"I can't prove it, but - I think Melkor started Nolofinwë's fight with Father.  Maybe Nolofinwë will think better of it now."

Oh no, she really ought to know who they are, if they're important enough to have a feud with Nolofinwë, especially one that isn't sufficiently one-sided that he might think better of it.

If only she hadn't spent most of her life deliberately ignoring everything about any visitor that her parents entertained, especially if they expected her to sing for them.

"It seems that mending the problems he'd caused did not, in fact, rule out him causing additional problems?" she offers.

Makalaurë notices that she's nervous about them, not just about Melkor.  "Don't worry," he says.  "We won't refuse anyone who's willing to join us to come to Middle-Earth and fight Melkor.  Not even Nolofinwë himself, if he comes."

Lirtë just nods at first, then realises nobody can see her do that and feels foolish about it.

"Thank you," she says, which she thinks is at least within the set of answers they might be expecting. She's not actually all that sure that she wants to go to Middle-Earth and fight Melkor, but she's not exactly going to say that to the much more prepared people who are willing to let her tag along for now on the assumption that she's going to do that.

"Um," she says after a few moments, "but isn't Melkor here, and not in Middle-Earth?"

"Even I'm sure the Valar would be doing something if he's still here - and then we'd feel it, just like our fathers felt the rumblings at Cuiviénen the last time they were fighting him.  So he must've fled to Middle-Earth... and yes, Tyelkormo, maybe they're about to go fight him there too, but even so that doesn't change all the other reasons to go."

Lirtë is still less than sure about what all those other reasons are; from what little she does know about history, at least, if not politics, people are not necessarily as interested in welcoming 'we have so much to offer and we're sure you can use our help' as the helpers might anticipate.

But she's not exactly going to say that. Maybe if she just nods and follows along, Makalaurë will start singing again - not that she will admit that she likes the singing, but the picture it was weaving was interesting.

Makalaurë doesn't start singing again.  After a few minutes, he asks her, "How are your parents?"

"They were doing fine when I last saw them." It's an entirely true statement, and she doesn't really feel like explaining that she did not, in fact, check in on them before heading out into the darkness.

"As much as any of us are fine," someone murmurs.

After a little while, a discussion starts up about the best ways to light Middle-Earth, or how much light really should be used there.  If they can't recover the Silmarils at once, would it be better to light a lot of torches, or just depend on stars?  Several people who've spent a lot of time on the coasts with the Teleri are sure that the stars are good enough (once they're out of this Un-Light), but other people are doubting.  After all, the Valar did give more light... and they've got the Treelight still in the Silmarils.

Someone suggests that the Dark Elves are probably used to starlight, but Makalaurë and Nelyafinwë both insist that they'll like the brighter light too, when they see it.  After all, wasn't the original plan to use the Silmarils to light up as much of Middle-Earth as they could?

Lirtë resists the urge to verbally agree with the person who suggests the people they want to help are probably used to starlight, although it's probably fairly apparent that she agrees if anyone's watching her. Mostly she is desperately attempting to put together what, in fact, is a Silmaril, exactly. Which she feels like she very much ought to know, and doesn't want to reveal the abject depths of her ignorance by asking, especially as it seems to be quite a sore topic.

Soon - or perhaps not soon; time is hard to measure in the Un-Light - they can hear the many bells of Valmar tolling out a slow dirge such as had never been heard from those bells before.

The city itself has a few torches burning, but only a few.

Not even the dimmest of dim lights comes from the hill of the Two Trees.

Even though she's never been here before, there is something very wrong about there being no light from that hill; even more wrong than, well, everything else which is wrong.

But every time she starts to get upset about it, her horse starts to shy and she has to calm her down, which helpfully has the effect of calming herself down.

"If you don't mind me asking," she asks softly, "what is the plan?"

"Tell Father the sad news.  And then..."  He pauses.  "Get everything together to leave for Middle-Earth right away."

"Unless the Valar have a better plan."

"Yes, unless they are bestirring themselves to finally do something good now.  Or, I suppose, unless Father has a better idea."

