They were tall and fair to look upon with golden hair and blue eyes but they were not Elf-Kind, that much I knew for certain. Unlike us - and yet like to us. What were they? -

- We were flying again, cleaving like arrows through a strange, smoky darkness. The ground below us was black with hideous creatures, sheathed in iron and leather, fighting with Elves of both Western and Eastern kinds, and the Strangers who were not Elves but kindred to us.

Istafinde, at the point of our formation, gave a harsh cry and we swooped down upon the dark ones, changing from swan to woman as we struck. I wore a corselet of shining silver steel beneath my feather cloak and there was a long spear in my hand. I struck down the evil warriors before me easily, as if I had done it often before -

And then I awoke to find myself curled in a stone seat on a terrace overlooking the Lady Ancala's fiery gardens. The other girls who'd slept outside were moving inward to gather around the tank of Telperion's dews, I uncurled rather stiffly and joined them.

"I had such strange dreams." I told Dorme as we splashed silver light over ourselves.

"That's the limpe." she assured me. "It always gives dreams."

"True dreams?" I asked rather uneasily.

She shrugged. "That depends on who did the brewing.

"Those who dream in Ancala's house always dream true." Istafinde said quietly.

I didn't mind learning how to turn myself into a swan but I wasn't at all sure I wanted to become a warrior. And what where those horrible things we'd been fighting - and who were the Strangers who'd fought beside us?

After fortifying ourselves with Telperion's dews we followed our Lady back to the Hall where she took leave of our hostess. The firebed and extra braziers had not been relit nor the window casements closed so the temperature in the Hall was almost bearable - for Elf-kind. I wondered if the various Fire-Maiar standing around found it uncomfortably chilly. Ancala kissed Istafinde lightly on the brow and then Makarion and two of her Handmaidens escorted us down the terraced gardens to the gate.

Outside Ancala's hot golden demesne it was the dawn mingling of lights. Our serving men were where we had left them and had set up a tent far larger and grander than the little one I had used on my journey to the City. This one was white striped with gold, Istafinde's colors, and had her banner flying from its peak. Inside we found carpets and cushions and low tables and chests containing our belongings.

Each of us had three; a sandalwood chest for our gowns and body linen, an ebony chest for shoes and girdles and the like, and a small, ivory casket for the jewels that went with every costume. We replaced our thin flame colored shifts with green riding dresses, each the shade of a different kind of leaf, worn over chemises the delicate pink, white or yellow of blossoms. Only Istafinde's costume was different, as usual, ivory white over pale gold.

When we were dressed we went outside again and found Lord Moritarno and Talagant had returned from their own visits. The harpist played for us while the serving men took down the tent and loaded the pack horses. When our camp was all neatly packed away we called our horses and mounted and resumed our journey.

Findorie was riding beside Istafinde at the head of our line but suddenly she reined in her mount falling back to talk to each of us in turn. I was near the end of our procession, with Quessetal the dancer beside me and the serving men behind. Finally Findorie reached us.

"Did you dream of flying last night?" she asked.

"Yes!" we both said at once - then looked at each other.

"You dreamed of turning into swans too?" I asked.

"Yes." Quessetal smiled happily. "It was wonderful."

"It seems we all dreamed the same." said Findorie.

"Did you see the Strangers?" I asked. "The ones who are like us but different?"

"Not I." Findorie answered. "But Istafinde did. And Olliante too."

“Not quite the same then.” said Quessetal. “I saw no Strangers but I did see the Eastern Elves, and a city of white stone like to Tirion.” she frowned a little. “I saw it besieged by a great dark army, but Istafinde fired it from a white flame she held in her hand and then we all turned into swans and flew away leaving our City and the enemy to burn...”

“I saw fighting too,” I said, and shivered a little, still troubled by the memory, “but not a City.”

“We all dreamed of battle but not the same battle.” said Findorie. “There is bound to be fighting when we return to Middle Earth. Melkor may be here but his creatures still haunt the darkened lands.”

“But they weren’t dark!” Quessetal blurted. “There was light; silver and golden both, like the Trees’ but not quite.”

“I dreamed that too.” I agreed. “What does it mean?”

“Perhaps that the Valar will find a way to share the Light of the Trees with Middle Earth.” said Findorie doubtfully. “But one thing is certain. The Prince will get his wish and we will go home at last.”

