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Chapter Text

The Kingdom of Tirion, in the capital with the same name: 

“Did you hear? General Nelyafinwë have brought us yet another victory.”

“As one can expect from someone who has been blessed by Eru to protect the Kingdom!”

“Surely the King should bless his success by allowing the general to become the husband of princess Itarillë! The King have no other children since the Queen died in that accident on the frozen river so many years ago…

It was well known that King Turukáno refused to remarry and have more children, for he had loved his Queen very much, especially as their marriage had been made of love instead of being a arranged marriage as the custom normally was with a royal couple. 

“Yes, he only have one child, so the princess should wed soon to give him new heirs in her children.”

The common people was joyful for knowing that enemies of their home was going to be driven away by the skilled general and his soldiers. But they were unaware of what would happen in the future...

~X~X~X~X~X~X

And a few days later, the victorious army returned. General Nelyafinwë, the last son of the ancient House of Tatyar, was leading his men into the capital under the cheers of the common people and the royal court alike. 

“Nelyafinwë!”

“Lord Nelyafinwë!”

It was not that surprising that the general was well-loved by the ladies no matter their social rank. At the age of 27, he was in the very prime of life and handsome with long copper-red hair set up in a ponytail. His armour added to the image of a powerful general. 

But not everyone shared the joy of the general's return to the capital. Like many others holding a powerful position at court, he had enemies. And one of them, surprisingly enough, was the King of Tirion himself.

“As if a mere general should overshadow a king!” 

King Turukáno would rather die than admit it, but he greatly resented Nelyafinwë for having all the military skill Turukáno had never been blessed with. His own attempts of leading his army into wars shortly after his coronation proved a unspoken disaster already from the start, something which led to him being mocked as a joke when it came to wars. The so called “failure” of having only a single daughter as offspring from his marriage and refusing to marry again, was another reason to why Turukáno resented the growing popularity of the younger general. 

“No way in the Everlasting Darkness that I will allow my daughter to marry him!” 

He knew of the rumours, that someone had the nerve of starting the whispers about that Itarillë would be given to Nelyafinwë as a bride for his deeds. The general had to be removed from the court, but how? He was the darling of the commoners and landed gentry, meaning that any attempt of killing him would be dangerous in itself. There had to be a way to make Nelyafinwë fall from grace without anyone thinking that Turukáno was involved….

~X~X~X~X~X~X

At the great feast held in honor of his military success, Nelyafinwë was once again reminded of why he secretly disliked life at court. Thanking once again for the gratulations of his announced betrothal to princess Itarillë, he drank some wine while watching the courtiers.   

“If they are not plotting against each other to gain some small amount of more power, then there is various marriages being planned without thinking of how the chosen couple might not fit in personality at all.” 

For all of that he was still unmarried, Nelyafinwë knew the pleasure of sharing a bad with a woman. No official mistresses, no, but he had enjoyed a fair number of shorter love-stories with ladies of various social rank while ensuring that there would be no bastards sired by him. He always had trusted men check the ladies first to ensure that she did not have any sexual diseases that he could be infected with, for that was not a unintended gift Nelyafinwë wanted to give a legal wife when he married. 

Princess Itarillë was….a far cry from his taste in a woman, actually. There was nothing wrong with chastity in itself, of course and unmarried women from respectable families was expected to be virgins until the wedding night, but Nelyafinwë had a trusted source of information among the palace maids and she had told him that the princess was raised to almost view her future duties in the marital bed as a burden she must bear, not as something to get pleasure from. 

The idea of becoming a son-in-law to the King was not something Nelyafinwë felt comfortable with, either. He was the most alive when in battle or in other situations that requested his skills with either a sword or his ability to act as a diplomat for the Kingdom of Tirion. Marrying the princess and becoming her prince consort when she was crowned as Queen at the death of her father…

No, Nelyafinwë would rather marry a lady of modest birth, someone from the landed gentry who would not expect him to remain in the capital all the time and still able to control the household when he was away at war.  

“My lord!” a servant boy called from behind the heavy curtains, handing over a letter written in the King's own hand. 

“A group of bandits that is plaguing the border in the west?” 

The letter was a request from the King to deal with this problem before the wedding ceremony next year, and Nelyafinwë saw no reason to refuse. Besides, the area was near his own estate inherited from his ancestors, and if his own landworkers risked to be attacked…

“Tell the King that I will leave for this mission the day after tomorrow. Or people will think me heartless for not spending time with my future wife.” 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

The next day: 

As promised, Nelyafinwë spent nearly the whole day with Itarillë, but there was no signs of her relaxing around him even as the twilight arrived. Was she that uncomfortable around men, thanks to mostly spending time with her similar-aged ladies-in-waiting and some very strict chaperones in their older years of life? Or was it because he was a stranger, and she only had seen him a few times at court before?

Anyway, it did not seem like they found anything in common, sadly. 

“Lord Nelyafinwë!”

Thankfully, the awkwardness of the silence between them was broken by Lómion, a younger cousin to the princess, when he came running. 

“Greetings to you, my young prince. Is there anything I can do for you?” Nelyafinwë spoke, smiling at the twelve-year-old young lord. 

“Can you teach me some movements with a wooden sword? My usual teacher is ill with suffering from too much wine yesterday at the feast.”

Ah yes, hangovers, the bane of everyone who drank too much of good wine in merry company. 

“If that is the request, then I shall grant it.” 

Itarillë did not protest at her betrothed leaving with her six year younger cousin to the training hall in a different part of the castle, she was only grateful for that Nelyafinwë finally had a reason to leave her. 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

The day after, general Nelyafinwë left the capital to deal with the bandits, taking only a handful of soldiers with him. He had no idea of that a trap would await him, or that it would pass three whole years in captivity before he returned to his homeland. 

For King Turukáno had paid some professional soldiers to pretend to be the bandits so there would be a trap awaiting on the general, and then sell Nelyafinwë to a enemy Kingdom so he would fall even further from grace with false accusations of treason on his eventual return. 

Chapter Text

A sole rider arrived in high speed to the estate, gathering the servants by calling out that general Nelyafinwë had finally been free after three horrible years of being held in captivity in the hands of a enemy Kingdom. 

“The amount of money was accepted?! The hard saving together with the soldiers giving so much of their annual salary to help raising the money needing to pay the ransom!?” 

“Our lord is back!”   

“Master Nelyafinwë have returned?!” 

