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The child was born in a mountain temple during the moment of Telperion's peak at the height of winter. Winter was never harsh in Valinor, being so far from its creator, but still it reached them with frost and chill winds. This high up, there was even a thin blanket of white snow, illuminating the temple with reflected light of tree and stars.
The mother was a revered priestess of Varda. She had made the decision to remove to the temple to spend her last month of the pregnancy in prayer and silent contemplation. The father kept the gardens at the palace temple, but he was, as any father would be in Valinor, permitted to accompany her into seclusion.
The Maiar who dwelt within the temple ensured they were both properly looked after, bringing them food and blankets and songs of strength. Though the temple was dedicated to Manwë and Varda, a Maia of Estë had been brought up the mountain to attend them.
At the moment of birth, there were four Maiar present: the healer, a follower of Varda who was a close friend of the mother, and a follower of Manwë to keep the balance were all expected guests, but one other Maia of Manwë stood nearby. The parents did not know them, but their presence was of little concern. Many Maiar resided within the temple or visited when they had cause.
“Hínalossë,” the mother declared, when she first held her child, and as the last syllable faded into silence, a snowflake floated through the window to land on the tip of the child’s nose. The father stepped up beside them, laying a hand on his wife’s shoulder as he watched the baby sleep, peaceful despite the cold. His eyes flicked to the open window, and he was struck with new wonder as he beheld the stars of Varda, which were more clearly visible at this altitude. He looked back at the child and said, “She was born in a temple of Varda, beneath her stars, so I name her Eleniel.”
The mother smiled at the name, but the fourth Maia stepped from the shadows and said, “No.”
“I’m sorry?” the father inquired, “Whyever not?”
“The name must be Elen wë, ” the Maia corrected him, “For I sense in this child one of the Fëalamanyar.”
At that, the mother cried, though they were tears of joy, for the Fëalamanyar were revered among the devout of the Vanyar. Her child would be raised closer to the Ainur than she could have previously dreamed.
“Elenwë,” the father repeated, voice low with reverence, and the names were set.
The Maia who had spoken approached the family, ignoring the looks of the others of its kind, and knelt before them. They placed a gentle hand on the baby’s forehead, saying, “To Elenwë Hínalossë, I give my blessing. May their fëa never falter, however it may change and may her hröa never fear the embrace of winter in which she first knew life.”
When the Maia stepped away, the other Maia of Manwë pulled them again towards the back of the chamber, but the parents were both far too enchanted with their child to notice.
~ ~ ~
Elenwë giggled as the rabbit she had carved from snow sat up, little icy nose twitching before he hopped off into the distance. They turned to see the familiar wispy shape of their dear friend gliding down the hill towards her.
“Ienathes!” she exclaimed, running to greet them. Ienathes slowed down precisely right to come to a halt in front of them, both their laughter floating up and out of the valley.
“Little Elenwë,” Ienathes greeted, two translucent silvery-blue arms reaching out to lift them into the air and spin them around, “You have grown since I last saw you.”
“Of course I have,” Elenwë replied, “It’s been ages! Where have you been?”
But Ienathes only smiled, “As much as I wish it were otherwise, Maiar
do
have duties besides playing in the snow with our favorite children.”
“Am I really your favorite?” Elenwë whispered, her eyes wide. Ienathes nodded, “Absolutely! You’re the only one I ever visit.”
“Really? Why?”
Ienathes didn’t meet their eyes as they replied, “Because you’re the best,” but Elenwë was still too young to be suspicious. Before she could ask another question, Ienathes asked one of their own, “How would you like to learn to build a few more snow constructs? I do believe I promised you another lesson when I returned, however delayed I may have been.”
“Awesome! Can we make snow-cats?”
“Of course, Elenwë. Anything you like.”
~ ~ ~
She crossed her arms, a tense, determined frown set on her features. Silence fell between them.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Ienathes said at last.
“The truth,” Elenwë demanded with all the authority of a teenager who thinks they are the smartest person in the room.
“The truth is subjective,” Ienathes countered.
“No it’s not,” they scoffed, “It’s a simple question. Just because you’ve been evading it for years doesn’t mean you can evade it forever. Why am I the only Fëalamanya you visit? The others I train with all teach a dozen or so, at least. And why do you visit so much less frequently than the others?”
“That’s two questions.
“They’re linked. I know they are.”
“Do you?”
“Stop deflecting.”
Ienathes watched them for a while longer before sighing. They dropped into a nearby chair, eyes on their twisting hands, and said, “I’m not supposed to be training anyone.”
The words sounded bitter, but Elenwë didn’t care about that as much as, “Then why are you here?”
