Ashen Tears by Erurainon

---

Chapter 6

---

The ledge was clean and clear. A flower-Pot sat there and a few dry leaves clung to the cool dark brick. Wind whistled through the porch, and there were voices in the yard. Earendil peeped ahead at the grey road and the high walls of the berg with tentative curiosity. The bole of biscuits felt like a heavy weight in his hands. Did she know? The warm porcelain banished the thought from his mind, and he sat cross-legged in a shady corner listening to the birds. A Crum or two landed on his clean white shirt. Frowning down at the spots and the half-empty platter, he wiped vainly at the cloth like a madman. Sure enough, he’d hear of it … The wooden boards of the porch creaked beneath a familiar footstep.

“Ah,” Eldwin chuckled placing a hand on the child’s shoulder. “Here’s the culprit. You should be glad it was I who caught you.”

Earendil stared gloomily at his stained garb and the warm bole. A bird swooped down from an aged birch and pecked a Crum from the floor.

“See,” the boy squeaked excitedly hopping to his feet. “They like it to.”

“And why shouldn’t they,” she softly replied lifting the bole from the cold floor. “Your mother’s cooking is admired by everyone.”

“Where is she now,” he asked shaking a little with his back pressed against the wall. “I swear … It was only a mouthful.”

“You should know better,” Eldwin mused furrowing her brows. “The princes of the Noldor must keep in shape.”

“I know,” he mumbled bowing his head. “I’ll listen …”

“You promise,” she inquired placing the bole beside the flower-pot.

“I promise,” he declared stumbling to her like the seven-year-Old lad he was.

“Very well then,” Eldwin beamed shrugging her shoulders. “Your parents are out in the berg … You can take what you want … This time, but don’t let me see you rushing off with more, you hear?”

“Eru bless thee,” the boy cried clasping her hands. There was a reverence in his grip that made Eldwin’s heart stir. There was so much bright eagerness there, she hadn’t known before. Would I had a child, she reflected gazing down at him grinning from ear to ear.

“Eldwin,” he squeaked lifting a biscuit to his dry lips, “Did you ever live in Valenor?”

“Why yes,” she chuckled leaning against the cool brick of the ledge. “I left with your mother when we were but children. Surely she’s told you all the stories.”

“Yes,” he mumbled chewing hard on the biscuit like his father. ”Glorfindel was telling me about the two trees the other day and the Lamps of the Valar.”

“Is that all he told you,” she asked pursing her lips. The yellow-haired elf was known to run on.

“No,” the lad managed to say scratching his head. ”He’s told me a lot more … About birds and beasts and the names of flowers I can never remember.”

“What part do you like the most,” she reflected patting his head with almost maternal affection. “You don’t seem to be a lad occupied with birds and beasts.”

“That’s no mystery,” he exclaimed, enthusiasm twinkling in his bold blue eyes. “I love the sea … You know … To hear about the mariners and their voyages out into the deep places, where the shipwrights sing. I dream of it sometimes … And of the ship I’ll make.”

“You think you’ll build a ship,” Eldwin said gazing out into the rows of thick green birches. “You’ve never seen the sea, silly. How do you know what it looks like?”

“I know,” the boy declared staring back at her, and by the way his eyes sparkled, she knew he was right. There were some dooms the Valar kept to themselves.

The bridge was worn and looked very old. It stood in the middle of a grassy place and under it flowed a noisome brook. The gabled rooftops and ramparts of the berg grinned beyond the shade of the trees. Idril leaned against the balustrade of the bridge and gazed down at the dead leaves in the water. They clung to the surface like the twigs and thorns, but never lost their color. Tuor reached for her hand straining to feel her love course through him. But his fingers met only the dry fabric of her sleeve. He frowned pensively at their shadows on the cold rock, and he knew that she was trembling …

“Your father seemed well,” he kindly murmured shaking his head. “Is ought amiss?”

“I feel it,” she sighed turning to face him, her concern churning through her voice like the tumbling brook.

“Feel what,” he stammered inching back to where the light of heaven fell upon the firm earth.

“The doom of Mandos,” she whispered half to herself clasping his warm hand. “The warning of Ulmo … I have not forgotten.”

“Neither have I,” the man admitted in hushed contemplation. “But what more can we do?”

“I had a dream,” she brooded aloud pacing along the bridge’s edge where the dust met the cool green grass. “I had a dream that the city fell and the land drowned in blood. You were not there … But he was … And Earendil also. A gulf of fire and writhing chattel fled before my feet- A furnace of Morgoth.”

“And what of our son,” Tuor choked closing his eyes to avoid her own.

“Do you not know,” she exhaled, wracked by grief. “Would you blame me … If I leapt?”

“I won’t let that happen,” he replied staring deep into her like a man strings a bow. “I’d kill the dark elf ere he touched you … Ere he could toss Earendil to the flames. You would have no cause to leap.”

