The trails of Nan Elmoth by Chiara Cadrich

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The foretold folly chronicle

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The trails of Nan Elmoth

Part 4 - The foretold folly chronicle

.oOo.

A glow from beyond the world was smoldering in the hearth. His face stretched with incarnate, the Twilight Elf darted a sharp look on his white hot blade.

The sword, a thousand times beaten and soaked in the the master blacksmith’s secret elixir, threw sparks under his hammer blows. The elf was working the overheated alloy with a quick pace.

Eöl struck the metal and instilled his thought, blow after blow, into the refined material.

He struck, assailing the metal with his will’s insistent force.

He struck again, purifying the sharp thread into a graceful line.

Eöl struck still, insinuating an arabesque at the heart of the cutting edge.

Eöl struck the blade to the rhythm of his pulse.

He struck again and again, with the regularity of faith. He established a subtle balance between hardness and suppleness in the heart of matter.

He abolished time in the tinkling of his blows on the alloy.

He was striking forever and for eternity.

He rang endlessly the monotonous melody of the hammer on the anvil, deafening himself and reaching the ether of incandescent purities.

Plunged to the roots of his art, Eöl confused in a single dream of creation, the thousands of furnaces and the thousands of soaks, which succeeded each other like innumerable days.

The Twilight Elf slowly ascended the time of the living, seeking the creative spark of his youth in the labyrinth of his memories.

.oOo.

At the blessed time of the stars, Eöl had risen on the shores of the Lake of Awakening. Curious and passionate, he had traveled through summits and valleys, discovering the germs of plants still asleep in the soil, and the gems hatched in the rock. Moved by the desire to deepen the reason for all things, he was one of the few, capable of revealing the secrets of the earth. Very early he had turned his understanding towards matter and its mysteries. He had ventured on the Cuiviënen's waves and had probed its abyss. Persevering and diligent, he acquired a close intimacy with the earth, and was soon able to extract from raw clay and impure oxides, objects of delicate forms and iridescent reflections.

Introvert and solitary, Eöl could scrutinize the souls of his fellow elves, with the same penetrating mind he applied to the observation of everything. When emissaries came to praise Melkor’s glory, he had detected duplicity and envy, mingled with fear. Strong and independent, he had shut himself from the promises of the powers, rejecting any deception, and seeking truth by himself. He was one of the first to venture far away, facing the dangers of the earth.

Eöl particularly liked mountains, where rock was exposed, revealing its nuances. He lingered long on the summits, enthroned in peace under the sparkling stars. For time passed slowly in this age of the world, yet rhythmed neither by the flowering of Valinor’s twin trees, nor by the celestial journey of their last offsprings.

As he contemplated the firmament, his piercing eye gazed at a thin incandescent trail. The Elves, occupied in endless palaver about Melkor’s insinuations, paid no attention to it. He was the only one who followed the sign, guided by his ardent faith, for miles and leagues.

At the summit of the Blue Mountains, he saw a glimmer on the horizon: a star in agony had crumbled into a dark valley, overwhelming and inflaming the surroundings. He reached the megalith while the fire was quieting.

Eöl explored the broken rock around the fallen star. He discovered wonders unheard-of - crystals, blocks of ores melted on the impact, unknown luminescent rocks... He knew he had found the abode of the centuries and proclaimed his sovereignty.

He settled in his mineral kingdom, in the midst of gems and star dust. The formidable explosion had torn and cracked the ground, opening unstable galleries. By dint of his tenacious will, the elf twilight cleared the rubble, consolidated the galleries, cleared the rooms and fortified the entrance. Under the megalith, he built a forge and a crucible. A light black stone burned in his hearth, with a slow and powerful combustion, but without any flame.

At this time, Eöl met the dwarves, while saving some of them from the mandibles of terrible arachnids. And friendship was born between the lord of Nan Elmoth and this burrowing people, whose tribes founded mines and kingdoms in the Blue Mountains. They exchanged riches and forging secrets, which further tightened their bonds.

Nan Elmoth's rooms were decorated with rich draperies and enlivened with light, its cellar was filled with vast reserves, and the dwarves offered Eöl a door for his underground kingdom - one of those enchanted doors that only their master would command.

The ores of the fallen star revealed him their secrets and the blacksmith bent them to his will. A new alloy was born in his hands, germ of the stars sown by the ardor of his tormented mind. Thus two formidable twin swords consecrated the genius of the elven blacksmith. These masterpieces, Anglachel and Anguirel, black and lively blades, became deadly to the creatures of Morgoth in the hands of the twilight elf.

