Chasing Mirages by Russandol

Peace

Eönwë, Herald of Manwë, returns to Aman after the War of Wrath.

Please note that translations for elvish terms (or words from other languages, as the story progresses) are usually listed at the end of each chapter and in the Appendix B. List of Characters, Place Names and Other Terms.

Read Peace

 

“When Thangorodrim was broken and Morgoth overthrown, Sauron put on his fair hue again and did obeisance to Eönwë the herald of Manwë, and abjured all his evil deeds. And some hold that this was not at first falsely done, but that Sauron in truth repented, if only out of fear, being dismayed by the fall of Morgoth and the great wrath of the Lords of the West. But it was not within the power of Eönwë to pardon those of his own order, and he commanded Sauron to return to Aman and there receive the judgement of Manwë. Then Sauron was ashamed, and he was unwilling to return in humiliation and to receive from the Valar a sentence, it might be, of long servitude in proof of his good faith; for under Morgoth his power had been great. Therefore when Eönwë departed he hid himself in Middle-earth; and he fell back into evil, for the bonds that Morgoth had laid upon him were very strong.”

(“Of The Rings of Power and The Third Age”, The Silmarillion, J.R.R Tolkien)

 

“Sauron’s original name was Mairon, but this was altered after he was suborned by Melkor. But he continued to call himself Mairon the Admirable, or Tar-mairon ‘King Excellent’ until after the downfall of Númenor. The Quenya form equivalent to Gorthu was ñorthus, ñorsus, stem ñorsũr-.”

 (“Word, Phrases and Passages in The Lord of the Rings”, Parma Eldalamberon XVII)

 

 

1. Peace

I am one of the Ainur, a Maia of Manwë, a creature of Ilúvatar since before Time began and Eä was brought into existence and kindled with the flame of the Imperishable Fire.

I weave my being into light, I soar amongst the stars, dive into the core of suns, and dance in the luminescent pulse of the Song, that chimes from every speck and spark. I rejoice in the beauty of Arda, marred but still glorious.

There are Children, those who know me little, who whisper of my betrayal, of having unleashed evil back onto the world through my deeds. They fear and avoid me.

To those I say, once I was one of you. I touched, felt, bled, and wept; I laughed, loved and hated, not clad in a fana but bound to a hröa. I learnt of the gifts from the One to his Children, beautiful and bittersweet.

I do not deny my guilt, but I have paid dearly for my errors. At times I even begged for flight into death or oblivion, both banned to those of my kindred. My pleas were never answered.

Long did I mourn for one who chased mirages and became lost in the darkest shadows.

 

~o~

 

The Utmost West of Arda, Year 590 of the First Age

The years of war had sapped my strength.

I had witnessed the agony of those writhing in the unquenchable fire wrought by the whips of the Valaraucar; I helplessly watched the despair of the tireless healers who strove to comfort the wounded and maimed, and the grief of uncounted Children faced with the violent departure of their kin to the Halls of Mandos; I admired the courage of those few survivors of Angamando who had not succumbed to madness and were determined to rebuild lives broken by thraldom.

A whole continent lay under the waters, its life and beauty destroyed by the power our host had wielded to vanquish Moringotto, once known as Melkor, the single source of all this evil.

When the moment arrived, I felt no pity. Yet I shuddered as the Moritarnon opened between its mighty basalt jambs, carved with the shapes of hideous dragons. The blackness of the cold chasm before me was almost painful to behold, and the Maiarin warriors around me quailed at the sight.

I sensed the dark aura of dread wrap itself around the crippled, slouching shape of Moringotto, burdened under the weight of Angainor. To his credit, he did not cower or beg.

‘Do you regret?’ The question left my lips before I could stop it.

He turned to fix his piercing eyes on mine. Defiance had long fled from them, but a flicker of his former rage leaped into their black depths and for an instant he was the mighty Dark Lord of old.

‘Only that I lost all, that your two-faced masters will rule uncontested from their precious paradise.’

Without a further word, he hobbled forward and reached out with his arms.

The Void seemed to leak through the Door to embrace him. Moringotto vanished and Angainor fell with a rattle on the empty basalt threshold.

He was gone, as were his minions, those he had tricked or seduced into his allegiance. Gone, too, were the Silmarilli, to air, fire and water. My mission was complete.

I willed myself back to Endórë, where I tarried. I stayed with the Atani for a few of their years and taught them many things, in the hope that my lessons would ease their toils and lift their hearts. I had shared too much with the Children to simply walk away to the bliss of Aman and leave them to rebuild their world.

 

~o~

 

Valinor, Year 4 of the Second Age of Arda

At last one day I was summoned by Manwë. I shed my raiment and swam in the heights of Ilmen, amongst the fires lit by Varda, singing my joy before I returned to Valinor. In token of victory and to prove the banishment of the Dark Foe I carried Angainor, light as a feather for anyone it did not mean to bind.  

I was surprised at the request that I must appear at the Máhanaxar. My intention had been to pay obeisance to my lord at Ilmarin, not outside the gates of Valmar in sight of the despoiled Ezellôchâr. But I was not troubled at Manwë’s choice. Perhaps it was the importance of the occasion that had prompted a reunion in such a formal setting.

However, I knew something was amiss as soon as I stepped into the Ring of Doom, again wrapped in a luminescent fana for the benefit of the Quendi that had attended. King Arafinwë of the Noldor was there, surrounded by those of his people who had returned with him from the Hither Lands after battling the hordes of Angamando.

A large group of Teleri had travelled to Valmar too, surely to hear the confirmation of Melkor’s demise. And several of my fellow Maiar, none of whom had been at my command during the war, were clad as warriors in glittering armour of silver and white, and guarded the circle, forming a barrier that even to me, their kinsman, seemed most forbidding.

Only a few hushed murmurs broke the silence, and faded instantly when Manwë rose from his seat. 

‘Welcome back to Aman, Eönwë. Long have been the years of your absence, and many deeds have been sung of the triumph against our fallen brother Melkor. We are grateful to you for leading our hosts to victory, and for carrying out the sentence that has cast the Black Foe out from this world until the end of Arda.’

To one who knew him as well as I did, his praise sounded hollow. I reached out to him through ósanwë, but his mind was closed to mine.

‘You requested an audience here in the Máhanaxar, Lord Arafinwë, to bring to us a matter of great concern. Step forth and speak!’ he said.

Arafinwë walked into the marble circle, and when he reached its centre, bowed to the Valar. Then he turned to where I stood to the left of Manwë’s chair. From the fury in his eyes I guessed his purpose, even before he spoke.

‘The War is won; Moringotto is banished. And yet the threat remains,’ the Noldóran said. ‘Your commander Eönwë detained Melkor’s minion Sauron, the fiend who tormented and slew so many of our people, including my son, and yet he secretly allowed his freedom. Furthermore, he had two of the kinslayers at his mercy but let them walk away with the Silmarilli even though they had slain several of my warriors.’

I well remembered his rant at my orders to spare Nelyafinwë and Macalaurë. His anger had grown into outrage when he later found out that Sauron the Abhorred had walked willingly into our camp, surrendered himself to me and rejected the summons to return to Aman.

‘For these misdeeds I demand justice,’ he concluded. A strong murmur of assent rose amongst his company.

‘Eönwë, will you accept judgement?’ asked Manwë gravely.

I winced at the lack of any warning, but I would not question Manwë's purpose, even less in such a public and solemn setting. ‘You alone, my lord Manwë, own my allegiance. Your word is my command.’

Manwë raised his hand. Two Maiarin warriors stepped forward, led me to the centre of the circle and remained to stand guard at my sides. Such display was purely a performance for the Children, who are partial to this sort of formality. Naturally I would not flee, but even if I had wished to, I could not evade the powers of the assembled Ainur, surrounded as I already was.

The Noldor of Valinor were renowned sticklers for ceremony and protocol, so I bowed deeply to each of the Powers in turn. I perceived Manwë’s tacit approval and Varda’s amusement.

Then my questioning began. I answered truthfully and in great detail my lord’s queries and those of his brethren about the events that Arafinwë had mentioned. At last I was bid to explain the reason for my decisions.

‘Pity it was that prompted me to allow Fëanáro’s sons to leave with the stolen jewels, bloodied swords at the ready. Pity, and the wish to avoid further slaying.’

My mind was open to all of the Valar, but none touched it to signal their entrance.

‘Why pity my nephews when they had shown no mercy, Eönwë?’ demanded the Elven-king. I did not fail to notice the meaningful absence of any title when he addressed me. Ever before he had wearied me with his insistence to name me a “lord” despite my repeated requests to use less formality between us.

‘They had already endured too much grief in their doomed quest to recover their father’s jewels. I wished them to believe they had fulfilled their oath, in the hope they would thus be swayed to return.’ A disapproving murmur rose from the crowd, but I pressed on. ‘With Fëanáro dead, only my lady Yavanna could have claimed the light of the Silmarilli as her own. She had already chosen not to do so in greater need, when the Trees were destroyed.’

Yavanna did not gainsay me, and nobody else dared raise their voices to argue my logic when she was involved. As the silence stretched, I braced myself for the real attack.

‘How about Sauron?’ queried Arafinwë, accusingly.

‘Mairon knelt in repentance and vowed he would work to repair the damage he had inflicted. I believed in his sincerity, but commanded him to come before this court.’ Ironically, I was here because he was not. ‘He dreaded the thought of being banished or imprisoned with his master, whom he had renounced. I pitied him and all those others who had misguidedly followed Melkor.’

What I kept to myself, because speaking would only enrage the Noldor further, were the fond memories of times long past, during the infancy of Eä,  when Mairon and I had been inseparable companions. We had toiled and played together in this new world wrought into Time; we had shared our thoughts and our joy as we swam in the currents of space, pulsing with the beauty of the Music brought into being.

Neither did I mention my regret and anger at his slow transformation, nurtured by Melkor, who had taken my friend’s curiosity and thirst for knowledge and twisted it into a craving for power, and the means to lure him closer. First I had watched, then pleaded, but Mairon, deaf to my warnings, had abandoned Aulë’s teachings to embrace those of the Black Foe. For a while we still sought each other, but this contact grew thinner, until he barred my mind from his, and I knew I had lost him.

My response prompted angry shouts from the mob, naming me a fool and a traitor.

‘Did you not pity my son Findaráto?’ cried Arafinwë, and in his eyes shone both wrath and grief. ‘He was slain and devoured by Sauron’s pet werewolves, after he and his companions were tortured to betray their purpose.’

Absolute silence followed his words. Everyone in the Noldóran’s host seemed to hold their breath in fearful anticipation. During his years in Endórë no one had ever dared to speak in his presence about the gruesome death of his son.

I was still attempting to shape a suitable answer when Manwë finally spoke to me through ósanwë.

‘I understand why you acted as you did, Eönwë. A measure of pity might have been appropriate when deciding the fate of most of Melkor's followers, deceived, coerced, or both. Not so when dealing with Melkor’s most trusted servant, who has ever proved to be as twisted and perfidious as his master. You said to Mairon you could not judge one of your own order, and yet that is what you unwisely did by merely summoning him to submit to our judgement in Aman, instead of seizing him to prevent his escape.’

‘I see I erred. As Eru Ilúvatar is my witness, I have not embraced Darkness. Do what you must to repair my negligence.’

Our conversation had lasted less than the blink of an eye. To those around us nothing had happened. I fell to one knee and waited for his ruling. I trusted him. Ever had I been at his side to shape Arda, to guide and care for the Children, to fight his brother; he was more than my lord, he was kin, friend and mentor.

It was Námo who stood up next to his kinsman.

‘What is done cannot be undone,’ pronounced the Lord of Mandos, ‘but whatever fate Endórë is destined to suffer because of your actions you shall share it, Eönwë, for better or worse.’

As Manwë’s herald I had been privileged to watch Námo’s proclamations of doom rather often. Truly, he had mastered the art of making each of them a lesson in dramatics, and I expected no less on this occasion. I also expected little leniency, if only because of the stern, sad mien of my lord. 

‘Eönwë of the Maiar of Manwë, you are banished to the Hither Lands for two whole ages of the world, unless Sauron, once known as Mairon Aulendil, returns to this circle to be judged before that time is spent. On you I appoint the task to seek him and deliver this summons.’ 

Until that moment I had thought that the worst was over, but his brooding pause and the cold light in his eyes spoke otherwise. I knew he was about to deliver the killing blow, and I had to remind myself that I was no craven, but a warrior and one of the Ainur.

‘You shall be bound to a hröa no different to those of the First-born, and unlike the fana you now wear, you will not have the power to free yourself from this form except if you are slain. You are banned from actively seeking this release in death. Were you to suffer it, though, you must return to Mandos to be rehoused and sent back, until your sentence is fulfilled.’

‘You shall speak to no one of your true identity, nature or purpose, except to the one you seek, and neither will you reveal his true name to others, unless you have irrefutable proof of his reversal to evil. We would not wish to drive him further away; if the repentance you witnessed were genuine, we would rejoice if he returned to his kin, to justice, penance, and eventual redemption.’

‘As for Nelyafinwë and Macalaurë, Fëanáro’s first-born is already in the Halls of Waiting. If you find his brother, you shall speak my command to him, that he must seek Círdan and return to Aman. It is justice, not revenge, that he will meet for his deeds.’

‘This is the judgement of the Valar, and your doom.’

I quailed at the strict terms of my banishment but my trust did not waver when Manwë looked me in the eye and sought to read my mind. I showed him both my fear and my willingness to pay for my errors. He soothed the former and praised the latter.

‘My lord Manwë,’ objected the Noldóran, stepping forth. Alarm had replaced the earlier outrage in his tone. ‘We deem this is too harsh a punishment and would plead for your lenience to alleviate it.’

I glared at Arafinwë. How did he dare come up with such qualms after demanding and being granted a scapegoat?

‘Do you now question the wisdom of the Valar, or their fairness?’ I answered before Manwë could. My lord shot me a warning glance, but I proceeded, regardless. ‘I do not. I shall abide by this judgement,’ I vowed.

Had I known the misery my pledge would provoke, I might have instead thanked Arafinwë for his appeal and begged for mercy.

‘So be it, Eönwë,’ spoke Manwë. ‘In the morning you will be housed into a hröa and a ship will be made ready to depart. In the meantime, you are free to seek those you would say your farewells to.’

He rose from his seat to mark the end to the proceedings.

‘How do we know he will not flee?’ cried one of Arafinwë’s counsellors. I recognised him as brethren to a captain of our host who, during the final attack of Angamando, had been scourged to death by the fire whips of a Valarauco in front of our eyes.

In the numerous years of my existence I had seldom been treated to the sight of Manwë’s utter speechlessness.

‘Did you not listen to Lord Eönwë’s words?’ The King of Arda was indignant, as if the question had cast an insult on his own honour, not on mine. I was grateful for his use of the honorific in front of the crowd. I may have been banished, but not removed from his service and his trust.

‘He has accepted his penalty and will be here in the morn.’

I sensed the doubt of Arafinwë’s followers, and saw the frowns and scowls on their faces. In a flash of inspiration, I decided that a dramatic gesture was called for. Slowly, as to ensure no one saw my movements as a threat, I strode to where Angainor lay discarded and I draped it over my shoulders. Immediately it glimmered with red and green hues and wrapped itself tightly around my limbs. A violent shudder shook me when the burden of its full power fell upon me.

My first instinct was to shed my visible form. I regretted the attempt as soon as the pressure of the chains choked me. Not by impeding my breath, which is an unneeded artifice in a fana, but by somehow crushing the core of mind and energy that is I, Eönwë. I desisted immediately, terrified, and cried out in pain. Never before had I understood the workings of the mighty device that Aulë had wrought.

The Quendi gasped in alarm. Manwë touched my mind in reassurance.

‘You fool!’ he spoke fondly, to me only.

‘Will this satisfy you and your people, my lord Arafinwë?’ I cried haltingly. My weakness was not feigned. The effort to remain standing was making me tremble like a leaf. How had Moringotto borne this torment for years?

The Noldóran nodded, clearly uncomfortable at my plight. He made a deep but hasty obeisance to the Valar and left the Ring of Doom. His people and the Teleri followed him in silence, their hurried steps clattering loudly against the smooth stone. I slumped to the floor, unable to stand any longer.

Manwë made contact again and sensed my distress. He brushed the chains with his will, and they loosened a little, so that my confinement was bearable again. But now that the ordeal was over I felt drained, and slightly resentful. How could an error of judgement prove so costly?

‘Eönwë.’ I felt his mind open to mine again. This time I was allowed to sense his pride, and the depth of his love for me. ‘You know I will not forsake you.’

I let my apprehension and dismay surface to the fore. Two whole ages bound to a hröa was hardly a lenient sentence. I dared to point out silently to Manwë that his brother Melkor may have received a more merciful punishment when he was first sentenced to stay in Mandos for three ages. He gave me the equivalent of a smile.

‘I cannot ease your fears. Námo has not revealed to me what he has foreseen. But trust that your fate and your plight are bound to the Music.’ He paused but I did not break the silence. ‘The restrictions placed on you are merely the result of lessons learnt too late. Too painfully have we suffered as a result of attempting to shape the affairs of the Children. Will you have faith?’

‘Always.’ I believed in my response without reserve.

For a while we spoke through ósanwë about Endórë, the Children, our wonder for Eä; we both carefully avoided mention of what had just happened. With a final soothing caress he left me.

He did not free me from Angainor.

Soon afterwards Melyanna came to keep me company. Both of us had always shared a fascination for the lands beyond the sea, and seen the ugliness of Melkor’s evil work there. I had not spoken much to her since she had returned from Endórë and I was glad she sought me despite my disgrace.

She spoke to me of her beloved Elwë; of Lúthien, whose beauty had enthralled me when she pleaded to Mandos for Beren’s life. Melyanna mourned her daughter’s death beyond Arda, and I could find no suitable words to assuage her grief. Instead I shared with her some of my memories of Elerondo and Elerossë, her only surviving progeny in the Hither Lands.[6]

‘I do not know where my errand will take me, Melyanna, but I shall watch over them if our paths upon Endórë cross,’ I said impulsively. Then I tugged against the links binding my arms, and shook my head. ‘How ridiculously empty my pledge must sound to you! I am to be powerless, by the will of the Valar.’

‘I am grateful for your promise, Eönwë. Do not be bitter. You will be far from powerless.’ She waved her hand down to point at her own fana, and smiled. ‘Being bound to a hröa and its needs will indeed be a challenge at first, but once you learn to accept it as part of who you are, you will rejoice at its power; in turn it will show you the secret beauty of Arda, wonders that can only be perceived by the Children, or by those of us who become Incarnate.’ She paused, and touched my hands with hers. ‘Find that beauty and that joy, Eönwë.’

Despite her uplifting words, when she left I pitied myself, banished from my own kin, not because of evil but of misguided mercy. I was miserable. The pressure of Angainor had become a constant discomfort verging on pain, not of the flesh, but of the deeper kind that gnaws at the mind, like sorrow or shame.

I stared up at the stars and for the first time ever they felt remote, untouchable. The sky in Endórë had always seemed different, somewhat dimmed. Here Varda’s jewels shone above me in all their glory until Isil rose to bathe the night in a silver sheen. Tilion hailed me in greeting and his progress across the sky helped me mark the hours.

I feared tomorrow.

 

 

 

Notes:

 

[1] fana (Quenya) raiment of the Ainur in the shape of the Children of Ilúvatar; hröa (Quenya) almost equivalent to the body of the Incarnates (Elves and Men).

[2] Angamando (Quenya) iron-prison. Morgoth's fortress in the North of Beleriand, more commonly known by its Sindarin name: Angband.

[3] Moritarnon (Quenya) the Door of Night, that opens into the Void. The name and the description are recorded in The Book of Lost Tales (The History of Middle-earth I).

[4] Ezellôchâr (Valarin) the Green Mound where the Two Trees once stood. Better known as Corollairë and Máhanaxar in Quenya.

[5] ósanwë (Quenya) thought-transmission, or telepathy.

[6] Elerondo, Elerossë: Quenya versions of the names Elrond and Elros.

 

 

Exile

Eönwë sails to Middle-earth.

Read Exile

 

2. Exile

By the time Anar rose above the horizon, I was utterly wretched. As well as impeding almost all movement, Angainor’s links somehow sapped away the thrill of thrumming with the Music that we Ainur rejoice in. Each of its pulses became instead a reminder of lost freedom and squandered time.

When Arafinwë arrived, he only brought with him a handful of warriors. Manwë walked into the Circle with Námo and three of his Maiar. Olórin, with whom I had always been close, was one of them.

‘Are you ready for this, Eönwë?’ spoke the Elder King. Genuine concern tinted his voice and a touch of his mind caressed my thought in reassurance.

‘How can I ever be?’ Aloud, I answered, ‘I am, my lord.’

‘Then let us proceed.’

Angainor flashed and fell from my limbs. The clinking of its glimmering links hitting the stony ground was deafening in the silence of the Máhanaxar. I stretched both my ethereal presence and the material shape that clad it, both free at last from dreary oppression.

At Námo’s request, I discarded my raiment, the same one I had worn during the War. In its stead, I projected a mist of radiance around my naked self for the benefit of the Children, who otherwise would have watched me disappear completely.

The Lord of Mandos stepped towards me, and raised his right hand to the glowing cloud I had become. On his palm he held a luminous orb of confined pure energy from which he would build my hröa. He commanded me to open my mind and follow his instructions precisely. I obeyed in dread.

A shimmering spiral slowly poured out from the sphere and began to envelop me. The familiar tingling of charged matter coalescing around me became, for once, uncomfortable and somewhat disturbing, but I did not oppose it and let my being flow into it.

When the process ended, I found myself merged again with the tangible fabric of the world. The first awareness was that of the loud, steady beat of a heart, of my heart. Then came the overwhelming urge to breathe.

The corporeal raiment of the Ainur, the fana, is created in image of those of the Children of Eru, but remains effectively detached in a way that makes us resemble them while it does not bind us as their hröar do. I could immediately feel the difference to this current shape. My whole being was crammed inside its living flesh, and devoid of any inputs but those acquired through its imperfect senses.

The world around me had dimmed. I began to analyse the unusual sensations carefully.

I heard the sound of my breath, and if I listened intently, also that of the Incarnates who stood nearby. Weak creaking of leather and tinkling of metal also came from their direction. Further away there was the song of birds, and the rustle of the soft wind upon the grass on the hills that surrounded us. I strained my hearing, but there was nothing else. It was unnerving to have lost so much sensitivity, to be deaf to wide portions of the spectrum of frequencies, to fail to isolate each source of sound and to perceive its parameters.

From the kiss of the breeze on my skin I concluded that I was naked. Tentatively, I tensed groups of muscles and they responded to my commands. How did I know to do so, when it was nothing like controlling my fana? I was grateful that Námo had at least provided me with this ability, that I was not completely bereft of power and vulnerable, like a newborn.

I felt the pressure against the soles of my feet, and the mostly unconscious effort to will my body to remain balanced upon them. Somehow I knew I would be able to walk. I wriggled my toes, then my fingers.

Finally I dared open my eyes. Light was both brighter and darker than ever before, a fraction of what I had been able to “see” in the past. I could no longer perceive its duality or measure its path, just observe its effect on what it touched, both colour and warmth. It was frightening to behold the world in this limited manner. I sensed the speed of my heartbeat increase, and the palms of my hands became slightly moist.

‘All is well,’ spoke Námo to my mind. ‘Do not fear.’

I thought of asking how he knew, but I seemed to have lost the ability to speak through ósanwe, even if I could still listen through it. I felt detached from him, from Manwë and from the other Maiar, my kindred. My skin crawled with goose bumps, a most alien, uncontrollable sensation and I shivered with fright, despite Námo’s words.

‘I know what you feel, I have tried it before you,’ he explained. I was not sure whether he had detected my anguish at being imprisoned or just guessed my train of thought. ‘Nod if you can hear me.’

I moved my head down, then up again, slowly. In other circumstances I would have been curious and amused at the thought of the Lord of Mandos submitting himself to such a distasteful experience. But now I was not.

‘Look around,’ he said.

I did, forcing myself to ignore my frustration at my reduced eyesight. Arafinwë stood close by, and his mien showed wonder mixed with apprehension. From the position of his eyes in relation to mine, I guessed I was of a slightly greater height, whereas before I had always stood at least a head taller than the tallest of the Quendi. This made me feel strangely insecure.

The breeze blew a strand of black hair across my eyes. It felt silky and cool, quite a pleasant sensation. I could also feel the light of Anar warming my face, caressing my flesh. I had never perceived its power this way before, and I spread my arms to the sides and moved my fingers while I watched my shadow replicate their motion on the ground.

With my ears I heard Námo this time:

‘You may find your shape enjoyable, in ways far removed from anything you have experienced before.’ It sounded like a promise. Someone snickered. I recalled Melyanna’s words.

‘I would hold you to this assurance, my lord.’ The first sound of my new voice startled me. It was not as deep as the one I had grown used to as my own when communicating to the Children.

I looked at my hand intently, front and back. I could not shift its shape or size, the colour of the skin that covered it or any other attribute by the power of my will alone, as I could with my fana. I could order my hand to move through the connections already built into the flesh, to which I now was tied, but it would only obey me within the boundaries of its design. I had seen enough broken bodies during the War to know what would happen if I tried to force a limb in a way it would not naturally go.

Effectively I had become the fëa that resided within this hröa, its master. But I was not one of the Incarnates; my “fëa” was a whole Maiarin being, now caged and muffled. If the bonds that trapped me were severed by death or other means, the hröa would decay but I would be free, except for Námo’s command to return to his Halls.

I was yanked out of my introspection by the snort from one of Arafinwë’s guards, who had his sight fixed on something below my waist. I bent my neck to look at myself. I had guessed correctly, I was wearing no clothes at all, but this fact did not bother me. In fact, I was far too clad for comfort. I spared a grudging thought of admiration for Námo’s attention to detail, that had even designed a navel for my body. Then I realised the soldier was looking a little further down, and I stared as well at the sight of my genitals, nestled in curly black hair. The penis was half erect. I wondered if anything was wrong. At least I was male, in accordance with my choice of form.

At Arafinwë’s orders, a cloak was placed in my hands. Olórin helped me wrap it around my new, unfamiliar shape.

In the past, curiosity had led me to acquire some basic knowledge about the main parts of the Children’s hröa and how they functioned to support life, but now I would have to study my new anatomy more thoroughly, as well as its workings. Surely I would find a chance to do so over the next two ages.

I had already found out several interesting facts. A quick experiment had proved that I could only remain unblinking for a short while before my eyes became increasingly uncomfortable. The woollen fabric of the cloak provoked a pleasant tingling on my skin. However, if I fixed my attention on the feeling, it soon seemed to grow into an annoying itch. I scratched it away and enjoyed the pressure of my fingernails raking the skin.

My musings were interrupted when Manwë stood up.

‘While in Endórë, it may be wise to use a new name. I will make my choice known to you at a time of need,’ he spoke to my mind only. I said nothing at his strange statement. ‘May Eru guard you, Eönwë,’ he added, for all to hear.

‘And you, my lord Manwë.’ I began to bow to him, but he took me by the arms, enveloped me in an embrace and kissed my brow. His fana hummed very slightly next to my skin. I shivered.

Then he was gone, and all was made ready for my departure while I waited under the guard of the Noldorin warriors.

 

~o~

 

Endórë, Year 4 of the Second Age of Arda

The Telerin sailors had not been told of my identity and, even before my first day on board was over, they had decided that I was not worth bothering about. Their initial friendly approaches had been at best ignored, mostly rebuked with bitter words, as the depth of my misery was finally revealed to me.

I was alone and banished from my kin, in an unfamiliar body that failed to respond to my expectations and instead demanded constant attention, mostly of rather unpleasant nature. Before being chained to this flesh I was part of the Song, and could willingly entwine my being with the pulsing bursts of energy and the intricate webs of matter that make this world, a wondrous reality wrought in Time.

Now the laws that governed Arda were veiled from me, at best partially discerned through their imprint on my deadened senses, woefully inadequate to predict their behaviour. From comments heard during the War, I could only compare my experience to that of one of the Children suddenly turned blind, deaf and mute.

Though my mind and memories were intact, I had been robbed of my name; instead I had been tasked with a mission that I feared would prove to be unattainable. Worst of all, I shivered from nausea and retched uncontrollably, day and night. Was being seasick part of the punishment by the Lord of Mandos or his final jest at my expense?

Wallowing in self-pity did not allow for a cheerful disposition. My hosts avoided me as far as they could in the confines of the tiny vessel. By the time my feet stepped onto the shores of Endórë three weeks later I had endured as much sailing as I thought I would ever be able to stomach for the rest of my immortal life.

I did not recognise the small harbour. If we were in the realm of Lindon, this was a lesser town from those I had visited in the past, and the style of the buildings was markedly different. When I asked, the sailors told me that we had arrived at the small haven of Eldalondë, or Edhellond in the local tongue [1].

This settlement, far South from the lands of Gil-galad, had been founded by a group of Sindalië who had fled Beleriand in three small ships after the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, when they feared the one they named Morgoth would finally claim absolute ownership over the Hither Lands.

‘This is yours,’ the ship captain said in farewell. A heavy, plain leather bag was thrust into my hands. I was too weary and forlorn to care about its contents and merely nodded. When I finally thought of speaking my gratitude, the man had already joined the rest of his crew, who were unloading crates and barrels onto the pier.

I walked on the soft sand along the beach until I felt I could go no further. Sinking to my knees, for the first time I felt wet, hot tears flowing down my cheeks. Their taste, salty like sea-water, startled me. Soon I was asleep on the reeds above the tide mark. When I woke up, the sea wind blew strong, spraying foam on my face, and Eärendil was rising. I cried out to him in greeting, but my voice was lost in the thunder of the rolling surf crashing on the shore.

I admired the beauty of the light of the Silmaril and berated myself for my temporary loss of faith. A rumble of hunger interrupted my thoughts, and I remembered the pack with my belongings.

The bag contained a hunting knife in a sheath, a piece of flint, a little pouch with a handful of small gold and silver coins, a comb and some spare clothes. Unfortunately there was little food in it. I would have to worry about that matter soon. But in the meantime I unwrapped a wafer of coimas sealed with a wax stamp bearing Eärwen’s device, and drank water from a nearby stream.

Recalling my intention to learn more about my body, I decided this was as good a moment as any. With two ages of the world to find my quarry I could well spend a few days assessing my abilities. I focused on skills that I might need to ensure my survival.

How far and how fast could I run? I decided to find out, and for a long while I revelled in the strength of my hröa, in the warmth of tensing and relaxing its muscles—my muscles—in the rhythm of my race; in the smell of the sea and the music of the waves. I looked at them with yearning. Throwing caution to the wind I ran into the sea until I lost my footing.

I discovered at that point that I did not know how to swim. Fortunately the waves pushed me gently back to shallow waters. After coughing up several mouthfuls of sea water, I whispered my heartfelt thanks to Ossë for saving me from the embarrassment of drowning during my first day in Endórë.

I spent three more days in solitude. I practiced throwing stones, and studied their flight paths in relation to their weights. Soon I progressed to my knife and was pleased when I could consistently hit a leaf at any distance up to thirty paces, though I knew I could do better.

I realised how much my body hindered my efforts. It was impossible to replicate exactly the same movement once and again, or to precisely measure the strength of the forces acting upon the knife or the initial angle of its flight, only to roughly estimate them. The more I tried to analyse my actions, the worse results I achieved, until I began to rely on instinct and practice, with much better results.

I climbed trees; I tested how far and how high I could jump, and how long I could hold my breath; I learnt to walk balanced on my hands and to juggle seven pebbles at once. There was a lot of frustration, but in the end I was satisfied with my modest accomplishments. 

The most enjoyable discovery, however, was an additional purpose for the organ that usually lay limp between my legs. Most amazingly, its shape and size could change considerably if I dedicated it some attention, and the unlikely reward was a most intense wave of physical pleasure when the seed of life was released. Had I been granted the power to sire children? Somehow I doubted it.

I made sure I savoured this boon often, day and night. Most bizarrely, while I was so occupied, my thoughts would drift into strange fancies, the likes of which had never entered my mind in the past. I had to remember to close it to ósanwë every time I engaged in this pastime.

I was grateful to Námo for this unexpected gift; he had certainly not lied about the pleasures that might be drawn from my restrictive shape. At last, I understood the moans and grunts I could often hear in the otherwise silent vigils during the endless years we besieged Moringotto, and some of the ribald jests that had provoked great mirth amongst the warriors but had meant little or nothing to me.

Also, for the first time I began to grasp the reasoning that had led Manwë to instigate the adoption of laws and customs amongst the Eldar concerning the ruling of this powerful carnal instinct, for which we Ainur have no equivalent. I questioned the need to mandate such tight restraints over what certainly gave so much pleasure to the Incarnates. Instead I understood and even commiserated with their numerous transgressions, which their kings judged and reported dutifully to the Valar. 

Busy with such endeavours and reflections, my food ran out, and I had no choice but to make my way back to the haven, where I bought some provisions. I realised I had paid far too much when I found out that a horse was worth eight silver pieces, one more than I had been charged for my small pile of supplies. I would have to be more cautious if my coin were to last until I found Mairon.

I wondered why this remote place had been chosen as my starting point in Endórë, and not for the first time I wished I was back in familiar Lindon. Ships from the West were a rarity here, and foreigners were eyed warily. Far from Beleriand these people had only heard rumours about the War, but they were fully aware of the lies of Melkor and his minions, and remained ever watchful. I resorted to very discreet enquiries, but even these drew too much attention to me and yielded no answer. When someone bluntly asked if I was a spy, I realised I had outlasted my welcome.

Again I travelled southwards along the shore, this time for many days, until I began to veer northwest. I found nobody in my travels who could help me in my search.

One morning I decided to cease my aimless wandering. Instead I sat, watching the waves and the sky, maybe waiting for a sign that would tell me what I should do, where I should go. But there was no longer anyone to guide my steps, to rule my existence. Ironically, I was free from authority, from orders, except for my duty, which I had two long ages to fulfil.

The seagulls barked loudly above, as in mockery, and dived into the foamy water to catch their prey. I looked at them in despair.

‘Oh friends, would you not lend me your wings today so that I can ride the wind again?’ I cried.

A shadow flew overhead. When I looked upwards, I greeted with joy the sight of one of the great eagles: Lintavailë, scion of Thorondor. We had often shared the thrill of gliding atop the cool mountain currents amongst moonlit clouds, above sleeping lands both sides of the Great Sea.

‘I will gladly let you ride with me, friend Eönwë. Maybe you can tell me why I find you in this strange guise, for I did not recognise you at first,’ spoke Lintavailë. After circling me twice he landed on the wet sand a few steps away. I ran to him and laughed with pleasure.

I scratched him behind the head and on the wings, well knowing how he enjoyed such treatment. Then he studied me while I repacked my few possessions into a bundle I could easily carry upon my back.

‘What brought this penance upon you?’ he enquired. ‘Rumours abound regarding your banishment, and those of my kin who nest upon the peaks of the Pelóri even speak of shunning you, but if such command has been issued, it has not reached me.’

I was dismayed at this news, and hoped it was nothing more than the gossip that inevitably surrounds one who sinks into disrepute.

‘I am not free to tell you, but you will surely hear the story of my fall when you return to the heights of Taniquetil.’ I longed for a glimpse of that mighty peak, my home in Arda.

‘Perhaps I will seek an answer. But first I would bear you to where your errand takes you, if this small service would ease your plight. You have ever been kind to me and mine.’

‘Indeed it would! I am most grateful for your generous offer, Lintavailë, but I do not know where I must go...’ I hesitated. I had been commanded not to reveal my purpose, but Lintavailë would hear the whole tale soon enough. Besides, how would I otherwise have any chance of success in my quest? ‘My duty demands that I find Mairon the Maia, the one the Quendi and Atani now name Sauron. Do you or your brethren know where he dwells?’

‘I do not, but I can make enquiries. My kindred, great and small, have eyes in most places in Endórë. How would we recognise him?’

I thought for a while, then shook my head in frustration. ‘I do not know what shape he might have adopted as a disguise. Perhaps you can watch out for someone who might speak in the tongue of the Ainur, or of the Quendi of Aman when they believe nobody would hear them, because I was told exiles often miss the sounds of their homeland. Or he might invoke words of Power to engender terror or wonder, to enslave or to charm.’ I sighed, realising the impossibility of the task. ‘I will never find him.’

‘Let me make enquiries, friend. Wait for me.’ He flapped his mighty wings and took off before I could gainsay him.

I gathered evergreen branches and built a lean-to in a sheltered gap between large boulders, well above the high tide line. Then I waited. After a few days, hunger spurred me to eat raw snails and clams, and I picked all nearby trees bare of any fruits and nuts that seemed ripe enough. Survival demanded that I learnt to swim and to fish, so I did. During my earlier days in Endórë during the War, I had watched how fire was made with flint and a knife; I even knew that the secret was to prepare the right materials to catch the sparks without smothering the flame. Yet it took me half a day to succeed. When I did, all the seagulls on the beach flew away, startled by my wild cry of triumph. The pleasure of tasting cooked fish was worth every blister on my hands.

Once starvation stopped being my main concern, I began to grow anxious about Lintavailë. As days and weeks trickled by without news, I fervently hoped that he had not been banned from returning to my aid. Manwë had not commanded that I be ostracised, but his subjects may have chosen to do so if ignorant of the actual terms of Námo’s doom.

The moon had gone round almost a whole cycle and I was frantic with doubt when Lintavailë came back. I could not hide my relief at his arrival, and my thrill at hearing his news.

‘I am confident we may have discovered your quarry’s whereabouts, my friend. I spread word that I wished to find a man who behaved as you described. Many reports came back, but only half a dozen stood out. Of these, I ruled out all but one, based on the details that I received. The most promising account was relayed from a very remote land. I shall be glad to take you there.’

‘Not as glad as I am for your offer, dear friend. I will forever be in your debt.’

The following day, after Lintavailë had rested from his long journey, we departed again.

He bore me upon his back as we flew over mountains, plains, deserts and forests; over barren hills and golden fields, orchards and lakes. During our flight, it was almost impossible to outshout the rushing wind, and we travelled mostly in silence unless he pointed a landmark of interest to me or asked me if I was tired, or thirsty. When we landed and I slid off from my seat between his wings, my legs crumpled under me, sore and numb.

‘Are you well, lord?’ cried Lintavailë.

‘For once, I am pleased to be on the ground.’ I laughed briefly, without joy. ‘Flying on your back is unlike anything I am used to. Strange, being swept by the wind instead of belonging to it. It feels cold, too.’ I shivered violently.

‘You may yet learn to enjoy it. Do not despair!’ He offered me the warm refuge of his wing.

I nestled gladly against his silky feathers, but I could find no rest. So far I had hesitated to ask him, wary of discovering an awful truth about the one I sought, but there was no point in avoiding the matter any longer.

I sighed. ‘Where does Mairon dwell, Lintavailë?’

‘In a realm called Kiinlúum, the “Land of the Sun”in the tongue of its people [2], that lies almost at the furthest East of the world,’ answered the great eagle as he arranged his feathers for the night. ‘The men in those lands never travelled West or heard of the Valar, and it is my belief that Melkor has not walked amongst them.’

I finally dared speak aloud the question that had been gnawing at me for the last few weeks. ‘What did you learn of him?’

Very little. I had to trust the messages relayed by those of my younger kindreds until I was confident they had tracked down the one I sought. A man who was heard using the endearment brîniðil, and cursing the mâchanumâz, in particular Lord Aulë, when a spark burnt his hand.’ From Lintavailë’s loud chirp I was unsure whether he was shocked or amused. ‘I could hardly walk into the town and enquire as to his exact whereabouts and activities, could I? Unless, of course, I wished him to vanish into thin air if he suspected someone was spying on him.’[3][4]

I shifted nervously against his body.

‘Do not fret. He has not become a dreadful lord of werewolves, or a commander of dark armies. Beyond that, I only know the name he has adopted.’

‘What is it?’ I asked eagerly, now that my worst fears had been allayed.

‘Yúum Síihbalóob.’ He spoke the alien syllables carefully, and I repeated them, intrigued. ‘I do not know its meaning.’

We fell silent. He knew I did not sleep because I kept moving restlessly.

‘What will you ask from him, Eönwë?’ he whispered, as though not to disturb the quiet of the night.

‘Something I fear he is not willing to give.’

I recalled our earliest times in Eä, before Mairon was drawn to Melkor, when we explored the new worlds together, merged in a single burst of playful light, watching Varda kindle the stars. He began to attend Aulë’s forges, where he was introduced to the mysteries of taming the forces and shaping the particles that made up Arda. After his first lesson, he came to see me, excited and happy, and gave me a gleaming object.

‘What is this?’ I was thrilled at his gift. He had always been generous, keen to share the wonders he discovered.

‘My first tangible creation, made of a matter Aulë has named ibri.’ I studied it from every angle, while he smugly watched my puzzlement grow. [5]

‘What is it?’ I asked, finally defeated.

‘A flute. You can command the breeze to make music with it.’ He laughed. ‘I would not know how, but theory says it should work. Try it!’

Try I did, and the sweet, wavering sound that rose from it kept me enthralled ever since. 

Now, I tasted again the sorrow of having stood by in idleness while he was seduced and I was robbed of his affection.  With hindsight, my warnings to Mairon had lacked weight, and I had dismissed too easily my growing misgivings, as resentment against his incipient arrogance, or as jealousy against He Who Arises in Might.

‘You cannot understand.’ Mairon impatiently waved aside the doubts I had voiced about his decision to become Melkor’s disciple. ‘Melkor has already shown me beauty beyond anything you have ever seen, pleasures unlike any I have sampled before, and glimpses of knowledge that not even Manwë possesses. At his side, I will master what Aulë deems too advanced for us Maiar to comprehend. Why would I waste my time at the forge, or toying with pretty sparks in your company when there is so much to be learnt?’

I should have threatened, pleaded; but I was hurt by his disdain and occupied with my own endeavours. Too busy to notice the trap that was inexorably closing around him.

During the journey, these memories haunted me often. More than once I found myself blinking away tears while staring at the diamond studded sky, or at the silver sheen of Isil. If Lintavailë ever noticed my distress he never asked anything, and I was grateful for his discretion. Otherwise, I would have shrunk with embarrassment, unable to explain the unfamiliar blend of emotions that sometimes overwhelmed me when my hröa grew weary.

 

 

Notes:

[1] In “History of Galadriel and Celeborn” (Unfinished Tales) there are two versions of the founding of Edhellond. One attributes it to seafaring Sindar who fled Beleriand in three small ships at the height of Morgoth’s power – possibly after the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. A second version makes the establishment of Edhellond later by a group of Sindar, a remnant of the people of Doriath who went South in the beginning of the Second Age. I am settling for the first option to ensure that Edhellond is there at the time Eönwë’s banishment begins. 

[2] All the local names and terms used in this imaginary realm of Kiinlúum are based, more or less loosely, on translations from Yucatec Mayan vocabulary. In some cases I have sacrificed apostrophes used in the correct spelling of words for phonetic purposes, just to make them a bit less awkward to the reader's eye, but this is likely to have altered their original meaning, so please don't take these words as true translations, only as inspiration.

[3] ibrîniðil (Valarin) silver flower.

[4] Mâchanumâz (Valarin) the Authorities or Powers, that is, the Valar.

[5] ibri (Valarin) Silver. The etymology of this word is not explicitly provided by Tolkien, but tentatively isolated from Ibrîniðilpathânezel, the Valarin name of Telperion mentioned in The War of the Jewels (The History of Middle-earth XI).

 

---

Chapter End Notes

For those of you who have read my story Kinslayer, also posted here in SWG, now you know where the plot-bunny came from!

Parley

Eönwë arrives at his destination and meets the foe he's been commanded to seek.

Read Parley

 

3. Parley

We flew steadily East; every morning Anar dazzled my eyes, driven by Arien through the Gates of Morning into the sky. Until one day, one month after we left the shores of the Great Sea, we beheld our destination in the quiet hour before dawn.

A large town built of sandstone was nestled in a verdant valley surrounded by craggy hills; its many turrets and hanging balconies were silhouetted against the pale sky as an intricate lace of light and shadow. Beyond the imposing ramparts farmsteads lay scattered over the tilled fields and pastures, still covered by a blanket of sighing mist.

Lintavailë chose to land in a small clump of trees a short distance from any dwellings, but far enough that we should not be seen.

‘Remember, ask for Yúum Síihbalóob to find whom you seek.’

I bowed to my friend in gratitude. I was sad to part from him, the last link to my past, after enjoying his company for so long.

‘Keep well, Eönwë,’ he said in farewell. He flapped his wings twice, and before taking off he turned towards me once more. ‘Be wary! He has breathed evil for a long time.’

While I walked slowly towards the town, I considered Lintavailë’s warning and how it could impact my task, the success of which was my shortest route to freedom. Long had I pondered on the reception Mairon would grant me when I delivered myself into his hands.

My hope was that he would at least repay my past mercy in like measure and allow me to walk free if he chose to disregard Manwë’s summons; equally possible, however, was death in many dreadful guises or, worse still, captivity beyond the hateful imprisonment I already endured.

I was not so engrossed in my troubled musings as to ignore the novelty of my surroundings or the several pairs of curious eyes that turned to watch my progress along the road. I was poised for a challenge of some sort, but nobody questioned or stopped me, at least not until I reached the gates. Their polished metal scrollwork blazed amber as the sun climbed over the hills.

I was detained by the guards in charge, who were openly suspicious at my disreputable appearance, added to my inability to understand their questions. Amazingly, as soon as I spoke the name Lintavailë had given me, I was freed and encouraged to enter the town. Their repeated, almost anxious gestures directed me first down the main street, then towards the left.

Beyond the gates, I was hit by the sights, sounds, and smells of a bustling town awakening. The people from Kiinlúum seemed to value colour in their lives in a greater measure than any other folk I had met before. Their clothing was dyed in vibrant tones, both for men and women; their hair braided in more or less degree and laden with a multitude of beads painted in every hue, or made of copper and gold for those whose elaborate garments proclaimed their higher station.

Widespread prosperity was implied by the many baskets and crates full of assorted wares, carefully arranged by the doors of the numerous little shops and stores along the street, and by the many groups of people happily chattering and bargaining everywhere. As I walked slowly up the street, the breeze brought me appetising wafts of newly-baked bread and meat fried with spices, and the sweet scent of flowering geraniums

Nothing I could see suggested a town in the aftermath of a bloody war, and I wondered if this country, almost as far East as the Gates of Morning, had miraculously been spared the ravage of Melkor’s evil. The peoples of the East had been disdainfully called Men of Darkness by the Atani of the Three Houses, but in these mortal Children I could sense no trace of the shadow that had driven the ferocious warriors I had faced in battle during the War.

Twice I had to request further guidance, until I stood before a large stone house surrounded by lush gardens. The main building had two levels, with long covered balconies shaded by carved wooden shutters in the upper floor, and several graceful domed turrets at the top. Colourful potted flowers hung from all the windows, as they did in every dwelling in the town, even the humblest ones built of straw and mud bricks with thatched roofs.

Before I gathered my courage to approach the forged iron gates I nervously considered whether the end of the next hour would see me back in in Aman, facing the Doomsman in his Halls.

 

 ~o~

 

When the servants of Yúum Síihbalóob asked for my name by pointing at me several times and staring at me questioningly, I enunciated it slowly three times, until one of the men could reproduce it with enough accuracy. I nodded, with a smile to show my approval.

I was led into a spacious room open to a bright inner courtyard, where a fountain gurgled merrily under the shade of orange trees. I breathed deeply the sweet scent of their blossom, one of Yavanna’s most precious gifts to Arda.

The chamber was lavishly decorated with thick rugs and tapestries of convoluted floral and geometrical designs in vivid colours. Tall shelves along one of the walls groaned under orderly lines of books, amongst which nestled a multitude of strange instruments and sculptures. Several scrolls lay unrolled on a table, covered in minute, precise writing and depicting diagrams of what at a glance looked like a complicated mechanism. A beautiful inlaid wood casket full of uncut precious stones lay open next to them.

“Eh-on-weh” was the only intelligible part in the announcement that introduced me into the presence of the master of the house, who sat by the garden on a comfortable arrangement of cushions. He lifted his head sharply at his servant’s words. A cat-like creature as large as a mastiff, with golden fur dappled in dark spots, lay stretched lazily at his feet; when I stepped forward, it fluidly rose to a standing position and bared its fangs at me, as if sensing the unease of its master.

Despite all my corporeal limitations, I recognised Mairon immediately, even if he had substantially changed his appearance since the last time we had met. Equally, he saw my true being through the hröa that caged me.

I had never been a good judge of physical beauty, which meant little to those of my kindred, but I had known enough Children to appreciate the exquisite perfection of Mairon’s features, modelled like mine on those of the Noldor. His skin was a pale shade of amber; his hair, raven black, was split into dozens of braids twined with thread and decorated with gold beads, in the fashion of the local people, and he was richly clad in flowing gold and black silk, in stark contrast to my travel-stained garments.

His striking fairness was, however, eclipsed by his slate eyes, tinged with the deep indigo of thunderstorm clouds, and yet sparkling with the brilliance of the mighty presence veiled by the disguise. Even I, well used to the presence of the Valar, the most powerful beings in Eä, was drawn by the smouldering intensity of his gaze.

While it was impossible to deny the confident power he exuded or the lordliness of his bearing, no dreadful aura of darkness or any other mark betrayed him as Moringotto’s most feared minion.

His initial stare of incredulity was swiftly replaced by guarded courtesy. He bid me sit with him and spoke a command to his servants, who bowed low and left the room at once, quietly closing the door behind them.

I eyed the cat warily, but Mairon merely laughed and pushed it firmly to one side, out of my way. He took something from a box and offered it to the beast. Its long sharp teeth snapped loudly over his fingers, but he seemed utterly unconcerned.

‘Aranincë is harmless to friends,’ he declared while he stroked the animal’s head and throat. This conditional reassurance, clearly a warning too, was barely sufficient to ease my fears when his pet came back to sniff around my legs.

Two female servants entered carrying gleaming pans, filled with warm water into which they scattered many handfuls of scarlet flower petals. One of them knelt by my side to wash my hands and feet. I watched Mairon wriggle his toes as they were massaged with perfumed oil by one of the young women. I sighed with pleasure at the same treatment, a blessing for a tired traveller, even if I had walked little. Two other servants arranged mouth-watering dishes, goblets and jugs of juice and wine on the low tables brought before each of us; they plumped the cushions behind our backs to ensure our comfort, bowed respectfully with hands brushing their foreheads and left. I glanced hungrily at the food but my host issued no invitation.

Once I had pitied Mairon and allowed him to quietly slip out of my tent into the wild. Several times over the past few years, and even during my journey upon the wings of Lintavailë, I had pictured him as a lonely fugitive struggling for survival. Now I nearly laughed at such blatant fallacy.

‘This is no casual visit to enquire about my wellbeing,’ he stated flatly.

His eyes had narrowed and studied my every move. I would have preferred to delay the telling of my purpose but I was given no such choice.

Ever since Námo spoke my doom, I had pictured this scene on countless occasions and decided that I would reveal the full truth, without sparing my bruised pride. So I recounted my judgement in the Máhanaxar, my banishment inside a hröa, and my arrival outside the city that very morning. Mairon did not interrupt or ask a single question. When I concluded my tale I looked at him as if inviting a response, but his attention seemed exclusively bent on flicking an invisible piece of fluff from the immaculate cloth covering his table.

Deliberately, he faced me at last.

‘How presumptuous of your masters, Eönwë, to send their chastised servant to knock at my door with such demands!’ he sneered.

I clenched my hands and bit the inside of my mouth in an attempt to control myself and remain silent.

‘Yet I pity you!’ For a brief instant he smiled ruefully, almost fondly; then a deep frown darkened his fairness and his eyes bristled with shards of steel.

‘I was Melkor’s right hand, his faithful advisor, confidant and ally. I helped him create armies and together we built his rule over Endórë to contest that of his craven brethren. To do so, I ordered the ruin and torment of thousands without compunction or regret; my servants raided and burnt anything in their wake, and under their whips they brought me endless lines of thralls to suffer misery and abuse at my hands and those of my minions. I tortured; I murdered; I raped.’ His voice was chilling in its calm enumeration of his crimes.

Without rush, he served himself wine, but did not offer me any. I watched his nimble hands in fascination; his long fingers dyed in the colour of blood by the reflections of the wine as he took a sip and placed the beautifully carved goblet back on the table.

‘You, ever the faithful vassal of Manwë, fought the hordes of the Black Foe of Arda, broke the peaks of Thangorodrim, emptied the pits of terror buried underneath, wrestled their dark master to his knees and locked him into the links of Angainor. Anyone would agree you deserved to be granted honour and rewards beyond measure for such deeds.’

I could not look him in the eye, well knowing what his next argument was likely to be.

‘Sadly for you, I chose to remain free from the yoke the Valar threw at me, like a bone to a dog, because I could not bear the thought of enduring life as their despised thrall. Because of my defiance you are disgraced, diminished and banished, and yet your lenient masters dare send you to command my return to face their justice.’ He poured contempt into the last word, and again I could not refute his logic.

‘What do you think I can expect from them, Eönwë, if all you received was their ingratitude? Were I to grovel my abject repentance at the Ring of Doom, would they condemn me to the maddening emptiness of Mandos? Would they perhaps allow my release long ages from now only to endure their scorn for the rest of Time? Tell, me, was that also the fate of my former lord?’ His tone was  bitter, but in it I distinctly heard an undertone of fear.

‘No, it was not,’ I answered at last, in an unsteady voice. ‘He was cast out of the Door of Night into the Void.’

I shuddered at the memory, and Mairon’s sharp mind drew the inevitable conclusion.

‘Will you rejoice in watching me be swallowed by the eternal night when the mâchanumâz give the order that condemns me to the Everlasting Darkness [1]?’

A dark flame of rage flared in his eyes. Abruptly, he stood. I leapt to my feet and learnt that his height surpassed mine by about a hand breadth, a fact that only served to remind me more acutely of my peril.

‘A brave but futile errand, O Herald!’ he cried. ‘Go back to Valinor, beg your masters for forgiveness and bask in the radiance of their righteousness. Dawdle with them in their little garden of bliss to while away the ages of Arda, far from those whom you forsook as marred.’

His voice had turned to icicles, frozen and sharp with undisguised hatred. I winced at his biting choice of words. Mairon was nothing if not precise in his use of language, in whatever tongue he spoke.

In his face, I saw disdain. Time measured in a few heartbeats stretched painfully in the hostile silence between us. I wondered if I could craft an argument that might move him, but there was none. I squared my shoulders in a vain attempt to mask my defeat, bowed, and began to walk towards the door, hoping I would find one of his servants to ask them to return my boots.

‘Eönwë, wait…’ he called.

I wavered, uncertain, then took another step. I had failed, but I would not tolerate any more derision, least of all from him.

‘Eönwë!’

This time his tone was imperious, yet I did not turn, and instead braced myself for the sharp claws of his pet on my back, or a blade through my heart. The sudden weight of his hand on my shoulder made me flinch; his feet had made no sound on the soft woollen rugs.

‘Will you break your fast before you leave?’ he asked. For an instant, I froze, believing I had misheard him. ‘I would hear tidings from the west.’

I never fathomed what prompted Mairon to offer such a conciliatory token that day. Pity at my plight, requiting the mercy I had once shown him? The memory of our friendship, that died once he gave his allegiance to the Black Foe? Or a devious design to lure me to his cause?

I accepted his invitation. Hunger spoke louder than hurt pride or caution. Despite his request for news, we spoke little and mostly watched each other warily over the food.

‘Have you been here long?’ I queried tentatively, curious about his new life.

‘A handful of years. After I left you in Beleriand I wandered for many seasons before my steps brought me to Kiinlúum.’ I waited, but he did not elaborate.

‘You seem to have been welcome.’ I waved my hand at the comforts around us. ‘Where did all of this come from?’

‘I work, Eönwë. My skills have bought me a reputation as a smith of some talent.’ He smiled briefly. ‘My modest wisdom is valued amongst the local nobility.’

‘Yúum Síihbalóob. What does it mean?’ I asked him.

‘Lord of Gifts,’ he answered, almost with reluctance, and shrugged at my curiosity. ‘I was given the name. I have spared the odd piece of silver to the street urchins and others in need. Nothing much, really.’

After the meal, we drank cups of a sweet infusion that brought to my mind the images of green flowery meadows and trees weighed down with ripe fruit. Our stilted conversation had died, replaced by an awkward silence. I breathed deeply from the scented steam, while my imperfect senses strove to recognise the delicate flavours. Reclined on the soft cushions, weariness threatened to overpower me, now that the tense anticipation about our encounter had faded. I longed for a bed, or at least, for a few armfuls of hay.

'Where will you go?' Despite his soft voice the question echoed loudly and yanked me out of my stupor.

'Westward,' I answered tiredly. 'To Lindon, where Gil-galad Ereinion rules over the remaining Noldor. I will depart as soon as I can procure some supplies, and maybe a horse.' I hoped the coin I had would suffice.

'The journey to the Great Sea is long and full of peril. Crossing the desert could dispatch you to Mandos unless you are well prepared.' He sipped slowly from his cup and considered me thoughtfully. 'I advise that you join one of the merchant caravans, for safety.’

'I will heed your wisdom in this matter.' I began to rise to offer my gratitude for the meal and bid my farewell, but he placed his hand on my wrist. My hröa awakened at the firm touch of his skin on mine as if he was, after all, charged with an invisible power. Disturbed, I pulled my arm away.

'Stay here, Eönwë, until you make other arrangements.' His invitation was almost a command.

'There is no need,' I replied with as much pride as I could muster. 'I would not impose my company on you.'

‘I insist.'

'Why?' I was tempted, but also suspicious. 

'Out of civility,' he replied evenly, 'I cannot refuse my hospitality to one who has no kin or friends.'

Hearing the truth spoken aloud stung.

I accepted. I could have wept with relief, if not joy.

Over the following days, with help from his servants, I made enquiries which ended in arrangements to join a large caravan travelling to the realm of Rhûn, about ten weeks’ ride to the West. I sought Mairon in his workshop to notify him of my plans. He considered me silently for a while before he made a proposal that left me speechless.

‘Stay with me for a year, for a yén if you will, Eönwë [1]. I would have you verify the sincerity of my repentance, of the pledge I spoke to you when we last parted, that I would strive to repair the damage done by my deeds. In time, you may be willing to carry back to your masters the assurance that they no longer need fret about me. Who knows, you may well gain their pardon before the two ages of your banishment are spent.’

After brief consideration, I answered. ‘I am grateful for your offer, Mairon. I will stay gladly.’

I was relieved to have regained a purpose.

 

 

[1] yén (Quenya, plural yéni) long-year of the Elves, equivalent to 144 of our years.

 

Mirages

Eönwë settles in Kiinlúum, a far realm of the East of Middle-earth.

Read Mirages

4.    Mirages
 

After the awkwardness of our first encounter had faded, we slowly settled into a comfortable relationship, in which Mairon treated me more like a ward, or even a younger brother, than as a guest.

I decided to find an occupation so that I did no longer depend on his charity. So far, he had repeatedly ignored my protests and, at his own expense, provided me with the rich finery an honoured visitor to his lofty household would be expected to wear. He even bought for me two magnificent horses, bred and trained in the royal stables. When I attempted to give him the paltry pile of coins I had brought from Aman he wrinkled his nose in distaste.

Mairon did not boast about the wealth he had amassed as a result of his prosperous trade but the evidence was visible in the lavishness of every aspect of his life. I soon discovered that he had grossly played down his influential standing; he had recently become one of only eight chief counsellors to the ahaw or king of Kiinlúum. Therefore, people treated him with great deference, maybe even awe, no doubt boosted by the aura of mystery and power that surrounded him.

Less than a fortnight since my arrival, Mairon arranged an audience to introduce me to the king. I walked by his side into the great royal hall, where a large crowd of brightly clad courtiers had gathered to satisfy their curiosity about the guest of the honoured Yúum Síihbalóob.

Mairon strode the length of the room confidently but without arrogance. We both stopped and bowed to the king. Then, to my utmost surprise, Mairon knelt before him and bowed his head to the ground. I remained standing.

‘Líik’en [1],’ ordered the ahaw. He was very young, barely into adulthood, and his long hair displayed the most complicated design of gold beads and green feathers I had ever seen, clearly the symbol of his royal status. His clothes were richly embroidered and he was almost weighed down by the heavy gold jewellery he wore, including a beautiful circlet adorned with green gemstones, wide wrist bands and a solid breast plate engraved with a fiery sun.

Mairon rose and bowed for the third time, brushing his right hand to his forehead. As I could not as yet fully understand the local language, he translated the king’s speech and spoke on my behalf.

‘Most honoured ahaw, lord of Kiinlúum, today I bring to your presence one of my kindred, Eönwë of the Maiar.’ Even before he translated, I noticed his omission of the customary naming of my lord Manwë.

‘I welcome you, Eönwë of the Maiar, to our land. A friend of our friend is our friend.’ I was warmed by the king’s greeting, and gave a shallow bow of acknowledgment.

‘Eönwë has travelled from the lands of the Utmost West, beyond the Great Sea, where he has served a mighty king like yourself,’ continued Mairon. ‘He is a wise strategist and a victorious captain of armies, as well as the one who would speak on his lord’s behalf when dealing with friends or foes. Now he seeks to dwell under your protection and offers his services to Your Highness.’

When he translated his words, I said, ‘Victorious captain of armies? Most gracious words, coming from your mouth, Mairon.’

He dipped his head mockingly.

‘Only because they bring a humble craftsman renown, friend,’ he chuckled lightly. ‘However, I failed to name whom it was that you defeated, or to mention that we happened to wage war as enemies.‘

Despite the jest, I considered that his description was a fair summary of my past roles. I was pleased and excited to learn that the king had granted me an appointment in his court, of lower rank than Mairon’s but worthy of a generous stipend.

Once we were free to speak, I questioned Mairon in our own tongue about his exaggerated reverence to the ahaw. 

‘Was it mockery? Or have you sworn him allegiance, that you would bend knee to him, one of the Children and barely a score years of age?’

‘Whether young or old, mortal or deathless, such is the local custom, friend, and you would do well to adopt it to avoid offence,’ he answered dryly. ‘Exalting him in public is a meagre price for his generous patronage in other matters.’ He smiled, as if amused.

‘I have never seen you pay obeisance so humbly, not even to Manwë himself,’ I retorted.

‘This king has earned my respect,’ he countered. I bristled at the implied insult to my lord, but bit back my anger. ‘Would you see me flaunt my superiority and belittle him in front of his own people, to whom he is a god?’

‘Is he?’ I echoed, taken aback.

‘Yes, Eönwë. Not all in Endórë know or accept the rule of the distant Lord of the Breath of Arda, who has abandoned most of his realm, too marred to be worthy of his attention. The people of Kiinlúum believe their ahaw to be divine, the embodiment amongst them of the spirit of the world, and source of their strength and prosperity. His person is sacred, and any illness or injury portends woeful times, unless the Sun, Giver of Life, can be appeased with prompt sacrificial offerings of appropriate magnificence.’

‘Had I not shown him due respect you would have been quick to accuse me of arrogance, or worse, of abusing my power as one of the Ainur to seek to sway him to my will,’ he hissed. I accepted his fair rebuke, despite his hateful contempt towards my lord.

As a companion of the honoured Yúum Síihbalóob, I was invited along him to a private audience after the court was dismissed. The ahaw granted me the privilege of learning his true given name, which had been chosen during his first year of life after careful consultation with soothsayers and wise elders, and was unknown to all but a very limited circle of his close relatives, friends and advisors. The name was meant to be a reflection of his qualities, but also took into account the time of his birth within the complicated calendar cycle used in Kiinlúum.

The ahaw had been named Chakmóol [2], the same kind of wild cat that Mairon kept as a pet, because it had been foreseen that he would be fast and cunning, as well as a formidable hunter and a fierce foe.

~o~

Soon I grew to like the young king, who fretted under the rigid protocol imposed on him. Despite being worshipped by his people, Chakmóol was not overproud, and had already proved to be insightful, just and eager to become as wise a ruler as his father had been. Half the maidens of the realm pined for his attentions because he was handsome and yet to be wed. His counsellors urged him to take a wife and produce an heir to secure his succession lest an untimely death bring deep calamity to the whole kingdom.

Mairon was a regular advisor to the king’s council on matters of law, taxation, trade and foreign relations but his shrewd counsel was often sought and followed on many other subjects, and he readily shared his immense knowledge without a hint of haughtiness. Despite numerous attempts by ambitious courtiers to drag him into political intrigues as an influential ally, he politely sidestepped such advances. Everyone, included the king, admired him for his generosity and circumspection and regarded him as benevolent, lordly and wise.

My initial perception that Kiinlúum was a peaceful country, untouched by the lies of Melkor, had been misguided. Indeed they had not participated in the last War, but hostilities against neighbouring countries were an almost constant occurrence, and the ahaw was already a tried warrior and leader of men.

During the War I had learnt how delicate the balance of ambition and power could be amongst the Children’s disparate folks. We Maiar had been sternly warned against interference that might shatter that balance. I would have to be cautious; through my appointment in the ahaw’s court, I should not encourage Kiinlúum’s ambitions to conquer other realms or boost their superiority in an armed conflict.

To learn about the ordering of the armies and gauge their methods and skills of defence, I sought permission to train with the warriors. Chakmóol gave his amused approval and placed me under the direct supervision of his weapons master.

On the morning I first joined the soldiers in their drills, they watched me warily because of the prodigious powers that I was rumoured to possess, as kin of the revered Yúum Síihbalóob as well as a ‘victorious leader of armies’. When a practice sword was placed in my hand, I was confident that all my past warrior skills would soon resurface.

I was wrong. I knew what had to be done, but lacked the agility and speed  to achieve it. My eyes, hands and feet were hopelessly out of step with each other.

I arrived home battered in body and spirit, seething at my own ineptitude.

‘Did you have a good day, Eönwë?’

I nearly jumped out of my skin. Mairon had the ability to walk so quietly that not even I could detect him, and he well knew it annoyed me to be caught off guard.

‘Never better,’ I grumbled, unwilling to confess my defeat.

‘I have asked for a warm bath to be prepared in your rooms. But I will tell the servants to remove it if you do not need it…’

‘Leave it,’ I conceded. ‘Thank you.’

He accompanied me to my chamber, and lingered while I peeled off my sweaty, dirty clothes and tossed them, disgusted, on the floor. He watched me get into the tub and I was grateful for the water covering me, because of the sudden embarrassment provoked by his intense scrutiny.

‘What happened?’ His breath felt warm on the wet skin of my shoulder.

I glanced back to see him crouching just behind me. I was startled when his fingers began to undo my braids slowly. He poured warm water over my head and began to rub my sweaty, dusty hair with soap, working the lather well into my scalp. The soothing scent of lavender filled the air and the firm, tingling massage felt so pleasant that I let him do it, and blurted all my frustration.

‘I thoroughly embarrassed myself, Mairon. I ended up with my back on the dirt more times than I care to remember. As for archery, I could barely pull the standard issue bow to full draw, let alone hit the targets.’

‘What distance were they?’ He always wanted the details.

‘A miserable hundred paces to start with, then down to eighty.’ I laughed hysterically. ‘Not one of my arrows touched the boss!’

‘How about your riding?’ he enquired calmly. ‘You seem to be doing well with your horses.’

‘Passable,’ I admitted gruffly. ‘Shoddy, but adequate for the moment. It will need honing to move into the advanced drills.’

‘You must be patient, friend. Your hröa is not hardened, your muscles have not developed a memory that will only come through repetition.’

His soapy fingertips glided slowly down my neck, and I shivered with pleasure at his lightly ticklish touch.

‘I am as sore as if all the bones in my body were broken,’ I complained.

His hands gripped my shoulders and worked the knots off the tense, aching muscles. I sighed with contentment, even though his touch was not gentle. When the water cooled down, he pulled me out of the tub and wrapped me in a towel. Exhausted, I let him guide me towards the bed and help me climb onto the soft mattress. I mumbled words of gratitude as I fell asleep. My last conscious thought was a shred of vague surprise blended with pleasure when something as soft as a feather traced my spine from nape to rump before a blanket was thrown over my body.

The following days were no better. Every evening I returned from the practice fields battered and flushed with the humiliation of ignominious defeat. In my mind, now barred from speaking ósanwë, I directed newly learnt expletives to my lord and his doomsman for the painful shortcomings of my shape. Never before had I felt such frustration.

Mairon seemed to be aware of all my misfortunes, and sometimes he could not disguise his glee at my misery. Every few days he would spar with me, but I was no match for his skills and agility, and often felt instead like a child with his first toy sword being humoured by an indulgent older brother. It irked me beyond reason that sometimes he did not even seem to break a sweat while I invariably ended up sprawled on the ground, or panting and disarmed, resignedly yielding the match.

I hoped for him to accompany me to my rooms like the first day, but he never did again. More than once I found myself longing for the pressure of his long fingers on my head and shoulders or, disturbingly, I imagined him touching me more intimately. Whenever that happened, I berated myself harshly for entertaining such musings, but I invariably struggled to discard them from my mind.

I persevered stubbornly and taught my hröa to respond to my commands. Although the process was far more laborious and painful than shaping my fana, things slowly began to fall into place. Or maybe Eru had finally felt pity for my moans of pain and had granted mercy.

Whatever it was, I surprised everyone one day during a sparring bout, roughly two months into the training, when I sent the arrogant swordsmaster tumbling on his back and poised the tip of my blade over his throat. A dead silence, laden with incredulity, rewarded my efforts. This incident would have been considered a freak had it not been for the fact that from that day onwards I seldom tasted defeat, except at Mairon’s hands.

My arrows also started to clump at the centre of the targets, until I was consistently able to hit a willow wand swaying in the wind at one hundred paces, surpassing all but the very top archers in Kiinlúum’s host.

I studied the changes in my hröa, I drew pleasure from exercising my newly honed and hardened muscles, relishing the excitement of wrestling and sparring and the sweet elation of a hard-earned victory. For the first time since that dreadful morning in the Máhanaxar, I began to become reconciled with my new shape.

~o~

I would not concede Mairon’s point.

‘You know it is the truth, Eönwë,’ his tone was conciliatory. ‘The Valar were overprotective. Had they not summoned the Quendi to Aman, much evil may have been prevented.’

‘Ilúvatar appointed them as guardians!’ I insisted.

‘Maybe,’ he sneered. ‘But they failed in their task, and you all became gaolers and tyrants instead.’

I saw red. How dared he insult my lord and his brethren in such terms? Instead of prudently veering away, I locked horns.

‘Of course, you would have preferred that we stepped out of your way and let your master steal the Children uncontested, so that he could warp them into such base, loathsome slaves as the Orcor, the pinnacle of his creation?’ I poured enraged mockery into the last word.

‘So, you would have approved, had the Orcor been fair of shape?’ he argued calmly.

‘Do not dare twist my words, Mairon!’

‘The Orcor were bred for a purpose,’ he countered. ‘They were not meant to be ornamental, unlike the thralls Manwë and his kin keep in Aman for their amusement. We also had plenty of pretty fools to play with, but at least we did not deceive them about their status.’ His lips curved into a slight smile. ‘Did Maitimo ever speak of how we employed his charming qualities in Angamando?’

I gasped in horror and glared at him ferociously.

I remembered Maitimo well, once proud and beautiful, later driven to near madness by the oath his father had forced upon him and his brothers, doomed to stay in Mandos for uncounted yéni. He had been unable to bear the pain of the jewel, whose light had witnessed his torment at the hands of…

A long chorus of birdsong chirped away the unbearable silence and brought back my awareness of the passing of time.

‘Those heralds of dawn may have just saved your life, friend,’ Mairon scoffed.

‘How so?’ I snarled.

‘Before long, you would have leapt at me in righteous fury, and I would have wrung your neck,’ he answered coldly and stood up. ‘I have work to do. We can resume our fascinating debate this evening, if you wish.’

After his warning, I learnt to tread more carefully when our arguments ventured into the darkest, most bitter matters.

Despite our differences, Mairon was a generous mentor in all subjects regarding Kiinlúum. Our days were busy, but he found time to teach me the subtleties of the language and encouraged me to accompany him whenever he visited other prominent members of this society. Also, during my first months in Kiinlúum, we often attended court together and he unerringly assisted me whenever I faced difficulties with translation or with the local customs. 

Once Mairon saw me fluent and confident in my position, he occasionally begged to be excused from attending the king’s council.
‘You were absent again,’ I chided him one evening, when I returned from court to find him poring over designs and endless reams of figures. ‘Are you not neglecting your duties to the ahaw?’

I had missed his deep insight into the hearts of Men in court; he was far wiser to their wiles and intrigues than I could ever hope to be, and that made me ponder the truth of his assertion that the Valar and we Maiar were aloof and arrogant. Were we truly so removed from those we sought to protect that we failed to understand their needs and ambitions?

‘The king granted my leave,’ answered Mairon, without shifting his gaze from the drawings. ‘He wants the works completed before the rains start. Today I had to inspect the stonework for the dam, up in the hills, and survey the site for the pump.’

Armies of masons, joiners and labourers worked under Mairon’s strict supervision to deliver his bold designs, meticulously planned to achieve whatever was required: functionality, beauty or both. Three stone bridges, a fine watchtower and a clever irrigation system for the terraced orchards that clung to the slopes of the valley stood already as fruits of his previous projects.

‘Why not send someone with your instructions? You have more important duties than poking in the dust.’

‘I shall leave those duties to you, Eönwë.’ At last he raised his eyes to mine. ‘You have ever thrived in loftier surroundings than those favoured by a simple smith.’ As often, I ignored his barbed sarcasm.

There was nothing simple about Mairon, least of all his working of metal. His creations, mostly jewellery of a craftsmanship far beyond the skills of local artisans, were true pieces of art, as stunning as those once wrought by Fëanáro. They were greatly coveted in spite of their price, steep because he only crafted pieces with the finest stones and the purest precious metals. He also worked on large forge pieces, like the gates that graced his home or those at the city entrance.

Although he had two apprentices, he would not entrust them with the secrets he had learnt at Aulë’s forge; they only assisted him in the most menial tasks, like tending to the kilns, cleaning the forge and the workshop or, if he felt generous, roughly sorting pearls and gems by purity and size.

In Kiinlúum he was reputed to be unforgiving of incompetence or dishonesty, but never cruel with his servants. Indeed, a vacant position to serve Yúum Síihbalóob was a rare happening, which attracted numerous keen applicants. He seemed to own no slaves, common in every other wealthy household, or if he did, they had not come to my attention. Of all the evil I had found in Arda, nothing compared to the cruelty of slavery; the absence of thralls in his home therefore gladdened me, though I found it strange, given his past.

A few weeks after my arrival, this thorny matter arose while we were riding, tired and hungry from a pleasant day of hunting, along the dusty road that led to the city, just before it began to weave itself down into the valley. .

I slowed down my horse to keep pace with a large group of slaves, linked by their necks to a long chain, who were herded along like beasts by several men wielding sticks. My blood boiled at the sight.

‘We must make haste if we wish to reach the gates before sunset, Eönwë,’ urged Mairon with some asperity.

‘Are you not troubled by this abomination?’ I retorted angrily. His indifference, real or feigned, spurred my outrage.

‘No,’ he admitted. ‘Slaves are common in these lands, captives from war or raids into other realms, whose kin have been unable or unwilling to pay the required ransom. However much the scene raises your hackles, this is the way of Kiinlúum and all the neighbouring lands. Go to the market tomorrow and buy their freedom, if your conscience suffers so greatly. They will return to their country only to fight the ahaw’s armies again, with hatred kindled even hotter in their hearts. Otherwise let them pay for defeat with their sweat.’

‘Callous words, most suited to one who turned thousands into thralls or worse,’ I cried indignantly. Grim memories of broken bodies and cries of despair and madness in the pits of Angamando filled my mind and I shuddered. ‘It pains me that I see no trace of remorse or shame in your face.’ My challenge was voiced with deliberately harshness.

‘What is past is past, Eönwë.’ He shrugged, without rising to my provocation. ‘It may soothe you to know that I own titles to no thralls; in fact several times I have turned down slaves as gifts or payment for my work. If you doubt me, ask my servants; all will tell you they serve me freely. I reward their labour generously.’

‘And what portent has caused such an admirable change of heart, I wonder?’ I plied sarcasm to my tone.

‘You have a penchant for doubting the motivations behind my every choice,’ he replied irritably. ‘Even those that should deserve your approval. Yet you remain blind to your masters’ flaws.’

Before I had time to formulate a suitable response, he galloped towards the town without waiting for me or looking behind to see if I caught up. I sighed in exasperation and followed. A few hundred paces from the city gates I heard a faint echo of laughter, and blinked at a sharp flicker of brightness. Two children ran in the long meadow above the riverbank, to the left of our path. The faster boy was holding a piece of glass or mirror, and waved it to dazzle his friend with its reflection, while keeping tauntingly out of his reach.

Mairon had seen them too, and he suddenly reined his horse to a halt. After sparing the children a glance, he rested his gaze on the hills that glowed boldly in the red sunset light. I studied his proud profile, and wondered what ideas occupied his mind, admirable but so tragically tainted by Melkor’s blight.

‘Look at the horizon, friend, and watch the colours die. Light changes beauty to harshness, vibrancy to dullness and oblivion. Light can guide or deceive, caress or blind.’

‘Light conquers darkness,’ I replied, wondering where his thoughts were leading.

‘Trite and inaccurate, friend!’ he snapped. ‘Light is traitorous, darkness is guileless.’

Shocked by his unwarranted vehemence, I mutely watched him turn to stare at the dazzling amber orb of the sun. His eyes, flecked in gold sparks, rivalled its brilliance.

‘Light it is, not darkness, that casts shadows to lead one astray. Light can unveil truth or mask lies behind its beauty. Did you not see those boys? Light is luring. I know too well.’

A brush of ósanwë pulled me into his open mind, and the echo of his voice merged with the lifelike scenes that enveloped me like a tale unfolding before my eyes. ‘Wrapped in lulling swirls of adulation and promises,  soft and tenuous as dreams, a man chases mirages wrought by a brilliant mind that offers wisdom and beauty, knowledge and power. He runs far, away from all that is dear, and reaches out to touch these tempting visions, but they fade, one by one, before his eyes, revealing a barren waste. Despair and fear blaze when he finds himself crushed and alone under the glare that laughs at his plight. Deceived and bereft by the brightest, most implacable light; bound by irons too strong to cleave. Seduced but always left wanting; ever labouring to get one step closer to the mirage he beheld long ago.  Hoping that one day he will become… more than a servant.’ Mairon's last words were no more than an angry whisper as the images of desolation faded in the glowing sunset. His gaze gleamed with shards of consuming rage, and with unshed tears. Hoping that one day he will become… more than a servant.’ His last words were no more than an angry whisper; his gaze now gleamed with shards of consuming rage, and with unshed tears.

When the sun’s last ray sank below the horizon, he tore his eyes away and unclenched trembling hands from his horse’s mane. I saw him blink, blush in chagrin and bite his lip lightly, then he busied himself with the girth buckles of his saddle. I was too startled for words; he had allowed me a glimpse of the truth—and the pain—that lay behind his mask. My heart thumped with useless regret at Melkor’s betrayal and with hope that Mairon might yet be swayed to seek forgiveness.

The silence hung tensely between us, until it was mercifully broken by the passage of a creaking cart. We hastened back through the gates, as the trumpets blared the call warning of their closure into the darkening dusk. When we arrived back at the house, Mairon hurried to his workshop, curtly pleading an urgent matter of business.

I often recalled the words he spoke that day, even many yéni later.

 

 

 

Notes:

[1] Líik' (Yucatec) (v. intr.) To rise, get up. Líik'en is my (possibly inaccurate) attempt at creating the second person (sing.) of the imperative.

[2] Chakmóol  (Yucatec) The actual translation is “red jaguar”, but I imagine it as a bigger animal, closer to a leopard.

 

Doubt

Mairon drops the bait, and Eönwë... well, read at your own peril if you wish to find out.

Read Doubt

 

5.    Doubt

‘Come on, Eönwë, she will not bite you! At least give her a kiss,’ teased Mairon.

The half nude woman draped on his lap moaned with pleasure when his long fingers snaked under her flimsy chemise and caressed one of her dark, erect nipples, visible through the fabric. I shrank from the advances of his second guest, another nubile beauty who proudly flaunted her considerable charms in my direction.

My head swam in the heady vapours of alcohol. Mairon had kept both our goblets full, all through a most pleasant dinner with his guests. Sweet almond soup with grapes, roast suckling pig that had melted in my mouth, melon slices dripping juice and the intense scent of ripe fruit; I had truly feasted on the most tantalising tastes and aromas, blended into perfection by the exquisite wine Mairon favoured, imported at great expense from far away lands.

At first, wrapped in a haze of confused euphoria, I had flirted inexpertly with the two women; later, when the true intentions of our companions had been enticingly revealed, along with their flesh, Mairon had laughed at my horrified embarrassment. Even when swathed in a languid stupor that slowed my hröa and made my thoughts disjointed, I could not ignore the unlawfulness of couplings outside the bond of marriage; at least according to the rules prevalent amongst the Eldar.

‘I should… go,’ I stuttered.

My mouth felt like cotton, my lips and tongue ungovernable. When I stood up, the room swayed in my vision; I dropped back onto the seat and gripped it with fumbling fingers, hoping that the floor would stop moving soon.

‘Would you renounce such fairness, friend, such ardour?’ queried Mairon breathlessly, his lips released at last from a passionate kiss.

I watched his hand cup the woman’s breast, then slide down to the dark mound between her legs, while she arched her back against his strong arm. I noticed how long his black eyelashes were, how softly his lips traced the skin of her jaw. I shivered and my groin swelled at the sudden, disturbing image of Mairon’s mouth on mine.

At that time, a tentative hand stroked the back of my neck, and the other woman smiled at me as if she could offer everything I desired.

‘Leave me,’ I shrieked, slapping her arm away. I rose and staggered across the room, knocking over a chair and a vase; laughter followed my clumsy steps, and faded when I finally closed the door behind me.

The following morning, I woke up naked in my bed with the hammers of Aulë using my head as an anvil. I could not remember reaching my room, even less removing my clothes. I retched, and emptied my stomach on the immaculate tiled floor. Then I gulped down the water in the pitcher on my bedside table as thirstily as if I had just crossed on foot the desert that lay west of Kiinlúum. I spent the rest of the day groaning in misery, and vowed I would never attempt to outdrink Mairon again.

In the evening, my weakness had subsided enough to allow me to drag my feet into his workshop.

‘Feeling better, Eonwë?’ he enquired in mock concern.

‘You scum!’ I growled. He smirked.

 

~o~

 

Despite our disparate pasts and irreconcilable differences, our old friendship was slowly renewed as the years went by. This unexpected but most precious gain from my banishment filled me with joy and words of gratitude to Eru.

Except for his carefree promiscuity, I could find no fault with the way Mairon conducted himself as an adopted citizen of Kiinlúum, no reasons to doubt the sincerity of his contrition or his willingness to pay for his past offences. Occasionally, however, I recalled Lintavailë’s words of caution.

‘Unbelievable.’ I muttered once under my breath, watching a whole cartload of barrels being rolled into a cool, dark storeroom. ‘Is this truly the foul Lord of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, refusing all but the purity of mountain spring water, when there are plenty of clean wells within the city walls?’

‘Certainly,’ he replied, no trace of mockery in his voice. ‘Well water is wholly unpalatable, it reeks of silt, not to mention worse, and I shall not taint my precious hröa with it.' He paused, very briefly, frowned and spoke thoughtfully: 'Perhaps, however, I should command my minions to bring me a maiden every night, so that I can deflower her, slit her throat to drink her sweet blood, and eat her heart to sate my hunger in the morning. Would you approve of that choice, maybe more befitting a foul Dark Lord, O Herald of Manwë?’

The water shipments continued without further criticism on my part, as did many other capricious domestic arrangements to sustain his sumptuous living, which he insisted on sharing with me; my wages would not have allowed such extravagant lavishness. 

Outside his home, mortal lives moved swiftly, as I knew they would, from my days amongst Elerossë’s [1] folk. The ahaw was wed, and sired two children: a son and heir called Sakxikin [2], agile and fierce, and a daughter named Nikteháa [3], because at birth it was foreseen that her pale beauty, like that of the petals of the lotus flower, would be without equal. I was soon besotted by her innocent joy and she adopted me as an honorary uncle and favourite toy, after I was able to soothe her when she had been bitten by a wasp.

Her father allowed me to tell her stories of far countries, of tall and sheer mountains covered in snow, ships in the shape of swans and beaches of white sand where children built castles and found stones of many colours. All these tales excited her keen imagination and prompted a myriad of insightful questions, as well as a desire to travel to see all the marvels I had described. 

‘Eönwë, how can birds fly? Why does the sun rise every day? How many stars are there in the sky?’

I enjoyed telling the little princess about the creatures of the world, about Eä and the Guardians that dwelled across the sea; I taught her to read the patterns of the clouds and the breeze, to revel in the abstract beauty of shapes and numbers, and many other skills and knowledge that would otherwise have been barred to her, and she understood and asked me to teach her more. I did most willingly, and hoped that her fate would not lead her to be a pawn to seal a political alliance, when she could otherwise become an able counsellor to her brother, a healer or a loremaster.

Over the years, I proved my loyalty and earned the king’s trust. He rewarded me with the rank of counsellor, a position amongst the highest in his court. At last, I was esteemed and respected on my own merits.

All would have been as perfect as my incarnate life in exile could ever be, had it not been for a minor mystery, a mere niggle that troubled me despite its insignificance. Mairon sometimes disappeared before sunset and I did not see him again until late the following day, or even several days later. He never spoke of where he went or what he did, and I never dared ask him, while his servants claimed ignorance about his whereabouts.

I was immediately forced to discard the theory of a lover, because he kept urging me to join him and his endless stream of companions in their nights of merriment. Sometimes I could barely curb the rush of heat provoked by the sight of beautiful, temptingly clad men and women, but I refused his invitation.

Over nine whole rounds of the sun I had spent as Mairon’s guest when one day I stumbled upon his secret, seemingly by pure chance. Only much later did I consider that, with him, nothing—no matter how trivial—ever happened by coincidence.

My discovery and its aftermath provoked a tide of turmoil within me unlike anything else I had felt since I had watched him fall into the trap of Melkor’s honeyed but poisoned seduction, and become ensnared by the strangling tendrils of a most tempting, traitorous light.

 

~o~

 

One morning I entered his workshop to ask his opinion on a bothersome matter of trading a portion of Kiinlúum’s next year’s surplus of corn for timber from two competing realms to the North. The ahaw was urging me to provide suitable counsel so that he could order the planting of crops accordingly.

Without lifting his eyes from the piece he was working on, Mairon distractedly acknowledged my greeting. I watched him deftly setting six polished green stones on a most beautiful solid gold bangle. A matching one lay on the table, already finished.

‘May I?’ I always asked permission to touch anything in his domain, knowing how fastidious he was about others handling his creations or disturbing the perfect arrangement of his tools and books. He briefly glanced at me and a smile curved his lips. For some reason, my request amused him.

‘By all means, friend.’ I lifted the pretty trinket from the table. It looked like a bracelet or wrist band about three fingers wide, oval in profile and tapered slightly, like an arm guard, rather like those the king wore when in full regalia. It was very thick and rather heavy, its inner girth slightly smaller than my wrist, and I could find no discernible opening.

‘What's its purpose? Is it for a child? It is too small to squeeze one's hand in and out.’ I kept turning it in my fingers.

‘I truly hope so,’ he answered without lifting his head.

Suddenly, where there had been no obvious seam I could discern a hairline crack, and the ring opened on previously invisible hinges with a soft click. I almost dropped it in surprise.

‘Only a wave of its master's will can release it. Beautiful, is it not?’ He looked at it briefly and it snapped shut again.

As the bracelet lay on the palm of my hand, it swelled and grew wider, so that now it would fit my wrist. The disturbing memory of the changing shape of Angainor filled my mind.

‘A shackle!’ I dropped it on the table with a loud bang, as if it had burnt my hand. My voice had sounded shocked, even to me.

Out of the smooth metal surface began to protrude a bulge. It smoothly changed shape, moulded by the power that Mairon was pouring into it, until it became a small ring, which could be used to attach the band to another object. Now there was no doubt as to its purpose.

‘That it is,’ nodded Mairon while he kept his eyes on the delicate task in his hands. He remained unfazed while I was almost trembling with anger. What trickery was in his mind to require such devices? I did not have the chance to ask, because he spoke before I could find suitable words.

‘Come to my chamber tonight, one hour after sunset. You will find the evening most instructive.’ I tried to protest but he forestalled me with a raised hand.

‘Nay, I will not speak of this now. Accept my invitation or let curiosity and mistrust eat you.’

He turned his attention back to his work, clearly dismissing me from his presence. For the first time in several years I suspected him and wavered between anger and concern at what he would reveal to me.

At the appointed time, I knocked at his door. The sight that met my eyes when it opened was one that will never fade from my mind.

The mighty ahaw of Kiinlúum stood stark naked before me. The beads, clasps and feathers on his braided hair, mark of his high status, were gone. In fact he wore nothing but the bangles I had seen in the workshop in the morning, joined by a hand span of thick gold links. His feet were equally restrained, though the chain between them was slightly longer. A matching metal band wrapped around his neck, like a collar on a hound. But the most striking piece of jewellery, from which my eyes would not easily shift, was the heavy gold ring tightly locked around the base of his erect cock and testicles.

The king’s body was that of a warrior, young, strong and beautiful, and I found the sparkling metal and green gems against his amber skin a most alluring sight. My mouth went dry and I felt a twitch at my groin.

I heard a soft chuckle and looked towards the open balcony. For the first time I noticed Mairon, sitting comfortably by a low table dressed with the finest white linen and laden with food. He was sipping wine from one of his favourite carved glass goblets.

‘Come in, Eönwë,’ he invited.

With a slight gesture he summoned the king to his side. I stared in disbelief as the lord of Kiinlúum dropped onto all fours and crawled, painfully slowly because of the tinkling chains, but as gracefully as the animal whose name he bore. My gaze was captured by the rhythmic swaying of his perfect buttocks. He knelt at Mairon’s side, in a practised posture, hands pressed behind his lowered head, fingers entwined, and elbows pushed back and out. It looked tense and hardly comfortable, let alone dignified, but it displayed the muscles of his strong chest and arms to perfection.

‘Striking pet, isn’t it?’ Mairon said. A blush rose to Chakmóol’s cheeks, but he remained silent and still. He was rewarded with a stroke on the side of his face, and he eagerly leaned into Mairon’s caress.

‘What, in Eru’s name, is this? Angrily, I spat out the words to mask the alien, enticing discomfort that had invaded me.

‘This, my friend, is a mutual arrangement. You may call it a contract, if you prefer.’

‘A contract,’ I echoed, perplexed.

‘Yes, Eönwë. A contract is usually drawn for the provision of goods or services, or to control an exchange of some kind,’ he spoke in the tone of one teaching a child a new word.

‘How is your ill-use of the ahaw in this manner of benefit to him?’ I spluttered.

He put his glass down and sighed loudly, as though I were testing his patience in some way, and stroked Chakmóol’s silky hair.

‘Pet, lower your hands.’ The king obeyed instantly, splaying them symmetrically on top of his thighs as far as the chain allowed. ‘You have my permission to answer my friend’s questions, as freely as you wish. But I will not punish you if you choose to remain silent, for the matter at hand is most delicate. Do you understand?’

‘Yes, lord,’ answered the ahaw. He turned his sharp eyes to me.

I hesitated. Addressing Chakmóol as “your highness” seemed most inappropriate when the man was naked, chained and kneeling on the floor. I decided to merely forgo any formalities.

‘Why do you let him force this abasement upon you?’ I hoped my harsh words would make him snap him out of whatever trance kept him meekly at Mairon’s feet.

‘Yúum Síihbalóob is not forcing anything on me, lord. And there is certainly no indignity in the service I provide to him. On the contrary, I am honoured that he wishes my company and cares for me this way.’ He flashed a smile of genuine contentment.

I stared at the ruler of Kiinlúum in amazement. The sorcery might be invisible to my eyes, but clearly went further than the mere command of his hröa. Mairon’s lips quirked in amusement as he sipped his wine, calmly watching the scene play out before his calculating eyes as if it entertained him.

‘What spell has this fiend wrought, what song of power has he chanted? What potion did he give you to rob you of your freedom?’ I was almost screaming at Chakmóol, but he remained calm and composed.

‘I am free,’ he protested. I stared at Mairon’s fingers playing with a strand of the king’s ebony hair. ‘Was I to speak the word of release, my master would permit me to leave at once.’

I snorted incredulously. What utter nonsense, to believe that the disciple of Melkor would just allow his prisoner, his “pet”, as he had called him, to walk free from his clutches!

‘How can you of all people, the King, consent to being bound at another’s whim?’ I blurted. Before the last word fell out of my mouth I had realised the irony of my statement. Mairon snickered and I felt the fierce flush of embarrassment.

With a wave of his hand Mairon unlocked all bindings from Chakmóol and carefully removed them. The powerful lord of Kiinlúum raised pleading eyes, as if imploring not to be dismissed. Mairon reached out to Chakmóol's neck and the ahaw sighed, his face a picture of dejection when Mairon took off the sparkling collar.

‘Come back tomorrow night and I will reward your patience tenfold, my pet,’ he promised. ‘But now I have an important matter to attend.’

Chakmóol kissed his hands, stood and suddenly a weird transformation came over him. No longer subservient, he gripped Mairon’s shoulder, a gesture of familiarity he had never granted anyone in public, and laughed merrily, not at all embarrassed or angry at the degrading treatment he had received.

‘I certainly hope so, suku'n[4]. Look at how you have left me, you fiend!’ Still unclad, there was no possibility of mistaking his meaning.

The king dressed himself in the plain garb of a soldier of his own guard, wrapped the loose end of his headscarf around his face and before he left, wished us both a good evening. He glanced at me sidelong as he walked out. Was there a glint of jealousy in his eyes?

As soon as the heavy door closed behind him, I cried, ‘What in the Void is this vile wizardry?’

‘Have a drink,’ Mairon offered, pressing a goblet of wine to my hand. I slammed it down on the table with such force that the dark liquid spilled on the immaculate linen. My host frowned in irritation.

‘Do not toy with me!’

‘I do not.’ His voice was cold. ‘If you can regain your calm I will attempt to explain what you have just witnessed. You can believe my word or not, as you wish.’

Without waiting for my answer he began. ‘You may have already discovered the pleasures that an Incarnate can experience as a result of certain kinds of stimulation to his hröa.’  I became flushed and nodded.

‘You probably agree that they are far more intense and satisfying than the sparkling felt when  merging our insubstantial Maiarin shapes into solidifying lava or the core of a collapsing star.’ He closed his eyes for an instant, as if recalling a fond memory.

‘Certainly so,’ I murmured. Together, we had once revelled in those discoveries.

‘I assume that so far you have explored these carnal sensations on your own, without the involvement of others?’ His tone was most condescending, but I let it pass.

‘Yes.’

‘The enjoyment of lone gratification pales into insignificance compared to what an Incarnate by birth or by choice feels when their hröa is skilfully played by another.’

‘You mean like a musical instrument?’

‘Apt comparison indeed,’ he smiled slowly. ‘A whole world of pleasure can be revealed to you in the teasing hands of an adept player who knows which strings to pluck to achieve different notes.’

I was not completely ignorant of the bliss of love making. It had been endlessly described in poem and song by both Quendi and Atani, in varied degree of detail and tastefulness. Was he diverting the matter? ‘But what I saw had nothing to do with…’

‘It has everything to do with it. One can choose to relinquish control and freedom in exchange for the rewards of the flesh which, believe me, are much enhanced by appropriate wielding of certain… tools. In the case of a ruler, like the ahaw, his submission to my will brings an even greater gift: the freedom from responsibility of having to make choices.’

‘You are confusing me, or perhaps trying to mislead me. First you say one must renounce freedom, then you want me to believe that bearing chains can bring it back.’

I shook my head. So far Mairon’s justification was vague and contradictory and my suspicions had not subsided. He seemed to be using deceit and trickery to make Chakmóol his thrall, unknowingly to all, to further his own designs for power.  

‘Words cannot explain it further, Eönwë, if you are not inclined to believe me. Let it be.’ He shrugged and drank his wine.

‘What about you?’ I challenged. ‘Surely you do not enter that game unless there is some reward for you?’

‘You know my weaknesses well, friend.’ He laughed softly. ‘I strive to repair the damage I once wrought, but ultimately I am not completely selfless, and seek pleasure too. Surely you may understand the thrill of mastering a willing slave, of watching how he struggles to please you, however painful the demand, however hard the task, knowing that you ultimately own the key to his release?’

An unexpected tingling tremor pervaded my hröa. I remained silent, straining, sensing, searching the air between us for any trace of a spell, for the tiniest distortion in the natural progression of the Song. Truly I sensed nothing evil.

‘Once you learn how to guide others on their journey to this consuming pleasure, they will worship you,’ he concluded, absently twirling the goblet in his fingers.

‘That is utter blasphemy!’ I cried, trembling. ‘You have lied to me. Your lust for power remains unslaked and dangerous, your righteousness a mere pretence. Today you resort to enslaving innocent Children and twisting them to your purposes. Tomorrow you will build a fortress and breed an army of thralls to serve your every whim, waging war just as your despicable master once did.’

When my eyes met the wrath in his gaze, I quailed. Rising, he dropped the goblet, which smashed into a thousand sparks onto the floor. I stood my ground, though my heart leapt in fear against my ribcage.

‘Be gone at once, cur, or I shall send you straight to your precious master with my answer to his message carved on your chest!’ he snarled. Raw loathing flashed in his eyes as he advanced towards me. ‘How dare you judge…’

I needed no further prompt to make a retreat, and not stopping to hear any more, I left, viciously slamming the heavy door. I walked out of his house into the night, under the stars I yearned for, and my rage did not abate. He had attempted to spin a pretty tale of harmless seduction but he had not deceived me: darkness still lurked within him. What should I do? What could I do?

The image of Chakmóol on his knees, his muscles straining and his eyes lowered in submission glancing at me through dark eyelashes, evoked yet another wave of burning heat in my loins. I could not banish the memory of the firm outlines of the king’s body, or of the allure with which he crawled to Mairon’s feet. Above all, the sight of his erect phallus rising, angry, red and tall, from its golden restraint amongst dark curls, flashed repeatedly across my mind, sparking a desire I both relished and feared.

Why did Mairon’s sheer dominance and the ahaw’s vulnerability excited me thus? What weakness was within me, that so easily discarded the disgust at such abasement? More disturbingly, why did the image of Mairon’s fingers twirling Chakmóol’s hair and the mere thought of his strong hands on my body make my erection throb all the harder?

After long hours of reproach and deliberation I was forced to acknowledge that I could no longer ignore my feelings for Mairon, rekindled despite the atrocities he had committed in the past, and swathed in the novel, confusing cravings of my hröa.  Our paths had once diverged bitterly, but now I wished to reclaim the closeness, the unity we had once shared.

I must not forsake my duty, either; if I walked away from Mairon and abandoned Kiinlúum, all hope of discovering the truth, of ever hearing his declaration of repentance before Manwë would be lost. I had to prove that the scene I had witnessed was not a perverted act of sorcery designed to enthrall Chakmóol, that he had not relapsed into evil.

The wisest course of action was to offer my apologies to my host, if he would listen, make our peace and contrive a plan to learn his true purpose, however slim the chance of success.

By the time dawn broke I slunk back to his house, half expecting to see my belongings thrown out on the street and the gates forever locked to me, but everything seemed normal. His door servants greeted me most politely, as ever, and I was served food of the usual exquisite quality to break my fast. Mairon was, however, nowhere to be seen and I dared not intrude upon him in his workshop.

In the afternoon I went for a long, hard ride in the hills. I entered the city gates shortly before dusk, and spent some time grooming and feeding my horse. Then I found myself retracing the steps to Mairon’s room, with the intent of offering amends, and hopefully, obtaining a truthful explanation. I found the door unlocked. Quietly, I entered.

This time I was unable to deny the dark desire that stirred me at the sight. Chakmóol’s wrists and ankles were again bound in gold and green shackles, but now he hung from chains attached to the ceiling beams, naked and spread-eagled, his back crossed by a multitude of crimson welts.

I stood, mesmerised. I gasped when I saw the many-tailed whip Mairon wielded in his hand; I almost cried out when it swung through the air, landed on the king’s back with a loud crack and he howled in agony; I winced when Chakmóol was thrown forward against the rattling chains, sobbing pitifully.

‘No more, my lord… No more, please… No...’ he begged haltingly.

His moans died into a whimper; he hissed and squirmed uselessly when his captor slowly traced one of the darkest lines down his back with one finger and then fondled his reddened backside gently, running a thumb along the cleft between his cheeks.

Then Mairon turned towards me. He was shaking the whip gently with his free hand, as if to unravel the kinks from its leather braids. When he noticed my presence, he hastily placed the dreadful instrument on the table. Anger was plainly written on his face. Chakmóol twisted his neck awkwardly to look over his shoulder, and he frowned, seemingly irritated by the interruption as well.

‘Leave us!’ spat Mairon. There was no mistaking the threat wrapped around these two words.

I obeyed at once, sparing a last glance at the striped back of the ahaw. I immediately heard the latch of the lock fall into place. My heart hammered wildly, loud in my chest. Inexplicably, I had an erection pressing against my leather breeches. I could not stop thinking about what was happening on the other side of the wooden door. Surely no sane man would willingly be flogged for pleasure? My gut clenched in alarm at the thought of the dreadful penalty likely to be meted out to anyone shedding the blood of the god-king of Kiinlúum.

Oh, but the ahaw looked beautiful, and Mairon, whip in hand, was breathtaking in his anger…

That night, again, I did not sleep. Like a thief I lurked along the corridors, and listened tensely in anticipation. When I heard cries, I wondered frantically whether they were uttered in agony or in the throes of pleasurable passion. My imagination kept building vivid pictures of the king’s straining muscles, fighting the chains that held him at Mairon’s mercy; of the lash falling again and again, drawing a web of purple welts; of Chakmóol’s cock, swollen and prisoner; of Mairon turning to me, wielding the whip, taking my lips into a fiery kiss and touching my hardness with fingers like silk… My arousal grew so painful that I returned to my room to seek relief, which arrived violently after a few strokes. I cried his name.

Around noon the following day I spied the king leave my host’s room in disguise, walking stiffly, but with a smile in his eyes. I was relieved to see that he looked unharmed, but Chakmóol frowned when he saw me blocking his path.

