Pry Your Decaying Hands From My Treacherous Heart

⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕

Now in my

heart I

see clearly

A beautiful face

shining back on me

Stained

with love

-Sappho

⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕⁕

The light of Amarië’s silver lamp illuminated her face in the endless night, as she slowly walked through the canopy of trees that loomed like black spires above her head. All was strangely silent, her footsteps made no sound, as if she was tip toeing across a blanketed carpet covered in moss. Her unease settled at the pit of her stomach, as she trekked on. 

She thought she knew where she was going, she had made sure several times before she hastily left. She had made sure when her Amilë had finally gone out, after guarding her daughter like a hawk. She was locked in her room,  not even trusted to go down for dinner; nor did her Atar even try to visit her or say any comforting words from the other side. So she waited, the silence warping her thoughts and she knew she could no longer bear to stay.  Just as Ingoldo did, she left her family in hopes to never see them again. Except she had no plans to follow him now, to Beleriand the land of the forsaken. 

Not after he left her.

If it wasn't for the light of her lamp, a small glow in a discoloured world, she would not know if she was to walk into a gorge, or another foul thing. The thickened awning had blocked the stars, the only source of Vala’s light left.

“May Varda watch over me,” she whispered into the nothingness.

It was cold.

But not as cold as the Helcaraxë.

She was sure that her ears had begun to play tricks on her, for she had heard the wind whistling, without feeling the slightest breeze. Her ears twitched again, feeling something cold slither up her spine. She should have planned more, brought a weapon to defend herself. The Woods of Oromë had become defiled, as Morgoth and his vile trail slunk all through these sacred lands. Who knew what other wicked creatures hid in the waste of his destruction? Valinor could very well be a breeding ground for other monstrosities, like Ungoliant. She would be the one that would fall to the Valar’s folly.

Just like Findaráto had said.

Just like her, Amilë .

But she could not go back now. She was relieved when she looked down and saw her feet were still firmly on the trail. A white column appeared, then another. Her heart quickened.

She stopped, for she heard a soft trickling, coming down in soft daps in the soil. Her breath was sucked out of her lungs. A waterfall. She was here.

She looked back, as if to ponder for a moment of what had come of her life, how it had turned so violently. Her hands shook as she slowly doused her lamp. How would her Amilë react when she found her bed empty in the morning? Would Atar even care to look for her? She knew what she had to do. If only to forget everything, she would live a life of servitude to her most worshipped Vala.

It was almost as if she could see the light of fair Telperion and Laurelin in the far distance. But it was not, for they were gone,  a memory embedded in her fëa, only seen through the lenses of her dreams.

She turned away and walked through the gate.

She expected to be greeted immediately, with everyone on edge from the attack, she could not just walk into a Vala’s sanctuary without anyone knowing. She waited a beat, but no one was there. It was quite ominous; the rolling vines, lit up in the middle with orchard lamps, an orange threatening sphere.

“Hello?” she asked into the emptiness, before realising how blunt it sounded. She continued on, slowly making her way down a tiled path. They would find her swiftly, she assured herself, and they would lead her to the lady. She walked further, feeling stumps under her feet as the trail through the sanctuary went on and on.

She should have taken the outer path.

Her eyes spot something glinting in the distance, like Varda’s stars. “Thank Eru,” she mutters under her breath, seeing the faint outline of a white dress. One of the lady’s handmaidens most likely.

“Excuse me?” she asked, approaching the figure, just noticing that they were kneeling with a basket, and picking the peaches enclosed by the leaves that grew there.

When the figure did not answer, despite her closeness; she asked once more.

“I am Amarië of the Vanyar. I've come to see Lady Vána, do you happen to know where she is residing in this fair place?” she said with all the courtesy her mother had taught.

The figure stood up, slowly, but did not turn around. Outstretched in their pale hand was a single peach, held gently like a flower. But to her horror the fruit was rotting, its insides out stretched, the juicy guts running down their fingers.

Then they turned around.

And she screamed.

She ran like she never ran before, running like a beast, from a deformed creature that she had burned terribly in her mind. She didn't know if it was chasing her, or if it was close to her tracks. She crashed through another set of great vines, the thorns tearing her dress to shreds. But she kept running from, whatever that was.

Suddenly she looked behind her and saw that it was indeed chasing after her, and the monstrous sight caused her not to see where she was going, and a large branch hit her on the side of her face. She crumpled to the dirt.

She could barely recover her ground, when frozen fingers wrapped around her arms. Her limbs iced, and she was yanked up, and every feeling she felt dissolved.

It was if the monster knew magic or maybe it was just pure terror that allowed her to be dragged across the gardens unmoving, her breath still, her hands limp at her sides. Only her mind knew what was happening, raging at the boundaries, trying to find some way out of this. Some way to fight.

It was only when she felt her feet scrape marble, that she was able to move her eyes. With all her effort, she tilted her head upwards. She caught a glimpse of an enclosure, one decorated heavily by blood red candles. Her head drooped back down, drained of its energy.

When she felt warmth reach her, she knew she was inside, and from her position it seemed as if orange and red lit up the room in a flickering light. There was a strange chortling sound like someone trying to form words. Her face was able to wince as the pitiful voice of her captor began to speak.

“My lady, I have found an elf near the gate of the orchards. Somehow she has made it past your borders.” She was dropped onto the floor, her hands coming up just in time to brace her fall. She didn't dare to look up, not sure what she had faced, and if she wanted to see it again.

“She told me a bit of her name before she intervened,” the thing began again, “She told me her name was-”

“Amarië,” a new voice entered, feather soft compared to the grating voice that had just spoken. She trembled, not sure how this new person knew her name.

Bare footsteps began to echo in her ears, as the figure, only a glimpse of a shadow approached her.

“Melyanna, I thought I told you that no one gets past my borders, the vines would have stopped anyone who dared to try. Not even Melkor would dare come here if he wanted to.”

Melyanna? She knew that name but how was-

“Then, pray I ask, did she get past?”

It was as if she could hear her smile. “Because I let her.”

Finally, Amarië was able to look up, and was stunned to see her. Vána stood in front of her, looking unchanged since she saw her last. Budding lips upturned, there was a look of slight concern on her face that could be easily masked as a smile.

“Vána?” she asked, getting to her knees, now being able to move

“Don't stand!” Vána warned, reaching down to place a hand on her cheek. Amariës breath hitched at the Vala’s touch. “She placed some of her numbing magic on you, wait a moment until the tingling stops.”

Her shoulders slump, and her hand slips from its grasp as she slides her forehead onto the floor. “I was so afraid I had been captured by Morgoth's thralls.” 

Her eyes widened in recognition. If she was not captured by Morgoth, what was that horrid creature?

“I am sorry, I thought I had told Melyanna to give better treatment to those who accidentally wander across the borders. She thought you were a spy. Everyone is on edge of late.”

Everything clicked in place, as she looked to her ex-captor who had now gone completely silent. Its face was even worse now in the light,  a grotesque jumble of dripping leaves slated in decay and mildew, clumps sprouting from her face, where half-moth eaten petals  meshed with the chaplet of her neck. Her hair was a knot of pale dew, glassy with mould, and her mouth was  gaping with blight so that you could see the plate of her teeth, sharp yellow and riddled with rot.

A creature of decay indeed.

Terror struck through every bit of her fëa, but she no longer could look away. 

“Melyanna?” she whispered.

The thing-the maia, gave what could have been a small smile, but it gurgled at the corner of her festering lips.

Though she had never seen Melyanna, she was one of the greatest handmaidens of Vána beside Arien, and she was known for great beauty and soft laughter, closest to Vána.

And if she looked like that, what had happened to Arien?

“It is Melkor, or I assume now I should call my forsaken kin as he is, Morgoth's doing,” Vána clarified from behind her, helping Amarië to her knees. She still could not look away. “He placed some sickness in the lands around Lórien, and Melyanna alongside a few of my handmaidens absorbed the blight. Like the fruits I grow rot now even in the cradle of their mothers branches, just like them, they are festering in Melyannas hröa.”

Amaire didn't say anything, still gaping at the wound-that-was-a maia.

“Leave us for now please. I’ll have a need for you later.”

“As you wish,” Melyanna obeyed, bowing before swiftly.

“Will she heal?” finally finding her words.

“Already some of my other maiar have healed well. I will give it another century before her face is fully reconstructed.

She couldn't imagine having to live like that even for just a half-century. 

“Tell me, Amarië,” she said, diverting her whole attention to her, “Shall I show you to your rooms? I’m sure you will love the view, it's the entrance to the best window, where you can see the little light we have left in these times.”

“So you know why I am here then? You let me through your borders,” She had caught that snippet from the earlier conversation, and she was still stunned that she was allowed to cross. She only knew Vána from the couple times they met. However, she always felt like they had talked more than just those times.

“No, I do not know why you are here. I know your intentions are good ones, and those who are in distress often passed through my borders back when the Two Trees were still alight,” she sighed, “But now that is not allowed, for the Valar and Arafinwe are rooting out those who aided Morgoth's trek. No elf is allowed to walk in a Vala’s grounds without being approved by Manwe.”

She looked up, a sly look on her face, “But sometimes you must disobey orders.”

“I do not just want to pass through here,” she began, suddenly feeling nervous. Despite her welcoming aura, she was still a powerful Vala. In hopes to not offend her, she went to her knees, and placed her hand to her chest.

“Long ago, you offered me a position to serve you. Now I would like to take you up on that offer, to serve you as one of your handmaidens and to find sanctuary and safety here.” She looked into those depthless eyes and was surprised when her gaze did not falter. “Worshipping you fully would be my greatest offer.”

It was a long moment before either spoke again.

“You swear it?”

“I do-”

“No,” she interrupted, raising her hand. “Do not swear things lightly. If you swear this, you will not be released from my service until I release you from it. This is how Melkor- Morgoth gained many of his thralls.”

“But you are not Morgoth.”

She gave a delicate grin. “No, I am not.”

“Then I swear it.”

It was as if the air settled, her fate finally sealed.

“Then it is done,” Vána declared, a mix of emotions swelling on her enamoured cheeks. Vána closed the distance between them, taking her hand in hers. “You are in my service Amarië, as one of my chief handmaidens.”

Amarië was going to ask how she was promoted to “chief handmaiden” but Vána took the back of her hand and pressed her lips to her knuckles. Blush bloomed from where her lips touched her skin, and everywhere else flushed, her cheekbones and deep in her chest. 

“I-thank you my lady,” she said when her hand was released and dropped to her side.

She laughed. “You did not ask much in exchange for your service.”

She gave a weak smile. “I do not want anything in return. Knowledge and safety is all I ask for.”

“And you will receive it.”

Their eyes lingered a little longer, longer than she dared hope.

“Ranyafëa!” Vána called, and a maia, clad entirely in silver came immediately to her side, where she was hanging unnoticed near the door.

“Yes, my lady?”

“Escort dear Amarië to her rooms in the fourth wing, near the glass dome.”

“Understood.”

Then Vána turned to Amarië. “I will see you after you have caught up on some sleep. You will begin your duties soon, though I'm sure you will find it agreeable, for it is a task that you are good at.” Then she began to distance herself, and Amarië felt troubled at the loss of touch.

