For Since to Part Your Will Is by Zdenka  

Elemmírë kept her eyes closed for a moment as the last harmonies died away. As the Valar took counsel, as her people mourned by the dying Trees, she had said: “Let us sing light.” And so the singers of the Vanyar had gathered around her, and together they sang every song of light, whether stars or fire or the Two Trees, that they could think of. Though the thick darkness seemed to swallow up their voices, for those brief moments it felt as if they held the dark at bay.

When she opened her eyes, there was a movement across the circle of flickering candles. Lalwen, and she looked impatient. “Keep the songs going,” Elemmírë said, and crossed into the dark to join her beloved.

Lalwen was holding a lantern; the jumping flame made it hard to see her face. As soon as they were away from the singers, Lalwen burst out, “Do you know what is happening in Tirion?”

“No,” Elemmírë said honestly.

“We’re leaving! Fëanor spoke—though I don’t care about him—and my brother—Fingolfin—and Galadriel, and many others. And it’s decided, we’re going to leave.”

“Leave?” Elemmírë echoed, bewildered. “Leave where? What trouble has Fëanor been stirring up? At a time when we most need unity!”

Lalwen’s eyes were very bright in the gleam of the lantern. “Leave for Middle-earth! If there isn’t light here, we’ll seek light there. Avenge my father, and take back the Silmarils.”

Elemmírë caught her breath. “Lalwen, what madness is this? Do the Valar know of it?”

“The Valar!” Lalwen spat out contemptuously. “Could the Valar keep my father, our king, from being murdered in their own land? We came here because there was light, and the Valar promised safety. Now behold: there is neither light nor safety. Therefore we will depart and seek it elsewhere.”

“You have all gone mad,” Elemmírë said despairingly. “Will you and your brothers depart alone, without the Valar’s leave?”

“Not alone,” Lalwen said stubbornly. “The Noldor are coming with us, as many as are willing. And we need no leave from the Valar—or are we little chirping birds that they keep in a cage?”

“How will you go? The Sea is wide and deep!” If she could find a practical reason why it was impossible, then surely Lalwen would have to give up this mad plan.

“The Teleri will lend us their ships.”

Elemmírë felt icy fear crawling up the back of her neck as she realized Lalwen was in earnest. Lalwen, along with her nearest kin and a great number of the Noldor, truly meant to set off on this journey into the dark unknown. In the silence between them, she could hear her people singing Miryë’s Hymn to Laurelin; but that candlelit circle seemed very far away.

“Come with me,” Lalwen said suddenly.

“Come—with you?” Elemmírë repeated in a choked voice. She was called a poet; why then could she not find the right words to keep Lalwen here?

“Come with us,” Lalwen urged. “If there are obstacles, our wit and courage will overcome them. We are no less in strength of will than our fathers and mothers who made the Great Journey.” More softly, she added, “And I would have you at my side, whatever happens.” She reached out to caress Elemmírë’s face.

Elemmírë jerked back. “This is madness, Lalwen! Why can you not see that?”

Lalwen had lowered the lantern to her side; her face was in darkness. “Then you won’t come.”

“Don’t go!” Elemmírë pleaded. “Don’t do this.”

“I have to.” Lalwen’s voice sounded iron-hard, ice-cold in the dark. “My brothers need me. Finwë was my father too! I have the right, the duty to avenge him. And I won’t let Fingolfin go alone.”

 Elemmírë remained silent, in horror and fear. After a moment, the lantern jerked; Elemmírë saw its flame draw away, becoming more distant, until it vanished altogether.

Sorrow hit her like a vast wave, knocking her to her knees. She gripped at the earth to steady herself. Yet even the blades of grass were dry and withered beneath her hands, wilted by Ungoliant’s poison. She remained kneeling there in the dark, until some of her Vanyar friends came with candles to look for her.

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