Ashen Tears by Erurainon

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Chapter 9

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The wooden sword was broken. The hilt had splintered from the blade, and there were shards of the crossbar missing. The twine around the pommel had come undone, and the runes that Ecthelion had carved along the face of the weapon were no more. At another time and place, Earendil would have clung to his mother’s dress and wept for hours on end. But Idril was with Eldwin, and both were dry with grief. Sad eyes followed them wherever they went, and where the tall knights gathered Maeglin’s name was whispered. The lad could still feel those coal black eyes on him, and the long deep gaping beneath like the jaws of some brooding beast. There was no way home. The landscape behind was a grey mess. All around them reared grim wasteland, and on either side of the road grew the hellish mountains- Dark and stern.

The boy lagged behind the others and locked gaze with his father. He lifted the broken thing to his face, and the worn knight nodded. The boy shuffled to the end of the path where the brown boulders were piled up in a heap. Kneeling on the damp earth, he placed the blade on the dank soil and the hilt nearby. Earendil bowed his head in honest defeat. There was no mending that which had been taken by the night. For a brief instant, he peered back at the way home, where the flat-lands met the mouth of the tunnel. But there was only a dream-like haze about the place, and a fog of death too dim to see through. The thought would have brought tears if there had been tears to shed. They had all gone up in smoke … And fire.

“Adar Eru,” the lad called staring up at the deathless sky. “Adar Eru Nin Estel! O, Nin Estel!”

But the clouds would not part and the sun sagged hidden behind the hills. There was only the half-light and the cold shade. Earendil shuffled in the mud and fought the dull pain that erupted in his chest. A gentle hand tugged on his sleeve, and he peered up to find his father looking down on him. He was clad all in brown and bore his coat of male underneath like a knight marching to war. But the war had left his sunken cheeks, and there was an understanding in his gaze that dispelled doubt.

“Papa … Papa,” the boy called clinging to his father’s wrist. “Will we build a new home?”

“Yes,” he answered helping his son to his feet. “We’ll find a way … I promise.”

“And will we see grandpa and Ecthelion again,” the boy mumbled staring up at the heights above. “Won’t we find them someday?”

“Yes,” Tuor murmured resting his hand on his son’s shoulder- His fingers taught with pride. “I spoke with a Vala once … remember?”

“I do,” the lad reflected frowning down at his tattered tunic. “But it’s hard to believe.”

“It was for me to,” his father admitted wiping the dirt from his son’s garb. “Long ago … I didn’t know what to believe in. My parents were dead. I had no friends. I was all alone … All alone in the Wilderness.”

“And what changed that,” Earendil inquired bighting his lip. ”It was Ulmo … Right?”

“No,” Tuor laughed shaking his head. “You would think so. But I was just a messenger not a profit … No matter what they say of me.”

“Then who,” the lad squeaked clearly interested.

“Not who exactly,” Tuor explained looking his son directly in the eye. ”Gondolin helped me believe … Gondolin made me the man I wanted to be.”

“But Gondolin is no more,” the child snapped reeling in bewilderment. “They killed it … He … He killed it.”
“No,” Tuor firmly declared. “Gondolin isn’t a city. Burn the towers … break the gate and Gondolin lives. You can kill the king and his ministers. You can even steel this life from his subjects. But you can never kill the truth. The truth resides with you … And nobody can take that from you.”

“I think I understand,” the lad pondered aloud, his face a portrait of peace. “But what then is truth?”

“Don’t you know,” his father chuckled gesturing to the road …. Or so it seemed. “Don’t you have eyes to see?”

But at first, Earendil didn’t see. He saw lords and ladies … Fair maids and children like himself. But he didn’t see any truth in them, only a witless band of thoughtless individuals.

He turned to open his mouth- to upbraid his father’s nonsense and kill the lies, but then he saw … His father wasn’t pointing at the road. He wasn’t even pointing to the people on it … Just to one person. The boy gazed up into his mother’s pallid face and he understood. The answer woke in him like a flame that could not die. There was no doubt.

“Love,” he cried letting the word linger in his throat. “Love is the answer!”

“Splendid,” his father beamed grinning from ear to ear. “Now you’re learning something.”

He held the stone in the palm of his hand, and let go … Hundreds … Thousands of feet yawned below. The stone soared through the air, bouncing off of ledges and jagged outcroppings along the way. But there was only one way … And that was down. The rock met the bottom with a faint cracking noise and went silent. But by that time its face had been chipped to pieces, and it was only half the stone it used to be. Glorfindel couldn’t make out the projectile … Only the whispering darkness. He turned to watch his kinsmen march down the narrow path. They were high up now and very tired. Eldwin wandered about almost oblivious to her peril. A great cliff-wall loomed on the opposite side of the pass, and no hand-maid could endure the dreadful fall. But she didn’t see the chasm or the cliff. Her eyes were on a fountain dried up and barren far, far away. Her eyes were with a bloody corpse clad in a spiked helm, and a shadow that had no name. Sighing uncomfortably to himself, the elf lord scrambled to the lady and held her fast with his hands. She didn’t blink- She didn’t lash out in protest. Her limbs felt like bundles of straw heaped before the harvest. The thought made Glorfindel’s heart sink deeper than the chasm.

