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L U M O R N E L

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25th of March, T. A. 3019

After the Battle of Morannon

Death.

I never imagined it to be so bright.

Sure, I had always thought death to have light. But I had imagined the Halls of Mandos to be a dull, soft glow. Comforting.

Yet as I stood in the expansive brightness, I was squinting as I tried to inspect my body. 

No blood stained the pure white garments I wore and the awful, agonizing pain I had felt searing through my chest only moments before was gone. I groped at my neck—but only felt a thick, bumpy line. I peered under my blouse but no gaping wound from Duvaineth's sword marred my chest. Only another thick scar surrounded by a smattering of smaller now-white marks.

Two more to add to my collection.

On instinct, I turned to find Legolas, to find his pillar of comfort and strength—

But was met with only the glaring illumination of my death. That's right... I died. Duvaineth killed me... and I left Legolas behind. I left the good peoples of Middle-earth behind.

The air rushed from my lungs. I fell to my knees.

Dead.

I... failed.

My entire being pulsed with pain, with grief, and an amassing amount of failure. I gasped, trying to draw in breath beneath it all.

As the knowledge of my death and failure and all that I left behind coursed through me like a raging river, I noticed something... different. Something to pull me away from the pain that threatened to break me.

I did not have a body.

Not in the physical sense, anyway. I was more a spirit with shape, my thoughts and energy shaping me into something that looked like... well... me.

There was a vague translucence about my skin, and I thought I was glowing.

But no... no that was not my own light shining from within, it was rather the light of this world shining through.

I clenched my fist, but the light—the glow that wasn't mine—still shone through me, all of me. My light couldn't save me... couldn't save the peoples of my world.

I bowed my head, the phantom of tears rolling down my fëa's cheeks.

I'm sorry... I'm so sorry.

"My child, do not weep so. Bitterness and guilt have no place in a spirit as bright as yours. Nor should the sharpness of grief dampen your soul."

Soft, light fingers found my chin and as gentle as a night's breeze, the owner of such a shining voice lifted my face to meet theirs.

The very air in my lungs caught as I stared upon the lady's fair face. Her countenance was as pale and soft as a new winter's snow, light shining forth with such a purity that I felt actual tears well up. Her eyes so deep a purple they were almost black... and in them there were the stars. Soft, distant pinpricks of light shone out at me as they danced to a song I could barely hear.

And her hair. As black and void-like as the night sky, as long and flowing as the dark, empty expanse surrounding the moon. Her hair seemed to float weightlessly around her waist as it cascaded down, the ends evaporating into the spaces between realities. And within her locks, there were bright jewels woven seamlessly in. Not jewels placed by any hands, but natural pricks of light. Star-light.

"Elbereth."

"Yes, 'tis I." The Lady Varda smiled, her pale, pastel lips curling softly. Soft pricks of starlight bloomed softly in the air around her, dimming and reappearing elsewhere.

I couldn't comprehend what was before me. The Lady of the Stars, the Queen of the Valar, knelt before my fëa. She exuded power, power seeped from her very pores. The things that made Middle-earth lay within her, the knowledge of things beyond life and histories lay in her mind. Ancient, timelessness shone through her. Her very eyes seemed like portals to a place of heavenly songs and vast holiness. And although there was the slight point of elven ears peaking through her glorious mane of everlasting-night hair... I knew she was no elf. Her being was more than a spirit encased in a body. She was a well of divine might; endless, seemingly depthless.

She was not Eru—I couldn't imagine what his presence felt like—but her being was powerful. More powerful than all the might of the elves.

I felt far too tainted to stand before her.

She was a Vala, the Lady of the Stars, and everything of her screamed softly of her godly Will.

And my trembling spirit would not forget it.

I opened my mouth to speak, but quickly closed it as I blushed. I looked down and eyed my transparent toes, feeling her motherly eyes on my fëa.

I don't deserve to be in her presence. I failed her, her and the rest of the Valar.

"Dear one, do not think such thoughts. You have done just as Eru hoped."

I snapped my eyes up to her galaxy pools and couldn't help the disappointment and anger that pulsed through me. "Failed?"

She shook her head softly. "You have not failed, child. You brought hope to a people awash in despair. Middle-earth saw your light and believed that not all was lost, and because of that, they have fought harder and have a figure to rally around in the coming darkness."

I blinked. "Darkness—?"

"Wait," I interrupted myself. "But I died? How can they rally around me?"

Varda's supple fingers gently, yet firmly, took hold of my wraith-like hand and allowed me to rise. With her free hand, she swept it through the air, gesturing to... to a giant room.

The Halls of Mandos.

