Above an army of hundreds, there is a banner. Held aloft above a dark host, it is heavy, but the orcs gather to raise it over their heads in triumph. 

A body impaled on the post, arms stretched across the back. The torso flutters with the shafts of black arrows. 

She cannot live after seeing this. She cannot survive this.

The child's laughter roused his mother from her sleep. Luimëníssë's eyes calmly opened as though she were dreaming only of blackness. Nothing to give the other two ellith in the tent concern. Írissë was playing with Itano, the toddler squealing with delight as she held him high over her head. His dark hair matched her own as did his pale skin, a testament to his Noldor heritage.

"He was so quiet when we traveled across the endless ice, it concerned me sometimes," Artanis admitted softly to Luimëníssë as she sat up in her bedroll. "Do you remember when the first of the heavenly lights appeared? The silvery one?"

Luimëníssë forced a weary smile, blocking the memory of her nightmares with the brightness of her three-year-old son's laughter. "They are calling it Nîlû now."

"Hmm, yes. The moon." Artanis swirled the dark liquid in her cup thoughtfully. "Itano was the first to spy it in the sky where we walked beside Fingolfin over that last stretch of the Grinding Ice. Curled up in that sling at your shoulder, always half dreaming, his eyes widened and he let out a cry that nearly made me jump out of my skin."

Luimëníssë chuckled as she tied a leather strap around the end of her long braid.  "I don't believe I have ever seen you so shocked."

"He was always so silent, it scared me. I thought something was wrong."

"But it wasn't." Luimëníssë gave a shrug of her slim shoulders. "It was only the end of our suffering as we marched into our new land with our trumpets blaring."

Tapping the goblet with her finger nails, she hesitated then held it out towards her cousin. "Here. Drink this."

Luimëníssë arched a snowy eyebrow at her. "What is it? Wine?"

"Yes."

She snorted. "So early?"

"I fear you may need something strong today."

The hair on the back of her neck pricked in anticipation as she took the cup from Artanis and drank deeply. The richly spiced liquor relaxed the tension in her shoulders, but not in her heart. She waited for Artanis to speak her peace.

"You know we are almost to the shores of the great inland water, Lake Mithrim?"

Luimëníssë nodded, cradling the cup in her lap. Artanis took her hand.

"Those of our kin... who came before us to this place... they have made camp there as well according to our scouts' reports."

Írissë had stopped playing with Itano, the child happily waving around a stick like a sword where he sat on her knee. Írissë grasped a protective arm around him and gave a wavering smile. "We will see our other family once more very soon, they say."

"How long have you two known this?"

Írissë and Artanis exchanged a glance. "We didn't want to upset you."

Luimëníssë scoffed. "You couldn't. How much more damage can be done?"

Írissë brushed Itano's hair back from his face. "They are saying that Fëanor's people knew of our arrival even before our warriors attacked the gates of Angband when we first stepped foot in Hithlum."

Luimëníssë repressed a flinch. "So he's known for some time. That is what you are both trying to tell me. My husband has known of my coming to this land for a good while. And yet, he has not come for me."

The ellith went silent. Only Itano babbled quietly to himself as he swung the stick back and forth, nearly swatting Írissë in the face. Luimëníssë peered down into her cup. With one long drink, she emptied it, numbing the ache that had plagued her since that long ago morning she had spied the swan ships burning on a faraway shore.

"You aren't obligated to live by his side, especially with that father-in-law of yours," Írissë said.

"Of course not." Luimëníssë nodded firmly. "Besides, what more could I have expected from him? After his abandonment."

"He may not have known his father's plans..." Írissë's voice faded at the glare she received from Luimëníssë.

"He himself boasted on several occasions that he was his father's favorite. There is no way Curvo would have been kept ignorant of his maniac father's plans," Luimëníssë replied succinctly, her voice frigid with bitterness. 

Hopping up from her bed clothes, she quickly dressed in the tunic and hose that all ellith of the Noldor had taken to wearing since their trek across the ice. This was a new world where the old finery of their past lives needed to be stripped away. Just like Curvo had that last day before their parting, when he'd asked her to cut his hair.

