Chapter 1
Artanis was a dutiful daughter. Yes, she was a princess—of two houses, no less—and she knew well the effort and chains the duty of being noble-born. She was, however, unlike her father and mother, and even still more dissimilar to her elder brothers; though at least Findaráto was easiest to understand and love of the three.
She began to believe it was due to her being a nis and not a ner, even if her mother-name was Nerwen.
Her father Arafinwë was quiet and patient. Too patient, Artanis sometimes thought. He was wise, Artanis could admit as much. And if Artanis sometimes wished her father expressed more boldness of action, she understood how he came by his quiet reserve as well. It suited him, even if the ever-tolerant attitude her father displayed sometimes made Artanis wish he would express the fire of his spirit she knew he kept well controlled. Half-Vanyarin Arafinwë may be, and perhaps due to Indis’ blood he could better control the pride and flame of his Noldorin soul, but Artanis had a gift of understanding hearts and minds. She knew her father’s flame of spirit was just as bright as both of her unlces, and both her aunts. His flame was a simmering fire that would endure longer than any of his siblings, that much Artanis knew and respected.
Earwen, her Telerin mother, daughter of Olwë and Princess of Alqualondë, was ever serene. She was kind, gentle, and loving to all. But what most did not understand of Artanis’ mother, physically delicate looking (deceptively delicate, Artanis thought), was the strength of her spirit, and the steel of her resolve. Perhaps, as different in temperament as Artanis was compared to either of her parents, she was also a perfect mixture of the two. Only, Artanis had three older brothers, and only one who’s mind and soul did not chafe against her own.
Therefore, though long past her majority, Artanis deeply, and secretly, wished for a younger sibling. Preferably a little sister.
Though Artanis was much accomplished in her mental gifts, Osanwë being only second to her Sight, Artanis was learned enough to know which people would feel an intrusion and when it would be unwelcomed.
Both her parents were keeping something from her. This much she could tell without difficulty. There was a wall, a block in their minds, that she could not easily break past. Perhaps, if she tried, she might eventually do so, but they would know, and she would not risk the inevitable consequences of disrespecting her parents’ privacy. She valued her own well enough to understand what a breach of trust that would be.
Still, Artanis was ever curious, and she burned to know what her parents were keeping from her. The intuition that her curiosity would one day lead to both joy and immeasurable sorrow, along with the respect she held for privacy, was all that kept her from putting forth serious effort into figuring out the newest mystery.
She had a feeling, however, that Findaráto at least, knew what was being kept quiet.
Spending time in her uncle Nolofinwë’s household was not unpleasant, but Artanis knew the difference between an innocent suggestion, and one with a purpose behind it. She had spent three months with her more brash uncle, before deciding to spend time with her cousin Turucáno, his Vanyarin wife Elenwë, and their five year old daughter Itarillë.
Itarillë was a bright and joyful child, and much like Artanis wished for in a sister. Artanis enjoyed her little cousin’s laughter, the way she ran through the gardens at the back of Turucáno’s manor-house, wind blowing through fair blonde locks—more gold than Artanis’ own golden-silver platinum. Itarillë was free and wild, uncaring and unconcerned of noble duty, station, and familial and political intrigue.
For this reason, Itarillë was the bright radiance of the House of Finwë to all its members. Her joyful freedom even brought a smile to Artanis’ uncle Fëanáro.
Artanis thought that perhaps Itarillë’s freedom was more than she was granted by her own father and mother. Artanis felt that if she were granted a little sister, she would make sure her sister had freedom to be herself, instead of cowing to the demands of a princess of two noble houses.
Artanis understood duty, yes, but she also understood, perhaps more, the desire to forsake duty to her House, for her own desires fit not with those of her Noble House.
Itarillë was a boon in this struggle. Artanis, though but a cousin once removed, treated Itarillë as a little sister for the first few years of Itarillë’s life.
The secret Artanis’ parents had kept from her was eventually made known. Artanis now had a little sister. Something, someone, Artanis had dreamed of, and wanted. Someone who would become more alike to her than not.
Artanis did not count on her little sister being her own person, not fully. But Artanis well understood the desire to be her own person among the throng of princes and princesses of the House of Finwë. The thought that Artanis’ newest sibling would be so different as to be unrecognizable as a ‘miniature Artanis’ was only fleeting.
Aralassë Arafinwiel was a quiet baby. She only cried out, when she needed to be fed, or other needs should be tended to, and even then, that was rare due to Aralassë’s instinctual use of osanwë like communication. By the time Aralassë was capable of walking, she only cried out for feeding and changing when no one was in the same room as her, and that was very rare indeed.
