Written for the Silmarillion Writers' Guild ‘Solve a Problem’ challenge.

Hope in the Hills

The afternoon air was redolent with fragrant horse chestnut flowers. The damp canopy above was full of minivets calling to each other with their melodic "Twee, twee, twee!”. The males' black and scarlet plumage stood boldly against the females' yellow and grey. It had been long since Nerdanel had ventured into the foothills of the Pelóri. The humidity was far higher than she was used to. Tirion, located on the Plain of Valinor, was drier and cooled by the Sea breeze that whistled through the Calacirya.

She and Fëanáro had often roamed theses hills in the early years of their marriage, before her sons had been born. She could still remember his voice announcing the name and properties of each plant and animal they came across. There were thorny kher trees with dark, peeling bark and crooked rosewoods with long, leathery leaves. The game path she was hiking was surrounded by shrubby nettle-leaved hydrangeas, their mauve blossoms contrasting against their serrated leaves. 

Closer to the ground were the rhododendrons, their tubular flowers pink as a vivid sunset. The forest floor was hidden by sprawling mats of mountain thimbleweed, distinguishable by its deeply lobed leaves even though it would be some weeks before it flowered. The soil next to the little stream beside the trail was choked with yellow kingcups and the blue and white river anemone. Nerdanel paused, looking out at the lowlands below, tapestried with Vanyar farms, situated among the waving grasses of the Plain. 

Setting her pack more comfortably on her back, Nerdanel continued up the steep slope. 

She was nearing the summit of the hill, several hours later, panting with exertion and sticky with sweat. It had been too long since she had attempted any strenuous exercise. Her husband would have sneered, if he could see her in such a state. No… that was what he would have done after his anger and bitterness had marred their happiness, tainting even the good memories. Before then, he would have laughed and teased her, yet ensured they spent more time exercising together.

"What are you doing here, Child?"

Nerdanel stumbled back, crying out in surprise. Before her a Maia had manifested, two palms taller than her, with green eyes and long copper tresses fluttering in the slight breeze. He was clad in all white, his tabard emblazoned with a waterfall embroidered in silver thread. She knew that sigil was worn by the servants of the LadyNienna. Yet her halls were very far from here. Few Elves saw any Ainur outside of festivals and Nerdanel had never seen any who served Lady Nienna outside of Valmar. 

She shifted her weight nervously; she had never had much dealings with Maiar. 

"I am Sérener, servant of Nienna." He must have sensed her unease because his stance opened and he gave a gentle smile.

"Nerdanel, daughter of Mahtan. Well met, Sérener.” She gave a low bow, her pack rendering it less graceful than intended.

“Well met, Child,” the Maia replied with a bow of his own.

“I was only exploring," she explained, hastily. "I did not know this place was forbidden."

"No place in Valinor is forbidden to the Eldar,” Sérener replied, shaking his head. “My Lady and her brothers have… an interest in this area.”

Nerdanel bit her lip to prevent herself from scoffing and idly wondered if the Ainur were inscrutable on purpose or if the differences between them and Mirröanwi made communication difficult. It seemed the Maia discerned this thought for he frowned, turned around, and bid her follow. A frustrated sight escaped her lips as she trudged after him, hastening to keep up with his long strides. She was about to ask him to slow down when the trail opened into a clearing in the forest.

There, set into the red sandstone the slope, was the mouth of a cave and around it were several dozen Elves. They were shorter than the average Elf, dark haired like Noldor, with eyes the color of chestnuts. All were dressed in naught but fringed leather loincloths embellished with beads and paint, though several wore fur capes. Nerdanel thought they appeared rather savage with colorful feathers braided into their hair and necklaces crafted of raw stones and carved wood.

They stared at her, pausing their labor in various tasks: skinning hides, weaving baskets, binding stone points to spears and roasting meat over a fire. A half-grown child attempted to run toward her but was stopped by a woman, presumably his mother, grabbing his arm. Nerdanel turned to Sérener, he must have been known to these Elves as they lacked any interest in him. An Elf with a tiger skin cape approached her, smiling. To Nerdanel’s surprise, he greeted her in perfect Quenya.

