Before The Dawn by Grundy

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Chapter 3

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It was not until later in the evening that her father returned to the issue of what to do about the young atani.

The young visitors had been guests of the king at dinner. They had been far too hungry to notice that they were the object of much curiosity, for not one of the elves present had seen one of their kind before. That was not to say that the youngsters had done nothing but eat – it was clear enough they had been taught good manners, for they made polite conversation and did their best to cover that the food was far more appealing to them than the company when first they sat down.

They had spoken enough with the lords of the city to flesh out their story – it turned out they were the grandsons of one of her grandfather’s retainers, not that Itarillë had even known before now that her grandfather had atani serving him. There was so much she’d never had the chance to know…

To Itarillë’s surprise, it was only family present when she arrived in her father’s study – herself, Lomion, Laurefindil, and Irimë.  She had expected he would want to hear the opinions of his lords on this subject.

Turukano never stood on ceremony in private, and Itarillë was happy to settle next to her father on the arm of his chair as Lomion claimed the rug near the fireplace.  These times were among the few he truly relaxed, with none but family around to see him so informal.

Lomion would certainly not ever allow Salgant or Ecthelion see him sprawled out so carelessly – the former because they detested each other, the latter because Ecthelion intimidated Lomion. (Itarillë did not quite understand why, for she has always found the Lord of the Fountain quite approachable.)

“Well, nephew? What do you mean to do with the young mortals?”

Trust Aunt Irimë to come right to the point.

Turukano shrugged.

“I had in mind to ask the Eagles to return them,” he replied, swirling his wine about his glass. “Whenever they next chance to visit.”

Her great-aunt did not look pleased at that, but she said nothing more.

Laurefindil frowned.

“How is it, cousin,” he asked, “that these young ones are exceptions to your rule that those who find their way hence may not leave?”

When your own kin are not?

The Lord of the Golden Flower did not say the words, but then, he did not need to.

“They did not find their way hence,” Turukano said with a frown of his own for his younger kinsman. “They were brought by the Eagles. I have spoken with them at some length. They have no idea where the city is, or even in what mountains. Without the Eagles, they would not have reached us, and without the Eagles, they will not be able to return.”

Lomion had said nothing, and Laurefindil looked to him.

“You have nothing to say to this, young one?”

Lomion shrugged.

“It seems to me rather hard to keep a pair of young atani here, where they would be nothing more than curiosities.”

“Curiosities?” Itarillë asked, puzzled.

“Of course,” Lomion replied, looking surprised. “There are no others of their kind in the city, which means they would have no hope of leading a normal life. For them to remain here means the best they can hope for is a trivial sort of friendship.”

“Why should they not live a full life among us?” Itarillë protested. “Aside from their mortality-“

“And the hair,” Lomion muttered, no doubt also adding a mental and the smell.

“Fine, and the hair,” she continued, ignoring Laurefindil’s snicker, “they are not so different from us.”

“Not so very different, perhaps,” Lomion shrugged. “Yet I cannot see many ladies of the city considering them as potential husbands when they are little more than children themselves, and will likely die before any child they might beget grows to maturity.”

“Assuming, of course, that their kind and ours can have children together,” Irimë pointed out crisply. “Finderato has mentioned no such thing in his letters, and he would most certainly have mentioned such a thing had it occurred.”

“They look so very like us, why should it not be possible?” Itarillë demanded.

“Their fate is rather different,” Irimë replied. “But in any case, I rather think Lomion has a fair point – I do not see many nissi seriously considering binding themselves to a creature that will not long outlive their horse, much less risking bearing a child that may also prove so short-lived.”

“Indeed. Under the circumstances, it seems rather cruel to keep them here, where they have no real prospect of a full life,” Turukano agreed. “Provided the two young ones are willing to give me their word that they will reveal nothing of the city or their time among us, I am inclined to say they should be returned to their own people in Brethil.”

“But how can we trust that they will not accidentally betray the secret?” Itarillë protested. “The Eagles are unlikely to return for some months – they do not visit one day and return the next. How will Hurin and Huor account for their long absence? They are certain to be asked!”

“I shall let that be their problem,” Turukano answered. “They know their own people far better than we can, so they will know what best to say that will not raise suspicion nor be seen for an untruth.”

Itarillë frowned, but she knew she would find no help from her cousins or great-aunt. In their own hearts, she suspected all three of them would join the young atani in leaving if they could.

