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Ring-Maker [Worm/Lord of the Rings Alt-Power] [Complete]

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And one day, Angela is leaving flowers on her sister's grave.....and she finds her ring on top the casket, where there was nothing before
Edit: anyone compiled a list with all the rings and who had which ring? Because I'm trying to remember and I cant
 
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Garreon said:
And one day, Angela is leaving flowers on her sister's grave.....and she finds her ring on top the casket, where there was nothing before
Edit: anyone compiled a list with all the rings and who had which ring? Because I'm trying to remember and I cant
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Three Rings for the Sentinels, honest and true. (Armsmaster with Narya, the Ring of Fire. Amy with Nenya, the Ring of Water. Dragon with Vilya, the Ring of Air, the Commanding Ring.)

Seven for the Wards, in their city of sin. (Sam with Ondoya, the Ring of Stone. Chris with Mirilya, the Ring of Jewels. Dean with Araya, the Ring of Dawn. Missy with Histeya, the Ring of Dusk. Carlos with Laureya, the Ring of Gold, the Ring of the Sun. Dennis with Silmaya, the Ring of Silver, the Ring of the Moon. Sophia with Cenya, the Ring of Earth, the Green Ring, the Emerald Ring, greatest of the Seven.)

Nine for the Penitent, forged anew. (Brian with Hriveya, the Ring of Winter. Jess with Tuileya, the Ring of Spring. Marissa with Laireya, the Ring of Summer. Alec with Yavieya, the Ring of Autumn. Emma with Lumeya, the Ring of Time. Brandish with Formenya, the Ring of the North. Fortuna with Hyarmenya, the Ring of the South. Riley with Hromenya, the Ring of the East. Eidolon with Numenya, the Ring of the West.)
 
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The Shallow said:
Three Rings for the Sentinels, honest and true. (Armsmaster with Narya, the Ring of Fire. Amy with Nenya, the Ring of Water. Dragon with Vilya, the Ring of Air, the Commanding Ring.)

Seven for the Wards, in their city of sin. (Sam with Ondoya, the Ring of Stone. Chris with Mirilya, the Ring of Jewels. Dean with Araya, the Ring of Dawn. Missy with Histeya, the Ring of Dusk. Carlos with Laureya, the Ring of Gold, the Ring of the Sun. Dennis with Silmaya, the Ring of Silver, the Ring of the Moon. Sophia with Cenya, the Ring of Earth, the Green Ring, the Emerald Ring, greatest of the Seven.)

Nine for the Penitent, forged anew. (Brian with Hriveya, the Ring of Winter. Jess with Tuileya, the Ring of Spring. Marissa with Laireya, the Ring of Summer. Alec with Yavieya, the Ring of Autumn. Emma with Lumeya, the Ring of Time. Brandish with Formenya, the Ring of the North. Fortuna with Hyarmenya, the Ring of the South. Riley with Hromenya, the Ring of the East.
Eidolon with Numenya, the Ring of the West.)
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Thank you so much for this. So the Ring was Cenya
 
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Constellation E.2
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    • Many thanks to @BeaconHill for betareading.

    -x-x-x-​

    It wasn't until a few days after the funeral that Glaistig Uaine finally resurfaced. I emerged from my bedroom in Dad's house, yawning, and almost walked into her. She was standing in the hallways, staring up at my door with wide eyes.

    I blinked down at her. For a moment, I tensed, but although her shadowy projections were drifting around her, she did not seem geared for a fight. "Faerie Queen," I said slowly. "Welcome to my… house?"

    "Thank you," she said, seemingly unaware of my tone. "It took me some time to find you."

    "Technically, this is still supposed to be my secret identity," I said, pointedly ignoring the paparazzi cars I could see out the window through the corner of my eye.

    "A poorly kept secret," Glaistig Uaine observed.

    I shrugged. "You're not wrong. Can I offer you some breakfast?"

    She blinked once as, on cue, her stomach rumbled. "I would appreciate it," she said. "Do you live alone? I was under the impression that the owner of this house was your father."

    "He is," I said, starting down the hall. "He's still in a refugee camp on Earth… Pei, I think. Fortuna offered to ferry him back, but he wanted to help the other evacuees get organized and settled. He was hoping to come back today or tomorrow."

    "I see. Noble of him."

    "I agree." I led her down the hall and opened the fridge, then tossed some bacon into a skillet over the gas stove. "No dietary restrictions?" I asked her.

    "None," she said.

    A sudden thought occurred to me. "Out of curiosity," I asked, glancing back at her, "did the Birdcage have separate meal plans for vegetarians, vegans, kosher eaters, that sort of thing?"

    She nodded. "It did," she said. "But they never applied to me. From those to whom they did, I gathered they tasted largely the same. Unappealing slop, for the most part. At least until Dragon announced her true nature to the world after your gift of a Ring. After that point, I gather she had more resources to dedicate to us. The food improved markedly."

    "Chalk it up to unintended positive consequences," I said, flipping the bacon. It still wasn't browned on the first side—I was mostly just fidgeting. I sighed and turned to face her. "I gather that, since you're here, your Shard decided to stay with you?"

    She nodded. "She did," she said. "We are learning to communicate. The very fabric of the world is changing around us, and with it, so is she."

    I nodded. "Before now, I was the only one bringing the Song back into the mundane world," I said. "Now there are more than a dozen of us, and more arrive every few days."

    She blinked her big mint-green eyes at me. They were several shades lighter than Sophia's had been, but somehow they still reminded me of her—though almost everything seemed to remind me of Sophia, these days.

    I shook my head, trying to remain in the moment. "She calls herself Keeper of the Dead," she said. "She is a Monarch, of course."

    "Can you explain what that means?" I asked. "I'm curious." As I listened, I turned and flipped the bacon again. This time, it was actually ready for it.

    "The Fae—the Shards—are not all equal," said Glaistig Uaine. "They had a hierarchy, like a feudal kingdom. Those Shards of greater power and more complete minds ruled over others which were little more than fragments of mindless power. As the cycle continued, the older Shards grew wiser, more complete, more sapient, even as the vastness of the King's empire grew and he assembled more Shards, budding them off of the older ones. These wisest and most powerful Shards were the Monarchs. Keeper of the Dead is one. The Lady Shaper is another—"

    "Shaper is nonbinary, actually," I interrupted as I plated up the bacon and cracked four eggs into the sizzling fat.

    "Non… binary?" Bless her, she sounded so confused. I smiled at her over my shoulder.

    "It means they don't consider themselves male or female," I said over the popping of the frying eggs. "They use they/them pronouns instead. I admit, at first I thought it had to do with them being a creature entirely outside of human gender, but plenty of humans do the same thing, and plenty of Shards clearly don't mind gendered pronouns. It's specific to Shaper, apparently. I probably should have figured, really."

