Ashen Tears by Erurainon

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Chapter 5

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The candle’s light was dying. Maeglin could feel the hot wax drip onto his callused skin and bight the rough flesh. He didn’t mind- The pain fed his rage … And loss. The seal met the red blur binding the wrinkled parchment, and he glowered down at the bleeding mark his craft had made. A thin smile lit the dark elf’s sunken face, and he let a drop stain the page. A dry minute dragged on and the seal hardened into his father’s Sigel- the one mark he could call his own … The crest Idril would never bear …

Varonwë stirred clad in grey, the heals of his shoes shuffling on the worn stone. A livid hand clung to the door-knob, and there was a dread in his breath that made the darkness feel darker.

“All are welcome to the wedding,” the grey-clad elf murmured bighting his lip. “The entire city will be there … The king is very pleased.”

“Is he now,” the dark elf mused lifting his cracked and bleeding hands to the window. Starlight streamed through the glass and burnt his eyes. The crumpled parchment dropped to the floor like a banner of defeat. Eöl’s son didn’t budge. There was too much there … The sable mole imbedded in the wax set his heart ablaze … How dares she!

“You puzzle me,” Varonwë sighed gazing up at the carvings the Noldo had made on the sealing. “You don’t have to hurt her … Why don’t you leave her alone if you love her.”

“Because …” the dark elf groaned grinding his teeth. ”She is Gondolin … And Gondolin is me.”

“You know you have no choice,” the grey-clad elf muttered taking a step forward. “She’s made up her mind …”

“O,” Maeglin yawned gazing down at the letter wearing a face like steel. “Tell me … Dear friend, am I welcome?”

“That’s why I’m here,” Varonwë reflected pursing his lips. Grey eyes locked with the crumpled parchment like a hawk’s.

“No,” Eöl’s son answered in a voice like black satin. ”I thought you’d know better then that Varonwë … She’s sending me a message.”

“Then why don’t you listen,” the grey-clad elf grumbled fingering his sword’s hilt. “Why can’t you leave the past behind?”

Maeglin’s heal met the letter and pinned it to the floor. Varonwë held his ground, but kept his mouth clamped shut.

“You can never run from yourself brother,” the dark elf spat cracking his father’s seal beneath his boot … Blending blood with dirt. “Go tell Idril … I know better than to burn bridges.”

The great hall was open to the gardens from either end and had a lofty roof lit by torchlight. The wooden walls were decked in carvings of birds and beasts … And at the head of the table presided the king clad all in white. At his right hand sat Tuor wearing a circlet of gold, and on his left Idril Celebrindel dressed in blue. On her head she bore no circlet, but contented herself with a broach of emeralds Eldwin wrought for her. The metal clip felt cool and fine against her skin, and her father’s smile was more than words could tell. Outside she could hear the crickets yammer and watch the moonlight on the crisp green leaves. Only one chair was empty within and one guest absent. Deep in her heart, Idril couldn’t be more relieved.

From the end of the hall Ecthelion and Eldwin were sharing a great bottle of wine. It had a fruity tang and sent a warmth through both their heads neither could rightly place.

“What do you think they’ll call the first child,” she asked him running a hand through her braded locks. Idril had seen to that. ”It has to be something pretty like foam-flower or moon-star.”

“So you think they’re first will be a girl,” Ecthelion remarked patting her on the back. “I’d doubt that …”

“What do you mean,” she giggled poking him pleasantly on the nose. “A lad can’t have a pretty name? And I thought I took a poet for a husband.”

“Hay,” he groaned licking his lips. “Cut me some slack, I’m only Warden of the Fountain. Besides you’re the prime musician.”

“O don’t go that far my lord,” she whooped taking a hearty swig from her husband’s glass. “We’re always the best together. Remember that show we gave on mid-summer’s eve?”

“Which one,” he replied his eyes a haze of love and bewilderment. “It’s only been a couple of hundreds of years … Or thousands … By Eru, I can’t think.”

“Blame the wine darling,” Eldwin laughed refilling her own cup, “Not me.”

“How cheeky,” he playfully mocked kissing her like he had on the road. “You always pick the best wine.”

“And you always find us the best parties,” she chuckled gazing back at the newly wed couple. “How did you find this place? It’s a lovely hall.”

“Well … “the elf lord stammered blushing like a guilty lad.”I kind of … borrowed it.”

“What did you do this time honorable sir,” Eldwin murmured shaking her head. “You can tell me.”

“Tuor came to me and asked for an open place near the gardens,” Ecthelion explained grinning from ear to ear. “The land-lord gave me problems so I paid a little visit to the king. The land-lord is out on holiday guarding the front-gate for a week.”

“Aren’t you clever,” she sighed pecking him on the cheek. “Now what am I going to do with you?”

“Ease thy self,” he mumbled clasping her hand. “The poor bugger has already been paid. Besides … We have all the night before us.”

“Come,” she whispered kindly nudging him. “Let’s dance.”

The marble steps to the great throne were white and hewn with many runes. Banners died green and gold hung from behind the dais and where the doors locked shut a fountain poured clear water. It reminded Tuor of the day Idril had whispered to him ere entering the garden. Almost a year and a half had passed …. And nothing had changed. The birds still sang in the court. Children clustered on the green fields picking the roses and dandelions from the clean earth. No word came from the outside and even if it had, few were interested. The gates were shut, and the city a berg to rival Nargothrond and Doriath which were no more. Gondolin, the bright and magnificent, loomed alone- The last bastion of the Eldar Morgoth could not map. The cries of Hurin in the wilderness lead him nigh the mark. But to the Black Hand, no way was open … King Turgon yet lived.

