Ashen Tears by Erurainon

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Chapter 7

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The words on the page were no more than a blur to Earendil. The boy yawned and pretended to read a few more lines ere handing Glorfindel the scroll. They were both sitting in the court of the fountain with their backs to the king’s halls. The crowd of wanderers had parted for the marketplace. Now the court was silent save for the voice of the fountain. Now they were alone.

“So what did you learn,” the Golden elf urged furrowing his brows. “Come on … You don’t have to be shy.”

“I know- I know,” Earendil groaned wracking his brain for the answer,”Fëanor lead the lesser part of the Noldor across to Middle Earth while the greater party suffered the grinding ice …”

“Very well put,” the elf lord said not a little surprised. “But you know I know better.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Earendil blurted out trying to wear his father’s passive face.

“I’m sure you don’t,” Glorfindel snorted rolling up the scroll properly. “We’re all eager for the celebration. The festival is upon us. We’re all distracted.”

“The Gates of Summer,” the boy exclaimed clapping his hands. “Mama tells me it’s always her favorite time of year.”

“Really,” the yellow-haired elf mused feigning astonishment. “Please tell me why …”

“She loves dancing in the garden with papa,” he replied bobbing his head. “And Eldwin gets to play her harp.”

“And what do I do,” Glorfindel asked clearly amused.

“You stand and guard the king,” the boy cried enthralled by the idea. Being a knight was every lad’s dream afterall. “You parade in full armor and call for the banners to be drawn at daybreak.”

“Splendid,” the elf lord declared blushing with pride. “You learn swiftly young master.”

“Do you think I will ever ride with the king someday like you and father,” Earendil cried lifting his wooden sword from its sheath. His hand trembled holding the pommel as though he bore a heavy weight.

“I think you’ll do better then that,” Glorfindel said in a hushed voice. “I think you’ll build that boat and sail across the sea.”

“Even to Valenor,” the boy squeaked putting down his sword.

“Nobody has been back to Valenor,” the elf lord stammered feeling a tad silly. “The way is shut.”

“Well then,” the lad declared standing to his full height. “I will open it.”

“Maybe you will,” Glorfindel chuckled patting the lad on the back. “Maybe you will …”

But the boy’s eyes weren’t on his teacher. They were on the fountain and the basin of water at the heart of the court. Another was standing there clad all in black with eyes the shade of hell. The child locked gaze with him and smiled … His teeth sparkling in the noon-day sun like purls. The dark elf took a step back and departed the way he came- His face a mask of regret and suffering. But the boy didn’t move. He remained kneeling on the gravel, his fingers still clasping the wooden sword.

The strings of the harp were cool and firm beneath her fingers. She could feel the cords run through her like a dream does upon waking. The night was calm and soft. Not a sound broke the cozy air. All was born of melody. His hand was on her shoulder … And his head nestled between her side and the wall. Her hands shook. Grey eyes the color of deep water lit by moonlight bore into her soul … And in that fleeting breath, he was smiling … She stirred and placed the harp at his feet, the cloth of her dress trembling in a blessed breeze.

“I could never play like that,” he warmly mused clasping her hand like the lord he was. “You’ll be some spectacle at daybreak …“

“But merely an act without you,” she replied in a voice like lamplight in the valley. ”The festival can wait … You are tomorrow. With you I can forget the night.”

“The day I left Valenor I was a proud lord,” the elf captain sighed shutting his eyes. ”I thought I could change the world … But it wasn’t power I was looking for … It was you. I hope we never have to use this tunnel … But I never want to take a step further without you.”

“Nor would I,” Eldwin murmured feeling a darkness creep into that hidden place. “Nor would I.”

“No,” Ecthelion grinned leaning over and kissing her. There were silver droplets on his cheeks like diamonds in the starlight. “Promise me … Whatever happens, you’ll take this … way of escape.”

“But darling don’t be silly,” she giggled embracing him with all the love her limbs could convey. “We don’t have to worry about that now … Do we?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered gazing out into the gathering night. “I just don’t know.”

“Come here,” Eldwin chuckled placing her head on his broad shoulder. “We have all the night before us.”

The night was passing. Varonwë could feel that much in his bones. The air was growing lighter, the ale was flowing faster, and the party was winding to its apex. Tents and pavilions dotted the bustling vale. Children and wives called out with new voices, their bare feet rustling on the yard. Red bonfires burned through the hectic haze, and no person was idle. Yet most of all, the king was best pleased. He towered above the pressing throng, his brow bound in silver- A chieftain of love and wisdom. No elf lord could have asked for more. No elf lord could have expected less. The Gates of Summer were at hand.

“To think we helped build all this,” Turgon softly said turning to Varonwë, his eyes beaming with pride.

“No my lord,” the elf lord answered meekly bowing his head. “You made this …”

“We’ve all played our part,” the king chuckled blushing hard in humility. “It feels like only yesterday since you departed to find the holy isle … Now … Here we stand united under the stars.”

“Yea,” Varonwë smiled clutching his sword’s hilt. The twine around the hilt dug into the palm of his hand. But he didn’t care … He was a knight in a great king’s house, and the vale was fair and wondrous. “When I first found him on the beach … I knew we would stand here … Like this.”

The king nodded peering through the shadows at his daughter on the lawn. She was with him alright and grinning broadly with joy. Earendil sat nestled between them, his mother’s hand on his head. The sight moved Turgon to great hope.

“After the grinding ice I thought my life was over,” he sighed gazing up at the purple sky. “I was wrathful at the Valar … At Eru … And myself for letting her die. I can still remember the warmth of her breath on my cheeks, and the way she’d whisper at dusk. Only now, I begin to understand … She’s still there … Here in Gondolin …. How apart of her is Gondolin.”