Soon she found herself siting on a log, eating roasted thar meat off of a stick, peppered with questions by the strange Elves. She gleaned that all, save the children, had been re-embodied, having died in Endórë. They had lived here since they had been released from Mandos, calling themselves Estelië. They had never seen any Elven city or settlement or even any Amanelda until her. Most surprising was that they had no knowledge of metal working or of the crafting of cloth.

It was nearly dusk by the time the inquiries of the Estelië waned and they returned to their tasks and began preparing for the evening meal. Nerdanel rose and sought out Sérener, standing on the outskirts of the clearing where he had remained since his arrival. She deliberately opened her mind to him, keeping her desire to speak privately at the forefront. The Maia inclined his head and headed down the trail they had come from, Nerdanel following, until they were far enough away so as to not be overheard.

“Why are these Elves here?” she asked. She had dozens of questions but this was most pertinent. Those whom had died and been reborn were placed with family, once released from Mandos. Even if the Estelië were of the Avari, no Amaneldi would refuse to take in kin, no matter how distantly related. Perhaps these were those whom had no desire to live among Amaneldi. Yet if so, why had they been settled in these wild, uninhabited hills, unsuitable for growing grain or pasturing beasts?  

“It was considered the best place for them. It is a day’s travel to Tirion, yet remote enough that they need not interact with any other Elves if they do not desire it,” Sérener answered, placidly.

Nerdanel huffed, wondering if he was deliberately misunderstanding her. “And you are here to prevent them from leaving?”

The Maia evinced surprise. “Nay, Child. They are free to leave whenever they wish, though they have thus far refrained from doing so. I have been commanded to watch over them and ensure they are not molested. ”

“The Valar believe they might come to harm,” she stated, incredulous.

Sérener gazed at her thoughtfully, his mind brushing at the edges of her own. She raised her head defiantly, keeping her mind open. The light had taken on a reddish hue as the Sun began its descent below the horizon. Hidden in the forest, a nightjar called out a series of cheeps that sounded like a stone skipping across ice. Suddenly, the Maia smiled and the weight pressing against her mind ceased. Nerdanel had the feeling she had been measured, weighed and judged as worthy.

“Are you aware that Moringotto created Orcor from Elves?” he asked.

She blinked, baffled by this non sequitur. Those who returned from the War had seldom spoken of the legions of these creatures of Moringotto for they were less fierce and frightening than his other servants: the Trolls, Dragons, houseless Sprits and Balrogs. Still, she had never heard of any whom entertained such an idea. Nerdanel knew that most Amaneldi would consider the very notion repulsive. It was fortunate this was not common knowledge among them.

“Since they were Mirröanwi, they reproduced after the same fashion,” Sérener said. “And when they die, their spirits come into the care of Lord Námo.”

Nerdanel stared at the Maia in horror, imagining the tens of thousands of twisted wretches that must dwell in Mandos.

“You begin to understand, Child,” he said softly. “Very few of them desire to return to life, even those whom are healed in full. Even so, there are some.”

Realization dawned. “Those Elves, they were once Orcor?”

“Indeed,” he said. “They are understandably wary of other Elves. It is hoped that in time they will be able to integrate with the Amaneldi.”

That would not be happening anytime soon. It was wise of the Valar to post a guard here for if it was known that re-embodied Orcor dwelt so close to Eldamar… there might be another kinslaying.

 “May I return? To visit them?” she asked.

Sérener smiled broadly. “I would be very much pleased if you did.”

Glossary

Ainur (Quenya): ‘Holy Ones’. The Valar and Maiar, also, in context ‘spiritual being’ as opposed to the Mirroanwi. 

Mirröanwi (Quenya): ‘Incarnates’ (i.e. Elves, Men and Dwarves). Literally, ‘those (spirits) put into flesh’.

Endórë (Quenya): ‘Middle-earth’ (i.e. the continent).

Amanelda (Quenya): ‘An Elf of Aman’. An attested word. Plural: ‘Amaneldi’.

Estelië (Quenya): ‘the people of hope’. A word of my own invention(cf. Eldalië: ‘the Elven-folk’).

Orcor (Quenya): ‘Orcs’.

Moringotto (Quenya): ‘Black Foe’. Cognate of the Sindarin: ‘Morgoth’.

Eldamar (Quenya): ‘land of the Elves in Aman’. Literally, ‘Elvenhome’.