I was surprised by Findorie’s choice of word, then I remembered. Yes, for her Middle Earth was home. But for the rest of us?

***

The road wound northward through the flowering meads and woods of the Plain of Valinor. The houseless land seemed empty to the eye but was not so, here dwelt many lesser spirits of wood and meadow and stream and lake. One could feel their eyes upon us and every so often one or two or more would clothe themselves in Elf-like forms and approach to ask our business, or even keep company with us for a time as we passed through their country.

The trees dwindled to two bright points of light, like the stars of Elentari, on the south-eastern horizon but still we traveled with no sign of any ending to our journey. I had never realized Aman was so vast, for few Elves wander far from our dwellings on its eastern margins, but my Princess and my fellow maidens were among those few. They had passed this way before, many times, especially Istafinde and Findorie, and could greet many of the spirits we encountered by name.

We stopped at the mingling of lights to take a meal and each evening the men erected our tent and we took an hour or two of rest before resuming our journey by Telperion’s silver light. It was not a disagreeable way of life; we sang to Talagant’s harp as we rode and the girls told me stories of the odd friends they had made among the lesser Maiar and spirits on other journeys. Had this been a journey of pleasure we would have turned aside to visit some of them but we were on a mission for our King and so kept to the road and rode steadily northward.

Finally the land began to rise in hills that grew steadily steeper and wilder as we approached the northern mountains. The air grew cooler and the land we traveled through seemed wild and inhospitable compared to the Plain.

“We have passed beyond the power of the Valar, they do not tend these hills or the mountains beyond them.” Istafinde told me. “Does that make you feel unsafe, or oppressed, Davne?”

“No, my Lady, I like it.” I looked around at the cold, purple-grey hills rough with heather. I did like it, even better than the rich smiling lands to the south which was very strange. “I like it here, but I don’t know why.“ I admitted, puzzled.

Istafinde smiled. “So do I.” was all she said.

I asked the others, one by one, and they all admitted that they liked it too.

“It has a kind of beauty you don’t see in the meads of Tirion.” Helianwe said. “Everything there is bright, here it is muted but richer. You don’t see such colors in the south land.”

“It’s so lonely and untended, nobody appreciates this country but us, even the Nandini and Orossi prefer the sea facing mountains.” said Dorme. “Sometimes I feel I’d like to live here, watch the seasons change, take care of the land and love it, make it bloom. Not like in the south but in its own way.”

“Listen to the steams,” said Lindele, “they sing a different song from those in the south. Their own song.”

“This land is free.” said Findorie. “It belongs to itself, not the Valar, and when we are here we are free from their trammels.”

I stared at her, shocked, and Olliante, who rode nearby, clucked disapprovingly. “That’s a harsh way of putting it.”

“But a true one.” Findorie retorted grimly.

“It is as my Lady said,” Istafinde put in gently, “the Valar brought us here for the best of reasons but they were wrong to do so. This land belongs to them and here we can never be more than guests, eternally cosseted and protected.” she looked gravely at me. “Some, perhaps many, of our folk like it so. But not all. We have learned much of the Valar but we cannot remain pupils forever. We would like to exercise our new powers and that we cannot do here under the hand and eye of the Powers.”

“And that’s why the Prince wants to go back to Middle Earth.” I said with sudden understanding.

“That is why.”

“I want to go with you when you leave.” I told my Lady.

“You will.” she promised, and smiled.

Our procession wound its way through the thick black boles of hemlock and yew. Dark vapors drifted around us obscuring the forms that moved in the shadows beneath the trees and the occasional gleam of eyes. I was scared, and I’m sure the other girls were too though it was impossible to tell beneath the dark mourning veils we all wore. I knew there was nothing here that would do us harm; this was the domain of a Vala and the eyes watching were those of his attendant spirits, and yet the darkness and dank chill filled my soul with fear and horror.

Even Lord Moritarno - a warrior who had fought the evil creatures of dark Middle Earth and now bore King Finwe’s golden banner before us - was pale, . Talagant followed, playing a sad lament upon his harp; then Istafinde in her somber grey robes. Findorie and I walked side by side right behind our Princess, she carrying the chest holding Queen Miriel’s robes and jewels; and I another containing the King’s thank gift for the Holy Vaire. The other girls came two by two behind us bearing the torches which gave our only light. And last of all came two serving-men, playing sadly upon viols.

