In Darkness Bound by Fiondil

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Chapter 72: Salvaging Hope

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PART FOUR: BENEATH THE STARS’ VAST SILENCE

‘Through darkness one may come to the light.’

— Unfinished Tales, ‘Of Tuor and His Coming to Gondolin’

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72: Salvaging Hope

Alqualondë: Year of Darkness 2:

The bodies of both the Teleri and the Noldor had been removed from the scenes of battle. Olwë had ordered those of the Noldor to be piled up outside the city, on the cliffs north of Alqualondë. The Teleri were brought into the city, each family taking their slain to their homes. Eventually, it had been decided that a flotilla would take the bodies of the Teleri out to sea to be given into the bosom of Lord Ulmo. Falmaron’s body had been found eventually, lying beside an unconscious Cemendil, who apparently had sustained only minor injuries. The Vanya was still recovering from shock and would not, or perhaps could not, speak of what happened. Olwë was considering sending for Cemendil’s family or even having the ellon escorted back to Vanyamar once he was sufficiently recovered to travel.

Falmaron lay in state in the palace, lying on a hastily constructed platform covered with sendal while the citizens of Alqualondë filed past to render their last respects to their prince. Lirillë and Olwen had insisted on washing and dressing him themselves. A tearful and apologetic Faniel had asked to help and Olwë did not have the heart to refuse her, for she was no less his daughter than Olwen or Eärwen. Falmaron was now dressed in his finest robes of blue and green silk, a coronet of pearls on his fair brow. The thought of having to send his beautiful son to the bottom of the Great Sea to rot among the seaweed tore at Olwë’s heart. He was not sure he could actually do it, though he knew he had no choice. It would not be long before the bodies of the slain, including his beloved child, would begin to stink of corruption.

Reports had come to him throughout the city of finding people lying dead, yet they had no marks of violence upon them. Only their expressions were ones of frozen horror. Olwë, when he visited one such, realized with a sinking heart what had happened. The shock of bonds being severed between spouses and between parents and children had been too much for some and they had fled after their loved ones to Mandos, perhaps not even understanding what had happened until it was too late to return to their hröar.

He sighed, leaning down to kiss the cold, lifeless brow of the elleth lying there. "Lord Námo show you mercy, child," he whispered before rising and ordering that she and the others so found should be brought to one of the warehouses set aside for the preparation of the bodies so they could be made seemly for their final journey.

Olwë left, but he did not return to the palace. Instead, some need drove him back onto the beach, to wander the shore in a daze, not entirely sure what he was looking for. Eäralato, his chief guard, trailed behind him. The beach was empty. Even the timbers of the wrecked ships had been taken away. They were now piled up on the cliff top, drying out, for Olwë had decided the Noldorin bodies would be put to the flames and what better than to have the wood of the very ships they had thought to steal be their funeral pyre? It was fitting, somehow.

No. There was nothing on the beach now. He should be getting back to Lirillë. He should be standing vigil over Falmaron. He should be comforting his other children. He should be sending word to Eärwen. He should....

He should be doing a lot of things but he could not. He stared about him, noticing that the light of the gems strewn through the sands was dimmed and he knew that they were encrusted with blood. He wondered vaguely how long it would take to scrub the blood off each and every gem and the very absurdity of it forced him to his knees and he began weeping. Eäralato, bless him, did not try to comfort him, but stood his ground, willing to give his king the privacy he needed.

At last, the tears ceased and he swiped at his eyes with the back of his sleeves. He was about to rise when he noticed something half-buried in the sand before him. He leaned over for a better look and began brushing the sand away to eventually reveal a sword, its blade encrusted with sand stuck to the coagulated blood. The hilt was set with jewels, an emerald between two sapphires. He grasped the hilt and pulled the sword out of the sand, holding it out before him with the blade point up. He heard a soft gasp from Eäralato behind him, but ignored the ellon, staring blankly at the sword.

Could this have been the sword that took my Falmaron’s life? he wondered. Did it really matter? another part of him asked. He was about to throw it away in disgust, feeling soiled by its very presence, but some impulse that he did not understand stayed his hand and instead he climbed to his feet, turning around to face his guard. "Let’s go back to the city," he said, and, still holding the sword, he made his way back to the bridge that connected the city to the shore. All who saw their king striding through the city with the sword in his hand blanched at the sight, wondering what it might portend.