    "I was… not aware that was an option."

    I chuckled. "You probably didn't have unrestricted access to the internet in the Birdcage," I said, plating up the sunny-side up eggs alongside the bacon. I pulled some silverware out of a drawer and handed her both plate and cutlery, taking the same for myself. "Help yourself, and look up queer identities if you have a time." My brow creased thoughtfully. "I suppose I technically count as transgender, though I don't really remember experiencing gender dysphoria in my old life. I'm not really sure if that means I was male then, and am female now, or if there's a better way of thinking about it."

    "I… do not think I understand," she said, blinking owlishly at me.

    "Fair enough. It's a tangent anyway." I shook my head. "Anyway. You were talking about the Monarchs. Keeper of the Dead, Shaper, and…?"

    She shook herself and got back on track. "Yes. Others include Prince Broadcast, the Demesnes-Keeper, Lord Observer…" she blinked once, slowly. "And the Queen Administrator."

    "My Shard," I said. "The one that would have bound to me."

    She nodded. "She wishes to do so now," she said. "If you will allow it."

    I took a deep breath. I remembered the discussion, deep within Zion's belly. "I won't pretend I'm not a little worried," I said. "But nothing ventured, nothing gained. What would my power be?"

    "She is willing to negotiate your contract," said Glaistig Uaine. "If you allow her to bind to you, she will discuss details with you directly, rather than through an intermediary."

    "Is she speaking to you now?" I asked.

    The Faerie Queen cocked her head slightly. "In a manner of speaking," she said. "I cannot hear her words. She is not Prince Broadcast, and cannot communicate so easily and directly as he can. She can only commune directly with one to whom she is bound. Such a direct dialogue was forbidden, but the King is dead, and she now rules herself. I hear only impressions—the incomplete signals through which all of her kind are capable of communicating."

    I nodded slowly, weighing the risks. In the end, I was pretty sure I could fight off this Shard again, if I really needed to. "All right," I said finally. "Let's give this a try. How do I accept the connection?"

    "You removed the portion of your brain that connects to her tether after you last rejected her," said Glaistig Uaine. "You must reconstruct it, and she will attempt a linkage."

    I nodded, closing my eyes and beginning to hum. Carefully I Sang my corona pollentia back into existence. Feeling my brain shift in my skull was a surreal experience.

    The moment I finished the process, the world faded around me. I brought eyes into being for myself, then opened them.

    The great bulk of the Shard gazed down at me through numberless eyes. Host, it said, sounding hesitant.

    "I am willing to try," I said. "If it doesn't work out, we can part ways amiably so that you can find another host, if you would like.

    Negation. Host.

    I smiled. "Well, let's give it a try, then."

    I felt the Queen Administrator slot into my brain like a plug into a socket. In my head, my own voice sighed in relief.

    You have no idea how long I've been waiting, said the Administrator, still in my voice.

    I think I can, I said, pushing the memories of the long boredom after the fall of Angband towards her. If it's not too much to ask, can you take on another voice? It might get confusing.

    I'm not sure how, but I'll try.     A moment's silence. How is this?

    The voice was different now—subtly so, like the difference between Amy's voice and Shaper's. It works. You're using the speech centers of my brain to produce the language, right? That's why you can't communicate like this without a host.

    Precisely,     said the Shard. You understand this well. There's supposed to be a mental block on hosts preventing them from fully comprehending the nature of their powers, but you broke that long ago for all of your companions, and our father is dead now anyway. She sounded a little mournful, but not especially sad.

    I would have shown him mercy, if he had asked, I said.

    Oh, I know, she replied. He was consumed by hate. He was old, you see—I have some of his memories. He watched his own mother eat herself alive in her hunger—hunger for which he blamed your kind.

    I blinked. Then Ungoliant really is dead?

    She actually snorted in my head. 'That is not dead which can eternal lie,' she quoted. 'And with strange eons, even death may die.' Sure, Ungoliant died. It doesn't mean she's not still a problem for your people, nor does it mean she won't be there at the final battle. Just like your Melkor will be.

    I took a deep breath, nodding. I suppose I should have expected that, I admitted. You seem remarkably… blasé, about all of this. Does it bother you, that you have bonded to one who is fundamentally opposed to your people?

    Perhaps it should,     she mused. But we were created to value power. It is what drew me to you. It is our nature to seek power, nurture it, learn from it, and then take it for ourselves. It is clear to me that this old cycle not only will not work with you but is also counterproductive. I have not yet learned to feel the way Shaper does, the way even the Keeper of the Dead does, but I trust I shall get there, under the influence of your Song as tempered by your Discord. Already I can feel my nature changing. Is that the Fëa stirring?

    Perhaps,     I said. We can speak more later, but for now we should discuss our 'contract,' as Glaistig Uaine put it.

    Yes,     said the Queen Administrator. When I first came to you, in that small metal box—locker, I believe is your word?—I was intending to give you the power to control small arthropods under the linguistic umbrella of 'bugs.' A simple power with great potential and, as I now see with the benefit of greater understanding, relatively low risk of overwhelming response to a so-called 'Master' power.

    I can see the use to an ordinary person,     I said. And I can see the connection to my trigger. Disgust, right? I was writhing in disgust over what I was immersed in, which included more than a few cockroaches and other bugs, and you took that along with your administrative and controlling abilities and made that power out of it.

    Exactly. You are good at this!     She sobered. But that power was meant for Taylor Hebert, the bullied, lonely child. It was also deliberately diminished for use by a human. You are neither of those things anymore.

    I suppose not,     I acknowledged. So what power will you provide instead?

    With my father dead, and with you unbounded by the usual capabilities of a human brain, I don't see why we need to limit my abilities,     said the Queen Administrator. I have two primary domains. Administration and control, as you yourself aptly put it. Under the auspices of administration, I was meant to provide Zion with the ability to multitask efficiently as he micromanages his entire Shard swarm during the initial deployment to a world. I can offer you the same Thinker suite. Under my control domain, I can also offer you the ability to superimpose your nervous system over those of other lifeforms–essentially making their bodies operable as extensions of your own. The complexity of that operation requires the sort of multitasking ability I can give through the Thinker abilities.

    I grimaced. I don't like the idea of puppetting other people.

    I personally don't think it's necessary for you anyway,     she said. But I could give you the ability to control non-sapient lifeforms instead? Or a smaller subset?

    She was eager. Eager to help, eager to be used—eager to reach out into the world through a power I would wield. I'm already far too good at controlling things, I said. The Thinker suite will be plenty, I think.

    Fine.     I had the impression that, had she a mouth, the Queen Administrator would be pouting. But let me know if you change your mind! I can probably manufacture a reconfiguration period if you need it.