Aralassë was a quiet, un-troubling infant and toddler. Artanis did not despair of this attitude her younger sister presented, even when her parents began to worry. So what if Aralassë was a quiet and untroublesome daughter, so what if she was quiet and observant of her surroundings. Artanis thought her family could do well with a baby who was not a nuisance, who was easy to care for and take care of.
Artanis would have thought this normal, if she had not the experience with Itarillë she did. Aralassë was a singular infant, who grew quickly into a singular toddler.
Aralassë’s mind and spirit were not completely and immediately accessible to Artanis, nor to their parents, older brothers, or anyone else. Artanis did not mind this as much as her parents did. After all, Artanis did not allow even her parents complete access to her innermost thoughts. Aralassë’s privacy, even as a baby, did not trouble Artanis. Artanis felt it due, even if she could not read the whole of her baby sister.
Aralassë was special, Artanis concluded early on. She just had no idea how special Aralassë was, not then.
There was a vast difference in Aralassë compared to Itarillë, Artanis concluded. Itarillë was outgoing, loud, and openly curious of all things. Aralassë was reserved, nearly shy, and quiet. At first, Artanis believed her baby sister to be more alike to their father Arafinwë than not, even as a toddler of five years (so about, as time was counted by the Two Trees).
Aralassë displayed none of the traits Itarillë had done, however, and Artanis began to think her sister was unalike to any Eldar previously born. This thought both worried and excited Artanis, as she felt herself unalike to her own kin in most ways.
Artanis’ parents began to despair of their youngest child ever speaking aloud, as opposed to the rudimentary Osanwë with which all their previous children communicated during their earliest years. Aralassë, at five years old, old enough by far to have begun speaking verbally, did not utter a single word. She was silent and grave for a child of her few years, and communicated her needs—such as hunger and thirst—through the mental arts which were well passed down in the House of Finwë, if seldom used beyond the first two celebrated begetting years of life.
At roughly five years of age, Aralassë had yet to verbalize a word, preferring the use of Osanwë, which was unlike her kin at this stage. Artanis did not mind this development, or lack thereof, she understood the desire to communicate concrete ideas through mental processes as opposed to finding verbal proponents to express herself. Artanis also developed her verbal speaking at a later than usual rate, and did not worry overmuch for her little sister who was able to communicate well enough without, even if Aralassë had part of her mind and heart cordoned off from everyone at such a young age.
Artanis well knew and understood the value of privacy.
Upon Aralassë’s sixth begetting year, Fëanáro, their uncle, and his family—all seven sons, one grandchild, and wife— came to visit the palace in Tirion. The visit and stay would not have been noteworthy to Artanis, if their uncle Fëanáro had paid only due attention to Aralassë. He did not, however.
“So you are the youngest scion of the House of Finwë,” Fëanáro spoke, holding his youngest niece. “Welcome to our rather large family, little one.”
Aralassë, understanding her uncle’s words, and perhaps what lay beneath, tilted her head, and kissed the cheek of her newly met uncle. This was both a blessing and a mistake.
Fëanáro felt the flare of power from his youngest niece, her soul more alike to his than any other of his family, even as young as she was. Silence so loud thrummed within the hall of his gathered family, father step-mother, half-siblings and their offspring all. Fëanáro felt the power within his youngest niece easily, even if he could tell no one else had before felt it as he had. He knew then he could not ignore Aralassë, would even, perhaps, offer to help educate her, for no one else, besides Artanis, had within them a spirit and power so strong. Aralassë’s however, was somewhat different than his niece Artanis’.
Where Artanis held a strong measure of both passive and conscious power, the little one, Aralassë, held vast amounts of conscious power at an immeasurably young age.
Fëanáro well understood how it felt to have such raw power and the need and effort to conceal it. He had not done so immediately, as it seemed his newest niece had, and had learned the hard way just how ignorant others could be.
It was part of the reason he had chosen to make a home for himself, and later his family, outside of the palace in Tirion. Though most thought it was due to his dislike of his father’s second wife and her children. Fëanáro had no wish to correct the whispers and rumors of others on this fact. It suited him just fine.
Fëanáro looked his niece in the eyes, her blue-violet, grey-speckled eyes, and decided he would help to train her power as he had done for his own sons, and perhaps more if she were willing and capable.
All the family saw this short interaction, saw little Aralassë put a hand to her eldest uncle’s cheek, and wondered that Fëanáro did not protest in the slightest.
“Unca’ Náro!” Aralassë exclaimed, taking after her slightly older cousin Itarillë’s quirk in shortening names. All sighed and slightly despaired, if they did not find the habit amusing, and laughed.
None knew yet that Aralassë’s shortened names for most of her family were influenced slightly by prophecy, by what she had seen and known was to pass into history. Not even Aralassë knew her short-names, at least the predicted Quenya ones, were said with the weight of Sight.