[She had been born in the years of darkness, a swift shadow under starlight. The trees of old Doriath had been not just her home but her teachers, her mentors, they had been the siblings her parents had never given her and the aunts and uncles she had never known. For centuries it was them and the starlight.
When she was a babe she had run between trees, barefoot on dark moss, and when the monsters came (they always came) it was up in the branches of those same trees her parents hid her, holding her tight between them. Mithiel’s mother’s heart had always thundered so loudly against her chest that sometimes she had wondered if the wolves and other beasts might not hear her and find them, but her father was always there too, calm and sweet, talking to them through that family bond, distracting his favourite two people from death that glowered at them from the floor of their beloved but still wild home.
Peace had come when Thingol and Melian wed, the Maiar casting her protection around them all and slowly letting them all bask in a kind of safety that had never existed east of the sea.
Doriath had been Mithiels whole world, her everything. She spent her days studying the trees and tending to them, she catalogued every animal and plant within the girdle, found all the pathways and secret places and sometimes she even visited the city, Menegroth with it’s thousand caves. There she learned the sword and the bow (her parents insisted) but even with the war bubbling and broiling she had felt safe in their little Kingdom, untouched and untouchable.
Until it wasn’t. Until Luthien was gone from them and Thingol chose hubris like so many great elves before him had.
Doriath didn’t fall, it shattered. The host of the Valar came, golden as the first dawning of the sun but far more damning. The details of what happened floated back to her on the wind, words from fleeing elves, travelling mortal men, treacherous dwarves who didn’t see her in the trees high above their pikes.
Her parents died before the ground rumbled, cracking and tilting beneath her and tilting her oldest friends, toppling trees as old as the land on which they had once stood. Melian had long fled away, Thingol was dead, the forest a ruin of what it once was with her and only a few of the elves scrambling to save centuries of knowledge, the arts of their people, the crafts they had laboured long years over.
How could lifetimes of memories and work mean so little? How could she let it all get dragged down into the hell that had once held Morgoth and his twisted creations?
Mithiel had tried, books and art, the fine textiles her mother had woven, all of her fathers maps. Their journals, the marks of their lives that said they were here and that they mattered, they weren’t just elves lost to the shadow like so many before them.
But tumbling dirt and falling trees became thick mud. It wasn’t a deafening roar, it was an insidious creeping. First only in the western woods, closest Sirion and Esdalduin where the ground at first was damp and smelt oddly like salt, but then more and more the brine and mud thickened, and then it was over her ankles, then her knees. Minute by minute, day by day it crept up and stole parts of her beloved home away, a thief who cared not whether it was day or night. Soon it was swamped, the ents had fled and the Huorns and trees that remained were beyond her to save (and always had been, if she could ever admit it to herself), as was much of the works of her people that had already escaped.
She stopped only when she was pulled out by a marchwarden, an elf she had known since childhood, and set on a silver horse, sent after the dwindling caravan of their people who had not been slain in the dark days after the girdle fell.
Her mind went blank. It was too much. All of it. She breathed only because she knew her parents would want her to. Breathe, little petal her father’s voice echoes in her pointed ears as if he is right there, a physical shield for her and her mother against a world that only knew how to be cruel. Distantly, she felt she heard her mother humming. But the world still blurred, time drifted, and for a while Mithiel forgot herself and her troubles.
Perhaps that is why she did not find it so strange when she blinked and found herself sitting on more sand than she had seen in her long life, the sun hotter than she had known as well, beating down on her. She looks around, her features haunted and still as she tries to make sense of it all.
As fast as she knew the east was green and fertile, and hadn’t she been on a horse? She frowns.]
What is this land? [She speaks as if she expects the land itself to answer her as she pushes to her feet, not even making a dent in the sand as she moves over it, never sinking, never disturbing a grain as if she was not even there. She turns around looking for someone, or something. A tree? A person? Her horse? Who could say. She half expects to step back and land in briny mud again, or to wake staring at the torn bodies of her parents, clutching each other in the flower garden her father had so carefully tended, their chests ripped open, reddish-black staining their clothes and small, heavy footprints leading back into the woods.
But she doesn’t. There is no briny mud, no bloody tableau of fear and love staining her childhood home and ripping her heart out as well as they might have if she had been there when they came.
There is just sand. Seemingly endless sand. And someone…]
Hello? I know someone is here. [Though whether or not they know Sindarin, she could not be sure, and if they were dwarves or men–what then? Or orcs? She had no weapons other than the hunting knife on her belt and a few arrows for her bow. It wouldn’t be enough if the likes of what she had seen lately visited her as they had visited her family, and there were no trees to hide herself in either.
[Ruling a kingdom is difficult. Set recalls his father's harsh words, that he would never be fit to rule and he could agree. Osiris had ruled the nation so easily, it had seemed. He had always known the right things to do and say. With his agricultural magic, blessing life to the tiniest of seedlings, it had made sense he had been king. Set could look back on it now and see how silly he had been as a child, head so filled with ideas of impressing his father. No, he should have never been king.
But here he was. King of Egypt. He never thought he would miss the boredom of the other time. When he simply had nothing to do but sign things and be a power figure for his brother. At least he'd had Osiris, then. What he wouldn't give to see his older brother back, ready to pester him and seek his company. To feel his fingers in his bangs and know he would be there tomorrow, the day after, and the day after.
It had been ten years since his coronation and he wasn't getting any better, he thought. There were some things he had gotten better at, simple disputes. But it was nothing to be impressed by, Thoth reminded him. An idiot could figure that much out and Set knew he was an idiot so it made sense. No, he would never be the king Osiris had been but he was managing decently. Thoth certainly didn't think so but Thoth's usual state was annoyance if not anger. Set considered himself pitiful but Thoth was not much better. At least Set had something to look forward to, Horus returning for the throne and killing him for it. Thoth? Well, Thoth had nothing but an eternity of regrets and misery ahead of him. Set hated to pity himself so he gave that pity to Thoth.
It wasn't unusual for Set to leave the kingdom, to wander the deserts. They were his domain, after all. He liked to go to the space Osiris had wanted to build Set's own home at, to imagine what might have been. He liked to envision what Horus would be like all grown up and what it would be like to be reunited with his lord brother. It was rare to stumble across people on his strolls, but it had happened. It had been Horus, once. The little chick had flown too far from Isis' side. Being able to hold his nephew for a short time before secretly returning him back to his lord sisters was a cherished memory. Sometimes, though, fools thought crossing the desert wouldn't be difficult.
When he sees Mithiel, he ponders. She is not human, he knows that much. But not a god like himself. His mind tries to go over lessons and things he'd read, trying to put some name to what she could be but he cannot. Set is the god of foreigners as well as the desert but he would kill any threat to the kingdom. Should he kill her, he ponders. He does have a reputation to uphold. Something tells him he shouldn't, though, and instead he fully steps up to her. She speaks in a language he doesn't know at all and doesn't sound familiar.
He has a cloak on, covering his long bright red hair. He is covered by the cloak entirely, the hood shadowing his face as he looks at her. He does have a sword on him but he keeps it hidden.]