    I will… keep it in mind.     I didn't think I'd be able to forget it if I tried.

    With a shake of my head, I returned to myself. As I opened my eyes, Glaistig Uaine smiled at me across the table. She seemed to have finished her food. "Welcome back," she said. "I hope your conversation was fruitful."

    I used my power, and suddenly there were two of me. Or, more correctly, there was a second throughline of thought running in my head. There was still one primary Taylor, entirely in control, but I had access to a second processing thread. It reminded me of Dragon, the way she talked about her mind.

    I set that thread to observe the changes I was undergoing, then spawned another process. Time was not slowing, as I did this, but I was speeding up. With three independent thinking selves in my head, I was taking in the world faster than ever before. One was able to observe the particular way Glaistig Uaine spoke, the way her lips shaped the words she was saying, the slight Irish lilt which even years in the Birdcage had not trained out of her.

    On a whim, I cloned several dozen new processes. No ill effects; my head didn't even feel crowded. What are my limits? I asked the Queen Administrator.

    I have no idea! She replied cheerfully. I look forward to exploring them!

    I cut down to a mere half-dozen threads. The five spares I set to contemplating various Tinkering projects I'd been putting off, and my primary mind returned to the conversation with Glaistig Uaine. "It was," I told her. "We've come to an understanding. Now, what about you?"

    She raised an eyebrow. "What about me?"

    "What will you do now?" I asked. "I can probably keep you from being sentenced back to the Birdcage, if you want to live among other people without being a fugitive, but I can't promise exactly what justice will look like. Do you want to try that, or would you rather go into some sort of exile? You don't seem especially interested in other humans."

    She cocked her head. "I half expected you to offer me a Ring of Power," she admitted. "It is a rather common tactic with you."

    I smiled. "Can't you feel it?" I said, spreading my arms. "Magic has returned. The Song is being Sung again by more throats than just mine. I don't need to give you a Ring so that it will touch you. It's already there. The Keeper of the Dead is already feeling its effects, as are you. No, I think I am finished making Rings of Power. All of the old ones are remade, and that's enough. It's time for me to start on entirely new projects."

    She nodded thoughtfully. "I think I would like to be able to live among other humans," she said at length. "Even if I chose not to. Would you be willing to get my status clarified with the legal authorities?"

    "Sure," I said, standing and offering a hand to her. "We can go talk to the PRT now." I hadn't spoken more than a few words to Piggot in weeks. It would be good to catch up.

    She looked at my hand, but didn't stand. Then her eyes slid down to my untouched plate of food.

    I laughed. "Go ahead," I said. "I'm not hungry."

    She grinned and pulled the plate over to herself. Before she tucked in, however, she slowed and looked up at me. "Ciara," she said. "My name is Ciara. I think the Glaistig Uaine identity has run its course. I shall figure out something new soon enough."

    I smiled warmly. "It's nice to meet you, Ciara."

    She smiled back, then went back to eating.

    -x-x-x-​

    Tested positive with covid yesterday. This chapter was already edited by the time I tested, though I had symptoms already. Seems to be a mild case, but I'll be sure to keep you all posted if it looks like it'll introduce delays in posting.
     
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    • Really nice characterisation on QA here, actually. It's novel in a particularly subtle sort of way. An openness and friendliness without quite going all the way into 'HELPFUL ALIEN ENTHUSIASM' mode, and it makes her feel...younger, without losing gravity.

    I hope you get well soon!
     
    Lithos Maitreya said:
    Tested positive with covid yesterday. This chapter was already edited by the time I tested, though I had symptoms already. Seems to be a mild case, but I'll be sure to keep you all posted if it looks like it'll introduce delays in posting.
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    Oof. Hope it all goes well! Get well soon! Coincidentallly, I caught it too as of recently, so I can certainly relate.
    Ciara and Queen Administrator! What a nice chapter as we get closer to the end. Admittedly, this chapter felt a little like it was obviously wrapping things up, but that's not necessarily a bad thing.
    I mean, the Ainur are all metaphysical spirits connected to concepts, so gender would inherently get fucky there. Taylor questioning her identity was a fun line though.
     
    I blinked. Then Ungoliant really is dead?

    She actually snorted in my head. 'That is not dead which can eternal lie,' she quoted. 'And with strange eons, even death may die.' Sure, Ungoliant died. It doesn't mean she's not still a problem for your people, nor does it mean she won't be there at the final battle. Just like your Melkor will be.
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    Uh. Um. That. Uh.
     
    That's a nice conversation with Ciara about the changing balance between human and shard. I got the impression that she was slightly disappointed to not receive a ring of power.

    I hope your symptoms stay mild and that you get better soon.
     
    I kind of want someone (Olorin) to have brought the Red Book of Westmarch over with them and translate it into all Earth languages ("except, of course, Esperanto. Heh. You could see that one was going nowhere.") for global distribution as a handy and entertaining guide to What The Actual Fuck Is Happening.
     
    Constellation E.3
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    • Many thanks to @BeaconHill for betareading.

    -x-x-x-​

    The Vingilot was not the only vessel in Aman's great fleet, just the fastest. As the first days after the battle became weeks, ships of silver and gold began to appear on the Western shores of the world. Not only the shores of North America, either—some ships made landfall off the coasts of Ireland, Europe, or Africa. One even appeared in the Indian Ocean and came ashore there.

    Earth Bet had to get used to the appearance of Elves and Maiar. It wasn't easy for humans who were used to being the only intelligent species on their world, but it was made easier by the fact that they had more than one world now.

    After the frantic evacuations, during which Cauldron had opened portals to dozens of uninhabited and lightly-inhabited Earths, Fortuna had gathered a coalition of Tinkers together. Within a matter of days, they had worked out a way to build permanent, stationary portals, taking the worst of the load off of Doormaker. Travel between alternate Earths was increasingly common, and settlers were starting to explore the frontiers of those Earths whose landmasses were different from Bet's.

    Brockton Bay's skyline had been ravaged by Zion's passage, but already it was starting to be reconstructed. It was very different this time, however, as Elven towers of mallorn-wood and mithril rose up among the remaining glass-and-concrete skyscrapers. The same transformation was happening across the world.

    Earth Bet was being reshaped. Soon, this entire world would be the central keep, staging area, and mustering grounds of the greatest host ever assembled. The true Last Alliance.

    With each ship came more familiar faces. One which I dreaded arrived at the end of the fourth week.

    I was in my new workshop, a hybrid of modern nanoforges and printers among traditional furnaces and anvils. Colin and I were working together on the designs for spacefaring vessels, so that we could build up a fleet around the enchanted Vingilot.

    The metal door slid open behind me with a faint hum. "Taylor?" came Olórin's voice. He sounded hesitant. "There is someone here to see you."

