In the height of golden summer, the Year of the Trees 1490 in the brilliant month of Cermië, Nanwë gave birth to her last child. Her labor was the easiest of the three, according to Calarmo. After wrapping the freshly bathed newborn in a silken swaddling cloth, Luimëníssë brought him to the window of the birthing chamber to look upon the sea for the first time. She rested her nose against his soft head covered with a thick of tuft of white hair just like his grandfather Olwë's.

Her mother lay against the pillows, her dark hair spread around her and a light sheen of sweat on her forehead, but she was at peace. The weeks leading up to the birth had been difficult. Luimëníssë had spent many evenings at her side, speaking of lovely things as they embroidered or spun, anything to keep her mother's hands busy. She was too distracted in her final months even to study. So occupied with whatever vision she may receive at the birth, Nanwë could barely spend ten minutes at time in her books.

"He is perfect, amilye," she said, burying her face in his warm scent. The baby had barely cried when he was born, merely whined until he was wrapped and fed at his mother's breast. "The sweetest babe I've ever seen."

"The only one you've ever seen," her father teased as he came along side her and tickled the child under his chin. "But look at this, he brings a storm off the sea."

Rain pattered across the water and then gently over the gardens. It wasn't a tempest, only a soft summer rain, the droplets tinged with salt. Calarmo grinned, peering out over the garden.

"I suppose I can't blame you entirely for this, son," Calarmo commented wryly to the babe as he took him in his arms. "So what name shall I bestow upon you, hmm? I believe Calarion shall do for your mother will probably end up winning the debate of what to call you as she usually does. What say you, wife?"

They peered back at Nanwë. She was sitting up straight in bed, looking out at the rain, grey eyes filled with tears and her mouth parted. But her expression was not one of fear, only awe and then deepest remorse.

"Oh my little son," she breathed, blinking as trails of tears rolled down her pale cheeks.  

Luimëníssë rushed to her mother's side and grasped her hands. Her skin was ice cold. "What is it, amilye?"'

"This child will not stay with us long, I fear."

 Luimëníssë grabbed her throat, fear wrenching at her nerves. "What do you mean? What did you see? Was it a vision?"

Mother stirred and patted her daughter's hand. "It wasn't like that of you or your brother's. It seems that your little brother is born to wander. I saw a strange land, far from these blessed shores. He strode mountains and valleys clothed in rough raiment. But he was happy, or at least appeared to be. Then I saw the most wondrous, strange..."

"What?" Calarmo moved towards the bed.

Nanwë lifted her hands for her child and her husband complied. Nestling down into the pillows, the misty breeze drifting through the open window, she kissed the babe's downy forehead and held his tiny hand. "It was an orb, a golden orb lifting high into the sky, it's light blotting out the stars. It rose over the mountains and he turned to look. He smiled upon it as though it were a friend."

Luimëníssë released her breath and gave a laugh. "This is a lovely thing. You see, mother, you had nothing to fear."

Shaking her head,  Nanwë kissed the baby's hand, her eyes closing. "But I fear it means he will leave us someday and travel far, too far to return. I believe the land he wandered was to the east, the dark lands of our past, for it was wild and unsettled. For this, he shall be called Vantaro, for his feet shall carry him far."

Calarmo settled on the bed next to his wife and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. "You see, my love, already you upstage me with his name."

Stepping backwards towards the door, Luimëníssë left her parents to quietly fawn over their child. Though it was not a vision of doom and evil, her mother's words haunted her. The image of the golden orb in the sky was as vivid to her as if she had seen it herself. She had never given the lands to the east much thought. She knew her grandfather had traveled from them to the realm of Valinor and that there were still those of their kind that remained in the shadows there, far from the light of the trees. But she had never heard of one leaving Aman to return. 

Unless her little brother was destined to be very adventurous indeed, she wondered what would drive him to those alien shores if indeed her mother's vision came true. She didn't allow herself to consider her own fate, her mother's words at her birth of a great wave of water.

As she descended the opalescent staircase, she heard the grand doors at the front of their home open. Náretarnon's congenial voice echoed through the hall as he laughed with a servant that met him there. Luimëníssë raced towards him, her lavender skirts flying as she leaped into his arms and he twirled her.

"Little Bell!" He laughed. "Have I arrived in time?"

"Only just, the babe has arrived. Born this afternoon, mother and father are swooning over him upstairs," she related to him as he set her down.

"Him? So it is another son? Father will be pleased, you're all the daughter he can handle."

"Stop it!" She swatted him on the arm.

With a warm chuckle, he scanned the hall. "It is very good to be home," he sighed.

"We weren't expecting you till the Naming Ceremony. Why are you home early?"

A shadow passed over his naturally merry countenance. Though his coloring and noble bearing favored the dark elegance of a pure Noldor, his nature was exactly the same as their warm and kindhearted cousin Ingoldo. He wasn't prone to fits of temper and was as welcoming as their father. Luimëníssë had worshiped him when she was a child and could only hope she could be as much of a loving influence on Vantaro as Náretarnon had been to her.

"Is there something wrong?" She pressed when met with a thoughtful silence.

"Perhaps it's best I tell you now. I was going to wait to speak with father of it later. I didn't want to bother mother when she was concerned with the new baby. It's our kin in Tirion. There has been some trouble, I'm sure father has heard the rumors but much has occurred in the past few days."

He led her to an alcove looking out onto a balcony slick with rain, a quatrain of white doves flitting in the roses outside. Running a hand through his thick curls, Náretarnon peered across the bay with a grimace.

"Our cousin Fingolfin has taken over the High Seat of the Noldor."

Luimëníssë gasped. "What has happened to Lord Finwë? Is he well?"

"He is fine. Only... he has chosen to follow his son Fëanor into exile in Formenos. Fëanor's sons have gone away as well."