“We have not seen eachother in long years, nor have we met often, once when you were but a child, and one after. Yet I am not Vaire, nor can I see the future, but I cannot help but think we know each other much more than we think we do.”

With those prophetic words, Vána gave a slight bow of her head and walked away, her bare feet echoing as she turned into a corridor.

“Right this way,” Ranyafëa said, almost stumbling at her words. She also seemed surprised with Vána’s parting statement. 

They passed the many halls, surprising her at every turn. When she had first entered it had not seemed so vast, but now the paths laid out like a growing tree, ever expanding, its narrow passages built like branches as it intertwined. The roof was silver and dripping with living leaves, held up by twirling marble pillars that combined with the growing stems of multiple trees, all ranging in colour and smell as she passed them.

“Here is your room, my lady,” Ranyafëasaid as they stopped at a large door. “Lady Vána suggests you sleep, as do I, for you look wraith-like.”

She ignored the insult and gave her thanks. The serving lady just gave her a look, and went parading back down the hall she came from.

The room was built like a terrarium. Grass littered the floor, tickling her feet, as she approached the walls. There in the cracks grew flowers that felt tangy under her fingers.. She sighed and called back the stem woven curtain of her bed. The sheets were silk, feeling it between her bare skin, where her dress was torn and matted. There was no sleepwear she could slip into, so she settled for hiking up her dress and sliding under the covers. The excess dirt shook off her robe, and clung to her body in the most uncomfortable way. There was no way for her to shake it off, no matter what position she was in.

It was like a dirty reminder that she was far from home, from those she thought loved her.

Ignoring these thoughts, still in awe that she was truly guided under a Vala, she closed her eyes and slept for eternity.

—-

She felt the cold hands of her mother’s grip steadying her shoulders as she fiddled anxiously with her flower crown. Amarië followed the train of other elves, who trailed into the great hall. Golden flowers grew around great wooden pillars, dew and an abundance of petals upon each stem. If her mother was not gripping her so tightly, she would have wandered over and pressed her fingers to feel the softness of the inner leaves, and the bumps of the red veins that trickled down its stems. She followed quickly, hiking up her dress like instructed and following the rest of her kin into a crescent-like shape facing a marble fountain with intricate carvings.

She tried to turn her tiny head above the arms of her mother, and only after she was able to stand on her tiptoes, was she able to see her friends, who like her, were dressed in white. She tried to motion to them, but her mother pushed her back to her heels, and she frowned.

“Is this their home-”

Her mothers stern eyes immediately quenched whatever words she had in her mouth. She continued to stare ahead. They had woken early in the morning for the ceremony, her face skillfully powdered, her lips puckered and red. It only seemed plethoric now, but father insisted. She was old enough to know that this was important, and the tenseness of the others around her solidified this for her. 

Suddenly, there was a fey light in the air, and the bright oranges upon their posts began to quiver. Amarië had the right mind to blink, and suddenly her eyelids flew open against her will. Standing in the half circle, the Valar stood. It was Tulkas, Oromë, Nessa and Vána. She was required to study all the names twice over, and though she knew little of the world, she could repeat their cosmic names and each of their maiar from memory.

It was as if a shudder ran through the group, like a collective shake in the trees. It was not as if the Valar were rare to see. She had seen most of them, sometimes they would show at royal events, in the streets, or at court and even more rarely, at elves' homes for dinner. Tulkas had been one of those, and mother made sure to have a tiny shrine set up exactly where he had sat. She looked at him as he gave the children in the front row a hearty smile.

One by one the elves began to come forth and kneel at their respective Vala. They bore gifts of oiled cloths, abundance of spices, food and carving with sigils adorned on the sides. As the succession began, she saw her friend walk forward with her father, and her eyes lit up.

“Amilë , I see Eldalótë , can we go to her!”

“Wait your turn,” was all her mother said, and Amarië turned to her feet and pouted. 

She looked back at the Vala, and her heart stopped when she saw one was looking directly at her.

Vána. Her hair was honey gold, soft and silky and weaved into foliage braids down her neck to the midriff of her dress, that was light as reed paper. It was see-through so that you could see the hint of skin from underneath, embroidered anchor flowers over her chest. Her eyes were dark green, and they gazed intently at the little elf girl, quizzically. When she caught her staring back, her visage slowly smiled, and her face  was the embodiment of spring.

Something golden and fluttering swam in her stomach, as they shared the moment. It was Amarië who broke away.

Her eyes picked up that her father was moving forward.

“Atar is approaching Tulkas isn't he?”

“Yes.”

“When is it our turn?”

“Be patient.”

The dots connected, why her parents woke her up early in the morning and had put on their finest garments. Her father unclothed a special carving, and Amarië craned her neck trying to see it. Her father was to pray for her baby brother, who was still in her mothers womb to grow strong and valiant. They had talked in whispered tones to grandfather, who had hidden the sound of her bare feet on wood when she was supposed to be asleep.

Suddenly, she was being herded forward, almost being pushed quickly before another elf. Her heart quickened when Amarië saw she was being led exactly to the lady Vala. She almost wanted to claw her way out of her mothers grip, for Vána was so beautiful she thought she would faint in front of her.

When she came to the foot of the Vala, she could feel the gaze, eyes like a pear.

“Thank you, O Vána the ever young, for your gracious invite to your humble home,” her mother began, and Amarië nearly giggled at how her voice went up two octaves.

Vána did not immediately reply, and Amarië watched her mouth as she did, her pink lips moving.

“And to you, I am glad you accepted, Manyainya of the Vanyar.”

“This is your child, I assume,” Vána began again, and Amarië’s face bloomed like roses on her cheeks.

“Yes, my name is Amarië of the Vanyar, my lady,” she lisped, bowing her head like her Amilë did.

Her mother cleared her throat and she realised she must have done something wrong. She only became more flushed. 

“I apologise, my lady,” Amilësaidquickly blustering, bowing shallow enough that only her knees bent.  Vána’s brows furrowed.

“For the interruption?” she laughed, “Nay, no need to apologise. I find our Amarië here an excellent fine lady.”

As she smiled down at her, she felt flustered at the words.

“Yes,” her Amilë replied, gripping onto Amarië’s hand tightly. “Indeed.”

Then she took out an object, clothed in white.

“I come here with my daughter in hopes for your grace.”

She unclothed it, and there in a wooden bowl were rub oils and spices.

“I hope this fragrance would delight you, for only I could give this to one called the ever-young.”

A whiff of the fragrance passed Amarië, and her nose scrunched as it passed. The lady already smells nice. Nothing could be sweeter.

“It is fine cloth,” said Vána as she took the bowl delicately.

“Weaved by myself and my sister in law,” she said, bowing her head once more.

“And what do you ask of me for this tribute?”

Her mothers eyes flickered up, signalling that she had been waiting for the question.

“As all my kin ask, we only hope for your blessing,” she moved her daughter in front of her. “I would like my Amarië to grow to be a proper lady, to have her youth brandished on her face, and to be graceful and swathful.”

“She will be,” Vána smiled, “However I believe she already is.”

Her mother laughed before it died off at Vána’s stillness. Amarië had the sense of something crackling in the air.

“I-” she frowned, fumbling with her dress, “I thank you for your time O Vala, for your graciousness, I hope you appreciate the oils.”

The crackling stopped.

“Of course,” Vána said, then looked at her with a smile on her face, “Amarië was a delight to meet.”

If Amarië's eyes could widen any more, they would. She was so beautiful, her hair looked as if it was bathed in Laurelin.

“And you too, my lady,” she formally replied, though it felt as if her heart was beating with hundreds of delicate moths like the ones embroidered on the Vala’s chest.

“Come now Amarië, let the lady Vána breathe,” mother said, letting go of her hand. But Amarië didn’t move, rooted in place.

She saw how beautiful Vána looked in flowers, and had the sudden urge to run her hands through her hair. She then remembered she wore a flower crown.

“Wait, my lady, may I pay tribute to you?”

There was a gasp behind her. “Amarië!”

But her mother’s voice was drowned out.

“And what would you offer me?”

Her breathing slowed, as she took the flower crown off of her head. 

“I would give you this, my crown,” she blustered, “Made by my own hand. I think it would look…” she searched for the right words. “...lovely on you.”

She felt eyes turn upon her, and her neck prickled. Even Oromë, her husband, spared a glance. But Vána calmed it all, with a soft smile.

“Well then,” she said, “Will you do the honours?”

Vána lowered herself, almost to her knees. Amarië felt her breath stuck to her throat, like honey.

She wasted no time, placing the crown gently on her head. Though it was tailored to Amarië’s size, it seemed to widen and flex to fit around her head. It was as if a sliver of magic weaved around the laurel. The flowers that seemed down trodden compared to the live ones glowed as if they buried their roots into her hair.She stepped back as the Vala raised herself to her full height once more.

She laughed, her giggle like spring, and Amarië stared, entranced. Suddenly it was broken.

“Forgive me! I should have told her not to do that.” Amarië was pulled back harshly. “I should have kept an eye on her.”

Vána gave her Amilë a chiding look. “There is no need to apologise. She did what everyone else is doing,” she told her, leaning forward that she could feel her breath like a rose scented breeze.

“Now is there anything you ask of me?”

She immediately went to shake her head, she hadn’t thought of that when she spoke up. Now suddenly a small seed formed in her mind.

“I would like a flower from you,” she said sheepishly. “In return. I would like to press it in my book and cherish it for it is from the lady Vána.

For a second she thought she wouldn’t grant it, but suddenly she raised her palm and a purple flower bloomed out of the white veins of her hand.

“Take it.”

Amarië placed her fingers around the stem and tugged. At first it didn't release because it was buried in her skin. She nearly recoiled, but Vána gave an encouraging look. She pulled again and this time, it slid out nicely  into her fingers.

“There now we are matching.” 

She was breathless, and when she went to speak, no words came out. 

Her mother also seemed speechless, and gave Vána a quick curtsy, before she grabbed Amarië by the sleeve.

She was being dragged away and it felt as though something tethered was lost. She passed the other elves, shame branded on her head, even though she didn't know what to be shameful for. Though she was covered by the crowd, she still felt Vána’s eyes on her, and when she passed through the carved halls of the Valar’s altar, and passed through its divine border, it followed.

—-

She was woken, and it was still such a shock to see everything so dark.

“Wake up my lady,” she hears the familiar voice of Ranyafëa.

She hastily shoved the vivid dream aside, but she couldn’t help but wonder why that memory of her childhood resurfaced.

“Just a moment,” she called, pulling her sheets, she got out of the bed. She glanced in the mirror and realised she was more of a crumpled mess. 

“We will fix you up, do not fret,” the serving-maia reassured, walking over to smooth a few strands of hair with an irritated frown. It only managed to make Amarië feel like she sank lower than she already had.

“Give me a moment,” she told her. The maia left the room, and Amarië sat down on the bed, left to her thoughts, the ones she fought to escape.

With such a vivid memory she had dreamed, her mind drifted to more painful ones.

She remembered Findaráto’s face when her family held her back. How she had raged and screamed at them that she needed to go, but in the end her family would disown her if she left, and her oath to them was too strong.

She then had turned to plead with her betrothed.

“Do not leave me. I want to go with you, absolve my family's hold on me, I will follow you across the Helcaraxë if I can.”

But he had looked at her with sad eyes.