They were like the great paintings; wide and long, tall and expansive. The vaulted ceilings extended so high that the intricately carved arches all but disappeared into a hazy, misty light. A light so soft and pure it seemed to be shrouded by the most holy shroud. Around us milled a multitude of departed souls, but they were not overcrowding. In fact, in life I had always assumed these halls would be packed nearly shoulder-to-shoulder. But it was the opposite. Some talked aimlessly with each other, while others sat on benches reading a bound book. Some turned corners to reach another section of this holy resting place, their slightly luminescent fëar disappearing around the framed archways.

Some souls looked unbearably sad, their shoulders turned in under the weight of their grief. Their eyes seemed lost in some distant memory, but as they ran their fingers over the ethereal tapestries that covered every inch of the walls, their countenance seemed to grow a little brighter.

It was to these very tapestries that Varda gestured to.

"Throughout all the ages of time, the world's histories have hung from these walls. Many agents of darkness rose, and many more figures of light rose to meet them. Some of these heroes fell, and yet many still fought in their name."

A tinge of sadness melted her features. "You, my dear, will not be seen in quite the same light. But the hope you once represented is what they hold onto, even if they may push away your name."

"What?" I breathed, fear panging in my gut. "What do you mean?"

Again, that sadness. She shook her head, ever so slightly. I couldn't be sure if I had imagined it or not.

"You did not fail, hína. You brought hope to a people despairing. And still, even after your image was tarnished, they cling to that same hope."

She smiled again, softly, and looked away, as if seeing something far off that pleased her. Stars shined in her eyes. "You see, your strength inspires them. Though you did perish, that spark of strength and light lives on."

A sudden, terrifying chill struck a freezing cord in my chest. "What about Legolas?"

She took my hand and squeezed.

All the air left my spirit lungs. "No. I—I have to go back. I can't just leave him."

The pain he must be in, the sorrow.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

"And so you shall."

I spun at the new voice. And all my grief and pain dissipated completely.

For before me stood a man—no, man is not the right word.

The Vala stood straight and unbending, except for his ever-slightly grey hair. It was not the color of old age, but the color of clouds, shadowed from the sun. Although I felt no breeze, his hair danced around his shoulders and face as if there was one. As did his blue robes, so blue it hurt my eyes. He held a sapphire staff in one hand.

Manwë.

Loud, boisterous laughing boomed from behind me—I spun, but Elbereth was not there, a quick glance over my shoulder proved her to be impossibly by Manwë's side, her husband. Where she had been, stood another Vala.

He was tall, muscles bulging under armor that he wore like a second skin. His perfectly golden hair shook as he laughed, smiling through his golden beard. Tulkas.

"She looks like a gaping fish!"

Suddenly aware of my open mouth, I closed it, but could not break my stare.

Vala, I'm standing before three vala.

My head felt light and woozy. If I had a corporeal body, I'd have fainted.

Tulkas elbowed yet another Vala that had not been there a second before. I trembled at the newcomers presence, trembled in fear.

For before me was Ulmo, King of the Sea, great and terrible all at once. I knew that the Valar did not have corporeal bodies, merely they were literal spirits, Ainur, with great power. They simply wore a fana for our convenience. But Ulmo...

It was like he was reluctant to fully wear a fana. He was a body of churching water, vaguely shaped into a great man. His beard was seafoam and his hair sea mist, upon his head sat a dark foam-crested helm and he wore silver green mail. It shimmered like light caught upon the sea's surface. I felt that at any moment he would come crashing down upon me in a great wave.

Despite this, his face was kind as he gazed upon me. His water shining eyes sparkled as if he knew me well.

Ulmo gave the barest hint of annoyance as his fellow Vala elbowed him in the side.

"Did you manage to sprinkle some of your sea-creature friends into her being whilst Varda had her back turned?" Tulkas laughed again, brilliantly clear eyes on me.

I blinked and suddenly all fourteen of the Valar were before me.

If I was speechless before, I was rendered utterly immovable, mute. Completely shocked, flabbergasted. Suddenly feeling like a small grain of sand at the mercy of the world.

They were all magnificent, and my eyes felt like they were beholding some beautifully grand illusion as I looked at them. All fourteen!!

Why am I not passing out?

Oh yeah, because I'm dead!

"Tulkas," a Valie said, her hair raven black, her red and golden robes as brilliant as a sunrise. "Do not speak as such." Her eyes bespoke of many stories, her nimble hands, although casually gesturing to Tulkas, seemed to be plucking a magnificent tale on a harp or loom. I immediately knew her to be Vairë, wife of Mandos. The Weaver of the tapestries that hung in these very halls.

