It’s official! Demon Age: Will of Shadows has launched!
The first chapter of my debut fantasy story — Demon Age: Will of Shadows — is now available for free* on MediumandWattpad. Get the prologue now and don’t forget to follow for a new chapter each week.
The discussion was long since forgotten as time became routine once more. Life took on a malignant monotony that was tenuous at best. I knew the world was changing beyond the borders of Menegroth—Oropher would speak of it whenever he had the mind to wander near them to see for himself. As duty remained my shadow while I worked in the library, curiosity became the obligation of the younger generations.
It seemed all but King Thingol feared the loss of Lúthien, though his grief in her absence was felt throughout Menegroth. Iarûr would tell us often how fragile his emotions had become even as he attempted to appear as the mighty king he was before. Mîrwen would tell me how stoic queen Melian remained—her thoughts as distant as the stars. Whatever ancient wisdom or prophecy she knew, she kept to herself.
One day, while the ladies of the court were called to attend to Galadriel, I decided to leave the library with Súlwë for a short stroll outside. It seemed ages since we had seen the sun. The dimly lit caverns had started to remind me of the time before the rising of the Daystar.
It was a clear day—neither warm nor cool. The air was crisp but the wind still as we crossed the bridge.
“How is Galadriel,” I asked.
“From what Celeborn has told me, she is quite well,” Súlwë answered. “But I doubt either of us truly know what it is like to be with child.”
“Mîrwen says she is due any day,” I added.
“I hope so for Celeborn’s sake. His expression has been one of panic as of late.”
“How can you tell,” I asked teasingly.
Súlwë laughed softly.
“Let us hope this elfling brings some joy to Menegroth,” he said. “It is much needed.”
“Yes, it is,” I answered. “It is far too dark for the First-Born these days.”
“Darkness is everywhere, Orothôn,” he began. “I came from light that was dimmed by the very heart of that darkness. It shall linger far longer than our time.”
“Then perhaps this elfling will be a respite from it,” I whispered.
We walked in silence for a time—listening to the sounds of nature. Upon our return, we were met on the bridge by Finëar and Saeros.
“Orothôn,” Finëar said, his voice winded from running. “I have been looking everywhere for you.”
“For me,” I asked.
“You are part of the royal family, are you not,” Saeros asked.
“What is it,” I asked, gruffly.
“The Lady Galadriel has given birth to a daughter,” Finëar said. “Go on, now. Oropher has your place.”
Súlwë nodded and I took my leave into Menegroth. Once inside, Êlengolas was waiting.
“You are late,” he said.
“How can one be late for something that has no timetable,” I asked as we began walking toward our destination.
“We are Eldar,” he said. “We know everything.”
“We are male,” I added. “You must have us confused with the elleth.”
“I do not know about you, Orothôn, but I am married to one that cannot help but speak and I am compelled to listen.”
It was not long before we stood before two doors that was opened for us. I entered to see Galadriel lying in bed surrounded by the ladies of the court beside Queen Melian. I bowed to the Queen as Celeborn approached holding a tiny bundle with soft golden hair upon the whitest of skin.
“Is she not beautiful, Orothôn,” he asked beaming.
“Yes,” I said. “What do you call her?”
“Celebrían,” he said as his new daughter cooed.
“A beautiful name for a beautiful elfling,” I started. “What has the king said of her?”
“He has not seen her,” he said.
“Not seen her,” I asked. “I was told I was late.”
“He did not come,” Celeborn whispered. “Perhaps the birth of a daughter is too painful for him.”
In that moment, the doors opened again. It was King Thingol with Cúthalion and Mablung beside with Daeron and Saeros close behind.
“Your Majesty,” Celeborn and I said together.
“Is this the elfling born to Galadriel,” Thingol asked.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Celeborn answered.
The king looked upon the child as she opened her eyes. A slight smile came across his face.
“She is beautiful,” he said. “What is her name?”
“Celebrían, Your Majesty,” Celeborn answered again.
“Fitting name,” Thingol began. “You and your wife have my warmest congratulations on the birth of your daughter. Melian, a word if I may.”
