Métimafoa put a comforting hand on the shoulder of the weeping LeShay girl who had just watched her father die. He had no words to comfort her, and she kept repeating the phrase "Grisum un klaw estem, y no driedo evah folau." She repeated this for about 3 hours straight, before finally collapsing into a restless, nightmarish sleep. Métimafoa's concern for Nolgaion prevented him from truly appreciate the beauty of the realm they were in, but Oroneminya noticed it, even as she carried Nolgaion over, and set her under a nearby mallorn tree.

The feeling of the gelatin grass under her feet was mildly disconcerting, as was the fact that she had just watched Mallori die, but it was hard not to feel calm in this realm. The Temperature was perfect, and the sky was beautiful, smooth and colourful like matte painting covering a never-ending canvas. The small grey gnomes with tricolour horns ran around playing games amongst themselves, and there were crystalline trees peppering the hills and vales. "What are we doing here, Métimafoa? We have no place to live, and no food to eat, Little one." A gnome came up to her and offered her a white flower, which she graciously accepted. She inhaled its scent with a sigh and continued: "We will survive, Métimafoa, for as long as we stay here, but there are foes, probably the Forces of Meneltarma, waiting for us on the other side. We die when we leave." She was surprised at the lack of emotion in her voice. She was not afraid to die, not anymore and certainly not afraid to fight, but this was different. It was not fear, that she felt; it was resignation, as though she had lost all hope.

Métimafoa smiled at her and took her youthful hand in his infantile ones. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. That is out of our hands. All we can do is make do with the time we have and make it count. Who says we have to leave, anyway? We have all of the resources here that we could ever need. We have everyone here that we could ever need, except for our siblings, but they will never even know we are gone."

Orónëminya was tempted for a moment but in that moment of indecision, she felt something she had not felt before. She felt a responsibility, not only for Métimafoa, and Nolgaion, but for her siblings in the Material realm, and all of the people who dwelt therein. She sighed, as the words of her father echoed through her ears.

"You must always do what is right. Not for me, your mother, your aunts or your uncles, but for the people of Meneltarma. As a princess, someone will always be watching you, and some will want to see you fall. If you give them an anchor, they will grasp it, and pull you down into the deep dark recesses of your crime."

"What can I do to stop it?" She had asked fear in her young voice.

Her father looked at her and replied, "Some part of me wants to hold you, and comfort you, and tell you that all is, and will be, well, but such is not the case. Darkness will rise from the deep, and the Line of Estelondo will be broken. I will not always be here to comfort you, nor will I be able to. I must teach you to be strong now, so that you will be strong later. That, is my duty as a father."

Orónëminya whispered under her breath, "If only he had believed the same was his duty to the citizens." She took a deep breath, and to Métimafoa said: "We cannot stay. We have a duty to our people, and that duty is worth far more than our lives. Such is the curse of a monarch; we must return to the home of our childhoods, regardless of the danger to ourselves."

The hope in Métimafoa's eyes dispersed, and he sat down between her and Nolgaion, holding one of each's hands. "So be it." He looked around at the quick-moving gnomes and smiled at their curious antics, but inside he was disheartened. As far as he was concerned, all that lay in the material realm was death and despair. How could he take Nolgaion back, just to see her father's corpse, and die? "I suppose we should begin building shelter, though I doubt that it will rain. I at least want to build a platform to lay on, so that we don't have to lay in this Gelatin grass." His eyes strayed toward Nolgaion, who rested under a nearby tree. "I hate what this world has done to us. No."He corrected himself, "Not 'to us.' 'To its people.' To the citizens of the Land of Aponar ar Quendie."

"What would you like to build out of?" Orónëminya asked, considering his last thoughts in her mind.

He gestured to the nearby trees. "We have wood all around us, and although it will not compare to the stone walls and roads of Meneltarma, it should be a sufficient shelter for the duration of our stay."