[By the standards of anyone who was not an elf and did not know them well she was hardly dressed for a desert. Her boots were smooth and thin, their soles only barely thicker than the leather that followed the narrow line of her leg all the way to just below her knee. Her breaches were soft and fine as well, a deep earthy green colour that matched her delicately embroidered linen tunic. Her cloak was woolen and green-grey, made to help her disappear in the woods and not against the glaring brightness of the sand.
Despite all of this, the heat seems to barely touch her. She doesn’t sweat, and as she turns to follow the sound of the foreign tongue the hot sand beneath her feet doesn’t burn her through her delicate boots. She blinks at the stranger, playing back his words in her mind and searching for the thread of commonality that most languages east of the sea shared. It is unfamiliar.
Mithiel is, however, quite certain that he is neither elf nor man, and if he is a dwarf then they have gotten considerably better at standing on each other’s shoulders to match her height. It didn’t seem likely, and besides, the beard of a dwarf would not be contained by a mere hood.
What did that leave, though? Was he a Maiar? And how had he brought her here? He surely must have for there was no desert within many days walk of Doriath. More importantly, what in Arda was he saying?
Frowning, she pulls her own cloak fully off of her head, letting her loose curls fall freely over her shoulders except for the two braids by her temples that were joined behind her head to keep her hair off of her face. Her eyes were silver and caught the light, ethereal and strange compared to mortal eyes but hardly a sign of magic.]
I sense that was an insult of some kind, but I do not speak your tongue. Do you speak any of mine? [She asked, switching between the few she knew partway through her sentences, hoping to find common ground. After all, what self-respecting Maiar could not speak to the first children???]
[Set looks at her clothes with a blank face. He's been told he looks mean without trying but smiling feels unnatural. Though he cannot say he isn't trying to be intimidating towards her. He has no idea what she is or what she is doing here. He has a nation and its people to consider. But he doesn't think that whoever, whatever, she is; is an enemy. Her clothes are not like anything he's seen. Even from the neighboring nations. If she was an enemy then she was a fool doing it alone.
He decides to take off his own cloak from his head, letting his unnaturally red and long hair show. Like her eyes are silver, his eyes are golden and catch light. His nails are made of gold. Humans here know him from look alone. They would recognize him and bow to him. This one does not.
Set doesn't know what she's saying or what he should do with her. But Thoth would know. It seems like a bad idea to leave her here. If she did have nefarious intent then leaving her by herself would only allow her the option. Set did consider taking her prisoner but if she was someone he should be good to for political reasons then Thoth would never let him hear the end of it. Best to take her to Thoth.]
I cannot understand you. Come with me. [He motions for her to do so and figures that must make sense. Especially when he starts walking back towards his kingdom. She should follow after him, he thinks, and she probably will. Who will be staying in the desert? Only Set ever found any comfort in it.]
[There is something strange, almost sharp, about his demeanour. A younger, happier version of herself would have been put off by it, might even have ran (though to where, here?) but she just watches him, tries to judge the great nothing that is his expression.
He hasn’t tried to stab her, at least, which is more than she can say for the rest of the not-elves she has experienced in the last few years.
Her answer about her languages appears to be a “no”, but “follow me” seems evident from his gestures and she has naught better to do in a strange land that feels wrong, so though she wonders now if he is not Gorthaur or one of his ilk… rumour did have it that the host of the Valar did not dispense with all of Morgoth’s servants. The gold nails and bright hair make her wonder. But he does not feel foul, and he is not acting especially fair in order to win her trust.
And Gorthaur did know all of their tongues…
She hums softly to herself to fill the quiet as they walk, effortlessly musical in the way that all elves were.]
I wish I knew where we were, I did not know places with so much sand existed. Perhaps we are in the south? [She is talking to herself since he does not understand her, but she suspects he will take this Better than if she broke out into song.] If so, the south has very strange maiar. [As if they aren’t all strange. Her own queen had been strange and she was the most like the firstborn that Mithiel had ever heard of a Maia being.]
[Why is she talking? It is mostly to herself, he assumes, but it is strange she is talking at all. Can she not keep her thoughts in her mind...? Weird. His head turns back to look at her just to make sure it is only herself she is talking to and it is. He shakes his head and continues on.
Once they are out of the desert and into the kingdom, to the palace, servants immediately rush to Set. To take his cloak and hand him the nemes, the symbol of his leadership, which is draped over his shoulder. His golden accessories that adorn his chest are now evident. He tells the servants to bring water for Mithiel and motions once more for Mithiel to follow him.
Thoth is waiting for him in his room. The god of the moon, of wisdom, and writing. He is slight but he shines like the moon would with his white hair and light red eyes. He looks gentle...until he does not. Quickly his face turns to anger. Thoth is also the god of reckoning and it shows when he starts to shout at Set for disappearing again. Mithiel may not be able to understand what Thoth is saying but it must be obvious that he is insulting Set. He needs to stop leaving by himself, he needs to be less careless, and why is he bringing strange people into the palace? Set explains his side, how it seemed like a bad idea to let her have her lay of the land if she was an enemy. There are more hushed arguments until Thoth shakes his head, smiling to Mithiel. Better for his attention to go to her than a king who was never meant to be a king anyway.
Thoth moves to Mithiel and smiles, pointing to his head with his fingers and then to her. Asking if he may touch her forehead. If she bends down for him, because Thoth is small, he puts the tips to his fingers to her, letting his magic envelop her. He focuses, speaking, trying to see when he will understand her.]
Do you understand? Do you now?
[Set rolls his eyes.] Will you keep asking her that?
[Her words quiet down as they leave the blinding sands and pass into a civilisation unlike any she has seen. He is clearly a prince of some kind, maybe a king? Is that why he had been looking at her so strangely? Humans did stoop and bow quite a lot around royalty – or so she had been told – perhaps his people were like that and the fact she had remained upright disturbed him.
More than ever she wished she could understand their language. She could be walking into danger and not know it. Not that she was much safer out amongst sand, nary a tree to be seen. The one that her strange companion brings her too looks like he could be one of her own people.
Until he doesn’t. Until his voice turns to such a pitch that while the words escape her, she cannot help but shrink behind her golden companion, her breath quickening even though she does not try to run or even speak. Her heart is still racing when this new stranger turns his attention to her and she cannot hide anymore.
She bends when he seems to ask it of her, wondering if he knows how to share minds and if he thinks that will help, but she feels magic rush over her, feels it along her faintly shimmering skin and then she can not just hear him but understand. Huh!]
He’s afraid I will talk too much. Little does he know I could have been singing instead. [Yes, yes she does understand.]
I am Mithiel, of Doriath. [a beat passes, she frowns and sadness fills her expression.] Formally of Doriath, currently of nowhere.
Are you both Maiar? [They feel different to her queen but also from each other, which she barely keeps herself from saying as it seems rude and she would prefer to not have their anger aimed at her.]
[Set is just relieved they can figure this whole thing out that the singing comment goes right over his head.]