"But what could have happened for such a thing to occur?" Her mind spun as she recalled the dread in the words of Curvo and Rembano, alluding to unrest in the city of the Noldor. But she didn't think anything so drastic would occur. "And Curvo is with his father as well?"

Her brother nodded solemnly. "I know you mentioned that you two did not part on the best of terms last year, but he remembered you to me before he left for Formenos. He said that he hoped that the troubles in Tirion would not invade Alqualondë for your sake. Though it's odd to think of someone as self possessed as Curvo having tender feelings for someone, I believe he admired you, sister."

Guilt stung her like a wasp and she brushed the memory of her last words to the Fëanorean away. "But you have not told me why Fëanor was exiled."

"He drew a sword on Fingolfin, his own brother, and threatened his life. In front of the Mindon and many witnesses in the city streets. Lord Fingolfin was unarmed. The Valar saw it fit to exile him for twelve years and Lord Finwë chose to follow him. He is devoted to his eldest son." Náretarnon cringed. "I do not wish to sound uncharitable towards him, but I do not believe that is a wise decision on his part to indulge Fëanor's whims."

"Is this why you have returned? Because of the unrest?"

Náretarnon gave a gentle smile. "It made me think of my own family, our simple life here. We are a very happy family, aren't we? I didn't realize how rare that was. I have decided to continue learning my craft here in Alqualondë among my own kin. The Teleri are not as advanced in their skills, but they are content and at peace. Like you, Little Bell."

Luimëníssë obliged him with a smile. As she walked back to her chamber to rest after the day's exertions in the birthing room, she tugged out the chain from under her gown. The ring Rembano had gifted her hung on it. She slipped it onto her forefinger and pressed her lips to the black pearl. 

It had been a year since their parting. Days to months, she hung onto the promise Rembano had given that he would always return to her. With this news, she felt a surge of hope she would see him again soon. Surely he was one of the Noldor who wished to see Fingolfin in power. The wiser and more even tempered of the two eldest sons of Lord Finwë, he represented the order and control that Rembano had said he wished to see. Now with Fëanor far in the north to cool his temper for a decade or so, things could come to rights once again. The unrest was over. And Rembano would come back for her.

Another thought pricked at the back of her mind. Her brother's words concerning Curvo were disconcerting. He had said he hoped that the troubles would not invade Alqualondë. But how could they? The Teleri were not quarrelsome like the Noldor. As Náretarnon has said, they were at peace. She was certain that Curvo was only being morose, perhaps a little sharp in his words, hoping to take away from her own happiness.

Though she had not been content in the year that Rembano had been away, she would soon be happier than ever in her young life. When Rembano told her parents of his intentions and they could be officially betrothed, she could look forward to their life together. 

The memory of her parents with tiny Vantaro in their arms filled her with glee. Leaping onto her own bed, she squealed at the thought of her and Rembano someday beaming over an infant of their own, perhaps with his golden eyes and her silver hair. Theirs would be the loveliest babe ever to grace Aman, of this she was certain.

But another five years passed without word from Rembano. 

Alqualondë remained much the same. The swan ships sailed gracefully past their cove. The sea birds mated and migrated with each turn of the season. She looked for him with each passing month but still, there was no sign of the mysterious ellon who had stolen her heart only to vanish. 

Vantaro grew up much like her; adventurous to a fault. It wasn't long before she was taking him into the sea on quiet days to dive at shallow depths for sea shells. His hair, as white as their grandfather Olwë's, grew long enough to cover his tiny shoulders freckled by the light of Laurelin, the Tree he claimed to be his best friend. He ran wild among the gardens, terrorizing his nurses with his antics as he climbed trees and walls. At three years old, he had the entire household in an uproar one afternoon when he went missing. Náretarnon found him at the fading of Laurelin. Vantaro was curled up asleep in a distant meadow and coated head to foot in mud. 

Vantaro was so easy to love, Luimëníssë wondered if she could ever love her own child as much as him. Náretarnon settled in comfortably at home, taking up residence in the city to be closer to the forge. Their family was complete. 

But Luimëníssë was not content. Not while Rembano stayed away. 

She couldn't imagine what kept him from her side. She tried not to despair but it grew more difficult, certainly as her parents began to question her about her views on taking a mate. One evening, after such a conversation with her mother ended awkwardly, Luimëníssë stood at the balcony of her room overlooking the sea. She peered down towards the cove where she had seen him last, the night they had exchanged rings. The words he had told her felt as alive then as they had all those years earlier, they burned in her chest and soon she was fighting back tears.

She blinked against them, squinting in the early light of Telperion, when she caught sight of movement down in the cove. She peered down, gripping the railing as a tall figure in a black cloak walked along the sand. Rubbing her eyes, she stared towards the shore once more but the figure was gone. 

Telling herself that she had imagined it, unwilling to lend herself to hope, she flopped down onto her bed, the pearl ring on her finger. Curling between the sheets, she closed her eyes to let her mind rest. Her dreams were deep and she only stirred when small hands shook her to wakefulness.

"Nésaya."  Vantaro hovered at her bedside dressed in a night shirt that matched his ghostly swath of hair. His eyes, dark grey like their mother's, were wide. Something was strange about the room, but in her disoriented state, Luimëníssë couldn't tell what it was. "Luimëníssë, something is wrong. I think Telperion is ill."

Luimëníssë pushed her silver curls from her face and rose from the bed, gripping her little brother's hand in her own as they walked out onto the balcony. The stars were brilliant over the sea, but there was a deep darkness covering the land. It hovered over the Holy Mountain and the City of the Valar. 

It was the Trees. 

The light of eternally golden Laurelin and her resplendent mate Telperion was smothered.