A Breath of Fate

Phairesse: Thank you for your reviews. That is a rather good idea…any dark elf could be Silnar’s vision…

In this chapter, anything the Valar say was taken directly from The Silmarillion.

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The next morning, Ingrel was awoken by scuffling on her balcony. She tensed in bed, wondering what could be outside her room. Imladris had always seemed the epitome of safety, but Ingrel rose slowly, grasping her heavy backed hairbrush. Whatever was out there would not surprise her.

Creeping slowly Ingrel gripped her brush like a dagger and jumped out onto the balcony waving her weapon with surprising force. She met a solid object which let out a loud ‘oof’ and stumbled.

Raising the brush again, Ingrel slammed down, but her wrist was caught by her attacker. Instinctively, she kicked out hard and connected with a shin. A whoosh of painful breath was her reward and Ingrel struggled to release herself.

“By Manwë, Ingrel, calm yourself!”

Ingrel froze when she recognized the rough tones of Elladan. Glad that he could not see her face in the dim light of new morning, Ingrel blushed. “Oh, Elladan, you fool, what do you think you are doing sneaking into my room!”

“I wanted to surprise you!” He muttered irritably. “I was going to take you for an early morning ride to the falls.”

“Oh,” Ingrel whispered. “Well, let me get dressed. I will be right back.”

Still muttering and rubbing his shin, Elladan turned his back to allow Ingrel some privacy. Smiling to herself, Ingrel hurriedly dressed in a loose riding habit and rejoined Elladan on the balcony.

“How did you make your way up here?”

“Rope,” Elladan grinned, wrapping an arm around Ingrel’s waist. “Hold on and we will just slide down.”

Shooting him a mock frown, Ingrel wrapped her arms around Elladan’s neck and held her breath as he shimmied down the rope to the horse waiting below.

“Where did you learn that?” She asked breathlessly. Elladan shot her a cocky grin and pulled her close to him, “Trade secret.”

He expertly guided his horse to a trail that led to a path by the river. It was popular for the couples of Imladris, but much later in the day. At this time, it was empty and secluded for the secret lovers. They had ridden in silence, enjoying each other’s presence when Elladan dropped a kiss to her temple.

“Tell me of your life, Ingrel. I know so little of you before Imladris.”

She laughed, laying her hand on top of his, her fingers making a pattern. “There is so much to tell, I would not wish to bore you.” Lea Leaning into her ear he whispered seductively, “Nothing about you could bore me, Vanyalen.”

Shivering with desire, Ingrel could not help the loopy smile that caressed her face.

“Well, I was born in the Year of the T, se, several years after Amrod and Amras. All of Ingwë’s children were born in his tower, Mindon-Eldaliéva in Tirion.”

“How many of you are there?” Elladan asked. “I learned this once in history, but Erestor was always boring so I never paid attention.”

Ingrel laughed. “Then how am I any better?”

“Well, I did not know you then,” Elladan rejoined, breathing in the scent of her hair, niphredil and elanor.

“I have two older brothers. Ingil is the eldest and he is married to Arien. They have twins, Ingára and Ingáne. Ingwion is the next eldest and he is still unmarried, much to my mother’s consternation.”

“Is it a custom in your family that all have the prefix ‘Ing,’ or is it coincidence?”

“It is a custom,” Ingrel chuckled. “My mother even has one, although only my father still calls her so. She has always been referred to by the name Varda gave her, Eldatári. My father first called her Ingní, first woman.”

“Will you name your children such?” Elladan asked, wondering in the next instant why he would ask something so personal.

Ingrel was silent as she thought, but nodded. “I will, but they can pick their own names later, or take their father-name. My father would be upset if his only daughter broke tradition.”

“Tell me about your childhood,” Elladan urged. “What was it like growing up with Fëanor, Fingolfin, and Finarfin?”

“But I didn’t grow up with them,” Ingrel laughed. “By the time I was born, they were grown with their own families. Their children were my friends. I knew them, but my favorite was Finarfin. He reminded me of my own father. I only ever met Fëanor once and I was scared of him. He came to my 50th birthday and I remember him being so bright in spirit and stern of face. I managed to give him the basic pleasantries before fleeing his presence. Fingolfin was very quiet, but he simmered under the surface sometimes. My father used to say he was a boiling pot and with just so much more heat, he would explode. My father was right.