I am Set, King of Egypt and god of the desert and storms. [His voice is commanding and firm, much like a king's should be. He has become good at this through practice.
He motions to Thoth, who is smiling as he bows his head in greeting. He has gone back to being gentle and kind. They have company who can understand him after all.] This is my advisor, Thoth, god of the moon and wisdom.
I have never heard of a Maiar. What is that?
[Thoth looks interested. After all, he is the god of wisdom and everything about her is not human. Perhaps not even from this world. For Set, though, many things go over his head. Including these things.]
[So he was a king. At least that much hadn’t needed language to convey, though the word god throws her off slightly. It translates in her mind somehow as both Ainur and Illuvitar, the latter of which she feels certain they are not for he is only one and his domain is not limited.
Perhaps they are Valar that did not make themselves manifest before? She worries her bottom lip between her teeth as she tries to work out a theological problem that an elf such as herself is absolutely not prepared for.]
They are Ainur. A lesser form, they tend to the world and its people or focus on their works and crafts. But perhaps you are Valar instead? They are more powerful Ainur. For example there is Varda, she who cast the stars in the sky so that we might live in darkness. I do not know this word “god”, my people have never had need of such a term. We know our creator by name, though he does not seem to ever care for us. [If a little bit of bitterness and hurt creeps into her tone, she quickly tries to mask it as she glances between them and keeps going.]
Was all that sand a “desert”? I have never seen such expanses of it before. I have never even seen a beach, only patches in places along the river.
[Thoth seems fascinated by this, as a god of wisdom would be. Though it is obvious this goes over Set's head.]
Ah, in our world it was Ra who did that. [Thoth says, he motions to Set.] His great grandfather. It would seem that we may be differing from our creations...[It wasn't even the truth that Ra had created everything, which Set knows, but also knows it cannot be told differently or else the scales would tip to chaos' favor.
Thoth is deep in thought and so Set answers.] We are surrounded by the desert. But our kingdom by the great Nile is fertile. The deserts are not. I've heard of lands that do not have deserts but I don't know anything about them. [He is the god of the desert after all.]
Ra. [She repeats quietly, letting the word roll off of her tongue. Perhaps this Ra was another name for Eru Illúvatar, but it had a different soft of weight in her mind and he was the grandfather of no one. He was creator only. It was he who had made the world and he who had laid the first children out in the far east. It was he who made Morgoth and allowed all of his cruelties, for only he was enough to truly stop him. What was it that the king had said? All Valar and Maiar existed because of Illuvitar. All were a part of him, part of his song.
Even the discordant note that would not stop.] Our creator is called Eru Illúvatar. We are called his children but I suspect you mean this in a more literal way than we do? It was he who played the first note in the song and he that left the first elves sleeping in the east to awaken, and he who allowed Dwarves to have true life when Aulë, the great smith, created them in secret and was found out. It was he who made men and let them follow after us.
[Though she is clearly not human, that is the first time she has said so explicitly..] He has never spoken to us directly, only through the Valar Manwë who alone has his ear. And Manwë does not often care for the elves who did not forsake the world and go east. [Hidden under her gentle, musical voice is anger about that. Perhaps her grandparents did “fail” in making the journey, but she could not see what was so wrong or worthy of scorn and neglect about loving the world that the creator of every single one of them and the Ainur too had made with the intention of them living in. She could not understand how Morgoth and his evils were something that until the last, Manwë had seemed to think they deserved. That he occasionally sent a giant eagle to save the foolish Noldor didn’t change the fact that he ignored the rest of them. He ignored her entire people, their lives, their home. He had allowed their home to be shattered and cast into the sea when Melkor was his brother…
Mithiel had never known anger until these last decades and now she boiled beneath the surface, like water cast upon the heaping slag piles that made the Thangorodrim.]
The Nile… is that a river? [She asks, her eyes softening again and curiosity returning now that she has a distraction, however brief, from her thoughts on the Valar and their poor sense of justice.] Doriath is a forest… was a forest… It was broken by the host of the Valar and now dwells increasingly beneath the sea. It was full of trees and caves, flowers and mushrooms and crops. I have spent all the years of my life within it’s girdle or not far out of it until the water came. I was born by the Sirion river that cuts through it’s western side. Beyond the borders of Doriath were more forests and grasslands, then the mountains beyond which I could see little. But I have never heard of such a sea of sand before. it was… beautiful in a way. [And terrifying, too.]
[Set is listening, though it still goes over his head. Intelligence was never his strong point. All of this sounds so confusing and full of words he cannot understand. Perhaps it is rude but he makes the decision not to try to understand. That wasn't his job, after all. His job was Egypt, of keeping the balance, and doing right by Osiris's wishes. There was too much to keep track of even without her lore. His own kingdom took so much work, so much thinking...no, he couldn't keep up with hers either.
Though he looks to Thoth, who is still listening. Intently. Set wonders if that may be a problem, fills his head with ideas. Problematic, really. How annoying.]
Yes, we have children as humans do. [Thoth answers and looks to Set, smiling.] Some of us. [Set crosses his arms and looks off to the side.] Your story seems very intriguing. I would love to be able to hear all of it and write it down. If you would be interested in telling it.
[Set sighs.]
If you are not human, not a god like us, nor any of the things you mention; what are you? You don't know about my kingdom, about deserts, or the Nile. Why were you in my desert?
[Thoth glares, obviously not happy with Set's lack of manners towards their guest.] Set.
[If Mithiel notices Sets lack of interest, she does not bother to point it out. He isn’t the first to find her boring and she’s sure he will not be the last. Thoth seems attentive enough to make up for Set, in any case. Her smile is soft and radiant when he mentions writing down her stories.] You may write them down if you wish. I have few stories about me that are of note but many of my people, and most of the history thereof. [She suspects Set will grow irritated with them if they did it right now, though she had no shortage of time.]
An elf. We are also called the Eldar. My own people who took the journey but did not finish it are called the Sindar, to the east from whence we first woke there are still some of our Kin who loved the land too much to come west at all, we call them the Avari. There are also our cousins the Telari who once walked with us and did cross the sea, as well as the Noldor many of whom are more troublesome than a legion of Orcs and the Vanyar, of whom we have seen little until the host came. Though Galadriel is partly one and she dwelt with us in Doriath for a time. I did not meet her. [She was nowhere near important enough to meet a guest of the King and Queen. She looks at Set, hoping he “enjoyed” her excessively long answer. She could not punish a King for his tone but she could perhaps bore him to death with a smile on her lips.]
I do not know why I am in your Kingdom, your Majesty. One of our marchwardens had set me on a horse and asked it to take me to the rest of our surviving people. Then everything turned to mist, then sand, and behold I had found myself in this strange place. It is not a craft I know anything of. I am but a forester. I have never heard of anyone passing through lands like this.
[Set used to be much more greatly impatient, which was shocking to believe. By now, he would have lost his temper if they were in the past. Now, he could at least talk without snapping. It was not impressive to anybody that did not know him in the past. To those that didn't even know him, his infamous anger was talked about. Gossiped of even if it was a slight to do so to a god.