‘Let me pass,’ he hissed. ‘I have urgent business to attend.’

I bit my tongue to stop myself from uttering a truly insulting retort. After all, I needed his help to obtain information about Mairon. ‘What has he done to you, Highness, to make you his slave?’ I said quietly.

‘He has done nothing, truly. Nothing against my wishes.’ There was exasperation in his tone, but to his credit, he kept his gaze locked with mine. ‘I have willingly chosen to serve him at mutually agreed times. Now, let me pass!’

‘But why?’ I persisted. Chakmóol crossed his arms, wincing slightly.

‘Believe me, many others would be most eager to take my place. Your friend is unmatched in this art.’

Art? This was an art? Wordlessly I let him go.

 

 

 

Notes:

[1] Elerossë is the Quenya form of the name Elros.

[2] sakxikin (Yucatec) lynx

[3] nikte' ha' (Yucatec) lotus flower, waterlily.

[4] suku'n  (Yucatec) older brother (younger brother is íits'in)

Trust

Eönwë asks a favour from Mairon. Unfortunately for him, events do not work out as planned.

Read Trust

 

6.    Trust

I did not see Mairon at all that day; I believe we both avoided each other. But the following morning I found him in the garden room petting Aranincë, whose name now I appreciated for the jest it was[1]. When I greeted my host, his guard came up at once.

‘I am surprised you still wish to exchange words with one you loathe for his relapse into evil, friend.’ He spat the title, which he had used often instead of my name. ‘Is there anything you need to make your stay more comfortable in my humble abode, while we await completion of my new Tol-in-Gaurhoth? Or are you here to forcefully drag me back to Aman?’

He lay back on the cushions, as though to dare me to attempt violence. Aranincë mewled and Mairon stroked him between the ears gently, burying his fingers in the beautiful dappled fur.

His sarcasm was only to be expected in the circumstances, and yet I found it hard to face such contempt, which felt far more scathing than anything he had spoken on the day I had arrived at his home. But I was undeterred.

‘I would request a favour from you,’ I said, rather too abruptly. I berated myself for my bluntness, brought about by a sudden twinge of uneasiness. Where was the apology that I had rehearsed a few hundred times in my head?

‘Such nerve! You have all but declared yourself my enemy,’ he sneered. ‘What makes you think I would grant anything to you?’

‘Because I have something to offer in return,’ I answered boldly. His speculative gaze betrayed his interest even before he offered me a seat by his side.

‘Speak, then.’

There was no room for hesitation. It had to be said with determination or he would not believe me.

‘I wish to sample what you offer the ahaw. Once only, I will submit to you.’

The spark in his eyes told me he was certainly attracted by this proposition, as I knew he would.

‘Why, Eönwë?’ Cautious indeed, as ever.

‘I have to learn more about this… art, Chakmóol called it.’

‘You have to or you wish to?’ He studied me carefully.

‘Both. I am bound to live as an Incarnate, I need to know. But I have also discovered that my hröa wishes to find out more. You know this too.’

Mairon reminded me of a cat that is about to pounce on a mouse, but I did not balk at his predatory look. Returning to Mandos by way of being tortured to death was not an appealing prospect. Yet, it was a gamble I was prepared to take if it would help me find the truth about him.

His expression became guarded again.

‘I cannot help you.’ I had not expected his refusal; I was about to object but he spoke on. ‘You believed me once and allowed my freedom. But now you do not, and I do not trust you either.’ I heard regret in his words.

‘I do, at least…’ My hesitation bellied my assurance. He rose nimbly to his feet and Aranincë bared his fangs at me and growled.

‘Let me prove it to you!’ I protested. He merely shook his head and left.

I was both disappointed and relieved. I felt rather guilty, too. Mairon had welcomed me, opened his arms to place me as a friend at his side, so that I could share the respect he had earned for himself amongst the people of Kiinlúum. He had showed me everything he was, proved the truth of his words of contrition. Yet I had wasted no time before I thought the worst and threw grave accusations at him, instead of probing deeper in a civilised manner as to the reasons for his unusual association with Chakmóol. Mostly because of secret fears about my own bizarre reaction, I admitted to myself.

A fortnight passed. I did not bring up the matter again, and neither did Mairon. As if by mutual agreement we kept out of each other’s way. I espied Chakmóol leaving his rooms twice but did not question him further.

I tried to merely push the incident out of my mind, but somehow it kept invading my thoughts, bold and amplified, always accompanied of a rush of heat that stirred me in an unexplained but delicious manner. I could not stop myself from recalling Chakmóol’s lithe body and Mairon’s dominance over the ahaw every time I gratified myself, despite my vows to bury those images for ever.

A few days later, Mairon relented and bid me dine with him. As we used to, we talked frankly about general matters, gossiped about the latest court affairs and argued about politics and about fascinating traits in the Children’s behaviour. To finish our meal, we drank a sweet, fiery brew that Mairon favoured, distilled from oranges and much stronger than wine; with it we shared dates and his favourite almond pastries.

Our conversation flew easily and we enjoyed ourselves. I was glad things seemed to have returned to a semblance of normalcy. Almost. A shadow lingered between us, and I was determined to clear it.

‘Mairon, I owe you an apology...’ I offered at last. He looked at me over the edge of the glass he held, his eyes analysing my every gesture.

‘I doubted your intentions and drew hasty conclusions. Though I still fail to understand the truth of what transpires between you and Chakmóol, I wronged you.’ I felt better, even if the apology came out more clumsily than I had intended.

Mairon reached out with his hand and grasped my shoulder.

‘All is well, then. Forget about what you saw.’ He seemed mildly pleased, but I still felt the invisible barrier between us. No matter how civilly we behaved to each other, the earlier ease of our friendship had been shattered by my outburst.

‘I trust you.’ I chanted to myself that I believed my words. I fully wished to, at least.

‘Truly?’ Mairon could not hide his scepticism.

‘Yes.’ I bit my lip nervously.

‘You know better than most what I, once Mairon, now reviled as the Abhorred, am capable of. Would you be willing to risk life and limb at my hands?’

His voice sounded strangely deep and the room around me seemed to recede, while a stream of visions of past horrors flashed in my mind, a touch of ósanwë that made me reel with shock.

‘I would, if I must,’ I insisted, as firmly as I could.

He appraised me thoughtfully. Then he dipped the tip of his little finger inside his glass goblet, and I watched an amber swirl flow slowly from it into the clear liquid. He offered the goblet to me. I took it with a trembling hand and, after a brief hesitation, drank its contents in one long gulp. Poison be damned, I reassured myself. He could have poured anything into my drink a thousand times before and he had not.

Mairon smiled brightly and I sighed with relief; proving my faith had been easier than I had feared. He sat back and began to ask me about the method I was deploying to increase the vigilance over the Northern frontier, where trouble had recently begun to stir.

Soon a warm, soothing laziness seized my limbs, and my head felt heavy; my speech slurred, my sight blurred, and my senses began to abandon me while I stared blankly at the twinkling stars outside the balcony and heard the silver of Mairon's rich voice. My last conscious thought was one of alarm, but the bells rang far too late.

~o~

 

I blinked in the harsh light and at once knew that something was wrong, but it took me a moment to regain my wits and begin to assess my environment. I was lying on a very hard surface, cold and uninviting. The sluggish memory of my sudden slumber on soft silk cushions came back as I numbly stared at the shackles around my wrists, fastened to a long chain that hung from above. These were no jewelled bracelets, but crude, sharp-edged, heavy manacles, the likes of which I had only seen in Angamando.

When I overcame the utter shock at this discovery, I heard behind me the soft scratch of a quill on parchment.

I tried to move my feet, but they were also bound. The confinement felt unbearable, almost as oppressive as Angainor had been. True fear, like a cold snake constricting my gut, begun to slither towards my chest and my throat.

‘Release me!’ I would have shouted, but I only managed a pitiful squeak.

The quill stopped and a chair moved on the floor. ‘So, you are awake at last. Then we can start.’

‘Start what?’ I croaked. My body responded slowly when I tried to raise my head, no doubt because of the effects of whatever foul substance he had conjured into my drink.

Before I could even sit up, Mairon had winched the chain from a pulley attached to the ceiling. I found myself hanging from my overstretched arms, on my knees, inside a wide circle of dazzling lamps, roughly level with my eyes, beyond which I could discern nothing but darkness. My ankles were fastened to rings on the floor, about two feet apart from each other. I struggled briefly, tried to stand but there was not enough slack to do so.

From some slight noises I guessed he was still somewhere behind me.

‘Where are we? How dare you bring me here… I thought you said…’ He approached silently until he towered over me.

‘Silence!’ he bellowed.

Without warning he backhanded me across the face and I swung helplessly from the chain. I began to cry in outrage but he merely walked away and a door slammed shut. My tirade died when I heard a key turn in the lock.

I grew tired and sore from attempting to wriggle my hands free, while cursing my captor loudly. I wrestled down my rising fear until it stopped overwhelming me, as I had done before battling Moringotto, and waited. A short while later I heard the sounds that proclaimed someone had entered again. Mairon stepped into the light.

If I had named Chakmóol beautiful there were no words left to describe the exquisite sight before me. Mairon's hair was gathered in a single plait which almost reached the small of his back. He was only clad in wide black trousers, and his bare chest and arms seemed to glimmer as though his skin were dusted with gold, under which the powerful muscles of a smith were revealed in all their glorious might. The only flaw was a long crescent of scars, the mark of Huan’s teeth on his left shoulder. He was no longer able to recreate himself in an unmarred form.

‘I will leave at once unless you are more inclined to behave in a civil manner,’ he said pleasantly.

‘Civil manner?’ I was bursting with rage. ‘What is civil about this…?’ When he made to stride back towards the door, I stopped abruptly.

He turned round, considered me for a long moment and at last came back closer. His hand settled on my head and swept down my hair, almost tenderly. Suddenly he twisted his fingers into it, pulling down harshly until our eyes met. Tears came unbidden at the pain on my scalp. He was unmoved by my angry glare.

‘Long have I dreamt of having you on your knees before me, Herald. I never imagined one day you would willingly walk into my embrace.’ He spoke softly, but there was venom in his voice. In his eyes flickered a black flame of joy.

A ripple of terror clenched my gut. This was no longer the pleasant, civilised smith and advisor to the ruler of Kiinlúum, but the evil lord of old. I cursed myself for the folly of having deceived myself to believe he could have become a simple merchant, a citizen like any other, despite the many accounts of his ruthless cruelty, up to a mere few years in the past.

With a final painful yank, he released my hair and crouched next to me.

‘You regret having trusted me. In Beleriand and now,’ he whispered in my ear, as if my mind lay open to him. ‘I am disappointed.’

He raised his hand before my eyes and I watched in terrified fascination as his fingers turned into a clump of long coils of fire, sizzling red, exactly like those of a Valarauco. He brought the writhing tentacles ever closer to my face until I feared their searing heat would scorch my eyes. I remained as still and mute as stone, holding my breath, while he played this dangerous game.

Never before had I felt so overwhelmed by a fear so deep that I could not order my thoughts. The world had shrunk to the dance of fire before my eyes and his dreadful presence behind it. Once again, my mind had fallen prey to the primal reactions of my hröa. Trapped within this shape, I was a coward.

‘Maybe you once believed I had been humbled by the wrath of your masters, Herald; now you will learn the extent of my might,’ he purred.

The tendrils of fire faded and were replaced by claws, sharp as those of the mountain lions we had hunted together. He curled them slowly one by one so that I could appreciate their razor edges, which he used to slice effortlessly through my tunic and shirt, baring my chest. Then he lightly placed his claws on the pulse on my throat, almost tenderly, and traced them down past my collarbone, until they rested over my heart. I was paralysed, almost not daring to breathe.

A small pressure drew a single drop of blood from each tip, a crescent of five molten rubies that swelled slowly and began to race down my chest. He followed their way, scratching slightly so that my skin itched without breaking, and I found myself tensing my belly as the lethal claws circled my navel excruciatingly slowly before making their way back up my chest.

‘Finally, I have before me the chance to exact sweet revenge upon the Lord of the West,' he smiled unpleasantly. 'Admittedly you are a poor substitute for your master, but I will nonetheless relish the pleasure of watching you writhe under my touch…’

My tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth. This was probably a good thing, lest I should be tempted to beg him to stop.

He removed his fingers, which began to turn to their normal shape, but were trailed by silver sparks that crackled loudly against my skin; the sharp tang of ozone permeated the air. I watched the terrifying display of his power unable to move, willing myself to ignore the growing needle-like tingling on my chest, verging on piercing pain. Panic was flaring within, twisting my gut and speeding my heart. I knew he could stop its beating completely if he wished to, and I braced myself for my hröa’s death.

Instead, he stood and moved away like a shadow, leaving behind five dark itchy marks on my skin. I was panting and shaking, and fought in desperation against the manacles, pulling with all my might, oblivious to the chafing of my skin. I knew this to be a vain battle even before I started.

‘Ai, my poor Eönwë. Do you know that not even Findekáno could break my bonds, those I forged for Maitimo at my lord’s request? Like him, you are to offer a sacrifice, a token that may purchase my goodwill and maybe allow you to walk away alive tonight.’

I shuddered when Mairon’s fingers wrapped around my right wrist and squeezed it painfully, meaningfully.

‘Surely your courage matches that of the son of Fëanáro?’

Obeying his silent command, the shackle imprisoning my hand detached itself from the chain and my arm fell heavily. I lifted it to embrace my chest protectively, and moved it clumsily to rub the numbness off.

Mairon placed a large block of wood before me; then he unsheathed a long curved sword that glinted lethally in the lamplight.

‘Bring your hand here.’

I looked at him incredulously, wrapping my arm tighter around my chest. My heart raced wildly.

‘Your hand, Eönwë,’ he repeated coldly.

‘No, you cannot mean…’ I managed to stutter at last.

‘I said, put your wrist on the block!’

The compelling urgency in his command made me lift my head to look at his face. His mouth had quirked into a grimace, and in his eyes flashed what looked like pain, rather than hate.

I gasped in belated understanding.

‘Life and limb, Eönwë,’ echoed his earlier words.

I had vowed to prove my faith and this, no less, was the drastic proof he demanded. To place my right hand at his mercy, the hand of the hröa that I had mastered, even begun to grow fond of, or otherwise fail his test and forsake our friendship.

I hesitated, confused; panicked arguments clashed and warred within my mind. Was he a friend feigning to be a foe or the other way round? Sauron the Abhorred or Mairon Yúum Síihbalóob? Was this in truth a trial of my trust or vengeance for my accusation, as he had led me to believe until this very final instant? I was terrified, uncertain of his true intentions, but compelled to believe he would not harm me.

At length, gathering all remaining shreds of willpower, I extended my trembling arm and, watching as if it belonged to someone else, I placed my shackled wrist upon the smooth surface. Slowly I spread my fingers over the wood, to feel them better one last time. Had I misjudged his intentions? I looked away from my limb and into his eyes, in supplication, but his gaze was fixed intently onto my splayed hand.

He raised the heavy sword high above his head. I closed my eyes and tensed my body, bracing myself against the pain that would come if I was mistaken. The swish of the blade on its fall and the thump that followed were undoubtedly the most terrifying sounds I had ever heard while in this hröa.

I felt nothing, except for a surge of blessed relief. My heartbeats echoed in my throat and within my head, so loud they were. I dared open my eyes. The sword had missed the tip of my middle finger by a hair’s breadth. I was shaking violently, and would have collapsed, had it not been for the chain that still held me upright. Mairon released my left hand and my feet, but I was too shocked to move. Grasping me under my arms, he helped me slowly to my feet.

So perfect and so close, his shape stirred profound swirls of longing in my own hröa; an attraction, I realised, wrought by our own corporeal forms and never experienced as one of the Ainur. An urge awoke in me to caress the imperfection on his shoulder, to touch it with my lips and make it vanish.

Mairon steadied me and only loosened his grasp when he was certain I would not fall.

‘Are you well?’ he asked.

‘Never better!’ I almost laughed hysterically at his genuine concern, so utterly unbefitting the dark foe I had faced moments before. ‘Though in the future I will think twice before asking you a favour.’

‘Will you still require my assistance, despite all?’ he queried smoothly. I perceived his eagerness, barely curbed behind a brief smile. ‘I shall be honoured to give you what you asked for, if you still wish it.’

He leant his face forward; his kiss on my cheek, that of a kinsman, sent tingling tendrils all over my body.

‘Tomorrow…’ he began.

‘Now, Mairon!’ I interrupted hoarsely, still shaken. I freed myself from his arms and staggered to stand unaided. He stepped back, perhaps surprised at my earnestness.

I was tired of waiting and guessing, furious at the harshness of his trial, and secretly embarrassed at how terror had dulled my perception. The least Mairon could do after such trickery was to fulfil his part of the deal.

He stroked my face slowly with the back of his hand, cool and soft like the wing of an eagle. This was the very first time anyone had showed me affection in this way and I savoured the novel sensation, even more because it was his touch. I looked at him questioningly when his fingers trailed down my neck and gripped my shoulder tightly.

‘Will you be mine until dawn?’

‘I will,’ I replied firmly. ‘I will learn your art, and taste freedom bought by binding myself to you. Do anything you wish, as long as you do not maim my hröa and I am alive and free to leave when the sun rises. That is all I ask.’

‘You would truly give yourself unconditionally to me tonight, your first time?’

Within his measured, smooth voice I detected a timbre of barely hidden greediness. Not for the first time he reminded me of a predator about to devour its prey. Danger tingled alluringly in my gut and I wavered briefly.

‘I have proven my faith. Will you not honour your part of the bargain?’ I argued boldly. ‘I do not wish to taste half measures; I want all, within the bounds I have spoken.’

He raised his eyebrows at my vehement challenge; then his lips sketched a slow smile.

‘So be it, friend,’ he answered at last.

He inclined his head and I returned the gesture to seal our agreement. His eyes sparked with anticipation. My trust had meant much, that was clear now, but he truly desired more. I sighed with relief, happy with my decision despite lingering doubts about his reasons to seek my submission.

Again, he caressed my face ever so lightly, this time with both hands, as if exploring the shape of a fragile, treasured object, while we both searched for answers in each other’s eyes. I found pride and something I had never seen before, a kind of tenderness. I soaked up this precious moment, until he withdrew his hands.

I trembled like a leaf, unable to control my mounting apprehension. There was no turning back now.

 

 

 

Notes:

[1] aranincë (Quenya) little king

 

---

Chapter End Notes

[1] aranincë (Quenya) little king

 

Revelation

Eönwë and Mairon become more intimately acquainted.

Read Revelation

 

7. Revelation

Mairon walked a few steps away. He paused for a long while with his back to me. When I was about to venture a query, he turned to face me again. His eyes were now cold and calculating where previously they had been warm and appreciative; his mien was unreadable; his whole shape spoke of dangerous power leashed within.

‘You are here to serve me.’ His voice rang with authority and faint echoes of menace. ‘Tonight, in this room, Mânawenûz[1] does not exist; you shall accept me as your only lord. Otherwise, leave now.’

I was startled but had expected no less. When I did not answer or move, he continued.

‘My rules are simple. You will acknowledge and obey my every command, immediately and without complaint. Your only purpose is my pleasure.’

Before I could ask about a word of release like the one Chakmóol had mentioned, he settled the matter unambiguously.

‘Nothing but my will shall release you this night. Are these rules agreeable?’

I would not have called them agreeable. In fact I was truly disturbed at being deprived of all control once more, and this time willingly. But his dominance, however unappealing, was undoubtedly the crucial ingredient in the allure of our engagement.

‘Agreed,’ I spoke, not as confidently as I would have liked.

He pierced me with his steel gaze, as if appraising the sincerity of my answer. I found myself tensing, waiting for further instructions with my sweaty hands clenched tightly at my sides.

‘My servants must conduct themselves in a manner appropriate to their station. You shall kneel and remain still unless told otherwise; you will not speak without my leave; and when you do you shall address me as “Master.” Be warned, I will punish breaches in propriety most severely.’

He pointed at the floor and I went on one knee reluctantly.

‘Both knees,’ he demanded sharply.

A flush went up my neck and cheeks. I hated the feeling of helpless inferiority that came with the servile posture, with him towering over me so close that I could no longer see his face, not even craning my neck.

‘Agreed, what?’ he snapped. I had to think twice before I could recall what he demanded.

‘Agreed...’ I found the word stuck in my throat. Never before had I thought it demeaning to name Manwë “my lord” in public, because he owned my fealty. Now, behind a locked door I hesitated to utter a word carrying a similar burden of deference.

I heard him walk a few paces and return to stand behind me. There came a sharp swishing sound just before a fiery sting crossed my shoulders. I yelped and looked up to see a riding whip in Mairon’s hands. I began to rise, but he shoved me down without effort.

‘You dare disobey me already?’ His voice was smooth, but laden with danger. ‘Agreed, what?’

‘Agreed. Master.’ I nearly choked. I wished to stand up and strangle him for this humiliation, for striking me like a beast, but I forced myself to stay still.

‘Make sure you do not forget again. I will not tolerate your insolence.’

Unsure as to whether I should answer or remain silent I opted for the latter, if only to avoid the dreaded word.

‘Strip!’ he said.

I nodded. Just as I realised my mistake, another sharp stroke fell on my back.

‘Your behaviour is deplorable, slave!’ he snarled.

I winced, more at the epithet than at the pain, and again curbed the urge to attack him. I breathed deeply, and wondered what he would do if I should stand up and attempt to walk away, though I well knew I would not, however much he tried me; if nothing else, my pride was at stake.

‘Yes, Master,’ I forced from between gritted teeth.

Still on my knees, I removed the remains of my tattered tunic and shirt, then the rest of my clothes and tossed them all to the side.

When I finished, he stood before me and slowly traced my bare shoulder with his fingertips, cool and light as the kiss of the evening breeze.

‘Beautiful,’ he whispered. ‘And mine…, mine at last.’

His fingers dwelled upon my throat, the pulse of my hröa thrumming wildly under their feathery presence. Responding to their ghostly probing, my lips parted, and when his caress brushed the lobe of my ear, I shivered.

I tried to focus on the symmetry of the perfectly carved muscles of his abdomen, on the bold twirl of his navel above the edge of dark cloth that veiled what I did not dare imagine.

Ai, what sorcery was in his touch? I felt my groin awaken, I longed to answer the urge by stroking myself. Fortunately, he placed a possessive hand over my head, and this firm pressure distracted me from such forbidden temptation.

The floor was too hard for my liking, and I started to shift uncomfortably from one knee to the other. As soon as I moved, Mairon slapped me hard across the face. A flush of shame invaded me again. His painful grip on my shoulder kept me in place when I would have jumped up to return his blow. I blanched at the fey fire in his eyes.

‘You clearly need a stronger reminder of my ownership.’

He stepped out of the circle of light, and promptly returned with an object in his hands. A collar. Not the dainty jewel Chakmóol had worn, but a thick iron ring with evil-looking spikes set on the inside. Far, far worse than the one I had once forced on Moringotto amongst the roaring cheers of our winning host.

I stared at it in disbelieving horror, my heart racing as he locked the hideous collar around my neck.

The spikes were not sharp as I had feared; they pressed on my skin but did not break it. But when Mairon attached a chain to the iron ring and pulled downwards lightly I had no option but to follow his movement. I fell on my hands.

‘Much better, slave!’ his voice sounded pleased. ‘You are learning to obey me, if only the hard way.’

He tugged at the leash, and I would have pounced on him but for the hand that pressed my head down. I was forced to crawl on all fours like a dog; rage seethed inside me at this indignity.

Then, I stilled in shock when his other hand slithered down from my side and fondled my cock. A sudden jolt of desire shook me and my hröa stirred in that tingling way I recognised as the start of an erection.

Too soon, he withdrew both hands. A firm pull on my neck forced me to stand. I found myself between two thick upright beams, slightly closer together than the span of my fully outstretched arms. I balked, but Mairon’s bottomless gaze, flecked in silver sparks, enthralled mine. I stood mesmerised, while he lifted my right hand and pressed it against the manacle that hung from a chain bolted to the wood. When it wrapped itself around my wrist and snapped shut, I reacted at last, far too late.

I strained against the bond with all my might but it did not budge. Surrendering, I glared at my captor’s smirk.

‘Only my will shall release you,’ he spoke meaningfully. His voice was deadly soft and his words, accepted when I had stood free before him, now sent tremors of dread throughout my flesh.

Twice tonight had I found myself bound at the mercy of one whose dominion had been torment. The first time through trickery, but now of my own volition.

‘Raise your other hand.’

My will was all but crushed under an alien instinct that both feared and craved the perilous excitement wrought by Mairon, that smothered all vestiges of rational thought and disregarded all warnings for caution. Like a moth flying into the flare of the candle that would burn it alive, I complied.

The click of the second manacle provoked a surge of inexplicable thrill, perhaps because it sealed my vulnerability at his hands; then a hard slap on my bottom made me yelp and the spell was broken.

‘What must you do when I give you an order, thrall?’

This time he looked displeased. I felt indignant; I had obeyed him, despite my well-founded doubts. What else…? I remembered the rules.

‘Yes…,’ I hesitated; a handa snaked under my testicles and closed tightly upon them. ‘Master.’

I shook my head in disbelief. The word had fallen out of my mouth almost without thought. He had named me his slave, and I had played along. But now I was truly a prisoner to his will. This realisation had the most potent effect. He noticed the twitch of my cock between his fingers and slowly stroked me to full hardness.

‘I had forgotten how intoxicating it can be to break a slave in for the first time.’

The raw lust in his tone made me raise my head. A fey hunger shone in his eyes. Shocked,  I realised that he must be as aroused as I was.

‘Aye, my captive Maia, I ache for you.’

Could he read my mind? He stood behind me and pressed his erection against the small of my back. A rush of heat at this intimate closeness spread through my whole body, even despite the layer of cloth between our skins.

‘So new to pleasure and pain, untouched in all senses… You must learn to master your hröa’s reactions,’ he whispered in my ear, as he traced the line of my jaw with his lips until he buried his face in my hair. ‘You are like an open book to me.’

Suddenly he pinched my nipple hard, and I gasped at the bolt of pain. All tenderness had disappeared.

‘I suspect you may still believe this to be a mere jest. Fortunately, you are about to be relieved from that misconception.’

He secured my ankles to chains fastened to the bottom of the beams and busied himself braiding my hair away from my back with long strips of leather. Having my legs spread apart increased my sense of helplessness tenfold, with every corner of my skin perilously exposed to his sight and touch.

Mairon stood before me. In one hand he held an uncoiled whip that trailed on the floor. I stared at the dreadful instrument, but not for long. With his free hand, he cupped my chin firmly and made me look into his eyes.

‘You are strong, remember that. You can bear the pain I am about to give you, and when you embrace my gift, you shall find pleasure in it.’ Sceptical, I opened my mouth to speak but remembered the rules just in time. He nodded. ‘You are learning… but make no mistake, you will beg before dawn.’

He released me and moved away silently. I waited, grasping the chains with aching fingers.

Without warning, a loud crack hit my ears at the same time as a searing sting ripped my back and threw me forwards against my bonds. I managed to stifle the cry that almost left my lips.

The pain was far from the worst I had ever suffered as an Incarnate, but frightening in its ferocity. I was relieved when it began to fade into a fiery tingling. If this was the worst Mairon could do, I would endure the lashing. I tensed, waiting.

Another strike followed, blossoming into a new burst of rippling pain. Like a flame, it burnt a path across the skin of my back. I took a deep breath, clenched my teeth, and breathed through the worst of the pain.

A few more lashes followed, less slowly. The pain began to build up, and I struggled to remain calm during each of the pauses in between. When the whip crossed the trail of a previous strike, a wave of excruciating agony rippled through my whole body. I could not stop myself from hissing a curse. All of a sudden, I was truly afraid. I fought wildly against the chains in a futile attempt to flee from the next strike, but it still fell, implacable and terrifying.

‘Stop!’ I sobbed. ‘Please stop!’ Mairon did not speak. The lash struck again, and then once more. Lost in the now unbearable pain, I finally remembered the rules. ‘Master, please, stop!’

My pleas were all in vain. Several lashes later, when at last Mairon chose to pause, I was panting and sweating from every pore of my skin, my muscles locked up. Forgetting the terms of engagement, I cursed him to the Void and worse places, and demanded to be released at once. I meant it; I had no wish to continue with such madness.

He merely waited, still behind me. Finally, breathless, aching and frustrated, I slumped from the chains. Sweat stung in my eyes and I blinked several times. Pain had slowly faded into a web of searing heat, which in turn left a glowing warmth on my skin, not wholly unpleasant over the background of my sore, smarting back. At that precise moment, when I thought I had gained a respite, he struck again. I cried out and sensed him move close to my back.

‘You have spoken without leave, you have insulted your lord. You fight the pain when you should accept it gratefully because it comes from my hands and gives me pleasure. You will soon regret your unacceptable behaviour…’ he said sternly.

As if to contradict his own words, he ran his fingers, light as feathers, slowly over my flanks, then down to my hips, sending tantalising shivers down my spine. I longed to return the touch and moaned in frustration.

He licked the curl of my ear and I jerked at the sudden ripple of pleasure. When he stopped, his warm breath on my neck and the heat of his chest betrayed his closeness, but if I swayed to make contact he swiftly moved away, denying me.

Of a sudden, he moved to my front, and took my lips in a fierce kiss. I was stunned at the flare of heat that swept me, and would have given anything for the freedom to embrace him. He sucked and bit my lips eagerly, possessively, and then pressed his tongue demandingly against my teeth. When I hesitated, he sharply pinched my nipple again. I opened my mouth to scream my protest and he took the advantage and pierced his way in. Our tongues warred, neither yielding; he tasted of fire, iron and bittersweet orange. I closed my eyes and savoured the feeling, forgetting pain, chains and anything else but the wonder of this first kiss, a thrilling blend of violence and gentleness.

When he broke it off we were both breathless, and I sighed in regret. Knees that had stood firm during the beating were now shaking with unspent lust. He smirked and took my chin in his firm fingers.

‘Make me proud, and this bland kiss will be forgotten next to what I might give you,’ he said. ‘Unfortunately, there is no sweet reward for you yet, slave, and no leniency. Remember, your duty is to submit.’

True to his words, the lash fell relentlessly, too many times to count or remember. My back, my buttocks, my thighs, my chest, they all screamed under the strength of his arm and the sharp bite of leather. I expected to feel the skin rip and my blood flow freely, but the only drops that trickled down were those of my sweat and tears. At first, I bit down hard on my lips or the inside of my cheek to weather the worst of each blow; later I moaned and even howled, losing myself in the sharp peaks of my pain until all sense of time was lost.

And yet, I began to anticipate the next stroke, to crave the glow that followed the loathed sting. When I raised my head to gather my strength, I could see my tormentor watching my every move, hunger written on his face, mixed with the exertion of wielding the whip for so long. I pictured his strong hands bringing me to release and with a shock I realised that my desire had not subsided. On the contrary, the throbbing of my engorged shaft seemed to pulse stronger during the whipping.

When at last the shackles released me I crumpled, sobbing, to the ground. My body was on fire, enveloped in a glowing haze of pain, warmth and arousal. But stronger still was the feeling of elation, of somehow having triumphed, of having mastered something elusive, undefined, unattainable.

‘On your knees!’

I did not even consider disobeying; with an effort I complied as quickly as I could and voiced the expected reply. ‘Yes, Master.’ The words came out easily this time.

Mairon crouched at my side and ran his hands gently over my inflamed flesh. His cool caress was painful but rewarding too, awaking trails of titillating excitement all over my body. I could smell his sweat, and something else. Once during the War, I had been told that in his unclad form Sauron stank. But now I inhaled the scent of his desire and I could not remember a sweeter perfume. Ai, what was he doing to me?

‘You have borne that well, slave,’ he purred. I was strangely pleased by his praise for something over which I all but lacked control. ‘What do you have to say?’

‘Thank you, Master.’

I meant it; I began to suspect that I had been given something, a gift so obscure that my mind could not even name it. And yet I understood at last why he had demanded proof of my trust. I would have never submitted to him in this way if we had been in Tol-in-Gaurhoth and I had been, in truth, his prisoner.

‘I feel inclined to be generous to you, my rebellious thrall,’ he spoke almost kindly. ‘To ease your obedience for what comes next and thus avoid further discipline I will bind you.’ I raised my head, surprised at this strange concession.

He ordered me to my feet. While I stood immobile he affixed around my balls and my cock a tight metal contraption that I could not see properly. The pressure of my need grew to pulsing pain, but somehow there was a grain of pleasure in the sensation. Then he made me bend forward and chained my wrists to the beams, but this time not much higher than my waist. With the whip, he tapped my legs to spread them well apart.

‘Brace yourself against the beams and do not move.’ Apprehensive, I did as commanded and waited, trembling with anticipation. I did not dare turn my head to watch him, fearing what he would do next.

When the cool metal touched the cleft between my buttocks, I yelled with surprise. A sharp yank on the spiked collar reminded me to stay as still as possible, but I could not help squirming. I was punished with a slash of the crop across the back of my thighs, and I pushed harder against the wooden uprights to remain still.

‘This will hurt,’ he warned. There was no apology in his voice.

Very slowly, he forced a long thick object where nothing had ever been forced before, and I ranted loudly when it burnt and stretched all at once, even despite the oil he had poured on it. I gripped the corners of the beams so tightly that my fingers hurt, a welcome pain to take my mind away from what was happening elsewhere. Mairon did not interrupt his task, though, and when he finished, he made sure the intruding metal was secured in place with silk ropes, dyed black and neatly knotted. I dreaded that he would not forget my infractions and would deal with them later.

I was both uncomfortable and titillated, and frustrated at my inability to ignore the deluge of sensation lavished on my body. A slight caress, no more than a wisp, on my throbbing cock almost made me scream at the intensity of the feeling. My unfulfilled desire reached even higher peaks and would have burst had it not been for the cursed restraint. I needed relief, I wanted his touch, any touch, and I growled at my defeat. He had assured me I would beg; right at that time I would have.

‘You are ready to serve me now,’ he pronounced darkly, releasing the manacles from the frame to bind my hands together behind my back.

‘Look at yourself, slave!’

With a tug at the leash he made me walk until we both faced a large polished mirror. I took in the collar, the chain, the proud, aching erection, and I blushed anew. He kissed me lightly on the lips, and I moaned when he withdrew his mouth. He pushed me down to my knees again.

‘You have been too noisy, my beautiful thrall. Now I will give you something to keep your pretty mouth busy.’ Without further preamble, he opened the front of his trousers and thrust his stiff cock against my face, while holding the leash firmly to ensure I would not pull away.

‘Master, surely you don’t expect…’ I almost stuttered, in near panic. ‘I do not know how—'

‘Silence,’ he roared. A quick twist of his fingers at the rope around my waist made me twitch with need when the object inside me turned and tingled mercilessly. ‘Open your mouth and do as I tell you.’

I watched in fascination the drop of pearly moisture on the tip of his cock, and inhaled the powerful scent of his arousal. A strange blend of reluctance and desire coursed through my body. I tried to pull away, but Mairon yanked my hair so hard I would have screamed, had he not used this chance to fill me. He had anticipated my gagging and held the collar tightly.

‘Suck. Be careful or you will pay dearly,’ he commanded.

I had no wish to comply, but I was trapped. So, he set the rhythm and I concentrated on the task, while vainly attempting to ignore the many aches of my body, and the torment of unsatisfied lust. With every move, the burning object that impaled me pushed me a notch higher in the scale of unfulfilment.

I sucked, and licked, sensing Mairon’s growing abandon until, when I thought my aching jaw could take no more, he pulled himself out of my mouth.

‘Normally, I would expect more from one who serves me. This time, however, I will only demand one more thing from you.’ I held my breath in dread. ’Beg me with some conviction, and I may grant your release.’

I hesitated but only briefly. Whatever pride would have once stayed me from begging had perished over the past hours.

‘Master, I beg you, do grant my completion!’ I could see myself on the mirror, kneeling, bound, beaten, and in dire need of gratification. Was it not enough?

‘Appalling,’ answered Mairon, sounding disappointed. ‘Have you learnt nothing? Perhaps I should spill myself on your face, let you cool down until dawn and then ask you to leave.’

I looked up incredulously. From his expression I realised that he was serious and would follow through on this threat, the mere thought of which was unbearable. I would have pleaded, but I had not been given permission, so I bit my lip and hoped he would relent.

‘Now, do it properly, as if you truly mean it. Show some humility.’

I was desperately grateful for this second chance. ‘O mighty Lord Mairon, Master of this lowly slave’s hröa and of his unfulfilled desire, graceful Lord of Gifts, hear the plea of this worthless thrall, forgive his clumsy efforts at serving you, and allow him to reach the bliss of pleasure at the touch of your generous hands. O Highness, have mercy!’

I kissed his knees fervently and, to my utmost surprise, most sincerely. I might wish to strangle him later, but now I bent my head to touch his feet with my forehead and waited anxiously. I ached for completion.

‘Ever since I humbled myself before you have I dreamt of seeing you like this,’ Mairon said wistfully. ‘I could only dream, for how would I ever hope to conquer the mighty herald of Manwë, to see him defeated with his face in the dust?’

He trod on the back of my neck, pressing me painfully against the stone floor. The heat of shame crept once more up my face and spurred my denial. But he took no pity and left me prostrate for a while longer, no doubt savouring his triumph. At last the pressure eased.

‘Your plea is heard, slave.’

Had I been less distracted, I might have attributed some meaning to the undisguised glee in his voice. The leash tensed, I raised my head from the floor and happily shuffled on my knees behind him, dignity the least of my concerns. He pushed me over a bench covered with plump silk cushions. Then he untied the constraint around my arousal. Finally, he removed the object he had inserted inside me.

Without warning, it was swiftly replaced by something of greater girth, hot and hard… When I realised what it was that filled me, I cried and fought to force Mairon off my back, but a sharp jerk at the leash dissuaded me from trying again.

‘Master…’ I cried in protest.

I was well aware of this act between males, it had been rather common in the camps during the War and I had heard gossip of several such couplings in Kiinlúum, not to mention Mairon’s string of male companions. Too late I understood his query when I named my terms, and bitterly cursed my innocence in matters of the flesh.

Mairon placed one hand on my shoulder and the other wrapped itself lightly over my tormented genitals; I nearly melted in his grasp. With a groan of relief, I gave up any thought of fighting. He buried himself deeper into me, at a different angle, and this intimate caress wrought an exquisite wave of pleasure. Stroked from both within and without, it took only a couple of heartbeats before we reached our release together. I soared away, freed from the cage of my hröa, and found myself amongst the stars of Eä again. I abandoned myself blissfully into the sublime pulse of the Music, which surrounded me with a richness of detail almost forgotten since I had lost my Maiarin senses.

Next to me I discerned Mairon as he had been once, before he left Aulë to pursue the teachings of Melkor: joyful, unguarded and close in our friendship.

When I returned to the real world around me, I felt his arms embracing me from behind, and his warm breath on my neck. I could not move, but relished this shared intimacy.

After a while, he let me go. I immediately missed the refuge of his arms. He pulled me up and turned me to face him. His eyes were inscrutable; mine must have surely betrayed my wonder and incredulity at what he had done. Somehow, at the peak of our pleasure he had reached out to my flesh-bound mind, and elevated us both to the highest level of consciousness of our kin, forbidden to me within my hröa.

The manacles fell from my wrists and rattled on the floor. Mairon took the collar slowly from around my neck, and the sudden lightness at its absence felt like a loss. He gently rubbed the raised marks caused by its spikes with the tips of his fingers.

‘You are free to go, Eönwë.’

He threw a warm fur cloak over my shoulders, and pulled my plait from under it, which he undid with his fingers. I grasped his hand and brushed my lips against his palm.

‘Thank you.’ Impulsively, I added the title, even if it was no longer required. ‘Master.’

His mouth curved into a brief smile and he inclined his head in acknowledgement. Despite the intimacy we had just shared, the silence between us felt uncomfortable.

Hastily, I bid him good night and climbed the long flight of stairs outside the door. I recognised his workshop, from where I rushed to my room, still walking on clouds. Faint with exhaustion, I threw myself on my bed and fell asleep at once.

 

 

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Notes:

[1] Mânawenûz (Valarin) Manwë 

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Chapter End Notes

 

 

Answers

The day after, Eönwë asks many questions, and Mairon provides answers.

Read Answers

 

8. Answers

Light and warmth tickled my eyes; it took me a few dazed blinks to realise where I was or to remember what had happened. I was lying naked on my soft bed under a fur blanket, and from the slant of sunshine through the partially closed shutters, it was late morning. The memories flooded my mind, a flush rose to my face and a tingle awoke in my groin. I longed for…

‘Good morning, friend,’ the voice came from the dark corner furthest away from the windows. A shadow stepped forward silently. ‘I hope you feel rested. Are you well?’

‘I am aching. Everywhere.’ I sat up, groaning. ‘Abominably.’

‘What did you expect? You fought me too hard and your muscles are sore.’

‘“Sore” does not even come close to describing it. I feel as if I have been trampled by trolls,’ I grumbled. But there was not a trace of resentment or anger against the one who had hurt me. Instead I could not keep from smiling.

Mairon came closer and appraised me thoughtfully. When his glance fell on my lap, it must have discovered my incipient morning erection, but he said nothing.

His eyes lingered next on my wrists and his mouth twisted in distaste at the chafing that had broken skin, a fact I had barely noticed yet. Without a word, he bent to take my hands in his own, slowly lifted them to his lips and dropped a light kiss on the place where my speeding pulse beat under the scrapes, one on each wrist, then turned them over and kissed them again. He locked his eyes on mine and in them glinted that rare pride he had only granted me the night before. An unexpected sob hitched in my throat.

The moment was broken when he reached inside a pocket of his robes and presented to me a small container, stopped with cork, like the ones used to keep unguents or perfume. I made to wave off his offer.

‘Eönwë,’ he warned sternly, ‘I will sit on your back if I have to.’

For an instant I was tempted to dare him try, but I felt too battered to wrestle. He opened the small jar and spread the ointment, pungent with the strong scent of herbs, into the trail of skinned patches on each wrist. I hissed and cursed at the sudden flare the thick paste brought forth, which fortunately faded rapidly into soothing warmth accompanied by a minute itchiness, as though the unguent were lightly simmering on my skin.

‘I trust you found your experience instructive?’ he said with a light smile.

‘Instructive, disturbing, mortifying, and pleasurable, all at once!’ I sighed. ‘But I have even more questions than before.’

‘Patience, friend,’ he chuckled. ‘Now that I am certain that you survived the night unharmed, I need to apply myself to my neglected duties. Rest and join me at sunset tonight, so that we can resume your education.’

The silver of his laughter at my obvious wince marked his departure. I fell asleep again.

When I woke up, well after midday, my body had recovered further from the previous night’s exertions. In the mirror, I appraised it from all possible angles, until I was certain that, unbelievably, there was not a single cut on my skin, though some of the fiery trails were still faintly visible. Even my wrists had already scabbed, their healing sped no doubt by Mairon’s unguent.

I felt ravenous. After a warm bath that did wonders for my strained muscles I visited the kitchen, where the cook quickly served me some food and chatted away while I ate. She had grown fond and protective of me after watching me arrive, defeated and famished, at the end of those early days of warrior training. She used to call me Yúum Eek’ich or “Lord Star-eye” and would scold me if I left anything on the plate because, in her own words, anything that did not kill me would make me stronger, so that I could defeat my enemies.

While I waited for dusk, I sat on a pile of down cushions in the shade of the orange trees with a book in my hands, but my mind was elsewhere. I recalled the flood of strange, extreme sensations on my hröa that had triggered such unexpected ecstasy at Mairon’s hands, far beyond anything I had experienced during my earlier attempts at pleasuring myself.

At the same time I was apprehensive. I feared to have succumbed to a yet unexplained power that had banished rational thought in favour of a feral, untameable lust. I suspected that to indulge this urge of the Incarnates was inappropriate for one such as myself, that it would be better buried. But something within me rebelled and cried out that with my hröa came these exhilarating gifts, and there was no evil in enjoying them, as Námo himself had implied.

A strange thought fluttered into my mind: an image of Manwë finding out about this experience, about how I had been thoroughly thrashed and ravished by his dark brother’s most trusted minion. Worse still, all of it had been done at my instigation and with my consent, though little had I known what it would truly entail.

Lost in my musings the hours went by until I realised sunset would not tarry. Eagerly I went in search of Mairon.

This time, it was one of his servants, clad in all propriety, who opened the door and led me to his master’s dining area by the open balcony. Food was lavishly served, neatly arranged on the usual low tables, and Mairon sat upon silk cushions, scanning a long scroll, which he discarded at my entrance. He beckoned me to sit by his side, and we were soon eating and speaking of small matters while his aide served us.

Finally he dismissed his servant and I tackled the questions that had plagued me all day. I did not know where to start, and just blurted the first one that came to my mind.

‘Now I accept the wisdom of your trial, Mairon, but what would you have done if I had refused to place my hand on the block?’

‘In all likelihood I would have slain you,’ he said, without betraying a trace of jesting. ‘You would have expected it, wouldn’t you, from one who seeks to enslave and twist innocent Children?’

Heat rose to my cheeks at the recollection of my own crass accusation. I nodded while I considered whether he might have indeed killed my hröa.

‘Is this game of dominance a way to slake your thirst for power?’ I countered.

To his credit, Mairon’s expression did not shift from one of attentive politeness, despite my bluntness.

‘You could say that is part of the truth,’ he answered. ‘Power is a thrilling draught. But there is more to it than that.’

‘How so?’

‘Any Orco, or even the least of my minions could beat a man to death. Numerous times have I had the lives of captives, spies or traitors in my hands and commanded their end in that manner, but seldom has such absolute power brought me any pleasure, despite what you might think. To be surrounded by witless thralls who act blindly out of terror is unrewarding. To hear someone cry their heart out in agony becomes tiresome.’

I shuddered at his impassivity.

‘What I crave, what I have always sought, is the pleasure of a craftsman creating something beautiful and unique. I relish binding another’s willing deeds and behaviour to my command. Wielding the right level of persuasion to earn their devotion, as opposed to their abject terror, is a delicate balance, Eönwë. To make them wholly mine, swaying them between pain, fear, and pleasure requires some skill, would you not agree?’

Chakmóol’s words about art suddenly made sense.

‘You seek to bind someone’s will but I was chained last night, hardly able to choose to obey you or otherwise.’

‘Learning to yield takes time, Eönwë. Do you think I failed to see your murderous looks? I had to protect myself too!’ He laughed and heat suffused me again. ‘Chakmóol has already come a long way in his training, and he knows to please me by freely choosing to submit to my demands without bonds. He is vastly weaker to pain than you are, and I greatly value such courage in him, when I demand it.’

I lowered my head to hide the sudden pang of jealousy against the ahaw.

‘Does his obedience extend beyond these walls?’ I held my breath.

‘No, he sheds his kingship within them, as you know.’ He smiled mischievously. ‘If you are fretting about Yúum Síihbalóob being the evil shadow behind his throne, rest at ease. Chakmóol yields only himself to me, not his realm.’

‘He trusts you with his life.’ I argued, warily. ‘Surely your counsel in court must always carry weight with him.’

‘As does yours, Eönwë,’ he retorted smoothly.

‘You are toying with fire, Mairon!’ I chided. ‘What would happen if you were to spill his blood? Such a sacrilege would surely be paid with your life!’

I could not understand Mairon’s sudden smile.

‘The odds add to the thrill, friend. But be at ease! Like in my forge, I tame fire to craft beauty, but I never forget the danger of its flames.’

I sighed with relief. As ever, Mairon would have carefully weighed his risk and devised the appropriate measures to remain in control of the situation, however treacherous.

‘He is already wed, he has sired children,’ I objected, resorting to weaker arguments. ‘What does he seek from you?’

‘Pleasure unlike that which his wife can give him, sweet as she is. The elation of freedom from making choices, too, and of being wanted for himself, not as a symbol of power.’ He shook his head in sympathy.

‘Will the queen prevent it, if she finds out?’ I felt outraged at the ahaw’s breach of fidelity and at Mairon’s responsibility in it.

‘She cannot. The king is allowed as many spouses and lovers as he wishes, because through him is channelled the potency of all living beings in the world, and he is expected to bestow that strength to his people. Though that is far from the truth in this case.’ He chuckled darkly. ‘Would it shock you to know that he has persistently requested that I agree to make our unlikely bond public?’

‘Will you accept?’ I cried, aghast at this revelation.

‘I do not wish to be known as the royal lover, Eönwë, and would rather avoid the trappings of such a position,’ he answered, easing my sudden agitation. ‘He already gives me as much as I would dare demand from a king without being accused of treason. Like you, Chakmóol is beautiful in his submission.’

I remained at a loss for a reply that would not betray my envious distress. I longed to scream that I would not impose any bounds, that I would give him as much as he desired. But I still warred with my own doubts, and we had agreed on a single session only; I could not ask for more.

‘You called me blasphemous, but I have seen the same spark of greed in your eyes when you beheld the ahaw,’ he pressed on, as if sensing censure in my silence.

I certainly could not refute that I shared at least an incipient thrill for power such as what he had described and furthermore, that I would welcome the chance to have Chakmóol begging at my feet. This ignoble thought flustered me and I decided to move on to other matters.

‘Indeed you tread a perilous path, Mairon. What stays you from veering away from seduction into torment?’

I frowned when he laughed unashamedly.

‘Oh, but have you so easily forgotten that I did torment you? I can still hear your screams and curses, even though I was most gentle!’ he cried. I balked from attempting to imagine what he would consider ungentle. ’But my goal was not to harm or slay you, as it was often the case with those I had in my power in Angamando or Tol-in-Gaurhoth. I frightened you; I hurt you; I shamed you, but I was bound by trust to honour our agreement.’

I was strangely moved. Melkor’s lieutenant had indeed kept his word to a former enemy, to the one before whom he had once humbled himself. I merely nodded and my silence encouraged him to continue.

‘That trust is the key ingredient, the sorcery you vainly sought. In a way, I know you better than you know yourself, Eönwë, at least in your present form. I sense the limits of what you can bear; had I stepped beyond them your trust would have faded and with it, my spell,’ he concluded.

He picked up a date. I watched him as he took it to his mouth, and remembered his sweet lips on mine. He smiled meaningfully, as if having read my thoughts, while he slowly sucked his fingers and then ran his tongue over his upper lip. I felt the warmth of my blush, and of my desire lower down.

‘How did you learn all of this?’ I asked. He toyed briefly with his silver fork and then looked away, toward the flickering stars.

‘I had plenty of opportunity to research the hröar of the Eldar, both dead and alive, and most interestingly, to study their urgent cravings when desperate for a respite in the shadow of death, for a comforting touch to soothe the pain of torture.’

I froze. It was far too easy to forget who he was and what he had done in the past. Did the monster still lurk, dormant behind Mairon’s new identity? I did not dare delve deeper, not while my curiosity on the present matter was unsated.

‘Is that research how you found a way to create a shape of your own design?’ I could not hide my angry sarcasm.

‘Námo Fëantur is not the only one with the knowledge or the prerogative to create a hröa, even if he claims to be sanctioned by Eru to allow the rehousing of the Eldar who are slain, or to chastise those who are seen to fail the Valar.’

We often reached this particular point of contention, and as time went by I found that my defence of my lord was becoming less passionate. Grudgingly, I had begun to accept the truth of what I already knew when I stood in the Máhanaxar, that my punishment was merely meant to appease the Children’s thirst for retribution.

When I did not object as expected, Mairon carried on with his grim explanation.

‘Under Melkor’s instruction I learnt to weave and sever the links that tie a fëa to a hröa, and to trap a houseless fëa to prevent its escape.’

I stared at him, speechless at the abomination he spoke of in such a detached way.

‘How do you think the Lord of Mandos built his Halls, a prison for fëar and beings of light and thought like us, but by using the very same skills?’ he protested, when he saw the horror that must have been painted on my face.

I could have argued that Námo had been invested with the authority to do so by the will of Ilúvatar while Mairon had used his discovery for the purpose of torment, but this was not the time.

‘Speak on,’ I urged, reluctantly.

‘Because of this knowledge, unlike you, I am free to leave this flesh at any time, barring perhaps a weakness so great as to stop me from breaking the links. Though several of the innate powers of our kin had to be sacrificed in exchange for my shape, most are only dimmed. I am aware of every particle in my hröa and the way it helps build and support the whole, which allows me a vastly superior level of control than what a First-born can ever hope to achieve. Námo could have given you all of this, but he chose not to.’

I had witnessed him shift his shape, transmute matter, and tap and unleash the energy stored in the fabric of the world, and he could still talk through ósanwë. Undoubtedly, there was much more. Sudden rage swelled in my chest at the injustice of it all. Why had I been denied those abilities, inherent to my very nature, the gift of Eru himself? Why had I meekly accepted my penance, hugely disproportionate to the alleged crime I had committed, without question or appeal, so that my lord and his brethren could be cleanly absolved of any responsibility?

Mairon’s look of pity was the last straw. I felt extremely tired, and wished only for solitude and time to attempt to wade through the turmoil, sort a myriad of conflicting feelings into a semblance of order and dispel the nagging uncertainty that threatened to overwhelm me.

I needed one more answer, and I was not sure Mairon would care to give it.

‘I cannot deny my wonder at what you have revealed to me. You proved to be a most skilled performer of this exhilarating…’ I shook my head. ‘I fail to think of a proper name for this activity. Perhaps Chakmool is right calling it art. Also, as you predicted, I tasted freedom again.’ I paused, suddenly stricken with longing for yet another chance to fly into the vastness of Eä beyond my hröa, if only ephemerally. ‘For all of this I am in your debt.’’

He inclined his head to acknowledge my gratitude and waited for the question that was bound to follow.

‘Is this art of seduction and power contained within the Music, or is it a flaw, part of the marring your master wrought, that you once shared?’

I watched him wince, and I almost gasped when his dismay shifted fleetingly to a sneer of angry disappointment. Then it settled into a mask of bland politeness while his eyes became wary, even hostile.

‘It is whatever you consider it to be, Eönwë. Many would certainly name it evil, even before attempting to understand it, like you did not long ago. As ever, you are free to seek the taint of Melkor in any of my deeds, or to believe instead that I might wish to shake off his yoke.’

He stood up in dismissal, but I took him by the arm and turned him to face me. I had swept aside all my unresolved doubts; I had made up my mind.

‘I will help you be free of him,’ I vowed.

Daringly, I kissed him. I was mightily relieved when he did not refuse my embrace but wrapped his own arms tightly around my shoulders. I cursed myself for flinching at the pain, because he let go at once.

I smiled apologetically, and he laughed.

‘It grows late, and you must rest, friend.’

 

Games

Eönwë visits Mairon in his workshop and they strike a deal.

Read Games

 

9. Games

During the following days, I did not dare presume that Mairon wished to repeat our experience, given his relationship with Chakmóol. Had he breached the subject, I might have confessed my desires, but the chance did not seem to arise. I often found myself longing to relive the precious moments of ecstasy beyond the ties of my flesh, and even those of nervous anticipation and denied desire mixed with pain that had stirred my hröa like nothing else before.

I wavered for a long time, fearing rejection, but finally I decided I had nothing to lose and everything to gain. When I sought Mairon in his workshop, straight after a gruelling day at court, I sensed that he had guessed my purpose as soon as he saw me step through the door. He did not waste the opportunity to taunt me.

‘Welcome, Counsellor, to my humble workshop,’ he said with a deep, sweeping bow at my entrance. I was wearing my most formal attire and the bothersome beaded braids of my exalted status within the society of Kiinlúum, while he wore a simple leather apron over his plain trousers and shirt.

‘Mairon…’ I began.

‘Is it, by any chance, business that brings you here, lord?’ he interrupted merrily, unwilling to drop his banter. ‘A trinket for a beloved one that you wish to purchase? A betrothal ring of true magnificence, even, for the maiden who has secretly won your heart? Or perhaps you desire a different kind of trade, one that needs to be the subject of careful negotiation ending in a… binding contract?’

I laughed.

‘Indeed. We have both sampled the goods to be traded and the manner of our exchange,’ I ventured, following his game. ‘If what I offer meets your approval, I would consider entering into a contract with you, unless, of course, you are already well served by your existing… arrangements.’

‘My good counsellor,’ he paused and made a point of appraising me thoroughly from head to toe with gleaming eyes. ‘The goods you offer are unique, unmatched by even the finest in Kiinlúum, nay, in the whole of Endórë. I would be a fool to refuse such a precious gem as the one you possess, even uncut and unpolished as it is at the moment. Were you to trust it into my care, I would have great pleasure in shaping it into a jewel of unparalleled beauty, though I must warn you that the process will be excruciatingly tedious, and painful at times. I fear this cannot be avoided, lest its spirit crumble between my fingers.’

I felt both disturbed and excited at having become the object being discussed; titillated and fearful at the double meaning of his words.

‘I fully understand,’ I replied evenly, but I felt my lips curl into a smile. ‘Yet I would be delighted if you would agree to take this task upon yourself, demanding as it might be. I would trust no other but a true master… craftsman to guarantee our mutual satisfaction.’

‘In that case, we might have struck a deal, my honoured counsellor,’ he said, rubbing his hands, ‘and we only need to finalise a few details.’

‘Very well. What are they?’ I was wary; Mairon smiled wickedly.

‘We will convene once a month, at sunset on the night of the new moon, unless arranged otherwise. Initially only until sunrise, but this will surely change as the shaping of our gem progresses and more time is required to study its complexities and make the best use of its attributes. Is this proposition amenable to you, Counsellor?’

‘It is,’ I assented with a shiver.

‘Are there any bounds I should respect, beyond the ones we have spoken of already?’ he queried. I noticed his tension, as if he feared that I would set conditions to my surrender.

‘None,’ I said slowly.

‘Outside those agreed nights you shall naturally remain an honoured guest in this house, and our friendship will be unaltered by the… unbalance of the association under discussion. There is, however, an exception to this, one small demand I must make of you, counsellor.’

His words floated ominously between us, and I sucked in my breath.

‘What demand?’ I was certain it would not be to my liking.

‘I shall command your pleasure between our meetings.’

‘No, Mairon, surely you cannot…’ I began to cry my protest but he raised his hand imperiously.

‘I can and I shall,’ he insisted sternly. ‘This month, if we are to proceed with our arrangement, you are forbidden from relief during the seven days prior to our meeting. What will it be?’

I groaned in defeat, but promptly extended my hands to him before rational thought could sway me, and we clasped each other’s arms to seal our contract. His smile was gleeful, mine was weak. I had an erection, hard as rock, to deal with while I still could.

 

~o~

 

Thus our regular sessions began, and I soon verified with my own flesh Mairon’s warning about how painful the task would be. He wanted to shape me into the perfect example of graceful submissiveness and, though I genuinely wished to please him, I seemed to lack the required disposition. But this apparent flaw did not deter Mairon, who ruthlessly persevered to crush my rebellious streak, until he eventually succeeded.

He mandated strict rules to be obeyed at all times in the way I presented myself, moved, behaved and served him. Wilful disobedience always earned me major unpleasantness, and Mairon rarely forgave my errors, however trivial. His chastisements were cruel and inventive, fitting to my transgression and meant to etch every lesson indelibly into my mind.

Our next meeting had gone wrong from the beginning. After he manacled my wrists behind my back, he struck my shoulders with a riding crop because I took too long to kneel. Without thinking, I shouted that he could go and drown himself in Orco’s piss. Mairon remained remarkably calm as these words echoed in his underground chamber, but I feared for my hröa when he grabbed my hair, pulled my head back, and bent down to whisper in my ear, the sharp tip of curved knife pressed under my chin. 

‘From this day, my fractious slave, you will appreciate the sweetness of silence. No words must ever leave your lips unless I bid you speak. And never, ever, will you insult your Master,’ he hissed. ‘Understood?’

He yanked my hair, pulling my head further back. I struggled to keep my balance. ‘Yes, Master!’ I cried. He withdrew the knife, released me, and stood up.

From my kneeling position, I watched him warily as he walked towards a table and picked up an orange from a basket on a table against the wall. With the curved blade, he unhurriedly scraped a pattern of swirling white lines on the rind; then he cut more deeply into the fruit in three places until the juice dripped down his fingers.

‘Open your mouth,’ he commanded, grasping the collar. I shrank in apprehension, but obeyed. He pushed the orange deep into my mouth, stretching my jaws awkwardly. The pressure squeezed more juice out of the fruit onto my tongue. At once, I gagged and twisted my head wildly while attempting to spit out the orange, but it was far too large, and Mairon ruthlessly rammed it back in, even more deeply.

The apparently delicious orange was bitter, its taste suffocatingly foul. Tears came to my eyes as the juice dripped into my throat and I struggled to fight my retching. The exposed pith was, incredibly, even more revolting. Only a long while later did I begin to breathe normally over the hateful gag.

‘You have a choice, thrall,’ Mairon continued. An evil smirk on his lips met my impotent glare. ‘You shall savour my gift willingly or I will force you to endure a larger one for longer. What shall it be?’

I nodded my compliance, and he released my head. The second part of my punishment, two dozen lashes, made matters worse, as every stinging blow made me bite down on the loathsome fruit. I had to control my panic every time I began to choke, almost unable to breathe.

By the end of that night, I had sworn to myself never to indulge in pointless and fleeting defiance, ever again. 

I could not hide from Mairon for long that I would rather endure fear and pain than humiliation and bonds, and he fully exploited this discovery to his advantage. Mairon employed his considerable ingenuity and his phenomenal powers to craft no end of wicked schemes and devices to deny my freedom, my pleasure or both, to spur my misery and shame, and thus assert his alluring mastery. Every time he made me teeter over an edge I did not know existed.

Our meetings grew steadily in intensity and length as the months and the years went by, and not once did I feel the fearful anticipation lessen when I surrendered myself to Mairon’s mercy. He had not lied when he claimed to have been gentle during that initial night of terror and wonder, possibly to seduce me without scaring me to death, as he often did afterwards.  Worse still, my pleasure was never guaranteed, and several awful nights ended in outraged frustration when he relentlessly spurred my need for many hours only to deny my release at the end as punishment for my failings.

Despite all, I accepted all his demands. He shocked me, hurt me and yet, he could also be incredibly tender when the moment demanded it. His caress, even when entwined with pain, was a precious gift, as were his kisses and other endearments with which he encouraged my efforts to please him. True praise was rare, but whenever he granted it, I burst with pride.

I craved his company; his touch, gentle or cruel; the inexplicable thrill of his dominance and, above all, the unchained ecstasy beyond my hröa when we reached our peak together, which always outweighed the trials he put me through. Every time he would take me in his arms when we finished, kiss me as if I were the most precious being in Eä, and the spark of pride in his eyes would make my pain melt away in joy. I would fall asleep from exhaustion, knowing that a smile was painted on my face, and I would wake up to see him by my bed to ease my hurts.

As he had promised, outside these sessions he kept regarding me as a trusted friend and companion, in all ways his equal, and we were both greatly honoured in Kiinlúum for our respective roles in this realm of Men. Never had I imagined that my banishment would lead me to such contentment at the side of my former foe, the loathed disciple of Melkor.

And yet, while Mairon seemed perfectly satisfied with our arrangement, I slowly began to long for more. I yearned for pleasure not spurred by pain; I wished to caress him without restraint or rules, as a lover, not as his willing slave.

My desire for him swelled with every season that passed. Sometimes, when we were alone, I would daringly lean close to touch him, and even kiss him to invite more. Though he never pushed me away and sometimes he even returned a sign of affection, it was painfully clear that he was not keen to follow that path. He never started any intimacy outside the bittersweet nights in which I placed myself under his dominance.

Mairon’s restraint towards me was maddening, because his lust was insatiable elsewhere. At least two nights a week he welcomed Chakmóol, but there was also a regular stream of other assorted companions knocking at his door, both male and female, including several of his household servants.

When I asked him about these pursuits the morning after a particularly riotous orgy that had echoed all through the house, he waved his hand lightly in dismissal.

‘Jealous, Eönwë?’ he asked, with a spark of mockery in his eyes.

‘Maybe,’ I muttered reluctantly.

‘They are pretty and keen, these mortal Children, eager to lavish their attentions on someone who they believe appreciates them,’ he said condescendingly. ‘I enjoy their enthusiasm, their vitality, and their unsubtle flattery. In return I teach them the arts of gentle pleasure.’

‘Gentle? You?’

‘I can be,’ he laughed, ‘and you well know it. These same hands that work the forge can hold a butterfly… or a certain creature that awakes and weeps on the night of the new moon.’

I felt my blood stir.

‘Curse you, Mairon,’ I groaned. He smiled mischievously.

‘My nights with the Atani are trivial and forgettable, friend, a simple pastime of no consequence.’

I was glad he had taken pity on me instead of spurring me further into a need I was forbidden to address, but I was dismayed by the carelessness with which he spoke of his other dalliances.

‘What of me, Mairon? Am I yet another piece in your collection? A further token of the triumph of your undefeated powers of seduction?’ I cried.

‘You are the one who sates my hunger. You and Chakmóol, to a lesser degree, because he can never be my match, while you certainly are.’

‘A morsel? A match?’ I was angry and disappointed. ‘Is that the nature of your regard?’

He looked at me strangely.

‘What did you expect from one such as me, Eönwë? Undying love?’ He nearly spat this last word.

‘You name it as if it were an abomination,’ I retorted harshly.

‘Love is a dangerous emotion, as well as fickle and selfish. While it lasts it makes us blind and vulnerable. And when it fades, we are left cold and broken. Other cravings are easier to gauge and satisfy: lust, ambition, fear of loneliness. Many mistake them for love, but I will not commit the same error twice, nor deceive another with such pretence.’

‘You use me for your pleasure,’ I snarled, hands clenched at my sides to control my rage.

‘As you do,’ he replied coldly. ‘If our association disgusts you, friend, nothing stops you from leaving at any time.’ He rose, ending the conversation.

Mairon had not mentioned his name, but I hated Moringotto even more for having shattered my friend’s willingness to love again.

I did not leave. How could I?

 

~o~

 

I was not truly surprised the night that I opened the door to Mairon’s underground chambers to find him engaged in lively conversation with the ahaw. Chakmóol was attired in simple hunting gear, but decked with the green feathers that marked his kingship. I bowed, but he did not even turn his eyes in my direction.

Mairon only paused for a few moments to signal me to strip and kneel by his side. Uncertain, I hesitated, and cast at him a glance of questioning defiance. Faster than lightning, he rose from his seat and slapped me harshly.

‘Obey me at once!’ he hissed.

Shocked, I swallowed my rage and bit down the protest that nearly left my lips, murmuring instead the required acknowledgment before removing my clothes hastily.

He fastened the collar around my neck and I knelt at his feet, arms raised outwards and hands laced behind my neck. I absently listened to their animated chatting about building projects, foreign politics and horses, while the hours trickled by and my discomfort turned to pain. They ate, they drank, and my only duty was to remain immobile and, from time to time, to promptly obey trivial orders to serve food, fetch cooled wine, pick up a dropped napkin or clear the table, gaining brief periods of relief from cramp.

Often, I felt the admiring and partly envious gaze of the king upon me, while I received no touch or word of encouragement from Mairon.

At last he addressed me.

‘Do you have anything to say to me that I should know, thrall?’ he enquired, his voce deadly soft, a gleam of menace in his eyes.

I could have lied, but whatever punishment I was about to face would be made infinitely worse by any attempt at deceit.

‘Forgive me, Master,’ I answered, bending to touch the stone floor with my brow.

He nudged my neck with his foot, not even deigning himself to stroke me. His displeasure and the humiliation of sensing Chakmóol’s eyes piercing me as I abased myself, almost made me sob. I pressed my face harder to the floor to steady myself.

‘What did you do, that you seek my forgiveness?’ he questioned sternly. ‘Look me in the eye.’

I raised my head to comply, saw Chakmóol’s gleeful smirk through my eyelashes and I shook with chagrin at his presence. I quickly returned my attention to Mairon before he noticed my lapse.

‘I disobeyed you, Master.’ I wavered for a moment before confessing my crime. ‘Eleven days ago, I succumbed to desire, stroked my need and gave myself pleasurable release without your leave.’

At the end of our previous encounter, Mairon had demanded for the first time that I remained wanting and unsatisfied during the whole span of time between our sessions. Offering excuses for my behaviour had ever been futile in the past, so I gave none. Instead, I braced myself for the sentence that would follow.

‘Perhaps you will obey our king more readily than me?’ he queried sharply. ‘Tonight, slave, after you have borne the cane for as long as I deem fit, you will serve the ahaw as you would serve me. In any way he demands.’ I swayed slightly, and he grabbed a painful fistful of my hair to keep me still. ‘Only if you perform to his satisfaction will you earn my forgiveness. Also, to teach you the error of your wanton ways, you will wear this little reminder.’

From his other hand dangled a contraption made of shiny rings that jingled as he pressed them to my lips. I blanched with fearful dismay but nevertheless kissed them as required.

‘Stand!’ he snarled.

When I did, he locked my cock and testicles in the fiendish metal cage. I had worn that cruel device before and knew I had no hope of removing it against Mairon’s will. Like a living thing, it moulded itself snugly to my skin, without locks that could be picked or straps that could be cut, and it had even seemed to shrink tighter the only time I surreptitiously attempted to slip it off.

‘Move into position,’ he ordered.

With Chakmóol in the room, I felt betrayed. A boundary of some sort had been crossed, even if I ignored precisely why. I looked at Mairon pleadingly but he did not relent. Instead, he shoved me roughly against the wall.

I placed my hands at the required height and spread my legs apart. He would not grant me the benefit of chains this time, which meant my punishment would be harsh indeed, compounded every time I moved without permission. By the time he picked up the cane and ran its tip lightly in a sinuous line from neck to waist, I was already panting with dread and the first stirrings of desire.

He had said I was free to leave. Was I? Words to beg for mercy were about to leave my lips when his hand rested briefly on my shoulder and he squeezed hard. This was his usual signal to urge me to endure and make him proud, the first reassurance I had received that night. Relieved, I vowed I would regain his favour; pushing my hands into the wall until my palms and fingertips hurt, I willed myself to bear the discipline without moving, whatever the pain.

The cane swished loudly, many times; my determination was tested beyond its limits, almost shattered to pieces. Half-way through, my elbows fell against the wall and I hung my head between my arms in defeat, though it was not the hardest beating I had ever received at his hands. Far worse than the biting blows was the discomfort that swiftly spiralled into crushing agony when the arousal that customarily awoke with any of Mairon’s touches, even the harshest, began to swell into the rings.

When he stopped, breathing hard, I crumpled to my knees and rested my head on the wall, feeling the sweat and tears pour out of me. But I was given no respite.

‘What do you think of my new colt, Your Highness?’ asked Mairon casually, placing his possessive hand over my head. Immediately, I scrambled to adopt the formal kneeling posture he expected. ‘Come and judge this beauty.’

Chakmóol was renowned for the fine horses he bred and trained himself. He took my jaw in his hand and moved my head side to side, pretending to study my features as if I were one of his yearlings. Outraged, I squeezed my fingers tighter against my nape until they hurt. When he pushed his thumb against the corner of my mouth to force me to open it, I was direly tempted to bite him. Mairon’s keen eyes read my intent, and his slight frown of displeasure gave me a silent warning.

Chakmóol tugged at my collar to make me stand, and ran firm fingers down my back to my knees, making me flinch every time they grazed my welts during his thorough exploration. I needed all my will power to remain still under his ungentle and unwelcome touch.

‘Good bones. Long and light. Built to race the wind, I would say,’ opined the ahaw as he fingered my aching shoulders and raised arms. Mairon snickered. ‘But will it be tamed?’ the king continued. ‘Look at the proud fire in its eyes!’

‘It knows its master, but sadly lacks training,’ answered Mairon with a sigh of resignation. ‘I would welcome your expert advice as to the best way to handle its instruction.’

I almost suffocated at the shame of having a steel bit pushed between my teeth, a leather bridle strapped over my head and my hands chained to the ends of a wooden yoke that weighed my shoulders down. I was pierced by a thick staff ending in a generous clump of horse hair, to act as a tail. My blood roared when, in this guise, I was made to learn gaits and transitions under the ahaw’s exacting guidance, invariably failing to display the grace and agility he demanded.

‘The trot is slacking,’ appraised Mairon. I risked a furtive glare in his direction. He was leisurely sitting with a glass of wine in his hand, and he shook his head slowly, as if disappointed with my efforts.

Chakmóol would not speak his commands to raise my knees higher, bend my neck lower, or adjust the length of my stride; he would merely point my deficiencies with the sting of his long whip over the relevant part of my body. My simmering fury was tamed into obedience by the slightest flick of his wrist. The staff built up my desire, while the rings turned it to pure torture and Mairon kept throwing the odd commentary on my flaws, adding insult to injury. More than once I almost bolted, like the horse I was forced to play in their despicable game.

A long time later, I was allowed to kneel, panting and weak from exhaustion. The loathsome harness was removed, my jaw at last freed from the pressure of the bit.

‘You will find it has a most talented mouth, as soft as silk,’ invited Mairon.

Chakmóol stood tall over me, and I balked violently at the sight of his swollen shaft being bared next to my face. My refusal delayed the inevitable, but only briefly; the fake tail was removed and I rendered the service that was required, with Mairon impaling me from behind to enforce my compliance.

Every thrust of his hips plunged me brutally into the loathed groin of the king, to the point of gagging, and caused a most unwelcome flare of desire, immediately slain by the excruciating pain of my trapped cock.

‘It is a sweet ride, once tamed,’ laughed Mairon. I wept with humiliation.

I do not know how long this torment lasted but eventually, mercifully, he reached completion and slumped over me in his bliss, all the more distressing because he had chosen to withhold it from me.

Chakmóol followed at once. My tears of powerless rage mixed with the warm, sticky mess he spurted over my cheeks and lips. Then he smoothed his clothes, briefly thanked Mairon for his hospitality, congratulated him on the quality of his new stable stock and left.

Once we were alone, Mairon petted me, cleaned me tenderly, and sat me on his lap to take me in his arms, while he scattered soft kisses over my face, neck and shoulders. He had not given me leave to move or speak, so I seethed in silence instead, glad to receive some scraps of affection while simultaneously conjuring impossible dreams of terrible retribution. I sobbed like a child, unable to block away the waves of pain that his embrace awoke when it grazed my back, while doing my utmost to quell any stirrings of desire. I wished to scream at him for demeaning me so abjectly in front of the man I served outside his walls.

‘You are forgiven, my wild stallion, my beautiful Maia slave,’ he rewarded me at last in a voice that caressed my ears like silk. ‘You were magnificent, a wonderful sight to behold. All that wrath, obediently bound for my pleasure. No one can match your strength, your grace, your desire to please. Have I ever told you how much you mean to me?’

I felt his renewed hardness throbbing under my leg. He took my lips into a probing, demanding kiss, raked his fingers over my upper arms, and gripped them with bruising strength until I moaned in his mouth. Again I sobbed when my cock responded, only to be pinched by the ruthless rings.

And yet, his endearing praises soothed me and filled me with warmth, gave me a new reason to keep enduring his trials. They were the most fervent declaration of his regard that I had ever heard from his lips.

Before he could punish my disobedience, before I could change my mind, I slipped from his lap onto my knees on the floor between his legs and took his cock in my mouth.

‘Good, oh, so very good!’ he cried out. ‘Ai, my proud colt, my beauty!’ He twisted his fingers in my hair and I slowly sucked him to orgasm. His pleasure was my torment.

When it was over, he removed all the restraints, walked with me to my chambers and most gingerly rubbed ointment over my back, buttocks and thighs. I soon fell asleep with his hands still tending to my hurts, the potent scent of healing herbs pervading the air and my groin throbbing with pitiful bursts of denied desire.

On our following night together, he demanded no less, but rewarded me most generously.

From then onwards, the ahaw would occasionally join us at Mairon’s command in our new moon meetings; sometimes to stand over me again or, more often, as my fellow slave. Both of us vied for Mairon’s praise, falling into a strange relationship that swayed between extremes of sympathetic rivalry and ferocious jealousy, almost hatred, as dictated by the changing tune played by our master. If Chakmóol held a grudge against me as a result, it was well disguised, because in court he remained as polite and receptive to my counsel as ever.

Warnings

The years go by, Eönwë receives a present and Mairon another alias!

Read Warnings

 

10. Warnings

 

One day, three years after our first memorable night of trust and discovery, Mairon ordered that I attended him at his chambers, and not in the gloomy room below his workshop. Instead of plunging immediately into the ritual that converted us into master and servant, he put a heavy, carved wooden box in my hands.

‘Open it,’ he bid me.

I eagerly did, gnawed by curiosity. Inside, cradled in silk, I found a set of restraints forged from the precious metal the First-born call mistarillë[1]. I had never seen its starry sheen in this far corner of the world, and knew it was most rare anywhere else, precious even to Aulë himself.

I ran my fingers slowly over their smooth, perfect shapes, well aware that they were worth far more than a king’s ransom. I looked at Mairon in wonder and robbed a brief kiss from his mouth, curved up in mischief.

Heat rushed to my loins when his thumb traced the edge of my jaw slowly, with infinite care. When our lips parted, I saw the fire of lust blazing in his dark eyes. Breathless, I turned my gaze to my gift, to study it in more detail. I noticed that all the pieces had been etched with a subtle design made of tiny sparks grouped in the shape of a whirlwind; in my view, that mark made them truly mine. I laughed with childish joy even as Mairon sternly commanded me to kneel.

‘You have earned them, my handsome captive,’ he purred in my ear, his breath upon my bare skin titillating my every nerve. He locked the gleaming collar around my neck and kissed me fiercely while I remained still but pliant, as expected. ‘You are my best creation yet.’

I was not sure whether to be flattered, concerned or offended. I could not deny that he had used my carnal prison to mould me in ways I would have scoffed at in the past. But the heat of his lips and tongue made his words fade into meaningless shreds, and I was soon bereft of all coherent thought, struggling to obey his commands and hungering for his demanding attentions.

 

Kiinlúum, Year 25 of the Second Age

The years passed by swiftly.

‘Would I be allowed to travel to Andórë[2]?’ asked Nikteháa dreamily. She sat next to me on a bench in a tucked away corner of the garden in his father’s house, under the cool shade of fragrant honeysuckle, a quiet respite from the grand feast in her honour. Her black eyes shone with excitement as they looked up from the detailed map unfolded over her knees.

For her sixteenth birthday, I had given her a book written in Quenya, which she could speak and read fluently. I had written it, filled it with colourful illustrations and bound it in red leather. Its pages described in great detail the wonders of Númenórë, from the majestic peak of Meneltarma to the endless green pastures and the beautiful malinornë saplings.

‘I am certain that Tar-Minyatur would be honoured to receive you as his guest,’ I answered.

Elerossë had once told me of his ambitions and dreams for the star-shaped island, and revealed to me the name he would adopt when he ascended to the throne. He had refused to be crowned until they reached their Land of Gift. Would he be king already? If there was one thing I missed in this remote realm, it was news from him and his people, whom I had loved for their vibrancy and strength, mirrored here in the folk of Kiinlúum.

‘Will you take me there?’ Nikteháa almost pleaded in her eagerness.

‘My flower, you know that is not possible.’ I regretted having to crush her dreams. ‘The ahaw will never let his precious princess, the jewel of his heart, face the perils of the journey, not even if a thousand of his fiercest warriors were to guard her.’

‘Not even if I become your wife?’ she ventured shyly. She picked the white blossom that adorned her ebony hair and twirled it nervously in her fingers.

I sighed inwardly. Fortunately, the question had not caught me completely by surprise. I had noted how she had recently begun to blush in my presence, how at times she became tongue-tied, when she had always been keen to chatter her thoughts to me.

Before I could formulate a sensible answer, she pressed on.

‘Now that I am of age my mother is urging me to choose a husband, but I wish for no other than you. Only your company brings me joy, only your voice can spark my interest. Would you not accept me and teach me the art of love, as you have taught me all else I know?’

‘My dear princess, you are beautiful in all ways, but I love you like a father loves his daughter.’

‘Do you not wish to touch me as a wife, even if your heart belongs to “An-na-tar”? You would not have to leave him…’ she pleaded. I gasped, startled that she knew.

‘I am unable to give you what you desire, Nikteháa.’ I shook my head, guilty at the deep disappointment written on her face. ‘I am sorry.’

For a while, she remained seated, nestled against my shoulder, and I felt her tremble. When her friends and maids called her from the house, she rose and slipped quietly between the bushes.

I stayed behind, unwilling to join the merriment, which would feel like a farce. For once, I heard Mairon’s approach before I saw him; his feet beat a light crunching rhythm on the gravel path. I caught my breath at the sight of my friend clad in rich festive garb, and wearing a circlet woven of curling silver tendrils set with magnificent opals that sparkled like green fire. He smiled when he saw me, came to sit next to me on the bench and took the flower I held in my hand.

‘Did she like your gift?’

I nodded absently.

‘So, what caused our sweet princess to look so forlorn?’

‘She wished to make me her husband.’ He lifted his eyebrow questioningly, genuinely curious. ‘I declined her offer.’

‘Truly?’ He could not wholly hide his surprise, almost disbelief. ‘You refused the king’s daughter, the fairest maiden in the realm? Why?’

‘Because I belong to another whom she named Annatar, even if he will not give himself in return.’ I stared back at him defiantly.

‘Chasing mirages only leads to regret, friend, as you know,’ he snapped angrily, looking away. ‘Go back to Nikteháa and grant her little wish. Her spark of life will die in a few years and you will be free from all bonds again.’

‘As you will from yours. One day.’

I placed my hand on his arm, a reminder of my vow. When he turned his head to me, I almost recoiled at the painful terror that haunted his eyes. A blink later, it was gone, as if his mask of equanimity had never slipped. I had not expected to catch him off guard.

He cleared his throat. ‘What did you say she called me?’

‘Annatar.’

‘It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?’

 

 ~o~

 

A few days later, after the audiences had finished at court, Nikteháa, Mairon and I sat in the garden again.

Strangely, the princess had been most insistent about drawing Mairon into our company, and he had resignedly relented, after she had dismissed his excuses. Over the previous days she had behaved towards me as if her proposal and my refusal had never been spoken.

Just as we had sat down under the cool shade of a tree, we espied two men, coming through a small doorway hewn in the wall at the far end of the garden. They were dressed in long white robes with red sashes around their waists. One carried a bulky pack, holding it with great reverence, while the second one locked the heavy wooden door with a golden key that he then placed safely in a pouch hanging from his neck.

‘Who are those men?’ I asked. ‘They look like priests of the sun, if not for the red cloths.’

In Kiinlúum, red was worn during rituals following death, and corpses were wrapped in red cloth before placing them on the cremation pyre.

‘Yes, they are sak’k’áak’[3] gatherers,’ said the princess. ‘Today it is a propitious day to cut the plants, according to my father. It only happens twice a year.’

I watched the two men walk solemnly away carrying their precious harvest until they vanished from sight behind some trees. The princess seemed lost in thought as she quickly brought her fingers to her forehead and then her mouth in the customary sign to ward off evil.

‘Is anything wrong, my flower?’ I asked, concerned.

‘I once touched a sak'k'áak' plant,’ whispered Nikteháa hesitantly. ‘Several years ago, I was visiting my mother’s kin and my cousins dared me when we found it along a ditch near their house. They said that because I was the ahaw’s daughter it would not kill me, and might even make me deathless.’

‘Clearly they were right about the first part, at the least,’ opined Mairon.

‘What happened?’ I encouraged her, while I shot a warning glare at my friend.

‘My cousins were terrified when they saw my skin swollen with rash, but they had enough wits to take me to my mother at once, who urged the priests to make offerings to save my life. My hand was horrendously painful for several days, and I boiled with fever. When I was healed I purified myself for ten days before I could touch anyone. And then…, then I had to appear before my father, who spoke my penance.’ She bit her lip and shook her head, as if to dispel a nasty memory.

‘Why, is it a crime to touch a poisonous weed?’ I asked, fascinated by this new scrap of knowledge about these peoples’ superstitious beliefs.

‘I committed a gross sacrilege,’ she answered with a shiver, but almost at once she pulled herself up proudly. ‘Neither of you Bright Ones may understand the gravity of my offence; in fact, having lived amongst the great gods of the West you are likely to regard our rites as little better than children’s games, are you not?’

Caught off guard, I lowered my eyes, unable to speak a falsehood to deny her accurate insight. A very uncomfortable silence followed. Mairon was beginning to stand when Nikteháa spoke again.

‘Please stay, Yúum Síihbalóob,’ said the princess. My friend took his seat again, recognising her words as an order. Then she turned to me.

‘I finished reading the book you gave me, Eönwë. It truly is a precious gift.’ I was relieved that she had generously changed the subject.

‘Crafting it gave me great pleasure, and I am happy it has found a good owner, Nikteháa,’ I replied, glad at her sincere appreciation.

‘One thing puzzles me, though,’ she continued. ‘It describes the Land of Gift, but says nothing about the people who live in it.’

She tilted her head, a gesture she did to listen attentively.

‘I am not certain Elerossë and his people have crossed the sea yet,’ I answered. ‘They had a lot to do to ready themselves before they could leave Endórë to settle there.’

‘But that means they will be old or even die before they get to see it!’ she cried.

Smiling, I shook me head. ‘No, they will not. The Valar have granted them a longer life than that of other mortals, about thrice the normal lifespan of Men.’

‘Why?’ came her immediate query.

Mairon huffed loudly.

‘Because they helped the Valar defeat the Black Foe, instead of being seduced by him,’ I answered, ignoring his annoyance.

‘My grandfather could have committed Kiinlúum to war, but he chose not to, despite the messengers that forebode doom if we did not follow the Mighty One. Are we undeserving of the gods’ blessing, when we were loyal to our ruler and our country?’ she queried.

‘Kiinlúum is too far and of little consequence to them,’ growled Mairon.

‘That is not true,’ I protested. ‘It was only those of the Atani who joined ranks with the Hosts of the West that were granted such a reward.’

‘The other men, those who fought along the Mighty One, the one you name Moringotto…,’ argued Nikteháa, ‘how did they know who to follow, who to believe? Maybe they were deceived. Perhaps most followed the command of their kings because they would not be named cowards, or to spare their families from slaughter at the hands of the Bright Ones and their allies if they were conquered. Is it not unfair enough that they suffered as much or more than Elerossë's people?’ she protested earnestly. ‘And what of Kiinlúum, that rejected the Mighty One? Are we lesser people in the eyes of the gods now?’

I was at a loss for answers.

‘The justice of the Valar follows unfathomable rules sometimes,’ snickered Mairon. ‘Their latest gift to the Atani may one day prove to be most unwise.’

‘How so?’ I queried, incredulous.

‘Those who did not benefit from such a boon will inevitably be envious of those who did; and those apparently blessed may be grateful at first, but one day they are bound to question why they were given thrice the lifespan of other mortals and not twelve times, or thirty, or outright immortality. They may feel cheated, and demand more.’ He sighed thoughtfully. ‘I sometimes question the wisdom of Eru, to place such power in the hands of your masters.’

I was disturbed by his irrefutable logic. Surely Manwë had considered this when the reward was given?

‘Say, my princess, would you not wish to be immortal?’ Mairon asked Nikteháa.

‘Only if I felt happy and loved,’ she answered wistfully. ‘Would you wish to live for ever in sorrow or loneliness, Eönwë? Would you spend an eternity refusing love, Yúum Síihbalóob?’

I shook my head and looked at Mairon; he glared back. Then he laughed heartily.

‘Oh, princess, you would be a most fearsome foe!’

‘Then you must strive to remain my friend, Annatar,’ she smiled sweetly. ‘My father can be overly protective sometimes, you know.’

I almost laughed aloud at the shock on Mairon’s face. Moringotto’s dreaded lieutenant had been threatened by a girl who bore the name of a flower.

It felt good to know I had such a stalwart ally.

 

~o~

 

‘Your Song of Power was most convincing, Findaráto,’ Mairon purred. I groaned under his soothing ministrations, after a long, strenuous session.

‘And you were terrifying as a werewolf, Sauron,’ I retorted, with a shiver of dread.

His fingers stilled on my back. He loathed the appellative given to him by the Children and, normally, I was careful never to use it in ordinary conversation. But I was still reeling from the ordeal of acting out Findaráto’s agonising death.

Since the completion of my training, Mairon had shifted into more challenging games, where both my body and mind were tried with confusing choices, blurred rules and deliberate traps, so that if pain, shame or pleasure diverted my attention from my tasks, I would surely fail, face his displeasure and be suitably chastised.

Sometimes he expected complete submission, others he would rather tame the stubborn defiance of a rebellious slave or, worse still, an unfortunate prisoner or an obstinate spy in his clutches. Other times, he mandated that we recreate events in the past history of Arda, and meticulously planned our scenes to achieve a certain degree of plausibility, though he rewrote certain episodes to his liking.

At first, it had felt like outrageous mockery, and I attempted to refuse but, as ever, discipline was meted out severely and my sweet reward withheld if I did not bend to Mairon’s whims and act convincingly. I finally succumbed to the thrill of pretending to be Maitimo, Findaráto, Beren, Túrin or even, to my undying shame, Oromë, the Lord of Mandos, Manwë himself or even the fair Lúthien, among many others.

‘How did you deprive my hröa from its senses?’ I asked. ‘It was terrifying! I would have believed I had been thrown into the Void, had it not been for the way you bared and flailed my mind.’

‘Are you truly asking to be initiated into Melkor’s most guarded secrets, for which he was reviled by his brethren?’

‘Certainly not. But sometimes I fear for my sanity more than for my hröa.’

‘Your willing embrace of that terror makes me delirious with desire, Eönwë. As does your submission, all the more seductive because you are not one created to kneel, even though you have now learnt to enjoy it.’

I did not deign to give an answer.

‘No sulking!’ he chided. ‘That matter is settled.’

About a year after our pact had been made, I had ventured a question about reversing roles, if only once. Mairon had made it extremely clear that he would not even contemplate the idea. Later, when Chakmóol joined us, I learnt that I would not be allowed to reciprocate the ahaw’s ungentle favours either.

‘You need not fear, Eönwë. I would not forgive myself if anything happened to you,’ Mairon whispered. I almost forgot to breathe when he unexpectedly nuzzled my neck and kissed me behind the ear, a rare gesture of affection outside our games. ‘I am extremely fortunate that you offer your whole self to me, my beauty. Despite my cruelty.’

I sat up and turned to face him.

‘I will never give myself to another, Mairon,’ I pledged, most fervently.

‘Never is a long time, friend,’ he laughed. His eyes shone with pride. ‘Now, lie down and let me finish.’

 

~o~

 

The woods in spring thrummed with renewed life, trees bursting with furled leaves of tender green hues that swayed gently in the breeze. I looked down at the doe that grazed by the stream, oblivious to our presence.

I already had an arrow nocked; I drew my bow slowly, aimed and released. Two sharp thuds broke the peace of the forest, followed by the rustling of the beast falling amongst the ferns. I stood, while whispering words of praise to Yavanna. I heard steps coming from my right; I saw Chakmóol walking forward to claim the kill.

‘Your Highness,’ I deferred, allowing him to go before me.

We both crouched by the dead animal. Two feathered shafts protruded from its flank, about a hand span apart.

‘You pierced the heart,’ conceded the king graciously. ‘The kill is yours.’

‘I am grateful, in Yúum[4], though your shot would have brought her down too.’

I began to pull both arrows off, careful not to damage the hide.

‘How about my beloved Nikteháa, my most precious jewel? Is she to die from a broken heart too, Counsellor?’ he hissed.

I stared at him in shock. He snatched his bloodied shaft from my hand.

‘Your Highness, you know better than anyone why I am unable to return her feelings.’

‘First you steal my place at Yúum Síihbalóob’s side; now you deny my daughter’s happiness. I have always valued your services and gladly granted you riches and power; I will give you anything you wish if you pledge yourself to Nikteháa.’ He was almost pleading.

Trampling noises behind us alerted us of his guards and foresters approaching.

‘My lord,’ I muttered, ‘I truly wish I could do your bidding; I have always treasured your daughter. But it is not in my power to obey you now. She deserves far better than lies.’

Chakmóol stood up, and I hastily followed. He inclined his head in a gesture of acceptance. I studied how he had changed from the day Mairon first brought me to his presence. Slight wrinkles crept from his eyes and lined his brow, and there was a hint of silver at his temples. I knew that his body was still well muscled and lithe. I had before me a man in his prime, strong and wise, a king, a father and a fierce foe.

‘Do not hurt her further, Eönwë.’ His voice was hoarse with emotion; his eyes glinted.

‘Never, in Ahaw[5].’

The hairs on the back of my neck prickled at the sound of a sword being partially drawn.

‘My lord, is everything in order?’ asked a harsh voice behind me.

I did not have to turn my head in order to recognise Síináan, Chakmóol’s ambitious kinsman and captain of his personal guard. It was common knowledge in our household that the captain had once shared Mairon’s bed and parted from him with bitter words. Since then, Síináan repeatedly voiced at court his mistrust against “those false citizens of Kiinlúum that covertly ruled the realm” and vainly attempted to discredit my friend in the eyes of the ahaw. Mairon never rose to the bait and instead let the genuine wisdom of his counsel defeat his opponent.

Only the previous week, Síináan had been thoroughly scolded by the ahaw in front of his whole council. It transpired that he had negligently ignored a request by Mairon to set a guard on the precious mother-of-pearl tiles imported at huge expense to build the magnificent mosaic that was to grace the queen’s garden, and they had been stolen from their storage. Later, they had been found abandoned in a ditch, many of them sadly crushed and ruined.

Now Síináan clearly sought a confrontation.

‘All is well, cousin,’ replied the king calmly. ‘You know how ardently we archers can argue about our craft. Eönwë was advising me on the merits of… Never mind, you favour the sword.’ He laughed softly, to disguise the lie. 

‘Indeed, my lord,’ growled the captain, blatantly glaring at me. ‘No doubt, words whispered by your alien counsellors are ever to be treasured over gold and riches, and above those humbly spoken by those who are true to their king.’

I would have ignored the insult, but Chakmóol did not let it pass.

‘I am not sure I like the meaning or the tone of your reply, Captain,’ he snapped.

Síináan blushed angrily at the rebuke. Turning to me, he made an elaborate pretence of a bow, far more insolent than respectful.

‘My apologies, lord,’ he said blandly, ‘I meant no harm with my jest.’

When his eyes met mine, they showed nothing but loathing.

 

 

---

Chapter End Notes:

[1] mistarillë (Quenya, not attested) Equivalent to mithril in Sindarin

[2] Andórë (Quenya) Land of Gift, another name for Númenor.

[3] sak' (Yucatec) itch + k'áak' (Yucatec) fire. sak'k'áak' could be translated as “itch of fire”, the author’s imaginary succulent plant of the family Euphorbiaceae (spurges). In our world, the plants of this family are not deadly poisonous, but their sap can irritate skin and mucose to greater or lesser degree, depending on the type of caustic terpen ester they contain.

[4] in Yúum (Yucatec) my Lord

[5] in Ahaw (Yucatec) my King

Treason

Eönwë makes a dreadful mistake and must pay the price.

Read Treason

11. Treason

Several weeks later, I knelt nervously with my hands clasped behind my back, waiting for Mairon’s orders. Chakmóol had spilled a few drops of wine over our master's silk tunic, thus incurring his displeasure.

‘Fetch me a whip!’ Mairon commanded me, while he began to adjust the length of the chains from which the king now hung, painfully splayed.

‘Yes, Master,’ I said demurely. On all fours, I crawled to do his bidding.

I was extremely familiar with the contents of every piece of furniture in the room. Opening the right drawer, I surveyed Mairon’s extensive collection and wavered over the tidy line of instruments. Having tasted each and every one of them, I knew which ones Chakmóol favoured, or rather, least objected to. I settled for one of several leather cats with braided tails knotted at the ends, neither the most vicious not the mildest.

I returned to Mairon’s side and presented the whip up to him with both hands, but he did not take it or look at me. He was busy shortening each chain by a few more links. Chakmóol bit his lower lip to stifle a cry at the brutal tug that made him spread his legs even further apart, so that his toes barely touched the floor and the shackles dug cruelly into his wrists.

‘For long you have wished to taste what it feels to master another,’ spoke Mairon, sparing me a fleeting glance. ‘Tonight you have the chance, because this worthless cur does not deserve that I waste my sweat on him. Stand up!’

I hesitated, incredulous.

‘Are you deaf, slave?’ he slapped me harshly across the face. ‘I will deal with your tardiness later, but for now, do as you are told.’

‘Yes, Master.’ I obeyed hastily. My cock leapt up with a sudden surge of excitement as I tightened my grip over the handle of the scourge.

‘But…’ Chakmóol began.

‘Be silent!’ roared Mairon. He stood before the king, wrapped his hand around his groin and twisted it sharply. Chakmóol bravely grasped the chains and withheld his cry of pain. He sobbed when he was released and whimpered a very weak ‘Yes, Master’.

‘This clumsy thrall is to receive fifty lashes,’ Mairon commanded me sternly. ‘You are not allowed to unchain him or to stop the punishment, unless he calls his word of release. Let pain aid him to appreciate the error of his ways.’

I had learnt to dread Chakmóol’s word; he seldom invoked it, but when he did, Mairon forced me to endure the remaining part of his punishment as well as my own share, while the ahaw watched triumphantly from the side. This was, at last, my sweet chance at retribution.

‘Yes, Master,’ I made an effort to mask my glee.

‘Very well. I have business to attend to.’

Mairon had sometimes showed his displeasure with me by leaving Chakmóol in charge of my discipline. I always loathed those occasions. Now the door closed behind our master, and a key turned in the lock.

‘Release me at once!’ cried Chakmóol, rattling the chains. ‘I command you!’

I knew better than to disobey an order from Mairon. Even if he was not watching us, I would not risk his wrath.

Deaf to the ahaw’s threats and pleas, I dutifully shook the whip to straighten its tails, as I had seen Mairon do countless times. The thrill of power fed my arousal, and I felt pleasantly giddy when I slowly ran the handle along Chakmóol’s spine and watched the mighty god-king of Kiinlúum jerk slightly, his muscles clenched in tense anticipation. I savoured his fear, could almost sense it swirling around us. I raised the whip, paused for a short instant, and struck decisively.

Both his moan of pain and the pattern of reddened trails on his back filled me with a deep satisfaction that seemed to be connected straight to my groin. I repeated the motion three more times, and Chakmóol’s cries grew in anguish, until he began to howl. I briefly studied the welts on his back, which had become angry red lines. I was a little surprised, certain that I had not flogged him as hard as Mairon would have.

I feared the dire penalty I would incur if I failed in my task, so I persevered. Two more blows. That made six. The king squirmed and shrieked, begging me with halting words to stop. One more. Seven. He writhed as if fire were searing his skin.

‘Please, no more, please!’ he cried hoarsely. ‘Péepem! Péepem![1]’

His word of release. At that precise time, several of the weals on his back began to blister; in some places the whip had sliced the damaged skin, and droplets of blood were welling up. The blood of the divine ahaw of Kiinlúum.

In panic, I fumbled with the shackles, which fortunately obeyed my command to release their prisoner, and I held Chakmóol’s limp weight in my arms while I lowered him carefully onto the floor. He was unconscious.

Unable to revive him, I began pounding on the locked door, shouting for help; Mairon rushed in shortly afterwards and appraised the scene, horrified at the sight of the bright crimson trails on the ahaw’s back.

‘What have you done, you fool?’ he cried.

I watched dazedly as he inspected the injuries, and then rushed to fetch jars, vials and water. He applied a wet cloth to Chakmóol’s back to clean his welts. Then he urged me to help him get the king into his trousers and tunic, wrapped him in a cloak so that his features were hidden and carried him hastily out of the room.

I waited anxiously. I toyed with one of the gold chains, admiring its perfect links, before I let it drop into the drawer where Mairon kept them. After pacing around the room for a while, I knelt in my usual position, but I could barely stay still.

At last he returned and sat down heavily.

‘Forgive me, Master,’ I offered, risking a penalty for speaking without leave. ‘I did not…’

Wordlessly, he kissed me, passionately, almost desperately. Then he released me of my bindings. I began to get dressed with shaking hands. Mairon picked up the discarded whip from the floor, lightly ran a finger over one of the braided tails and touched it to the tip of his tongue. He immediately wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

‘Your choice was ill,’ he murmured, his face pinched with worry. ‘The leather was soaked in diluted sak’k’áak’[2] sap and left to dry. You have tasted this punishment, but I have never dared use it on the ahaw.’

Indeed, I recalled the agony wrought by a mere six strokes, in a previous session. Until now, I had not known why the kiss of the lash had scalded my skin so badly that the welts had smarted severely for several days, as if burnt by rivulets of glass etching acid.

I stared at him, dumbstruck.

‘Sak’k’áak’,’ I echoed at last.

After Nikteháa’s rebuke, I had found out that the sak’k’áak’ plant was believed to suck from the earth the spilled malice of the god of the underworld, and its touch was forbidden to all but a few men consecrated to the cult of the sun-god, who were trained to fight its taint. The sting of its furry leaves was far more painful than that of nettles or poison oak found in the western realms. Worse still, its sap was extremely poisonous, and through reticent answers from a fellow counsellor I learnt that it was also rumoured to be the secret ingredient of the trance-inducing draught used during the summer solstice ceremonies.

What had I done? Chakmóol had received seven lashes at my hands. My sacrilege was double: I had used a forbidden, evil plant to shed the ahaw’s divine blood and I had struck at the very source of his people’s strength. I paled at the possible consequences if the poison had entered his body.

‘Why, Mairon? How?’ I cried, dismayed.

‘I found a clump of bushes during one of my trips to the hills. I was keen to know if you would endure its sting,’ he admitted ruefully. ‘I should have been more careful…’

Suddenly, we heard angry shouts and loud knocks, followed by the din of many approaching feet. The door swung open violently. A score of soldiers, led by Síináan, stormed into the room, swords at the ready.

‘What is the reason for this intrusion?’ demanded Mairon.

The captain stepped towards him and struck him across the chest with his staff.

‘Silence, traitor!’ he snarled.

Mairon doubled over in pain. Outraged, I leapt to his aid but was restrained, as was he. My arms were yanked behind me, my wrists and elbows tied tightly with leather cords. The last thing I saw before a thick sackcloth hood was pulled over my head was Mairon suffering the same treatment. Blood was running from his lip and his eyes promised vengeance.

I was dragged out, shoved and cuffed if I did not move quickly enough. I heard Mairon’s irate protest and the loud thud that sent him back into silence. I felt furious and helpless.

