Chapter Text
Of Ordinances
There stood a solitary house perched on the edge of a sheer cliff.
The skies reverberated with the raucous cries of Great Eagles and the thunderous flaps of their majestic wings as they soared through the vast expanse, crafting their nests within the rugged, rocky enclaves. Beyond, an endless sea of rolling clouds billowed, coalesced, and dispersed with each frigid gust of wind, creating a breathtaking and ever-changing spectacle.
Sometimes, the clouds gave way to land below. Beyond the jagged mountain peaks where Almáriel lived, she could see the scattered valleys and thick forests, rivers winding like a trail of ants, and the distant civilisations of Men, appearing as nothing more than faint stars in the sky.
Almáriel sat perched on the roof's edge, her eyes fixed on the unfathomable abyss below. The rugged, imposing walls of the mountain seemed to taunt her, daring her to surrender to the depths and offer up her blood and bones to the darkness. It had been over three millennia, yet she remained locked in a haunting contemplation, wrestling with the idea of whether she possessed the right to terminate the enduring purgatory of her existence.
Her long, ebony tresses swayed gracefully in the embrace of the ever-present wind, carrying with it haunting memories that seemed to whisper in the air. With a delicate hand, she brushed the dark strands away from her face, their inky hue forming a striking contrast against her radiant, luminous skin. Leaning her head gently against her hand, she let out a soft, quivering sigh, her full lips upturned in a hint of a contented smile as she immersed herself in a harp's ethereal, resonating notes. In the silence of music, her thoughts screamed the loudest, a cacophony of longing and regret.
She was consumed by an overwhelming sense of fatigue, her body throbbing with the weight of unforgivable transgressions. Her yearning was not for an end to life but freedom from the constraints of Arda. She harboured a deep longing to venture to the realm where mortal souls find their ultimate destination.
For Almaniel knew what it was like to die.
It was not cold. It was not an overwhelming beauty, nor was there a light she needed to reach for. There was no heavenly choir.
It was sad.
Nothing mattered but the slow darkness that managed to creep under your eyelids as if it were sleep.
It was not pervasive. It was nature. It was numbing.
It was a tragedy for the young and a right of passage for the old.
She wanted to have no yesterday and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace. She had wanted to vanish so completely that even she would not remember herself. No feelings... No memories... just the freedom of oblivion.
But she failed in Death just as she failed in life—for she never reached the final destination; her soul was too heavy and marred to ever soar to the far beyond.
She found solace in music, each note a lifeline in the stormy sea of her thoughts and anguish, but the music was but a bandage upon an open wound. The torment: a symphony, a heartbreaking melody of sorrow and despair; the agony: a ravenous beast, gnawing at her insides with relentless hunger; the pain: a labyrinth, a complex web of suffering with no clear exit.
For this was the weight of repentance for the sins of the House of Fëanor.
Each breath felt like shards of glass in her lungs. Almáriel let out a shuddering exhale, hands clenching into fists. She nodded jerkily and then coughed once, twice, and she curled into herself. Her grey eyes clenched shut as her delicate face twisted. A hand grasped her chest in futile desperation while the other cupped over her mouth. Blood spluttered. She stifled the groan.
The music abruptly ceased, leaving behind a haunting echo in the air, filled by the sound of hurried footsteps. Almáriel, her heart racing, swiftly wrapped her bloodied hand in the folds of her cloak, determined to conceal any evidence of the turmoil within her soul. She meticulously wiped her mouth of any lingering traces of the illness that plagued her soul, her movements calculated and precise.
The heavy door burst open with a resounding bang, and Maglor dashed out, his movements quick and urgent. He spun around to meet her, his eyes widening with worry. "What's happened? Are you okay?"
“I’m fine, Atar, ” she said softly with a warm smile. Her heart was slowly consumed by the relentless weight of guilt, “I held my breath a bit too long.”
“You scare me too much, hinya,” he sighed in relief.