Irimë and Laurefindil had never intended to come to the city – they had been searching for Artanis when the Eagles saved them from an orc ambush in the Echoriad, with no idea that they had come so close to stumbling across Turukano’s hidden kingdom. It had been some weeks before Irimë could speak civilly to her nephew after being told she was not free to leave.

Lomion, of course, had very much intended to find the city, but not to stay – or at least, not to stay without his parents. He would much rather have returned to Doriath after his parents’ deaths than remain alone and grieving in a city where the only person he knew or trusted at all was Itarillë.

Secretly, even Itarillë would have liked to leave the city – she would like to see more of Beleriand than just this one sheltered valley, even if it meant danger and risk. She wanted to meet some of their long-sundered kin beyond Lomion, even if the Greycloak wouldn’t ever allow her into his kingdom. She wanted to live, just as much as the young atani were to be allowed to do.

But her father would not allow any of them to leave, her least of all.

She slipped out onto the balcony to lean against the railing, trying to let the cool night air restore her sense of balance as she contemplated the city before her. When had it begun to feel so small?

“I’m sorry, Itarillë.”

She turned to find Lomion had followed her out.

“I know you hoped I’d agree with you,” he added. “But I really think it would be unkind to keep them here.”

“It’s so unfair,” she whispered.

“That they can go?” he asked, sounding startled.

“That we can’t!” she hissed.

Lomion blinked, and came to sit on the railing next to her.

“It… I know it does not seem fair at the moment,” he began hesitantly. “But your father really does want to keep us safe. You most of all.”

“He’ll keep us safe,” Itarillë laughed bitterly, trying not to cry. “He’ll keep us here right until the city falls.”

Lomion looked for a moment as though he did not know what to say, opening his mouth and then closing it again as if he’d thought better of it.

“He may,” he agreed quietly. “So you’ll just have to look for a way to get people out without him knowing. A secret way.”

Itarillë gave him a disgusted look.

“Without atto knowing about it?”

Lomion smirked.

“That would be what secret means.”

She stared at him.

“But how are we-”

“No, not we,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “You. If anything happens to the city, you can be sure I’ll be in the middle of the fighting. It’ll fall to you.”

“But you’ll know all about it!”

“No, I won’t, because you’re not going to tell me,” he said firmly.

“But-”

“My father’s people hold that there are two ways to keep a secret,” Lomion told her conversationally. “The first is to tell one other person.”

“Why only one?” Itarillë asked.

“Any more than that, and it isn’t a secret anymore.”

“But why can’t I tell you?” she demanded.

“Everyone knows we’re the best of friends. If you want to keep something a secret and anyone else wants to find out, who do you suppose they’ll try to get it out of?”

Itarillë glared at him.

“You talk as if you expect Morgoth himself to try to discover our secrets.”

“The Sindar have learned caution the hard way,” he replied with a shrug. “And it’s Morgoth who wants this city destroyed. He may not come himself, but you can be sure that whoever he sends will do whatever it takes.”

“What was the second way?”

“Hm?

“The second way to keep a secret,” she reminded him. “You said there were two ways.”

“Oh, that. The second way is to keep it so that everybody already knows.”

“How is that keeping it a secret?” Itarillë asked in perplexity.

“It takes some doing,” Lomion grinned. “If you do it properly, everybody knows, but nobody believes it. But I don’t think that method is one that will work very well for you. You’re far too honest for it. That method needs someone like Rog to carry it off.”

“This is your serious advice?” Itarillë asked with a sigh. “Figure out a secret way to escape if it comes to that?”

Lomion nodded.

“And if we do escape? What then?”

Itarillë didn’t need to point out that if it ever came to that, they’d be in a frightful situation. 

Lomion was silent for a while, with no answer at the ready. Finally, he seemed to make a decision.

“I don’t know how we will manage it, Itarillë, but I promise you that someday I will take you to meet my father’s kin. My uncle – that is, my great-uncle – may be as unreasonable in his own way as your father, but I do not think he can hold the crimes of your kin against you when all know you were but a child at the time of the Exile. Should the day come when we are not safe here, you will be safe among the Sindar.”

She looked at him in surprise.

He sighed, seeming to feel the question.

“It is the best that I can think of for now. But I am sure we have time to form better plans. You have been so troubled all day. I do not want you to keep worrying, and certainly not over those silly boys. Chances are once they leave the city we will never see or think of them ever again.”