At that time, many evil things were brewing from the north, where Morgoth had built his lair. Monsters more repugnant than orcs roamed on the land under the stars. Nan Elmoth had become a haven, feared by the Dark Lord's minions, who were nonetheless attracted by the secrets and treasures of the fallen star.

But as their attacks redoubled, and the kingdom of Nan Elmoth seemed lost, the Valar unfurled their banners and assailed Utumno. Soon Morgoth’s fortress of was cast down, and the black enemy of the world crushed under Tulkas’ boot[1].

Eöl, alone among the children of Illuvatar, took part in the glory of this victory and an emissary of the Valar presented himself at his door.

The twilight elf received him with courtesy, marveling at the visitor's enlighted gaze. Eöl expected to be offered again, to join the Valar’s abode, like he had already been proposed. He was preparing to refuse, on account of his attachment to the works of his hands, and the possibilities still harbored by the fallen star.

To his surprise, there was no question of Valinor. The emissary offered nothing like thanks - on the contrary, he asked for help! In the end, it was all too clear: the wealth of Nan Elmoth was indeed what the Valar were interested in. Eöl conceived a deep bitterness, for in order to maintain his independence, he had to grant a pledge.

The twilight Elf, vowing not to be fooled by any power, had to agree to build a gigantic chain, which was to hinder Morgoth. Thus Eöl put the greater part of his art in the forge of Angainor, the chains of the Valar. But the precious alloy he had invented was sullied, misled into a common ransom. His resentment spurred his gestures, but this exploit cost him dear, since he drew the best part of his creative energy.

.oOo.

The lord of Nan Elmoth resumed his grievances, trying to forge from time to time, and watched jealously on his treasures. He waged a merciless war against the spiders, that had escaped the ruin of Utumno, and now haunted the valley of terror.

Thus he met his destiny, as he was returning from an expedition against his enemies, to the foothills of Ered Dorthonion.

As he drew near the heart of his kingdom, he perceived a form, a vague silhouette squatting in the shadow of the fallen star. A slender creature watched without fear the austere beauty of Eöl’s estate. The elf approached, his swords ready to give death.

When the form turned to stare at him, Eöl remained petrified. The silhouette of soft shade seemed to him a scarcely sketched outline, a quick-silver child escaped from the limbo, with divine grace but still ungainly movements. From the face, he remembered only his eyes, immense in their grave candor, and yet sparkling with tender curiosity. The forgotten egg of a goddess seemed to have hatched by chance in wild lands, caressed by a ray of star. This late rejection of creation enveloped the elf with an interrogative glance. She seemed to reproduce all his gestures with a knowing glance, and imbibed with delight all the nuances caught in the elf’s mimicry.

The face with undecided features seemed to be refining at every moment, its countenance like enriched by the hesitations exchanged with Eöl. The elf and creature faced each other for a few moments, charmed by the fragile grace of their encounter. Eöl did not know who scrutinized him with such deep attention and immanent seduction. But now he was sure - a powerful spirit, virgin of any dealing with the elves, with feminine graces, animated this elusive body. He stretched out his hand towards the Maia, and immediately a shadow of distrust tarnished her glance, and the form shrank rapidly, as supple as a cloud in the wind.

Eöl hailed the frightened figure: "Dero Bain Bessaïnë![2]"

An anxious benevolence pierced in the elf's voice, in spite of his fierce tone. The form stopped and turned, a young woman for now, staring Eöl with a formidable intensity. Her pupils were ardent with a new fire, as a spark flames the wick of a lamp. Did her soul foresee a raison d'être? The elf's interest seemed to give substance to the young Maia’s instinct throughout the elven speech. Tense as a bow, but staring with a curious look, she greedily waited for other words.

.oOo.

Somehow panting, Eöl sat down cross-legged on a stone bench and gestured his companion at his side. His throat a little tied by a strange disturbance, the elf looked into her imploring pupils. He read a long solitude under darkness. He recognized the wounds and distrust inflicted by the dark enemy. He experienced the powerful instinct of self-preservation and the need for fulfillment of the creature quivering before him. He guessed the hope within, notwithstanding the trials of oblivion. The half-open lips of the Maia stirred gently, a moving hesitation between the promise of a kiss and the mime of language.

