Youâre the woman nobody believes.
You knew that FĂ«anor was bad news even before he crafted the gems that brought all this about. You saw them all raise their eyebrows at your distaste for him, your refusal to give him the merest strand of your hair. Heâs so clever! He makes such beautiful things! His genius knows no bounds! Oh, Artanis, donât be foolish.
You still have nightmares about Alqualondë.
Youâre used to it -- you hate it, but youâre used to it, all right. Youâve danced this dance before. Youâve seen the signs of the oncoming storm. You could write the book on it all, and sometimes you seriously think you just might, one day. If you survive.
If anyone else survives to read it.
Sure, you could run to safety. Youâd be fine. Youâd heal overnight, right? Except you wouldnât, because your dreaming memories are almost as real as waking life, and youâd be reminded constantly that you lived.
The guilt that comes with that will crash over you like a wave that can drown whole empires, that can wipe islands off the map. It saturates everything. But hey, youâre safe, right?
You know how regret and shame can make you cold, snowblind. You remember the times youâve been frozen in a moment, bodily, mentally, feeling your own heart beating like an ice-pick thrust into a glacier as some more bad news sunk in. Guilt is the fiercest blizzard.
Theyâre wrong -- your part is not finished. Your duty has not been done, not yet. You cannot leave innocent people to endure terror and imprisonment and death.
All they see is your anger, itâs all they want to see. They donât see your anxiety keeping you wide awake all night. They donât see you literally bite down on your tongue when things go to ruin like you knew they would, like you said they would, they donât taste the iron tang of blood that you concentrate on so you won't cry in frustration. They donât see your battered heart. They see the lightning and hear the roaring thunder, see the winds forcing the trees to bend and snap. They donât see the eye of the storm, where you stand, alone, unbroken. You, the tempest, cyclone, goddamn hurricane.
Youâre just another angry woman, after all.Â