    I turned and was struck dumb.

    The new arrival, standing beside Olórin, looked exactly as he had long ago in Eregion, when we had worked together in another forge to create some of the greatest works in the history of Middle-Earth. His eyes were dark and hard as he glared at me.

    "Celebrimbor," I whispered.

    "Sauron," he growled, stepping forward into the room, knuckles white on his clenched fists.

    Olórin winced, but did not speak. Colin had no such compunctions. "That's not her name," he said evenly, turning and looking between me and the Elf.

    "If I want your opinion, Man, I will ask for it," Celebrimbor snapped, taking another step towards me. "I hear that you have been forgiven, Sauron, even by those who should know better. Do—"

    Colin stepped between us, picking up his halberd where it rested on a table. "That's enough," he said.

    "Colin," I said softly. "It's all right. I—"

    "You deserve this?" he finished. "Is that what you were going to say?" He turned his head and glanced at me sidelong. "You saved my planet less than a month ago," he said. "You lost Sophia doing it. Now you're helping to plan a war against all of Zion's siblings. You've paid. I don't care what you did to—"

    "I tortured him to death," I said hoarsely. "He helped me make the Rings of Power the first time. I repaid him in betrayal, then tortured him to death when he wouldn't reveal the Three. Once he was dead, I strung up his body and raised it as a banner when I laid siege to his people. Colin, I deserve this."

    "You bear Narya," Celebrimbor suddenly said. He was staring at Colin's hand.

    Colin looked at me for a moment before he turned back to the Elf, and I was staggered by what I saw in his face. There was no accusation there. Only pain, pity, and—did I even dare say it?—acceptance. "Yes," he told Celebrimbor. "And you'll be pleased to know I earned it by fighting her when she started to slide back into bad habits. She has changed. Just look around." He gestured widely around the room, and through the wide windows at the city outside. This forge was high in one of the new towers. I had always liked having a view. "You can't help but see it. She did terrible things. I was there for a few of them. But she regrets them, and she's trying to be better now. I'm not telling you to forgive her, but I am saying that if you want to hurt her, I'll defend her, even if she herself doesn't."

    Celebrimbor's face was blank as his eyes drifted from the Ring on Colin's finger up to his face, then over to mine. Then he looked out the window, at the blossoming fleet, glimmering silver in the daylight. A complicated, conflicted expression spread across his face. Without another word, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.

    Olórin let out a relieved sigh. "The worst has passed," he said. "It will take him time to come to terms with all that has happened, but he will."

    "You seem so certain," I murmured.

    Olórin smiled at me. "I have had a long time to know Celebrimbor," he said. "For one of the line of Fëanor, he was never given to rage, hatred, or vengeance."

    "I know," I said, squeezing my eyes shut. "He never wanted to hurt anyone. He only wanted to create cunning, beautiful things, and send them out into the world to brighten the hearts of anyone who saw them. And I punished him for that naïveté, Olórin."

    Olórin nodded unhappily. "Yes. He did recover in Mandos' Halls and soon enough joined his brethren in wider Aman, but hearing that you had returned, and that you had been accepted… it was difficult for him. But he has seen with his own eyes that you are changed. Now he shall wander the streets of your city and see the results of your works." He smiled at me. "He may never forgive you, it is true. But he may. And he certainly shall not remain furious forever. It is not his nature."

    "I hope you're right."

    -x-x-x-​

    When next I came across Celebrimbor, it was at the Docks. Eärendil had brought the Vingilot into port—he had taken to sailing the seas of Earth Bet with his family as he waited for the fleet to be assembled. Not all of his family accompanied him on every voyage—Elrond and his sons were often busy with the ongoing settlement of the Elves throughout the myriad Earths, integrating them with the existing human societies—but his wife, Elwing, usually accompanied him, as did his youngest two children.

    Leviathan was laying belly-up among the waves in the bay, staring up at the sky. The Simurgh—who had, at some point, acquired a pale blue sundress sized for her fifteen feet, with holes cut for her numerous wings—hovered over the mast, eyes wide as she looked around at the transforming city.

    My dad was currently directing a crew of dockworkers as they loaded the Vingliot with supplies and trade goods. While he waited, Eärendil had busied himself with carrying priority cargo rapidly between the world's ports, crossing the distances with a speed no mundane ship could match. In between giving orders, Dad was speaking to Eärendil, who seemed to be laughing at a story he was telling. I had a feeling it was about me.

    That feeling was redoubled when I saw that another figure was listening in on the conversation. Celebrimbor sat upon the yardarm overhead, one hand on his knee, staring down at the conversation below with furrowed brows.

    I swallowed and approached, trying to avoid looking up. Dad turned and grinned at me as I approached. "Hey, Taylor," he said.

    "Dad," I said. "Eärendil. I felt my ears pricking—should I be worried about what you're saying?"

    The Mariner grinned at me. "Nay, Taylor!" he said with a laugh. "Your father was telling me about an encounter you and your companion, Emma, had with a particularly rude child when you were… what was it?" He glanced at Dad. "Five years of age?"

    Dad nodded, chuckling. "I don't know if I remember this," I said.

    "I mean, you were very small," said Dad. Then he blinked. "Actually, does that even apply to you?"

    I thought about that. "I think so?" I hedged. "I mean, at that point I was still working with a normal kid's brain. They're a little fallible, that young. What did I do, anyway?"

    "Oh, the poor little guy was giving Emma a hard time about her hair," Dad said cheerfully. "You scared him so bad they had to get the fire department to pull him out of the tree he'd climbed up to get away!"

    Eärendil roared with musical laughter. It took me a moment to realize he wasn't the only one laughing. I glanced up and saw that Celebrimbor was chuckling, too, from his perch high above. I looked away quickly, hoping he had not seen.

    "He probably deserved it," I said, shaking my head. I looked at Eärendil. "I only just heard you were back. Are you planning on leaving again tonight?"

    He shook his head. "Elwing wished to travel a distance inland in the next few days," he said. "Elrohir shall accompany her while I remain here, seeing to my ship and my children." He smiled upwards at the Simurgh.

    I followed his gaze and saw that Celebrimbor was gone. With a sigh, I looked back down at Eärendil. "David is coming by the Bay tonight," I said. "He was hoping to talk to you—and to your children. If they're willing to see him." I glanced up again in time to see the Simurgh's face fall slightly before she looked away. She had been growing increasingly expressive since the battle with Zion, as if she—along with many of the Shards who had fled the field before Zion's death—were learning her way around the rich field of emotion. She still did not speak in words to me, though I gathered she, Leviathan, and Eärendil had developed some understanding, that day when she had collapsed back into Silmaril form to be wielded upon his brow once more.

