PART ONE: Leap of Fate
Every day Isoldis asked her sister Tynuilos, when will she go west? It had become the refrain of a hymn recited daily perhaps at dawn, or otherwise whenever the two maidens might share each others’ company, and when Tynuilos was away on business concerning the Laiquendi Order, Isoldis would scribe her hymn to parchment and send the tiny packages by courier or ferry, sometimes in triplicate, suspecting the postal system to be unreliable in distant regions where lands were unclaimed or since lost to the elves.
In truth, Isoldis had little else to do amid the endless days of waiting for her sister to acquiesce to her demands, and long she brooded upon her hastily made promise to her parents, that she would stay by Tynuilos’ side all the while they dwelled in Arda. Tynuilos had always been the favoured daughter, the brightest star woven into their parents’ night sky, the shining example of Teleri made-best and never was wrong done by her hand or uttered from her mouth; which made all the more surprise and shock when she leapt from the tall sailing ship into the swirling waters of the Lhûn, as the Teleri vessel glided westward from the harbour, upon the final stage of that Great Journey. Like a single white feather loosed from a elegant flock of swans, Tynuilos took wild and instant flight upon the breath of Manwë, throwing herself into the arms of Ulmo, at the mercy of a fate fast carved from impulse.
Stunned, and physically unable to retrieve their firstborn daughter from the swirling depths, both parents, desperate and frantic, immediately entreated their remaining daughter, Isoldis, to follow suit; agreeing to be parted from both daughters whom might protect and care for each other, lest they should never see one of them again! Thus, it came to be, that in spite of all the long hours Isoldis had spent dreaming of the west and was fully ready in her heart to travel the straight road, Tynuilos’ actions wrought an iron chain that yanked Isoldis back to Middle-earth, at the very moment of her journey’s end.
Upon an oath she swore to please her parents, Isoldis delved deeply into the wide and wet mouth of the Lhûn to join her sister, swimming back to shore and recanting her oath breathlessly to a horrified Tynuilos. The flaxen haired sword-wielder had not considered that her impulsive actions would reverberate upon her younger sister and was in much regret that they ever should! Yet, Tynuilos was equally consumed by the urge to linger a while longer in Middle-earth and could not forsake the unseen will that drove her to such desperate behaviour, although she could not explain its reasoning. And whilst Isoldis could understand Tynuilos’ remorse, she had never been blessed with the same graces as her sweeter sibling and spent a long while cold in mood and speaking not a word in kindness or otherwise, as the two maidens wandered upon path through Eriador that led into places unknown, and never before seen.
Tynuilos wished to explore far and wide, yet in respect of her sulking sister, the Teleri maiden accepted the offer of respite at the sanctuary gate of the Laiquendi Order; a clan of reacquainted elves housed in Ered Luin, whose heritage lie deep in the forests of Ossiriand, err the destruction of Beleriand. Feeling immediately at home among a kind whom mostly proffered Nandorin decent and from which their own mother made claim, Tynuilos could not have felt more welcomed, yet, Isoldis was the opposite of her sister in every respect, from her short cropped raven locks to her up- turned nose, and she preferred to keep herself private among the green elves, long after Tynuilos had openly embraced the Order and made all its traditions her own. Perhaps it was her Teleri nature that had Tynuilos fast becoming at one with the order, or perhaps it was another Teleri-born elf that governed Tynuilos’ choice to linger at the sanctuary, for a raven haired shipwright did catch her eye and fast steal her heart in the full flushes of utter infatuation, yet, nothing was ever to come of it then, moreover, its future impact would prove to be the anchor at the end of Isoldis’ iron chain.
Here, must be told the sorry tale of love that had no voice, for no sooner had Tynuilos’ heart been lost to a wise and gentle Lord, than he did depart fully westward err she had chance to reveal her feelings. Thus, Tynuilos was to grieve long and painfully upon that sudden turn of events, not least because she developed a fear to ever go west, lest she discover the truth of unrequited love. Too great a foe Tynuilos could not face, and would sooner die in battle against the legions of darkness, or wither into the shadows of night than step one foot upon the shores of Aman, unloved for an eternity. Thus, Tynuilos sought solace in her duties at the sanctuary in the name of her beloved Lord, in aid of the newly appointed Tur, and to actively seek reasons to be tied to Middle-earth, in denial of the west. And whilst Tynuilos travelled, under the Order’s green banner of diplomacy, Isoldis tended to the gardens at her sister’s house or sewed great scenes of battle into tapestries to be hung upon the walls, or embroidering intricate wreaths of flowers into the soft furnishings, occasionally, offering her diverse tailoring skills to members of the Order who were in need, and it was of some armoury request that she was summoned to meet with a Noldor Lord in Rivendell, or so she had imagined.
His name was Mittanyaro, yet nothing else Isoldis knew of him until they met in the secluded vale of Imlad Gelair, where, quickly he began to recite poetry and rushed forth with his admiration like a gushing stream that crashes recklessly over jagged rocks. Upon liking Isoldis’ eyes to the Silmarils, she could suffer his mockery no more, for she was well aware that Tynuilos was by far the fairer sister and let loose her blazing scold upon Mittanyaro that should make foes tremble at the knees. Yet, the Noldo Lord did not crumble under the maiden’s wrath nor cave inward but rather opined that, firstly, he should tame his affections, given that Isoldis was unaccustomed to hearing praise and secondly, that the method to enter her heart was by deed over words, for she had already deemed this her wisdom and judgement and although this would be a great undertaking for the shield-bearer Mittanyaro, his courage lacked not.
Still, and by his own blunder, he found himself at the foot of a great mountain, risen up before him as though the hand of Aulë himself had commanded to move earth and rock with silent gesture. Glistening wet were the sudden walls of this mountain that proffered no easy route to climb, risen on all sides with walls sheer and black as Obsidian, housing the furnace of Isoldis’ heart, deep within; the summit of her esteem, to which Mittanyaro must ascend, were envisioned to him like soaring peeks a great distance above his head, clothed in lofty clouds to make any other sway and swoon instantly upon glancing upward. Yet, Mittanyaro’s fate was set, for nothing would daunt the Noldo nor strife him in achieving his only desire, nor would he be waylaid in his ambition, for without knowing it, the maiden Isoldis was about to show him a secret path.
By her own admission, Isoldis was a cunning creature, or so she liked others to believe, and as she neared the end of her tirade, she gathered an idea that seemed to make use of the Noldo Lord for her own ends, and he was falling over himself to acquiesce to her demands, and so a plan was born, although much work would yet be needed to ensure its proper conclusion. You see, as Isoldis looked upon the roughly crafted Noldo Lord, flush with his eager heart and obviously strength, long-lived in body and mind, she saw before her a weapon with which to break her iron chains, now fully anchored in Middle-earth by Tynuilos’ broken heart. Yet, the weapon needed to be sharpened at the forge if it was ever to be used effectively and so Isoldis devised to take the roughly hewn Noldo and carve him into a finely skilled sword-wielder, balanced with shield, swift in reflex, agile on his feet, strong in his upper body, able to withstand a beating...that was sure to come his way from the well-travelled battle-maiden Tynuilos.
When the time was right, Lord Mittanyaro would challenge Tynuilos to a spar and once defeated, and duly humiliated, Tynuilos would at last agree to go west, and Isoldis could fulfil her own ambitions to finish the Great Journey, without breaking her hastily made oath.