The horse-driven carriage, guarded by several soldiers to ensure that nothing happened to the general on the way back home, was entering the front yard of the estate, with two soldiers requesting the house maids to quickly prepare their master's bed. 

Even without the need of the soldier supporting him up to the second floor where the bedroom was, there was no way Nelyafinwë could hide what had happened to him during the past years when they helped him undress so he could wash off the road dust. His once handsome face was marred by scars, his whole body were thin in the manner of having suffered through severe starvation, and his right hand had been cut off by the wrist. 

“Mylord?!” 

No one blamed the young maid from dropping the bowl of warm water she just had carried in her hands. And no wonder, really… 

“Please get some new water and clean up before anyone else slips in the puddle of water on the floor. And serve only some light soup for dinner, please, I am not sure if my stomach can handle anything heavier yet…” 

His long-serving cook was not going to be happy over being unable to feed his lord all the favorite foods Nelyafinwë had enjoyed in the past, but the general dared not to risk that he might end up vomiting after eating due to the food being too rich for him right now. 

The first month back in his own home, was spent with Nelyafinwë just resting, carefully getting used to full meals again and also some very light training as he had weak muscles after spending so long time in a dungeon. 

“They tried to make me tell anything useful about Tirion, if I knew about the King planning a new war or anything else…” 

The scars on his body was proof of that torture, and his right hand had been cut off to ensure that he would no longer be able to fight. A general that did not personally lead his troops was viewed as useless in Tirion, after all. 

Still, Nelyafinwë were determined to overcome his new weakness somehow, and choosing to give in to despair would be a poor gratefulness to those who had worked so hard to gather every single coin they could afford to part with for his release. Sure, it would likely take some years for him to relearn how to fight, write and do other basic things with his left hand since he originally had been right-handed, but he could not give up after only a few failed attempts of trying. 

At first, Nelyafinwë really was not in the mood for anything related to what could happen between a man and a woman, but some of his old flames still visited him, if only as guests for a few days and not for some fun in the bedroom. The ladies was honest, he had lost some of his old handsomeness but the scars only proved that he was a survivor. Besides, there was women who actually liked it when their male lover had scars as a sign of not being someone who would run away at the first sign of danger. 

Finally, in the third month since his return, a summoning from the King arrived. Nelyafinwë was to show himself to the royal court, but he did not doubt another, more unpleasant meaning behind the summoning: 

“The King will try and make it seem like I have fallen from grace and thus is unworthy of his daughter.”   

Oh well, it was not like he had desired to wed the prudish princess anyway in the first place. 

The night before his departure for the capital, Nelyafinwë had more than one of his old flames with him in the bedroom, and this time he did not care about preventing that they got pregnant. If they did not desire to have his children, they had trusted help to cause a abortion if so needed. 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

However, as the carriage came closer to the main gate of the capital, one of his guards made a sound of horror. 

“M-my lord...up there…!” 

 Nelyafinwë looked up, and saw something he wished he could remove from his sight and memory at once. 

Up there, on a pike so everyone could see it, was the head of Elendil, one of his fellow generals. 

“ Do not tell me that…! ” Nelyafinwë thought in horror at the sight, recalling his servants telling him of how Elendil had tried to convince King Turukáno to pay the ransom for him since Elendil had said “ the loss of a skilled general will haunt us for decades afterwards ”, and then doing it himself by helping Nelyafinwë's servants and tenants with the needed money when his request had been refused by the King.

Had someone found out that Elendil had secretly disobeyed the King and revealed it to a spy who brought it straight to the King?

“Turn back! No, give me a horse at once!” 

But he would not get far, for now a whole company of the guards normally protecting the royal family arrived as the city gate was opened. And they were out to arrest Nelyafinwë on orders of their King, which confirmed what the bow handicapped general had feared to happen when he returned to Tirion. After a short battle, his guards was arrested as well 

While he thankfully was not chained to the wall, being thrown into a prison cell and hearing the door being locked brought up unwanted memories for Nelyafinwë. But his potential panic was broken by a voice from the cell to his left: 

“You saw what had happened to Father and tried to leave as soon as you realized why, right?”

Isildur, the oldest son of Elendil, was in the cell. From his ragged appearance, he must have tried to fight against the guards when he was arrested. 

“What a generous King we have, huh? Refusing to pay ransom for the finest general we have had in three generations, then getting the crazy idea of that your extended “stay” in the hands of the enemy must be because you have committed treason towards Tirion and himself. He arrested my father the moment he learned that father had been paying money to free you, and father was beheaded on false accusations of betraying the King too. I would not be surprised if you will not even get a trial,” Isildur explained in a bitter voice, his anger not aimed at his father's fellow general but rather how the King had acted towards Elendil. 

Nelyafinwë felt horrible at those news. That was not good for how he could be treated by the King as well. If King Turukáno used his long time in captivity as a excuse to break off the unwanted betrothal to princess Itarillë, that was perfectly fine for Nelyafinwë, but to make it seem like he was a traitor to the Kingdom of Tirion itself?

A few hours passed so night arrived, and Nelyafinwë struggled against his claustrophobia the longer he was inside the cell. Isildur said nothing, only muttering for himself about his own newly wedded wife and the child she currently was pregnant with. As a married husband and father to be, it was only natural that Isildur would worry for what could happen to them if he died. Then, quiet footsteps was heard in the corridor of the prison cells and a small lamp gave some light.  

“General?”

The voice was deeper than for three years ago and he was in that stage when arms and legs seemed too long for the thin body before the muscle mass would come, but it was prince Lómion. 

“My prince…? What are you doing?” 

“Preventing my uncle from doing something that will become a disaster for the Kingdom later. He can not execute either one of you two if you are not anywhere to be found in the capital at dawn tomorrow,” the prince said while opening the cell doors with the keys the guards had not long ago, then led the two older men towards a hidden tunnel under the stone stairs, “and the prison guards are currently...finding out the hard way that your soldiers will not allow their leader to be killed, general Nelyafinwë.”

Ah, yes. Nelyafinwë had lived in the same conditions as his soldiers during the battles, not allowing himself any luxury. Of course that would inspire a deep sense of loyalty. 

“Get out and escape from the capital now during the night! If anything, leave Tirion altogether! I would rather see you alive in exile, than dead,” Lómion pleaded, sounding more like the young boy who been orphaned at a young age and not as the young man he would be in a few years.   