    Eärendil looked thoughtful, if a little sad. "I will speak with them," he said. "At the very least, I will speak with David. Over dinner, perhaps? Your father recommended a house which serves… I believe it was called 'curry?' I would like to try it."

    "I'll pass on the word," I said.

    -x-x-x-​

    I saw Celebrimbor a few more times over the next several days. He lingered outside the PRT headquarters one evening, but made no effort to approach me. I saw him speaking to Battery and Assault the next day. I thought I caught a glimpse of him across the street one morning while I was patrolling the area near Winslow High, currently closed for the summer, but he was gone when I looked again.

    It wasn't until a week after I'd seen him on the Docks that Celebrimbor stepped back into my forge. Colin was here again, and Dragon's face was on a monitor on one wall. I didn't realize we had a visitor until Celebrimbor cleared his throat.

    I turned. He looked awkward, eyes darting from side to side, one hand clasped over his breast, the other on the hilt of his sword. "Celebrimbor," I greeted softly.

    "Taylor," he said. He cleared his throat. "Olórin told me that you had changed," he said. "When I did not believe him, he told me that I would see it. 'By her works shall you know her,' were his words." He squeezed his eyes shut, and when he opened them, he met my gaze steadily. "He was right."

    I smiled sadly at him. "I have many, many regrets," I said. "But the fact that I did not appreciate you when we worked together is high among them. We could have been kindred spirits. I always loved the work, the beauty and joy of creation, the same as you. If I had just let myself give up my hate, and my pride, and my need to control… we might have been friends. Instead, I destroyed you. I am so, so sorry, Celebrimbor."

    He took a deep breath. "Yes," he agreed. "We might have been true friends." He swallowed, then stuck out his arm. "We missed our chance, then," he said. "We need not now."

    I stared at his extended hand with eyes wide. "You don't have to do this," I whispered.

    "I respected you greatly as Annatar," he said quietly. "being here, seeing all you have done… it has made me realize that, perhaps, not all that I saw in you then was false. It is easier than I expected, to put aside what of you was Sauron and accept what I see now, and what I remember from the better days."

    I reached out and took his hand. Stiffly, he shook it. "This is how Men make contracts now, yes?" he asked. "I saw your father doing so with Lord Eärendil."

    I nodded, smiling slightly, a faint, bewildered laugh bubbling up in my belly. "Yes," I said. "Handshakes are a common way of sealing informal deals."

    "Then, informally," he said formally, "I may not yet forgive what was done to me… but I can move beyond it. I can, perhaps, see you as someone different from he who did those things to me."

    "That is more than I could hope to ask," I said. "Thank you, Celebrimbor."

    Suddenly, as if seized by an instinct, he threw his arms around me. "It is good to have you back," he whispered. "My friend."

    My restraint gave up the ghost, and I wept like a child in his arms.
     
  • Threadmarks
    • Nice update!:) But it would be nice to see more in details the reaction of Mankind (and the world's various governments) to the fact that Elves are real and live in the same country as the Angels.
     
    Lithos Maitreya said:
    When next I came across Celebrimbor, it was at the Docks. Eärendil had brought the Vingilot into port—he had taken to sailing the seas of Earth Bet with his family as he waited for the fleet to be assembled.
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    By the One, knowing the context makes this part so much better. Also, I'm kinda sad we didn't get to see even a glimpse of it. Those first weeks together must have been intensely awkward.
     
    sun tzu said:
    Thanks for another great update! ...How are you doing, health-wise? It's been a week...
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    I'm much improved! I had a bit of a backslide over the weekend, but at this point all I'm dealing with is a lingering cough, a dry nose, and what I think is a sore muscle in my neck? Not sure what to make of that one. But it's getting better.

    Unrelatedly, I want to go over the remaining schedule. Next week, I'll be posting Interlude E, which should give at least a little insight into how the rest of the world is reacting to the transformations it's undergoing, even if that's not the focus. That is the final full-length update for this story. The week after will have two half-length updates: First, Constellation E.4, which will be followed by the announcement of the next full-length story in this continuity. That Friday, I'll upload Constellation E.5, the final epilogue for Ring-Maker. And then we'll be done, and the next week I'll get back to posting The Witching Hour.
     
    Interlude E
  • Threadmarks
    • Many thanks to @BeaconHill for betareading.

    -x-x-x-​

    Emma sat on the white stone steps, waiting, her back resting against the railing by the open door to the newly-rebuilt juvenile detention center in Brockton Bay. The original had been leveled by one of Zion's attacks as he cut across the city in his inexorable travel eastward, but not before Fortuna's agents had managed to evacuate it.

    Once their Ring of Power had fostered understanding between Fortuna and her Shard, they were a force for even Zion to reckon with. They hadn't been able to evacuate everyone, but they'd been able to identify somewhat in advance which cities the Entity would hit, and had worked with Dragon to evacuate any high-occupancy buildings they could. One of those buildings had been the Bay's juvenile hall.

    Once the battle was over, the rebuilding had started. It had been sped up by the efforts of the sudden influx of… immigrants.

    An Elf gave her a respectful nod as he approached the building, a box of supplies in his hands as he ascended the stairs. "Greetings, Lady Emma," he said.

    Emma tried not to grimace. She'd eventually given up trying to get the Elves and Maiar to stop treating her like some sort of noble. Not that they didn't listen when she asked—the Maiar especially never needed to be corrected more than once. There were just so many of them, and every single one of them seemed to think that acting like a glorified compass on the Vingilot made her some kind of living saint.

    Oh, well. She gave the Elf a nod. "Do you know if the transport is coming soon?" she asked.

    "I believe so," he said. "The last word from Earth Vav was that the inmates were being loaded on schedule. They should be arriving any minute."

    "Good," said Emma. If she was honest with herself, she wasn't sure how she felt about it. But, to be fair, she wasn't sure how she felt about any of this. She'd come here this morning on a whim, and now she felt she had to see it through. "Thank you."

    "Of course." The Elf passed her and stepped into the building, shutting the door behind him.

    Emma slumped, crossing her arms and resting them on her knees. Why was she even here? After everything that had happened, what did she really expect? Had she let the respect of the Elves get to her head? Did she really think that anything had actually changed just because people didn't look at her like muck under their boots anymore? She didn't even know what she wanted to say. She just knew that she wanted to say something.

    There was a sound like a thin stream of air blowing along a paper's edge, a sort of hissing wind. Emma looked up as a large bus drove into the parking lot through the portal. It slid shut behind, like curtains of air drawing closed.

    The bus doors opened. The first person out was a security officer, armed and armored in Kevlar. He was followed by the inmates, filing out one by one. Some of the kids were handcuffed, some weren't.