Orónëminya sighed. "So be it." She stood, and walked over to the tree, under which Nolgaion lay. Nolgaion was still asleep, but Orónëminya brushed a lock of hair out of her face, and whispered, "Mae fúmë." The magic flowed through her like water through a riverbed and went directly into Nolgaion, who promptly fell into a deeper, peaceful sleep.

Turning to her brother, Orónëminya yawned, and said, "Come, Toronnya, and we will begin."

But Métimafoa held up a hand to stop her. "I will start alone." His sister looked at him questioningly, so he explained: "I need some time to think, and I would rather think alone. Get some rest, you are still injured, and your body needs time to heal."

Orónëminya looked at him in concern, her eyes containing nothing but concern. But her formality restrained her. "So be it." She closed her eyes to hide her concern, and sat down next to Nolgaion on the grass, grasping her hand lightly. She laid down, the gelatin grass cushioning her, and with the resting of her head, she realised exactly how tired she was. Without opening her eyes, she stated: "If you ever need to talk, I am here for you." Then she drifted off into a long deep sleep.

. . .

She awoke hours later to see the light source in the sky shining down on her, despite the relative shade of the tree. Sitting up slowly, she stretched, wincing from the pain in her chest and abdomen. Ignoring the pain, she looked around, only to notice that Nolgaion was sitting under the tree. Nolgaion's chin rested on her knees, and she watched Metimafoa build the house with great interest, and intensity. Orónëminya smiled a little, choosing not to move immediately. She instead chose to take in the surrounding beauty for a moment.

Eventually, she decided to speak. "Melro toronnya." Orónëminya said, not as a question, but as an observation of fact.

Nolgaion flinched at her words, but her voice was level, if a bit hoarse when she answered. "I don't know, Orónëminya. I don't know what love is, so how can I know if I love him?"

Orónëminya smiled in a way that was almost condescending. "Surely you must have some concept of it." She whispered, her voice low as if discussing a secret so dark that it could ruin a person's life, but so light that it could bring incredible joy, life, even, to those who hear it. She leaned against the tree, before continuing "I think we all have our own definition of love: Our own concept of it. Some idea of a person who we can trust, who we believe in, who we would be willing to spend the rest of our immortal lives with. Someone who would protect us from all of the evil in the world, but who knows when we need to do something on our own. Someone who sees our pain, and responds to it, not only by helping to share the burden but by reminding us that what we suffer is not without purpose. Someone who..." Orónëminya trailed off, realising that she was monologuing. "My apologies. I did not intend to go on like that,"

Nolgaion disregarded her apology, turning to face Orónëminya for the first time in their conversation. "Someone you are willing to die for?"

Orónëminya stood and held out a hand for the LeShay girl to take. "Yes, but more importantly; someone you are willing to live for." With a nod of comprehension, Nolgaion took her hand, and together they went to help Métimafoa build.

. . .

Two months later, the three Fey children lay on the floor of their mostly completed wooden home. Orónëminya slept, but Métimafoa and Nolgaion lay speaking to each other in the cool night air, under the star-filled sky.

"Tomorrow we can finish the roof, and then we can live here until we return home," Métimafoa said, pride filling his youthful heart.

A tear slid down Nolgaion's cheek, glittering like a crystal in the pale starlight. "Home," she said, her voice shaky, "But I have no home to return to."

Despite his youth, Métimafoa understood immediately. "You have a home, Nolgaion. No person is ever truly homeless. To quote my grandmother, 'Home is where the heart is.' Your heart still beats in your breast, near as I can tell, so you have your home. You just have to find it."

"What if I don't know where it is, or how to find it?"


Métimafoa wiped the tear trail from her cheek and grabbed hold of her hand. "Then I vow unto you, Wise One, as The Youngest Heir of Meneltarma, I will help you find it." A shooting star flared across the night sky, directly over the top of their house, before flickering out.

