Ashen Tears by Erurainon

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Chapter 1

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Ashen Tears,
Or The Fall of Gondolin

By Erurainon

The doors were locked, and the room cold and grey. An elf woman clad in white knelt with her back to the wood and bolted iron- her hair the color of dawn. A fountain churned clear water a few feet away, and where the windows grinned down from the sealing golden light bloomed. It was a quiet place- a gentle place … A dead place with nobody to meet, and nobody to talk to. Idril loved and hated it, the way she wore her circlet. The metal rings felt heavy against her brow and ached like ice. A familiar face had forged it, and placed the band gently on her laden head. She shut her eyes, and knew that he was waiting for her beneath the archway where the darkness fell- A pale face in the dead hall. A dull minute flew by like a puff of air, and the long dread gnawed her brain.

“Do I displease you,” he called stepping into the light- His eyes locking with her own. She did not remember opening them.

“Why do you haunt me,” she gasped bighting her lip. Her soft hands trembled like her father’s banners in a bighting breeze. “I can’t … We can’t.”

“Can’t we,” the hard voice purred, echoing like his anvils beneath the deep places of the earth. “Can’t we … You are royal blood. I am royal blood.”

“You know we’re too close for that,” Idril sighed getting to her feet- Her shadow overlapping his …”Besides, you know that isn’t really why.”

“Tell me,” the cold voice demanded leaving his chapped lips. Death stared through her from those dark eyes. “Tell me, and I’ll go …”

“I don’t want you to go,” Idril moaned clenching her fists. A callused hand met her cheek that made her inch back. He nodded and turned to go punctuating the grim silence- his footfalls like the bells of doom. Idril stared into the blank distance, and dropped to her knees- A flood of dreams between them. A door creaked open from the opposite end of the hall. The long silence returned broken only by the sound of flowing water. Idril gaped into the fountain at the heart of the room and blinked away the tears; she knew would come- Who in all Arda could understand?

Gulls flew overhead and pecked at the dead fish lying on the sand. Pebbles and granite lined the way into the great tunnel, and from the weathered gate, markings could be descried too dim to read. Tuor shuttered, and peaked behind at the warn path he’d taken down from the grey cliffs. Thunder rumbled in the mountains and there was a heavy fog in the air that made the blood run cold. Grabbing hold of the nearest latch, Tuor parted the gate and entered in, leaving the cold dusk behind him- A pale wanderer in a pensive world.

The ground was even and had been carved by elven hands- He knew as much from his days in the wild. A dream-like haze hung about the corridors that opened up on either-side. It was an ageless majesty no hand could mar and no blade could kill. The very night recalled blessed whispers by torchlight long, long ago when the fair harps of the Noldor rang in those halls. After climbing a few flat steps, Tuor came to a broad room coated in dust and grime. A shaft of clear light burst in through the roof and fell on a seat hewn from the living rock. A helm, hauberk, and sheathed weapon lay there glinting like stars in the evening sky. Tuor timidly extended his hand to touch the cold metal and closed his eyes in thought. His hands clasped the blade and fastened it to his belt- The hilt fit perfectly in his fist like an elf sire of war. Awe and doom moved his weary heart, and he pulled the coat of male over his shoulders in delight. The helm fit his head splendidly, and he strode from the night-shade of Nevrast a man worthy to behold- A lord of noble kindred.

The gale blew harder in the lord’s ears and made him cling to the archway behind like a mariner trapped at sea. A great churning came from the waters and where the clouds loomed overhead, darkness deeper than the caverns of the dwarf-lords fell upon the roving waves- A power unlike any mortal man had known. A great cry leapt up in Tuor’s throat, and he would have fled and abandoned all his attire, if not a calm voice subdued him, the voice of Ulmo, Lord of Waters.

“Hold thy ground,” the voice kindly spoke, “And look on me with thy own eyes.”

And low, from out of the depths there came a figure greater in stature than any lord among elves or men Tuor had ever seen. On his head he bore a kingly crown and in his eyes dwelt a goodly light akin to the hue of bright purls beneath the waves- A fearless benevolence wondrous to adore. The man of many miles gazed on in breathless dismay, and knelt at the great Vala’s feet- His face a mask of bewilderment and love.

“Why do you call me O lord,” he gasped aloud bowing his head. “Have I done wrong against you? If so, I crave your pardon and offer up my service such as it is …”

“Nay, nay,” the great lord laughed beaming down at Tuor. “I hath raised thee out of bondage in the land of your fathers to great deeds. I will not forsake you. But low, an evil mightier than all the pride of the Eldar winds his woe in Angband, and there is much in needs to be done. Go now and bear me this word unto Gondolin and the king thereof- That the days now run short. Either he flee to the sea and depart unto the West where he is welcome, or endure the doom of exile and death. For my hand withdraw from the waters of Middle earth and the pestilence of Morgul wax.”

“Alas,” Tuor wailed hiding his face in the folds of his cloak. “I would that all Hador’s house be slain and my proud brothers bound to Mandos than the flower of Gondolin whither and die. But let Eru’s will be done, and thy command delivered. Turgon will hear thee or doom must follow.”