“I believe you,” she warmly answered leaning over and kissing him. Her lips were rich with knowing. “I do not despair Tuor … But I cannot sit idle while the tide is turning. The Valar have warned us enough. It is time … Time for us to act.”

“And what do you suggest we should do,” he mumbled embracing her like he never had before. There was strength there she could trust … And courage no words could give justice to. “I am with you Celebrindel … With you every step of the way. Just tell me … And I will follow.”

“I know,” she affirmed burning brighter than the day star. “And that is why I’m telling you … We must build or hew a way of escape- a tunnel bearing thy Sigel that none may find save those we know. Only then will the darkness of Maeglin be foiled.”

“The rock of the kingdom is akin to adamant,” Tuor exclaimed pondering the thought. ”I will seek out what builders I can, known to have least love for the dark elf. But shouldn’t we warn your father?”

“We will tell him in our own time and place,” Idril assured herself hoping against hope. “But first we must begin … We cannot confront the court yet with what we know. Maeglin holds great power in the circles of the king. Better let the serpent unmask himself ere the darkness fall.”

But deep in her heart she knew … Knew that her father would never listen … And that the world that she knew was about to meet destiny head on. The answer was written in her husband’s face. He peered up at the clouds … Listening perhaps to the cry of the eagles far, far above.

The entrance to the caverns was delved into a grey rock-face coated in moss and lichen. It stood at the roots of a mighty mountain capped with snow, and all about the hollow, Maeglin could hear the winds of doom whispering. Far behind in the West twinkled the rooftops and battlements of the king in the fading light. Dusk was falling all about the land, and where the greenwood gathered, bonfires were already being kindled. Rings of smoke arose in the pink sky and made a halo about the encircling hills. Maeglin shut himself to the magic of that place and entered the calm dark. The mouth of the cavern swallowed him and he embraced the downward climb. The light of heaven dwindled away like a dying star, and at length there was only shadow. He was home here. The archways and subterranean rivers beckoned to him like familiar faces through the gloom. Each passage had a name, and every corridor a story. The red glow from his lantern clove the way as his feet pattered on beyond the leaguer of Gondolin.

The way ahead had been formed naturally from the living rock. A narrow entrance lay ahead running deep into the mountain whereas two other corridors opened on the right and left. Maeglin had won ore from the middle way and had trekked left with his band of quarrymen for the past month. But the right way … There dwelt the mystery, and the eternal night his heart craved. Without daring to change his mind or reconsider, Eöl’s son turned his back on the crossroads and passed through into the unknown dark. For the rest of his days, he would never remember what called him to that place- whether it was pride or vanity. He had gems of exceeding wealth and bars of gold to fill his pockets. It was the lure of the untrod road that drew him from the middle way, and there he was undone.

The first of his misfortunes came briskly like most misfortunes do. His feet snagged on a ledge, and in the blink of an eye, he went tumbling onto the floor- lantern and all. The red tongue of flame puffed out and for a long while, he lay panting in the pitch dark. Fortunately, an elf’s eyes aren’t like a man’s, and if he has traveled long in the deep places of the earth, he can see through the gloom better then a cat. What was most unfortunate for Maeglin though was his fall. His pack had fallen off his back and wedged its poor self in a crevice far below. Maeglin had come to a ledge running almost forty feet deep and more than a good yard wide. He was trapped and very much alone with nobody to help or guide him. Lying there face-up in the gloom, his mind turned to Idril and her abominable child.

“Why,” he half muttered to himself having no-one to talk to. “Why me?”

And it was then a hard cold voice answered not from within but from without.

“You’ve come too far,” it called like ice. “There is no going back.”

“No,” he groaned fighting against hands he could not see. “No!”

But it was too late. He was surrounded by hulking shapes that snapped and bit like animals. The one who had spoken wore a helm crowned with twin spikes like an insect. Maeglin didn’t need a tinder-box to know he had been captured by Orcs.

“By Eru,” he cried struggling to break free of another’s grasp. “Let me go! Let me be!”

But the yammering didn’t cease. A wool sack was thrust over his head and for a stifling minute his entire body convulsed in pain. His arms were tied behind his back and his feet curled into a knot no sane person could call comfortable. What came later flew by in a dry blur. With the sack over his head, he couldn’t breathe and lost consciousness. His dreams were always nightmares choked with torture and dismay. But by the time he woke, the sack had been lifted and he was out in the open.

Grey sky rolled on overhead and he was lying in a cart filled with fêted bones and broken mining tools. A slab of rock lay across his chest heavier than anything he could remember, and where his head met the planks of wood there crept a bighting pain. Now and again the cart would pitch on a stump in the road and he could hear the Orcs grumbling in a fell tongue he couldn’t understand- course and jagged like the stones he had hewn as a child. After the contraption had stopped, he was dragged from under the heap of trash and hurled onto what felt like concrete. A flurry of dust danced before his face and, he crouched prone doused in filth and mud.

“Get up,” an Orc called in a voice like curdled milk. “Get up and let us have a look at you!”