Set had truly made a name for himself. Whether that was good or bad.
Though her long answer just brings him another sigh. He does not lash out. But he decides to remember this one loves a long answer. Set looks to Thoth if he has any idea and Thoth is in thought.]
It sounds as if you were brought here for some reason. By something. Not that I am sure what that could be. Your people are not here. We've certainly never known of elves. The word does not exist among us.
[She had known many that seem like him, elves were not beings of infinite patience like many of the second born seemed to think. Still, it does not truly bother her and it seems like Set leaves much of his pondering to Thoth. She wonders if he is his council then, or if this is the usual way of things.
Thingol had only listened to his wife, and even then not when it was truly important. He had been as stubborn as he had been wise and it had been the ruin of Doriath. Perhaps this was better?]
You have no word for elves, and we have no word for desert. We are both out of our element, though perhaps me more than the two of you. [Given that she is in a foreign land with no way to back up her claims or get home. She is as at their mercy as she would have been at Morgoths had she awoken in Angband in the time before he was dragged back across the sea.]
I have no ill intent for you or your people. I have never harmed anyone, even in self defence. I do not know why I was drawn here but perhaps I can be a help in some way. I am nearing a thousand years of age, I know much of my peoples craft as long as you do not make me a smith. I am very good with animals and plants.
[Set has let Thoth do most of the talking. It was usually best this way in these matters. With a crowd, it was good for Set to speak. To show his strength. But right now, it seemed better for Thoth to talk to this Mithiel.
Thoth smiles widely.]
We have not been to war in a long while. Which is funny considering this king of ours is the god of violence as well. [Thoth puts a hand over his mouth, as if he said this by accident. Set glares because he knows it was not at all. Times like this, Thoth wants to get to him. His own way of lashing out.
Set puts a hand on his sword that lays at his hip.]
I protect these lands and war has not been necessary. Any enemy knows it is a terrible idea to cross my path. [He takes a step forward, glaring at her.] You may stay in my kingdom but know that you should not take me lightly. My brother made that mistake and now he is dead. [It was the story he had to tell. That he had killed his brother for the throne.
Thoth has simply looked on this scene and smiles to Mithiel.] Lord Set does not trifle in regards to the kingdom. But there will be no harm that will come to you. Of that, I am sure. [Set glances to him, wondering what that means.]
You are safer here. To go out to the desert again is asking for death. We can find you your way home and we can learn of your people, your history.
[She has known of much violence both in her first years and her last. Wolves. Monsters. Raging dwarves and terrible men. To say nothing of the orcs and twisted creatures of Angband and that Morgoth and Sauron’s shadow loomed large over her kingdom for the centuries before its fall. She has known of it, but never had to cause it herself. She is soft and tired and a bit of that weariness creeps into her expression when she hears Thoth accidentally, or perhaps “accidentally” mentions Set is also the god of Violence. Tulkos might have been better suited to being here than she, and yet…]
I am no lover of war. I was born before the sun where everything was dangerous, and I have spent centuries in the shadow of war, of darkness and death. I do not even carry my sword. [There is her very finely crafted bow that is slung over her shoulder and the corresponding quiver, as well as a few small knifes but she carried them for hunting or on the off chance she was surrounded by orcs. Mithiel had no intention of ever starting a fight if she could avoid it. It was not in her nature.]
…Your brother? [It feels like she shouldn’t ask but it slips out before she can press her lips closed.]
If you will have me, I am grateful. I am happy to tell you as much as I can. It has been long since I have had time to talk or do anything other than try to save my people and their works.
[Funny, Set thinks, how her and Thoth seem to have a lot in common. It seems Thoth is thinking similarly and when Set catches his eye, the gentle smile on the god of wisdom turns to a scowl at Set.
Exhausting, Set thinks.
Thoth speaks up, smiling to Mithiel. As if this isn't a sad story of brothers turning against one another. Like this is a bed time story.] It was Lord Osiris, the elder brother who was to be on the throne. Until Lord Set changed that.
[Sometimes Set thinks Thoth just wants to hurt someone because he cannot hurt himself. But Set does not feel like he used to. It still hurts but the pain has become duller. It is always on him after all. But he really just pities Thoth and maybe this Mithiel would be good for him.]
Enough of that. [Set orders and puts on the act he is used to now. It suits him well.] There is no need to talk of that foolish man. He is in the underworld now, a king of the dead. This is my kingdom and if you do not behave then you can meet him. You are welcome here and you can bother Thoth with all of your talk.
[This is all Khazdul to Mithiel. She grows in turns confused and pale as Thoth speaks. Violence amongst elves was not unknown, but it was rare–especially within a family. It doesn’t fall from her lips, but she does silently mouth something that looks rather like you killed your brother????
More than that, he killed his brother and everyone was just fine with that? Could admit that with such ease? These people were more foreign to her than the nameless things beneath the earth.
Sure, she had heard that Fëanor had pulled his sword on Fingolfin when they were still across the sea but even he, so petty and so low for so high born of an elf did not go through with it.
Though he had caused the Kinslaying. She frowns. Could Valar or Maiar even truly die? What were these “gods”?
Leaning back, she takes the both of them in. She doesn’t know either well enough to be sure of how any of this truly affects the both of them. Perhaps it is better not to ask. At least not until they know her better and she can trust their reactions will be no worse than merely angry.]
What is an underworld? Do you also have great caverns carved out in the earth where evil things dwell? [No religion and no death meant little concept of an afterlife. All who died in middle-earth stopped by Mandos halls and she didn’t even think that an “underworld” could be related to that.]
I do not mean to bother anyone. But I will remember to mind my tongue, your majesty. [Illuvatar knows Kings have not saved her much in the past. Not even great and mighty Kings.]
[It is all Set says. He is always quiet and now he will only talk when it is necessary. A tough thing for a king. Set is used to being reacting to this news similarly. Most people cannot understand how he could do such a thing. Set simply tried to ignore it as best as he could.
Thoth keeps the smile on his face. As always.]
The underworld is where one goes when they die. It is maintained by Lord Osiris, Lord Set's elder brother, now and the god of chaos, Apophis. We do have caverns but evil things do not lurk there.
[She wonders if this is truly Set’s nature. A kinslayer who is unaffected by all, both what he did and how others react to it. Doubt lingers in her mind, but again, she does not know him and she has never known a kinslayer. For all their nearness of location, the sons of Fëanor had never crossed her path and if they had they would not have given her the time of day, much less any insight into how they felt.
If they allowed themselves to feel at all. This much, she suspects, Set has in common with them. This much she feel comfortable guessing at for she had seen that avoidance in her own people time and time again for many wrongs both great and small.
Thoth is friendly, but she suspects he is also a puzzle. Perhaps a more difficult one by far–scholars often were.]
Oh. We go to the halls of Mandos, also called Námo. All souls pass through there, elves, men, dwarves. Though only elves may linger and then return rebodied. Where dwarves and men go, the songs do not say. I do not think the Doomsman knows himself.
