“Well, Curufin?”
The ellon darkly shook his head. “They have no intention of giving us their ships. Apparently, they like their lot as slaves to the whims of the Valar.”
Sighing, the commander of the expedition looked a little worn out. It had been but a few days since Finwe’s death, with little time to grieve and no time to make good plans as to what was to be done.
“I think what we should do,” Curufin said in a low voice, “is go back to the others and tell them that Teleri threatened us and killed the messengers. We can overtake them; the sailors have no weapons.”
Immediately, Feanorel shook her head before her sons could debate the idea. “No, that would not be a good idea. They do not have enough ships for us to take everyone in one journey; some would be left behind and we would need to burn the vessels once we made it to Middle-earth. The rest would be forced to take another road – the Helcaraxe, perhaps, and I am not about to leave our kinfolk to that doom.” Motioning to her half-brothers who stood nearby, Feanorel called to them, “Where are your daughters? I have need of them.”
- - -
Celeborn was still on watch when the Noldorin party approached again. “Cirdan! Look sharp; here they are again!”
Olwe heard the call as well, and took to the shore. He had no intention of being called a liar and a traitor again upon the deck of his own ship. The sight of the three ellith walking across the sandy beach confused him greatly.
“What do you think they want?” asked Cirdan in a low voice as he and Celeborn joined the lord of Alqualonde.
“Obviously, the ships, but still I shall not give them freely,” was the answer, though Olwe’s voice was not so stern as once it had been.
The trio curtseyed once they were upon the ellin; the favor was returned with matching bows. “Feanorel, to what is such an honor of your visit owed?”
“Olwe, it is as always a pleasure. I am sure my son spoke with you only just this midday?”
“That he did,” confirmed Olwe. “If I might state boldly,” he said, trying to keep his eyes on hers rather than allowing them to wander further down, where her dress cut low, “he was rather discourteous in his asking for our assistance.”
“Then you must understand how terribly in need we are,” Feanorel stated, taking another step forward. “He is merely worried about our quest – you see, there is another way, of course, to travel over the churning ice, but... we have little ones in our party, and ellith as well.” Her voice took on a saddened tone as she said, “I fear, only the heartiest shall make it, and the rest will perish under the strain.”
“My mother is ill,” spoke Aredhel. “She is so devoted to my father, though. She means to follow him, if even to her death.”
Artanis, who had focused upon the youngest of the sea-elves, gave Celeborn a big, blue-eyed pout as she said, “I have several nephews and a niece who will be traveling with us. The thought of them trying to keep up with the rest, not to slide off of the floating patches of ice...” It was now that she sniffled and was handed a cloth by Aredhel with which to dab her eyes.
“Olwe, this is horrible, for us to make the elflings battle the Helcaraxe. Can we not provide ships enough for them to make the journey?” It was Cirdan who had broken first, less due to the eyelash batting Aredhel was directing towards him and more because of the logic of the situation. “It is not as if we cannot build more ships later.”
As Olwe considered this, Feanorel said, “There must be room also for their mothers, for someone must take care of the little ones. And it will not do for the rest to arrive only after the ships have – we have no idea what perils await us and what traps Morgoth has planned.”
“The ellith and children we might manage, but there is no possibility of room for the entire host on these ships,” argued Olwe.
“What about the fishing boats?” Celeborn’s gaze lingered on the slit that went up the side of Artanis’ dress that fluttered in the sea breeze. “Some could take the fishing boats and row them; if they stay in sight of the sailing ships, there may be enough room.”
Olwe looked only partially convinced, so Feanorel added, “We do not wish to keep them; we shall only borrow your ships. When we are done, they will be sent back.”
“How?” demanded Olwe. “Ships do not row themselves home.”
“Send with us some of your sailors. You have my word that once we have reached the shores of Middle-earth, your ships and kinfolk shall be sent back home. There must be a few sailors in your company who would care for a little adventure.”
“I am not sure if-“
“I will go.” The reply came from each of the elves standing with Olwe. The Lord of Aqualonde cleared his throat upon noticing that their focus was not exactly on the situation at hand, but neither looked up from their view.
“You are most generous, Olwe,” said Feanorel, stepping very close to the Telerin king. “I will not forget your kindness.” Leaning forward, she kissed him on a cheek, winked, and set off back in the direction she had come with Artanis and Aredhel following her.
When they were a safe distance away, Aredhel burst into giggles. “That was just brilliant, Auntie!” she commended as they came over the ridge where the rest of the Noldorin were awaiting them.
“For a moment, I nearly thought we were not going to be able to do it,” admitted Artanis.
Feanorel smirked. “Ladies, I gave birth to seven sons. That,” she said, motioning behind her with a flick of her cape, “was nothing.”
What If...? by Zhie