Then Eöl shared his words. He opened the marvelous book of Elven speech and allowed the emotions that fluttered in him, to fly away at random. For her, he set out phrases of peace. He stirred a shape for the quivering wind in the branches of the larch. He pronounced glorious professions of faith. He celebrated the beauty of the stars. He whispered the happiness of sharing intimacy with a friendly soul. He issued royal sentences for her. He caressed sensations to evoke feelings. He told her simple words, wonder and surprise, hunger and pleasure. He invoked the power of the verb on the named things.

The young Maia listened with amazement. As freed from a yoke, she eagerly appropriated the power of language. Seduced by the music of words, she was impregnated with the meaning thanks to the images born from Eöl’s words. Matrix for the spirit of each elf, their language inherited the genius of the whole Elven people. And the creature drank every spoken fragrance with delight.

Eöl spoke at length under the stars. The Maia sometimes answered him, her sweet face bathed in tears, with jubilant interjections that delighted him. At last he invited her to remain with him. She embodied now a young elf, alert and impatient to learn. After a brief glance towards the hills, she followed the Twilight Elf.

.oOo.

The Maia, stretched out on the moss, let her gaze wander from one constellation to the other, the delightful names of which she murmured with delight. Since her encounter with the elf, she felt in her flesh, with renewed acuteness, the sensation of the world and the impulse of creation. The learned sounds, the words exchanged, had revealed the extent of her own knowledge, increasing her hold on Arda. No more precious gift had ever been granted her. Yet at the corner of her heart lingered an unfinished darkness, a last secret to be found in herself. Attentive to the emotions of the companion lying beside her, she felt in her, the elf's heartbeats.

He felt the caress of her gaze tenderly interrogating him. The master of words turned to her. He had never contemplated pupils as serenely eager to embrace the universe. The power of which he now felt the yoke, knew how to dispense with words. He slipped into the limpid waters of her knowing and grateful gaze.

A sweet flame of desire was erecting, warming her hip. She imprisoned this throbbing heart with teasing tenderness. Eöl's bewitching lips ventured through the mounds and hills of her alabaster body, roaming along her tender nacreous folds, with exasperating slowness. The Maia twisted the lianas of her arms and legs around the explorer, appropriating every delicate gesture.

The flower of her smile curled into a voluptuous conch. The universe had found its axis. The dome of stars began to pitch slowly, inhabited by the elf’s dark silhouette. Bowed to the coping of her eyes, he was looking there at the turmoil of her soul.

Eöl undulated in the ultimate depths of his wife, blending in the same dream of creation, the syncopated song of her flesh, the furnace of his desire and the thousands of stars, for ever till the end of time.

The Maia had seized the substance of the world with her bare arms. She rode her new sensations with an unremitting ardor. At last her graceful fingers clenched into the burning spine of her companion, in a long sigh of deliverance.

Back from limbo, cheek to cheek, they listened to the storm dissolving in them. Shrouded in a fragile feeling of immutability, they contemplated the firmament that watched over their bed.

.oOo.

The Maia had almost finished assuming her carnal condition - anchored in this world, she had now taken on Arda. The fallen star became the epicenter of her blooming. Wherever she looked, her beauty flourished. The works of her hands ennobled the underground halls, and adorned the neighborhood with majesty. She spread around her still inner strength. She took no part in the struggle against the minions of Morgoth. Yet she pushed back the frontiers of Nan Elmoth, where flew salubrious and protective vapors, that every evil creature feared.

The Maia grew in grace with renewed satiety, for some time - many years to the reckoning of men who were to come. Yet her blessed fullness remained tainted with a hint of doubt, like an incomplete souvenir.

.oOo.

At that time some elves had come to Beleriand. It was heard the Teleri, along with their princes Olwe and Elwe, had at length followed the emissaries of the Valar westwards. Scattered groups traveled through the vast forests of Neldoreth, Region, or Arthorian, and were sometimes lost. Some tribes hesitated, exploring these lands where the fury of Morgoth and the vengeance of the Valar had passed. They discovered many wonders, but some ventured into Dor Dinen or into the sad valley of Dungortheb, for their misfortune.

Thus some elves in distress presented themselves before Eöl, attracted by the peaceful aura of his wife. Their group had been attacked by spiders across the Esgalduin River. Their prince, captured, was therefore promised an atrocious death, devoured by the offspring hatched in his own entrails.