“My childhood friends were Aredhel, the twins, and Galadriel. I met Glorfindel through her and Turgon. He is my best friend, when we met, we just connected.”

“I know how that feels,” Elladan said. “Lalaith is my dearest friend and knows me almost as well as Elrohir.”

Ingrel relaxed against the strength of Elladan and sighed in contentment. “Tell me what it was like growing up here, in Imladris.”

“I am sure my life was not nearly as exciting as yours,” Elladan protested.

“It is only fair,” Ingrel remonstrated, “I told you my life story, now you tell me yours.”

Elladan sighed dramatically but began to speak. His voice was husky and deep and Ingrel had to force herself to focus on his words rather then his tone.

“I was born in the Third Age, 130, and was the eldest by several minutes. My mother said that we both fought to be firstt I t I won. Arwen was not born for another hundred years or so, so it was only Elrohir and me.

“My mother and father doted upon us and we were extremely spoiled. It grew worse when Glorfindel returned and he became the Uncle we never had. Glorfindel would tell us stories of all the Ages and sometimes, when my father was not working, they would help us reenact the Last Battle that defeated Sauron. I was always Gil-galad and every time I demanded that he was the one to defeat Sauron. It used to drive Elrohir mad. He has always been a stickler for correctly representing history.”

Chuckling Ingrel commented, “Somehow that does not surprise me, Elladan. You are both so distinct in your personalities.”

By that time they had arrived at the falls and Elladan dismounted, and then turned to help Ingrel. He let the horse graze for Elven horses would never stray and led Ingrel to his favorite spot. The sun was just rising over the mountains and its golden rays lit the falls on fire. It was a beautiful sight and one that Ingrel would long remember.

Elladan led her to the grassy slopes beside the waterfalls where they sat in quiet repose. The wind would sometimes blow the cool spray into their faces, or bring the scent of the forest. Ingrel could not remember feeling happier.

“Tell me a story of Aman, Vanyalen, something that has stayed with you through the Ages.”

“Be it good or bad?” Ingrel queried softly, her hair falling into her face. She felt, rather then heard, Elladan’s agreement, so caught up in her memories.


“I remember the day our lives ended,” she whispered, closing her eyes. She was no longer on a slope of grass in the peace of Imladris. The room was full of Elves of all kindred, singing and dancing. Manwë and Varda sat on their thrones and her father stood beside them. Arien was there, standing with Ingil and the twins. Ingrel forgot she was even speaking, she was reliving the worst night of her life.

“Ingrel, stand not idyll by doorway, come and dance with me!”

The short, but beautiful daughter of Ingwë laughed and cried, “Mallelóte, I have danced with you twice already.”

Mallelóte, his face young and bright, free from worry or care, grinned and pressed a kiss to his friend’s hand. “I wish to dance more, and you are one of the few who can keep up with me.”

“I am afraid this dance is mine, Mallelóte,” a deep voice boomed. Both Elves looked up to see the handsome face of Fionwë, sonManwManwë. Ingrel bowed and smiled ruefully at Mallelóte. “I did promise him a dance.”

The son of both the Noldor and Vanyar shrugged. “I will wait; there is food to keep me company.”

Ingrel laughed and allowed Fionwë to whirl her away into the crowd of dancers. She adored the festivals of Manwë and Varda, for they spared no expense. The Halls of Taniquetil glittered with gold, silver, and jewels of varying magnificence. The dancing and singing could last for days and it was Ingrel’s favorite time of the year. Since her father had moved his kindred to Taniquetil, it was not often she saw her Noldorin companions.

The dance finished, Fionwë bid her a good night and returned her to Mallelóte. He looked slightly disturbed and preoccupied. It took Ingrel several tries to gain his attention.

“Whatever is bothering you, Mallelóte?”

He gestured to where her father stood, greeting Fëanor. “There is bound to be trouble if he has come.”

Ingrel had never cared for Fëanor; he was far too haughty and cold in manner for her. She would never understand how one such as he could have sons of such differing temperament. “I wonder if Amrod and Amras have accompanied him.”

