The taste of my mouth was bitter and dry when I next awoke. I was tucked firmly in my bed, drenched with sweat. The sheets I am sure had to be soaked, but it seemed someone was tending carefully to me and changing them as needed.
Breathing was easier now. Obviously, I hadn't taken enough poison to do the trick.
"Poison will not kill you," came a voice not unlike my own.
Artanis had left years ago, how long I could not quite remember. She had believed her brothers were as set on leaving Valinor as she was, but this was not so. Some days it seemed her uncle, the great and crafty Feanor might try to lead a group back across the sea. I cared not, my love for her, now unrequited, turned me to seek knowledge instead.
I still spent time farming and tending to the garden, but the time I spent was less and less. I knew of at least one who had taken note and held concern for my sudden change - the young elf named Thranduil, who once trampled my flowerbeds now made up for it by planting them anew when I shut myself into the house for the day to think and to read. He never formally came to tell me he was the one doing it, but enough times I had caught a glimpse of him leaving quickly as I came out of doors to know it was he.
It was not his voice that I heard now, for it was much too deep for it to be him. Cirdan, perhaps, but I would have assumed it would have been Nenua and not her husband who would have come, but then, how could they have known of what I attempted, and would they not have been shamed by it?
"They worry for you all the same."
The voice was annoying me now, for I could not see where it came from, nor who it came from, and began to think it was in my head.
"Then who put you to bed?" it laughed.
I struggled to get up, but it was no use, for I was tightly wrapped and too weak to move. Nor could I speak, I found, as I began to make strained noises that in no way resembled speech.
That is when I saw him. Out from the shadows he came, soundless. Elves are not soundless as one might think - they can be quiet, they can suppress most noises they make, but they cannot achieve a state of perfect silence. They only think they can. He was perfectly silent, and it was deafening. His hand moved to touch my throat, and I found I could talk again, and fully recognized him now. "Lord Orome," I said, fitful that I was unable to bow to him in my condition.
I knew him well, from the journey to Valinor when I was an elfling. He was unforgettable, and most kind to me on every occasion. Though many spoke of his wrath I never saw such a thing. He leaned over me now, his hands moving to my forehead. He pressed down, and I felt a cooling sensation throughout my body. "You will need to endure the fever. You must sweat the poison from your blood."
"I should be dead."
"Yes." The hunter replied. "But not from the poison."
"I took enough."
"For an elf." Lord Orome removed the blanket and sheet, replacing the sheet with one that was fresh and dry, then tucked the blanket back over me again. "You are named well, for truly, you are stubborn."
"There was someone before who told me I was as stubborn as my father. Was that you?"
Lord Orome shook his head, and another voice chuckled. "That was me," it said. "You would not wake, and we worried what to do. I had to try to find you in your dreams."
"Irmo," I whispered, closing my eyes as I felt the heat of fever once again.
"Aye."
I fell silent, thinking perhaps this was all a dream or that perhaps I was dead. Lord Irmo chuckled again. "Oh, he is a stubborn one," he agreed. "The Valar make a statement, and he is immediately skeptical." Lord Orome made a noise of discontent, silencing Irmo's laughter. "So much like his father," he repeated.
"My father isn't stubborn," I finally corrected, shifting my sight to the side of the room that I could hear Irmo speaking. His peaceful mirth suddenly changed to show a mystified look.
"Orome?"
"Irmo. He is awake. I no longer require your assistance."
"Ah. Then I am done here." Irmo simply left by means unseen to me and I was left with Lord Orome. He took from the bedside table a cloth that had been in a bowl of water and wrung it out before wiping my brow. The experience was one of the strangest, and in some part I still believed it must be a dream, or that my mind was so clouded by the poison within me that I conjured such things on my own. "Why should I be dead?" I finally asked.
"You should be dead because you fell from your balcony and landed on a very hard patch of ground. You don't recall it, for your mind was too clouded with the poisons you gave yourself," explained Lord Orome. "I spoke with Namo, and along with others, we agreed you should not be in the halls."
My head swam with bits and pieces of new information, most of which seemed too fantastic to comprehend. "What difference does it make whether I live or die?"
Lord Orome lowered his chin solemnly. "Too many have been slain these past days."
"Slain?" Only now did I finally realize that death could come to Valinor, though I myself had tried to end my life. I panicked a little - only now was death a reality. And slain. Slain did not seem like the quiet death I had attempted. Slain. I shivered despite the heat of the fever.
Perhaps it is now you think that Lord Orome speaks of the flight of the Noldor, the slaying of kin on the white ships. This was not the case, as it had yet to happen. My attempt at suicide predated that horrendous act, and also the banishment of Feanor.
I had little to live for, or so I believed, when Artanis left my house. Few things made me happy, but the light of the two trees would bring such joy to my heart that I could not help but to be gladdened by it in some small way. It was when the darkness came to Valinor that the darkness overtook my heart, and I gathered from my garden what plants I could find in the mist that would bring to me a swift end.
"King Finwe has been killed, brought down by the hand of Melkor - Morgoth as he has been named by Feanor."
"How many others have been slain?"
Lord Orome was silent for some time before answering, "Even one is too many." He felt his hand to my head, and I came to note the fever diminishing. "By the grace of the Valar, you have been spared, for there are dark tidings to be brought to Feanor, and none of the Valar could decide which was to deliver the news. Your life is given back to you in exchange for your service."
"What can I do? How can I be of service to the Valar?"
The Vala smiled and placed his palm atop my head. "One of the Valar must deliver a message of banishment to Feanor, as is the will of Manwe. My horse is swift, and you must ride quickly to catch the host of the Noldor before they reach the sea."
"But one of the Valar must deliver the message. Do I ride with you?"
"My son, you ride alone."