“Begging your pardon my lord,” the elf lord stammered retreating to the trunk of an old oak. The bark felt damp and clean against his back. “She isn’t in a city … Or a kingdom. She doesn’t belong to the ice, or to the bighting breeze. She dwells in your heart … And nobody can slay that.”

“I want to believe you,” the king murmured gazing knowingly into his friend’s eyes. They were grey like the deeper shade of the wood- aged and new. ”I really do … “

“It’s never easy,” Varonwë replied scratching his chin, his mind churning in contemplation.

“It never is,” the king mumbled peering up at the fading moon. “It never can be.”

The elf lord could say no more. The links of his male coat gleamed through his sable tunic. A pale light was peering over the encircling mountains … A dull throbbing glow that he couldn’t place. It didn’t feel like the new day. It had too much fire in it, like the glint of an oven at work. The king’s eyes lifted and locked gaze with the West where the kindling burnt brightest, and there was fear there Varonwë had never seen. A low rumbling filled the air, harsh and coarse like many machines sputtering all at once … And then dread sharper than the sword. A cry leapt up from the rocky heights like the voice of death. Gentle maids and daughters hurled themselves upon the dust and wept. Husbands decked in male gaped dumbfounded at the dark shapes already creeping down grey crags. Knights and bowman of many houses banded together in packs nigh bonfires and grassy hillocks. The enemy had come.

The king watched his daughter embrace her husband and lift their child from the rocky earth, her face like steel. It reminded him of her mother’s, the way she looked that day on the ice … Her eyes cold and blank in resignation. Rage took him, and he bellowed at the top of his lungs for armored lords and plans of war … No drake of Morgoth would take Gondolin! The city had to stand. It would not fall! But his words fell on deaf ears … Glorfindel and Ecthelion were down by the gate. The chieftains of the houses were scattered like leaves before the wind. The Black Hand was on them now, clawing at the very heart of the elder children on earth. Who could withstand the might of Morgoth?

“Mighty is the fall of Gondolin,” the king called feeling despair wake inside, and all marveled who heard him. For those same words had been spoken of old by the doomsman ere departing into exile. Had not he foretold unnumbered tears? Night blacker than the eve that was, crept into the very spirit of the berg, and through the golden city clouds of smoke bloomed. Turgon turned his back on the onslaught and hid his eyes. It was just too much to take.

The cobblestones of the road were cold and coarse beneath Idril’s bare feet. Grime and dirt coated her knees, and the thick dust made her pant like a pack mewl. The thought was too unsettling to dwell on … There was only the brick wall ahead and the mile of darkness behind, creeping up to swallow her and her boy. The lad was crying now, the way a child cries. Deep sobbing tears filled his face, and she could feel the pain there no words could dispel. His wooden sword still hung at his side like a badge of innocence in that broken place. He might have even looked comical if it hadn’t been for the dense smoke and stench of death.

“Mama,” he yammered puffing like a kettle about to overflow. “Mama! Mama!”

“We can’t stop here darling,” she called grinding her teeth. ”Only a little while now and we can climb the steps to the battlements to help the others. Don’t you want to see them again?”

“But my legs are sore and I can’t run any further,” he wined spluttering like the lad he was. “Now can’t we …”

“No,” she half-screamed lifting him off the ground. But as she did so, she saw the marks on his hands from falling and the red stains on his tunic. He was hurt … And cut open here and there- Not serious but enough to make a mother cringe.

“Please mama,” he choked gurgling with the pain. She bit her lip hard … Too hard and tasted blood. Her fingers ran the length of her son’s wavy hair. If she had a cart … But she couldn’t carry him far without meeting the paved ground herself and that would be worse. How would Tuor find them? Could he find them … And what of her father? The memory of her husband’s warm lips against her quivering face made her gaze up at the dike. The wall beyond reared bleak and dreary above the aching landscape. A flight of marble steps glinted in the flickering light and made Idril’s head quail. There was no helping it … There was no other way to reach the maids and young folk of the berg. She could turn back around the bend toward the caves … Hide out in the gentle darkness and rest on the clean grass. Yes … She and her son could roam free, daring the wilderness until father and Tuor could return. Surely they would understand. What would they do in her place … Stand and ward the city? But the thought of leaving so many to waste away and die, shamed her inside. The way ahead had to be dared …

“You love your papa,” Idril murmured clasping her child’s hand. “You see those trees burning … And the big knights in male marching?”

The lad nodded shivering on the street like a dog abandoned to the frost. The shaft of his wood sword wriggled in his shaky grasp.

“Tell me,” she coolly whispered tugging him up like a rag-doll, “Are you as brave?”

“I think I am,” he huffed pursing his cracked lips. His brow was drenched with sweat and felt very hot beneath her soft fingers. There was sadness in those sea blue eyes and a kind of angst that bit at her heart more than his wining.

“Long ago before you were born there was a great battle,” she murmured- her voice a pool of memory. “Your grandpa Huor fought and died in that battle … And do you know what he said before he gave up his life for grandpa Turgon?”

“What,” the lad excitedly whooped lifting high his wooden blade. The polished surface almost looked real in the half-light. Idril smiled.

“He spoke in omen,” she whispered patting his head. “He said that from both their houses a new star would arise … And that star is you. Now the only way you’re going to be that star is if you reach those steps there … And live. As Eru reigns above the world, there is nobody on this earth who I love more than you. Don’t let me down now … Don’t let him down here …”

And then a strange thing happened, Idril would never forget. The boy stuffed his toy sword into his belt and stood tall like a tree that does not waver before the gale. He looked older then and proud like the elf sires of old. But in his eyes dwelled his father’s love, and there was a tenderness there that melted her heart to hope.

“I won’t let you down,” he said taking the next step forward. “By Eru … I never will.”