"But..." she gave a sardonic smile. "My son. He must meet his sire. Gain his father name."

"He has no right to him."

"Of course he doesn't. But this is the way of our people. And my son will be raised in the knowledge of such things, even in this strange land under a strange new light." Luimëníssë gestured vaguely towards the faint sunlight gleaming through the tent flaps. "Whether he wants to see me or not, Curvo cannot avoid his own son. I won't allow it."

Itano focused his grey eyes on her and gave her a heartrending smile, lifting his arms for his mother. Írissë handed the child up to her. Luimëníssë kissed his forehead as he played with the ties on her shirt. Drawing a deep breath, she faced her friends with a determined glance as they rose to their feet.

"So when are we expected to arrive at our camp?" she asked.

"A day's time."

"Will he- those from the other camp, will they be meeting us earlier?"

Artanis' hands flapped with uncertainty over her torso. "We cannot say for sure-"

"Yes, yes, of course," Luimëníssë replied swiftly, hitching her son up on her hip. "Very well. Is Vantaro ready for the last leg of our trip?"

Írissë let out a relieved chuckle at the change in subject. "Yes, but still sulking with that bow of his, he's still angry with Ingoldo for not allowing him to go with the warriors to the gates of Angband."

Vantaro was a youth of nearly thirteen. Though still scrawny, a fire burned in the youth that could only have come from his mother's side. Unlike his even tempered older brother, Vantaro actively sought out fights with the few other young ellyn his age. Ingoldo had become something of a surrogate father to him, but even he had a hard time wrangling the wiry elf. 

Vantaro had become a terrifyingly good shot though and the hunting had been good from the moment they had stepped foot in Hithlum. Vantaro reveled in the fame it brought him in camp when he'd return victorious with a doe or brace of rabbits. Luimëníssë could only hope the pastime would be a good vessel for the boy to pour his restlessness and ire.

Luimëníssë found her little brother kicking at the dirt beside the reindeer they had used to help travel the last of the ice. It would soon be time for the animals to be released back into the wild. Vantaro held out his palm under the nose of the beast, offering it half an apple.

"Look who this is, Itano," Luimëníssë whispered loudly to her son for his uncle to hear.

A swath of white hair tumbled over his broad forehead as he turned towards them. He had only half a smile and it was for the baby. He rubbed the top of the child's head.

"Good morning," he said, his voice not entirely dripping in sarcasm.

Luimëníssë arched her eyebrows and tried to tuck the hair back from his face. "Either you need to cut this fringe of yours a little shorter or tie it back. How can you see with it swinging in our eyes all the time."

Vantaro swatted her hand away with a familiar scowl. "Why do you care?"

"Because I don't like the idea of you tripping over a root then cracking your silly head open on a rock because you couldn't see where you were going," she retorted.

Vantaro kicked at the dirt with his scuffed boots, the toes splattered with blood from his hunting. "You hear about those traitors?"

Luimëníssë sighed. "They are our kin."

"Not everyone thinks that way anymore around here." He glared up at her. "But then again, not everyone here married one of them."

Trying not to wince at his words, she set down squirming Itano. A warm breeze gushed through the meadow where they had set up camp. Itano inspected the wild flowers at their feet as though they were a rare commodity. It was strange to think that he would never know the beauty of the land they had left behind. 

But even Luimëníssë had to admit that this new land had a certain charm to it as well. Everything felt harsher, yet it only enhanced the bittersweet landscape of Endor. Aman had eternity, but this pocket of Arda had only the present to relish life before it slipped away. 

"We must learn to live in peace," she said softly, peering down at her son. "I must learn to live in peace. Not for myself."

Vantaro sniffed and shifted his weight. "But I don't have to."

She stared after him as he strode away gripping his bow, his shoulders rigid. Her brow furrowed as Itano rose to his stubby legs and tried to follow his uncle. Ingoldo happened by at that moment and swept the child up from the ground, holding him high with one arm.

"I'm worried for him," she admitted to Ingoldo.

Ingoldo sighed. "The older he gets, the more difficult it is to talk sense to him."

"But he's always looked up to you. He depends on you. On Findekáno as well. He may not show it, but he does. He respects you both."

