Chapter Text
ARTANIS
Freedom. That is what I felt most when I sat astride of my mare Róselindë. It always sent me to another place, another plane of existence as our fëar became one. I could feel every breath, every powerful muscle pulled taut as she took me through the winding paths or across the vast pastures. She gave me the wings to fly and the ease to clear my mind of whatever had been plaguing me before I sat astride her.
Today's ride was merely for pleasure as nothing had really caused me to seek out the gray mare. I just wanted to feel the warmth of Laurelin's glow and hear the sparrow song along the river bank on the outskirts of Tirion. My home.
The golden city built into the mountains, and the home to the Noldor. I often found Tirion beautiful from the outskirts, but the palace and inner city were suffocating in how close I was too the coming and goings of my royal duties as Princess. A duty I always played out perfectly, almost to perfectly at times.
But here, almost the trees and grasses I could breath. Róselindë gave me the wings I lacked, and I was free to be more than a Noldorin princess.
"Sister!" a voice called out. I quickly turned behind me to see one of my brother's striding towards me. I had stopped to let Róselindë take a drink, and it had seemingly given Finrod the window to catch up to me.
"You found me," I remarked while I dismounted Róselindë, moving to take her headstall off so she could wander the pastures as our ride for the day was finished. I gave her a pat before turning to face my brother fully.
"It is not hard to know where you go, Artanis," I rolled my eyes before turning to face my reflection in the tranquil waters. "Especially when you have duties."
"My duties were complete, brother, I merely wish to spend my free time doing other things than sewing and embroidery." A smile showed up on my brother's face as he took a few steps towards me until his reflection was mirroring back up beside mine.
"What troubles you?" Finrod asked, I looked over at him, raising my brow curiously at him.
"Nothing," And that was the truth. Nothing had been bothering me lately, nothing really all that important at least. But Finrod had always been good at reading me. I guess that was what older brothers did.
Finrod was my oldest sibling, the one that would be taking our father's place as king when he stepped down. Fin was whom I was closest with, Angrod and Aegnor were twins and often kept to themselves amongst the halls of Tirion. I did not blame them, they had little to no duties foisted onto them like Fin and I did.
I guess that's why we were so close, the two children of Finarfin with the most responsibility. One to rule and one to bare heirs to another.
Finrod chuckled then, having to have decern where my troubles had been.
"Mother is setting you up again." I looked over at my brother with a slight glare before turning back to my reflection in the water. "You are well of age, Artanis, she has every right to worry about your future."
My future. My future was the most talked about thing amongst the walls of Tirion, as if I had no say in the matter whatsoever. I truly didn't and that was what troubled me so. I was rather happy to keep from marrying off into one of the other houses and happy to bring my family honor in other ways.
I was a capable warrior. An astounding horsewoman. And most of all a well read young lady. But that would never be enough for my parents, they wanted me married off and to have children. Because to them that was the most fulfilling thing a woman could possibly do.
"I am hardly of age," I remarked, though he was right I was reaching my hundred year and that was around the time we Elves started looking to marry. Finrod chuckled and motioned for us to sit amongst the grasses of the bank. I took my seat next to him and looked over to see Róselindë had moved off farther away from us.
"Why do you wish to not marry?"
I shrugged my shoulders. But I knew why.
"Come now, little sister, do not lie to me I know there has to be a reason." He breathed.
I sighed and turned to look up at my brother. His piercing blue eyes gazed down at me, hopeful and kind that I would tell him the truth. I would, but it would just open more questions that I really did not wish to share with my brother.
"Aren't we supposed to marry for love?" I asked. Finrod nodded in response and turned to gaze out at the river. "Like you and Amarië,"
"Yes,"
"Then what if I have not met my Amarië yet," I prompted to him. He looked back at me with a gentle smile.
"Then it is not your time," Fin paused, leaned down a little closer to me. "But it does not mean you thwart any attempt from our parents from matching you with that person." I rolled my eyes then.
"They meddle too much." I looked up at him again. "You meddle too much." A laugh left my brother's lips and he shook his head.
"I try not to little sister, but you do make it difficult."
A pang of guilt touched in my chest. "I'm sorry for that," I apologized.
"Come, mother and father want us at home." I raised my brow at him in surprise. Finrod shrugged. "I do not know what they want from us, but it seems urgent enough to warrant us home quickly."
I nodded and rose to my feet. My gaze scanned the horizon where Tirion laid before us and I felt my stomach clench in anticipation of something. I did not know what but I had a feeling it had everything to do with me.
The palace was alive with movement when we returned. Servants hurried through the corridors carrying polished trays, folded linens, and vases of fresh-cut blooms. Lamps were being trimmed. Tapestries straightened. Something formal was unfolding.
I glanced up at Finrod for some hint of explanation. He only gave a small shrug, and together we continued toward our father’s study.
The door stood slightly ajar. Through the narrow opening I glimpsed my father seated behind his desk and my mother standing just behind him, straight-backed and composed, her long golden hair drawn over one shoulder. They were dressed in full court attire. Far too formal for a simple visit from one of the other houses of the Noldor.