“You're going to go then. You would rather go to Beleriand, without me, leaving me to wait like an unmarried widow waiting for you to return?” She cursed herself when she cried. “If you even come back?”

“I can’t let you go, stay with your family, live in the bliss of Valinor”

She felt the sharp stab of betrayal in her chest. “Do you not know me at all? I want to follow the Ñoldor. I want to fight Morgoth and help you take it back!”

“No, Amarië. Don’t you-”

“Don’t you dare use that on me!”

He sighed but his face was cut with decision. “Amarië I love you but I will not let you come. Your family begs you to stay, I cannot go against their love for you.”

“Love?” She scoffed. “I thought you loved me?”

When he didn’t answer her face fell. “Did  you ever love me?”

His face even in the dark held his choice, his acceptance written on the lines of his jaw.

“I could ask the same.”

Cold numbness burned across her entire hröa. They both stared at each other, before he took his banner and bowed to her. “I am so sorry. But I am doing this to protect you.” 

She could not say anything, her disbelief had shut her mouth entirely.

He didn’t even say goodbye. He turned around, his long golden hair the greatest light in the darkness, and carrying his father's banner, stepped onto the pale sands of Alqualondë.

When Ranyafëaentered once more, she took her face out of her hands, and blamed the redness of her eyes on her restless sleep.

“I have fresh clothes and Lady Vána asks if I can assist you with your makeup.”

 “I thank you.” She handed her garments that felt soft to the touch. “But I will not be needing any aid.”

“Be careful then. These stains only apply to your lips,” the maia said, placing the roll of brushes and lip bars onto the side table. With a half-done bow, she left the room.

She took her time with changing, and she couldn’t help but feel this was one of the most valuable garments she ever wore, despite her being engaged into the royal house of Arafinwё.

Well, was.

She took the bar and began to apply to her lips as instructed. She looked into the mirror, and it slipped out of her hand and clattered to the floor.

It was the exact same colour as the gore stained sands, littered with the bodies of both the Ñoldor and the Teleri.

She tried to wash off the red streak near her chin where it had left a trail from where it fell.

Right Of course. It stains.

She gave up, shoving her hair into a braid that would hopefully conceal most of it. Her looks didn’t matter anyway, she was here to serve.

Ranyafëaled her back through the halls, and she couldn’t help feeling like their place had changed already, flowers swelled ready to sprout, but some seemed dripped with oozing blackness, and their petals had withered.

They found the stairs that dipped back into the gardens, the entrance covered in red holly. It was a different trail they took, walking further south to orange brush in concise lines, overgrown grass and puddles of dew. A spring laid ahead, whose silver stream ran to where she walked barefoot beside; with pale rocks like glass upon its bed. Ferns clouded up near the spring, but there laid a patch where it was cut perfectly, and tiny mushrooms laid in a vast circle around it.

She spotted the maidens first, and she was stricken in awe of how they looked. Their hair was golden and red, unbound flying in streaks as they pranced on the tips of their toes, flying like divine banners in an ethereal plain. Like slender sapings, their legs stern as their feet smacked the round in perfect harmonious rhythm. 

She could spot the other affected maiar, they have roses growing out of their skin. She could tell these were the ones that were healing, for they did not look like the blight that had taken over Melyanna.

Then a bright voice sliced through the clearing. Vána came, tall and wrapped in delicate woven cloth, gliding over swiftly, impossibly fast. She gave Amarië an expecting smile, not breaking her gaze as she stepped backwards into the circle of the dancers.

“As one of my maidens, I expect you to do my bidding,” she began with a warm teasing smile, “And I say Amaire, dance!”

Then the fair Vala opened her mouth and began to sing:

“Keen is the fair maiden

Dancing in the silver grasses

A bright glow from the blackness

But her shine never passes!

Lo!

Watch her twirl, see her prance

Music sweet glazed remedy

Her rose embroidered glance;

Her voice tempts a rain of melody

Sounds as soothing as vernal showers

In a meadows dell of dew

A violet emboldened flowers

Visage golden in valinors hue

That twist a towering high;

Yet nothing compares to her beauty

That even the Valars sigh;

At her lips soft ruby!

Still she teaches me the gladness

That thy fëa craves to know

Such perfected madness

From soft lips would flow;

All of valinor should listen

High maidens love-ladened

But my hröa golden glistens

For even the trees dip saddened;

For she is a lady hidden

fëa concealed in secret hour,

And none doth she bidden

Far away in a looming tower!

Held down by pointing arrow

In their jealousy they hem;

Eyes like two lamps it narrows

They cut the blossoming stem

They shall separate us in a flashing sphere

By cold winds deflowered;

And in the white dawn clear

My love, I cowered.”

Amarië stared, rooted in place as she continued to sing, entranced. The song she sang was a well known Vanyar folk–song, and she knew it well. Ingoldo would sing while she danced to it, with his harp and her quick feet. They made quite an entertaining couple, she was one of the best dancers in Tirion, while he was a famous royal musician. They would play on the streets just for thrill, so they could see the onlookers flocking around them, to see the Prince of the Ñoldor and his betrothed honour their crafts.

“Come Amarië!” Vána shouted, snapping her out of her thoughts, “I would love to see you dance”

Amarië nodded, a flush like a sweet red apple appearing as she watched Vána dance with her arms above her head, looking like the Golden Tree of Valinor, if it could dance.

She took a breath and left Ranyafëa , stepping inside the circle. 

She nearly faltered and fell to the ground, the maiar dancing at a quicker pace then she realised. She stumbled again, trying to back away only to be bumped by another maia who gave her a glance she didn't quite catch, but got the meaning. Vána was still singing, and she heard it rising over the beating of her heart. 

Follow her voice.

She listened to the pavane that rose above all else, and her body began to move with ease. Less worried about taking the other mayor's lead, she ignored the strange dance she was doing, and opted for a more traditional Vanyarian style, one that her father taught her, and she had warped into a free form of her own making. With her movement, it seemed as if the song slowed, her honey filled voice entering every part of her being as her hands moved like water through the air, her chest outstretched as if it could swallow the whole sky.

With every twirl, she saw the other maiar fall into their place, watching her lead and copying her movements. Soon they all were doing the same dance, all falling in a circle-like path, arcing around Vána. She still stood in the centre of it all, and even in the blackness she shone. And Amarië felt like she danced at the altar of her divinity.

Eventually Vána’s arms fell to her side, and with that the music stopped. The maiar began walking out of the circle, but the Vala made her stay.

“You dance beautifully, Amarië. I had heard even when I visited Tirion of the young elf who said they can match the dancing of maiar themselves.”

She had heard it before, but hearing the words from Vána made her feel warmth that she had not known in a long time.

“I thank you, my lady. It has been some time since I danced, I was not sure how it would match to your grace. Your voice was something to behold.”

“I think you give yourself too little credit. Even my maiar were awed by your dancing, and bent to your lead.”

Another question was welling up inside her. “Vána, is it only maiar that serves you? Am I the only one of my kin here?”

“You are the only elf near these gardens. I sent my elf-maids away for their own safety. As you should be.”

Her hröa grew cold and her hands fell dead to her side. “What do you mean?”

She gave a forlorn look, far off as if she gave too much away. Her eyes fell to the sliver of space where her lips met her teeth. “Walk with me.”

She followed the Vala out of the clearing, and far away that she could no longer hear the hums of the maiar that started once again. When they reached the orchards, she let out a soft sigh.

She crouched down and rolled away the leaves until there lay a single orange.

It was infested with premature rot.

“This is what was mentioned earlier. The fruits are dying.”

“Not just the fruits.”

Gooseflesh raised all over her skin.

“You have seen Melennya. One of my stronger maiar, and she was affected, and has not even healed. Imagine what that could have done to one of my elf maidens? I sent them back to their cities for their safety.”

“So you're telling me, that you let me walk into your gardens, pledge my services when you have sent all your other elves away.” She suddenly felt very cold indeed. “I don't understand, why have me here when you know this is happening?”

“You are in no danger,” she said standing up, “Your hröa is untainted by this and will stay like that. This rot is not after you, and you are the safest you can be in these trying times.”

She didn't fully believe it, but she nodded anyway. “I trust that you are right. But still, why do you have me here? You could have easily turned me away, I won't be much use compared to your maiar, maybe except for my dancing.”

“And that is all you need to do.” She placed her hand on her shoulder. “A Vala and an elf we are and you are no maia, but your presence comforts me nonetheless.”

—-

“My  is Atar is arguing again,” she told Eldalótë as she braided flowers into her soft hair.

Her friend paused, listening to the array of raised voices, before finally nodding. “He is shouting with my mother.”

They tried to hum out the voices, but to know avail. She sighed. “They are deciding whether we should go trion.”

“I don't want to move there,” Amarië whined, putting up her hands as if she was waving away a butterfly.

“You might not. But eventually I will. Court has grown tense, and both our mothers want you the little nobility we have to get in early.”

“So I heard,” she muttered, “And if I do, I will not enjoy the bustling streets that Tirion would offer. I prefer the rolling meadows, not some petty lord.”

“I know,” Eldalótë  grinned, “Ever since you went to Vána , you have grown engrossed in anything to do with flowers, and grass no less.”

“Hmph.” Everyone her age knew the story of what happened a few years ago. How she had foolishly called out for a gift, a childish flower crown. Apparently it was rare to get a flower from Vána, grown by her own hand.

“Well to be fair, I didn't know I wasn't supposed to do that!”

Eldalótë only giggled. Amarië rolled her eyes. It was years ago, she didn't have to get relentlessly teased about it. “If you move, I won't be missing your mockery.”

“Without my teasing, who will tell you when your laurel is lopsided?”

 
Amaire flushed, reaching up and straightening her crown. Ever since Vána, she had been making flower crowns obsessively. Her parents had to detain her once since she nearly ripped up the garden.

“Missed a hair.” 

Amarië slapped her hand away, which caused her to laugh.

“Stay still or I will unravel your braid.”

Her squirming stopped instantaneously. For a few moments they fell back into comfortable silence.

“Still, I've heard whispers,”  she began again, “My mother has connections. If we move to Tirion, we will have more access, then most.”

“And?”

“We will be well acquainted with an important lord. “

“Is that so?”

“Not just a lord.” 

Amarië raised her eyes in mock protest. “Oh?”

Eldalótë  twisted her head around with a toothy look. “A prince of the Ñoldor.”

Her mouth fell open. “The Fëanorions?”

“The Golden House,” she replied. “The sons of Arafinwё.”

Amarië nearly dropped her braid. “You lie!”

Eldalótë shook her head with a laugh, her brown curls shaking with her shoulders. “No! I may tease you sometimes, but never do I lie!”

“So you are serious then?”

She nuzzled her head further into the soft fabric of the other dress, an appreciated expression on her face.

“Eldalótë, I always knew your mother had connections, but I have been naive! Have you always known this, and kept it from your dearest friend?”

She giggled warm as honey. “No! We've never even gone to Tirion for more than a week, and last I went I was barely more than a babe.”

“When did you find out? Has your Atya talked to a representative? Are we going to live in a great estate?” She nearly jumped up, brimming with excitement. “Oh my! Are we going to live with the princes?”

“Now you're just getting ahead of yourself. Of course not, I know nothing except the whispers my mother had conceived. Were you not the one who said moments before that you did not want to live in the city?”