We bowed as the Queen walked across the room and left with her husband and his guard. Celebrían began to cry as Celeborn returned her to Galadriel. The room itself seemed to sigh in relief after King Thingol left. Oropher come to me from is place beside the other princes.
“We did not think he would come,” he whispered to me.
“Is that what the Queen said,” I asked.
“No, Iarûr.”
“He spoke with him prior?”
“Not that I am aware,” Oropher began. “But Angband has awakened once more.”
“Angband?”
“Something has brought it to life,” he said. “What is the question.”
I was afraid to know and knew better not to speculate. The day was good and I wanted it to remain as such.–TKWRT Book I: The Epic of Eryn Galen by Jaynaé Marie Miller. 02-23-2020
I never read this series before, even though it’s usually on must-read fantasy lists and it came out in 2009. But of course it’s never too late to start reading a book (one of the best things about them, probably – it’s like reaching back through the years). My brother told me he was going to start reading it and because we have never really read in sync before, this was the perfect opportunity…
After a short hiatus, I’m back with another #bookreview over at my #indiebookclub. Check it out this #epicfantasy and support #indieauthors for the #holidays! #WritingCommunity #bookblog #bookclub #indie
After a short hiatus for the holidays, I’m back with a new book review! This one goes to author Jessica Kemery and her book titled, A Paladin’s Sin. This is the first book in the Paladin Sin Series and a lot of wholesome epic fantasy along the way.
⭐⭐⭐⭐
Rating: 4 out of 5.
Let me start off this review by first saying that I thoroughly enjoyed the story as a whole. I loved the simplistic…
Redoing my Writeblr Introduction for 2022 since a lot of my projects and publishing goals have shifted slightly in the last year.
First of all, let’s get the ‘hello’s’ out of the way! My name is Ari! I’m a fiction writer in her thirties based in the South-East of England.
I live with my mother and my cat, and spend my days wandering through the fantasy worlds that I’ve created, and drinking copious amounts of coffee.
While Tumblr is my primary social media platform I’m also on Instagram, Facebook, and reluctantly Twitter. If you’d like to follow me on any of those platforms, you can find links to my profiles via my website; www.aristaholmes.weebly.com
My planned projects can be found below the cut. If you’d like to be added to my general tag list, or one for a specific project, please let me know! Either drop me a message on this post, or shoot me an ask. My inbox is always open <3
I’ve also created dedicated side blogs for each project, where I reblog any project specific content, world building notes, prompt fills, or snippet shares etc. Links to those side blogs can be found below.
Seasonal Novella - Once Upon A Fey Touched Holiday
The Fey Touched Trilogy is a Portal Fantasy and planned to be my debut novel series. I’d ideally like to publish Book One, Changeling, in the first quarter of 2023, so I’ll be focussing on completing the entire trilogy in 2022 so that I can follow a rapid release schedule for the series.
Assuming no delays or unanticipated crisis cropping up, I hope to have my Newsletter up and running by October 2022 to offer the free prequel short story to anyone who signs up.
Tag List:@/jezifster
Changeling Blurb
Fey go missing in the mortal realm. Everyone knows that.
When Lizzy’s mother is the next to vanish she is expected to grieve and move on. Instead Lizzy wants to find out what happened, but the answers she seeks can’t be found in the fey realm of Arbaon. With the help of her best friend, Booker Reed, Lizzy is determined to retrace her mother’s final steps, straight through an illegal portal and into the mortal realm.
Whatever leads she expected to find, it wasn’t an academy of vampires, and a world stalked by their rabid cousins, the kavians. Forced to rely on the vampires for protection, and secluded away behind the high walls of Speculo School, it quickly becomes clear that not everyone is pleased with Lizzy and Booker’s investigation.
With danger building the further they dig, the two fey need to decide if the answers they seek are worth risking their lives for. The longer they remain with the vampires, the more Lizzy begins to suspect that her answers instead lie amongst the deadly kavians.
I have NO issues in any representation of the works of J.R.R. Tolkien. I do not care if it is animated, live action, literary or spray painted on the side of a building. Expression is the highest form of flattery.
What I have a problem with is a representation that does not lead back to Tolkien. I purposely created “The Kingdom of the Woodland Realm Trilogy” and its subsequent standalone books for the sole purpose to lead back to Tolkien’s original works. When someone says to me, “reading your story has made me want to read (or reread Tolkien),” my mission has been fulfilled.