“Yes. In fact, this is the last gift to the King from my family at least! I will not have my future sons serve a King who murdered their grandfather!” Isildur agreed, taking off a badge that showed his family crest of a white tree on black background, tossing it into the prison corridor where it would be visible in the morning light. Nelyafinwë had a little more trouble due to missing one hand, but managed to remove a similar badge with the symbol of being a general. His own family crest, a eight-rayed silver star on red background, he refused to part with as it would be the sole thing he would bring with him into his self-chosen exile from this night on. 

“You will be in deep trouble if you are found out, my prince.”

The prince shook his head. 

“I was ordered to enter the Great Temple to Eru as a novice priest last month, by my royal uncle. That way, I will be unable to claim any lineage or the throne once I gives my final vows of obedience, poverty and chastity. Uncle never liked the marriage between my parents and he thinks the blood from my father will taint the royal bloodline, should I ever marry.” 

That explained the brown robes of plain, roughly spun wool the prince wore. If Lómion entered priesthood, it was a neat way of ensuring that princess Itarillë remained the sole heir to the throne and that her male cousin would not be used as a alternative to being the next ruler. 

“We will not forget this. I promise that it will be repaid at some point,” Isildur said before vanishing down into the hidden tunnel. Nelyafinwë turned to face the young prince.  

“If I ever have children of my own, I shall tell them to be your supporters against your uncle and cousin, should you ever need help of some kind, though I can't promise that the help can arrive very fast.” 

Lómion looked very emotional at those words, as if he tried to not cry. 

“Just...go into exile somewhere my uncle can not catch you, please …!” 

And Nelyafinwë already had a plan for that. 

“ Northern Valinor. ”

The unknown lands of wildness and forests, where tribes of Avari and Silvan lived, rarely seen by anyone who was not a rare trader for their prized skins and bone pearls. The legendary lands which no one had conquered yet, because of the distance to the nearest kingdom. 

With a nod in farewell, Nelyafinwë followed the tunnel to the exit, where a group of his loyal soldiers was waiting with fast horses to bring him to safety. One thing was for sure, as Nelyafinwë sent a messenger to his home to tell his servants and landworkers that they were free to leave his service because of this or follow him into exile if they so wished: 

King Turukáno would only have himself to blame, if the next war became a disaster and his daughter suddenly viewed as an undesirable bride, all because of that Nelyafinwë no longer served the Kingdom of Tirion. 

Chapter Text

Next morning, when it came out that general Nelyafinwë and Isildur most likely had managed to escape from the prison with some inside help, King Turukáno responded by making a royal decree:      

Namely that both men were banished for life from the Kingdom of Tirion with loss of all titles, orders of immediate execution if they were spotted and captured, and their estates forfeited to the crown. 

He even ordered that Isildur's pregnant wife was to be taken to the capital and held as a hostage to have as a bait in a trap, if now Isildur valued her and their unborn child high enough, or if he would rather abandoned her and marry a new wife in exil. 

But that was something Isildur already had guessed, and he personally rode all the way to the small temple close to their little keep, praying that he was not too late. 

“Azruzimril! Come out, NOW!! ”

She was there, thank Eru, and she was still in a part of the pregnancy where she would not have much difficulty in moving fast. Or riding, for the matter. 

“Isildur?! Is it true, that the King has….!?” 

Her horrified face revealed that she must have heard about the fate of her father-in-law, and likely feared the same for her husband. 

“Come! We must leave at once if we want our unborn child to live!” 

Not even stopping his horse, Isildur galloped along the path leading up to the temple and seized up Azruzimril in front of him in the saddle. Her protesting scream was mostly in shock over what he was doing, not because she failed to realize the unspoken meaning of his words; that the King would most likely order her child to be killed at birth, because Isildur was the father. 

The escape from the capital, and taking his wife from the temple before they vanished towards the only port city in the kingdom in order to catch a ship, was the last sighting of Isildur in the Kingdom of Tirion. 

General Nelyafinwë was sighted a few times too as he rode towards the border, surrounded by loyal soldiers. But those who aimed to catch the the disgraced general and possibly get a big reward from the King for killing him, learned the hard way that while Nelyafinwë had still not mastered the art of fighting with a sword in his left hand yet, his soldiers and bodyguards were ready to give their lives to delay any pursuers if it meant that their leader could escape without capture towards the north.      

~X~X~X~X~X~X

During the first weeks since the two generals had escaped, the situation was tense in the capital, with rumors spreading about what they might be and the common people being nervous about possibly being the next person who was taken away for a hearing with the city guards if they knew anything about how the escape from prison had happened.

Inside the royal palace: 

“Really, they should have been a such good match…” one of the maids said to another as their poured up warm water for the princess in a large wooden barrel, lined with cloth in case of splinters, and then helped her undress so she could take a bath. 

If she had to say how she truly felt about all of this, so were Itarillë honestly grateful for that her father had found a reason to break the betrothal with general Nelyafinwë before the marriage could happen. Sure, it was unfortunate that her father had acted in a such manner, but she knew that in the end, he only wanted the best husband for her. 

“At least I will not have to think about the wedding night and how he would insist on us sharing a bed until that I was pregnant…” 

And if Nelyafinwë truly had betrayed their kingdom during the time he he had been a prisoner then he had to be punished with death, everyone from the lowest beggar to the royal family knew that a traitor could not be trusted. 

Yes, her life was good for now with not having to fear her future duties in the marriage bed, and if she could avoid a new betrothal for yet another year, she would not ask for something else. 

In the great temple to Eru, another person was not feeling quite as satisfied with life as the princess. Lómion knew that he had done the right thing in allowing Isildur and Nelyafinwë escape, but that came with a lot of fears. He feared to be revealed, knew that his maternal uncle would not forgive his actions and most likely have him beheaded for it. 

“No, it is better this way. Had they been executed on false grounds as Elendil, then I do not doubt that our armies would suffer mass desertion…” 

And that had been something Lómion knew the kingdom could not afford. While he did not use any spies himself, there was still alarming signs of that a new war might start at some point in the coming years, the only thing needed was a reason to start the war. Without Nelyafinwë to lead the armies, his homeland would be weakened. 

“Uncle...please marry off Itarillë as soon as you can, to a healthy husband who can make her pregnant quickly with a grandchild! You need more heirs than her and me, a new generation so the family can expand past us three!” 

