LAKE MITHRIM - THE YOUNGER HOUSES

When darkness had fallen over Valinor with only the torches of the Noldor to replicate the beauty of stars, Eve never imagined she would watch the sons of Curvo and Angaráto playing together on a field of green beneath a golden sun. And yet, as she sat with Nixiel and Eldalótë upon woven rugs with their fingers busy repairing torn cloaks, that was what she saw. She smiled. She could get used to this.

Noxious clouds of grey smoke still billowed from Thangorodrim almost daily, but occasionally the wind blew in their favor, and the sun beat down upon them. Nixiel had suggested they take advantage of such a day. As Eve watched Tyelpë chase after Artaresto, their mothers chatted together like old friends. Another wondrous friendship that she had never predicted.

Most of the House of Finwë, those born into it at least, still avoided one another when they could. The eldest trio defied this, with Finno, Findo, and Nelyo nearly never apart from one another. But the others stayed distant. Tyelko had returned to the wilds with Telvo at his heels. Curvo buried himself in his forges with the other weaponsmiths. 

Aiko and Ango—no, they called themselves Aegnor and Angrod now—worked as diplomats with the Falathrim. Their work took them away from home more often then not as they tried to maintain friendly ties with their estranged kinsmen. Sometimes, Eve wondered if taking the Sindarin forms of their names heralded more than just a desire to connect with the elves here in Beleriand. Did they purposely distance themselves from their Noldorin house?

Artanis walked that thin line as well. She stayed by Nolofinwë’s side when Findo acted the diplomat to the camp of the elder house. The king valued her wisdom. All did, really.

Well, most. Eve smirked to herself as she returned her focus on the needle and thread in her hands. Findekáno had torn his favorite cloak while training with Nelyo. He had others, but while the sun warmed her face she wanted to make the most of her time. 

“I could not believe the amount of mud that child could drag in from a single puddle.” Nixiel looked on the edge of laughing even as she scrubbed furiously at Tyelpë’s extra pair of boots. “Was yours as bad at this age?”

Eldalótë chuckled. “Worse, if you can believe it. During one of Yavanna’s festivals, Arto decided it would be fun to make mud castles. With so many feet kicking up the dirt during travel, he had ample supply.”

“Well, I am quite glad they have each other to stay occupied,” Nixiel said.

Eve was too. Arto has grown in stature, and stood twice the height of little Tyelpë. But this made the younger prince all the more excited to follow his cousin around. Even now, as Arto battled a few other children his age using wooden swords, Tyelpë clapped and cheered him on, bouncing on the heels of his feet in excitement.

The other two women continued their gossiping. Whenever the ladies of the royal houses got together they tried to keep topics light. Hurts still ran deep between all members of the House of Finwë, but even though the princes still quarreled, there was no reason their wives needed to. 

Of the grandchildren of Finwë, it was perhaps Iríssë who most embraced the new spirit of cooperation. She spent as much time at the Elder camp as she did her own. While Nelyo and Finno still argued off and on, she had all but abandoned any mistrust. Though if she was honest, Eve thought it less an act of forgiveness and more an act of boredom, or perhaps rebellion.

“It is an odd tongue,” Nixiel said. “But what do you think, Eve?”

She blinked away her daydreaming. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

“This new language of the Grey Elves,” Nixiel said.

“Sindarin.” Eldalótë set aside her embroidery “My husband has been giving lessons to Arto. I find it odd, a bit heavier, harder to form the words. But not unpleasant.”

“It's inefficient,” Nixiel said. 

Eve cracked a smile. There's the Nixiel who had Curvo wrapped around her finger in Valinor. “I don't mind it. But I love the language of Valinor, and have no desire to change.”

“What of Findekáno?” Eldalótë asked.

She shrugged. “You know him. He and Findaráto have spent hours together, learning not just their languages but the dialects.”

“Well, Curufinwë and I have no intention of changing our language either,” Nixiel said.

Eldalótë gave a small roll of her eyes. She started back on her embroidery. “Still, it is useful to know this Sindarin.”

“If only to be able to talk to the Falathrim,” Eve added.

Nixiel waved them off.

“I thought I would find you here.” 

Eve turned around on the ground, as did the other two women, at the sound of Artanis’s sweet but stern voice. Gone were the days of her shorter hair and competitive smiles. Artanis left her hair long, braided to perfection to keep it out of her face. Clad in blues and golds and whites, she paraded the colors of her house more than any of her siblings. 

As she passed by Hyamindo, Eve’s ever present protector, Artanis produced a leatherbound book. She smiled. “You will have to forgive my interruption, but I thought perhaps my dear cousin would want this.”

