She had near crawled over the hill of Taniquetil, strength so utterly spent in battle and grief. Her weary eyes had found her Lord, proud and marred with Melkor’s design as he might be, and spoke of the attack upon Formenos and the death of their High King and the robbery of the Silmarils. Wracked with guilt as she was for failing in her duty and oath of protection, she was moved most by Feanor’s grief and was surprised that he did not curse her for her defeat.
She watched him flee, but could not follow him then. Her wounds might find swift healing even under a darkened Valinor’s spell, but the darkness that gripped her heart was an even greater injury. For she had looked into the eyes of Ungoliant and battled fiercely with that terrible creature and now she could only remain paralyzed with fear.
She was borne away back to the City. But such things as healers or houses of rest were not present amongst the great halls of Tirion and so the vassals of the High King merely took her up to their court.
It was there that her fear was quelled, for the voice of her Feanor shattered the chains that bound her spirit. The words he weaved stirred a fever of fury and passion in the hearts of most. But Hrávanis was also returned to the land of her birth, reminded of the beauty of Cuiviénen, blessed with memories that she had not recalled for centuries when the light of Aman was so blinding. She remembered the freedom their people had enjoyed, to love and laugh and live as they pleased before the shadow had fallen across them.
With sudden clarity, she saw the folly of the Valar. Their lack of wisdom, of understanding, so eager to avoid battle with their brethren that they brought doom and bondage upon their charges. It enraged her, they had left so many behind in their exodus. What had become of them? Why did she only now think to ask? The Valar claimed the Eldar could leave when they wished, but how could that be when it took all of this pain and horror to remind them another world even existed? It was with an ice cold SHOCK that Hrávanis realised… she had been as much a thrall to the Ainur’s will as those Morgoth had twisted to serve him in the dark of the world.
It was a horror that would not leave her.
She had no thought to give for Morgoth’s own machinations in this uprising of theirs. She could not see past the injustices done to them, could not see that the words Feanor spoke were not just his own. She found her strength and leaped up beside him to once again renew her pledge of fealty and protection to the true High King of the line of Finwe. Bold and inspiring were her words, hearkening back to a time when such oaths were needed. And those about knew her to be an elder, one who remembered the starlight. It gave hope to be reminded that, for some, this was a return home still and that war and strife was not new to their race.
And so it was that when the Teleri refused to cross with them, nor lend them aide to leave, Hrávanis called it betrayal. She looked upon Olwe and those of Eldamar and named them thralls as well, too blinded to break from their bondage. They would condemn themselves and all others to an eternity of this golden cage, doomed to forget their lives, loves, families even, a lost people.
To take the ships seemed necessary. And when the mariners fought back, when she saw friends cast into the water, to fight back seemed necessary too. And when they did not surrender, when they fought, to draw swords also seemed necessary. And when the first blood of an elf, not an orc, touched Hrávanis’ blade, it felt no different to her. All were thralls, all slaves, the creatures she had fought once in the darkness had the faces of friends too.
It took time after that for the true shame and guilt for what had occurred to settle in upon her. But it did, eventually, long after Feanor was lost and the mantel of the High King was passed to Fingolfin. It was not with pride that she offered her service to him, but repentance. Even whilst her heart still burned with the fury of betrayal and anger and love of a Feanorian, she also knew, in some part, that what had been done was wrong.
Even if she could never fully regret it.