I do not do what I do for money. I do not do it for notoriety which I have gained worldwide. I do it because of the love of reading and out of respect for my literary hero J.R.R. Tolkien. In the early days, when people confused my story with Tolkien, that upset me greatly. First of all, I do not think I sound like Tolkien as my story is told in the first person. Granted, I studied his language patterns and felt the need to take out anything “modern” in order to ensure my stories maintained a certain believability.
I have created characters when necessary but never once have I ever taken the works of Tolkien out of context. I “write around” the original material. I work with the original material. I am always referring back to the material to make sure I am capturing the essence of Middle-Earth as Tolkien created it. I made that promise to my father and Tolkien the very second I decided to write my story. I took the path less traveled at a time when Middle-Earth fan fictions on Tumblr were often filled with vulgarity and graphic sex.
I was on the last rung on a ladder of stories when I began “The Saga of Thranduil”. At any time, I could have turned the tide for more attention, but I refused. I could not bring myself to lessen the work of the man inspired me to write fantasy when I was a child. I knew anything less than my best would have disappointed my dying father. I continued on the path I chose.
When teachers started telling me they liked TKWRT and asked if they could read it to their students during a unit on Tolkien, I was shocked. When soldiers deployed in war zones asked for a copy of TKWRT, I was humbled. When high school students wrote me during Winter Recess about wanting to read TKWRT because they could not get to a library, I realized I had done something wonderful. When other published writers asked if my work was a continuation of Tolkien, I finally allowed myself to accept the reason so many people told me they had written to the Tolkien Estate asking about a “lost” book about Thranduil.
I know what I have done and will continue to do. I do not have any issues with how Tolkien is represented. I know how I represent Tolkien. He is never far from my mind whenever I write sentence. In fact, I am always surrounded by his books when I am working. I am telling histories through the eyes of his characters in his world. I make sure he is always front and center in that moment. From the naming of characters (often mentioned but never named) to new place names, I never am looking to the outside. My guide is Tolkien. Until the very last word, he will be the inspiration. He has to be, otherwise I am disrespecting his legacy, genius and his work. This entire series is dedicated to J.R.R. Tolkien. I would not wish to give him anything he would not be proud to read himself.–Jaynaé Marie Miller, from Excerpts, A Memoir.
We made our way through narrow corridors to rooms filled with armor, shields, spears, and bows that King Thingol had stockpiled over many years for the occasion of war. The only sounds were the clashing of metal blended with the murmurs of armor-bearers hard at work. When they were finished, we took our weapons and began our return to the surface—our armor dragging against stone walls with an eerie lullaby.
We assembled in the empty hall that before had held such promise. I thought of Oropher. I wanted to look for him but my new wardrobe made it difficult. My view remained on the empty throne. Before long, King Thingol and Elmo appeared dressed similarly to us.
“You will follow us into Ossiriand,” King Thingol said flatly; his expression stoic. “I have it on good authority that our enemy looks to start with the least protected to force out the most in the attempt to destroy us all. This is no ordinary adversary we fight. This is an evil from whence time began. Its desire to extinguish life is only matched by its desire to rule over it. It will fight to the death and so must we. The future of this world depends on it.”
King Thingol and Elmo stepped down from their thrones and became one of us. When I was able to turn my head, I could see Galathil to my left.
“We will follow Father,” he whispered. “Galadhon will accompany our uncle.”
“Where are our sons,” I asked.
“They are to remain behind,” he answered. “To protect the borders.”
I could feel relief fall upon me. It was like a cool breeze flowing through my suit. If I did not return, at least my son had a chance to live as he would remain protected by the Girdle of Melian with his mother.
As we followed the king and his brother out of Menegroth, the faces of our families looked on from behind. I dared not look for Mîrwen. I wished the last I saw her would be her smile as our son married his beloved.
With Menegroth growing smaller in the distance, the familiar path we marched brought back the time we first entered Doriath after years the wilderness. Still, beneath the girdle, things were at peace—the world beyond had yet to bear witness to the peace we had known. It was changed and we had not for we chose to live our lives in relative secrecy. The evil around us seemed like myth yet we were told of its reality. We hoped it was legend—something that had passed away never to return. Now we were about to fact this nemesis we knew very little about.