‘Do not resist, Eönwë,’ he calmly called out. ‘They are already in a rage and if you provoke them further they may do something stupid.’ I felt mildly reassured by the sneer in his voice.

I was thrown across the back of a horse in front of one of the warriors, and a strong hand kept me from falling during a most uncomfortable journey. I tried to detect changes of direction and guess our destination; soon I heard the shouts of our captors to demand that the city gates be open.

I was not surprised when I realised we were being taken to one of the impregnable hill fortresses, where prisoners of importance or those criminals that were deemed too dangerous to reside in the city gaol were kept. We stopped at last in a cobbled courtyard, where the hooves of the horses clattered loudly. Someone grabbed hold of my tunic and pulled until I slid to the ground. Unable to control my fall, I landed heavily on one foot, and groaned at the burst of pain in my ankle.

Two guards roughly lifted me up and half-pushed me, half-carried me down many uneven steps, until I heard jingling keys and grating metal. I was shoved forward violently, tripped and fell heavily against a stone floor, covered in stinking straw. A door clanged closed behind me, and the steps of those who had escorted me died along what echoed like a long corridor.

I could not rid myself from the suffocating hood, and all my efforts to undo the leather laces failed too. I struggled to sit up against a wall, panting and with my heart in my mouth, bruised and battered from the ride, and wondered whether Mairon was faring any better.

For a long while all was silent, and then I heard scuffles and grunts echoing in the distance, accompanied by the unmistakeable sound of fists pounding against bare flesh and by bursts of coarse laughter. This went on seemingly for ever, but what followed was worse. A whip cracked many times, and after a very long while, a blast of pure fear and undiluted rage swept me, a stray wave of panicked ósanwë, followed by a violent tremor that shook the ground, and the wall against which I leant my weight.

Then followed deep silence, made even more frightening by my blindness. I cried for help, but nobody came. Over the years, I had learnt to bear discomfort patiently, but this time I could not stay idle. I fought my bonds until I felt blood run down my arms and hands. I screamed, demanding, no, begging to see the king.

Terror writhed like a live creature inside my stomach, while I endlessly recalled every instant of my blunder, and cursed myself for picking up the poisonous scourge out of the many I could have chosen. Why did I favour that one? Why, oh Eru, why?

Had my unwise choice condemned both Mairon and myself? There had been no formal accusation, no one to appeal to. I desperately wished to tell Chakmóol that it had all been an error, that the punishment for my crime, however serious, should be mine only, because it had been my mistake that had shed his blood. In the end I was unable to do more than croak and sob my despair, my regret, my fear.

Much later, steps echoed loudly, the door was opened with a horrible screech and I tensed when I heard a group of people enter. Something heavy was dumped on the ground, and a weak groan followed.

My bonds were cut, the hood was pulled away and I blinked in the light of several torches.

‘You may wish to greet your friend, before it is your turn,’ one of the guards said mockingly, ‘and realise the wisdom of speaking the truth.’

Horrified, I beheld the bloodied sight. Mairon lay on the floor, naked, and his whole body was painted with bruises, welts and burns. The door slammed again behind the soldiers leaving us in darkness broken only by the dim beam of light coming from a narrow slit, high on the wall.

When we were alone I rushed to Mairon’s side and took him in my arms. I bent my head next to his, kissing and caressing his hair, his cheeks, his broken lips, inhaling the smell of his sweat and blood, and the faint scent of fire and iron. I whispered halting words of love, those I had never dared speak to him in the past lest he should laugh in my face. Now I did not care about mockery.

‘What did they do to you?’ were his first words, hesitant and hoarse.

‘Nothing, Mairon, I am well. But you…’ I almost sobbed. ‘Why did they torment you?’

‘Síináan has commanded them to obtain our confessions, by any means necessary,’ his voice wavered a little and his eyes glinted with pain and anger.

’Why would Chakmóol do that? He already knows what happened!’ I exclaimed. An ugly suspicion arose in my mind. ‘Unless Síináan is not acting under the king’s orders!’

‘That could be, Eönwë, if Chakmóol is still unwell.’ I shuddered with remorse and fear. Mairon sighed, then shifted in my arms and grimaced fleetingly. ‘I kept repeating that I would only answer for my actions to the king, not to his lackeys. I said I would accept the ahaw’s justice if they took me to him, but they just whipped me harder and tied me to the rack. They threatened to pull my limbs apart one by one if their king were to die as a result of my treason.’

‘But it was me!’ I protested, touched by his attempt to protect me.

‘Was it, really?’ He shook his head. ‘I placed Chakmóol in your hands. I unlawfully picked the sak’k’áak’ and used it sacrilegiously. If the truth comes to light, the ahaw’s priests may even believe that I purposefully ordered you to use that whip in order to inflict an even worse outrage on his divine person.’

‘It was entirely my choice!’ I cried.

‘Promise me you will not incriminate yourself!’ he urged. I shivered at the slight hysteria I could perceive in his voice. ‘They will not be gentle but you must be careful. The king believes that you have replaced him in my affections and have bewitched his daughter. And he would not thank you for blurting to his henchmen the detailed nature of his submission to me.’ His face darkened. ‘I did not help our cause when I slew one of them, a beast who tried to… By law, the king can have us both executed, he has already enough reasons to decree our deaths.’

‘You can escape,’ I insisted. ‘No prison can hold you.’

‘No, not while my strength lasts. But our flight would prove our guilt and destroy the lives we have built here.’ He shook his head weakly. ‘I will only choose that path if all else fails. Just remain silent until Chakmóol summons us and we have our chance to speak to him. I am certain that he will listen to me, and in a few days we will laugh at this unfortunate incident. Believe me, someone will regret this outrage.’

My fears were not wholly dispelled.

‘Eönwë, have faith in me. We are Maiar, stronger than these creatures, even while we are bound to flesh!’ he pleaded. I knew I would obey him, as I had every other time he invoked my trust.

They came for me shortly afterwards. I don’t know how long they questioned me, because with the hood back over my head, day was no different from night, and whenever it was removed, the only light was shed by spluttering torches and red-hot irons. But it was long enough to learn to dread the gruff voice of my interrogator as the precursor of misery well beyond what I had ever experienced.

Pain suffered at Mairon’s hands always had a purpose, and seemed to follow a pattern, a sort of symmetry; mixed with his other touches, it created an exquisite awareness of my hröa. This pain, however, was simply brutal, clumsy, chilling in the prompt indifference with which it was delivered, forever linked in my mind to their endless drone: ‘The truth. Tell us the truth. Tell us who did it, dog! When you tell us, we will stop. Otherwise you will wish you were dead, scum!’

Mairon had instructed me to say nothing, and I was stubbornly determined to endure their mistreatment without a sound. Several times I failed in my resolution, and could not bite back moans or cries when agony flared. At first, I spoke not a single word. However, I gradually grew weaker from thirst and starvation. From the aching hollowness of hunger I guessed I must have been captive for several days at least, but beyond that I did not know.

At some point, they gave up whips, blades and fire and began instead to hold my head under foul water until I choked and thrashed in panic of imminent drowning. My resistance almost cracked, aided by growing dizziness. I held on to Mairon’s words as the only truth in the world, as the bright beacon to guide me through the dark waves of confusion. Gradually, even that faith was fading in my crumbling mind.

‘A mistake,’ I yelled at last, ‘it was a mistake. Wrong one… I chose the wrong one. I did not mean to…’ I babbled and sobbed like a child. ‘I could not know… tell the king…’ I shrieked. ‘It was a mistake!’

After this terrible lapse, my questioners continued with renewed zeal, while I frantically clung to my silence with the last dwindling vestiges of willpower. When they finally stopped, they were heartbeats away from wringing from me the answers they sought, had I been able to speak. They revived me yet another time and then dragged me, stumbling, along endless corridors. I was too cramped and exhausted to hold my weight. The hood was removed and my eyes watered in the brightness of a room with a window, and a door opening to a paved courtyard. I was dazed, almost swooning, weak from pain and lack of water.

They brought Mairon to my side, heavily chained. When I turned towards him, a ringing blow to my head stopped me, but not before I had taken in his sorry state. We were both forced to our knees when Síináan entered the chamber and stood over us. A glance at his tightly-pressed lips and frowning brow quickened my heart.

‘The king… where is the king?’ I queried, tremulous with fear at the possible cause for Chakmóol’s absence.

‘Where you can not hurt him further, cur!’ hissed his cousin. ‘Your cowardly assault makes you both guilty of treason, even if you have refused to supply a confession. The penalty for your crime is death.’

‘No!’ I cried. Mairon urged me to be quiet but I paid him no attention. ‘Yúum Síihbalóob was not even there, you can not…’

Shrieks echoed outside, following by pounding, and sounds of a scuffle. I froze in alarm when Nikteháa, dishevelled and with tears running down her cheeks, almost fell through the door, a long knife gleaming in her hand. The soldiers rushing behind her looked apologetically at their captain, who seemed utterly distraught by her presence.

‘Síináan, no! You cannot do this,’ she screamed.

When she saw me, the blade fell from her hand and clattered loudly on the hewn stone. Horror twisted her beauty and haunted her eyes as she met mine. Her kinsman grasped her arms to bar her from approaching me. At his signal, the guards dragged her out, despite her frantic struggles. The door closed, but her muted cries took a long while to fade away.

‘Save yourself. Flee!’ I urged Mairon in our own language.

‘Do you think I have not tried? My hröa is too weary to snap chains or shift shape, friend,’ he muttered, with a sigh of defeat. ‘Severing the links, by will or by force, is my only…’ One of the soldiers backhanded him brutally across the mouth.

‘Silence, dog!’

Mairon glared at him murderously but obeyed. Blood began to trickle from his split lip.

The death of his hröa would cut him free from both irons and flesh, but at what price? However quickly he could rebuild his shape, and in the past he had hinted it would be no small task, the wealth and respect he had earned in these lands would be lost.

I turned to Síináan.

‘The law of this land rules that the fate of those accused of a capital crime may be spoken by the king alone,’ I argued desperately. ‘I shed the ahaw’s blood, though not out of malice. Justice in Kiinlúum will be ill-served if you slay Yúum Síihbalóob for my crime.’

‘No, Eönwë!’ cried Mairon. ‘Be silent, you fool!’

The captain wavered slightly. I ignored my friend’s frantic command and took the chance to make my plea.

‘The guilt is mine alone. Slay me if the ahaw dies; if he lives… my life or death will be his to command. But you must spare Yúum Síihbalóob’s life.’ I fixed my eyes on his face.

‘You are not in a position to make demands, traitor!’ snarled Síináan.

He came closer, and took a fistful of my hair, twisting it painfully. He slowly ran the thumb of his free hand along my jaw, then down my neck. I held my breath and winced at the loathsome caress; his lips curved into a greedy smile.

‘I may be persuaded to be merciful. Yes, I am sure my cousin may find a good use for you. I hear you have been well trained, slave.’ He looked beyond me to Mairon, a glint of triumph in his eyes. ‘Maybe I should sample your wares first, and decide whether you offer a good bargain, whether you are as keen to submit willingly as you say.’

‘I will serve him,’ I pledged, with a knot in my throat. ‘I will also do anything you wish, Captain, if you give me your word that Yúum Síihbalóob will live.’

‘Tell me, Counsellor,’ continued Síináan, forcing me to turn my head so that I looked at Mairon. ‘Yúum Síihbalóob will in all likelihood resent a ruler who removes all his privileges, locks him in a dungeon and robs him of his precious pet. If your friend was a man, or even one of the Bright Ones like you, the ahaw and I would laugh in the face of his chained wrath. But our secret lore warns us against the foul spawn of envious demons, sent to destroy us. We must vanquish him before he regains his power. Would you advise your king to cage a thunderstorm? Can its lightning ever be tamed?’

My eyes silently asked Mairon for forgiveness.

‘Answer!’ demanded the captain, yanking my hair. ‘Can it be tamed?’

‘No,’ I almost sobbed. ‘It would be foolish to attempt such a deed.’

‘You see, Counsellor?’ Síináan sneered, releasing me at last. ‘From your own mouth I just heard that I have no safe choice but to order his death, lest I be named reckless or unwise by my lord cousin, as I was not long ago.’

He nodded to someone behind us, and a masked man stepped into sight.

‘All is ready, Captain,’ the man said. The soldiers pulled Mairon to his feet with a loud rattle of chains. I looked up at him, proud and beautiful despite the bruises and cuts that marred his skin, despite the tattered rags and the unkempt hair. His starlit eyes locked onto mine for too brief an instant, broken when he was prodded harshly to walk on. Limping, but with his head high, he went out into the courtyard.

I fought wildly, screamed, cursed, wept, but could not escape the many rough hands that pinned me down. From where I knelt, I glimpsed the gleam of steel swinging in the air. The sharp thud that followed stopped my struggles.

Mairon’s presence, the faint radiance that even my dimmed senses had detected since our first encounter, faded away. I gasped, my heart in my throat. Surely it could not be…

‘It is done, Captain,’ a voice announced from the doorway.

‘Move that filth out of the way,’ Síináan ordered curtly. Outside, I heard several soldiers moan, struggling to lift a heavy weight. One of them cracked a crude joke and the rest laughed coarsely.

Closing my eyes, I strained my inner senses, searching. Where Mairon had been, there was now a void. He could not die, but he was gone from Endórë, probably to hide in some dark corner of Eä, away from our kin, his foes, to plan his next move. I bent my head to my knees, curling into myself, racked with sobs.

A hand lifted my chin. Síináan’s eyes held a measure of pity.

‘You will be summoned, Eönwë,’ he said. Releasing me, he stood and turned to one of the men in the room. ‘Come back later to get him cleaned up,’ he commanded.

They left me there on my own, drowning in despair. For a while I remained kneeling, and then I laid myself on the cold stone floor, wishing to die or at least to forget, knowing that both death and oblivion were denied to my kind. Many times I cried Mairon’s name, begging him to return to me, even if I would not be able to touch his unclad form. I pleaded to Námo and to Manwë to release me; I called onto Eru to dissolve my being into Eä, into the mists of stars, to allow me to not be, to lose myself in the deeper, older chords of the Song, empty of memories.

None answered.

 

---

Notes:

[1] péepem (Yucatec) butterfly

[2] sak’k’áak’a fictitious plant, which name is a combination of two Yucatec words, “fire” + “itch”

Truth

Eönwë is summoned by the king and learns the whole truth.

Read Truth

 

12. Truth

I lay, vacant and numb, too hurt to even think, for an untold length of time. Absently, I heard approaching steps, but did not even attempt to move. My battered body had reverted to the role of the loathed prison it had been during my first days of banishment. Soon, I would seek release. I did not care any more what Chakmóol, Síináan or their men did to me.

Someone crouched quietly at my side. I flinched when a hand pushed a strand of hair away from my face, a cruel, mocking kindness. I huddled my knees against my chest and hid my face against them, in a futile gesture to protect myself against a kick or a whip. I almost expected harsh fingers to close painfully over my arms and drag me up to resume my torment.

Instead, the hand squeezed my shoulder reassuringly, just like… I gasped, disbelieving.

‘Never is a long time, friend.’ A familiar silver voice spoke softly in my ear, soft breath caressed my skin; my heart almost stopped when the veil wrought to block his presence from me fell away and understanding hit me at last.

Clumsily, I sat up and turned my head to look at Mairon. His courtly garments were of dark blue silk, embroidered in silver thread; his hair was no longer matted with blood and dirt, but perfectly arrayed into ceremonial braids woven with jewelled beads. His eyes sparkled in the dim light, and a tentative smile hovered on his lips.

‘I had no choice but to prove to you the folly of promising eternal love, Eönwë. You understand why, do you not?'

A wave of pure rage rose up to my chest and throat, tightening them until I felt I would burst, unable to breathe.

I despised Mairon for the contemptible affection he showed now, for treating me like a clever pet that has performed the trick his master has taught him, but I despised myself even more for having been deceived so thoroughly. My face was ablaze, my whole hröa shook at the outrageous humiliation.

I staggered upright, refusing his solicitous help. As soon as I felt I would not fall down, I hit him squarely across the face.

We were both surprised by the force behind the blow. I raised my hand again but he took it firmly, without anger or violence. My knees buckled, and he lifted me in his arms as easily as if I were made of feathers. Despite the filth of several days of captivity, he embraced me closely. I tried to pull away, but I was no match for his strength. Instead, I turned my face away from his chest to mark my rejection. By the door stood Chakmóol, in perfect health, staring at me blankly. I realised with a shock that Mairon's perfidy must have demanded the ahaw's full consent and complicity. I shut my eyes, disgusted. 

I could have ranted at Mairon’s cruelty, at the way he had abused my trust and turned my vow of unrequited love into yet another lowly game of dominance, but I was overwhelmed by fierce sobs of betrayal, unable and unwilling to speak to my tormentor.

He took me home, riding double on his horse; he bathed me, cared for my sores, burns and cuts and had food and drink brought to me. I noticed that the signs of abuse on his face and hands were very faint; either they had faded very quickly or, most likely, he had never been truly hurt. It did not matter either way.

'I am so proud of you, my beautiful Maia,’ he murmured, while he loosely plaited my hair, finally free of grime and tangles.

In the past, those words alone would have justified anything he had inflicted on me. This time they did not. I turned away from him, biting my cracked lip to stifle a moan of pain and closing my eyes to keep tears within. He peppered the back of my neck with a myriad of tiny kisses, but I remained listless, for the first time unresponsive to his bribery.

Dark, manipulative, cruel. Oh, Eru, why could I not hate him?

 

~o~

 

Three days went by. At first, while I was too weak to rise from my bed, I refused to speak to Mairon when he came to tend my hurts. Later, I remained locked in my chambers, staring without seeing out of the windows, and asked the only servant I trusted, a young man from the city called Chéel[1], not to allow anyone in, not even the master of the house. After Mairon was turned away once, he left me to brood.

I had offered him all I had, yet he had never showed a desire to reciprocate my affection. I had wished to believe in his goodness, but he had shattered the trust I had placed in his keeping. I berated myself for having allowed him to turn me into his plaything, for ever believing that we could return to the bliss we shared before he was corrupted by Moringotto, when in reality he was not seeking redemption, but merely biding his time under a thin veneer of civility. I ceaselessly wallowed inside a maze of angry shame and censure at my colossal misjudgement, nay, stupidity.  

On the fourth day I received a summons from Chakmóol to attend a private audience. I loathed the mere idea of facing any of my tormentors, but I was bound to obey. Did he wish that I commenced my service to him so promptly? Twisted ploy or not, I had pledged my life in exchange for Mairon’s.

Chéel combed and plaited my hair into the braids of my rank. I did not stop him. In the mirror I watched him silently as he strove to make the arrangement tidy and perfectly symmetrical, with all the beads secured snugly in their places. I wondered how quickly the ahaw would remove them or ask me to do so. I wore my most ornate court robes, despite the way they chafed the skin of my back and shoulders, still tender.

Finally, Chéel placed around my neck the heavy pendant of a sun set with diamonds that the king had gifted me when he named me his counsellor. My servant could not know the new meaning this jewel had acquired in my eyes; again I said nothing.

When he stepped back to let me rise, I thanked him for his services and gave him a little purse with gold coins. He stuttered his gratitude.

‘You are coming back, in Yúum?’ he asked, genuinely concerned.

‘Maybe, Chéel,’ I answered. ‘Do not wait for me tonight. You have remained at my side while I was sick. Go and enjoy a rest, come back in the morning.’

Chéel held the door open for me. As I walked out, I shot a glance towards the stone archway that led to the open gallery over the main courtyard, beyond which lay Mairon’s apartments. Ruthlessly, I ignored the knot of despair in my gut at the possibility of never returning, squared my shoulders and descended the wide stone stairs towards the entrance.

Alone, as I had arrived long ago, I stepped out of the house. One of the stable hands was having trouble holding my stallion, arrayed in his richest tooled tack and embroidered saddle cloth. As if sensing my nervous mood, my good Sakeek’[2] paced, stamped and even began to rear, and it took me a while to calm him down after I took the reins from the relieved groom. The escort that Chakmóol had sent waited patiently, already mounted. Mercifully, his cousin Síináan was not at their head, and in their faces I did not recognise any of my gaolers.

When we arrived at the king’s house, I dismounted, patted Sakeek’s neck in farewell and sadly watched him be taken away, before I was surrounded on all sides by the soldiers, like a prisoner, and led inside the building into a small audience chamber. The ahaw barked an angry order and they all bowed and marched out of the room hurriedly. I prostrated myself at his feet, even if he did not expect Mairon or me to do so when in private.

‘Rise, Eönwë,’ he commanded impatiently. ‘Sit with me.’

I was surprised, but obeyed without a word.

‘I had to see you. I feared Yúum Síihbalóob might not…’

‘Kings do not need to explain their actions, Your Highness,’ I interrupted bitterly. ‘Least of all to their servants.’

‘I would have you listen to me, nevertheless,’ he retorted imperiously, scowling at my insolence.

I lowered my eyes under his regal glare, and waited silently. No words would make my servitude to him any easier to endure. 

‘When our master first commanded my assistance in his plan,’ he began, no longer haughtily, ‘I tried to refuse, worried that you would come to harm. He punished me severely for my disobedience and reminded me of my service to him. “This will prove the sincerity of your submission,” he said, “and assay Eönwë’s loyalty. Nothing I have planned lies beyond his bounds, you can dismiss your scruples.”’

‘Also… as part of the ploy, and for the sake of verisimilitude, he commanded me to have him questioned too, harshly enough to leave convincing marks on his body. He set strict limits to what means of torment my men and I were allowed to use on either of you; amongst other things, rape was absolutely banned. “I trust the minor details into your hands,” he ordered, ‘but whatever you choose to do, Eönwë and your men must not learn the truth until I reveal it at the very end. Do not disappoint me!”’

‘I should have called my word of release. But I craved to please him and make him proud,’ added Chakmóol, his earlier asperity vanished. ‘And I so much wanted to…” He bit his lip, but unspoken lust filled his eyes.

I was speechless. Mairon had woven a trap out of dominance and desire from which the ahaw could hardly escape. I immediately forgave the king for becoming an accomplice in my humiliation.

‘What of your cousin? His performance was most convincing. Or was he following orders?’ I demanded, chokingly. ‘And what of the other men?’

‘Síináan’s only flaws are his ambition and his blinding loyalty to me. He obeys my will without question, because he knows I will reward his faithful service generously,’ answered Chakmóol. ’I was the one who proposed his involvement to Yúum Síihbalóob, and the three of us planned his public disgrace over the mother-of-pearl tiles so as to make his later resentment plausible. In turn, Síináan chose his men most carefully and swore them to secrecy. Unlike him, they were led to believe that you were indeed suspected traitors, to guarantee their genuine behaviour and to prevent them from uncovering the truth while you were in their hands.’

The more details of the sordid conspiracy were revealed, the hotter my wrath became. I closed my eyes briefly, trembling with shame. The king put his hand on my shoulder in a gesture of affection and reassurance. He had done so in the past, to console me or lend me strength during Mairon’s demanding sessions. I was moved he was willing to do so now.

He looked at me expectantly. The god-king of Kiinlúum would never speak an apology, but his mien was the very picture of regret.

‘I know how persuasive he can be, Your Highness,’ I said sincerely. ‘My grievance is not with you.’

Chakmóol had been a mere pawn and played the role that our master had demanded of him. To convince him of my forgiveness, I took his hands in mine, unthinkable from a subject but most welcome in the past when we had suffered Mairon’s discipline. Gratitude and relief made him smile, but only briefly.

‘Did he do this to you as a punishment, Eönwë? He told me it was a trial, but of what?’ He seemed genuinely mystified.

‘Of his dominion, as ever!’ I snarled. ‘He wished to remind me of my place.’

Abruptly, I remembered the purpose of my summons. Gathering my strength, I knelt to Chakmóol and lowered my head.

‘I shed your blood; my life is yours in return. I have pledged to serve you in any way you wish. What is your will, my lord?’ I offered, hoping that my voice did not betray my distress.

‘You were never bound by a promise extracted by deception and duress; it was merely his token of victory!’ cried the king. Almost angrily, he pulled me up by the elbows until I stood next to him. ‘I release you from any obligation or vow, except for your allegiance and your duties in court, which I hope you still wish to retain, despite these events. Will you remain my counsellor?’

‘You are a generous lord, in Ahaw, to pardon my crime, whether contrived by our master or otherwise,’ I spoke slowly, moved by his impassionate words. ‘I believed freedom was lost to me; I yet have to decide what to do now.’

He reached out to gently trace his finger over the jagged line of scabs wrapped around my wrist.

‘I hope you are soon fully recovered, Eönwë. My healers are at your command.’

The physical torment had not actually ranked too high in comparison to Mairon’s most intense discipline, but had caused some damage, which Mairon had already treated so that it would fade with time.

‘I lack nothing, in Yúum, but I appreciate your offer.’ I dipped my head.

‘Anything you need, name it,’ he insisted.

I almost smiled at his earnest attempt to placate his unease, but I remembered something else, and my hands clenched into fists.

‘There is one thing I would know,’ I spoke, somewhat harshly. ‘Nikteháa. Did she…?’ I faltered.

‘No!’ exclaimed the king, shaking his head ruefully. ‘Unfortunately, she must have discovered something, and fought her way through my guard to find you. I have told her you are alive, and explained that it was all an error. I am not sure she believes me, and she is furious about the way I had you treated.’

I nodded, greatly relieved to learn she had remained true. One matter alone remained.

‘What did you do… to him?’ I desperately wished to know how far Mairon would go.

‘He was at my mercy, Eönwë,’ said Chakmóol, and a smile spread slowly upon his lips. ‘I walked into his cell, and saw him shackled, half naked and seemingly helpless. Hundreds of times I had dreamt of that moment, as I am sure you have, too. For once, I was the lord, and he was the slave. He seemed so vulnerable when he looked up to me, with a bleeding lip and hair spilling from its ties. I have never beheld anything more beautiful. He trembled, from cold, maybe. To soothe him, I touched his head, then his shoulder. He did not object, and I could not stop. His skin was my playground, to kiss, suck, caress, scratch, and bite. Ai, Eönwë, it was bliss to see him shiver under my fingers and my mouth, to be free at last to roam at will, to tease, to command our pleasure and make him beg for completion at the end.’

I was desperately aroused by the description of the scene, the centre of my most secret desires.

‘I wanted to take him so badly… but he has always respected my bounds, and I felt obliged to do the same for him. Besides, his submission was only a ruse, one of his games. I knew I would pay dearly if I disobeyed his rules. And yet… the temptation was almost unbearable when I ran my hands over his perfect buttocks and he shook under my touch...’ Chakmóol drew a deep breath. ‘Instead, I ordered him to… I used his mouth, and he licked his lips when it was done. Oh, gods!’

I felt breathless; I could picture Mairon vividly in front of my eyes. My loins were on fire, the need pulsing painfully under my heavy robes.

‘Once I was sated, I remembered his orders. I had him chained up high, stretched until only his toes touched the floor, and began to flog him, but I was too afraid of marring his perfection and fearful of his retaliation, too. I stopped and instead ordered two of Síináan’s men to question him roughly, so that he would look the part when you saw him. ”Warm him up a little, let the lash loosen up his tongue, nothing else! Then take him to your captain. He knows what must be done,” I commanded. I watched from the next room, through a small grate,’ he confessed.

‘He stood very still, staring at the wall and breathing slowly while the blows fell; he never uttered a sound, as if he did not feel pain. After a while, the men got frustrated and swapped to a whip with small steel pieces knotted in its tails. It broke his skin in many places but he did not react at all either. I should have stopped them, I was sickened at the sight of his blood but fascinated by his endurance. A red-hot dagger made him flinch, but that was all. They threatened him with the rack, but he did not deign to speak a word.

‘”Is this rat alive?” spat one of the men. “He seems to have fallen asleep.” In truth, it looked as if he were absent from his body. The second man sneered. “I’ll wake him up,” he replied. “When my sword enters his sheath, he will come alive again, you’ll see.” Before I had time to act, the soldier had undone his trousers, and placed his hand on Mairon’s backside, groping between his cheeks. At that time, a deep thunder like a pounding drum shook the dungeon.’

I finally understood what I had felt while alone in my prison. The ósanwë pulse of fear and rage that had preceded the tremor had been unmistakeably genuine; now I knew why.

‘The men covered their ears with their hands, as did I, because the sound of Yúum Síihbalóob’s wail was like that of screeching metal that sets one’s teeth on edge.’

I almost smiled. The Eldar of Aman had compared our language to the glitter of swords; indeed, it was never harmonious to the ears of the Children.

‘The chains holding him captive snapped and then crumbled to dust, and the man that had threatened him was struck dead at a slight touch on his brow. His companion fell to his knees, whimpering gibberish. Yúum Síihbalóob picked up a cloak hanging from a peg by the door, wrapped it around him and strode out. He called for me, and said he would return the following day, to continue as planned. That is when we took him to you, before you were questioned. He watched you, you know, he observed your every move, and often it was his hand you felt. For five days, until you were overcome by thirst and he decided it was time to end it.’

Chakmóol spread his hands to me, palms up in apology. The undisguised pity in his eyes only served to stoke my shame at the degradation Mairon had inflicted upon me, and a fresh surge of indignation swept me. Once I regained my calm, I thanked the king for his honesty, bowed deeply to him and began to back away to leave the room, but he called me.

‘Be wary, Eönwë! He used your love for him to torment you. Do not hit back out of spite now, or you will both suffer.’

‘Hit back? He has no weakness,’ I replied bitterly.

‘Oh, but he does! Can you not see?’ Chakmóol looked me in the eye and smiled, like a teacher encouraging a struggling pupil to answer an easy question. I stared back at him, puzzled and angry, hardly in the mood for riddles. When I shook my head in mute defeat, he frowned. ‘Your wisdom is clearly lacking in this matter, Counsellor. You are his weakness. If I were his enemy, I would now have the means to place him at my mercy.’

I walked home slowly, ignoring greetings from people who kindly hailed me on the street to wish me a good day, while I considered Chakmóol’s parting words, and everything else he had revealed to me.

When I entered Mairon’s home, I would have slain him for real this time, had he crossed my path.

 

---

[1] chéel (Yucatec) rainbow

[2] sakeek’ (Yucatec) white star (from sak = white, eek’ = star)

Requital

Eönwë gets his... revenge?

Read Requital

 

13. Requital

 

I arrived at my chambers and locked the door behind me. The carved window shutters were almost closed, casting orderly rows of diamonds on the tiled floor. Darkness and silence were all that I wished for, to rest and to think. I slipped out of my ceremonial robes and sat on the bed. For a long time, I stared bleakly at the sparkling dust caught in the bright beams of light, swirling aimlessly in the warm air. A faint sound made me turn sharply.

‘Chéel?’ I asked.

The shape that came out of the shadow was that of Nikteháa, dressed in a plain linen dress, barefoot and with her head wrapped in a servant’s shawl.

‘Eönwë!’ she sobbed, rushing into my arms, to which she clung desperately.

‘I was sick with worry,’ she explained when she finally wiped her tears and nestled against me, as she used to. ‘There was a loud outcry when my father arrived very late at night, but no one seemed to know the reasons, and he would not let anyone see him, not even Sakxikin, to whom he refuses nothing. The following day I came here and your servant told me of your arrest. One of my maids is betrothed to a guard in the King’s company, and he found out where you were imprisoned. I rode up to the hills… I threatened to kill myself if they did not take me to you.’

Ironically, the genuine terror she displayed when she burst into the scene had only served to add the final touch of authenticity to Mairon’s ploy. Angrily I wondered whether he had conveniently engineered her discovery and eased her entrance into the fortress, without Chakmóol’s knowledge.

‘I have just returned from speaking to your father, Nikteháa. It was all a most unfortunate misunderstanding,’ I lied, soothingly. ‘I am well now, can you see?’

I stepped back, and let her inspect my face and arms, where only the faint hues of faded bruises and healed scratches remained. She raised one hand and touched my cheek lightly.

‘I thought Síináan would have you killed,’ she whispered, approaching her face to mine, until her breath sighed on my lips. ‘I even prayed to your gods; I asked the Star-queen to watch over you and allow you to live. Eönwë, she heard me and you are alive!’

She laughed with pure joy, while my heart went cold. Too many times had I fruitlessly called on the Valar during my first days in Endórë, and again during my ordeal of the last few days. Those who had once called me kin had forsaken me, of that I had no doubt. The pleas from a young woman in a remote land had little chance of swaying them into clemency on my behalf.

The delicate touch of Nikteháa’s lips on mine, soft like the petals of the lotus flower, pulled me away from bitter thoughts and back into the awareness of reality. She pressed the curves of her body against me, and I felt her hand slip under my tunic.

‘My princess…,’ I protested, and pecked her cheek in return, while my hands gently trapped hers and kept them from wandering. Her eyes gleamed at my rejection, but she proudly held back the tears.

‘Will you not have me, Eönwë, just once?’ she pleaded.

I ached to feel the kindness of her love; my hröa stirred, keen to know her soft flesh. Suddenly, the choice was made.

‘I will have you for as long as you live, my flower,’ I spoke softly. ‘As my wife.’

‘You do not love me, Eönwë.’ My heart lurched when I saw her lips tremble.

‘I will love you, Nikteháa,’ I vowed sincerely. I grasped her by the arms, maybe too possessively, because her eyes went wide in alarm. I freed her at once. ‘I will. I do. I always have.’

‘Not like you love him,’ she objected. ‘He hurt you, did he not?’

Unable to deny her words, silence betrayed my answer.

‘Your wound will heal, if you do not let it fester,’ she said. Her dark eyelashes fell, and a tear escaped and sped down her cheek. ‘Do not tempt me. However much I once dreamt of what you offer now, I cannot accept you as my husband.’

I looked at her in wonder. Young, she was, delicate and mortal; her life would flare and fade like a shooting star briefly gracing the night sky with its brilliance, but she was also wise and strong, with the pride of a queen. I fell to one knee and kissed her hand reverently, as if she had been the Star-kindler herself.

At that time, I cast away my crumbling principles to abide by the law of the Eldar. I rose, lifted her in my arms and laid her on the bed. She stared silently into my eyes, hoping, wishing. My fingers brushed a lock of stray hair away from her brow; I leant down to kiss her, not gently this time, but with the fierceness of a lover. She yielded to my tongue with closed eyes, until at last I felt her struggle for breath, and I broke the kiss. She tasted of ripe peaches.

My mouth was dry, and my heart was beating fast. ‘Will you favour my regard?’ I murmured, cringing at my own stilted words. 

She smiled. ‘With joy, Eönwë.’

Timidly, she began to undo the ties of my tunic, and I helped her undress me, relieved when modesty was gradually replaced by excited playfulness. I reciprocated, unhurriedly divesting her of the clothes that made up her humble disguise, until her flawless skin lay bare and warm next to mine.

‘Do you know...?’ I asked. She nodded.

My hands were hesitant at first; hers were guiding and encouraging, until we both learnt what pleased her best. I caressed, tickled, and teased every nook of her body; I wreathed her skin in a web of kisses. In return, she gave me the tenderness Mairon would not, endearing in its inexperience. I soaked it up, relishing the freedom of showing her my devotion, if not my love, in every way I could think of.

She thrashed and moaned when I opened her folds with my tongue to taste her sweetness, her fingers clenching the sheets when I first entered her; she mewled and moaned as she abandoned herself to the mounting waves of bliss. I shall never forget her beautiful face, enraptured by pleasure when she reached her peak.

And yet, despite her shapely breasts and curved hips, I kept wishing for Mairon’s body, imagining I could hear his voice crying out for more. No matter how desperately I tried to banish memories of him from my mind, I could not help regretting that the beauty and the passion in my arms did not belong to him.

Much later, when Nikteháa lay in my arms, content and exhausted, I made a new attempt.

‘Let me go to your father tomorrow…’

‘I will refuse you, before the whole court, if I have to. It would be embarrassing, Eönwë,’ she spoke in a sleepy voice, pressing her face against my loose hair and breathing deeply. ‘You smell like…’ She paused, her eyes closed, as if in deep concentration.

‘Sweat?’ I volunteered teasingly. ‘Soap?’

‘No, neither, but better!’ She laughed. ‘You smell like a warm breeze in the hills, on a late summer day when heather is in bloom.’

‘What a ridiculous thing to say!’ I chuckled, feigning a mirth I lacked.

For a while she drew swirling shapes on my shoulder with the tip of her finger. Later, it drifted down my collarbone and up my neck and chin, until it reached my lips. I touched it with my tongue, and then nibbled it gently.

‘I must leave, Eönwë,’ she said at last.

‘Will you let me woo you, my princess?’ I queried, kissing her eyes.

‘No,’ she answered firmly. ‘Whatever has happened between you and Annatar, I will not become the wedge between you.’

She got dressed and slipped quietly out of my room, leaving me to brood about my callous selfishness. The assessment of my failings only served to darken my mood even further.

A while later, a sharp knock disturbed my gloomy thoughts.

‘Eönwë?’

The sound of Mairon’s voice rekindled my fury but this time I threw caution to the wind. I would not be named a coward, forever sheltered from his presence within the four walls of my room. With a growl, I flung the door open and stepped out boldly to meet him in the corridor.

‘Are you well?’ he queried, in a concerned tone that I scanned for any hint of mockery. Fortunately, I found none.

‘Indeed I am, though I am surprised you even care,’ I snarled. ‘I am well, despite your amusing entertainment at my expense. I hope your lust was thoroughly sated and you laughed heartily with your minions when you watched me weeping and begging for death in the dust.’

I was surprised when he turned pale.

‘My plan was not…’ he began, raising his hands placatingly.

‘Damn you and your plan, Mairon! To the Void with you, and may you rot there!’ I shouted, shaking with anger. I clenched my fists and stepped forward. He backed away. ‘Blast me to Mandos or be gone! I care not what you do, but get out of my sight!’

He hesitated, as if he would speak, but in the end he turned and walked away. I braced myself against the wall, suddenly weak. When the sound of his steps faded, I entered my chambers again and slammed the door shut.

I packed a few travel clothes and a handful of coins into a bag, then wrapped a few small gifts, wrote a note to Chakmóol and a longer one to Nikteháa, in which I poured out my love and regret, and left everything on my bedside table where Chéel would find them in the morning. After placing all my saved wages and presents from Mairon and my counsellor pendant inside a locked box, I dropped the key inside a scrap of folded parchment, sealed it with wax and savagely penned his name on it. Then I waited.

An hour before dawn, I took my sword, my horse bow and a full quiver and climbed down from my window into the garden. I let myself into the stables, careful not to wake up the snoring groom sprawled over a few bails of hay, and saddled my chestnut mare Chakiik’ [1], a sturdier and less temperamental animal than my fiery stallion. Without looking back, I led her quietly to the street through the discreet servants’ entrance. As soon as the gates opened at sunrise, I briskly rode out of the city, with the sun on my back and a knot of anguish squeezing my chest.

A week of travel would take me to the edge of the large desert that marked the border of Chakmóol’s realm to the west; I would need to find a way to cross it and remain alive. After that, I had no other plan than to flee from Mairon before he could hurt me further. Perhaps I would seek Macalaurë instead of heading directly towards Lindon. I did not care.

That day, the hours crawled by slowly as I wallowed in self-pity and regret at the unwise choices that had ruined my life in Kiinlúum. Although I stopped twice to let my horse drink and rest briefly, I kept a fast pace, wishing to be far away from the city, as if distance could fade my despair.

After the sun set, I left the road and made camp under an ash copse next to a gurgling stream. I hesitated about lighting a fire; in the end I did, if only because my hands could not stay idle. I also curried my mare’s coat until it shone like burnished copper in the firelight, sharpened my dagger and checked all my arrows. I strung my bow and waxed its string, emptied my pack and filled it again, ordering my few belongings in a different way. In the end I ran out of things to do. Wrapping myself in the blanket, I leaned my back against a tree trunk. I could not fall asleep, and kept staring at the dance of the crackling flames, remembering the joys and terrors of my last few years with Mairon, from sparring to hunting, from passionate kisses to the blazing sting of his whip. Had I ever been more than an interesting experiment to him, a plaything, a spirit to control and break?

Suddenly, I raised my head at the rustle of the nearby bushes. I jumped to my feet and unsheathed my sword. Seemingly out of nowhere, Mairon walked into sight, hands raised to show he was not armed. An empty gesture, when we both knew he could slay my hröa with a mere touch if he wished to.

I muttered a foul curse in our tongue, that spoken with Power would wither the blossoms of all the trees in Aman. Several times during the trip, I had looked back to check that I was not being followed. Clearly, I had not been careful enough. Instead of lowering my blade I poised it at his throat. He did not flinch at the touch of the sharp steel tip.

‘I can understand why you would wish to skewer me, Eönwë, but I bid you listen to me first.’

‘What do you want this time, Mairon?’ I asked sharply. I was in no mood for pleasantries.

‘You,’ he replied simply. ‘I want you to come back with me.’

‘Or what?’ I snapped. ‘Will you have me arrested and executed? Or will you flog me until I collapse to the ground so that you can carry me over your shoulder as a trophy?’

His dark eyes flickered in the amber light, maybe in anger at my words.

‘I will do nothing,’ he said mildly, and hesitated. ‘You have always been free to leave. You still are.’

‘Am I?’ I snarled. ‘Good. In that case I have finished with being your toy. There is no need for more words between us.’

A strange expression crossed his face, and for the first time, he looked at the blade. He followed its length to my hand, then upwards to my eyes. I did not move; neither did he.

‘I am sorry, Eönwë,’ he said at last.

My heart missed a beat, my hand lost its steadiness and the blade gleamed like lightning. But in an instant I regained control.

‘Are you, truly?’ I sneered. ‘You have never spoken a word of apology, Mairon. Ever! Why would I believe you now, when your lies are so convincing?’

‘Will you put down your sword?’ he asked. My hand did not waver.

‘For you, I endured every trial you devised, I obeyed all your rules, however humiliating or painful, I called you “Master” and gave myself to you. All of that in exchange for drops of ephemeral pleasure and crumbs of tenderness. Hoping, ever hoping, in vain…’ My voice  broke.

‘But this time… this time you made me believe that I was guilty of ending your life in these lands, you deceived me with the purpose of making me forsworn on a promise that you all but discarded as an amusing jest. You must be proud of how thoroughly you fooled me.’

He lowered his eyes. I was glad he did not attempt to justify himself with smooth words. Dropping my sword, I shook him violently by the shoulders; he did not resist, though I felt him tense under my tight fingers.

‘Is there nothing sacred to you?’ I roared. ‘Must you destroy everyone, even those who love you?’

When he remained silent, I let go of him, disgusted.

‘Are you evil?’ I asked, disheartened. ‘The truth this time, Mairon.’

He raised his head and looked at me. There was no shade of anger in his eyes, only resignation, even defeat.

‘Perhaps I am,’ he replied slowly. His tone was not defiant, but plainly dejected. ‘Perhaps I can no longer be anything else. Like a vase that has shattered to pieces on the floor, I can never be whole again.’

‘But a vase can be repaired, with patience and care.’

‘Some of the pieces are lost, Eönwë. He took them to the Void.’

My pain at his despair was almost physical.

‘He is gone, Mairon. You are free now!’ I exclaimed.

I reached out to him but he moved back brusquely, as if my touch burnt him. Shaking his head, he raised his starry eyes to meet mine. Even in the dim light I could see them shimmer.

‘Why do you keep me at bay? I am not he!’ I insisted. ‘Why do you barricade behind your role as master, and refuse what I offer? Why did you trample on my dearest wish?’ My voice wavered as I struggled to control my anger, stirred from its temporary slumber.

‘I had to show you that what you wished for was an illusion, that I was not one to be loved,’ he replied. ‘He… I was hurt once and swore never to give myself to another again. I wanted to kill your love, to make you see who I really am. Hatred I understand well, but… I was afraid. I wished to defeat you, to make you yield all to another and thus prove the falseness of your vow.’

My breath caught in the painful knot that constricted my throat. He carried on, maybe unsure of what my silence meant.

‘But then… it was all wrong. I saw you give yourself to be enslaved in order to save me; you would have sacrificed your freedom, when no one has ever given me anything, unless spurred by terror or seeking deceit, but never willingly or selflessly.’ His usual proud composure was gone, his fists were clenched at his sides, his head lowered.

‘I was stricken by the depth of your grief when you believed me gone. I did not know what to do. I hoped you would soon recover, as ever before when I hurt you. Had I not stayed within your bounds, I thought?’ He paused and shook his head.

‘Later, when you rejected me, I realised how cruelly I had wronged you. I wish… Forgive me.’

Over the years, I had encountered Mairon’s many guises: the eager apprentice of Aulë, the smooth merchant, the dark lord, the amiable host, the wise counsellor, the demanding master, even the defeated enemy, but never before had I beheld true desperation in his face or heard a plea in his voice.

‘See for yourself…’ he whispered.

The world faded in the visions that wrapped around me when he uncovered his mind. I glimpsed perilous paths swirling over dark chasms of malice and bright clouds of beautiful symmetry, but I was drawn towards a flicker of scenes in which I was the centre, from the remote times of our friendship before he embraced Melkor’s teachings.

Mairon’s memories and feelings pulsed across my mind in a dizzying dance, bringing up my own deluge of emotions. I flicked through them, dwelling longer on those I remembered with fondness. Finally, I settled on the immediate past and watched myself beg for his life, then squirm on the floor, torn with grief; I saw the look of revulsion in my eyes at the discovery of his deception, my bruised, dirty face turning away in disgust; I relived our last meeting before my flight from the city, when I confronted him, wrathful and, in his mind, beautiful. I was almost crushed by the waves of his bitter remorse and deep yearning, first denied, later accepted, and now longing with vacillant hope.

The visions dissolved into shadows, and I returned to the real world, filled with swaying amber light that painted his perfect features in charcoal and ancient gold.

‘What must I do to regain your trust, Eönwë, to earn your pardon?’ he queried, no longer humble despite seeking forgiveness, but anxious, even demanding.

Anger flared anew within my chest. When he had knelt before me in Beleriand, I was the mighty Herald of Manwë and he feared me; now I was a lowly outcast, unable to rule my own fate, let alone his. Did I deserve no sign of his contrition?

My glance caught the gleam of my discarded sword on the leaf-covered ground. I picked up the blade and trained its tip over Mairon’s heart. He did not try to stop me; neither did he flinch. Instead, he spread his arms out to his sides, as if to invite me to strike.

‘My hröa’s death? Take it!’ he offered hoarsely. ‘I swear I will not stop you.’ He stood in perfect stillness, eyes raw with emotions I could not read, waiting.

I sucked my breath at his unexpected surrender.  For a few agonising heartbeats, my tumultuous, discordant feelings for Mairon warred viciously, clashing and clamouring for victory. One prevailed easily above the others and yet I hesitated, out of caution learnt too painfully and too late, out of bruised pride and righteous wrath.

For the second time, I let the sword fall from my hand.

Tentatively, I closed the distance between us. On impulse, I touched his silky hair that gleamed with bronze hues in the glow of the dying flames, running my fingers over its smoothness. Boldly, I pulled him towards me and kissed him fully on the lips, softly at first, then fiercely, wishing him to yield, wanting to hurt him as much as he had hurt me. Cradling his head in my hands, I grasped at clumps of his hair to bring him even closer, and he passively let me ravish his mouth. As always, I became lost in the taste of iron and fire, in the consuming heat that was Mairon, or Sauron the Abhorred. Evil or virtuous, it mattered no more. The inner voice that still warned mistrust had been smothered and locked in a small dark corner of my mind.

I tore off his clothes, snapping fastenings and almost ripping fabric, until every corner of his golden skin lay bare before me. I admired his glorious nakedness, bathed in warm firelight; my eyes feasted on the teasing play of light and shadow that caressed his sublime hröa.

‘I want to love you. All of you, without rules or limits,’ I whispered huskily.

His violent shudder startled me, until I recalled the thunderous tremor that had shaken my prison when he had been threatened. His supplicant look only served to stir my desire higher. I had forgiven, but not forgotten, his cruelty. The memory of his artifice still made my blood boil, and I briefly toyed with the idea of savouring my vengeance there and then, of having him on his hands and knees while I buried myself in his fire, a pleasure I had never sampled but often dreamt of.

‘I cannot demand what you will not give freely, Mairon,’ I relented at last. ‘But I wish to hold you in my arms, to touch you as I will. If you truly want me at your side, I shall be your lover, not your slave.’

He nodded, relieved. To mark my words, I pushed my need firmly against him.

‘Surely I can be of assistance to divest you of your clothes?’ he queried, perhaps with a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

When I nodded, he wasted little time to act his offer most attentively, even crouching to help me take off my riding boots.

I spread my blanket on the grass and pushed him down onto it, on his back. A flash of apprehension marred his face when I straddled him, but he said nothing. I paused to relish the sight, the unguarded beauty beneath me, and I smiled at the thought of what I would do first. For years, I had pictured this moment in my mind. I bent down and kissed the scar on his collarbone, dragging my lips gently over its curve, feeling the slight irregular contours of his otherwise perfect skin, soft like silk over muscles tensed into hard knots. I drank of his scent, then I tasted again the fire of his mouth.

Very gradually, he seemed to yield as he began to react to my passion. I explored every other plane and hollow of his body with my hands and lips, and laughed when he became ticklish and tried to slap me away. First my hands, then my mouth, took care of his swelling desire until at last he moaned his pleasure and cried for more. I smiled triumphantly.

Soon, we wrestled playfully, bodies entwined, fingers no longer caressing but raking and clutching, possessive and fierce as if our very lives depended on feeling and owning each other, no longer a master and a slave. Several times he gripped my wrists to pin me down, but the protest in my eyes reminded him of our terms, and he let go at once.

For the very first time, I was free to choose the moment of our release. Rolling us both over until I lay on my back, I lifted my legs to his shoulders, and he expressed his gratitude in the most ardent way. We flew up to the brightest vaults of Eä together, and I floated back down onto firm land to find myself in his embrace, watching his lips curve into a smile of joy that was surely mirrored on my own face.

‘Am I forgiven, Eönwë?’ he ventured at last.

I frowned, feigning deep concentration.

‘I am not absolutely convinced of your repentance, Mairon,’ I answered gravely. ‘Actually, I must demand further proof of your good faith.’

With a chuckle, he smacked my rear; then he proceeded to systematically ease any remaining doubts.

 

‘Naturally, we should not neglect our gem-cutting sessions,’ I murmured later, maybe too impulsively. I lay contentedly in his arms, savouring his mere presence while staring dreamily at the branches that rustled above. He tensed around me, startled. I smiled at him and was rewarded by a priceless look of disbelieving wonder.

Sunrise found me asleep. It was only when Mairon tickled my face with a twig that I woke up. I was utterly spent, and happier than I have ever been, even before my banishment.

‘You were not a dream, then,’ I whispered.

‘Does this feel like a wisp of a thought, friend?’ he replied, guiding my hand to his hardness. I was startled at how quickly my own loins responded.

A few hours later, our lust thoroughly sated, we made our way back to the city. During the day, we alternatively spoke merrily and fell into long silences, during which each of us was busy with his own thoughts. We spent another passionate night under the stars, even though we could perhaps have rushed through the gates before sunset.

When we arrived home the following day, Mairon invited me to move to the set of chambers immediately next to his, and to share his bed. Stunned, I accepted.

Entering his bedroom felt strange, almost like trespassing into a forbidden realm. Previously, I had only been there to fetch clothing or other objects for him, or to serve him in other ways, but never in bed. Unlike most of his other partners, I had been purposefully excluded from that intimacy.

Mairon sat on the bed and patted the spot next to him, but I stood a few paces away, still lost in wonder, in the place where I had customarily knelt in the past. With a loud sigh, he rose and took my hand, invitingly pulling me in.

 

 

---

[1] Chakiik’ (Yucatec) red wind (from chak = red and iik’ = wind)

Renewal

Eönwë finds a new balance in his life in Kiinlúum.

Read Renewal

 

14. Renewal

Mairon never said he loved me, and I never dared ask him.

Truth might tip the imperfect balance we had achieved and crush my joy, a happiness that thrummed in my veins as strongly as the Music had once pulsed around and within me. Not even when I freely roamed the wonders of Eä had I experienced such a sense of contentment. Now I needed no words to know we shared something precious.

Even without Mairon’s spoken reassurance, I was certain that he did not wholly regret the change in our relationship, once the first tentative days following our reconciliation proved to him that I had indeed forgiven him. 

‘What of your many lovers, Mairon?’ I asked him, once I noticed the absence of other companions. ‘What happened to your scores of enthusiastic visitors?’

‘Would you not agree they are currently superfluous?’ he retorted. ‘Even my hröa’s lust has limits. I need no others.’

I did not fool myself. It was my own endurance that limited our love making. But questioning his sincerity served no useful purpose.

More remarkably, he made no secret in public of our mutual regard, disappointing many who until then had held hopes to net the mighty Yúum Síihbalóob for themselves or for one of their children.

As I had promised, our new moon meetings continued, so cautiously the first time that we both walked back to our room in frustrated silence. I needed no soothing unguents to ease my slight hurts and my hröa craved for more, but Mairon sullenly turned away from me in bed and, after a while, rose, got dressed and returned to his workshop, while I fell into a fitful slumber plagued with unfulfilled dark fantasies. When I woke up in the morning he lay again at my side; our love making was wild, almost violent in its passion, so that I felt far more battered at the end than I had the night before.

The following month, on the afternoon of the day I was meant to submit to him, I sought him in his workshop.

‘It is not time yet, friend.’ He frowned irritably when he saw me rummaging the shelf nearest the door, on which a multitude of bottles were neatly arranged in orderly lines, tallest at the back. ‘The sun has not even set, and I must complete these plans.’

I sifted through the assorted collection of vials until I found an empty one, picked it up and pretended to study it thoroughly. I knew he was watching my every move, I could feel his silent disapproval at touching anything in his domain.

‘This is made of glass, Mairon, is it not?’ I flicked it up high in the air with one hand, twisted my body and grabbed it behind my back as it hurtled towards destruction.

‘Yes, why?’ he growled, his fingers clenched tightly on the quill.

‘Watch very carefully,’ I said.

I placed the little bottle on the corner of his table, then stepped back slightly and hit it squarely with my open hand. Its brief elliptic flight across the room ended with a loud tinkling crash that sent a thousand shards skittering across the immaculate floor.

‘Are you insane?’ he cried, stamping towards me menacingly, regardless of the crunching pieces of glass under his feet. I stood my ground boldly, even though I well knew his wrath at anyone who dared disturb the perfect order of his workshop.

‘No, Mairon, I am performing a simple experiment,’ I replied, as if surprised at his anger. ‘An accomplished disciple of Aulë like you must have surely studied the properties and behaviour of a vast array of materials. You should have little difficulty deducing, by comparison to what we have just witnessed, that a far more yielding object reacts rather differently to a similarly harsh treatment.’

I smirked in triumph at his gasp of understanding.

‘Perhaps it would be preferable if you conducted your own trials on the matter of resilience,’ I added. Having issued my challenge, I walked out of his workshop, feeling smug and titillated.

‘Curse you, Eönwë, you will regret your impudence, and this… this mess!’ he cried behind me.

I did, indeed, only a handful of hours later. He withheld neither severe pain nor boundless pleasure from me that night. Afterwards, I lay with my head on his shoulder and his warm kisses on my hair, sighing blissfully despite my bruised, thoroughly seduced flesh.

‘I seem to have entered a beautiful mirage, Mairon,’ I murmured. ‘How do I know that this wonder is not just a dream you have conjured out of black sorcery to keep me enthralled to your will?’

‘I value your faith in my skills, Eönwë, and I loathe to disappoint you.’ He clicked his tongue and lightly shook his head.  ‘Sadly, I have not yet found how to work a spell that chains the wills of others to my own. One day, maybe.’

He paused.

‘Perhaps… maybe this mirage is real.’ He spoke softly, but his words echoed loudly in the stillness of the night.

I smiled, and his lips caressed my cheek as I fell asleep.

 

~ o ~

 

We were both most careful about not letting our darker games spill into our bed, beyond harmless wrestling and teasing that always drove me mad with desire. Several times I bit my tongue when I was about to offer him the chance to become my master outside our mutually agreed sessions, but I was afraid of losing what I had earned at such great cost, and remained silent. However, I never objected when he occasionally invited me to kneel to him on other nights, too. I sensed that we stood poised on the tip of a sheer pinnacle and that, were his insatiable thirst for power and dominance to remain unquenched, we would tumble down into one of the treacherous chasms that surrounded us.

Most noticeable in our new routine, however, was Chakmóol’s absence. We had, of course, resumed our attendance at court, where he had made a show of praising us both highly, no doubt to dispel any rumours about our loyalty.

Also, the ahaw had rushed to send Mairon a gift, a young black jaguar cub, shortly after we had been shocked by Aranincë’s death, about a fortnight after my flight and return. The wild cat I had admired and feared on the day I first stepped over the threshold of Mairon’s home had lived for over twenty rounds of the sun, a long time for one of his race. My friend would have missed his company, had it not been for his new pet. He aptly named him Ungo[1], even if his fur was not completely black, but rust in hue and abundantly dappled with darker rings.

‘Chakmóol has refused both my invitations to dinner and the summons to serve me,’ explained Mairon when I queried him one evening. He was feeding the cub tiny morsels of meat out of his palm. ‘He has avoided being alone with me, to bar me from speaking to him.’

The next day, I asked the ahaw for an audience, and he granted it at once.

‘Join us again, in Yúum!’ I urged him, after polite greetings and queries about health had been exchanged and we were on our own.

‘I will never stand over you after what I did,’ he replied dryly. ‘Surely you can understand that.’

‘You know it is not for me to decide how these games are played,’ I argued. ‘If our master demands my submission I will grant it gladly, to you as well. Or you may invoke your word and ask him to dismiss me, if my presence disturbs you.’

‘I am uncertain I wish to submit to him again,’ he insisted. From his distress I knew he was lying.

‘Not long ago you bid me ask what I needed. Will you not do this for me?’

If his guilt did not sway him, nothing would. I could almost watch desire, aided by his sense of honour to hold to the promise I had called upon, finally tipping the scales against resentment and fear.

‘I will, Eönwë,’ he grumbled. Then he hastened to add: ‘But only once!’

‘Thank you, in Yúum,’ I replied, genuinely glad for his acceptance.

True to his word, the king answered my friend’s next summons, though he looked pale and nervous when he began to remove his clothes. I hoped Mairon would not punish his previous refusals too harshly. We had both underestimated our master, however; he had perfectly gauged how Chakmóol’s trust stood at a perilous edge.

‘You have pleased me well, slave. You obeyed all my orders perfectly, and I am proud of you,’ said Mairon to the ahaw, once we were both kneeling before him.

He bent to give him a lingering kiss. Glancing sideways, I saw Chakmóol’s back arching with pleasure while striving to remain still.

‘Your reward will be sweet,’ continued our master, ‘but you shall not have it immediately. Sadly, we have some pending discipline to attend to first. I am certain you still savour the memory of our last encounter; it should help you endure what comes next.’

Chakmóol’s fear made him as tense as a bowstring, and I was anxious, too.

‘Tonight, this thrall,’ Mairon pulled my hair to make me look into his eyes, ‘will mete out to you the rest of the punishment you had earned before we were… interrupted.’

Chakmóol’s relief was almost tangible and he glanced gratefully at our master while he allowed me to suspend him from the chains. Chastisement at my hands satisfied his sense of justice about his unspoken guilt, and removed the terror of facing retribution for what had transpired while he had held Yúum Síihbalóob prisoner. As for me, with my master as guide in this exhilarating first taste of dominance, I learnt that it demanded far more empathy than cruelty.

Later, Mairon lavishly rewarded our efforts to begin to restore the delicate equilibrium of our relationship.

 

~ o ~

 

I had not forgotten Nikteháa during this time.

I owed her gratitude for rejecting my crass proposal, spoken out of despair, but there was more. A sense of uneasiness had invaded me, of gnawing guilt mixed with an inexplicable yearning to watch her beautiful surrender and to feel once more her gentle caresses, granted without a battle of wills.

When I had visited her, she had welcomed me with her usual joyful smile, chatting animatedly and carefully masking any longing or distress, if she had any. Cravenly, I had not dared ask.

In the end, I sought Mairon in his workshop and confessed my doubts and worries to him. He surprised me with his response.

‘I do not understand why you are not bedding the princess already. Is it fear of begetting little imps of your own?’ He smiled indulgently, but something in my face must have betrayed my distress, because he dropped his jest at once. ‘What stops you, friend?’

I considered the answer briefly.

‘You,’ I blurted at last, forgoing any attempt at subtlety.

‘Me?’ he exclaimed. ‘I do not own you! In fact, you have made me relinquish the only claim I ever had on you outside our nights, your agreement that I could command your pleasure. If anything, you command mine these days.’ He paused and sighed dramatically. ‘What is this marred world coming to?

‘Oh, but you do own me, Mairon, whether you wish it or not!’ I answered. ‘I cannot offer myself truthfully to Nikteháa for the same reason that I once vowed to you not to give myself to another, even if that promise was not received as I hoped it would be.’ Had I succeeded in keeping reproach from seeping into my voice?

‘Do you still feel bound by that pledge?’ he asked. I saw genuine surprise, even wonder, painted on his face. ‘I believed I had forfeited such loyalty.’

‘Not while Eä is,’ I said in earnest. ‘My words were not spoken lightly, even if I failed to uphold them after... when you...’ The sting of his deception had not yet faded. ‘Oh, Mairon, she gave herself to me and I lost my mind…’

He lowered his eyes and remained silent for a while, while fastidiously arranging several uncut gems on his table in a precisely aligned row, from large to small.

‘You did not fail, Eönwë. I am glad that you found comfort and a measure of joy to alleviate the wound I inflicted,’ he spoke at last, slowly.

‘There lies my quandary, Mairon. I wish to love her, very much, but despite what you did, despite your cruelty, I am still yours and would not want it any other way!’ 

Placing his hands on mine, he squeezed them gently, taking them to his lips and kissing my palms, then my fingers, one by one.

’I feel both fortunate and undeserving,’ he answered at last, huskily. ‘You are right. I want to own you, Eönwë, as much of you as you will yield.’

His words and his tone wrought a surge of warmth in my whole hröa, not born out of lust alone. His eyes bore into mine, and I leant forward to kiss him lightly on the mouth.

‘As for our sweet princess…’ He paused, uncertain, then chuckled. ‘Had anybody else attempted to conquer even the smallest portion of your heart, I would have indeed been jealous. I would have clapped you in chains and driven you delirious with desire until you forgot that any others ever existed.’

A weak, disbelieving gasp left my lips. Despite the levity of Mairon’s voice and his wry smile, I was perfectly aware that he meant every word.

With a shock, I realised that my cock was as hard as rock, tight within my trousers, and my blood raged hot and loud in my veins, rendering me unable to reject Mairon’s outrageous but welcome claim over me. I breathed deeply, to regain a measure of control, and wondered why I had felt the urge to seek another lover. Nikteháa would never make me burn for her touch as Mairon did for his. Yet, inexplicably, I needed her. She was a soothing balm, while he was scorching fire. Mairon knew that she was no threat to him.

His hand squeezing my shoulder startled me.

‘I shall do precisely that regardless, next time you come to me,’ he purred.

‘And I shall expect no less,’ I replied.

‘Know that, for my part, you are free to love Nikteháa, if that is your wish.’

So it was. When I sought her, she was reading amongst the flowers in her favourite corner of the garden, and greeted me with a smile of pleased surprise. I took her in my arms and kissed her. This time, free from guilt or despair, it was truly Nikteháa whom I loved slowly, not a shadow. Although she still refused me as a husband, she accepted me as her lover.

Later, Mairon studied me silently while I told him of our arrangement.

‘Well, well, friend…, you seem most pleased. Congratulations are certainly in order,’ he replied, inscrutably. ‘Though you have caused grave offence…’

I held my breath, suddenly nervous, and gathered strength to face his censure. Had he withdrawn his earlier reassurances about not being jealous of the princess?

Before I could speak, he wrapped me possessively in his arms, unyielding as the chains he had forged for me, and claimed my mouth in a consuming kiss until I was breathless with need and my hardness matched the one that dug bruisingly against my hip.  When our lips parted, his mouth quirked roguishly, while one of his hands began a perilous descent down my chest.

‘Under my patient tutelage,’ he continued, with a growing smirk, ‘you have progressed a long way from the prudishness of your days in Aman, and that fills me with great pride. Shall we compile the roll of laws that you have breached, O Herald? Perhaps I should speak your doom, in Námo’s name, so that appropriate punishment is meted out to the profane Maia that so wantonly defies his lord’s mandates?’

His eyes captured mine, and I returned his smile joyfully. Yes, Mairon had seduced me, but I felt no guilt, no regret, given the prize I had earned. Under the many impregnable layers of defence that he had finally lowered, I had discovered that evil had twisted, but not wholly destroyed him; that he feared and hoped, like I did; that he could be generous and thoughtful, as well as cruel and ruthless. That he could love, even if he refused to speak the word.

We were not so different, we that had once been bitter foes.

 

~o~

 

Kiinlúum, Year 44 of the Second Age of Arda

Mairon designed and built a large stone library, in which Nikteháa spent many years patiently collecting all the legends, songs and myths of the realm, and even those of farther lands, and maps and books written in many languages, including a few from the Eldar; she also set out to record all plants and animals of Kiinlúum in a huge catalogue, for which I drew thousands of pages.

However, soon she had realised the near futility of her efforts, given that her precious hoards of knowledge were inaccessible to all but a few. Most children outside the city, free or bond as slaves, could not read or write, because traditionally, when they turned six, they would join their elders in their trade or in tilling the earth and tending cattle. Only those born to a rich hearth, sons and, more rarely, daughters of prosperous merchants or nobility, might be instructed by a tutor and taught their letters and little more. Nikteháa had poured her heart and mind into fighting that injustice; she had ceaselessly pleaded, bribed and grappled with her father and his council for coin and changes to the law of the realm. Over the years, small schools had been built in the isolated hill villages and beyond, and she had patiently recruited and trained teachers to man them.

Undoubtedly, Kiinlúum had prospered under Chakmóol’s reign. People hailed him as a wise, generous ahaw, blessed well above his forefathers, and thought themselves fortunate in having shared the smile of the gods, while rival countries began to envy our wealth.

And yet, there was a price to be paid for this bliss. Time inexorably dragged the lives of many beloved friends towards days of decline and departure from within the circles of Arda.

One balmy summer day, Ungo died quietly at Mairon’s feet. Lately, he had been growing slow and clumsy, napping often and disdaining his food. For a while, Mairon caressed his silky fur pensively and then carried the heavy body into one of the outdoor sheds. He had a small pyre built of cedar wood in the furthest corner of the garden and burnt the carcass, as he had done for Aranincë.

Mairon invited Chakmóol to our following new moon meeting, only to treat him with unprecedented severity, while seemingly ignoring my shortcomings. The ahaw’s need was repeatedly stoked, agonisingly close to a release that was long denied, driving him beyond frenzy. I was truly relieved when it was finally granted with an equal measure of generosity, even if I received none.

At the end, Mairon commanded me to attend to my aching fellow slave, so weakened from his implacable discipline that he could barely stand unaided. I prepared a warm bath for him, and took him in my arms to lower him into the water, careful of his hurts; I washed him as gently as I could, anointed his inflamed skin with soothing, perfumed oil, and brushed and plaited his hair, without beads. All through my ministrations, the ahaw remained listless and silent under my hands. At last, I assisted him to get dressed in his soldier’s garments, and knelt at his feet to help him into his boots.

When all was done, I heard a muffled sob. I glanced up to see a tear slide down his face. I was forbidden to speak, but worry prevailed over obedience.

‘Has he hurt you too badly, in Yúum?’ I ventured in a whisper.

‘No,’ he answered softly. ‘It was bliss, as ever. But it was also the last time, Eönwë.’

With an indignant cry, I jumped up to confront Mairon, who had been sitting comfortably, reading a scroll, while I tended to the ahaw.

‘You dismissed him?’ I challenged, disregarding the consequences of speaking without leave and omitting his title. Displeased, he frowned darkly, but before he could respond, the ahaw answered my question.

‘No, Eönwë, this is my choice. Our master and I agreed long ago that Ungo’s death would mark the end of my service to him. I am a proud man, and would take away the memories of my strength and courage before they falter.’

He knelt gracefully before Mairon and bent his head to touch the tiles.

‘Forgive me for speaking out of turn, Master.’ 

When he knelt up, Mairon slapped him before kissing him tenderly on the mouth. I watched with a twinge of sadness as their lips lingered together, as if both of them were afraid to be the one to break their last kiss. When they parted, Chakmóol sighed.

‘Farewell, my pet,’ spoke Mairon fondly, and removed the gold restraints, collar last. Then he helped the king to his feet.

‘I consider myself most fortunate for having enjoyed your company and your affection for so many years, Yúum Síihbalóob. I have commanded my son to take my place, if you will have him,’ said the ahaw.

‘I shall instruct Sakxikin most gladly, if he so desires,’ replied Mairon politely, masking his slight annoyance at the king’s order.

Chakmóol turned to me. ‘One in my son’s position is easily swayed to arrogance; he will certainly benefit from our master’s wisdom, as I have. Your example may help him understand.’

I inclined my head in acceptance, and hoped Sakxikin would welcome Mairon’s dominance as readily as his father had, to avoid a most awkward conflict.

Slowly, Chakmóol swept his gaze around the chamber, and his eyes stopped at last on Mairon, who bowed deeply and prostrated himself, as he did in court. I followed his example.

‘Your Highness, I remain your loyal servant, as ever,’ he said.

Wordlessly, the king wrapped his features in the scarf and left the room without looking back. Mairon stood up and turned to me, his face impassive.

‘Now, thrall, you will rue your appalling behaviour…’ he began. His voice, drenched in menace, sent shivers of anticipation down my spine and rekindled the fire in my loins.

Later, I shed tears, too.

 

 

---

 

Notes:

[1] ungo (Quenya) dark shadow, cloud

Time

Eönwë has to deal with the passing of Time.

This chapter fits two prompts of B2MeM 2011.

Read Time

 

15. Time

Time had begun when Eru brought Eä into being. Once we entered the World that Is, we were bound to Time, because Eä pulses within Time, and Time is woven into Eä to keep it separate from the Timeless Halls, and its existence will only cease when the Song is ended and Eä is unmade. Only those higher languages of abstraction that spell the workings of the immutable laws of the World can explain this wonder. A handful of Children have ever grasped the knowledge to glimpse this understanding, Fëanaro being the most accomplished amongst them.

For those few of the Ainur who, like me, have lived amongst mortals, Time is both a foe and a friend.

A foe, because it steals the Atani away, and carries them to fulfil Eru’s secret plan, and they are mostly forgotten by those who follow, unless they have performed great deeds worthy of song, or they have been well loved or wreathed in hatred.

A friend, because as it flows, our pain diminishes very slowly until it becomes a dull ache that never vanishes, even though memories remain as sharp as they ever were in our minds, incapable of oblivion.  

 

Kiinlúum, Year 52 of the Second Age of Arda

I began to become more aware of the changing seasons as I watched the strength of the ahaw wane. There came a day, at the end of a particularly warm and sunny summer, when hushed rumours reached me of the impending rites of Síihil Ka’teen[1], or rebirth. The following day, Chakmóol indeed had it proclaimed at every street corner and every hamlet and village, that the sacred ceremonies would take place on the next winter solstice, to ensure the strong renewal of the land. That evening, Mairon and I were summoned to attend him when everyone else was dismissed after court. We were both aware of what Síihil Ka’teen meant, but it was nevertheless a shock to hear it from Chakmóol’s mouth.

‘I feel tired, friends,’ he spoke, and smiled faintly. I suddenly realised with a pang how gaunt and fragile he looked, sitting in heavy regalia on his imposing throne. ‘Three moons from now I will be freed from my service to Kiinlúum and join the Sun, Giver of Life, to watch over my realm from above.’

‘Freed?’ queried Mairon, frowning.

‘My heir will sever the ties that bind me to the land. I will soar to meet my forefathers, and he will return in my stead to rule my people. His people.’

I bit my lip. This was Chakmóol’s faith, the core of how he perceived his place in the world. However painful it was for me to witness someone taking his own life, I could not betray his friendship by speaking what I knew to be the truth about the Powers of Arda or about the nature of Anar. I would never attempt to sway him from walking the path chosen by his people’s tradition. Mairon remained silent, too.

‘You know Sakxikin is ready, he has been for many years now,’ continued the ahaw. ‘I would bid you help him; he is keen to listen to your counsel and govern wisely under your guidance.’

‘Gladly, in Yúum,’ we both vowed in unison. The king nodded his satisfaction.

Indeed, by then we knew Sakxikin well. In the public eye, he was a far more reserved man than Chakmóol had ever been, almost shy, and hid himself behind the strict protocol. In fact, he was the complete opposite of his sister Nikteháa.

From his earliest childhood, he had been privy to the arcane rites that tied the life of the ahaw to the fate of Kiinlúum, and the importance of his future role had been all but etched into his mind. For many years, Chakmóol’s son had served his father loyally, and thus learnt the skills to become a ruler that would ensure his people’s welfare, instead of idly waiting for the day he would come into his inheritance.

At first, Sakxikin had begged leave from attending Yúum Síihbalóob privately. I supported his plea, but Chakmóol was adamant in his wish to bind the future ahaw to Mairon. Reluctantly, Sakxikin obeyed his father and lord. Wide-eyed and aroused, he witnessed my submission during several carefully staged nights of little pain and much pleasure, and timidly assisted a most patient Mairon in his expert, consuming mastery.

Thus, Sakxikin was gently but inexorably seduced until one day, a year from Chakmóol’s farewell, he finally knelt at my side in willing thrall to Mairon’s spell, as he joyfully had ever since.

‘During the nine days of the Síihil Ka’teen ritual,’ continued Chakmóol, ‘I will need to appoint a regent. Will you accept this position, Yúum Eönwë?’

‘It will be a great honour, in Ahaw,’ I answered, and knelt to kiss his hand.

‘As for you, Yúum Síihbalóob, my last request is that you assist Sakxikin in his task to ease my journey. I would have no other.’ I froze, hearing Mairon suck in his breath. Selfishly, I was glad our positions were not reversed.

‘I will be honoured to be at your side at such a momentous time, in Ahaw,’ said Mairon smoothly. I almost shivered when our glances crossed. In less serious circumstances, I might have remarked on the ironic twist of fate that granted him such a disturbingly fitting role, but there was no hint of jest in his narrowed eyes.

‘Soon, like you, I will be deathless, friends,’ murmured Chakmóol, ‘and I will always carry with me the memory of your mighty kindness. I am humbled by your faithfulness.’

I was strangely touched. He was grateful to us for not snatching his beloved realm away from him, for not scheming to topple him from the love of his people, for lending our efforts to the prosperity of Kiinlúum, and not to its conquest. Clearly, he had perceived the power Mairon could wield.

‘You have ever deserved our respect and loyalty, in Ahaw. It has been a great privilege to serve a wise ruler and see his realm thrive. The Sun, Giver of Life, has indeed smiled upon you and granted his blessing,’ spoke Mairon, echoing my thoughts. We both bowed and made our farewells.

All of a sudden, tears gathered in my eyes. The mysterious fate of the Atani would inexorably rob me of the first mortal friend I had found in my exile; even certain of the love of Eru for them, this parting was hard to bear. I was glad that Chakmóol was able to look at death in the face without fear.

The people of Kiinlúum were indeed fortunate, that Moringotto had not wholly tainted their innocence, that the Gift of Eru had not yet been turned into a curse.

And thus, all the preparations were made, and nine days before the winter solstice, branches of evergreen carpeted the long road out of the town. At the city gates, I stood at dawn, invested with the breastplate of kingship, and red feathers marking my role, and Nikteháa stood at my side, consoling her aging mother, who wailed and sobbed her despair. There was meant to be joy, because the flesh would soon free the spirit within to be reunited with the force from where life was sprung, but her immediate sense of loss could not be quenched by the hope for renewal.

Chakmóol, Sakxikin and Mairon rode proudly towards the South, to a secret place in the hills prepared by the priests, where the ceremony of Síihil Ka’teen would be performed. They were followed for several miles by a huge crowd bidding their farewells to their beloved ahaw, touching his stirrup, or the hem of his cloak, wishing him well on his last journey. I tracked their slow progress along the river until a point almost on the horizon where I knew several priests stood guard and would allow no one else to follow them on their steep path to the craggy hills beyond.

Nine days later, at sunrise on the shortest day of the year, I knelt before the gates to hand over my regency to the new ahaw of Kíinluum, and his people paid him obeisance as he rode into his city to take his father’s place. Once our part in the ceremonies was over, Mairon and I returned home. There, we shared food while he described to me the details of the secret ritual, except for the sacred words that he had been sworn never to invoke.

‘Sakxikin almost faltered at the end, friend,’ he revealed, ‘and I am surprised that he kept his composure so well, knowing that one day it will be his turn. We helped Chakmóol remove all braids and jewels from his body, dressed him in a red robe, and the three of us ascended the nine-step pyre. We sang the ritual words, and then I passed Sakxikin the cup of sak’k’áak’ sap, and held his hand until it was steady. In turn, he gave it to his father, who drank it without hesitation. Chakmóol gripped my hand, then his son’s when the first spasms took him.’

I gasped, horrified, and Mairon shook his head.

‘It was rather quick, though by no means painless. Sakxikin held on to him while I watched uselessly, rooted to the spot. I, the Dark Lord by whose orders unnumbered men have been slaughtered or slain in torment, felt the sting of tears while Chakmóol, ahaw of Kiinlúum  rushed to embrace the Gift of the One.’

‘Mairon…’ Stunned, words failed me. He waved his hand angrily, as if to dismiss his own admission of weakness.

‘When it was over, we laid him with his arms crossed, closed his eyes and placed a few grains of corn and a green stone upon his tongue. We stepped down from the pyre and Sakxikin set fire to it. He summoned the Sun to receive his father’s spirit, then cried in my arms as the flames roared and the smoke rose.’ Mairon’s eyes seemed focused on a far away place. Then, he smiled.

‘After a while he began to laugh, and I thought he was addled by grief until he explained, hiccupping, what made him so amused. The priests had told him that this would be the last time he was allowed to show weakness to others. “We know better,” he said. “I am grateful for the chance you give me to step down from my divine infallibility from time to time. At last, I understand why my father pressed your gift upon me.”’  

‘Over the following days Sakxikin was meant to meditate in silence, to drink of the strength of the Sun, and to listen to the voice of his land, while I was there to serve him and to ensure he would not pass out from thirst or hunger. I built a shelter in the shade under which we took refuge. Most of the time we spoke, about life and death, about renewal, justice, power, peace and war.’ Mairon knitted his brow, then curled his lip and chuckled, somewhat bitterly. ‘A disciple of Melkor was hardly the most appropriate counsellor to impart wisdom on those matters to a new king.’

He became silent. I touched his cheek, wondering what dark vaults of memory his thoughts were traversing. He captured my fingers and kissed them, and then my palm and my wrist. Before he continued up my arm, I reluctantly twisted my hand free from his grasp.

‘On the contrary, Mairon,’ I protested softly. ‘Who, but one who has explored many paths, in shadow as well as in light, can advise a young ruler about the forks he may encounter, or about the perils he may face along his road?’

His bejewelled braids tinkled lightly when he shook his head, still lost in musings.

‘On the last day,’ he continued, ‘before we rode back I invested Sakxikin with all the symbols of divinity, except for the sun plate you had retained, the token of kingship. We travelled in silence. He was afraid but would not say it and I left him in peace. He wavered a little at the sight of the roaring crowd that welcomed him, but I cast words of strength into his mind.’

‘Life in these gentle lands has mellowed you, Mairon.’

‘You shall retract those slanderous words at once,’ he threatened, with a mock scowl.

Before I knew what was happening, he leapt upon me, lithe and fast as a jaguar, throwing me back onto the cushions. We wrestled wildly, but I was no match for his strength, and soon found myself with my back on the floor. He straddled me in triumph, and pinned both my wrists against the floor above my head with one hand, while the other roved slowly under my clothing in search of my ticklish spots. A wicked grin spread slowly across his face when I began to writhe.

‘You will beg for mercy. Oh, yes, you will.’

His lips locked fiercely upon mine and his tongue smothered my weak cry of defiance and my laughter.

Indeed, I did beg. That night, I was not spared from his vengeance.

 

~o~

 

The sadness at Chakmóol’s passing became gradually easier to bear, and we often remembered him with fondness, and many of his people did as well until, in turn, they left Arda, too.

One evening, three moons after the Síihil Ka’teen, when the air was warm after the chill of winter and the sweet scent of orange blossom perfumed the air, Mairon, Nikteháa and I sat under the trees in our courtyard, having finished our meal. She snuggled against my side and I buried my lips in her soft hair, jet streaked with silver. Our friend watched us with an indulgent smile.

‘Were you and my father lovers, Annatar?’ asked Nikteháa, breaking the contented silence.

‘What makes you ask, princess?’ He would never cease to be cautious, but I doubted he could evade answering her question; she was nothing if not inquisitive and stubborn.

‘Curiosity, naturally,’ she laughed. ‘Is there any harm in asking, now that he has gone?’ Her voice wavered slightly.

‘No, I suppose there is not,’ he conceded. ‘Yes, lady, we were lovers once.’

I had to smile. After so many years, I rarely heard them address each other by their names.

‘My father seldom spoke of you, but I knew he held you in high regard, not only in court, but also as a smith, architect and engineer. Will you now tell me how you met him?’ She almost clapped with excitement, like she used to do as a child.

‘Hear, hear the tale of the mighty Ahaw Chakmóol of Kiinlúum and his loyal Yúum Síihbalóob,’ I sang in mockery. Mairon growled and threw a cushion at my head. Then he cleared his throat, somewhat dramatically, before he began.

‘On the day after I arrived at Kiinlúum, hungry, ragged, footsore and with only a few coins in my pocket, I was walking along the river, admiring the beauty of the countryside, counting the spires and balconies of the city, and wondering what to do next.’

‘Spires and balconies, Mairon, or cows and chickens?’ I asked, with a wink. He glared a deadly warning in return. His first impression, he had once confessed to me, was that he would not willingly spend his days in a peasant, dung-stinking realm on the lost edge of the world.

‘I came upon a field where a group of men were shouting and cheering in a wide circle, inside which I could hear the clashing of steel. I approached, curious, and pushed into the crowd to find a place from where I could watch.’

‘Two warriors were fighting with real swords. One of them was an old hand; I found out later that he was one of the army captains. The other…’ he paused, for effect.

Mairon’s voice always had a compelling quality that made one want to listen, but his story-telling was second to none, and Nikteháa was thoroughly enthralled.

‘The other was a very young man, not yet fully muscled but agile as a lion, wearing only his trousers and a plain cuirass. His sable hair was braided tightly to keep it off his face, and on one side dangled three green feathers. He was fast on his bare feet, and fought skilfully, but not well enough.’

‘What do you mean, Yúum Síihbalóob?’ queried the princess, a frown on her face.

‘I mean that the older warrior was ignoring his opponent’s mistakes and deliberately offering him openings in his own defence, until he had the boy’s sword on his chest and conceded victory. I watched the crowd, mostly soldiers. They were all aware of the trickery, but the boy was not. Those men were doing him an ill service; one day he might find himself with a sword through his heart because of this deception.’

‘Did you know who he was?’ asked Nikteháa.

’How could I guess?’ smiled Mairon. ‘At that time the feathers meant nothing to me. I believed him to be a haughty lordling, being humoured out of adulation. He had the intelligence and the speed to become a much better swordsman, but he lacked form, strength and strategy, and he would never apply himself as hard as he had to if he believed he could already best anyone else.’

‘I walked into the circle and spoke, loud enough for everyone to hear: “He has let you win!” I could not speak the tongue of Kiinlúum very well yet, having just crossed the border through the desert, but I had a few words already. “He lost on purpose,” I added. A dead silence followed, and several soldiers began to drag me away, but the young warrior gave an order and I was freed, though gleaming swords were drawn and trained against me.’

‘”What did you say, stranger?” the boy asked, and pointed at the older man. “Did he not do his best?” His opponent glared, a promise of vengeance in his eyes. “No, he did not,” I insisted. ”If he is one of your instructors, my lord, you should have him flogged,” I said, and the whole crowd roared angrily in response. “Why should I believe you? Why should I not have you flogged for your insolence?” replied the young man, haughtily. “It is a grave accusation you are making, and you even dare demand punishment?” I shrugged. “I do not lie, but I can prove my sincerity if you give me a sword. I will defeat you before you can slowly count to twenty,” I replied. A gasp of disbelieving outrage shook the audience, and the boy frowned. “You are too daring, stranger, but I wish to find the truth of this matter.” The older warrior protested, warning caution, but a wave of his lord’s hand silenced him at once. By then, I had realised he must be at least a prince of the realm, and berated myself for having recklessly walked into unnecessary trouble.’

‘Truly, Yúum Síihbalóob? Did you not consider instead the benefit of winning a powerful ally if your gamble paid off?’ queried the princess, with a voice soft as silk that did not soothe the sting in her words.

Amazed at her boldness, I snorted. Mairon laughed and lifted his hands in mock surrender.

‘Indeed I did, my lady. How could I ever hope to hide the truth from your sharp mind? I knew that if I earned the trust of one such as that foolish boy, young and vulnerable but in a position of influence, I would gain entrance into the circles of power of this land. I will speak nothing but the truth for the rest of my tale, I promise.’

Nikteháa nodded, thoughtfully. She did not seem angry or offended. Once long ago, I had stared suspiciously at my friend, when reaching the same conclusions. Mairon had waited until I had yielded to him before he shared this story with me. By then, he must have gauged that the trust between us, supported by his deeds, would have taught me to stop tagging a sinister reason to each and every one of his actions.

‘So, what did my father do?’ Nikteháa asked, forgoing her line of questioning and interrupting my reminiscences. Mairon gladly resumed his tale.

‘At his orders, they brought me a wooden practice sword, but he kept his steel. We saluted each other and I let him attack. The crowd chanted the numbers aloud; I could not recognise them all yet, but I was not worried. As I predicted, I won with little effort and even knocked the boy’s blade from his hand. Immediately, many hands pinned me down and made me kneel.’

‘What happened?’ cried Nikteháa, excitedly.

I smiled; I knew now that Mairon would not have been in true danger yet. He could have overpowered or stunned his captors to free himself. Still, I felt a pang of envious admiration at his notorious entrance to Kiinlúum.

‘He laughed, and touched my face. I was startled. I looked into his eyes, almost as green as the feathers in his hair, and saw a reflection of my own desire. “I must know you better, stranger.” To his soldiers he said: “Release him! Bring him to me this evening, after he has had a bath.” He began to walk away. “Who are you?” I shouted, but he never turned round. One of the soldiers answered: “He is our ahaw, our god-king, and you are fortunate to be still alive.”’

‘So, your chance was within your grasp,’ Nikteháa exclaimed, resuming her earlier attack.

‘Yes, and no,’ answered Mairon slowly. ‘You see, my lady, I regarded Men as weak creatures, prone to selfish pettiness, and ill-equipped to rule fairly.’

I gritted my teeth, stunned at his honesty. Indeed, we had argued endlessly about this point over the years, but always in private. I could not see the princess’ face, but I felt her tense in my arms.

‘Are you insulting the one you called friend?’ she queried, her voice sharp and brittle.

‘Not at all,’ he answered gravely. ‘I am speaking the truth, and bid you listen to the end of my tale.’

She nodded brusquely, while I tightened my embrace in reassurance. This time it was my turn to glare at him.

‘My original intention, my lady, had been to become the hidden power behind the ahaw, to claim this realm as my own, maybe covertly at first.’ Nikteháa sucked in her breath; I shook my head and silently implored him to stop, but Mairon continued, undeterred.

‘That night, I found out that your father had been ahaw for less than a year. He made me waver in my purpose because he intrigued me; he had chosen to test his mettle against a stranger and thus question his own people, instead of merely accepting adulation. I decided to guide him, at least for a while until he should prove me right in my assessment, and then I would take the reins. But he was eager to learn, fair, patient and not arrogant, despite who he was, despite who I was. Indeed, he was a wise man and we soon understood each other.’

He curled his lips in that predatory, sensual smirk of his that made me melt inside.

‘Ignoring widespread dismay at his council, he appointed me as his advisor; I was not afraid of speaking the truth to him, without flattery or vagueness, and helped him earn the respect of those who thought him a weakling, easy to sway to their own purposes.’ He paused and held the princess’s gaze with his glittering eyes. ‘Including myself. Eönwë named me loyal, and I have been.’

‘You, Niktehaá, would have surpassed your father, had you been given the chance. Thus ends my tale.’

I was speechless, and moved by his unprecedented, sincere praise.

‘What happened to that captain?’ asked the princess, at length. She was not one to let dangling ends loose. ‘Was he whipped?’

‘No. Your father suspected others had been equally guilty, and it would have been unfair for that man to be singled out.’ He grinned. ‘He asked me to spar with them. I made each of their defeats long, painful and memorable.’

‘Oh, Annatar, you are evil,’ she exclaimed, and burst into laughter. I had the pleasure of watching Mairon choke on his wine and turn purple. ‘Brave and kind, too, despite the thorns you wrap around yourself to keep us all at a distance!’ 

‘Now I understand,’ she continued, in a pensive tone. ‘Alone with you he did not have to be the mighty ahaw. He never complained, but I was sure sometimes he wished he had not been chosen. How glad must he have been that you stayed at his side, a god whose eyes sparkle with the light of stars!’

I kissed the top of her head to hide my face from my friend, whose mien had darkened, but only briefly, before a half smile took shape on his lips, and his eyes glittered.

He shook his head. ‘Believe me, princess, I am no deity. In fact, the gods have turned their backs on me.’

The light, almost genuinely cheerful tone with which he had spoken proved the extent of his self-control, but Nikteháa frowned, clearly pondering on his meaning. She turned to me in alarm.

‘On you too?’ Without hesitation, I nodded.

‘Eönwë is bound to silence,’ explained Mairon. ‘By the same gods who banished him because he showed mercy to a vanquished enemy.’

‘Is that true?’ she cried, squeezing my hand in her distress.

‘Yes, but I must not say more. Please do not ask!’ I whispered miserably, unable to keep bitterness away from my voice.

‘Will you ever be allowed to return, either of you?’ she queried, anxiously.

She looked at me, then at Mairon, desperately demanding an answer that was not mine to speak. The silence stretched unbearably while I also questioned my friend with my eyes.

‘Not yet, princess,’ he replied at last.

 

~o~

 

Years of work, peace, passion and bliss flew by, rushed by happiness, and Nikteháa’s life inexorably dripped away, hour after hour, day after day, like water spilling through her fingers. The day I had dreaded since I was faced with Chakmóol’s death came at last, too soon, too quickly, only a handful of years after Sakxikin had relinquished his kingdom and his divinity into the hands of his eldest son.

Nikteháa died in my arms, because that had been her will. I had been ceaselessly fussing at her bedside once it became clear that she would not have the strength to rise from it again. One balmy spring day, she quietly asked me to move her under the blossoming trees where we had shared tales, smiles and kisses.

‘You look the same,’ she sighed contentedly, snuggling against my chest. I caressed her pale silver hair, and gently traced the many lines etched on her face, a face that age had touched but not robbed of its beauty. ‘Your road is long, Eönwë. Light dies in brighter light. My love...’

One moment she was smiling, as those strange words left her lips, the next her heart had stopped beating, and I immediately knew she was no longer there with me, but far beyond the world.

I embraced the shape that had held her beautiful fëa, until Mairon found me. The women of her house wished to prepare her body, and my friend stilled my protest and dragged me away. He knew my grief would have to run its course, and I lay curled against his warm skin that night and fell asleep with eyes empty of tears in the refuge of his arms.

The following day, the nine-step pyre had been erected on the terrace of the House of the Sun, bedecked with garlands of all colours. A huge crowd had gathered to give their farewells to the princess. The ahaw, her oldest nephew, called upon all the gods to receive her spirit, except for the dreaded lord of the underworld, who was shooed away with rattles, loud stamping of feet and invocations to the Sun to vanquish the shadows.

I laid her body on the bed of flowers at the top of the pyre. I was her husband in all but name, and therefore was called to perform the required ritual, to place the green stone and the corn in her mouth and to cover her face with the red shroud. Numbly, I descended the steps and one of the priests placed a smoking torch in my hands. I set fire to the structure of wood, sprayed with oil.

Stunned by grief, I watched the raging flames leap up to destroy her hröa. She was not there; on the pyre burnt only a shell, once beloved, now empty. Following tradition, her ashes would be scattered in places she had favoured, so that the Sun would stir the growth of new life in them. It was moving to watch the Children’s faces, hopeful in faith, despite having no glimpse, no proof of what they would truly find in the afterlife.

Mairon stood silently at my side until it was all over.

‘Where do they go?’ I whispered, tiredly. ‘Why would Eru not reveal their fate?’

‘As Chakmóol said, their fëar soar to freedom, released from the regret and sorrow of the life they cast aside, maybe to start anew some place else.’ He sighed and turned thoughtful eyes to mine. ‘Wherever it is they go, at times I wish we could follow them.’

 

---

 

[1]Síihil Ka’teen (Yucatec-based term) I have combined ka’teen (Yucatec) “again” and síihil (Yucatec) “birth” for my own version of “rebirth” or “renewal”.

 

Faith

Eönwë proves his faith in his former foe.

This chapter fits three prompts of B2MeM 2011.

Read Faith

 

16. Faith

‘How dare you sully the hallowed ground of Taniquetil with your foulness? ‘the Elder King had cried, squirming on the floor under Sauron's booted heel. ‘Release me at once, you fiend, or you will pay for this blasphemous outrage! ‘

‘Did you believe that you would banish my former master to the Void and I would just flee from your pathetic army like a scared rabbit, O Mânawenûz?‘ mocked Sauron, as he dragged the vanquished Lord of the Breath of Arda into the very prison in Mandos where Melkor had once languished for three ages of the world.

I sighed. Darkness and silence had been my only companions for an unknown length of time, while I sat naked and cramped in the small stone cell that did not allow me to stand or lie down straight.

Every time Mairon commanded me to play Manwë or Námo, I was resigned to suffer his harshest trials, as if his grudge against them could be assuaged by spurring my endurance to its farthest limits. As always, I offered my best performance, well aware of the peril of failing to please him and thus lose any chance of reward.

My dread grew with every heartbeat while I awaited my doom. The solid walls of the tiny cage seemed to close slowly upon me, until the fear of being left to suffocate in such confinement became overwhelming. For a long time, I pounded the impenetrable stone with my fists, weeping and shouting to be released.

When the thick slab finally moved with a loud screech, I lifted my hands to cover my eyes, pierced by the lamplight in Mairon's underground room. Squinting, I balked in terror at the sight of the object that glinted red and green in his hands. Despite knowing of my ordeal in Aman, Mairon had forged... O Eru, a replica of Angainor.

‘No!‘ I yelled and shook my head in panicked denial, momentarily forgetting my role.  ‘No, please!‘

‘You made your brother bear this torment, did you not? Now it is your turn to feel the cold bite of tilkal [1] ‘ said Mairon in a dreadful voice.

He wrestled me to the ground and wrapped the links of Angainor around my waist, snapping the manacles, Vorotemnar, on my wrists and the double set of fetters, Ilterendi, on my ankles, and locking the ends of the chain that connected them all so tightly over the back of my neck that I could not straighten my spine. Then he pulled me to my feet without effort, and my shoulders sank even lower under the huge burden, as heavy as the oppression I had once suffered at the Máhanaxar.

I swayed, all earlier bravado gone, and fell limply to my knees when he swept my feet from under me. The restraints forced me to bow in a most servile position, leaving my aching back exposed to his abuse.

‘It is time to pay for your errors, Mânawenûz,‘ he pronounced darkly. ‘But I am inclined to be lenient if you name me as your master and tell me where the Silmarilli are!‘

‘To the Void with you, Ñorthus[2],‘ I spat, in a pretence of proud contempt that I knew he would appreciate. ‘No matter what despicable things you do to me, that secret will never leave my lips.‘

When he jerked my chin up to make me look him in the eye, his smirk was evil, and I shivered. His fingertips brushed against my cheek lightly, a minute taste of pleasure that stoked my desire into frenzy, despite the familiar knot of fear at the pain he was about to inflict.

‘You have already underestimated me once; are you unwise enough to make the same mistake twice?‘ he queried menacingly, and he released my jaw.

Unaided, I could barely lift my gaze high enough to see the horror that awaited me. His right arm, from his elbow down, had turned into a clump of long fiery lashes, like those he had fashioned on our first night in this room. Unlike then, however, he used them on me to lash my back with all his might. Each strike wrought a sharp, searing trail of pain, as though a strip of my skin had been pulled off from my flesh. Soon I could not withhold my wails, but I still fought to retain the secret he coveted. Had I yielded too quickly, he would have tormented me far worse for my weakness.

In the end, when I truly became so lost in my agony that I forgot all but the constant of his voice, I surrendered amongst deep, unfeigned sobs.

‘They... they are in the third vault... Master,‘ I cried haltingly, and bowed even lower. Ever did I burn with the shame of failure when I was forced to confess.

He walked away and returned with a triumphant look on his face and three large dazzling diamonds upon his right hand, which had regained its normal shape.

‘I am glad you have yielded to reason, Mânawenûz,‘ he purred. ‘As a reward, I will not throw your precious spouse to my werewolves, who clamour for the spoils of war. Bring her to me now, and she will know pleasure like you have never given her...‘

With a wave of his hand he unlocked all the bindings, and the fake Angainor hit the floor with a rattle. I almost had to crawl to do his bidding. As quickly as I could, because tardiness would bring further discipline, I went to prepare myself as he expected for the second act of our drama. Shortly afterwards, I returned to his side, my gaze fixed on the floor, my face hot with mortification.

My hair, tightly plaited before, was now unbound, covered by a fine net of silver threads from which hung a hundred tingling bells. I wore loose garments of flimsy, transparent silk, dozens of diamond-studded bangles, long earrings and paint on my face. I would have preferred to die under the whips of the Valaraucar than to suffer this humiliation, but this choice was not mine to make.

Mairon pointed at the floor by his side and I knelt with a jingle. I doubt Varda would have complied that easily, but by now I was fully attuned to his wishes, and knew that for the rest of the night he expected my absolute obedience. I would have been unable to conjure up any more resistance, anyway.

‘Good.‘ He placed his hand over my head, possessively. ‘I am glad to see that you are wiser than your lord. Stand up!‘

I barely managed to rise from my knees without aid from my hands, as he had taught me long ago. Ruthlessly, he bound my cock with a glittery chain from which more chiming bells dangled. I bit my lip and fought the urge to strike him.

‘Kneel!’

Groaning inwardly while I complied, I realised that he was in the mood to annoy me, to needle me into defiance, the treacherous precursor of punishment. I set my mind on submission, on my fervent wish to please him, and pushed away my pain and discontent, yielding my will to his once more. Somehow, my body must have spoken my reaction, because out of the corner of my eye, I saw him smile.

‘Oh, but maybe this beautiful prize does not require taming, despite all,’ he exclaimed, raking me admiringly from head to toe. ‘Perhaps she is glad that I am her new lord and master...’

For hours, he made me serve his every whim, and I scraped the dregs of my strength to obey as gracefully as I could. With a kiss here and a touch there, with the tantalising promise of his hungry eyes, he kept my desire fed and unsated until it became a worse torment than the pain of my flayed back.

In the end, will alone was no longer enough to command my hröa. I collapsed at Mairon's feet and wrapped my arms around his ankles.

‘Mercy, my lord!’ I begged. ‘You have claimed victory twice this night. Will you not let your humble slave learn of your kindness, that she may praise your generosity to her vanquished kin?‘

I held my ragged breath, hoping he would relent. In the past, he had often refused to heed my pleas. This time he granted his clemency, and Varda was thoroughly ravished.

Much later, falling asleep in my lover’s arms, a smile curved my lips as I stared dreamily out of the open balcony doors at the starry night. Tintallë[3] could have never admired the glory of her greatest creation wreathed in such pleasure as Mairon and I enjoyed that night.

 

~o~

 

Kiinlúum, Year 148 of the Second Age of Arda

Mairon kept many secrets. Often, he revelled in making this fact obvious to me.

This time, though, something remarkable and of greater importance than his usual schemes was clearly afoot. I recalled a steady succession of odd happenings over several months, maybe a year: nights when he fled from our bed thinking I slept, to lock himself in his workshop, bent over plans that he later refused to show me; sudden, unexplained trips away from the city; coded entries in his ledger book; and answers shrouded in vagueness and sparse with truth whenever I queried him about these matters.

During the last few weeks, this awareness of a mystery purposefully crafted to exclude me had escalated to almost insufferable levels. His servants bowed to me or answered my queries with a smug smirk on their faces, clearly in the know of whatever their master was planning, or at least, of part of it. I began to grow annoyed at the game, until one morning I bluntly asked Mairon for an explanation. He merely waved my irritated complaint aside.

‘Nonsense, Eönwë,’ he answered with a sly smile. ‘There is no dark conspiracy, just one of your ever recurring bouts of mistrust about my intentions, however innocent my activities may be. We have gone through this obsession of yours before, have we not?’

I snapped my jaw shut to silence a curse.

In the evening, I returned home tired from a long ride, which I had found to be the best method of clearing my mind and spending my nervous energy after a particularly trying day at court. A large cart, its contents carefully wrapped in heavy canvas, waited at the back of the house, as if to provoke me further. Mairon’s servants firmly barred my approach.

‘We have strict orders not to let you near, in Yúum,’ they said, giving me fake smiles of apology.

Briefly, I wondered whether their instructions would include the use of force, if I decided to defy Mairon's mandate. My sword in its scabbard hung from my belt; I always took it when venturing on my own away from the city. As tempting as it was to find out the extent to which my devious friend would protect the precious cargo in the cart, I had no choice but to leave my curiosity unsated.

With a growl, I nudged my horse toward the stables, where I snarled at the grooms and took care of him myself, wielding the currycomb as though I wished to claw the secret out from under my poor stallion’s coat. After I finished, I dusted my crumpled clothes with my hands and strode towards Mairon’s workshop, with the firm purpose of learning the truth.

When I entered, slamming the door shut behind me, I had the satisfaction of watching him flinch, startled, before he hastily covered a large parchment with a second one and rolled them both together.

‘What are you hiding, Mairon?’

‘Nothing that concerns you, Eönwë,’ he replied calmly, ignoring my scowl.

I made a lunge for the parchments, but he was faster and moved them behind his back.

‘You are not seriously thinking of wrestling me, are you?’ he goaded. He was grinning, now. ‘There is only one possible outcome, so why not be wise and save yourself some pain?’

