Ashen Tears by Erurainon

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Chapter 4

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Water poured down from the sealing into a great basin at their feet. There were bright pebbles there and coins that jingled in the pounding current. Ancient trees lined either side of the archway, and in a corner sat Idril with Tuor gazing up at the roof. There were carvings of stars and unnamed constellations the man never knew before. Her breath was hot and honest in his ear, and he loved hearing the whispers mingle with the rumbling waterfall … It reminded him of the sea and the great rush of the deep against the sands of Nevrast.

“I could live here without a care indefinitely,” he managed to murmur in humbled awe. A linen sleeve brushed his elbow, and he gazed up into a beloved face. She nodded.

“It’s been a fortnight,” she sighed closing her eyes. “Many in the high council begin to wonder if you’ll stay. My father wants you to … But …”

“You want to know,” he mused reaching to take her hand. A lifetime stood between- A world of loss and heart-ache, but the fingers locked …”

“I know why,” he admitted watching a silver tear march down her cheek. “I won’t let him touch you. On that I give my word.”

“And here I thought I was being clever,” she laughed embracing him calmly- Her arms like the wings of the wind. “I tried too … Find a good way to get him off my back. But I always wanted to spend time with you. You are a great man.”

“I saw you blanch the minute he crept up the king’s garden,” he explained with ultimate kindness. There were no conditions there- Only a steadfast appreciation, her heart couldn’t fathom.

“All this time, I have felt welcome in this house because of you,” he assured her bowing his head. “I am your father’s servant … Because I am your own. You don’t have to fret or ring yourself in with dread.”

“I hardly met your father,” Idril confessed running a hand through her wavy hair. “But the way you talk, doesn’t remind me much of him. Don’t get me wrong, he was a mighty lord too … But you are … Different.”

“O in what way,” he laughed kissing her hand. “I’m here. You don’t have to be shy.”

“You’re like my father,” she whispered beaming at him only inches away … And the worlds that divided them foundered.

“I’m not an elf,” Tuor stammered feeling his heart overflow with her dreams. “I’m not a king …”

“No,” she giggled sliding to her feet. “You’re much, much more. Come … Follow me. Let’s head back to the garden.”

Fields of wheat and barley rolled on far as the eye could see dotted by roofs and ramparts. Homesteads thatched with gold lined cobbled-streets and where the berg bustled, men in male marched in power. Down below the great gate creaked open and riders galloped in geared for war. The earth trembled and the air rang with the cry of watchmen. Turgon nodded and peered back at Tuor, his circlet burning brightly in the noon-day sun.

“Gondolin,” he said in a reverential tone like a father to his son. “Have you seen anything like it?”

“I’ve walked in highlands and lowlands sir,” the lord rapturously remarked. “I have never seen anything like this. You could spend a year here and still find beauty in her. I guess that’s why you’ve chosen to stay.”

“A year,” the king murmured listening to the cavalcade thunder beneath and into the berg. “A year is no more than a puff of air … A missed meal … A penny flipped at a poor game. You’ve seen much my dear Tuor, but you haven’t seen half of what I have- War and fire … And the slow long march through bitter frosts. You can dream these things or read them. But to live them … That’s a different story.”

“My lord,” the man said bowing his head, “Truly thou are king.”

“No need … No need,” Turgon kindly mused. “I breathe the same air as you.”

“You are lord of a great realm. I do as my heart tells me,” the man humbly explained. “There is no higher calling than love.”

“And what does your heart tell you,” the king inquired grinning with wisdom and grace. “The hearts of men are a puzzle to me. They speak to me in riddles.”

“Maybe because they are so,” Tuor gently chuckled. “There are some dreams better left be and others cracked open. That is up for you to decide. All I know is that if peace had a name it would be Gondolin.”

“Come,” the high king said gesturing to the archway behind. “I have something you should have.”

Tuor nodded and followed the elf lord through the archway and into a stone hall. Light poured through round windows and leaning against a wood bench was a package Tuor hadn’t seen before. The king knelt to the ground and flung away the leather cords with a broad grin across his ageless face …. And low, in his grasp, he held a mighty ax of Noldo’s make. Runes inscribed with tender care ran down the blade, and where the shaft met metal a floral Sigel bloomed.

“Receive now Dramborleg,” the high king announced presenting him the cunning blade. “The lord who bears this token caries the weight of Gondolin with him. Keep it well with love and my blessing.”

Tuor held the shaft to shoulder’s height and watched the daylight dance off the razor-edge. A pang of joy and astonishment flew through him, and rooted him dumbfounded like a fool.

“You carry with you the arms of Nevrast,” the king explained. “You are Vala sent … This is the least we can give in appreciation.”

“We,” the man mumbled struggling to find the right words to say. A sly look entered the elf lord’s face like a ripple on the surface of a deep pond.

“Why didn’t you know,” he chuckled gesturing to the steps beyond. “She had a hand in this too … She’s waiting for you.”