We continued our journey to the borders. When we came to it, we stopped.
“Once we cross this boundary,” King Thingol began. “Only the stars hold our fate in their hands.”
Not a sound was heard—not a breath was taken. I felt the earth move beneath my feet only to realize I was walking with other elves into another land. Unremarkable was the world I once left behind yet the air was different. There was a distant stench I was not familiar with. Further away, we heard a rumbling. I noticed we were marching in the direction of both. The closer we came, the greater the sound and the stronger the smell.
With little warning, we came upon creatures so hideous and malodorous, I nearly fainted. Armor-clad with features that could only be called scaly but oleaginous. Their numbers seemed infinite in the light of the stars.
“Fire,” I heard Elmo say. Arrows flew past my head and pierced the flesh of a few of these monsters. It only served to anger them more. They broke ranks and came at us with such fury, I barely had time to draw my sword. I felled one—then another and another and another. Their evil was palpable and their numbers never-ending. I felt I was fighting for every year of my life. Out of exhaustion or perhaps a wound, I fell down amid the corpses of elves.
“Orothôn,” I heard a voice say. I thought I was in a dream. “Orothôn, are you with us?”
I opened my eyes. I was lying on top of a dead elf. His eyes stared into mine in anguish. I quickly jumped up in horror. I looked to see Galathil standing beside me.
“Are you alright,” he asked.
“Yes, I am,” I answered. I looked around to see elves and dwarves lying motionless. The carnage seemed to go the length of the Ered Luin.
“Where is Galadhon,” I asked. “Where is Elmo? Where is King Thingol?”
“Calm down,” Galathil said. “They live. I am afraid I cannot say the same for Denethor.”
I looked around trying to find his face among many. There were so many faces—each one staring into the void of death. Suddenly I remembered my friends.
“Where is Valdôr,” I asked. “Was he not with us?”
“He is gone, Orothôn,” another voice said. It was Êlengolas. “He fell not long after Denethor.”
I could not help but cry. I was overcome with grief. My visions had come to bear the bitter fruit of death I longed feared. Êlengolas and Galathil helped me navigate through the bodies and off the field of battle. In my grief, I hardly noticed Ónarr speaking with King Thingol nearby. I had again realized his people were among the dead and my grief worsened. I longed to be with Mîrwen and Oropher. I wondered if there was any home left to return to. Just as I began to drown myself in my thoughts, an elf approached me.
“You must stay strong, Orothôn,” he said. “Or else you will perish from your grief.”
I looked up to see Iarûr.
“You are here,” I said.
“I am,” he answered. “Not all is lost. For even in darkness light must shine. Rest, my friend. For soon we will return home.”
I smiled weakly as I leaned against the trunk of a tree and felt myself drift into a deep rest. I opened my eyes to the sound of metal against metal. Startled, I looked up to see soldiers picking up weapons from the ground.
“Did I startle you,” a young elf asked me.
“Yes, but I am fine,” I answered. “Carry on.”
He nodded and went on his way. When I rose to my feet, I saw that the creatures seem to retreat the field.
“They are orcs,” Êlengolas said as he approached from behind. “That is what Iarûr calls them.
“Where are they going,” I asked.
“I do not know nor do I care,” he said angrily. “They killed many of us. They left many a widow to grieve to make orphans. I suspect we have not seen the last of them.”
“Are we to leave for Doriath,” I asked.
“Yes, he said. “We were about to depart. I was sent to tell you. How is your arm?”
“My arm,” I asked. I look to see my arm was wrapped tightly from my elbow to my shoulder. For the first time, I felt the pain. “I was wounded by an orc?”
Êlengolas looked at me confused as he shook his head.
“Come on,” he said.
We made our way toward King Thingol and Elmo eating along with Galathil and Galadhon. King Thingol nodded at me and we began our return to Doriath.–TKWRT Book I: The Epic of Eryn Galen by Jaynaé Marie Miller. 4-7-2019
The court began buzzing with delight with news of Lúthien’s return. Iarûr was the only one among us whose demeanor remained solemn. When I had the opportunity later in the evening, I found him in his chambers alone at his writing table. I entered cautiously through is opened door.