If all three of them died, especially himself and Itarillë without children, then the royal bloodline since two-hundred-years ago would go extinct in the direct line. There was a few distant relatives, but Lómion doubted that they would be able to claim the crown without risking the royal court spitting in different factors about which heir that should take the throne. 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

One year had now passed since Isildur and Nelyafinwë escaped from the capital and into exile. Things had calmed down, if only narrowly. Yet somehow, against all common sense, king Turukáno allowed his daughter to travel to the temple out in the countryside where her mother was buried. With only a handful of guards and a few handmaidens. 

“Princess...are you really sure about this? Should we not have brought along some more guards at least?” 

But Itarillë refused to do so. 

“Why? The kingdom is at peace, the traitors are unlikely to return unless they want a quick death, and surely no one would dare to attack their future Queen!” 

Yet in her arrogance and blindness for unseen dangers, Itarillë would soon learn her mistake of believing herself safe solely on the fact that she was the princess and future Queen… 

Just after that she had finished the visit to the tomb of her mother and the group was on the way back, one of the guards heard the sounds of galloping horses coming closer. 

“Who's there?”    

Just in case, they made themselves ready with their weapons. And then a rain of arrows was released from the woods around the path, the guards falling off their horses as they were hit by the arrows. 

“No!! How dare you?! Attacking the escort of the princess, you will be hanged for that!” 

But the court lady made a fatal mistake by revealing who they was. 

“Princess Itarillë of Tirion, you say? That is the perfect prey for me to hunt down, then!” 

And out from the trees, a tall man on a black horse. The court ladies gasped in horror at seeing who it was. A former baron, who had been stripped of his rank because of a most unthinkable act and not seen in Tirion for some years due to escaping capture. 

“Mormegil Agarwaen! You dare to show yourself here, after escaping arrest and execution for the crime of sleeping with your own sister as if she were your wife?!” 

His handsome face darkened in anger. 

“You dare to call that a crime by law?! Níniel was mine, mine alone, unworthy of anyone else, and your damned father took her and my unborn child away from me when he ordered her cast down in the Ravine of the Damned and died through starvation and cold in the middle of winter!”

Itarillë felt an urge to vomit at what he said. To know that something like that could happen between two siblings born from the same mother and father...it was a abomination, one of the worst sins humans could commit. 

“You tainted her and made her impure from the first moment you dared to do something forbídden by the One Himself!” 

That was a mistake, she realized a moment after. Mormegil Agarwaen was one of the finest warriors in the kingdom, or rather, he had been before his crime had been revealed. 

“Since your father took my sister and my unborn child from me...then he shall suffer the pain of losing you!” 

His comrades attacked the scattered handmaidens and tore them of from the saddles with the goal of wanting to catch them as their own prey, ignoring their screams in terrors, and Itarillë tried to escape on her own mare, only to be seized around her slim waist and forced over to his horse. 

“ NOOOOOOOO!!! Let me go, let me GO!!! My father will have your head! ”

But her screams and empty threats was in vain. One guard was left behind as the group of outlaws vanished with the young women, half unconscious as Mormegil Agarwaen wanted a witness to tell king Turukáno who it was that had managed to abduct princess Itarillë in the light of open day. 

And from that on, princess Itarillë vanished from known history, as no one knew her actual fate but few doubted that Mormegil Agarwaen must had done unspeakable things to her as indirect revenge against the king. 

Chapter Text

Once they had managed to cross the borders without being caught by the soldiers sent out by the king, Nelyafinwë had been able to plan his exile a little better. By sending words though some fast-riding messengers, his servants had taken everything of value from the estate that could be moved without too much trouble or delays, basically stripping it bare for the king to claim as his own. 

By taking two ships to another port city where he currently was, the servants and even a few of his tenants had joined Nelyafinwë in exile. As he could not bring everything from his childhood home with him, he had ordered some of the items to be sold so they had money to buy food and other necessary things they needed to start a new life up north.   

“What we need is the means of survival, not luxury items.”

In fact, Nelyafinwë had sought out some distant relatives to him on the maternal side, a merchant family that was well off, and after hearing the tale of how the king of Tirion had treated him, they offered to buy nearly all the items he intended to sell for money. 

“Your mother personal's jewelry shall stay in the family, my lord, you shall not need to see them be worn on someone who will only order the whole set broken apart and recreated to fit with the newest fashion.”

The last family portrait of him and his deceased parents, painted when he was still a youth of seventeen years, was another things that would not be sold. But the clothes of his parents was still serviceable for his younger relatives even if they were a decade out of fashion, and the dresses of his mother actually suited his oldest second-cousin perfectly in size, she could not stop thanking him for helping her expand the wardrobe of her younger sisters and herself, since the dresses did not need that much alteration to fit in with the current fashion for ladies from well-off families.

“We promise to be careful with the dresses, my lord,” she promised during a dinner where Nelyafinwë were invited as a guest. 

“That pleases me to hear. It is regrettable that the estate from my ancestors will likely face the fate of being demolished, but at least my faithful servants managed to save anything else of value.” 

Once the money had changed owners, Nelyafinwë's servants and soldiers went to buy horses and wagons so they could travel without needing to carry everything themselves. Since there would be several months of travel, and with a most likely arrival to a suitable place in autumn when it would be too late to sow cereals but hopefully the seeds of carrot, parsnip and radish could be planted. Linen cloth and flax plants were also brought from the marketplace, for clothing and to create more fabric from the flax fibers. 

Farming tools were greatly needed, for they would not manage to build up a settlement without fields to grow oats, wheat, barley and rye on.

Flour, dried meat and fish, beans along with dried fruits were going to be the basic of what they could eat until that their own harvest would grow. Animals were also needed. Sets of poultry like chickens, ducks and geese that could give eggs, meat and feathers. Sheeps, goats and cows for their milk, meat and wool from the sheeps. 

Nelyafinwë was not sure about bringing along domestic pigs, for he had heard about wild boars mating with the pigs and how such hybrids could be dangerous for humans. After some long discussions with those who followed him, they chose not to bring any pigs on the journey. After all, there would likely be wild boars in northern Valinor and that could offer pork for those who wanted it. 

Personally, Nelyafinwë were just happy to avoid that pigs would be taken along, for while he liked ham and sausages, there was something about the taste of pork and bacon that he simply disliked. 