****

Upon returning to the palace, he went directly to his study, ordering Eäralato to find him a large enough cloth to wrap the sword in. The guard scurried off, soon returning with a stained bit of canvas. Olwë nodded and gestured for him to lay it on the floor. Then he placed the sword on it and covered it.

"Open the chest," he ordered, gesturing with his chin at a carved chest sitting against the wall. It was long enough to accept the sword easily. Eäralato quickly opened it. "Take out whatever is in it and find some other place for them." Eäralato complied, pulling out scrolls and other items, piling them on a sideboard for now. Olwë then placed the sword inside the chest and closed the lid.

"What will you do with it, Sire?" the guard asked.

"I haven’t decided yet," Olwë said, staring down at the lid, running his fingers over the carved panels depicting scenes of ships and sealife. He glanced up at the guard, giving him a faint smile that held no humor. "I’m sure I’ll think of something."

Eäralato was about to comment when there was a knock on the door and Lindarion pushed it open, his face white, his expression troubled. "Atar, you had better come quickly."

"What is it?" Olwë asked, but already he was joining his heir at the door and together father and son strode down the corridor with Eäralato behind them.

"There is a crowd outside the palace," Lindarion explained. "They are... they are demanding vengeance."

Olwë sighed, running a hand through his hair. "How large a crowd?"

"Half the city, or so it seems," Lindarion answered. He stopped, looking grave. "Some of your own councillors are among them."

Olwë scowled. "In that case, go and tell my councillors that they are to attend me in the Great Audience Hall at the next bell. Have the people choose no more than a dozen to represent them and bring them along. Tell the others to go about their business. I will not have them hanging about when there is still much that needs doing."

"And if they do not wish to leave?" Lindarion asked, his eyes hooded, his expression unreadable.

Olwë glared at his heir. "Then order the guards to disperse them."

Lindarion stared at his atar for a moment and then nodded. "I’ll see that all is as you command," he said, giving Olwë a brief bow before striding away. Olwë gave a sigh and looked at Eäralato, standing there impassively. "Go see that the audience hall is readied," he ordered, "while I change out of these clothes." He gestured at his leggings and tunic, wet sand clinging to them. Eäralato bowed and went to do his lord’s bidding, while Olwë continued on to his bedroom, calling out to his valet for hot water and clean clothes.

****

Olwë had purposely chosen to have the meeting in the Great Audience Hall, with its soaring dome under which the alabaster and pearl thrones stood, its pearlescent walls studded with emeralds and sapphires and the blue-grey marble with the inlaid star patterns in pearls tiling the floor, as well as the tapestries depicting sea scenes, all illuminated by crystal lamps, the light of which shimmered and shifted, giving one the impression of standing within Lord Ulmo’s realm. It never failed to awe and Olwë wanted these people to be reminded of just who was ruling here.

To that end, he donned one of his more sumptuous robes of state, made of heavy sea-green watered silk, studded with pearls. He wore a coronet of precious silver, prized by the Lindar even above gold, with emeralds, sapphires and pearls set in it, glittering in the lamplight. Lindarion, upon returning to inform him that the councillors and representatives were being assembled, quickly went off to change his own clothes, donning his own robe of state of blue watered silk with his personal emblem embroidered on the front, replacing the simple circlet he normally wore on his head with one of twisted mithril with a single diamond, sparkling with the blue of the deepest water. When he emerged from his room, he joined his atar as Olwë headed for the audience hall.

"Where is your amillë?" he asked his son.

"With Falmaron," Lindarion replied grimly. "She is there with Olwen, Salmar and Faniel."

Olwë nodded. "Good. I would rather not expose any of them to the anger and hatred that we will no doubt find waiting for us, especially Faniel. The child does not deserve to be punished for the crimes of others."

"I’ve spoken with Salmar," Lindarion said. "He and I agreed that for the time being, he and Faniel will stay quiet and out of the way. He would like to accompany us when we take Falmaron to his final rest, but he will not leave Faniel. I’ve also ordered extra guards around their suite, discreetly, I assure you. Until cooler heads prevail, I don’t want to take any chances."

Olwë gave his son and heir a rueful look. "Something I should have seen to myself," he said.

Lindarion gave him a sympathetic look. "You had other things on your mind, Atar. I was glad to be doing something. It stops me from thinking so much."