Nolgaion looked up at it in awe, and acknowledged, "It has been recorded." She paused and took a deep breath. "Do you think we'll survive the journey back?"

"I don't know, truthfully." Métimafoa answered, "but even if we don't, the two thousand years we have here is enough. It is twenty times the lifespan of men, and they rarely complain about it, when sober."

Nolgaion sighed in resignation and rolled over. "I'm going to get some sleep. We need to build up our energy for the roofing project, which you wish to complete tomorrow."

"And what do you wish to do?" he asked her, curious as to her tone's meaning.

"I wish to sleep," she said tersely.

"Fair enough," Métimafoa whispered. "Sleep well, Little Bird, and dream of happier days."

But there was no reply, as Nolgaion had already fallen into a deep sleep.

. . .

 But the Sandman did not come for Métimafoa, nor did sleep.  He sat there, or rather, lay there, for hours, deliberating over his actions for the day. Did I make the right choices? Did I use the right words? Did I find the right answers?  Questions whirled in his mind, keeping it too active to rest, so instead, he sat up and began to trance. 

It was about an hour into his trance, that he heard the voice. "Sleeplessness usually only plagues the wicked, but here you are, unable to sleep. Tell me, Seldoelloanqualë, what wickedness have you done?" 

Métimafoa's eyes opened slowly, and in front of him was a woman with brown hair, and a dark blue and green dress. Her nails were painted green, and she would have looked completely normal if not for her glowing white eyes. That, and the fact that she was floating 1 unit over his siblings. "My parents always told me not to talk to strangers, but I recognise you because my grandfather used to talk about you, a lot. You are the goddess Martamo, the weaver of dreams, and Reputable Deity of this realm, are you not?"

She lowered herself onto the ground next to him, and her eyes faded from their white glow, showing their colour to be blue with flecks of green. "Indeed I am, though Huiosse, the nightmarish brute, still seeks to supplant me. But you did not answer my question: What wickedness have you done, that your sleep is taken away from you? What plagues your mind?"

Métimafoa raised his eyes up towards her's because she was still about a foot and a half taller than him. "I know what I should do, but I cannot bring myself to do it. And I don't want to. We could all be happy here. We could start a new family here, and live, not only longer but in peace. Why do we have to return home? Duty? I was but a child when we left, I owe them no duties. Honour? Where is the honour in dying alone in the woods, far away from anyone we know or love? Family? We will probably never see our family again, so why would we sacrifice ourselves for a hope? It doesn't make sense." He stood up and, in a rush of anger, marched out of the house. He stared into the night sky for a few minutes, before glancing back to Martamo, who came out behind him, standing silently there. "Are we so doomed to a life without choices?"

She put a comforting hand on his shoulder, and he felt the power of her magic, though her touch was gentle and without rebuke. "You always have a choice, but sometimes you know which one is right. without deliberation. But that doesn't mean you like it. Doing what is right is the right thing to do, regardless of how you feel about it. Often times, the stories tell you that the hero made the right choice, with no indecision, and never looked back, but that's not true. The heroes, the truly wise and valiant, are the ones who always look back. They may not do it when you can see it, but they will always look back. They know humans are not infallible, and they know that they are human. Why do you think I took such an interest in your family? You are a line of the wise and valiant. You are the hope of Quendie ar Aponar because you are a stone that the people can build their foundation on. Be at rest, Métimafoa, for you know what is right, and you know what you should do. All that is left for you is to know what you will do, and that is the easiest of them all."

"How can I rest, knowing all the consequences of my actions, no matter which route I take? Either way, there are drastic consequences, and in only one of the ways, do we have a chance of survival."

Martamo frowned slightly. "You underestimate the levels to which your siblings would go to keep you alive." She pointed upward and ordered him to "Look at the stars. Count them. Name the distance from any one of them to here."

