The council leaves us in a decidedly subdued mood. We have two weeks to kindle at least some spark of hope in the hearts of those who have none. I do not question the ability of the Valar to give the promised aid, but I doubt the ability of Moringotto’s former thralls to receive it. They fear and distrust the Powers. And even when they are healed enough to undertake the journey - I rebel against the thought of dragging my people anywhere against their will. That feels too close to but another kind of thraldom.

“What shall we do?”

Voicing the thoughts of us all, Ingwil suddenly halts and looks at me and Artanar in turn. He has been pacing back and forth in my tent for a good while. His presence is mildly irritating, yet somehow comforting too. It reminds me - we are in this together.

I have no answers, so I merely shake my head.

“I do not understand them.” Ingwil quietly confesses. “I went there. I attempted to speak with them, to encourage them. It was awful. Pity tore me apart, but all I said… it all sounded so hollow. So useless. Merely empty words. But they need so much more than that. They need… I do not know what they need,” he admits with a helpless shrug.

Artanar raises his eyes. “Nobody knows. Not even the Valar, I think.” He shoves aside the plate where he has been pushing the food around rather than eating it, looks away and despondently stares in the distance.

Ingwil resumes pacing. I attempt to think, to weigh the possibilities, but my thoughts run in tangled circles, bringing no clarity. At length I get to my feet abruptly.

“I shall go for a walk.”

Ingwil and Artanar regard me closely for a moment. Artanar shifts as if to rise but then nods and remains seated. My cousin does not follow me either.

Outside, people sit around fires sharing a meal. A din of conversations interrupts the stillness of the clear evening. Occasional laughter rings out. Someone even rises voice in a song. In the other camp I did not hear anything even remotely resembling any of the latter two.

The small ridge I climb offers a view of both the plain and the camp, yet it is not the best place for lookout, so I do not expect anyone to be here now. But I am mistaken. A hunched figure, clad in a heavy cloak, already sits on one of the scattered boulders. A sound of muffled sobs reaches me.

I nearly turn back at once. A mere thought of sharing yet another burden of grief seems unbearable; besides, whoever sits here has likely come to seek solitude. But shame swiftly sweeps away these thoughts. Who would leave another alone in distress? I should at least offer consolation.

“Can I help you in any way?” I ask. The stranger turns. I gasp and step back when I see the tear-streaked face of lady Estë. “Forgive me, lady, I did not mean to…” But then I fall silent. Body may be just a raiment for the Valar, but it conveys their feelings even as it does for us. “My lady…”

I hesitantly approach and sit down on a stone close to her. I do not know what to say. It seems so unfitting to witness the grief of one I deemed so much stronger, so much greater than myself. Yet simply leaving seems cruel. After a while Estë speaks.

“I went there.” Her voice is trembling. “Unseen, as your kinsman suggested. What I saw… that silence… And their eyes… Ai, their eyes…!”

She buries her face in her hands and starts sobbing anew. Suddenly I do not see before me a powerful, superior creature. Estë is sad and hurt, and then, all distance and reverence forgotten, I embrace her and whisper words of comfort and hope, and she clings to me hiding her face on my shoulder. There are no more walls. There is only grief and comfort.

“All will be well. All will be well, my lady.”

Dusk wraps the plain when Estë finally raises her head and brushes a slender hand over her eyes.

“When I first realized the true horror of what they had endured, I was ready they would hate us,” she says softly and looks down at her hands, now locked firmly together on her knees. “That would be just, in a way. At least understandable. I was not ready to face their guilt. Their resignation. They think they deserve this, Arafinwë.” A note of despair enters her voice.

“Are they wrong, my lady?”

I must ask this. I must know.

“Yes!” Abruptly she raises her head, her eyes glint. “How can you think we would wish something like this upon any living being?” She shudders, wrapping the cloak tightly around her shoulders.

“…and the Valar will fence Valinórë against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains.” I do not say these words aloud, but I cannot banish the memory. I was there. I heard them.

“He did say that; you remember every word correctly,” she whispers with trembling lips. Her face looks stricken. “That is true. But he never meant… this. He did not know… We do not know everything, Arafinwë, even Námo…”

I sigh. “Forgive me. I did not intend to add to your grief. I merely… remembered. It was their choice to go on. Maybe none truly understood the consequences. Whatever the past, we should look towards the future now.”

She draws a shuddering breath. “How?”

I do not yet know. But somewhere deep within my heart hope fights its way through despair, like that small blade of grass through the scorched earth on the plain of Anfauglith.

“Can you heal and strengthen them unseen, my lady? Without them being aware?”

“Yes.” She nods. “I can heal the hurts of body in this way. But I cannot mend their fëar by stealth.”

“We shall find a way. First, do what you can for their injuries, and then...”

I fall silent abruptly, realizing in horror that I have just given an order to one of the Valier. I am about to apologize, but she sets her finger against my lips to silence me and smiles.

“We shall do as you say, King Arafinwë. We shall find a way.”

I remain upon the hillock after lady Estë leaves. The wind is fresh and crisp, and the sky is clear, an expanse of dark-blue velvet dotted with countless stars. A beauty for everyone to see at last when the coiling smoke and fumes have dispersed. The Light is still there, I repeat to myself. It is still there. All of it.