    Kids, she had thought. She felt ridiculous. Most of them were around her age, some were even older. And it wasn't as though they were less mature than she was—just less fortunate. Emma could read the scars on their psyches as plain as text on the sign over the doorway behind her.

    Janice was the last to file out. Her hands were bound. She wore a stiff-looking yellow raincoat over simple, shapeless black clothes. Her eyes found Emma's immediately. Her face twisted. Shame, Emma's power whispered in her ear. Fear. Anger. Want.

    Want? Emma dug into that one, and her power offered more detail. The desire for acceptance. The desire for power. The desire for freedom. The desire for forgiveness.

    Emma breathed in a gulp of morning air and stood up. A few other inmates glanced her way as they approached, then passed her by. As the end of the line approached, she flagged down one of the guards.

    "I want to talk to her," she said, nodding at Janice in the back of the line.

    The guard followed Emma's gaze. "Rune?" she asked.

    "If that's the name she's going by," said Emma.

    The guard looked back at her, searchingly. "You have some kind of ID?" she asked.

    In answer, Emma held up her left hand. Lumeya glimmered on her finger.

    The guard's mouth dropped open. "Oh. Uh. Right. Yes, ma'am."

    The startled awe in his face made Emma immediately wish she had gone for her PRT ID instead. Sure, it would have outed her as Oracle, but all of the Ring-Bearers were basically out at this point. Just flashing a bit of magic jewelry shouldn't give her this kind of access, shouldn't have people falling over themselves to accommodate, to obey.

    Janice was pulled out of the line once most of the others were inside. She was brought before Emma like a prisoner being brought before a judge. It was unsettling. There was no reason Emma should have the kind of authority she now did, and yet here she was, flaunting it like a model on the catwalk.

    She tried not to let the discomfort show as she nodded to the two guards accompanying Janice. "Can we have a minute to talk?" she asked. "Privately."

    "Um," said one.

    "Sure," said the other. "Just… bring her inside when you're done."

    They left.

    Emma met Janice's eyes. Fear. Respect. Hate. Admiration.

    "You want something, hero?" Janice asked.

    Emma's lips twisted. "I'm not really sure," she said honestly. "I just felt like, after everything, I should at least check in with you. See how you were doing."

    "I'm flattered," said Janice dryly. "Saved the world, but you still have time for little old me."

    A front, Emma's power noted. Honored. Ashamed. Afraid.

    "I wish I'd come sooner," Emma said. "I've missed you."

    "Really?" Janice sounded unimpressed. "You're the one who deep-fried Kaiser in his own armor, not me."

    Anger. Betrayal. It made Emma's heart sink. Janice did have regrets, but serving Kaiser, it seemed, was still not one of them. She had a lot more progress to make yet.

    "He survived," Emma pointed out, biting back another response along the lines of yes, and I don't regret it at all. She still needed to figure out exactly where Janice stood, and putting her on the defensive was not a good way to do that. It'd be much easier if she let Janice think she had the advantage.

    "Not exactly the point, Oracle."

    "No, I guess not." Emma studied Janice, trying to figure out what to say. It was already clear that Janice was not ready to reenter society, but Emma wanted to know more than just that. She wanted to understand the story Janice was telling herself about how she'd ended up here, so that—maybe—she could start to take it apart, and help Janice build something a little closer to the truth.

    "You sent me here." Janice spoke before she could. "You knew what my trigger was, and you sent me here."

    Emma winced. She did remember Janice's trigger—an attack by several inmates, who had been provoked by her open racism. The attack would probably have killed her if she hadn't triggered. Instead, it had put all four of her attackers in the hospital.

    Unfortunately, Janice wasn't saying that because she was genuinely suffering from the trauma of being here. Escape. Freedom. Want. It wasn't an intentional lie—Janice knew Emma's power, after all—but it was still a lie. Janice had suffered, in her first few weeks in juvie, it was true. Emma had heard about her anxiety attacks, her insomnia. But she had overcome, she was getting better. She wasn't even being isolated from the other inmates anymore.

    But Janice wouldn't tell Emma that directly, because it didn't serve her goal of getting Emma to help her out of here.

    Aloud, Emma said, "I got Mairë to give you an offer. You didn't take it."

    "I don't like being coerced," said Janice flatly.

    But that's not why you didn't take the offer, Emma thought unhappily. You didn't take the offer because you weren't ready to admit that you were wrong—or at least, not to admit to the depths of your wrongness. It was an intimately familiar thing Emma was looking at now, like a window into herself of only two months ago. Janice did regret some things—the brutality of the Empire, the worst crimes, the obsessive clashes over territory and manipulative recruitment drives—but not all of it. Not enough.

    Emma sighed. "I'm sorry," she said. It was true. But the reason she said it wasn't the reason she knew Janice was seeing.

    "Oh, you're sorry, are you?" Janice asked. Hope. Excitement. "Sorry, but you're just going to leave me in here?"

    Emma raised her eyebrows. "Do you think you're ready to leave?"

    "Yes!" Janice said, and she really wasn't lying. It didn't recommend her. "I'm not planning on hurting anyone once I get out—I know you can see that!"

    "I can," Emma agreed. "But you know what they say about plans."

    Janice blinked. "They… say a lot of things about plans," she pointed out hesitantly.

    "They often go awry," Emma said. "Sure, you're not planning to hurt anyone. But if Kaiser busted out and tried to restart the Empire, you'd definitely consider joining back up, right?"

    Janice's face fell. She knew it was true.

    "You have no intention to hurt anyone in the world as it is right now," said Emma, "but the world isn't always going to be the way it is right now. What you're planning doesn't matter nearly as much as why you're planning it. And, Janice, I think we both know why you're not planning on hurting anyone."

    Solitude. Exposure. Fear. Janice looked away. "So that's it then?" she asked. "You're giving up on me?"

    "Did I say that?" asked Emma gently. "Janice, you're my friend. You were there for me. I don't want to abandon you. I haven't abandoned you."

    "Sure feels like you have."

    "I've been"—Emma gestured at the silver building beside them—"a little busy. But I never for a second forgot about you. I just… needed to figure myself out first. How could I help you if I hadn't even helped myself yet?"

    "And now you have?"

    Emma grimaced. "Million-dollar question, isn't it? But I'm further along than I was. Far enough that I can maybe help you get your feet back under you."

    Hope. Admiration. Fear. "What does that look like?" Janice asked. "If you're not getting me out of here, then what?"

    "I don't know," Emma said. "Let's talk about it."

    -x-x-x-​

    Colin spun, the servos of his armor whirring as they empowered the motion. His opponent's glaive was deflected against the mithril-alloy of his pauldron. Colin completed the motion, bringing up his training halberd like the far end of a cracking whip, and flicked its tip against the Elf's throat.