Eve shot up from the grass. She abandoned her nearly finished repairs of Finno’s cloak and closed the short distance to Artanis nearly immediately. 

“Careful, Eve, or you might tackle her,” Eldalótë said. With a twinkle in her eye she just winked at Artanis.

“Even if I tried, I'm not sure I could push her over,” Eve said. “But if you don't give me that book we might have to find out.”

Artanis just let out a small, short laugh and handed it to her. “It was one of several gifts from Lord Círdan of the Falas. Neither Angrod nor Aegnor have ever been much for reading, so I thought it might go to you.”

“What is it?” Nixiel asked. She had stood off the ground, joining Eve side by side.

Artanis straightened up at her approach. Eve trusted that the daughter of Arafinwë knew how vital their roles were in maintaining the still tentative peace between the houses, but even in Valinor she had not befriended Nixiel, wife of Curvo. Here they had an alliance, yes. But mistrust was not so easily conquered for Artanis.

“A catalog of plant and animal species,” she said.

Eve opened the tome, running her fingers along its light brown leather cover and silver inlay first. The pages contained illustrations and details of hundreds of flora and fauna. The entries were detailed in fine script, but she could only read some of the words. Maybe it was time to learn Sindarin, after all.

“Were there other books?” Nixiel asked.

Artanis nodded. “One. A book of songs, composed by the Falathrim alongside Ossë himself.” She crossed her arms. “I have decided to hold on to it. It should stay with the blood of the Teleri.”

Eve’s mouth ran dry as she closed the book. Artanis stood tall, defiant in that moment. She alone had fought in defense of the sea elves of Valinor. But Artanis’s piercing gaze did not land on her; she has not turned from Nixiel. Curvo’s wife straightened up as well.

“As is right,” Eve said.

Nixiel took a deep breath. “Indeed.”

The air settled as Artanis bid them farewell and moved back through the camp. Nixiel quieted a bit but resumed her task cleaning her son's boots before moving on to the next pair, that of some other child of the Noldor. Eldalótë, perhaps out of an abundance of caution, made sure to carry the conversation as they worked and watched their sons along the shoreline.

It wasn't long before Eve left them to it. She enjoyed their company, of course, but she could only handle the gossip and light conversation for so long before she felt the ache in her heart growing in the absence of Elenwë and Amárië. Besides, she had finished repairing Finno’s cloak.

She found both people she longed for in the same place. Not far from the main entrance of the Host of Nolofinwë, a private training yard had been set up for Nelyo’s recovery. Though he also sent time at the other camp, when here, it made sense to allow him a place to train out of the watchful eyes of the masses.

She heard the clashing of steel, arguing, and laughter of her husband and brothers before she saw them. But not far from them, sitting on a tree stump barefooted and wearing a silver dress, sat Itarillë.

Eve paused, clutching the book to her chest like a life vest as she took in the scene. Itáril wasn't a little girl anymore. She had tried to deny it before the young lady before her looked like an adolescent in Earth years. She whittled a small bird from a piece of wood as the wind blew through her golden curls.

Not far beyond, Finno and Nelyo held swords in a small ring of dirt, the latter far less amused than the former. Káno watched, critiquing their stances. But Eve turned her attention to the girl.

“Thought you might be here,” Eve said, pulling Itarillë in for a small side hug. “Whatcha doing?”

“Making this,” she said. Itáril held up the wooden bird, mostly carved except for the details of one wing. “I thought perhaps my father could carry it with him, when next he goes into battle. For good luck.”

It looked like a dove. Eve smiled. “I think that's a wonderful idea.”

“What's that?” She asked, putting her whittling rolls aside to look at the book. 

“Lady Artanis gave it to me. It's from the Falathrim, a book of animals and plants native to their sea coasts,” she handed it over. “Take a look.”

As Itaril flipped the pages, Eve turned back to fher husband and brothers. Nelyo had come a long way in a short time. He looked healthy. Slowly, his muscle had returned and now he turned his mind to learning to fight again. Eve took a deep breath.

She got hit with an acrid smell. The winds had shifted. The darkness would cover them soon, the clouds of smoke that Morgoth tried to scare them with every day. But they would not be cowed.

She heard steel clash into steel. Nelyo gritted his teeth as he swung a sword with his left arm hard onto Finno’s blunted practice blade. Eve looked to her left, at Itaril engrossed in the new book, wooden bird in one hand and the corner of a page in the other. Yes. Morgoth would find them all ready to fight, to die to protect that which they held most dear.