To Travel With Wings

A/N: nis/nissi mean woman/women and ner/neri means man/men. Russandol is another name for Maedhros.



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Night was drawing nigh when Silnar finished her letter. Carefully she folded and sealed it with wax, stamping the seal of Maedhros, which she had not used in Ages. In this way, her dear friend would understand the importance of the missive.



Silnar tucked the letter into her bodice and gathered her skirts about her. It had been ages since she attempted any kind of climbing, but old lessons died hard. Cautiously, Silnar climbed over the balcony and inched her way to the ground below. She supposed it would have been easier to go through the door, but Silnar did not want to meet anyone on her way. Best to have this done quickly and secretly.



Stealthily, Silnar made her way to where the messenger birds were housed. She chose a swift moving falcon and whispered to her softly before letting the falcon go. The great bird swept of into the burgeoning shadows and was soon lost from sight.



Whistling to herself, Silnar decided to make her way to the dining hall. She was rather hungry and maybe Glorfindel would be there. Thinking of him brought back the afternoon and Silnar resolved to close her eyes (to avoid his) and tell him all the reasons they could not be together as he wished.



By the time she made it to the hall, all of Imladris was there, talking and laughing as they ate. Slipping by, Silnar was not noticed, even as she took a seat across Glorfindel and to the left of Elrond. The former was quite pleased and kissed her hand across the table while the latter frowned and mumbled indescribable words.



“I have missed you this day, Silnar. How do you fare?”



“I fare well, though I did miss you. Are the fields blooming?”



“As they should,” Glorfindel murmured. “Will you walk with me to the Halls after this meal?”



“Gladly, my lord, for I wish to have words with you.”



Glorfindel suppressed a sudden spike of fear. It was probably naught but feminine talk. Silnar smiled at him, but the smile did not reach her eyes. Nay, her eyes had always been unreachable, even to him. They seemed ageless, filled with wisdom well earned, yet etched with a deep grief, deeper even then Peredhils. He wished more then anything to wash away that unhappiness and fill it with true joy.



The meal passed quickly and Silnar found herself walking with Glorfindel, trying to find the words, the best words, to ease the pain. It was difficult, far more then she ever thought; for Glorfindel was an elf she could surely fall in love with.



“What troubles you, Silnar? You can speak of anything to me.”



“I fear these are words you will not want to hear. They are words I do not want to say, but I must.”



“I listen, and I shall understand.”



Silnar paused in their walk and let the Eldar around them fade away into the Halls. “I cannot love you, Glorfindel of Imladris.”



Glorfindel was silent, deciding to allow her to continue. He could feel his heart breaking and he knew, without a doubt, she could hear it too. Her eyes filled with immeasurable sorrow.



“I have much yet to do here, Glorfindel, and I cannot distract myself with love… with you. Please understand.”



He was silent, but his grip on her arm had tightened. Glorfindel sighed then and released her. “I see. Is it because of another?”



“No, have you not heard a word that I have said? There are…things that I must do and I cannot handle the complications of a love life.”



“It is Elrond is it not? I knew how you two once were.” His voice was hollow, and Glorfindel was staring at the wall above her head. Silnar took a deep breath in attempt to control her temper.



“No, Glorfindel, it is not Elrond. He cannot bear my presence and that is not the best way to begin a new life with someone.”



Glorfindel bowed his head then and said, “It is Maedhros, then, is it not?”



Her eyes closed in pain, unable to hide the truth. “He is part of it, yes. If you only understood….”



“I do,” Glorfindel said simply. “It is impossible to compete with a dead ner. Very well then Lady, you may have your Maedhros, though he will give you scant comfort.”



Turning, Glorfindel stalked away towards his rooms. His very heart was shattering into a thousand pieces and he knew that he could not face the knowing eyes of Elrond.



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Silnar watched him go and stifled a dry sob. Hand covering her mouth, Silnar rushed into the depth of the gardens, heedless of the bushes that caught her skirt, tearing holes into the precious garment. Her chest heaving from the exertion, Silnar flung herself over a bench and wailed the injustice to the world.



“I hate you, Russandol, I hate you! Even in death you haunt my footsteps! Will I never have peace?”



A low wind swept through the garden, rustling the light garments of Silnar, causing an involuntary shiver. Isil was nowhere to be seen, hidden by the dark clouds. It was on nights such as this that Silnar remembered far to well the pain of her memories. She was cursed to ever lose her loved ones in the dark of night.



It was on a night such as this, that her life in Beleriand had finally come to an end.



