"Home is behind" by hennethgalad

Chapter 1

Read Chapter 1

 

 

  

   Braig was exhausted as they crossed the last ridge, and looked down on the high green vale of Thôn Imloth. The road had wandered as a wayward child, snaking across slopes as though hiding from the peak of Gondren, highest of the Ered Wethrin. Hador himself was weary, far more so than while crossing the endless plains, for here the might of Braig, even such a one as Braig, could do nothing to hasten their journey, and they plodded up the rutted path, in the scented stillness of the pines, under the clouds of Mithrim, for what seemed an age.

 

    But the noise cheered all their hearts, rising like the smoke from the settled valley, Braig lifted his head, and his ears, and Hador smiled and stroked his warm neck. Beside him his father sighed cheerfully "At last ! By the Hunter, Geril, it is a long road to Midhivor ! I must reward you more generously for your toil ! Is there aught I may give you ?"

    Geril, the father of Gildis, and as merry as his name, grinned at Hador "My lord, to have your fine son handfast to my daughter is a greater gift than I could have dreamed of ! My people will believe it to be a result of my own efforts, when, as you well know, nothing could be further from the truth. He is as willful as she, and I am delighted that she has met her match, as it were !"

   Hathol laughed his deep laugh, and was answered by the barking of dogs from the steading. They came bounding through the open gates, where a one-armed watchman started up from a doze and hurriedly stood to attention. A dozen children and dogs burst out onto the road and ran shouting towards them, while behind them the noise of hammer and saw, axe and loom, ceased, as the folk of Geril laid aside their tasks and poured into the street. 

 

   It was almost a village. The House of Geril, Midhivor itself, stood tall at the far end, facing the road which entered the valley from the North. A small stream ran through it, West to East, crossed by a flat bridge of great slabs of stone. On either side of the broad street were the houses of his kin, and their kin, a dozen in all, sturdy log-built homes, their thatches held down by nets weighed with the hard grey rocks of Gondren. The whole was fenced with living trees, the mighty pines of the high slopes, tough as the needles they bore. Between each living post were walls of felled trunks, higher than a man on horseback, up which grew ivy, rising from its bed of brambles; a formidable defence, for wolves, bears, great cats, and worse, walked the forests of Ered Wethrin. 

 

   Hador smiled, it was a fine place to have grown up, he could almost see Gildis, in the laughing children that crowded round the horses, fair haired and fair faced. He could almost see the children that they would have, he and she, as wilful as they were, running and dancing with these, their cousins. His father was looking fondly at him.

    "Well, boy ? A fine steading, is it not ? I would have brought you here long ago if you had not run away with the Elves, eh ?"

     Hador smiled and thought of Barad Eithel. He sat up straighter "But father, Gildis and I have learned much from the Elves, in time I am sure that you will be grateful for their wisdom."

     Geril laughed and clapped Hathol on the back "They were doomed to meet, old friend. They ran away, but they were running towards each other all the time ! We could not have arranged it better if we had schemed for a year ! Indeed, now that they have stretched their wings, they will settle the more gladly to the life of the hearth."

    Hathol pursed his lips, then nodded, and smiled "Well well, it is done. They are both returned unharmed; indeed, Hador has grown somewhat, I am certain, for now he is taller even than I, and thicker in the chest. Yes, it may be that there were things to learn... But in truth I do not see what we lack. None are hungry, none are cold, all are well housed, well shod, we have our songs, our tales, and wine by the fireside at close of day. What do we need more ?"

    Hador opened his mouth to speak, but the flood of words overwhelmed him. How could he explain Barad Eithel to one who refused to visit it, who would not listen to tales of its beauty, who cared naught for the wisdom of the Eldar ? 

 

    But Gildis was there, like an overhanging branch above the swift water, he clung to the thought of her, and she lifted his heart with a smile. She was simply dressed, in undyed cloth, her fair hair caught behind in a small silver clasp, standing beside her mother, whose hair had faded from palest gold to shining silver, and whose light grey eyes were almost white in the sun, with the faintest ring of smoke. 