Deliberately, as though daring me to attempt something, he turned his back to me and locked the parchments inside a cabinet with glass doors, already full of rolls and books.

‘If I were you, I would take a bath instead,’ he added, when he turned round to face me. He was almost purring at my frustration.

‘Please Mairon, stop this teasing!’ I pleaded.

‘I will, when the time is right.’ He wavered, then relented. ‘A fortnight from now. Not a day, or even an hour before.’

Suddenly, it all made perfect sense. Excitement replaced annoyance, and I could not avoid a chuckle of relief and anticipation, mixed still with desperate curiosity. Clasping my hands behind my back to show my acquiescence, I leant forwards for a kiss.

‘Surprise me, then!’ I said, breathless, when our lips finally parted.

‘No doubt I shall,’ he replied, smiling.

 

~o~

 

The two weeks passed slowly. The flurry of activity surrounding Mairon became frantic during the last few days. I was banned from entering his workshop or from stepping into the large courtyard in front of it, on pain of being locked in a room out of the way. I decided not to risk the indignity or the boredom of such a measure.

On the eve of the third day before the deadline, Mairon came to speak to me while I was reading, away from the forbidden areas of the house.

‘Pack clothes for three or four days,’ he commanded. ‘We are going on a trip.’

At dawn the following morning, we rode out of the city at the head of a small caravan. Six servants were coming with us on this expedition, one of them driving the cart, drawn by two mules. I caught no glimpse of the cargo it carried. Curiosity gnawed at me ceaselessly.

We travelled along the river for most of the morning, following the least steep roads to climb out of the verdant valley. Once in the plains, we turned west, tackling the winding unpaved path up to the highlands. Our progress was painstakingly slow because Mairon kept threatening to flog the drivers to ribbons every time the cart jolted over the bumpy ground. When at last we settled into a speed that seemed satisfactory to everyone, the servants sang, Mairon and I talked and exchanged heated glances and we all enjoyed the freedom from our usual duties on a very pleasant late summer day.

We spent the night camped in a copse upon the hills. Mairon and I had the benefit of an ample, luxurious tent, and took advantage of our privacy to relieve the desire that had been building up during the long hours on the saddle. Mairon teased me without mercy for what seemed like half the night before allowing me to savour the sublime bliss of release.

On the second day, our little caravan kept climbing higher and further away from the city, on increasingly steeper dirt tracks. We only passed the occasional sheep herd or small group of peasants, usually on foot, who smiled and bowed low at the sight of our rich clothes and the numerous gold beads plaited into our hair.

At last we stopped in the late afternoon, after an excruciatingly slow stage along a very narrow canyon that led us to a secluded meadow, perched high up amidst the hills. The meadow sloped down towards its farthest edge that fell away sharply into a tall chasm. Beyond lay the desert, a beautiful sea of rippling patterns of light and shadow that belied the cruelty of its barren sands.

Clearly, someone had visited the site before, because a large area of the meadow had been completely emptied of boulders and rocks, and the ground levelled. I frowned at Mairon, questioningly, but he just laughed and ordered the servants to erect our tent before confining me inside. He threatened to tie me to the supporting post if I dared peek outside, and I resigned myself to wait until his surprise was ready.

From my makeshift prison I heard secretive whispers, ropes creaking loudly over pulleys, and the grunts and cries of a group of people lifting and moving something fragile, followed by clanking of metal and rivets being hammered in place. This frenzy went on for several hours, until well after dark, Mairon entered the tent looking extremely pleased with himself.

‘There is a guard outside, Eönwë. Do not even dream of sneaking out during the night,’ he warned.

He stared at me while twirling his fingers slowly around the long ends of the plaited silk cord he wore as a belt for his tunic. My right hand reached almost unconsciously to rub my chafed left wrist, and a flush climbed up to my cheeks and ears as I recalled how Mairon had used that belt the previous night.

‘What if I do?’ I cried, defiantly. I fought the smile that threatened to spoil the effect, while a wave of tingling heat flooded my loins.

He proceeded to thoroughly demonstrate what cruel torments I would suffer if I dared disobey his orders, so that in the end, I might as well have done so. Later, we celebrated the success of his efforts, whatever they were, with suitably cheerful and energetic lovemaking over the soft pile of furs that we shared while away from our bed.  

The following morning Mairon tickled me awake at dawn and again instructed me to remain inside the tent. I heard noisy preparations, and strange flapping noises. I paced back and forth impatiently, not knowing whether to wish for or dread one of his elaborate, wicked games. I could not guess what he had prepared for me.

Finally, he summoned me outside. His secret was a very large object, roughly triangular in shape, covered by a huge piece of cloth secured all around by metal pegs sunk into the ground.

‘Today, Eönwë, marks exactly a yén since you arrived at Kiinlúum, entered my house to speak your lord’s presumptuous summons, and I offered you my hospitality,‘ he said, placing his hands on my shoulders. He added, ‘I am glad you accepted it.’

My gaze was riveted on his luminous eyes, no longer clouded with suspicion as on that day he referred to, but shimmering with joy and with the barely contained might of those of our kind, which his hröa, unlike mine, did not mask.

‘Over the years,’ he continued, ‘I have often seen you look at the sky with longing, and gaze at birds enviously. I wished to find a beast that would bear you above the clouds, to ride again the swirling currents, as you once did. Without a dragon at hand, and lacking authority over the great eagles of your lord, I have had to improvise.’

At his sign, his servants uncovered a contraption made of slender metal bars and huge sails of pale grey silk, too similar to a pair of bat wings to be mistaken for anything else.

‘Mairon!’ I cried, incredulous. I raked the structure with my gaze, and shook my head in dismay. ‘No. You are insane. Surely you are not as reckless as to believe that this... steel monstrosity would keep me in the air?’

‘Not you alone. Us. And I do not “believe”, friend; I know. I built it.’ There was no trace of doubt in his voice. After kissing my lips lightly, he pulled me by the hand to approach his creation. ‘It is not steel, but a stronger, lighter alloy, and all the beams are hollow.’ He caressed the smooth surface of the cloth. ‘This silk has been woven and stitched to exacting specifications; it weighs almost nothing, but can withstand the required pressure without tearing.’

Before I had time to refute his assertion, he made me step into a complicated leather harness, that he adjusted and buckled snugly over my shoulders and around my waist and thighs, and then proceeded to fit an identical one on himself.

‘This is madness!’ I objected again, more forcefully, while Mairon began to tighten further straps to attach the harness I wore to the flimsy frame. When he finished, one of his servants subjected him to the same treatment, until we both stood tied to the wings, side by side.

‘Trust me, we will be safe,’ he laughed. ‘Your lord must be smiling on you today, the currents are perfect. But otherwise…’

‘You just said it is safe,’ I interrupted, not bothering to hide my sarcasm.

‘Yes, it is. But in the unlikely case of anything going wrong, not because of my calculations, which are right, but because you fail to manoeuvre this device properly...’

‘Me?’ I cried. ‘What makes you think I will...?’ He raised his hand to interrupt my tirade.

‘You know the workings of air streams better than I do, and how to make best use of flow for the purpose of flying, do you not?’ he queried in his most mellifluous voice.

‘No flattering tricks, Mairon,’ I growled. ‘Anyway, you were once a bat, or so I heard.’

‘Mere legends,’ he scoffed contemptuously. ‘Tell me, friend, how could I possibly compress all the matter of my hröa into something as small as a bat while retaining its ability to fly? Its little wings could never lift my full weight!’

‘I am not convinced I believe you, but this is hardly the time to discuss your past achievements or your powers, unless they are sufficient to save us both from hitting the ground head first,’ I argued.

‘No, they are not. I am not all powerful... yet.’ He quirked his lips. ‘In the extremely unlikely case that we fall and get yanked out of our hröar, I will take you far away before your masters can find you.’ His voice was earnest. ‘I have far more to lose than you do, Eönwë.’

Still I hesitated.

‘We have dived together into the core of imploding stars. Are you truly afraid to leap off a tiny rock ledge with me?’ He infused his alluring voice with a minute sliver of hurt disappointment, just enough to make me feel like a spineless coward.

‘No, I am not,’ I growled.

I had to admire his ability to seduce me, yet again. Or perhaps I was addled. Despite the tight knot of fear in my gut, I was actually tingling with excitement. I had trusted him many times, I would do so now.

He gave me detailed instructions on steering, because I would indeed be in charge. After a yén of his demanding games, I was most accomplished at remembering his every word.

‘Before we jump...’ I began. With all the straps hugging me tightly I found it almost impossible to reach for my pocket, but I finally succeeded, while Mairon waited impatiently.

‘Eönwë, the wind may change,’ he said at last.

‘No, not right now,’ I replied absently, while stretching my fingers until they picked the corner of the small leather pouch I wished to extricate from my clothes. Carefully, without letting it drop, I grabbed it and offered it to Mairon.

‘A token of my friendship. Of my... love,’ I said chokingly.

Despite the dreaded word, Mairon picked up the bag, undid the silk ties deftly and let the contents slide onto his palm. An egg-sized uncut emerald gleamed like green fire in the bright morning sunlight. A glance was probably enough for him to gauge its worth, and yet he stared at it, shifting his hand to inspect it from every angle. At last he turned his gaze to me, and I was pleased to see his wonder, verging on shock.

‘How in the Void did you...?’ he began. Then realisation hit him. ‘So that is why that rascal, Mejen, flaunted it before my eyes, the finest emerald I have ever seen in Endórë, and then refused to sell!’ he cried. ‘I hope he did not cheat you out of a yén’s earnings.’

‘Maybe,’ I chuckled. ‘Part of the agreed price went towards buying his silence and persuading him to withstand your bribery when he showed the stone to you. I wished to be certain you would desire it. Not a word to Yúum Síihbalóob, I threatened, or I would ensure you never traded with him again. He immediately swore upon his dead father’s spirit that he would not breathe a word of our transaction to anyone, least of all you.’

Mairon turned the stone several times in his fingers, admiringly, and lifted it to the light.

‘Flawless!’ he exclaimed. ‘Truly magnificent. But not as precious as the gem you have already commissioned, Eönwë.’

He leant towards me, wrapped his arm around my neck and kissed me. I felt my face redden at the chorus of whistles and ribald cheers that ensued, but I would not pull away from Mairon for the world. My knees were weak with desire, but our hröar were barred from touching any closer because of the harnesses. The restraints were fortunate, or we might have progressed to deeper intimacy, regardless of our audience.

Finally, we parted, breathless. He put the emerald away in a safe place and turned to me.

‘Excellent delaying tactics, Eönwë, but we are still gliding off this cliff,’ he said with a bright smile.

The men removed the ropes securing the frame to the ground, and we grasped the bar that lay horizontally on the grass before us, taking the full weight of the wings in our arms. Mairon had not lied, they were surprisingly light. We turned slightly to face the edge of the cliff, which was only a few dozen strides away.

‘Ready?’ He smiled.

I nodded, and my fingers tightened on the hollow bar, as if trying to squeeze it flat.

‘Now, run!’ Mairon shouted.

I matched him at every step, and together, with wild cries, we leapt off the rocky outcrop. For a brief moment, gravity took hold, and I imagined us plummeting out of control and then being splattered over the very distant ground. But the harness pulled me up, until we lay, side by side, suspended from the sturdy frame above us. The grey silk was swollen with the breeze that held us tenderly in its embrace, and Mairon cried out in triumph.

The invisible currents lifted us, proving Mairon’s confidence in his design. My heart eased down from where it had been stuck in my throat to its natural position in my chest, and began to slow down to its normal speed. I was at last able to fully admire the amazing expanse of scenery below us, and to drink the cool wind that caressed my face. At my prompt, we leant to one side or another, tugging at the steering ropes, and watched our wings tilt in response, attuned to the swift air stream that carried us. Turning back towards the cliff, I realised we were already higher than the meadow we had used to launch ourselves into our flight when I saw our men running and waving at us from below.

We spent a long time gliding over the area in wide circles, mostly in silence, broken only by the slight groan of our wings and the rustle of our clothes in the wind. The seemingly endless desert lay below, painted in many soft hues all the way to the western horizon. Far beyond the hazy line where the sea of dunes touched the sky, half a world away, lay the lands from which I had been exiled one yén ago, but I did not miss them any more. As during the days I flew with Lintavailë, I shed tears, but this time they were of joy. I smiled at Mairon in gratitude, and he grinned in response.

Much later, the lift on our wings weakened gradually, and we began a gentle spiral descent towards the scrubland below. We steered towards a dark spot which Mairon pointed at, a second camp where men and horses awaited us. He had planned every detail.

When we finally touched the ground at a run, we ended up rolling into a ditch. Immobilised by the harness, I laughed, exhilarated and happy, though bruised by the many pebbles that dug into every part of my body. Mairon unsheathed a dagger and cut through the straps to extricate us from his wings, which had suffered major damage on landing. Once we stood free, he shrugged at the sight of mangled rods and torn silk.

‘I can build an improved model. This design dipped a little faster than I thought, and the steering was not as smooth as it should have been. Anyway, as a first trial it was most instructive.’

‘First trial,’ I echoed, staring at him numbly.

I ran a gentle finger under a shallow graze over his eyebrow, no more than a scratch, and showed him the drop of blood I had wiped from his skin.

‘The reward was worth the risk,’ he answered. ‘Was it not?’

He kissed me hungrily.

I whispered words of gratitude to Ilúvatar for his mercy; he had not forsaken us yet. 

 

 

---

[1] “Behold, Aule now gathered six metals, copper, silver, tin, lead, iron, and gold, and taking a portion of each made with his magic a seventh which he named therefore tilkal,* and this had all the properties of the six and many of its own. Its colour was bright green or red in varying lights and it could not be broken, and Aule alone could forge it. Thereafter he forged a mighty chain, making it of all seven metals welded with spells to a substance of uttermost hardness and brightness and smoothness, but of tilkal he had not sufficient to add more than a little to each link. Nonetheless he made two manacles of tilkal only and four fetters likewise. Now the chain was named Angaino, the oppressor, and the manacles Vorotemnar that bind for ever, but the fetters Ilterendi for they might not be filed or cleft.

 * Footnote in the manuscript: 'T(ambe) I(lsa) L(atuken) K(anu) A(nga) L(aure)”

 (From ‘The Book of lost Tales’, History of Middle-earth Vol. I)

[2] Ñorthus (Quenya) Equivalent of Sindarin Gorthaur (Abhorred) [From Parma Eldalamberon 17]

[3] Tintallë (Quenya) Kindler, another name for Varda

Foreboding

Eönwë's bliss is shadowed by foresight. What will prevail: fate or free will?

Read Foreboding

 

17. Foreboding

Kiinlúum, Year 436 of the Second Age of Arda

One yén, and two more after the first one, had come and gone surprisingly fast at Mairon’s side since I first arrived at Kiinlúum and he had invited me to stay [1].

Long gone were the days when I had searched for deceit in every word he spoke and suspected evil intentions behind his every deed. I had learnt to trust him, and my yearning for him, dating back to our earliest times in Eä, had been fulfilled beyond my wildest desires. I seldom missed freedom from the hindrance of my flesh any more, after learning to appreciate my hröa as a source of much joy.

At his side, my banishment in Endórë had turned into bliss, and I no longer wished for the end of my sentence, however many years were left.

Around us, generations of short-lived Atani were born and died. Like tree leaves through the seasons, they grew, waned and fell, and with their coming and leaving, the shape and hue of our world changed slowly, though some things seemed immutable. Through our gentle steering, Kiinlúum had grown in power and prominence over its neighbours, and prosperity and peace never faltered. Whispers of legend were wreathed around us, making us benevolent envoys of the Sun-god himself, immortal and wise, sent to protect and guide, but not rule, in reward for the faith of the people of Kiinlúum and the fairness of their kings. Had we attempted to dispel this notion, we would not have been believed.

Mairon’s counsel and my own had been regarded reverently by the kings that had succeeded Chakmóol and Sakxikin in an unbroken line from father to son. Our advice was prized far above the vague and ambiguous auguries of the sacred sooth-sayers of the Sun-god himself. Until Chimal, the present ahaw and Chakmóol’s great-grandson through fourteen generations, ascended to the throne of Kiinlúum at the untimely death of his father. Unlike his predecessors, Chimal never entered into the ritual of submission that Chakmóol had initiated, the gesture that sealed the unspoken allegiance between the god-king of Kiinlúum and the mighty Yúum Síihbalóob.

And yet, at first Chimal had behaved no differently from his forefathers, at least in appearance. But as soon as he gained confidence in his position as a divinity, it became clear to all that he would rather listen to flattery over truth or sense, and that ambition and the promise of wealth or pleasure alone ruled his actions. 

Only three years into Chimal’s reign, as if to test his ability to govern, the villages along the northern fringe of the realm began to be harried by recurring raids, instigated by the intractable fief lords across the border, who seemed uncommonly keen on threats and aggression.

One day, the  arrival of yet another disturbing report of farmsteads and crops burnt, of men tortured and slain, and of women and children stolen to be sold into slavery in Xamanlúum [2] had provoked a wrathful outcry at Chimal’s council, loud enough to make my head pound achingly. But it had been the desecration of the Sun temple and the cruel slaying of the holy men who tended it that had sent the large majority of the assembly into a paroxism of fanatic zeal, bent on bloodthirsty revenge. My advice for diplomacy had fallen on deaf ears, as had the warnings for caution spoken by some of Chimal’s older advisors, who had previously ruled at his father’s side. For the first time in centuries, the ahaw was considering calling war on another realm, goaded by excited warmongers and irate priests.

I walked home dismayed and angry. Entering my room, I dropped myself wearily on the bed. For a while I stared at the ceiling and sieved through my troubled mind. At last, a bit calmer, I sat up.

My eyes came to rest on the brittle cover of the book on Númenórë I had once given Nikteháa, which I kept as the crumbling reminder of our love. Over the years, I had seen death in many guises, but I could never grow used to the grief of losing a dear friend. I wondered if Elerossë was still alive, if his dreams of happiness in Andórë [3] had become truth.

Some unease within me kept drawing my thoughts towards mortality and loss. To dispel my melancholy, I forced myself to go for a hard ride in the hills. The speed and freedom of galloping across the highland plains were only a pale reflection of riding the wind itself, but they were nevertheless exhilarating, and helped me clear my mind from dark musings.

When I returned home, my mood was far improved. I dismissed the stable hands and took care of my horse. I gave him food and water, and after grooming and petting him, I climbed the staircase two steps at a time to enjoy a warm bath and a change of clothes before seeking Mairon in his workshop.

As soon as he saw me, he set aside his work. Having long exhausted his patience with Chimal, he had not graced the council with his presence on this occasion, though he covertly kept a lively but discreet converse with other courtiers who seemed to share our frustration. He questioned me avidly about the events of the day, asking abundant questions and listening gravely to my account, before losing himself in thought for a long while.

‘As you know, at dawn tomorrow I am travelling to the old marble quarry,’ he said at last. ‘We are running out of decent stone, and it may be worth restarting work there again. Come with me.’

His tone of command irked me.

‘Not this time, Mairon. I am busy,’ I argued, crossing my arms over my chest, prepared for confrontation. ‘The king needs…’

‘I care nothing for what Chimal may need, Eönwë,’ he snapped, eyes narrowed in disdain. ‘You just said he ignored your every word today. Let him wait to show him your displeasure. Make yourself ready to stay away for a night or two.’

‘Are you presuming to order me about, on a night when you are not Master?’ I retorted boldly, somewhat irritated.

‘That can still be arranged,‘ he answered in a voice that stirred my loins with its promise of danger, ‘but I deem it unnecessary.’

His eyebrows rose in mock disapproval when I uttered my lord's name in an unrepeatable profanity, and he waved me towards the house, where our dinner awaited. Ravenous after the ride, I considered the assortment of dishes on the table. I set myself to devour the delicious food, ignoring Mairon's provocative smirk, and only when my hunger was satisfied did I again attempt to decline joining him in his trip. He thwarted me at once.

‘There are matters I would talk to you about, Eönwë. I am fretting in this stifling city.’ His deep frown and the urgency in his words made me uneasy.

‘I will come, then.’

‘Good.’ His lips curved slowly, in the inviting, playful smile that never failed to melt my insides. ‘Now, my beauty, I can think of several pleasant ways to distract our minds this evening...’

The tips of his fingers traced my jawline down to my neck, then moved to my shoulder, and drew a sinuous line down my arm to my wrist. I began to yield to my desire. Suddenly, he snatched from my unsuspecting fingers the almond sweet I was about to take to my mouth, and held it beyond my reach, taunting me.

With a loud war cry, I jumped on him to retrieve my stolen treasure. I knew my efforts would be met with defeat but, nevertheless, I was confident to gain something in return.

 

At dawn the following morning the two of us, alone, rode out of the city. Soon we left the green valley hugging the river and headed west, climbing the winding road up to the highlands. Very few trees grew in this area; instead, low bristly bushes and endless expanses of heather covered the ground beyond the road. We would sometimes race, to add some thrill to an otherwise unremarkable journey, and I basked in the glow of several tight victories over Mairon, who took his defeats rather gallantly.

Later, we doubled back eastwards along the steep edge of the plains. By the end of the afternoon, we came to the brink of a sheer rocky outcrop, and the whole valley suddenly unfurled before us like a huge tapestry, a long way below where we stood. In the distance, the river and the glazed windows of the city glinted like mirrors in the light of the sinking sun, and I was reminded of my arrival in Kiinlúum.

‘Behold our realm, Eönwë,’ said Mairon, after admiring the view for a while.

‘Ours, Mairon? I thought it belonged to the ahaw and his people,’ I replied with a smile, and he waved his hand impatiently.

‘Indeed. Yet it has been our patient rule in the shadow that has brought them wealth and peace,’ he retorted. Then he frowned. ‘Until now, that is. I fear our little Chimal may destroy what we have crafted, Eönwë, if we let him.’

I sucked in my breath at the savage tone with which he spoke these last words.

‘This is not the first time that our discussions have led us down treasonous paths lately, but speaking in our own tongue assures our safety against prying ears. So, why did you bring me here, Mairon?’

‘Treason is a certainty waiting to happen, given the lack of wit of our ahaw!’ he replied. ‘Only a man who will not cease his rutting unless a gold trinket is dangled in front of his eyes can fall for the crude charms of that scheming courtesan from Xaman, and wed her against the advice of the entire council. Why, even his inept cronies failed to stop him!’

‘At least Lotiya has given him an heir, while his two other wives have not,’ I argued. ‘And her young brother Ajyin has sworn allegiance to Chimal and joined his warriors.’

‘Our newest queen’s forked tongue is already hissing pretty lies into the fawning ears that swarm around her vying for attention. She pursues her own ends to become the true ruler while our Chimal buries his face between her legs and remains blind to her guiles and schemes, and oblivious to the woes of his realm,’ sneered Mairon. ‘Some of which she may be weaving herself...’

‘I have recently wondered if her arrival last spring and the shadow of war were related,’ I ventured, thoughtfully. ‘She gained much sympathy through her pitiful story of young, helpless siblings sold into slavery when their father fell in disgrace in Xaman, and she has often voiced undying hatred against those who made them destitute and now govern her land of birth. I have wished to believe it and yet... something does not ring true. Can you prove that she is a spy?’

Mairon had a wide network of informers, so that little happened in Kiinlúum  of which he was unaware.

‘Regrettably, my men have corroborated her tale and so far uncovered no proof of any wrongdoing, but I do not despair of acquiring it soon, if any is there to be found. The favour of Yúum Síihbalóob is still regarded above that of all others in this realm, despite our ahaw and his latest pet.’ He shrugged when I smiled at his assessment, spoken without a trace of arrogance. ‘A few of Chimal’s most loyal servants keep me appraised of all, including the most trivial gossip in his household, amongst which fascinating nuggets of information can sometimes be mined.’ 

‘You spy on the king in his own house?’ I cried.

‘I merely pay to know what careless lips speak aloud, Eönwë. In our hands is the power to prevent a disaster, before Kiinlúum is handed on a platter to her enemies to be torn into pieces.’ I was startled by the menace in his voice, and by the steel of his glare. ‘I will not suffer being ruled by the whim of a cheap enchantress or by whoever sent her to wreak discord.’

He turned his gaze to the wide view before us. His brow was furrowed by deep thought, worry or both.

‘Something is stirring. Storm clouds are gathering beyond our grasp, Eönwë, I can feel them,’ he pronounced, his mien stern. ‘I can sense the change in the chords of the Music, and I recall how they unfold. I fear our precious ahaw and his pretty concubine may just be pawns in a much larger game.’

I shivered, unable to disregard what his instinct told him.

At that time, the sun sank below the horizon with a last flash of golden light. Mairon turned his  horse away from the sheer ridge, and we left the darkening realm at our backs, heading for the quarry.

Questions and doubts raced and stumbled in my mind, but when I made an attempt to voice them, Mairon cantered ahead, barring conversation.

We soon reached our destination.  On a grassy meadow near the shadow of the man-made cliff, amongst discarded cyclopean stone blocks that shimmered in the pearly starlight, we made our simple camp that night under the bejewelled sky, as we had brought no tents. We lay together, in silence. The night was balmy but, in Mairon’s arms, I once felt him shiver.

The morning sun did not dissolve my unease though Mairon made me forget it for a while. I awoke to light on my face and a hard pressure against my back. Not the lumpy ground, because we had built ourselves a comfortable bed of heather, covered by a fur blanket.

‘Threatening me with a blade in my sleep, Mairon?’ I slurred, turning to face him. ‘Too lowly a conspiracy, even for you.’

‘Lowly, Eönwë?’ he answered with a sly smile, rising to his knees before me. ‘You slander me. I hide no weapon, see?’

Indeed I saw. Mairon lifted his hands, palms out, so that the cloak that covered him slipped from his chest, to reveal his glorious nakedness. The uncut emerald I had once given him rested on his muscled chest, suspended from his neck by a fine mistarillë chain that drew my gaze down. A surge of scalding desire urged me to worship him, and we fell back in a tangle onto the fragrant heather.

‘Are we going back to the city?’ I asked later, while we broke our fast next to a small fire. 

‘Not yet. I must survey the site and chisel out some samples. Let us stay another night.’

‘Very well.’ I leant down to kiss him. ‘Maybe we can take advantage of being in such a remote place, can we not?’

‘Indeed, friend.’ He scanned the location and when his eyes met mine, they were full of mischief. ‘How about a visit to Thangorodrim at sunset, my fair Nelyafinwë? ’

A delightful tremor of fearful excitement and renewed arousal shook me, dispelling vague qualms about our travesty of true torment.

’Did you bring a band of steel that no blade can sever, Moringotto?’ I retorted.

He rose to search for something in his saddlebag. I held my breath when I heard a faint tinkle as he raised his arm. In his hand gleamed one of my wrist cuffs, linked to a short chain.

‘You had plans, I see.’ My knees trembled and my loins throbbed. ‘And how about Findekáno’s harp?’

‘Nay, I shall have to improvise about the eagle, too.’ His laughter was like a rain of silver echoing in the stone. ‘But fear not, Maitimo, I keep my sword sharp...’

 

~ o ~

 

The following morning we awoke well after dawn, snuggled in fur like wolf cubs. I ached all over and my right arm felt as if though it might fall off my shoulder at any time. But my memory of pleasure overrode my hröa’s discomfort, and even lightened the anxiety that still weighed upon my mind ever since Mairon had hinted at a looming danger.

So far, he had deflected all my efforts to pry more information about the nature of whatever threat he suspected, concentrating his full attention instead on the tasks he had set himself in the quarry, and ignoring my growing irritation. In the end, I gave up pleading for answers, sensing that he would tackle the matter before we returned to the city.

After he stoked the fire, Mairon sat idly, twirling a long twig in his hands. Then he used it to torment a line of ants scurrying busily at his feet. For a while, his eyes studied the flurry of excitement provoked when he scratched lines across their path to bar their progress, or pushed sand into little mounds before them to make them change direction. I watched him play, mesmerised.

At last he dropped the twig, causing chaos, and came to sit closer to me. Ever the craftsman, he picked up several reeds and began to braid them into a convoluted pattern. Soon, he offered me a star with nine points.

‘I have no gift for you, Mairon. And yet today marks three yéni to the day since I knocked on your door.’

Instead of answering, he tickled my throat with a spare piece of straw. I slapped it away several times, until he lay down on the grass with his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. In later, darker times, I often recalled the serenity of this scene shining forth like a Silmaril buried in the blackest pit of Utumno.

Mairon looked the picture of contentment, unguarded and at peace. I watched him for a long time, from his high forehead to his dark eyebrows, not unlike bold lúvar [4] inked on his flawless skin, to the long curved eyelashes, and the straight nose. My gaze lingered on his lips, full and now at rest. Only last night I had known their insatiable hunger, their touch, soft and harsh, on every corner of my skin. I shivered at the memory of the delights they could bestow. Unable to resist his beauty or my renewed lust, I sat over his hips, and playfully pinned his arms against the ground. His eyes opened, twinkling, and for an instant I braced myself against his attack, but in the end he indulged me and did not pull away.

‘What you give me, Eönwë, is worth more than the whole of this little realm, this playground in which we amuse ourselves to while away the Ages. Anything I ask of you, you are willing to grant me. That is a kingly gift.’

‘A playground, you say. Do you miss Angamando, my wicked dark lord?’ I queried.

‘No.’ His answer was firm, his eyes sincere.

I released his arms and kissed him. He raised his fingers to my cheek.

‘I take pleasure in this simple life, friend. Order and peace reward my labours, and the penance for the ills I once wrought has brought me all but hardship. Can I be blamed for earning wealth and respect?’ His lips curled into a crooked, most alluring smile. ‘And, free from the trappings that plague all rulers, I enjoy my craft, indulge in harmless pastimes and you, my beauty, sate my dark desires and keep them leashed.’

He grasped my wrists and nibbled my fingers, one by one, slowly, sensually. I almost forgot to breathe.

‘Is there nothing you wish for?’ I asked at length, striving to keep the thread of my questioning despite his efforts to distract me.

‘Naught of import, Eönwë, except for setting our little ahaw back onto the right path before he causes some harm.’

‘Does it mean you are free?’ I whispered. ‘From... him?’

His eyes hardened immediately and he sat up, all playfulness gone.

‘You and I sang the Music. Were you too busy mimicking your lord’s chorus to pay attention to its progression? I watched, nay, sensed the first theme evolve inside and around me, I felt the dissonance Melkor introduced. I sang my own tune at first, until his dark, strident crescendo overwhelmed me and my voice broke under the force of his braying onslaught. And when Eru began his new themes, I was wary and listened, studying how each of our melodies was threaded into the whole, before I dared join again. Melkor’s discordant notes were still there, in the subtle distortion of my own and of those sung by many others who were later deemed fair and virtuous.’

As his shrewd eyes pierced me, a chill ran down my spine. My most shameful secret raised its head from where I had buried it long ago in the vain hope that tireless service and devotion to Manwë would cause it to vanish. My uneasiness must have spoken the confirmation Mairon sought, because he nodded.

‘Who of those who entered Eä can claim to be wholly free from Melkor’s dissonance, when it touched every thought and was woven into Time and light themselves along with all our other chords, as Eru gave them being?’ Mairon paused while I considered his logic, then he shrugged. ‘Beyond that, I wish to believe I am free. When your host defeated Melkor, I vowed never to bind myself to another lord, be he fair or evil. Not out of remorse, but of desire to rule my own fate at last. I shall not be perpetually chained to Melkor’s will against my own, not even if the Music may ordain it.’

His breath had quickened, his hands were clenched upon his knees, white knuckles straining from the force pent within him. I placed my hand on his shoulder in reassurance, but before I could shape any words, he continued.

‘Your lord works to fulfil fate, the vision that Ilúvatar showed us, while I shall ever fight it because... I fear that one day hatred may be rekindled in my heart, dark flames that I would rather leave dead.’ His voice was bitter, his eyes seemed to stare through me at something that was before him and yet not there, his hands loosened once more.

Icy tendrils of unease crawled under my skin; somehow I was certain that he spoke with the perilous truth of foresight, of a doom that might be.

‘Surely, that is not Eru’s design!’ I cried, distressed. ‘Although we were born of his thought, we are not his slaves, or the Music’s.’

‘Maybe not.’ He smiled weakly, free from whatever vision he had been caught into, and squeezed my hands in his. ‘Maybe it is nothing worse than Melkor’s angry shadow that darkens my thoughts. Will you say that I have proved my repentance?’

‘I will,’ I answered fervently. ‘And I shall speak for you in Aman, when at last you choose to return.’

‘After what happened when Melkor was released from Mandos, those beyond the sea will never trust me to be free, not even if you vouch for me. Thus my contrition is worthless in their eyes, and redemption unattainable.’

I was about to protest, but he put a finger on my lips.

‘They always knew you would fail in your task, Eönwë.’

‘But you once said “not yet”, as though maybe one day...’

My argument died unspoken. I was well aware of what judgement would be, in all likelihood, meted upon him in the Ring of Doom. Once I would have accepted it as necessary and just, but not any more.

‘I shall not return to see you imprisoned in Mandos or thrown into the Void!’

I was startled to see him shudder, but he regained his aplomb within a heartbeat.

‘Oh, but you shall return, and one day you may stand by your lord’s side again, friend.’ His chuckle was bitter. ‘After all, I suspect you have granted him a victory.’

‘How so, Mairon?’

‘Chakmóol told you once. Where my armour was once perfect, it is now flawed. You became the unknowing pawn of the Valar, my beauty, and I foolishly fell for your sorcery. If they strike at you, they will wound me.’

My gorge rose, as when Mairon used to goad me long ago, but this time my rage was not directed against him. He wrapped me in his arms, and I leant against him, burying my face in his hair, warm from the sun. My gloom lifted, but only a little.

‘Perhaps it is you, Eönwë, who stays their hand now, like a charm that protects me from their wrath,’ he whispered in my ear. ‘But one day the respite may be over, when Manwë decides that it is time for the Music to change its key.’

After a hesitation he added, ‘I fear that day may come soon, friend.’

‘How do you know?’ I cried.

‘Of late, I have felt several times the slight shifts and pulls in the weave of Eä that betray the  unclad presence of at least one of our kind. Here in the open, away from a bustling crowd of fëar, I have been able to extend my senses further, but I found nothing. Whoever it was, they have gone away.’

‘No!’ I gasped, but I knew better than to disregard the signs he had read, which I would have detected as well, had I not been locked in my hröa. My heart shrank at the cold fire that burned in Mairon’s eyes.

‘Tell me, friend, why would our kin covertly visit this remote part of Arda, if not to spy on us?’ he spat in contempt.

‘You believe that the unrest in Xaman, and even Lotiya’s machinations are the result of their visit,’ I exclaimed, dismayed. ‘But how can it be? Manwë has forbidden any meddling with the affairs of the Children, even less to the extreme of inciting a realm to war against an innocent neighbour.’

Mairon’s silence was so loud that I argued more desperately, clutching at straws.

‘They would have declared themselves and their mission to the Atani, and rumour would have surely reached our ears...’

I was trying to fool myself. Suddenly, Mairon smiled, without mirth.

‘When the day comes, will you betray me, O Herald, to earn your lord’s favour back?’

Shocked, I jerked free of his embrace and while his question floated awkwardly between us, I looked deep into his eyes. They were bright with defiance and rage, but held no hardness against me, and no demand. I shook my head, confused.

‘Forgive my crassness,’ he murmured, drawing me into his arms again. ‘Let us enjoy the pretence of being ants scuttling in the sand, oblivious of the gods, until a foot comes down to stamp our nest. They may stir a scorpion’s nest, and its bite can fell a mighty warrior.’

His lips caressed mine, and I returned the kiss fiercely. Our lovemaking was desperate, bruising, over the bed of heather.

Bitter choices may lie ahead, but not yet. Not yet.

 

---

 

Notes:

 

[1] yén (Quenya), plural yéni. Long-year of the Elves, equivalent to 144 of our years.

[2] Xaman (Yucatec) North; Xamanlúum can be translated as “Land of the North”.

[3] Andórë (Quenya) Land of Gift, another name of Númenor.

[4] lúva (Quenya, plural lúvar) the bow or curves of tengwar script.

Summons

A summons is issued, Eönwë makes a decision and Mairon... well, Mairon surprises Eönwë.

This chapter fits two of the prompts of B2MeM 2011.

Read Summons

 

18. Summons

Kiinlúum, Year 438 of the Second Age of Arda

While intrigues at court and war with Xamanlúum escalated in unison, I kept praying to Eru that Mairon’s suspicions would prove false.

Never again did we speak about fate, but we began to live as if each day might bring the end of our bliss, now shadowed by foresight. The bond we shared, that Mairon would never name, grew stronger, and the fire of our passion hotter. Every word, glance, touch and smile we shared became a treasure. Urgency marked our every action, our every thought, now that time was precious. Was this what it felt like to be mortal?

All around us, the world kept running its course, indifferent to our plight. Events showed no sign of the hand of my lord Manwë and his brethren behind them. Hostilities with Xaman’s fiefs evolved as the seasons changed, skirmishes and retaliatory raids of escalating ferocity originated from both sides. Inevitably, though, Kiinlúum armies marched proudly to war in the North, but the ahaw remained behind, in the safety of the city.

His wife’s brother, Ajyin, joined the long campaign and came back victorious, bearing trophies of his many dead enemies, and basked proudly in the adulation of the people. Rumours of his arrogance were smothered in the glow of his gallant boldness, but not before Mairon’s spies brought the truth to their master.

‘I was hoping his pride would get him killed,’ spat Mairon.

‘We are invited to the feast honouring the captains of the army. Chimal is rumoured to grant Ajyin riches and a promotion,’ I replied.

‘Just what we needed,’ he growled. ‘As a hero, he will be insufferable. Our king is blind or perhaps our charming Lotiya is truly a mighty sorceress and has cast a spell on him.’

Indeed the reception was sumptuous. The army dragged in a large number of prisoners, who were paraded naked in front of a smug ahaw, before being made to kneel in chains under the scorching sun for the duration of the endless meal and the lavish entertainment that followed. Several men fainted. I would have pleaded for mercy, at least for those who seemed like mere boys, but Mairon guessed my purpose.

‘Silence is wiser right now, Eönwë,’ he hissed.

Near the end of the feast, Chimal spoke cursory words of praise for his captains, while giving his brother by marriage gold, slaves and the coveted pendant that marked him as a Councillor. At his side, decked in jewels, sat Lotiya, savouring the glory bestowed upon her kinsman, while Chimal’s other wives were relegated to a shadowed corner of the room.

‘Those who warned you against this campaign would have robbed you of a magnificent victory, my beloved,’ she spoke to Chimal, loud enough for anyone to hear, her sharp black eyes maliciously turned to us.

‘Yúum Eönwë and I were of the opinion that sending the might of half the army to crush that worthless rabble was an unnecessary waste of the ahaw’s gold,’ retorted Mairon smoothly. ‘Was there ever a doubt about the outcome of a battle between a mouse and an eagle, my lady? Even a kitten’s claws were enough for the task.’

I did not fail to see the approving nods of the disgruntled army leaders, while Lotiya shot daggers in our direction. If Mairon had not been her declared enemy before, he was now, and so was I, if only by association.

 

~ o ~

 

My heart almost stopped in dismay on the day that Mairon called me to his balcony and pointed at the dark spot in the sky, slowly growing larger against the dazzling setting sun.

‘Lintavailë?’ I cried, disbelieving.

‘Go, friend,’ urged Mairon, and yet, I lingered. We only parted after a long, tight embrace and a frantic kiss, in which I tasted the sourness of fear.

‘I shall come back,’ I vowed. ‘With news.’

I mounted my horse and, as soon as I cleared the city gates, I galloped towards the hills at breakneck speed. With every sense and thought bent on controlling my mount, I was unable to dwell on what might come to pass. 

Despite the falling darkness, the great eagle saw me from afar, and it was me who led his descent into a small glen, away from the road, where I hoped our meeting would be unnoticed.

Indeed it was Lintavailë. When I stood before him, I bowed in greeting, and he inclined his head in return.

‘The jewels of Tintallë shine upon our meeting, Eönwë. I am thrilled to see you,’ he spoke. I realised, amused, that he had surely feared I would be on my swift way to Mandos after he had left me at Mairon’s doorstep. [1]

‘Indeed I am well,’ I replied, and the fondness for my first friend in exile was rekindled in my heart. ‘Has the warm breeze borne you high on your journeys?’

After exchanging some pleasantries, I learned that on his way he had visited the Land of Gift, where bliss marked the long reign of Elerossë. In Aman, Findaráto had been released from Mandos not long after my exile and made a plea for my pardon to the Valar assembled in the Máhanaxar. I was eager to know the reason for Lintavailë’s return and, guessing my impatience, he did not tarry with his news.

‘I bring a message from our lord, Eönwë.’ I held my breath, in a mixture of anticipation and dread. ‘You are commanded to travel to Lindon, where you must swear fealty to Gil-galad Ereinion, and you will serve him and his heirs for the reminder of your banishment. I am to take you there without delay. That is Manwë’s will.’

At his words, I was rendered speechless. Lintavailë watched me, patiently waiting for my response, perhaps guessing the turmoil he had provoked.

Incredulity turned to outrage that tied an almost suffocating knot in my chest, and only very slowly it melted into a scalding wave of fury.

Before Eä, as Mairon had said, I had sung along Manwë’s chords, unwavering until the third theme of Eru when, to my shame, I faltered. I had never confessed my failure, but I knew Manwë had heard my dissonance. As though to atone for my flawed notes, ever since I entered Eä, I had been his willing servant, gladly following his directions, toiling under his command without rest, without question.

Through peace and war over the Ages, I had been faithful and claimed no reward but the satisfaction of watching my lord’s designs take shape, overcoming the setbacks wrought by his brother. When Manwë chose not to leave Aman to wage the war to end the dominion of Melkor in Endórë, I became his instrument, wielding his power to sink lands, bring down mountains and raise seas. I had faced the dire ugliness that Moringotto had inflicted on the Children, wrested him down, chained him and cast him to the Void. I had been the voice that summoned the wounded remains of the folk of the Eldar to Aman, and spoke their doom to the sons of Eärendil before witnessing their sundering choices. Ever bowing to my lord’s will, never asking, never expecting praise or prize but the knowledge of a duty fulfilled.

I had felt betrayed when my lord meted out my punishment to appease the Noldor, and yet, had I not accepted his harsh ruling, swallowed my shame and meekly obeyed without challenge, yet again, despite the sheer injustice? In doing so, I had hoped to redeem my lapse, my flaw, even if others had never been made to pay so dearly for their faltering.

And now, now that I had found a measure of contentment at last, my lord had no qualms to destroy it all, without deigning himself to provide a reason, and without a chance of appeal.

‘I shall not come, Lintavailë.’

The eagle waited, but I had said all I needed to.

‘If that is your answer, I shall not attempt to sway you. Are you prepared, though, to face the consequences of your refusal?’ His tone was not menacing but caring, as though once his message had been spoken and the answer given he could again revert to the role of a friend. 

‘What would they be?’

‘I never revealed your location, Eönwë, but I have heard that others may have been here.’

‘We guessed as much,’ I admitted, trying to mask my dismay at the confirmation of Mairon’s misgivings.

‘Be warned. Manwë will find other ways to summon you when he learns of my failure.’

‘He chose to cast me out from my kin for two Ages of Arda, and he must respect the terms he set,’ I argued.

‘He is still your lord. Do not forget your place.’

His eyes pierced mine, but I held the scrutiny unflinchingly. Mairon’s question about betrayal echoed in my mind.

‘Farewell, Eönwë,’ said Lintavailë at last, flapping his mighty wings. ‘May we soar one day together over the snows of Oiolossë, free and untroubled. Now I shall find rest in a craggy ridge I espied not far from here, and when Anar rises for the second time, I shall begin my return journey.’

‘May the east wind speed you on your way, friend,’ I answered, with a pang of sadness in my chest. ‘Until we meet again.’

I watched him fly away before turning my horse towards the road to the city. The stars twinkled brightly all around and above me, reminders of what I had just renounced. I refused to heed the doubt and regret that sought entrance into my thoughts.

The gates, already closed, were promptly thrown open for me. I was one of a handful of people in the realm who, as well as the ahaw, had right of entry at any time of day or night, though I had seldom used the privilege. 

Mairon waited for my return in his workshop, and listened to my account in silence. I noticed his struggle to remain impassive when he heard my choice.

‘Is it wise to defy your lord, friend?’ he queried mildly. ‘Maybe you can still change your mind and seek your eagle friend in the morrow.’

‘My choice is made,’ I replied, dryly. ‘For good or ill. Unless, for once, you agree with the King of Arda and uphold his right to impose further strictures on my banishment. Do you?’

He lifted his hands to placate me.

‘Not at all, Eönwë. I am glad you are staying.’ His voice was measured, but his eyes shone with joy, mirrored in a bright smile. Warmth swept through me, and I almost sighed with relief. During my return journey I had hoped, nay, prayed for that very answer.

‘For good or ill,’ he repeated, ‘you have cast your lot with mine. Even your friend has warned you, we must be wary. Manwë will not welcome your answer.’

He grasped my hand, and lifted it to his lips.

 

~o~

 

Each step was torment. Fire and smoke made my lungs burn, my eyes stung in the dust storm and the armour weighed down my weary body as I climbed the slope of loose ash, at the vanguard of a large army. Just ahead of me, a man with a soot-blackened face carried a dark blue silk banner, embroidered with twelve silver stars, Ereinion’s colours. Suddenly, he turned to me. It was  Elerondo. ‘Do not betray us,’ he said, and called me by a name I did not recognise. [2]

A tall figure in black armour, dreadful and mighty, stood in the centre of a circle of corpses. Elerondo advanced, unheeding the order of his king to stand back. I followed. When the dark blade came sweeping down, I dropped my sword, forgoing defence. Unable to parry the blow unaided, Eärendil’s son fell to his knees, mortally wounded. He bled to death in my arms. Our foe laughed and took his helmet off, revealing a hideous mask that reminded me of Mairon, but twisted and evil. I wanted to close my eyes, but my eyelids seemed unable to answer to my will. The mockery in Mairon’s laughter bit me, as did his words: ‘You are mine. Mine alone. Together we will go into the Void...’

I woke up, sweating and trembling with fear, and lashed out when Mairon tried to hold me down. But he took my hands in his, and I had not the strength to fight him. At length, I let my body go limp against his.

‘Another dream?’ he whispered in my ear, when I calmed down.

I nodded, and he caressed my hair and my back, as though I were a frightened child. In fact, I was terrified.

‘Which one did Irmo ensnare you with this time?’ he queried, angrily.

‘The army on the mountain of ash. But this time the king survived, and it was Elerondo who died at your hands...’ I shuddered, and he held me tighter.

The dreams had begun a month after Lintavailë had departed. They were as vivid as real life, made up of confusing short scenes that were not always identical when the dream recurred on later nights.

In one of them, I had a ring on my finger, and so did Mairon. We stood on a black tower; at our feet a huge army of Orcs and Men hailed us and awaited our orders, bearing sable banners with red serpents and an all-seeing eye.

In another, I sank a blade into the heart of a man hanging from chains, tortured and mutilated. I peered into his dead face, obscured by his hair and encrusted with blood, but could not recognise him. In variations of this scene, I was the victim, and Mairon became the tormentor or the dagger-wielding executioner.

After a few consecutive nights of feverish visions, I opened my mind to Mairon, to show him a few of the images that haunted me. He recoiled in horror.

‘They want me to fear you, Mairon, or maybe to hate you,’ I muttered, cradled in his arms. ‘Do you believe this to be our future?’

‘Not if I have any power to shape it, friend; I will not be ruled by dreams or foresight, even less by those wrought by Manwë and his brethren,’ he answered. In his voice, I sensed his fury, disturbingly edged by fear. ‘They are planting these dreadful scenes in your mind in the hope that you will plea to them to be spared from such a dark fate at my side.’

I nodded at the perfect logic of his explanation.

‘This is the summons Lintavailë warned me about,’ I growled in dejection. 

‘The first one. Manwë will not stop until you yield. He must prove beyond doubt that he owns your allegiance, and that you will honour it above all else.’

I recognised the wisdom in his words, the mirror of my own fears. And yet, I was seething once more at my lord’s disregard for the terms of my banishment. 

‘Dreams will not sway me, nor words. Manwë sent me away and turned his back on me; now he cannot yank my leash and expect me to run to him at once, grateful for the opportunity to return or, worse even, to spend my banishment as a servant in Gil-galad’s court.’

When Mairon raised his eyebrow in mock outrage I punched his arm.

‘If these nightmares are meant to be foresight,’ I continued, earnestly, ‘I have an even stronger reason to remain at your side and prevent those dreadful scenes from ever happening or, otherwise, to slay you with my bare hands before you can become the monster I have seen.’

‘You may certainly try,’ he teased, and nuzzled my neck, tickling me with his lips until I pulled slightly away.

‘I prize your loyalty, friend,’ he added. His eyes sparkled with fondness and pride.

‘Loyalty, Mairon? Despite calling yourself a master of the tongues of Arda, a certain word still sticks in your throat and hurts your delicate ears, even after so many years,’ I retorted, dryly. ‘Loyalty alone would not suffice.’

‘Loyalty and outrage, then,’ he replied, quirking his lips into a provocative smile that faded abruptly. ‘Forgive me. I forget your pain, borne on my behalf.’

‘I can bear the nightmares for now, Mairon, but not for ever. I fear going to sleep.’

‘Rest now,’ he replied, pushing me back onto the mattress. ‘I will watch over you and pull you out of your dreams, if they come.’

The reminder of that night was quiet. The following evening, I kept busying myself with trivial tasks almost until midnight, in an attempt to avoid going to bed. At last, Mairon made me lie down despite my protests. Then he knelt at my side and, while murmuring a chant of power, of protection and silence, he waved his right arm in a circle around us, and then in six circles over our heads and below us, painting an invisible sphere all around us. With his last word, the walls trembled, the window panes rattled and the air shimmered briefly.

‘The shield is set. Not even Olofantur will be able to breach it,’ he said, panting slightly. ‘Sleep in peace now.’ [3]

‘No dark sorcery, Mairon?’ I muttered drowsily, soothed by the chant. ‘You disappoint me.’

He chuckled softly, and I fell asleep with the light touch of his fingers stroking my face. No dreams haunted me that night, or any others after that, for Mairon insisted on building the shield, despite the weakness it brought upon him.

 

~ o ~

 

Our games had not stopped during those times of uncertainty, but Mairon was no longer predictable in his demands. Sometimes he behaved in a distant, almost detached way, as though again he wished to test me like he had done during our first days together. Cruelty I could bear, tempered by the knowledge that he valued my struggle to please him, but his indifference frightened me. And yet, other times he would be delighted with my efforts and praise me abundantly, cutting our session short to return to our bed and make love without imposing his mastery.

The last session had left me in tears of agony, taking me almost to the dark edge of unconsciousness, for he had hurt me without pity or restraint. He had never allowed me to have a word of release, but this time I would have screamed it a thousand times, to be free from his savage assault, terrifying in his unusual coldness, in the disturbing lack of all encouragement, let alone reward. Later, he tended my hurts in silence and fled to his workshop. Deprived of the soothing of his arms after my elation died, I felt forlorn, even betrayed. He was nowhere to be seen for the following two days.   

On the third day, my skin was still marked in some places, and the pain had not wholly disappeared. He entered the bedroom in the evening, and I kissed him fondly, yielding to his embrace, which he began tentatively. Then I happened to wince when he ran his hand down my back and between my buttocks, and he let go of me at once. Amazingly, he stammered a few words of apology and bolted out of the room, despite my assurances that I was well. When I knocked on the locked door of his workshop he chose not to reply, if he was inside. I returned to the house baffled by his strange behaviour.

I woke up the next morning to the sight of his anxious face.

‘Why did you leave?’ I stretched myself on the bed, yawning. ‘You did not hurt me again, truly. Are you...?’

‘Three nights ago, I wronged you,’ he interrupted. ‘Never again after that day I roped Chakmóol into helping me feign my death had I forgotten the trust you once placed in my hands. This time, for a short while, I did, until reason prevailed again. Afterwards, I regretted my lapse deeply, even more because you bore everything without a word of reproach or anger. I could not face you.’

‘What did I do to make you punish me like that?’

‘Nothing, friend. It was not a punishment, but anger within me, a tempest of fury that I should have tamed before I even touched you. Memories.’

‘Of...’ I stopped in time.

‘Of Melkor,’ he spat. ’You have the right to speak his name, after you were the one to suffer when my mind strayed down dark alleys, recalling the least glorious moments of being his thrall.’

‘What did he...?’ My words died, smothered by fear.

‘Many things,’ he answered flatly. ‘Often, he relished making my hröa die in torment, refusing to sever the links, while he tore into me to reach his pleasure, again and again.’

I gazed at him in silence, before leaning forward to kiss him.

‘So let us remember something else,’ I said, when our lips parted.

‘Something new, Eönwë,’ he replied, hesitant. Then he sighed. ‘I fear... I may strike you if I... when I... when you enter me. If I do, just let go of me, do not fight me or I may hurt you badly, against my will.’ He averted his eyes, as though ashamed of declaring his weakness.

‘No, Mairon!’ I cried, shaken. ‘We do not have to...’

‘We do,’ he insisted. ‘I wish it, to be free of him in all things, before time runs out for us.’

The knot in my throat was painful. I had to breathe several times to calm myself down.

‘If you truly want to, we will. I promise I will do nothing that may remind you of his touch.’

He nodded curtly. I trembled with excitement, but also with joy at what he was offering me. Not merely the pleasure I had often dreamt of but never tasted, but the final proof of his trust, in the shape of his most intimate surrender. My body had responded with equal eagerness, and Mairon eyed my arousal with an apprehensive smile.

I pulled him closer and kissed him. At first he was tense, but then he clutched my arms and abandoned himself to be devoured, gently but thoroughly. Three yéni had etched the map of his skin in my mind, and I set my hands and lips on a route along all the paths where I knew his pleasure would flare into flames to lick his every nerve. I hoarded his moans and whimpers with joy, watching him squirm and writhe, as though in pain, until his eyes begged and I knew the time had come.

Cautiously, I touched the spot that ever before had been forbidden to me, and he bucked, but I was ready, and murmured soothing words while my other hand kept stoking his desire. He gradually yielded to the gentle, slow teasing of first one, then two of my fingers, made slick with oil. I sighed in relief. Finally, I knelt between his legs slowly and raised them to rest against my chest.

During that last heartbeat, as I pushed gently against the last barrier that had ever stood between us, I hesitated, stalled by the spark of terror in his eyes, but he grasped my forearms and pulled me forward. I impaled myself into his fire in one deep thrust.

My only guidance was my experience of receiving what I now was giving him, and so I moved in the way that I had found gave me the most pleasure. Soon it became clear that it worked for Mairon too, and I watched his fear turn to wonder and then to raw lust, as he lay beneath me, beautiful in his throes.

My own desire soared in his depths and I had to rein it in with all my willpower, while I sought to make him reach his peak, by stroking his hardness as I rode him. His eyes, oh, his eyes were dark and wild, and my purpose almost faltered, so that a ribbon of his seed spurted from my hand only an instant before mine burst within his tightness.

I fell over him, breathless, wrapped in the pulsing blaze of orgasm. For a long while we lay together, tangled in an embrace that I wished would last for ever. At last, Mairon kissed the side of my face, and his arms tightened over me, almost crushing my bones, as though he wanted me even closer. I nuzzled his hair, inhaling slowly to lose myself in his warmth.

‘Rušurigas,’ I whispered, teasingly. [4]

He laughed softly. Once, when Eä was new, Aulë had also named his favourite disciple thus.

‘Why, my cruel friend, why did you make me wait so long for this ecstasy?’ He spoke sternly, but his eyes and a minute tugging at his lips betrayed his joy.

‘Why, my proud tyrant, did you bar yourself from it?’ I retorted. ‘Had I dared this deed uninvited you would have pounded me into a pulp.’

‘Indeed,’ he chuckled. ‘Now we must ensure that I catch up swiftly on what I have missed.’

‘Is it a challenge you are offering, Mairon?’ I laughed, ‘because soon I shall be able to increase the count by one.’

‘Prove it!’

I did. Later, snuggled in his arms, I murmured an endearment, and Mairon did not respond. Amazed, I realised that for the first time in three yéni, my lover slept while I was awake. Looking at his eyes, still bright like silver suns but veiled in his peaceful slumber, I choked at the thought of the lonely terror, endured for so long, that had prevented him from ever trusting his unguarded sleep to the mercy of another.

I listened to the slow rhythm of his breathing, and savoured the pleasure of joy fulfilled.

Those hours in the quiet of night were forever precious to me.

 

 

---

[1] Tintallë (Quenya) the Kindler, another name for Varda

[2] Elerondo (Quenya) Elrond

[3] Olofantur - An earlier name for the Vala Irmo (Lórien)

[4] Rušurigas - Russandol’s creation, derived from Valarin rušur (fire) and igas (heat).

 

 

Intrigues

War escalates in Kiinlúum. Mairon and Eönwë play their parts.

Thank you to wonderful SurgicalSteel, who provided expert medical advice for the relevant portions of this chapter.

Read Intrigues

 

19. Intrigues

The war was taking a bad turn. Kiinlúum’s army was undoubtedly the stronger of the two, and yet it seemed to be cursed with misfortune. The weather was harsher than in any winter I recalled, which could not be avoided, but many other tribulations plagued the campaign.

The supplies of food and spare equipment seemed to be doomed to be lost or damaged in transit, crucial messages to and from the border often turned out to be badly ciphered or smudged, and therefore unreadable. Several times Chimal’s warriors had been forced to retreat with great losses after his spies had failed to provide accurate information about enemy strength. Worse still, the lords of Xaman seemed to anticipate our every move.

Clearly, a traitor walked in our midst.

When I voiced the obvious cause of our woes during the next war council, the chamber echoed with indignant protests at my casting of such a grave accusation, and with loud declarations of loyalty, though the captains of Chimal’s army remained silent in support of my words. The ahaw lifted his hand and killed all sound in the room.

‘Find him! Bring the traitor before me, and he will pay with every drop of his blood,’ he cried.

Secretly, Mairon set his agents on the task, having more faith in them than in the officials appointed by the king. Under his instruction, it was not late before one of the culprits was captured and taken to the ahaw. A zealous Ajyin had him questioned, and a confession followed. The man was spared from further agony with a swift blade through the heart, the merciful death Ajyin had promised and delivered in exchange for information.

His words incriminated Yaajóol, a captain of the army who had faithfully served Chimal’s father for over twenty years and had been opposed to the war.  Under torture sanctioned by the king, he did not accuse himself or others. Yet, on evidence of little weight that he kept denying, he was found guilty at his trial and sentenced to death, despite a rain of pleas for mercy from his fellow officers and from Mairon and myself, who insisted on a more thorough investigation.

Our petitions were ignored. Yaajóol’s execution was, without a doubt, the most cruel I have ever witnessed during all my ages in Arda. At dawn on the following day, he was taken to the square before the King’s House and stoned to death by the men of his own company, many of whom had tears in their eyes. I was sick when I returned home, and even Mairon seemed subdued.

A few days later, Mairon stood up in court. His commanding aura when he towered over the king and his council made them fall into a sudden, awed silence. His piercing gaze assessed his audience, and he nodded towards Chimal, in a token gesture seeking permission to address the council. However, he did not wait for acknowledgement. 

‘In Ahaw, my fellow Councillors, my esteemed lords and captains,’ he began. ‘A matter of the gravest nature has been brought to my attention.’

Chimal frowned, and a weak murmur rose within the group of courtiers.

‘Speak, Yúum Síihbalóob,’ said the king.

‘It is someone else whom I bid you all listen to, in Yúum.’

Mairon clapped his hands. Soldiers appeared at every entrance to the large audience hall. Through a side door, a small group entered and came to stand before the throne. Six soldiers and an officer all but dragged a filthy, unkempt prisoner with them, and let him drop to his knees a few steps from Chimal, where he remained with his head pressed to the floor, racked with sobs and whimpers.

‘What does this mean?’ cried Ajyin, jumping to his feet. ‘Suku’n[1], you should not...’

‘Silence!’ Mairon had not even raised his voice, but its sheer edge of dominance whipped Chimal’s brother by marriage into silence. I could not help smiling to myself.

The officer in charge of the prisoner, whom I had recognised as Yaajóol’s eldest son Jolkan, bowed and requested permission to speak, not from Chimal but from Mairon. Scanning the faces of all the soldiers, I realised that they had all belonged to Yaajóol’s company, now given to the command of Ajyin himself.

‘Yúum Síihbalóob, he confessed all and every detail after you... persuaded him out of his obstinacy,’ spoke Jolkan.

‘Who is this man you have brought?’ cried the ahaw.

‘He was apprehended by my servants, Your Highness. In highly suspicious circumstances,’ replied Mairon, pausing dramatically. ‘He was about to set fire to the consignment bound for our northern troops.’

‘Brother, that is not possible...’ cried Ajyin. Chimal raised his hand, demanding silence.

‘I am afraid it is,’ retorted Mairon smoothly. ‘I am skilled in reading the truth in Men, in Ahaw, even more so in those who seek to hide it. I suspected that the secrets that the prisoner held  might be useful to thwart those who conspire with our enemies, and therefore applied myself to the job of loosening his tongue. It did not take long to make him see reason.’

I shuddered at his words. Now I knew why the previous night he had locked himself in his workshop, or more likely, in the room underneath.

‘But we have already executed the traitor,’ objected Ajyin. His protest sounded strident in its nervous earnest, in contrast to Mairon’s melodious voice.

‘The alleged traitor,’ retorted Mairon. ‘I repeatedly expressed my doubts about his guilt, as did others who stand now in this room. We all wish to uncover the whole truth of the conspiracy, do we not?’

Ajyin gave a step backwards, but two of the captains came to stand next to him.

‘What is this?’ thundered Chimal.

‘Let us hear the testimony of the prisoner and we shall know,’ commanded Mairon.

Amongst moans and wringing of hands, the man spoke his confession.

His name was Sáabin. He had been recruited by a richly dressed man whose face he never saw, and he had been appointed the task of retrieving the messages that were dispatched to a number of agreed secret locations, deciphering them and carrying out the orders they contained, all in exchange for a most generous fee. Additionally, he must pass return messages to other people, unknown to him, who were to carry them over the northern border.

The man burst out crying, and begged for clemency, wrapping his arms around Mairon’s ankles and pressing his head to his feet.

‘How does the cipher work, Sáabin?’ asked Mairon, in a soothing tone. Without apparent effort he grabbed a fistful of the man’s hair and lifted him up, so that we could all see his face.

‘With this,’ replied the man. He thrust a hand inside his dirty clothes and brought out what looked like a carved wooden disk. On closer examination, it turned out to be several concentric circles which could spin and whose edges were carved with letters.

Ajyin began to recoil, but the two warriors at his side grasped him firmly by the arms, despite his protests and struggles. Mairon walked to face him, with steps graceful and silent, as those of a jaguar about to leap upon his prey. He reached out and wrapped his fingers over the gold chain around Ajyin’s neck, from which something hung, tucked under his clothes. The links snapped at a flick of Mairon’s wrist, and he lifted his hand to show the set of etched brass disks, smaller than their wooden equivalent, that swung from the chain.

‘Would it not be amazing if the offsets in both sets of rings were identical?’ commented Mairon, setting the chain, without touching the brass device suspended from it, on the small table next to Chimal. The king grasped both sets. His gaze darted from one to the other several times.

‘They are indeed the same,’ he said.

The prisoner was still kneeling, muttering gibberish. Mairon crouched at his side, murmured reassuring words and the man sighed loudly and nodded calmly. Mairon gently placed his hand on Sáabin’s head, and stroked his matted hair.

‘You may sleep now,’ he said. The man crumpled to the floor, dead.

A shocked silence crushed the council when Mairon stood to his full height and appraised the effect of his display of power, a clear warning to all. I shivered, despite the certainty of knowing that he had granted the man deliverance from a horrific death.

At length, Chimal snarled a command.

‘My wife. Bring her at once.’

As soon as Lotiya saw Ajyin in the hands of the soldiers, she threw herself at her husband’s feet. For the first time, her charms and tears availed her nothing.

Even if the subsequent interrogation proved that she had not been an active accomplice of her brother, she had hidden the knowledge of his treason. For that crime she was not slain, but publicly stripped and her luscious hair was shorn to the scalp before being flogged.

A wrathful Chimal condemned Ajyin to suffer the penalty dealt to spies in the realm of Xaman. Therefore, he was drawn, and hung from the gallows in front of his sister, before her eyes were plucked out. She staggered away from the city, led on foot by the soldiers, under the curses of the crowd assembled to watch their punishment. I was nauseated.

Mairon and I walked home in silence.

‘Why did they risk so much when they already had everything?’ I wondered.

‘Maybe Ajyin saw himself on the throne, the next god-king. Also, he confessed that their masters in the north had threatened to reveal the truth to Kiinlúum otherwise.’

‘We should have acted earlier, Mairon,’ I whispered at last. ‘As soon as we suspected him.’

‘Chimal would not have believed us against Lotiya’s word,’ he replied with asperity. ‘War is ugly, friend.’

‘Death would have been kinder to her,’ I murmured.

‘Indeed. A blind viper can still bite,’ said Mairon coldly.

On the following day, Chimal sent us a note to request our presence at a private audience.

‘Our reckless ahaw may have seen wisdom at last, friend,’ smirked Mairon, handing me the king’s polite, even humbled missive. ‘Let us end this war.’

 

~o~

 

 

Kiinlúum, Year 439 of the Second Age of Arda

After revealing Ajyin’s treachery, we were confident about our success in restoring peace swiftly, given the mismatch of might between Kiinlúum and her enemies, even after the damage caused by the traitors. Chimal sent a lavish embassy headed by a herald with full powers to negotiate the surrender. The terms were rather generous, as Mairon and I had advised, despite the fact that Xaman had been the initiator of the hostilities. A truce was soon established.

Inevitable bargaining of trivial details followed, if only to allow the enemy not to be wholly humiliated, by accepting several minor concessions. Unfortunately, without a common enemy to unite them, feuds broke out again between Xaman’s fief lords that prevented reaching the final agreement, so that months passed and skirmishes still breached the precarious peace.

In the meantime, my sense of unease remained, and Mairon fretted, too. A new turn of events soon provided proof that our troubles were by no means over.

Rumours began to reach us of a blind woman, a raving soothsayer that walked into the villages of the North to accuse the unholy realm of Kiinlúum of worshipping two demons, sent by the false gods to whisper lies into the ears of Men, and so corrupt them against the true believers of Darkness. Peace would only bring enslavement, she claimed, amongst other dire prophecies of doom.

‘Ironic, is it not, that the cult of Darkness, one of the ploys Melkor used to recruit his allies now comes back to plague us,’ I commented. Mairon frowned and, for a brief instant, I believed he would have no argument to counter my point.

‘It would be, Eönwë, if not for the fact that this harpy claims to have visions during which the true Lord of Darkness speaks directly to her mind,’ he replied dryly.

A cold tendril of fear awoke in my gut and coiled itself around my chest and throat, squeezing the air out of my lungs.

‘Have your spies confirmed her identity at last?’ I stammered at last. ‘Is she...’

‘Yes, friend.’ He began to pace agitatedly, like a caged beast. ‘They have watched the crowds gathered to hear Lotiya rant about the cruelty of our ahaw. She spouts threats of bitter calamity unless the heathen realm of Kiinlúum is razed to the ground to put an end to their foul worship and we, abominations who seek to destroy those faithful to the true Lord, are slain.’

‘Worse still,’ he concluded, ‘she has persuaded her masters and several other ruling lords about the truth of her visions as a divine message, and war is all but declared again.’

A few days later, yielding to the ahaw’s request and despite my deep misgivings, shared with Mairon, I agreed to travel to the Northern border and act as Chimal’s envoy. There was a dim hope that if I was seen to be no terrible demon and could instead expose the truth of Ajyin’s treason, further hostilities might still be avoided.

At our parting, Mairon buried his face in my hair and kissed me on the cheek. With a smile, he lifted my left hand and locked one of the mistarillë shackles around my wrist.

‘So that you remember me,’ he whispered in my ear. ‘It answers to your will, if it becomes an encumbrance.’

‘Never,’ I replied. ‘I will wait for you to remove it. Or not, as you wish...’

Despite an entire night of unhurried and most thorough farewell, I was almost undone by the heat of his lips on my skin, as if he meant to sear me with his mark. I stood enthralled by his starry gaze, unwilling to depart, until I forced myself to look away.

We walked together to the wide plain outside the city gates, where the three companies of riders under my command awaited in orderly rows. I greeted their captains and scanned the ranks who saluted me loudly, swords raised skywards. I nodded in approval.

The groom handed me the reins of my horse and Mairon held my stirrup. I mounted and leant down to steal a last kiss from him before giving the order to depart.

After a few hundred paces, I wheeled my mount round and lifted my hand. Mairon returned my gesture, his hair and his cloak billowing in the warm wind. I sped up to take the lead of the warriors of my host. Suddenly, a pang of what felt like fear knotted my chest and blurred my sight, and I nearly turned my horse and cantered back to the gates. Berating myself for the irrational impulse, I forced myself to carry on without looking behind.

 

News of the unrest along the border had seemingly been exaggerated by Chimal’s embassy in their anxious reports. The treaty was agreed within a week of my arrival at the border, prisoners exchanged and reparations paid or guarantees provided.

During my absence, missives were carried by fast riders between the city and the frontier. At dusk on the day before I started my return journey, a hastily penned note from Mairon was delivered, it read: “Twice I have sensed watchers. Be wary and keep well, friend.”

My heart thumped wildly and I was compelled to look behind me inside the tent that had become my temporary home. I listened intently, in the hope that I would sense a disturbance of some kind, if it was there, but nothing stood out from the ordinary din of the camp routine: the whinnying of horses, men talking and laughing, the gentle flapping of banners and loose tent canvas, the ringing rhythm of a ferrier’s hammer.

That night, however, my dreams returned. I longed for Mairon’s warmth and his soothing touch. Eventually, exhausted, I fell asleep with my right hand wrapped over the band of mistarillë he had given me.

At dawn, the camp was swiftly dismantled and we made ready to depart. All the official farewells had been exchanged over the border, and we could just make haste towards the city, a five day journey away if we pressed our horses.

After a long day of riding, I dreamt again. Many images flashed across my mind, most of them familiar from previous nightmares. The vision of Mairon looming over me in a circle of jeering Orcor jolted me back to reality, sweating and panting in the gray light preceding dawn, to a cry of alarm from the sentries.

Despite my curses, my aide all but forbade me to step out of my tent without my armour. Hastily, he helped me buckle it on, and handed me my sword and shield. When I lifted the entrance flap, I was hit by the acrid smell of tarred cloth burning; loud cries of rage and pain, clashing of swords and the thunder of many hooves told me that the attack was well under way.

One of my captains was already running towards me. Breathless from exertion, he gave me a short report of our position. The sentries had raised the alarm just before the perimeter was breached at three separate points by large hordes of mounted warriors. Our men were already gathering, ready to fight, and I quickly began to issue orders to deploy them to several points around the camp. Soon I began to believe we had contained the enemy.

However, the group of Kiinlúum’s soldiers defending the closest flank to my tent, most of them on foot, were fast retreating against the fury of the advancing attackers, who wore the red and blue of one of the lords of Xaman. Unsheathing my sword, I joined the fray with a lust for blood and a ferocity that I had never felt during the War in Beleriand. Fear seemed to enhance my senses; my instinct, honed by centuries of training, made me anticipate my foes’ every move, so that soon I was riding the horse of one of my dead enemies, and battled on at the head of Kiinlúum’s courageous warriors. 

Suddenly, two score of my men, mounted and fully armoured, came to our aid. We all cried in triumph at the sight of such welcome reinforcements, and strength returned, doubled, to our sword arms. The enemy began to retreat with heavy losses, and we gave chase, but I stopped when I realised that my borrowed horse was limping badly. I dismounted and patted his neck, whispering calming words while inspecting the wound. The poor beast had a deep gash high across its fore leg, all the way to the bone, which was cracked.  I dropped my shield and unsheathed my dagger, ready to end his misery.

At that time, I heard the fast beat of hooves and the weak groan of a bow as it neared full draw, and I turned my head to my left in time to see the edge of the evil-looking bodkin gleam in the growing sunlight. Almost at a gallop, the archer took careful aim from the safety of his saddle, out of the reach of my sword and yet less than twenty paces away, too short a distance for him to miss if he had any skill with his weapon.

Time seemed to stretch during the brief instant before he released the string, when his body was already twisting backwards. Mesmerised, I watched the flight of the arrow that sped towards me, too fast to dodge.

The impact made me stagger, as if I had been punched. The bowman’s cry of triumph as he galloped on startled me more than the sight of the red-fletched shaft sticking almost sideways from my armpit, just clear of the ornate steel and gold chestguard that Mairon had forged for me. A warm trickle of blood began to seep from the wound down my side.

A few heartbeats later, a sharp pain blossomed in my chest while the air seemed to become thin, empty of goodness. I inhaled deeply, vainly, and noticed the sudden torpor in my fingers. A quick glance at the hand wrapped around the hilt espied the tell-tale paleness under my nails. I was bleeding inside; the end of my hröa was very near.

‘Onwards, my lions, slay the demon! Bring me his head!’ shouted the leader of a small group of  enemy riders, all archers, that somehow seemed to have slipped through our forces. My assassin was amongst them.

My men slew them all before they could reach me. A hoarse cry of victory for Kiinlúum rent the air, followed by many other voices into a triumphant clamour.

My sword fell with a clang from my benumbed hand. I fell on my knees, and watched the ground rush strangely towards me. Familiar voices called, urgent but dim, as though spoken from a great distance. Strong arms lifted me to a sitting position. I sucked air in shallow, useless gulps; my heart raced, while fading too.

I did not wish to die. No, I could not die, I was deathless. Or was I? I would not leave him. I sobbed, desperately, choking. I could not breathe.

The links to my hröa thinned and stretched, still straining to cage me within. My senses wavered, becoming dull first, then sharp with the sensitivity given to my kindred. At once, despite the dazzling deluge, I was alerted to the presences surrounding me, lurking just beyond the Atani, who cried and wept nearby.

‘Meldonya…[2]’ My mind screamed what my throat could not.

‘Eönwë!’ I heard his frantic response, a roar within that thrummed in time with the last beat of blood in my veins.

‘They are here,’ I cried, voicelessly.

Darkness and death from one side, light and freedom from the other, they all claimed me at once and pulled me apart.

 

 

---

[1] suku’n (Yucatec) older brother

[2] meldonya (Quenya) my lover; meldo is translated as “friend, lover” and I opt for the more intimate meaning.

 

Mandos

Eönwë faces the Doomsman of the Valar.

This chapter fits a prompt of B2MeM 2011.

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20. Mandos

For a brief instant I believed I was free. But as soon as I turned my attention away from the scene below, I found myself inside a swarm of unclad Maiar, the grim servants of Námo.

‘You let them die!’ I cried bitterly, seething with fury at the trap they had sprung using Children as pawns. But my pitiless brethren did not heed my cries.

I immediately abandoned any hope of escape. Even if Námo’s Maiar had not spun a confinement web around me, which I would never be strong enough to breach unaided, they were too many to outrun. I was commanded to follow my captors. Powerless and angry, I obeyed, still dazzled by the regained richness of my perception. And yet, something felt wrong.

While I was rushed to their lord’s abode in Mandos, I discovered the source of my unease. Somehow, my sense of Time was distorted, so that our journey might be lasting an instant, a day or a year, but I had no way of gauging its duration. Being deprived of the immutable, reassuring reference that anchored me to Eä disturbed me deeply. No doubt this severe disorientation was deliberate. Had I still been locked inside a hröa, I would have shivered when we crossed the threshold of Námo’s residence.

I had been in the main audience chamber of Mandos before, but only this time did I perceive it as the Children would: forbidding in its impossible vastness, bleak in the nakedness of polished jet stone, alien in the complete lack of adornment or furnishings except for a large chair upon a high dais. Námo sat on this imposing throne, clad in his fana, even though on this occasion no Quendi were witnesses to his presence.

At his signal, his servants released me, but they remained hovering all around and above me. A humming shield surrounded us, cast to protect privacy, as it barred both sound and ósanwë.

Out of prescribed courtesy, I also took visible shape in my now unfamiliar fana, luminous, wispy and unfeeling, a poor reflection of what it sought to imitate. I bowed shallowly. Against protocol, I spoke first.

‘You have slain innocents to bring me here as a miscreant. Why, Námo?’

A ripple of his thought brushed the edge of my consciousness, but I declined to return an acknowledgement, or to open my mind. Ósanwë might reveal too much.

‘Your Lord summoned you, Eönwë. You refused his command,’ spoke the Lord of Mandos, abandoning mental contact.

‘Where is he, then? I do not answer to you.’

I was being insolent, but Manwë’s absence disturbed me. Without him, I feared that Námo’s implacable wrath would fall on me undiminished.

‘As you may recall, the High King often bids me mete out both judgement and punishment. Until you have completed your sentence, he has placed you in my care.’

I sensed his barely disguised glee; in turn, my dismay deepened. Manwë had forsaken me, despite his promise at the Máhanaxar. I was on my own, but I would not be cowed. Attack seemed like the best sort of defence.

‘I did not breach the terms of my banishment. You stirred hatred amongst the Children and they raised swords against each other. Why, then, have you resorted to manipulation and slaughter to lure me into this trap?’

‘Their deaths are regrettable, and yet losses can never be avoided in war.’ There was no hint of regret or sadness in his deep voice.

‘War? We had peace until your meddling and Irmo’s incited hatred, without cause!’ I wished to remain calm, but his coldness made my fury boil all the hotter.

‘There will always be war, Eönwë, against those who nurture evil. Many servants of Melkor are still abroad, and Sauron is the most powerful amongst them.’

‘You are wrong! Mairon...’

‘We shall discuss Melkor’s cur later,’ he thundered. His anger throbbed bright and echoed within me in a tingling wave, a stern reminder of whom I faced. ‘My task was to extricate you from his clutches, to protect you from harm, before he wholly swayed you into darkness.’

‘So you had me killed. A subtle way to protect me, indeed,’ I retorted.

Another lashing pulse hit me, brief but more stinging, although still barely under my pain threshold. My rage had made me fearless, but not stupid, and I refrained from speaking further.

‘I shall not tolerate any more of your insolence, Eönwë. I am extremely tempted to remind you of the respect you owe your betters by granting you a few yéni of uninterrupted solitude to reflect on your duties. That would seem the wisest course of action, had your Lord not forbidden me from it.’

His tone had lost all pretence of kindness, or even politeness. He was a judge and a gaoler, cold and unyielding. I remained silent.

‘Why did you ignore your Lord’s summons?’

‘Was I not allowed to rule my own life within the boundaries you had imposed?’ I answered, biting back my defiance. ‘My bond to Manwë was forged from kinship and affection, but he was rather swift to flick all of my tireless service aside and dismiss me in disgrace, so as to not lose face with the Noldor. I never questioned him at the time, but three yéni of banishment have opened my eyes. Lintavailë’s words bore no hint of pardon or welcome, of being loved or wanted; they were a demand issued to a servant. Why would I willingly return to be humiliated even further?’

‘Three yéni opened your eyes, you say,’ he repeated, and smiled without joy. ‘Sauron has all but wrapped you around his little finger, poisoned your mind against your kin, and you are blind to his deception.’

‘Those are lies!’ I cried, forgoing caution. My voice echoed loudly against the bare walls of the hall. I braced myself for pain, but it never came.

‘Show me, then,’ Námo invited. ‘Open your mind; let me confirm that your claim is the truth.’

For a moment, I wavered.

‘No,’ I answered firmly. ‘You have wrought twisted visions and bid Irmo send them as foresight, to plant dreams of hate against us in the minds of the Atani. Now you would warp my memories and exploit my weaknesses to support your own version of truth. When you choose not to trust my word and my lord will not deign to see me, I can only regret that my loyalty has earned me so little love.’

‘How can I trust you, Eönwë, when you have all but given our foe your allegiance?’

‘I have not,’ I replied, angrily. His disdainful tone made me regret not having done so. ‘But you are mistaken about him, he is not a threat.’

Námo raised his eyebrows. Mairon had been right, I was not believed.

‘He is no longer evil,’ I insisted, when Námo did not contradict me. ‘When I let him go after the War, I gave him a chance to repent, and he has taken it.’

‘That chance never existed, Eönwë. He is marred beyond hope, twisted by darkness. The bonds that Melkor wrought are too strong for him to break, not even with your ill-advised support. I have foreseen his fall, as I saw his master’s. Have you so easily forgotten what befell Aman the last time we let a fiend walk unguarded amongst us, seeding discord? Nay, Manwë shall not squander his mercy again.’

Each of his words was as painful as a stab through the heart, as I recalled how Mairon had recounted the same tale for me, and how he had resignedly anticipated my betrayal.

‘What did you do to him?’ I cried, horrified at the thought of Mairon dragged towards the yawning Moritarnon.

‘Regrettably, nothing,’ he all but snarled. ‘Your touching cry of ósanwë alerted him of our trap and ruined our plan to make him join his master until the end of Time.’

I almost leapt with joy at the news of his escape, but strove to remain impassive.

‘Small matter,’ Námo sneered. ’With or without him, a measure of evil already mars Arda. But we are fortunate that Melkor’s drudge lacks the power to cast as dark a shadow as his master once did. For my part, that vermin can skulk underground until his time of reckoning comes, now that we have retrieved you from the brink of his corruption.’

‘There was no such danger. You have ruined many lives for nothing!’ I accused.

‘For nothing, Eönwë? Your lord and I trust you to perform your duty to Arda. Behold Ambar-metta [1]!’

A scene was shaped between us, at first translucent as mist, then solid as stone. Two armies faced each other across the golden fields of Yavanna, with the Pélori in the background. On one side raged a dark horde of every kind of creature and beast that Melkor had ever twisted to his service, including unnumbered companies of Atani of many races, bearing black and red flags. At their head, The One Who Arises in Might towered over them all; next to him rode an imposing figure in dark armour, too familiar from my nightmares, on a horse with eyes of fire.

Opposite them, the other host raised sapphire banners, Manwë’s colours; vast numbers of Quendi and Maiar were formed in neat rows. I was startled to recognise myself as their commander. At my side stood one of the Atani, a tall man wearing a steel and gold helm crested with an image of the dragon Glaurung and wielding a black longsword. Turambar.

When the two armies began to advance, the vision dissolved slowly in the cold glare of the empty hall. I met Námo’s piercing gaze, without flinching.

‘Your foresight is flawed, Mandos,’ I spoke. Conviction backed my boldness. ‘The future is not cast in stone, or pegged to the chords of the Music. Mairon has shaken free of Melkor’s shadow, he is no longer bound to the fate you have built for him. It is not Eru’s will!’

‘Your paths are entwined, that has always been a certainty, but we shall not let him drag you down in his fall,‘ answered Námo calmly. ‘You are of the Light, Eönwë, not of the Darkness.’

Suddenly, I understood Nikteháa’s words: ‘Light dies in brighter light.’ I was afraid.

‘Let me go back to him!’ I pleaded.

‘That is not your doom.’

His warning glare, his dangerous presence that would have cowed any of the Children, had no effect on me. I feared, but not for myself. I was desperate to be with Mairon, to flee with him as far away as we could and hide in a remote nook lost in the vastness of Eä where doom and destiny could not find us. It was maddening to feel so powerless.

‘Your banishment stands, as do the conditions once imposed on you. You will be clad in your hröa again and return to Endórë.’ I did not dare to hope at these words. ‘But not to that petty paradise you built with your lover; it no longer exists, at least not how you knew it.’

‘But I just left...’

My words died, as I realised what the Lord of Mandos had done. At that moment, he freed me from whatever device had muddled my temporal perceptiveness, and I was again able to discern Time with clarity. Three whole months had elapsed since I had lain dead. In a hröa, I would have winced, but I was just paralysed from dread at this revelation.

‘What did you do to Kiinlúum?’ I cried.

‘I underestimated their thirst for blood,’ sighed Námo. ‘Indeed they must have been Men of Darkness, long swayed by Melkor, to stoop to such atrocities.’

‘You spurred them on!’ I shouted, appalled at his cruel callousness. ‘You made Irmo speak into their dreams with the voices of their gods. How could they refuse to obey, once they accepted the veracity of the visions? Do you not claim to do Eru’s will and to heed foresight as his sign?’

‘Dare you compare me to the rabble who worship Moringotto?’ he spoke in a terrible voice.

The dire injustice of it all made me throw caution to the wind.

‘You know no pity, have no mercy for those in your care. In the name of Ilúvatar, you abuse your power to destroy lives without a qualm, just to see your own ends met,’ I cried, both with voice and thought. ‘Hear me now, Doomsman. I swear never to betray Mairon to you, or to your kin. If he be a friend, I shall guard him from your vengeance; if a foe, I shall fight him with all my strength, but never under your banner or my lord’s, for your guilt will be etched into each of Mairon’s deeds henceforth. My word hear thou, O Eru!’

The echoes of my heartfelt speech died against the naked stone and a dreadful, eerie silence followed. I wondered if Námo had conveyed my oath to my Lord, and I hoped that Manwë would voice his answer then, if only to berate me. He did not. Clearly, I did not deserve his attention; my discipline was too trivial a matter for him.

‘You will regret your foolish vow,’ spoke the Lord of Mandos slowly, watching me as though to relish the effect of every word, ‘when you watch Sauron be damned to an eternity in the Void with his beloved master.’

‘Curse you, Vefántur!’

Blind with wrath, I discarded my fana to blast myself against him. His servants immediately raised shimmering fields that caged me within invisible but unbreakable walls.

Soon, defeated and desolate, I willed myself to adopt a harmless red hue to signal my compliance. Námo sent a minute flare in my direction and the oppression spun by his Maiar to secure me faded away. Expanding a little, I swirled slowly, savouring the freedom I was about to lose. Unfazed, the Doomsman continued spelling out my fate.

‘Once incarnate, you shall go to Lindon and swear fealty to Ereinion,’ he ordered. ‘I harbour the hope that you will see sense again when you pause to consider how Sauron manipulated you, but do not be tempted to search for him. Your life will become much less pleasant if you do.’

He waited for my answer, I had naught to say.

Once more, I soon found myself locked into a naked hröa, under the contemptuous glares of his Maiar, now clad and standing guard around me. This time, however, I found respite in the comfortable closeness of my flesh, in contrast to the hostile emptiness of Mandos.

When all was done, I touched my face and hair tentatively. Námo guessed my purpose.

‘You are still in the same hröa, Eönwë. Not the one I made for you three yéni ago, but the exact copy of the one you discarded when you... returned, except for the injury caused by the arrow.’

I immediately flicked my gaze to my forearm, searching for a scar I had acquired during a recent sparring session with Mairon. The jagged pale line was there, barely visible.

I touched my left wrist, recalling a sudden loss.

‘Ah, yes. I was told you wore a most peculiar and valuable... trinket. I had it retrieved.’

I eyed him warily. In response, he conjured images of a dark whirlwind wrapping itself around my corpse, making the brave warriors of Kiinlúum, my men, run away or huddle on the ground in abject fear.

I gasped when I saw Mairon’s precious gift, so painfully earned, gleaming on Námo’s palm.

‘This is it.’ He smiled, amused. ‘Aulë would have never allowed me to plunder his stores to make a new one.’

‘May I have it back?’ I blurted, more eagerly than I intended.

‘You could buy the whole of Lindon with this, you know,’ he replied, weighing it in his hand. ‘I am wary about returning it to you, as only one other than Aulë could have infused it with sentience, and maybe malice.’

I was about to protest, but he waved his other hand. A stream of particles drifted from the band of mistarillë towards me and wrapped itself around my arm. Soon, I was startled by the coldness of solid metal and a sudden weight on my left wrist. With a pang of longing squeezing my chest, I clasped Mairon's cuff with my right hand, then gazed back at the Lord of Mandos, suspicious at this gesture.

‘You may keep it. I have no possible use for it.’ Námo frowned, as if troubled. ‘Sadly, while studying its properties, I removed its sentient power, believing it harmful. Only its creator can restore it now. But I am certain that you will not regret being bound by such a pretty reminder of what Sauron wished to turn you into, of what you might have become at your lover’s side, had it not been for my intercession.’

I tested the veracity of his words. The shackle did not open at my will, as it once had. I looked up at Námo, mute with rage at his cruel mockery. Breathing deeply, I clenched my hands and reminded myself that he was not omniscient, that I should not be goaded into revealing the whole truth about my feelings for Mairon, about the overwhelming pleasure of kneeling to him and becoming a slave to his will.

‘I would be touched by your concern about my welfare, Námo Fëantur, were it not a lie,’ I said, surprised at the steadiness of my voice. ‘Your intercession has cost many lives, and caused the ruin of an innocent realm that happened to get in the way of your designs.’ I almost sobbed with grief. ‘I am not worth that high a price, whatever destiny you may have dreamt for me. You are able to fool others and cow them into obedience, but I shall no longer be deluded by your pronouncements of doom, whether your own or spoken on behalf of a lord who dared not meet his faithful servant.’

Having called Námo a liar to his own face and Manwë a coward, I trembled with fury, waiting for him to strike, wishing he would blast me into nothingness, were it possible. He watched me, inscrutable.

‘Do you not understand yet, Eönwë? All of this was meant to pass, to weaken Sauron while you grew stronger, in preparation for the end of days.’ His tone was no longer stern, and his look held what must have been sympathy, for Mandos was seldom moved by pity.

‘Stop toying with me!’ I cried, no longer caring about my own fate but stricken with sorrow at what he had revealed.

‘You may go.’

Without deference, I turned on my heel and left, flanked by two of his Maiarin servants. They escorted me in stony silence during the five-day trip to Tirion, and from there to a small quay on the Bay of Eldamar, where a ship awaited.

 

~o~

 

This time I was not sick during the crossing of the Great Sea. Instead I found myself able and willing to assist the crew with their tasks, thus learning the rudiments of sailing a boat, even steering her through one of Ossë’s tantrums near Tol Eressëa.

The Telerin captain asked no questions, though several times I caught him eyeing me warily. I wondered how often he was ordered to transport a passenger brought aboard by two Maiar from Mandos. As I was bound to meet far more inquisitive men, I spent long hours attempting to craft a new identity. Manwë had not given me the name he once promised, so I perversely chose to call myself Eglanir, in the tongue of Beleriand [2]. I considered many potential ancestries and tales, even outrageous ones to amuse myself during the restless nights when I was not on guard shift but swaying in my hammock or standing at the prow, staring East.

My hröa betrayed me as a Noldo, my eyes shone with a brilliance that would be mistaken for the light of Aman. I recalled the Exiles that had survived the War and taken Gil-galad as their king, and realised that any fabrications were bound to be questioned and easily disproved. The long memory of the Eldar is only outlasted by the bristly suspicion of the Noldor.

In the end, I decided my words and deeds should hint of a past as a follower of the house of Fëanáro, a survivor of Maitimo’s host and, in all probability, a kinslayer. At the end of the War, these people had been reserved and lonely, proud in their ragged cloaks embroidered with the eight-pointed star. Despite Ereinion’s mandate, they were shunned and mistrusted, and found it hard to obtain employment. Unless circumstances had greatly improved, the ostracism I was likely to meet if I chose to adopt these men as my closest affiliates could be turned to my advantage at planning a discreet escape.

When idle, despair weighed me down and led me to imagine Mairon’s possible fates, each vision more dire than the previous one. I raged against Manwë and his heartless Doomsman, called upon Eru to right their injustice and, ultimately, shed bitter, angry tears. When my shipmates caught me with red, prickly eyes, they spared me a sympathetic look or a rough pat on my back.

And yet, hope had not died in my heart. Each day at sunrise I stood at the prow, looked East towards Endórë, and vowed to evade the surveillance of the Valar and to seek Mairon, as soon as the chance arose.

 

 

---

 

Notes:

[1] Ambar-metta (Quenya) the end of the world

[2] Eglanir (Sindarin) forsaken

 

Lindon

Eönwë returns to Middle-earth.

Read Lindon

21. Lindon

Endórë, Year 439 of the Second Age of Arda - Autumn

I was aware of the need to be smuggled into Lindon, to preserve the secret of our improbable point of departure.

At the narrow gap that marked the entrance to the Gulf of Lhûn, on both the northern and southern tips, stood two tall watchtowers. They had been built to alert the Children of a possible seaward attack by exchanging and relaying signals made with mirrors and lights to outposts further along the coast.  We were close to sailing past them when our skipper warned me about the likelihood of being detained by one of the coast patrols.

‘It is mere routine when they do not immediately recognise a vessel,’ he explained. With a wink, he added: ‘Or when her master has been found or suspected of not paying import duties.’

‘Why do you not drop anchor nearer the coast, outside the gulf? I can swim ashore,’ I proposed, not wanting to cause more trouble to the friendly crew.

The captain gazed at me with something like pity in his eyes, and shook his head.

‘Our instructions come from no other than the envoys of Súlimo. We are to leave you in the outskirts of Forlond, where Ereinion holds court. Then we can return home, for a while.’

‘Which shores do you call home?’

‘My crew and I are of the Falathrim, but most of our kin sailed to Aman while we tarried to wait for our lord Thingol. Later, we followed Círdan, and with him went to Balar when the Black Foe attacked us. Now we live in Harlindon under his rule, but have been granted free passage to and from Valinor in exchange for our services and... our discretion. Our lord will vouch for us, his people, in case of trouble with Ereinion.’

Not wholly reassured, while fascinated by Círdan’s convoluted complicity in the affairs of other Valar beyond Ulmo, I soon found out what the captain meant by trouble.

As soon as we left the watchtowers behind us, a fast coastguard ship intercepted ours. Her crew hailed us, ordering us to lower our sails, and to allow two of their men to come on board. Our captain had planned for this event, and well before their arrival I was hidden in the deepest bowels of the ship, inside a minute secret compartment under the floorplanks of the cargo hold, which were nailed back in place above me. Heavy crates and sacks were stacked on top, until no light or sound pierced the walls of my tiny prison. For a while, panic threatened to overcome me when I pushed against the wooden boards over my head and they did not budge. I had suffered worse at Mairon’s hands, so that I bent all my willpower on mastering my fear and remaining calm and silent.

I was shaking and stiff with cramp when the smiling sailors, cheering in triumph, pulled me out from the dark hole. After I finally managed to stand up straight without assistance, we all shared a celebratory bottle of wine provided by our skipper.

After the inspection visit, we were left alone. The patrol had signalled the all clear, and given us a striped banner that we hung next to our colours, the blue and yellow of Harlindon. We sailed on northwards, hugging the shore along the Gulf. After the moon set that night, still out of sight from the harbour of Forlond, the sailors lowered a small rowing boat to the water and two of them took me ashore.

‘Farewell, Eglanir,’ they said, as I waded towards a small shingle beach, sheltered by a thick mass of pine trees. ‘May the jewels of Elbereth shine upon your path.’

I waved at them and they rowed away, almost invisible on the dark waters.

For a long while, I watched the surf rolling ceaselessly, crested with plumes that shimmered silver in the starlight, and lost myself in thought, vainly seeking solace in the deep rumble of the churning pebbles. I ached for Mairon, while resentment flared again in my heart against those who had shattered our precious life together, flooding me with such angry heat that I thought it would make my whole hröa burst into flames.

Restless, I paced along the beach; then I ran. My hröa screamed for movement after the weeks of being cooped up aboard the cramped ship. Only when my legs trembled from exertion did I drop to my knees, deafened by the frantic beat of my heart. I hurled fistfuls of pebbles against the innocent trees, while roaring curses and futile threats against Námo and Manwë at the top of my voice, until I could shout no more. Then I wept and called Mairon’s name, praying to Eru to keep him safe, from the Valar and from his own dark self.

Much later, I dejectedly shouldered my small leather bag and began to walk. Forlond lay beyond the dark line of hills ahead.

 

~ o ~

 

At dawn, I stood on a rocky promontory from where the northern shoreline of the gulf, marked by white stripes of foamy waves, stretched in an immense curve all the way to the horizon. Just below me lay a secluded crescent-shaped bay, bound by two capes jutting deep into the dark water. Between them nestled the main city of Lindon, golden in the first rays of daylight. A shallow estuary lay beyond, flowing into the gulf along what once might have been the course of one of the Seven Rivers, before the lands of Beleriand were rent and drowned under the Great Sea.

After the War, I had visited the newly settled Forlond, when it was still little more than a dream in the mind of its architects, and its mighty ramparts were the first structure being erected. Now, I was awed at the view. 

Mirroring the layout of the Gulf defences, the narrow seaward entrance to the ample east-facing harbour was also guarded by two elegant towers topped by great lamps, so bright that they defied the brilliance of the rising sun.

These sentry towers were built at the opposing tips of a vast stone wall that girdled the entire city, embracing both earth and sea. Like giant gold snakes sprung from the West Gate on the opposite end of Forlond, each half of the circle slithered over land and down the capes at both ends of the bay, then rose high above the water, curving towards each other to enclose the harbour, with the towers guarding its narrow entrance.

Within the fortified city, the most prominent building was the square turreted keep, perched atop a small rise centered over the bay, where Ereinion, High King of the remaining Noldor in Endórë, lived and held court. Around the keep was spread an orderly grid of tree-lined streets bordered by handsome stone buildings, many of them domed with green copper or reaching up to the sky with tall carved spires. Myriads of wide arched windows supported by slender columns glittered in the amber sunlight.

The pleasant, beautifully symmetrical design of the ivory city betrayed the Noldorin mind of its creators while reminding me of a giant eroded seashell carefully balanced over the edge of the indigo sea water. 

Outside the walls, tidy fields and orchards were draped on the undulating terrain up to the edge of the pine woods that hugged the city. Despite the early hour, I espied people tilling the land, or moving along the road that skirted the ramparts and led to the West Gate.

I sat in the shadow under the trees to consider my next step. Now was not yet the time to escape. I was certain of being watched by several of Námo’s servants, and I would be until he was satisfied that I had complied with his orders, however long it took. The gulls cried mockingly from above, as if daring me to defy the will of the Lord of the Breath of Arda. I gritted my teeth.

My clothes were ordinary, my appearance no different from that of the Calaquendi who still dwelled this side of the Great Sea. I doubted I would attract attention if I were to approach the gate, but I ignored how closely they would question me before allowing my entrance. I had searched my bag and found a purse with some silver coins. Unlike those first days of my banishment, this time I knew their true value and would not let the merchants cheat me.  They should buy food for many days. I could forgo paid shelter to make my modest wealth last longer if need be; I was content to camp under the trees.

Around midday, hunger forced me into action. I walked along hedges between scented orchards until I met the road, lined with bustling stalls selling many wares and crafts. I stared at a picket line with four horses tethered to it, next to a small open shed where a blacksmith’s hammer sang with a sweet ringing rhythm. If I were to travel far, I would need a horse. In the end, I overcame my growing temptation to commit thievery by following the enticing smells and the sizzling sounds of food being cooked.

All vendors and their patrons spoke the tongue of the Sindalië, which I had learnt long ago[1]. Confidently, I bought grilled fish, bread, onions and fruit, and pocketed my change without deserving a second look from the woman in charge, who turned at once to serve her next customer. In Kiinlúum I would have been welcome by kind greetings, smiles, and bows. Here, wrapped in comfortable anonymity, I sat on a low wall by the road and began to eat, while watching people come and go from the Gate.

As predicted, the guards stopped everyone wishing to enter, except for a few folk who seemed to be well known to them. The gentle breeze allowed me to catch wisps of conversations, all about purpose, relatives, places to stay, and I watched how the soldiers duly recorded every entry and exit. Sometimes a visitor was detained until someone arrived to vouch for him. Evil and sorrow had taught the Quendi caution the hard way, and the lessons had not been forgotten, even after yéni of peace.

I had no valid claim to kinship or friendship with anyone in Lindon, and therefore, little chance of gaining entry. My heart leapt with hope. Maybe, if I was turned away, I could haggle for a horse, and travel East.

At that time, I heard the pounding clatter of many hooves approaching from the woods. A group of riders was returning from a morning hunt, their catch of partridges and hares strung to the pommels of his saddles. One of them carried a small deer over the withers of his horse. At their head rode a man whose face I recognised with a start. I had recently dreamt of him: Elerondo, son of Eärendil. Or in this time, Elrond.

Behind him, surrounded by noblemen and warriors, came the King. Only a simple silver circlet marked him as such, otherwise he was clad in plain hunting gear like all his companions. Most of them carried bows and quivers or spears, as well as swords. Not the King, though. On his left hand, Gil-galad wore a falconry glove. I followed his upward gaze and spotted his bird, admiring his easy glide with the ache that always awoke at the thought of my lost freedom.

The royal party would have ridden past without a glance at my lowly figure, had something unexpected not happened.

The hawk circled low, as though to land on the King’s forearm, but instead threw himself at my head with a loud shriek. My hands leapt up to my face, to protect my eyes from the sharp claws, while trying to bat him away. A searing pain preceded an abundant trickle of blood from my scalp down to my face.

Half blinded, I sensed more than saw Elrond’s horse rear, startled by the commotion. He had always been an excellent horseman, but now his mount sidestepped towards me, knocking me to the ground. He would have almost certainly trampled me but instinct made me jump up to my feet at once, in time to reach out, take hold of the harness and hold on tightly, while whispering soothing words into the terrified beast’s ears. Soon, the stallion calmed down, pranced a little and then stopped. By then, I could hardly see from the dripping blood.

Elrond slid to the ground and anxiously grabbed my arm. A crowd was gathering around us, murmuring loudly.

‘Are you badly hurt?’ Elrond asked, peering at my face. His voice was calm and gently commanding. He reached out to part my bloody hair and look at the wound.

‘Nay, lord, I am well,’ I answered, too weak to be convincing.

My head was throbbing with pain, but I heeded it little. I was shaken by incredulous fury at the scheming of another King, Lord of Arda, to whom all birds are dear. Had I perceived the will of Manwë in the hawk’s piercing eyes?

The abundance of blood belied my words. One of Gil-galad’s retainers offered Elrond a water bottle and, despite my protests, he made me sit down with my head back and cleaned the stinging area just above my hairline, to find the location of the wound. Then he pressed a large piece of clean cloth against my scalp to staunch the bleeding. I feared I was about to faint, more from consuming rage than from pain or loss of blood. I closed my eyes.

‘The King regrets this incident, and requests that you attend him when you are fit,’ spoke a different voice.

Still, I kept my eyes shut. I did not wish to see Ereinion. In fact, all I wanted was to mount a horse and gallop away, eastwards, to fall into Mairon’s arms and never part from him again. 