“That was different! You didn't tell me we would be acquainted with Ñoldorian royals!”

“It's not as exciting as you think,” she replied, sitting more firmly, palms pressed into the grass, “My mother only said she had connections. It's not as if they are any distant family. I doubt we will see them as much as we think we will.”

“More than the most.”

“Well Tirion is an extravagant place. Royals mix easily with common civilians. I assume the Valar will be commonplace too.”

Sharp green eyes appeared in her mind, so sharp she had to shake it away.

Vána.

She swallowed, trying to think of something after the way earth shook as something pierced her very fëa. 

“Well still, we will see them,” she began, her voice slightly trembling, “And we will get to speak to them personally.”

Eldalótë frowned. “Are you good, my friend?”

She shook her head with a forced grin. “I’m good,” she told her, quickly diverting the conversation. “What do you think Findaráto looks like?”

They both gave each other sly looks. Everyone knew of the beauty of the Arafinwions, especially of the eldest son. He was said to have inherited the wonderful locks of his father and the keen eyes of his mother, the Swan Princess of Alqualondë. His voice was as soft as a bird song second to Macalaurë Fëanorion, and like the other children of the Golden House were great athletes in strength and speed.

“I assume he will be lovely to gaze upon,” she replied with a flush on the tips of her cheeks, “Just as I assume all the sons will be.”

Her mind suddenly wanders to Nerwen, their only daughter. What would she look like? Amarië quickly shoves those thoughts away. 

She went to open her mouth again, before being interrupted by a booming voice. “Enough with laying there Amarië! Bring Eldalótë and get over here. We all need to discuss this!” 

Amarië looked at her friend, and they both scrambled up towards her mother who had poked her head out of the engraved door. 

“What is it Atya!” Amarië replied quickly, brushing off her legs as she got there. She glanced at Eldalótë and saw that her hair was a giant knot all over her face from running. She hadn't tied it properly.

Suddenly their smirks fell off their faces, as they slowly looked up and saw that her mother seemed conflicted. She pointed her finger to the table, and they listened obediently without complaint. Amarië noticed that her father and Eldalótë's mother were  nowhere to be seen. She didn't dare to whisper her thoughts, for her mother began to pull out a chair, and she cringed at the loud scraping noise it made in the desolate marble room. 

There was silence for a painfully long time. She could see little dust fall flickering through the light in the window, and she thought that if she stayed any longer it would coat her eyelids.

“What is it mother?” she softly asked, dreading the answer.

Whatever was bothering her was shown in her hands, gripping the table until her knuckles were white. Finally she spoke, in a voice much quieter than expected.

“We are going to Tirion.” And when they did not lower their heads she added shaking, “Your Father is not coming with us.”

___

Amarië woke up tired. She had not dreamed of Eldalótë in a long time, and seeing her face in her memories, so young and naive, was not a great start to her morning.

The problem was that it was so vivid.

She had realistic dreams much more recently now, but it was never so common, elves didn't usually “dream” or sleep for that matter. It was only when Irmo visited them they had such visions.

But Irmo was not around. Nor did he visit her.

Something was strange about the place. Maybe it was because the moss grew on the south side of the tree, or how it seemed no messages passed through here. She would suspect that her family would search all of Aman for her, and at least send a letter telling her to come back. But under the Vala’s protection, they could not forcefully bring her back home. All they could do and try to convince her, and like a closed off sanctum, no begging letter arrived. 

Maybe they didn't care.

Amarië stabbed the spade of her shovel more forcefully than she intended, ripping at a few vines. For the last few months, she had been working as hard as she possibly could for Vána. She had danced until her feet bled, sung until her voice was hoarse. It was as if she had something to prove to Vána, that she was worthy for the position, for her praise. Vána looked at her often, and over the course of her time there, she had called on Amarië to talk to. They would walk the woods together, through the gardens and sing lovely tunes. She had already been promoted to the ladies bedchamber.

However there was still something missing. Vána had no reason to put her above the others. She had told Amarië that she was a dear friend, even in the little time she knew her. But there was something else she was not telling her. The whole garden felt distorted, and she felt like there was something off. If she couldn't tell what that was, how would she know Vána’s true intentions?

Yet the problem she faced right now was that the rot still grew.

Her and the maiar had spent countless weeks strangling with the grass and choking off buds of the fruits just to stop it from spreading. It never worked. It showed up in the least expected places, nowhere near where they cut off the blight before. It would appear under carpets, until the entire flooring was eaten; in the fissures, attacking mushrooms oozing black blood, and even under the lips of the maiar.

She had one time woken up with it tangled in her fingers, and it took countless washes to make sure it didn't spread  from her hands.

The maiar had begun talking; who had now incorporated her into their little group. 

“Vána is not herself lately. I see her staring deep into the forest.”

“She is incompetent at the moment, don't question why she does what she does.  She misses the light of the trees. Like we all do. For her it hit the hardest.”

“Do you think it has to do with Morgoth?”

“Morgoth? He is long gone now, and Valinor is cleansed.”

“Don't be a fool, she probably just misses Lord Oromë. She hasn't seen him in a few decades.”

Amarië didn't know what bothered her the most about the girl's ramblings, the mention of Valinor being cleansed by the removal of the exiles, or the mention of Vána’s husband. Her fists clenched ever so slightly at the mention of him.

She had not met Oromë while she was here, and that had not surprised her. She suspected the Valar could go centuries without seeing each other, and maybe that was it. Vána missed her husband, when she had that certain longing gaze with glowing eyes.

Then why was that gaze always pointed at her?

“Amarië.”

She scooted around on her knees to face Melyanna. She winced at the veil that covered her face. Melyanna knew that she had not gotten used to looking at her visage, so she resorted to just covering it entirely when she was around her with a see through silk veil. It made her feel guilty covering up like that and slightly embarrassed, but Melyanna told her not to worry.

“Yes Melyanna?” she asked, expecting a report about another discovery of a blight. Where would it be this time? In someone's heart?

“Lady Vána asks for you.”

“What for?” she asked, dropping the shovel and standing up. 

“She wants to show you something.”

Amarië suddenly felt giddy again. 

“Lead the way.”

They passed through a few archways as they took a forest trail and winded up and up a mound near the edge of the east side of the gardens.

“I’ll wait at the bottom,” Melyanna said as they got to the top, swerving quickly on her heels and down the hill again.

It took her a few moments to find Vána, but when she saw her, it was a stunning sight.

Her hair was red, a golden rouge, only possible if light was shone upon it, but there it glowed, even in the darkness. She approached closer, and Vána’s lips quipped up as she heard the grass rustle at her approach.

“I am here my lady.”

“Sit,” is all she said. 

She slowly went and sat beside her, cross legged exactly like she was. She took a deep breath, absorbing the soft aroma that surrounded the very presence of Vána, one that she began to crave only recently.

“Melyanna told me you were to show me something? What is it?”

She, who had closed eyes before, opened one slightly with a grin. “Impatient are we?”

She gives a laugh that turns more into a sigh. “You can't help but make me feel impatient.”

It came out more breathy than intended.

She hummed in reply. “I think we both  make each other impatient, as I remember that spring incident.”

Amarië smiled at that memory. It happened a few weeks ago when she withheld her song lyrics she created for Vána while they sat in the hot springs. She remembers the warmth of not just the water, but her almost touching as she leaned over to see what she wrote. Vána had teased her about it after making her impatient, because it turns out, she loved the song and sung it for dance everytime they did so.

“Indeed,” she chuckled.

“Now wait my dear Amarië, for what your about to see, I am almost certain you will enjoy.”

The grass rustled as if something big was coming in the wind. For a few moments there was nothing, and despite being impatient, Amarië was content at just peering at Vána’s face that looked like a split visage of the glade of flowers that surrounded them.

Then, flying out of the reeds around, the world burst into colour.

Butterflies of all shapes and sizes twirled high in the air, flowing like petals in the wind. On their wings were adorned with all sorts of symbols, in a variety of gold reds and blues creating an image in her head that would burn upon her retinas forever.

The sky was painted in a multi coloured hue.

Vána let out a gale, and growing like the multitude of butterflies, they laughed until tears showed at the corner of her eyes and her chest ached.

“Are you crying, Amarië?”

She stopped wiping her tears and nodded sadly. “It is beautiful, truly my lady.”

She was silent for a moment. “Call me Vána. I am not just your lady.”

The butterflies began to settle down, nestling near the hems of their garments. A butterfly flitted at her sleeve and the sweet look Vána made was the most lovely she had ever seen.

Something changed in her expression, like when starlight hit the butterflies wings.

“I was not there at Alqualondë. Tell me, why did you leave your family?”

Amarië sucked in a sharp breath. She should have known this question would come. Vána had not pressed her for her reasons for leaving, and she was glad for it. Maybe she hoped the Vána would secretly think that her family had sent her here themselves and she would not question it. But she had found out.

“I left because I had no choice. I was going to leave to Beleriand with the rest of the Ñoldor.” She felt ashamed saying this, especially to a Vala. “Even if it meant leaving everything I knew behind. I was ready for it.”

She laid her head on the grass, and Vána followed her lead until they lay side by side. She was quite aware of how close their hands were from touching.

“You wanted to go to Beleriand because of your betrothed?” she asked, turning her body ever so slightly to Amarië.

“No,” she replied, gazing at the stars, not even a faint memory of what Amans light used to be. “I wanted to leave Valinor and venture to the lands none had touched before. I wanted to fight Morgoth, and I would have fought him alone if I could just see Beleriand myself, like my ancestors before me.”

An idle tear slipped down to the side of her cheek, that did not go unnoticed. She continued, words pouring out of her mouth unable to contain.

“The Vanyar are very particular about family. It is the most important value in our culture. My mother had me swear an oath that I would never leave her, long ago before any of this happened. When I was just a child. She had done it when father and her were at high tensions, when they couldn't even bear to look at each other. When I first moved to Tirion, he did not come with us, and only visited us every other decade. It was like Curufinwë and Nerandel. Yet there were no grievances when they parted.”

“When I had stepped on those sands, ready to leave the mess my mother had made, she called to me and I heard. She told me that she would not allow me to go, even if it killed both of them. When I told her that she had control over me, she played the last card. She told me of the oath, one as powerful as the one I was to follow. She said, saying that I would not leave any land as long as she was in it. I had no choice but to obey.”

“And your betrothed just let that happen?” Vána asked, a tinge of anger hidden underneath her words.

“Findaráto did not help. He thought it was a good thing. Something that would protect me,” is all she said.

Time slowed as Vána reached over and squeezed her hand. “I am so sorry that happened. If I was there I would have done anything to absolve your oath. Your spirit is meant to wander, and none should take that away from you. Not your family, not your betrothed, not anyone. I swear by it.”

Amarië did not think she would be sympathetic to the cause, and she felt choked. She held back her tears. She could not cry in front of a maia.

There were a few moments of silence, before Vána asked again, “I know there are few places you could go, but why did you come here? Why not Vairë’s timeless halls, or serve in dreamless Lórien, or far west where your mother could never find you?”

Amarië pursed her lips at the strange question , finding it difficult to answer something she wasn't sure herself. “There is a part of me that has always subconsciously knew I would end up serving you. When I first saw you as a child, until I saw you a few times and you offered me to serve you all those years ago.”

