Trust and Secrets by wind rider

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Trust and Secrets

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Trust and Secrets

 

1. Observation: Companion

 

Lorilas is a sweet, quiet, but eager-to-please boy, and he has been tasked by the Greycloak to guide and accompany me to the site he has given me permission to see: the caves he said are hidden somewhere along and under the river Narog. Alas that I never quite appreciated the boy along the journey from Menegroth till now that we are camped on the riverbank. He did all the small things for our comforts under my notice, and never failed to describe landmarks along the way in that soft voice of his. However, what I thought was only how clever my kin the King was in displaying his continuing anger on the Noldor by a less rude manner: appointing a child barely out of his majority to accompany me to stake out a more permanent dwelling for my people. The poor lad did not deserve that, never does, and I only realise it now as I am watching him dreaming under the firelight, with his visage as open and sincere as when he is awake. To think that Amil named me “Wise”…

 

2. Observation: Narog

 

Vása’s light filters through the trees and dances upon the swift, foaming water of the river. Rocks and boulders make up much of the banks at either side of it, being responsible for all the sprays and bubbles and also the pleasant noise they create. Lorilas told me that this is true for Narog for much of its length, and that the water level is almost always constant since the excess water in spring usually flows down its branches higher up. It gives me high hope of building a settlement that is both safe and enjoyable for its inhabitants. Seasonal evacuation from spring floods may not be needed, and the drainage system can be focused towards maintaining the strength of the banks and the uninterrupted flow of the river itself.

 

It only makes me more eager to see the caves for myself. It seems so perfect already! Despite my disgruntlement of the Greycloak’s sending me a boy as guide, I am thankful for his generosity, permitting me to see the cave system for myself and build a city there if I approve of it. And beyond that, my highest gratitude goes to the Power that deigned to show me a sanctuary for my future people, the one whose form is the water itself.

 

I lean out from the boulder I am perched on and touch the surface of the river with my fingertips. I would swear that the currents hug my digits briefly before speeding away.

 

3. The Caves

 

After much dawdling, which I admit is largely my fault for being entranced by the beautiful landscape, we have at last arrived at what Lorilas said is the mouth of the main cave. I can only believe his judgement, since I cannot see the place myself. (If we are truly in front of the mouth of the main cave now, then how small and obscure the other entrances can be?) What I see are only rocks, more rocks, even more trees, and vines trailling down the sturdy-looking face of a granite cliff. Even after I have approached all the hollow-looking boulders in the vicinity, I cannot find the purported entrance.

 

The sound of soft giggling halts my futile search, and I whirl around to glare at Lorilas. Emotions torn between smugness and guilt pricks at my chest when he abruptly stops his giggling and shrinks back. (Is he thinking that I am going to harm him with that act of harmless teasing? It only injures my pride, and I can live with that if I must.)

 

“Where is the entrance, lad?” I ask him in the softest tone I have ever used on him.

 

He hunkers down even further. I frown. What did I do wrong now? He seems… reluctant. But why now? Why the reluctance?

 

I approach him and capture his slight form before he can flee, enveloping him in a loose but firm embrace and rubbing his back. He struggles at first, but then grows limp against me. Cradling his head against my chest, I murmur to him, “What is wrong, Lorilas?” On his shaking head, I persist, “Did you not want to show me the caves?”

 

He stiffens. I sigh. This far already, and he is no longer inclined to show me the caves. I can bribe him with jewelry I brought from Aman or threaten the King’s ire upon him, I suppose, but I cannot bear doing such a thing to him. Along the journey, I have grown fond of him, and I do not wish any trouble upon his young head. Perhaps he just needs time? Perhaps he has visited this place oftentimes and does not yet wish to share it with anyone else, even on the order of the King? That would explain his reluctance, at any rate, and that would also explain to me why the Greycloak sent me such a young company.

 

Leading Lorilas towards the river and sitting with him with our lower legs submerged in the water, I ask, “Have you visited this place often?”