“Eldwin,” he whispered squeezing her fingers. They were stiff and ice cold. “Eldwin … You’re free … You need to move on …”

“Move on,” she exhaled not meeting his gaze. His spirit was too bright. “Move on … I … I can’t.”

Her free hand gestured to the leap of doom. The elf captain reeled against her despair and clung to her as though he himself was dying.

“No, no, no … No!” he cried holding her in place. “Don’t you know what that means?”

“Peace,” the lady smiled … But it wasn’t a warm smile. It was flat and dead like her eyes. He could look into them now, and they were cool and darker than he had remembered them. There could be no doubt. She wanted to die …

“Eldwin,” the elf lord called more gently this time, his face inches from her own. “Eldwin … Do you hear me?”

“Yes,” she mumbled like one fighting sleep. “I … I do …”

“Then listen,” Glorfindel urged feeling the weight of death lessen. “Do you know why Ecthelion died?”

“He died for his country and his people,” she replied in a voice rigid in grief. “He died for Gondolin …”

“Yes that’s all true,” the elf lord murmured peering deeper into her soul. “But he died for something much, much greater … He died for a power that kept him fighting though all others about him had faded …”

“I don’t understand,” she moaned, her lips parting in bewilderment. Her teeth gleamed like diamonds in the half-light.

“He died for you,” the elf captain insisted in a tone that brooked no argument. “He died … He died that you might live. All this time you’ve wandered in darkness. Wake up … Wake up and embrace the day. He is calling you … He is everywhere and in everything. All you have to do is listen … All you have to do is live …”

A flame seemed to enter the elf woman’s eyes, brighter than all the lamps of the Noldor. It burned through woe and despair … It cut through hate and misguided anger. The flame was life, and she was … hope. In that one look Glorfindel knew he had succeeded. In that one look, Glorfindel knew that he had done his old friend proud. But even as the vale of night was lifted from Eldwin’s heart, evil made his mark.

A harsh cry, bestial in its wrath, echoed down the mountains. In a blinding flash, arrows flew from either end of the ragged ranks. Children toppled over children. Knights mowed down friend and foe in the confusion. Orcs were everywhere. They had slipped through onto the flat places and now flooded the narrow heights. Eldwin flung herself on the ground and whimpered, forgetting all that she had learned.

“Ecthelion … Ecthelion … Ecthelion,” she cried against the gathering storm. But in her mind, she was pleading with death to take her and spare the misery.

The elf captain’s hand tugged at her for a breath, and than she heard it … The deep rumble of a Balrog. It was all happening again … And there was no preventing what was to occur. The elf woman hurled herself at her friend’s knees and called out to him with a shrill voice.

“Don’t go … don’t go … Stay here … Don’t fight him.”

But he could only look back and shake his head. There was a mournful acceptance in his glance that her husband had worn … ere the end. Not daring to hide her eyes, she looked on, feeling desperate and helpless among the pressing crowd. The battle raged all around her. Older friends … Dearer friends plummeted to their death below. But her gaze was on him and him alone.

There was a clash of light like lightning, and the shadow came. He came huge and hideous in his anger. Lords and ladies crumpled to their knees and perished stricken at his feet. Only yellow haired Glorfindel held his ground. The blade of fire and the sword of dawn met amidst the madness. A sharp metallic sound came churning up like an anvil hard at work in the mountains, and …

The demon leaped atop a great boulder on the very edge of the drop. The elf lord followed slashing swifter than any captain of ax or scabbard had before. And low … even as the darkness gathered himself for a final blow, the elf lord struck … The hulking night went hurling down … And with him went Glorfindel of the Golden Flower. Both warrior and demon met their end flying through the musty air.

The Orcs wailed against the dying of the night. Legions mustered, and all would have been overcome in spite of the elf lord’s victory. But even as all hope faded, there came the call of eagles. Down the highways of the air they soared, Thorondor and his brothers against the black tide. Sharp beaks and talons tore shirts of male and yellow fang. Goblins rushed headlong to join their kinsmen down in the thrashing void. Not one among the servants of the enemy broke free to bear the tale to Angband.

Yet Eldwin could care less. Her last hero … Her only champion after her beloved husband lay broken at the bottom of a pit. Her feet took her to the brink, and she paced along the end, willing herself to leave this life to join a better world. But the more she gazed down into those crushing depths, the more her heart misgave her. Glorfindel’s words rang in her head.

“He died for you … He died that you might live …”

Still, how could he know? How could he understand her heart and mind? How dare he suppose he knew more about Ecthelion than she did? No, she would leap and find him … She would depart, and scorn him with his own folly. Just one step, and there would be no argument … No tearful march to go back to.

But Eru had other plans. She was bracing herself for the fall when, she felt a tiny hand tugging at the hem of her dress. She peered down … And there was Earendil. He looked up at her with those sea blue eyes, and there was a knowing there stronger than the hand of death.

“Don’t,” he begged, his words ringing through her like nothing else could. “I need you … We need you.”

Her hand clasped his … And without turning back, she left the ledge. She could not abandon this child … Not now. There would be a time for death. But there were miles to go and a new world to see. The day had come. Golden light poured freely onto the blessed lands, and the clouds had parted. The sky was blue, and the road rich with promise. All was well.