“Pleas come in, Orothôn,” he said without looking up form his work.
“I am not interrupting your work,” I asked.
“No,” he said looking up. “There was no work to be done this hour. I was putting my thoughts down for my own remembrance of this day.”
“It is this day I wished to speak to you about,” I said.
“I know,” he sewered. “You are quite perceptive. If you thought the news of this day troubled me, then you were correct.”
“It is wonderful news,” I said. “The return of the king’s daughter will make this kingdom whole once more.”
“You are naive in your optimism,” Iarûr said sternly. “It will serve you well on the darkest night but in the light of day, you must acknowledge reality.”
“I do not understand.”
“N one returns from Angband as they entered,” he said softly. “I can only imagine the horrors of the Lady Lúthien must have seen. No one can witness such evil without losing part of themselves.”
“The king will be happy once more,” I said almost pleading with him.
“Yes, he will,” he agreed. “But it will be short-lived, Orothôn. I am afraid this world will never be the same again. It is changing, my friend. The elements of good and evil have intermingled creating seasons not so easily discernible.”
I could say nothing—I just stood there thinking about those words as they seared a hole in my heart. Now I feared what may come to us upon the return of Lúthien and Beren.–TKWRT Book I: The Epic of Eryn Galen by Jaynaé Marie Miller. 07-06-2020
The discussion was long since forgotten as time became routine once more. Life took on a malignant monotony that was tenuous at best. I knew the world was changing beyond the borders of Menegroth—Oropher would speak of it whenever he had the mind to wander near them to see for himself. As duty remained my shadow while I worked in the library, curiosity became the obligation of the younger generations.
It seemed all but King Thingol feared the loss of Lúthien, though his grief in her absence was felt throughout Menegroth. Iarûr would tell us often how fragile his emotions had become even as he attempted to appear as the mighty king he was before. Mîrwen would tell me how stoic queen Melian remained—her thoughts as distant as the stars. Whatever ancient wisdom or prophecy she knew, she kept to herself.
One day, while the ladies of the court were called to attend to Galadriel, I decided to leave the library with Súlwë for a short stroll outside. It seemed ages since we had seen the sun. The dimly lit caverns had started to remind me of the time before the rising of the Daystar.
It was a clear day—neither warm nor cool. The air was crisp but the wind still as we crossed the bridge.
“How is Galadriel,” I asked.
“From what Celeborn has told me, she is quite well,” Súlwë answered. “But I doubt either of us truly know what it is like to be with child.”
“Mîrwen says she is due any day,” I added.
“I hope so for Celeborn’s sake. His expression has been one of panic as of late.”
“How can you tell,” I asked teasingly.
Súlwë laughed softly.
“Let us hope this elfling brings some joy to Menegroth,” he said. “It is much needed.”
“Yes, it is,” I answered. “It is far too dark for the First-Born these days.”
“Darkness is everywhere, Orothôn,” he began. “I came from light that was dimmed by the very heart of that darkness. It shall linger far longer than our time.”
“Then perhaps this elfling will be a respite from it,” I whispered.
We walked in silence for a time—listening to the sounds of nature. Upon our return, we were met on the bridge by Finëar and Saeros.
“Orothôn,” Finëar said, his voice winded from running. “I have been looking everywhere for you.”
“For me,” I asked.
“You are part of the royal family, are you not,” Saeros asked.
“What is it,” I asked, gruffly.
“The Lady Galadriel has given birth to a daughter,” Finëar said. “Go on, now. Oropher has your place.”
Súlwë nodded and I took my leave into Menegroth. Once inside, Êlengolas was waiting.
“You are late,” he said.
“How can one be late for something that has no timetable,” I asked as we began walking toward our destination.
“We are Eldar,” he said. “We know everything.”
“We are male,” I added. “You must have us confused with the elleth.”
“I do not know about you, Orothôn, but I am married to one that cannot help but speak and I am compelled to listen.”
It was not long before we stood before two doors that was opened for us. I entered to see Galadriel lying in bed surrounded by the ladies of the court beside Queen Melian. I bowed to the Queen as Celeborn approached holding a tiny bundle with soft golden hair upon the whitest of skin.