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She waited quietly where they had left her, sitting upon the rocky coastline. So still she sat, that a passerby would have believed her to be of the very landscape. A strangely shaped rock, but only that. A stray breeze blew the salt of the sea into her face, but she moved not. Her thick hair was braided and coiled about her head and she still wore her armor from battle though it was stained with the blood and gore of orcs.



Movement in the distance alerted her to another’s presence. An instant later, she knew it was he. His scent preceded him, smoke and sweat. Standing gracefully, Cuivië moved forward to greet her lover.



Maedhros set down the casket he and Maglor carried and swept Cuivië into his arms. He kissed her soundly, savoring the sweet taste of wine from her lips. Wrapping his arms around her, Maedhros pulled her close to him despite the awkward armor they both wore.



“Finally, meleth, we shall be free. The oath that binds Maglor and I is done for we have retrieved our father’s jewels. Nothing shall keep us apart and I shall wed you as I have wanted to for so long.”



Cuivië pulled back, her eyes dark. “Wed? I thought you wanted no wife?”



“Nay, I wanted you for wife, but I would not bear to see the Oath brought upon your shoulders. Think you that I did not hear what they whispered? I know the sacrifices you made by staying as Maedhros’ whore and not his wife.”



Stepping back farther, out of the circle of his arms, Cuivië said, “It still matters not. I care nothing for the whispers of others. Why must we wed? Why can things not stay as they are?”



Maedhros’ eyes flashed dangerously. “Why do you not want to wed me, Cuivië? Are you ashamed of the blood that stains this hand?” He held forth his left hand, stained with the blood of the guards he and Maglor had slain.



Her head shook, but her eyes were filled with pain. “I fear for you, Maedhros. Do you not think how easy it was for you to obtain the Silmarils? What if Eönwë is right in his words? Perhaps these jewels are no longer meant for you?”



Anger slashed across the face of Maedhros and he advanced on her, his stature suddenly so tall and menacing. Cuivië held her ground, for she had never let Maedhros intimidate her before, she would not start now.



“Do you love me, Cuivië?”



She was silent, staring deep into his eyes, and knew she could speak no lies.



“Yes.” Her voice was barely audible, but he heard her and pulled her to him, his left hand tightly holding her waist.



“Then wed, me, Cuivië, give me some happiness!”



Cerulean eyes filled with sadness as she regarded the intensity of his face. “Have I not already, my lord?”



“Of course you have!” His breath exploded from him like an enraged stallion. “I wish to take you home, to my mother, Nerdanel, and introduce you as my wife, my only love. We shall grant her grandchildren to fill the house in which she lives. They will be as fiery as their mother and as handsome as their father! Do you not want this?”



“Of course I do,” her voice wailed. “But how can we return to Aman? You have stolen those wretched Silmarils and our way is closed now! You can not have Aman and the Silmarils, Maedhros, you must choose.”



Maedhros released her, his eyes going to theket ket that held the Silmarils. “Yes, I will devise some way. The Valar are not always watchful you know.”



Maglor finally spoke, having wisely remained silent throughout the lover’s quarrel. “Perhaps we should deal with these jewels before we deal with your betrothal?”



“Wisely spoken, brother,” Maedhros said. He reverently opened the casket and bright shafts of light burst from the casket. “Come, Cuivië, come see the most precious creation of my father.”



In her own thoughts, Cuivië believed Maedhros to be Fëanor’s greatest creation, but she held her tongue. Peering over his broad shoulder, Cuivië took her first look at the jewels that started the greatest migration of elves since the Beginning.



They were the most hideous jewels that Cuivië had ever set her eyes on. Instead of the glowing light of the trees, Cuivië observed the slack face of her dear friend Dior, the blood trickling from his half open mouth. Instead of their silver light, she beheld the cold dark forest as she searched in vain for Dior’s children. Instead of their likeness to Varda’s stars, she saw the desperate look in Elwing’s eyes as she cast herself from the cliff and into the roiling sea below. She saw the horrified look in Elros’ eyes as he clutched his baby brother to his chest, his face disbelieving as he saw his mother for the last time. She saw the cruel slaying of Alqualondë, the slaying of Doriath, and the last, bitter slaying of the Havens.



“So much slaughter, so much wrong for such tiny jewels,” Cuivië murmured and she turned away, unable to bear the sight of them anymore.



“I shall fashion you a crown, Cuivië, and you shall wear my Silmaril, for you will be my Queen, and the most beautiful nis of the Eldar!”



Maedhros grasped his Silmaril as did Maglor and eagerly they conferred on the fortune. Cuivië turned to retort to Maedhros’ statement when he cried out, staring in horror at the jewel in his hand. It seemed to sizzle in his palm, as if cooking the very flesh.