He didn’t move. His male coat had saved him from the worst of the scratching and abuse. But one blow from a pike or boot and he would be done for. There was no way to run.

“He is not for sport,” the cold voiced Orc called from the head of the line. Maeglin didn’t dare to gaze up. He could see the hulking shadow dance across the ashen earth. “The master wants this one intact … He is to be taken to the king alive … And unspoiled.”

“Unspoiled,” the other hissed shuffling on the dusty road. A murmur of discontent flew through the ranks like the breath of hell.

“Those are my orders,” the chieftain growled darting to one side. The dark elf could hear a knife clatter against metal and a sharp gurgling noise escape the other’s lips.

Rolling over in the mud, Maeglin could see the corpse lying in the dirt like a squashed bug. A puddle of black blood pooled along the road. Flies already buzzed about the herd of murderous beasts and above all stood the chieftain with eyes like coal.

“You like what you see,” he snickered lifting the stained knife to the crowd. But Maeglin’s eyes weren’t on the corpse or the blade. Only a few miles down the road from where the band had gathered, arose the towering gate and rampart of the pass … And beyond that …

Eöl’s son drooped his head to his hands in utter defeat. They were taking him to Angband! The cart rolled up over the body and creaked with rusted apathy a foot from the elf lord’s head. The sack was thankfully tossed over his shut eyes, and the darkness took him. But death wouldn’t come …

He awoke in a place unlike any other- all was dark and silent. His hands and feet were unbound and his head free from clamor. The clothes he wore were clean and his male coat sagged folded neatly at his side. The place where he lay was padded like leather and smelt of hide. A great wave of relief darted through his mind, and he pondered mute for some time gazing hard at the sealing. But whether it was formed of rock or wood, he could not say. A strange Sigel was carved there in markings too dim to read. A pale light entered his line of vision and for a breath, he felt a warmth soak through his bones that reminded him of his father’s home. Puzzled he exhaled and buried his face in his hands.

“Where am I,” he asked wracking his brain to lend him clarity.

The voice that answered him was calm and deep like his fathers had been at labor. There was power there that would not sleep and an eye that pressed hard against the spirit.

“You know,” it said in a tone that brooked no argument. “You merely refuse to admit it to yourself.”

“What do you mean,” the dark elf called not daring to gaze up into his face. “Why do you torment me so?”

“I do not torment you,” the voice kindly spoke with a hint of humor. “You do that yourself.”

“What do you want,” he cried to the darkness bighting his lip. “What do you want from me?”

“Nothing,” the voice replied with a touch of humor. “That is … I want nothing for myself. I just want you to be free.”

“Free,” the dark elf groaned feeling the bitterness of his heart. “Free! How can I ever be free! She’s gone! She’s left me!”

“Good,” the voice urged ringing in the elf lord’s head. “Your anger feeds your purpose. Come Maeglin … Look on me with your own eyes.”

And he did … Slowly at first hardly believing he would ever listen to the night or obey his summons. But the gentle nature of the voice and the pain that consumed him lead him to look … And besides. What did he have to lose? He was already a dead creature- lost and bereft of love. The face that stared back at him was neither hideous nor beautiful. The lord had eyes the color of black satin and his coat of male hung decked with the finest craftsmanship he had ever seen. On his head hung the iron crown and set firmly above each brow burnt the jewels Fëanor wrought long ago in Valenor. Fine scars ran down the lord’s forehead and cheeks. But the marks added to his regal features and lent expression to his hallowed form.

“You are he,” Eöl’s son affirmed feeling astonishment awaken in him like a torrent of flame. “But how is this possible?”

“My brothers and sisters have lied to you concerning me,” the dark lord sighed bowing his head. “They have marked me with their wounds and have waged war unjustly. Is not the truth written in my face?”

“It is,” Maeglin exclaimed believing now what he never could before. “But how do I know you aren’t luring me? Why did your servants mishandle me?”

“They are animals,” the king rumbled almost in lament. “They are unfitting to be called my children. Yet they prove willing servants. You … You are different. Eru sent me in his wisdom to free you from the yoke of the Valar and elevate his chosen out of bondage. But it seems my brothers have set man with elf maid and contrive my downfall.”

The dark elf gazed into the light of the Silmarils and thought he saw her with him … And that nave child fumbling at her knee. A fire born of lust and fury fed his hungry spirit, and he craved to cast Idril Celebrindel on the hard floor and take her, if he might, without shame. The others could burn. Why should he care? They never cared for him.

“I know your heart,” the darkness called brooding with a cunning spirit. “Tell me where the hidden city lies … Show me a way in- aid me and you will be lord of Gondolin! Idril will be your own.”

Maeglin Eöl’s son locked eyes with the lord of hell and knew then that there was but one choice. All of Arda would sing his praise- King of the Eldar … Giver of freedom. Nothing would be outside his reach. All he had to do was take what he pleased … The thought changed him and molded his perception. He was a knew lord now- An architect of destiny.