‘Leave him alone, Brégil,’ growled Elrond. ‘I will escort him to see the King, but only when he is fit to do so. Possibly tomorrow.’

‘Yes, my lord.’ I heard the crunch of steps retreating over the gravel path.

I opened my eyes when Elrond eased the pressure of the cloth, now soaked in blood. He leant forward and inspected the wound intently. Then he dabbed my face with another damp cloth to wipe some of the blood stuck to my eyes.

So close, I had a chance to study him, though my memory was as fresh as when we met last, before my return to Aman. Elrond seemed veritably untouched by time, at least in body.

Taken separately, each of his features showed only subtle hints of his mortal ancestry, but all together they gave him a distinct appearance amongst the kindred he had chosen.

His ears were still pointed, but of rounder shape; his chin was more square, his nose wider and his grey eyes, framed by bold, bristly eyebrows, less slanted but not less bright than those of the Quendi who had never beheld the Light of Aman before the rising of the Sun; his brow and the skin by his eyes were marked with faint lines that gave him an air of maturity, even wisdom, without detracting from his youthful appearance. I had to resist the impulse to reach out to his thick, wavy hair, raven black and woven into braids only at the temples. As to his body, his height matched my own, but he was broader of shoulders, less slender than the willowy Eldar, though he lacked none of their grace of movement.

To me, he seemed most handsome, a harmonious blend of the beauty of both kindreds, but I was aware of how sensitive he had once been, maybe still was, about the unusual features that singled him out. On the day he spoke his choice, he had admitted to me, the lofty Herald of Manwë, that he felt confident about facing what made him different from the Eldar and, if necessary, about standing up to their prejudice, whose ugliness he had already met. He feared, however, the chasm that separated him from the Atani and their sundered fate, and both admired and lamented his brother’s courage to take that step, reliant on blind faith instead of safe familiarity.

Now I stared at him, attempting to decide to whom amongst his ancestors he most took after. He noticed my rude scrutiny and glared at me.

‘My lord Elrond,’ I murmured, lowering my head, mostly to hide an incipient smile. I hoped it would come across as sheepish chagrin at my own insolence, and not as disdain.

‘Lift your head,’ he snapped. ‘Do I know you?’

‘I doubt it, my lord, but I know who you are. I have seen you before,’ I answered, eyes still locked on the ground before me. Suddenly, I was grasped by an irrational fear that he would recognise me.

‘What is your name?’

I held my breath, before giving my answer.

‘Eglanir, my lord.’ My first lie. I knew there would have to be others. They did not come too easily to my lips.

His inquisitive gaze pierced me.

‘You are a Noldo from Aman. What is your father-name?’

‘I have none, my lord.’

Strangely, this was true and the answer came out without effort. Not having an ataressë [2] amongst the Eldalië was usually the sign of a child born out of wedlock whose father had not acknowledge his paternity. This double sin was deemed shameful, according to the laws and customs given to the Eldar by the Valar, and it was not uncommon for someone to make up a father-name for himself in these circumstances. I had to suppress a smile of longing at the sudden memory of the tally of my offences that Mairon had once compiled.

Frowning, Elrond studied me thoughtfully, no doubt attempting to guess more from my appearance.

‘You are of the house of Fëanáro?’ He had switched to the tongue of the Noldor, which he spoke fluently.

‘I do not wish to speak of the past, or of my kin,’ I replied curtly, adopting a slightly offended mien, in the hope that he would forgo his questioning.

'If you feel well enough, you must walk with me to the infirmary,’ he said. ‘Otherwise, I will have you carried. You need stitches.’ I grimaced at the thought, though it was not the first time I had suffered them. ‘We can talk later,’ he added. His reassurring smile was guarded, his eyes hard. My reprieve would be short.

‘As you wish, my lord. I am ready.’

He had given his horse into the care of one of his companions and we walked side by side through the gates. The guards stared at me but did not dare question my presence. I appraised the strong defences, raising my gaze to the double portcullis and gauging the strength of the three iron-bound doors that in case of attack would be barred with massive bolts and beams, ready in place.

The infirmary was only a short stroll away, down a most pleasant avenue along the wall, paved with pebbles of many hues arranged in the shape of curling waves, and lined with cypress trees, trimmed box hedges and a border of fragant lavender.

Most buildings were two or three stories high, beautifully crafted out of sandstone, with wide arched galleries on all floors, their columns carved into wonders of knotwork and lattice designs. Windows were covered with stained glass of equally rich patterns. Captivated, I kept peering into the doorways along the way, most of them allowing glimpses of inviting courtyards crammed with large potted trees and shrubs.

When we arrived at our destination, we walked into one of these peaceful, flowering entrance halls, open to the sky. The sights and scents brought to my mind, with a painful pang, the memory of our inner garden in Kiinlúum, where orange trees blossomed and fountains sang. I sighed, and followed Elrond into one of the rooms that opened from the courtyard.

He bid me sit on a nearby chair. I hesitated, as he made no move to sit himself, but he waved me down.

We waited in silence, until a chatty healer arrived and dealt with my injuries. He made me lie down on a cot and washed the area of scalp with a liquid that almost made me jump from the sting. Mercifully, it must have had some soothing properties, because I was able to bite my lip and bear the stitches with nary a flinch. I was aware of Elrond’s eyes watching my every move.

Once it was all over, the healer left with my thanks, not before he ordered me to rest for a while. Elrond sat on the chair and waited, silent. But I could sense his curiosity in the intensity of his gaze.

I closed my eyes, wondering what would happen next. I was annoyed at my own helplessness, furious at the way I was being prodded and herded from Kiinlúum to Mandos and now into the city of Forlond, soon to appear before its King.

‘How are you feeling?’ asked Elrond at last. I toyed with the idea of claiming a headache, but it would only prolong the inevitable. 

‘Well, my lord. I am most grateful for your kindness,’ I answered. My resigned acceptance could easily be confused with tiredness.

‘This is strange, Eglanir. I sense something familiar about you, as if... I feel I have met you before.’

I would have bowed at his perception, but I was still lying down. I wished to suppress his suspicions and avoid undue trouble.

‘My lips have never spoken to you before today, my lord, though you maybe recall my face from the past.’ I delivered the obscure vagueness as convincingly as I could.

He waited, as though expecting more, but I did not volunteer any more information.

‘Then you may already know that I am the Herald and Banner-bearer of the King,’ he offered.  Again I felt like smiling. ‘So am I’ almost came to my tongue, but I swallowed words that were not only unwise, but no longer true.

‘I know, my lord,’ I said instead.

‘Where are you lodged?’ he asked. Clearly, the interrogation continued. ‘You can attend to Ereinion in the morrow, after you have rested. Where are your kinsmen, or your friends in Forlond? I will take you to them.’

‘I have none, my lord,’ I wavered for a couple of heartbeats, then plunged on. ‘I had not entered the city when the hawk... I have not arranged for accommodation or employment here.’ There, it was better to admit all at once.

His appraising gaze met mine. I did not avert my eyes, but waited for his reaction.

‘Very well, Eglanir,’ he spoke at last, frowning a little. ‘You are certainly a mystery, and in other circumstances my duty would dictate that I deal with you differently. But the King has charged me to ensure you are looked after, at least until he has a chance to see you. I shall help you settle for a few days first.’

In other words, from then on, I would be under watch during every hour of my stay.

‘What can you do for a living?’ he queried.

‘I am... I used to be a warrior, my lord.’ A complete stranger with no references being accepted into the guard seemed highly implausible, so I racked my mind for other abilities that were unlikely to lead to further questioning. ‘I am good with horses,’ I added.

‘That I believe, after what you did earlier,’ nodded Elrond, and he bid me follow him. ‘I will vouch for you with Tauras, the Horse Master; he will be glad for one more pair of hands with a good touch.’

Elrond’s reference opened all doors, including the one to the royal stables. Once I had been the herald to the Lord of Arda and captain of the Host of the Valar, later a counsellor to a dynasty of god-kings in a remote Eastern realm. Now I became a lowly groom in Gil-galad’s household. As soon as Elrond left, I was tasked with mucking stalls and carrying bales of hay, until well after dusk. I would not be granted the privilege of handling any horses until I had proven my worth. As I had no accommodation, Tauras shared some bread and cheese with me and allowed me to sleep in a small corner at the back of an empty stall where spare tack was stored.

It was neither exhaustion nor lack of station, however, that kept me awake that night, turning endlessly on the pile of clean straw I had gathered for a mattress. As often before, I railed at those who had snatched my happiness, while my chest ached for Mairon with every breath and every beat of my heart, as though something vital and good had been distilled out of the air. Our separation was unbearable, but my anxiety for him was worse still.

That night I was free to weep without shame, and I did.

 

 

---

 

Notes:

[1] Sindalië (Quenya) Collective name for the Grey-elves or Sindar

[2] ataressë (Quenya) name given to a child at birth by the father

Mistrust

Eönwë gets into trouble in Lindon.

A big thank you to Darth Fingon for his theory about the etymology of a particular obscure term.

Read Mistrust

 

22. Mistrust

 

My life over the next four days was reduced to a simple routine: work, sleep, work, sleep, with short breaks to eat, sometimes on my feet. From before dawn to after sunset I toiled tirelessly, and my nights, after the first one, were spent in the oblivion of dreamless slumber, triggered by the utter fatigue of my hröa. Elrond had not returned, and I was hoping that he and the King might have forgotten about me.

I only exchanged a minimum of words with my fellow stable hands and the horsemaster Tauras, mostly greetings and farewells, and the odd brief response during shared meals. I usually ate in a cramped firelit room in the lodge immediately outside the stable gates, in exchange for part of my meagre wages.

As a reward for my efforts, Tauras promoted me to assistant groom, dealing with visitors’ horses. Also, on the fifth day from my arrival, he bid me join him and his staff in the customary weapons drill, which took place twice a week, every Orgilion and Orgaladhad, still called Elenya and Aldúya by many.[1] I learnt that it was mandatory for all household men in the service of the King, from noblemen to kitchen staff and grooms, to gather in the training grounds for practice, except through dispensation by one of the King’s weapon masters. Exemptions for ill health required written agreement by at least two of the city healers, handed in to a lord or guild master. I still had my stitches, but they did not bother me and I did not wish to attract attention.

I was not concerned. However gruelling the drill, this was not my untrained hröa from three yéni ago. I was fit and able. In fact, the key difficulty would be to hide my skills.

I almost succeeded.

For hours, we went through forms that tested my patience to the limit, because of the need to remain slow, feign clumsiness and make deliberate mistakes with a rough wooden sword. After pounding straw pells for a while, we were grouped for sparring by ability. Despite offering several openings and refraining from immediately exploiting the flaws of my adversaries’ defences, I could not avoid becoming the winner in my group. Then, I had the misfortune of facing an arrogant lordling, a certain Daeguin, born to survivors of Gondolin, who had recently spouted abuse at us grooms over the matter of a lost horseshoe. He had especially laid into me, lowliest in the pecking order and still unfamiliar with the protocols and workings of the stable. I had not risen to his provocation, but remained silent and even polite in the face of his rudeness, to the point where Tauras, ever the demanding task master, had later praised my forbearance.

When my tormentor recognised me, he muttered insults under his breath and loudly lamented the lack of worth of his opponent. He was not half as cocky when I still stood undefeated and not tired at all after what to him must have seemed like hours, when sweat and exertion were seeping out of every pore of his skin. By then, to my dismay, we had attracted a vast crowd, wagering loudly around us. My fellow grooms stood at the front, cheering for me. Elrond was also there, silent and appraising. I realised I could not throw away the match, as I had first intended to. I toyed with my adversary for a bit longer, until I grew bored, then I made him lose his balance, flung the blade from his hand, and poised mine at his throat.

‘Yield,’ I cried.

‘Never to you, miserable kinslayer!’ he hissed.

Clearly, rumours had spread like fire in the handful of days since my arrival. My vague, ambiguous answers and deliberate omissions and silences had proved to be effective in building my new identity as a dour, taciturn follower of the House of Fëanor.

Red with rage, Daeguin raised his hand, as though to slap me. I dropped my sword and lunged, grabbing him around the neck. I wrestled him down to the ground onto his stomach and crushed his face against the dirt.  A moment later I had his head in a lock from which he could not escape.

‘Yield,’ I repeated coldly, applying a slight pressure on his throat.

Daeguin struggled vainly. In the end he complied. ‘I yield,’ he whispered hoarsely. But everyone around us heard him and that was enough for me. I released him, and would have walked away, had it not been for the group of warriors who grasped me.

‘You are to come with us,’ their leader commanded.

Given that two of his men already held my wrists and arms tightly, I had little alternative but to do as I was told. I heard the loud protests of the other grooms, ecstatic after the trouncing of our common foe.

I was marched back through the West Gate and into the Keep, towards a low building to one side of the King’s House. We waited outside, until Elrond arrived and led us into a room with a huge table, on which several maps were spread. He removed the weights on their corners, rolled them carefully and put them away, before he turned to us.

‘Release him,’ he ordered. ‘Leave us and stay at the ready outside.’

Once the door was closed behind the warriors, he came closer, until he stood next to me. He might be seeking to intimidate me, but I had endured far more demanding inspections under Mairon's steel eyes.

‘I was wrong to trust you,’ he began.

‘Lord Daeguin insulted me,’ I retorted. ‘I may be a servant, but I have the right to defend myself.’

‘That overproud scion of the House of the Heavenly Arch has had it coming for a long time, and he will get a good tongue-lashing or worse from the King.’ He waved his hand, irritated. ‘But you well know this is not what I mean. Can you explain why you fight like the Men that once served the Dark Lord?’ he queried dryly, going straight to the point.

By then, I had learnt that Elrond ran the spy network for Gil-galad.

‘I never served Morgoth or his allies, my lord,’ I replied calmly.

‘Few masters know some of the moves you used, let alone teach them.’

‘I learnt them long ago from men who dwell in distant lands, but not those who fought alongside the Black Foe,’ I admitted. ‘There is no evil in knowing the skills of your opponents.’

‘Who are you, then, and where did you travel to acquire that rare wisdom?’

I remained silent. I could have crafted a story, but I was certain he would go to any effort to have it verified or disproved. Nothing but the truth would hold water, and I was not allowed to speak it.

‘You have said to others that you came from Aman with the sons of Fëanor and fought in the War,’ he continued. I looked at him, sharply. ‘Yes, I have made some enquiries, and Tauras has told me all he has found out from you, which is little. You keep your council, Eglanir. Nobody remembers your unlikely name, or your face. And yet, a warrior of your exceptional skills would have been impossible to ignore, whichever lord of the Eldar he gave his allegiance to.’

My continued muteness did nothing but spur his suspicions, but I held his intent gaze unflinchingly. I was no criminal. I had been wronged, bound to exile and silence, and I was not afraid.

Elrond sighed and walked towards the door. At his rap, it was opened from the outside. He murmured an order, and soon a bundle was brought by one of the warriors and placed on the table. Elrond unwrapped it to uncover my few possessions: my spare clothes, a small knife, a belt, an ivory comb, and the leather bag that the Telerin sailors had given me. All objects were well crafted but simple, and did not betray their origin. After a quick scan, he picked up a folded scrap of parchment. Realising what it was, I stilled, cursing my stupidity.

‘What does this writing say? Or is it a code?’ he asked, handing me the parchment. I picked it up with a trembling hand. ‘My beloved...’ I did not speak aloud. I felt myself blushing. Confident of the secrecy granted by the alien symbols of Kiinlúum’s written language, I had poured my feelings onto the parchment.

‘It is the beginning of an unfinished letter to a friend,’ I explained blandly, ‘penned in the tongue of the distant land where he used to live.’

‘A friend,’ he repeated, staring at me sceptically.

His sharp gaze studied me from head to toe, and soon locked onto my wrist cuff, which I had disguised with a thin scrap of leather woven over and under it several times. He grabbed my forearm; I did not resist when he lifted my wrist to the level of our eyes.

‘What is this?’

There was no point in lying, when he only needed to snap his fingers and get his men to hold me down while he checked the truth for himself.

‘A piece of jewellery, my lord, covered for safekeeping,’ I replied through my teeth.

I watched him slowly uncover the brilliance of Mairon's gift.

‘This gleams as bright as moonlight!’ he gasped when it was revealed.

He turned my wrist one way and the other to inspect the metal band closely, tracing his finger over the pattern of sparks.

‘Surely not...’ he stammered. For the first time since we had met, Elrond had lost his easy aplomb. ‘Celebrimbor has raved about the wonders of a fabled metal of Valinor, which in Ennor can only be found in secret mines in far Eastern mountains.’ He peered at me, bewildered. I did not speak to confirm or deny his guess.[2]

‘How do you take this cuff off?’ He frowned, back in his cold interrogator role.

‘It cannot be removed, my lord.’ I answered dryly. ‘Unless you cut my hand off.’

Startled, he tightened his grip on my wrist until the flow of blood pulsed under his pressure. I yanked my arm away.

‘You seem to revel in being an enigma, Eglanir,’ he snapped.

‘Not particularly, my lord.’ I shrugged. I was growing tired of his endless questioning, which could only end one way.

‘Whom did you serve before you came to Lindon?’

‘For a long time, no one. Before that, I am not at liberty to tell you.’

I was tempted to smile in triumph at his grimace of annoyance, but I doubted such a gesture would improve his mood. I was glad of having learnt to school my features under Mairon’s severe tutelage.

‘There is still evil left after the Dark Lord was vanquished, and several of his minions are unaccounted for.’ His tone was grim, all remaining traces of empathy or willingness to understand discarded. ‘I fear that you may be a spy, enslaved and twisted into his service, perhaps.’

‘I am no thrall of Morgoth,’ I replied.

‘Why did you come here?’

‘I am not able to tell you, my lord.’

He slammed his hand on the table, in anger.

‘Damn you to Vé, Eglanir!’ he cried. ‘Help me a little, if you wish me to help you. Otherwise you will regret it.’[3]

I remained unmoved by his threat, almost sorry at his frustration.

‘Do what you must, my lord. As I do.’

Again, he knocked on the door.

‘Lock him up,’ he commanded his men.

‘I have committed no crime,’ I protested when they clamped their hands roughly over my arms.

‘That is a matter for the King to decide,’ answered Elrond. ‘But not just yet.’

At his signal, the soldiers took me away and pushed me down a flight of stairs into a nearby small stone chamber, an empty storage room with a barred window and a lock on the thick iron-bound door that could double up as a cell. When the door clanged shut, I sat on the floor under the window, wrapped my arms over my knees, wearily dropped my head on them and waited. Not long afterwards, the same warriors returned with a cot, blankets, a jug of water and a bucket.

Soon, I missed my previous life as a groom.

Days trickled by monotonously; the only interruptions to my isolation were the three times a day when my jailors would bring me food and drink. They treated me kindly. I was fed, given warm blankets and even some books, when I asked. Every other day I was allowed to exercise within an adjacent courtyard for an hour or two, under armed guard. Afterwards they would bring into my cell a small wooden tub and several buckets of warm water, so that I could have a bath.

Once I queried my guards about this civilised treatment.

‘This is not Angband,’ was their offended reply.

From what they told me, they were not used to handling prisoners beyond those locked up for brawling or becoming a nuisance when drunk, usually after a festival.

Every morning the guards asked me if I was willing to speak to Elrond, and I regularly declined to do so. I resigned myself to the battle of wills. Unfortunately, there was very little I could offer to slake Elrond’s thirst for information.

One day a robin landed on the windowsill. After tilting its head and looking at me intently, he flew away. Had Manwë sent him? I had not sensed the will of my lord within the little creature. Yet again, I wondered if his hand was behind my very convenient imprisonment, which turned any desire to reunite myself with Mairon into a complete impossibility, while time inexorably erased any precious trails of his whereabouts, if truly he had left Kiinlúum. My frustration veered into simmering wrath at the injustice of my captivity.

After almost a moon-round of this bleak existence, Elrond, whom I had not seen at all since my arrest, entered my cell one morning. I rose to my feet and bowed in greeting. He nodded curtly in acknowledgement.

‘Are you well, Eglanir?’ he queried, almost kindly. I had not expected that to be his first question. Was he attempting a new strategy?

I waved my hand around slowly, so that he could take in the stone walls of the bare room, the narrow bed, covered by a blanket, the table the soldiers had dragged in one day, on which lay an empty plate and jug and two small books, the chair, a change of clothes hanging from a lonely peg on the wall, the locked door.

‘As you can see, my lord, my every need is catered for most adequately, except for freedom.’ I chuckled humourlessly. ‘To what do I owe the honour of your visit? Have you come to relieve the tedium of my hours, maybe? Or to threaten me with dire measures?’

Ignoring my questions, he picked up the books on the table.

‘A Treaty on Doriathren Joinery’ and ‘The Star-crossed Lovers of Himring,’ he read, and raised an amused eyebrow as he thumbed through the second book, before closing it and shifting his keen gaze to me.

‘Not my choices.’ I shrugged, and smiled in return. ‘Your men were kind enough to lend me what they had.’

‘Indeed.’ He put the books back, squaring them neatly before looking at me. ‘The King has repeatedly enquired about you, Eglanir. Just now I have declined, on your behalf, his invitation to a private audience later today. When he questioned me about your lengthy absence, I had to explain your current circumstances. How much longer will you have us playing this tug of war? Surely, you must be tired of staying here.’

‘I would leave gladly, my lord, but it is the warriors under your command who hold the key that unlocks the door,’ I retorted levelly.

‘Speak the truth of who you are, whom you served and what your purpose is in Lindon, and you can walk out with me. I will take you to see Gil-galad.’

‘As to who I am, I could perhaps spin a lie that you would believe, at least for a while, but I shall not, my lord.’ I squared my shoulders and held his intent look. ‘I have served no lord for three yéni, and you can assure your King that I have not been swayed by the Black Foe.’

‘Why would either of us trust you if you refuse to even identify yourself?’ His frustration was as palpable as mine.

‘As I said before, I am not free to do so, my lord. But I am no enemy.’

‘You will find that my patience can outlast your desire for silence,’ he replied with a scowl. He rapped his knuckles on the door, and the warriors opened it for him.

‘Are you intending to keep me locked in here for ever?’ I cried, as he left. When he did not answer, I slammed my fist against the closing door, in rage.

His visit made me restless. I was confined within a hröa within a locked room within a city far away from where I wished to be. The urge to break out was nigh on unbearable.

A few days later, a chance to escape presented itself, and it was impossible to resist. I overpowered my guard, recently assigned to his post, snatched his sword and dagger from his belt, locked him in the cell and ran up the stairs. I had no plan of what to do next, but I kept running. Someone raised the alarm.

Not much later, I found myself backed against a wall, surrounded by a score of angry warriors with their swords drawn. Elrond arrived at a run.

‘Drop the blades, Eglanir,’ he commanded, panting slightly.

‘No,’ I snarled. ‘I cannot endure imprisonment any longer. Let me go!’

Slowly, he walked towards me, unarmed. I could have thrown the knife and slain him, but despite having claimed that he could not trust me, he dared approach even nearer, close enough that he could prise away the weapons from my unresisting grasp. At that moment, his men fell on me with the force of a bursting dam, and I was crushed to the ground. I could barely breathe from the pressure, until many hands pulled me up and tied my wrists behind my back so tightly that I soon stopped feeling my fingers.

‘Your fate is no longer in my hands,’ said Elrond, looking very pale. There was reproach in his voice, as though I had failed his test.

I was dragged into the grand King’s Hall of Forlond, a lofty chamber built of creamy sandstone and pierced by a row of many tall leaded windows that turned the mosaic floor into stripes of coloured light and shadow. I had no time to admire the tapestries or statues lined against the opposite wall, as the soldiers forced me to keep up with Elrond’s strides. We stopped before a low dais on which Gil-galad sat tall upon his throne. The small crowd of courtiers and counsellors gathered around their sovereign regarded me and my escort with undisguised curiosity.

‘My lord,’ said Elrond, after rising from a deep bow, ‘I request trial for this man.’

I scanned the assembly, spotting many familiar faces including those of Celebrimbor, son of Curufin, and of my recent adversary Daeguin, who glared gleefully at me. I had known most of the men in Gil-galad’s court as his captains or advisors during the War, but of course none recognised the bedraggled prisoner as the once Herald of Manwë and Commander of the Hosts of the West.

My eyes turned to Gil-galad, but only briefly. I bowed too, as far as those holding my arms allowed me.

‘Release him,’ ordered Elrond. I was mercifully cut free. The numbness of my hands was soon replaced by a pulsing, needling ache that made me wince.

The King’s resemblance to his father when he departed from Aman was remarkable; Ereinion’s dark hair, however, was not black but a rich hue of brown, and it was not braided with gold, as Findekáno used to wear it, but loose, bound by a gold circlet. His grey eyes, devoid of the radiance of Aman, but nevertheless bright enough to justify his name, raked me for a long time, no doubt attempting to appraise me from my appearance. When he turned his attention to Elrond, he listened attentively to every word of his spymaster’s succinct summary of my refusal to declare myself, and of my foiled escape attempt.

‘Was anyone hurt?’ asked the King, when Eärendil’s son concluded his report.

‘Nay, my lord, though he could have caused grave harm, had it been his wish,’ answered Elrond. When the King nodded, he stepped to one side.

At that time, I dropped to one knee with my right hand on my heart, thus requesting acknowledgement from the King and, hopefully, leave to address him, too. If those watching me had anticipated that I would behave as a peasant or a groom, they were probably disappointed. I displayed my best Noldorin manners, in all likelihood outdated and excessively formal, as I had learnt them watching over Finwë's court on Manwë’s behalf.

‘Speak,’ granted Gil-galad, regarding me with renewed curiosity. I rose to my feet before I began.

‘May the mantle of diamonds of the Star-kindler ever shelter your path, my lord King,’ I began. My calm, courteous greeting raised an excited murmur across the crowd. ‘Let me assure you that it was never my intention to cause any harm, but merely to seek my freedom when the walls of my prison were all but crushing me. Whatever rumours may have reached you, I am no kinslayer.’

I could speak the truth with conviction. After all, we Maiar are immortal, even outside Time; our existence may only cease by the will of Eru.

‘Yet you have claimed to be of the House of Fëanor,’ replied Gil-galad.

‘I have let this past allegiance be assumed, but never confirmed or refuted its veracity,’ I clarified. ‘As Lord Elrond will have explained, it is my silence that has brought me to your presence. Is muteness a crime in your lands, my lord King?’

‘This is not a formal trial,’ replied Gil-galad. Despite my respectful tone, his eyes remained cold, still appraising me. ’Your unwillingness to declare your purpose and loyalties do not provide conclusive evidence to accuse you of any particular offence against our laws. And yet, we have the power to decree your imprisonment or your expulsion from Lindon, if we suspect that you pose a risk to the security of our realm. What have you to say now to avoid either fate?’

‘That on this day I owe my fealty to no lord upon Arda, unless I name Manwë Súlimo, or Eru Himself.’ My boldness, and the public naming of the Allfather, a deed which many amongst the Eldar considered on the edge of blasphemy, stirred further commotion. ‘That I fought the enemy under the banner of the Hosts of the West, and have never served evil.’

I could see a spark of doubt in Gil-galad’s eyes. He wished to believe me, but wariness was engrained in the heart of each and every surviving Noldo in Endórë.

‘Those are worthy words, Eglanir. Yet, how can we trust you, when you keep silent about your name and claim to give your allegiance to none?’

‘Let my deeds earn your trust, my lord King,’ I vowed.

Gil-galad did not reply, but remained thoughtful for a short while.

‘I regret the harm my bird caused you,’ he spoke at last. ‘My debt still weighs on me now, and I owe you compensation for that unfortunate incident.’

‘There is no harm done and no debt owed, my lord,’ I answered.

He nodded in approval at my acquiescence.

‘Above all, I have a duty to my people and my realm. We have enjoyed peace for a long time, but we have not forgotten what it is to be afraid, and we must prevent a return of evil to these lands.’

In his grave eyes and in his brief hesitation, I sensed the regret of the decision he had made.

‘I shall grant your freedom, Eglanir, but you are banished from Lindon, never to return unless this mandate is revoked by me or my heirs,’ pronounced Gil-galad. ‘An escort will take you to the inland border of your choice. As retribution for your injury, I shall provide you with a horse and provisions. If you dare defy my justice, I shall have no choice but to place you under guard and make it my own business that you are given no leeway to flee.’

At his words, I bowed low, attempting to remain decorously impassive, when all I wanted was to grin in triumph. I could not hope for a better outcome, my very wish made true.

‘I regret your mistrust, my lord King, but I accept your ruling.’

It was then that Elrond collapsed to the ground, as though struck dead. His eyes moved wildly, unseeing. I leant forwards to assist him, but I was pulled back by the warriors flanking me. Gil-galad himself rushed to his aid, as did Celebrimbor and others, while whispers rose swiftly to a clamour of agitated voices.

As quickly as the fit had started, it finished. Elrond passed his hand over his eyes and tried to stand, but the King had knelt by his side and held him fast in his arms, not allowing it.

‘What did you see this time, Elrond?’

My heart sank, and a burning tide of fury rose up to my throat, choking me. I should have expected trickery, but it never crossed my mind that it would come in this guise.

‘He saves me, us... helps... he fights...’ stammered Elrond. ‘Darkness rises. Again. Armies. Your banner falls, my King. He picks it up. His sword...’ He stared at me, then closed his eyes and shuddered. ‘He shall stay. Help us. He must...’ His voice broke.

Gil-galad turned up his face to peer at me intently, as though he saw me for the first time.

‘Must he, now?’ he echoed.

‘Yes, my King, I am... certain,’ whispered Elrond. His gaze flared with an inner fire. ‘Erestor must stay.’[4]

Manwë had finally spoken my name.

 

 

---

[1] Both sets of words are the names for the first and fourth day of the six-day Elvish week, dedicated to the Stars and Two Trees of Valinor, respectively. The first set is Sindarin; the second is Quenya.

[2] The idea of mithril mined outside Moria appears in HoME VII, “The Treason of Isengard” and was later discarded by Tolkien.

[3] Vé (Gnomish) an old name for the Halls of Mandos

[4] Tolkien did not provide an etymology for the name Erestor, and there are several theories about whence it was derived. I have adopted Darth Fingon’s. The name might be connected to QL RESE? Qenya word restor (meaning ‘kinsman’ or ‘helper’). This is supported by the fact that when his character first appeared with that name in the first drafts of Lord of the Rings, Erestor was meant to be a kinsman or ‘helper’ of Elrond. Interestingly, he was also classed in early drafts of The Lord of the Rings (HoME VI, The Return of the Shadow) as a ‘Half-elf’, a concept which would also hold some truth in the present story, though clearly not in the way Tolkien intended.

 

Fealty

Following Elrond's revelation, Eönwë stays in Lindon.

Read Fealty

 

23. Fealty

I allowed my body to relax in the soldiers’ grasp. They frowned at me, as though I were to blame for the incident. Would Manwe’s interference never cease?

When Elrond insisted on standing up, Gil-galad helped him and dismissed all other courtiers, who left with obvious reluctance, no doubt disappointed about not witnessing the closing act of the eerie performance.

Ereinion and Elrond turned their backs to me and whispered animatedly, while I simmered in uneasy indignation. My gaze strayed to the window, through which I watched the sway of the sea, imprisoned and tamed within the fortified harbour. I yearned to travel beyond walls and locked doors, beyond mountains and deserts, to be with Mairon again.

Nothing Gil-galad could do to me would hurt as much as what Manwë and Námo had already done, but I dreaded the thought of being returned to my cell. Clenching my hands at my sides, I counted slowly, to bar my thoughts from travelling down paths that led to where despair waited to strike.

At last, the King and his counsellor signalled my escort to step forward. Elrond stood to the right of his King, pale but seemingly recovered. When my arms were released, I gave a shallow bow and awaited Gil-galad’s decision.

‘Elrond, you have spoken for this man,’ he said gravely. ‘Therefore, on you falls the responsibility for his actions.’

‘As you wish, Sire,’ replied Eärendil’s son, lowering his head in a bow that did not completely mask his grimace of displeasure.

‘As for you, Erestor,’ said Ereinion, turning to me, ‘your behaviour will dictate the level of freedom that you may enjoy in my realm.’

‘I shall not give cause for concern,’ I assured him. I did not intend to stay in Lindon one more day than I had to. 

‘No, you shall not, if you ever wish to feel the warmth of the sun on your face again,’ he replied dryly. ‘If you are to serve Elrond or to fight under my banner, as his foresight told him, you must swear your allegiance.’

I could not bear another day, let alone months or years, inside a locked room. Therefore, I made as if to kneel, but the King’s firm hand on my shoulder stopped me.

‘Not to me, Erestor.’

I frowned, then dipped my head in acceptance and turned my gaze to his companion.

‘My lord...’ protested Elrond.

Gil-galad lifted his hand to demand silence and nodded at me.

‘Will you hear my oath, Elerondo, son of Eärendil?’ I asked, as was customary, in the High-elven tongue, which the remnants of the exiled Noldor and their descendants spoke during such solemnities.

‘I will, Egla- Erestor. Plight your faithfulness with words of truth,’ he answered the ritual words in a dull tone.

Irritated, I dropped to one knee before him and grasped his hands. They were as cold as ice! Looking up, I was startled by the glint of fear in his eyes. What had Irmo showed him?

His fingers tightened over mine, before nodding for me to proceed. The usual formula of the oath invoked the Valar as witnesses, but I would not swear upon them. 

‘By Eru the Allfather who kindled the heart of Eä with the Imperishable Flame, to Elerondo Eärendilion I will be true and faithful by word, silence and deed, in accord with the laws of our King and land. So say I, Erestor, once of Aman.’

‘And I, Elerondo Eärendilion, accept your troth, Erestor, once of Aman and now of Lindon, and will hold to you as you shall deserve,’ he answered without joy. 

I pressed my lips to his right hand in sign of fealty. He pulled me to my feet, releasing his hold a bit too hastily, as though my touch repulsed him.

Neither of us was delighted about this arrangement but, while I had accepted it as a necessity, Elrond was clearly dismayed.

‘My lord,’ I murmured through gritted teeth.

Gil-galad looked at both of us strangely. ‘I guess this will have to do, for now,’ he sighed.

Elrond bowed to him and all but stormed out of the hall. I looked at the King for instructions, and he waved me to follow my new lord. When I caught up with Elrond, we walked in silence to a large house not far from the keep.

As soon as we entered, a servant glided towards Elrond solicitously. He appraised me with undisguised suspicion as his lord, our lord, curtly informed him that I had joined his service.

‘I shall work for a while, Bruithros. Once you show Erestor to his lodgings and explain the household rules and routines to him, you can have the rest of the evening free. He might wish to eat,’ he concluded, without looking at me for confirmation.

‘Very well, my lord,’ answered Bruithros. ‘Will I have dinner served for you at the usual time?’

‘No. Ask the cook to prepare a light repast and have it brought to the library.’

Elrond left without sparing another word, or even a glance, toward me. I followed the annoyingly haughty servant, not really listening to his prattle and keeping a stubborn silence in the face of his prying, impertinent questions.

 

~ o ~

 

A hand shook me in my sleep. Without opening my eyes, I knew it was still dark.

‘Not yet,’ I mumbled. But the grip on my shoulder did not relent.

‘Our lord has requested that you see him at once,’ urged Bruithros quite loudly in my ear. ‘Make haste! I have better things to do than wait on you. He will meet you at the library while he breaks his fast before his morning audience with the King.’

He slammed the door as he left. With a curse, I threw the blanket off and rose slowly from the narrow bed, sparing a look of longing at the tangle of crumpled sheets. Most of the night I had vainly attempted to coax my overactive consciousness into sleep, but only when the stars began to pale had my hroä finally succumbed to exhaustion. In the dim light that filtered through the edge of the shutters, I scanned my room, a small chamber in the servant’s quarters. The main difference from my previous accommodation was that the door could be unlocked from the inside. I was beginning to question whether this trifle was worth my efforts.

After splashing cold water from a washbasin over my face, I put on the black trousers, white shirt and tunic that I had been handed the previous evening. The woollen fabric of the tunic was dyed dark blue, almost indigo, the hue of the sea on the day I had arrived at Lindon. Elrond’s coat of arms glimmered over my chest. I touched the raised stitching, slowly tracing its graceful contours. Eärendil’s six-point argent star was embroidered in silver thread at the centre of the azure field, over what I believed to be the long golden petals of Lúthien’s flower, also in her mother’s arms. I remembered with a pang of dismay my promise to Melyanna to watch over her surviving progeny in Endórë. I doubted Elrond would see me as a protector any time soon.

My bag had been returned, so I ran a comb through my hair, ruthlessly pulling at snarls and tangles, and wove a tight plait at the back.

I left my room and followed the long corridor, turning several corners until I reached the gallery above the entrance courtyard. From there, I easily found the stairs and strode down two steps at a time. I crossed the courtyard to stand opposite the door through which I had seen Elrond disappear the day before. After taking a deep breath, I knocked.

‘Enter.’

Elrond’s library was smaller than ours had been at Kiinlúum, but every available space on the walls, up to the high ceiling and even over the door and window lintels, was covered with shelves holding orderly rows of books. Slanting pale beams of early sunlight poured in through two wide lead glass windows, making the swirling specks of dust glitter in the warm air. My boots echoed loudly as I walked onto the dark polished wood.

‘My lord,’ I muttered, bending into a bow while hoping that the rumbling of my stomach was not as loud as it seemed to me.

Elrond sat behind a desk near the window writing tidy columns of figures in a thick ledger book. He put the quill down only after completing the page, and at last raised his gaze to acknowledge my presence.

‘Rarely does foresight, with which I am blessed, or possibly cursed, show me visions of such dire clarity as those which conveniently saved you from banishment yestereve,’ he began without preamble. I opened my mouth, wishing to speak, but he shook his head impatiently. ‘You are here only because I vouched for you, maybe unwisely, knowing your dread at being imprisoned. I foolishly proposed to Ereinion that you should serve one of his lords in the city, then immediately wished I had remained silent when he saddled me with your company. You have sworn an oath to me and, for better or worse, I have accepted your pledge. Do not make me regret this arrangement or I will have you locked away and throw the key into the bay. Do we understand each other, Erestor, or whatever your true name is?’

Briefly, I wavered between laughter and outrage.

‘Good morning to you too, my lord Elrond. We do understand each other, my lord. Perfectly,’ I answered at last, barely able to remove all vestiges of sarcasm from my tone.

‘We shall see. ’ He glared. ‘In the meantime, let us find out how you should earn your keep.’

He waved his arm towards a wooden chair before his desk. A command, not an invitation.

‘You have not broken fast, have you?’ he queried.

‘No, my lord.’

‘Did you eat last night?’

‘No, my lord, I did not wish to cause any trouble.’

‘Eat, then,’ he said, pushing a tray with cold meats, cheese and bread towards me. A basket full of apples and pears and a plate of small cakes were placed before me, too. When I hesitated, he added, ‘My cook overfeeds me.’

‘Thank you.’ I smiled and tackled the food, while he watched, arms folded over his chest.

Once I felt comfortably full, I sat back and looked at him expectantly.

‘So tell me, Erestor, what can you do to be of service?’

‘I can work as your groom,’ I volunteered. ‘Tauras was pleased with me before...’

‘My groom?’ His soft chuckle conveyed annoyance, not amusement. ‘You, who have been instructed into the ways of the courts of Aman, and can speak the High-elven tongue flawlessly, why, even better than the King himself? Who can fight like the best warriors in our host? Do not take me for a fool, Erestor.’

He proceeded to interrogate me thoroughly about my skills, though, to his credit, he avoided probing into my past, even when the recital of the abilities I chose to disclose must have posed innumerable questions.

He seemed particularly fascinated by my extensive knowledge of languages beyond those of the Quendi. I acknowledged speaking several of the tongues of the Atani, including dialects of the Eastern tribes and, naturally, the language of Númenórë. I only omitted knowledge of the speech of my own kindred and a few of the languages I had learnt while negotiating with the surviving defeated allies of Melkor. I thought it was prudent not to spur Elrond’s mistrust further.

‘Where did you learn Adûnaic?’ he asked.

‘Around the time of the war against Moring-... Morgoth, my lord.’ His eyes narrowed.

‘Do you know my brother?’

I hesitated, but I did not wish to lie.

‘Yes, my lord, I knew him.’

He leant forward in his seat, piercing me with a calculating stare.

‘And yet I cannot remember you. Our paths would have surely crossed, Erestor, if you had been close to Elros.’

I was treading on dangerous ground.

‘I would certainly not presume to name myself his friend, my lord,’ I lowered my eyes, as though in modesty. ‘Our stations were far removed. May I ask if you have news from him?’

‘None have sailed from Númenor to these shores. But I know from Círdan that he still… lives. Do you know that he chose the fate of the Edain, their Gift?’ His voice was calm, but his fingers were clenched upon the edge of the desk.

‘I do, my lord.’ I phrased my response carefully. ‘I saw you both enter the Herald's tent in turn, first your brother, then you, when summoned to speak your choices. I was told...’ I bit my lip.

‘What were you told?’

Suddenly, I felt uncomfortable.

‘Well?’ he said.

‘That you argued bitterly because he wished to go the way of the Edain and you chose the Edhil, and each of you tried to convince the other into embracing his choice.’  

‘Yes, we bickered for days.’ He smiled briefly, a fond smile twinned with a gleam of regret in his grey eyes. ‘Anyone watching us would have believed that separation might be a blessing in disguise. But in the end we just stopped talking about it. Until the summons.’

I nodded.

‘The Herald of Manwë arranged it so that I would not see Elros or learn of his answer before I spoke my own. I desperately wished to know if my brother had changed his mind at the last instant, as I was sorely tempted to do, not to be parted from him. I begged Lord Eönwë to tell me.’ Elrond’s shudder stirred my piity, as on that day so long ago. ‘Manwë had forbidden him from swaying us in any way,’ he said. ‘The choice should be ours, made freely and independently. I believe he regretted denying my request, but it was hard to tell. I gave my answer, and selfishly prayed that Elros had been strong enough to renounce his calling. Still, the Herald did not tell me. His beautiful face looked cold as diamonds, even though he knew our fates had split us for ever. I wonder if the Maiar can feel as we do?’

‘I wonder,’ I repeated inanely, stunned by his words, which were echoes of Mairon’s arguments. I wished I could speak a belated apology at my apparent coldness.

‘You were in the camp, then?’ The sudden harshness of his tone startled me. ‘Under whose banner?’

‘I cannot tell you, my lord,’ I lamented.  

‘Very well,’ he answered, irritated. ‘Regarding the matter of your service, you shall work in the translation office, directly under my supervision.’

‘Thank you, my lord.’

‘A final warning, Erestor. You are not allowed to leave the city without me, or another man in my service appointed by my orders. The sentries have been commanded to arrest you if you attempt to cross the gates unaccompanied. So save yourself the trouble.’

I set my jaw to contain my frustration. I had only gained a bigger cage, after all.

‘I hope this measure will only be temporary, Erestor. Earn my trust and I may grant you more freedom.’

‘Thank you, my lord.’

My respectful bow masked my disappointment. I was not completely surprised by this setback in my plans, but it was annoying, nevertheless.

I could climb down the stone walls and swim away beyond the sight of the sentries, but the currents outside the harbour were strong. The most likely outcomes were to drown or to be hauled back before a furious Elrond.

Besides, I did not wish to be forsworn to Eärendil’s son. Proving my trustworthiness to someone as wary as Gil-galad’s spymaster could take months, years even. I would strive to shorten the enforced delay and, in the meantime, curb my impatience and make plans, studying maps and maybe even discovering clues about Mairon’s whereabouts.

I still hoped that one day, not too far in the future, I could convince Elrond to allow me to leave Lindon.

 

~ o ~

 

Lindon, Year 440 of the Second Age of Arda

I was being tested. There was no doubt that nothing of a secret nature was being placed in my hands. And yet, my parchments were numbered and counted at the beginning and end of each day, as though to prevent me from copying information or to pass messages to someone else.

A fair proportion of the bizarre, difficult texts I was given to translate must have been penned by Elrond himself, in order to test my claims and assess my fluency, as well as to amuse himself at my expense. They were always verified by Luinhir, a trusted member of his staff, who delighted himself in pointing out better word choices and, in his opinion, more elegant turns of phrase for my efforts. He was almost as pedantic as Mairon at his worst.

Mairon... O Mairon! Every spare waking moment I longed for the day when we would embrace again.

I was certain that he would have covered his tracks well, but maybe he had left a trail of clues that I alone might perceive and follow, before time erased them. Otherwise, with no winged friend to whisk me away to the furthest side of the world, I could forever wander the endless leagues of Endórë without finding my lover. Where to start my search?

Not long after I began work in my new position, I learnt that the translation office dealt closely with the courier services, both the official post and the discreet network of motley agents that fed Elrond’s intelligence about the affairs of other realms. Through them, I hoped to be able to relay enquiries to distant lands, in order to gather scraps of information, rumour or fact, regarding the events in Kiinlúum after my death and abduction, and to discover clues about Mairon’s current abode.

Might he be searching for me? Had he guessed that I had been snatched away, that the conspiracy wrought by the Valar to secure our parting had all but destroyed my allegiance to Manwë?

Every night, the shards of our shattered happiness, sharper than razors, pierced my pounding heart; memories of my blissful exile at Mairon’s side chased each other into dark swirling dreams that knotted themselves into a heavy lump inside my chest. Tears of pain and rage were inadequate to clear away the haze of longing and desire as I lay curled in bed calling his name, cradling the mithril cuff, reliving in my mind the exquisite pleasures we had shared, and yearning for the joy of his love, ever consuming, possessive and unspoken.

Our nest had been ruthlessly stamped on. I prayed to Eru that the scorpion would not attempt to sting his enemy in retaliation, thus fulfilling my darkest prophecies and making fate rule over will.

 

~ o ~

 

Elrond’s duties to Ereinion and the realm kept him extremely busy, often into the small hours and again from dawn every day. I only saw him when he broke fast in his hall at the head of the high table, when he came into the office to consult a matter of urgency with Luinhir and during our mandatory warrior training twice a week.

One afternoon, almost at the end of my workday, I was transcribing a particularly convoluted text into the neat script demanded by Luinhir when I watched Elrond enter the large room that served as our office. A trail of greetings heralded his approach, but I ignored him, focusing instead on completing my task.

When he stopped between my desk and the window, his shadow stole the pleasant warmth of sunlight and obscured the parchment before me, forcing me to stop. Annoyed at the interruption, I put down my quill and rubbed my tired eyes, then rose to my feet without the required promptness.

‘Greetings, my lord,’ I offered, with the sketch of a bow.

‘Greetings, Erestor.’ He peered at my writing and nodded. ‘You have a sure hand. I can see Luinhir now gives to your care the pieces he would rather not tackle.’ He gave a quiet chuckle. ‘How do you like your work?’

‘Do you wish to hear the polite answer or the truth, my lord?’ I retorted.

‘The truth.’

‘The truth, my lord, is that I doubt this drudgery constitutes a major improvement from my carefree days of mucking out Ereinion’s stables,’ I grumbled. ‘And yet, I must not forget that I owe you my gratitude for this boon.’

He laughed.

‘Come with me, Erestor,’ he spoke, with the quiet tone of measured authority that turned his requests into commands.

‘May I ask where, my lord?’ I longed to return to my room, where I was free to resume my introspection and dream of my plans.

‘I am visiting Celebrimbor Curufinion, my kinsman. He has petitioned Ereinion to reconsider the refusal of the Council of Lindon to the trade of ore and refined metal with the Naugrim of the Hithaeglir, on the eastern edge of Eriador.’

‘How can I be of service during such a discussion?’

‘I am not well versed on the intricacies of trading agreements and custom tariffs,’ he admitted. Then he smiled. ‘He is being opposed by the majority of Gil-galad’s councillors on the grounds of unfair competition against local miners and smelters. Celebrimbor claims that behind the refusal lies the ever present prejudice against both the Naugrim and the exiles by those who survived the fall of Doriath. I sorely need an impartial opinion on the matter.’

‘Why me, my lord?’ I was both wary and excited at the invitation.

‘Luinhir tells me he is most pleased with your work and you deserve a rest.’ He shrugged. ‘I am not commanding you to accompany me.’

‘I would be honoured, my lord.’

I finished tidying away my quills and inkpots before picking up my cloak and following him through the door. I did not volunteer conversation, beyond answering his queries about my well-being and other light pleasantries. Soon, we walked in silence.

 

Mairon would have approved of Celebrimbor’s workshop, remarkably similar to his own lair in our house in Kiinlúum. Both were impossibly crammed with a huge collection of books, plans, fascinating devices of obscure purpose, tools of many trades and creations in different stages along their crafting.

Celebrimbor greeted us still wearing his leather apron, and covered in sweat and soot. He led us across the courtyard to another cluttered room in his small house in the Noldorin quarter of the city. There, he made room for us to sit by shifting piles of parchments and books from the chairs onto the floor. Excusing himself, he disappeared.

Elrond picked up a sketch covered in minute figures and frowned, attempting to work out what it depicted.

‘I believe it is the calculations for the load bearing of a very large bridge. What do you think?’ He passed me the parchment.

‘He is ambitious,’ I remarked, after studying the design carefully. ‘According to the figures, the span of the arches is longer than I have ever seen. The structure seems delicate. And yet, I believe it would hold...’ I ran some quick calculations in my mind, and nodded in admiration. Mairon would certainly enjoy meeting this man, if the opportunity ever arose.

‘So, now I know you are also familiar with more than the basics of engineering design,’ chuckled Elrond. I glared at him and put the parchment at the top of the pile where he had picked it from.

Elrond glanced up as our host returned, having washed and changed into clean clothes. ‘You are back, Celebrimbor,’ he exclaimed. ‘Erestor seemed rather entranced just now by one of your projects.’ He waved his hand at the drawing.

‘The bridge across the mouth of the firth of Lhûn?’ answered our host with a grimace. ‘Ereinion rejected it a few months ago. It was too expensive. You see, building the foundations and pillars would demand very specialised equipment, and men willing to work in underwater chambers. Additionally, he was wary of bridges weakening his realm, probably echoes of Nargothrond. It fell to Glaurung on the year of his coming of age, did it not? Fortunately, I was no longer there to witness its ruin or I might have similar qualms, had I survived the slaughter or being enslaved. And Círdan objected on the basis of the impact on his trading fleet.’ He sighed. ‘All my plans are doomed to be thwarted by the High King and his Council.’

‘Not all of them,’ replied Elrond soothingly. ‘In Gil-galad’s defence, he was the one who asked me to find out more about your current trade proposal.’

Celebrimbor frowned, and nodded without enthusiasm before turning his appraising gaze on me. I had made sure Mairon’s shackle was well wrapped and hoped Elrond would not direct attention to it.

‘Why are you here?’ he asked, curiously.

‘My lord Elrond invited me, Lord Cele-‘

‘I am not a lord, Erestor, but a humble Guildmaster,’ he interrupted gruffly. ‘I am of the Dispossessed. Son of a kinslayer and grandson of a kinslayer, as I am forever being reminded. In these lands, I am tolerated, not welcome. No offence to you, cousin.’   

‘None taken,’ replied Elrond placidly. ‘After all, I am a mongrel who grew up under the perilous influence of your kinslaying uncles, wearing the colours of Fëanor and the abhorred eight point star, in case you had forgotten.’ 

Both men smiled, as though sharing a private jest, and Celebrimbor clapped Elrond on the shoulder. I remembered Curufin’s son from the days of the War, when malicious, cruel whispers plagued his every step, even more so after Maedhros and Maglor stole their father’s gems from our camp.

Celebrimbor seemed strangely familiar now; perhaps his features reminded me of his great-grandfather Finwë, slain by Melkor.

He brought out three silver cups and a bottle, and began pouring generously. ‘So, cousin, what do I need to do to persuade Ereinion and his worthy Council, that nest of intriguing, back-stabbing vipers, to accept my petition?’

‘Tell us, in as much detail as you can, what the benefits and risks of such a venture would be,’ Elrond said.

We spoke well into the night, our animated conversation eased even more by the refreshing white wine from the vineyards of Harlindon. I warmed to Celebrimbor: intelligent, honest and a dreamer.  His excitement was contagious. Several times, I felt the weight of Elrond’s calculating look at the relevance of my questions, or at the sharpness of my conclusions.

As we walked home, Elrond and I agreed that Celebrimbor’s claims about the Council’s partiality against him were indeed well founded.

‘And yet,’ sighed Elrond, ‘the King may be forced to reject a perfectly sensible proposition.’

‘How so, my lord?’

‘Because leading this realm is like juggling a dozen balls at once, and he must keep them all in the air, letting none fall. There are so many conflicts of interest and such fierce rivalry amongst our peoples and the factions within them, you would have never believed our ancestors awoke together at Cuiviénen. War alone has thrown us all together, and peace sometimes threatens to pull us apart again.’

After walking a few more steps, he continued. ‘I fear Celebrimbor will not find what he seeks unless he leaves Lindon and builds a realm of his own as Oropher, one of the lords from Doriath, has done. News from his folk is rare and far between, but we know he has settled east of the Hithaeglir.’

‘Would you follow Celebrimbor, my lord?’

‘Would I?’ He was lost in thought for a while. ‘Ereinion needs me here, for now. Otherwise, one day, who knows?’

 

 

Contention

Eönwë and Elrond get to know each other over the years.

Read Contention

24. Contention

 

I was lonely in Lindon.

Most times, it was a relief. With Mairon, I had never needed to hide my identity or my past; now, pretending to be someone I was not was proving to be far harder than ever before.

On rare occasions, loneliness aggravated my melancholy to the point where I did not wish to leave my daydreaming; I would rather remain lost in reminiscence, however acutely Mairon’s loss hurt me, than to step back into a reality that chafed as sorely as iron chains.

Folk felt uneasy around me. At first they were fascinated by the tales of how Gil-galad’s hawk attacked me on the day I arrived, and of how my imprisonment had been ended by Elrond’s disturbing foresight. Their friendliness waned as soon as they met my polite refusal to speak about myself, which lent veracity to the rumours of a dubious past. Most of my fellow servants sneered at my reserve, naming it arrogance.

At Luinhir’s office, it was easier to join conversations about translations, language, or geography, staying away from matters I wished to avoid. As a result, I received several invitations to visit my fellow scribes’ houses or join them to go fishing, or hunting. I rarely did though. Even if I had not been banned from leaving the city, I wished to remain a stranger. My enforced stay in Lindon was temporary, and I was afraid of forging friendships that I might have to betray.

After the visit to Celebrimbor, I would have enjoyed more of his company, even if his favourite topics of conversation reminded me painfully of Mairon, but despite his claim that he was no lord, I felt it presumptuous to knock on his door uninvited.

Elrond seemed to be perpetually busy at court, or attending social events. The boldest gossips in our household chattered about his allegedly imminent betrothal to one of Gil-galad’s second cousins on his mother’s side. The lady in question, barely of age and very pretty, according to the cook, dwelt in Harlond but was currently visiting the northern shore with her parents to see relatives and to be given the chance to spend time with her suitor.

Neither Celebrimbor nor Elrond was exempt from weapon practice. Curufin’s son was obviously reluctant to wield a sword. He could have been a great swordsman, like his father and uncles, but he just refused to apply himself beyond what was required of him, possibly to detach himself from the bleak image invoked by the memory of his kinsmen. Elrond was the opposite, throwing heart and mind into the sparring.

Oddly, I had never been matched with him yet, even though lords and commoners were meant to shed their status when stepping into the arena. When Elrond challenged me, about a month after our jovial evening at Celebrimbor’s house, I should have declined his invitation.

Unwisely, I did not. As well as curious to measure his true skill, often wasted fighting lesser adversaries, I relished the opportunity to vent my frustration against the very embodiment of the authority that enforced my lack of freedom, though I was not so arrogant as to take my victory for granted.

I faced Elrond with the mixture of excitement and wariness due a potentially formidable opponent, which I saw mirrored in his grey eyes when we saluted each other, bowing with our right hands over our chests.

Once he began to lose his initial caution, it was apparent that he lacked none of the grace and agility of the Quendi, but he also possessed an almost feral intensity that so far I had only perceived within the Atani. Both his strategy and stamina were remarkable, and I was certain that as a warrior he would never ask for or give quarter.

I had to apply myself in earnest to block several cunning, rapid attacks without retreating. Yet I held back for a long while, not to spare him, but to throw him off balance. Well he knew that I was not exerting myself, and I admired and approved his restraint when his growing annoyance did not trigger recklessness.

The shouts of encouragement from the crowd, mostly cheering for Elrond, and their gasps of relief whenever the fierce flurry of our ringing blades ended in a tense deadlock, grew in intensity as the match progressed. But I had learnt long ago not to be distracted.

When my first chance of victory came, I chose to let it pass, out of the desire to give my determined adversary another opportunity. Elrond frowned, knowing he had just been spared. The second time, his glare was dangerous.

‘Stop toying with me, Erestor!’ he growled quietly.

The third time, I dared not hesitate. I slipped under his guard and the tip of my blunted sword grazed his chest. He fell back a step in a desperate effort to flee defeat, but he tripped and landed on the dirt. I stilled the tip of my blade over his heart.

‘I yield,’ he cried angrily, panting with exertion.

Struggling to hide a smug smile of victory, I withdrew my sword and offered my hand to him. He took it and I pulled him to his feet with such force that he all but fell upon me. As my arms rushed to steady him, I felt his bare, sweaty skin on mine and shivered at the contact in sudden remembrance of similar scenes with Mairon. When my thigh met his hardness, I gave a loud chuckle of surprise. Elrond stopped dead for a heartbeat or two, blushing with shocked chagrin. The flame of humiliation burnt fiercely in his eyes.

‘Well fought, my lord,’ I said, cursing my lack of discretion.

I extended my arm to him in salute. He grasped it briefly, avoiding my gaze, before turning away to walk out of the arena. The crowd cheered him one last time and began to disperse. I stood, unmoving, stunned at the revelation. I was not wholly unaffected myself.

By mere coincidence, a few weeks later I heard rumours about the unexpected abandonment of his betrothal plans.

 

 

Lindon, Year 442 of the Second Age of Arda
(Two Years Later)
 

A piercing scream of pain rent the silence of the night.

I leapt from my bed, fully awake. My nights were restless, plagued with unfulfilled desire and growing anger at my enforced wait.

A racket of concerned cries, rushed steps and doors being opened and closed prompted me to pull on my trousers and throw a shirt over my head, before leaving my room. I pushed my arms into the sleeves as I padded barefoot along the dark corridor. Shouts and the loud tinkling of shattered glass reached my ears, and I ran towards the commotion.

The door of Elrond’s chambers stood ajar. Half a dozen other servants, men and women, in assorted state of undress and awakening were gathered around it. A few others arrived after me. Bruithros’ nervous voice was heard from the inside.

‘But, my lord... You should not...’

‘Out!’ yelled Elrond. ‘Leave me at once. All of you!’

Bruithros rushed out, almost falling through the threshold in his haste, and the door was slammed behind him. He glared at us all, as though witnessing his undignified dismissal was a capital crime, and ordered us back to our rooms.

‘What is happening?’ I asked, not moving from where I stood.

‘Lord Elrond is... indisposed,’ he answered. ‘Now, go to sleep. Your duties will still be there in the morning.’

‘Indisposed?’ I echoed. ‘What is his malady?’

‘None of your business,’ he retorted.

‘Is it true he was weeping?’ whispered one of the maids, a girl with large green eyes who seemed rooted to the spot with fright.

‘And what about all the blood?’ The cook’s trembling finger pointed at Bruithros’ shirt sleeve, splattered with dark crimson stains.

‘Shall I fetch a healer?’ cried one of the pages, a gangly youth called Laergil whose hair was as mussed as a rat’s nest.

‘At once!’ cried the cook.

‘No!’ shouted Bruithros simultaneously. ‘Our lord wishes to see no one.’

‘That is utter nonsense,’ I objected, nodding to Laergil. Something in my face made the boy obey me, despite Bruithros’ angry objections.

‘All of you, leave!’ he snarled. The rest of the household shuffled away in twos and threes, muttering gossip. When we were alone, Elrond’s aide turned to me.

‘How dare you, Erestor?’ he hissed. I shrugged, unfazed, and crossed my arms slowly over my chest. ‘Very well! Our lord will not see reason. I am his most trusted assistant and yet he will not let me near. I have never seen him like this and I am at a loss as to what to do. So, you are most welcome to try persuading him to let a healer see to his cuts. I only saw a few scratches, anyway, despite all the blood. Good luck and good night!’

He strode wrathfully away. I knocked on the door.

‘My lord Elrond?’ I called. There was no answer, nor could I hear the faintest stirring. I pounded the door harder, several times. ‘My lord? Are you well? Elrond?’

I frowned, concerned at the silence. Despite more than two years of quiet compliance and diligent toil, Elrond’s coldness after the unfortunate sparring incident had not relented. We had exchanged a handful of stilted words during that time, and he consistently refused my petitions to be allowed more freedom, but now I sensed he was not merely ignoring me.

‘Damn, Elrond, open the door!’ I yelled. I knocked until my hands hurt. ‘To Utumno with you, Eärendillion!’ I pressed my ear against the solid wood, listening with closed eyes, but heard no sound.

Laergil arrived at a trot, panting. Gaerlin, the same healer who had stitched my scalp when I had first entered the city, followed the page more sedately, carrying a heavy bag. His calm, commanding calls were as ignored by Elrond as my own.

‘Bring me a crowbar, boy,’ I said to Laergil. His eyes opened wide with excitement, before he ran back downstairs.

While we waited, Gaerlin asked me about Elrond’s wounds, but I could tell him nothing. I was hoping I had not dragged him out of bed for naught. Soon, Laergil was back, triumphantly brandishing a heavy iron bar.

With one of its sharp ends, I dug a small gap in the wood between the door and the frame, and after a few attempts, with the three of us combining our efforts, we unhinged the door. Pushing it aside, we rushed into the room. Elrond was sitting on the wooden floor, blood trickling from his left hand to form a dark puddle. The window panes were completely smashed, and he held one of the shards in his closed fist.

He was unresponsive, though not unconscious. In the end we had to prise the sharp glass from his hand. I followed the healer’s instructions to assist him as best as I could, until the deep cuts had been cleaned, stitched and bandaged. Gaerlin was concerned about leaving but I promised to stay with Elrond until the morning, when he would return. Relieved, he agreed, and prepared a sedative draught, in case pain began to bother his patient.

I sent the page, who had crouched in a corner and fallen asleep under a cloak, back to his room. Then I barricaded myself with Elrond inside the chamber by moving a heavy cupboard against what remained of the door. I did not wish for a zealous Bruithros, guilt-ridden after deserting his lord, coming to disturb us. Sadly, I had guessed the cause for Elrond’s distress.

I handed him the cup with the pain killer.

‘Only time will soothe your grief, my lord,’ I said, ‘but you should have this brew now.’

His reddened eyes finally turned to look at me.

‘I do not need it. I want the pain. I wish to die, too. Just leave me alone.’

‘Yes, you do. And no, I shall not,’ I answered softly. ‘He would not want you to die. He would remind you of your choice, and admonish you to stay well out of Mandos’ sight.’

His lips curved into a sad smile.

‘Yes, he would. You did indeed know him.’ After staring at his hand, wrapped in white linen, he took the cup and drank.

I sat next to him and touched his shoulder, gently, so that he could withdraw if he wished to. He did not, so I wrapped my arm around him. With a deep sob, he buried his head in my shoulder and wept. I held him for hours, afraid to move, to disrupt his grief, until he stirred in my arms and, taking a deep breath, looked up through the window to the whitening sky.

I felt the wet patch of his spilled tears on my shirt, now that the warmth of his body had moved away. Caressing his hair, I pushed strands away from his eyes.

He began to speak, haltingly.

‘I was in bed, unable to sleep, when my insides abruptly plummeted into a gaping hole, an absence so cold that it burnt me, like the touch of steel in a frost. I told myself it could not be true, it could not happen. Not yet. The Valar had promised... I cursed them and Eönwë, and my parents, and also him, my foolish brother, for choosing to abandon me. I wanted to forget. I went mad. I felt it, I knew it, and I... I could not bear it.’

He began to shake again, and I squeezed my arm around his shoulders. We stayed like that for a long while. My pity was blended with my own memories of grief and my ever present longing. A knock jolted us both out of our reveries.

‘My lord,’ Bruithros called. ‘The healer has arrived.’

I heard the grunting and squeaking of several people attempting to move the blockage that held the door in place.

‘I will see them, let them in,’ murmured Elrond.

I removed the obstruction and pulled the door ajar. An anxious Bruithros stormed in and all but ran to his lord’s side. Nodding to Gaerlin, I left the room quietly. Unless I hurried, I would be late for work.

 

~ o ~

 

I did not see much of Elrond during the days following Elros’ death. As soon as he reluctantly declared the reason for his lapse of sanity, there was always someone fussing around him, from the King, his kinsman, to friends and colleagues who wished to offer their condolences. Bruithros had not spoken to me since the eventful night, and now he hovered incessantly around Elrond, no doubt ensuring that his every need was addressed.

I was relieved to be allowed to lose myself again into the background of the busy household and the bustling office. Being largely unnoticed suited my plans. Therefore, I was both surprised and concerned when Elrond summoned me about a month after his brother’s death. Bruithros escorted me to the door of the library as though he was leading me to my execution.

‘What trouble did you get yourself into this time, Erestor?’ he asked, shaking his head. As he left, I heard him mutter something under his breath about miscreants being due their just desserts.

With a sigh, I entered the room. Elrond was seated behind his desk, and I bowed respectfully before him.

‘My lord.’

He gestured at a nearby chair and I took a seat.

‘I have been informed of certain irregularities, concerning unauthorised communications to agents in our pay over the last year,’ he said. My spine stiffened.

‘Luinhir would not say whom he suspected, at first,’ he continued. ‘Only when I threatened to remove him from his post if he protected someone who might be endangering the realm did he relent.’

I winced at the thought of the pedantic wordsmith deprived of his beloved office.

‘It was me alone, my lord, without Luinhir’s knowledge or permission. He should not suffer for my offence.’

I hoped I did not sound defiant. Certainly, I was not contrite. Provided Elrond did not lock me away, I would bear his punishment gladly, even more if the notes I had already dispatched ended up yielding a result.

‘I wrote and sent them in my free time, my lord, and paid all due fees from my wages,’ I added. ‘You can check your ledger if you disbelieve my word.’

‘I already did,’ he replied. ‘A most unconventional way to spend your coin, Erestor. The purchase of those services does not come cheap.’ He raised a questioning eyebrow.

‘I wear your livery and eat from your kitchen, I do not gamble or buy favours at the... inns around the harbour, my lord. How I choose to spend my silver is my business.’

‘Yes, I have observed you. Frugal and lonely, most of the time. I would agree your pastimes are your business, was it not for the small detail that the people you have engaged in your enquiries are in my pay. What if you were luring them to provide falsehoods to us? You would be walking a treasonous path.’

‘I have asked them to do no such thing,’ I retorted, as calmly as I could. ‘Your suspicions are unfounded.’

‘I know.’ He leant back in his chair, and pulled out a thick roll of parchments from the shelf behind him. I went cold when I recognised my own writing, then my blood began to boil. Had he ruined my patient efforts by intercepting all my notes?

He watched me struggle to curb my anger before he continued.

‘Do you believe me to be unjust or ungrateful?’

‘You are my lord,’ I replied, bitterly. ‘It is not my place to censure your decisions. Do what you must.’

‘What I must, Erestor? That would mean demanding that you tell me right now what or whom you sought with your undercover messages; as ever, you would refuse to answer, so that I would have no choice but to have you dragged before Gil-galad again. When he asked me, I should advise him to imprison you indefinitely, or at least until you confess your intentions, to prevent harm to our realm.’ He pierced me with his grey gaze. I gritted my teeth. ‘That is clearly what I must do, and yet I am remiss. Why, you may ask? Possibly because you rescued me from despair when all others were too afraid to confront me.’

‘I just did my duty to you,’ I answered. ‘No more.’

‘Allow me to disagree with you, Erestor. Your duty would have ended the moment Gaerlin left, at the very most. You could have called Bruithros and gone back to your bed. Instead, somehow, you knew the source of my pain and held me through the night. Your company, your silence, your embrace, they were all precious gifts, not deeds borne out of duty. Not to mention wrecking my door beyond repair.’ He smiled so genuinely that I returned the gesture without thinking.

‘I am sorry about the...’

‘Let me finish, before my words fail me. I owe you my gratitude, and possibly an apology too.’

‘My lord, there is no need...’

‘Indeed there is. I thank you for your care on a very dark night, Erestor, so dark that it almost drew me to madness. Then you chose to step back into the shadows, and my grief, my concerned King, crowds of solicitous visitors and my selfishness conspired to make me neglect you. I have been ungrateful.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I also ask your forgiveness for behaving unjustly towards you.’

‘Forgiveness? Oh, no, my lord, there is nothing to forgive. Why would you trust me, a stranger who will not declare his past or his allegiance, when you did not even wish for my service?’ My quarrel was not truly with him, but with those who had misled him.

‘Whatever your allegiance once was, you swore yourself to me. I... I feared you, the visions were... unexpected. Dark too.’ He shivered. ‘But the slight of your oath is unforgivable on my part. And later, I have...’ he bit his lip. ‘I have been harsh without reason.’

His eyes told me again what his body had once betrayed. Immediately, he looked away, embarrassed, and fidgeted with his quill.

‘So, Erestor, what can you do to help me resolve my quandary?’

‘I have never spoken an oath lightly, not even this one, forced on both of us. Can you not begin to trust me, my lord?’ I ventured.

‘I feel I must learn to, despite your obstinate secrecy.’ This time his smile was mockingly rueful. ‘Maybe a good start would be to lift the ban I imposed on leaving the city, though I still command that you inform me of any plans to travel outside the walls.’

I was awestruck with surprise and wonder, while dismayed at my new dilemma: a choice between honouring his faith and bolting without delay. Was this a test of some kind?

I had no time to ponder more, because he pushed a piece of folded parchment across the polished desk towards me.

‘This is my token of reconciliation and an offer of... friendship, maybe.’ His smile was shy. ‘I had each of your messages copied and sent on its way, even those written in that script we cannot read. I hoped to find out what you desire so greatly.’

A sigh of relief left my lips. I inclined my head to acknowledge his generosity, before picking up the note. When I unfolded it, there was the script of Kiinlúum, clearly copied by someone unfamiliar with it. I nearly dropped the note in shock.

I read avidly.

“My dearest son,

I am relieved to say that your mother and I survived the war and the executions, after fleeing from home in the middle of the night to a smaller village, further into the hills. We have planted a vegetable patch, keep chickens and goats and I teach at the local school. The previous teacher, a young man, was seized one night by the enemy, our new masters, and never returned. These are harsh times, my son, and many good people are dead because of greed, envy and intolerance.

I paused, angry and appalled. Taking a deep breath, I read on.

The father of one of my pupils has seen the city burned to the ground, still smouldering. Rumours do not reach these distant parts often, but it is not certain that our ahaw killed himself before yielding to the invaders, as they made us believe during those first days of chaos. I have heard whispers of a giant black leopard mauling him to death in his sleep, but those must surely be mere children’s tales, unless the god of the underworld has dragged him down to his lair. Both of the Bright Ones, friends of our unfortunate kingdom, have disappeared, no doubt slain by our foes.

Our new lords claim that our misfortune, the misery they have wrought, is no more than the just punishment of the true gods for harbouring demons and worshipping the Sun-god, Giver of Life. And yet, how can I ever kneel to the darkness they force us to embrace, empty and cold?

I will not give you a return address because I am sending this letter in secret, and it would not bode well for your mother and me if it were intercepted and traced back to us. I hope it arrives safely and finds you in good health. Do not worry about us and do not even think of coming back.

Your loving father.”

At the end, my hands were shaking, my eyes unseeing. The parchment was crumpled in my clenched fist.

‘I am sorry, my lord,’ I choked as I rose hastily to my feet, knocking the chair over.

‘What is the matter? Erestor?’ cried Elrond, following me anxiously as I ran out of the door, out of his house, wishing to be free to fly and lose myself into the furthest corner of Eä.

‘The just punishment of the true gods,’ indeed.

 

~ o ~

 

After leaving Elrond’s house, I ran to my favourite place in the city. I climbed the parapet of the city wall, and rushed past the startled sentries until I reached the base of the northern harbour tower. There, as in uncounted times before, I gazed east, across the foaming waves that ceaselessly crashed upon the stone beneath my feet. Their rhythm had lulled me into a precarious sense of tranquillity in the past, but not today.

Today, rage at the cruelty of Manwë and his brethren and pity for the fate of a realm and its people, vibrant, beautiful and kind before their ruthless destruction, erupted anew. My whole being clamoured for justice, even revenge, but they were both beyond my reach. Like the waves beating on the stone, I was powerless against the Valar, and my fury slowly abated into grief. And yet, there was no time for mourning. Icy coils of dread began to choke my heart at the thought of what Mairon might do in his wrath, beyond ripping open Chimal’s throat.

Once more I ran through all my plans of escape from Lindon, and chose the one I would commit myself to, that very night, when I heard quiet steps approach. I turned round to see Elrond standing a dozen paces away, looking over the wall into the city, so as to not impose upon me uninvited.

An unexpected fondness for him warred feebly against my newly made resolution, and succumbed under the weight of my desperation. I had once promised Melyanna I would care for him, and yet, I must break that pledge too.

He noticed my reaction to his presence and came closer.

‘What is it, Erestor? I feared the note might bear ill news, if the story that came with it about a mortally wounded man, a fugitive from a realm wrecked by war was true.’ I shook my head. ‘I will not pry,’ Elrond added hastily, ‘but maybe there is something I can do.’

‘You cannot…’ I bit my lip, wondering if speaking up would only ruin my chances. But there was genuine concern in his eyes, and he had given me the note as proof of his trust and willingness to make amends. ‘Yes, there is, my lord.’

‘What is it then?’

‘My lord, I need to…’ Still, I hesitated. He reached out to put a hand on my shoulder.

‘Tell me.’

‘I need to leave.’

He did not answer, and neither did he take his hand away. Instead he steered me gently toward the stone battlement where we both took a seat.

‘You come here often,’ he said. ‘And always on the night of the new moon. You flee from friendships and company and never speak of your past, as though you carry too heavy a burden.’

He saw the grimace that must have twisted my face, and patiently waited for an answer, but I gave none.

‘All of us have lost something, Erestor,’ he insisted, attempting a new angle of attack. ‘If the loss is too great, and the burden too heavy to bear, maybe it is time for you to sail West. My foresight alone is not enough to chain you to Ennor. You have my leave to take ship, if that is your wish.’

My laughter, soft but bitter, startled him. His brow furrowed above his eyes, harder now.

How could he know that his well-meaning words were like twisting the knife in the wound? And yet, I could understand the reasons that had led to his false conclusion. Since my arrival, I had behaved as though life in Lindon were no more than a period of servitude to be endured, without joy or pleasure to be found in being alive.

‘I am grateful, my lord, but Aman is barred to me,’ I replied at last.

‘So, when you spoke of leaving you did not mean…’

‘I merely need to leave Lindon. To find someone.’

I was surprised when he did not ask for details or immediately deny my request. Instead, he rose briskly to his feet. Out of deference, I did the same.

‘I must return to work, Erestor,’ he said. ‘Take the rest of the day off.’

I bowed and watched him walk away. A few steps later, turning round, he called out.

‘Erestor, I want to trust you. Do not do anything rash.’

Only when I nodded, reluctantly, did he leave at last.

 

 

Acceptance

Elrond surprises Eönwë; years later, he has visitors.

Read Acceptance

 

25. Acceptance

 

Over the following days I met Elrond several times to discuss work matters, always in the presence of Luinhir or other colleagues. He was preoccupied with delays in relaying messages from and to Edhellond and other coastal towns, due to persistent storms of unprecedented severity. The heavy sea had all but grounded Lindon’s fleet during the past few weeks, so that Gil-galad and his Council had authorised the investment required to establish a more regular use of slower and more perilous overland trading routes.

Elrond had not spoken of my request again and I thought his intention was to let the matter be forgotten. In the meantime, the only reason why I had not attempted to flee the city at the first available opportunity was his warning against rashness, cleverly poised on a reminder about his nascent trust.

On the fifth day, Bruithros knocked on my door and curtly relayed my lord’s command to attend him in the library at once. When I joined Elrond, he was gathering some documents, obviously in haste.

‘The King wishes to see me. I was hoping we could talk at leisure, but our chat must wait now.’

He rifled a stack of parchments and sighed in annoyance before beginning to systematically sort through the content of every drawer in his desk.

‘Marbles of Vé, where is that blasted letter from Círdan?’ he cried.

A quick survey of his desk allowed me to spot a corner of parchment covered in the lord of Harlindon’s distinctive flowery curls protruding from the pages of his diary.

‘Is that it, my lord?’ I pointed. He grunted, pleased, and nodded his gratitude absently while flicking his eyes over what looked like a very long requisition list. I stood, waiting to be dismissed.

‘Join me at the harbour wall after weapons practice this afternoon, Erestor. You know, at the end by the tower, where you like to sulk.’

‘Very well, my lord, I shall be there, trying not to sulk,’ I replied, pointedly.

Seemingly in high spirits, he ignored my insolence and walked out with all his papers. After a quick visit to the kitchen to break my fast, I also left the house to go to work. I was chafing at the bit, ready to bolt at the slightest provocation.

 

~ o ~

 

That evening after sunset I was facing West on the harbour wall, watching Vingilótë’s white flame low upon the sky, azure below the dark line of incoming clouds. The sandstone city beneath had faded from glowing amber into dull shades of ochre and black. A myriad lamps were beginning to be lit along the buildings edging the curved shore, and the beacons blazed on the tower above me and on its twin across the water. The mighty harbour defied the fury of the sea abroad, thunderous against the impassive ramparts, its blasts of harmless spray soaring up only to fall, defeated, on the stone path where I stood. Violent gusts of wind swirled around me, tangling my flapping cloak around my legs and sending stray strands of my hair lashing against my face.

I was beginning to suspect that Elrond might have forgotten about our meeting when I saw him arrive at a brisk walk, skirting puddles along the glistening stone slabs of the wall. He still wore his court robes, which explained his unusual absence from the training grounds.

‘My lord,’ I greeted him, bowing.

‘Erestor, you are soaked!’ he bellowed above the buffeting wind and waves. ‘Let us get under cover.’

The sentry guarding the door to the tower saluted Elrond and moved aside to let us enter. We climbed up the winding, narrow staircase until we reached a circular chamber almost at the top. Its walls were pierced all around by wide arched windows opening up to the wrathful sea on one side and the sparkling silence of the city on the other. A hymn to Elbereth, sung by twinned voices, drifted down from the open trapdoor that led to the room above.

Elrond walked towards a table and chairs set on the far side of the huge iron stove that stood in the centre of the room. A most welcoming fire burned behind its heavy grills. Carefully, he peeled off his drenched robe of rich blue silk and spread it to dry over the back of one of the chairs.

‘Get rid of that cloak,’ he commanded.

‘My lord, I do not...’

‘You are dripping, Will you do as I say?’ he snapped.

I bit my lip to stop the angry retort that almost flew out. I was tired, uncomfortable and, above all, anxious about delaying my departure any longer, authorised or not. My patience had run its course. Now, I just stared, wilfully leaving an order from my lord unheeded. Briefly, he watched the drops run down the sodden woollen fabric and make a small puddle at my feet.

‘You are a mystery, Erestor,’ he began, pensively, and his eyes flicked up to study my face. ‘From the very first day when that hawk attacked you, to the foresight in which I saw you next to me in battle, to your bizarre oath and later, your unlikely perceptiveness about the reason for my grief, not forgetting your stubborn secrecy and your almost perpetual melancholy.’

He paused, frowning. ‘Now you disobey me, as though my command carries no more weight than the words of a petulant child.’ His tone had turned to steel. ‘Tell me what I should do with you. Give me a good reason why I should not hand you back to Gil-galad and have you locked up before your urge to flee overpowers your restraint, which is seemingly about to burst.’

I wavered. No doubt I could offer apologies and excuses for my behaviour, and provide vague reasons for my distress at reading the letter. But I needed more than his leniency.

‘I can no longer serve you, my lord,’ I said at last. ‘It would be best, for both our sakes, if you freed me from my oath.’

‘I am not allowed to do so, by order of our King, unless you are to sail to Valinor,’ he answered. Disappointment and anger must have shown on my face, or he must have noticed how I clenched my hands, because he hastily added: ‘But I have a proposition to offer you.’

I looked at him warily, but nodded my willingness to listen.

‘I shall give you a new assignment, away from Luinhir’s office,’ he said. ‘Do you believe I have been blind to your despair? You fret in Lindon, flapping your wings like an eagle in a cage, pining for a lost loved one, maybe the same one who bound you in true-silver?’

I did not refute or confirm. His lips almost curved into a smile.

‘No, you will say nothing. And yet, despite shrouding yourself in mystery, despite your yearning to leave, something inside me, an instinct I am unable to explain, tells me I should trust you.’

Elrond placed his hand over his heart, as though to mark the source of his intuition, and I briefly wondered whether Melyanna’s blood helped him sense a glimmer of my true nature under the wraps of my hröa.

‘You can trust me, my lord,’ I whispered, afraid to speak words that renewed my bond to him when I only wished to be released.

‘We shall see,’ he huffed. ‘I have not spoken of my plan to Gil-galad lest he throw me into the cell next to yours.’

Prickling with sudden excitement, I nodded, wondering where his words were leading.

‘Had you tried to flee when I told you not to be rash, we would not be speaking now. But you honoured the unwilling oath that binds you to me, and I cannot afford to waste that loyalty, which I have done so little to earn.’

He took a deep breath and gazed at me intently. My fate was about to be spoken. ‘Go, Erestor. Find him, your lover,’ he spoke, piercing me with a gaze which could not wholly mask his regret. ‘You are free to travel the length and width of Ennor for twelve full years, in my service. Bring back maps and lore from all the realms you visit, that one day we may use here in Lindon to understand other distant peoples. Gather information on trade, routes, customs, rulers and gods. And when you return, maybe with your beloved, I hope that you shall rejoin the world of the living.’

‘My lord, I...’ I stammered, certain that I had heard his words correctly and yet not daring to believe them.

‘Do I need to repeat myself, Erestor?’ His smile was playful, no doubt from delight at my surprise. ‘You are usually better than this at understanding orders, even those you choose to disobey.’

I dropped to one knee and taking his right hand, pressed it to my lips.

‘I will return, my lord,’ I pledged, fervent in my gratitude, blinking away tears of joy.

‘I know you will.’

 

~ o ~

 

Elrond was a good as his word. He provided me with two horses, a generous sum of money, mostly silver, but also some gold which I sewed to a pocket hidden inside my clothes, abundant provisions, and a parchment with his seal declaring me his envoy and requesting protection wherever his name and ancestry may hold any value. We agreed it would be more sensible for me to forgo his colours, and instead adapt my garb to the lands I travelled. The garments he procured for me were plain but of good cloth, well crafted to shield me from the elements. He also gave me a sword, modest but of the best steel, the first proper weapon I had been allowed to handle since I entered Lindon, a decent bow built to match my strength, and a quiver filled with blue and white fletched arrows.

On the morning of my departure, a mere few days from our meeting in the tower, he accompanied me for two leagues beyond the gates to see me safely on my way.

‘I envy you, Erestor,’ he said. ‘To gaze at the horizon each day and be free to choose where your steps will lead you, far away from maddening courtiers.‘

‘I will return,’ I repeated, earnestly.

He gave me a smile that brightened up his face, before nodding gravely in final farewell. I bowed and watched him canter down the path back to Forlond, with a vague tug of regret about the time we had wasted in contentious misunderstanding. But my guilt was short-lived.

Spring was beginning to stir, the worst of the storms was over, and my heart soared with freedom and hope as I rode East, admiring Yavanna’s wonders that budded shyly in pale shades of green, heralding renewal everywhere I looked.

I travelled many leagues to many distant lands, further than Khand and Southern Harad. I stood on the very edge of Kiinlúum, but dared not enter to witness what had become of my home and Mairon’s. Several times I heard the same whispered tale, always after the narrator hastily sketched the gesture against bad spirits, of a great black beast, a shadow with eyes of fire and jaws red with blood, fleeing across the border of the realm and into the deadly desert on the night when the last ahaw was slain. This fiendish creature had left no trail for me to follow; frustrated, I headed back West.

I crossed the narrow entrance into what later would be known as Udûn, and beheld the desolate ash plains beyond, and the looming mountain, its fire then dormant. In those times, the unnamed, barren lands of shadow were empty beyond a handful of nomadic shepherd tribes. They travelled swiftly between the scarce water sources, around which sickly patches of green, blurred by shifting mirages, clung to the hollow blocks of black lava as though sprouted out of sorcery.

Everywhere I searched for wanderers, hermits, foreigners, tricksters, healers, even lunatics, and any men who might leave an aura of mystery, wonder or fear in their wake. I enquired after new chieftains, sorcerers, tyrants, and renowned craftsmen. I met many people, kind and cruel, some who helped me, and a few who would have robbed or even left me dead or dying along the road as food for the crows and wild dogs, had I not been on guard. I stood before petty kings who inflicted misery onto their people to satisfy their lust for riches or power, and stumbled upon bloody rituals to appease darkness and thus keep the terror of death at bay. I rued, appalled, the lingering shadow cast by Melkor’s evil, while I was relieved at my failure to find Mairon lurking in lands crushed under such bleakness.

Once, on a far southern shore, I heard rumours of a lonely fisherman, and I sought him out in the isolated cove where he reputedly lived. From afar, I stared for a long time at the slate roof of the small house he had built himself, watching a lazy column of smoke pour out of the chimney. Later, I saw him come out, and recognised him despite his tanned skin and his auburn hair, once raven black, now bleached by sun and salt. Dressed only in a pair of coarse trousers, he took a seat on a boulder on the shingle beach and began to mend his nets. The breeze brought to me the faint sound of his whistling, a slow tune I recalled from Tirion.

Curious, I walked down the hill along the overgrown path. When the man saw me, he put his work to one side and watched me approach. He did not speak his name and neither did I as we exchanged greetings, appraising each other. I asked for directions to the nearest village, we made small talk, awkward at first, and he shyly invited me to share some grilled fish for dinner. I accepted gladly, welcoming both his company after months of lonely travel and the opportunity to speak to him again, even as strangers.

When he stubbornly rejected money in return for the food, I offered him a shirt. He ran his calloused fingers over the row of swirls embroidered on the soft white linen before handing back the garment.

'It is too fine for me. I have no use for it here,’ he said, sweeping his arm in a mock grand gesture to show me his domain. I was relieved to see he was smiling, amused. Fumbling, I searched inside my bags and gave him a small knife instead. His eyes lit with pleasure as he tested the razor sharp edge. ‘A good Noldorin blade is a generous gift for such a meagre meal. I will remember your kindness.’

I rode away in a pensive mood. I had refused to deliver Manwë’s summons to Macalaurë, son of Fëanáro. The contentment he had found in his humble, solitary life was too precious to destroy, whatever his crimes had been in the past. How could I ask him to trust the Valar’s promise of justice after what Námo had said, after what they had done?

Beyond that encounter, the tale of my adventures during those years may be told another time. For now, it suffices to say that tantalising clues and ambiguous signs spurred me several times into wild chases, but they all led to bitter disappointment.

After ten years of wandering, I began to be racked by doubts. Although I was able to list several sound reasons to prompt Mairon’s concealment, I ached at the mere idea that he might believe I had betrayed him.

Whenever I was forced to divert from my chosen route by a landslide, or an overflowing river I could not ford, or a mountain pass blocked by avalanches, I had to remind myself that these setbacks were not part of a conspiracy by the Valar. If their spies had reported my disregard of Námo’s mandate, in all likelihood I would have already become an enforced guest in his Halls.

Every sunset robbed me of a sliver of hope and every night I lay awake, restless, weighing my promise to return against the dwindling odds of success. My only gladness was that my fears about Mairon’s wrathful retaliation had so far proved unfounded.

On the first day of the twelfth year since my departure, weary, lonely, and dejected, I made my decision. With a heavy heart, I took the road back to Eriador.

One morning, when my breath no longer misted before my eyes and my steps did not crunch upon crisp, glittering frost, I espied the rugged Emyn Beraid over the blue outline of the Ered Luin beyond. I was nearly there.

From that moment, every step forward became harder to take. Temptation urged me to turn around and head back East to search further. Elrond might believe me disloyal or dead, but I would be free from the servitude Manwë and his Doomsman had decreed. Yet, I did not wish to repay the generosity of Eärendil’s son with deceit. I spurred my mount forward, stubbornly refusing to heed my growing doubts. After showing the well-worn credentials endorsed by Elrond’s seal and signature, I was immediately allowed through the gates of Forlond.

I crossed the threshold of his house with my heart thudding loudly in my chest. Was the eagle flying back willingly into the cage, whence there would be no escape this time? At last I found myself standing before the library and, casting away all misgivings, I knocked. When he answered, I flung the door wide open and stepped in.

‘Erestor!’ cried my lord when he glanced up from his work. Dropping his quill, which fell with a large ink splotch that ruined the page he had been writing, he rushed towards me with a broad smile and embraced me tightly, before pulling away to gaze at me.

His eyes were puffed from too much reading, and I wanted to reach out and smooth the crease on his brow with my thumb; he always frowned a little when concentrating on a task. His robes were strewn over a chair; he had come to his library straight from his audience with the King. I suspected he was burdened by work. Maybe he would consider accepting my assistance?

‘You look well,’ he chuckled. His joy died abruptly, as though he feared ill news. ‘But you return... alone.’

‘I am well, my lord Elrond,’ I laughed, pleased at his warm welcome. ‘I did not find whom I sought, but not for lack of trying. Instead, I found...’

I searched my mind, looking around the familiar room for clues to the right answer. I had come into being outside and before Time, free as thought, fast as light; now I lived as one of the Children, a mere speck bound to the surface of Arda. The endless leagues on the paths of Endórë had taught me to open my eyes again to the beauty of the world and the care I owed its people since the days I saw it sung into existence. My resentment at Manwë’s injustice had made me blind to this joyous duty.

Hope would still feed my perseverance until the day came when Mairon and I would meet again, but yearning for him would no longer rule my life.

I returned my attention to the anxious face before me.

‘I found patience,’ I said.

‘A commendable virtue, of which I possess scarce amounts,’ he replied, relieved. ‘Maybe you care to tell me some of the other wonders you discovered during your quest, and in return, I can bring you up to date with the news and gossip of Lindon? I shall call for a repast and some wine.’

‘With pleasure, my lord,’ I answered, glad to be back.

 

 

Lindon, Year 600 of the Second Age of Arda - Spring

‘My lord,’ I called out, walking into the library without waiting for a response to my quick rap. Once I closed the door behind me, I added: ‘Have you fallen asleep over the ledger again, Elrond?’

‘And what if I have?’ he grumbled. ‘Is this the respect a lord gets from his men these days?’

‘Of course not, my lord,’ I answered, executing an exaggerated bow. ‘But I thought you should know that our lookouts have sighted a large ship outside the mouth of the Lhûn, and one of the patrols has approached her and is guiding her to Harlond. With the current wind, she will drop anchor around noon the day after tomorrow.’

‘So?’ he replied sharply. ‘Círdan has a fine harbour, after all.’

‘This is an unusual vessel, Elrond,’ I explained in a mockingly patient tone, as a tutor teaching a difficult lesson to a distracted child. ‘Her name is Entulessë and she waves the flag of Númenor.’

I could not avoid smirking at his look, an almost comical blend of shock and wonder.

Three hours later, having obtained leave from Gil-galad and instructions to convey his invitation to the Númenóreans to visit him in Forlond, we were aboard a fast courier ship, sailing across the gulf towards Mithlond.

At midday on the second day from our crossing, Elrond stood in the place of honour at Círdan’s right, and I was immediately behind and to his side when the heavy plank was lowered from the two-masted ship amongst the loud screech of pulleys. Her slender shape and alien build reminded me of the vessels of the Teleri. A dry, shrivelled wreath hung from her prow, no doubt a blessing of some kind, or an offering to Ulmo, and the rigging was decorated with colourful garlands and banners.

On the stone pier around the Lord of Harlond were gathered most of his court officials and captains; a large, colourful throng from all walks of life, lords and commoners alike, crowded the harbour, eager to see in the flesh the Edain from the Land of Gift.

I espied the faces of the sailors on deck staring at us and the town beyond with eyes wide as plates, like those of a child entering a dream made of sugar of many colours. Their captain, a tall man with curly chestnut hair trimmed at the shoulders, could not avoid a similar expression of stunned amazement as he stepped briskly down the plank followed by four of his officers, equally mesmerised. By the time he stopped at a respectful distance before Círdan, he had regained his composure and gave a perfect courtly bow.

‘Welcome, Mariner,’ spoke the Lord of the Falathrim, hushing at once the excited chatter and cheer from the assembly.

‘Thank you, my lord,’ replied the man, his impeccable Sindarin marked by a melodious accent. He bowed again as he offered a rolled parchment, surely his credentials. ’I am Vëantur, Captain of the King’s Ships. I bring to you the greetings and good will of Tar-Elendil, fourth King of Númenor, and his wish to renew the alliance between our peoples, long sundered. After weeks filled with empty horizons and hearts longing for the cry of the gulls, my men and I rejoice at stepping ashore in the lands where our forefathers once lived and died as your friends and allies.’

A warm murmur of approval rose amongst the assembly.

Círdan gave his slow, customary scan of the parchment’s contents and gravely declared his acceptance of Vëantur as the ambassador from the King of Númenor to the realm of Lindon. He welcomed him formally, as Lord of Harlindon, and introduced Elrond as herald of the High King. The mariner’s eyes widened when he heard the name of my lord, and bowed low again, as he gracefully accepted Gil-galad’s welcome and his invitation to visit him in the northern half of his realm.

‘My lord Elrond,’ said the captain, once these formalities were over, ‘it is an honour and a wonder to meet the great-great-uncle of my lord Tar-Elendil, and brother of our beloved Tar-Minyatur. My King, your kinsman, hoped for this momentous encounter, and entrusted a parcel to me, to be given into your hands only. It is locked in my cabin for safekeeping, and I shall retrieve it at the earliest opportunity.’

However, Elrond had to wait until the end of a long, merry feast of welcome, during which Círdan proved to be a most generous host. Food was served all through the evening, not just within his home by the harbour where the whole crew of the Entulessë had been invited, but also without, for the crowd that had gathered to celebrate. Lively music and dance spilled out to the streets and wine flowed in abundance to repeatedly toast visitors and residents alike.

It was well past midnight when a beaming Vëantur sought Elrond and offered him a flat, oblong bundle, carefully wrapped in thick paper tied with blue ribbon and sealed with the crest of Númenor. My lord took it in his hands and slid his fingers to break the wax. The Númenórean reached out hastily to stop him.

‘It is personal, my lord,’ he warned, glancing pointedly at me.

When he left us, Elrond bid me good night and hastened across the vast galleried courtyard toward his accommodation, the lavish set of chambers where Gil-galad stayed during his visits to Círdan. I walked slowly in the opposite direction, as my room was in a different wing of the building, where lesser visitors were lodged in small but comfortable apartments.

I was not wholly surprised at the urgent knock on my door that yanked me out of my sleep a few hours later.

‘Erestor, it is me!’ hissed my lord’s voice with a marked slur.

When I opened the door, I found him still dressed in his fine robes, clutching several pages of tightly written paper in one hand and a wooden frame in the other. He thrust it towards me and I grabbed it, fearful he might drop it. After turning it the right way, I peered at the detailed family portrait it contained.

I recognised Elros at once, aged only very slightly from when I had seen him last. His right arm was wrapped fondly around the waist of a woman whose eyes sparkled with joy while her smile and a dimple in her cheek spoke of kindness and a sense of humour. Around them stood their children and spouses, and before them all, their many grandchildren, of all sizes and in all poses, including a girl on a rocking horse and a scowling boy fiercely wielding a wooden sword.

‘He looks happy. They all do,’ I said, gently.

I glanced up at Elrond and saw him shudder. His eyes were ablaze with pain, not dulled by the effects of however much wine he had ingested.

‘Happy, Erestor? Most of them are dead. Dead! I already grieved for him once. But now, again... Do you want to know what he says?’ he cried, angrily waving the letter before my eyes. ‘About life? About...’ he almost spat the last word, ‘death?’

‘Yes, my lord,’ I said firmly. ‘I do. But there is no need to shout it to the four winds.’

I pulled him into the room and closed the door. He stood unmoving except for a slight sway, until I steered him gently towards a small table by the window, and made him sit on one of the chairs. I picked up two earthenware cups and the jug of wine the servants had left next to a bowl covered with a white cloth and filled with nuts and crisp flat cakes. I rang the bell, and asked for more wine and nibbles; it promised to be a long night. The white nectar from Harlindon was light, fruity, and had the reputation of not giving a hangover.

‘Now, Elrond,’ I said, pouring a cup full and pushing it towards him, ‘tell me everything.’

I have often heard that it is not possible to drown your sorrows in wine. Maybe it is true, but that night, Elrond almost did. Almost.

Nothing would bring Elros back, but with the stubborn lucidity found in the bottom of his cup, Elrond swore himself into a duty that would keep his brother’s memory alive and give him solace. He would watch over Elros’s children’s children, if only from afar. Our minds flew that night over the marvels of Númenor, from Armenelos to Andúnië and the peak of Meneltarma, on wings powered by the potency of the Harlindon white.

With a pang, despite all the years since she had been gone from the world, I remembered my sweet Nikteháa, her soft skin, her beautiful smile, and her dreams to visit the Land of Gift.

‘You are not made of stone, then,’ proclaimed Elrond with solemnity at the sight of my moist eyes, and we embraced in a haze of drunken camaraderie and mutual sympathy.

In the morning we awoke lying closely together on my bed, still dressed. He swept aside my arm, draped heavily over his chest, and sat up slowly, running his fingers through his untidy hair. I briefly flinched at the memory of kissing, brought back by the sight of his swollen lips, no doubt mirrored in my own, if the soreness I felt was any indication.

In tacit agreement, we pretended this slip in propriety had never happened. Elrond left my room with a curt dip of his head and a faint smile on his face.

When, more than a century later, he met Aldarion, his nephew through five generations, Elrond was able to rejoice, instead of merely lamenting his brother’s choice and his own loss.

 

 

Resurgence

Ereinion makes kingly decisions; a couple of centuries later, Eönwë receives exciting news.

Read Resurgence

 

26. Resurgence

 

Lindon, Year 1018 of the Second Age of Arda

‘The King will see you now,’ announced one of Gil-galad’s pages, holding open the door to the adjacent audience chamber.

Elrond and I immediately dropped our lively conversation on the affairs of our office and rose from the plush leather chairs we were sitting on. I smoothed my courtly robes before picking up several rolled maps and two folders crammed with reports from the low table between us.

‘Ready?’ asked Elrond softly.

‘As well as I can be,’ I answered, shrugging.

I could count with my fingers the number of times I had been summoned to Gil-galad’s presence over the last five centuries.

Several months had passed since my return to Lindon before I learnt from Celebrimbor how Elrond had incurred Gil-galad’s wrath for allowing me to travel alone and unsupervised, and worse still, for providing me with gold and horses. The King had given him a thorough tongue-lashing at Council for conveniently forgetting to request his leave before letting a potential spy on the loose, and for informing him of the facts only after the said suspect had been given plenty of time to cross the borders of Lindon.

A heated argument followed, where Elrond had claimed his right to order my duties and whereabouts at will, given that he had been all but forced to accept my fealty, and that the coin was his own. If his fault was deemed negligent or criminal, he challenged, he was ready to bear the consequences.

Gil-galad had prudently stepped back, though the two men had fallen out for several months during which time the matter was tactfully skirted by both. To his credit, he had spoken public words of apology to Elrond after hearing rumours of my return, but I suspected he resented me ever since for proving him wrong. None in the city, except for Elrond, had expected me to come back.

Now my lord and I bowed low in unison before the King.

‘Elrond, welcome,’ he smiled warmly at his kinsman and stepped forward to embrace him closely. ‘No ceremony.’

After pulling apart, but still with a hand resting on Elrond’s shoulder, Gil-galad turned to me. He was free from circlet and robes, dressed in plain trousers, a loose shirt and a slate grey tunic, far more cheerful than I had ever seen him before in formal occasions.

‘Erestor,’ he acknowledged, with a quick dip of his head.

At Elrond’s signal, I spread two charts over a large table, carefully weighing their corners with flat polished pebbles I carried in my pocket for that purpose. Gil-galad stood next to me and studied them. One showed the whole of Endórë, to the edge of its known boundaries, the other was an enlargement of a part of the southernmost area.

‘How reliable are these charts?’ asked the King.

‘They are the best we have, Ereinion,’ replied Elrond, somewhat curtly. ‘We are fortunate that Erestor drew accurate maps during his journeys or we would know nothing about the true layout of these remote lands.’

The King lifted his eyes to gaze at me.

‘I see,’ he said, pointedly, before turning to Elrond. ‘So, what exactly is the news?’

‘We have received reports of uncommon unrest amongst the peoples near the Sea of Rhûn. Revolts, intrigues and assassinations in response to raised taxes. Not the first time that a greedy king pushes his subjects beyond their limits and they repay him in kind.’ Elrond paused, shaking his head. ‘The last few hundred years, four, maybe five, seem to have been rife with conflict in those distant parts of the world, as though something or someone has been stirring trouble, here and there. I have wondered sometimes if these disturbances are linked to the ships of Númenor reaching the shores of Ennor. This time, however, whole tribes have fled south into Nurn beyond the Ash Mountains, as the local people call them.’ Elrond pointed at the right place in the map. ‘They have followed a new chieftain.’

‘So this is the Land of Shadows. Mordor,’ Gil-galad said thoughtfully, running his finger along the inked contour guarding that realm. ‘Why is it named thus?’

‘My Lord King, the surrounding mountain ranges are overbearing and dark, as is the soil,’ I said. ‘The land is barren and inhospitable, a jagged jumble of black ash and lava. Nothing grows there but thirst and shadows, according to the few local folk. Mordor seemed like a fitting name in our tongue when I drew the map.’

Gil-galad nodded. ‘What worries you so much about these particular events that you requested to see me with such urgency, Elrond?’

‘Erestor can explain better,’ replied my lord.

‘A sizeable group of these people have settled in this area in the northwestern corner, not along the shores of the Sea of Núrnen,’ I said, placing the tip of my finger on the spot that one day would be known as Gorgoroth, a name of dread. ‘I doubt a large community can survive there, unless supplies are carted in regularly. So, I wonder what has lured those people to that desert?’

