Ashen Tears by Erurainon

Chapter 2

Dark ripples disturbed the water’s face. Gentle hands lifted the fine glass to pallid lips, and Idril sighed in contentment. The climb up to the kitchen-floor had been plagued by yammering maids and courtiers. All she wanted to do was put her feet up and read a good book- Get lost in a bard’s world. The hall had a low roof and wide windows looking out on the green country miles round. Eagles were flying down from the mountains, and there were towers everywhere …. A pang of desire kindled her heart to peer beyond the balustrades and peep outside the outmost gate … on the land beyond- A new world. But who would let her? No … Her place was with her people … And yet …

A battle of fantastical dreams bombarded her laden spirit, and she pondered long without stirring from her perch. When she had at last made up her mind to get up, there came the call of a horn from the valley. A hard cold minute fled by and the call returned more urgent this time … Puzzled and not a little afraid, Idril got to her feet and tried to make out what was going on, but all she saw were the lords clambering ahead clutching pikes and bows in hand. Was the city under attack or was she just dreaming? The horns blew a third time and the lady felt the back of her neck tingle in alarm. Maybe, the war had ended? Had another jewel been claimed from the iron crown?

Idril turned her back on the window and the empty glass to find the pantry-door open. A familiar face peaked through- grinning wildly like a tom-cat. It was Glorfindel, and he was alone.

“My lady,” he breathlessly panted. It had clearly been a hard climb up for him also- “Your father craves your company. We have among us a mighty guest- a man out of Dor Lomen.”

“Aren’t the people of that land enslaved to the enemy,” she blurted out following her friend into the passage outside, and down the winding steps.

The streets were packed with laughing children and beaming maids. The sun shown clearly on the vale as though to clothe Gondolin in a Vala’s fire.

“Yea, I’ve heard thus,” the elf lord mumbled cutting through a row of pillars like an arrow. “But this man … He’s Huor’s son and …”

“No,” Idril stammered halting mid-stride. “You’re jesting me. Huor’s son- It’s a marvel he’s yet alive.”

“You can say that again,” Glorfindel grunted tugging her arm. She briskly followed nigh his heels. “The enemy hunted down Turin and Hurin alright. Rumor has it, a bounty has been on this fine lord’s head for many a year. Lived in caves and routed out foes in the trackless lands. I dare say, he looks akin to his father. A stout gentleman he is, or I’m not an elf. Varonwë is with him …”

“Varonwë,” the lady gasped darting ahead. “Varonwë, you say! My father gave him up for dead long ago … He was always a great tracker himself. No doubt there is a tale to be heard here.”

“Ai my lady,” the elf lord agreed in a hushed voice. “But we’re nigh the place of meeting now. It would be best if we talked later- Good luck! I must be at your father’s side.”

The lady nodded and clapped her friend on the shoulder with a gentle smile. The captain blushed a deep shade of red and ran to Turgon. The king and his lords were standing at the center of a great garden beneath an old oak-tree Yavana had planted ere time was wrought. A dream-like haze spilled through the branches overhead on two figures kneeling in the dirt- their heads cast down in homage to the king. Turgon gestured for them to rise and locked eyes with Idril. The lady bowed and bridged the distance between the lords and the two who had come- Varonwë she knew. He was a tall lanky chap with bright eyes and a gentle face. They hadn’t spoken much years before and didn’t do so now … least of all on what her father called, “Official business.” But Tuor … Here was a different story.

Here was a man clad in more than a rag. Here was a man with eyes of steel and hair like jet. Here was a man with a helm of yore and a coat of silver. Here was a man who knew how to wear a sword- A captain of lords girded for battle. It made her heart stir within her and crave a closeness she hadn’t dreamed of before … though Maeglin had. The dark elf sniveled at the king’s hand like a whipped cur. Envy lived in his unflinching gaze. Tuor stared right back, and refused to budge. A doom was on him- An ageless glory. Deep down, Idril knew that the two would never get along … There was too much between them to stand. Turgon cleared his throat.

“Greetings daughter,” he politely said striding to her like the chieftain he was. “May I introduce you to these fine lords? Glorfindel tells me, you know there names.”