Mallelóte shrugged. He had never cared for the sons of Fëanor. His friendship with Turgon had separated them across the boundaries that existed between the sons of Fingolfin and Fëanor. Ingrel had never cared for such boundaries, making friends with all those her age.

She abandoned Mallelóte to his thoughts and searched for the twin sons of Fëanor. They would not be hard to miss, for like their mother they had red hair. It did not take long to find them, but she was surprised that they had not joined in the festivities. They stood instead near the entry way, armed with wicked looking weapons.

“Amrod, Amras,” she called out, gaining their attention. She halted before them, but was riserised that their countenance remained cool and uninviting.

“Whatever is the matter?” Ingrel asked, looking from one to the other. “Are you not happy to see me? I have missed you these long years.”

“Now is not the time for pleasantries,” Amrod said curtly, looking to where his father stood before Manwë. Ingrel stepped back slightly, never having been on the receiving end of Amrod’s temper.

“Forgive me, Amrod, I do not know what I have done to offend.”

Amras tooky ony on the naïve daughter of Ingwë. “Times have changed, Ingrel. In our childhood we once were friends, but chasms divide us now that are too wide to cross.”

“What chasms?” Ingrel asked. “I have no quarrel with you or any of your brothers.”

“And we have none with you,” Amrod returned. “But our loyalties must first lie with our father. He is not pleased with the Valar and your father supports the Valar, therefore he is an enemy.”

Amras glared at his brother, who closed his mouth into a tight line. He would not look at Ingrel, who felt paince hce her heart. She had heard of all that occurred between Fëanor and Fingolfin. According to Manwë, all would be solved tonight, but judging by the twins’ posture and attitude, there was more to come.

She opened her mouth to argue, but her words died when the world around her was plunged into sudden darkness. Several Elves screamed, but most were silent. Ingrel felt true fear strike her heart, and she clung instinctively to the arm wrapped around her, hearing tnnatnnatural sound of metal unsheathing. This darkness was unlike any she had experienced. It seemed a being of its own, alive with malice and hatred. Ingrel shivered and felt the arm around her tighten as if in reassurance.

Slowly, pale light pierced the darkness as Varda began to light her lamps. Ingrel looked up into the worried face of Amras, who glanced down at her. He saw the fear in her eyes and pressed a brotherly kiss to her brow. Ingrel saw then the sharp weapon in his hand and knew her first sword.

“I must go to my father,” Amras said. “Come with me and I will take you to yours.”

Ingrel clutched Amras’ hand and Amrod followed them as they wove their way through the thick crowds. Upon the dais of Manwë, Fëanor stood with five of his sons. Maedhros looked at Amras and Ingrel with a critical eye and Amras immediately released her hand. She looked upon the sons of Fëanor with sad eyes and knew that life had irrevocably changed. With a murmured thank you to Amras, Ingrel moved across the dais to where her father conferred with Manwë.

Her mother wrapher her arms around Ingrel, pulling her into a soft embrace. Eldatári murmured sweet words of comfort. Several minutes later, Ingil and Ingwion joined them. They stayed but a few moments, before joining the host of Oromë and set off to hunt for Melkor. Manwë, with his far seeing eyes, had pierced the dark gloom and saw the Trees in death. Raising his hands, he called on his winds and they blew the darkness away to reveal the twilight. With a somber air, Manwë and Varda led the procession to Máhanaxar.

Somehow, Ingrel found Mallelóte and joined him in the fore of the crowd. In front of them walked Fingolfin and Finarfin and Fëanor, with their children. Ingrel took Mallelóte’s hand and when they reached Máhanaxar, took her usual spot behind Manwë’s right shoulder. Mallelóte stood with her, unwilling to release the comfort of her hand.

She watched in sadness as Yavanna and Nienna both knelt before the Trees, trying to seek the barest hint of life. None came. Ingrel listened to the dialogue with a sort of sick fascination, her mind unwilling to believe that this was the reality and not some nightmare she had strayed into.