‘We have found out very little about the man who has become their ruler,’ added Elrond. ‘Few have seen him because he hides behind a small group of servants, loyal, mute, and feared by all. Strangers are all but banned without invitation. From whispered rumours of those who have been to Nurn and back, we believe that this man may be planning fortifications which would make that land virtually impregnable. Like a barren Gondolin, Ereinion.’

‘So, what is your advice?’ queried the King.

‘Only yesterday, your Council challenged the necessity to retain our eyes and ears as far as Rhûn and Khand at great cost to your treasury. But I believe we need to extend our network in that area, at least for a while, until we learn more.’

After Elrond spoke, I held my breath. As well as to safeguard the realm, I wished to hear from remote realms for my own reasons. I had briefly considered whether this bold leader could be Mairon, but I had swiftly discarded the idea. My friend relished comfort and luxury. Whilst he might have hid in bleak places to escape the eyes of the Valar, he would not voluntarily exile himself with a train of followers into a desert whose only wealth was ash, or become a ruler of an empty land where the scarce, muddy water stank of sulphur.

‘The Council of Lindon is not interested in how many kingdoms are falling half a world away when the prosperity of our own may falter,’ spoke the King at last. ‘I doubt I can divert more monies to grant what you ask.’

‘But what if...?’ protested Elrond.

Gil-galad raised his hand. Even in this informal audience, my lord fell silent at once.

‘Consider it fortunate that your tendrils are not cut short. I have always defended your office tooth and nail, reminding any narrow-minded Council members who oppose that expense about the risks of overconfidence. I only need to mention Nargothrond and they fall silent. Do not fear; we shall not forgo our gathering of intelligence, nor our constant vigilance abroad. I promise.’

Elrond nodded, still uneasy, and the King continued.

‘You know the pressure I am under to spend more coin nearer to home. Keeping the army permanently deployed to closely guard our borders all but drains my coffers. We wish to increase our trade volumes to fight the competition from Númenor, but the road repairs do not come cheap, and we are still waiting for Círdan to deliver the ships he promised four years ago, while the rascal charges us half a Silmaril to use his fleet. Eregion’s tribute is countered by the bill we owe them for ore. I should have listened to Celebrimbor all that time ago. If I had, I would be bagging the profit instead of letting it fall into the pockets of my astute cousin Galadriel. In short, I am struggling not to raise taxes.’ The King chuckled without joy. ‘I would rather avoid a quick demise like that monarch in Rhûn, which means evaluating priorities and risks carefully, and forgoing anything that might seem unnecessary at the moment. Surely you understand.’

The King stared at my lord, frustration written all over his face.

‘I do, Ereinion. We shall do our best with what we have,’ answered Elrond, breathing out slowly to contain a sigh.

 

~ o ~

 

 

Lindon, Year 1202 of the Second Age of Arda

One bright day of summer, Elrond received a long letter from Celebrimbor in the same dispatch that delivered the official report and the levies from Eregion to the King. In his letter, Celebrimbor enthused about a traveller recently arrived at Eregion, who possessed a wealth of arcane lore that he employed in a wide range of arts and crafts, with wondrous results.

‘Celebrimbor raves for three whole pages about the ideas this gifted artisan has already shared with the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, his beloved brotherhood of craftsmen. Only then he remembers to tell us that his name is Artano. Apparently, the remarkable similarity of his name with my kinswoman’s ataressë has not sufficed to place him in favour with the Lady of Eregion,’ chuckled Elrond, scanning the tight lines of writing. ‘This Artano claims to have been sent by Aulë himself, to teach and guide those of the Edhil who have remained in Ennor despite the summons of Manwë, with the aim of making these shores in to the likeness of Aman. Is that not presumptuous...?’

His words seemed to fade. A chasm opened inside me, and I felt as though I was falling. No! Who else, but...

‘They also call him Annatar,’ added my lord, raising his head and putting the letter down.

I turned my face away, feigning to peer outside the window in order to hide the sudden tears of joy that blurred my sight and threatened to fall.

Annatar. None other but me knew that Mairon Aulendil, once Sauron the Abhorred, disciple of Melkor, answered to that name.

At last, Mairon wished me to find him.

 

 

~ o ~

 

Eregion, Year 1207 of the Second Age of Arda

From the top of the fir-covered ridge we beheld for the first time the imposing grey towers of Ost-in-Edhil, reaching up to the sky like fingers of stone. A disturbing image of a bleached skeleton’s broken ribcage, half-buried in the sheer granite outcrop flashed across my mind.

‘About bloody time,’ grumbled Elrond. ‘My backside is sore and I am starving.’

I shifted in my saddle as though in sympathy, also glad to see the end of our journey, for very different reasons. At the sight of the fortress-city of Eregion, my heart was racing, from hope, apprehension or both.

My idle hours of travel had been inevitably spent lost in memories of my years with Mairon, twined with wild fantasies that had stirred me to near frenzy. Now, having reached our destination, I was fearful of meeting a stranger in his stead or, worse still, of finding him a stranger, having renounced as a shameful weakness the feelings he had hidden for so long. My dreams, grown rampant again ever since news of Annatar reached us in Lindon, might soon become true or crumble to dust before my eyes.

Eagles flew in circles over the surrounding low hills, hunting their prey. The Hithaeglir rose majestically in the background, large ragged sheets of dark stone climbing up to a snowed summit, covered by light clouds.

‘All that thirst for adventure, my lord, is it quenched by a mere six weeks astride a horse?’ I teased, when at last I prised my stare away from the breathtaking view.

‘You started it all, you know,’ complained Elrond. ‘Ever since you returned from your journey singing praises about the wonders of the workshops of Khazad-dûm, Celebrimbor became restless. He had never been too fond of Galadriel and her Iathren husband, but joining their venture to build a new realm was an irresistible proposition after all his disappointments in Lindon [1].’

‘I hope he has found the challenge he sought,’ I said.

‘His secret dream has always been to rival the skill and fame of Fëanor,’ replied Elrond. ‘Ereinion had no choice but to clip his wings. Here, however, everything is different; in such a young realm his ambitions may flourish.’ He shrugged and nudged his horse into a walk. ‘For me Eregion holds a definite allure, for a far different reason. As soon as I arrive, I shall request, bribe or beg a hot bath. I have been dreaming of letting my toes get wrinkled in scalding bubbly water for weeks.’

‘Do you truly mean you will not miss your invigorating dips in icy streams, my lord?’ I laughed. ‘Or my solicitous assistance during your bathing?’

‘If you ever again move so much as a finger to dunk me, I will have you flogged for insubordination,’ he growled with mock severity, while fighting a smile.

‘Really?’ I drawled provocatively, spurred by the tingling of arousal. The thought of Mairon’s hand closed upon the handle of a whip brought to my lips just before punishment flashed before my eyes. ‘Would you enjoy that, my lord?’

His fierce blush reached the top of his ears, and he glanced at me angrily.

‘Of course not, Erestor.’

I wondered if he would, given the chance.

 

~ o ~

 

Ost-in-Edhil may have been erected as a fortress, but once inside the gates I was struck by the pleasant proportions of its buildings and the rich complexity of the stonework, as though every block of granite had been hewn to fit a most elaborate jigsaw. The striking architectural style was patently influenced by her allies of neighbouring Khazad-dûm. Two marked differences were seen in the less angular profiles of roofs, doors and windows, and in the daring structures, including graceful bridges spanning over our heads to link opposite sides of the street, and turrets that seemed to magically defy gravity. Every stone spoke of the absolute mastery of the arts of geometry, mechanics and masonry.

Compared to the sober, simple elegance of the towns of Lindon, the level of embellishment of this city was almost overwhelming. The ubiquity of carved friezes, pavements inlaid with complex geometrical patterns, polished wood doors bound and adorned with gleaming brass fittings, and gilded mouldings and weather-vanes verged on ostentation. I wondered if this lavishness served to prove to the residents of Ost-in-Edhil the success of their venture away from Lindon. Had it not been for the chilly breeze and the different hue of the light, and for the large numbers of long-bearded Dwarves hastening past, I could have believed these were the bustling, ornate streets of Tirion before the Darkening.

Elrond asked me to join him in his first audience with the Lord and Lady of Eregion. From the main gate, an escort of four soldiers garbed in bronze breastplates and white cloaks led us to the Domed Hall, the seat of government of Eregion. The inner main chamber was in the shape of a circle girdled by tall marble columns of many colours, and its roof was an impossibly high hemispheric frame of slender metal beams supporting hundreds of triangular panes of glass, so that the huge room seemed to be open to the sky.

This magnificent structure drew our eyes upwards in awe, and I almost forgot the purpose of our presence in the Hall.

‘Welcome, kinsman,’ spoke a woman’s rich voice, prompting my eyes to snap back ahead.

Both the Lord and Lady of Eregion were walking towards us, having stood up from their twin thrones at the far side of the Hall. I stayed respectfully a few steps behind while Elrond advanced and bowed low to them.

When I raised my gaze again, I could not fail to notice how tall Galadriel was, even more than her silver-haired husband or myself. When I had walked amongst the exiled Noldor in my fana, this trait had not seemed so remarkable. It was equally striking to look up into her profound, starlit eyes, framed by the deep gold of her hair. Her white gown added to her radiant majesty and I instinctively lowered my head as a mark of deference.

After greetings were exchanged, Elrond waved me forward and introduced me. During their time in Lindon I had never been in their presence. Celeborn of Doriath only spared me a glance that lasted two, at most three heartbeats, but from Galadriel I sensed a deep interest, as though she were evaluating me. I guessed she was adding my name and attributes to a long mental inventory, for future reference.

‘Welcome, Erestor,’ she intoned in a voice as entrancing as the rippling of harp strings. ‘I sense that we have met before, either here or in Aman, but I fear my memory fails to recall your name or your face.’

‘No doubt because you must mistake me for another, more fortunate man, my Lady. I wish with all my heart I could say we have indeed met,’ I answered gallantly, and was rewarded by a peal of her silver laughter.

She glided on to greet other members of Elrond’s company, and soon we were all guided to our accommodation, after an invitation to join her and Celeborn in a feast to honour Elrond’s visit.

 

We met Celebrimbor near the entrance to the vaulted audience room, hung with tapestries and chandeliers of brass and glittering carved glass. When he greeted us, embracing us tightly in turn, his eyes were sparkling with the joy of seeing us again. I was glad to see him glowing with the confidence brought by success.

Just by looking at his garb it was clear that he had risen up in status from his time in Lindon. We knew of the influence and wealth of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, which he headed. As he enthusiastically described his current and future projects, I watched his eyes, and an elusive sense of familiarity suddenly nagged at the edge of my thought, probably an echo of Fëanáro.

My attention wavered when I heard a burst of merry laughter that tugged at my heart, almost making it stop. I turned as though pulled by strings in the direction of its origin. Then I blinked, to make sure I was not dreaming.

He stood so that I could only see him in profile, speaking animatedly within a group of nine other men. The pendant of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain gleamed on his chest, an exquisitely enamelled eight-pointed star framed by a square, identical to Celebrimbor’s but made of silver instead of gold.

I admired his elegant, fluid grace, his ease amongst the Quendi, while listening to his most beloved voice without registering his words, just savouring its timbre, the inflection of his speech in the tongue of the Sindalië.

A wave of soothing relief washed over me as I watched: Mairon had not turned into an evil avenger to redress the wrongs the Valar had inflicted upon us both, as I had feared during my darkest hours.

Almost afraid that he would vanish before my eyes, I whispered his name in my mind. Ósanwë was banned to me, but we had sensed each other’s presence in the past. At once he stilled and stopped talking, before turning to face me. His eyes met mine, widening in recognition that must have struck him like lightning, because I saw him flinch.

To his credit, he immediately schooled his shock into a blank, even polite expression. When Celebrimbor noticed him looking in our direction, he waved at him to join us. My hands began to sweat and a shiver shook me as I watched Mairon walk with the easy confidence of a lion amongst his pride.

His beautiful features were the same I had known and loved in Kiinlúum, and yet here in Eregion he allowed the might contained within his hröa to radiate forth even more openly, thus revealing more of his true nature while wholly incarnate, like Melyanna once had. He was the flame, irresistibly alluring, and I was a dark moth, drawn to him and helplessly consumed by his brightness.

As he came closer, his intense gaze raked me from head to toe, not once, but several times, lingering here and there, as though his quicksilver eyes could bare me to the skin. A raging blaze of desire surged from my groin when his lips quirked ever so slightly into a faint smile, invisible to all but me. For over five yéni I had longingly replayed memories of his every gesture, however minute; this time the image before me was real, and laden with promise.

When he turned his attention to Celebrimbor, it was as though summer sunshine had been obscured by storm clouds, casting the world beneath into oppressive murk.

‘Elrond, Erestor, meet Artano Aulendil, arrived from Valinor at the behest of the Belain to lend assistance to our efforts in Ennor [2],’ spoke Celebrimbor, fondly wrapping his arm over Mairon’s shoulders. My lover’s warm smile at this friendliness stung me like nettles.

Mairon bowed with a rustle of his rich robes of deep purple silk.

‘My lord Elrond,’ he said. ‘I am honoured to meet you at last.’

Mesmerised, I watched his sensuous lips as he spoke, wishing their silky softness upon my skin. My gaze dwelled on his eyelashes fluttering lightly when he blinked, then on the perfect ears whose lobes and tips I had kissed, teased and nibbled to his moans of pleasure. His fingers, that had explored and tormented my body in so many ways, bitter and sweet, reached up to touch the ebony sheen of the plait whose end, bound with gold thread, rested on his strong chest. In the end, I realised I was all but devouring him with my eyes and forced myself to look away, breathless with arousal.

Then he faced me, and the slightest twitch of his mouth and the spark of his eyes, far brighter than Galadriel’s, told me that he shared my excitement. The tingling that coursed through my every nerve made the centuries fall away, as though we had never parted. I gasped.

‘Are you well, Erestor?’ Elrond asked, grasping my arm in concern. ‘You look pale.’

‘Merely tired, my lords,’ I mumbled nervously, running the back of my hand over my brow.

‘Erestor?’ spoke Mairon, and I could hear his amusement at my name. ‘I believe you have spoken of him, my lord Telperinquar. Did you not mention his notorious arrival at Lindon, something about a hunting accident?’

‘One of the royal hawks flew into his head,’ replied Elrond. ‘A notoriety that could have lost him an eye.’

‘Indeed,’ said Mairon pleasantly, his eyes locked on mine. ‘Fortunately, Manwë stayed his beloved bird in time. I would hear this intriguing tale sometime, Erestor. There are not many on these shores with whom I can indulge in reminiscence about the old days of the Trees.’

‘As you wish, my lord,’ I replied, more calmly, ‘whenever my duties allow.’

‘Very well, Erestor, no doubt it will be a pleasure.’ He nodded at me, with a polite smile, before turning to Elrond again. ‘However, I would first speak to you, my lord, about the matter of my messengers, who were turned down at your borders.’

This time I was relieved when his attention moved elsewhere, hoping that my feigned weariness had passed muster with my observant lord. There were far too many reasons why keeping my friendship with Mairon a closely guarded secret was the wisest course of action.

‘I will be delighted to meet you at your convenience, once you are rested from your journey,’ Mairon was saying to Elrond. ‘I am keen to discuss your requirements to obtain your King’s permission for my future visit to Lindon. While Gil-galad’s caution is commendable, I hope to prove to you that it is wholly unfounded in my case.’

‘Certainly, Lord Artano,’ answered Elrond, unsmiling. ‘I shall get a message delivered to you once I have completed my lord’s business with the Lord and Lady of Eregion.’

I was somewhat startled by his coldness, and did not miss Mairon’s briefly pressed lips, which he then curved into a light smile. With a shallow bow of farewell, he strode away, back towards his earlier companions. Purposefully, I averted my gaze from him and instead let it linger over the fabulous tapestries adorning the chamber.

Soon afterwards I begged to be excused and returned to my room, itching to meet Mairon in private while frustrated because I did not even know where he lived. It was maddening to be twiddling my thumbs while he was so close!

I was tempted to take my aching need in hand, but denied myself release, vowing to wait for Mairon to grant it. I sighed hopefully; in the past he had excelled at drawing me to him.

 

A while later, I sat by lamplight staring at the open book in my hands. My eyes scanned the page for the twelfth time, still without grasping its meaning, when a soft knock on the door made me leap with excitement. My disappointment at the sight of a young servant was hard to master, but I bid him enter, and asked him to place the heavy basket he carried on top of a side table.

‘With my lord’s best wishes for your enjoyment after your long journey,’ he recited tonelessly.

When he left with a hasty bow, I pulled off the white embroidered cloth, neatly tucked along the edges to cover its contents.

Fruit. Apples, pears, quince, plums and grapes. And at the very top of the colourful pile sat a plump ripe orange. My whole body tingled as I picked it up lovingly, knowing what hands had held it before mine, and turned it around. As I imagined, there was a very sharp cut on its rind, almost invisible. When I ripped the orange in two with my fingers, I found that a tiny piece of waxed paper had been folded into a thin strip and inserted into its middle. I licked the juice that had begun to drip off my hands, slowly savouring its sharp sweetness, along with the deluge of memories that came with it.

Shaking, I fumbled to open the note.

Follow me from the tree inside the hall.

Rušurigas

 

 

---

[1] I am following the description of events outlined in Unfinished Tales, where it was Galadriel and Celeborn who founded Eregion in the year 750 of the Second Age. Celebrimbor only became Lord of Eregion after he initiated a revolt (at some time between 1350 and 1400) against their rule that led to Galadriel’s departure and her crossing the Hithaeglir (Misty Mountains) to settle in Lórien, while her husband remained behind in Eregion.

[2] Balan (Sindarin, pl. Belain) equivalent to Quenya Vala

 

 

Mairon

Eönwë answers Mairon’s message.

Read Mairon

 

27. Mairon

 

The tree inside the hall? I frowned, puzzled, until I recalled the large, colourful tapestry of a tree at night, covered in a myriad of silver leaves, with birds nesting on its branches.

I hastened to reach the main wing and leapt down the wide staircase to the hall. The dull roar of a hundred lively conversations hit me when I opened one of the side doors. I scanned the crowd until my gaze settled on the purple-clad figure I sought; my heart drummed faster. Mairon stood at the very location he had specified, next to the tree trunk woven in golden thread, talking to a group of people I did not recognise.

He did not even look at me but somehow knew of my presence, because he bowed politely to his companions and began to walk towards the exit opposite me. As I began to follow, I was startled by the sudden weight of a hand on my shoulder.

‘Erestor!’ cried Elrond merrily. He was in the company of a man and two women from the city, who returned my greeting with equally bland ones of their own. ‘You are feeling better?’

‘Yes, my lord, thank you for your concern. I thought I would go for a stroll under the stars, to clear my mind.’ I hoped he would not offer to accompany me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mairon had vanished. I bit a curse.

‘Good. I shall see you in the morning,’ replied Elrond after a few moments that my impatience turned into hours. ‘We have a private audience with the Lord and Lady at the second bell.‘

‘Very well, my lord,’ I mumbled. I began to bow, hopeful.

‘One more thing, Erestor.’ His frown made my heart leap to my throat. ‘Remind me in the morning to take with us the letter from...’ My dismay must have shown on my face, or perhaps it was the sigh from the taller of the two women that made him stop. ‘Never mind. Be at my chambers at the first bell and we shall make ourselves ready.’

‘As you wish, my lord.’

With a final bow of farewell I moved away, trying hard not to rush.

When I left the building and walked into the grand square, the stone paving glistened from earlier rain that had also brought an earthy taste to the air. Once I stepped beyond the dazzling lamps near the entrance, my eyes took a while to adjust to the dimness, and I peered around, searching earnestly. My anxiety turned to anticipation as I finally discerned a cloaked shadow beginning to glide away, and I followed it at a prudent distance. Although the streets seemed empty, I looked behind me often to make certain I was not being followed.

Soon we arrived at our destination. Starlight spilled through a gauze of silver clouds to outline the dark profile of a large house. Two lamps illuminated the gilded door, reached by a flight of black marble steps. After the shadow whispered a word, one of the door panes swung silently inwards, allowing his entrance. From the opposite side of the street I peered around and, satisfied about not being watched, I climbed the steps and crossed the threshold with my heart in my mouth and my loins on fire.

Even before the door had completely closed behind me, Mairon had me backed against the wall. A hand reached out to caress my face.

‘Eönwë...’ he murmured. My breath hitched with joy.

Then, without warning, he flipped me round while leaning all his weight to pin me down, and wrenched my right arm high behind my back. The side of my head crashed against the cold stone of the door jamb in a vain attempt to twist away from his hold. My loud cry of shocked protest died and my struggle ceased as soon as the sharp pressure at my throat spoke my true peril.

His warm breath tickled my ear, as did his silken voice.

‘Friend or foe, Herald?’

Despite feeling his hard arousal pressed against my rump, I well knew that desire would not stay his blade, or his claws with whose sharpness I was well acquainted.

‘Friend, Mairon!’ I cried, as agony racked my shoulder.

I opened my mind, showing him the memory of my enforced visit to Mandos. I shuddered as I recalled Manwë’s abandonment and Námo’s cold contempt. The clatter of a knife on the floor, twinned with the welcome loosening of the painful grip on my arm made me sigh with relief.

Mairon did not prevent me from turning to face him. I gasped at the sight. His mien was terrible, the glint in his eyes so bristling with hatred that I pressed myself back against the wall, afraid. My erection still throbbed painfully against my loincloth, despite or maybe because of the thrill of danger.

His fierce kiss was unexpected. Ravenous, deep, and wrapped in fire and iron, the sweetest taste that ever touched my tongue. His arms locked tightly over my back and shoulders, granting a crushing refuge to my long-borne loneliness. With a pounding heart and stinging eyes I yielded at first to his ardent possessiveness, but then offered battle, pushing my lips against his, thrusting and biting, while my hands sank in his hair to pull him closer to me.

Time was forgotten. The yéni that had sundered us lost all meaning during that wondrous kiss. I released his hair and traced the familiar, beloved path along his jaw, and then onwards to caress the lobes, curls and tips of his perfectly sculpted ears. His whimper inside my mouth, like that of a wounded animal, made my desire soar to scorching heights.

When we parted, I was breathless and frantic with need, but still wary. And yet, I wished to be nowhere else but there with him. My gaze was locked on his face, far more beautiful in reality than ever in my dreams.

‘Come, friend,’ he invited.

His eyes were no longer threatening; his bright smile, that of our carefree days in Kiinlúum, brought a lump to my throat. He offered me his hand; I took it and squeezed his fingers as hard as a drowning man might grip the driftwood that could save him.

‘Come,’ he repeated, pulling me away from the wall, on which I had leant for support. My legs were trembling as we climbed the stairs to his chambers.

 

He only let go off my hand when we entered his room, dark except for a row of slanted beams of pale starlight seeping through the tall windows. With a wave and a whisper of Power from Mairon, both the banked ambers in the stone hearth and several lamps flared into life, making the walls panelled in honey-coloured wood warm and welcoming.

My skin prickled with goosebumps and my nostrils filled with the scent of ozone when he invoked a mighty shield of protection. After the spell was sung to completion, he gazed at me unsmiling and I weakly nodded my approval. I was relieved Manwë had not struck yet. Maybe I was no longer watched, after yéni of compliance; maybe there was hope...

A sudden sense of irreality gripped me as my old lover sat on the edge of the bed and patted the spot next to him, like he had done so long ago when we were reconciled following his treachery. Was this yet another dream, a mere replay of beloved memories blended with longing? Would he vanish if I reached out to him?

I stepped forward. Tentatively, I caressed his face; the solid warmth of his skin made me sob with joy.

‘I am real, Eönwë,’ he said, as though reading my mind.

He lay back on the mattress, pulling me down with him, and rolled us both over so that he straddled me. I raised my hand, to touch him again, but he held my wrist.

‘Would you do something for me, my beauty, to please me?’ In his eyes shone a flame I had once been familiar with as the precursor of pain and cruelty.

‘Mairon...’ I began.

‘You will not regret it, and yet, it will...’ He licked his lips. He did not have to explain, I felt his arousal twitch against my waist.

‘I am yours,’ I answered, yielding. I meant it, despite a surge of fear tinged with a tiny shade of disappointment that our first meeting demanded my surrender. ‘Command me, Mast-.’ He hastily put his finger to my lips.

‘No, not that word. I do not want a thrall cowering in terror at my feet.’ He knotted his brow and shook his head lightly, but the shadow was brief and he soon curved his lips into a wry smile. ‘Not tonight, of all nights. And yet I dearly wish to feel you are still mine, both your body and your will.’

‘I can prove that, Mairon. Speak your wish,’ I challenged.

‘Before we begin, and unless you wish me to rip your clothes to shreds, I suggest you strip.’

He slid off my chest and sat cross-legged next to me. At once I leapt from the bed, kicked off my shoes and yanked my tunic and shirt off in one impatient move before hastily pulling down my hose along with my loincloth and socks into a tangled bundle. I blushed like a maiden when his eyes, appraising and proprietary, raked my nakedness and lingered on my erection. Without a word I lay down on the bed again, next to him. I shivered, but not from cold.

‘Beautiful. Exquisitely beautiful.’ He leant forward to kiss me, weaving his fingers gently into my hair at the top of my head. I began to kiss back, eager to taste him once more, when he moved away very slowly with a small smirk spreading on his face. I moaned in frustration as the pull on my scalp held my head in place, unable to follow his mouth.

‘Whatever I do to you, do not touch me, and do not spill without my leave,’ he said.

‘No, Mairon,’ I cried, ‘have mercy! I swear I shall do anything you wish later. But now... I have waited so long. I need to touch you. Please. Afterwards... Once we have...’

‘So soon you retract your bold words? Afterwards, once your lust is sated, your efforts will be worth far less, a fraction of the struggle to curb five yéni of denial.’ His finger traced my upper lip as delicately as though I were made of glass. ‘Will you deprive me of the chance to savour the unique pleasure of watching you tame such wild desire to my will?’

His look of genuine disappointment spurred my pride.

‘Do your worst, tyrant!’ I growled, spreading my legs wide and raising my hands above my head to grip the thick carved spindles of the headboard. He laughed, and his eyes sparkled like those of a child who has been given a favourite toy.

‘Know the price of defiance! Every time a single finger of yours touches me, or your lips graze against my skin I shall make your release wait.’ His sidelong glance directed my eyes to the large hourglass on one of the bedside tables. ‘By a full turn.’

‘How about yours?’ I protested.

He just shrugged mischievously before kneeling up on the bed to take off his purple robe and the white silk shirt underneath. I held my breath at the sight of his chest and shoulders, smooth and muscled, perfection made flesh. His large uncut emerald winked at me, as though teasing me from its place of privilege, dangling just below the tempting hollow between his collarbones. Was my gift still precious to him, after all these years? I blinked away the threat of embarrassing tears.

He had not even touched me yet, but my hands already ached from the pressure of keeping them locked in place. All I wished was to caress every corner of his bare skin, and to delve beyond, under the dark cloth of his trousers.

When his fingers travelled sinuously from my wrist to my armpit, so lightly that they both tickled and titillated at once, I held my breath and curled my toes. His lips began to explore, burning their way downwards from my throat to my chest, on to my navel and lower, and I whimpered and arched my back like an eel twisting on the hook. My right hand shot out to cradle his head, but I remembered myself in time and jerked it back to grip a spindle. Mairon’s smile of triumph made me grit my teeth.

When his tongue found the moist tip of my cock, I screamed a curse. As he bit me, ever so gently, I begged him to stop, the first time of a thousand that night. But he was ruthless. When he took one of my stones in his mouth, sucking loudly, I couldn't bear it anymore. Releasing my grip on the headboard, I grabbed his hair in a hysterical attempt to pull him away.

He turned the hourglass and my torment continued.

Unhurried but relentless like the rising tide, he nudged me towards the dizzying edge, only to withdraw as I was left in midair, striving not to plunge into ecstasy, as he had commanded. I no longer heard my hoarse, incoherent pleas to be granted a respite, or felt my numb arms wrapped around the only anchor to sanity. After thousands of nights clinging to faint, lonely echoes of the past, I had forgotten how intense he could make my pleasure. Overwhelmed, my only thought was to resist the sweet onslaught of his hands and lips, to contain the fire he expertly stoked, now roaring and devouring my every nerve.

‘Turn over, my beauty,’ he said, much later.

Words meant nothing when I was sobbing from lust and love, my loins and my heart near bursting, banishing all rational thought.

Mairon’s soft laughter and the sudden lack of stimulation yanked me back into the world, where I lay, sweaty and aching with need. I was sluggish in my obedience because my body was tingling and thrumming, no longer under my command but his. After rising clumsily onto my elbows and knees, I gasped when his fingers found their final mark.

‘Well prepared, I see,’ he purred. ‘That foresight will spare you from the turn you still owe me.’

Without further preamble he was inside me, moving slowly to let me adjust to the initial discomfort. Then he thrust his hips forward, grazing the spot from where a universe of hot sparks seemed to explode.

‘You are free, Eönwë,’ breathed Mairon as he peppered tiny, wicked nibbles on my neck. With a couple of firm strokes to my long suffering arousal, he rushed me to find release, deafening as thunder. He followed almost at once and, for too brief a moment, he unlocked me from my prison of flesh and guided me to swim in the bliss of freedom at his side.

When we returned to our senses, we collapsed on the mattress. I snuggled close to him and let my head rest on his shoulder. For a while we lay in a silence that was only broken by the beating of his heart.

His voice, thrumming in his throat under my lips, startled me out of my reverie. ‘What are you thinking of?’

‘Of the intensity of our pleasure. Do you recall when we first came into Eä and discovered the thrill of merging? Our rewards were meagre in comparison to this.’

‘How can I ever forget? Eönwë of the House of Manwë, the noblest and most beloved servant of the Elder King was willing, nay, eager to coalesce his bright light into mine, that of a humble apprentice of Aulë, to savour forbidden delights!’

‘Humble? That will be the day the stars fall out of the sky.’ He grunted and I kissed his neck. ‘And they are not forbidden, merely improper except between espoused lovers.’

‘Which we were not,’ he said, smiling. ‘Propriety is a moot point, anyway. No incorporeal merging, not even when we made our streams collide within the heart of an imploding sun was ever more than a pale reflection of the exquisite quiver of the flesh we enjoy now.’

His fingertips caressed my forehead, then moved down my nose to my cheeks, chin and neck before repeating the same motions, warm and gentle as a feather. I smiled at the sound of his words:

‘Oh friend, how I missed you!’

Exhausted, his soothing touch lulled me inexorably towards sleep.

 

~ o ~

 

I woke up to meet his quicksilver gaze, which flickered with the reflections of the dying fire. The lamps were out. He seemed deep in thought, even melancholy.

I sighed happily and threw myself into his embrace, reaching out with my left hand to his face. He grasped my arm and I watched him trace the curve of the cuff wrapped in leather and begin to remove its disguise.

‘Is this...?’ When his voice choked at the gleam of mistarillë, I lifted my face. His eyes outshone the brilliance of his jewel.

‘After Námo remade it, I could no longer open it. Not that I ever wished it removed.’

‘You wear the token of your loyalty, and yet I...’ He averted his eyes, as though ashamed. ‘All these years, even when your steps followed mine tonight, I lived in fear of discovering that you had betrayed me, tempted by an offer of pardon in exchange for your assistance to plot my capture. After all, you had succeeded in your first mission, as I predicted and Námo confirmed.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘And as you can see, I could not resist swallowing your sweet bait, despite my misgivings.’

‘I was ambushed at their orders, yanked back to chastisement, and despised for defending your cause,’ I replied, unable to master a sharp pang of reproach from seeping into my voice. ‘I was forbidden from seeking you and the ban still stands, Mairon.’

He still held my hand, and raised it slowly to his lips. A burning trail of kisses ascending from my fingers to my shackled wrist and higher spoke his apology. Ticklish and aroused, I twisted my arm out of his grasp when he reached my elbow. His smile was made of playfulness and regret in equal parts.

‘This is not the first time I have defied their mandate,’ I added. ‘Long ago, when I failed to find you, I believed you were hiding from me.’

‘You searched for me?’ His keen eyes narrowed a little. Not out of sheer incredulity, I hoped, but scanning his mind for memories. ‘When? Where?’

‘Under every stone in Endórë,’ I chuckled. ‘Or so it seemed at the time, a handful of years after we were parted. I even crossed the desert and stood on the very border of Kiinlúum.’

I gave him a short summary of my travels, and when I concluded we retreated into a tense silence.

‘Annatar.’ I spoke with deliberate care the bold syllables of the epessë Nikteháa had given him, savouring the utterance of every sound. ‘You knew that this name would lead me to you as surely as a beacon. Why did you summon me, if you suspected I might have become your enemy?’

‘I wished to be proved wrong or... otherwise claim my revenge.’ My nape tingled with goosebumps, sensing the threat of bared steel under his measured words. But the dark flash in his pupils died within a heartbeat. ‘You alone understand why I could trust no one. That is, until now,’ he concluded huskily.

I considered his confession, reeling both at the ugly truth of how our encounter might have ended and at the grievous wound the Valar had inflicted on us, far deeper and more painful than our enforced separation. Yet I believed that our bond had survived their assault; despite all, Mairon was choosing to confide in me instead of spinning soothing falsehoods.

‘But why now, Mairon?’ I cried. ‘Why did you wait for over five yéni?’

‘Not out of choice, friend. I laboured to gather my power so that I could recreate my hröa and make it more powerful than it once was. Only then could I risk leaving my hiding place. I wandered for many years, until I heard of this young realm and realised I could make a new life here.’ He hesitated briefly. ‘Being a skulking fugitive in the wastelands of Endórë is lonely and conducive to useless regret, even despair. Amongst the Quendi I would at least console myself with the stimulation of like minds and the thrill of crafting beauty again, if you had indeed forsaken me. Now I am awed at what they are building and wish to help them achieve their dreams.’

‘Are you not afraid of being caught in a lie?’ I queried with a frown. ‘Aulë did not send you.’

‘I can hardly speak my true name amongst survivors of the War, can I? Tell me, friend, have you not lied also?’ At my surly silence, he inclined his head. ‘As to the Valar, I am neither afraid nor defenceless. My shield protects me from their interference and will warn me about their presence, even from afar. If they choose to attack, they may not find me as easy a target as last time.’

I would have asked him to explain his assertion but he spoke on. His voice dripped such cold hatred that I could not avoid shivering.

‘Did you hear what the righteous Lord of the West and his minions did to our beautiful realm, Eönwë, despite calling themselves guardians of Eä and of the Children of Eru?’

His mind pulled me in, so that I found myself replaying through his eyes the scenes that had marked the end of his life in Kiinlúum, while, entangled in my thought, he narrated the tale.

‘“Meldonya…” Your scream of ósanwë could only mean one thing: your hröa was releasing you from its bonds.

‘“They are here,” you said before your presence faded, and I knew my fears had turned real. I was too late to help you but I conjured a shield and made preparations, hoarding a few valuable jewels and dividing them. Half I hid in a leather pouch under my clothes, half I buried in our garden, near the place where, over the years, I had interred my cats. I saddled my fastest horse and paid some coin to one of our neighbours to keep it in his stable, at the ready. I left the house and wandered the city, listening to the growing, panicked rumours of treason. Chimal, it was said, had bought his life and his freedom from the invaders in exchange for the realm and for assistance to apprehend me, the demon spawned in the underworld.

‘Your master’s minions searched for me, as did the soldiers from Xamanlúum, but the shield prevented them all from finding me. Five days after your warning, your faithful servant Béek arrived, bearing your mutilated body wrapped in a ragged blanket. I stopped him just after he crossed the gates of the city. He babbled a story about vengeful gods whirling in glee over your fallen shape. Oh, Eönwë, I wept when I saw...’

With a shudder, I watched Mairon’s hands frantically pulling the torn cloth away to uncover my corpse, covered in blood and dirt, and inspecting the wound that had slain me. I was almost sick when I beheld my own face, distorted by death and the first signs of corruption of the flesh. I sobbed when Mairon’s fingers trailed gently over my filthy, matted hair. I heard his cry of grief, his roar of rage, the swish of a blade and the thud of Béek’s head hitting the ground. I gasped in horror and glared at Mairon.

‘Too late did I realise what I had done in my blind wrath,’ he continued and I stepped back into his memories. ‘Béek was only an innocent messenger, nay, more than that, a loyal servant who had fought the carrion birds and the hyenas to bring you back to me. But in my heart he had failed to protect you.

‘In the dead of night I built a pyre and burnt what was left of your hröa, with which you had given me so much pleasure. Before the leaping flames I swore vengeance against Manwë, his brethren and their thralls.

‘Rewards were promised to whomever brought me to the justice of the ahaw. I hastened to retrieve my horse, but I had walked into a trap. Fortunately, my betrayers were only Children, and it was easy to slay them all and flee, but I received a deep knife wound in my gut. By the following sunset, hordes bearing the colours from the northern fiefs advanced upon the city; the gates I had wrought were torn from the hinges; corpses hung from the ramparts; the smouldering ruins of our home stood beyond the crumbling garden walls.’

The ugly scenes of death and devastation brought tears to my eyes as Mairon pressed on.

‘I could no longer ignore Chimal’s treason, but I was growing weaker from containing the wound, which I could not heal while using my power to maintain the shield. In the end, I saw only one end.

‘I demanded to be taken before that traitor scum of a king, feigning I would surrender to him alone. Unwisely, Chimal decided he would toy with me before handing me to his allies, and ordered to have me stripped and flogged. Before his servants could lay a hand on me, I shifted my shape into that of a large black beast like Ungo, roared in his face and mauled him across the chest. Two of his spear-wielding guards had the courage to confront me. I killed one of them, but the other bought enough time for more soldiers to arrive. Enraged at my failure, I fled. That night I climbed over the wall, entered Chimal’s bed chamber and ripped his throat open. I ate his heart, too. My lion shape was hungry.

‘The city was sacked and razed to the ground, her people slain or enslaved across the whole realm. I had lost my hröa and knew our kin were still watching. The wisest course of action was to vanish, lick my wounds and regain my strength. I dug up my little hoard and swallowed the best stones, including your emerald.

‘By the time I crossed the desert, parched and starved, I no longer sensed my enemies but I was forced to discard my hold on the lion’s body. Shapeless and weakened, I struggled to provoke a small landslide that covered it along with my small fortune, thus protecting it from prying fingers until I could reclaim it.

‘I was free. Free but robbed of all we had built together, through the treachery of the righteous. Bereft and lonely.

‘Did I not tell you once that Light is treacherous, friend?’

The sequence of visions projected along Mairon’s narration dispersed like wisps of mist in the sun. With a lump in my throat from sadness mixed with disturbing unease, I threw my arms around his neck and clung to him, craving the safety of his comforting presence. I felt him stiffen at first, then he embraced me back. For a long while I enjoyed the feel of his warm, smooth skin against mine, the pressure of his solid muscles circling me tightly, the indescribable joy of having found him. No doubt he had been touched by the shadow triggered by his ordeal, but he had not reverted to the cruel Darkness his former master had once nurtured within him.

‘I have dreamt of this moment every day and every night,’ I whispered into his hair, giddy at the realisation of my happiness, only marred by the dull ache of the tragedy wrought on our behalf.

‘As have I, friend,’ he answered softly, pulling away a little, only enough to look into my eyes. My whole body tingled once more when he tilted his head slightly and his mouth quirked sideways into a familiar gesture that used to accompany his gentlest games. His strong hands raked my back, up and down the sides of my spine, making me purr with pleasure. ‘I believe you would welcome handing out retribution for my earlier torment? Or has my tragic tale cast you into too sombre a mood to enjoy the reminder of this night?’

There would be time to mourn but not then, when the answer to his invitation was already formulated most ardently between my legs. Very slowly he turned over, offering me the enticing sight of his rear, which he wiggled teasingly. I slapped him and admired the pink outline of my hand on his shapely rump, before worrying him along his cleft and homing in on my final target.

‘You will pay dearly for this harassment, Eönwë,’ he growled, burying his head against the pillow and clenching fistfuls of sheet to keep from swatting me aside.

‘In that case, I might as well commit the whole crime,’ I answered with a mock sigh of resignation, and whacked him squarely on the other cheek with my left hand, thus creating a most pleasantly symmetrical arrangement. He glared at me over his shoulder but, true to his word, allowed my well deserved payback, which we both enjoyed thoroughly.

Later I dozed, spooned against his chest, relishing the warm rhythm of his breath against my nape and his drawing of figures on my shoulder and arm with the caress of his fingertips.

The clarity preceding dawn arrived too soon; it was Mairon who reminded me of my duties to Elrond.

‘You had better attend to Eärendillion, friend,’ he said. ‘You are meeting the Lord and Lady of Eregion, no less.’ I ignored the faint mockery and hastened back into my clothes. ‘See if you can spare a word or two in my favour, for I would like to travel to Lindon one day and it is in Elrond’s power to advise his King to allow or deny my request. I fear he did not warm up to me last night.’ I frowned, recalling the conversation.

‘I noticed that too, Mairon, but I fail to understand what it was you said that provoked his unusual reticence.’

He shrugged. ‘Be discreet. From his ardent looks of longing in your direction, your lord will certainly ban my entrance in perpetuity if he knows where you have spent the night. Not that it will be too taxing for him to guess the nature of your nocturnal activities.’

Alarmed, I looked at the reflection of my flushed face and untidy hair in the mirror, and cursed silently at my failure to smooth with my hands the crumpled garments I was wearing.

‘Why do you wish to visit Lindon, anyway?’ I pushed my feet into the shoes and stood, ready to leave. With luck, I would have time to make myself more presentable. Mairon handed me my folded cloak.

‘Why ever not?’ he retorted smoothly. ‘Gil-galad may benefit from my services too.’

He opened a drawer and produced a key, which he handed to me before leading me back downstairs to a small side door.

‘Come at dusk.’ I nodded.

We kissed one last time, before I stepped out into the street. When I glimpsed back, a satisfied smile hovered on his lips.

 

Annatar

Annatar talks about ships and wings; Mairon gets jealous.

Read Annatar

 

28. Annatar

 

Days passed, turning into weeks, and Elrond avoided holding the meeting Mairon so anxiously desired.

Instead, Gil-galad had entrusted my lord with the authority to negotiate and, where possible, sign several crucial trade agreements in his name, and Elrond had indefatigably poured his energy and wit into guaranteeing the most advantageous conditions for Lindon. As well as regular audiences with the rulers of Eregion, he had busied himself visiting merchants, guildmasters and even a delegation of craftsmen from Khazad-dûm. A few days into our visit we met Narvi, a dear friend of Celebrimbor and a master builder whose latest creation were the famed Doors of Dúrin, on the western entrance to the realm of the Casári[1].

Even though I shared Elrond’s burden wherever possible, assisting him with research to support his arguments, undertaking the production of the most sensitive documents, or dealing with other minor matters, he was often exhausted and short-tempered at the end of these gruelling days.

In the meantime, Mairon and I continued our furtive nightly encounters. Knowing Elrond would surely ask awkward questions if he learnt of my true pursuit, I often feigned weariness and requested his leave to retire early to my room, or to stroll into the night to find rest in silence and starlight. Instead I was swiftly reacquainting myself with the cruel bliss of Mairon’s attentions. After our first meeting, the familiar rituals of dominance and submission had been inextricably woven into our love making, and every evening I tasted both exquisite torment and tender pleasure in ratios dictated by his swinging mood.

Inevitably, we would talk about the affairs of Eregion and Lindon, though I had to tread carefully around confidential matters of state. He resented my reticence, despite knowing that my fealty must lie with Gil-galad, through Elrond. He also made it clear that he was irritated at my lord’s refusal to grant him an interview.

In the end, I felt obliged to breach the subject.

‘Celebrimbor has invited us to dinner tonight,’ Elrond said, folding the message that had just been delivered by a page, a shy young boy who could not stop fidgeting with the collar of his tunic while he waited for an answer. ‘You have been turning in early these days, and I cannot blame you, Erestor, but maybe tonight you would like to make an exception?’

I wavered. Although nights with Mairon were wondrous, I did not wish to raise Elrond’s suspicions by declining the invitation.

‘I would be delighted,’ I answered, wondering about the best way to convey a note to Mairon to inform him about the change of plans. It turned out not to be necessary.

‘He has also invited Annatar,’ added Elrond with an unhappy sigh after the messenger boy left with his reply accepting the invitation.

‘Is there anything amiss, Elrond? Have you yet considered Artano’s petition to be allowed into Lindon? He wished to see you to answer any queries you may have.’

‘I know, Erestor. I have eluded the meeting because I am racked with doubts, even before I hear his arguments. Everyone sings praises of the man; he has been nothing but courteous, and even helpful to our cause, mediating with some of the most unyielding guilds on our behalf. And yet...’ He frowned, and his eyes lost their focus, as though recalling memories. ‘Something about him makes me uneasy.’

‘What, exactly?’ I queried, doing my best to feign indifference.

‘Would you not say he is too fair? Too perfect?’

‘Elrond!’ I cried, shocked into mirth. ‘He is a Maia.’

‘But not like those who fought in the War,’ he insisted. ‘I stood closer to Eönwë than I am to you now. The Herald of Manwë was fair in a remote, otherworldly way, unlike Annatar who is so... desirable.’ He blushed, but continued. ‘Do the Maiar adopt that fair guise in Aman?’

My heart lurched. Though the phrasing of his question allowed me to keep my secrets safe, I was too perilously close to divulging more than was wise.

‘The Ainur are seldom visible to the Eldar in Valinor, and they normally dress themselves in fanar like those the Maiar wore during the War. Annatar may have donned his present hröa to become closer to those he seeks to aid, less unapproachable.’

‘That is also what Galadriel says. Like me, she wonders why he is here.’ He shook his head. ‘You are right, Erestor, I am being unreasonable. I will be civil to Annatar tonight, and maybe bid him to meet me tomorrow,’ he conceded.

 

~ o ~

 

Mairon and our host were sipping wine and engaged in a lively discussion about the relative merits of steel alloyants to increase corrosion resistance when we were introduced by Celebrimbor’s servant into his finely decorated dining room. They both rose from their seats to greet us. Mairon bowed shallowly while Celebrimbor rushed towards us with a bright smile on his face to embrace Elrond first, then me.

‘Welcome, friends,’ he cried happily, and further marked his words by slapping my back heartily. I saw Mairon curl his lips in amusement.

Over dinner, our host led the conversation, lively but dealing exclusively with local gossip and other matters of little import, while we savoured crisp leek tartlets followed by roast duck with fried apple rings and berry sauce. For dessert, his cook had whipped up cream with sweet wild honey and chopped walnuts in a mouth-watering swirl that somehow seemed to defy gravity.

Only after we left the table and made ourselves comfortable on the plump leather couches around the blazing fire of his sitting room, cradling carved goblets filled with herb liquor, did we tackle any serious matters.

‘How are your negotiations progressing, Elrond?’ queried Celebrimbor.

‘Arduous. The guildmasters and merchants of Eregion drive hard bargains,’ answered my lord. ‘However, your recommendation to your friend Narvi has opened many doors for us, regarding the provision of refined iron. I am most grateful.’

‘Good. In his latest letter he writes that his team of prospectors are hopping with excitement. Apparently they may have found the particular variety of quartz that usually lies around a vein of true-silver,’ announced Celebrimbor. ‘They had to delve deeper than they initially planned, boring through very hard rock that delayed them for several weeks, but at last the signs are promising.‘

‘True-silver?’ echoed Mairon and Elrond in unison, and the coincidence prompted them to peer at each other intently. Elrond shifted his glance to my left wrist while Mairon watched him do so. I tugged at my sleeve to cover the concealed band.

‘Yes. Not long ago I named it mithril because of its sheen, after Annatar assisted me in the crafting of the Tree that adorns the Gates of Khazad-dûm,’ continued Celebrimbor, unaware of the silent exchanges between us three. ‘Have you ever seen true-silver in Valinor, Erestor?’

‘I have indeed seen it before,’ I replied cautiously. Out of the corner of my eye I caught Mairon’s hint of a smirk. ‘Is it true that it may also be found in mountains far in the East of Ennor?’

‘Those are fanciful tales without proof.’ Celebrimbor waved his hand as though to dismiss the rumours. ‘And I am equally doubtful about the claims of the Númenóreans having discovered traces in their island of plenty.’

Mairon pressed his lips together and Elrond still stared at my wrist. I let my hand drop to my side, removing the object of his attention from view, glad for their discretion. Though Annatar had mentioned the hidebound secrecy of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, I wanted Celebrimbor to remain ignorant about the shackle and thus avoid the enthusiastic questioning that would follow if he were to learn of its existence.

‘I never saw my father’s ship while he sailed it, before he... left,’ said my lord, gulping down the contents of his goblet. ‘I always wished to know if it is really made of mithril, like Maglor used to tell me. Is it, Artano?’

‘You may easily imagine it to be so because of the hallowed radiance Vingilot carries, compared to which mithril seems dull as lead,’ spoke Mairon reverently. ‘But your father made his ship from timber hewn in the birchwoods of Nimbrethil in Arvernien, now sunken under the sea. Its planks are smooth and white as swan feathers, its oars long and golden, and its tall sails glimmer with the sheen of the argent moon. The first time it rose into the sky, with Eärendil wearing the Silmaril on his brow, the whole of Aman rejoiced at its beauty. And it was an even finer sight when your father and the army of Eagles slew Ancalagon, greatest of the winged dragons of Morgoth, casting him from the sky to crumble the peaks of Thangorodrim.’

‘One of my fondest childhood dreams shattered,’ chuckled Elrond softly.

In the silence that followed, a soft flapping coming from outside the open window sounded loud to my ears.

‘I have never seen so many bats as in this place,’ I observed, rushing to change the subject of the conversation.

‘We did not use to have so many around,’ said Celebrimbor, making a grimace of disgust, ‘but we have felled many trees around the city over the last few years. That may have unsettled them.’

‘People dislike bats without reason,’ commented Mairon, twirling his goblet in his hand, watching the clear liquid inside. ‘They are clever creatures, and harmless. The structure of their wings is a wonder, very light and akin to the build of our arms and hands, as opposed to the wings of a bird.’ He splayed his fingers before his face and wriggled them.

‘Fascinating,’ laughed Celebrimbor. ‘Maybe one day you can teach us how to build ourselves wings that will actually allow us to fly.’

Again, Mairon and I exchanged a knowing glance. I struggled not to smile.

‘You already have the knowledge, friend,’ answered Mairon. ‘As miraculous as flying may appear to those bound to the ground, understanding the mechanics of gliding requires no more than the study of forces in motion, using calculation techniques that you have already mastered. With the level of excellence in metalwork achieved by your people right here, amongst those of the Mírdain, you can build a structure both light and strong enough to keep a man in flight.’

‘Tell me, Annatar,’ interjected Elrond, ‘if we, people of Ennor, are already capable of crafting wondrous swan-shaped boats and full-sized bat wings, what need do we have of the aid you offer us?’

Mairon’s spark of irritation was perceptible to me, despite his polite smile. I wondered if my companions detected it too.

‘I do not deny your people’s ingenuity or their skills, Elrond, but the world has suffered grievously during the fight with Bauglir; his taint, that he infused into the earth itself, may be stopped and even healed, if we labour together. We love Ennor; why must it remain desolate and dark when it can rival Tol Eressëa, nay, even Valinor?’ asked Mairon in his voice of silk.

‘I have never seen Valinor, nor do I wish to,’ countered my lord, somewhat curtly. ‘Ennor has its own beauty, as flawed as it may be. There is no need for us to recreate the past glory of our ancestors in the Blessed Realm.’

‘Here in Eregion we do not dwell in the past, Elrond,’ intervened Celebrimbor in a placating tone. ‘We look into the future. There is much to be learnt to tame the forces of Arda and use them to our purposes, including the healing of its wounds. But why struggle to attain that curwë[2] when it is offered freely? Annatar has already taught us skills we had only dreamt of.’

‘What knowledge is that?’ I enquired, curious.

‘It is not easy to explain to the uninitiated, Erestor,’ he answered. ‘We believe it could be applied to a multitude of purposes. As an example, it may allow us to harness the very essence and attributes of live beings and pour them elsewhere. If our experiments are successful, we could imbue goodness into matter, banishing taint.’

‘Who is to say we could not discover those mysteries unaided?’ said Elrond. ‘You have always drawn great pleasure from your own achievements, cousin. Why stoop to anyone now, whether man or Maia?’

‘You sound like Galadriel. Too proud to ever admit weakness or accept assistance from anyone she deems her better,’ retorted Celebrimbor bitterly. ‘She refused my invitation tonight when she knew Artano would be here, as though by treating him with contempt he would vanish. When she insults him, she offends the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, and myself.’

‘Peace, friends!’ cried Mairon. ‘Nobody has insulted me. Though I must admit, I am saddened by her scorn. Perplexed, too. For how may she resent my wish to aid her subjects here at Eregion, and through them boost her own might and glory, while she does the same, seeking to enlighten her untaught kindred of Lórinand? Why is my care for the ills that afflict Ennor unworthy in her eyes?’

I was happy to remain a listener in their argument.

‘I do not doubt the value of your counsel, Artano. But knowing Galadriel, she may object to what she considers the interference of the Belain,’ Elrond said, choosing his words carefully.

‘I sympathise with her reservations,’ replied Mairon. ‘If I may speak candidly amongst friends, as one of the Ainur I was appalled at the lack of compassion displayed by the Aratar regarding the events surrounding the Darkening. I feel they have utterly abandoned these shores and retreated with all their servants to the safety of Valinor.’

‘All their servants?’ I asked, a bit ruffled. ‘A host of Maiar fought with us to uproot Morgoth.’

‘War came too late, Erestor,’ he said, ‘and when the upheaval to defeat Bauglir and take him back in chains was over, his brethren swiftly forsook those who chose to stay. I freely came in this guise to become one of you and join you in your efforts to make these lands your home, offering my knowledge to any realm who may welcome it, but never as a mandate from the Lords of Aman. My purpose here is not to awe and rule, but to teach.’

Despite a slight pang of guilt at the smooth delivery of his half-truths, I shot a triumphant glance at Elrond, who dipped his head, seemingly embarrassed at his own mistrust in the face of Mairon’s generous words.

‘You and I are brothers in the Mírdain, Annatar,’ said Celebrimbor with pride. Mairon reached up to cradle in his palm the square silver pendant that hung from his neck and marked him as one of its few chosen members. ‘We share dreams of crafting beauty and bringing order and prosperity.’

‘I am greatly honoured by your friendship,’ replied Mairon. ‘I would be most unjust if I did not praise the sharpness of your mind, which has opened my eyes to possibilities I had never contemplated in the past. I pray that one day the Lord and Lady will appreciate this mutually fruitful partnership.’

‘Galadriel may dislike you, or what you represent, but she will not dare oppose the Mírdain lest she jeopardise the support with the guilds and our alliance with Khazad-dûm,’ said Celebrimbor, shaking his head.

‘I am glad you have found the freedom you sought, but beware you do not make an enemy of Galadriel, she is proud and fierce.’ Elrond’s tone was concerned. ‘You were never this cunning in the court of Gil-galad, Celebrimbor.’

‘And as a result I was all but forced into exile, if I wished to retain any hope to achieve my dreams.’ Celebrimbor shrugged. ‘We all learn from our errors.’

‘How true!’ I piped in. ‘In my case, I avoid all eagles and hawks, however dear they are to Manwë.’

My attempt to lighten the mood was successful. My three companions laughed and Elrond fondly squeezed my shoulder, provoking a minute twitch of disapproval on Mairon’s lips that both chilled my blood and warmed my loins. Celebrimbor filled our goblets and handed them out.

‘Raise your glasses for a toast!’ he cried. ‘To friendship. To Eregion. And to the fulfilment of dreams.’

He drank up his liquor and so did Mairon, after sparing me a private smile that made me tingle with anticipation. Elrond followed. As my lips touched the edge of the goblet the memory of one of my old nightmares flashed across my eyes: I sank a dagger into the heart of a man hanging from chains, tortured and mutilated, his eyes wild from pain. I peered into his dead face, obscured by his hair and encrusted with blood, but could not recognise him. I drank, out of defiance and to prove to myself I would not fall prey to manipulation.

Mairon was watching me intently. I knew he had noticed my shudder.

 

~ o ~

 

A few hours later I knelt in position on the polished planks of his bedroom floor, naked. I was beginning to ache. My gaze was fixed on an elongated knot in the wood, the anchor to keep my concentration from swaying. Mairon had ordered me to remain perfectly still for what seemed like hours, with my hands laced at my nape and my arms pushed back, while he had been comfortably writing at his desk, and reading a book. I was facing away from him, but I could hear the soft rasping of a quill and then the rustle of pages being turned.

Twice he noticed my slight squirming and whipped me across the thighs with a riding crop that stung like nettles.

‘What did you see, thrall?’ he asked suddenly, putting the book down. We both knew what he was referring to. I felt uneasy about bringing events beyond our relationship into our games, but disobedience was never justified in his eyes. The matter would have to wait.

‘One of Irmo’s dark visions, Master.’ I heard the chair being pushed back, and the soft fall of his steps as he approached. I dared not move my head in his direction.

He said nothing and instead raked my trembling arm with his curved fingers. It hurt when he reached a recent bruise.

‘This is not mine. Is it?’

‘No, Master,’ I answered.

‘How did you get it?’

I almost growled. He already knew.

‘I sparred with Elrond yesterday, Master. I need the exercise.’

The blow with the crop across my chest did not wholly take me by surprise, but it hurt.

‘I do not care what you need, slave. But I hate seeing marks on your skin that I have not given you. Least of all from Elrond.’

I bit the inside of my mouth to contain the incredulous chuckle that came to my lips. Was he really jealous? Either Mairon read my mind or the shaking of my shoulders betrayed me.

‘I doubt you will find your punishment amusing.’ I glanced up, and my breath caught at the wrathful fire in his eyes. Alarmed, I dropped my head until my forehead touched the floor.

‘Forgive me, Master,’ I implored. ‘He asked me...’ I immediately realised my mistake.

‘I see,’ he interrupted. ‘He is your lord and you will obey his orders in preference to mine.’

‘No, Master, only if...’

‘Kneel up!’

I did, instantly.

He wrapped a twist of rope around my wrists and joined them together, yanking hard at the knots until the bonds bit my flesh, then he pulled me to my feet and firmly tied my hands to one of the carved wooden bedposts, high over my head. When I tugged down, the rope did not budge. My heart was pounding in my ribcage, and fear coiled inside my gut.

Once Mairon was satisfied that I would not be able to free myself, he faced me. He took a strand of my unbound hair and let it slide slowly through his fingers. He raised his hand again and placed it on the top of my head, where he stroked me so gently I gave a sigh of relief. Suddenly he took hold of my hair, pulling until the tightening on my scalp edged on pain. My cock twitched at this harshness, at the thrill of knowing I was at his mercy. Disappointingly, he released me and took a step back.

Without warning, his hard slap across my face whipped my head back against the wooden post with a loud thump. I gritted my teeth, barely stifling a howl of pain.

‘Your lordling enjoyed his defeat at your hands. It was impossible not to realise how his trousers had become too small and confining. And yet you let him embrace you; worse still, this evening you leant into his touch, before my very eyes.’

I kept silent; I had not been asked a question. The fact that both Elrond and I enjoyed sparring together and were aware of each other’s arousal had been our secret for many years in Lindon, but nothing had ever come from it, except for the morning we awoke on the same bed when Vëantur brought news from Elros.

‘Do you think I am blind to your flirting, thrall?’ Under the sharp steel, his voice held the precise amount of hurt regret to spur my guilt.

‘No, Master. I am sorry,’ I answered, dropping my head in shame.

‘You shall be. From now on, you are forbidden from touching him and from letting yourself be touched. I shall make you pay dearly for any disobedience, regardless of who starts it. You belong to me alone. Is that clear?’

Rebellious at this intrusion into my life beyond his bedroom walls, I was too slow to answer. His hand covered my throat and pushed against the post. I panicked when I began to struggle for air, tugging at the rope and thrashing uselessly. Tendrils of fear tightened in my gut and reached lower to spur my erection.

Not until dizziness had made the room spin, my knees weakened and a mix of dark spots and sparks covered my sight did Mairon free me.

‘Is that clear now?’ he purred in a voice of silk that barely disguised my danger.

‘Yes, Master,’ I coughed hoarsely. ‘I deserve your punishment.’

I warily eyed the riding crop he picked up from the table. I both dreaded and craved what he was about to give me. I had already tasted the sharp bite of the narrow loop at its tip, and guessed how severe discipline would be with that instrument in Mairon’s skilled, ruthless hands.

‘You do indeed.’

His fist hovered next to my lips and I eagerly kissed his knuckles and the handle of the whip, as I had daydreamed on the day we arrived at Ost-in-Edhil. He nudged my chin up with the crop until I looked into his eyes. Once more I fell in thrall to their intensity.

‘I shall etch my ownership into your skin. From tonight you will not forget whom you truly owe your loyalty. Spread your legs!’

Before I had time to obey, he kicked my feet to the sides, sweeping my legs apart and thus tightening the ropes on my wrists. He smiled wickedly at my wince. Ever so slowly he ran the tip of the whip across my neck, then downwards to circle first one nipple then the other, and further to my navel. I clenched the muscles of my belly at the tickling contact of leather that at any time could turn into a blaze of pain. I tensed in fear when the caress reached my groin and he lifted the crop off my skin. I begged him silently but he shook his head in mock regret. With quick flicks of his wrist he swatted my cock, not once but thrice, hard enough to hurt. I flinched with each stroke but dared not move or make a sound, well knowing the peril of defiance when he was in this mood.

‘Every moment you sit at your lord’s side tomorrow will serve you as a reminder. Your body is not yet used to the discipline you used to endure, and so far I have held back. Today, however, you deserve no leniency.’

He leant down to pick up my loincloth and my belt from the top of the small mound of clothes on the floor by the bed. Then he poked his thumb against my gritted teeth.

‘Open up.’

As soon as I obeyed, he pushed the scrunched up loincloth inside my mouth and wrapped the belt twice around my head and between my jaws, to keep the linen in place. He gave a brutal tug at the buckle to secure it, so tightly that the thick leather edges dug into my flesh. I glared daggers at him, I loathed being gagged; he merely smirked and made me face the post. I rested my cheek on the smooth wood, and braced myself for the onslaught.

With implacable precision he whipped raw my rear, my shoulders and my thighs. I bit hard into the gag that muffled my cries of agony into pathetic moans. As ever, the pain did not subside during the beating and neither did my arousal, but they were soon woven into a haze of surrender, as intimate and warm as Mairon’s softest caress. I was giddy, swaying in time to the rhythm of the blows, a dance more intoxicating than the finest wine. Every blazing stroke tied us back together.

Three or four times Mairon stopped briefly to catch his breath. The kisses he bestowed with his lips on the skin already kissed by the lash and the fondling of my tormented cock stoked my need to helpless frenzy.

The hard bedpost, the wooden floor, the room, the world, they all vanished. I had no freedom, no voice, no hröa, no will. Only the too clear awareness of flames of pain and lust leaping ever higher in their fight to conquer and devour me at Mairon’s command.

Much later I vaguely realised he was cutting my hands free and lifting me carefully onto the bed, on my front upon a pile of pillows precisely arrayed under my waist so that my erection found no friction against the sheets. When I feebly tried to reach down, he pinned my forearms to the mattress. Burying himself deeply into me felt as though he wished to hammer down his final stake and claim my hröa as his property. His every thrust brought a searing wave of pain to my flayed flesh that warred with the scorching desire that flared within.

‘My beauty,’ he sobbed against my neck as he found his release, while I groaned my frustration and pain.

He rested his weight on me for a while, rocking gently until he was completely spent. Every move grazed my abused skin, shooting barbs of fire through my whole body. I whimpered through the gag, voicing my disappointment at being denied pleasure and hating the feel of my face pressed against the bed, soaked with my tears and dribble, now cold.

At last he took pity. His fingers fumbled with the belt buckle until the strap became loose and the cloth was mercifully prised off my aching mouth. He turned me on my side and kissed the places where the leather had bitten me. My jaw was too stiff for speech, but I pushed my pulsing cock against his leg in mute supplication. He withdrew his contact.

‘Maybe tomorrow,’ he said. ‘If you please me well. Or maybe not.’

‘Mairon...’ I whispered. He shook his head. ‘Master...’

‘Shhh, slave. Do you remember what I once told you, when sweet Nikteháa conquered your heart?’

I nodded unhappily. “I would have clapped you in chains and driven you delirious with desire until you forgot that any others ever existed.”

He kissed me again, around the eyes and cheeks, following the dry trails of my tears. ‘When I am satisfied you have paid for your errors, I will make your prize good.’

‘I know, Master.’ With a sigh of exhausted resignation I nestled in his arms, and his cool palm soothed the heat of my bruised skin while I relished the warmth of his breath ghosting over my cheek. 

‘Who do you belong to?’

‘You, Mairon. Forever.’

My heart thundered with joy at his smile, brighter even than his eyes. The meaning of my own words suddenly sank in. Against all odds I was his, despite the scheming of Manwë and his Doomsman. Maybe Eru smiled upon us.

Not even Mairon’s dark jealousy could make a dent in my happiness.

A while later he sat up on the bed, and helped me carefully to his side. Lifting my left arm, he bared my mithril shackle from its leather disguise and trapped my wrist firmly in place with his hands covering the metal all around. Words of Power left his lips in a deep rumble, making my skin tingle at the sudden release of charged energy. I watched his brow, knit in concentration, become beaded with sweat as the cuff grew hot until it glowed red. Amazed, I felt nothing but a pleasant warmth on my skin. His spell was protecting us both from the blazing metal.

When it was over, he dropped my arm from his grasp. He closed his eyes, exhausted, and leaned back onto the headboard. This weakness only lasted an instant, before he snapped his eyes open again and waved my concern with a smile.

‘What did you do?’ I issued my silent command, as I traced the familiar patterns on the gleaming metal with my fingertips, but the shackle remained closed.

‘It answers to me again,’ he said.

Immediately, it snapped open. My skin was as white as milk underneath, not having felt the sun for hundreds of years. Mairon made to remove the cuff but I placed my right hand over it, protectively, before locking it shut over my wrist once more.

‘It reminds me of you, Mairon, every day and every hour. I wish to keep it.’

‘By all means, friend.’ His white teeth flashed in a mischievous grin. ‘Though you are unlikely to forget me tomorrow. Or the day after. Or...’

I yelled a curse when he swatted me lightly on the back.

The chains he clapped me in were invisible to the eyes of all others, but Mairon fully delivered his threat; by the time he allowed my release nine days later, I was driven delirious with desire and had abjectly vowed not to spare a single lustful thought on Elrond ever again.

 

 

---

 

[1] Casári (Quenya) translation of the dwarvish word Khazâd, used by the Dwarves to refer to themselves

[2] curwë (Quenya) defined by Tolkien (HoME XII, The Peoples of Middle-earth) as “technical skill and invention” (kurwe), as opposed to “’Philosophy’ in its older applications which included Science” (nolme).

Betrayals

Elrond decides it is time to travel back to Lindon.

Read Betrayals

 

29. Betrayals

 

We had spent eight months in Ost-in-Edhil when the inevitable moment arrived.

One morning, Elrond and I stood outside the Domed Hall after an early audience, watching the violet shades upon the peaks of the Hithaeglir bloom into a blaze of white against the cloudless sky.

‘There is warmth in the air. Spring is coming,’ said Elrond.

I was almost dozing from the blend of lack of sleep and intense contentment after one of Mairon’s more gentle nights.

‘Erestor!’

‘My lord, I am sorry,’ I stammered, blushing. ‘I was woolgathering; I apologise.’

‘You have been behaving strangely,’ he said, peering at me thoughtfully. ‘One day you are thrumming with life, a grin on your face; the next you are subdued and distracted. And you have become reclusive again. What has got into you?’

Concerned, he placed his hand on my shoulder. I counted several heartbeats before stepping back to break contact without causing him offence. At length, I shrugged. ‘It is nothing, Elrond.’

‘If I did not know you well, I would say you have been courting.’ He winked and then raised his eyebrows, expectantly.

Until then I believed that my nightly subterfuges to visit Mairon undetected had been successful. Now I was uncertain, and glad that I had been most cautious. Several times I had suspected someone haunting my steps, but had shaken them off my trail; after all, I was most familiar with the methods used by those in our pay.

I must have scowled, because he chuckled.

‘Maybe not. Perhaps the chill mountain air does not suit you. In which case, I have good news. We will make ourselves ready to leave next week; in no time you will breathe the sea breeze again.’

‘As you wish,’ I replied blandly, but my gut knotted with anguish.

All our business was done, agreements signed and carefully stored in leather tubes, gold exchanged where the deal had demanded it. Elrond had agreed that he would present Mairon’s petition to Gil-galad, though he had avoided making a commitment to personally endorse his visit. Nothing prevented our departure.

That evening, I walked to Mairon’s house with a heavy heart.

When I reached his bedroom, the door was ajar. I heard soft rustling sounds from within, not unlike those of a dove flapping his wings, which ceased before I swung the door open and entered. Mairon stood at the window, staring at the darkening sky. He did not turn to meet me, so I approached him.

Without seeing his face I knew of his unease. Ever since he had restored the sentient power of my mithril shackle, I seemed to be able to feel faint echoes of his mood through it.

‘What is the matter, Mairon?’

He did not answer. Instead, he pulled me close and kissed me hard. The world shrank to the solid touch of our hröar, and the flame of my desire leapt high and wild as he cradled my head in his hands, possessively. His lips were familiar, and yet their touch was fresh, like drops of cool rain over a wilted flower. I moaned with pleasure.

When we broke the kiss, breathless, he replied. ‘News travel fast, friend. I hear Elrond’s party is readying to travel.’

His eyes bore into mine, demanding the answer to his implicit question. I buckled under his glare and looked down.

‘I must go back to Lindon, Mairon. I have no choice. You should leave Eregion, too.’

‘Me?’ He cried in amused shock. ‘Why should I?’

‘Your presence endangers the people of this realm. Do you wish them to suffer the same fate as Kiinlúum?’

His eyes narrowed in anger; his perfect features twisted in hatred. ‘Námo discarded me as vermin; why would he come searching for me?’ he sneered. ‘I refuse to renounce the respect I have earned a second time, my modest comforts, my craft and the company of people who share my ambitions. And I am in no hurry to return to...’ He stopped short and shook his head. ‘Not for fear of them!’

‘Your position here is founded on lies, Mairon,’ I objected.

‘Are you going to speak the truth to them, then?’ In his dark glare I saw a glint of fear.

‘You know I was forbidden by Manwë at the Máhanaxar to reveal your name or my purpose,’ I answered calmly. ‘But even if I had not been, why would I, while you work in their aid?’

He sagged with relief ever so slightly, and his anger seemed to fade. Encouraged, I spoke my plea.

‘Leave with me, Mairon. Free us both from our hröar and let us hide in the depths of Eä to make a home where no one can find us!’

‘I have done that for many long years, friend. I am tired of hiding and skulking in the shadows like a lonely dog beaten by its masters.’

His mind opened before me, showing me his loneliness, his fear of judgement and of being thrust into the Void. I stood still, mesmerised at this confession of weakness.

The bitterness of his voice turned to defiance. ‘I shall make my fate, not yield to the one the Valar have shaped for me, out of visions conjured to fulfil their own ends. Let them come. I can protect us both and what we shall build.’

His mood swung sharply, and so did the view into his thoughts. I glimpsed bright clouds of delicate structures connecting myriads of parts, each of them a complex pattern or even an equation, his mental images of the untold wealth of wisdom he had amassed on the workings and structure of Eä. Tears prickled in my eyes at their beauty.

‘Working with Celebrimbor has led me to the study of untapped energies linked to the paths of the mind and the chains to the flow of Time; I am keen to explore them further. I have plans, projects,’ he enthused, glancing at my wrist before he lifted his sparkling eyes to me. ‘You may have noticed the empathy we now share through your mithril shackle. This is a mere toy compared with what I can create once I fully master these wondrous secrets. We can make Eregion a place of order and beauty, healed from all marring. Even the pearly towers of Tirion will seem dull next to her radiance. Our Light can be as bright as the one that glares from the West, Eönwë! The Noldor who have stayed in Endórë have all but turned their backs on the Valar. We shall steer Eregion as we once did Kiinlúum.’

‘Not while Galadriel is her Lady,’ I observed, loathing to crush his dreams. ‘She will not be swayed, Noldo or not. And even if she is, why would you share your wealth and power with me, Rušurigas? You do not need me, with Celebrimbor and the Mírdain at your back.’

‘If you do not crave power, friend, I would have you remain at my side as my most faithful thrall,’ he purred.

We exchanged brief smiles of complicity, in all likelihood sharing mirrored thoughts. He reached up to trace my jaw with his fingertips, but after kissing them, I brushed his hand aside, ruthlessly fighting down the tendrils of desire.

‘Mairon, we must speak...’

I wavered and he took the opportunity with both hands, silencing my feeble protests with his eager mouth. He lifted me off my feet as though I were a child and took me to his bed where he asserted his dominance gently but unquestionably, making me oblivious to all but the awareness of my deep longing for him, both for his strong hröa with which he wrought the sweetest pleasures, and for his admirable mind.

Lust sated, we lay content and lazy in each other’s arms. Mairon played with a strand of my hair, wrapping and unwrapping it around his fingers while I avidly watched his face. I studied the smoothness of his forehead, free from worries, lingering on the curves of his eyebrows to remember the path of every hair. Lower down, I dwelled on his long eyelashes, which flickered most alluringly over eyes that rivalled the light of the Silmarilli. I admired the fair proportions of his nose and the bold line of his jaw. Reaching out to touch his cheek, my fingertips followed the plane that ended in the curl of his ear, as reverently as though he were the most precious and fragile object in Eä.

His lips parted and I longed to feel them yet again upon mine, whether light as moth wings or bruising in their hunger. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath, inhaling his familiar scent as I snuggled closer. Slowly, I licked a path along his neck, then rolled the fascinating taste of his sweaty skin upon my tongue, at once salty, sweet and musky. I smacked my lips in delight.

‘What are you doing?’ he asked with a soft laugh. ‘It feels as if you wish to eat me. Did you not have enough?’

‘I can never have enough of you, Mairon,’ I answered. ‘You are beautiful.’

Smiling, he let his fingers explore the hollow of my neck and tickle their way up my collarbone. I shivered from pleasure.

‘Stay with me, Eönwë. With you I am not...’ He bit his bottom lip, hesitant. ‘Together, life is good. I need you at my side.’ His voice was urgent, almost pleading; in his eyes I saw hope.

I was stunned, nay, overwhelmed. Torn in two, I felt tears swell; I blinked several times. My heart ached, but I knew I could not do what he wanted. I slid from his arms and sat up.

Mairon grabbed my shackled wrist. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked, pulling me back.

‘If I stay, I might yield to my desire, Mairon. There is nothing I want more than what you offer. But my will cannot be bent on this matter, not until I am freed by Manwë,’ I said. ‘Can you not see? We must bide our time to avoid having the wrath of the Aratar fall on the Children.’

‘I do not fear their wrath. The scorpion will not scuttle away a second time. It will sting if an enemy stirs its den.’ The venom in his voice startled me. ‘Are you truly asking me to abandon everything, when I have not even felt their presence or that of their spies?’

‘Our reunion may not have been discovered yet, but my heart leaps out of my mouth at the sight of every eagle circling overhead or even at the tamest robin perched upon the garden wall.’ I fingered the faded scar on my hairline. ‘Do you not love these Children? I would drown in guilt if again I brought ruin upon the innocent peoples of Endórë. Let us wait until my sentence is spent. When I am free I shall stay by your side and be whatever you wish.’

‘Will they ever grant your freedom, friend? Their vision of a great battle at the end of Time to defeat all evil, including me, will keep you chained to them. Stay with me!’

‘Our duty is to the Children,’ I insisted.

‘To the Children? Or to your lordling?’ His voice cracked sharp as a whip. ‘Is this how you fulfil your vows of everlasting love, by spurning me so that you can offer yourself to Elrond in the name of duty?’ He spat the last word.

‘I owe him fealty, nothing more and nothing less,’ I retorted. ‘Do not blame him for my strictures; he did not place them on me, the Valar did.’

‘Their very shadow threatens to steal you away from me again. I wish they could taste the bitterness of retribution, of watching those they love perish in agony,’ he snarled. His fingers tightened viciously around my wrist. ‘You are not going anywhere!’

‘And what exactly do you intend to do, Mairon? Chain me to your bed? I thought you wished for a willing thrall, not one of those wretched captives you toyed with in Angamando, who you beat and tortured into submission.’ I tugged in anger against his iron grip. ‘Release me!’

‘Why? So you can bend over and spread your arse for Elrond?’ he hissed, his face distorted into a leer. ‘Is that not what you have wanted to do all these years?’

‘Unfair and untrue!’ I cried. ‘How can you possibly understand what I endured, the ache of being apart from you all those lonely yéni, sustained only by my love, when the mere sound of that word love disgusts you? How dare you call me false, when you faked your own death just for the thrill of grinding me into the dust and watching me grieve? Have I not given you all, everything you ever asked for: submission, obedience, loyalty, and even silence? I could now destroy you with a single word, Gorthaur!’

He froze, his eyes round with shock at hearing that hated name. Snatching my hand free, I scrambled away from him and tumbled off the bed onto the floor. He stood looming over me. On my knees before him I was helpless, an infant facing an angry lion.

I watched him warily as I rose to my feet. His expression shifted to a look of profound hurt that made me wince. How could I have been so cruel? But it was too late to unsay my words.

‘You would betray me?’ he asked in a voice of steel.

‘There is no betrayal, Mairon, never from me,’ I whispered, swallowing down the painful lump in my throat.

He turned his back to me and began shaking violently, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. My shackle radiated a confused range of emotions that died down slowly.

‘Leave now, Herald, or I shall not be responsible for what I do to you.’

Hastily I obeyed, fumbling to dress, fighting despair and the urge to touch him, to tell him it had all been a terrible mistake, to fall on my knees and beg for forgiveness. I watched him stride to the door and yank it wide open; his face was unreadable but his fingers, gripping the jamb, were white. Tears ran freely down my face, as I rushed out of his house.

That night I howled my pain into my pillow.

‘Curse you, Manwë! And you, Nurufantur! May you suffer a thousand times the torments you have inflicted upon us, may you be damned and thrown into the Void until all the stars die in the sky... Oh, why did I lose my temper? Why did I let him goad me...?’

I desperately wished that in the light of day Mairon would listen to reason and we could be reconciled before I left.

That was not meant to be.

In the morning Celebrimbor informed Elrond and me that Annatar had left the city before dawn, heading for a mountain refuge to seek peace and guidance from the One.

 

 

Lindon, Year 1208 of the Second Age of Arda

The King absently drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair as he considered Elrond’s thorough description of Annatar, along with his herald’s misgivings about the Maia’s purposes. When Gil-galad turned to appraise me, I met his gaze calmly and waited to be addressed.

‘Aulendil’s curwë has already proved to be an asset to Eregion,’ he said at last, ‘but your lord cannot shake his unease about granting him leave to enter Lindon. What say you, Erestor?’

Considering he had once banished me as a threat to his realm, I was honoured that he asked for my opinion on a matter of security. I had expected the question and weighed every word of my reply.

‘Annatar thrives on knowledge and order, Sire; he yearns to make Ennor a place to rival Valinor, where those who have chosen to remain in these shores are not doomed to fade, as Mandos decreed. He is no niggard and shares his wisdom freely with those of like minds who have the required ability to learn from him, but his forceful personality and the keenness of his mind can seem overbearing at times. As for his fair appearance that my lord deems disturbing,’ I paused, struck by a pang of longing, ‘Aulendil has donned a hröa like ours to feel closer to us instead of appearing lofty and cold, as the Maiar seemed during the War. I believe he truly wishes our friendship and means no harm, my lord king.’

‘Anything you would like to add, Elrond?’

‘I cannot disagree with Erestor’s assessment, and yet something niggles at the edge of my mind that makes me doubt Artano. When I have spoken to Galadriel, she also confessed her antipathy, though she objects to his condescending bearing most of all. In my case, I find his voice and his fair mien oddly compelling, as though he strives to lure me, to seduce me into his cause.’ He ran his hand over his brow, frowning. ‘What concerns me gravely is that with his mere presence Annatar has created a rift where there might have been none before. The Lord and Lady of Eregion can hardly afford estrangement with Celebrimbor and the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, but their stances are diverging and I foresee a breach sooner or later.’

‘Are you accusing Annatar of deliberately widening this rift you speak of?’ Gil-galad frowned; I was startled.

‘No, Sire, that is not what I meant,’ answered Elrond firmly. ‘I have no proof of manipulation or misdoing. If I had, I would have taken the matter directly to Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel.’

‘I can hardly afford further discord in this realm; it is hard enough to rule all our disparate peoples as it stands,’ sighed Ereinion. ‘I am not sure the reasons for your mistrust are solid enough, Elrond, but I have made my decision. We will deny Annatar’s request. Draft the response in my name and I will sign it myself, so that he and Celebrimbor know that we have given his petition our full consideration.’

I bit my lip. I knew Mairon would be furious but on the other hand I was relieved he would not come, considering his jealousy of Elrond.

After dealing with other matters, Elrond and I were dismissed and we returned to our ordinary tasks, where stacks of paperwork awaited my lord after our long absence. Once alone with him, I took my chance.

‘Elrond,’ I said, ‘I wish to include private letters to Celebrimbor and Annatar in our official correspondence. Artano and I enjoyed discussing the days before the Darkening. I fear he will be disappointed about the outcome of his petition; I would regret to wholly sever our acquaintance.’

‘Be my guest,’ he replied, peering at me. ‘I have no business with your friendships. Or with your lovers.’ Caught unawares, I blushed to the root of my hair, betraying myself.

‘So I was right, after all,’ he exclaimed with a smug grin on his face, behind which I sensed tightly reined disappointment. ‘Even though you would not admit to it. Luckily for you, I was too slow to realise the reason for your strange moods and your perennial excuses to retire early from social events.’

‘I regret resorting to deception, my lord,’ I mumbled sincerely. It had never been my intention to hurt him that way.

Almost panicking, I braced myself against an interrogation about Mairon and our past history. Elrond would surely realise Annatar must be no other than my long lost lover.

‘I must confess my curiosity about the identity of the fortunate man.’ I froze in hopeful surprise. ‘What is his relation to Annatar? Is he one of the Mírdain, maybe? An ambitious journeyman aspiring to join the inner circle, or even an apprentice, keen and full of dreams? Or, why not, you may have fallen for one of the Masters...’ He watched me keenly but I held his gaze, giving nothing away. ‘Had it been Celebrimbor, he would have all but demanded that I release you from your oath so that you stayed at his side. Had it been Annatar himself...’ He bit his lip, and his eyes lost their focus for an instant. ‘If his brilliance extends to the arts of love, he would have eclipsed your memory of the said oath, and made you forget your own name, or mine.’ He chuckled. ‘I would have had to send a search party.’

When I remained silent, he sighed.

‘You are right keeping your secret, Erestor. Whoever it is, I should know, but I trained you well; you managed to elude my vigilance.’

I was weak with relief.

‘You spied on me?’ I queried at length, ruffled.

‘We were in a realm that sat on the other side of a negotiating table; you were privy to all of Lindon’s secrets on the matter. Of course I spied on you. It was my duty, and I was annoyed at my failure.’ He smiled fondly as he slapped me on the back. ‘But you fought relentlessly at my side to protect our precious gold coins from the grasp of those greedy merchants, and did not desert me to enjoy the rich rewards that you would have earned, so I assume you only whispered sweet, tender words into your lover’s ears.’

Recalling my last meeting with Mairon, when whispers had become snarls, and sweet and tender words had turned into bitter and hurtful accusations, I felt like screaming. Elrond had hit too close to the mark while being so far from the truth. I gritted my teeth and took a slow, calming breath before answering him.

‘Indeed, my lord. All but songs and poems, they are not my style.’ I smiled back. ‘Nevertheless, I shall assume you will be reading my letters to Ost-in-Edhil from now on.’

‘Oh Erestor, where is your trust in your lord?’ He rolled his eyes dramatically.

I wrote to Celebrimbor, thinking him for his generous hospitality during the months of our stay. And I penned a polite letter to Mairon, in which I reiterated my pleasure at meeting him, gave a brief summary of our uneventful journey and wished him success in his projects.

‘I sorely regretted not being able to speak my farewell to you, Artano. I wish I could have accompanied you in your journeys. Time spent in reflection in the midst of the majestic peaks of the Hithaeglir can bring a man, or a Maia, closer to Eru and to the beauty of His creations. Faced with the sight of the wide lands spread all the way to where they embrace the sky, it is no hardship to realise that we are indeed little in the grand design of Arda, and our individual desires and daily strife seem unimportant in comparison. I wonder if this is how you, one of the Ainur tasked to guard her, feel when you explore her great wilderness? But I have digressed into pompous matters.

I heartily appreciated your willingness to share your memories of bygone ages and hope to see you again in the near future, even if our reunion must regretfully be outside Lindon. I spoke on your behalf before my king, but it is not my place to question his decision.

The last few lines were for the benefit of Elrond, in case he did indeed pry into my correspondence; I did not doubt he would immediately guess the oblique meaning intended for Mairon, too. I smirked at the thought of sending him on a merry chase.

Finally, I would be most grateful if you were to give my regards to our mutual friend from the Jewellers’ Guild. Would you be kind enough to relay a message from me? I am eager to hear whether he is willing to accept my modest commission in the terms we discussed; unfortunately I departed without agreeing a price and finalising arrangements.’

Mairon replied, only a few weeks later. My heart was in my mouth as I beheld his familiar handwriting and tore the seal broken.

‘My esteemed Erestor,’ he started. After general news, he continued like this:

‘My mountain retreats always bring me a deep sense of peace and contentment and this time has been no exception. Like you, I am awed by the great wonder that is Eä, while saddened by the marring wrought on the fairness of Endórë that lies desolate and dark, all but forsaken by the Valar. Alas, for neither Gil-galad nor Elrond will aid me in my labours despite their might and wisdom! But these petty matters of politics are trivia, without the power to affect me.

I am faced with a great challenge, the greatest yet in my long existence, and my heart tells me I shall find the answers I need here in Ost-in-Edhil, with the Mírdain. Mastering the curwë to tap into the energies that I have only begun to discover will demand time and patience, but the reward will amply repay all my efforts. Maybe then your King will perceive the value of what I offer freely to those who love Endórë and would remain here as lords, and not as a fading memory of more glorious times.

Having followed up your enquiry, I am afraid that my gem cutter colleague has decided to reject your commission after your failure to meet the terms of your previous agreement. I recommend that you seriously reconsider your position in the matter if you wish for a satisfactory outcome.

May Eru hold you safe.

Your humble servant,

Artano Aulendil’

Cradling the letter that his hands had held not long ago, I was hit by a cold wave of dismay that brought tears to my eyes, and spurred by an urge to jump on a horse and gallop to Ost-in-Edhil as fast as the wind. I wished to repair the damage wrought by my unwise words at our angry parting, before bitterness, grown cankerous with time, sundered us for good. But I feared to surrender reason to desire.

I was racked by regret, tormented by doubt. Had I made the right decision, yielding to the threats of the Valar when they had given no sign of having discovered our encounter? Had I destroyed our chance of happiness on a whim built on unfounded fears?

 

Years glided by but I barely noticed the passing of the seasons, forever busy at Elrond’s side in the service of the realm. News from Ost-in-Edhil was frequent although Mairon rarely answered my missives and, whenever he did, he skirted any hint of our past relationship. Celebrimbor wrote to us often to share his achievements or to disapprove of Lady Galadriel’s regular stays in Lórinand. We all rejoiced and sent gifts at the birth of her daughter, Celebrían. Mine was a rather noisy rattle I made from carved seashells and mother of pearl.

Over a yén had passed when the increasing rumours of disagreements between the Lord and Lady of Eregion and the ambitious Gwaith-i-Mírdain escalated into a tumultuous crisis that resulted in Celebrimbor seizing power, backed by the Mírdain, fortunately without resorting to violence, while Galadriel removed to Lórinand with Amroth and Celebrían[1]. A survivor of the Helcaraxë and the wars in Beleriand, she would have fought her adversaries ferociously and never given ground, had the safety of her children not overruled her pride. Celeborn stayed behind in a vain attempt to wield his tempering influence, but also because he would not cross the threshold of Khazad-dûm.

Elrond saw in these events the sad confirmation of Annatar’s pernicious influence and the proof of his misgivings. Gil-galad wrote to Celebrimbor, pleading him to stand down or, at least, to disregard perilous advice but the new Lord of Eregion bluntly advised his cousin and former king to mind his own business. Mairon’s replies at my anxious questioning were soothing but vague; however, he categorically denied my lord’s outspoken accusation of having stoked Celebrimbor’s rebellious desire to become his own master.

Torn by misgivings, I fought to disregard the inner voice that warned me of the danger of leaving Mairon unwatched. Once he had been ambitious, cunning and sly, as well as ruthless. He still was. But his involvement in the background of a bloodless struggle for power was a far call from reverting to his old evil ways, so I saw no reason to disclose his identity. I was nevertheless dismayed, and every time a messenger from Eregion arrived, my heart thudded painfully in my chest, dreading more dire news.

More years passed, and my unease slowly faded as Eregion thrived, and the smiths of the Mírdain reached skills unsurpassed by the Children since the days before the Darkening. Celebrimbor hinted at a new project, the most ambitious and secret yet, culmination of yéni of toil under Annatar’s tuition. Mairon seemed equally thrilled despite his usual coldness in the brief notes he sometimes included within Celebrimbor’s letters.

One day, almost at the close of the sixteenth century of the Second Age of Arda, as Time was measured in these lands, Mairon wrote me a cryptic note, using Tengwar to transcribe the tongue of Kiinlúum to avoid prying eyes:

‘My job is done in Eregion, friend, our dream almost within my grasp. I shall summon you.’

I fretted about its meaning, beyond his infuriatingly familiar arrogance, wishing for answers to a myriad of questions. He called me friend, a word he had not used in any of his previous messages. Did that mean that in his joy he was willing to forgive me?

Several weeks later Celebrimbor confirmed that Annatar had indeed made his farewells and left Eregion. Elrond and Gil-galad almost cheered with relief at this news, but I felt as though the ground had sunk under my feet.

I waited, blindly, desperately clinging to my trust.

 

 

---

[1] I am following the version of events described in “Concerning Galadriel and Celeborn” in Unfinished Tales, which includes both Celebrimbor’s rebellion and Galadriel’s subsequent departure to Lórien with Amroth and Celebrían. Christopher Tolkien tells us that this version was written after The Lord of the Rings.

Fall

Eönwë receives a message from Mairon, and Gil-galad from Celebrimbor.

Read Fall

 

30. Fall

 

Lindon, Year 1606 of the Second Age of Arda

On a dark evening of the new moon I lay in bed, gazing at the stars through the open window and reminiscing mournfully of past nights spent with Mairon. I wondered for the thousandth time how far he had travelled and how much longer he needed to achieve what he sought. Over two thirds of a yén had elapsed since his disappearance but the summons he had promised me so dramatically had never arrived.

I had begun to doze off when a jolt of thrilled triumph overcame me, a wave of pure joy that seemed to burst from within as bright as a sun, and yet it was not my own. Grasping the mithril cuff, I found it warm, thrumming deeply at the very edge of my senses.

‘Mairon!’ I cried aloud, wide awake now, and held my breath waiting for his answer.

But it never came. Instead I felt another presence, weak, distant and vaguely familiar, and the joy dissolved into rage before the contact faded. This was none of Irmo’s visions that had once haunted me, but a taste of Mairon’s own feelings through our unlikely link.

However often I replayed the episode in my mind, I had no way of guessing what might have happened to make Mairon madly happy, then angry with someone whom I could not identify. If this brief contact carried a message for me, it was too cryptic to decipher.

My frustration soared to anxiety, but I had nowhere to go to find the answers I so desired.

 

A handful of weeks later, a messenger from Eregion galloped all the way to the West Gate, arriving just after midday, and causing a stir amongst the crowd. When the soldiers asked him to dismount, he almost fainted and fell from the saddle; he was unable to stand unaided. His horse was blown, drenched in sweat, with legs trembling from fatigue. The rider was offered water and invited to rest but he refused, demanding instead to see Gil-galad on a matter of life and death.

He had travelled the three hundred leagues from Ost-in-Edhil in twelve days.[1]

Elrond and I were summoned to the Great Hall and stood at the King’s side when the bedraggled man sank to his knees before the dais. One of the guards flanking him described the manner of his arrival.

‘What brings you to Lindon in such haste?’ said the King.

‘My lord Gil-galad,’ the messenger said, swaying visibly, ‘may I speak to you privately?’

‘Whatever the Lord of Eregion wishes me to know so urgently, I shall hear it in front of my councillors,’ replied the King coldly, but he dismissed the soldiers.

When only Elrond and I remained, the messenger retrieved a wooden box from a pocket inside his tunic and presented it to Gil-galad. The King turned it in his hands, pressing and poking with his fingers at opposing corners and at several points along a simple carved frieze adorning its sides; it seemed to have no opening.

I had seen an identical copy, usually on Elrond’s desk or on one of his many shelves, and knew it hid a secret compartment. When the King finally pushed all the right spots, a lid sprang up. Inside he found a small leather pouch and a sealed message, which he read before passing it to Elrond who, in turn, showed it to me. The note was brief, hastily written.

My dear cousin,

These are Narya and Vilya, the Rings of Fire and Air. Do not be deceived by their simple appearance; they are wondrous devices of great power. Those who have them in their keeping are able to ward off the decays of time and postpone the weariness of the world.

I now entrust them to your protection. Annatar has betrayed us, forging a master Ring that rules all others to impose his dominion over their bearers. Though he has ever claimed to share our purpose to see the marring of Ennor repaired, we never suspected he would impose such unwelcome mastery. Fortunately, I perceived his deceit the moment his Ring was made, when mine succumbed to its greater might.

I sought Galadriel in Lórinand, expecting scorn and recrimination for my past treason, but she was graceful, and most wary about these circumstances. However, we both failed to find the strength to destroy the rings, for they are infused with the strength of Arda and with the essence of her precious beauty, which must be preserved at all costs. Therefore, Galadriel’s counsel is that these rings must be dispersed and hidden from Annatar.

Galadriel also advises caution and vigilance until we discover his true designs. You were right, cousin, and I was blind. Let us hope secrecy becomes our ally now.

Yours,

Celebrimbor

The sapphire and the ruby blazed on Gil-galad’s palm, before he dropped the rings back into the pouch as though they burnt his skin.

‘Take them back,’ he commanded, locking them inside the box and all but thrusting it into the messenger’s hands. ‘If these are Annatar’s, I would rather they go into someone else’s keeping.’

‘My lord said you would be reluctant to accept them, my lord King,’ cried the man, refusing to take the box, ‘and asked me to reassure you. He alone conceived and crafted these rings, they were never touched by Annatar. I have been ordered to remain here at your service. Except for my lord, none in Eregion know they are here, and this secret must be kept at all costs.’[2]

My heart sped into a gallop as this scene played before my eyes. Now I was certain it was about to stop beating and I fought the wave of dizzy despair that threatened to overcome me. My strange dream had become clear; as I already knew, it was no dream at all. I had glimpsed deep into Mairon’s triumph at his achievement in creating a mechanism to rule over those we were meant to guard in Endórë, and into his anger when he realised Celebrimbor had perceived his trickery.

I had to persuade him to abandon his plan. Melkor had already lured him from power into evil once; now Mairon was treading down a most perilous path that could lead us all to ruin.

Gil-galad opened the box again and picked up Vilya. For a while he looked at it intently, and traced his fingers around its outer circle, delicately, almost lovingly. ‘It is indeed a thing of beauty,’ he murmured.

Before we could stop him he slipped it onto his index finger.

‘Take it off!’ I cried.

‘It is fine.’ He tilted his head, as though listening. Then he frowned. ‘I feel…’ He gasped, and his eyes rolled, unseeing. Then he cried out, ‘I am not he! I am…’

Elrond seized his hand, prising Vilya off his finger. The ring fell to the floor with a musical clatter.

Gil-galad brushed his hand over his brow. ‘I am well.’ He smiled weakly. ‘He was surprised. Annatar. He expected Celebrimbor, and commanded me to tell him who I was. He did not know me.’

Elrond and I both sighed with relief.

We all stared at the seemingly harmless ring glittering on the stone floor. I shivered.

In that eerie quiet, Vilya began to glow, while the mithril band about my wrist became uncomfortably hot and pulsed, as if alive, with a suffocating surge of angry pride. A faint rumble grew to a slow crescendo of harsh words spoken in an alien tongue. The terrifying crackle that wrapped every syllable of the spell made my hair stood on end. Without understanding, I sensed the meaning behind the repulsive verses that thundered on, making the ground shake as if the very foundations of Endórë were crumbling away.

‘One Ring to rule them all,

One Ring to find them,

One Ring to bring them all

and in the darkness bind them.’

The compelling might of the vile incantation, a Song of Power vibrating wildly within the interstices that shape the matter of the world, drove me to my knees with my temples bursting and my heart thudding in terror under the onslaught.

Guilt leapt high to consume me in a flash of revelation. How had I ever been so blind as to believe that Mairon had meekly accepted my departure? I had all but pushed him down this road of hatred.

I howled with rage and a pain so intense that I thought Mairon might have reached into my chest and wrenched my heart out with his bare hands.

Some time later, I became conscious of lying prone on the floor, covered in cold sweat. Elrond was calling my borrowed name, his hand on my shoulder. I sobbed like a child who has been shaken awake from a nightmare.

Or like a banished Maia who has walked in the desert chasing a mirage, an enticing promise of cool water and shade under luscious trees, and instead he has found the dry white bones of his dead lover in a sea of barren sand.

 

~o~

 

Eregion, Year 1697 of the Second Age of Arda

A clamour of dismay rose outside the tent that served as our headquarters and doubled up as cramped accommodation for our lord and commander.

Elrond and I stopped poring over maps and troop positions as one of the sentries poked his head through the tent opening to announce the arrival of the scouts.

‘Let them in!’ commanded Elrond.

Two soldiers entered and saluted, hand on their chests.  Their uniforms were stiff with dry mud, and they were swaying from weariness.

‘Gorthaur has entered the city, my lord!’ one of the two soldiers exclaimed. ‘The gates have been torn off their hinges, and vast clouds of black smoke are rising from several points within the walls.’

I almost dropped the book detailing our troop deployment. Elrond listened to the full report, asked a few questions and dismissed the soldiers, ordering one of the sentries to find them hot food and pallets or at least blankets to sleep on.

‘What of Celebrimbor?’ I cried, when we were alone again. ‘Surely Sauron would not dare...’

‘Torture him?’ interrupted Elrond sharply. ‘He definitely will.’

‘But they are... were friends!’ I protested. And yet I feared Elrond was correct. ‘What can we do?’

‘Nothing, Erestor. We are powerless against his army,’ he snarled, before peering at me questioningly. ‘You have something in mind.’

‘My lord, I... surely we cannot abandon those trapped in the city to torment and slavery. Maybe I can... I would parley with Sauron, Elrond.’

‘Celeborn has already offered to act as our herald. He knows Gorthaur, as much as any man can, after contending with him for many years.’ He paused. ‘Annatar will not listen to you, Erestor, not even if you were once lovers.’

I paused, dismayed. ‘How long have you known?’

‘From the beginning, I guessed it might be Annatar, for who else could so swiftly erase from your memory the shadow of your beloved?’

His logic was flawed, even though he had arrived at the right conclusion, but I was not about to disclose the truth. I had decided long ago that silence and absolute loyalty were the only way to redress a small part of the ills caused by my negligence. Wallowing in regret was not an option, when I had once vowed before Námo that I would fight Mairon with all my strength if he ever became a foe.

‘The day Sauron revealed himself to us I knew for certain,’ continued Elrond. ‘Your grief was too great, even for a betrayal of such magnitude, and too personal. Besides, you are good at schooling your features but I glimpse a pang of guilt written on your face every time Sauron is mentioned.’

‘I should have realised he meant to deceive us,’ I cried, feeling miserable.

‘Why should you, when no one else did? At least you have the excuse of being blinded by your affection.’

I remembered Mairon had once said to me: ‘Love is a dangerous emotion, as well as fickle and selfish. While it lasts it makes us blind and vulnerable. And when it fades, we are left cold and broken.’ Oh, Eru, how achingly true! I dropped my head, ashamed.

‘Listen well, Erestor. Gil-galad and I witnessed your despair when Annatar spoke his true identity and unveiled the One Ring; we are both in agreement that you have remained faithful to your oath of fealty. Otherwise you would not be here now; we would have chained you inside the hold of a ship bound for Valinor.’

‘I am grateful for your trust,’ I murmured. ‘Again.’

‘You have earned it,’ he replied. ‘And now I ask you to trust me. I will send a herald to Sauron, to claim Celebrimbor’s freedom. No, not you and not Celeborn.’

He smiled sadly at my scowl.

‘I doubt there will be a happy ending, Erestor.’

‘I know.’ I dared not look at him. Instead I paced to the corner of the tent, where his narrow cot was tucked away, almost invisible under the assortment of armour and horse tack scattered upon in. I picked up a harness and inspected it. ‘I’ll have this repaired, Elrond; one of the straps is cracking. With your leave.’

I made to push the tent flap open, but stopped at the sound of Elrond’s voice.

‘One more thing. Have we had news about the new troops from Lindon?’ he asked.

‘Not yet. No sign of their riders either.’

‘Ereinion warned me about a possible late arrival; he sounded both smug and mysterious in his last message. Maybe he is planning to surprise us with a couple of carts bringing those damned winter supplies I requested months ago. Or maybe...’ He frowned. ‘I recall he also mentioned that someone would be joining us. He did not say who it was.’

‘Eregion has been razed to the ground by Sauron’s army. We are vastly outnumbered and ill-equipped after warring for two years and Gil-galad sends us a visitor to get in our way?’ I shook my head.

‘My thoughts, exactly. Maybe you can take care of him when he arrives.’

His lips quirked. I was glad he could still find something to jest about.

 

Honouring the ancient code that guaranteed the safe passage of heralds, Sauron allowed Elrond’s messenger to return to our host unscathed. The envoy had not been permitted to approach the city but had waited interminable hours for a reply at an enemy outpost, almost a league away from the gates.