Finally we came to a clearing amidst the trees. The sky overhead was grey and sprinkled with pale stars for the light of the Trees barely touched these far northern lands. Lawns of green-gray grass stretched before us, starred with white asphodel, water gurgled in black fountains and willow and cypress trailed their leafy tresses in dark pools rimmed with pale stones. Brooding hooded figures clipped from dark yew bushes lined a long avenue leading to a door of black and green marble set into a mountainside and carved with palely glowing signs whose meaning I could not read.

We advanced down the avenue towards the doors, our steps slow and reluctant. If they were to open I knew I would not -could not - go in, nor likely stand fast in the face of whatever came forth. But they did not open. Instead we turned left just before reaching them, passing under an arch of clipped yew into a vast, roofless hall.

The dim starlight reflected off the glittering angles of jet columns and the floor gleamed like black glass. Shadowy figures, hooded and veiled in deepest grey or black, stood between the pillars on either side and at the far end the Lady of the Dark Halls and her Lord waited to receive us.

my eyes clung desperately to Vaire, the one spot of brightness and color in all this terrible, darksome place. Her figured robes were richly hued, her face and her hair, pale as starlight, shone with a gentle, welcome radiance. I scarcely dared to glance at the Dark Lord by her side, robed and mantled in soft black that drank up what light there was without giving back a gleam. He seemed clothed in living night even as Ancala and her servant Maia had worn garments of fire. But his face was white, and cold and still as stone set with eyes like depthless pits of shadow and he wore a dead grey crown on his night dark hair.

Trembling from head to toe I somehow managed to follow my Lady down that long roofless hall to sink gratefully to my knees with the others before the two Valar. Moritarno and Talagant knelt on either side of her but it was Istafinde who spoke: “Hail Vaire, bright weaver, lady of the endless halls. Hail Namo Mandos, keeper of souls, judge and doomsayer.”

“Hail, Miriel daughter of Curufinwe heir of Finwe Noldoran.” Vaire answered in a voice like the gentle music of the fountains but warmer. “I would say welcome but even the doorstep of the Halls of the Dead are no place for the Living.”

“Why have you come?” Mandos demanded, flat and cold, in tones like the deep tolling of a bronze bell.

Istafinde rose to her feet and behind her we did the same, though my knees shook so I could scarcely stand. “You know the strange fate of my grandmother and namesake, Miriel Serinde.” my Princess said. “At long last her empty house has fallen to dust. Since her soul dwells now in your halls my father and grandsire have decided to give into the Blessed Vaire’s keeping the robes and jewels my grandmother wore on her last day.”

She half turned and beckoned to Findorie who moved forward to kneel and place the casket she bore at Vaire’s feet. I tightened my grip on my own burden, it would be my turn next and I must not trip or fall.

“You understand Queen Miriel will not be able to wear them and might not even wish to see them.” Vaire was saying to my Lady.

“Yes, Holy One, but my father and grandsire cannot bear to look on them for bitter memories and so they send them to you, along with a gift to thank you for your care of my grandmother’s soul.” this time she beckoned to me.

Keeping my eyes fixed firmly on the blue toe of Vaire’s slipper peeping from beneath the hem of her colored gown I managed to walk forward and sink gracefully to my knees, opening the lid of my casket to display what was inside. the Valie exclaimed aloud and bent to lift the gift up so all could see. It was a great carcenet, large enough for one of the Valar to wear, a lacy thing of glittering strands of adamant, emerald and sapphire with pendant jewels carved with figures and scenes from the Great Journey. It sparkled and shone with its own light in this dark place, a glorious example of the Prince’s incomparable skill in jewel craft.

“No thanks or gifts are necessary, I have but done my duty by the Lady Miriel,” Vaire told my Princess, “yet I thank you, Istafinde, and Curufinwe for this lovely thing.”

Mandos rose, like a dark cloud. “You have done what you came to do.” he said in his deep, cold voice. “Now go. And say to Finwe and Curufinwe that Miriel has the silence and peace she desires.”