Mandos is a place across the western sea. We had a…. Dark Valar, a being of chaos and great evil who came east and in the ground made his home full of tortured beings, twisted creations of the One and other beasts he made from I know not what. There were great wolves the size of a horse, strange creatures that flew… dragons. So many dragons, one was so large he blocked out the sun and when he fell from the sky, he smote the three mountain tops of the Thangorodrim. [At first she is fine. Morgoth or Melkor or any other name for him does not bother her. Her entire life has been spent with his shadow north of her little forested home and she had long since stopped fearing the sound of his name. However as she begins to try to explain what she meant by the cravens and why so many of them were evil, she shudders and physically pulls back so far and quickly she nearly knocks into Set as memory floods her and takes over her vision.] The host of the Valar was with the Noldor when finally he was contained but ripping him out of the land made it crack and crumble. Bit by bit we are falling into the sea and yet the shadow lingers even in his absence. Orcs come screaming out of the pits. Beasts. Dragons. Balrogs…
[Even if it may not seem it, Set is listening. Not that it makes much sense and he isn't sure if he needs to be listening. But he is certain Thoth will yell at him about diplomacy and things like that. So he listens.
And balances her when she knocks into him, hands on her shoulders. He doesn't keep his hands on her for long, not comfortable in touching anybody more than he must. But it is best if she doesn't hurt herself. He thinks he should say something to her since she is clearly upset by what has happened. The words hold no meaning to the god but they clearly do for this Mithiel. But Set doesn't know what to say.
Luckily, Thoth does. With a concerned look upon his face, he says,] You and your kind have clearly gone through a great deal. We have no twisted monsters here though I cannot say there is no evil. Still, our kingdom seems a safer land than where you come from. Perhaps that is why you are here?
[The touch, however small is comforting. He is a stranger, yes, and perhaps even a dangerous one but for a moment that simple gesture centres her and drags her mind back from the shadow. She glances at Set for less than a heartbeat, the smallest smile tugging at the corners of her mouth before Thoth speaks and drags her attention back to him.]
Perhaps it is so. I am glad you have no monsters. I have never known a life without them. Even the centuries of safety that Melian gave us all, we knew the shadow lingered in the lands above us. We were safe, but never fully at peace.
[Set doesn't smile back. He rarely smiles and he doesn't know what she smiled for. Making certain she doesn't fall seems the smallest of things he could do. Last thing anybody needed was some foreign being killing themselves from falling on the floor and hitting their head.
Thoth notices the interaction and filed that away in case they need it. Or he needs it.]
Chaotic, indeed. Since the light of Ra graces us all then you are safe here. Set is a favorite of his. Play nice with his great grandson and it should be good.
[Set rolls his eyes.] That old man just says things. Don't listen to Thoth. I am not a favorite. I have never been.
[A grandson not being loved by his grandfather is a notion beyond her ken, even though she supposes it could happen and these people already seem so foreign… but still.]
I have every intention of treating you both with the same goodness and kindness I would share with my own people. That we are safe only makes that easier.
And if that is so, I have some experience in not being favoured. I was just one of hundreds of elves, special only to my parents. You are not alone. [Congrats, you’re going to be her new friend, Set.]
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And when I chose to live there was no joy – it’s just a line I crossed
When she was a babe she had run between trees, barefoot on dark moss, and when the monsters came (they always came) it was up in the branches of those same trees her parents hid her, holding her tight between them. Mithiel’s mother’s heart had always thundered so loudly against her chest that sometimes she had wondered if the wolves and other beasts might not hear her and find them, but her father was always there too, calm and sweet, talking to them through that family bond, distracting his favourite two people from death that glowered at them from the floor of their beloved but still wild home.
Peace had come when Thingol and Melian wed, the Maiar casting her protection around them all and slowly letting them all bask in a kind of safety that had never existed east of the sea.
Doriath had been Mithiels whole world, her everything. She spent her days studying the trees and tending to them, she catalogued every animal and plant within the girdle, found all the pathways and secret places and sometimes she even visited the city, Menegroth with it’s thousand caves. There she learned the sword and the bow (her parents insisted) but even with the war bubbling and broiling she had felt safe in their little Kingdom, untouched and untouchable.
Until it wasn’t. Until Luthien was gone from them and Thingol chose hubris like so many great elves before him had.
Doriath didn’t fall, it shattered. The host of the Valar came, golden as the first dawning of the sun but far more damning. The details of what happened floated back to her on the wind, words from fleeing elves, travelling mortal men, treacherous dwarves who didn’t see her in the trees high above their pikes.
Her parents died before the ground rumbled, cracking and tilting beneath her and tilting her oldest friends, toppling trees as old as the land on which they had once stood. Melian had long fled away, Thingol was dead, the forest a ruin of what it once was with her and only a few of the elves scrambling to save centuries of knowledge, the arts of their people, the crafts they had laboured long years over.
How could lifetimes of memories and work mean so little? How could she let it all get dragged down into the hell that had once held Morgoth and his twisted creations?
Mithiel had tried, books and art, the fine textiles her mother had woven, all of her fathers maps. Their journals, the marks of their lives that said they were here and that they mattered, they weren’t just elves lost to the shadow like so many before them.
But tumbling dirt and falling trees became thick mud. It wasn’t a deafening roar, it was an insidious creeping. First only in the western woods, closest Sirion and Esdalduin where the ground at first was damp and smelt oddly like salt, but then more and more the brine and mud thickened, and then it was over her ankles, then her knees. Minute by minute, day by day it crept up and stole parts of her beloved home away, a thief who cared not whether it was day or night. Soon it was swamped, the ents had fled and the Huorns and trees that remained were beyond her to save (and always had been, if she could ever admit it to herself), as was much of the works of her people that had already escaped.
She stopped only when she was pulled out by a marchwarden, an elf she had known since childhood, and set on a silver horse, sent after the dwindling caravan of their people who had not been slain in the dark days after the girdle fell.
Her mind went blank. It was too much. All of it. She breathed only because she knew her parents would want her to. Breathe, little petal her father’s voice echoes in her pointed ears as if he is right there, a physical shield for her and her mother against a world that only knew how to be cruel. Distantly, she felt she heard her mother humming. But the world still blurred, time drifted, and for a while Mithiel forgot herself and her troubles.
Perhaps that is why she did not find it so strange when she blinked and found herself sitting on more sand than she had seen in her long life, the sun hotter than she had known as well, beating down on her. She looks around, her features haunted and still as she tries to make sense of it all.
As fast as she knew the east was green and fertile, and hadn’t she been on a horse? She frowns.]
What is this land? [She speaks as if she expects the land itself to answer her as she pushes to her feet, not even making a dent in the sand as she moves over it, never sinking, never disturbing a grain as if she was not even there. She turns around looking for someone, or something. A tree? A person? Her horse? Who could say. She half expects to step back and land in briny mud again, or to wake staring at the torn bodies of her parents, clutching each other in the flower garden her father had so carefully tended, their chests ripped open, reddish-black staining their clothes and small, heavy footprints leading back into the woods.