Beneath them the ground began to shake and Cuivië stumbled to her knees, watching in morbid fascination as a great chasm split the earth and fire burst forth. Mad with pain and grief, Maedhros clutched the Silmaril to his chest and leapt into the chasm.



Cuivië was shocked and responded minutes to late. “Nooooo,” she cried her voice terrible in its grief and disbelief. She attempted to fling her own body into the chasm, but it closed beneath her, refusing her entrance.



“MAEDHROS!”



Beating her fists upon the earth, Cuivië screamed and yelled every curse until her voice became hoarse and she could cry no more. Shakily, she rose to her feet, her eyes soulless and lost. Dully, she turned to see Maglor standing before the waters, his eyes to his tha that bore the mark of a tightly clenched Silmaril.



“And so Mandos’ words have come to pass. ‘The fates of Arda, earth, sea, and air, lay locked within.’ We have paid the final price, and now I am alone.”



They were the last words Maglor ever spoke to another of the Eldar. He turned away then, from his brother’s lover, and walked the coast of the sea; his voice sometimes lifted in keening song the end of all that he loved.



Cuivië did not know how long she sat on the spot where Maedhros had gone. She kept some hope that the chasm would open once more, just once more, and swallow her whole.



Slowly, the lover of Maedhros became aware that she was not alone. Lifting her downcast eyes, Cuivië beheld the countenance of Eönwë, as he appeared in his Eldar form. He was magnificent, this herald of Manwë, and deserving of some obeisance, but Cuivië had not the strength to rise and bow before him.



“Wilt thou come, daughter of Kings, to Valinor? Wilt thou forsake Arda and all her grief? In Aman thou shall find happiness, twill be as a balm to thy deep wounds.”



Cuivië was silent, though, and did not respond to Eönwë. The herald wondered if she had even heard him. Perhaps she was willing to sit there until the very earth turned her to stone.



“Wilt thou come to know thy parents? For they are there, awaiting thee. I can tell thee of thy heritage, twill bring thee peace, I think.” The herald was quiet once more before saying, “Arda wilt not open again, for thee, lady. ‘Tis not thy fate.”



The Elven lady looked at him then, her eyes weary of life. Shaking her head slowly, Cuivië stood.



“Since this land will not open, I shall give myself to the seas.”



Slowly she walked past Eönwë and into the waves of the ocean. Startled by her will to die so terribly, Eönwë perceived that the daughter of Manwë was not in her right mind and blew hard upon his trumpet. Out of the waters, Ossë came then, bearing with him a great oyster.



He stopped Cuivië and settled a hand on her eyes. She slept then, and he carried her to the oyster, laying her in its folds. Eönwë nodded his thanks.



“Here she shall sleep, by command of Ulmo, for her travails are not yet finished in this land.”



Eönwë protested fiercely, “Come now, Ossë, I thought thee to draw her to Aman where she will be reunited with her father.”



Ossë shook his great head. “Nay, Eönwë, Eru hath spoken to Manwë, and Manwë hath spoken to Ulmo. She shall sleep for awhile, beneath the waters until she is needed once more.”



The Maia of Ulmo then turned and closed the oyster, sealing Cuivië inside. He then drew the great oyster into the sea until they disappeared from sight, leaving Eönwë standing alone on the great shore.



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Silnar shook herself of the reverie, startled. She did not remember the great oyster, or Ossë. There was something not right about her memory. Why all of sudden did she know what happened after she slept? Severely confused, Silnar laid her head back down upon the bench and wished she could weep the tears of Edain to sooth her aching heart.



“This mournful state does not become you, lady.”



The cool voice sliced through Silnar’s awareness and she groaned inside. Now was not the time to face Elrond’s spite, especially after having relived her time with Maedhros. What she needed was time to repair, for she was always emotional after such memories, especially this one.



“Forgive me, then, Lord Elrond. I shall remove my mournful self from your presence.”



“What troubles you, lady that you would sulk amidst these gardens when such beautiful song is made in the Halls?”



Silnar paused in her exit and turned with all the dignity of a Queen. “I was not sulking, my lord. I was reliving some time spent in Beleriand. It was not a pleasant memory.”



“That would explain your curses to Russandol. Shall I remind you, lady, of advice you gave to me not so long ago?”



Warily, Silnar watched Elrond, wondering where this would lead. “Maedhros is in the Halls of Mandos, Lady Silnar, and cares not for what happens on Arda, be it my hatred or your feelings for a certain Elf-lord who has now shut himself away and will not come out.”



Turning on his heel, Elrond stalked from the gardens, leaving behind a very startled Silnar. Yes, it was definitely time to find Peredhil a wife, if only to curb his bluntness.