Yavanna spoke first to all the Valar, “The light of the Trees has passed away, and lives now only in the Silmarils of Fëanor. Foresighted was he! Even for those who are mightiest under Ilúvatar there is some work that they may accomplish once, and once only. The Light of the Trees I brought into being, and within Ea I can do so never again. Yet had I but a little of that light I could recall life to the Trees, ere their roots decay; and then our hurt should be healed, and the malice of Melkor be confounded.”

Then spoke Manwë, “Hearest thou, Fëanor son of Finwë, the words of Yavanna? Wilt thou grant what she would ask?”

Tulkas grew impatient with Fëanor’s silence and cried out, “Speak, O Noldo, yea or nay! But who shall deny Yavanna? And did not the light of the Silmarils come from her work in theinniinning?”

Aulë, however, leapt to the defense of Fëanor, “Be not hasty! We ask a greater thing then thou knowest. Let him have peace yet awhile.”

Fëanor spoke then, bitterly, “For the less even as for the greater there is some deed that he may accomplish but once only; and in that deed his heart shall rest. It may be that I can unlock my jewels, but never again shall I make their like; and if I must break them, I shall break my heart, and I shall be slain; first of all the Eldar in Aman.”

“Not the first,” Mandos intoned, but none understood. Fëanor thought feverishly in silence before saying finally, “This thing I will not do of free will. But if the Valar will constrain me, then shall I know indeed that Melkor is of their kindred.”

“Thou hast spoken,” Mandos said, and his voice was filled with doom. Ingrel felt a chill in her heart as Nienna stood, casting her hood away from her head and mourned the passing of the Trees with her tears and song.

Sudden commotion from the outside of the gathering caused a wave to part as messengers bearing the symbol of Finwë’s house strode forward, their faces grief stricken.

“My lord Fëanor,” one cried out, “Your father is slain. A great darkness descended upon the House and all but King Finwë fled. The darkness revealed itself to be Melkor and he slew your father at the door. He then raided the treasury and has plundered the jewels and Silmarils.”

With a great cry, Fëanor shook his fist in the air, his eyes never leaving Manwë’s. “Cursed be the foul Melkor, I name him ever after Morgoth, Black Foe of the World. Cursed be your summons Manwë, for taking me from my home and father.”

Turning, Fëanor fled the Circle of Doom, his sons close behind h Ing Ingrel wished she could weep; the grief was so heavy in her heart. While no love was lost for Fëanor, Ingrel remembered Finwë as a kind King who had spoiled her with presents and treats whenever he visited Ingwë.

“Come, Ingrel, we can do no more here,” Mallelóte said. “I wish to find my own mother and father.”

Ingrel nodded, and while she did not want to leave the soothing presence of the Valar, she knew her friend needed her own presence. Ever since they had first met, they had always been a support for each other.

Mallelóte and Ingrel weaved their way through the thick crowd of Noldor who were also returning to Tirion. Somehow, they managed to reach Mallelóte’s home in a relatively short span of time. His father and mother were already there, along with his sister, who was cradled in her mother’s arms.

“Mallelóte,” his mother cried, “We worried for you. It is dreadful what has happened.”

His mother bore the beauty of the Vanyar with her blond hair and blue eyes. Her face was lit with an inner light and wisdom was her gift. She learned from Kementári and Nienna, often joining them beneath the Trees. The birth of the newest addition to the family had kept her and her husband from the festivities.

Ingrel wearily took a seat next to Vindya, and gratefully took the baby into her arms, cradling her close. Morinya giggled and thrust her hands into Ingrel’s thick hair, tugging gently. Despite the travesty earlier, Ingrel could not help but smile.

“She has a soothing presence,” Vindya said, laying a gentle hand on Ingrel’s brow. Vindya had always been a favorite of Ingrel’s, giving her kind words and gestures. The Lady stood now and embraced her son and then her husband, a resigned expression on her face. Did Vindya know something they did not?

A commotion outside gained their attention and all three rushed outside, Ingrel still clutching Morinya. In the distance, standing beneath the Mindon, stood the bright figure of Fëanor. Ingrel and Mallelóte’s family joined the hordes of Noldor who gathered around the Mindon.