A widowed alewife offered her service to the general, when she heard about him and also just had lost her brewery to her ungrateful son and daughter-in-law, as they wanted the fame she had earned over the years. They even managed to find two blacksmiths to join the group, as well, one stone mason, three carpenters, a cooper, a potter, a ropemaker with his apprentices, a dyer family, a shoemaker, a tailor, a wheelwright and finally a tanner. As all the women had been taught how to spin and weave thread into fabric by their mothers, it felt idiotic to bring along a weaver, when they could build warp-weighted looms by the materials they found.   

~X~X~X~X~X~X

The whole journey towards northern Valinor took most of summer, everyday trying to pass as many miles as possible per day regardless of the weather, for it was not only Nelyafinwë, his servants and soldiers, a lot of them had brought their families as well since the soldiers often were listen as being under his command, and that meant their wives and children could be in danger by that connection.

Perhaps the All-Father was with the exiled general and his followers after how the King had acted, for they lost only a few animals and about thirty people to disease or fatal accidents along the travel. Thanks to that the ten doctors were well-trained from serving in the army, and three midwives, not too many lives were lost. In fact, seven children were born on the journey, and four of them survived the most critical days after birth, although to the price of one mother dying from childbed fever. 

Somewhere in the middle of September, they had came deeply into the woods of northern Valinor and Nelyafinwë realised that it would be foolish to keep travelling. The leaves on the oaks, beeches, maples, and birches around them were changing colour from green into yellow and red, and the air had slowly but steady grown colder over the past days. If they did not settle up camp for the winter months soon, the whole idea of starting a new life here would be in vain. 

“We will end our journey here, and start building houses in this area,” he ordered when they had arrived not far from a mountain. Riders had already been sent out to scout, and confirmed that there was several lakes and rivers in the area. That meant water for basic living, fishing for food and washing. The ground were good as well, not too dry or mashlands. And that this area was a boreal forest further up towards the mountain did have its uses as well. 

Of course, they did not fail to notice people from the native Avari and Silvan tribes watching them in the distance, hiding between the trees. Being the newcomers and having a vastly different way of living, it would be strange if they did not draw attention. 

But it was not one of the natives who made the first contact. Rather, it was a fur trader who showed up at their camp one day. 

“Oh-ho, newcomers! Pleasant to see a little more folk here, even if the tribes are kind enough to have me as guest whatever I shows up for trading metal work for their fur!” 

The man was named Durin, also called Longbeard for a well-noticed reason, and Nelyafinwë invited him to be a guest under his roof for a few days with information about the locals as payment. 

“The rumors about the King of Tirion is not spreading kind words, I must say. Beheading a respected general for paying the ransom for a friend and trying have his son suffer the same fate! Foolish deeds, indeed, that will come back to haunt him some day, mark my words.” 

Durin was a gold mine of information about the area, offering to be a translator between Nelyafinwë and the nearest tribe, called the Tatyar, as he had learned a bit of their language under his years as a trader.

~X~X~X~X~X~X

Four days later, Nelyafinwë met up with Tata, the chieftain of the Tatyar tribe. Durin could not translate every word directly, for the languages were different and some words did not have a equivalent at all, but at least they managed to come to a agreement; 

In exchange that they kept other settlers away from these regions, Tata offered Nelyafinwë to be one in control over the mountain nearly, for it seemed like the shamans of his tribe had found out that the exiled general would play a important role here in the future. 

When Tata and his companions had left the glade where the meeting had been held, did Nelyafinwë turn to Durin, a worried look on his scarred face. 

“There is a unspoken reason to why they wanted us to keep other settlers away, right?” 

The fur trader signed deeply, a unhappy sound. 

“ Slave traders from the south, which means Tirion and other Kingdoms. There have been several cases of young, healthy men and women from the tribes being kidnapped by groups of unpleasant people from the south, and I have seen with my own eyes how they have been sold like cattle on markets and ending up in the role of exotic slaves to rich people. ” 

For a moment, the memories of his own captivity threatened to break out at the surface of his mind, but Nelyafinwë pushed it back down. 

“There will be no kidnappings or enslavement here with victims among the locals while I still draws breath.” 

That was a promise, formed by his own experience as a prisoner. His former kind had betrayed him, all because he viewed Nelyafinwë as unworthy of his daughter, and the pious princess had done nothing to free her betrothed. Well, Nelyafinwë did not doubt that the King and Princess of Tirion soon would find out just how much work he once had done to keep the kingdom safe, and that with his exile others were just wanting to start a war which the kingdom of Tiron might not win. 

And with that promise, Nelyafinwë took the first step on the road to one day become the Lord of Himring, the father of seven sons from three mothers, and the common ancestor of many people in the future centuries though those sons. 

Chapter Text

Southern Valinor, the Kingdom of Valmar: 

The sound of bells were heard across the city, signaling the end of the working day. People getting themselves ready for the final hours of the day, spending time with their families or friends.

One person, however, did not have that chance because of his duties as a spiritual leader for the kingdom. Nóm, the current Priest-King of Valmar, was feeling restless, even worried to be honest. Laterly there had been worrying rumours from the Kingdom of Tirion further north, which did not exactly calm him at all. 

“King Turukáno is showing signs of possibly losing his mind in grief over losing his daughter in that way...and attacking other kingdoms based on a unconfirmed rumors that her abductor would have been seen there? He is literally inviting war against his own kingdom, all because of his own failure to remarry and have more than one single child…” 

Suddenly, the doors to his private prayer chamber was forced open. 

“My lord! My lord, begging your permission about something important you have to to know!”

It was Bëor, a young man who Nóm had personally grown up with, after that his predecessor as Priest-King had seen the orphaned boy's possible talent for strategy and battle, and were now a trusted general over the troops that kept the main temple safe. Nóm himself were a classical example of a well-off family being blessed with too many sons to distribute their inheritance reasonably evenly between the many brothers, which had resulted in him being given to the temple and the priests as a young boy. 

“Yes, Bëor? Have something gravely happened to make you break the rules about that I am to be left alone in peace inside this chamber?”

The other man knelt on the floor, in case someone could be watching. 

“Bad news. King Turukáno have made enemies of those kingdoms he have attacked over the past months, and now they have joined together to surround the Kingdom of Tirion. I fear that this will lead to him being dethroned in some manner, in favor of his sister-son.”