    Geril threw himself down from his horse and caught his wife in his arms, as Hathol, smiling, slid to the ground. Hador leaped from the back of Braig and handed the reins to a tall thin lad who looked from him to the horse with awed eyes, and bowed awkwardly. Hador smiled, and bowed back, Elven-fashion, and laughed to see the children, silenced for a moment, striving to copy him, hands on heart, and chest, and plump stomach.

    

    Geril turned his weathered red face to Hador "This is my lovely lady, my beautiful Faenrill, temper as sweet as her voice, who keeps my heart and my House. Dearest, this is Hador son of Hathol, who would wed our Gildis."

    Hador bowed, and smiled into the startlingly white eyes, then stood as she studied him. He felt his skin prickle, it was worse than being among the Elves, who saw into the heart, and heard his thoughts as though he had uttered them. He wondered for a moment if Faenrill had the same gift, and realised that her judgement could yet thwart his plans. Indeed, the silence had spread around them, and the calls of the swifts hunting in the air high above could be heard for the first time. Even the horses held still, good hunting horses, trained to patience, waiting, as he waited, his heart louder than the piercing cries of the birds, his mouth dry with fear. He could no longer imagine a life which did not have Gildis there, to love him, and to study his people as Faenrill studied him, and to offer him counsel and guidance. 

     He turned to Gildis, as he had learned to do, and Gildis smiled warmly, reassuring him. In that moment, Faenrill broke her silence.

     "Yes." she said "Welcome to Midhivor, Hador son of Hathol, you will be welcome at our hearth for as long as the fire burns within. Do you join us now, and take some comfort after your long ride ?"

 

    The tension broke as passing thunder, Hador loosened his sinews and knew that he had been dreading this meeting more than he had dared admit, even to himself, but the worst was past, and Geril was smiling at him.

    "Come, young Hador, come sit by me, and we shall feast, and I shall teach you to drink like a mountain man." He winked and turned to the children with a roar. They backed away shrieking, but flung themselves upon him with laughing cries, as he scooped one up onto his shoulders and the others clung to him, calling out all at once, in a deafing clamour. He laughed again and shouted above the din "What do we sing at feast time ?" and the children turned from a noisy rabble to a choir, as though under the spell of the Elves.

 

       "Oh he likes a dish and he likes a tune 

         And he drinks as much

         As the man in the moon !"

 

 

   Though smaller than home, the hall of Geril was imposing to Mortal eyes. Hador leaned back to look at the smoke-blackened roof, upheld on the trunks of the great pines, where beams of sunlight splintered through the slats to spear the hall with columns of roiling grey.      There was little that did not serve a purpose; the only colours hung behind the Lord’s seat, and distinguished the shields around the walls. But the fire was as bright as the eyes of the people of Thôn Imloth, greeting him with eager pride, beaming on the once disregarded Gildis, returned home from travels among the Elves with the son of the king at her heels. 

    The feast was worthy of his full attention, and though it lacked the variety of Elven banquets, it pleased him to eat his fill of childhood favourites, with none to tell him to offer things first to the guests. It came to him that having left home at fifteen, he had been nowhere with his father as a man, seated at the high table, attended to first, and often, by those bearing the hottest platters and the sweetest mead. 

  

    He turned to his father and raised his goblet, plain gold, but finely crafted, Dwarven made, and lovingly polished. “I drink to your health, dear father, may your years be long and filled with cheer !”

    His father laughed, lifted his own goblet and drank, looking at Hador under his greying brows. “Long years, eh ? So that you can go back to playing truant among your precious Elves, I suppose ? While I, in my dotage, hobble about taking care of everything, and endlessly promise your poor mother that you will not miss another name day this year, or the next...” he sniffed slowly, but drank again. Hador, who still found his heart beat faster at the mere mention of Elves, took a breath, as though to speak, but drank instead. He could not argue, for his father’s words were true, but the thought of his years of study and training with the Elven teachers filled him with hurt indignation. But his father was not unjust, and in a friendlier tone spoke again.