Ingrel listened intently to Fëanor, his voice rising and falling, the strident tones capturing the heart of many of his gathered Noldor. Ingrel felt disgust deepen in her own heart until she wished to push Fëanor of his stand and away from her father’s tower. His words, cold and cruel, were defaming everything the tower stood for.

“Follow me, my people, to the lands of our Father!” Fëanor cried turning and gathering his sons. Ingrel felt her heart grow cold as she heard the terrible oath they swore. Her heart weeping, Ingrel handed Morinya to Vindya and rushed forward. Somehow she made her way through the crowd of Elves, some hastening to prepare, others arguing over who they should follow.

Fëanor himself was speaking heatedly with Fingolfin enabling Ingrel to approach Amras without distraction. He was searching the crowd himself, and when he saw her, his eyes lit. Amras hurried forward and grasped her hand, tugging her away from the crowds. The streets where he led her were eerily empty and lit only by the pale light of the Mindon. Halting near a house, Amras pulled Ingrel to him and gave her a soft kiss.

“In our youth, we werversvers, and I know that we unfairly torn apart by my father’s banishment. I love you still, Ingrel, and seeing you, tonight, glowing so fair and wonderful at the festival, my heart stopped. I cannot bear to separate from you again, will you come with us? How well I know your dedication to the Valar, but where we go, we can be free to live as we please.”

“We are free to live as we please, here,” Ingrel protested. “All the Valar asked of us was peace; they do not rule us, Amras. Only Ilúvatar has that power.”

“Nevertheless, I must leave with my family,” he stated firmly. Ingrel’s eyes grew sad as she said, “Yet you ask me to abandon mine?”

“Ingrel, I know you, I know how you think and feel. You are tempted by this new land, new adventure. Come with me and we can fulfill all our dreams. We can be together and no one can stop us, or tell us it is not right.”

Truthfully, she was tempted, but not by Fëanor’s promise of freedom. She had always wondered about the land across the sea, where her Father and Mother had come from. Even as she wanted to say yes, she knew why she had to say no.

“With all of my heart, I wish to go with you, Amras, but I will not go under these conditions. Only with the Valar’s permission will I journey forth, and I do not thihey hey will give it.”

Amras stared at her, and his blue eyes grew as cold as ice. “I will not wait for you, Ingrel.”

“I would never expect you to,” Ingrel returned, her heart breaking. Amras wrapped his arms around her and kissed her one, last time. It was a harsh kiss, full of could-have-beens. He broke away, his breath heavy, and ran for the Mindon and his brothers.

Clutching the folds of her dress, Ingrel followed a few minutes later to find the last of the crowds departing. Vindya stood where she had left her, clutching the wailing Morinya.

“Where is Mallelóte? Where did he go?” Ingrel felt her heart stop, and she knew in that instant he had followed Turgon. “I must go after him, I must stop him!”

Vindya grasped Ingrel’s arm, her voice breaking with each word. “You cannot, we cannot. There is nothing we could say to dispel their loyalty to the House of Fingolfin. They have made their choice and we have made ours.”

Ingrel felt her heart break. “I never said good bye. He left without even a farewell.”

“It is better this way,” Vindya said. “For both of you.”


Ingrel looked past Vindya’s shoulder to see the trembling form of Amarië and knew that yet another love had been denied. “I must see to Amarië, for she is a kinswoman,” Ingrel said, her voice deadened.

Vindya nodded and went with Morinya to her house, shutting and locking the door. Ingrel took Amarië into her arms and listened to her kinswoman’s tale of Finrod’s departure.

“He said that he would wait for me, Ingrel,” Amarië whispered. “Why could he not wait here?”

“I do not know,” Ingrel murmured, leading her cousin and friend back up the long path to Taniquetil.


Pushing herself out of the memories, Ingrel saw the saddened expression on Elladan’s face. “How terrible for you to experience that.”

“It was a long time ago,” Ingrel whispered, taking his hand. “Glorfindel returned, his father is out of the Halls, and families are slowly being reunited.”

“Of that,” Eln san said, “I am glad.”

Elladan laid them both down on the grass, and he gathered Ingrel into his arms. She smiled up at him as they both drifted in lazy repose, the silence more comforting then any words.