Olwë nodded, putting an arm around Lindarion’s shoulders, giving him a hug. "And I am glad that you are here to help, yonya. Your presence eases my own fëa." He leaned over and gave the ellon a kiss on the temple, then straightened, sighing as they reached the audience chamber, guards pulling open the door to admit them while Olwë’s steward, Eällindo, announced their arrival.

Olwë looked neither left nor right, refusing to acknowledge anyone until he was seated on his throne. Lindarion moved to stand on his right, as his heir, one step down. Olwë’s councillors were ranged before him, with a dozen others in the garb of sea captains and merchants, along with a few sporting guild colors. Their faces were gaunt, their eyes burning with hatred and deep pain. He saw Elennáro, his chief bard, standing to one side with a sardonic look on his face. Olwë resisted a smile. Later, he would send for the bard, who would recite the entire conversation to him from memory, right down to individual intonations, one of Elennáro’s gifts which made him so invaluable to the king, and then offer his own thoughts and observations. Whatever decisions his councillors and these good citizens would demand of him he would not be pressured to go one way or another without due deliberation. Too much was at stake.

He glanced at his councillors, and seeing Lord Uinion amongst them, made eye contact with the ellon, then crooked his finger and waggled it a couple of times so that the lord stepped forward. "You may act as spokesman for the other councillors, Uinion," Olwë said, then turned to the group of citizens huddled together, looking suitably awed by their surroundings. "Is there one among you whom you will have as your representative?" he asked. "I will not allow all of you to speak, though if you have anything to add to the conversation, I will grant you leave to do so."

There was some whispering among the citizens and then finally one ellon stepped out and gave a short bow. "I am Ainairos, Sire," he said. "I have been chosen to speak for the citizens of Alqualondë."

"And what is your occupation, Master Ainairos?" Olwë asked politely.

"I am a shipwright, Sire," the ellon answered.

Olwë nodded. "We’ll start with you, Lord Uinion."

The lord gave his king a bow. "By your leave, Sire, we are wondering what you intend to do."

"About what, Uinion?" Olwë demanded sharply. "Do not waste my time by being coy. Speak plainly."

The lord grimaced. "What do you intend to do about the... the... Kinslayers, Olwë?"

"Nothing," Olwë replied with a shrug. "They are no longer our concern."

An angry murmur swept through the group and several of the citizens cast Olwë dark looks.

"I mean, the Noldor in Tirion," Uinion said. "What are we to do with them?"

Now Olwë frowned and leaned forward. "And what would you like me to do, Uinion?" he asked softly.

Uinion licked his lips, hesitating for a moment. That hesitation was too much for Ainairos, standing next to him. He gave the lord an angry glare, then turned to Olwë, his voice full of bitterness. "They should be punished, your Majesty. They should be made to suffer as we have suffered."

Lindarion took a step towards the shipwright, his expression stern. "You speak out of turn, Ainairos."

"I speak what we all feel," Ainairos retorted, sweeping an arm to encompass both the councillors and his fellow citizens. "The Noldor should be punished!"

"How?" Olwë demanded. "Do you wish to make weapons out of harpoons, march up the Calacirya and fall upon those in Tirion? Would you be kinslayers as well?"

"My brother lies dead because of them," Ainairos nearly screamed, fury suffusing him. "All of us have lost kin...."

"Including me," Olwë said, rising, giving them all a hard stare. "My second son lies in state not a hundred paces away with his amillë and his siblings watching over him. I should be with them, I and my heir. But instead, I am here listening to your raving and your ranting about vengeance. Vengeance against whom? Against those who escaped us, fleeing northward? Let them go, I say! They are already being punished, I assure you. They go to their deaths, deaths that will be ignoble and far worse than anything we can inflict on them. Then who? Against the dead piled up on the cliff waiting to be put to the flames? Their punishment is beyond us, unless you wish to vent your spleen by desecrating their bodies."

"You are correct, Sire," Uinion said smoothly. "Yet, the need to strike out at our enemies burns within us."

"Enemies?" Olwë repeated, sitting down, his expression now unreadable. "What enemies, Uinion?"

"Why are you being so dense, Olwë!" Ainairos demanded, shocking everyone with his familiarity. Lindarion started towards him, but Olwë held him back. "Why are you deliberately ignoring what we are saying? Lord Uinion means the Noldor in Tirion. They are our enemies, now and for all time."