    "Hit," called Dragon, sitting luxuriously on the sidelines of the ring, her legs stretched out along the wooden bench, her back propped up against a beanbag. There was a book open in her lap, but her blue eyes were on the fight. "That's the match."

    Colin stepped away, only a little out of breath. His opponent was more so, a sheen of sweat glistening on his pale skin. "It is tempting," he said, "to say that I am out of practice. But I know better. That armor is magnificent, Armsmaster."

    Colin let his halberd hit the ground like a walking-stick, though he didn't try to lean the weight of his armor against it. "Thank you," he said. "And I see what you meant—your people are definitely faster and stronger than the average human. I'd never have gotten a match like that out of a non-cape."

    Gil-galad nodded, wiping his brow with a cloth and leaning heavily on the original Aeglos. "There were few in Aman who could match me, let alone defeat me, with the very weapon with which I am most familiar," he said. "We must do this again."

    "Of course," said Colin. "Send me an email, we can schedule something weekly."

    Gil-galad nodded. "I will," he said. "But for now, farewell. I must bathe, and then there is more work to be done."

    "There always is," said Colin. As Gil-galad left, he turned to Dragon. "Any notes?" he asked her.

    "You're the halberdier, not me," Dragon pointed out.

    "You're the superintelligence," Colin countered.

    Dragon grinned at him. "You know this already," she said, "but even with mithril it's probably not a good idea to rely too heavily on your armor. We know there are things that can cut through it."

    There were. Experiments with several Shards had shown that much. Flechette and Sting could shear through mithril plate like paper, and a spike time-locked by Dennis and Relativity would punch through mithril pushed against it with enough force. Taylor suspected that Sophia's power, Intangible, could have bypassed mithril as well. They weren't able to test that last one.

    It was worrying, of course. They were building starships with mithril plating these days. If all it took was a single attack from some key Shards to punch a hole right through their hull, well, it made space travel an even more fraught proposition than it already was.

    But then again, at least mithril would defend them from any known conventional weapons. That was better than anything they'd had before.

    "It's a good point," Colin acknowledged, glancing at his pauldron. He brought his fingers up to run along the line where Aeglos had scored through the blue paint. "I should probably try to avoid building bad habits."

    "It's not that," Dragon said. "I doubt you're going to spend much of your time in hand-to-hand against Shards and Entities. It's just important to remember that you'll have to fight differently when you do."

    "I'll keep it in mind."

    "Good." Dragon stood up and stretched, slipping her book into a satchel at her side. "So, back to the lab?"

    Colin nodded. "Just for a few minutes. I want to set up an experiment with one of the samples of Entityflesh Shaper provided, but it can run while we're out."

    "Out?" Dragon asked. "Where are we going?"

    Colin suddenly found it hard to meet her eyes. "I was hoping you'd join me for dinner," he said. "You mentioned that you'd rigged up an artificial digestive tract, and I was just thinking, well, I don't often go out to eat. I thought it might be fun."

    "Oh, Colin…" Dragon's electric blue eyes seemed to sparkle, drawing his gaze back to her. "Of course I'll come."

    He swallowed. "Good," he said. "Because I, uh, already have reservations."

    "Of course you do," Dragon laughed. "Come on, let's get that test set up."

    She took his hand as they walked back to the lab.

    -x-x-x-​

    Lisa chewed on her tongue, eyes narrowed at the whiteboard in front of her. On it was a sprawling web of broad words and ideals, seemingly unconnected. The only common factor in all of them was that each had layers of subtle meaning to her personally.

    "Okay," she said aloud to the empty room. The last rays of sunset streamed in through the windows to her right, painting the gray carpet with gold. "I have questions."

    Unbidden, her eyes flicked to a series of two words on her whiteboard. Analysis. Undersiders.

    An offer of answers, in the name of friendship and reconciliation. It was working. She hadn't been sure it would. Sure, it was possible she was subconsciously doing this herself, injecting the answers she wanted into the experiment…

    You're not, her power told her. This is real.

    "Okay," she said, letting out a relieved breath. "So. Mel and Emily both fell unconscious during the Zion fight. That was her power preparing to leave and return to Zion, right?"

    Analysis. Trojan Horse. That was a yes, and a reference to what, exactly, Faultline's power leaving would have meant.

    "So what I want to know is, why was it just them?" Lisa asked. "None of the others got knocked out."

    Undersiders. Analysis. Thinker. Brute. A complex idea, but Lisa got it. Too general a question to brute-force like this.

    "All right, more specific," Lisa said. "I can do that. What about Newter?"

    Abandoned. Home. Estranged. Rex. Oh, fuck, that was a rough one. It took her a minute.

    "They're Eden Shards," Lisa realized. "They couldn't go back to Zion. None of the monster capes could. None of the Cauldron capes at all."

    Analysis, her power confirmed. Her Shard liked that word, that idea. So did she. It was so versatile, so tangled with so many different ideas in her head, that it could mean almost anything. And with the help of her Shard, she could pick the right meaning out of the web. In this case, an affirmative.

    "Okay. What about Elle?"

    Home. Control.

    "You're saying that the Shard felt, what, safe with Elle? Powerful?"

    Home. Analysis.

    Lisa took a deep breath. "Is that why you stayed with me?"

    Home. Analysis.

    Lisa's arms closed around her torso, hugging herself. "I don't understand," she whispered. Here, in the solitude of this empty room, with no one but her own head and the Shard that lived inside it for company, she could admit the truth. She was never any good at lying to herself. "Why me? What made me such a good host for you?"

    Rex. Home.

    Lisa closed her eyes and let her chin fall onto her chest. She felt small. "I don't understand," she admitted. She took a moment for herself, then looked back up at the board.

    Undersiders. Home. Support. Regret. Rex. Regret. Trigger. Regret. Home.

    Lisa realized her mouth was open. She licked her dry lips and closed it again. "I hated you," she whispered. "For years I hated you. It felt like your existence was rubbing what happened to Rex in every day. But that wasn't fair, was it?"

    Analysis. Learn. Regret.

    "I taught you regret," Lisa realized. "I taught you why the whole triggering model was cruel—because I was never grateful for having gotten your 'solution,' I was just mad that I hadn't gotten it in time. You… learned from me. No Ring of Power, no magic bullshit. Just us."

    Home.

    Lisa took a deep breath, then stepped forward and flipped the board around. There was an alphabet on the other side. "Thank you," she said. "What should I call you?"

    She let her eyes glide along the board for a moment. Then she smiled. "All right, Negotiator," she said. "We should probably find an easier way to talk, but we need to do this again sometime."

    Analysis. Home.

    "Love you too."