I practically jumped to my feet and backed away almost into my Lady’s arms. Gently she shoved me into my proper place behind her and made a deep courtesy to the Lady and her Lord. We backed several steps away, bowed again, and only then were able to turn and walk down the long stretch of glossy black pavment towards the arched entrance. I wanted to run, and I think the others did too - even Istafinde - but we didn’t, though we walked very fast, far faster than we had when we entered.

Vaire’s garden and the darkling wood beyond it seemed far less awful after Mandos’ presence but we were glad to finally back get back to our camp in the pale light beyond the forest’s eaves. Safe inside our tent we removed our veils. The others were as pale as I felt - even Istafinde - but she scraped up a valiant smile.

“Well that’s over and done with. Now for the Outer Ocean and setting stars!” and we smiled back with relief and anticipation.

Exhausted by fear and strain we settled down to rest, even sleep a little. Snuggled safe in my velvet quilt I tried to forget the Dark Halls and their Dark Lord in imaginings of the western sea.

When we arose a few hours later the light was stronger and had a golden tinge from Laurelin though the northern hills cut off even a distant sight of the Trees. We put on short, floating dresses of mingled blue and green, like sea water, with sea grey cloaks edged in white, like flicks of foam, to go over them. Istafinde was clad like the rest of us but with a diadem of stars upon her brow while we braided gems like winking stars in our long hair.

The men started back for Tirion with tents, baggage and horses. But we girls turned our steps south and west towards the strands of the Outer Ocean. Light hearts made for swift feet and we ran more often then we walked through the subtle, hidden beauty of the wild lands. Stopping occasionally to bathe our dusty feet in some convenient pool or to gather the tiny bright flowers blooming among the gorse and heather.

The journey north had been pleasant enough but this was much better. The small burrowing animals and timid birds who made their home in the wilds came out to greet us, now that there were no great, heavy hoofed horses nor chatter and clatter of menservants to frighten them. Nor did we girls feel we had to watch our manners and our dignity every minute as we had under Lord Moritarno and Master Talagant’s eyes.

We followed a winding stream down from the hills to the western shore. It unrolled before us like a ribbon of silver, dividing in the distance to run in many shining rivulets through grey sand flats to the foam edged strand, past a cluster of low, wide halls built of of rough, unfinished grey stone.

“There dwells Nienna of the Tears.” Istafinde told me.

“Are we going there?” I asked uneasily and she laughed.

“No! I have no wish to weep and wail. The Grey Lady is kind but always so sorrowful, and I have no grief in need of consolation. My grandmother died long years before I was born. I never knew or missed her. It is my father and grandfather that I pity, not Grandmother who chose the fate she wanted in their despite.”

There was a hard note in her voice, and I could not blame her for it. Whatever Queen Miriel’s griefs she had left her husband to mourn her, and forced her son to grow up without a mother. “But surely it will comfort the King and the Prince to know the Queen is content where she is.” I ventured.

Istafinde sighed. “No doubt it will. It was kind of Lord Mandos to send them news of her.”

I looked at her, jolted by an unexpected understanding. The Dark Lord had indeed been kind to give word of Miriel to her kin. And suddenly I knew it had been kindness, not impatience, that made him send us away so abruptly once our errand was done. Lord Mandos, I realized in wonder, cared for us - the Children - as much as any of his peers in his own stern way. And suddenly I felt guilty for fearing him.

“He doesn’t mind does he - the Lord Mandos I mean - mind that we fear him.” I asked impulsively. “He isn’t - hurt?“ I felt silly the moment I uttered the words. How should a Vala be hurt by the Children? But Istafinde looked approvingly at me, as if I’d said something clever or wise.

“I don’t think so.” she answered. “He knows it is natural and right for the living to fear the dead and their keeper. Even the Doorstep of Mandos seems terrible to our eyes because we do not belong there but to the houseless who do belong it may be a fair and restful place, like Lorien.” Istafinde frowned a little. “I think it must be so or my grandmother would not have chosen to remain in the Halls when all - even Mandos himself - urged her to return to life.”

“Istafinde!” It was Findorie, now far ahead with the other girls strung out behind her, calling back to us. “Davne! Why do you linger?”

The Princess laughed. “Why indeed?” she caught my hand. “Come, you must see our bay and seaside bower!” and we ran, hand in hand, to catch up with the others.