Ah, yes, the youth who was rumoured to be in training to become a priest but now was the only heir left. Whatever Turukáno intended with those attacks, no one knew, but it would be one step towards his end, for sure. 

Anyway, Nóm would watch what happened past his own borders, and then act if he needed. 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

Three years later, early summer, the capital of Tirion: 

The now nineteen-year-old Lómion was honestly scared. Not for himself, but for what could happen. Ever since Itarillë was abducted three years ago, with no one knowing what had happened to her like that she was still alive or dead, his uncle had aged prematurely in grief and horror over losing her. 

“He is still trying to find her, but he does it in a manner that have started unpleasant rumours…” 

Ever since those uncalled-for attacks on the other kingdoms based on mere rumours of that his missing cousin had been spotted there or that her abductor had taken her there, people had started to whisper that the King were not merely acting out of paternal anxiety and fear for his only child. In fact, Itarillë remaining unwed or promised in marriage to a future husband while her father never took a new wife, had slowly started the rumor of that Turukáno had desired his own daughter in a way that was among the worst sins humankind could commit. That general Nelyafinwë and her other suitors had been rejected or removed so the king could have his daughter all for himself. 

No, personally Lómion did not believe those rumour about a secret incest relationship between his uncle and cousin, but he did also not doubt for a moment that those rumours would taint their posthumous reputations if his uncle did not hurry to remarry and quickly father a new heir soon. 

“ Even if he did marry a new wife now, it might be too late for him to gain a new heir anyway….! ” Lómion thought at looking out through the window to his left and saw the huge army outside the city walls. Ever since this early spring, the capital had been under a siege, on the joined orders from the kings who had found their own kingdoms attacked some years ago. Anyway, Lómion needed to return to his duties, caring for the sick and injured. 

Moral had fallen deeply over the months, as the food started to run out inside the capital. The defenders did not have much energy left, and many of them were injured from earlier battles. To make things even worse, illnesses had started to spread as there was no place for the waste and the pigs who normally would eat the waste, had already been made into food months earlier. Even the riding horses owned by the royal court had been slaughtered, in a desperate attempt to get food. 

“We are running out of places to bury the dead, as well…” Lómion realized in horror when he wandered on the streets, seeing how a grieving mother carrying a very small coffin, no doubt with a infant that had starved to death because she did not have any milk left for nursing, was refused by a regretful priest since there was really no free space left for graves on the burial ground at the small temple Lómion just passed. And there was no way they would bury the dead under the floor inside the temples either, that was only for outstanding nobles who had made themselves deserved of that honor. 

If nothing changed soon, such as the siege breaking or someone managed to smuggle in enough fresh food pass the enemy, there would be no way to prevent what would be a very horrible act; eating the dead people despite that would be unforgivable sin. 

No, something had to be done, before there was a revolt.

That evening, Lómion met up with his good friend Salgant, a musician who worked at the court but tried to help those of less fortunate circumstances whatever he had some free time. 

“I must speak to uncle, and tell him to surrender! People are starving in the streets, we can not bury the dead anymore and there is a raising number of people losing their lives to either the endless struggle to defend the city or to illnesses!” 

The king was likely still in the throne chamber, it was too early for him to have gone to bed yet, Salgant knew that. 

Yet when the two young men arrived to the palace, there was screams and sound of running feet. 

“ The king has been assassinated! ” 

Running to the throne chamber, they were greeted by a shocking sight: 

Turukáno laid on the stone floor with a shocked look on his face in death, his white robes strained by blood in both the chest and back to ensure that he was really dead from the blood loss. The guards had done their best to defend him before the assassins had reached the King, but they had lost their lives in vain. 

“Uncle...where is those who murdered him?!” Lómion demanded in a voice that betrayed his own terror, unsure on how he should react in this situation. 

He was brought down to a chamber near the dungeons, a place which he hated to be in from earlier visits. Four men laid on the floor, all with ordinary appearance and nothing else that made them stand out in the crowd.  

“They slit their own throats before we could catch any of them, and there is nothing that could reveal who their employers could be.” 

There was nothing else to do, outside announce that the King was dead. 

As Lómion was brought back up to the castle to oversee that the servant took care of the dead body of his uncle, he suddenly stopped walking as he came to a horrible realization: 

His promises of obedience, chastity and poverty as a sign that he really became a priest in the temple service, had not been spoken yet. The ceremony to make him a priest should have been done this midsummer, had not the siege been happening. And with his cousin still missing…

“My lord?” 

Lómion took a deep breath to not faint. He was of age and would not need a regency, but having been trained as a priest and his uncle not doing anything to really make him a back-up heir, he had not been given any education to be a king. 

The next morning, on Midsummer eve, the capital of Tirion surrounded to the armies of Valmar and the other kingdoms. Lómion did not want to risk the lives of innocent people, and willingly gave up his unwanted crown to Nóm when the Priest-King of Valmar entered the city. 

This act led to Turukáno become known to history as the official last king from the House of Ondolindë, and Lómion gaining the nickname “King for a Day” or as the “Midsummer King”. 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

Once the other armies had left Tirion with a sizeable amount of booty to not make the siege to be useless, Nóm requested Lómion to be brought to him, in the throne chamber where Turukáno had died only a few days ago. The last male heir of the Ondolindë dynasty showed all signs of having undergone the same difficulties as the ordinary population, he was thin from lack of proper meals and his eyes showed a burden he did not want. 

“Arise, young Lómion. As you must have realized, your maternal family is basically no longer existing by your uncle having no sons, your female cousin is not known to be alive or death and your mother was his only sibling.” 

It was the plain truth, after all. 

“Yes, my lord.”

Nóm looked closer at the youth. The last male heir of the Ondolindë dynasty showed all signs of having undergone the same difficulties as the ordinary population, he was thin from lack of proper meals and his eyes showed a burden he did not want. 

“I requested you to be brought here, to offer a suggestion; You will come with me back to Valmar, as guest under my protection for the coming years. I will leave the Kingdom of Tirion in the hands of my trusted general Bëor alongside trusted counselors I will give him, and personally crown him as its new King. Depending on the will of the All-Father, his oldest son could marry a daughter sired by you, joining the two dynasties together by marriage.”   

Lómion nodded, not finding any reason to protest. Unless he really took his vows as a priest and allowed himself to vanish among the number of priests who had given up their birthright for service in the temples, that was the best offer that he could get. 