Vána sighed, relief or something else she could not tell. “It was an unfair question I just asked. Because I already knew. I have to admit, I have been selfish, Amarië.”

“What do you mean my l- Vána?”

“Serving and being are two separate things.” 

Now Amarië was even more confused. “I’m sorry I don't understand.”

It was the first time she saw Vána look so nervous. “I have not been entirely truthful with you.”

Her muscles tensed. “What do you mean? What have you been withholding?”

“You have noticed the rot of course. You have spent many hours working to clear it. I told you how it was not anything that was dangerous to you…”

She glanced at Amarië. “I lied.”

“What type of danger am I in?” she asked warily.

“None that I can explain easily.” To her shock she took both of her hands and clasped them tightly. “Part of me warns you to go, but I need you to stay,” she began, her eyes pleading that it froze her into being silent, “Do not ask me more to explain myself, I will not be able to. I have told you all that you need to here, and I am aware that it sounds callous of me to ask any more of you after what I have just said, but at least stay, even just for a while.”

Amaire did not say anything for a while, the core of her hröa rocked with such a realisation. A Vala wanted her to stay desperately; it almost sounded like she was begging.And of the danger? Would she become like one of the distorted maiar with the blight. That was what she was implying right? Yet all her worries melted away when Vána looked at her like that.

“I have no plans of leaving just yet. I have pledged my service to you, only you can release me from it.”

“I would never force you into staying, I would never. I would release you instantly on your command.”

She smiled. “I’m not asking you too. I’m staying.”

A great wave shuddered through Vána, and she laid back her head once again, her lips a red dash on her face. “I apologise for not telling you the truth.”

“You still are not,” Amarië clarified, without any malice.

“Yes” she breathed, closing her eyes. “But you will find out what it is. Soon enough…”

—-

She was panting fiercely to catch up with Artanis, her legs braced on her horse while she bent her back in hopes to increase her speeds. She cursed as she watched her “friend” take a sharp cut, causing to stumble for her reins, and nearly being whipped by a branch. Her horse let out a spluttered neigh, as she wrangled for control.

Her horse bucked again and she stifled a yelp as she nearly toppled out of the saddle. She thanked for her strong legs flexing enough for her to grab a leather strap and swing herself up again.

“ Artanis!” she called, “Slow down!” She winced when she heard a faint laugh, and the sound and another jeer at her that caused dirt to be flung into her face.

She quickly regained her footing and pushed her horse to go further. She winced with phantom pain as she dug her boot in further in his fur, feeling his pain as it rapidly sped up. But she had to catch up with Artanis.

Her soon to be sister in law was far from wanting to be even close with Amarië. At first, she felt as if she disdained her, to Amarië's disappointment. She thought they would get along well since they were roughly around the same age. Even worse, Eldalótë had become betrothed to Angrod and they had wedded shortly after she came to Tirion, and Amarië watched as her friend drifted away, too busy dealing with her newly born son Orodreth.

It was hard to believe how old she was now. Findaráto and her have been together for nearly a century, but she of course refused to be married just yet.

Maybe she was scared of it.

She had seen how Eldalótë had changed. Her blanched face, her lips in a permanent frown as her legs were propped up on a stand. She gritted her teeth at the memory of her screams, her belly a swelling mass on her torso.

She hated it. She was still young in her mind at least, she had not even finished her apprenticeship. Already everyone around her was settling down, and Ingoldo wanted more.

Artanis had not softened to her over the years, yet was the only one who understood her struggle. She had been the one that had got her and Findaráto together in the end. On that fateful morning when she was shearing through old scrolls, and Artanis said:

“He likes you, you know. Talk to my brother because he is weak in the knees for you, and seldom for anyone else. Accept his proposal or I swear I’ll make him do it because I can’t bear how pathetic he acts.”

Despite the words, she laughed, and did exactly that. Unattached herself, she knew Amarië struggled with marriage, seeing how her mother and father acted. Though they never talked of it, there was an understanding in place of the little connection they had and Amarië craved it.

Which is exactly why she needed to impress her.

She was gaining ground on Artanis, tailing her as her hair flew unbound like a golden streak across her vision. Artanis had taken to teaching her how to ride a horse. This time she thought maybe, just maybe she would finally be good to her.

Turns out this was the perfect advantage for her to tease.

“Come on Amarië, we don’t have all day, we need to get to the city by midday, and I have a feeling that I will get there hours before you!” she called behind her in a joyful mocking tone.

Sweat poured down her neck as she tensed her muscles and leaped over a fallen log. After the impact jolted through her body she was able to reply: “We will see about that!” But it came out more of a pant than a shout. She heard her laugh once again and her stomach dropped.

“You won’t be seeing anything if you ride like that!”

A branch whipped wildly in her face where Artains had neatly ducked. It was the third time today that she swore so profusely, and wouldn’t be the last.

Was Artanis purposefully taking the wildest paths? The brook was too gnarly for horse riding, and for a beginner no less. It was her bright white horse in front of her that kept her grounded from running smack into a tree, for the green began to mesh together it seemed in moss, grass and trees.

“Hurry,” she whispered in the wind as she patted her horse's mane, other hand white knuckled in the reins. She took another sharp turn, eyes burning as if it was filled with tears. Her whole body ached, and Artanis would not slow down.

Suddenly, everything hitched, and the world churned as she felt the horse's leg buckle. “Nerwen!” She called, changing to her mother name in a half-cried plea, before her horse bucked. She was thrown from her saddle, all the air knocked from her lungs and she was thrown through the air, and hit the ground with a hard thump that jolted her entire hröa.

Amarië groaned, looking up to see her horse running away, its saddle hanging unmasked at its side.

“Artanis?” she called weakly. No reply but the sound of hoofs growing more faint. She cursed once again, Artanis must have gone without her, not even realising she was down, thinking her slow. Now she would never make it back in time.

She pawed at the ground, the soil relatively soft, noting that she landed on a bed of flowers and buoyant moss. It was lucky or else she would have had a broken limb for sure. She saw that she must be in a small glade, judging by the opening, and that her horse had tripped in a ditch judging by the jolt. Artains was right. She had been riding too wildly indeed.

Her hand on instinct went to her forehead, and when she found it bare, her heart plummeted even further. She waited a few moments for her vision to clear as her fingers raked aimlessly in the grass. When she was riding, she had made sure that her chaplet was secured properly, but it must have flown off during her tumble. Her adorned garland had been made by her betrothed, he had made the base of it and commissioned the jewels to be set perfectly by his cousin Curufinwë. He had given it to her as a last courting gift, in replacement of a promise ring. It was golden leaves in the bathed light of the trees, but the shadows turned it silver when she crossed through the brooks. 

She didn't even bother getting up and brushing the dirt on her garments, they were soaked half in the mud. Instead she crawled desperately on the ground, like a mad fool if anyone saw her. She could not lose her coronet, if it was broken she could not bear to see the look of disappointment in her Findaráto’s eyes. She blinked, tears welling in her eyes. Artanis had left her to be stuck in a ditch somewhere, she had lost her courting gift, and she felt like a child. 

“Looking for this?”

The harmonious voice stopped her in her trucks. Her lips trembled as she looked up, to see a tall figure standing over her, a hand upraised.

She knew who it was, her fëa acknowledging it before herself. 

“Lady Vána?” she inquired, as if she was half in a dream.

She raised more of her body onto the palms of her hands, and the shifted weight allowed her to see clearly from the blinding light that the Vala radiated. Her hair was bountiful, but no loose strand was to be seen, like straws of gold falling like rivers from her head. Her eyes, she saw second, as green as she had seen before, the ones that pierced her long ago. Her smile danced almost mirthfully, and Amarië’s gaze followed all the way down from the hook of her pale arms to where  she held her chaplet dangling in her pointed finger.

It was a few gaping moments that Amarië stared bewildered at the Vala as if she had seen the Two Trees rise for the first time from the Valinorian grounds. It was only her pure sense that she took the chaplet from Vána’s tempting hands into her own shaking ones.

“I thank you,” she averted her gaze, feeling truly embarrassed that her favourite Vala had found her abandoned and sore in a meadow somewhere, “I lost control of my steed, Lady Vána and it ran away when I fell.” She didn't know why she was explaining  it all, it only made her seem more rash and her cheeks flushed a deeper rose red. But Vána did not seem put off by it, but leaned forward as her hair fell like veils beside her head causing her to flush further.

“That I saw,” she said, tilting her head, eyes almost alien like, “Your horse was not properly trained. Is it yours?”

“No it is my fiancé's,” she said, swallowing. She felt Vána’s gaze darken like clouds. “He had let me use it to ride with his sister, for she has been teaching me to ride for the last few years.”

“Yes, I have seen that she has left you,” she remarked, “It is perilous for her to do so, from what I saw you took a great fall.”

At her words, she remembered she was still kneeling on the ground craning her neck, and she swiftly regained her footing. She did not want her to think she was incompetent.

“It was not that terrible of a fall, I don't even think I got a bruise from it, but I thank you for caring,” she remissed, inclining her head so that she was close to eye level with Vána. She was much taller than her, for Amarië was short for a Vanyar, and still Vána was short for a Valar. 

“I am glad you are unharmed then. I would hate to see even a scratch on you. But still your clothes seem terribly ripped.” She looked down to see a terrible gash in the fabric near her thigh, and hissed. That would not pay well.

“Would you like me to fix it?” Vána asked softly. Amarië swirled her head upwards in confusion. “How would you do that? I apologise for my informality m’lady, but it would take too long for you to mend my garments, and we do not have the supplies to do so.”

Then she laughed. “I may be Vána the ever -young, and not my kin Vairë the weaver, but I am a Valar nonetheless. I will be able to fix your garments.” Then she leaned down and said in a teasing whisper. “Follow me.”

She turned and swayed up the hill, Amarië following close behind in wonder. She had just truly taken in her surroundings. She was in a field of flowers, the petals upturned towards the sky like faces cloud gazing. Except the tree branches were long and thick reaching over and shadowing the meadow like an outreached arm. Suddenly they stopped when they got to the middle of the meadow.

“What are you going to-”

Vána cut her off without words, slowly she knelt until her lower body was concealed by the tall reeds. “Join me,” she said once, and Amarië obeyed.

Once she had knelt, Vána gestured her to scooch forward. “Come here Amarië,” she said, and that was all she needed for her to listen. One cannot just disobey a Valar, nor did she want to. Her whole body shook by being close to such a goddess, one with such stunning stature no less.

“What are we doing?” she asked as quietly as she could in hopes to not sound patronising. Vána’s hands hovered over the wounded cloth, and her breath hitched at the guise of her touch on her skin. Amarië went rigid, and no breath was even uttered those moments that her hand laid  over her legs. Then suddenly, there seemed to be rustling in the reeds. She watched as the grass and leaves seemed to shift in their rooted seats, until they inclined towards her like a slithering snake. Seeing such magic, such power caused her to watch with her jaw to the floor, as they climbed onto her leg, and weaved the fibres of her clothing together. In less than a moment, the pieces were sewn together.

“I-” she gulped, running over the healed scar of her pants. “That was an honour to watch.”

“I could teach you, one day.”

Her head snapped up, eyes widening. “Is that even possible?”