Wrapped in cloak against the nightly chill, I sit down on the ground. Once, I loved to sleep under stars. Ëarwen and I, we would often climb the mountains encircling Tirion, even as far as the treeline, and we would stay there overnight. The memories I had hidden away before now drift to surface and fill my mind, and I no longer turn away from them. The lights of the city so tiny below, the stars burning large and bright overhead… Starlight playing in Ëarwen’s eyes, her hair gleaming like a river of silver… Ëarwen… Longing grips my heart, but it is no more hopeless. I shall return to her. Soon, very soon now.

I remain upon the ridge, watching the stars. At one moment Artanar’s familiar footsteps sound behind me, but then they retreat and fall silent, and I am again alone in the night.

Morning finds me stretched on the ground amid the scattered stones, some of them digging uncomfortably into my back. The Sun has just climbed over the mountains when I rise and look around. It is a fair morning even in this dismal place, and I smile at the blue sky and gold-tinted clouds. For a moment I imagine wild horses racing over the plain below, not barren any longer but covered with lush grass and bright flowers. This place was called Ard-galen once, it was green and beautiful… How I wish to see it come alive once more! What if… what if the Valar are wrong? What if this land may be healed?

“Sadly, it cannot. The defilement runs too deep. The mountains are full of bottomless shafts, filled with poison and other evil. There is no freshwater. What streams this land once harboured are gone forever, used up by Moringotto’s creatures and devices of war. Rain will not suffice to sustain this place.”

I spin around. Lord of Lórien stands on the stony path a few steps away.

My cheeks burn as I greet him. “I did not intend to question your counsel, lord.”

“Did you not?” Irmo comes closer and stands beside me looking out over the rocky expanse of Anfauglith. His lips quirk in a smile. “Maybe you should have. And maybe we should admit our mistakes more often. We have made plenty of them, it seems.”

“We did not intend to be rude yesterday, neither my cousin, nor me,” I say softly. “But we feel so helpless. The war is over, but this… This, too, is a battle. And it cannot be won with swords if it can be won at all. For who is the true enemy now?”

“Who indeed?” Irmo sighs. Amusement fades from his face. “You are a mystery to us, Children of the One. I also went to their camp. And I still do not know whether I saw great weakness or great strength there. Maybe both. But I am confident - those who have endured something like that have a strong chance of healing. It will take time, though. Sadly, this is not Lórien. Much of my power resides there.”

His words bring encouragement. I look at him closely. “Could you help them there, should the ban be lifted and they – allowed to return? And… would you?”

“I could. And I would.”

“I shall plead for their cause.”

The lord of Lórien nods. For a while we watch the plain in silence. It is strange and sad – to look upon something that will be gone so soon.

Irmo likely senses my mood. “Do not grieve, King of the Noldor. There is life and beauty in the water, too.”

He touches my hand, and the vast expanse of scorched land fades away. The Sea sparkles silver in the sunlight, seabirds circle above the waves filling the air with the strange music of their cries. Below in the depths, a shoal of bright fish winds amid the swaying stems of yet unseen plants and flowers.

“Thank you.” Comforted by the vision, I voice my last fears. “If this land is to go under the wave… There must still be Elves in West Valariandë. And the Atani who valiantly fought Moringotto’s creatures around River Sirion and to the south...”

“The Elves of Endórë have already departed eastward. We know of the valour of the Secondborn, too, and it will not remain without acknowledgement. Do not fear for them, they are all under our protection. No life will be threatened.” Then lord of Lórien regards me curiously. “I said already we did not fully understand your people. Therefore, I would ask you something, Arafinwë. Why did you come on this war? I hope my question does not offend you.”

“It does not.” I smile. “In truth, I often thought of that myself, in the beginning. Then, I would have probably said – I came to do the right thing. To fight on the side of Light against Darkness. That would be no lie, but not the whole truth either. The truth… At first I came because doing so was something my brothers would have approved. And then… When I saw Endórë, when I saw what had been done to it… then I simply wanted to end the evil and cruelty here. To save the people. To give this land a chance to blossom again.”

“These are all good reasons, Arafinwë.” Irmo nods. “None for the war itself. Few of the Eldar fight because they enjoy fighting, yet you are deadly foes.”

“That would be a strange thing to say about me, lord.”

“Do you think so? But the Orcs were saying just that about you and Ingwil. They called you the pale demons with eyes of ice.”

“What?” I stare at him in disbelief. I have never thought myself capable of instilling fear in anyone.

“That is true. You terrified them.” Irmo looks at me closely. “You do not see yourself like the others see you, Arafinwë. Try to look with their eyes, sometimes. Not merely enemies. Also with the eyes or your warriors. Your friends. Your wife. You will learn much about yourself. Words and deeds of those who love you are a mirror.”

I smile at his words. “Is it not a convex mirror, my lord, such as the Noldor sometimes make for amusement? Affection… what if it blinds the eyes of those who love us?”

Lord of Lórien returns the smile. “What if love renders their sight sharper?”