Save The World by Elwin Fortuna

Save The World

Ossiriand's summer mists, drifting down from the mountains of the Ered Luin, could oft lead the weary traveller astray. Nimloth, travelling to visit Luthien, her friend of many years, who she had not seen since she and Beren had returned to life and departed from Doriath, found herself not far from Dor Firn-i-Guinar, caught in such a mist.

Being sensible, she stopped where she was, dismounting from her horse, and sat down underneath a nearby tree to wait it out. For a long time she was alone with her thoughts, as the light grew dim and grey. Her horse, only a few feet away, was a pale white shadow against the darker gloom, and she could not see much past the length of her own hand, even with Elven-sight.

She had heard that summer mists at times carried voices in them, and tales were told to children of how they were houseless Elves who had refused the call to the Halls of Mandos and now lingered on the shores of the land they had once loved, unwilling to leave, unable to stay, calling out for home in piercing, aching cries. Whispered tales spoke of their cruelty, their willingness to take the bodies of those they found in the mist, leaving the owners houseless and helpless.

It mattered not that no one had ever encountered anyone who actually had this happen to them; the tales were frightening enough, and Nimloth couldn't repress a sudden shiver as she heard, faint and far away, a fair voice singing in an unknown language. She resolved to stay where she was, not to move from the path she knew, until the mists cleared.

And yet the voice was so fair! She stood, drawn toward it despite her fear, unable to turn away. Her sensible objections, and even the small part of her that feared the fate of the tales, could not hold her back.

The voice was growing louder now; it was moving toward her, and she moved unconsciously out from under her tree, making a soft noise to her horse to signal him to follow where she lead. Obediently, the horse raised his head from the grass, his hooves making a faint sound on the ground as he followed just behind her shoulder.

They moved forward silently, keeping as much as possible to the path that was marked out with stones piled here and there to guide any travellers who wished to visit Dor Firn-i-Guinar. From time to time, messengers passed between Luthien and her parents, gifts and news sent between them. Nimloth had heard that there was a son, a young boy as he would be now, twenty-five years after Luthien's departure.

The voice, still beautiful, changed now, not far away at all. Rather than being in a language unknown and strange, it was in Sindarin, Sindarin as it was spoken in Doriath at that, very much her own dialect, and the tune was even quite familiar.

On journey then they wandered long, the voice sang, a masculine voice, and although sounding young, very well-trained. Nimloth stood still for a moment, listening.

They named the creatures in their song.
Bee and eagle, deer and bear
All the beasts of earth and air.

She stepped forward, and could see the dim outline of a person standing not far away, undoubtedly the singer. He stopped singing abruptly and there was movement in the white fog. Then he appeared before her, almost as if he had materialised there out of the mist. She looked up at him, dumbstruck, and for a moment they regarded each other, not speaking.

He was tall, with dark hair tumbling loose about his shoulders, and a light shone in his eyes, not the hard bright lachenn of the Noldor, but a softer, more diffuse radiance that reminded her of Melian and Luthien. A second glance at his face showed his youth and intense beauty - he could have been Luthien, almost, in male form.

She was the first to recover her poise, and stepped forward with her hand out. "Greetings, stranger. I am Nimloth of Doriath, come to see my friend Luthien." He smiled and took her hand as she continued to speak. "I have lost my way in this mist; can you guide me to her?"

His smile was dazzling and she felt as some of the mist was clearing away under the light of it. "If I could not, I would ill deserve to be her son," he said, raising her hand to his lips and kissing it briefly. "I am Dior."

Nimloth drew back her hand, startled. "But are you not meant to be a child?" she said. "It was but twenty-five years since Luthien went from our halls, and you appear as one twice your age or more."

"So I have been told," he said. "But I am not only the son of Luthien, but of Beren, and it is the fate of Men to grow more swiftly than Elves."

"And are you then of Elf-kind, or of the race of Men?" she asked. He paused for thought, but gestured along the path, where a small heap of stones was just visible in the mist. They fell into step together and there was a brief silence.

"I am the first of the Peredhil," he said at last, slow, pondering. "I bear the blood of both the races of the Children of Eru, and also a share of that which my mother received from hers. I am something altogether new." And then he turned to look at her, his wondering tone changing to one of delight. "But enough of me, let us speak of you! Nimloth. Nimloth the Fair I name you, for truly you are the fairest lady I have seen." He smiled, and she laughed gently at his enthusiasm.

"Fair! Have you seen yourself?" she said. "I have heard it said that beauty could save the world, so surely you are burdened with a great responsibility!"

He looked startled and amazed, as if he had never thought of himself in such terms before, but recovered himself quickly, smiling at her. "Not only fair but wise beyond measure." He took a swift breath. "Yet I fear it is not my fate to save the world."

Nimloth felt a chill passing all through her, but reached out and took his hand regardless of it. "There are many ways to save the world," she said, and he looked down at their joined hands. "Not all can, or should, dare the Enemy's lair for victory." A premonition passed over her then, and she paused. He stopped with her and looked into her face. A vision passed before her eyes, too swift to comprehend, but in it dark shadows crept over Menegroth, and his eyes shone in the darkness, lit by the Silmaril cast in a beautiful necklace on his breast. Her breath caught, and she spoke without thought, swift and sure. "For at times the enemy comes to the gates and then all must be defended. To save the world can mean sacrifice beyond measure."

The mists surrounded them, and they were caught in a world of their own, and his voice was very young and uncertain. "Would you pay it?" he asked. "So that the world might be saved?"

She raised her chin firmly and looked him in the eyes. All the experience of her years went into her voice, which did not tremble or shake. "Yes," she said, very calmly.

He gave a swift breathless gasp, then leaned forward and kissed her very quickly, the shy kiss of one who has never done so before. He drew back almost immediately, his hand flying to his mouth. "You must think me very bold!" he said, blushing furiously. "But all my life I have been able to see glimpses of possible futures in visions and in dreams, and at times they end in my death, grim and bloody."

He drew back a little, dropping her hand and gestured widely, encompassing all possibility. "I am caught in a fate larger than myself, that I know, and the decisions that will be most important to my life are not my own. I have never seen Menegroth with my eyes, and yet I have walked its halls many times in dreams. I have never beheld the Silmaril and yet I know its light." He looked up into the white mist, where the bright sun was shining down, burning through the diffuse air, a crescent of brightness. Nimloth, a strange kind of yearning rising within her, reached out and reclaimed his hand, and he looked down again, startled.

"Bold," she said, "but not overbold." A slow smile spread over his face, and he caressed her hand with his thumb, looking as though he had suddenly lost the ability to speak, staring down at their joined hands.

After a moment, he swallowed visibly, and raised his head. "Come with me," he said, keeping her hand within his own, turning and walking forward again. "It's not far now, and my mother is waiting for us."