Heart of Flame: A Tale Of Sauron

Fire and Snow

She didn't blossom as other expectant ellith. She burned. The spark that had begun on the shores of Aman flared as they traveled north into the frozen wastes that connected Middle Earth to the Blessed Realm. Her skin glowed as though she stood in the leafy embrace of Laurelin. As the babe grew, the more she seethed, the flames of that extraordinary life filling from her feet and down the length of her silver hair.

"They say Fëanor's mother appeared like this during her pregnancy..." Iríssë whispered to Artanis as they sat at her side, the icy winds of the Helcaraxë whipping the tent walls. "Delirious with heat."

"At least she doesn't feel the cold. See how she perspires? As though she stands in the very heart of the forge of Aulë. The baby isn't due for weeks yet and still she grows and burns," Artanis replied as she mopped their cousin's damp forehead.

Vantaro huddled in a corner, his eyes narrowing. "Fëanor's mother died because of him. What if this kinslayer's brat does the same to my sister?"

Artanis and Iríssë exchanged a worried glance. Iríssë reached out to place a comforting hand on his shivering shoulder. Vantaro pulled away violently, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

"If she dies, I will have no one left. I swear I will kill the kinslayer and as many of his cursed brothers that I can get my hands on. I will wring the life from their worthless necks." He tore from the tent, striding out into the frozen dark. Iríssë took after him, leaving Artanis alone with Luimëníssë as she tossed restlessly on a pile of furs and linen.

Artanis pressed a cool cloth once more to her face. Luimëníssë snatched her wrist, her bloodshot eyes opening wide as she lifted herself up, hair damp at her temples and tangled around her shoulders.

"I want my mother," she rasped from her parched throat.

"I know, dear one."

"I want my mother. She should be here. This was not how it was supposed to be."

"I know, I know-"

"I want him."

Artanis swallowed hard. "Who, dear one? Vantaro?"

"No, no. I want to see him again-"

"We will see your husband again soon. I know it."

Luimëníssë's grip on her wrist tightened. "But you don't understand. I will never see him again. He is gone from me. Forever."

She was not speaking of Curvo. "Who is, Luimëníssë?"

Eyes rolling into the back of her head, she released Artanis and dropped off into a fitful sleep.

***

It was called the Dagar-nuin-Giliath, the battle under the stars. Upon their arrival at the banks of the Lake Mithrim, the hordes of Morgoth closed in on the army of Fëanor. Flaming demons, once great maiar of Aulë, rose up like beacons of death through the mountain passes of the Ered Wethrin, then descended down upon the Noldor with werewolves and troops of orcs.

Curvo stood with his brothers, back to back with Tyelkormo, as they faced down their enemies. Their bodies glowed with the power and light of Valinor that still filled their veins, their father burning brightest of all as he unleashed his rage on the enemy. The orcs could not withstand them.

A massive werewolf on it's hind feet lunged repeatedly towards Curvo, only to be driven back by his defense, his blade too keen for it's teeth. The golden eyes of the wolf scrutinized him with disturbing sentience, as though the beast knew him. As though the creature were seeking a vendetta of it's own against the favored son of Fëanor.