Danafinwe Feaelenion Feanorian (Book 1)

Alqualondë

"Where will we find ships? We are not that sort of craftsmanship," Curvo asks. He mutters not even I'm that kind of craftsman.

Curvo may not be, but I very well am. Tyavro, Malin's Grandfather, taught me years ago. Not only did I bring my drafts of a new kind of ship with me to Formenos, but I also taught Turca how to steer. He was curious, so I obliged only to get him out of my hair.

I grab Curvo's chin and turn his head towards Alqualondë—the home of the swan ships.

'Alqualondë,' Curvo pushes my hand off his face. He glares up at me, almost daring me to touch his face again. 'If we are to cross the sundering sea like Grandfather, we will need a shipwright,'

"We'll need a shipwright." Nelyo walks over. He towers over us. A lit flame hovers by his face. He looks older than he is. Not a year ago, he turned two hundred and eighty-two. Still young.

Ambarussa is barely one hundred and thirty-nine. So young. I can still feel the weight they were when they were born. This is no place for Ambarussa. But here they are. Marching right alongside us.

'I just mentioned that,'

"Oh,"

"Come, my children. Alqualondë awaits us." Father rallies.

Among our host of people are our cousins and uncles.

Our trek through Valinor is harsh. It's as if someone is warning us. Urging us to go back. Back to the darkness, to the place where grandfather was murdered.

I can't. I can't face that place. Not yet. It's too painful.

We walk through the darkness. The only light comes from the flames held up by torches and my own powers. We continue to walk in the darkness left by Melkor. The march seems to take forever. The darkness surrounding us is oppressive. It's everywhere, and nothing I do can make it leave.

Hours later, we reach Alqualondë. The great Pearl City. We are let in and escorted to the castle. From there our host is left outside while Father, myself and my brothers are shown to King Olwe. The king sits on his throne, his family standing around him. His whole family. 

"King Olwe, I bid you to lend us your ships," Father bows to King Olwe. The blonde-haired king nods to Father. A sign of respect. 

"What happens if I say yes?" King Olwe purses his lips. He's unsure. 

"We will leave these shores and find the menace who tore the light from my family," Father states.

"And if I say no, will you leave peacefully?" He's not going to lend us aid. 

"You are not going to allow us to use your ships? What friend of my father's are you? Does his memory mean so little to you?" Father growls. His temper flares. This will end poorly. Once Father's temper flares, the civility will be gone, and King Olwe will have every right to have us thrown out of his city. 

This is why I should have done the talking. If only I could speak aloud. 

"Leave Alqualondë. Repent. Find peace in Tirion. Allow the Valar to deal with Melkor," King Olwe states. Dismissing Father. 

Father's eye twitches. He turns on his heel and heads towards the exit. Having good sense, I bow before leaving. If only for the sake of political relations. When we return, we'll need to make nice with Olwe. I will need to make nice with the King. Father will do no such thing after this slight.

Father leads me and my brothers out of the castle. 'We're not turning back, are we?'

'We are not.'