Sauron did not waste words:

‘I will release him as soon as the Three Rings are in my hands. Make haste, if you want him alive. Annatar.’

We would never yield the rings. They were not even nearby, assuming Gil-galad had kept his two in Lindon and the third one was in Lórinand, as I suspected.

There was only one thing I could do.

 

~ o ~

 

The footsteps were almost silent behind me. I also heard an arrow shaft slide across a bow being drawn and froze. even before the warning was spoken.

‘Halt!’

Lifting my hands slowly, I cursed under my breath. I had believed myself to be clear from our outer perimeter sentries, but seemed to have miscalculated, unless... ‘Damn you, Elrond,’ I muttered. ‘Of course you guessed.’

The leather of the glove worn by the archer at my back creaked slightly as he held the draw. I wondered whether speaking would startle him into releasing the arrow, despite all training. I kept quiet.

‘Turn round. Very slowly.’

I did, and sighed in relief at the sight of Laergil, no longer a youth whose limbs had grown too long too quickly to be graceful, but a man and a warrior. Before the call to arms prompted him to enlist and follow our lord, he had become a most skilled carpenter and woodturner, maybe as a result of the wreck of splinters and the ruined door he helped me unhinge that night long ago. I fondly watched him court and wed a Falathren girl, and had crafted naming-day gifts for his two daughters.

Now he was a grim veteran of several battles. I had recently endorsed his promotion to patrol leader, though I sorely regretted his zeal at this moment, as I watched a long steel bodkin aimed at my heart.

His icy eyes thawed in surprised recognition. ‘Sir! Are you out of your wits?’ he cried, lowering the bow while easing his pull on the string. I breathed out.

‘Well met, Laergil. I have all my wits about me, even though you may not agree.’

He chuckled softly. ‘Attempting to steal through our watch does not speak of sanity. Was this a trial of some sort, sir? Did I pass?’

‘It was no trial. I wished to leave the camp undetected, but I have failed.’

He peered at me in silence, as though attempting to guess my reasons. He would not interrogate me; I outranked him, after all. He stared at my stolen herald tunic and at the bag slung over my shoulder, in which I carried some food for the trip that I hoped would take less than a full day.

‘My duty is to stop you, sir. We have been given strict orders not to let anyone...’

‘I know,’ I grunted. ‘And yet I must go.’

He hesitated. For a long time I had basked in his youthful hero worship; now I guessed his obedience vied against his instinct to trust me.

‘May I accompany you, wherever it is you need to go in stealth?’

I shook my head.

‘You would not come back, Laergil. And my task will be easier on my own. But I am grateful for your offer.’ I stared back at him, letting him decide.

His smile was pained as he nodded. Then he turned round, until his back was to me. ‘Keep safe, Erestor!’

‘Farewell, Laergil. You too.’

I slid past him and strode away without looking back. I almost wished he had detained me.

 

~ o ~

 

Less than a league away from the city walls I spotted the enemy lookout under a row of black and red banners flapping in the gusty wind. After finding a hiding place for my chain mail shirt, sword and knives, I strode to meet the sentries. An alarm was raised and bows were trained upon me, so I stayed still as stone until two soldiers stepped forward and grasped me by the arms in a bone-crunching grip.

‘I come as a messenger to your Lord,’ I said calmly. ‘Take me to him. I will parley with no other.’

The men spoke in a tongue I recognised as that of Southern Khand, so I repeated my words in their language. Nervously, they called their commander, who had me searched for weapons. Seeing also that I wore no armour, as was the custom of heralds and messengers, he gave orders to have me escorted to the gates, or what was left of them.

On the path I saw a toy soldier with a broken head, half trodden into the mud, then a carved hand mirror, its glass shattered, trampled books with pages ripped out, and many other ruined household objects, dropped by families fleeing the invaders. As far as I could see, fields were burnt, orchards felled, and, Oh Eru, hundreds of bloodied bodies that death had twisted into grotesque positions had been left to rot in the ditches on both sides of the road. I stared at an outstretched arm, its blackened hand clawing against an invisible attacker. A face frozen in a bare-toothed grimace of pain yanked me back to the memory of my first night in the city, to the nervous page who had delivered Mairon’s fruit to my room. The stench of decay mixed with that of charred flesh made me stop and retch uncontrollably, half blinded by tears. A prod with the butt of a spear pole on my shoulder and a barked command made me match the soldiers’ brisk pace.

They handed me over to the garrison in charge of the gates, composed of people from Harad. This time I did not volunteer that I could understand them. Keeping my eyes low to avoid confrontation, I listened to their arguments about who would escort me further into the city. Apparently, generous rewards were sometimes earned through the capture of valuable prisoners, but the soldiers debated whether a messenger would fetch a good prize.

Finally, they agreed to split any winnings and returned their attention to me. I sighed at the  blindfold and did not resist when they tied my hands in front of me. Once the strip of dark cloth was secured over my eyes, a harsh tug at the end of the rope was the signal to begin walking. My frequent stumbles were met with glee, and whenever I fell on my knees and elbows, a chorus of raucous laughter rang all around. I gritted my teeth and remained compliant and silent, ignoring their crude provocation. I had to reach their lord; otherwise my life would end most miserably, and my plan would be foiled.

From the constant uphill direction and the shifts in the way the wind buffeted my face, I was able to guess we were heading, predictably, towards the House of the Mírdain, close to the Domed Hall.

When we started to climb some wide stairs, smooth like marble under my feet, the guards at my sides took hold of my elbows to keep me from falling.

Once inside the building I was led down the ample central hall, the only room a visitor like me had been permitted to enter in the past. The bruising clutches of the guards saved me from tripping over debris, and broken pottery or glass crunched loudly as we crossed the chamber, that reeked of burnt wood and old ashes. Sightless, I counted my steps, estimating how many we would take before reaching the huge set of double doors that I recalled at the far end. Those magnificent doors, made of holly wood inlaid with gold and mithril, used to bar the entrance to all but those initiated into the brotherhood.

Several steps short of my guess, we stopped at the command of a gruff voice that, after hearing the tale of my arrival, allowed us to walk on. Soon I heard a door open to our left and I was shoved through it so unceremoniously that again I was thrown almost flat on my face onto the polished floor. I pushed up with my tied hands in an attempt to regain my feet, anxious to recover my sight.

Then I heard a very familiar voice. ‘Let him see.’

Trembling hands unknotted the cloth, which fell from my face.

It was him. No longer Mairon, or Annatar, but Sauron Ñorthus, Gorthaur in the tongue of the Sindalië.

He stood, clad in black armour wrought of scales like those of a lizard or serpent, arranged in swirling, overlapping bands that tightly fitted his body. I did not doubt it would stay any weapon wielded by the Children. On the table behind him lay a long curved sword, next to a tall crowned helmet, also black, that would cover most of his face when worn. Now, however, his head was bare, hair braided back and strangely devoid of ornaments. On the index finger of his right hand shone a plain band of golden metal.

Setting my jaw, I stood tall, struggling to swallow the knot of pain and rage that constricted my throat.

‘I wondered when you would finally come, Herald,’ Sauron said. His voice still rang like bells.

When I looked into his eyes I shivered. They were cold, with a spark of amused malice. ‘Leave us. All of you!’ he commanded.

The officer who had dragged me from the city walls hesitated, surely fearing to return to his fellows empty-handed. ‘My lord, the prisoner…’

‘He is not a prisoner but a herald, or so you said he claims to be. And he cannot harm me,’ he spat. ‘Out.’

‘It is not your safety he cares for, but his reward for my worth,’ I sneered, when my escort gave a reluctant step backwards.

‘Is that so?’ said Sauron softly, and the soldier nodded, hopeful. ‘Then of course I shall grant it.’

Faster than lightning, he grabbed the hilt of the sword behind him and, swinging round, he thrust the weapon forward and pulled it back with such speed that only when the soldier’s body crumpled to the ground an instant later did I realise that his heart had been pierced. With a snarl, I lunged towards Mairon, but the tip of the blade under my chin stopped me.

‘I said, get out!’ he hissed to his minions.

Immediately, they bowed low, picked up their comrade’s corpse and scuttled hastily out of the room, closing the door softly behind them. A splash of blood on the marble mosaic floor was all that remained to prove that the brutal scene had been real.

‘What have you done?’ I cried.

‘He asked for his reward; he received exactly what he deserved.’ His eyes smouldered with anger. ‘I can see the dust on your clothes from your falls. And I have eyes abroad. He had no right to mistreat you.’

Without shifting his gaze from mine, he lowered the sword until it rested between my arms, still bound. With a flick of his wrist, the rope fell off, cut by the razor-like blade, still bloodied.

‘That man did not deserve to die, but that is not what I meant,’ I replied. ‘Why all this, the war, the death and destruction? Why give up all you had to fall again under His shadow?’

‘You think this had anything to do with my allegiance to Melkor?’ He laughed, darkly. ‘Why would I cling to his shadow, Eönwë, now that he is beyond the bounds of the world? Nay, this is my revenge. The price of betrayal by your master in Aman and his brethren. By the Children. And by you.’

 

 

---

 

Notes:

[1] Based on measurements derived from The Lord of the Rings, I have allowed for a fast return trip from Ost-in-Edhil to Lórinand followed by the messenger’s breakneck ride from Eregion to Forlond, crossing the Lhûn at some point north of the Gulf, then riding southwards for the last leg of the journey.

[2] For the purpose of fitting my own events with those described by Tolkien, there had to be a few days’ gap between the discovery by Celebrimbor of the existence (and the associated threat) of the One Ring and the moment when Sauron realised he would not fool the elves and, in wrath, revealed his true identity and invoked the final piece of sorcery to complete the binding of the Elven rings.

The Silmarillion narrates the events surrounding the discovery of the One Ring very briefly; they are expanded in the later version contained in Unfinished Tales. For reference, I have reconstructed the chronology from the available canon sources (all italics are direct quotes from the cited books):

- c. 1590 The Three Rings are completed in Eregion. (“The Lord of The Rings”, Tale of Years)

- c. 1600 Sauron forges the One Ring in Orodruin. He completes the Barad-dûr. Celebrimbor perceives the designs of Sauron. (“The Lord of The Rings”, Tale of Years) and Secretly Sauron made One Ring to rule all the others. (The Silmarillion)

- As soon as Sauron set the One Ring upon his finger they were aware of him; and they knew him, and perceived that he would be master of them, and of all that they wrought. (The Silmarillion)

In “Unfinished Tales” we are given more details about the events so briefly enumerated in this last paragraph:

Now Celebrimbor was not corrupted in heart or faith, but had accepted Sauron as what he posed to be; and when at length he discovered the existence of the One Ring he revolted against Sauron, and went to Lórinand to take counsel once more with Galadriel.

They should have destroyed all the Rings of Power at this time, "but they failed to find the strength." Galadriel counselled him that the Three Rings of the Elves should be hidden, never used, and dispersed, far from Eregion where Sauron believed them to be. [...] Celebrimbor followed her counsel that the Ring of Air and the Ring of Fire should be sent out of Eregion; and he entrusted them to Gil-galad in Lindon. [...]

When Sauron learned of the repentance and revolt of Celebrimbor his disguise fell and his wrath was revealed; [...]

- Finally, “The Silmarillion” also concludes: Then in anger and fear they took off their rings. But he, finding that he was betrayed and that the Elves were not deceived, was filled with wrath; [...]

 

 

Ñorthus

Sauron shows his Dark Lord’s colours.

This chapter fits several B2MeM 2012 prompts:

Controversial - I22: Fate: Free Will or Preordained?
This Means War! - O67: Sauron vs. Celebrimbor

Read Ñorthus

 

31. Ñorthus [1]

 

I opened my mouth to protest but Mairon silenced me with an imperious gesture. Under his mighty glare, I balled my fists, pressing my fingernails into my palms to contain my anger.

‘Did you think I had forgiven your lord and his kindred for what they did to us in Kiinlúum? I was no longer a concern or a threat to them; you said so yourself! Yet they twisted the minds of their charges to hunt me, turned me into an outlaw and took you away, caring not a whit for the war, the death and the destruction they wrought.’ I bit my lip at his quoting my earlier words. ‘They sent you back as a thrall to the pitiful survivors of the Noldor, with threats to enforce your compliance. Everything I had done to rebuild a realm for us was for nought.’

Picking up a cloth, he cleaned the blade of his sword almost lovingly, peering at its edge with a frown several times, before rubbing a particular spot. At last he placed both sword and rag back on the table behind him.

‘What of the Children?’ I asked. ‘They are not to blame for Manwë’s ruling. Leave them out of our grievance against the Valar!’

‘Ai, Eönwë, their perfidy was no less galling.’ He looked around the room, still unspoiled, pausing to gaze at the objects of beauty that decorated it. ‘I worked for them, abased myself before their bruised pride as Exiles and rebels, shared with them curwë I had toiled for ages of Eä to amass. Yet I was rejected by Gil-galad, scorned by Galadriel, and mistrusted by many, like your lord Elrond. Did I merit no better?’

‘But here, in Eregion, you were respected.’

‘Was I, truly? Celebrimbor called me a friend and was dear to me, but he kept to himself the final spark of inspiration and withheld ideas and projects from me, an undeserved concealment after I had taught him all he knew on the matter. Did he take me for a fool?’ He snorted sharply. ‘Of course I learnt of his deceit. Little did he suspect that I already possessed that final piece of curwë that he hoarded to himself, that I had planned for him to discover it as his own.’

‘As for you...’ He paused, his face unexpectedly contorted by an anguish so raw that it tied my throat into a painful knot. His voice was hoarse, his words halting. ‘You left me. After all your promises, you chose them and betrayed me!’

He was shaking from barely contained rage. Guilt and loss surged in my chest, thick and choking.

‘Leaving you was no betrayal, Mairon. All I ever wanted was you!’

His lips curved upward into a sneer. ‘But not enough to stay.’

‘I was afraid of their wrath,’ I cried. ‘You just recalled what they did to us, and to others. How could I trust them not to strike again? But I trusted you!’

‘I would not have fled into the shadows this time, Eönwë. I had the means to ensure my survival, our survival. I said I would protect you but you chose not to believe me.’ His voice wavered. ‘Was that trust?’

‘How could I guess you had built a fortress and mustered armies in secret while you charmed the Mírdain?’ 

‘They were meant in defence, the sting in the scorpion’s tail,’ he retorted. ‘Had you known about them, would I have persuaded you of my goodwill, when your mind was filled with whispers of suspicion from your worthy lord?’

I clenched my fists, frustrated. Sparring against Mairon with words was ever likely to yield the same outcome as doing it with swords.

‘Whatever you intended in the past, there is no justification for your deeds now, Mairon. Your thirst for revenge has warped your dream of ordering and healing Endórë into a quest for imposing your dominion by force. Creating the Rings to lure the Children under your rule was wrong but you could have given up your ambitions when your ploy was unveiled. Instead you declared yourself and brought war to them. Why?’

‘They refused to aid me, even if they had claimed to share my vision; they renounced the Rings I had patiently taught Celebrimbor to make. The Rings were tools to guide them gently, as we did with every ahaw of Kiinlúum long ago. When the Children turned their backs on me, I was disappointed, nay, enraged at their contempt.’ His gaze lingered on my wrist and I wrapped my fingers around the shackle. He raised his hand and studied the Ring. ‘You must have felt my joy when I completed my task; I wished for you to share my triumph.’

‘I felt you, yes, though I did not understand what I sensed.’

‘You sensed the fulfilment of a dream, patiently built into a tangible reality. By right, we should be lords on these shores that Manwë and his kin have forsaken, Eönwë!’

‘We were appointed as guardians, not rulers. The Valar may have failed by omission but that does not justify you becoming a tyrant. Step back from this path of ruin!’

‘Is that why Elrond sent you? To sway me?’

‘He guessed that we were lovers in Eregion, but he did not command me in this. I claimed to be Elrond’s herald so as to be brought to you. I am not.’

‘That is obvious. It is unwise to insult or argue with the enemy for whom you bear a message.’

I smiled faintly and met his gaze. In his eyes I found a chink of fondness that made me breathless, as though I, too, had been stabbed by his sword. I blinked quickly, to clear my sight.

‘So you are a deserter.’

I flinched.

‘I am not here to join your ranks, Mairon. I have come to beg you for the life of Celebrimbor. Cease this evil before it drags you to the same fate as Melkor.’

‘Do not dare compare me to him!’ he snarled.

Unexpectedly, he reached out and touched the back of his hand to my cheek. I froze, willing myself not to withdraw from the caress, even though I struggled to endure the Ring’s disturbing wave of distortion. Despite my efforts, he must have felt my tension, and frowned.

‘So why should I do as you ask? Eregion is mine. You might be Gil-galad’s spy, hoping to slay me in an unguarded moment.’ He ran his fingers down the back of my neck. I shivered; he could snap my spine as easily as a twig. My heart was racing and my body trembling as if it had been only yesterday that we had last lain together.

In his firm touch, in the slight movement of his fingers over my hair, and down towards my shoulder there was a hint of tenderness, a glimpse of the spell that once had bound us. I wished that we were back in Kiinlúum, that all that had happened since that unhappy day when the arrow had struck me had been a bad dream. With a pang, I realised that under the horror and disgust at Mairon’s deeds, my feelings for him were still as strong as they had ever been. Coming to see him only to fall prey to his lure had been folly.

‘What are you bartering, Eönwë?’

‘I have nothing to offer, except...’ I bit my bottom lip. ‘If you need a hostage I will take his place.’

He laughed. ‘Very noble of you, and a most tempting offer, even though the loss of a deserter may be seen as a blessing in your camp. But Celebrimbor has something you cannot give me, for once.’

I well knew the secret he coveted, but I feigned indignation to mask my lie. ‘Surely you have already plundered the treasures of the Mírdain. What else can there be?’

He peered at me intently.

‘I wonder what game you are playing. Can it be that you are truly in the dark about this matter?’

‘What matter?’ I remembered when failure to playact convincingly triggered both his wrath and my misery. Far more was at stake now. ‘Ever since Elrond learnt I was besotted, he has kept his counsel about anything that concerns you. When he finds me gone, no doubt he will be glad of his discretion.’

Mairon shrugged.

‘Celebrimbor will scream out his secret, sooner or later.’ He pressed his lips together and his brow furrowed. ‘Sooner, if he sees wisdom before he loses his sanity. Or his limbs.’

‘Mairon, no! How can you...’ My gorge rose; I bent over, with a hand to my mouth. When I recovered, Mairon was watching, impassive.

‘Once he was a friend, but he is my enemy now. I gave him a choice but he refused it, most regrettably.’ His eyes glittered, hard as adamant. ‘Your arrival has delayed my afternoon visit. I should be annoyed but, in fact, I am hopeful that your presence and encouragement today will make him more garrulous.’

I cringed in horror.

‘You cannot make me... no, I cannot betray him... I will not play a part in such atrocity!’ I cried, taking a step backwards.

‘You have no choice, if you wish him to stop longing that his next heartbeat be his last.’

Stricken, I glared at him in outrage. He stared back, shook his head and called the guards.

The soldiers entered at a trot and stood at attention. Mairon gave his lieutenant orders in a language I could not understand, but which sounded like the harsh incantation he had spoken when he revealed himself.

This officer had a natural air of authority that made me wonder if he could be nobility, maybe even a prince in his own lands. His bow to Mairon was shallow, and there was no servile demeanour when he answered a question. He wore a magnificent diamond brooch on his cloak, and a long knife at his waist that looked Noldorin in design; the hilt was made of white horn inlaid with curling bands of gold, and matched the sword at his hip. Part of his share of the booty, I thought with bitterness.

I did not fail to notice a plain golden ring on the man’s finger as he snapped manacles around my wrists. Because of the mithril shackle, the band dug into my flesh in a most painful manner. He checked the restraints with thorough efficiency before handing the small key to his lord. Mairon accepted it with an air of benevolent regret.

‘Surely you must understand why I do not trust you, Eönwë,’ he said.

I did not bother to reply.

Satisfied, Mairon led the way. As he passed, I sensed the low humming of a protective shield. Cursing silently, I followed him, flanked by four soldiers, and their officer walked behind us, sword at the ready.

This time I was not blindfolded. The rooms around Mairon’s quarters were intact, but a few corridors beyond the signs of pillage and mindless destruction were everywhere. Shattered and mangled masterpieces, trodden and torn tapestries, rubble and dirt strewn on the once pristine marble floors made me fear for the fate of the members of the Mírdain. I hoped they had not placed more worth on their treasured works than on their own lives.

We reached a wide courtyard lined on two opposite sides by at least a dozen buildings, workshops and forges. The far end was blocked by a stone wall with an ironbound double gate, seemingly an exit onto a back alley. The open space in the centre swarmed with soldiers of many origins gathered around fire pits. Two carts were being loaded with pieces of armour and weapons of all kinds. The troops hailed a salute and bowed when they noticed the presence of their lord.

In a dark corner I espied a makeshift cage inside which a score of naked prisoners, both men and women, huddled together for warmth. I could not recognise any of the begrimed faces that turned in our direction. Fury threatened to overwhelm me at the sight of the captives; I took a deep breath and looked away. We were heading towards one of the larger foundries but before we reached the wide doors, a tall man strode out and gave his obeisance.

‘Ren, what can you report?’ Mairon said.

‘Nothing yet, my Lord,’ answered the man, rising from his bow. From the sober style of his maroon tunic I guessed he came from Khand. His eyes were dark but within them danced a bright, mad fire, which I had only seen before in the fanatic warriors who had killed me in Kiinlúum.

‘Have my instructions been followed?’ asked Mairon.

‘Yes, my Lord. With the utmost precision. The instruments are ready. The prisoner’s will is wavering now that he understands what he is about to lose next. We may get answers soon.’

‘Very well.’

Mairon approached me and wrapped his arm over my shoulders in what in other circumstances would have been a friendly gesture.

‘You will do exactly as I tell you, if you wish to see him free. You shall not speak unless I ask you to, or you will both pay dearly. Whatever you see, whatever happens. Understood?’

‘Yes,’ I said through gritted teeth.

As we crossed the threshold, the stench hit me like a hammer. The thick fumes of the forge fires were blended with the tang of blazing metal, overpowered by the acridness of burned flesh and the sharp miasmas of urine and faeces. In the dim light I failed to realise what the shapes and shadows meant, at first believing I was standing before a pair of thick poles joined into a saltire.

One of Ren’s servants used an iron rod to stoke the fire, and its amber glare revealed the truth. I gagged, and my knees almost gave under my weight. Mairon’s hand tightened like a vice on my arm to both support and warn me.

Celebrimbor was suspended, spread-eagled and naked, from a heavy wooden frame. His skin was an ugly landscape of cuts, welts and burns painted in dark, ragged streaks; his head hung over his chest, face obscured by loose strands of sweaty, tangled hair. He was taking short, shallow breaths, sobbing occasionally. All his fingers had been broken, his nails pulled out and on his left hand three blackened stumps, seared by coarse cautery, ended where the first joints should have been.

The cruelty of the torment brought tears to my eyes.  

Nothing had prepared me to meet the stark reality of one of Irmo’s visions. Doubts fluttered wildly across my mind; was this the proof of immutable fate or was the gift of choice before me?

As if sensing our presence, Celebrimbor lifted his weary head. I swallowed a lump of pity when his gaze, feverish and pained, flitted across my face without any hint of recognition, before moving back to my companion.

‘Kill me, Gorthaur,’ he murmured weakly, ‘for I will tell you nothing.’

Having gauged where everyone stood, I pushed Mairon away as though to avoid his repulsive touch.

‘How can you stoop to this abomination, Ñorthus?’ I roared.

He backhanded me and I stumbled sideways, crashing awkwardly against his lieutenant. Before the man could react, I snatched the ornate knife from his belt and leapt towards Celebrimbor. Without time to whisper a prayer or ask for his forgiveness, I plunged the blade through his heart.

Several pairs of hands yanked me off him amongst a din of insults, curses and blows, but they were too late, as was Mairon’s thunder of sorcery that sent stabbing bolts of pain all through my body. Celebrimbor gave me a weak nod before he exhaled for the last time and death glazed the look of relief in his eyes.

I smiled in triumph; my crude plan had worked, against all odds. The last scion of Fëanáro was free from torment and his Rings were safe, for the moment.

Sauron’s minions forced me to kneel before their lord. His lieutenant pushed his knife, still wet with Celebrimbor’s blood, against my throat. I felt the sting of a shallow cut and a warm trickle sliding down my neck but I no longer cared if he pushed the blade deeper and sent me to Mandos. Nothing tied me to Endórë any more.

‘Shall I slay him, my lord?’

‘You useless dog!’ cried Sauron, wrathful. ‘The secret is lost! Did I not command you to watch him at all times?’

From my kneeling position I struggled to see what happened next, but the pressure on my neck slackened until the blade fell to the floor. Immediately I looked up to see Mairon touch his servant’s head and I heard the loud crackle of lethal power, before the body fell limply to the ground.

‘Watch the price of failure, all of you!’ warned Mairon.

Several of the men shifted their feet, unnerved. Then he crouched by the corpse at my side and prised the golden ring off the right hand.

‘Ren, this is yours now,’ he said, flicking the ring in the torturer’s direction. ‘I will give you new instructions shortly.’

The man from Khand cradled the plain gold band in his palm and smiled, first tentatively with incredulous wonder, then widely with pure joy. He threw himself at Mairon’s feet and kissed his hand.

‘Thank you, my Lord! I shall prove I am worthy of your precious gift,’ he vowed, before pushing the ring onto his finger and closing his fist possessively.

‘Rise, Ren,’ answered Mairon. ‘You are indeed most worthy of my trust.’ His gaze turned to me, laden with chilling contempt. ‘Unlike others who take pleasure in betraying me at every opportunity. Where are the Rings?’

‘I do not know,’ I answered, glaring back at him.

‘We shall see.’ He placed a friendly hand on the torturer’s shoulder. ‘You, Ren, will be my invaluable ally to assist our recalcitrant herald see the light.’

I braced myself for his vengeance.

 

~ o ~

 

Three hundred and twenty six.

This was the number of prisoners tormented, maimed, and sometimes slain in retribution for Celebrimbor’s death. Mairon forced me to sit at his feet and watch Ren torture them, sometimes for hours on end. I could recall with disturbing clarity each and every scream, moan and whimper; their gazes, wild with pain, supplicating or proud, haunted my days and nights.

To my horror, the first time I had refused to look when Ren began whipping a small boy who wailed for his mother, he plucked out the child’s eyes; the first time I cried for mercy on behalf of a woman being raped with a hideous instrument, it had been her tongue, not mine, that he had ripped out, before proceeding with his act. If I fought the chains that bound me in place, his victim would have one hand, maybe two, cut off in payment for my disobedience.

Every time, before giving the order to begin, Mairon asked me where the Rings were; invariably I answered, ‘I do not know.’ As though performing a grim ritual, he always said, ‘You betrayed me to save the Children, but you were wrong. See how your actions and your lies betray them, too.’

He would speak this admonition while touching my head or my face in despicable mockery of a caress, as though I were his beloved pet. I writhed inwardly, silent and unmoving despite the longing he awoke. He savoured with glee the proof of his dominance, often stroking me into full hardness in view of all his leering minions and the prisoners.

In his most sympathetic tone, Mairon then explained to every captive that the pain they were about to suffer was the price of my treason to their people. Unable to refute his words, I winced at their curses and looks of loathing when they believed me the cause of their agony. I was grateful whenever one of them saw through Mairon’s lies and gazed on me with pity, even if I did not deserve it.

Unlike Ren, who relished his gruesome task, Mairon did not enjoy witnessing the pointless pain of his captives. Often I saw his lips curl up in disgust. Soon I realised he preferred to focus his attention on me.

Therefore, as my defiance never failed to bring brutal retaliation to his victims, I learnt to watch almost without blinking, letting my grief and despair consume me inside, while outwardly I remained quiet and impassive as stone. The misery of the Children stung a thousand times more sharply than a whip ever had. I vainly tried to block the senses of my hröa and let numbness take over but every scream, every plea or cry of defiance, every fervent prayer to Elbereth jolted me back into terrible awareness.

Mairon had cunningly turned guilt into my most implacable tormentor. To add to my punishment, the torturer from Khand never laid a finger on me.

Mairon was taking no more chances, though, and kept me in chains day and night, locked in a stone cell by the forges, which I only left to witness Ren’s performances. A watch of two men was permanently on duty by the iron grill that soon replaced the original oaken door, removing all privacy. But the sentries were strictly forbidden from speaking to me. Mairon had commanded that no one mistreat me in any way. Three days after I killed Celebrimbor, a soldier was caught attempting to force me. Mairon condemned him to be castrated and blinded. After that, no one disobeyed his orders.

I was given warm food, clothes, blankets, and allowed to keep myself clean. When I refused to eat or drink, he tortured other prisoners so I ceased trying to escape to Mandos.

Dark dreams of vengeance, of tearing Mairon apart limb from limb were ever present in my mind. However, they were a thin, feeble cover for the deeper feelings that still vied for victory and managed to burst free whenever I was not alert. Because of this weakness, I banned myself from dwelling on any happy moment we had shared in the past, lest I should become unable to tame my love, a beast battered but still very much alive.

With an abundance of time to wallow in memories, I questioned my every choice since I had met Mairon outside Time, beyond Eä, and was lured by his bright, intriguing, joyful spirit. I regretted releasing him after the War, yielding to his seduction in Kiinlúum and turning my back on him in Eregion. I cursed myself for having lived in a blissful bubble of day dreams and hopes, for having dropped my vigilance, for becoming complacent and keeping silent, allowing him to be lured by his lust for control and order. I grieved and wept, but my guilt did not wash away.

Because I knew that, in the same way I was responsible for the torment of three hundred and twenty six Children and all others slain by Sauron’s army, I was to blame for his second fall. He was right, I had betrayed all the vows I ever made to stand at his side and keep him free from Melkor’s insidious hold.

I had deserted everyone I had ever cared for.

I wanted to forget or to die, but I could do neither.

 

 

 

---

[1] Ñorthus (Quenya) mist of fear - equivalent of Sindarin Gorthaur (Abhorred) [“Word, Phrases and Passages in The Lord of the Rings,” Parma Eldalamberon 17]

 

 

Grief

Shattered dreams, lies and more...

This chapter fits several B2MeM 2012 prompts:

Discoveries - B4: The Rings of Power
Emotions - B9: Love, B14: Pain, I18: Grief, N33: Courage and G51: Cruelty

Read Grief

 

32. Grief

 

I lost count of those dreadful days, but I was certain I had been Sauron’s captive for many months when one evening I heard the nervous shouting of soldiers without, and a flurry of barked orders and anxious whispers of those appointed to watch me; moreover, I had not been dragged before Ren for over four days. Something serious was afoot.

Therefore, I was not surprised when Sauron summoned me the following day. I was taken to what had once been Celebrimbor’s lavish apartments, and led into his huge bath chamber. As soon as I crossed the threshold, one of the four soldiers guarding me struck a harsh blow with the pole of his spear across the back of my legs, sending me sprawling onto the colourful mosaic floor. Trammelled by the chains, I rose to my knees with a struggle and looked up.

Surely it was no coincidence that Sauron received me as he was stepping out of a bath. His beautiful hröa glistened like wet marble, droplets sliding down his skin in all the places where I longed to touch. The sight of my emerald hanging upon his chest brought a gasp to my lips, of pain woven with hope.

With an indifferent glance in my direction, he allowed his servants to pat him dry with cloths warmed for that purpose on a large masonry coal stove. I watched avidly the shift of his muscles with every movement and the gentle play of light and shadow over the hröa I had loved to worship.

Reluctantly, my attention moved to the two shapely slaves who served him, a man and a woman. Both Quendi were naked, their hair shorn almost to the scalp, and a stark crimson mark, the size of my fist and in the shape of a flaming eye was boldly painted, nay, etched or burned above their hearts. In the woman’s eyes there was a faint glint of defiance, dulled by pain, but the man’s gaze was vacant; he had fled from reality to a safe place within oblivion or madness.

The woman began to comb Sauron’s damp hair, patiently working from its ends to the scalp, pausing several times to remove a snag with great care, while the man massaged perfumed oil over his master’s skin, head to toes.

‘What have you done to them?’ I cried.

‘I have claimed their bodies,’ he answered. ‘The mark is the handle to their hröar, which I command through pain or pleasure, even if their fëar, locked within, clamour for vengeance. Though the spell has ever been within my power, the Ring allows me to cast it in a very simple way. This method to force obedience is new, still crude, and never as satisfactory as true willingness, but sufficient while they refuse to yield. He has, and soon she will, too.’

A chill gripped my heart, bringing back the memory of times when I would have attended to him in the same ways, out of devotion and desire to please.

He waved them away, and they obeyed hastily.

‘You are still beautiful,’ he said, leaning down to study my face, ‘though I may have neglected you.’

My arms were pinned behind me, so I spat in his face. When he placed his ringed hand on my head, I felt his power channelled through it, reaching down and wrapping itself around my neck and chest in an invisible band that slowly tightened and began to choke me. The shackle I still wore thrummed in resonance with the Ring’s dark energy.

‘You know, Eönwë,’ he continued casually, as I fought for breath, ‘I could force one of these rings on you, and you would bend to my will unquestioningly. Sadly, it would crush that wild beauty I once tamed and ruin your graceful eagerness, freely given, that drove me mad with desire.’

He released me, and I bent to rest my forehead on the floor, dizzy and panting for air. When at last I recovered I glared up at him.

‘What shall I do with you while I lead my armies beyond Eregion, Eönwë?’ he said. My silence prompted him on. ‘Long ago, when you were loyal to me, I would have trusted my realm into your hands. But now... I would hate to turn you into a puppet like Ren.’ He crossed his arms over his bare chest, and began to trace circles on his chin with the tip of his index finger. Then he flicked his bottom lip several times, while his appraising gaze remained fixed on my face. ‘Did you know that you appear in his most secret dreams? Through the Ring I command all he is, including his desires, while he thrives on the power his trinket confers him. A fair exchange for both of us.’ He chuckled. ‘For now. I can see the lust in his eyes when he gazes upon you. Should I reward him?’

I shuddered, but squared my shoulders in defiance. His lips curled in amusement.

‘And there I was, foolishly believing I might have broken you. How I wish I could make you join our chains of Noldorin captives and drag you south to Harad and Mordor! I would so enjoy getting reacquainted with you, away from this tiresome war...’

My heart quickened. If there was a chance of a lingering fondness under his ruthlessness, I had to attempt to sway him one more time.

‘I swear I will obey you in all things if you release your prisoners and abandon the war,’ I begged. ‘I will be yours, if you would only let me save you.’

‘Too late, my beauty.’ I flinched at the use of his old endearment, spoken with a sadness that pierced me to the bone. ‘There is nothing to save, nothing to redeem.’

‘Then do what I ask if only for the affection you once felt for me,’ I cried.

‘That was no more than a ploy of seduction, Eönwë. Your masters wanted me to fall for their pet; I wished them to believe they had succeeded. This time it was your turn to chase a mirage, wrought to fool you. Nothing else. Did you think your pathetic wisp of happiness would last next to me, damned, warped and beyond salvation?’

‘Liar!’ I shouted. ‘You are twisting the truth to deny that once you loved me.’ I attempted to lunge at him, but the strong hands of the soldiers at my sides kept me in place.

Mairon looked at me with an odd expression on his face.

‘You shall see,’ he said at last.

Methodically, he clad himself in his black armour, and ordered the soldiers to bring me. Their dutiful prodding ensured that, despite the shackles, I shuffled my feet fast enough to keep up with him all the way down the stairs to the courtyard. A company of his personal guards stood at attention, awaiting his command.

Mairon faced me, and slowly reached under his breastplate. With a hard tug, he broke the mithril chain around his neck. Locking his gaze on mine, he pulled out the emerald from under his serpent armour, dropped it onto the stone ground and trod upon it, twisting his iron heel until I heard a sickening crack. When he lifted his foot, the gem was shattered to worthless crumbs.

Tears prickled at my eyes but I refused to let them fall. I lifted my head to stare at him. My rewards were a glint of pain and a strange quirk of his lips that betrayed the truth.

‘I know you are lying, Mairon,’ I whispered.

‘You think so?’ he snarled. ‘I shall prove how little you mean to me, and make sure that your hröa remembers me with nothing but loathing from now on.’

First he forced a bruising kiss on my lips, and then he slapped me. I tasted blood and my ear buzzed painfully.

He turned to the soldiers.

‘Take him away, lads; he is yours until we depart. This one will not wilt in your loving care. Just make sure he remains in one piece, or I'll feed you your own balls. I need him sane enough to deliver my answer to his master’s message.’

A loud cheer went up as I was grasped and groped by many eager hands.

 

The world had narrowed to a pulsing fog of sharp pain that seeped through skin, muscle and bone to tighten over my trapped being. My mind shrank away from the edge of reason, scoured empty of all but despair and the frantic urge to be freed from my screaming flesh.

My legs could not bear my weight and my tormentors had to carry me to Mairon’s presence, dropping my broken hröa at his feet. My skin crawled with revulsion at the memory of the foul touches forced upon me, next to which the smarting from the lash and the beatings had been an almost welcome diversion from far worse indignities.

With a mighty effort I raised my head and stared at him, though my left eye was swollen shut and my right was crusted with blood.

The flash of dismay on Mairon’s face, swiftly hidden behind his inscrutable mask was harder to bear than the degradation I had endured during those endless days and nights. The horror conveyed during that unguarded instant reasserted my belief that his feigned hatred was a ruse that had failed to convince either of us. My closeness still made him vulnerable. Possessive and jealous, handing me over to his minions must have been torment for him, too.

O Mairon, my beloved, how did we come to this?

Somewhere I found the strength and lucidity to speak.

‘I pity you.’

His eyes filled with hard edges.

‘Pity? You once asked me if I had a spell to chain the wills of others to mine. Now I have. I shall impose my rule, crushing all resistance until I wield control of the whole of Endórë. Why would I need your pity?’

‘Because one day you will regret the path you have taken and long for what is now lost to us, as I already rue my own choices.’

‘I shall regret nothing,’ he answered in an icy tone. ‘Unlike you, I will not be made into a thrall by both friends and foes. Turning your back on me was indeed an ill choice. There is nothing you can give me that I need any more.’

I bowed my head, again stricken by the lie he so desperately wished to believe. I might have been able to stop loving him if I knew affection had truly died in his heart, but it had not.

‘Now I could send you to Mandos, but instead I shall order my men to leave you where the remnants of the Noldorin rabble may find you, in payment for the freedom you once granted me. You may curse me for this mercy, if your lordling believes you a traitor.’

At his command, I was taken away. Lost in grief and overwhelmed by the pain of my imprisoning hröa, my mind travelled far, to glittering constructs within my imagination well beyond misery on Arda.

Several days later, I vaguely remember being found by a group of scouts. I begged them to kill me, but they believed me addled from thirst and torment, and were wary. There was a man who spoke to me kindly. His hair shone like a halo of gold around his face. I winced, for I recognised him and knew he had been slain many yéni ago while battling against another fell servant of Melkor.

So, I must be dead again. Resigned, I waited for Námo’s Maiar to surround me. All too soon he would be explaining with gusto how wrong and deluded I had been during our previous encounter.

 

Imladris, Year 1699 of the Second Age of Arda

I woke up on a soft bed under a warm quilt. When I moved my feet, I realised the fetters were gone. My hands were free, too. I sighed with relief.

Spirits in the care of Námo and incorporeal Maiar cannot sigh. I opened my eyes, only to be startled by the sight of white-washed walls, still smelling of new plaster, modest but lovingly crafted furniture and a large window through which I could see sunshine and trees. This could not be...

‘No, you are not in Mandos,’ a cheerful voice said, completing my train of thought.

The words were spoken, oddly enough, in the High-elven tongue of Valinor. My head snapped towards the source of the sound and I beheld a man who, in the bright afternoon light, seemed cast in gold.

‘Laurefindil?’ I croaked, even more stunned to find at my side the lord whose deeds of courage in a dying city had been sung in a thousand ballads and lays all across Arda. I was certain I was not mistaken; I had seen him long ago, before he left Aman in Turukáno’s host.

‘None other,’ he chuckled. ‘Though my new name in Endorë, or Ennor, is Glorfindel, and few know yet of my past in Gondolin.’

I was too confused. What trickery was this?

‘You were dead,’ I blurted, while perceiving with wonder the radiance of Aman in his green eyes, and the aura of renewal, still untouched by toil and grief that only someone who had recently returned from Mandos might possess. I had never met one of them before my banishment commenced. ‘You have been rehoused.’

‘Indeed you have sharp eyes... Erestor,’ he retorted gravely. ‘I hope that I will stay this way for many ages. I enjoy having a hröa again.’

‘So where are we? And why are you here? What day is it...?’

‘One question at a time!’ He raised his hands in mock surrender, and laughed.

For some unfathomable reason, hearing the simple sound of joy made me sob.

‘Shall I call Elrond?’ he offered, alarmed.

‘No!’ I answered, perhaps too hastily. ‘Please stay, and tell me what you wish, starting with where we are.’

‘We are in Imladris.’

I gave him a blank look. I thought I was pretty good with maps, but the name brought no recollection.

‘But of course, you do not know what or where this place is,’ he exclaimed, no doubt reading my puzzlement. ‘Elrond retreated North from Sauron’s forces, and this valley became our refuge. That happened immediately after Sauron killed Celebrimbor and launched a wrathful attack, bearing his corpse hanging from a pole, riddled with arrows, as his banner. I arrived at your camp the day after your disappearance, just in time to join that battle.’

My breath hitched painfully. Glorfindel gazed at me with concern, but mercifully refrained from asking questions. ‘Elrond was beside himself, fretting madly about your fate. Now, after more than two years in Sauron’s clutches, we all believed you were dead. I am glad you have somehow proved us all wrong.’

When I ignored his long, enticing silence, he continued.

‘We are under siege, and a large part of the enemy army is marching West, possibly towards Lindon. Even if neither Celebrimbor nor you revealed the secret that Sauron coveted, he must have gauged that he stands a good chance of recovering the rings from Gil-galad. We found you yesterday morning during a scouting mission and brought you back to have your injuries cared for.’

I digested all this astounding news, wondering what to ask about next.

‘You will recover.’ I saw him hesitate, before he lowered his voice. ‘But we both know you will... my lord Eönwë.’

‘I am no lord,’ I retorted, with more sharpness than he deserved. ‘How do you know?’

‘When I learnt of Sauron’s return, I became restless. I begged Manwë to let me sail back to Endórë. Somewhere within me I sensed that my task here was not complete. Olórin, your friend and mine, backed my petition, which was reluctantly granted, but only on the condition that I would prepare thoroughly for many years. When I was deemed ready, my king Arafinwë told me of your doom at the Máhanaxar and asked me to find you.’

Unable to withstand his look of pity I turned my head towards the wall.

‘What does Arafinwë want now?’ I spat. ‘Did he send you to become my gaoler, after my failure plunged us all into war?’

‘No. On the contrary, he bid me become your friend, if you would accept me as such. He warned that you might not be too partial to someone sent in his name.’

I looked at him again, sceptical.

‘My King said that the Valar evaded giving news, except that they had arranged for you to live your exile in one of the elven realms. Rumours brought by one of the eagles spoke of Sauron having repented in truth, and of his later disappearance for many yéni. We knew of his ploy with the Rings in Eregion through messages Círdan sent to Olwë.’

‘Then you must have deduced that I kept my counsel when I should have spoken out,’ I muttered.

‘Olórin told me that you and Mairon were once close friends, and Arafinwë described the restrictions placed upon you at the Ring of Doom. Not until the very end did you have proof of misdoing, though you probably suspected he might be toying with fire when he crafted the One Ring. But it was Celebrimbor’s refusal that hurtled Mairon down the path of evil.’ He shook his head. ‘Do not shoulder guilt that does not belong to you, my lord.’

I gritted my teeth. I was glad to hear his reasoning matched my own perception of Mairon’s actions at the time, but nevertheless I should have known...

‘You blame yourself, and yet you could have hardly done anything differently, not until he revealed himself as Sauron. This is their punishment, is it not, to make you a witness, even a trigger of his fall?’

I looked at him in awe; his insight into my heart was almost disturbing. I nodded.

‘When I arrived at your camp, shortly after they reported you missing, Elrond explained your relationship with Annatar and it all made even more sense. You, most of all, would have failed to see the shadow looming over him.’

‘Tell me, Glorfindel, how do you know I did not stay silent out of malice, or to protect him?’

‘Because Olórin told me to trust you with my life. No doubt he was not allowed to say any more, or he would have.’ He chuckled. ‘I am also sworn to silence about your secret.’

I was touched by Olórin’s faith in me and wondered if he knew the whole truth of what had taken place in Kiinlúum and of my brief audience in Mandos.

‘Elrond must believe me a traitor, with good reasons.’ I sighed. ‘He will be within his rights to have me shipped to Valinor, or locked away.’ A sudden thought sprang into my mind. ‘Am I under guard?’

‘Only mine.’ Glorfindel smiled. ‘You may leave the bed, but you are likely too weak to walk far. I have promised I will not let you run away, my lord.’

‘Erestor, nothing more. Do not forget,’ I chided. ‘No, I will not flee. I must see Elrond. Where is he?’

‘He has been at your side all through the night. This morning I threatened him with force if he did not rest.’

‘Did you now?’ I felt myself smiling. I already liked the man.

‘He is going to have his hands full with the two of us,’ Glorfindel confided in an overly conspiratorial tone. ‘You see, he has grudgingly accepted my oath, too.’ [1]

 

~ o ~

 

When Elrond came, I was ready.

Knowing how apprehensive I felt about this meeting, Glorfindel had thoughtfully procured some clothes for me and helped comb and braid my hair before he finally went to alert our lord of my awakening.

While I waited my gaze lingered on the familiar band of mithril around my left wrist. I wondered why Sauron had allowed me to keep such a valuable gift, the price of several armies. If he had wanted me to bear the sign of his ownership, he could have marked me in many ways. Did he merely wish to gloat about his triumphs, forcing me to witness them even from afar? I gritted my teeth and swallowed tears of rage.

At that time Elrond entered, followed by Glorfindel. I stood up so quickly that I swayed from dizziness, and they rushed to support me. Elrond guided me firmly towards the bed, making me sit. My head was spinning.

‘You should be lying down,’ he said with fond reproach.

‘I should be on my knees to beg for forgiveness,’ I replied.

‘I have not yet compiled the roll of your crimes.’ All the warmth in his tone had been replaced by chilling formality. ‘Too many to keep count.’

Glorfindel gave a bow and made to leave.

‘Stay,’ barked Elrond, ‘or I may be tempted to kill him with my bare hands.’

He held up his hand and began to tap his fingers as he enumerated.

‘Let us see. Dereliction of duty. Desertion, compounded with the abuse of the trust of another officer, who at least had the sense to volunteer a confession.’

My heart skipped a beat for Laergil.

‘He did not...’

‘Silence,’ commanded Elrond. ‘Unlawful requisition from the food stores and from the smithy.’ Glorfindel’s faint smile ebbed under my glare; Elrond’s mockery was anything but amusing. ‘Theft of Lindon’s heraldic livery. Unauthorised perimeter exit without overriding pass phrase. Utter contravention of basic warrior training when walking unarmed and alone into enemy territory. Unauthorised surrender. Suspected impersonation of an official herald. Further lack of survival instinct when baiting Sauron so that he had his main hostage slain within hours of your desertion. Surely not a coincidence.’

‘Replace that last one with kinslaying. Nay, murder,’ I muttered. Both men had the grace to look startled.

‘Murder, then. We will get to the bottom of this. Next one... Oh, yes. Not giving any signs of life for over two fucking years.’ It was my turn to be shocked; I had seldom heard that language from Elrond’s mouth. ‘Surely you also take responsibility for letting yourself be tortured by the enemy, who happens to be your former lover. Is that all, Erestor?’

‘No. I betrayed you and everyone else with my silence when I began to suspect. Maybe if I had... ’

‘Noted. Anything else? Failure to immolate yourself in a heroic death to save Endórë from Sauron’s evil? Or at the very least failure to prevent the fall of Eregion and the atrocities of his army? Do you blame yourself for those, too?’ I ignored his scathing tone; he was hitting too close to the mark, if only in jest.

‘In a way, yes, I do, my lord.’ I buried my face in my hands. ‘He tormented a large number of prisoners in retaliation for my actions.’

‘Because you killed Celebrimbor, to stop him from confessing the truth about the Rings.’

‘Yes, my lord.’ I was glad he had reached the obvious conclusion, saving me from explanations.

‘So maybe, despite all, I should commend you?’ His voice had regained a trace of its former kindness.

When I shook my head, Elrond’s eyes blazed.

‘I see. Perhaps I should instead surrender us both to the justice of the King. After all, I knew with absolute certainty that my second-in-command was plotting to do something foolish, maybe dangerously so, and did not take enough precautions because I underestimated his utter lunacy?’

‘I am sorry, my lord,’ I said, bitterly.

‘For what, exactly, Erestor? For all those heinous crimes we have listed? Or for being a reckless idiot and for wishing to shoulder the guilt for the marring of Arda?’ His outrage was tightly reined, his voice just a notch above his normal level.

‘There is more, my lord. Before Eregion, I...’

At that time, Glorfindel cleared his throat softly, and both Elrond and I glared at him in shared annoyance.

‘I believe you have said enough, Erestor,’ he said. I did not miss the warning in his bright gaze. ‘There is no need to dwell on the past. I have told Elrond that I knew you before you came to Ennor, and that if he trusts me, he must trust you too.’

‘I trusted Erestor even before you arrived,’ retorted Elrond sharply. ‘Despite his secrecy and his strange moods. Do you think I do not realise there is far more to him than meets the eye? For all I know, Manwë himself sent you both as a trial of my patience.’

I gasped and stared at Glorfindel, as though to blame him for speaking too much. He denied my accusation with a weak shake of his head.

‘One day I hope to discover the truth, believe me,’ growled Elrond. ‘In the meantime, the matter of blame and recrimination for the ills of Ennor is closed. We are besieged and have a war to fight. Sauron must be defeated. Is that understood?’

‘Yes, my lord,’ Glorfindel and I answered in perfect unison.

I took Elrond’s hand and pressed my lips to it in renewed fealty. He sat on the bed at my side and wrapped me into his embrace, gently because of my injuries.

‘Welcome back, Erestor.’

 

 

Imladris, Year 1701 of the Second Age of Arda

Chronicles have plotted every battle and skirmish of the war against Sauron in Eriador. Between captivity and recovery, I missed most of them. Only when I managed to win three consecutive bouts against Glorfindel did Elrond allow me to join the fray, which became desperate during the last few weeks. Let it just be said that without the timely arrival of Tar-Minastir’s men under the command of his admiral Ciryatur, Lindon and Imladris would have been overrun and we would all have been slain or enslaved.

During the war, my every heartbeat was bent on defeating Sauron. Not spurred by dreams of retribution alone, but also to atone for my role in unleashing him back onto the people of Endórë—though both Glorfindel and Elrond had helped me regain some perspective—and out of a scorching desire to prove myself worthy of Elrond’s trust. I had been moved by his honest friendship, and my respect for the surviving son of Eärendil had multiplied tenfold after he had forgiven me.

When Sauron was utterly routed at the Gwathló and narrowly escaped the forces of the Númenóreans, I was shaken by the waves of humiliation and fury racking him, which I sensed through the mithril shackle. I allowed myself a brief moment of joyless triumph, relieved that he had been driven back to his stronghold in Mordor. Although I was under no illusions; we might have earned a respite, but he would strike back.

Ever since he had released me, I had been tempted to have the cuff removed and to throw it into a gully, away from sight and touch. And yet I chose not to, despite the revulsion his token of dominance stirred in me, often awakening a rage that, like Ren’s red-hot pincers, both crushed and burnt my heart. But I was loath to cast aside the chance of glimpsing Sauron’s mood from time to time.

Because there was more, a secret that brought me both deep shame and a sliver of hope.

Sometimes on nights of the new moon, I longingly traced the patterns etched on the smooth metal band, yielding to melancholy for the happiness that had slipped like sand from between our fingers. I called Mairon’s name, denying my betrayal, even whispering my most guarded desires, and I prayed to Eru to allow him to find the Light again. I even dared ask him to grant us both another chance at love.

 

 

---

 

Notes:

[1] There is no conclusive date for the arrival of Glorfindel from Valinor. “The Peoples of Middle-earth” (History of Middle-earth, XII) tell us, “This must probably have occurred before the end of the Second Age, and the 'Change of the World' and the Drowning of Númenor, after which no living embodied creature, 'humane' or of lesser kinds, could return from the Blessed Realm which had been 'removed from the Circles of the World'”. More specifically, “But it may have been, perhaps more probably, as late as c.1600, the Year of Dread, when Barad-dur was completed and the One Ring forged, and Celebrimbor at last became aware of the trap into which he had fallen.” I have made this date that of his intention to depart, and his arrival was delayed by a long period of preparation.

 

 

Downfallen

After the events of Ost-in-Edhil, life goes on.

Thank you, elfscribe, for permission to do the little crossovers with Elegy.

This chapter fits one B2MeM 2012 prompt:

Emotions - O64: Horror

Read Downfallen

 

33. Downfallen

 

Imladris, Year 3262 of the Second Age of Arda

‘Our informants claim that Ar-Pharazôn has sailed back to Númenor, taking Sauron as a hostage,’ said Glorfindel, shaking a handful of parchments under our noses, as though to ratify his unlikely news.

‘Impossible,’ huffed Elrond. He rolled the report he had been reading and stacked it neatly on top of other paperwork. ‘Sauron could have held the Númenóreans at bay for years from behind the Ephel Dúath. It must be one of his lieutenants they have captured.’

‘No,’ insisted Glorfindel, dragging a chair to sit by our lord. I left my own desk and stood next to him, peering at the notes over his shoulder. He handed them to me.

‘The reports are clear. Several different sources have seen with their own eyes the one they call Zigûr and names himself Annatar being marched, in chains,’ he paused for effect, ‘down the streets of Umbar and up the plank of the King’s ship.’

After a short puzzled silence, Elrond cried, ‘But it makes no sense! Why in Vé would Gorthaur surrender?’

‘To build a trap and catch a rich prize, offering himself as bait so that Ar-Pharazôn will not see the noose,’ I said.

I stared out of the window overlooking the greenness of the valley, and with a pang recalled a defiant Mairon walking out to his execution in Kiinlúum. I recognised his current move as a bold but perfectly sound strategy to defeat his most hated foes. Númenor’s might had so far prevented his expansion west of Mordor. Now he would resort to stealth in order to destroy their opposition from the inside.

‘How can Annatar set a snare if he is a powerless prisoner himself?’ asked Glorfindel.

‘He will not be powerless for long. Like in Eregion, he will slowly gain influence until one day the King of Númenor will be under his spell,’ I said, aware of the bitterness that had seeped into my voice. ‘I wonder if he has risked taking the Ring with him. Either way, he will seduce and lie until he grasps what he desires. He may even conquer Númenor.’

I thumbed through the reports that Glorfindel had brought. The heading of one of them made me curious and I read it from beginning to end.

‘You have found something, I can tell from your face. Stop frowning and tell us what it is,’ urged Elrond.

‘I wonder... It says here that the Regent of Umbar was publicly put on trial for diverting taxes to his own pockets and the King had him executed shortly before sailing away. Rumours speak of a confession extracted by sorcery.’ I compared the dates on several parchments. ‘After Annatar was taken to Umbar.’

‘You believe Sauron had a hand in toppling this Regent a mere few weeks after his capture?’ Glorfindel shook his head, incredulous. ‘You give him far too much credit!’

‘Possibly.’ I sighed. ‘But you know why I would rather err on the side of caution with him.’

‘I shall write to Tar-Calion warning him about his hostage,’ said Elrond. ‘I know the Númenóreans no longer consider us as allies, but this is too serious a risk to ignore under the excuse of enmity or indifference. Pharazôn may be an usurper, but he is kin, after all.’ His tone was that of a long-suffering parent.

‘Be cautious with your choice of words,’ I said. ‘Arrogance is making this King of Númenor throw caution to the winds, if he believes he can tame Sauron. Your concern might appear patronising and he may suspect that you doubt his mettle as a ruler. In that case, he will toss your letter in the fire without reading past the opening lines.’

‘Fair point.’ Elrond twirled a quill between his fingers. ‘I will do my utmost not to ruffle his delicate feathers. I must also pen a note to Amandil. He will recognise the danger but may underestimate Sauron’s ability to cause harm before it is too late.’

‘Is it a good idea if Gil-galad writes officially, or would that be too intrusive?’ asked Glorfindel.

‘It may sound like criticism. Let us keep it in the family for now.’ Elrond sighed and placed the quill back with all the others. ‘Sometimes I am glad Elros is not alive; he would weep if he could see the dissension and strife in his beloved island, its slow decline from the bliss he created. Their excessive pride, that has prompted them to turn their backs on the Valar, and their mounting obsession with longevity are becoming disturbing.’

Another memory screamed at me, of Mairon predicting woes about the gift of extended lifespan to those who had fought to defeat Moringotto. Would he use their fear of mortality as a lever to gain advantage?

‘Nothing good can ever come out of this,’ I said. ‘Get those letters written, Elrond, and I will have them dispatched to Lond Daer as soon as possible. I am afraid they may need to be shipped to Umbar, unless our messengers happen to find a Númenórean ship ready to depart back to Rómenna.’

‘Is there no shorter route?’

‘Their ships no longer travel to Lindon. Unless you wish to set sail in stealth, my lord, there is not.’

 

 

Imladris, Year 3319 of the Second Age of Arda

Answers to Elrond’s repeated warnings never arrived from Númenor, not even when he resorted to pleas heeding caution against Sauron’s guile. Messages from Amandil were few and infrequent, until they also ceased. We knew the Faithful were spied upon, all but accused of treason, and we fretted for long about the safety of the Lord of Andúnië, until news reached us at last confirming that he was alive but exiled from court and from the favour of Tar-Calion.

Years later, we began to receive confused, clipped reports of dark sacrifices in the newly erected temple of Melkor, and about the building of a mighty fleet, the purpose of which was a closely guarded secret that our handful of agents were unable to unveil, or perhaps unwilling to disclose, as they kept demanding higher fees for scraps of dubious news. Elrond’s fretting turned to frenzy. Glorfindel and I volunteered to sail to the Land of Gift to find the truth.

Over many months we patiently arranged for passage to Númenor with an Umbarian skipper who claimed to know how to make contact with the Faithful and would risk his life to sail in secret to their meeting place, but only in exchange for an exorbitant price.

In the end, I persuaded Elrond to trust the mission to me, if only because I might have a slim chance of survival, were I to fall in the hands of the Zigûr. He explicitly forbade me to seek Sauron in any way.

‘No excuses, Erestor,’ he commanded, as he embraced me in farewell. ‘You must come back. Unscathed.’

I never revealed to my lord that I barely escaped Númenor with my life.

Ossë seemed to conspire to keep me off the island, stirring a terrible storm that almost sent our creaking boat to the bottom of his master’s domain, but after three days his strength was spent and he loosened his hold. The skipper, true to his word, delivered his part of the bargain: two men were waiting for me on a rugged, secluded beach of Andustar and took me to their lord on the following day.

Anárion, Elendil’s youngest son spoke a dreadful tale of informers, night arrests and disappearances, followed by false accusations of treason, prison, torture, and death; he told me of history being rewritten and falsehoods taught to children so as to incite their hatred against those that had once been allies; I learnt of the crafting of weapons of war, of madness and ugly sickness like none of the Atani had suffered before. And of men’s chests ripped open so that the High Priest of Melkor, the mighty Zigûr, could offer their deaths as tribute to the Lord of Darkness.

Incredulity and denial demanded that I witness this abomination with my very own eyes. Anárion pleaded and threatened but I was unmoved. In the end, he cut my hair in the fashion of his people, clad me in suitable clothes, including the sable cloak of the followers of the cult of Melkor and accompanied me to Armenelos.

We queued to enter the grandiose temple, built entirely of black granite, keeping our hooded heads down in an attempt to melt into the crowd of eager worshippers of all ages. I was startled to see that the faces of almost a quarter of them were blistered or pocked, and their hands were wrapped in bandages, or covered in weeping sores. Most of those not afflicted carried small sticks of burning incense, waving the thick, sickly clouds of smoke in front of their faces, as though to ward themselves from danger.

‘What are they doing?’ I dared whisper to my companion.

‘They hope to avoid contagion of the latest pestilence,’ murmured Anárion, covering his nose and mouth with the edge of his hood.

When we stepped past the impassive spear-wielding soldiers that guarded the doors, I almost expected a heavy hand to fall on my shoulder and the alarm to be raised with loud cries. But nothing happened.

After a long wait, the King arrived in a covered litter and the whole congregation bowed as he stepped out, a wizened man bent under the burden of his magnificent jewelled regalia. Only when he sat in his throne did the priest of Melkor climbed the altar to perform the ceremony.

Oh Eru, I believed I had already seen the worst of Mairon’s depravity, but how wrong I was!

His hands, that had often glided over my skin or caressed my hair in the past, plunged a serrated obsidian blade into the chest of a breathing man, one of Amandil’s kinsmen, stretched taut on the altar of the temple of Darkness.

The elaborate rituals and empty chants meant to invoke Melkor’s blessing and his boon of long life for the mob of deluded worshippers filled me with a fury so blind that I almost got myself killed. Rooted to the spot, I wished to rip Sauron apart with my bare hands. My heart was as broken as that of the man futilely sacrificed in a performance perfectly staged to arouse both terror and a fanatic thirst for the favour of a fake divinity.

‘Let us go,’ urged Anárion, pulling on my sleeve. ‘Several people are looking at us; you are not bending your knee and your eyes glare daggers.’

Yet I could not move. When Sauron lifted the beating heart from his victim’s ribcage and over his head, so that warm blood dripped into his eager mouth, I almost fainted. I am certain that he felt my presence at that time, because he stopped at once to scan all the enraptured faces crowded before him, and commanded his Black Guard to search for enemies of the Lord of Darkness. I owe a narrow escape only to the quick wit and courage of Amandil’s grandson, and to his unmatched knowledge of the underground sewerage tunnels that connected every main street and square in Armenelos. Mercifully, they had not overflowed at the time.

‘How can you do nothing?’ I cried when we reached safety outside the city. ‘We must...’

‘Do you think we bear these blasphemous atrocities lightly? That man was my youngest cousin on my mother’s side,’ countered Anárion, brushing a hand over his moist eyes. ‘Believe me, we have tried everything ever since Sauron set his foot on this land, even plotted his assassination several times. Somehow he always knew and his revenge was dire… His eyes and ears are all around us.’ He glanced around and over his shoulder, a habit I had noticed several times. ‘Had you tried anything against him, you would be strapped to that table and die under his knife after months of slow torment, and a hundred more of our people with you.’ He was trembling, and his voice cracked. ’I have seen it too many times before.’

‘I am sorry…’ My words felt utterly meaningless. ‘I wish I could do something to help.’

‘You cannot help us. Nobody can. We are powerless while almost everyone believes his lies about eternal youth. My grandfather sailed Westward three years ago, carrying our prayers to the Valar, that they may grant their forgiveness and free us from Sauron and his corruption. But we have not heard from him again. Maybe his boat hit a storm and capsized, or perhaps the Powers punished him because he breached the Ban. Whatever happened, we are alone and helpless. Now the King’s fleet is getting ready and Pharazôn will soon send his soldiers to force us away from our homes to man the ships. What can we do? We tell our father to set sail for Ennor, but he still hopes for a miracle. Death will find us all if we tarry…’

 

Dejected, I was smuggled out of that wretched land that once had been the joy and pride of the Atani. Back in Imladris, we waited.

Not for long. One day when a mighty gale rushed along the valley making the window shutters rattle and the tree branches snap, Elrond had a vision of a tall dark wave crowned in white foam. I was stricken down by a surge of intense, shocked dread and a desperate urge to flee, which were Sauron’s, not my own. At that time I was hopeful that the Valar had answered Amandil’s plea and unleashed their power to make battle against the Dark Lord.

For several weeks we were restless.

We only learnt the truth of the ruin of Númenor when Gil-galad sent a flurry of fast messengers to Elrond with the news of Elendil’s ships having all but crashed upon the shores of Lindon. Those on board bore tales of terror and grief, of wrathful seas and a foundering land. Other couriers travelled along the coastal villages to enquire about Isildur and Anárion, whose ships, sails torn and masts snapped, had veered South away from their father, as vulnerable as coracles in the mighty tempest.

The letter also conveyed Círdan’s findings and those of his sea-travelling folk, and maybe words from Ulmo himself. Arda had changed. Not just the shorelines, which had sunk and shifted shape in many places after the onslaught of the huge tidal wave, but the very paths upon the ocean. So that the route to Valinor had become a Straight Road above a world that was now curved upon itself.

‘Mariners claim that the Land of Gift is indeed no more, that it fell into the abyss when the seabed was torn by a deep rift to separate Aman from Ennor and place it in hiding,’ said Elrond, after scanning the pages of the long missive. Unspilled tears shone in his eyes. ‘I do not believe it. Why would the Valar punish all, innocent and guilty alike? Why did they not act against Sauron before it came to this?’

‘Because until the fleet of Númenor reached their shores they had not been directly threatened,’ I replied, with a voice that cracked from anger. ‘Until then, safe in their bliss, they were free to ignore Sauron’s machinations.’

‘Could they not see how Gorthaur played on the dreams and greed of the Edain, exactly as he did with the Mírdain, how all underestimated his malice?’ Elrond’s anguish pierced me like needles.

‘How persuasive his tale must have been, to trick them into taking war to Valinor,’ said Glorfindel. ‘How could Tar-Calion be swayed into such madness?’

‘The Light of Aman was too bright and too close, and the Ban only served to make Sauron’s honeyed lies more plausible,’ I said, digging my nails into the palms of my trembling hands. I was reeling at the inconceivable magnitude of the catastrophe he had triggered. ‘The temptation to grasp immortality became too great to resist. But surely Manwë would not...’

‘They were deceived, swayed to darkness by that monster, even if they were not wholly innocent! Did they deserve this end?’ cried Elrond, pacing in circles around the room. He dried his eyes with a hasty sweep of his hand, before looking at both Glorfindel and me in turn, as though searching for answers. ‘What of him, then?’

‘This violence was possibly the necessary means to defeat Sauron,’ said Glorfindel.

‘Has he been vanquished or slain, if he can indeed be slain, or is he a captive of the Valar? How can we know?’ asked our lord, almost yelling.

Like me, he desperately wished to discover the reason that had justified such callous devastation. But I suspected there was none.

‘He escaped from the cataclysm, though he quaked in terror when he almost fell with the realm he ruined,’ I answered.

When I clasped the shackle with my right hand and raised it for them to see, Elrond and Glorfindel became aware of the means by which I spoke with such certainty. After the damage wrought by my silence, I had vowed there would be no secrets beyond those imposed by Manwë.

‘As a rudimentary trial of his curwë, he infused this band, my... long lost lover's gift, with a minute level of sentience before...’ I faltered. ‘Before we parted. When he is overwhelmed or if he wishes me to, I can sometimes sense him. Now I know he is still free.’

‘What worth is the guardianship of the Valar, if the source of this abominable evil is still abroad?’ Elrond asked. ‘Their cowardly negligence in this matter makes them accomplices in every death even if, as Círdan implies, they relinquished their authority to the One.’

‘Is that the falsehood they wish us to believe?’ I cried ‘Never!’

Elrond and Glorfindel stared at me, startled at my vehemence.

‘Ilúvatar may have indeed taken Aman from the Circles of the World, and that news fills me with sadness. But he need not destroy half of Arda to do so. This tragedy is not of his doing.’

My last bit of faith in the Valar died that day. If Eru deserted us too, all hope was lost.

 

~o~

 

Dagorlad, Year 3434 of the Second Age of Arda

The war council ended after several hours fraught with disagreement amongst the leaders of the Alliance. I was relieved when, unexpectedly, they reached consensus on the strategy for the assault of the Morannon and Elendil and Gil-galad dismissed us all, captains and advisors, with orders to make our armies ready at dawn.

Glorfindel departed in haste towards the inner sentry perimeter; he was scheduled to go on duty until midnight, in command of our patrols and scouts. I had the shift following his. Until then I could do with a rest.

On leaving the council together, Elrond and I watched Oropher, the headstrong King of Eryn Galen, stride away arguing heatedly with his son Thranduil and one of his commanders about the position allocated to their forces at the front of the right flank.

We walked back in silence to the small tent that we shared with Glorfindel. The moon was high. Our huge camp, a city made of canvas, lay quietly beneath the silver sheen, dulled by the stifling mist perpetually exuded by the nearby swamps. Rows of fire pits glowed between the tents, and somewhere a voice rose up to the sky in song, accompanied by the sweet notes of a flute. My heart twanged with regret and longing for a very distant past.

With a burning twig from the nearest fire, I lit the small oil lamp we always left near the tent entrance and followed Elrond inside. He flung his helmet onto his cot and began to fumble with the straps of his armour.

‘Curse this place,’ he muttered, tugging in frustration.

‘Let me help you. Lift your arm.’ I took off his right pauldron, then his left, and placed them next to the helmet on the cot. ‘You reek, my lord. Shall I get you some hot water and soap?’

‘What, to swap my enticing musky sweat for the stench of sulphurous mud?’ He laughed tiredly. ‘You are ripe, too, in case you had not noticed.’

‘Enticing musk? Hardly, my lord.’ I chuckled. ‘Your lady would not come closer than a league, in your current condition.’ I undid the buckles and lifted the steel and leather cuirass off his shoulders. ‘Where is your worthy esquire?’

‘I sent the lad off to sleep, knowing the council would end late,’ he replied, with a yawn. ‘I am dead on my feet.’

In the dark shadows cast by the flickering lamplight, his face seemed angular and gaunt, and his eyes hollow like those of a corpse. I shuddered.

After I helped him out of his thick silk gambeson, he sat down to take off his boots and socks and made a grimace of disgust at the sight and smell of his blistered feet. Feigning suffocation, I opened the tent flaps, and ducked to avoid one of Elrond’s boots flying at me. I hurried outside, towards the fire. There I poured water from a cauldron on the coals into a large bucket, and topped it up with cold water from a barrel.

When I entered the tent again, Elrond was wrapped in his blanket, pensively stroking the pale blue ribbon flower that hung from a thong around his neck, more precious to him than a jewel. It was no secret that Celebrían, whose token it was, would have been his betrothed already, had it not been for the call to war.

I placed the full bucket on the ground and rummaged around the tent until I found several clean cloths and two bars of soap.

‘Your bath is ready, my lord,’ I announced grandly.

‘Wash yourself too, or I will be unable to sleep from the stink,’ he growled. Glad at the invitation, I peeled off my own sweaty garments and dipped a cloth in the warm water, before working out some lather. It was bliss to wash the grit and grime from my face.

‘If only...’ His words died into a sigh. ‘Do you believe we will survive this war?’ I had not seen him in such a despondent mood before.

‘I have no doubt,’ I lied, rubbing the soapy cloth around my neck and under my arms. ‘You will wed your lady in a glade under the stars and have several beautiful children whom you will spoil rotten.’

‘And you, Erestor? What future do you dream for yourself?’ There was no malice in his voice. On this night, maybe our last before crossing the threshold of Mandos, he was curious.

I wrung the rag in my hands until it creaked.

‘I hope for nothing,’ I answered, as evenly as I could, ‘except defeating him. I have vowed to do so.’

‘What of your lost love?’ He reached out to touch the mithril band around my wrist. When his fingers slid over my wet skin, they trembled. ‘Is he the one who fills your mind today, at the brink of death?’

‘Yes, he is,’ I admitted, ‘but I fear he is dead.’ I broke down and could not contain a sob. Mairon, not the monster that had taken his place, would forever own my heart.

‘Come here, Erestor,’ he said. A command, gently spoken.

When I sat next to him, he threw the blanket, still warm from the heat of his body, over both of us. With my skin pressed to his, I made up my mind.

‘If we die tomorrow.... No, hear me out.’ I paused and started again. ‘If we die tomorrow, I would take with me to Mandos the dear memory of someone I have desired for many yéni. Of something I have craved for a long time. As you have.’ I gazed into his eyes, ready to be rejected.

He took a deep breath.

‘I would welcome sharing that memory, Erestor.’ He hesitated. ‘If we survive...’

‘If we survive, I will wish you and your bride much joy and make rattles for your children.’ With that, I leant forwards very slowly, in case he wished to change his mind.

He did not, and I kissed him.

Neither did he resist when I unlaced his shirt and pulled him to his feet to remove his trousers, until we stood side by side, matched in everything including our arousal, awakened by the touch of skin on skin.

We spread our blankets on the floor and lay down, taking time to learn what touches wrought the greatest pleasure. I explored his lean chest and muscled arms, while probing with my tongue inside his willing mouth, then ran fingers down his back, making him arch and shiver, and laugh when they became ticklish. I relished and returned the tightness of his embrace, not meant to constrain or dominate, but just to bring us closer.

When I took his cock in my hand, he broke off the kiss.

‘What is it to be?’ His tone was tentative, demanding nothing.

‘Whatever you wish,’ I offered. ‘Anything.’ I picked up a loose strand of his hair and tucked it behind his ear, before leaning down to nibble its lobe. ‘Everything, if you wish it.’ His whimper of pleasure went straight to my groin.

‘Everything,’ he murmured. ‘This once we shall have everything.’

And so we did. I set the pace, slow to allow us to savour the wonder of this unexpected boon, but it soon quickened into playful roughness, for our strengths were matched and we found great pleasure in this intimate bout, as we had ever done in the arena.

What we shared was not the quick comfort of fellow warriors, wishing to feel fully alive one last time; this was a desire that had smouldered for over twenty yéni, and now that the flame was at last allowed to flare, the strength of our lust caught us both by surprise.

We gave all to each other on that sole night, if not out of love, out of a bond of friendship that had withstood the onslaught of suspicion and betrayal. War, titles, roles, Dagorlad and even Mairon were forgotten in the thrill of this freedom and the heat of our bodies.

When at last we lay spent and entwined on the blankets, we smiled and fell asleep having found the respite that we had wanted for so long.

 

A shake on my shoulder made me awaken with a start. The lamp had burnt out. Glorfindel’s tall outline towered over us, blacker than the dimness inside the tent and I could not see his face. With care not to disturb Elrond, who still slept, I disentangled myself from his limbs and arranged the blanket to cover him better.

I rushed to get dressed and into my armour, as quietly as possible in the dark. Still without a word, Glorfindel helped me with the straps and handed me my helmet and sword.

‘You are very late. I waited for Laergil; he is in command until you arrive.’

‘Thank you,’ I muttered. ‘I lost track of time.’

Glorfindel snorted, before inclining his head to look at our lord.

‘I am glad you did,’ he whispered.

‘So am I.’

I walked out into the cold night.

 

 

---

 

Notes:

 

[1] The events surrounding the trial of the Regent of Umbar are a fond reference to “Elegy for Númenor”by elfscribe, a brilliant story about the “surrender” of Sauron to Ar-Pharazôn and his subsequent intrigues to seize power. I am thrilled she was happy for me to incorporate this little crossover.

[2] Tar-Calion is the Quenya name of Ar-Pharazôn

[3] My short story “Hospitality” describes the arrival of Eönwë to the shores of Númenor. It is a (most likely AU) crossover with “Elegy for Númenor”, with her permission.

 

 

 

Defeats

Following an unlikely victory, a new age begins; darkness grows again slowly until it hits home.

This chapter fits the following B2MeM 2012 prompts:

Artifacts & Weapons - B7: Narsil
Powers & Underpowers - B7: Irmo (Lórien): nightmare
This Means War! - N41: Sauron vs. Isildur
Weapons & Warfare - I27: Mace
Archery in Arda - B6: Wood elves of Mirkwood
Emotions - G59: Hope

Read Defeats

 

34. Defeats

 

Mordor, Year 3441 of the Second Age of Arda

Above me, the sky was filled with acrid smoke that belched incessantly from Orodruin. I stood at the top of an ash mound, surveying the charcoal-coloured landscape. As far as the eye could see there was nothing but barren waste, broken, of course, by the darker grey band of enemy forces barring our advance, and by the tall dark spike of Barad-dûr beyond.

I spat, but the bitter, gritty taste of ashes remained on my tongue.

Sauron’s patience was surprising, but it had clearly granted him the advantage. Our elation at the victory that had enabled us to breach Mordor’s defences had died during the past seven years. The thousands of days of foul water, poor food, dust storms, fire bolts from the besieged fortress and relentless enemy sorties like the one now before us had taken a heavy toll on our army. Frustration and misery on the plains of Gorgoroth weighed us all down as we faced yet another battle.

I glanced behind me and a painful blend of pride and guilt swelled within my chest at the sight of the endless rows of fluttering banners, shining helms and raised spears. This was an army almost as grand as the host I once commanded in Beleriand. With a pang, my gaze lingered on the companies from Eryn Galen, armed with longbows as well as swords and wearing tan leather armour and helmets. The arms on their flags, three oak leaves on a starred sky, were hemmed in crimson in remembrance for their slaughtered comrades and their former King.

My hand crushed the leather grip of my shield as I recalled the giant blast of fire from the Dark Tower that had consumed Anárion and five of his men to little more than ashes, less than a year ago, and many others since. Men slain by such a cruel weapon were the fortunate ones; the surviving injured had writhed in agony from their terrible, incurable burns for days, even weeks, before death kindly released them from torment.  

Would there be no end to this hopeless war?

The harsh clang of the flat of a sword on my shield startled me. I turned to my right and glared at Glorfindel, whose smile seemed incongruously white within his begrimed face. Soot blackened everything in this place of dread.

‘No more brooding, Erestor,’ he said. ‘Today we will defeat him. Against Aeglos and Narsil none can stand.’

I nodded without joy. When he walked on ahead, I admired the easy grace with which he moved despite the heavy steel plate that protected him. Having faced Valaraucar myself, I was awed by the fact that in an identical hröa Glorfindel had been able to defeat one of them at the Cristhorn, even at the cost of his own life.

I caught up with him and took my position behind Elrond, fearful of what might happen to him. After all, it was my lord’s face I had seen contorted in the throes of death on this very slope in several variations of the dreams conjured by Irmo.

Knowing that our siege could not be maintained much longer in those hostile lands, our commanders had planned a full attack. Before charging, Gil-galad sent Elrond, his herald, to issue a final demand for surrender, including our terms.

As Elrond marched towards the distant Dark Tower, unarmed and alone, I fretted at the thought of an arrow felling him. He reached the emptiness between the two armies, met his counterpart and delivered the message from both Kings. After what seemed like hours, he began to walk towards us. I sighed with relief once he was safely back within our lines.

A long silence followed, only disturbed by the occasional crunch of feet shifting on the ash or the creaking of a leather harness. The airless oppression that hung upon the land was beginning to choke me. I squinted in the murky light at the sheer black walls of the fortress that rose beyond the enemy lines, graceful in proportions and impossibly tall, but made ugly by the pervasive shadow of fear and evil wrapped around it.

The din from Sauron’s host echoed from the ash heaps scattered over the plain, and the hasty opening of a wide passage through their ranks warned us that an answer to our Kings’ demands might be forthcoming. I gasped when the Dark Lord himself stepped forth, followed by two of his sable-cloaked minions.

O Mairon, how did we come to this?

To terrify and dominate, he had embraced the fell guise of the monster he had become. He was much taller than I remembered him from Númenor, taller even than Elendil, a faceless warrior garbed in black armour and wearing a helm whose crown was wrought of iron and gold spikes, sinuous as snakes, sharp as thorns. I could see the cold glint of his eyes beneath the hideous mask. In his right hand he wielded a sword and in his left, an iron mace.

‘Who dares invade my demesne?’ he cried, and his deep voice carried far over the parched, rugged land.

‘The free peoples of Ennor do,’ replied Gil-galad, and both kings took a step forward. ‘We demand you to surrender to our justice, Gorthaur!’

Sauron’s mocking laughter made many men in our host shiver. All stood firm, though, hearts hot with rage at the memories of Eregion and Númenor.

‘Come and fight me, my good kings,’ he taunted. ‘I shall have your heads on spikes before the moon rises. Your peoples will not stand free for long.’

An outraged clamour from our side and a jeering din and beating of shields from our enemies greeted these words. A challenge had been issued.

Gil-galad carefully set his silver shield on the ground and gripped his spear with both hands. Then he advanced, regal in his deep blue armour and seemingly unafraid. He did not look back. Elrond and Círdan stood as his seconds, while Elendil had Isildur by his side. Both armies watched intently.

My heart pounded painfully. I had sparred against Mairon enough times to dread that, barring a miracle, the challenge could only end one way.

No ceremonies or salutes were exchanged before the contest. I held my breath as Gil-galad eyed his opponent warily, both of them feinting without actually attacking. But when they finally engaged, he thrust and blocked in a tireless dance in which Aeglos, true to its name, gleamed white and lethal like a frosted icicle. I was amazed at the King’s agility and speed; his movements were at times too fast for my eyes to follow. And yet, even though Ereinion valiantly held his ground and twice beat back his foe, Sauron gained the advantage when his sword clove Aeglos’ steel-bound shaft, fatally halving its length.

Despite what later legends may say, Gil-galad was not consumed to death by the heat of his foe’s hand. Instead, Sauron’s sword found an opening and stabbed the King upwards, through the heart, killing him instantly. When Ereinion fell to the ground, Elrond cried out in grief and attempted to rush forward, but Círdan held him back by force. The Dark Lord stood above his defeated enemy, blade raised, no doubt to claim his head as he had promised, but Elendil leapt forth and blocked the downward swing.

Narsil flashed gold and silver, as its wielder attacked with a precision that belied his fury. Any other foe would have succumbed under the onslaught but Sauron parried all the blows with sword or mace, although not without effort. For a long time they fought, the clash of metal and their swift steps on the lava ash the only sounds heard under the looming shape of Orodruin. But at length Elendil became sluggish with exhaustion and Narsil’s ringing clashes against Sauron’s weapons came less often, until with a sickening sound of shattered bone the mace crushed Elendil to his knees.

The cries of dismay and horror all around brought tears to my eyes. At the same time, the mithril band about my arm radiated a triumph so vivid and wild that it almost made me cry out in victory, along with the thousands of Sauron’s exultant followers. Sickened, I gritted my teeth and fought to repel his foul joy from my mind. 

At that time, both Isildur and Elrond rushed forward, but neither of them could save Elendil from the fatal thrust of Sauron’s black sword. Elendil swayed, mortally wounded, and dropped Narsil’s tip to the ground, while still clutching its grip with his trembling hands. When he fell,  the blade broke with a snap under his weight.

Amongst a thunder of cheers from his army, Sauron again swung his sword against his new adversaries, and Elrond barely managed to deflect the blow with his blade. It must have taken Glorfindel all of his strength to restrain me.

‘This is his fight,’ he hissed. ‘You may yet get your chance.’

I was forced to watch the scene unfold, enraged but powerless. Reckless from pain at the death of his king and friend, Elrond charged at his opponent without regard for his own defences. His violent tackle unbalanced Sauron, who stumbled and fell backwards, tossing Elrond to one side as though he were a rag doll. At once, Sauron rose to his feet and pushed down with his mace on the chest of his fallen adversary to prevent him from moving. His right hand shifted his grip on his sword, ready to deal the killing blow.

‘No! Mairon, no!’ I screamed in my mind.

Sauron’s black helm turned towards me and, for a heartbeat, he stood unmoving. Then slowly he raised his sword over Elrond’s head. It was then that Isildur, mad with grief at his father’s death, looked up from where he crouched by his broken body and seized Narsil. With a roar of rage, he lunged against the Dark Lord as Sauron’s uplifted hand thrust downwards to slay Elrond. Isildur’s arm slashed wildly upwards with the broken shard.

I cried out in horror and then gasped when Sauron’s blade clattered to the ground without touching my lord. Quick to take advantage of this miraculous escape, Elrond leapt to his feet, before sinking his long dagger into Sauron’s armpit above the black chestguard, leaning all his weight behind the stroke. In a man, such a wound could be mortal.

A shriek of impotent, incredulous wrath shook the very mountain slope we stood on. The sound, greatly amplified by the surge that swept me through our link, pierced me to the bone and made my skull throb with pain. I dropped my own sword and covered my ears. A whirlpool of black wind wrapped itself around Sauron’s form before it soared up high beyond the leaden clouds. His armour, empty, crumbled to the ash with a rattle.

Stunned, I sensed he was gone. But why had he given up the fight?

Isildur picked up something from the dust, his face a mixture of revulsion and wonder. Then he discarded his finding, or perhaps only part of it, because he lifted his hand, holding a small glittering object between thumb and forefinger.

‘The Ring!’ I whispered to Glorfindel. ‘Isildur cut the Ring from his hand!’

Círdan and Elrond rushed towards Elendil’s son and began speaking, nay, arguing with him, but I could not hear their exchange in the clamour growing all around us. The Lord of Mithlond grasped him by the arm while pointing at Orodruin. I saw Isildur shake his head and close his fist before putting it in his pocket. I began to walk, then to run towards Elrond, who knelt by our dead King.

Victory was ours. Sauron’s armies, bereft of his power, faltered. Many surrendered, others scattered, and a few fought to their deaths, too proud to yield. Barad-dûr was pulled down, and its dungeons emptied of captives in a scene so similar to the destruction of Angband that I had to remind myself that I carried no Angainor, and that our foe had fled. For now.

Sauron would lick his wounds, nurse his hatred and plan his vengeance.

 

~ o ~

 

Lore masters and scribes across Endórë have thoroughly recorded the events of the Third Age. Amongst the Atani who lived through those years, Time blurred the truth of history, and hard lessons about the weakness of pride and fall were forgotten; kingdoms rose and fell and their ruins crumbled along with their hopes. Yet, their bards and poets told the legends of battles lost and won, and sang about heroes big and small, whose deeds would echo on into the distant future of their people.

As part of this tale I could add my own account, but scrolls and books abound that describe the slow lengthening of Sauron’s shadow, after the reprieve we gained by our costly victory in Mordor. To dwell upon those bleak times would achieve nothing, so I shall not repeat them here.

And yet, some things cannot be left unsaid. A few happenings sparked a brief flare of hope in my heart; others stoked my despair, not solely because of the terrible pain inflicted on the Children but also because of my anguish at watching Mairon sink further into evil and my own guilt for the part I played in his downfall.

Often I was tormented by the thought of enduring another Age of the world, the second half of my decreed banishment, bereft of everything I had once lived for. Whenever my spirits sank, I forced myself to recall the oaths that bound me. To Elrond I had pledged my loyalty; to Námo, I had sworn to fight my lover with all my strength, were he to become a foe; to Mairon, I once vowed to make him truly free from Melkor, a promise all but unattainable now.

At the turn of the new age, only a few survivors knew of the existence and purpose of the Ring. A mere two years after our victory there was widespread dismay at the arrival of Isildur’s esquire, bearing the heirlooms entrusted to him by his slain lord and telling us of the loss of the Ring. Elrond’s consternation at not having forced Isildur’s hand was partly assuaged by the realisation that, for a while, he was free to wear Vilya upon his finger and wield its full power.

So it came to pass that Imladris was blessed with the undying beauty that both Celebrimbor and Mairon had once pursued. The Hidden Valley was shielded from lingering darkness abroad, from the eyes of the enemy and the ravages of Time, while the marring of Arda within its bounds was contained and diminished.

And it was during this temporary bliss that Elrond, lord of Imladris, rightful heir of Gil-galad and king of the remaining Noldor in Endórë in all but name, found the happiness he had believed lost in the eve of battle in Mordor, and his dearest desire came true. As I promised him in Dagorlad, we feasted at his betrothal to Celebrían and again at their wedding one year later. For a time the shadow cast by Sauron and by my own losses were forgotten as I wished them both joy.

Years later, I watched him hold his twin sons in his arms, his face a study of pride and wonder, and then his daughter Arwen, who would later be called Evenstar. I found a bittersweet pleasure in telling his children stories of distant lands and of the days before the Sun and the Moon, and they never grew weary of tales of Valinor, a magical place in their imagination, as Númenor had once been for my beloved Nikteháa.

 

~ o ~

 

‘Was Gorthaur very fair when he called himself Annatar?’ a sixteen-year-old Elrohir asked once when we were gathered in the Hall of Fire, before the evening songs and storytelling had begun.

Elrohir was immensely proud of being allowed to stay in the Hall with the adults after dinner. Elladan, however, would have rather run barefoot in the garden. On this occasion, he kept squirming on his chair, and now rolled his eyes at his brother’s question.

Their father, reclined on a comfortable bench with his arms wrapped around Celebrían, glanced at me. Glorfindel winked over the rim of his goblet, as he sipped mulled wine.

Thus prompted, I reluctantly opened my mouth to answer, while reminding myself to school my face into a blank mask, but Celebrían’s voice stopped me short.

‘He was indeed most fair,’ she said, and her opal green eyes lost focus, as though staring into the past. ‘I was not of age yet when we left Ost-in-Edhil for good, but I remember him well. He used to call me “my flower,” and said that Varda herself had surely spun my hair out of her whitest starlight. More than once, during lengthy, boring feasts, he told me stories of Aman, or we played riddles and games with numbers. I thought he was kind and wise.’ A brief smile was replaced by pursed lips and a shiver. ‘Like many others, I fell for his charms.’ I noticed Elrond tightening his embrace.

‘Did you know him when you both lived in Valinor, Erestor?’ said Elrohir. He was nothing if not persistent when something caught his interest.

Glorfindel almost choked on his wine.

‘He is a Maia,’ I said, perhaps too sharply, ‘and the mightiest and most skilled of Aulë’s apprentices, a long time ago. Maiar rarely get seen or felt, unless they are incarnate like Melian once was, or like... Gorthaur.’

‘Or like Eönwë and his host during the War in Beleriand,’ added Elrohir importantly, to prove he studied his lessons. ‘Our father spoke to him. Did you not, Ada?’

I bit the inside of my mouth when I saw Elrond wince and pull Celebrían even closer.

‘I certainly did,’ he replied. ‘What is the reason for your keen interest in Sauron right now?’

‘Elladan and I must write an essay about the fall of Eregion for our history lessons, but I do not understand... If Annatar was fair and wise and powerful, what made him change?’

I stared at the flames, picturing Mairon’s proud profile in the amber sunset of Kiinlúum, then recalling his disappointment and rage on the night when I told him of my choice to return to Lindon.

‘His ambition has ever been the dominion of the whole of Ennor. When he failed to achieve his purpose with lies, he waged war,’ said Elrond. ‘He will forever be our enemy.’

‘But he lost his power when you defeated him in Mordor, did he not?’ queried Elrohir, frowning.

‘We hope so,’ said his father, looking in turns at Glorfindel, Celebrían and me.

The existence of any of the Rings of Power was a closely guarded secret. That Sauron would find the Ruling Ring was indeed our greatest fear.

‘It hardly matters, does it?’ huffed Elladan, swinging his legs. ‘If Sauron returns, the Valar can send Eönwë and his army to help us win again, like the first time in Beleriand, and he will push Gorthaur into the Void with Morgoth. Shall we go and play now, Elrohir?’

Having sated his curiosity, at least for the moment, Elrohir nodded. Both boys stood, bowed courteously and ran out of the Hall.

A tremor shook me, and I gripped my knees to still my hands. Children’s mouths speak the truth, they say, and in this case foresight was a proven paternal trait. I was unnerved by such an uncanny pronouncement and by the dreaded memory of the chasm that opened between the snarling dragons of the Moritarnon, the Doors of Night that had swallowed Melkor long ago.

Glorfindel refilled my cup and offered it to me. I drank it in one long gulp, but the warm spiced wine could not dispel the chill from my heart.

 

 

Imladris, Year 1087 of the Third Age of Arda

The first time I saw Olórin in his guise as Mithrandir, I almost laughed aloud. Later, in private, I assaulted him with queries about Aman, including the reason for being sent to Endórë.

‘Your crime must have been even more heinous than mine,’ I teased. ‘Why were you given such a feeble appearance?’

‘We came to advise and persuade, and to unite the Children in resistance against Sauron and the corruption he spreads, not to rule or dominate them. This hröa is meant to makes us feel weak and humble.’

‘It certainly does not work that way for Curumo. When I saw him, he strode around with a practised air of infinite wisdom and patient suffering,’ I said. ‘But then, when was he ever humble?’

Olórin laughed heartily and I smiled. 

‘He told us that you had all been sent as emissaries by the Valar,’ I added. ‘But why now, after they have forsaken Endórë and removed themselves from the visible world?’

‘It is by the will of Eru, who spoke to the council called by Manwë and ordained it to be so.’

I sighed with wonder, hopeful for the first time in a long time. Having felt the shackle stir with faint echoes of Mairon’s feelings over the last half a yén, I dreaded the end of our peace.

‘I was already glad to see you, old friend, but now I would kiss you, were it not for that beard.’

‘In that case I am happy I decided to keep it,’ he replied with a growl. ‘Maybe the Valar gave us these old, dry bodies to avoid that sort of temptation, after finding out what it can lead to.’

I felt myself blushing.

 

 

Imladris, Year 2509 of the Third Age of Arda

Just after dawn, the bells of Imladris clanged urgently. By the time I rushed to the main porch of the building that housed Elrond and his family, the company of riders, dirty and exhausted, had arrived in the front courtyard. Elrohir held in his arms a limp form wrapped in a blanket. Elladan was already at his stirrup, waiting to receive it in his hands when his father pushed him to one side.

‘Adar,’ Elrohir sobbed. ‘We were too late.’

‘Is she alive?’ cried Elrond. He was pale as a sheet as he took the long bundle in his arms that Elrohir handed down to him with infinite care. Only then did his son dismount, dropping to the ground like a stone.

‘Barely. When we saw her injuries, we rushed back with all speed,’ whispered Elladan. ‘One of them is poisoned, we are certain. Oh, Adar...’

Both twins, dark-haired and taller than their father, were clearly beyond weariness, their hair matted, their clothes creased with mud and sweat. Deep shadows obscured their pale grey eyes and their faces were dirty and tear-stained. It had been many centuries since I had seen either of them weep.

Elrond bit his lip as he tugged gently at the corner of the blanket, uncovering the face of his unconscious wife. His grimace of pain pierced my heart.

Arwen arrived. ‘The healers are ready,’ she said. She peered at her mother and nearly sank to her knees. ‘Oh, Elbereth!’

Elrond strode down the path that led to the building where once I had lain wounded. His children followed; as they walked away I heard Arwen weeping quietly, with her brothers on either side, each of them with an arm around her waist.

A tide of scalding rage, of guilt and shame swept through me. I almost choked with the unbearable urge to hunt down the despicable beast behind this atrocity, the being I had once worshipped and caressed. I wanted to tear down his miserable lair, crush his loathsome thralls to dust and throttle him with my bare hands.

Impotent, I had watched darkness swirl tighter around us, closing upon other lands devoid of the protection of an untainted Ring of Power. A large portion of Thranduil’s forest realm was eaten away by a canker of dread spurred by the mysterious Necromancer of Dol Guldur, whom I suspected of being Sauron returned, although we had no proof. Despite having battled and defeated the Witch-king, chief of the Nazgûl, the deceived slaves of his Rings, Sauron’s shadow kept spreading further, encroaching us and the other free realms.

Glorfindel’s patrols had been fighting Orcs and other foul beasts that swarmed along the Hithaeglir. Aware of the peril, Celebrían had ridden towards Lórien with a large escort. And yet she had been seized.

I was trembling from shock. Sauron’s evil had hurt those closest to me. I would search for and annihilate him. I would throw him through the Moritarnon. I would...

‘Come,’ said Glorfindel, placing a firm hand on my shoulder.

‘Leave me!’ I yelled, and pulled away from him. Several startled faces turned to watch us.

‘I know what fills your mind right now, Erestor. Let me remind you that you have a duty to your lord, before you decide to bolt off seeking redemption for an evil you are not responsible for,’ he said in a low voice, grasping my arm so tightly it hurt. I struggled and his fingers clawed harder into my biceps, bruising me. I deserved pain, much more than this. 

‘You know nothing about me,’ I hissed. ‘Nothing. The Valar have cursed me. In payment for my ill choices of the past, anyone I love must suffer, while I am condemned to watch their agony.’

‘I thought that was Húrin’s doom at the hands of Moringotto,’ replied Glorfindel dryly.

‘Húrin watched his kin from afar; he died and found peace at last. I am denied that release, or any other. Manwë is crueller than his brother.’

‘Maybe,’ he conceded. ‘But neither Elrond nor Manwë will be ruling this realm for the next few days or weeks. You shall. With my help, if you will have it.’

His words had the effect of a plunge in an icy stream. Naturally, he was right. The last thing Elrond needed now was to worry about a wallowing counsellor. I took several deep breaths to calm myself.

Slowly, Glorfindel released me and gestured for me to accompany him. We began to walk, heading towards Elrond’s library, the hub of Imladris’ government.

‘Thank you, friend,’ I said. ‘Indeed I need your wisdom. Any I might have possessed deserted me long ago.’

I stopped and tried to turn back. Gently this time, he took hold of my arm.

‘Let us give Elrond some privacy. We will hear news from the healers’ wing soon enough. Otherwise I will prise the boys away lest they faint from exhaustion.’

‘I doubt they will move from her side.’

‘Believe me, I have a streak of stubbornness. And the Imladris guard answers to me. You would do well to remember.’

I snorted. ‘Is that a threat? That you will have me arrested if I am unreasonable?’

‘Possibly. I would certainly avoid unauthorised trips outside the valley until further notice, if I were you.’

I lifted my hands in mock defeat. ‘I have a duty; you have just reminded me yourself. I will be too busy for excursions.’

‘Good.’

We had reached the door to the library and our light banter died. A hard lump was wedged in my throat and tears were not too far from falling.

‘I would have lost my sanity several times over the yéni, had it not been for you, Glorfindel. I am indebted to you.’

‘In that case, maybe you can let me win a bout or two every so often,’ he said, deadpan. ‘Give me a chance not to feel perpetually humiliated.’

I shook my head. ‘Not that indebted, friend.’

Despite our sadness and anxiety we both smiled, before our thoughts returned to Celebrían and her family. Together, we waited for news.

 

 

Imladris, Year 2510 of the Third Age of Arda

Elrond never lost hope. Having trained with the healers ever since we faced the bloody aftermath of the battle of Dagorlad, he tended to his wife with his own hands. He encouraged her every minute step towards recovery. But after a few months it began to be clear to everyone but him that she had been hurt too deeply to ever find joy in Endórë again.

Very reluctantly, he agreed to her decision to sail West.

On the day chosen for their departure, we wished our lady a full return to health and that she would find in Valinor the peace that eluded her here. I almost broke down when she kissed my cheek and murmured in my ear, ‘Look after them.’

Then, before the assembled company that would escort them both to Harlindon, we exchanged farewells with Elrond.

‘You will be coming back, my lord, will you not?’ I asked him, apprehensive.

‘I have not made up my mind yet, Erestor,’ he answered, rubbing his forehead. Lack of sleep was etched on his face, along with the pain that had not ceased since the day we learnt of his wife’s capture. ‘I will send word, if I choose that path.’

‘We need you back here,’ said Glorfindel, fidgeting with the hilt of his sword. He ran thumb and forefinger over his eyes to remove any trace of moisture before gazing at his lord and friend.

‘No, you do not. Erestor has been a most capable ruler for the last year and can advise my heirs. I have left instructions.’

‘Very well, leave the governance to them and return, anyway. You are needed.’

Glorfindel embraced Elrond tightly and, when he released him at last, I did the same. We both bowed to him before moving to one side. Elrond kissed Arwen, who clung briefly to his neck, and then he wrapped an arm over each of the twins, kissing first Elladan and then Elrohir on the brow. Despite his children’s irate protests, he had banned them from travelling in their company, no doubt to save them the final, most bitter parting.

Without looking back, Elrond glided down the steps and walked towards his tall chestnut gelding. Taking the reins from the groom, he mounted. He swept his gaze over his home and then let it rest upon each of us. Subdued, we all watched the solemn host depart amongst a clatter of hooves and a creaking of wheels. The journey would be slow, as Celebrían would have to travel in a cart.

 

When Elrond returned from Mithlond, we sighed with joy and relief.

He was a changed man; melancholy but not broken, because misfortune had ever tempered him. Instead of joining his sons in their vengeful spree against the creatures of evil, tragedy made him care more than ever for the safety of those under his protection. Therefore he toiled to reinforce the boundaries of Imladris, which became a haven from the troubled lands abroad. 

Elrond later confided in Glorfindel and me that it had been Celebrían who had persuaded him to stay, and that he had vowed to her not to forsake Endórë until Sauron and his minions were defeated.

For me, a mere victory in battle would not be sufficient.

 

 

Doom

Erestor is not happy about the decision to send Frodo to destroy the Ring in the fires of Orodruin. Eönwë makes plans.

Special thanks to SurgicalSteel for her invaluable advice on knife injuries.

This chapter fits the following B2MeM 2012 prompt:

Discoveries - G51: Songs of Power

Read Doom

 

35. Doom

 

Imladris, Year 2850 of the Third Age of Arda - Winter

‘You crossed Taur-e-Ndaedelos alone and on foot? ’ asked Glorfindel, incredulous.

‘Yes, I did,’ said Olórin calmly, lighting his pipe and exhaling strings of bluish smoke. ‘And after chilling my bones in the dread that pervades the forest and listening to Thranduil’s despair about his people forced to retreat from the encroaching shadow, I decided to pay a visit to Dol Guldur.’

Elrond, Glorfindel and I stared at him, speechless from amazement, while the rings he blew floated up higher, growing in size and fading into the thick cloud above us. I waved my arm before my face, in exaggerated disgust at the foul pipeweed habit Olórin had recently picked up from the folk he often visited in the region he called “the Shire.”

‘Tell me you did not enter the Necromancer’s lair...’ Elrond’s voice faltered.

‘I had to, in order to see with my own eyes, and to sense him.’ Olórin glanced at me. I held my breath, guessing. ‘But I went in disguise.’

‘Disguise or not, I am surprised you ever came out,’ remarked Glorfindel.

‘It was a risky adventure.’ Olórin puffed on his pipe. ‘But fruitful too, though the news is bad, as we expected.’

‘So it is him!’ I blurted. ‘Sauron.’

Olórin nodded, gazing at me with pity from under his bushy eyebrows. Then he shifted on his seat and grimaced, as though his joints hurt him. ‘We must oust him from his fortress. If he has not openly attacked us yet, it is because he lacks strength,’ he said. ‘From what I saw, he has gathered a small army, and he commands the Nazgûl, dangerous allies, but not enough force to launch himself into a war of conquest. Not yet.’