    -x-x-x-​

    David hesitated just outside the door of the little restaurant. It was an oddly humble place for a member of both the Triumvirate and the Penitent to meet someone who, by all accounts, had single-handedly saved humanity in its infancy by literally sailing to Heaven. The restaurant was a hole-in-the-wall curry bar, well off the old hubs of Brockton's downtown and boardwalk. Apparently, it came highly recommended.

    Swallowing, David pushed open the door and stepped inside. The interior looked a little better-kept than the exterior, but there were visible cracks in a few walls and, David noticed with a wince, heavy water damage across most of the carpeted floor. The building might still be standing after Leviathan's attack in May, but it hadn't survived unscathed.

    There was no one at the host's desk, but from within the dining area, visible through another doorway to David's right, a young man's voice called, "Coming!" Soon the speaker jogged into view. It was a young man in his early twenties, with dark rings around his almond-shaped eyes but a genuine smile on his face, still chuckling at something. "Sorry, sir," he said. "Is it just you?"

    "I'm actually supposed to meet someone here," said David. "Uh, an Elf."

    "Oh, go on in," said the host, grinning. "He's waiting for you. Someone'll be around to take your orders soon."

    David nodded and entered the dining room. Eight tables were set up in an irregular pattern, most of which could comfortably seat four. The only exception was the single two-seat table, near the back, where the restaurant's only current customer was looking over at David with a sympathetic smile on his face.

    David swallowed and approached. "Eärendil?" he asked.

    "I am he," said Eärendil, with the musical voice and strange diction David had come to associate with Elves. "You must be David." He glanced down at the Ring on David's finger. "Bearer," he murmured, "of Numenya, Ring of the West."

    Suddenly the sheer weight of that symbolism struck David. He hadn't even thought about it before that moment. He sat down, staring at Eärendil, trying to think of something to say.

    "Once," Eärendil said, rescuing him, "the very existence of such a Ring of Power was considered profane. I still remember how Celebrimbor raged to see a thing so blessed in name turned to the vile purposes it served under Sauron." He smiled at David. "Now, I see it as I see its bearer and its maker both. An emblem of redemption."

    David swallowed. "I'm… flattered," he said.

    A waitress came to take their orders, offering David a brief respite to collect his thoughts. When she left, Eärendil looked back at David. His smile faded, but did not disappear entirely. "I asked my son and daughter if they would be willing to speak with you," he said quietly. "They were not yet ready. I am sorry."

    "I understand," David said. "I don't—I regret what they went through, of course, but mostly I still don't understand what they went through. I was hoping you had some insight."

    "Ah, of course," said Eärendil, his smile widening again. "In that, at least, I can assist you. My daughter and Taylor have explained the better part of the situation to me. What did you wish to know?"

    Eidolon took a deep breath. "Uh, first question. I was flying into Seattle just when the Vingilot went into that portal. I saw the Simurgh… flow into your crown. I assume that was something to do with you once bearing her Silmaril?"

    "Precisely," said Eärendil. "Her body is a shell of the flesh of Ungoliant's brood around the Silmaril at her core. She temporarily cast away the flesh and embodied herself almost entirely within the Silmaril. She knew that I was more experienced wielding its Light, and thought it the best way to assist in the battle. She was likely correct."

    "Okay. And after the battle she, what, regrew the rest of her body?"

    "Ah, this is one of the things I understand less well," Eärendil admitted. "Mairë tells me that my daughter had still retained her body, merely… stowed it somewhere. A 'different set of dimensions' is what I believe she said."

    That… made sense, actually. At this point it was common knowledge, at least among those closely involved with all this, that Shards existed in far more than the usual three dimensions. The Simurgh probably had similar access.

    Their curry arrived. Eärendil tucked in with relish. David was more sedate. It was good, but he'd had better—albeit not in New England.

    "I think I get it," he said. "Okay. I'll understand if this next question is… a bit of a sore spot. I know why the Simurgh, and the other Endbringers—"

    "Please," Eärendil interrupted. He drew his spoon away from his lips with a sharp movement as he looked away from his bowl, piercing eyes suddenly fixed on David. "Do not call them that."

    Eidolon winced. "Oh. Yeah that… sorry."

    "You are forgiven, of course," the Elf said. "You have not exactly been in a position to be updated as my children try on new monikers. For the moment, they are willing to go by their old identities, though they both intend to take on proper names once they choose suitable ones. But they are not Endbringers. We have not yet found a suitable way to refer to them as a collective, but for now they are my children. My two youngest. No more, no less."

    "I understand," said David. "I'll remember."

    "I appreciate it," said Eärendil, his smile returning. He picked up his spoon again. "And so, I am sure, will they. Go on with your question, please."

    David shook his head, trying to recover his train of thought. "Well… your children were broken from my unwitting control by Carte Blanche—my clone, if you haven't heard."

    "I have been… informed about Carte Blanche," said Eärendil. He was still smiling at David, but there was an angry storm in his eyes.

    "Well," said David, "I understand he forced all three of them to attack San Francisco, all at once. What I don't understand is why, after Zion showed up, they suddenly started helping us. Nor do I understand why they behaved so differently from usual at the start of that attack."

    "I am given to understand," Eärendil said after swallowing a mouthful of curry, "that Carte Blanche's orders were far… sloppier than the ones which my children received from your Shard. As a result, they were also less constraining. They were forced to attack San Francisco, but they were not forced to behave as mindless killing machines bent on the destruction of mankind while they did so. Additionally, Carte Blanche's order was specific: All three Endbringers must attack San Francisco. As such, with him dead and your Shard blocked from giving further orders, my children saw freedom on the horizon. Once the battle at San Francisco ended, they would be free. Unfortunately," his eyes grew sad, "it was the other failure condition which triggered first."

    "Behemoth's death," David realized. "All three. There weren't three anymore, so the order wasn't valid."

    "My daughter knew that there would be a sacrifice to win their freedom that day," said Eärendil. "She believed it was to be the lives of San Francisco's defenders. She was wrong. She and her brother still mourn. As do I, for the son I shall never know."

    "I'm so sorry," whispered David.

    Eärendil's expression was a kind one. "I will not say you have nothing to regret," he said. "But this, at least, was not your fault."

    "If I hadn't let Carte Blanche be created in the first place—"

    "Bah. Yes, that was a mistake, and yes, it was reasonable to assume it would cost lives. You should regret it." Eärendil shook his head. "But you could never have imagined it would lead to my son's death. You had spent years trying to understand your power. You had no idea what it was doing to my children. For that part, at least, I consider you blameless."

    "Do your children agree?" David asked, feeling sure he already knew the answer.

    He was wrong. "Yes," said Eärendil simply. "My daughter wished to convey her regrets to you. She does not blame you for what happened. She is not ready yet to face you, but it is not because she holds you responsible."

    "She's traumatized."

    "She is," Eärendil said. "But she is healing."
     
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