A light rain had fallen, and the ground was wet and cool. Eldwin leaned against a young tree and watched the moonlight trickle onto the open places where a warm breeze blew. Far off in the West a pale red glow crackled, lit by a band of lords down from the hills. A maid or two would laugh from the darker places beneath the trees ambling past recalling a drunken Varonwë at table with Maeglin and the king. The pattering of soft feet would rustle the dead leaves and pass … Abandoning the glade to silence. Eldwin was about to turn back, when she heard male clinking along the path. A broad grin creased her pallid lips, and she lingered with the shadows. A grove of dense bushes and birches lined the way to the city, and the road hither was riddled with dust. A gleaming helm and hauberk broke through the green stillness and cast a dim radiance on the rocky soil. She knew him, and their eyes locked.

“You come late,” she chuckled shrugging her shoulders in mock carelessness. “You know they’ve left with the king.”

“It went well,” the lord exclaimed striding to her side, the spike of his helm cutting through the night like a spear. “My friend the smith did well … Dramborleg is a mighty weapon. It was right for her to give it to him.”

“Always glad to lend a hand,” she giggled kissing him tenderly on the lips.

The lord blushed and blinked like a lad- His smile a ballad no words could rightly tell. She adored it all the more every day. It was her strength and comfort.

“I am only Ecthelion of the Fountain,” he warmly murmured, “Not Turgon of Gondolin.”

“Thank goodness,” the lady laughed taking the lord’s hand. “He’s much too serious. Reminds me of an actor in a bad melodrama each time he declares this doom or that doom … Ha!”

“He is a greater king than any I have known,” he sighed squeezing her hand in admiration. “But I read your point. I thank Eru every waking moment that you are my wife. Too many restless maids have ruined steadfast lords. I just want you to know … It’s been forever since a battle, but I fear it.”

“So does Glorfindel,” she whispered leading him to a bench by the wayside. “The enemy moves in the dark. Turgon forsakes the word of Ulmo, and a man among men comes. Strange days are afoot, and I will be made a fool if I claimed to know how they are to end. All I know is that this Tuor is a good man and that Idril loves him even as Lüthien the Fair.”

“But is this lord akin to Beren,” he asked sitting down with her. ”He speaks with grace … But does he walk in Huor’s footsteps?”

“Yea,” Eldwin affirmed removing his helm and placing it on her knee. “Ulmo sent him my dear … I trust him more than any lord among the Eldar or the Edain. A destiny is on him greater than any I have met.”

“That is high praise indeed,” Ecthelion laughed running a hand through her long locks. “But I believe in you … And will do my best to keep that dark elf cooped up with Glorfindel and the king. It’s been hard keeping the gate. Nothing happens during the day, and at night we just pray Thorondor doesn’t frighten us with his war-cries. The eagles have done more for Gondolin than any spy among Maeglin’s band.”

“That is well,” she yawned poking him playfully on the cheek, “But what about that ballad you wrote for me?”

“It isn’t finished yet …” he grunted feigning dismay. “But tell me, does this Tuor know his guide adores him so?”

“Not yet,” Eldwin impishly giggled. “But I’m working on that … And if I know anything about Idril, she is too.”

The sword hung from over the lord’s hearth where the thick dust gathered. Her fingers curled around the hilt, and the naked blade slipped from its high perch. It had been almost a decade since she held a blade in her father’s house. But the metal … The hard steel lent her courage. Tuor looked on, unmistakably impressed, and smiled approvingly at her clever gesture. The ax was nothing compared to this …

“The daughters of the Eldar are not craven,” he affirmed retreating to the wall to give her room. “Do the maids of your father’s house bear weapons?”

“Alas,” Idril groaned putting back the sword to stand with him. “It is customary for us only to learn … Not to act. Seldom has any lady among the Noldor wielded steel into battle accept to ward home and kin. Rumor has it that your women fair no better … Few among the wise argue wisdom these days.”

“My kin were all forced to learn and defend,” he explained sinking into an ornate armchair. “Whatever custom they had has been chained by the enemy. Yet I doubt not the daughters of the Edain crave helm and hauberk too. I would have thought the lords of Gondolin swift to hear their wives and mothers.”

“Ah,” Idril laughed fingering her circlet, “If so fell Fëanor would have snared fewer into exile, and the two trees would yet live.”

“But then where would I be,” Tuor chimed in,”I would never have come hither and met you. I’d be living in a house of bickering nobles and petty land-claims. I’d rather live today with you than endure a lifetime of peace.”

“You haven’t known Valenor,” she honestly teased sitting near him. “How could you measure the cost?”

“That’s easy,” he kindly replied in a hushed voice. “By your smile.”

”You flatter me,” she sighed blushing harder than she had the day they’d met. ”How do I know you’re serious?”

“I’ve been chained to dogs and dragged through muddy streets,” Tuor darkly recalled gazing deep into her eyes. “I’ve endured more than any man ought to bear … But you … You fill me with hope … And mirth. Its like waking up ere dawn and watching the sun peep over the green land … Yesterday doesn’t matter, and tomorrow is far, far away. There is only then and now … And you want more.”

“I know what you mean,” she whispered clinging to her knees with her back to the hearth,”The night reminds you of how bright the day is.”

“I don’t know how else to put it,” he muttered feeling her breath on his face like the West-wind.

“I do,” she giggled lifting a hand to his shoulder. “It’s not that hard to puzzle out …”

He kissed her and held her in his arms like the man he was … The man she knew him to be. Hundreds of years couldn’t make up for it … No ballad could portray it … All was at peace, and the world rolled on.