She inclined her neck. “Of course. Many of my apprentices have honed close to the practice you just saw, in a matter of centuries. It would be a lovely sight to see you among them.”

They both stood up at the same time, and Amarië began to feel shy again.

“Ah well--I see that you can't,” Vána said, understanding, “You have duties, a husband to be to attend to. Maybe in another age, you can join me.”

The phrasing sounded ambiguous, and the word “husband” sat heavy on her lips, opening a floodgate of worries she had been suppressing for a while.

“Maybe Lady Vána. I do not know what the future will bring, and I am sure there are many journeys I will take before the breaking of the world. In a millena, I would love to serve you and only you.”

She gave a queer look. “Your presence already serves me”. 

The quip caused her to blush, and look anywhere but her eyes, which led her to notice the abundance of flowers that circled like a laurel over her head. For some reason, they looked oddly familiar.

Vána reached up to touch one of the protruding leaves gently. “Do you not recognize it?”

Her stomach twists in an odd way, the way she speaks her words with more breath than structure. “No my lady.”

“That is shocking,” she giggled, “Considering you are the one who gave it to me.”

She couldnt breath, it seemed as if her lungs constricted as she felt like a child again those 133 years ago. “My flower crown… the one I gave you as an offering. You still wear it?”

“Yes of course,” she smiled, almost to herself, “It was a thoughtful gift, one borne out of love, of that which I cherish.”

“I-” she couldn't speak, the words hung loosely on her tongue, muscles constricting. She couldn't believe that a Vala cared so much for a childish gift.

“Well, I guess we are matching,” she tried to say pointing at her own chaplet.

“Ah, the one made by the young Findaráto, your betrothed,” she replied with a hint of distaste, “As much as the forgery is skilled, I prefer flowers. I could make you one better than that. But nonetheless, it is a good courting gift.”

Those words didn't really register until later, so she just smiled weakly and nodded. Awkward silence descended upon them again. It made her heart beat wildly in her chest.

“Lady?”

“Yes?”

“I must be heading back soon, despite me wishing to stay longer. Alas I need to tell my Ingoldo that his horse is missing.” she sighed. “I suspect we will find him by next week. He might even find him sooner, or I suspect he will come to Findaráto on his own terms”

“No need to worry.” 

With a flick of her hand, Amarië looked up, and in astonishment heard the soft whiny of her horse. “Morcoverië!” she cried and ran up to greet her forsaken steed.

“How did you call for him? I didn't not know you could do that. No matter, I thank you, Lady Vána.”

She shook her head with a grin, her lips curved in a smile. “I did not call on him. He found you himself.”

—-

“Melyanna?”

She had found her picking a moss with her little knife, little curls of the foliage lying at her feet like skin flakes dipped in blood from the rot. She had to ask again for Melyanna to hear her, but she expected for her to try and ignore her.

“Yes Amarië?”

Ever since she had woken up on the hill of butterflies and found Vána gone beside her, and a strange dream still fresh in her memory, she had searched for Melyanna. But the maia was tricky to find, even a garden like this one. 

She knew now that was not a normal dream.

It was too vivid, too realistic. 

Like the ones before.

And why was Vána always somehow in the dream? They were memories of the past, but dreams like those were supposed to be over bright, like a faded light between a dusty window.

This one felt like being dumped in ice water.

“I would like you to walk with me. I need to talk to you about something.”

She hummed in and replied, before shaking her head. “Sorry, I can't talk right now, I’m still working on clearing this section of the wall.”

Amarië was incredulous. The maia was lying.

“Then you could listen while you work.”

She could see the maia visibly stiffen. When she did not reply, she decided to continue.

“You have worked under many Valar and dwelt in Lórien and have worked under Estë, and by proxy her husband, Irmo, yes?”

It was common knowledge who the maia worked for. Melyanna nodded, not at all looking in Amarië’s direction. 

“Then tell me, have you noticed something….wrong with your dreams of late? Less like dreams and more like visions. Besides the rot, I feel something is off other than the obvious predicament, something that has to do with these odd forthcomings?”

Melyanna set down her knife and turned to finally face her. She was not wearing her veil, and looked as if she expected Amarië to be scared off by her grotesque face.

Amarië didn't flinch.

She sighed. “These are…quite the assumptions you are making,” she cautioned, “We maiar do not dream. We have visions, but only if they are sent by the Valar. And even then we can control them. You're talking as if something is amiss…. What have your dreams been?”

“Well…” She didn't want to reveal too much, or admit that most of her dreams of late had been about Vána.“They have been strangely realistic. That's one way to put it at least. They are quite off putting.”

Melyanna gave her a smile. To the best of her ability. “So they are dreams. Nothing new. If they are nightmares this is no shock. Everyone has been having this due to the trauma of the destruction of the Two Trees and the loss of family members. It would make sense if they manifested in dreams.”

“So other elves have been having these vivid dreams?”

“Well when you say vivid I assume you mean nightmares. I have not been to an elven city in many centuries, but I have heard reports.”

“But these are not nightmares,” she snapped, getting more frustrated.

“Then what are these dreams Amarië?” 

She flushed, realising how quick the conversation had turned on her.

“Well?”

She had forgotten how fierce Melyanna got with her words when Vána was not around. She sighed and backed down.

“Nevermind, forget what I said,” she tried to avoid.

“Listen Amarië, if something from your past is haunting you, I can help. Like you said, I have served Estë for over a millennium. I know the art of soothing the hurt and weary.”

“No, no I’m good. I am fine,” she replied, feeling more and more patronised.

“Are you sure?” she asked, and Amarië hesitated, It looked like Melyanna was giving her a look that was trying to tell her something.

“What is it?” she asked again, but Melyanna swiftly covered whatever expression was on her mutilated face.

Something was wrong.

Yet it seemed like the maia would not reveal it, passively blinking as the awkward staring dragged on for minutes.

“Then, I guess I will be leaving then…” Amarië huffed, not sure what she should say. She awkwardly turned around, the sounds of her shoes echoing in the empty hallway.

“Wait,” Melyanna called, stopping Amarië in her tracks, “The way you are describing these dreams they have a pattern, right?”

She wavered before she answered, “Yes they do. They are memories of the past, but slightly distorted. Realistic but prophetic in a way.”

Melyanna nodded, “Then the only thing I could think of then is what I have told you. That they could be being controlled by an outside party.”

“Like a person?”

“Yes.”

“But why would anyone want to control my dreams?” she murmured, “Who could it be?”

When she turned to question more, Melyanna had vanished.

Vána had been gone for a long time. It could have been years for all she knew, for it was hard to track time with the never ending darkness. She had spent her days poking at spare leaves and singing with the maia, and soon it fell into a routine of waiting. She felt as if she crossed the threshold between dream and reality, sleep and wakefulness. Outside she worked in the fields cold and clear, but once she got inside and thought of Vána, it felt as if she was wrapped in a vast warm cocoon. Her dreams were filled with Vána’s glossed lips, shining as if it could rival the moonlight.

It seemed as if the land's flesh had turned itself inside out. The rooms seemed to flicker with the fairy lights when she walked down its corridors. The wood beams began to split and dry up, falling clumped in the earth. The grass in the flooring only  grew longer, and whittling it down only allowed it to grow tenfold. The walls of the sanctuary separated at their seams, yellow moss growing in between with white spiders hiding in their tufts. She had tried to cut it back with her dagger, but Melyanna came up behind her and stopped her hand from doing anything further.

“That will only make it worse,” she said, shaking her head.

She had been leaning against the wall of her chamber, when suddenly her hand grazed something that felt like soft skin in the side. She turned around and looked straight into a white gaping eye; a mushroom quivering slightly from her touch. It had grown out of the narrow wedge between a crack she hadn't noticed before. The warm spore from its surface melted into slime on her fingers, slipping through the grooves in her skin.

It seemed like even her room was not safe from the blight's inevitable growth.

She woke up time and time again with insects in the hollows of her neck, creating bedding on her arms and dips of her cheeks. 

There was nothing to eat anymore either. The fruits laid strewn in the mud after falling prematurely from their branches. Black juice seeped from a rotten apple core in every tree. Fermented fungi found new homes and burrowed in the oranges and butterflies scattered the lawns. Exhausted and coaxed apart. 

 It seemed the maia spoke less and less, as if the environment reflected their image. It seemed as if the moss had grown in their mouth also. The silence was so loud it began to sound like rushing waves hitting the swan ships. Or else it was the rumbling in the pits of her stomach.

Yet then, it broke.

A scream sliced through the air, shattering the illusion like crystal shards. Everyone stopped midway through their dancing, eyes wide.

“What was that?” one asked Amarië. It seems she had become their leader in Vána’s absence.

She didn't reply, slowly walking towards  the line of trees where she had heard the sound. They followed, lingering safely from the distance. It seemed the beautiful forest leaked with fog, coming out in swirls in the mist.

Before she called out, she got her answer.

Ranyafëacame running out of the woods, voice wild. “Help! Vána is suffering! I don’t know what’s wrong!”

“You are hurt!’ she cried as the maia almost fell on her knees. Half of her face drooped, loose skin falling over eyes with red splotches dotted across her visage.

“I was poisoned, but it is just my hröa, it is fine,” she waved, “But Vána is in there-”

“Is she poisoned?” Amarië asked, feeling a terrible knot sink in her chest.

“No!” she defended. “She is the poison. She is suffering! I don't know how but something is terribly wrong. Someone needs to get her out of there, now!”

“Where is she?”

“Closest to the fallen log, just outside the line of trees, but-”

She didn't wait to hear what else she had to say. She was already sprinting towards the thicket. When she stepped inside the enclosure of trees, it hit her that the smell was off. The air was so sweet, so inviting that it was putrid. It didn't take long for her to find the log, tossed towards a ditch as if a supernatural force had flicked it like a nuisance of a scratching twig. 

“Vána?” she whispered as she turned over the log.

To her horror, she also nearly screamed.

If it was not for the whites of her eyes, she would not have seen her. Vanas' whole hröa was covered in moss, or was it growing out of her skin? Plants sprouted there in the sockets where her hair was, and she could not see the flats of her arm.

“Oh my fucking Eru,” she swore, feeling her mother uphand her with such an insult to the one. She didn't care.

She crouched down, feeling around where she could find the bumps of one of her limbs to try and pull her from the trap of the dirt. She nearly brushed at a flower she recognized as poisonous, growing near her face. She suspected that was the one that had stung Ranyafëaas she tried to aid her lady.

“I need some help!” she called out towards the group waiting outside. She hoped they heard.

“Please wake up, my lady,” she sought quietly, shaking her.

When that didn't work, she tried a different approach, scratching at the moss and grass, tearing at their roots. She prayed that they were not attached to her body. After a few minutes of digging, skin was revealed. She reached in with her nails and clasped at the cold clammy arm. With all her strength she pulled her up, and she arose from the earth.

“Amarië?” she slurred, her head falling limply onto her shoulder.

“I’m here Vána,” she hushed closely to her neck.

The maia finally arrived, seeing the state of Vána they nearly also fell into shock too. It took much scolding to help lift her body up, and with their combined help bring her back to the sanctuary.

Melyanna greeted them at the entrance to a bunch of shouting maia. She looked hardly surprised, as if she knew what already happened. Amarië looked quizzically at her. More secrets that were hidden from her.