Lirtë nods; hopefully she will finally find out who she has thrown her lot in with, once they find their father.

"Do we have a plan to find him?" she asks; the task of finding anyone in the utter darkness, even though it is punctured here and there with torchlight, seems rather more difficult than it might otherwise be.

"I'm sure people will know where he is, unless..."  His voice chokes.  "Unless Melkor destroyed him too."

Tyelkormo pauses.  "Shall we ask in Valmar?"

Makalaurë shakes his head.  "He wouldn't have gone there.  To the Ring of Doom."

He turns toward the hill of Ezellohar, where the Two Trees should be illuminating all the land... but now it is as dark as anything else in the Un-Light.

As if at his words, however, a wind sprang up; from the hill, and down into the valley where they stood, it chased away the Unlight. The Hill was still an awful darkness, a nothingness where there should be dazzling light, but the heavy, unnatural shadows were banished away, and the lights of Varda were revealed in the sky.

With the wind, but travelling swiftly away to the north, was a thunder that shook the ground; the thunder of hooves, as the Vala of the Hunt gave chase.

All of this, of course, excited Lópa no end, and although it was with less distress that she tried to tug away, she still took some considerable attention to settle.

Tyelkormo throws his head back, breathing deeply the free air and gazing up at the star-spangled skies.  "Ah Varda Light-Bringer -" he cries.  And then - "Upward!  We bring dreadful news but no longer hopeless!"

The seven sons of Fëanor - scarcely caring who's behind them - hasten up the hill where they can now see the ghastly corpses of the Two Trees in front of them, such corpses as had never been before in Aman, where even the body of Miriel had lain incorrupt in the gardens of Lorien.

But around the dead Trees are gathered the Valar, clad in bodies like the Elves as in raiment; but an odor and sense and light of power shows around and through their bodies, like an Elf's flesh might show through an inexpertly-woven robe.  In the darkness, only with effort could one move one's eyes to look at anyone else.  Many are sitting on the ground still, for their thrones had been defiled, but Mandos is standing in front of - someone - as if he had just spoken.  Nienna is standing by the corpse of the Silver Tree and singing slowly a song of mourning, both in spoken words and in wordless osanwë.

That... is a rather stunning scene. She expected Lópa to startle again, but in fact her horse is - trying to lie down, and neighing softly along with the song?

She supposes Lópa is probably due a rest, and doesn't stop her. She distracts herself by counting off the Valar from the poetic descriptions she has heard of them; while it is true that everything is broken and terrible, she doesn't really think internalising this completely is going to help just now.

Nelyafinwë, with a mere glance at the Valar, throws up his empty hands and strides into the circle. "Blood and darkness in the North!  For Finwë the King is slain, and the Silmarils are gone!"

(There is a wordless cry in an Elven voice from someone next to the Valar, but no one heeds it.)

Manwë raises slowly his head.  "Alas!  How came this?"

Only then does Nelyafinwë bow before Manwë.

"My lord, it was the day of festival, but the king was heavy with grief; a foreboding was on him.  He would not go from the house.  But we went riding toward the Green Hills.  And suddenly, we were aware that all was growing dim.  The Light was failing.  In dread, we turned and rode back in haste, seeing great shadows rise up before us.  But even as we drew near to Formenos, the Un-Light came upon us.

"We heard the sound of great blows struck.  Out of the cloud we saw a sudden flame of fire.  And then there was one piercing cry.  But when we urged on our horses they reared and cast us to the ground and fled away wild.  We lay upon our faces without strength, for suddenly the cloud came on, and for a while we were blind.  But it passed us by and moved away north at great speed.  Melkor was there, we do not doubt.  But not he alone!  Some other power was with him, some great evil.

"Darkness and blood!  When we could move again, we came to the house.  There we found -"

His voice chokes, but he continues.  "- We found the King slain at the door.  His head was crushed as with a great mace of iron, his sword lying beside him twisted and untempered as if by lightning-stroke.  We found none other; all had fled, and he had stood alone defiant."