“Yea,” she beamed bowing to the two in honor. “Hail kinsman- The stars shine well on thy road. Great joy it is to hold thee near once more. Welcome noble thane of Dor Lomen! Hail lord’s son and dear friend. Come and converse with me, for I much desire to speak with you.”

“Ai my lady,” came the man’s deep voice. “It does me great joy to meet thee. Thy kindness is a testament to the hospitality of the Eldar.”

“You flatter me good sir,” the lady laughed taking his hand. She guided him to her father’s side beneath the shade of the tree. “Here stand by thy good liege who will refresh you. I beg you delight him and me with thy errand.”

A tense look entered the king’s eyes, and he stared at his daughter with mingled fear and apprehension. Idril had never spoken up at a meeting of lords … Let alone to a royal guest. Tuor gently kissed the lady’s hand and cast his filthy tunic from his shoulders until it met the ground.

“These arms,” he cried, “Came from thy halls O king. Receive now the warning foretold to thee in Nevrast long ago by the lord of waters. Return unto thy ships and to the west where thou are welcome. For low, there is war brewing and much debate bandied in the halls of thy foes. Orcs rampage through the free lands, hacking and pillaging where they go. Ulmo is never blind to thy wants O king. Do not forsake his wisdom. Ere thou do, great sorrow will befall thee, and neither him nor I, would see thee so defeated. Come and be glad- For thy long exile is over. You may come home. Fathers and mothers welcome thee into the fold, and the great love of Manwë is with you. Would you abandon his grace for this?”

“Wise councils,” Idril exclaimed to all there assembled.” I pray you heed them lest ruin fall upon thy laden heads.”

“Peace,” Maeglin interjected knocking her aside. That calm malice was in his step. “You are most noble O captain and fair of mind and will. I give you that much … If little else beside. Yet I tell you now, no living man or creature yet unborn could take Gondolin from the outside. Our walls are guarded by more than just watchmen. Years ere you first drew breath, enchantment hath lined the hidden ways beneath the living rock. It’s a wonder Ulmo would fret at all- What city is greater than Gondolin- what king more wise than Turgon? What lady … fairer than Idril the Gentle … Or does my heart spew only lies.”

Turgon stood between councilor and his daughter as though trapped between the hammer and the anvil. Pain and horror lay beneath his dark eyes, and where he gaped at the hard earth a darkness deepened. Visions of war and death drove his brain to quail at Maeglin’s words. Huor had been a man above men- A lord quick to mirth and slow to wrath- a hand of healing and of hope in troubled times. His son was no different- A lord worthy to wear a crown. There was a flame there born of the One that would not die. Yes … Ulmo’s messenger spoke true. But what of Maeglin? He was the king’s nephew afterall. The dark elf had walked with him and rung from him fears and doubts few among the council had known. Could he really abandon such advice? Besides, who could topple Gondolin? It had taken through the long years to guard her- to guide her through the bleak night. Who would keep her memory alive if unmanned- Nightmare or no nightmare … Yea, he and his folk would remain- There was no better way …

The words came and went- Maeglin and the lords cheered in the light of high noon like the seven sons had O so many years before. Even Varonwë appeared pleased and left with Maeglin and the others for the king’s house. But the lady and her father remained their eyes fixed on the man who had come too them through fen and field- brook and mile. He looked sad and weary like a man who had run a great race only to be booed by his friends at the finish-line. It crushed Idril’s heart and moved Turgon to pity.

“Come,” the king muttered to the man. “My liegeman were impressed by your work. I loved your father like a son. Come, and stay with me … Don’t go. You don’t have to stay … But I’d want you to.”

“Do they want me here,” he sighed staring at the crowd of free folk who had gathered to watch the meeting. Although the lords had left the children from the street had not. They waved to Tuor like a king among men and called out to him. But Tuor didn’t have eyes for the madness … Only for Idril and her warm smile that made his heart sing.

“What do you want,” she whispered wiping a leaf from his forehead that had fallen from above. It felt very small and lovely in her hand- He saw her pocket it and chuckled. Idril couldn’t help but laugh. There was too much going on and not enough time to make sense of it all. Why not laugh?

“I’ll stay,” he managed to say, “If your father will permit it …”

“I do,” the king boomed patting the lord on the back like an old friend. “With all my heart.”