Mandos stood just over the shoulder of his wife, standing like the grimmest of statues. His robes were dark, his skin even had the slightest gray sheen to it, like a veil of mist. Though it did not make him look sick. In fact, it made him more awe inspiring to look at. But I had to turn away, for his eyes held the judgment of all, sharp as a broken stone.

Gulping, I turned to Elbereth. My eyes flicked to Manwë at her side.

"You..." I stopped to compose myself. "You said I will return?"

"Yes," Manwë answered, voice as deep as a thunderclap, yet as light as a breeze. "You shall return, though not for some length of time."

Through the amazement still muffling my senses, I felt a coolness settle within me. Some length of time?

"But..." I glanced around—and immediately looked down, knowing my attempt was futile, but continued anyway. "But I have to help Middle-earth, all the innocents... Legolas."

I forced myself to meet Mandos's grim gaze, knowing that he was the one who had control of my after-life fate. He was the one who could send me back, like he did with Glorfindel.

"Please send me back..." my voice faltered as he gazed upon me. So, I looked down. "I feel as if my mission in life is not complete. There are still those who need me, there are still many who need hope and saving. I can't bear knowing that it may be my fault that some will come to know darkness and all the cruelty the world has to offer simply because I am not there with them. And...

"And Legolas. I can't leave him behind." My whole being seemed to ache for him, seemed to reach out for his presence only to not find him there. Burying my embarrassment, I continued.

"My whole soul cries out for him, my lord. He is my other half and... and I can't imagine a life without him. Please, send me back. If not for my sake, then for his. The pain he must be in..."

I had to force away the image of a broken Legolas, prone body wracked with sobs.

"I have to go back," I said, voice thick with emotion.

"You will," Mandos said. "However, you shall remain with us for a while. There is still time and you shall not be needed for some years to come."

"But—"

"Hína." Varda stepped forward and knelt before me again. "There are many things we are to teach you, many things you are to know. If you were to depart these halls for your people now, you would be of no help to them."

But what about Legolas, I thought, grief for him pulling at my middle. I could help him.

"Your meleth will suffer without you, but Ulmo will keep an eye on him through his waters. He will grieve, yes, but he will not be alone."

"He shouldn't be grieving at all."

"You will return to him," Mandos spoke, voice a heavy bell's resonating ring. "That I promise you."

"Mandos does not break his promises, vinya er."

I looked to Manwë, saw the truth in his ancient, depthless eyes.

"How long?" I swallowed my fear, instead focused on that strange courage that found its way to me in the midst of the Valar.

Manwë did not answer, instead Mandos did. "That will be up to us."

"How long," I gritted, clenching my spirited fists.

Mandos denied to answer.

I thought for a brief second to threaten to leave, to storm out of these halls only... I couldn't.

"I like this girl," Tulkas announced, grinning broadly through his beard. A Valie held his arm, a soft smile of her own on her pink lips. Her long brown hair seemed to dance around her waist. With her short dress, ending just at her knees, and her long, slightly tanned limbs, I could easily see what the stories told of her. Nessa was a dancer, capable of dancing all day long, and could outrun even the deer.

Despite their smiles, I held firm in my question. Despite the cold resoluteness in Mandos's eyes, I held his stare. Somehow, I fought back against the shiver threatening to run down my spine.

"Seven years."

I inhaled sharply. Seven years. Then, glancing to the Vala who had granted my answer, I froze, my thank you stuck on my lips.

The Vala who answered was none other than Lórien, the brother of Mandos, the master of visions and dreams. His collarbone-length hair was as white as the sun's reflection, mesmerizing to look upon. His robes were dark, with splashes of vibrant purple and blue. It clashed splendidly with his pale skin.

He inclined his head towards me, spilling his white hair around his face. It was almost like a greeting, or a you're welcome.

It also managed to make me completely lose my train of thought.

... seven... "Seven years?"

Lórien merely blinked as an answer.

Seven years without seeing Legolas... or seeing my friends or seeing Mirkwood's trees...

It felt like a lifetime.

But being in front of the whole Valar I knew I had no other choice. How would I escape the Halls of Mandos being nothing more than a fëa?

Elbereth broke my ruminations with her soft, shining voice. I didn't doubt that if she sang, the stars would burn brighter, the grasses would sway her way, just to hear her voice.

"There are some matters of importance that must be revealed to you, Lumornel." She stepped up to me, and with her three of the others.