“Is she not beautiful, Orothôn,” he asked beaming.
“Yes,” I said. “What do you call her?”
“Celebrían,” he said as his new daughter cooed.
“A beautiful name for a beautiful elfling,” I started. “What has the king said of her?”
“He has not seen her,” he said.
“Not seen her,” I asked. “I was told I was late.”
“He did not come,” Celeborn whispered. “Perhaps the birth of a daughter is too painful for him.”
In that moment, the doors opened again. It was King Thingol with Cúthalion and Mablung beside with Daeron and Saeros close behind.
“Your Majesty,” Celeborn and I said together.
“Is this the elfling born to Galadriel,” Thingol asked.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Celeborn answered.
The king looked upon the child as she opened her eyes. A slight smile came across his face.
“She is beautiful,” he said. “What is her name?”
“Celebrían, Your Majesty,” Celeborn answered again.
“Fitting name,” Thingol began. “You and your wife have my warmest congratulations on the birth of your daughter. Melian, a word if I may.”
We bowed as the Queen walked across the room and left with her husband and his guard. Celebrían began to cry as Celeborn returned her to Galadriel. The room itself seemed to sigh in relief after King Thingol left. Oropher come to me from is place beside the other princes.
“We did not think he would come,” he whispered to me.
“Is that what the Queen said,” I asked.
“No, Iarûr.”
“He spoke with him prior?”
“Not that I am aware,” Oropher began. “But Angband has awakened once more.”
“Angband?”
“Something has brought it to life,” he said. “What is the question.”
I was afraid to know and knew better not to speculate. The day was good and I wanted it to remain as such.–TKWRT Book I: The Epic of Eryn Galen by Jaynaé Marie Miller. 02-23-2020
We entered the Great Hall to see a group of elves—all simply dressed in white. They kept their heads bowed in silence. The court around them speaking in whispers.
“When did they arrive,” I whispered to Amdir.
“Not long ago,” he answered. “They have yet to meet the king. He was made aware just as we came for you.”
At that moment, Mablung and Beleg entered with King Thingol, Queen Melian; Elmo and Orowen not far behind.
“You come from Eldamar,” King Thingol asked as he sat on his throne beside his queen. One brave elf raised his head and stepped forward.
“Originally,” the elf said. “I am Angrod, son of Finarfin. I come at the request of my brother Finrod in Mithrim.”
King Thingol’s expression turned pensive. After a brief silence, he spoke again.
“Son of Finarfin,” he began. “What brings you into my kingdom on this day?”
“I am quite sure as sovereign, you have long known of the deeds done in this world under darkness.“
“I am,” he nodded.
“The battles endured in the North could hardly go unnoticed by anyone, for the Noldo has triumphed against the demons come forth from Angband.”
“You numbers must be great if you if you were able to send those creatures back to whence they came.”
“Of our numbers, they account for much of your kin, King Thingol,” Angrod said. “Your dear brother is our grandfather after all.”
King Thingol nodded.
“How is he,” Queen Melian inquired.
“I have not seen him, Your Majesty,” he answered. “Not for some time.”
She nodded—her expression hiding secrets I would never know.
“We have come to dwell in Arda for now,” Angrod continued. “The sons of Fëanor and the children of his brothers find solace here despite the dangers that linger here.”
As King Thingol brought down his decree, I noticed Elmo watching a particular elf that stood behind Angrod. His gaze was uncomfortable as the elf tried to avert his stare.
“So it shall be,” I heard Angrod say at last. “I shall tell the lords what you have told me. As a guest in your land, may it be one day, you are a guest in ours.”
King Thingol nodded and the elves bowed.
“As our guests,” King Thingol began. “Please, stay with us for now. You may leave in the morning for Mithrim.”
“As you wish, Your Majesty,” Angrod answered.
“Iarûr, show our guest to their quarters.”
Iarûr motioned to the elves to follow him. I saw Elmo whisper to Galadhon. His son followed the elves as King Thingol and Queen Melian took their leave. As the court dispersed I could not help but wonder who the elf was the held Elmo’s fascination.
“Father,” Oropher began, breaking my thoughts. “I am going to attend to my wife. I will see you and mother for dinner.”