But she doesn’t. There is no briny mud, no bloody tableau of fear and love staining her childhood home and ripping her heart out as well as they might have if she had been there when they came.
There is just sand. Seemingly endless sand. And someone…]
Hello? I know someone is here. [Though whether or not they know Sindarin, she could not be sure, and if they were dwarves or men–what then? Or orcs? She had no weapons other than the hunting knife on her belt and a few arrows for her bow. It wouldn’t be enough if the likes of what she had seen lately visited her as they had visited her family, and there were no trees to hide herself in either.
Fuck.]
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But here he was. King of Egypt. He never thought he would miss the boredom of the other time. When he simply had nothing to do but sign things and be a power figure for his brother. At least he'd had Osiris, then. What he wouldn't give to see his older brother back, ready to pester him and seek his company. To feel his fingers in his bangs and know he would be there tomorrow, the day after, and the day after.
It had been ten years since his coronation and he wasn't getting any better, he thought. There were some things he had gotten better at, simple disputes. But it was nothing to be impressed by, Thoth reminded him. An idiot could figure that much out and Set knew he was an idiot so it made sense. No, he would never be the king Osiris had been but he was managing decently. Thoth certainly didn't think so but Thoth's usual state was annoyance if not anger. Set considered himself pitiful but Thoth was not much better. At least Set had something to look forward to, Horus returning for the throne and killing him for it. Thoth? Well, Thoth had nothing but an eternity of regrets and misery ahead of him. Set hated to pity himself so he gave that pity to Thoth.
It wasn't unusual for Set to leave the kingdom, to wander the deserts. They were his domain, after all. He liked to go to the space Osiris had wanted to build Set's own home at, to imagine what might have been. He liked to envision what Horus would be like all grown up and what it would be like to be reunited with his lord brother. It was rare to stumble across people on his strolls, but it had happened. It had been Horus, once. The little chick had flown too far from Isis' side. Being able to hold his nephew for a short time before secretly returning him back to his lord sisters was a cherished memory. Sometimes, though, fools thought crossing the desert wouldn't be difficult.
When he sees Mithiel, he ponders. She is not human, he knows that much. But not a god like himself. His mind tries to go over lessons and things he'd read, trying to put some name to what she could be but he cannot. Set is the god of foreigners as well as the desert but he would kill any threat to the kingdom. Should he kill her, he ponders. He does have a reputation to uphold. Something tells him he shouldn't, though, and instead he fully steps up to her. She speaks in a language he doesn't know at all and doesn't sound familiar.
He has a cloak on, covering his long bright red hair. He is covered by the cloak entirely, the hood shadowing his face as he looks at her. He does have a sword on him but he keeps it hidden.]
Only an idiot comes to the desert unprepared.
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Despite all of this, the heat seems to barely touch her. She doesn’t sweat, and as she turns to follow the sound of the foreign tongue the hot sand beneath her feet doesn’t burn her through her delicate boots. She blinks at the stranger, playing back his words in her mind and searching for the thread of commonality that most languages east of the sea shared. It is unfamiliar.
Mithiel is, however, quite certain that he is neither elf nor man, and if he is a dwarf then they have gotten considerably better at standing on each other’s shoulders to match her height. It didn’t seem likely, and besides, the beard of a dwarf would not be contained by a mere hood.
What did that leave, though? Was he a Maiar? And how had he brought her here? He surely must have for there was no desert within many days walk of Doriath. More importantly, what in Arda was he saying?
Frowning, she pulls her own cloak fully off of her head, letting her loose curls fall freely over her shoulders except for the two braids by her temples that were joined behind her head to keep her hair off of her face. Her eyes were silver and caught the light, ethereal and strange compared to mortal eyes but hardly a sign of magic.]
I sense that was an insult of some kind, but I do not speak your tongue. Do you speak any of mine? [She asked, switching between the few she knew partway through her sentences, hoping to find common ground. After all, what self-respecting Maiar could not speak to the first children???]
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He decides to take off his own cloak from his head, letting his unnaturally red and long hair show. Like her eyes are silver, his eyes are golden and catch light. His nails are made of gold. Humans here know him from look alone. They would recognize him and bow to him. This one does not.
Set doesn't know what she's saying or what he should do with her. But Thoth would know. It seems like a bad idea to leave her here. If she did have nefarious intent then leaving her by herself would only allow her the option. Set did consider taking her prisoner but if she was someone he should be good to for political reasons then Thoth would never let him hear the end of it. Best to take her to Thoth.]
I cannot understand you. Come with me. [He motions for her to do so and figures that must make sense. Especially when he starts walking back towards his kingdom. She should follow after him, he thinks, and she probably will. Who will be staying in the desert? Only Set ever found any comfort in it.]
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He hasn’t tried to stab her, at least, which is more than she can say for the rest of the not-elves she has experienced in the last few years.
Her answer about her languages appears to be a “no”, but “follow me” seems evident from his gestures and she has naught better to do in a strange land that feels wrong, so though she wonders now if he is not Gorthaur or one of his ilk… rumour did have it that the host of the Valar did not dispense with all of Morgoth’s servants. The gold nails and bright hair make her wonder. But he does not feel foul, and he is not acting especially fair in order to win her trust.
And Gorthaur did know all of their tongues…
She hums softly to herself to fill the quiet as they walk, effortlessly musical in the way that all elves were.]
I wish I knew where we were, I did not know places with so much sand existed. Perhaps we are in the south? [She is talking to herself since he does not understand her, but she suspects he will take this Better than if she broke out into song.] If so, the south has very strange maiar. [As if they aren’t all strange. Her own queen had been strange and she was the most like the firstborn that Mithiel had ever heard of a Maia being.]
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Once they are out of the desert and into the kingdom, to the palace, servants immediately rush to Set. To take his cloak and hand him the nemes, the symbol of his leadership, which is draped over his shoulder. His golden accessories that adorn his chest are now evident. He tells the servants to bring water for Mithiel and motions once more for Mithiel to follow him.
Thoth is waiting for him in his room. The god of the moon, of wisdom, and writing. He is slight but he shines like the moon would with his white hair and light red eyes. He looks gentle...until he does not. Quickly his face turns to anger. Thoth is also the god of reckoning and it shows when he starts to shout at Set for disappearing again. Mithiel may not be able to understand what Thoth is saying but it must be obvious that he is insulting Set. He needs to stop leaving by himself, he needs to be less careless, and why is he bringing strange people into the palace? Set explains his side, how it seemed like a bad idea to let her have her lay of the land if she was an enemy. There are more hushed arguments until Thoth shakes his head, smiling to Mithiel. Better for his attention to go to her than a king who was never meant to be a king anyway.
Thoth moves to Mithiel and smiles, pointing to his head with his fingers and then to her. Asking if he may touch her forehead. If she bends down for him, because Thoth is small, he puts the tips to his fingers to her, letting his magic envelop her. He focuses, speaking, trying to see when he will understand her.]