“Then let it be so,” the lord Ulmo declared retreating into the depths, “And where you go, may my blessing follow, even to the ends of the world.”

The waves departed and a great calm entered the beach. All was silent save for the rush of the sea and the whistling of the wind. Tuor gazed down at the blade sheathed at his side, and nodded gripping the pommel. He had work to do. But where to begin. The patter of footsteps approached from behind, and he turned abruptly expecting to find a foe. The instant he locked eyes with the stranger, his hand left the sword’s hilt- It couldn’t be … An elf lord clad in sable and wearing a circlet on his brow peered down at Tuor with mingled awe and incredulity. Both wanderers shrugged and burst out laughing in amazed joy- They weren’t alone.

“By Eru,” the elf exclaimed clapping his new friend on the shoulder,”It’s been nigh on a year since I stepped foot on dry land or met a lord of Hador’s kin. You must be … You look like a man from Dor Lomen. Tell me, how fair your people?”

“Ill,” the man replied shaking out his drenched garments. “Your king and his lords marched out with the dwarf clans and Fingan. Few among their number returned and the seven flew like leaves before the wind. My father was slain in that battle. Huor he was called, and Hurin the Steadfast was his brother they say … The hardiest of mortal men.”

“You are Huor’s son,” the elf cried leaping in excitement. “I ought to have known you from first sight. He was a fine man indeed. I left after the great battle and know of what you speak. I was sent hither by my lord Turgon to find passage to the Valar and to beg aid. Yet I was cast adrift and my friends drowned in the roving waters. Ulmo brought me here out of the depths, and … Here you find me. Breathing, I’m glad, and eager to return home. What draws you to this desolate place, and why are you arrayed in my lord’s armor?”

“Ulmo sent me hither to find these arms you see,” Tuor explained gesturing to his helm and hauberk. “I was also delivered from Dor Lomen to heed the words of Ulmo and to bring them to the hidden city if I might. Is it far?”

“Yea a great way,” Varonwë admitted in hushed tones. “It is clear to me that you were guided to me so I might lead you. But be wary of the snares of the enemy, and trod lightly in his lands. We have far to go and few friends between …”

“Ulmo will see us through,” the man sighed hiding his bright male in the folds of his tunic.” We have hope.”

Turgon glared across the table at a large map planted on the wall. Red and black lines intertwined like a great web, casting the landscape in an unreal blur. Glorfindel shook his head. Torchlight gleamed off the elf’s fair face. There was a sadness there no year could whether … And a wisdom also. It had been a long day.

“The enemy moves,” the elf king reflected shutting his eyes. “A darkness whispers within our own halls. We are too blind to see it …”

“Help will come if he finds us here,” the golden haired lord assured rapping his knuckles on the hard wood. “We still have time- Perhaps Angband has turned its eye To Doriath or the ruins of Nargothrond. The great worm is dead I hear.”

“Ai,” Turgon sighed gazing deep into his friend’s glass of wine. It was almost empty. “And they tell me the black sword is slain … And his father cries out in the wilderness nigh our doorstep- My heart forebode ill.”

“What troubles you,” Glorfindel inquired yanking the map from the wall. The parchment crinkled like dry leaves. “You were never one to fear the enemy.”

“One must always fear him,” the high king declared getting to his feet. “Too often we’ve let our guard down- turned our back at the opportune moment … You and I both know, we can never again wage war with the seven sons and …”

“Have they craved thy hand in their business,” the elf captain prompted bighting his lip like a mortal man. “They tell me they still have hopes of reclaiming a gem from the Iron Crown. What folly …”

“Nay … Nay,” Turgon groaned putting his hand to his forehead in concentration. “It’s a lot harder to place then that and less clear cut. I had a dream … A terrible dream my friend.”

A brooding look entered Glorfindel’s face, and he drooped his head preparing for the worst. He had been witness to prophetic omens and nightmares before, but Turgon … If he was plagued by foresight … The king cleared his throat.

“I saw the tower,” he said clutching the edge of the table. “I saw the tower crumble to the earth and the fire drakes reduce high battlements to ash. I saw children dying in the streets and their mothers cast themselves into the flames. I saw you and a man I knew not at the head of a mighty host, and our banners felled like trees in a gale. Hot blood ran down the cobblestones and dark faces consumed by hate … And rage. And … I saw him … Laughing on the iron throne far, far away. Laughing my friend, like a caged jail-crow fed a bone, and there was power in his eye. It was enough to make my blood run cold, and every joy in my heart perish in ash and tears- … Ash and tears.”

An icy silence punctuated the chamber. Glorfindel didn’t know what to think or believe. He just stared at the floor in disbelief. What was going on? There was more here … And yet only a preview of what was to come.

“Ulmo is trying to warn you,” he managed to say after an uncomfortable pause. “He guided you from Nevrast … he will lead you from the hidden vale if you so choose …”

“But that’s my woe,” the king mumbled- his face lit in the flickering light like a Vala’s. “What if, I don’t want to go … What if, I’d rather stay?”