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A Teleri Treasury  by Rhyselle

Refusal, Reconsideration, Repentance


"Succor those kinslayers?" Olwë spat, clenching his fingers tightly about the crushed parchment that had been sealed with the Elder King's sigil.  "You must be jesting, my lord!"

Eonwë looked with pity upon the Teleri king, and said gently but firmly, "It is no jest, Olwë, but a summons to all of the kindred Eldar."

Olwë flung the scroll to the floor at Eonwë's feet.  "My people have shed enough blood, no thanks to those Heldecari!  My harbour is still stained with it!  Only now have elfings enough been born and grown and learned sufficient to replace those forbears slain at Fëanor's and Fingon's hands at sail and oar when we venture beyond the harbour arch!  And you ask me to sacrifice them in order to bring back those—!" 

He threw up his hands and stalked to the window that overlooked the broad harbour, tears of rage and grief staining his fair face.  Under the light of the stars, the swan-prowed vessels gleamed as they rocked gently in their berths.  "No!  I will not let my people die all over again for those Rebels!"

Eonwë bowed to the distraught king, then vanished to take Olwë's reply to Lord Manwë.

* * * * *

Olwë sat at the end of the breakwater, uncaring that the salt spray was soaking his embroidered and bejeweled clothing.  He stared out to the moonlit grey swells of the sea, hating all that had come after the Darkening, still furious at the demand that had been made of him by the Valar .  

"Oh, that I had stayed on Tol Eressëa with my people!" he cried aloud to the night sky.  

"Then I might never have been born, Uncle."

Olwë started, almost falling from the rocks into the sea.  Deceptively strong hands caught him and pulled him back to safety.

"I do not think that Ossë would let you drown, Uncle, but I wouldn't be surprised if he played with you before helping you back to shore."  The elleth who supported him as he found his feet smiled at him, grey eyes sparkling for a moment, before taking on a more somber mien.

"Elwing."  He was heartstruck again, as he had been the moment he'd laid eyes on her when she'd been brought before him upon her arrival in Alqualonde.  He could see much of his brother in her features, despite the dark hair that proclaimed her Noldorin bloodlines—or perhaps her mortal heritage.

She seated herself next to him, and leaned against his shoulder.  "Eärendil was going to come talk to you, but he saw your lovely ships and I couldn't pry him away from the shipwrights."

Sliding an arm around her waist, Olwë found himself chuckling, despite himself.  "I wondered why I hadn't seen him for some time.  But," he looked down at her lovely face, "that's not why you followed me all the way out here, to tell me of your frustrations with your mariner husband."

Elwing shook her head.  "It's not."  She looked east, and suddenly sniffled.  "I just realized that today is my sons' begetting day, and I don't know if they live or are in the Halls of Mandos.  And I am forbidden to return to Middle-Earth to fetch them back here with me."

She began to weep, and he held her close, stricken.

* * * * *

In the throne room in Ilmarin, Olwë bowed deeply before the Elder King, afraid to look up into the Vala's face.

"Forgive me, Lord, for my intemperate words when I received thy command.  I give thee our ships to carry thine hosts to battle in Middle-earth."  He took a deep breath, then begged, "But, if thou wilt, grant that my people remain with the fleet, and not be part of the fighting, lest they be tempted to revenge against those exiles who stained our harbour with Teleri blood."

Silence fell and, despairing of forgiveness, Olwë stared down at the intricate lapis lazuli tiles that decorated the floor upon which he knelt.

The Elder King gazed upon the silver-haired King, and took pity upon him.  "Thy fleets we accept with gratitude, and the boon that thou hast requested is granted, for thou hast abandoned thine anger, and look now to healing."

Tears trickled down Olwë's face as Lord Manwë opened his arms and drew him up into his embrace.

"It is not thy part to set foot nor eyes on Middle-earth, my child.  For thee will be the harder task of waiting for thy ships—and thy people—to sail home."

(written Nov. 5, 2008)


A/N:  It started as a double drabble, and then the muse said "There's more!"






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