Do you understand? Do you now?
[Set rolls his eyes.] Will you keep asking her that?
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More than ever she wished she could understand their language. She could be walking into danger and not know it. Not that she was much safer out amongst sand, nary a tree to be seen. The one that her strange companion brings her too looks like he could be one of her own people.
Until he doesn’t. Until his voice turns to such a pitch that while the words escape her, she cannot help but shrink behind her golden companion, her breath quickening even though she does not try to run or even speak. Her heart is still racing when this new stranger turns his attention to her and she cannot hide anymore.
She bends when he seems to ask it of her, wondering if he knows how to share minds and if he thinks that will help, but she feels magic rush over her, feels it along her faintly shimmering skin and then she can not just hear him but understand. Huh!]
He’s afraid I will talk too much. Little does he know I could have been singing instead. [Yes, yes she does understand.]
I am Mithiel, of Doriath. [a beat passes, she frowns and sadness fills her expression.] Formally of Doriath, currently of nowhere.
Are you both Maiar? [They feel different to her queen but also from each other, which she barely keeps herself from saying as it seems rude and she would prefer to not have their anger aimed at her.]
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I am Set, King of Egypt and god of the desert and storms. [His voice is commanding and firm, much like a king's should be. He has become good at this through practice.
He motions to Thoth, who is smiling as he bows his head in greeting. He has gone back to being gentle and kind. They have company who can understand him after all.] This is my advisor, Thoth, god of the moon and wisdom.
I have never heard of a Maiar. What is that?
[Thoth looks interested. After all, he is the god of wisdom and everything about her is not human. Perhaps not even from this world. For Set, though, many things go over his head. Including these things.]
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Perhaps they are Valar that did not make themselves manifest before? She worries her bottom lip between her teeth as she tries to work out a theological problem that an elf such as herself is absolutely not prepared for.]
They are Ainur. A lesser form, they tend to the world and its people or focus on their works and crafts. But perhaps you are Valar instead? They are more powerful Ainur. For example there is Varda, she who cast the stars in the sky so that we might live in darkness. I do not know this word “god”, my people have never had need of such a term. We know our creator by name, though he does not seem to ever care for us. [If a little bit of bitterness and hurt creeps into her tone, she quickly tries to mask it as she glances between them and keeps going.]
Was all that sand a “desert”? I have never seen such expanses of it before. I have never even seen a beach, only patches in places along the river.
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Ah, in our world it was Ra who did that. [Thoth says, he motions to Set.] His great grandfather. It would seem that we may be differing from our creations...[It wasn't even the truth that Ra had created everything, which Set knows, but also knows it cannot be told differently or else the scales would tip to chaos' favor.
Thoth is deep in thought and so Set answers.] We are surrounded by the desert. But our kingdom by the great Nile is fertile. The deserts are not. I've heard of lands that do not have deserts but I don't know anything about them. [He is the god of the desert after all.]
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Even the discordant note that would not stop.] Our creator is called Eru Illúvatar. We are called his children but I suspect you mean this in a more literal way than we do? It was he who played the first note in the song and he that left the first elves sleeping in the east to awaken, and he who allowed Dwarves to have true life when Aulë, the great smith, created them in secret and was found out. It was he who made men and let them follow after us.
[Though she is clearly not human, that is the first time she has said so explicitly..] He has never spoken to us directly, only through the Valar Manwë who alone has his ear. And Manwë does not often care for the elves who did not forsake the world and go east. [Hidden under her gentle, musical voice is anger about that. Perhaps her grandparents did “fail” in making the journey, but she could not see what was so wrong or worthy of scorn and neglect about loving the world that the creator of every single one of them and the Ainur too had made with the intention of them living in. She could not understand how Morgoth and his evils were something that until the last, Manwë had seemed to think they deserved. That he occasionally sent a giant eagle to save the foolish Noldor didn’t change the fact that he ignored the rest of them. He ignored her entire people, their lives, their home. He had allowed their home to be shattered and cast into the sea when Melkor was his brother…
Mithiel had never known anger until these last decades and now she boiled beneath the surface, like water cast upon the heaping slag piles that made the Thangorodrim.]
The Nile… is that a river? [She asks, her eyes softening again and curiosity returning now that she has a distraction, however brief, from her thoughts on the Valar and their poor sense of justice.] Doriath is a forest… was a forest… It was broken by the host of the Valar and now dwells increasingly beneath the sea. It was full of trees and caves, flowers and mushrooms and crops. I have spent all the years of my life within it’s girdle or not far out of it until the water came. I was born by the Sirion river that cuts through it’s western side. Beyond the borders of Doriath were more forests and grasslands, then the mountains beyond which I could see little. But I have never heard of such a sea of sand before. it was… beautiful in a way. [And terrifying, too.]
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Though he looks to Thoth, who is still listening. Intently. Set wonders if that may be a problem, fills his head with ideas. Problematic, really. How annoying.]
Yes, we have children as humans do. [Thoth answers and looks to Set, smiling.] Some of us. [Set crosses his arms and looks off to the side.] Your story seems very intriguing. I would love to be able to hear all of it and write it down. If you would be interested in telling it.
[Set sighs.]
If you are not human, not a god like us, nor any of the things you mention; what are you? You don't know about my kingdom, about deserts, or the Nile. Why were you in my desert?
[Thoth glares, obviously not happy with Set's lack of manners towards their guest.] Set.
[But Set does not look affected at all.]
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An elf. We are also called the Eldar. My own people who took the journey but did not finish it are called the Sindar, to the east from whence we first woke there are still some of our Kin who loved the land too much to come west at all, we call them the Avari. There are also our cousins the Telari who once walked with us and did cross the sea, as well as the Noldor many of whom are more troublesome than a legion of Orcs and the Vanyar, of whom we have seen little until the host came. Though Galadriel is partly one and she dwelt with us in Doriath for a time. I did not meet her. [She was nowhere near important enough to meet a guest of the King and Queen. She looks at Set, hoping he “enjoyed” her excessively long answer. She could not punish a King for his tone but she could perhaps bore him to death with a smile on her lips.]
I do not know why I am in your Kingdom, your Majesty. One of our marchwardens had set me on a horse and asked it to take me to the rest of our surviving people. Then everything turned to mist, then sand, and behold I had found myself in this strange place. It is not a craft I know anything of. I am but a forester. I have never heard of anyone passing through lands like this.
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Set had truly made a name for himself. Whether that was good or bad.
Though her long answer just brings him another sigh. He does not lash out. But he decides to remember this one loves a long answer. Set looks to Thoth if he has any idea and Thoth is in thought.]
It sounds as if you were brought here for some reason. By something. Not that I am sure what that could be. Your people are not here. We've certainly never known of elves. The word does not exist among us.
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Thingol had only listened to his wife, and even then not when it was truly important. He had been as stubborn as he had been wise and it had been the ruin of Doriath. Perhaps this was better?]