Lórien was one, Tulkas another, and the third was Nienna. She had the same bright hair as her brother Lórien—Irmo, as the Eldar call him, but her eyes were a deep gray, marred by some ancient sorrow. She wore a grey cloak, the hood resting on her brow. It was open, however, to reveal the most simplest, yet most beautiful of dresses: a deep grey, an almost blue. The fabric was cinched tighter at the waist, free to fall in delicate waves around her legs. The neckline was low, but modest, and it was framed with a network of silver thread.

She was the Valie of grief and courage.

I found myself wanting to reach out to her, but I forced myself to focus on Lady Varda.

"Eru Ilúvatar—" I blanched at the sound of his holy name, spoken loud and clear. "—told us of you before you were in the womb. He made it known that you were to play a pivotal role in the histories of Arda and so, we were to have play in your making.

"We chose amongst ourselves those who would mold you. We were to be the ingredients, or spices if you will, to accompany your fëa. Without us, you would not have a prophecy in your name nor would Sauron have attempted to taint you while you were growing within Galadriel's womb.

"Simply put, we are what makes you the prophecy-written." She motioned to herself and the three just behind her. "The parts of us that we intertwined with you is what makes you who you are. The light you hold within your hands is mine, the dreams and visions you have are a gift from Irmo. You inherited your sorrow for Middle-earth and your courage to act through it from Nienna and your talents in combat from Tulkas."

I stared at her in shock.

I have the power of the Valar within me.

I mean, I knew the Valar had to have had a hand in my powers but... they actually put part of themselves in me...

"No," she smiled. "Only four of us."

"But you are still you, Lumornel," Nienna said, voicing the quiet fear that had started to bud within. Her voice was as soft as a light rain, but as encouraging and firm as a wise mother. "The powers that lay within you may have been from us, but they are merely threads in your soul. We do not define you, only you can do that."

I nodded, feeling better, but... I glanced at Tulkas. I did not have his strong muscles, nor did I come anywhere near close to his skill in combat.

"What?" He grinned. "You thought that you were able to become skilled with a sword in only a few short months all on your own?" He shook his head and gave a short laugh. "My dear, it takes years for any one person to become as skilled as you are. Only through me were you able to learn so quickly."

It made sense but... I wanted to scream. I couldn't think. The shock, the news of my making...

It hadn't fully set in yet.

And my dreams and visions... it suddenly made sense for them to have come from Lórien. Why had I not seen the connection before?

"There is one other thing, Lumornel."

I glanced back at Varda, eyes wide. What? What else could there be?

"As was announced before, you are to stay with us for a short while—" seven years is short? "—we each will counsel you and you will be given time to heal. When the time comes, you shall be given the body you should have been born in: one of elven making. And you will have your scars."

She paused to let it sink in. The hope that had been surging was suddenly crushed. Dreams of walking barefoot in a skirt with short sleeves thrown away, desires to be with Legolas thrown back into dread.

"Your scars are a reminder, Lumornel, of all that you have come through. They show your strength."

"Every now and then we need to be reminded that we can persevere," Nienna said in her lilting voice.

Elbereth nodded and then motioned to my hand and it's missing digit. "Your finger will be restored to you, for that would not have happened if Sauron had not corrupted you with his ring.

"And when you are sent back, you will not be the same. You will have to go through a trial, but you will come out of it with something to help Middle-earth, though you will not remember these words until after. And the abilities we have granted you will be ever more the stronger. Since you will then be in the form you were meant to be in, some things will be... different. Because your powers will be stronger, you will have to take precautions and learn how to use your abilities anew."

"You can think of your experience with your abilities as training wheels," Irmo said, a slight smile on his lips.

I nodded, feeling both daunted and excited.

"And you must remember," Nienna began, "that you are Middle-earth's strength. In the paths you are to take, you are to give guidance. In the coming darkness, you will have to be a light. And in the sorrow and pain that will blanket the land, you must offer healing. You are a beacon, Lumornel, and you are a tool. You have been made to prevent a terrible darkness, and should you fail, the end will be upon us all."

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Fëar
⇾ plural of fëa (meaning spirits or souls)

Hína
⇾ child (Quenya)

Vinya er
⇾ young one (Quenya)

So I just realized that I've been forget the accent on the e in fëa. Oops.

Yeeee fun fact: the beginning of this chapter was actually one of the first things I wrote for New Dawn.

Also, I had fun writing/describing the Valar. And I'm excited to write the next chapterrr yayyyyy.

Lastly, in case you didn't see the time stamp thing at the beginning of the chapter, or the comment I put there, the Battle of Morannon is also known as the Battle of the Black Gate... so I'm case you didn't pick it up from the details, this chapter took place right have Lumornel was killed by Duvaineth.

Hopefully see you/read your comments/see your votes 🤨🤷‍♀️😂 next weekkkkk.

Many blessings,
Phoenix