Bëor was crowned as King of Tirion at the first day of autumn. His wife, who had been pregnant at the time, ended up giving the newly created dynasty a heir already only seven weeks afterwards. 

“We will call him Barahir, my lord,” Bëor told Nóm with all the fatherly pride he was entitled to, when the Priest-King personally led the naming ceremony for the little prince. 

“Barahir, you say? Then, this will be a personal gift from me.”

Taking off a ring from his finger, Nóm placed the ring inside the tiny fist and closed it around the ring. The ring was crafted to the likeness of two serpents intertwined with eyes made of green jewels. The serpents met beneath a crown of golden flowers that one upheld and one devoured. 

“This ring will be carried by the heir to your House, and be a sign of their lineage from this day on.” 

It was the year of 1501, a year of huge changes in the history of Valinor when it came to the Kingdom of Tirion because one royal dynasty died out and an new one replaced them as Kings. 

Bëor ruled Tirion for a reign of 44 years, living to the high age of 93 years old before he was taken by death, earning the name of “Bëor the Old.” Sadly, his oldest son Barahir did not live to adulthood, and instead he was followed on the throne by his younger son Baran, who had married a daughter of Lómion as his bride. Their dynasty came to be known in history as the House of Bëor. 

Chapter Text

Everyone who had followed him in exile, knew that Nelyafinwë had chosen the unfamiliar north of Valinor to get as much distance between himself and anyone who might aim to catch him and return him to the kingdom of Tirion, for as a wanted refugee with a high reward on his head, the general would be hunted unless he found a really good hiding place. 

And that hiding place he chose, was here in northern Valinor, where no kings ruled over large areas of land or where a large group of population obeying a simple ruler. 

This first autumn in exile, they worked to create log cabins so they had somewhere to live in for the coming winter, for the native Silvan and Avari tribes had warned about that unless they started to prepare food and houses already now, the newcomers would soon starve and freeze during the cold season.  

“We may not be able to sow anything of our grains until spring, but creating fields and pasture land for livestock is a good start.” 

Since their arrival, Nelyafinwë had started to show some of his old personality again. He helped to plan what to do, tried to find solutions to fights that could happen between settlers. For anyone who had feared for his mental health after his long time as a prisoner, there seemed to be some form of hope. 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

Trade was a important part between the setters and the local people, for while Nelyafinwë and his soldiers kept their part of the agreement to keep a eye out for possible slave traders coming from the south, they still needed foodstuff which could not be collected or harvested directly from nature around them. 

“We need to ensure that we can save enough grain to sow in spring, or we will not get enough of a harvest to survive next year.”

Flour, for example. The expression “Our daily bread” did have its ground in reality, after all, their stone carvers worked full time to create smaller, manually operated millstones so that the women could grind grain to flour at home until they could build a water mill powered by a water wheel. 

Among those from the local tribes who sometimes arrived to make trade, was a young woman in her 20s who stood out by the fine embroidery on her clothes, thought she did not stand out in any other way. Her goods were embroidered shawls, hats and mittens to wear during the winter months to keep warm.

“That young lady with the fine embroidery on her dress...who is she?”  

Tata had came along the group to ensure that nothing happened, and he could tell why Nelyafinwë had seen her as well.

“Her name is Þerindë, which means “Broideress” in our language. A daughter of a maternal line famed for being skilled weavers and seamstresses, though she was widowed not even a year after the wedding and she have no child as a memory of that first husband.” 

In a sense, that matched what Nelyafinwë liked in his previous mistresses too. He had never wanted to deal with a jealous husband over a woman, or a female lover who cheated on her husband simply because she found him more attractive. A widow also had more freedom, if there was no children from her marriage to take care of. Not all children liked the idea of a strange replacing a parent, if said dead parents had been someone they loved dearly. 

“Miss Þerindë.” 

Since she had some of her goods laid out on a blanket, no one found it strange that the general took a look what she offered in trade. Although he had mostly taken it as a keepsake from his maternal relatives, Nelyafinwë chose to offer her a plain steel thimble as payment for two pairs of mittens. Just because he only had one hand nowadays it did not mean that he intended to play half of a price. When Þerindë were told what it was and shown how she could use it, her face shone up in wonder. 

“Better to keep an eye on the general, he have not had a woman sharing his bed for a couple of months now…” 

Of course, his soldiers all knew that Nelyafinwë were not a womanizer, he simply had never been the type for marriage, that was all. No one were surprised that if there was someone among the local women who caught his eye, he would make a good choice not in appearance but rather personality. 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

In the first months of 1498, Tata called Þerindë to his hut for a talk in the main Tatyar winter camp. 

“You have caught the eye of the tall, red haired leader of the newcomers, from what many have witnessed. As they have proven their words so far and chased away slave traders from those regions  where we otherwise would risk losing members of the tribes to slavery in the south, I would like to reward the leader for his help so far. A deeper alliance.” 

Þerindë knew what he meant. It was not uncommon to trade young men or women between the tribes, to bring in fresh blood and avoid inbreeding, along with marriages to bring peace. As a young widow, she would be ideal since she knew what happened between a couple in bed and also were still young to become pregnant if the ancestors allowed it. 

“Please give me some months to guide him into love and then I will try to make an alliance between us in marriage.”

Personally, she did find Nelyafinwë good-looking to rest the eyes on, despite all his scars and the loss of one hand. His former physically handsomeness may be gone, but she hailed from a lifestyle where body scars proved survival of death, not the loss of appearance. 

When she left the hut to return to the one owned by her parents, she heard a wolf howl in the distance. Expect for that it sounded more like a human. 

“Amarok! Amarok, get back to the camp, it is freezing cold outside!” Þerindë called, knowing that it was a slightly younger woman from a different tribe, who has gotten her mind almost caught into that of a she-wolf during a shamanic ritual as a toddler and the shamans had not been able to fully free her from the wolf spirit. Therefore, Amarok were infamous for showing some of the behavior among wolves at times, which made her unfit for marriage since no husband wanted to wake up in the middle of the night and find her standing above them with her teeth bared like a wolf. 

But Þerindë felt pity for the other woman, and tried her best to help her when it was needed. The young widow only hoped that Nelyafinwë would allow her to keep doing a such act of compassion if she won his heart. 

Chapter Text

Summer months of year 1498, northern Valinor:     

By now, it was nothing strange to see Nelyafinwë in the company of Þerindë. She had used the passing spring months to try and show herself in a manner that would show her as a good possible future wife. There had been a few misunderstandings between them at first due to culture crashes and different values, but few could doubt that she had caught his attention. 