"So we are to gather up our harpoons and perhaps the swords lying on the beach and march up the Calacirya to fall upon the unsuspecting people of Tirion?" Olwë asked, attempting to remain calm, though he was fast getting to the point where he would cheerfully wring the ellon’s neck.

Lord Uinion took a step forward, as if to somehow distance himself from Ainairos. "Not at all, Sire. The very idea is absurd. Yet, we need to let the Noldor know that they are no longer our friends, that no longer will we welcome them to our homes. We do not want to ever see them again."

"And that goes for Ingwë’s people as well," one of the citizens chimed in. "We just want to be left alone. We want nothing to do with the other clans."

"We’ve have little to do with them as it is," Olwë commented with a sardonic smile. "If anything, our desire for isolation may well have spelled our doom."

There were shocked looks among those assembled. Olwë nodded. "What you demand of me, I am not sure, for should I sever all ties with the Noldor when my own daughter resides there? She holds the regency, I was told, along with Lady Anairë. And what of Princess Faniel, married to my youngest son, Salmar? Should I send her away, divorce her from her husband, she who recently gave me a grandson, simply because she is a Noldo? There are many in this realm who are of mixed blood, offspring of Lindarin and Noldorin unions. Some of you, I think, can claim this for yourself. How am I to judge you? Declare that all with Noldorin blood in their veins, however small the amount, must depart forever from here, from their homes and their loved ones?" He paused, shaking his head.

"Absurd," he continued. "And quite impractical. The Noldor in Tirion remained faithful to the Valar, refusing to follow Fëanáro in his rebellion. They have suffered enough, I deem, with the severing of familial ties that are even more final than those we have suffered, for our kin will someday be returned to us, but the Noldor who fled, they will never be allowed to return. I will not abandon those in Tirion for my daughter Eärwen’s sake."

"She can always return here," Lord Uinion suggested with an unctuous smile. "A lone Linda among the Noldor, she will not be happy there. Why do you not command her to return, Sire, and then you would have no reason to deal with the Noldor?"

"An interesting idea, Uinion," Olwë replied, "except for one thing. My daughter has cleaved herself to her husband’s people, as is only meet. She will not thank me for demanding that she return to Alqualondë, nor will I do so. If she wishes to return of her own free will, I will gladly welcome her back. In the meantime, as long as she remains in Tirion, I will not sever all ties with the Noldor there, nor will I do so with Ingwë. We have no reason to hate the Vanyar."

"Do we not?" Ainairos demanded. "Where was Ingwë in all this? Where was the High King of all of Eldamar when that misbegotten son of Finwë was speaking rebellion and inciting his followers to folly? Where was he, where were any of them, when Fëanáro and the other Noldor fell upon us and slew our kin, slew my brother? Where was he?" This last was nearly screamed. Two of the other ellyn among the citizens reached forward and held him, perhaps fearing that in his fury Ainairos would even dare to attack Olwë.

The king stared at the fuming ellon, then swept his gaze upon the others, gauging their mood. The councillors appeared calm, though he saw the pain and heartache in their eyes. The citizens seemed more agitated and there was much murmuring among them, clearly unhappy with this turn of events. Olwë raised his hand to still the murmurs.

"If even the Valar were unable to turn Fëanáro or any of the Noldor aside from their folly, how can you expect even someone like Ingwë to do so?" he asked softly. "The Valar...."

"Abandoned us," one of the other councillors said sourly. "They did nothing to save us."

"And thus, what?" Olwë demanded. "Are we to forbid the Valar entrance to our city along with the Noldor?" He snorted at the absurdity of the suggestion. "I do not know why the Valar chose not to aid us against Fëanáro, though perhaps that storm that came up was their answer. I only know that seeking vengeance is foolish. Unless you want to run after the Noldor and throw spears at them, and then you are no less guilty of kinslaying than they if you do."

There were abashed looks among them, though Ainairos’ expression was still bitter. "My brother lies dead because of them," he said. "His blood cries out for vengeance. Is that to be denied him?"

"Him or you?" Olwë retorted. "Your brother now resides in Mandos and I will let Lord Námo deal with him. As for you, Ainairos, and all of you, your best revenge against those who slew your kin is to help rebuild our city, to not give into hatred and despair and bitterness of heart, for then they would have final victory over us. I will deny them that. I will do all in my power to salvage what I can out of this disaster, to bring peace of mind to my people. Our songs will be sad for a time, but I hope a day will come when someone sings a song of gladness and thanksgiving. I will try to salvage what hope I can so that we do not succumb to a darkness that is more than an absence of light; it is an absence of life as well."