The master of Nan Elmoth, granted aid to the refugees like a great lord. He was in a good position to assess the risks of an assault against the mountains of terror, and refused to help the victims even when the elves prostrated themselves before him. His wife had to join in their prayers, for him to induce him to go the whole hog.

Then Eöl stood up and armed the refugees. His Lady clothed him with darkness. He put on his galvorn helmet, just as he draped his soul with his devotion to her. The fighters left with the blessing of the Maia.

Nothing is known for sure about this battle. The spiders fell by hundreds under their furious blows, but few elves escaped the sharp mandibles of the queen of Dungortheb. The survivors returned, disheveled and haggard, carrying on a bulwark their prince, the only survivor, puffed up with the seed of the ignoble creatures. Horrified, Eöl had forsaken the spider guard with his two marvelous blades, and then victoriously brought back the squad, supported only by the thought of his Lady. But he had left a part of his faith in life on the battlefield.

.oOo.

The wounded elf was admitted into the guard of the Maia. She displayed all her art to help him, struggling at length against the horrible infestation.

The evil gained, seeming to devour the entrails of the victim, and to obliterate any light in his soul. In the course of care and setbacks, the patient, whose mind was wandering in the grip of fever, would pronounce a few words. The music of Sindarin delighted the Maia, and restored to her the confidence she lacked. Despite the patient's cries of terror, some of his words suggested a world of hope, a noble and optimistic vision pegged to the heart.

Eöl was rarely admitted to the bedside of his host, and he could not convince his lady to take some rest.

The patient's condition finally stabilized. But for a long time, the Maia relentlessly kept on watching for a life-saving breath or a luminous word from her protégé.

At last the convalescent regained consciousness. When he looked at his hostess, he thought he was now in Valinor.

- Yavanna! He exclaimed, thinking he recognized the guardian of what lives in the earth.

The beauty of the Maia bent over him, called this blessed name in him.

Spechless, she contemplated the elf who seemed to speak like an oracle. A shudder ran through her spine, as the syllables made their way through her memory. Yavanna had been a close name... Full memory came back to her. Before the origin, she had been Yavanna's sister. [3]

Her mind illuminated in a flash, she answered with a trembling smile:

- My name is Melian.

She shed a tear that slowly rolled down her cheek, before it reached the edge of her chin. The elf picked it up in a tender gesture of appeasement and smiled at Melian:

- They call me Elwë.

A halo of happiness seemed to shine in the dark cavern, uniting forever the two survivors.

.oOo.

Eöl hammered the metal for ever and till the end of time.

Thus treason had sullied each of his generosities.

Melian had fled, subdued by the luminous candor of Elwë. The couple had found asylum in the thousand caverns of Menegroth, and founded a kingdom, where many Sindar had joined them. Melian had raised an invisible and enchanted barrier encircling their domain. The girdle of Melian prevented anyone from entering Doriath without being invited. The unwanted travelers were lost inexorably in the enchanted meanders of the woods, never to find their way.

Eöl forged his blade with the mechanical perseverance of a dwarven automaton.

Eöl struck the metal in vain, without finding any spirit or faith.

His betrayed efforts had robbed him of his strength. He had been stolen.

Later still, when Doriath had expanded as the Sindar strengthened, Elwe had demanded that Nan Elmoth be subjected to him. Melian had intervened so that her old love would be spared.

Elwe, now known as Thingol, had demanded a ransom. Once again, Eöl had to swallow his pride. Cursing forever the famous blade, he had conceded Anglachel to the impudent wren. [4]

He had been deceived again and again. Never again would he be deceived.

The grievances danced before Eöl, who hypnotized himself by his never-ending forge.

Yet at times, Aredhel's grave face recalled Eöl from his awakened dream.

The blacksmith abandoned his hammer. A sensation of regained honor, of an almost possible happiness, touched him for a moment. His lady deserved better than a bitter husband, obliterated by the constantly reforged litany of his recriminations...

But could he trust her completely?

.oOo.

NOTES

[1] Vala of weapons, strength and war.

[2]Wait for me, lovely stranger!

[3]Servant of Vana and Estë, Melian had long lived in Lorien’s land and tended Irmo’s orchards. Then she had gone to Middle-Earth, where, traumatized by the two lamps’ fall and assailed by Morgoth, she had wandered in the night, overwhelmed by terror and walled in her amnesia.

[4] Anglachel long slept in Thingol’s armory. It cast misfortune on those who brandished it. Much later, it fell to Tùrin, also cursed. But that is quite another story.