“Marriage? Well, the closest thing I came to that, was when I could have gotten the daughter of our most powerful chieftain.”

Because her people did not have words for royalty and other such high social status in the south, the former general tried to explain by using the words she would know.   

“What an ingratitude you were shown by not being saved by the one who could have been your father-in-law! It is true that skilled warriors can be...replaced with others, but those who are beginners in combat, will need several years of further training to become as good as their superiors. And the same for a son-in-law who has not yet entered marriage with the daughter, but sometimes a final choice proves...to be even more ill-fitting than the previous ones.” 

Þerindë tried her best to explain how she thought. Besides, she wanted to know if he had left a wife or betrothed behind when he escaped the South, a woman of his own religion and land of origin, a woman who could cause trouble if she showed up eventually. Stealing someone from a marriage was not kindly looked upon in her tribe, and infidelity meant a punishment for both the ones taking part in an adulterous affair and flat out kidnapping someone from their spouse could result in death. 

“Aye. Without me to lead the armies, that ruler will not be able to defend his own borders against attacking enemies as he has already proven himself less than tactful in the past, not being the person to admit his own part in something going wrong. And I know that there will be other suitors of his daughter that will cause problems of their own, all because they will see the other suitors as rivals and trying to steal what they view as theirs.”  

No, Nelyafinwë was very pleased to leave the Kingdom of Tirion behind even if it had meant exile for life, and escape from the possible fate of becoming the husband to a royal princess. While hardly a man who openly admitted romantic feelings, the tender way he stroked her face spoke a lot. 

“Would you like to see more of the plants I use for dying my finished thread and fabrics? 

They were not alone, naturally, being watched in the distance by both some of his men and people from her tribe just to ensure that nothing inappropriate happened, but that was mostly because they came from different cultures and courtship was not done the same here among the native Silvan and Avari tribes as it would be in the southern cultures. 

~X~X~X~X~X~X 

Not many day later, the former general showed up for a meeting with Tata about something important: 

“What should be an acceptable bride price for Þerindë if she accepts being married to me? I can't promise that I will be able to pay for her in food, for we do not yet know if our wheat harvest will be a good one,” Nelyafinwë spoke as once as he was seated inside the tent and offered some cold water in a drinking horn as a sign of hospitality. 

“So we are finally talking about this.”

In fact, this was a conversation that Tata had been expecting for weeks. The chieftain did not doubt that Þerindë now was in love with the scarred southerner and prayed to the spirit world that she could tie the two people together if she took the general as her second husband, and he too could see an advantage of a union through marriage. 

“I will say it at once; among our people widows like Þerindë are actually worth more than virgin brides who marry for the first time. Widows have often more experiences of life as an adult member of the tribe and how a home should be shared with another person. Even if widowed young and before a child have been planted in her womb, women like Þerindë are the favored choice for men in her own age and a little above for marriage.”  

Nelyafinwë could see the logic in this, and found it an interesting contrast to his own homeland, where widows were not exactly forbidden to remarry but could face troubles for a such life-changing choice if she had children from the first marriage, since they generally was expected to remain faithful towards her late husband unless the marriage had been childless or lasted less than five years. In a twist of irony, though, the refusal to marry a new queen consort and father more children, seemed to become King Turukáno's eventual doom if Nelyafinë's instincts told him right. 

“Can you face Himring itself? The tallest mountain of this region, that stands alone. Our shamans have told since ancient times that one day, a house of stone shall be raised on that mountain, by a one-handed man from the south. Can you face the very spirit of the mountain, as a sign of your own inner strength?” 

“The spirit of Himring, up there at the very top where you can see the whole area? Well, trying will not hurt least.” 

The three years spent in captivity had made Nelyafinwë lose his trust in the faith of Eru and its holy church. Not because the All-Father did nothing to save him as would happen to saints, but rather because all his prayers for help from the King of Tirion had been in vain. Instead, he felt drawn to the shamanism that was practiced here in northern Valinor, because the local shamans did not always respond with merely “it is the Will of the All-Father” and other such meaningless nonsense. Instead, he hoped to make Þerindë his wife by the customs of her own people, as a sign of respect towards herself and her culture. 

Of course, the other setters were not that keen on seeing their leader travel up to the mountain top because of the dangers that they had become aware of over the past year since coming here. Many kinds of predators lived there, and to go there alone, when he still had not trained himself into mastering doing things with his left hand since losing his right one, was suicide. 

“At least let us come along so there will be no wild animal attacking you, my lord!” 

If he had not been so scarred from the torture and missing one hand, he would have preferred to go alone all the way, but Nelyafinwë was not blind to his handicaps. Better to have some protection along, so nothing bad happened. 

“Then hurry up to get your weapons, I am not waiting for long.” 

~X~X~X~X~X~X 

As Himring was covered in a forest of pine and spruce trees, it was not exactly that easy to walk or ride upwards. 

“What are you intending to do at the mountain top, my lord?!” 

Since Nelyafinwë kept silent until now, he merely looked over his shoulder on the soldier who had asked, while holding his sole hand on the saddle bag that seemed to be a bit heavy: 

“I intend to lay the first stone of a proper fortress up there.” 

“ WHAT!? ” 

Well, their settlement would need a good place for protection in case a big conflict or disaster happened, so a real fortress with a view over the whole landscape below would be a natural place for it. And the defenders could be the next generations to be born in the future. If he had children with Þerindë, then Nelyafinwë hoped that he would be able to train his own offspring into strong warriors, be they sons or daughters, and they would not be limited by the social standards of the south as he once had been before his exile. 

“It is time for a new era to begin, and one of them is a good place for protection where our families can hide from dangers.”

Himring was a dangerous mountain, that was for sure, but somehow Nelyafinwë did believe that things would go well. 

Down in her tribe's summer camp, Þerindë could not focus on her weaving today. She kept looking up towards Himring Mountain, where the boreal forest prevented her from seeing what happened there in the distance. 

“The house of stone has started its founding. The red haired southerner has laid the first stone as a promise that he will be the Lord of Himring,” one of the shamans suddenly spoke up, loud enough for everyone around to hear. She knew what this could mean: 

That he had passed the test Tata had asked for, and that she soon would stand as a bride again for the second time in her life.