There is nothing out of the ordinary on the eastern border of Doriath, and then, abruptly, there is a brilliant light.
A crown of black iron, bent and twisted as though crushed by some terrible force, set with three shining white jewels of surpassing beauty, lands on the forest floor. There is no sign of where it might have come from or who might have put it there.
He starts walking. The guards melt into the forest. It's a stunningly pretty forest.
"It knows us and loves us," Melian says. She has not pulled herself together; she looks like she's made of stone, her lips don't move when she speaks, and she's gliding rather than walking.
"What kinds of - things - do you need? Here?"
"What do you eat, where do you most comfortably sleep, what do you prefer to wear, are there things we can do for the pain - with ordinarily oaths confinement helps with that, I don't know if it'd do anything for contradicting ones..."
"There is nothing you can do for the pain. I find that comforting, actually, it's logically impossible to torture me if the extent of my suffering cannot be affected by any means and that is a good thing to know when one has recently angered Melkor. I sleep best in seclusion. I am not sure whether I have preferences about food or clothing."
"Okay.
Do you want to meet your sister."
"Very much so."
They keep walking. Birds chirp in the forest. Streams bubble merrily.
It is a very well-put-together forest. She said that already. She can't think of anything else to say.
Conflicting oaths is an abstractly fascinating state of being. She doesn't have willpower anymore. There is no feeling there, no feeling anywhere in her mind except intense suffering. But she can still do things. She just has to - approach the problem from a different angle. Hauling the crown here from Angband was good practice; willpower wasn't the optimal strategy there either, although it still existed. In a way, her entire life has been good practice. Just as she once constructed a version of herself who had no morals, now she constructs a version of herself who still has the capacity to form preferences and act on them.
And they reach the wide meadow outside Menegroth, the bridge across the river, the trees reaching far up overhead.
It's a very beautiful meadow and bridge and so on. Shirask would like to smile at it. She can't feel joy anymore. She thinks about this, as they cross the meadow. Even before she destroyed all of her emotions, her smiles were not normally expressions of joy as such. More like despair filtered through her sense of humour. She has plenty of despair available, and her sense of humour still seems to be operative.
By the time they reach the bridge, she has successfully produced a smile, a much nicer one than the one she wore when she made her oath at the border. She directs it at the scenery.
They are appropriately flattered to see her smile.
And then someone emerges from the entrance to Menegroth, flanked of course by more guards.
They look exactly alike.
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