You have no word for elves, and we have no word for desert. We are both out of our element, though perhaps me more than the two of you. [Given that she is in a foreign land with no way to back up her claims or get home. She is as at their mercy as she would have been at Morgoths had she awoken in Angband in the time before he was dragged back across the sea.]
I have no ill intent for you or your people. I have never harmed anyone, even in self defence. I do not know why I was drawn here but perhaps I can be a help in some way. I am nearing a thousand years of age, I know much of my peoples craft as long as you do not make me a smith. I am very good with animals and plants.
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Thoth smiles widely.]
We have not been to war in a long while. Which is funny considering this king of ours is the god of violence as well. [Thoth puts a hand over his mouth, as if he said this by accident. Set glares because he knows it was not at all. Times like this, Thoth wants to get to him. His own way of lashing out.
Set puts a hand on his sword that lays at his hip.]
I protect these lands and war has not been necessary. Any enemy knows it is a terrible idea to cross my path. [He takes a step forward, glaring at her.] You may stay in my kingdom but know that you should not take me lightly. My brother made that mistake and now he is dead. [It was the story he had to tell. That he had killed his brother for the throne.
Thoth has simply looked on this scene and smiles to Mithiel.] Lord Set does not trifle in regards to the kingdom. But there will be no harm that will come to you. Of that, I am sure. [Set glances to him, wondering what that means.]
You are safer here. To go out to the desert again is asking for death. We can find you your way home and we can learn of your people, your history.
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I am no lover of war. I was born before the sun where everything was dangerous, and I have spent centuries in the shadow of war, of darkness and death. I do not even carry my sword. [There is her very finely crafted bow that is slung over her shoulder and the corresponding quiver, as well as a few small knifes but she carried them for hunting or on the off chance she was surrounded by orcs. Mithiel had no intention of ever starting a fight if she could avoid it. It was not in her nature.]
…Your brother? [It feels like she shouldn’t ask but it slips out before she can press her lips closed.]
If you will have me, I am grateful. I am happy to tell you as much as I can. It has been long since I have had time to talk or do anything other than try to save my people and their works.
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Exhausting, Set thinks.
Thoth speaks up, smiling to Mithiel. As if this isn't a sad story of brothers turning against one another. Like this is a bed time story.] It was Lord Osiris, the elder brother who was to be on the throne. Until Lord Set changed that.
[Sometimes Set thinks Thoth just wants to hurt someone because he cannot hurt himself. But Set does not feel like he used to. It still hurts but the pain has become duller. It is always on him after all. But he really just pities Thoth and maybe this Mithiel would be good for him.]
Enough of that. [Set orders and puts on the act he is used to now. It suits him well.] There is no need to talk of that foolish man. He is in the underworld now, a king of the dead. This is my kingdom and if you do not behave then you can meet him. You are welcome here and you can bother Thoth with all of your talk.
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More than that, he killed his brother and everyone was just fine with that? Could admit that with such ease? These people were more foreign to her than the nameless things beneath the earth.
Sure, she had heard that Fëanor had pulled his sword on Fingolfin when they were still across the sea but even he, so petty and so low for so high born of an elf did not go through with it.
Though he had caused the Kinslaying. She frowns. Could Valar or Maiar even truly die? What were these “gods”?
Leaning back, she takes the both of them in. She doesn’t know either well enough to be sure of how any of this truly affects the both of them. Perhaps it is better not to ask. At least not until they know her better and she can trust their reactions will be no worse than merely angry.]
What is an underworld? Do you also have great caverns carved out in the earth where evil things dwell? [No religion and no death meant little concept of an afterlife. All who died in middle-earth stopped by Mandos halls and she didn’t even think that an “underworld” could be related to that.]
I do not mean to bother anyone. But I will remember to mind my tongue, your majesty. [Illuvatar knows Kings have not saved her much in the past. Not even great and mighty Kings.]
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[It is all Set says. He is always quiet and now he will only talk when it is necessary. A tough thing for a king. Set is used to being reacting to this news similarly. Most people cannot understand how he could do such a thing. Set simply tried to ignore it as best as he could.
Thoth keeps the smile on his face. As always.]
The underworld is where one goes when they die. It is maintained by Lord Osiris, Lord Set's elder brother, now and the god of chaos, Apophis. We do have caverns but evil things do not lurk there.
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If they allowed themselves to feel at all. This much, she suspects, Set has in common with them. This much she feel comfortable guessing at for she had seen that avoidance in her own people time and time again for many wrongs both great and small.
Thoth is friendly, but she suspects he is also a puzzle. Perhaps a more difficult one by far–scholars often were.]
Oh. We go to the halls of Mandos, also called Námo. All souls pass through there, elves, men, dwarves. Though only elves may linger and then return rebodied. Where dwarves and men go, the songs do not say. I do not think the Doomsman knows himself.
Mandos is a place across the western sea. We had a…. Dark Valar, a being of chaos and great evil who came east and in the ground made his home full of tortured beings, twisted creations of the One and other beasts he made from I know not what. There were great wolves the size of a horse, strange creatures that flew… dragons. So many dragons, one was so large he blocked out the sun and when he fell from the sky, he smote the three mountain tops of the Thangorodrim. [At first she is fine. Morgoth or Melkor or any other name for him does not bother her. Her entire life has been spent with his shadow north of her little forested home and she had long since stopped fearing the sound of his name. However as she begins to try to explain what she meant by the cravens and why so many of them were evil, she shudders and physically pulls back so far and quickly she nearly knocks into Set as memory floods her and takes over her vision.] The host of the Valar was with the Noldor when finally he was contained but ripping him out of the land made it crack and crumble. Bit by bit we are falling into the sea and yet the shadow lingers even in his absence. Orcs come screaming out of the pits. Beasts. Dragons. Balrogs…
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And balances her when she knocks into him, hands on her shoulders. He doesn't keep his hands on her for long, not comfortable in touching anybody more than he must. But it is best if she doesn't hurt herself. He thinks he should say something to her since she is clearly upset by what has happened. The words hold no meaning to the god but they clearly do for this Mithiel. But Set doesn't know what to say.
Luckily, Thoth does. With a concerned look upon his face, he says,] You and your kind have clearly gone through a great deal. We have no twisted monsters here though I cannot say there is no evil. Still, our kingdom seems a safer land than where you come from. Perhaps that is why you are here?
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Perhaps it is so. I am glad you have no monsters. I have never known a life without them. Even the centuries of safety that Melian gave us all, we knew the shadow lingered in the lands above us. We were safe, but never fully at peace.
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Thoth notices the interaction and filed that away in case they need it. Or he needs it.]
Chaotic, indeed. Since the light of Ra graces us all then you are safe here. Set is a favorite of his. Play nice with his great grandson and it should be good.
[Set rolls his eyes.] That old man just says things. Don't listen to Thoth. I am not a favorite. I have never been.
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I have every intention of treating you both with the same goodness and kindness I would share with my own people. That we are safe only makes that easier.
And if that is so, I have some experience in not being favoured. I was just one of hundreds of elves, special only to my parents. You are not alone. [Congrats, you’re going to be her new friend, Set.]
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