Métimafoa shook his head but looked at the stars nonetheless. "That's impossible. The Study of such things teaches us that there is no limit to the stars, and even if there was, they are just lights in the sky. There is no distance because they are not existent. It would be like trying to find the end of a rainbow. There is--"  Métimafoa cut off, realising what she was pointing out. "There is no distance that my siblings wouldn't go to; to save me." He turned back to Martamo to reaffirm his statement, but it was too late. By the time he had turned back, Martamo had disappeared. With a sigh of comfort,  Métimafoa entered the roofless cabin and fell into a deep slumber. 

. . .

1800 years had passed, since their entry into the realm, and never had there been 1800 years as long as these. But Métimafoa had aged greatly, and now appeared to be nearly 15, by human standards, whereas  Orónëminya now appeared to be approximately 22 by human standards. "When all is said and done," Nolgaion had said, "you will be oldest of your line, Orónëminya. Technically, that would give you the right to the throne, but by the rules of Ascension, Percival was born earlier, so the throne is still his. Firstborn law is fun, but hard to find loopholes in. "

"I will not attempt to take the throne from my brother, even if we take it back from Gygax." she had replied, her voice cool, but not emotionless, as though every word she had said was calculated, and rehearsed.  Métimafoa noticed this, but said nothing, walking away as the two continued to talk.

It was that conversation that laid heavy on Métimafoa as they marched along solemnly to leave the Dream Realm. They walked in silence, all of them knowing what waited for them on the other side of the portal.  Métimafoa stood between the two of them, his hands holding theirs, as they marched along the trail to the tree from whence they came. He stopped and looked at the two girls, who in turn faced him. "What is it, Métimafoa?" Nolgaion asked, knowing full well everything that was about to happen but accepting the children's responsibility as her own.

"I just want to let you both know, that no matter what happens on the otherside, I love you both, and will see you in the Halls of Mandos someday." He said, his voice full of indeterminate emotion. 

Nolgaion looked down and blushed, but  Orónëminya gazed ahead to the nearby tree, that served as a marker for their journey. "I know, dear one, and I love you too. Judging by Nolgaion's reaction, she feels the same emotion for you too, so that should probably be addressed at some point."  Orónëminya pointed at the tree. "I believe this is our destination?"

Nolgaion nodded in affirmation after looking toward it. She turned to the others. "No matter what happens, no matter what we see, or hear, or think, or feel, we keep running. We run hand in hand until we escape the men who murdered my father. Someday," she paused, allowing the moment to take effect, "They will pay for spilling his fiery blood on the cold, wet ground. But for now, the two of you must live."

Nolgaion whispered the spell, and with a gesture, the portal opened. "So we ride onward, to our doom, but I choose to side with the Hope Stone of Men and Elves, no matter what comes our way. Are you ready?"

Orónëminya and Métimafoa glanced at each other and nodded. "I will take the lead, Nolgaion, you can take the centre, and Métimafoa, you can bring up the rear." Lining up, and taking each other's hands. "May Martamo bless our journey, and preserve the line of Estelondo."

With that, she jumped through the portal, dragging the other two along with her, and the portal fizzed out with a dark shimmer. So went the journey to death, and doom, for the line of Estelondo.

Dear Readers,

A few notes, if I may, and then I will be on my way.
The Average unit just for relevance is 95.72 centimetres, which is the average between the lengths of a meter and a yard.
Métimafoa is now of a young adult, his appearance being somewhere between that of Faramaurea and Percival, in age.
The Next chapter will actually take place from Gygax's perspective because I want to further establish the theme for this book, as I claimed it in an earlier chapter.
We are also now one chapter(technically 3, but one more from their perspective) away from returning Métimafoa and  Orónëminya to the original plot guideline, which I have personally been looking forward to, and none of you noticed the fall away, because no one is reading this anymore, but I do not really care about that because the narrative is what is important..
Hope you all have a great Easter, or Resurrection Day, whichever you celebrate, if either.
Sincerely,

Isaiah Le Istya
Live Long and Prosper!