 

If possible, he stiffens even further. So my guess was true after all?

 

“Did you like it?” I prod. I nearly miss his answer, whispered so softly that it is like the undertone to the rushing and bubbling of the river.

 

“I love it. I used to go adventuring here when I was bored. My parents always got me and dragged me back home in the end though, and then they told the King when they heard you were searching for a place to build a city.”

 

The silent anguish in his tone breaks my heart. But what can I do? The lives of hundreds of people – possibly even thousands – depend on my finding a sanctuary for them; Lord Ulmo even impressed that on me in the dream he sent me.

 

But Morgoth is quiet as of now… I do not have to build the sanctuary as soon as possible, do I?

 

Thus smiling with relief, I offer, “Would you show it to me still? If you went here very often, that would mean that it is a lovely place. We can postpone thinking about anything else for now.”

 

Lorilas bobs his head jerkily. Well, at least it is still a sign of ascent.

 

4. Dark Memories

 

It is my guilty secret that, however fervently I promised myself and Lorilas that I would not think about claiming his favourite haunt and turning it into an underground city of Noldor, I cannot refrain from making notes of the features of the cave system in my mind as if I am going to build the sanctuary soon. The main entrance, which I spent so much time searching, is actually rather small and hidden behind the trailling vines; still comfortable enough for people traffic but hidden so perfectly and so naturally from unaccustomed eyes. The walls and ceiling of the larger granite caves inside are sturdy and without any worrying cracks, while there is a minimal amount of stalagtites and stalagmites in the smaller, chalk-stone caves. There is even a stream flowing through one of the caves, a branch of the river above, forming small waterfalls along its way down and ending in a small underground lake in the lowest level of the cave system. We would not have to worry about flood, drout, cave-ins, discovery – but I am worried about Lorilas and how this plan of mine would affect him if continued.

 

I keep those thoughts to myself, until it is no longer possible to keep them – because they have already been wiped out completely from my mind.

 

We are winding back up the cave system, and Lorilas is tugging at my hand exuberantly – the very first instance of my witnessing a less-guarded side of him. We fly along the echoing tunnel, up and always up, and at length we arrive in a large cavern with dimly-glowing walls.

 

The smell is so familiar…

 

I no longer hear the chuckling stream winding its way underground, nor the feel of vast lands surrounding me. Instead I am back in alqualondë, back in a similar cave system nearby that house the nests of the seabirds, a place that I and my younger brothers minus Artaresto loved to explore. My two youngest siblings hated the smell of the birds’ wastes, but I and my remaining siblings always thought it added an exotic quality to the adventure, especially when the tide ran high and lapped at the entrance of the main cave.

 

I cannot recall how happy and excited I was as the three of us went exploring into the caverns and tunnels without our parents’ permission, however. And soon it is gone like sweet wine, replaced by a memory that I desperately want to shake off. The only thing I see is the sight of blood bathing the quays and Alqualondë burning, the angry reddened waves under a lightless sky and the white swanships stolen from their owners. The only thing I smell is the metallic stench of blood, burnt wood and burnt bodies, fear and rage and desperation. And the only thing I hear is the mourning cries of the seagulls and the wailing of the wind, pained moans and wrenching sobs.

 

– A hand grabs my shoulder, and I jerk myself free with a hoarse yelp, falling first onto a layer of what must be bat’s excrement on the floor of the cave.

 

Choked giggling sounds above me, and I quickly scramble back to my feet, as my mind tries to regain awareness of the present reality.

 

“There is a lot of bat dung on your face,” my companion says, his eyes wide and shocked, and now I remember him as Lorilas. He has stopped chuckling half-heartedly, and his tone now is solemn – even saddened.

 

I was not aware that I was weeping, and now I also realise what he said: that stinking bits of bat-waste mixed with chalk-sand is clinging to the tear-tracks on my cheeks. Trying to ignore it and the possible repercussions of my unexpected meltdown, I open my mouth, cough, and say in the lightest manner possible in my current state, “Let us take care of it then, shall we?”