They looked up at her then, saying, “I was present when you were born, and I felt something in your fëa that resonated with my nature. I helped to name you, and I placed my blessing upon you. I do not know what it means, but I knew then that I must do what I can to teach you all I know. Even if that means I have to bend the rules to visit you.”
Elenwë considered that and then asked, “Why is it against the rules for you to train me?”
Ienathes scowled at the question, though it was clear their ire was not directed at Elenwë. They replied, “My sister. We were - are - twins, or as close as the Ainur get to the concept. We were both in the service of Lord Manwë, and we were opposites, but we fit together well. I am the cold wind of winter, striking and sharp, that bites through sweaters, and she was the warm breeze of summer, gentle and heavy, that rustles the leaves on the trees at night. Even in the beginning, I was under a closer watch than she, for my nature is one that is feared by our kind, save Vána’s folk. Only among them do I find welcome,” they sighed again, mouth twisted in a bitter frown, “After my sister defected, I was placed under near constant surveillance. They do not call it that, of course, but for nearly every task, I am partnered with a Maia who outranks me. I visit you in my rare moments of peace, but they are few and far between, and I fear that when they discover it, I will be forbidden from visiting outright. But I must teach you. I have seen it.”
Elenwë sat down hard, her mind turning this revelation over and over. She frowned, “Your sister betrayed the Valar, and for that they punish you? That does not seem just.”
“You forget, I also share a nature with the creation of the Enemy,” Ienathes reminded them.
“Still,” Elenwë protested.
“Still,” Ienathes hummed in agreement.
“Well,” Elenwë said eventually, “I am the daughter of a highly respected follower of Varda, and I am building a name for myself, as well. If you are ever forbidden from visiting me, then I shall simply have to visit you.”
Ienathes couldn’t help but smile at the determined look on their apprentice’s face.
~ ~ ~
“Excuse me, my lady.”
Elenwë turned towards the voice that managed to isolate itself from the background chatter of the ground, their gaze landing on the tallest nér they’d ever seen. His complexion was nearly as dark and warm as his eyes, and he had a strong jaw. She blinked as a ring was suddenly thrust in front of her face. Was this stranger proposing to her?
“You dropped this,” he was explaining, and oh, that made more sense, and now that he mentioned it, she did recognize that ring. Well, at least they hadn’t said anything out loud. They reached out and took the ring back, trying to ignore the warmth of the nér’s fingers where they brushed hers.
“Thank you,” they said, already half turned back, when the nér spoke again, almost too fast for them to understand, “Forgive me if this is improper, but may I have the honor of dancing with you?”
She blinked again, turning her attention back to him. Amidst the revelry of the festival, there was a square of dancers not far away, and the music drifted over the streets towards them. They considered the offer; he was very handsome, and he seemed polite, so they saw no reason to refuse.
“Gladly,” she accepted, placing her hand in his.
“May I ask your name?” he inquired. She gave him a small but confident smile, “You may, but I will only give it if you give yours.”
“Oh how embarrassing,” he said, “I confess I am unused to introducing myself. I rarely socialize outside of formal gatherings,” his gaze dropped to the ground, “Perhaps I should not have admitted that so readily, either.”
“There’s no need to feel embarrassed,” she told him, “I spend half my time in the mountain temples, anyway.”
“Ah, do you?” he asked, “That is fascinating.”
They weren’t entirely sure it was, but they smiled at him anyway. He smiled back, before pausing in his tracks. With her hand in his, Elenwë stopped, too.
“I went and forgot to introduce myself again. I’m sorry I’m such a mess this evening. I’m Turukáno.”
“Lovely to meet you, Turukáno,” she said, “I’m Elenwë.”
“Elenwë?” he asked, sounding confused as he raised an eyebrow. She only nodded and, as they had reached the square, pulled him into a dance. As soon as the dance began, they became hyperaware of his hand on their hip, of the stiff, appropriate distance between them, of the way his elaborately braided, dark, Noldo hair glistened in Telperion’s light. The steps weren’t too fast, but soon enough, they felt like they were flying. Her eyes met his, and the crowd around them faded into nothing.
When the dance ended, Turukáno bowed to them, and they bowed back. He began to reach out with his hand, eyebrows raised in a silent question, when their bubble of peace was shattered by a piercing shout of, “ There you are, Turno!”
They both turned to see an adolescent nís heading towards them at speed; she was so alike to Turukáno in appearance, save height, that Elenwë wasn’t at all surprised to hear her dance partner say, “Ah, that would be my sister. I suppose I must take my leave.”
He bowed again, but lingered at her side. Elenwë gave him another bright smile and said, “I enjoyed getting to know you, Turukáno. Enjoy the rest of the festival.”
“I’m glad to have met you, too,” he replied, and as they turned to go, they heard him repeat, “
Elenwë
,” once more, though this time with far more awe than confusion.