He gazed down at Huor’s son clad in the same garb he had worn the night of the wedding. A bright gem burned on his brow, and in his eyes lived the light of Valenor across the sea. Tuor reached the dais and knelt before the throne, his head bowed in honor.

“You need not bow to me,” Turgon warmly murmured descending from his throne. Good mirth grew in his step bridging the distance between them. The man arose and embraced his king like a father. How could he have ever asked for a kinder lord? Without the king’s consent Idril might have well ended up in Maeglin’s arms … Not all the Noldor were so wise or giving.

“What tidings of my daughter,” he chuckled grinning broader than Tuor had ever seen him before. “You two have been quite the married couple.”

“Ai my lord,” Tuor softly replied, his voice echoing off the lofty roof. “We have been traveling through the country and getting to know the yeoman Eldwin knows. It’s been a splendid time.”

“I’m sure,” the king declared scratching his chin. “But I know you wouldn’t come all this way for a social call … Is ought wrong? Is it Maeglin?”

“Good heavens no,” the man blanched recalling the dark elf. “He’s kept to himself thank goodness. I come with blessed tidings.”

“I see,” Turgon paternally reflected gazing out into the courtyard below. “Let me guess … She’s with child?”

“You are a shrewd fellow,” Tuor exclaimed clapping his lord on the shoulder. “Apart from the mid-wife and Eldwin, you are the first to know.”

“I couldn’t be more pleased,” the king answered making his way down the steps. “You are a great man and a lord to be admired. When you first came to us … I knew you would prove yourself.”

“I was raised by the grey elves when I was young,” Tuor admitted following his lord to the courtyard below. “I hardly knew my mother.”

“Where is she now,” Turgon inquired furrowing his brows. “I’ve never heard you say ought of her while you’ve been here.”

“Alas,” the man sighed hiding his face. “She died after my father perished in the great battle. Unnumbered Tears … And yet there was no spring. I can only remember her hands like linen on my cheeks- Nothing more.”

“I know you never knew your father,” the king gently recalled reaching the open place nigh the entrance. “He was a mighty chieftain … Very much like you. The day he came to us, they had been chased by Orcs. Both he and his brother pleaded with me to let them return home … Although my heart foreboded woe. Many are the dooms of men, and not all of them are clear. Yet this much I know my dear Tuor … Your father loved you and so do I.”

“Thank you my lord,” the man said fighting back the tears he knew must come. “You don’t know how much that means to me. I’ll do all in my power to be a true father to my child … I just fear the word of Ulmo and the doom that cometh at unawares.”

“You believe Gondolin must fall,” Turgon darkly mused fingering his circlet.

“Would you want me to lie to you,” Tuor exhaled feeling his heart sink in him like a heavy weight. “I don’t mean to trouble you sire.”

“No,” the king earnestly declared frowning down at his hands. “I need to know your mind … Above all others, I value your council the most.”

“Well then,” the man timidly began fiddling with the broach he bore. “We have both seen the majesty of Ulmo and know his foresight. Without his design, the land on which we stand would be no more than dust before the storm. The enemy is planning … We both know it. His eye is ever bent on us. I swear more than any other king in Middle Earth I adore you most … I beg you beware the guile of Morgoth.”

“I hear you,” Turgon pondered aloud listening to the murmuring of the fountain. “My word stands … I will not forsake the kingdom for which I bled. But … I will keep vigil lest the gates be breached.”

“One things for certain my lord,” Tuor mumbled half to himself. “If the Black Hand comes … It won’t be ringing the door-bell.”

A hand, more fragile than a leaf, reached out to her … Tinier than anything she could have imagined. Idril felt the soft skin meet her palm, and the warm tears role down her cheeks. Is this how my mother felt, she wondered whispering to him- holding him near to her beating breast. Eyes the color of deep water smiled up at her, hungry for her love … Eldwin lifted her harp from a padded chair and ran her fingers down the tense strings. Her lips curled in adoration and a humming came to match the musing melody. He cooed, snuggling nearer to Idril, burying his hairless head in her silk garments. Sleep came like a wave of waxing light before the edge of the world and breathed peace into that cozy place. Tuor knelt over and kissed his wife tenderly, feeling his heart wake in him like a flood of dreams. Their damp faces mingled in a minute that lingered longer than any other he had known … And even that was too brief.

“My son,” he managed to say trembling from head to foot like a tree in the wind. “My star … My star of hope.”

And as though from afar like the chiming of distant bells, he heard it … The name.

“Earendil,” he gently called placing his large hand on his son’s head like the man he was. “Earendil … Come …”

A flicker of movement jolted through the babe’s limbs and then … The sea eyes opened and blinked like draped windows overlooking the roving waves.

Outside all is still and silent. Golden flowers bloom by the wayside and the shade beneath the arms of the trees lies cool and thick. An elf lord kneels there like a dying man, and he is crying. He weeps for all that was and all that is. He weeps for the burden of life and all his toils. He weeps for a mother his heart adored and a father he ever hated. But mostly, he weeps for himself … Because the lady he loves most, has moved on. There is no going back. There is no more … Only the cold night to come. He reaches for the window, praying for a sign. But the vale has fallen between him and her … They are gone … And he is behind. They are gone … And the lord who was is dead.