 

He nods mutely, no question asked, and proceeds to walk across the stinking, glowing cavern. I can just hope that he will not be leading me to another trigger of memories.

 

5. The Secret of Secrets

 

I expected Lorilas to lead me to the nearest source of running water. I even expected him to renew his chuckles and ask me questions once his shock subsided. But I never expected us to emerge to a totally-different view from what I remember of the main entrance, and for him to beam up at me with such pride and trust on his face.

 

We seem to be higher up than we were when we entered the cave system, and I recognise neither the narrow, deep stream running swiftly before us nor the valley rising at its either side. Vegetation grows closer to earth here, although I spy moving shades belonging to tall trees scattered along the banks of the stream. The landscape promises safety and cover, and I love it just as I do the other side of the caves. Unfortunately, however, Lorilas seems too content with his silence, choosing to wander up and down our side of the stream while I am cleaning my face in the water.

 

We sit side by side with our legs dangling into the water afterwards, just like we did many times beforehand as we went up along the Narog River. Now though, Lorilas seems a little restless, and I myself am still recovering from my unexpected ordeal in the cave we have just exited. I keep my own silence, hoping that Lorilas will speak without my prompting.

 

And it goes just as I wish, for once. The boy raises his gaze from the dark, swift stream, and I blink with surprise on the young man that now looks back at me. Gone is the open expression on his face, and Lorilas scrutinises me as though a man uncertain if he should trust a stranger with his deepest secret. What has brought around this startling change? I cannot say that I like this side of my guide and companion better than the other one, but all the same I am somehow honoured that I get to witness a side of him that perhaps not many people have seen.

 

But my surprise turns into dismay when he finally breaks the uncomfortable silence between us, whispering, “Did you kill the sea-people too in the Belain’s land?” When I frantically shake my head at him, he continues in a bleaker tone, “My mother’s sister went with Lord Olwë’s host to the Belain’s land.”

 

A deep, biting chill reminiscent of the Grinding Ice surrounds me on his confession, freezing my blood and penetrating my bones. I can faintly feel my body sway and tremble, and Lorilas’ first question suddenly makes more sense now – terrifying, brutal sense. Is he accusing me of the blood of my own kin spilled on one of my own homelands?

 

I am trapped in the memories I have so desperately fled from. But once again Lorilas’ hand brings me out of the trance. And to my further disorientation, we are no longer alone. Five simply-clad men and women are surrounding us, sitting on their legs and gazing at me solemnly.

 

“Let me introduce you to the Elders of my woodland kin, Lord Finrod,” Lorilas speaks softly, and my breathing returns to almost normal. So they only want some introduction? But how did they come upon us so fast and silently?

 

One of the women twitches a smile. My hands twitch in response. Is she perceiving my thoughts, like I and my sister Artanis do? But I never met anybody who is not an Exiled with such ability…

 

Now her eyebrows twitch, as if she is fighting from lifting them in either challenge or inquiry. I can feel my cheeks heating up in shame and embarrassment, and I turn away. Staring at the water cherning around my legs, I mumble my apology and try with all my might to recompose myself. (I was supposed to be a great lord, kin to the King himself, but now I am behaving younger than even Lorilas is.)

 

The woman chuckles. I fight with myself not to hunker down and curtain my face with my hair. Her subsequent words draws me away from my sudden self-consciousness, thankfully.

 

“We would like to welcome you to this land, stranger. We shall not harm you, as you are here under Lorilas’ favour and protection, and also the eyes of the Water. We would like to know you better before you bring anyone else here, however.”

 

Then one of the men pipes in, “We heard dark tidings from the Greycloak about your kind; but rest assured, we would like to observe you ourselves rather than trusting only his judgement in the matter.”

 

I am growing confused by the passing moments. But sadly, nobody seems inclined to remedy it.

 

Well, at least I know that I shall never underestimate Lorilas again. As young as he is, these people have already compared him to Lord Ulmo!