“Vána is still not entirely responsive, and can not walk. The moss only seems to be multiplying on her body,” Amarië informed Melyanna, still keeping a tight grip on Vána’s hand as she was being held up by the others, “What should we do?”

“We need to bathe her. Or someone does. With warm salt water, like scabs, it will tumble off her hröa so that she could heal the damaged skin when it is clear.”

“I will do that,” she volunteers.

“But only you,” Melyanna says, “Only with one person I suggest she bathes so that her mind fully recovers. She will be overstimulated with too many people and voices.” Finally her brow creased with worry. “I had not expected this to happen to such a powerful Vala.”

“What is it?”

“I cannot tell,” she told her, but it sounded more like I cannot tell you.

They brought her to Amarië’s bedchamber, helping her settle into the bathtub. She turned the tap, and scalding water poured out. Vána did not flinch, so she kept it that way.

She shooed the other abiding maia out of her rooms, before pacing for a few moments, finding towels and sheets to lay down near the floor of the tub, and one to wrap around Vána when she got out.

Finally she returned to the bathroom. Vána’s head was rolled back, her eyes wide open peering at the ceiling but as if she was looking upon distant lands.

She sat for a while, leg bouncing as she waited for something to happen. Finally she saw the recognition form. Her lips quivered ever so slightly.

“I’m sorry,” Vána rasped, turning ever so slightly to Amarië. She approached the tub, humming and began to scrape at the moss that had rooted to her skin. “What for, my lady?

“Vána,” she corrected, “And I apologise for the obvious.” 

The more she worked at the moss, the more it felt like it fell like billows of waves from her hröa. Milky white skin began to show, and the corpse of the plants floated at the surface of the grey water.

“What happened, may I ask?” she asked, more quietly than she wanted to.

For a moment it didn't seem like Vána was going to answer, but Amarië was not content with just the silence.

“Something happened out there. I want to know so that if it happens again, I can prevent it.”

She sighed, and closed her eyes. “Oh, Amarië,” she told her. “It was my fault.”

“Is it?” she inquired. “That did not seem at all intentional. How could that possibly be your fault?”

Vána seemed to slip further and further into the water, as if she was diving deeper into her consciousness. “Everything is my fault. The blight, the fruit, Melyanna, you…..”

The Vala looked so vulnerable, her eyes squeezed shut in pain, as if reliving her worst memories. Amarië reached out and clasped her hand, which had been freed of moss.

“What is happening?” she said, trying to coax her into saying something.

Her eyes opened in a sudden flair. “I am! You should have never come here Amarië, you should have let me rot….let us all rot. I was the one who hurt Melyanna. It will happen to you too!”

“But it was Morgoth who caused the blight!” she questioned, reeling back.

“That's what I thought. But it seems that I lie to myself more than I lie to you.” The last of the moss rolled off her skin. “It was me. I am blasphemy. And Melyanna warned me.”

“Vána-”

“Amarië,” she heaved a sigh. “Let me finish here.”

She had no choice but to obey.

She quietly slipped the door shut. For the next several long minutes of her life, she paced the room, Vánas words echoing in every crevice and chamber of her mind. She made the bed, before tearing at it and throwing it in a corner in silent frustration.

She had lied to her.

She heard the door creak open. Vána stood at the entrance way, light from the room outlining her shape. Amarië flushed when she realised she was fully naked.

“Amarië,” she swallowed. “May I sleep in your bed tonight?”

She only flushed harder. “Of course.”

They shuffled into bed, not daring to even pull back the comforter, just lying face to face, both bare figuratively and literally. Vána had still not dried, her sopping wet curls fell from her face, one falling on Amariës arm. She did not shift and tried to move it.

“You were away for a while. Where were you?”

“I was with Oromë most of the time.”

A pang of jealousy flared in her chest. “Ah,” she muttered, “How was his company?”

“Sufficient enough.”

“He seems like a great husband,” she said weakly. 

Vána let out a laugh that surprised her. “A husband indeed, but less so. He would not care if I took another partner, nor would I. We often do so.”

“Is that so?” she felt something thrum in her heart.

“Yes.”

They both instinctively moved closer.

She let her stroke her back, lying completely still. They both did not blink as they treated each other, enraptured into eachothers eyes.

“Vána, please tell me what is wrong.”

“I don't think I can.” She sounded defeated, so tired when she spoke those words.

“Please-”

“Please don’t!” she cried, “It pains me just to think of what I am causing!”

She didn't push any further.

“Tell me about your home,” Vána asked instead.

“Of Tirion?”

“No. Your true home.”

Amarië thought for a while, as if she was drifting through memories of a soft wooden house and a humble fire.

“My home was nestled in great lawns of flowers, with humble estates and bountiful fruit that hung on every bough….”

Vána hummed, moving so close that they were nose to nose. As she continued talking, she lifted her knee, touching the other thigh. She felt a shiver spread from there through her whole body. She stayed still, feeling the rhythm of soft breath on her neck. As she did, little sprouts seemed to puncture out of the bedding where her breath touched.

—--

The first thing she noticed was the glass room, shining like thousands of tiny little gems. It felt warm and icy, like Telperion and Laurelin if they were split harshly in the middle of some fracturing force. It prickled strangely on her cheeks, and her skin felt sensitive, as if the light was wearing at her skin.

She went to step out of it when she heard a clear voice behind her, “Magnificent isn't it?”

She turned to face the grinning smile of Findaráto. Her cheeks flushed already more than it was, but she held her ground, not wanting to admit she was snooping.

“It is indeed,” she nodded, with a slightly wavering lip, “And beautifully made well.”

He smiled, almost to himself, before he walked closer. “They are constructed like mirrors, or at least that is what I am told. They are supposed to allow the light in, but never let it out.”

She looked at the windows again, and shook her head. “Well crafted then, and way above my knowledge.” 

She shifted awkwardly on the balls of her feet. This was the first time she was able to have a conversation with the prince alone. She had been introduced to him last week, during dinner with her family and the Arafinwions. It had gone relatively well, except she couldn't help but feel pulled to the oldest prince. She knew it was childish, she had come of age a year ago now, to be thinking in such a way, but he had seen his stolen glances, and dimples as he raised his lips. She quite liked them, and not just for his handsome features that Eldalótë had whispered into her ear.

She straightened waiting for an answer, but there was silence. She looked to see why he had gone silent, and she saw that he was shifting nervously and staring at his feet, looking at her face through his eyelashes.

“Is there something wrong?” she questioned.

“No, I just-” he said in a nearly murmur blushing. Amarië felt some pride in having someone older than her turn to a flustering mess. “You look beautiful in the light.”

Something shocking lit up in her chest, and this was her time to blush profusely, she turned her head away, to face him more directly.

“I thank you, I'd say the same, except the tresses of Laurelin seem caught in the tresses of your hair,” she admired the charm she placed on the accent of her sentence. 

He seemed to sober from the compliment,  into the prince she recognized, with his comely smile.

“You do not have knowledge in the craft of mirrors like me, may I ask what trade you are in?”

“I am an apprentice dancer, being taught under my fathers mentor.”

“Your father is memorable here, even in Tirion. I saw him when I was a child, when he used to venture there,” then he shot her soft look, “I would love to see you dance sometime.”

She felt something lump in her throat at the mention of her father. He had stayed back at home, while the rest of her family went with her mother. Things were not good with her parents, the tension was a crackling at lightning from Manwë’s thunder.

“And what trade do you do? I was wondering what a prince does in his free time,” she asked the idle question. Everyone knew what the princes did, especially first hand, but she stayed gullible in hope to change the subject away from the looming cloud known as her Atar.

“I take many athletics sports. My sister is more of a runner, but I am good at fencing and with my cousin Turgon, we apprenticed under Ulmo. But otherwise, I am a musician at heart, and I play an assortment of instruments. But the master is my voice.”

She thought back to the first event she went to where Findaráto led a song in the halls of the court. His voice nearly pulled her into a place she seldom let her heart go too.

She closed her eyes for a beat, and gave him a forced smile. “I see. Your voice is truly wonderful, I am assured you will be even greater thanMacalaurë Fëanorion.”

She knew it was wrong to say, she could see how uncomfortable at the mention of being better than his kinsman. Especially with the tension between the families. But she needed an excuse to get out of there, and the suffocating mirrors.

“It was nice speaking to you, but I must go now,” she said quickly, without any of the formalities. She felt burning in herself, and looked down as she swiftly passed him and made way for the door.

“Wait,” he says, almost as quiet as a breath. She is unsure why she stops at the exit, clinging onto the wooden side like a crutch.

“I enjoyed talking to you, no matter how brief it was,” he began, “And I would like to talk to you more. Would you like to come as my partner to a ball we are having in a few weeks time?”

She lowered her head, biting her lip. Of course she couldn't say no, no one ever said no to Findaráto. She should be honoured, but roils of anxiety stirred in her stomach. 

It is all Atar’s fault

“If that is okay with you?” he asked, faltering.

“Of course,” this time with a small genuine quirk of her lips, “I would love to go with you.”

They bowed each other's head, and she left the room, her heart beating with the same rhythm as her heart.

Yet,

As she opened the door,

A new face arrived.

Fracturing, broken

But recognizable all the same.

“Vána?”

Only the pearls of her face were visible in their sockets, blazing and wild.

She reached for the Vala, but she turned away, and in it a bloody streak sliced where her hand was. She began to shout as she walked away, and when she got closer, there was no head but a mushroom, yellow and soured; and her voice gurgled to it sounds like organ silos. 

The world blends together, and someone is holding her back, she thinks it's Findaráto but maybe it was just herself. She screams:

“Vána! Vána!”

—--

She didn't know when she fell asleep. It must have been the alluring visage in front of her, that softened until it entirely melted, and stirred and stirred until it was blended into a streaked painting. 

She woke up fragments of the dream floating around her. Her bedside was cold, freezing in fact it seemed as if a layer of frost had grown on the pillows.

No one answered. She turned over the pillows, in panic but the Vala was not there. She called some more, checking the second room, then the third, then the bathroom. The tub was not properly drained, but there was no water inside, except inky blackness sinking through fractured in the mould. She blanched even further.

Luckily she was still in the right mindset to not go blindly running through the dark corridors. The lamps had been turned off. She quickly groped for a candle near her bedside, and lit it.

Her bare feet padded faintly as she passed room by room, her heart beating ever faster then her pace. She felt something slide down her throat. She realised it was her own bile.

When she stepped outside, she heard the figure before she saw it. The scare almost had her drop hot wax onto her feet.

“There is no time, you must come quick,” she said, grabbing her hands and dragging her down the stairs she had first went up so long ago. Melyanna was wearing a veil this time, but somehow this situation seemed far more terrifying.

“Where is Vána? What is happening?” were the first questions that came out of her lips.

She grabbed onto her arms tightly so that she could catch her breath. “I should have told you earlier, but I was ordered not to do so.”

“Then this is the perfect time to do so!” she demanded, feeling more agitated every  minute that passed when Vána was gone.

“I will now, even if I’m not permitted. It is for my lady’s safety. She has put herself in danger trying to protect us from herself,” she confided, “She has been the one causing the blight.” 

“Yes she told me that. I don't believe it.”