He stood then, giving them an imperious look, addressing Ainairos and his fellows. "Your concerns have been noted, and We will consider them carefully, but We will not tolerate these demands for vengeance. Return to your homes and to your families and work to rebuild our city and our lives. You have Our permission to depart."

There was some shuffling of feet among the citizens and not a few gave him frustrated looks, but one by one, they gave him their obeisance and made their way out. Ainairos was the last to leave and the expression on his face was not pleasant. Olwë gave Elennáro a significant look as Ainairos spun on his heels and followed his fellow citizens from the chamber and the bard gave him an infinitesimal nod. Elennáro would soon have one of his journeymen following Ainairos. If the ellon was planning any mischief, Olwë wanted to know about it sooner rather than later. Having dealt with that problem, he turned to Uinion and his other councillors.

"We are disappointed in you," he said gravely. "We look to you to help keep the city calm, to oversee the clean-up and the rebuilding, not inciting our good subjects to thoughts of vengeance. We have all suffered. Let us put aside our anger and our desire to see someone pay for what has been done to us and concentrate on succoring our people. The Privy Council will meet at the rising of Alcarinquë, where we will discuss the logistics of burying our slain in the Great Sea and the ceremony that we will have for them. Until then, you have Our permission to depart."

The councillors all made their obeisance and departed. Only Lindarion, Eällindo, Eäralato and Elennáro remained. Lindarion gave his atar a watery grin. "I was sure that Ainairos fellow was going to attack you," he said.

Olwë snorted and turned to Elennáro. "I will want your thoughts on this meeting, Elennáro. Come to me after the next daymeal."

The bard nodded. "And Ainairos?"

"Have him watched and note to whom he speaks and what is said, if the watcher is able to listen in without being caught," Olwë said.

"It will be as you say, Sire," Elennáro said, giving him his obeisance before leaving.

Olwë sighed and sat heavily on his throne, closing his eyes.

"Speaking of burials, Sire," Eällindo said, "what are we to do with the ashes of the Noldor once we burn them? Is there to be any kind of ceremony for them? Should we perhaps gather them into coffers and send them back to Tirion?"

Olwë opened his eyes and shook his head. "No. As soon as the wood is dry, order the cremations. The sooner they are burnt, the sooner we can put all this behind us. Let the winds scatter their ashes whither they will. Let them have no memorial built for them, as there will be one built for our own people, for I will have the names of all who were slain recorded and a memorial made to stand in the central square of the city, so in future years they will be remembered. But of the Noldor, let not even the wind remember their names."

"Will that not incite people towards anger and vengeance, though?" Eäralato asked, looking troubled.

"I will not commission the memorial immediately," Olwë answered. "I will wait until hearts are cooled and reason prevails among us. I think it will be long and long before we are fully recovered from this tragedy, yet the memories of the slain need to be honored in some fashion."

"At least we won’t have the Noldor to deal with anymore," Lindarion ventured in a hesitant voice, as if not sure how his atar would respond to his words.

Olwë gave his heir a sardonic smile. "From your lips to Lord Ulmo’s ears, my son." Then he stood up and threw an arm around Lindarion’s shoulders. "Come. Let us go to Falmaron."

Lindarion nodded and together they left the chamber to spend some time beside their own slain.

****

Alcarinquë: ‘The Glorious’; the planet Jupiter.

Notes:

1. The title for Part IV is derived from Rainer Maria Rilke’s poem, ‘I am, O Anxious One. Don’t you hear my voice’ — from The Book of Hours:

     ‘...If you are the dreamer, I am what you dream.

     But when you want to wake, I am your wish,

     and I grow strong with all magnificence

     and turn myself into a star’s vast silence

     above the strange and distant city, Time.’

2. Ainairos appears in the Book of Lost Tales I, Chapter IX, ‘The Hiding of Valinor’: ‘Indeed if the Gods forgot not the folly of the Noldoli and hardened their hearts, yet more wroth were the Elves, and the Solosimpi [i.e. the Teleri] were full of bitterness against their kin, desiring never more to see their faces in the pathways of their home. Of these the chief were those whose kin had perished at the Haven of the Swans, and their leader was one Ainairos who had escaped from that fray leaving his brother dead; and he sought unceasingly with his words to persuade the Elves to greater bitterness of heart.’