‘Despite our constant vigilance at the pass, Orcs keep swarming into Eriador through Moria, attempting to cut us off from Lórien and the realm of Thranduil,’ replied Elrond. ‘I agree with your counsel, Mithrandir. We must act before it is too late. I shall summon the White Council.’

Knowing with certainty the whereabouts of our foe had at last given us a target to aim at.

When Curumo, leader of the Council, ruled that we should wait despite Olórin’s urgings, reasoning that the One Ring was lost to Sauron for good, we were angry and dismayed.

Not long afterwards Elrond suffered one of the seizures that brought him foresight. ‘The Ring will be found,’ he said when he recovered. ‘And the war that will follow shall end this Age, for better or worse.’

‘Did you see darkness?’ I asked, holding my breath.

His eyes were pained. ‘Yes, Erestor. Great darkness. And if there was light beyond, it was hidden from me.’

Impotent, we waited while our enemy gathered his forces.

 

 

Imladris, Year 3018 of the Third Age of Arda

‘You cannot allow this folly, Elrond!’ I cried, as soon as the door to the library had closed behind us. ‘To send those two Periain into Mordor, even under the protection of dauntless companions, is condemning them to certain death. Not idly did I call that option the path of despair.’

‘I am tired and hungry,’ said Elrond, shrugging off his formal robes. ‘After that lengthy Council, I feel as though my head could burst. I am glad Bilbo’s sense and rumbling stomach put an end to our debate. Can we leave the matter until we have eaten?’

‘No! I did not wish to contradict my sworn lord in front of such a gathering, but now...’

‘You heard all the arguments, Erestor. We have no better choice; from all the alternatives, destroying the Ring has the most merit. And the hobbits have the same chance of success as anyone else, or better. They will not blare trumpets and stomp through the Morannon as we once did, but might be able to cross the bounds of Mordor by stealth. May I remind you that Bilbo stole into Smaug’s lair?’

‘Even though the Ring made him invisible, the dragon detected his smell,’ I retorted. ‘This time, Sauron will sense the presence of the Ring.’

‘Not unless Frodo puts it on. But after the attack at Amon Sûl, he knows the peril.’

‘The Ring will lure him into betraying himself,’ I said. ‘Can you not feel its pull when Frodo comes near you?’

The door opened and Elrond withheld his answer. Glorfindel and Aragorn entered.

‘I knew you would be here, so I have asked the kitchen staff to bring us a repast,’ said Glorfindel. ‘We have much to discuss.’

‘Where is Mithrandir?’ I asked.

‘With Frodo and his companions,’ said Aragorn. He smiled. ‘Tucking into a hearty meal.’

I looked at him fondly and felt my lips tug upwards at their corners. Arathorn’s son was a tall, wiry man, dark haired and with the grey eyes of his ancestors. His brow was lined by toil and sorrow now, but it did not seem that long ago that he had arrived, a small burden in Gilraen’s arms, his eyes wide from wonder and fear, clutching a dirty rag from which it took years to wean him.

As he grew older Aragorn had often reminded me of Elendur, Isildur’s eldest son, and of my friend Anárion even more; like him, Aragorn smiled rarely but, whenever he did, his grave face was lit by the most contagious joy. Over the years he had proved to be shrewd, hardy and generous, while learning to become a wise, respected leader.

The Chieftain of the Dúnedain, Heir of Isildur, and a banished Maia incarnate in the shape of Elrond’s stern counsellor had far more in common than at first sight might seem possible: both of us yearned for a lover; and both of us were faced with seemingly insurmountable odds before a bittersweet reunion were possible.

‘I must go with Frodo,’ said Aragorn, without preamble. ‘Or better, instead of him.’

I gazed at Elrond in triumph. Before I even opened my mouth, he cut me off.

‘No, Erestor. Neither Glorfindel nor you will be going anywhere. As for you, Aragorn, you must weigh your options with care. Minas Tirith is where your presence will be needed most. Choosing the messengers that will take the Ring is a decision not to be rushed. All must go willingly, aware of the dangers of this mission.’

I shifted uncomfortably. ‘Have you considered that the power infused into the Ring may not be destroyed in the Sammath Naur but merely released, again available for Sauron to claim if he undoes the spell?’ All gazes turned to me. ‘None live who know the secret workings of this curwë, except its maker. Will we be merely handing back to him the might he invested when he wrought the Ring?’

A deep silence followed my words.

‘Do we lose anything asking Iarwain to keep it for us, instead of guessing what he would or would not do?’ I insisted. ‘His presence in Endórë must have a purpose.’

I had been shocked when Frodo had described how the Ring had not affected the eccentric fellow who named himself Tom Bombadil. Until then I had believed him to be one of the Quendi, but during the Council Olórin had implied that he might be a Maia, or maybe one of the other spirits who entered Eä with us.

‘Mithrandir knows him well. If he says Iarwain is not the best guardian for the Ring, then we must believe him,’ said Glorfindel.

‘The road back to Bree and beyond is plagued with spies, even through the wild lands,’ said Aragorn. ‘Sauron would unleash his minions against anyone going westward with the Ring. Outside this valley they would soon be slain.’

Reluctantly, I had to agree. Yet again I racked my mind for a spark of inspiration or an overlooked scrap of knowledge that might save us from taking the Ring straight into the hands of our foe, along with the dominion over the whole of Endórë. I found none.

‘We cannot take it near Sauron,’ I cried in frustration. ‘There must be another way!’

‘Not within our reach,’ said Elrond, shaking his head.

 

That evening I rode up the path that led out of the valley into the moors. There I called out both with voice and thought, asking, even begging my friend Lintavailë or any of his kindred to succour us. None came.

Subdued, I returned to the house.

‘Why the sulking, friend?’ asked Olórin, who sat in the garden despite the late hour and the chill of the night.

‘It seems madness to walk the long, perilous path to Mordor when the deed may be achieved far less painfully with the right allies. I called the Eagles, or tried to, at least. But my cries were either lost in the emptiness or ignored. Most likely, Manwë has forbidden his winged servants from lending me their aid ever again. Will you summon them? They came to your aid at Erebor and Orthanc.’

‘They do not answer to me,’ he replied, ‘and I would not command them to serve us this way.’

‘Why not, when the stakes are so high? One of them could at least fly the Ring away from here and closer to Orodruin.’

‘The risk is too great,’ he said with a shake of his head. ‘Sauron would immediately guess our purpose and unleash all his servants to capture the Ring.’

‘But his Nazgûl have been dismounted and dispersed. We have some time until they regroup,’ I objected, irritated at his obstinacy to see flaws in my reasoning.

‘Even so,’ he said, ‘he has many spies and other beasts on the ground and in the air. An Eagle would act as a beacon signalling the location of the Ring. Instead, a small party of walkers, several of them not even warriors but seemingly helpless hobbits, is less likely to draw the enemy’s eye. Sauron must be led to believe that Elrond is planning to keep the Ring and wield it, or maybe to send it West instead.’

‘Are we meant to sit, wait and do nothing?’ I exclaimed, angrily. ‘Do not tell me that this is written in the Music, and therefore meant to happen.’

‘The outcome is,’ he said with conviction. ‘But indeed, we must play our parts so that we can face the future knowing that we did all we could.’

Berated, I felt myself blush. Olórin squeezed my shoulder in reassurance.

‘I know how long you have fought and how deep your wound is, but you must endure a bit longer,’ he said. ‘Do not let despair win when the end is so close. Despite being bound in flesh, neither of us is without resources.’

 

Several days later, I spent most of the morning collating requisition lists in order to procure as much as we could hoard in preparation for a long siege. Leaving my office with rows of figures still parading before my eyes, I walked briskly, as I was late to meet Glorfindel and Laergil at the archery range to shoot a couple dozen ends before the midday meal.

The three of us were hoping that Legolas, son of Thranduil of the Greenwood, would accept our invitation to join us; rumours about his mastery of the bow spurred us to measure our skill against his. Besides, after Elrond had declared his intention to offer him a place in the Fellowship that would accompany Frodo, I was keen to gain a better insight into his temperament and disposition.

In my haste I nearly stumbled over a hobbit who was crouched down with his head almost touching the ground on the edge of the path next to the carp pond.

‘Are you well?’ I asked, concerned.

He rose to his feet in haste and gave an endearingly clumsy bow.

‘Oh, yes sir. But look at this... the irises are in flower! And they smell so sweetly.’ His brown eyes shone with wonder.

‘Well, this is a very sheltered spot, moist and sunny,’ I offered. ‘But I am no expert as to their seasons.’

He eyed the unstrung bow and the quiver full of white-fletched arrows that I carried.

‘You are a warrior as well as a counsellor, sir?’

‘We are all forced to be warriors during these dark days,’ I answered. ‘Yet it looks as though the most important task will fall on you, Samwise. And please call me Erestor.’

‘On me?’ He blushed, flustered. ‘Oh, no, I will only go along to help my master.’

‘Frodo may carry the greater burden, but you must be there to catch him and put him back on his feet, were he to fall. That is a great responsibility.’ I paused, uncertain. ‘Have you felt the Ring’s malice?’

‘Sometimes I have heard whispers, but could not tell what they meant,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘A bit like leaves rustling in the wind.’

‘Your people seem able to endure its lure much better than we do. The Ring even speaks to me, offering what I once... Never mind.’ I laughed, ruefully. ‘Anything it offers is a lie. Never forget that. You may have to help Frodo overcome temptation and carry on, even when his path seems lost or his will falters. Now tell me yours is not as important a task as his.’

‘Spoken so neatly, it seems so, sir... Erestor.’ He smiled, then his forehead creased into a frown. ‘But I am no good with a bow, or with a sword. This quest seems a bit too big for the likes of us hobbits.’

My heart gave a painful lurch at the thought of the many ugly fates the hobbits and their companions might yet suffer. I schooled my face to hide my dismay at his candour about his fears, which mirrored my own.

‘Others will go with you to wield weapons,’ I replied. ‘Not me, for my duty is to Elrond as yours is to Frodo, and my lord’s will is that I work at his side to defend this realm and its people. But if I can serve you in any way, say the word.’

‘You are most kind, sir,’ he answered politely, giving another bow. His eyes widened in surprise when I bowed in return, before walking on. After a few strides, I looked back and saw him with his face amongst the irises, eyes closed, breathing their fruity, musty scent, which reminded me a little of my sister Ilmarë when free from her raiment.

I was struck with longing. Nikteháa had once claimed that I smelled like ‘a warm breeze in the hills, on a late summer day when heather is in bloom.’ For an instant I savoured the memory, craving the freedom to weave myself with the rushing wind, travelling far in space and time back to the lost bliss of those days in Kiinlúum.

My heart leapt with a flash of inspiration, the seed of a plan.

 

 

Endórë, Year 3019 of the Third Age of Arda

I knew with complete certainty the time at which Frodo and Sam stood against all odds on the fiery brink of the Sammath Naur. Or rather, I perceived the exact moment when Frodo claimed the Ring, and Sauron was aware of his deadly peril.

In Imladris it was a cold, dull afternoon. Foreboding hung in the air as thick as fog. Trees were lazy in their awakening and the whole valley was wreathed in silence. Not even the clang of the smithies could be heard; all steel had been forged and riveted long ago. Our preparations for a siege had been completed, our patrols watched our borders tirelessly, jumping at shadows and slaying the Orcs that ventured too close. We waited, fretting, deaf and blind to the events abroad.

Or almost deaf and blind.

Mairon’s screech of wrathful terror shook me with the same intensity I had sensed as he was vanquished by Isildur on the slopes of Orodruin.

I was ready. For months I had been listening to the range of echoed feelings that every so often were emitted by the mithril shackle, eagerly awaiting the right moment. It had come at last.

I must act quickly, but a mistake would prove costly. With trembling fingers, I unsheathed the long knife that I had carried continuously at my waist during the day and placed under my pillow at night ever since the Fellowship departed. I had fastidiously run through the whole armoury until I found an ancient Noldorin weapon whose white horn hilt was inlaid with curls of gold, so much like the blade I used to release Celebrimbor from his torment. However, too much hung in the balance to yield the success of this task to superstition alone; its double edge was razor-sharp.

After sparing a brief glance at the cold gleam of steel, I pressed the point between my ribs to the left of my sternum, aiming it straight back, at my heart. My sweaty hands were tight around the grip, left over right, firm against the guard to avoid slipping.

One last time I inhaled, deeply. I only dared spare a spark of regret at having to discard my hröa in exchange for a flimsy chance of accomplishing my goal. Worse still, I cringed at the distress I would cause my friends. I clenched my jaw and cleared my mind; there was no room for doubt.

With one decisive motion, I brought my hands back towards my chest, thrusting the blade through the barrier of muscle. Despite having braced myself for the surge of agony, the white-hot star that burst inside me and racked every nerve was overwhelming. I fell to the floor, writhing, choking; commanding every shred of will and wit against the pain, I rolled to my front, so that the hilt pushed against the tiles and shifted the blade within, rending my flesh to speed its task. My fingers loosened their grip but it no longer mattered.

Unlike my first death, this one was swift. The ties to my hröa weakened as it grew numb, then they snapped, and I burst free.

Free to soar and to outrun the wind, fast as thought and light entwined, for that is my nature. I called Olórin while I flew, in case he could hear my ósanwë. ‘Summon the Eagles, friend, for this is the hour of doom!’

When I arrived at the glowing chasm inside Orodruin, an instant was all I needed to perceive the details of the scene before me, on the edge of the fissure above the rumbling heart of the mountain.

Frodo lay on the floor, clutching his right hand, and Sam staggered towards him, his head bleeding, while he ripped a rag from his tattered shirt. Another creature, a stunted, shrivelled shadow of a hobbit, no doubt the one called Gollum, was so entranced with joy at the Ring that glowed between his thumb and forefinger that he stepped too far and, with a shriek, toppled into the chasm of fiery lava.

A glint of gold flew up from Gollum’s hand as he fell to his death in the blazing depths. For an instant the Ring seemed suspended in mid air before dropping swiftly towards the river of molten stone.

At that moment, Sauron sped into the chamber as a gale of darkness and dived down to rescue the Ring from its fall. Like me, he had forsaken his carnal shape and reeked of corruption and fear. I threw all my being against him to divert his course.

Had we been inside our hröar, our grapple would have broken bones. Incorporeal, our fight could be better described as a crackling swirl of two slippery currents of sparks, each of us attempting to curl the other into a ball and wrap ourselves over it, preventing movement and escape. As well as evading him, I had to keep Mairon from reaching the Ring. I soon realised I was stronger, but if he claimed his old power back, he would turn the tables and all would be lost.

Again and again he eluded my traps, sliding through my openings and twisting away like an eel. He had ever been a better strategist and a faster fighter. But I sensed his mounting panic, his desperation, as we kept falling and the Ring with us.

Time and gravity were on my side.

‘To the Void with you, Eönwë!’ he roared into my mind. ‘Let go of me!’ His anguish thrummed louder than his curse.

Then, two things happened at once. Tendrils of his power closed upon the Ring, while I engulfed him at last and welded my being all around him, like a fist trapping a spider. He fought in vain, screaming his terror and outrage as I sped up our descent with the Ring tangled in the folds of our mingled, warring fields of energy. Once it became submerged in the abyss of fire whence it was born, it would be destroyed.

If I had been embodied, I would have smiled to savour my victory.

As the lava drew nearer, I felt every particle in the Ring starting to warm up and vibrate wildly, threatening to irreversibly escape the bonds that shaped its structure. I sensed Mairon desperately wrapping himself around the Ring and pouring his energy onto it to fight the tug of the heat. He abandoned the fight to become a shimmering orb, a ball of dark star-like radiance which would blind any creature that set eyes upon it. Enraged at being outwitted, I jabbed him with sharp spikes, hoping to pierce the living shield and destroy the delicate balance of pressure and temperature he sustained within to protect his creation.

As I pummelled him, the reverberations of his voice, beautiful, fell, and so familiar, rippled through me and I was filled with dread.  He was invoking the Song of Power that would extract his might back from the Ring. This could not happen! I was so close to victory! With strength born of desperation, I hacked away at his barrier; if I could breach his sphere before he finished reciting the incantation, the Ring would be unmade.

Every time I struck, a wave of his pain coursed through me, but I did not relent. His Song faltered, and the spell that had begun to shimmer died. He was too weak! All he could do was to keep his will bent on his shield around the Ring to prevent the perfect band of metal from melting and spilling his potency into the fiery stone flow.

In this moment of triumph, all I could feel was pity.

‘Let go, you fool!’ I cried. ‘You will fade to a spark if you hold on.’

‘Without it the Void awaits me.’ Fear radiated off him stronger than rage or hatred. I paused, reluctant to hurt him more.

A brief flicker of conscious thought near me signalled the death of Gollum, consumed by the flow of lava. My fight with Mairon had taken no more than a couple of heartbeats from the time we all fell into the chasm.

The tremors seemed stronger. Stirred by the Song of Power, the very core of the mountain had begun to crumble. Lava hissed and leaped, bubbles bursting like viscous, fiery arrows that bounced off the sphere I had become over Mairon. The fumes, the sparks, the unbearable heat and the increasing shaking were irrelevant to both of us.

The cries above me, faint amidst the din of the nascent quake, reminded me of those who had risked their lives to guide me to this moment. Unlike me in my new freedom, they were not immune to the mortal dangers of our surroundings.

After a violent yank failed to dislodge Mairon from his precious creation, I plunged with him to the very bottom of the river of fire. When I released him, I was satisfied that he would be imprisoned under the tons of flowing lava unless he relinquished the Ring to its end; he had lost too much of his might to be able to save both himself and his trinket.

‘Leave it and come with me, Mairon!’

‘Curse you!’ he cried, knowing he had been defeated.

I was torn in two, but I could not wait for him. ‘I shall come to you when you wish it, as I once promised,’ I said.

I leaped up to the edge of the fissure, where Sam was running towards Frodo. The whole mountain shook and lava began to surge up within the crack, threatening to overflow into the cavern. Sam pulled his master to his feet and half dragged, half carried him to the entrance on the rocky slope.

I spread myself over them, so that falling rock and glowing splatters of molten stone could not harm them. From the heights I witnessed the collapse of Barad-dûr, its walls of steel and adamant shattering into a dark cloud of dust that rose high in the sky like a final ghost of Sauron’s shadow. Above us, the humming sky was rent by lightning, and the roar of thunder was drowned in the angry shaking of the earth. Fat drops of rain, as black as the clouds, began to fall, tentative at first, then in a deluge that drenched the hobbits and made the hot soil hiss and steam.

Orodruin erupted with a violent blast beneath and above us just as the screeching Nazgûl flew overhead and were shot out of the sky by bolts of fire. Hot ash replaced rain.

Unaware of my enveloping presence, the hobbits descended the winding path until they reached the plain of Gorgoroth. Half of Orodruin slid down in a mighty crash, and lava poured like iron from a smelter’s crucible out of its broken cone and down the slopes towards us until we were surrounded on a low mound by a sea of fire and blazing pits spewing smoke. Despite the shield I had built, Frodo and Sam coughed and gasped, choked by heat and the poisonous fumes. Helpless, I watched them faint, hand in hand.

A cool wind came from the North blowing the shadow away, and on its wings glided the Eagles, carrying Olórin.

Followed by the servants of Námo.

They cast a shimmering web around and over me to block my escape, and waited in silence, beings of light unyielding like marble. Once Olórin and his winged friends departed to fly the hobbits to safety, the Maiar ordered me to accompany them.

Looking around at the dark clouds of smoke veiling the ruin of Orodruin above us and at the writhing lava flowing past, congealing in places into charcoal snakes, I wondered if Mairon had finally forsaken the Ring and fled from the ruins of his domain. I could not sense his presence.

‘I shall not return to Aman,’ I answered. ‘Tell your lord that I must first fulfil my promises, that I will face his judgement for disobeying the terms of my banishment, but not yet.’

‘You must come with us,’ the Maiar repeated grimly, closing upon me.

‘Not yet! Let me...’ I almost betrayed Mairon’s location and my true feelings. I forced myself to feel nothing, to feign a thirst for revenge that had already died in the fire of the mountain. ‘He is not wholly defeated yet. I must pursue him!’

Frantic, I resisted their command. They bundled me up in their force fields and carried me with them. Tasting the bitterness of defeat is not how I had imagined victory.

A very long time ago, I had dreamt of Mairon suing for mercy at my feet, as he once had, before giving himself to the justice of the Valar; I had dreaded their terrible judgement that yet spared him from the Void, allowing us a glimmer of hope for a distant future. Instead, I had all but destroyed him, only to abandon him again, buried under the desolation of Gorgoroth. He might even be too weak to flee to the dark empty vaults beyond the furthest stars. And I was the one about to face my doom.

Or so I thought, until I realised I was not being escorted back to Mandos, not even to Aman.

We were going to Imladris.

 

 

---

 

Notes:

 

Taur-e-Ndaedelos (Sindarin) forest of great dread; a Sindarin name for Mirkwood

Iarwain (Sindarin) the Eldest; “Iarwain Ben-adar” is the Elvish name for Tom Bombadil.

 

 

Freedom

The two ages of Eönwë’s banishment come to an end.

This chapter fits the following B2MeM 2012 prompts:

Emotions - B1: Joy
Emotions - I21: Awe

Read Freedom

 

36. Freedom

 

‘Erestor, if you can hear me open the door this instant!’ shouted Glorfindel.

Blood thundered in my ears, and light tickled me, pink and warm through my eyelids. I wriggled my toes, then my fingers. Back inside my hröa I felt no pain, not even when I dared roll to my side, and my heart beat steadily. I let out a sigh of relief.

Feeling dizzy, I blinked and touched my chest. There was no sign of the wound though my garments were torn and covered in blood, still wet. I almost laughed. After so many attempts, Námo had perfected his technique and could bind me back into my restored hröa even from afar but, apparently, his wife had not taught him about fabrics.

‘Soon you may be free, but until then you are bound to Elrond,’ the Lord of Mandos had said. ‘None can discover what you have done; this victory is theirs. I must congratulate you, Eönwë. Even though you disobeyed the terms of your banishment, I am pleased your reason prevailed at last. If only you had called for my help, my servants might have grasped Sauron before he fled Arda.’ I had remained impassive, making my mind blank from everything but images of distant stars instead of dwelling on the tons of lava likely to be crushing Mairon. 

The pounding on the door startled me, fast and loud.

‘Right, Laergil, we are breaking in.’ Glorfindel’s voice was anxious. ‘I fear something is wrong...’

‘Wait! I am well,’ I cried, staggering to my feet. ‘Give me a moment.’

I pulled off both my ruined tunic and shirt, threw the bundle into a cupboard and dragged a rug over the stains of blood on the floor before yanking another shirt from a drawer. A hasty scan of the scene revealed the reddened knife by the bed. Cursing, I kicked it under the wardrobe. At last, I unlocked the door.

‘Something has happened! Lord Elrond is summoning us all,’ said Elladan, rushing into the room. ‘He senses a change. A lightness of some sort.’

Glorfindel peered at me from behind him. ‘You are very pale,’ he said. ‘And you did not answer for a long while, despite the knocking.’

‘I fell asleep,’ I mumbled. His glare showed incredulity.

‘Perhaps the Fellowship has destroyed the Ring,’ Laergil said. Sunlight poured through the window and his eyes glittered with joy. ‘The gloom is lifting!’

‘And what does Erestor do at the hour of doom?’ laughed Glorfindel slapping me hard on the back. ‘He falls asleep. You must tell me how you chose your timing so precisely.’

‘Maybe later,’ I growled.

 ~ o ~

 

The Eagles bringing the news that confirmed everyone’s hopes arrived before dusk the following day. The whole valley rejoiced and feasted all through the night.

My smiles were false, my laughter an empty mockery of the joy denied to me. Though I was glad and most relieved that Sauron’s evil had been vanquished, I hated hearing him vilified by those who had never met the brilliant, generous person that Mairon had once been. Sick with yearning, I kept wondering where he was. In the midst of the exultant crowd, I shared Mairon’s loneliness.

I stared, stunned, as a pyre was built and a straw figure dressed in black robes and wearing a hideous mask was flung into the flames amidst coarse insults and loud cheers. Aware of my pain, Glorfindel steered me away from the celebrations to a quiet ridge higher up the valley. Feeling perversely pleased about disobeying one of Námo’s mandates, I poured out the tale of what had happened at the Sammath Naur one day earlier.

‘You did not betray Sauron to Námo’s servants,’ he said quietly. I heard the unspoken question. Why?

‘Invoking Ilúvatar as my witness, I swore before Vefántur never to hand Mairon to him, or to Manwë and the rest of his coterie,’ I replied, expecting condemnation. But Glorfindel stared in silence at the branches above our heads, swaying dark against the clear sky.

‘After the War of Wrath I gave Mairon a chance,’ I continued. ‘He proved he could be trusted, until the Valar destroyed all we had. Then I let him fall into shadow, even though he cried to me for help. I was deaf and blind.’ I clenched my hands to stop them from trembling. ‘However twisted by greed and malice, Sauron still is... Mairon.’

At last Glorfindel turned his gaze to me.

‘What will you do?’

I was grateful that he neither judged me nor attempted to relieve me from guilt.

‘For now I will obey Námo’s orders until he decrees the end of my banishment. After that...’ I shrugged. ‘I am not sure I wish to speak to Mairon again. What else is there to say? Perhaps it is best for all if he disappears.’

‘I doubt it. Even diminished, you know he will be dangerous; defeat and vengeance may spur him to desperation, even madness,’ he said.

I shuddered; Glorfindel placed a warm hand on my shoulder.

‘Half-truths and lies shall not avail him anymore, no matter how sweetly spoken,’ I said. ‘Besides, he no longer has a hröa to seduce me.’ I laughed bitterly. ‘I was slow to learn his ways of deceit, but the lesson will stay with me forever.’

For a short while we did not speak. Across my mind flashed a succession of futures, all of them shaped out of impossible dreams or plagued with loneliness and longing for our days in Kiinlúum, when Mairon and I had it all. Ashamed, I blinked away the threat of tears.

‘Give yourself time,’ said Glorfindel. ‘One day you will know what to do. Even if it means wrestling the Doomsman, or Moringotto himself, to save Sauron from the Void.’ He winked. ‘Mairon is fortunate. You know, my wager would be on you.’

I was so touched by his unfailing friendship that my throat and chest hurt. Yet I could not help smiling.

‘You might lose,’ I grumbled.

In a silence only broken by the weak echoes of celebration down in the valley, we watched the slow circling of the stars.

 

 

Valinor, Year 1 of the Fourth Age of Arda

The light of Anar seemed more golden than I remembered it on our departure from Mithlond, before the mists swallowed our ship as we sailed the Straight Road, all the way until we cleared the Enchanted Isles.

I stood on the creaking planks, the last passenger on the ship to walk ashore. Behind me Círdan was barking orders to his men about the unloading of the cargo crammed aboard, mostly precious mementoes from past lives in a now unreachable land.

No sense of homecoming urged me to step onto the white sandy beach of Valinor, now swarming with people and echoing with the happy sounds of long-awaited reunions.

Instead I scanned the landscape that lay before me, nestled within the gash of the Calacirya, with a detachment I had never felt while travelling within Endórë, as though the scene was merely a subject of study, when in truth it was the adopted home of my kindred on Arda. Once it had been my home too.

I took a deep breath, missing the tang of decay in the sea breeze, so familiar from my yéni in Lindon. My gaze flicked up to the high snowed peaks to the South, brushed by wispy clouds, and slid down the sheer slopes to linger on the lush woods beyond the beach, parted only by the road to Tirion. It took me a while to notice the oddness of the evenly shaped, equally sized bright green trees, without a single brown leaf or broken branch on the ground underneath. I had forgotten the perfection of Valinor.

While most of my sailing companions were warmly welcomed by kin and friends, as soon as I stepped onto the pier, two of Manwë’s Maiar handed me his summons. Without their uttering a word, a wide passage opened for them within the huge crowd. Their fanar were tall, imposing, unnatural in the aura they projected. I had understood long ago that even when clad we Ainur could never seem but otherworldly, even threatening, to the Incarnates. Now I saw it in the sea of awed, wary faces around me.

I had three days before I must appear at the Máhanaxar. Discreetly, I tried to walk away, but Glorfindel stood guard, no doubt appointed by Elrond, and he sternly barred my departure.

‘None of my kinsfolk have any reason to expect my arrival,’ he said with a shrug, when I commented about his absent family and friends. ‘In a few days I might visit my parents, my sister, and maybe Ecthelion. He was reborn well before I sailed back to Endórë, and expected his first child at the time.’ His eyes shone with fondness while his voice was tinged with longing. In the past, he had told me of his affection for Ecthelion. He smiled too brightly. ‘So, there is no hurry, I can keep you company.’

Glorfindel and I waited. With a frown and an impatient wave of his hand, Elrond dismissed our idea of finding our own lodgings, threatening dire consequences if we disappeared without his permission. I did not particularly wish to travel in the company of Arafinwë and his host during the journey to Tirion, or to stay in his grand house once we arrived at the city, but it seemed inevitable.

Olórin gave me a smile of reassurance as he walked past us to whisk Frodo away from the enthusiastic mob. The poor hobbit seemed about to faint.

Celebrían momentarily prised herself free from Elrond’s embrace to rush into my arms and kiss me on the cheek, before welcoming Glorfindel in the same manner. Her grandfather Arafinwë clasped my arm and briefly dipped his head.

‘Do you know Erestor?’ asked his daughter Galadriel, with a slight frown.

‘I do, Alatáriel. But this is hardly the time for long stories,’ answered Arafinwë briskly,  before steering her away to greet someone else. I sighed, relieved.

At last all the welcomes had been spoken, all the tears of joy wiped away, and those of grief at bitter news wept on a caring shoulder. The crowd began to trickle away from the pier.

~ o ~

 

Our trip was uneventful. Still, instinct honed over two ages in Endórë made it difficult not to be continuously tense, on guard. Soon I noticed that a few soldiers in Arafinwë’s escort eyed me warily; I could not recall if they had been present when Námo spoke my sentence. I was glad no one spoke my true name, if indeed they had recognised me. 

Uneasy, I spent most of the journey riding next to Glorfindel. We all gathered around Elrond and Celebrían for our meals and for storytelling around the fire in the balmy evenings.

‘Just like Imladris, without the Hall,’ said Glorfindel.

When we arrived at Tirion, I pleaded tiredness so that I might remove to my room soon after dusk. I had hoped that family obligations would keep Elrond from questioning my feeble excuse, but I was not that fortunate. Grudgingly, I gave him the details of my summons.

‘Kind of you to inform your lord at last, Erestor,’ he answered with a frown of displeasure. ‘Do you believe I am blind? Had it not been for Glorfindel sticking to you like a burr, I believe you would have vanished without a farewell.’

‘I am sorry, Elrond. I did not wish to disturb...’ His glare stopped me.

‘I will request that our horses are ready in the morning. Attend me at the first bell.’ I knew such a dismissal was final. He would brook no disagreement.

Once alone in my room, I thought about what would happen in the morrow: my hröa would die again, or simply vanish at Námo’s command.

I took off my clothes and looked at my naked reflection in a large gilded mirror. Running my fingers over the muscle, hardened by training and toil, I traced the puckered skin of faded scars, some from minor battle wounds, and others from the whips and blades of Sauron’s minions, dwelling at last on those that had caused the two deaths of my hröa. Both of them were much fainter than the others, as though Námo’s work to knit the damage wrought by the lethal injuries had also restored the skin to its former smoothness.

I lay down on the ample bed and curled under the covers, despite the warmth of the night. Abruptly, I realised that this was likely to be the last time I would ever sleep.

I recalled the suffocating moments I spent  at the Máhanaxar when first bound to my flesh, the weeks of seasickness, and my struggles to master my muscles and my senses, within their frustrating limitations. And I remembered, as clear as crystal, the first times Mairon touched me. Like a mosaic taking shape before my eyes, tile by tile, I relived my most treasured memories of us together while I stroked myself unhurriedly.

I pictured his eyes peacefully closed as we lay on the grass, breathing the scent of heather blooming on the moor; his joyful grin as we glided on bat’s wings under the sun; his fierce, splendid nakedness exacting his dominion, and later surrendering, wanton and vulnerable under my worship. When I had fully savoured my memories, I imagined his firm hands once more upon my skin, his hungry lips pressed to mine.  Then, I shuddered with the last orgasm I would ever know, an exquisite blend of melancholy and pleasure.

My sleep, when it overwhelmed me at last, was sound and without dreams.

~ o ~

 

Just before noon on the next day, Elrond and I stepped onto the deserted Ezellôchâr, outside the gates of Valmar. He gazed for a moment at the sad remnants of the Trees before entering the Circle of Doom. The quietness was absolute; not even the birds were singing in the trees beyond the stone platform. The hair on my nape tingled.

‘I am grateful for your company, my lord,’ I said. He frowned slightly at the address; I only used his title in public. ‘But this may be... unpleasant,’ I continued, ‘and it may be wise if you were to leave.’

‘Do you really believe I wish to remain ignorant about the truth of your past and your identity, after suffering your secrecy for over forty yéni?’ he snorted. ‘Not likely, Erestor.’

‘Not even if we order it?’ spoke Manwë’s voice. His fana took shape before our eyes, as did Námo’s.

The light tap of steps behind us alerted us to someone else's presence. Olórin entered the Circle and halted at our side to bow to the Valar, before standing next to the Elder King. He still wore his guise as Mithrandir, no doubt to remain a familiar presence to Frodo during his first intimidating days in such a strange land. Around us, twelve Maiar clad as warriors appeared to guard the circle. Between them and us, Manwë invoked a shield that prevented us from leaving and blocked both sound and ósanwë.

Elrond paled as he fell to one knee before Manwë. I remained standing, but bowed slightly.

‘Erestor is my sworn man, my lord,’ replied Elrond. His voice was firm. ‘Therefore it is my right to be present if he is to be judged.’

‘This is not a trial,’ answered Manwë. ‘Grave matters which are not your concern will be addressed here.’

‘Is this why there is no crowd to watch the proceedings this time?’ I retorted. ‘Because the truth is not appropriate for the delicate ears of the Children?’

Námo glowered. Olórin shook his head in mute pleading, and I bit my lip. But Elrond did not yield.

‘Matters that concern Erestor are my business,’ he insisted, glancing up at me questioningly. ‘Unless private.’

‘No, my lord, they are not private.’ Elrond had the right to know.

During the brief pause that followed, I was sure that the two Valar were conferring in ósanwë to reach a decision.

‘You shall be allowed to stay, Elrond Eärendillion, but you must swear to be silent about what you will hear within this Circle,’ ordered Námo.

‘I do so swear,’ said Elrond, his hand pressed upon his heart.

‘Very well. Rise.’

My lord stood, almost at attention. I smiled in gratitude and he dipped his head. Námo came closer. My eyes were level with his elbow.

‘The term of your banishment has lapsed... Erestor,’ spoke Námo, curling his lips in amusement. ‘Two Ages of the world have passed, and though Sauron has not come to stand within this Circle, you defeated him, and reduced him to a powerless shadow. I am glad that you decided to heed the advice I gave you during your last visit.’ I clenched my hands, furious. ‘I have yet to understand how you knew the exact time to strike, but I can only congratulate your precision. Without your intervention Sauron would have undoubtedly regained his Ring and with it, his power.’

Elrond turned to me in amazement.

‘What does this mean? What intervention?’ he demanded.

Manwë raised his hand. ‘Erestor may explain his role in these events later. The summary, however, is that Frodo achieved his mission but his efforts might not have been sufficient without... Erestor.’

‘What?’ cried Elrond. ‘All of Frodo’s and Samwise’s suffering and the sacrifice of so many others would have been in vain?’

‘I am afraid so,’ replied Manwë. ‘You will have your explanation, Eärendillion. But not now.’ He paused. ‘Now it is with great joy that I must put an end to the imprisonment of your man so that he can resume his former duties and his service to me.’

Without looking in my direction, he signalled Námo to proceed.

‘No!’ I cried in anger. ‘I will not renounce my oath to Elrond, and I shall not serve two masters.’

A dead silence followed. I did not miss Námo’s scowl, and Manwë’s eyes were wide with shock.

‘Erestor, I have no right to bind you to my service if the Elder King claims you,’ said Elrond. ‘Know, however, that I am thankful that he sent you to me, and that I shall miss your loyalty and your companionship.’ His smile was rueful as he placed a fond hand on my shoulder.

‘I do not wish you to suffer for my defiance. But I will hold no allegiance if I am forbidden to call you my lord,’ I said, crossing my arms.

I was sure I heard Manwë gasp in outrage.

‘Your fealty must belong to the Elder King,’ observed Námo with a frown.

‘I gave it to Elrond for almost two ages, at your own command.’

‘I ordered your stay in Lindon for your protection against the foe who seduced you and would turn you to his side,’ said Manwë.

I laughed at the hypocrisy of his words. ‘You sent me away as a miscreant. You tricked me, wronged me, and abandoned me when I called to you for help, even though I had loved and served you since before Time began. Indeed, you wanted me to be seduced, and hoped Sauron would be all the weaker for that.’ I took a deep breath and plunged on. ‘In contrast, Elrond ever repaid me with fairness and trust. I could wish for no better lord, Ainu or Eruhin, than Elrond son of Eärendil. You cannot claim now what you do not deserve.’

Perversely, I relished sensing the mood of the Valar chill with every word I spoke. Olórin pressed his lips together, as though to prevent a moan. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Elrond flinch, white as the marble we stood on.

‘I am tempted to make you suffer for your disrespect,’ said Námo, his eyes glittering. ‘But despite my grave doubts about your trustworthiness, you have vanquished Sauron and completed your sentence. Let us finish this unpleasant business for good and be done with you.’ He fixed his cold gaze on my companion. ‘Elrond, do you wish to free Erestor from your service?’

‘No. While he wishes to maintain his pledge, I will keep mine,’ Elrond said.

I admired his equanimity in the face of the Lord of Mandos’ aura of displeasure.

‘And is it your will that your servant keeps his hröa, or do you allow his release?’ The contempt in Námo’s voice sent a shiver down my spine.

‘If your justice has been met, my lords, I have no right to enforce any strictures upon him,’ replied Elrond calmly.

Manwë nodded. ‘So be it.’

Námo pointed at me. A sharp blast of scorching heat made me scream in agony. I fell writhing on the stone slabs, and sensed Elrond cradling my head in his arm, calling my name. The familiar embrace of my hröa, worn for over six thousand rounds of the sun, loosened its hold and I burst forth from my dying shape, while the pain mercifully faded away.

I was immediately bombarded with all the sensorial inputs I had been deprived of for two Ages, now undimmed in the perfection of Aman. I swirled, overwhelmed and disoriented. Freedom felt frightening. I was light and thought once more, no longer trammelled by flesh, but I felt naked, exposed.

Dismayed, Elrond stared at the limp form still in his arms. I touched his mind, revealing myself.

‘I am here, my friend.’

He leapt to his feet, and his eyes darted about, searching. I conjured my old fana, and was startled to see Elrond give a step back.

‘My lord Eönwë!’ He gasped.

I laughed. ‘You cannot start calling me that now. To you I wish to remain Erestor.’

‘I am sorry,’ he stammered. ‘I remember...’

‘You remember wondering if the Ainur could feel as you did on the day I stared at you, cold as ice, while you learnt of your brother’s choice. It is I who must be sorry. For many things.’

In the silence that followed, Manwë’s words seemed to echo loudly against the stone. ‘Eönwë, it was not my intention to hurt you. I never anticipated that your punishment would prove to be so harsh. I can understand your resentment but I hope that Time will soothe your bitterness so that you reconsider the accusations you have made. There was no malice or cruelty on our part, only a profound wish to serve Ilúvatar and preserve his Music when we perceived that the shadow of evil would rise again.’

Though I was inclined to believe that Manwë meant his words, his apology would not undo his deeds or those performed in his name. As for Námo, I had suffered his venomous spite; he would never convince me of his good will.

‘I am not sure Time can heal all of the wounds; others have been wronged far worse than I have, and many wait in Mandos slain by an evil that, despite your belief, was neither ruled by fate nor inevitable, but born out of your interference,’ I answered. ‘I wish, however, that Time could be turned back, knowing how my choices brought so much pain to me and to others.’

‘That is a wish I have often had myself,’ Manwë said, with genuine sadness in his voice. He hesitated. ‘I shall not forget your faithfulness. My house is yours, if you still wish to belong there.’

‘I revel in the airs and currents, in the fires kindled by Elentári and in the wideness of space. That makes me a Maia of your house while I dwell within Eä.’

‘I am glad, Eönwë.’

Námo had remained silent and impassive, but his final gaze in my direction filled me with dread. Unlike the Elder King, he did not offer a chance for reconciliation. A swirl of silver rose around my discarded shape, obscuring it from view, and flowed towards his hand until it became a sphere of dazzling light. No trace remained of my hröa, but Mairon’s shackle gleamed on the smooth white stone.

‘Keep your lover’s trinket,’ said Námo with a sneer. ‘It is tainted.’ He walked to stand next to Manwë.

Knowing ourselves dismissed, Elrond and I bowed. The shield flashed and disappeared, as did the Valar and their Maiar, except for Olórin. I crouched to pick up the wrist cuff.  When I noticed Elrond’s eyes locked on its brilliance, I handed it to him. He turned it in his fingers.

Olórin, Elrond, and I left the Circle and took the road back to Tirion. For a long while, no one spoke.

‘Sauron was your lost lover, the one you pined for, who bound you in mithril. How could I be so blind?’ said Elrond, startling me out of my thoughts. ‘You recognised him as Annatar and yet you said nothing.’

‘Elrond, I was sworn to silence and he had repented...’ I reached out to him.

‘Do not touch me!’ he cried, his eyes blazing with anger. Turning away, he ran. I tried to follow but Olórin stopped me.

‘He will understand, Eönwë. Give him time,’ he said.

Dismayed, I discarded my raiment, a mockery of the Children’s shape that had only brought bitter memories to a dear friend. I fled to the stars in search of solace, but in their midst I only found silence and loneliness, and their mighty beauty pierced me with pangs of longing.  For my hröa. For Elrond. For Nikteháa. For Mairon. For lost pasts and impossible futures.

 

 

Tirion, Year 2 of the Fourth Age

Arafinwë gave me a nervous smile. I bowed to him then to Elrond who stood at his side, unsmiling, his gaze locked on me as though hoping to find a trace of my old self in the radiance of my hated fana.

‘My lords,’ I said, ‘I am glad to see you both.’

‘As am I, Eönwë,’ answered the Noldóran. ‘Olórin feared you might have forsaken Arda.’

I sighed. ‘For the most part, I have. Very little holds me to it now.’ Elrond flinched and looked away.

‘This is the reason for my invitation,’ said Arafinwë. ‘Both Elrond and I are gnawed by guilt. I, for my part, have been delinquent the longest, so I will begin.’

‘My lord...’ I protested.

‘Hear me out, Eönwë,’ he ordered, before speaking more softly. ‘Two ages ago I rashly took my offence to the Elder King seeking, nay, demanding retribution for your deeds and had you dragged into the Máhanaxar. You may understand how the events surrounding the releases of Nelyafinwë, Macalaurë and Sauron gave me reasons to suspect negligence, even malice on your part. Even then I regretted the harshness of your penance, so disproportionate to the crime of showing mercy to others. I am not proud of my misjudgement, and wish to beg your pardon.’

‘You have it,’ I answered.

‘I am most grateful,’ he said. ‘And yet, that is not all.’

‘What else can I possibly give you, my lord?’ I retorted bitterly.

He took a deep breath. ‘I fear I have caused you damage beyond what you have already suffered. My actions had consequences I should have foreseen. They endorsed the view amongst my people and others in Valinor that you were partly to blame for all of the later evils that befell our kindred and the Atani in Endórë and Númenórë. That Sauron’s shadow would have been prevented had you captured him when you had the chance.’

‘That was also my immediate thought when I realised the truth of your past, Ere-... Eönwë,’ blurted Elrond. ‘That, and rage at having being utterly deceived by a dear friend. I walked away from the Máhanaxar cursing the impulse that made me trust you in Lindon.’ His fists tightened at his sides. He blinked to clear his moist eyes. ‘For an instant I even feared that... that all along you had been his...’ He broke off. 

An uncomfortable silence followed.

‘His minion. Or his thrall, as Námo once said,’ I said at last, curbing my despair. ‘I do not blame you for believing that, my lord. Eru alone knows how I have ever striven to serve and protect you and yours, and how guilt has eaten me alive at my every failure since Sauron wielded the Ruling Ring. I have betrayed everyone; now I deserve their contempt, and yours. I will make a public apology and accept in atonement whatever penalty you see fit to impose. Is that all, my lords?’

‘No, Erestor, that is not what we wish!’ cried Elrond. ‘You were neither Sauron’s minion nor his thrall, it was anger that made me blind. How many times did we talk about this in Ennor? You are not responsible for his choices or his deeds; you have paid for any past errors with torment, both of flesh and mind. And yet, only a few will ever know the truth about who verily destroyed him.’

‘Frodo’s sacrifice must not be belittled,’ I said. ‘Had it not been for him and Samwise I would not have succeeded either.’ Elrond nodded grimly.

‘Since the day of your... freedom,’ he said, ‘I have pieced the whole story together and realised how unjust my rejection was, how hastily I condemned you without even giving you a chance to speak. I am awed by your courage, by your loyalty, and ashamed I threw scorn at you instead of understanding. You may be pleased to know that Mithrandir and Glorfindel have jointly flayed me alive and made me squirm like a worm.’

I smiled fondly at him.

‘Forgive me, Eönwë,’ he said, reaching out.

I took his hand in mine. For a moment, it felt tense, but then Elrond squeezed my fingers.

‘Will you stay, friend?’ he asked.

‘If you command it, Elrond,’ I answered, shrugging. ‘Though I would rather avoid Arda. On the few occasions I have walked clad amongst your folk, it has been impossible not to notice the whispers and the looks of fear cast in my direction.’

Elrond’s eyes glimmered, and Arafinwë winced. I did not wish their pity, I had already wallowed in my own, so I kept to myself the fact that I was shunned by most of my own kin, too.

‘I am content,’ I lied. ‘I have greatly enjoyed the freedom to roam, missed for so long.’

As a diversion, I projected a vision of ósanwë that took them on a journey through the fiery flare of a young red sun, before hurtling through the clouds of debris wrapped like a rent veil of many hues around a dead star. When the images faded in their minds, they blinked in wonder.

‘What of... Sauron?’ asked Elrond. ‘Have you sought him out?’

‘No.’ That was the truth. I sensed he had remained in Endórë, which was now banned to all Maiar and spirits but Manwë’s Eagles.

‘What will happen to him if he is ever found?’ said the Noldóran.

‘Námo spoke his doom long ago: an eternity in the Void with Moringotto.’

Elrond shivered.

‘His evildoing deserves no less,’ pronounced Arafinwë, shaking his head.

The conviction poured into his words filled me with dread. As heinous as Mairon’s crimes were, had he forfeited his right to any mercy?

 

 

---

 

Notes:

About the time it took for the news of Sauron’s fall to reach Imladris: The distance, as the eagle flies, from Orodruin to Imladris is around 700 miles, measured with a ruler on the map at the back of The Lord of the Rings. An ordinary eagle’s gliding speed is comfortably over 30mph, but allowing for relays or rests, I have allowed for a full day to cover this distance.

 

 

Captivity

Eönwë travels to Ithilien, before paying another visit to the Moritarnon.

This chapter fits the following B2MeM 2012 prompts:

Controversial Topics - O72: Do Balrogs have wings?
Powers and Underpowers - B15: Námo (Mandos): fear of the dead/ghost

Read Captivity

 

37. Captivity

 

Valinor, Year 64 of the Fourth Age of Arda

Upon a southern peak of the Pélori, another sunrise lit the slopes beneath my lair, turning snow into a dazzling mantle of diamonds. Another day of idleness, as I had no duties to perform. Elrond rarely called on me, now that his life in Valinor was far simpler than ruling a realm besieged by darkness.

I blew on the blanket of snow and made a few whirlpools, challenging myself to weave a dozen currents into a complex knot pattern without letting the flakes stray. I had to focus completely on the task, barring idle thoughts. I did not wish to think.

‘Eönwë!’ Mairon’s mind, like weak fingers, tapped on mine. ‘Eönwë!’ Clearer this time. Shock made my snow construct crumble into a heap. ‘I would speak with you. Will you come?’

My thrill at his call was crushed by the bleakness of reality. Wisdom counselled me to ignore his call. And yet, once I made him a promise...

Angry, I whipped the snow into a harmless blizzard, as there was no living being near my hiding place. No one sought an outcast of the Valar. Only another outcast, fallen even lower.

‘Olórin, my friend. The time has come!’ I cried to him alone.

His answer was immediate. ‘I shall listen. Be wary!’

Even before the sun touched the roofs of Tirion, I knocked on Elrond’s door. He received me with his hair tied back in a long plait, yawning.

‘These are not civil hours for a social visit, so I assume something urgent brings you here to disrupt my sleep and Celebrían’s,’ he grumbled, but his smile was fond.

‘I must request your leave,’ I said, looking him straight in the eye. ‘To go to Endórë. I may not return.’

‘So Sauron wishes to see you at last. What will you do? And if the Valar find out, will you...’ Dismayed, he broke off.

‘A very long time ago, before I came to Lindon, I vowed to save him from joining Moringotto in the Void. If I can glimpse a spark of repentance, however faint, I shall keep my promise.’

‘You also swore to fight my enemies.’ His voice had an edge.

‘Then I shall be forsworn. To one of you.’

Unexpectedly, Elrond flung himself into my arms. I ached for a hröa to feel his warmth, and to return his embrace properly.

‘Oh, Erestor!’ He sobbed onto my shoulder.

When he raised his head, his eyes were brimming and mine would have been, had I been truly incarnate. Elrond released me, wiping his tears with the back of his hand.

’Is he worth risking the wrath of the Aratar?’

‘I am not sure, Elrond, but I wish to believe so. I must.’

‘Then you have my leave. How will I know of your fate?’ he asked anxiously.

‘I have asked Olórin to come to you as soon as he hears news.’ He nodded. ‘Give Glorfindel my farewells. As much as I would like to see him, he would try to stop me if I came to him now.’ I laughed. ‘And he might succeed; I have no wings like a Balrog.‘

I was glad to see a brief smile lighten Elrond’s concerned face.

‘Go, Eönwë. May Ilúvatar ever guard you,’ he murmured.

‘And may he bless you and yours, Elrond.’

I leant forward to kiss his brow. Memories of friendship and trust twinned with the fear already roiling within me strove to tempt me away from my purpose, which was bound to be ill-fated.

I forced myself to leave, vanishing before Elrond’s eyes, and flew down the Straight Road to Endórë. Several times I backtracked, but I did not detect anyone following. Mairon’s call guided me like a beacon to an unlikely location, southeast from Minas Tirith, where the beech forests of Ithilien began to climb the dark slopes of the Ephel Dúath. 

Though I was not expecting a trap, on arrival I approached him with caution, swirling slowly around tree trunks and boulders in the general direction of his presence. I found him at last, a pitiful dull cloud, so shrunken as to be almost imperceptible. I fought to hide my horror at what he had become.

‘You came.’ Incredulity, relief, shame and a keen edge of resentment were blended in the pulse of thought that reached out to me.

‘You called,’ I answered, offering neither warmth nor coldness. I would not make it easy for him.

He swayed nervously, like a patch of shadowed mist blown by the breeze, obscuring the landscape in front of me.

‘Once long ago, I had you raped. Boldly, you said that you pitied me,’ came his thought. He paused, hesitant, and opened a tiny corner of his mind to pour out his memories. Mesmerised, I witnessed my bloody, limp hröa being dumped at his feet and heard my own voice. One day you will regret the path you have taken and long for what is now lost to us, as I already rue my own choices. ‘Those words cast a spell the very moment you spoke them, Eönwë, clamping unease onto my mind ever since.’

‘That day was about an Age and a half ago,’ I retorted. ‘Many have suffered since...  because of you.’

‘I wished to prove you wrong. It seems I have failed.’

‘Why should I help you now?’

‘Because I am utterly broken,’ he snarled. Then he whispered, haltingly. ‘I clung so hard to my dream of order and beauty that it crumbled to dust in my hands. I regret... the loss and the destruction. The... pain.’ Had Mairon been speaking aloud, I am certain he would have stammered. ‘Also... I cast away the one other treasure that I was offered, and crushed it under my heel. I have earned your loathing in perpetuity, and yet once you used to... love me.’

I was struck dumb by fury. How dared he?

‘You think that by feigning humility and dangling that word in front of me I will consent to anything you ask?’ I thundered, and was startled that he shrank further. ‘I have learnt to mistrust the honey around your words, Mairon. What do you truly want from me?’

His weakness and my wrath dimmed our senses. I felt the mob of Maiar surrounding us only an instant before Mairon did, too late to warn him or escape. Bolts of power burst from everywhere and invisible walls were raised to contain Mairon who, once captured, knew the futility of attempting to force his way out. Instead, he kept swirling like a wild beast pacing in circles within the bars of its cage, until he was further restrained by tight bands of energy. Six of the Maiar stood guard to prevent his flight. Strangely, I was not bound, only watched warily by two others.

To my utter dismay, Námo appeared in our midst, clad in his fana. I adopted mine, out of ingrained courtesy before the Valar.

‘You have my gratitude, Eönwë,’ he sneered. ‘I can hardly recognise in you the indignant lover who swore eternal loyalty to this wretch.’

He placed a hand on my shoulder and smiled. My whole being screamed in outrage at his insincerity, meant solely to torment Mairon with the appearance of yet another betrayal. Alarmed, I realised this needling must be a trial, Námo’s attempt to expose my true feelings. If pretence was the game, I could play too.

‘My lord.’ I gave a deep bow and nearly faltered under the deluge of obscenities that came from Mairon directly into my mind, until I blocked him out. ‘I will be glad to witness the completion of the task you appointed to me when he appears at the Máhanaxar at last.’

Námo seemed disappointed.

‘There is no need to dally, Eönwë. By the will of Manwë I shall merely ratify his doom.’ He signalled his servants to depart. ‘To the Moritarnon!’

As his raiment dissolved before me, I froze in pure panic. Námo’s gleeful haste would rob me of the chance to plead before Manwë for a measure of leniency for Mairon. Entering the Void was irreversible until Eä was unmade.

No one stopped me from joining the prisoner and his guards as they travelled at great speed back to Aman and onwards to the Utmost West. Námo ignored me completely; Mairon’s mind did not touch mine, but I sensed the flickering aura of his terror, and the waves of despair he radiated pierced me like knives, along with my own, very familiar guilt.

Frantically, I racked my mind. Begging Vefántur would not avail me, I was certain. Staging Mairon’s escape was not feasible. I could not leave him, and yet, a fear colder than the space between the stars coursed through me at the thought of walking into the Void at his side.

Was there nothing I could do?

The dragons carved on the jambs of the Moritarnon stared at me mockingly. With a deep rumble, the doors opened at Námo’s command, and the blackness beyond seemed to seep outwards, as though reaching for its prey.

Powerless and desperate, I watched the Maiar place Mairon a short distance away from the dreadful gateway, awaiting their master’s final order. The prisoner squirmed, uncomfortable within the restraints which encroached deeply into his weakened presence. Any merging of foreign energy with one’s own was painful, except... My thoughts were interrupted when Námo spoke.

‘Sauron Ñorthus, hear your doom! You walked behind your master Moringotto on the same ruinous path, spreading evil and inflicting corruption, thraldom, torment and death upon the free peoples of Endórë. Thus it is fitting that you should be cast out from Arda and reunited with him in the Everlasting Darkness, never to return until the end of Time.’

No! This could not be happening! 

‘What have you to say before this doom falls upon you, Sauron?’ asked the Lord of Mandos. ‘Beware! It is far too late for faking repentance and begging mercy.’

Defiance flared from Mairon like a bright flame, overriding the red hue of fear. ‘You shall not have the pleasure of hearing me beg, Vefántur. You and your kindred wronged me and many others. You name me evil, but were you not Manwë’s lackey, protected by your lord’s dubious righteousness, you would deserve the same doom you now condemn me to.’

Wrath was pulsing within Mairon, making him oblivious to pain.

‘As for your servant...’ He wavered, before I felt the gentle touch of his mind on mine. ‘I would have once built my dream with you, Eönwë, had you not been wrenched away by your unworthy masters. Trusting you was indeed my weakness, the trigger of my ruin. It pains me to see you again as the obedient cur of those I despise.’

He paused, unsure. His next words were for me alone, both a caress and a farewell. ‘I will rather remember you as the only one I ever lo-...’

I roared to smother the words he had refused to speak in the past and were too painful to bear now. I rushed to wrap myself around his cloud of dim light, like holding a glow worm between curled fingers. He was weak, pitifully weak. I could crush him with a single burst of my power. Almost above us, the dragons stared menacingly, jaws agape, waiting to devour their offering. Both of us together.

Hope leapt within me when I realised what I must do.

‘You betrayed me, toyed with me, abandoned me!’ I cried, noticing the approaching Maiar and perceiving Námo’s suspicion as he cast tendrils of ósanwë to probe my intent. ‘Yield now, Sauron!’

Lashing at Mairon viciously, a mighty crackling of sparks burst out in the wake of the violent clash of our charges. I cringed at the waves of agony that emanated from his mind. But outwardly, I glowed with seeming joy and satisfied revenge, for all around us to sense.

Mairon’s amusement, masked in pain, surprised me.

‘What a treat, my good Herald, to awaken in you this streak of cruelty as my final act of evil!’ His sarcasm was bitter with disappointment. ‘Is it not a heady pleasure, the thrill of tormenting your hated foe moments before his final demise?’

I froze in horror and eased my pressure a little. He huddled, even smaller, and I closed myself more tightly over him, sensing Námo’s satisfied approval.

‘I will not beg, if that is what you wish,’ said Mairon. His beautiful mind flickered in defiance within my encroaching embrace.

‘Yield, Rušurigas!’ I cried, to him alone. ‘Not to them. To me. I will keep you safe.’

I pressed harder, insistently, and at last he understood.

As his consciousness, his whole being, opened to me in full, I sensed uncertain gratitude and relief from pain, soothing as a balm. Immediately I relented too, letting him flow within me.

Mairon and I merged, as those of our kindred do in rare intimacy, because such joining demands complete surrender to overcome the resistance of our otherwise colliding streams of energy. We had often done it in the innocence of our youthful friendship during the infancy of Eä, before Melkor lured Mairon away. Together we had swum through the plasma at the core of stars, seeking thrill and beauty in perfect companionship.

Wrathful at being outsmarted, Námo struck. Bolts of white-hot power scourged me, hurting like nothing I had felt before, but pain was a price I was most willing to pay for a chance to save Mairon. When the attack stopped at last, I knew I was the victor. 

‘Release him, Eönwë,’ commanded the Lord of Mandos darkly. ‘What you have done, forcing yourself upon him in his weakness, is an abomination.’

Still smarting, I said, ‘Later, perhaps. For now, my lord, if you wish to carry out your pretence of justice, you must cast me out with him. Otherwise, take us to Manwë.’

 

~ o ~

 

Imprisonment did not suit Mairon. He swung from outbursts of fury to heartfelt gratitude then to melancholy introspection and even suspicion about my reasons for saving him. I bore it all, still basking in the euphoria of my unexpected victory.

I shifted up and down the spectrum, thinning and expanding within the boundaries of our featureless prison, then contracting without finding ease.

‘Am I still making you uncomfortable?’ asked Mairon for the twelfth time at least.

‘Yes, you are,’ I growled. ‘Merging in motion is pleasant. Crammed in this hole and having to wrap myself around you feels like having swallowed a bucketful of large pebbles that rumble inside with every move I make. Or like...’ I laughed.

‘Like what?’

‘Like being impaled by one of those dreadful objects you used to torment me with, ever denying me relief,’ I answered, longing for my hröa once again.

His brief amusement tingled inside my mind before his mood sobered again.

‘I should feel guilty, perhaps. Or resentful,’ he said. ‘I have loathed you for your part in my defeats. At Orodruin you left me with nothing but rock, weakness, and far too much time to dwell on all my failures and losses. But after having seen the Darkness, Eönwë, I am afraid of facing it again. You should have let me go, instead of drawing out this misery.’ A tremor shook us both, an echo of his fear.

‘Misery, Mairon? Is it such a torture to be locked with me in a narrow, dark cell in Mandos for a few hours, a couple of days at most?’

‘How can you know?’ he asked, fretful. ‘I cannot feel the flow of Time in here; there are no signs of life, no references, just blank emptiness. I doubt the Void can be much more chilling.’ I sensed him squirm.

‘I am only guessing about what is happening. I have allies. Olórin knows I found you because when I spoke to Námo in Ithilien and then at the Moritarnon, I addressed him too. Our Doomsman cannot pretend that we accidentally fell into the Void or flew together to the furthest corner of Ilmen. Elrond, the lordling whom you ever resented, will demand my release. He is stubborn and has already opposed Manwë over me once. Understandably, and given our current... attachment, it seems rather unlikely that the Elder King will grant it, but a trial or at least a hearing is inevitable. We just have to be patient.’

‘You had planned all of this?’ Amazement poured off him.

‘Not well enough, it seems. I never thought Námo would just bundle you away to the Moritarnon. I had no choice but to force myself upon you. I am sorry.’

‘Do not be,’ he said softly. ‘Yielding to you was... a humbling experience, yes, a knock to my battered pride, but not demeaning, unlike what I did to you in Eregion. Indeed, that is the one deed I have regretted every day.’

‘Only that one, Mairon?’ I cried. ‘Can you imagine the anguish of watching Elrond’s beloved fade away after she was raped, poisoned and ruined by the claws and teeth of your minions? Have you forgotten your Ost-in-Edhil prisoners, whom you had tormented before my eyes, Sauron? And the thousands of others tortured or slain as you pursued your madness?’ Images of the horrors I had witnessed flashed through my mind and, now that we were merged, also in his. ‘I begged you to make me into whatever you wished me to be, if only you abandoned your ambitions and your war. However twisted your demands, I would have been… content, maybe even happy at your side. It was not the torment or the humiliation that nearly drove me mad, but the realisation of the monster you had become, of what we had lost.’

I sensed him retreat as far as he could within his confinement, finding no refuge or relief from the overwhelming cloud of guilt, pain and shame that we were building and suffering together. I was no longer able to completely isolate his emotions from mine, but I quailed at the blackness of the despair he revealed.

Silence hung heavily between us for a long while. We stayed out of each other’s thoughts, wading separately through the dark haze of pain and fear that both bound us together and kept us apart, more choking than the walls of our prison.

‘I am indeed fortunate,’ spoke Mairon at last. ‘You repay the cruelty I dealt to you and others dear to you by willingly shackling yourself to me, even though I am dragging you down in my fall. I am grateful.’

I sensed his sincerity. Lies between us were difficult in our forced intimacy. Perhaps for that reason he had not attempted to justify his deeds, or to speak empty words of contrition. But if he was unrepentant...

‘Why did you call me, Mairon? Why now?’

He fretted, uncomfortable. ‘I wondered if... I wanted to know whether you would...’

‘You wished to find out if I would fawn over you again, ever the love-struck fool. Did you not?’ I lashed out. ‘When you had no one else to turn to, or to hurt, only then you remembered me!’

‘No, that is not true. Thoughts of you often consumed my mind, and I hated myself for such weakness.’ He squirmed again. ‘I am tired, Eönwë, tired and sick of failure and loneliness. No doubt I deserve far worse, but... if you leave me, I have no one.’

‘Leaving you seems rather unlikely right now.’ I laughed, absurdly pleased at his confession. ‘I am a prisoner, too. Not the Valar’s obedient cur, as you named me.’

‘I believed you had betrayed me... I should have known better. But when you made obeisance....’ His thought came in uncertain bursts. ‘What will happen to you?’

‘Námo may accuse me of treason,’ I said. ‘We could yet be pushed out through the Moritarnon together, but it is far more likely that the Valar keep me in Mandos, at least while they decide what to do. You are as safe as I am, as long as we remain merged. I wonder if they will just wait and let us drive each other crazy.’

‘What if... if you were to release me and spare yourself? I am too weak to escape from our bond, so you are effectively as much my gaoler as Vefántur.’

‘I am touched by your appreciation,’ I replied, ‘but were we to part now, Námo’s minions would grab you faster than thought. Even if we were granted more freedom and you were pardoned from the Void, I would not let you out of my sight any time soon. You are too devious and dangerous on your own, Mairon.’

He swirled, uneasily.

‘I once pledged to stay at your side,’ I said. ‘I also vowed to free you from Melkor. My fate or my choices, whichever I am given, are linked to yours from now on. That is my promise. But if you believe I am again an easy prey to seduce and sway to your purposes, you are mistaken.’

‘What do you wish me to do in return?’ he asked, ever wary and calculating. And yet I sensed a small measure of hope within him.

‘I cannot afford to fight foes on two fronts, Mairon. Before the Valar, you must answer to me and do my bidding. Otherwise, however little influence I may have will be insufficient to save you from the Void.’

He considered these words for a while. ‘Melkor lured me with the promise of freedom, amongst other things, only to enthrall me. You are asking me to trust you and submit my will to yours, or to stand alone. It is indeed a hard choice, Eönwë.’

Again he dived back into restless introspection. I was glad of his struggle. A quick answer would have made me doubt his commitment.

At last he said, ‘You are willing to risk your own fate for mine, and so, I should trust you. I accept your terms. You have my word, for what it is worth.’ Now he was subdued, verging on gloominess.

‘Chin up, Mairon,’ I said cheerfully. ‘Surely I am no worse than Vefántur or Moringotto as a gaoler. Or than you were.’

His piercing surge of remorse made me cease my teasing.

‘If only we could turn back Time and start anew,’ he said wistfully. ‘But indeed the laws of Eä ban us from treading again on paths we have already walked.’

My memory wandered far into the past in a distant land, to words Mairon had once spoken. Something important seemed to elude me. Annoyed, I turned my attention back to him.

‘You have evaded my question, Mairon. Why did you wish to speak to me?’

He hesitated, radiating embarrassment tinged with guilt.

‘One day I shall tell you the whole story. For now, just know that when at last I freed myself from the furnace of Orodruin, I fled over the Ephel Dúath and did what I have done best in the past.’

‘And what would that be?’

‘I set my snares. I was too weak to shape a hröa, but I could still influence the minds of others. I searched for a means of regaining my power, or at least part of it, by harnessing captive fëar. My first experiments with Gondorian men yielded poor results.  Once detached from their hröar, their fëar were keen to depart, and therefore harder to control. So, I focused my endeavours on the Quendi who had settled in the despoiled forests of Ithilien.’

I forced myself to remain calm despite my revulsion at this abomination, narrated in such a cold, factual way.

‘What do you mean, Mairon?’

‘Only that the Quendi are bound to Arda, and those still living in Endórë do so because they love those lands, and linger even when their hröar are slain, refusing the call of Mandos. The Atani, however, rush to their unknown fate, whether they feared it in life or not.’

That mysterious difference had always intrigued us Ainur, but this was hardly the time for analysing the designs of Eru.

‘What happened?’ I asked.

‘One prisoner, he was... his defiance, his words reminded me of you while... in Eregion, as though that day when... when I crushed your emerald was being replayed before me. As his life hung in my power, while my servant waited on my signal to swing his blade, I saw with the utmost clarity that his death and a thousand more could not buy what I desired. In his eyes, wild from the torment I had ordered to weaken him, I saw you again, boldly telling me I would regret my choices, and pine for what I had lost. There and then, I did.’ He paused, perhaps expecting my gloating, but I was too stunned to think of a reply. ‘I let all the captives go before I called you,’ he added.

Hope flared within me at the sliver of remorse he had revealed, then it waned. Mairon would never speak his confession before others, not even to save himself from the Moritarnon. Even if he did, a few spared lives would make too minute a dent in the overall tally; worse still, there would be outrage when the purpose for Mairon’s victims became clear. I was appalled myself. To capture fëar, instead of letting them fly...

The answer I had pursued leaped bright and clear into my thoughts, as an echo whispered from long ago.

‘Wherever it is they go, at times I wish we could follow them,’ Mairon had said about the Atani after Nikteháa’s death. Wherever it is they go, they leave Arda but not into the Void.

What if others not of their kind were allowed through that threshold?

For hours I pondered my idea, piecing together bits from deeply buried memories. Finally, I explained it to Mairon.

‘Are you addled?’ he cried. ‘For all we know it may be another portal into the Everlasting Darkness instead of the embrace of Eru the pious yearn for! Or do you truly believe those tales we used to spin about infinite variations of his Music by others of our kindred? About an endless chain of altered versions of this Eä?’

‘Who knows? But it may be your only chance to cheat the Void. Others have been granted mercy, and exile, maybe through that very route...’

Mairon’s scepticism shifted into curiosity. ‘Others?’ he asked.

‘Long before the Quendi awoke,’ I began, ‘Manwë was often outraged by his kinsman Makar and by Méassë, Makar’s fierce sister. Their lust for blood and violence often stirred trouble during our early times in Aman.’

‘I remember them well,’ said Mairon. ‘They were amongst the most enthusiastic followers of Melkor’s themes in the Music.’

‘And they kept stirring trouble even in Valinor, promoting fights between the Maiar that sometimes escalated into near battles and ferocious rivalry outside their halls. Manwë finally lost his patience and banished them.’

Mairon laughed. ‘I wager they were glad to leave behind the boredom of Aman.’

‘Indeed. We all assumed they settled somewhere in Endórë, but no one has seen them again. Now I wonder...’

‘Arda is vast,’ argued Mairon. ‘There must be a simpler explanation for their disappearance.’

‘Maybe. And yet, there is something else. I once overheard Varda speaking to Námo, before the coming of the Children. The Star-kindler said, “No, not even I can map those paths. I told Meassë all I knew and I dearly hope it was enough. But the Gift will guide the Atani.” What paths would she speak of, but paths of dark and light, Mairon, uncounted paths that pierce the fabric of Eä, fold Arda upon herself and lead... Eru alone knows!’

For a while my fellow prisoner fell silent, fretting. Soon, his anxiety burst out in a flurry of superimposed thoughts and doubts. ‘To the Atani this journey is presented as a Gift, but who would accept a boon that strips you of all you’ve ever had, and maybe of your own self? Do you believe they are born anew, again and again until the end of Time, as some have hinted? What would be our fate, Eönwë, were we allowed to pass that door?’ He wavered. ‘And if it is Eru who awaits...’ He faltered.

Much later Mairon said, almost wistfully: ‘The Valar will never allow it, Eönwë.’

‘They may not. First you must pay for your crimes.’

 

 

 

---

 

Notes:

 

[1] Rušurigas (Valarin-based, from the words meaning "fire" and "heat") an old nickname originally given to Mairon by Aulë, which Eönwë now uses again in their intimacy

[2] Makar and Méassë were two Valar, the god of War and his sister, included in earlier versions of Tolkien’s mythology but removed in later revisions. (“The Book of Lost Tales”, History of Middle-earth I)

 

 

Choice

Eönwë stands again before Manwë, and a doom is spoken (aka “all you ever wanted to tell Manwë and Námo to their faces but never dared to.”) This story finally reaches the end... for now.

A diamond-encrusted gold medal goes to elfscribe, who betaed this chapter twice in full and many other times in portions, because I tweaked and tweaked and kept tweaking. Thank you so much, my dear. You’ve made it all possible.

Thank you also to the bunch of assorted reptilians at the Lizard Council who encouraged me, offered great advice and feedback, and gorged on nits over the two years it’s taken me to travel this journey.

This chapter fits the following B2MeM 2012 prompt:

Controversial Topics - B7: Nothing is evil in the beginning...

Read Choice

 

38. Choice

 

Mairon’s swinging moods had almost driven me to distraction by the time the colourless walls of our prison vanished and we were escorted under heavy guard to the Máhanaxar. The thrones of the Valar cast long shadows in the golden light after dawn, painting the marble floor at my feet with bold purple stripes. Eärendil’s ship gleamed in the West. I was able to sense that eleven days had passed since my trip to Ithilien.

Three figures walked up to stand on the raised stone edge of the Circle: Olórin in his fana, Elrond, and Glorfindel. The faces of my two incarnate friends were grave, their eyes circled by shadows. Had they slept at all since I spoke my farewell?

I put my hand to my chest in salute and was relieved and joyful to see them all return my greeting and dip their heads to show their support.

Manwë appeared before us, and Námo on his right. The ominous sight of Angainor in Vefántur’s hands made both Mairon and me quail. When Mairon stirred within me, the tangible nature of my fana brought my pebble jest even closer to reality.

I bowed, and waited to be addressed.

‘Eönwë,’ spoke Manwë, not in ósanwë but aloud, for the benefit of the Eruhíni, ‘we are giving you the opportunity to justify your actions, but not until you hand Sauron over to us. He must face his fate.’

‘The Void is not his fate, my Lord Manwë, but merely the doom Námo Fëantur has spoken for him,’ I replied. ‘I do not trust the Doomsman’s judgement, or the justice that endorsed it.’

‘How dare you speak of justice? You have committed a crime,’ bellowed Vefántur. ‘You have obscenely forced yourself on an unwilling Maia who remains trapped by your power. None have carried out such a despicable deed in the past except for Moringotto. Only those who love unguardedly can share their beings in that way.’

‘I have not forced myself on him. And even if I had, what possible sense of duty or care do you have for Mairon after condemning him to the Everlasting Darkness?’

‘He yielded to you willingly?’ asked Manwë, incredulous. ‘Even after your victory and destruction of the Ring?’

‘Yes, I did. Any grievance you have is against me.’ Mairon had no audible voice, but his ósanwë was clear; judging by their startled faces, Elrond and Glorfindel’s perception was not veiled by their hröar.

With a wary glance at the Lord of Mandos, I said, ‘I shall release him if you, my Lord Manwë, give your word that he will be allowed to remain here at my side, safe and unharmed, and that his doom is at least suspended until you hear us out.’

I knew a silent conversation was taking place between the Valar as Námo’s mien grew darker.

‘You have my word, Eönwë,’ spoke Manwë at last, ‘as Eru is my witness.’

As on cue, Angainor fell to the stone floor with a clatter.

I loosened our unconscious bond and Mairon slithered out of my shape with a shrill tingle of sparks. All of a sudden I felt both unencumbered and lonely, as though he had removed a part of me. His diminished power would struggle to sustain his own fana, so he appeared at my side as the same dull cloud I had met in Ithilien.

‘I am relieved we no longer have to deal with an aberrant act of violence, Eönwë, but you must still explain why you obstructed Námo’s duty at the Moritarnon,’ said Manwë. ‘Did Sauron pledge to atone, spurred into contrition at the sight of the Darkness?’

‘I am here. I will answer your questions myself, if they merit a response,’ said Mairon without disguising his irritation. ‘You wish me to speak of contrition and atonement? Very well. Once, long ago, I thought I had found a balance, and contentment living amidst the peoples of a fair land. To make amends for my prior wrongdoing, I toiled at their side, striving for peace and prosperity. Without provocation on my part, you had my lover slain and the whole realm razed to the ground. Countless men, women, and children were enthralled, tormented, raped, even burnt alive if they refused to renounce their simple, untainted beliefs, or slain by sword and fire.’ Mairon kept changing hue and shape in his anger. ‘Were you suitably contrite for the tragedy you wrought in the name of Eru? Is that not the blackest of blasphemies?’

The Valar resembled marble statues, beautiful but silent and stern; it was no mean feat to render Námo speechless.

Elrond’s gasp was loud. Glorfindel leant towards him to murmur some words in his ear but stopped when Mairon continued.

‘Yet now you sit in judgement over me for crimes not unlike yours. My guilt has been declared, my doom pronounced, and any words of remorse I may speak will be discarded as insincere.’

‘You accuse us unfairly, Sauron. We would indeed listen to genuine repentance,’ answered Manwë.

Mairon swayed and wriggled, first randomly, then shaping himself into a sequence of convoluted patterns, to curb his anger and order his thoughts. 

‘Indeed I do regret,’ he began, and halted abruptly. When I reached out to encourage him, a tendril of his thoughts wrapped itself around mine, as though to draw strength. Then it withdrew. ‘But if there is blame and contrition to be apportioned, they do not belong to me in their entirety. No doubt you too must repent of retreating to your blissful refuge and forsaking Endórë and her peoples to my evil doings.’

‘Mairon, stop!’ I urged, dismayed.

Undeterred, he continued. ‘Only when the Númenórean king dared step on your hallowed land did you smite his kingdom, sinking it under the Sea. Even if I were to believe that this atrocity was the work of the All-father himself, as you have proclaimed, was it not your negligence, your inaction that provoked this disproportionate cataclysm? Equally, was it not through the toil and sacrifice of others, and not yours, that I am here now?’

In the silence that followed, he concluded. ‘You have forfeited your right to judge me on matters concerning the Hither Shores. Therefore, why should I declare my repentance to you? I will not grovel at your unworthy feet.’

I froze in place, fearful of what his accusation would portend.

‘How dare you? ’ roared Námo. ‘What of the peoples you enslaved, or those who perished on both sides of the wars you spurred? Ilúvatar was invoked to remove the corruption you seeded when inciting the Children to worship the Darkness.’

‘Imitation is the most sincere form of flattery, Nurufantur,’ replied Mairon. ‘Your brother planted dreams, no doubt at your command, to spur intolerance and fanatic zeal for cults established by Melkor, as your tools to conquer peoples and drive armies. I merely followed your example. Have you paid penance for this ingenuity or do you believe yourself exempt from guilt by virtue of your alleged fulfilment of the Music?’

The warbling of a bird in the distance was the only sound heard during the icy pause that followed.

‘We have reached a stalemate,’ said Manwë. ‘Clemency requires your full repentance and a petition for pardon, Sauron.’

‘I shall not plead to you, Súlimo. If I sought justice it would be from Eru himself, and I would have you and your Doomsman stand accused next to me.’

The Elder King frowned. A glance at the terrible scowl on Námo’s face made me fear for our chances of escaping the Void. There could be no mercy for us.

Elrond took a step forward.

‘My lords,’ he said, ‘may I speak?’

‘You may, Eärendillion,’ answered Manwë. ‘After your most... persuasive arguments, Glorfindel and you have been allowed to stand witness and represent those whom Sauron has grieved most deeply. Now we shall welcome your opinion in this matter.’

If Elrond was annoyed at the condescending tone, he disguised it well as he walked to stand at my side.

‘I stand witness to Lord Eönwë’s tireless toil over the ages to fight evil at my side, and to his suffering, borne in silence to keep his oath to you. We are all grateful to him for bringing our foe to justice,’ he said. ‘Should we not allow the fate of the defeated leader to be spoken by his victor, as the long-honoured rules of war dictate? What is the penalty that Lord Eönwë demands for Sauron? I trust his judgement, and so should you!’

He had never seemed wiser or more lordly. I was overcome by pride and gratitude.

‘There is a major flaw in your reasoning, Elrond,’ said Námo. ‘Eönwë was once seduced by Sauron. His latest interference proves that he never broke free from that thraldom, as Sauron was never free of Moringotto.’

I had always wondered what Glorfindel would have looked like when facing the Valarauco. Now, as he stepped forth with wrath glittering in his eyes, I knew.

‘That is a vile comparison on both counts, my Lord Námo,’ he thundered. ‘You can neither attribute Sauron’s relapse into evil to his former master when we have just heard words suggesting that it is you, indeed, who may be responsible, nor dismiss Eönwë’s fairness or loyalty with a sweep of your hand only because you banished him as bait for Sauron.’

Previous pauses had been warm in comparison to the frigid silence that stretched unbearably after these words. Glorfindel broke it at last by taking a deep breath before addressing the Elder King.

‘My lord Elrond is wise,’ he said. ‘Justice will be best served if Sauron submits to the penalty decreed by Lord Eönwë, his conqueror.’

Mairon stirred unhappily, but did not object.

‘And if Eönwë’s ruling proves to be unacceptable?’ asked Námo.

‘Then we are back to where we are now stalled, and nothing will have been lost,’ said Glorfindel.

Another short pause followed, during which a heated debate was surely taking place between the Aratar.

‘You may speak, Eönwë,’ said Manwë after a lengthy interval. ‘We shall consider your words, though we may reject your proposal.’

I bowed courteously before addressing the Valar.

‘Casting Mairon into the Void would plunge him back under the dominion of his former master. Refusing him mercy and redemption is a cruelty that would surpass Moringotto’s. Mairon can find healing, you cannot deny he did once, but only while his mind is free to be channelled into labouring and building, not wandering in idle despair or nurturing his hatred in the vile company of the one who corrupted him.’

‘He forfeited healing and redemption by refusing Manwë’s summons two ages ago,’ countered Námo, grim and terrible in his contempt. ‘Have you forgotten how Melkor feigned repentance, offering to repair the hurts he had made, only to strike again? Nay, Eönwë, such a costly error shall never be made again. There can be no freedom for Sauron, not even under strict guard in the most distant region of Ilmen. Angainor and Mandos await him until Ambar-metta if the Elder King grants his mercy, regardless of what you may advocate now.’

Manwë gave a nod of agreement. Doubt nipped at me sharply, but when I sensed Mairon’s knots of anxiety at my side, I touched his mind in reassurance. Then I braced myself for the moment that would define our future, granting us either an end or a beginning.

‘Imprisonment under those terms seems little better than the Void,’ I said, fixing my gaze on Manwë. ‘There may be a third option.’

 

 

Aman, Year 1 of the Seventh Age of Arda

The first part of Mairon’s sentence ends today.

Like Moringotto before him, he has spent three entire ages of the world locked in the fastness of Mandos; almost an eternity of torment, for that is what being bound by Angainor is to those of our kind.

Claiming the need for a harsh penance, in all likelihood at Námo’s behest, Manwë denied me the right to stay at Mairon’s side or to visit him. These were his conditions for curtailing his term of imprisonment and allowing him to walk into exile under my guardianship at its end, as I had demanded.

Mairon accepted my ruling and gave himself up to the Doomsman. Olórin held me back while my defeated foe, once my beloved, struggled to maintain a shaky, translucent fana so that a triumphant Námo could bind him with the links of Aulë’s chain.

As Vefántur’s servants took Mairon away, his terrified shudder brushed my thoughts.

O Eru, what had I done? Crazed with self-loathing, I shed my raiment and fled the Ezellôchâr.

Ever since, for over sixty yéni of Arda, I have dived from star to star all the way to the most remote, darkest ends of Eä, where the ancient echoes of the Music chime faint but purest, and around them I have sung my grief. As a naked, speeding stream, I have chased Light to thus warp Time to a fraction of that unbearably lengthy wait, as seen by those bound to Ambar.

Several times, when solitude began to claw at my sanity, I sought the welcoming arms and the smiles of the few who still name me their friend. I have found a small measure of peace and solace in watching their lives unfold, no longer under shadow.

In contrast, there has been no respite for Mairon; he has not been spared a single day of his punishment.

Today he will be freed from Mandos, but exiled from Arda until the breaking of the world when, if the Doomsman’s prophecy is to be believed, Sauron shall fight the Last Battle beside his old master, against me.

I do not believe that.

Mairon is banished, not to the Void but beyond the Circles of the World. Perhaps he must step through the same portal that the fëar of the Atani cross to meet their mysterious fate. Manwë will not say, despite my pleas. The Star-kindler has softened, but only to give a warning about the perilous path beyond, a maze of infinite threads traversing Eä and maybe Time itself, whose workings none of the Valar can command.

I pray this route will not be barred to us Ainur, or Mairon must remain imprisoned until the end of Time. Manwë will not relent, wary of allowing the former disciple of his fallen brother any freedom in his domain.

As I approach the jet doors of Mandos, my courage wavers. I am afraid of what I will find.

 

~ o ~

 

Mairon’s diaphanous fana flickers and trembles under the crushing weight of Angainor. Head bowed, he kneels at the feet of the great black chair where the Doomsman sits, grim and terrible, towering over his domain.

‘Mairon!’ I cry, aghast. The cold stone walls mock me with their echoes, but he does not even lift his head to look at me.

I force myself to turn my attention to his gaoler.

‘The time has come, Námo,’ I say, impervious to his glare. ‘Set him free!’

‘Why would you take this wretch with you, Eönwë?’ replies the Doomsman. ‘Why disrupt his solitary reflection now, when at last he has accepted the heinous nature of his crimes and spoken true repentance?’

‘The Elder King agreed, even if you did not,’ I say. I had almost forgotten how deeply I abhor Vefántur.

‘Very well,’ sneers Námo. ‘After all, my task is done.’ His contemptuous gaze shifts to Mairon. ‘As a token of the extent of your reform, let your new master hear your words of contrition, Sauron.’

‘Ever craving the pleasure of mortifying me before an audience, Vefántur,’ says Mairon, his voice brittle. ‘I tire of this game of yours.’

Námo narrows his eyes. A blast of power chastises the prisoner, who winces, huddling into an even smaller shape.

‘Enough!’ I roar, appalled. ‘Let us leave this place of dread, Mairon!’

‘What is there for me elsewhere, my Lord Eönwë?’ he says, with a chilling indifference. ‘I will either face Ilúvatar’s repudiation or toil as your shadow, no better than a pitiful thrall until the ages wither away.’ I am about to refute his words when he continues. ‘If I must endure thraldom, let it be here, without pretence. My crimes have earned me darkness, isolation, and the burden of chains. Beyond that, Námo makes no promises that can turn to disappointment; I possess no privileges that can be snatched away at a whim. I need only be concerned with the choice between compliance and punishment.’ Mairon laughs bitterly. ‘In my current life, I control everything that is important. Not so in the one you offer.’

His reluctance is like a slap. Its sting makes me furious, but not at him; he is only the victim of Námo’s insidious, merciless work to crumble his spirit.

Mairon is afraid. I know that fear, the fear of surrendering all; once I knelt to him in wavering faith, my heart in my throat. Willingly yielding control has never come easily to Mairon, not even now, when all he can relinquish, disturbingly, is his right to defiance. I must spur him with something else.

‘Know that from me you shall have neither pity nor thraldom, Mairon, and I will toil at your side if that is what we must do,’ I say. ‘The Annatar I once knew would have rather faced the thrill of an uncertain fate than embrace the bars of his cage. He would have thrived at the challenge of leaping off a cliff on wings of his own making.’

Mairon shrinks and frets against Aulë’s heavy chain. ‘I am no longer he,’ he replies. ‘I erred, I have paid. Do you wish to shatter the little peace I have gained by tempting me to reach out to a dream again?’

A jumbled sequence of scenes flickers from Mairon’s mind into my own: the One Ring gleaming on an anvil; Námo looming tall over him; Celebrimbor struck down on the steps of the House of the Mírdain; Eä as we Ainur perceived it for the first time, bright as a Silmaril in the emptiness; the Nazgûl bowing to him; Ost-in-Edhil glowing in the light of sunset. Then I behold myself in his thoughts: slapping him in outrage; in the armour of Kiinlúum about to ride to war; naked and wide-eyed on my knees; my face in the throes of ecstasy shifting into a mask of grime, bruises and blood.

Then it all vanishes into the gloom of Mandos.

‘I became a shadow of the master I loathed, while my arrogance whispered to me about a greater destiny, to be called Lord of Endórë. How laughable my ambitions seem now!’ When he stirs, anxious, Angainor clinks. ‘Leave me, Eönwë. I am unworthy of your concern, or of the freedom you offer.’

‘They are both yours, Mairon. I will be glad if you accept them.’

The pause stretches between us, without bringing the response I hope for. How can I convince him? ‘Once, you taught me to submit to you, to surrender my need to control in order to find freedom. Now I ask you to do the same. Will you not trust me over Námo?’

For a long time he is silent while the Lord of Mandos watches us, inscrutable, unable to listen to our ósanwë.

‘Long ago, you showed me compassion and, as a result, were banished,’ says Mairon. ‘Then you loved me, but I betrayed you. We were enemies; you defeated me. In victory you were gracious and became my defender before the Valar, and as a judge you were lenient. Now you owe me nothing, yet you return for me. Why?’

‘I promised.’

Straining against his bonds, Mairon looks up at last. In his eyes, wonder, or maybe gratitude, chases fear away.

‘I am humbled.’ He pauses; a faint glow awakes within his dullness. ‘Our association has proved to be hazardous, at best. You are either brave or foolish.’

I am relieved to glimpse his old irony. ‘Which one, Mairon?’

‘We shall have to find out,’ he answers, no longer to me alone. ‘I shall come.’

Námo’s wrathful aura crackles loudly in his vast stone hall. At my word, he loosens Angainor and Mairon leaps forth, free.

 

~ o ~

 

Now Mairon and I hover above the dark foam-crested waves of Ekkaia, before the wall of fog that hides our path.

‘It is time,’ I say.

He does not reply. Next to me, he paints endless patterns of light, faint but beautiful.

Behind us on the grey beach of Mornien below the Halls of Waiting, a small crowd has gathered: Arafinwë, Celebrían and her twin sons, Laergil, and a few others whose presence is unexpected but not less welcome, like Findaráto, Gil-galad and Legolas of Eryn Galen. Lintavailë and his companion trace wide spirals over the low cliffs hugging the shore.  

At the water's edge, closest to us, stand Elrond and Glorfindel. Their hair streams wildly in the gusts of the west wind and their eyes are brimming with tears, even though they can no longer see me. Olórin touches my mind with good wishes and even a hint of jealousy, before moving to appear in his raiment next to my incarnate friends. Speaking my farewells to them has been bitter; their loyalty and love have sustained me through the ages and our parting now will last until Eä is unmade, perhaps beyond. Elrond has given me messages which he hopes I may be able to deliver.

A host of Maiar surrounds us to prevent Mairon’s escape. We can only go forward, through the shifting cloud which pulses gently, beckoning to us.

I wonder what awaits us beyond this door. I do not believe this to be the end, but a chance of a beginning, a gift not to be feared. But even if there is nothing but emptiness, or a seemingly impassable maze, Mairon and I shall face it together.

Though the days of our bliss are long gone, I am bound to Mairon by a love that not even his foulest crimes have destroyed; it now lies buried deep under thick, maybe impenetrable layers of regret, resentment, and mistrust. Yet I sense that he hopes and while he does, I do too.

‘Shall we?’ says Mairon, twirling his stream of dull light around mine. Thrilled at his unexpected gesture of friendliness, I share his excitement.

If I had a hröa, I would smile as we hurtle forward blindly, together, gliding fast over the waves we can no longer see, ever West. The moist, shimmering cloud embraces us on our journey. Much later, when doubt begins to gnaw at the edges of our hope, we discern lights and shadows. Colours and shapes. The thinning veil is parting before us.

‘Behold our mirage, Eönwë,’ cries Mairon in awe.

Time still is; so is Eä.

So are we, until the final chord of the Music is played.

 

 

THE END

 

 

---

 

Notes:

 

[1] Nurufantur (Quenya) an earlier title or surname for the Lord of Mandos, meaning “lord of Death-cloud”

[2] Ekkaia (Quenya) the Outer Ocean

[3] Mornien (also Hastovánen) - one of Tolkien’s choices for the name of the beach on the shores of Ekkaia from where it was said mortal fëar travelled from the Halls of Waiting to their final fate beyond the Circles of the World in the black ship Mornie. (“The Lost Tales”, History of Middle Earth I)

 

 

Appendix A. Story Timeline

Entries in italics are described or listed in at least one of the Tolkien canon sources given below.

Dates are given as “year, age” and may differ in some cases from those listed in the “Tale of Years” in The Lord of the Rings, if the events have followed the version described in Unfinished Tales or The History of Middle-earth.

Warning: it may contain mild spoilers!

Read Appendix A. Story Timeline

Story Timeline

590, I — Melkor is cast out to the Void.

1, II — Foundation of the Grey Havens, and of Lindon.

4, II — Eönwë returns to Aman and he is banished by Manwë to Endórë.

7, II — Chakmóol’s heir, Sakxikin, is born.

9, II — Chakmóol’s daughter, Nikteháa, is born.

25, II — Eönwë and Mairon are arrested for treason.

52, II — Death of Chakmóol; his son Sakxikin becomes ahaw of Kiinlúum.

85, II — Death of Nikteháa, daughter of Chakmóol.

436, II — Xamanlúum begins hostilities.

438, II — War declared against Xamanlúum; Eönwë is summoned.

439, II — Eönwë travels to Lindon.

442, II — Death of Elros Tar-Minyatur.

600, II — Vëantur reaches the coast of Middle— earth in his ship Entulessë.

750, II — Founding of Eregion by the Noldor.

c. 1000, II — Sauron chooses Mordor as a land to make into a stronghold and begins the building of Barad-dûr.

1018, II — Elrond warns Gil-galad of people settling in Gorgoroth.

1200, II — Sauron begins teaching the elves of Eregion.

1202, II — Elrond receives a letter from Celebrimbor.

1207, II — Elrond travels to Eregion.

1208, II — Gil-galad refuses Annatar permission to enter Lindon.

c. 1350-1400, II — Revolt of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain against Galadriel and Celeborn in Eregion. Galadriel goes to Lórinand.

c. 1590,  II— The Three Rings are completed in Eregion.

1606, II — Celebrimbor perceives Annatar has betrayed them, creating the One Ring, and sends Vilya and Narya to Gil-galad, after leaving Nenya with Galadriel. In wrath, Sauron reveals his identity and purpose.

This is recorded in the Tale of Years as circa 1600, II Age.

1693, II — War of the Elves and Sauron begins.

1695, II— Sauron's forces invade Eriador. Gil-galad sends Elrond to Eregion.

1697, II — Ost-in-Edhil is captured by Sauron and Celebrimbor is slain; Glorfindel arrives from Lindon to join Elrond in Eregion.

1699, II — Erestor arrives at Imladris.

1701, II — Sauron is defeated and retreats from Eriador back to Mordor.

3255, II— Ar-Pharazôn the Golden seizes the sceptre.

3261, II— Ar-Pharazôn sets sail and lands at Umbar.

3262, II — Annatar is taken hostage by Ar-Pharazôn to Númenor.

3310, II— Ar-Pharazôn begins the building of the Great Armament.

3319, II — Númenor is destroyed.

3430, II— The Last Alliance of Elves and Men is formed.

3434, II — Sauron’s forces are defeated in Dagorlad.

3440, II— Anárion is slain.

3441, II — Sauron is defeated when Isildur cuts the One Ring from his hand.

2, III — Isildur is slain and the One Ring is lost.

109, III — Elrond weds Celebrían, daughter of Galadriel and Celeborn.

130, III— Birth of Elladan and Elrohir, sons of Elrond.

241, III— Birth of Arwen Undómiel.

c. 1050, III— A shadow falls on Greenwood, and men begin to call it Mirkwood.

1087, III — Mithrandir visits Imladris from the first time.

c. 1100, III— The Wise (the Istari and the chief Eldar) discover that an evil power has made a stronghold at Dol Guldur. It is thought to be one of the Nazgûl.

c. 1300, III— Evil things begin to multiply again. Orcs increase in the MistyMountains and attack the Dwarves. The Nazgûl reappear. The chief of these comes north to Angmar

2060, III— The power of Dol Guldur grows. The Wise fear that it may be Sauron taking shape again.

2063, III— Gandalf goes to Dol Guldur and the evil that dwells there (still not confirmed to be Sauron) retreats and hides in the East. The Watchful Peace begins.

2460, III— The Watchful Peace ends. Sauron returns with increased strength to Dol Guldur.

2509, III — Celebrían is captured by Orcs when travelling to Lórien.

2510, III — Unable to heal, Celebrían sails West.

2851, III — Mithrandir confirms that the Necromancer of Dol Guldur is indeed Sauron.

2941, III— Bilbo meets Gollum and finds the Ring. The White Council meets; Saruman agrees to an attack on Dol Guldur. Sauron abandons Dol Guldur. Battle of the Five Armies.

2951, III— Sauron declares himself openly and gathers power in Mordor. He begins the rebuilding of Barad-dûr and sends three of the Nazgûl to reoccupy Dol Guldur.

3018, III — Frodo takes the One Ring to Imladris; the Council of Elrond takes place.

3019, III — Frodo and Sam reach Orodruin; Sauron is vanquished.

I, IV — Elrond, Galadriel, Mithrandir, Frodo and others sail West.

64, IV — Eönwë travels to Endórë for the last time.

1, VII — The present from which this story is narrated, and where it ends.

 

Appendix B. List of Characters, Place Names and Other Terms

This story takes place in a variety of settings, spanning several ages of Arda. Inevitably, an assortment of terms and names from several languages has made its way into the tale.

For consistency I have assumed all along that Eönwë speaks Quenya in his inner narrative, even if he is likely to be addressing someone in a different language, like Sindarin, during a particular scene.

For Yucatec, on which the invented language of Kiinlúum is based, I have relied on the “Diccionario español - maya en línea” to find words, some of which I have used without modification, while in other cases I have adapted them or combined them to create my own names or terms.

Read Appendix B. List of Characters, Place Names and Other Terms

 

Ajyin - Lotiya’s brother

Ambar-metta (Quenya) the end of the world

Andórë (Quenya) Land of Gift, another name for Númenor.

Angamando (Quenya) Iron- prison. Morgoth's fortress in the North of Beleriand, more commonly known by its Sindarin name Angband, the “Hells of Iron”.

Aranincë (Quenya) little king

ataressë (Quenya) name given to a child at birth by the father

Béek - Eönwë’s aide in Kiinlúum

Brégil - retainer of Gil-galad’s

Bruithros - servant of Elrond in Lindon

Casári (Quenya) translation of the dwarvish word Khazâd, used by the Dwarves to refer to themselves

Chakiik’ (Yucatec) Eönwë’s mare in Kiinlúum; her name means red wind

Chakmóol (Yucatec, meaning “red jaguar”, though I imagine it as a bigger animal, closer to a leopard) god-king or ahaw of Kiinlúum

Chéel - Eönwë’s servant in Kiinlúum

Chimal - ahaw of Kiinlúum, fourteen generations after Chakmóol

curwë (Quenya) defined by Tolkien (HoME XII, The Peoples of Middle-earth) as “technical skill and invention” (kurwe), as opposed to “’Philosophy’ in its older applications which included Science” (nolme).

Eglanir (Sindarin) forsaken

Ekkaia (Quenya) the Outer Ocean

Elerondo (Quenya) Elrond

Elerossë (Quenya) Elros

Endórë (Quenya) equivalent to Sindarin Ennor, Middle-earth

Eruhíni (Quenya, singular Eruhin) Children of Eru, referring to Elves and Men

Ezellôchâr (Valarin) the Green Mound where the Two Trees once stood. Better known as Corollairë and Máhanaxar in Quenya.

fana (Quenya) raiment of the Ainur in the shape of the Children of Ilúvatar

fëa (Quenya) almost equivalent to the spirit or soul of the Incarnates (Elves and Men)

Gaerlin - healer in Forlond

hröa (Quenya) almost equivalent to the body of the Incarnates (Elves and Men)

Ilmen (Quenya) region above the clouds where the Sun, Moon and stars are

in Ahaw (Yucatec) my King

in Yúum (Yucatec) my Lord

Jolkan - officer in the army of Kiinlúum, son of Yaajóol

Kiinlúum (Yucatec-based name, from kiin “sun” and lúum “land”) a realm in the far east of Middle-earth

Laergil - page in Elrond’s household in Lindon

Líik’ (Yucatec) to rise, get up. Líik’en is the second person (sing.) of the imperative

Lintavailë - great eagle of Manwë

Lotiya - one of Chimal’s wives, originally from another realm

Luinhir - scholar and trusted member of staff in Elrond’s office in Lindon

lúva (Quenya, plural lúvar) the bow or curves of tengwar script

Mâchanumâz (Valarin) the Authorities or Powers, that is, the Valar

Mânawenûz (Valarin) Manwë

Mejen - jewel merchant in Kiinlúum

meldonya (Quenya) my lover; meldo is translated as “friend” or “lover”

mistarillë (Quenya-based, not attested) equivalent to mithril in Sindarin

Moritarnon (Quenya) The Door of Night, that opens into the Void. The name and the description are recorded in “The Book of Lost Tales”, History of Middle-earth I.

Mornien - one of Tolkien’s potential choices for the name of the beach on the shores of Ekkaia from where it was said mortal fëar travelled from the Halls of Waiting to their final fate beyond the Circles of the World in the black ship Mornie.

Nikteháa (Yucatec-inspired name from nikte' ha' which means “lotus flower” or “waterlily”)  Chakmóol’s daughter.

Ñorthus (Quenya) mist of fear - equivalent of Sindarin Gorthaur (Abhorred) [“Word, Phrases and Passages in The Lord of the Rings,” Parma Eldalamberon 17]

Nurufantur (Qenya) an earlier title or surname for the Lord of Mandos, meaning “lord of Death-cloud”

Olofantur (Qenya) an earlier name for the Vala Irmo (Lórien)

ósanwë (Quenya) thought-transmission, or telepathy

péepem (Yucatec) butterfly

Ren - servant of Sauron in Eregion (later to become one of the Nazgûl)

Rušurigas (Valarin-based) epessë given to Mairon by Aulë, meaning “fire heat”

Sáabin - man of Kiinlúum

sakeek’ (Yucatec) Eönwë’s stallion in Kiinlúum; his name means “white star”

sak’k’áak’ (Yucatec-based word) from sak’ (“itch”} and k’áak’ (“fire”), it could be translated as “itch of fire”, an imaginary succulent plant of the family Euphorbiaceae (spurges), used ritually in Kiinlúum

Síihil Ka’teen (Yucatec-based term) from ka’teen (“again”) and síihil (“birth”), the ceremony performed by the ahaw of Kiinlúum to bring “rebirth” or “renewal” to his realm

Síináan (Yucatec-inspired name) - captain of Chakmóol’s personal guard, and his cousin

suku’n (Yucatec) older brother

Tar-Calion - Quenya name of Ar-Pharazôn

Tauras - Gil-galad’s horsemaster in Lindon

Taur-e-Ndaedelos (Sindarin) forest of great dread; a Sindarin name for Mirkwood

tilkal (Quenya) an alloy made by Aulë from copper, silver, tin, lead, iron, and gold, from which the chain Angainor was made

Tintallë (Quenya) kindler, another name for Varda

ungo (Quenya) dark shadow, cloud

Valarauco (Quenya, pl. Valaraucar) equivalent of Sindarin balrog

Vé (Qenya) an old name for the Halls of Mandos

Vefántur (Qenya) an old name for the Vala Námo (Mandos)

Xaman (Yucatec) North; Xamanlúum can be translated as “Land of the North”

Yaajóol - captain in the army of Kiinlúum

yén (Quenya, plural yéni) long-year of the Elves, equivalent to 144 of our years