“You should,” Melyanna quipped back, leading her over fallen branches and brushes. Her fear worsened as she saw that they were falling a dark trail of cold sweet sap, leading more closer to the forest.

“Are you saying that she is in league with Morgoth? That she caused this evil? If you think so then I condemn you for eternity.”

“No!” she yelled, spinning around, “This is not Morgoth, nor is it evil? Do you think rot by itself is purely a form of darkness? It is a natural process, one made by Eru Ilúvatar, one that is a necessity. But I am afraid that it has become extreme.” She lifted her veil up to reveal her face. “When a Vala is greatly tortured, lost and conflicted, their power turns on them. They become the opposite of what they are, falling deeper and deeper until they are no longer humanoid.”

“Vána has been tortured?” she seethed in silent rage. “By whom!”

“Not ‘whom.’ Herself,” she replied irritatingly. “She has conflicted herself. You see, a Vala has not, and can not fall in love with a child of Ilúvatar. Elves for that matter. It is forsaken, impossible for that matter. Except that is not entirely true.”

“She has fallen in love with-oh.” Her face shone with understanding. “Oh!”

“Yes,” she confirmed, “Vána has proved against this, and is feeling love for an elf. Feeling as if she betrayed her master, she suppressed these feelings until her power decayed, and everything began to rot. She wants something she can't have. Not even Nienna herself could mend it. When you broke your tie with Findaráto, I was near her when a burst of her power fell on me, and ailed me. Which is why my face looks the way it does. She knew the closer she got to you, the more she turned against herself.”

Amarië was blinking rapidly, too much information to process. Her breaths came out faster and faster…

“She is in danger then. Not just to herself, but everyone here.”

“Yes,” Melyanna replied. “If she keeps this up, she will consume herself entirely. You saw her in the moss. That was only a fraction of how bad it will be.”

“What do I need to do?”

“I have been trying to tell you ever since you got here,” she groused, “I have sent you countless dreams with the solution.”

“What! Was it you? You lied to me!”

“Yes, because Vána told me I could not tell you upright. I thought sending you coded dreams of Vána were quite obvious.”

“Obvious? I still don't know what it means!”

“To heal this blight inside her, you must talk to her. Confront her about this, stop her from running. Vala can be stubborn most times, which is why they often almost destroy themselves.”

No she could not do this. The world was blurring the more panicked she got. “What if I do not return her feelings? What if they are unrequited?” 

Melyanna gave her a small smile in the darkness. “We both know they are not.”

She was right, and she squeezed her hands reassuringly. They got to the edge of the woods, and the maia took the candle from her shaking fingers.

“You said that this is forsaken. Is returning these feelings blasphemy?”

“It is not blasphemy if no one finds out.”

Amarië let out a hysterical laugh that brought tears to her eyes. “And you say this as one of the most devout maiar in Aman! Is this what Mairon said as he joined Morgoth's side?”

Melyanna gave her an indulging smile. “But it is true. Vána believes it, so it is true. It is not as if the other Valar haven't done it before.” She blew out her candle.

“Where do I go?” she asks, and then, a little more quietly, “What will I find out there?”

“I do not know,” she says, “But, I can not go any further. This is for you alone, though I wish it not. But for our lady who we both share, save her, let her not be a danger to herself.”

She felt something swell, a great friendship forming. She gave a kiss to her forehead before she drew apart.

“Follow the eastern trail. It leads to a section you've never been before; a glade of flowers, which is where I suspect she will be headed. It is far ahead, and a long trek. You will find a low-running stream there. That is when you will know you are close.”

“What if she is not there?”

“Your fëa is connected. You will find her. No matter what you will find her.”

“Eru,” she shuddered as a cold wind gusted against her neck, “I hope I do.”

She entered the forest, feeling Melyanna’s presence immediately dissipate. Though it was not alluded to in mist like before, it was still shrouded and the world felt heavy. She followed the carefully carved road. She cursed herself once more as she realised she forgot her shoes when she stepped on a particularly large rock. Something told her she could not go back now.

She walked steadily for hours, and the scenery never changed. Just poles and poles of more wood and trees, intertwining in the underbrush. She almost convinced herself halfway that she was in a dream, but those did not make you want to collapse and sink into the bowels of the ground until the breaking of the world.

Her ears twitched when she heard the dizzy trickle of a stream. She quickened, having not cared for the slicing pebbles, coming to the bending start of a glade. It dipped down hill, bathed in silver and fleteched in flowers. 

“You should have not come here,” a dark rumbling voice boomed. Her heart stopped. That was not Vána.

Except it was. There in the clearing stood a mountainous figure. Though it was so far from what Vána appeared like, yet she knew it was her.

She tried to step closer, but fear froze her completely. The light of the stars hit her features….and no longer could she call them anything close to ‘features.’

Dewdrops trickled down her entire hröa, her hair matted with infestation, her chest though bare; has two protruding limbs like thin stems twisting and tangling spine whilst yellow fruits dot up on her abdomen. Grass covered the insides of her thighs and legs, maggots seemed to chew through the very bones of her body, burrowing in the fermented holes the fungi left in its wake. The skin that you could see was the colour of prune, or blanched and blotted like something crawled underneath that was desperate to get out.

This did not stop her from stepping closer.

“Don't come any closer!” she cried, trying to back away. The muscles of  her foliage infested- body seemed to writhe in agony.

“Vána!” she tried to say, raising a hand as if reaching out to her, “You're in much pain! I can see it, as well as feel it!”

Her eyes only seemed to widen excessively.  Her cheeks were puffy and wet, the whole world thrummed with her distress. “Can you not see me? Come any closer and I will end up accidentally hurting you, just like myself….just like Melyanna.”

She tried a different approach. “Melyanna cares very much for you. Just as I do.”

“But not enough,” she says with a painful smile. “Not enough is always going to be it, isn't it? No one can love as much as a Vala. My sister said that.”

“I know now,” she tells her, and watches Vána’s face fly with the wind.

“Then you know the truth,” she says, “How I have preyed on you.”

“You have not preyed on me.”

“I have! I have drawn you in in greed, allured you with my voice, enchanted you with my power!”

“No you have not,” Amarië said firmly. the next words tumbled sloppily out of her mouth, “For how long have you loved me?”

“For how long!” she cried with a mocking laugh, “For how long? Since you were sung into existence. Since all was sung into existence, and the ages of the world lay flat like a story with too many  pages. I felt my soul reaching out for another, and finding it slipping in my grasp, and for my entire eternity sought it.”

The more she spoke the more the flowers grew around her, blocking Amarië’s way as she tried to seek closer. Blood was rushing towards her head with every word spoken, and she fought to stay awake, and get closer. 

“Stay away Amarië. Please. You don't understand. You can not love a Vala,” she says.

“How do you know? Just because it is forbidden does not mean it cannot happen.”

“Forbidden? It is hardly forbidden in the blasphemous sense. It is forbidden because it is dangerous,” she argued, “Elves cannot endure the Valar’s love, it has happened before. They whittle until nothing is left of them, just froth in the sea foam.”

Arms

       Swollen

                    Broken skull

                                  Burst lungs

                                          Overgrown blood

                                                            Marsh

All these visions flitted in her mind, intending to scare her off. And though they frightened her to her very core, it did not sway her from her course.

“Melyanna is telling you what you want to hear. What we both want to hear. But she is young and naive. She told me continuously to tell you, and look how that turned out for her!” Vána let out a harsh gale.

It seemed that she was getting more aggressive, and she grew more monstrous as she spoke, so much  so that even Morgoth would cower if he saw.

Still Amarië did not. She found the beauty still, only the eyes were truly part of herself. The infestation of her fears, desires and self loathing had manifested on her flesh, but her pupils were the same vibrant ancient eyes she loved.

“Enough!” Amarië shouted with much assertiveness she had, which was enough to still the lashing Vala. “You have not let me speak. You say you have loved me since the beginning, would it be so hard to believe that I return the sentiment?”

She shook her head, curdles falling as it shuddered. “You cannot,” she said almost to herself in disbelief, “You cannot.”

“I love you Vána.” She reached out for what she thought was her face. Her visage is covered in white algae, lime and bumps of foul silky skin that are spongy underneath, and surprisingly smooth.

Her skin melted underneath hers, reminding her long ago of that mushroom in the cracks of her walls. Her hand went to read Amarië’s chin, and she could hear the delicate skeleton of veins that glowed with the touch. Vána’s lips were pursed so tightly she almost looked frozen, but nothing about her was cold, just clear as if it had grown thinner.

“You dare to kiss me?” she asked as she leaned closer, “When I look like this? When I am bathed in rot and decay and I barely could stand as a figure in the mist. What happened to you, unable to stand the sight of Melyanna? I am worse, far more perilous and far more deserved.”

Amarië did not break her gaze.

“Please,” she whispered again, “Be piteous, and turn away.”

“Not unless you give me your worst.”

And so Vána did. Her hröa changed, until her sorrow imprinted on every marrow, layer and pores of her skin. They were cracking as nails and hair grew and buds opened. Godapple stems wrapped around like bindings. Her eyes closed in on itself, and she was almost convinced she was  some other horrid creature. 

Yet her skin was soft, softer than before, rotten and sweet. A glorious fallen tree.

She beheld the other, and even covered in what could have only been seen in her nightmares, she reached up and kissed her lips. She brushes away the honey fungus on her cheek, then the dark pearls near her eyes. Slowly but slowly, the rot fell to the decayed ground, sliding off of her with ease as she sunk deeper and deeper into Amarië’s soul.

Time seems to pass as her hröa changes, but she still has not let go of their interlocked lips, which relax as she coaxes them. She strokes her head, smooth, bare, glistening and shining; like a luminescent flower in the darkness. When they finally release each other, Vána is Vána once more. She looks as stunning as she's always been.

Her face was white, but no longer was it made out of lime. She seemed at a loss for words, so Amarië helped by placing her lips on the others once more, this time she was more willing.

Between this she felt the world around her as it was: alive, fresh. Vána in her confliction had seen it with the inevitable, but now she saw it in the moment, as she saw Amarië, not hopeless as curdling rot from a decomposing branch, but alive and in front of her. One that was here and had no intention of letting go. She kissed back further, and she felt as if she melted into the other.

Their bodies moved, wrapping around until it seemed that they had both grown to become an extension of one another, with willowy bodies and twined flowers. Like when too longing seeds finally found each other. Amarië draws every darkness out of her, their legs twisting together. Her body crumbles, tooth by tooth, nail by nail, bone by bone until she feels as if she has been stretched, all that is left but a core. 

Vána was right. It was dangerous to love a Vala.

 Petals appear, threading themselves into her own roots, forming new beads that feel like crystal shards of tears. A forest grew around their two bodies, pine tree crowns burrowed in the sockets of their heads. Soon all of the sanctuary followed their lead, honey mushrooms growing until there was no air left in the glade, when rot, parasites and beetles arose. She soared as a rind would, from the decay of its body, a rotting core and  green heather. Vána follows too and if anyone pulled her out they would only find

Flowers

         Savory

                Succulent

                            Rotting

                                       Fruits

Her head cradled until all that was left was blanched froth and mildew.

Still through it all, they never stopped kissing, even when they felt like stars falling from the crib of the heavens.

And between their lips, a sun-fruit was born.