"He loves and respects you too." Ingoldo handed Itano back to her. "He is traversing a very confusing time in his life without his parents. His path is one that none of us here have ever traveled at such a young age. There is no one he can relate to. But he has a strong will. I'm not worried for his future, only the present."

There it was again. The present. The very moment where they now lived. They had waited so long for this day when they would finally reach a more permanent resting place. The past was all Luimëníssë thought of in those first days of the flight, the future being the only thing on her mind after Itano was born as they sojourned over leagues of ice. 

But the moment had finally come. They were in their new home. 

And she would see him again. Curvo. 

She still wasn't sure if it was a meeting she wanted. 

***

The dark haired Sinda could almost have fit in among the ellyn of the Fëanorian encampment on the northern end of Lake Mithrim. As the lanky elf made his way through the chaos of construction, he paused to study the quickly rising fortifications. The bare backs of Noldor elves gleamed with sweat in the newly born sun as they built up the wooden and stone structure. 

A series of short docks jutted out into the silvery water beyond, little currach boats and deer hide canoes bobbed beside them. Racks with drying animal skins and dripping strips of meat ready for the smoke house were lined by the rocky shore. 

The invaders had made quick work in a short time, just as his people had feared. The Sinda sneered at the sight and drew his silver cloak tighter around his neck. None of this interested him. He was a loner, his past too complicated for him to seek allegiance on either side. 

But he possessed an intense dislike for those who felt entitled to take what belonged to others. This land had been tamed and conquered by the Sindar, the ones the Noldor looked down on for not answering the call of the west. And yet, now they had returned without explanation. 

They paid well though. Better than old King Greymantle in his shrouded kingdom, his demigoddess wife hiding him from unfriendly eyes in the land of Doriath. Leaving the rest of them to fend for themselves. 

No. If he was going to take payment for spying, let it be from the Noldor against their own people. It amused him at least.

The grand blue and red tent at the center of the busy encampment was guarded by two haughty soldiers in gleaming breast plates. They eyed his muddy boots laced up to the thigh and his roughly sewn, doe skin tunic with prideful smirks.

"What do you want, grey elf?" One of them asked, spitting out the pit from the plum he was devouring.

"I have business with your masters. Tell the Lord Maglor that I bring him news."

The other guard rolled his eyes. "Maglor," he mimicked in the Sinda accent. "What a ghastly epessë. Why don't you call Lord Makalaurë by his given name?"

"Because you are no longer in your realm. You must learn our tongue if you are going to seek our help. Even Lord Maglor said so. All his brothers go by their Sinda names now."

"A dog's tongue," the guard replied sharply. "Very well. What is your own name then?"

"Celonion."

The elf with the plum jerked his chin towards the tent, the other obeying with a groan. Celonion ignored the self satisfied smirk on the Noldo's face as he waited, his heels sinking into the mud. The other guard emerged. 

"They'll see you now." 

"Much obliged," Celonion grumbled as he pushed past them into the tent.

As he walked into the sparsely decorated space, his shoes clicking on the wooden platform that had been erected under the tent, Celonion watched three of the infamous brothers talking at a circular table scattered with papers.

He had known them even before they had introduced themselves the first time he'd offered his services as a scout. The grave eyed but soft mouthed Maglor, a elf made for the harp, not war. Certainly not for the position of leadership he'd been thrust into of late. Caranthir, a vicious tongue, vindictive, who never forgot a slight, who had never been seen as much in his beloved father's eyes.

And Curufin. Once called Curvo. The elf with all his father's gifts, all his malice and coldness, but more sense. A sharp blade of a mind.

Celonion knew them all. Because he had once been one of their kind on the other side of the sea. In a past life before he had passed from the Halls of Mandos.

"Celonion, come forth." Maglor waved a hand for him to approach. "What news do you bring? Is it good?"

Celonion obeyed, his expression placid as the lake water outside. "Depends whose side you're on, I suppose."

"And what side do you stand on, grey elf?" Caranthir snarled, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring up at him from under a heavy brow.

Celonion gave a ghost of a smile. "None at all, my lord. Not anymore at least."