“Of course,” I said smiling.
He walked away and I found my mind wandering again. I decided I should find Mîrwen and went straight to our room. When I entered, I found Mîrwen already prepared for dinner.
“I did not see you at court,” I said.
“I was not there,” she said. “I was attending to other duties.”
“So you already knew about the elves from Mithrim?”
“Yes,” she said cheerfully. “You need to prepare for dinner. I shall call for the servants.”
As she walked toward the chamber bell, I stopped her.
“Who is the elf that your father was staring at?”
“I do not know,” she said. “I was not at court.”
“Mîrwen,” I began.
“What,” she asked.
I looked at her sternly.
“He is a son of Olwë,” she said. “His name is Nimernil.”
Olwë—a name I had not heard in a lifetime. I found myself confused.
“I do not understand,” I said. “Why would he be here?
“That, dear husband, I do not know.”
She went to ring the bell.
“Say not a word to anyone.”
Before I could ask another question, the dressers were upon me. I tried to put the events of the day behind me. We dined with little concern about anything. Nothing was amiss–save for the presence of the mysterious Nimernil. Angrod sat with King Thingol and Elmo—their conversation appeared as reminiscing. When dinner was done, I prepared to retire with Mîrwen when Orowen came to us.
“Orothôn,” she began. “Elmo seeks your company.”
“Where is he,” I asked.
“I do not know, but Galathil will take you to him.”
I looked to see him standing with Galadhon. Immediately, I knew it was about Nimernil. I went to them quickly.
“Take me to Elmo,” I said.
“This is why you should never tell our sister anything,” Galadhon teased. “She tells her husband.”
Galathil cut his eye at him and motioned for us to follow. When we reached an empty room below the Throne Room beside the armory, I noticed Elmo waiting with Eäros. He was looking far better than he had before the wars had begun. When we were alone, out of the darkness stepped the elf from before. He was as tall as elves are—his golden hair flowing past his shoulders. He looked at us—his grey eyes far less restless than they were in court.
“Are you whom they call Nimernil,” I asked.
For the first time, this elf smiled and laughed softly.
“That is what they call me, but it is not my name,” he answered. “I am Súlwë, the youngest son of Olwë.”
‘Why are you here,” Galadhon asked.
“I took leave from Alqualondë without my father’s knowledge. I had to know what was so precious in this world that would cause such destruction in the other.”
“Destruction,” Galadhon asked.
“There was an uprising,” he said, solemnly. “Let by Fëanor, son of Finwë. I know nothing of the circumstances. I just know our kin in Alqualondë suffered greatly.”
“My brother,” Elmo gasped. “Is he…?”
“No,” Súlwë answered. “He lives. But the price we paid was indeed enormous. I followed the elves out of our homeland. Those that did not take our ships from the Havens came across the Helcaraxë. It was these I followed from Araman.”
Elmo slowly took a seat on a bench in shock.
“That must have been horrible,” Galathil said.
“There were many that died on the way,” Súlwë said, his voice cracking as he tried to hide his sadness. “For those who made it, not even the rising of the Daystar could bring them light.”
We stood in silence; our voices could not find the words.
“You must go back,” I said finally.
“Impossible,” Súlwë said curtly. “Those who left are in exile. Though my hands are clean, I am afraid I am as well. What is left of home for me was lain to waste.”
“Stay with us,” Eäros said.
“Who knows of your true identity,” Elmo asked, distraught.
“No one,” Súlwë answered.
“Very well,” Elmo said calmly. “You may stay in my household but when a way is made, you will return to Olwë. Am I understood?”
“Yes, Uncle,” Súlwë answered.
Elmo nodded as he looked at me.
“He will stay with you, Orothôn. Oropher is the only I know that can keep a secret.”
“I beg your pardon, Father,” Galadhon said. “I am offended.”
“Do not be,” Elmo said. “Whatever you say to Celebriel she will keep from your mother. Same for Nárwen and Níndi. I take my leave.”
Elmo left with his sons close behind. I looked as Súlwë. “Welcome to Menegroth,” I said.–TKWRTBook I: The Epic of Eryn Galen by Jaynaé Marie Miller. 6-11-2019