This was why she endured. This ellon made eternity bearable. One of the few who understood. They said, blood on your hands. As though it stopped there, at your wrist, like a glove. As though you do it, and any part of you was not stained or dripping.
Her father.
Like her, he wished to be a pacifist, but you couldn’t truly call yourself “peaceful” if you’re capable of great violence— if you had caused blood to paint a valley red. And if you’re not capable of violence, you’re not peaceful; you’re harmless.
It was an important distinction. Despite her fervent wishes, she was anything but peaceful and harmless.
He was the reason she dared to bargain for the House of Fëanor. For his peace and freedom, she raised hell in Aman.
“Play more, Atar,” she urged, “I want to hear more.”
His dark hair fluttered in the wind, and his smile caused his grey eyes to crinkle. "Only if you sing," he bargained.
“You always say that,” she said as she rose to her feet and leapt off the roof, knees breaking the fall. She smiled teasingly, “One day, I won’t be—”
Her face turned pale with a sudden thrum reverberated through her.
Almáriel let out a sharp gasp, her entire body jolting as waves of pain coursed through her nerves and her knees gave out. As she crumbled and began to fall, Maglor caught her, his strong arms wrapping around her, his voice full of worry, a distant whisper. Her pupils dilated. Ragged breath. Unfocused eyes darted everywhere and nowhere, waves of shock coursing through her as a tormenting voice howled in her ears.
minas anor
go
take
heed
go
minas
arnor
go
GO
"Almáriel," Maglor called out, his voice filled with urgency. Gently, he held her jaw and turned her face towards him, his eyes searching hers for any sign of recognition. " Hinya," he tried again, his voice filled with desperation.
Unfocused eyes came into focus, and Almáriel took in a sharp breath, melting into her father, who sighed in relief. Her breath kept coming in short, sharp bursts, and Maglor coaxed her breathing back into pace with gentle strokes on her back.
“Did they ask something of you?” he asked, but his tone and expression made it clear that he was stating rather than asking.
They both knew it was the Valar. It was not the first time she had crumpled down when she heard their voice, for her obedience was the price of freeing the House of Fëanor from their oath.
When she set out long ago, she knew vows you can’t renege, or else you suffer so terribly that death would be a mercy. She knew doom would befall anyone who made an oath.
But she had done worse for less.
The price demanded to release the House of Fëanor from their binding vow was an oath to follow the will of the Valar. However, the situation was far from simple. The souls of the House of Fëanor were deeply scarred, twisted, and mangled by the atrocities they had committed. The sins and sorrow of their victims could not be easily erased.
Almáriel took it all upon herself: the weight of their sins, the enduring scars, the unrelenting agony.
Exile .
This family of hers were kinslayers. They killed thousands of their kind relentlessly and mercilessly. It was as if she was destined to be with them, for she was worse.
She killed tens of thousands of her kind. Not for any great purpose or a compulsion to obey an oath but because she was told to.
She killed her clan.
She had died to save her family and brother once. The weight of these sins was nothing like the weight she had borne before. And the price of being a mindless drone was nothing to a shinobi.
Sometimes, cryptic orders led her on a wild goose chase.
Grow a tree that bears fruit.
Find a clover with four leaves.
Find a seashell with the song of the sea
Eat ten kinds of berries.
Go to the hill where a blue tree blooms.
Hunt a bear.
Then, they gave her missions.
Sing a song into a gem.
Free the Field of Celebrant of Orcs
Hunt a dragon.
But they were determined to punish her for her fiendish havoc, for some ordinances were relentless.
Never conspire against the children of Illuvatar.
Never harm an Edain unless they have drawn thy blood.
Never lay hand or blade upon an Eldar.
Never say what thou are not.
Never say thy name.
“I will be gone for a bit, Atar.” Almáriel couldn't help but let out a soft chuckle as she gently squeezed the hand resting against her jaw.
She would not fail.
She would save her family.
Itachi Uchiha refused to fail again.
“Almáriel,” Maglor started, his eyes narrowing with silent anger, “Why is there blood on your hand?”