Finrod placed a hand lightly on my arm before stepping ahead of me. He knocked softly, then opened the door wider and spoke in a low voice to our father. After a brief exchange, he stepped aside and motioned for me to enter.
Our father’s study had always been one of my favorite rooms in the palace. The furniture was crafted from pale, polished wood, the chairs upholstered in deep blue. Along the walls hung painted panels depicting the early days of the Elves: the awakening beneath starlight, the journey west, the first sight of the Two Trees. As a child I had spent hours studying those images, tracing the patterns woven into cloaks and banners, searching for hidden meanings in every curve and symbol.
Today the room felt different. The air itself seemed tight, heavy with something unspoken.
My father lifted his gaze as we entered, his expression unreadable. Then I noticed we were not alone.
The figure seated opposite him rose smoothly to his feet.
Long silver hair fell like moonlight over robes woven in gold and white. A presence both calm and formidable filled the room.
Eönwë. Herald of Manwë.
I bowed at once, more deeply than courtesy alone required. He inclined his head in return, grave and measured. When I straightened, I met my mother’s sharp look and quickly schooled my expression.
Eönwë resumed his seat, though even seated he seemed to tower over the room.
“You could have changed,” my mother murmured under her breath, eyeing my riding attire.
“You did not tell us the nature of this summons,” I whispered back.
My father cleared his throat softly, and my mother’s posture snapped back to perfect composure. From the look she gave me, our conversation was not finished. I forced my attention to Eönwë. His blue eyes rested on me with unsettling focus before he spoke.
“Lord Manwë requests your presence, Lady Artanis.” He turned his gaze to my father and brother. “As well as yours, Lord Finarfin and Lord Finrod.”
“For what purpose?” I asked before anyone else could respond.
My mother’s elbow found my side in quiet reprimand, but Eönwë did not seem offended. If anything, his expression softened a fraction.
“That is not mine to say,” he replied evenly. “Lord Manwë will speak with you when you come to Máhanaxar in three days’ time.”
At the name, a chill tightened in my stomach. Máhanaxar. The Ring of Doom. The thrones of the Valar. The place where judgments were given and the will of the Powers declared.
What could I possibly have done to merit a summons there?
Silence settled over the room. My father inclined his head in solemn acceptance, already understanding that such a summons was not a request but a command. Finrod stood very still beside me. My mother’s hand closed around my upper arm, her grip gentle but firm. A gesture meant to reassure.
It did not.
A summons to Máhanaxar was not a trivial matter. It was not something one ignored. And as we stood beneath Eönwë’s watchful gaze, I felt with growing certainty that whatever awaited us in three days’ time would change more than just my immediate future.
Once we stepped back into the corridor, the noise of the palace rushed in again, but it felt distant. My nerves were still taut. My fingers twisted into the pleats of my riding gown as I walked, the fabric creasing beneath my grip.
I did not wait for my mother. I heard her footsteps behind me anyway, steady and unhurried. She never needed to raise her voice to command attention. I stopped at an open archway overlooking the gardens. Below, white paths curved between flowering trees, and beyond them the terraces of Tirion fell away in gleaming tiers beneath the mingled light of the Trees. From here, the city looked peaceful. Untouched by summonses and judgments.
“We must have you cleaned and properly dressed if you are to depart on time,” my mother said from behind me.
I did not turn. “And what if I do not wish to go?”
Her answer came without hesitation. “A summons from the Valar is not a matter of preference, Artanis. You will go.”
I exhaled slowly and finally faced her. Up close, her composure was immaculate as ever, though I knew her well enough to see the tension in her eyes.
“What have I done?” I asked. “Is this about—” My words faltered. A flush of embarrassment warmed my face as I thought of the suitors I had dismissed over the years. Some gently. Some less so. “Has someone taken offense?”
A noble slighted in pride might complain to my father. But to carry such a grievance higher…?
“It is not that,” she said at once, her voice softening. She knew me too well to miss where my thoughts had strayed.
“Then what is it, ammë?”
“I do not know,” she admitted, and that unsettled me more than any reprimand might have. “But it is significant enough that your father and Finrod are summoned with you.” Her hand came to rest on my shoulder, warm and steady. “That alone should tell you this is not a matter of wounded pride or courtly politics.”
I looked past her again, out over the city. Three days. We were to stand before the Valar in three days’ time. Before the thrones at Máhanaxar. Before the eyes of the Powers who shaped the world.
“Come,” she urged gently. “Let us see you properly prepared. We will speak more once you are settled.”
I nodded, though my thoughts were far from settled.
As we turned back into the corridor, I cast one last look over the gardens and the shining walls of Tirion. A strange heaviness settled in my chest. It was only a summons. Only three days’ journey. And yet, deep in my bones, I felt as though I were already saying farewell.
As though this—these walls, these gardens, this life—might not be mine much longer.