    “But I have had word from Nargothrond, where your friend Fingolfin, High King of the Elves, lies. He speaks warmly of you, and commends you to my care, and offers to grant anything within his power to find for me.” Hathol paused “His power...” he said thoughtfully “I have never seen him, you know. But your great grandfather sent me to sleep every night with tales of his wisdom, his beauty, and the ancient splendour of his Halls. His power... And he is your friend ? Even Malach himself could only claim acquaintance.

     Yet I am... anxious...” his voice lowered, Hador leaned closer “Do you trust him, then, this Elf ? What is his purpose ? What does he seek ?”

 

    Hador laughed, drawing eyes from around the room, though he had found that there were always eyes upon him and he took them for granted. But Hathol frowned, and Hador could see that he thought either that his son was a fool, or worse, that he himself was taken for a fool. 

   “We are friends, father. We like each other as you and Geril do. No, more, we are as brothers, and I am eager to stand at his side should battle come. But what can I say that you have not already heard from Malach Aradan ? The Elves do not change. Fingolfin is waiting yet for Malach to return to him, young again, ready to ride out; not cold in his grave. And I am a consolation, for the loss of his old friend, and for the brief lives of all Mortals, and the grief of the Elves to see us flit by, as swift as falling hawks, never to return.”

 

    Hathol sighed and sat back in his chair, stretching his long legs under the table, disturbing a brace of waiting hounds. He lowered his eyelids, but the slightest of smiles lifted the corners of his mouth. Hador could almost see his thought; that after all, the boy had returned a man, with a fine lady to be his bride, and all was well. Hador leaned forwards and caught the eyes of Gildis, and raised his goblet to her with a smile. Geril, who had been trying to listen without seeming, raised his own goblet, and turned to his youngest daughter, who was much risen in his esteem.

   “Gildis, my dear, will you not play for us ? Your harp is at hand.”

 

   It was a beautiful harp, with roses painted climbing the pillar and rambling over the board. Gildis seated herself, while the people fell silent, until only the crackle of the fire and the scratching of a hound broke the stillness. The hound straightened up and looked around, alert for adventure, then turned its long nose to Gildis. She bowed her head; as though to the hound, thought Hador with a smile, then began to play.

   He knew the tune at once, she had played it at Eithel Sirion, for the High King, the most haunting of melodies. But here, among her people, with the tired eyes of the old wrinkling into sad smiles, and the round eyes of the young gaping as the hairs lifted on their arms, the simple tune carried a weight he could never have imagined. He felt his throat close, with pride in her, in himself, in his father, and in his people, the fleeting Mortals, for whom a year was a long time. His unacknowledged homesickness caught up with him and drowned his heart. To his astonishment, he took the hand of his father and pressed it hard, and was even more astonished to see tears in his father’s eyes, as the old man squeezed back. They laughed silently and picked up their goblets, but Hador felt a great weight lift from his heart, and wondered if finally, as two men, he and his father could become friends.

 

   After the feast, as they stood talking in the Hall, Faenrill touched his arm “Come, son of Hathol, there is something that I would show you.”

   He glanced at Gildis but she was surrounded by admirers, all speaking earnestly of music. He bowed to the lady “I will follow.”

   She laughed “For a little while, I think. But soon you will return to your Elves. I remember you as a boy, running around telling everyone things about the Elves that Malach himself still told, unaware that we knew all the tales by heart, like it or no. But  my little Gildis shares your love for them, it will warm your hearts when time takes the bloom from your cheeks. I am glad for you both, to have found each other, however far from home you had to travel to do so.”

   Hador smiled “It was in Himring, my lady, at the House of Maedhros, or, more truly, in the fields of Maedhros, that we knew.”

       “Yes, she has told me." She paused and frowned at him, her voice became cold and stern. "Do not hurt her, son of Hathol, or my vengeful spirit shall disturb your sleep til the last day of your life” 

   Hador hesitated, the tone of the formerly sweet-voiced Faenrill chilled his blood, but the pale eyes gazing intently into his near stopped his heart

   “My lady, if her children take after you, she will be more precious to me than Fingolfin himself, whom I love as I do my brother, nay, more. Indeed, you have heard the words of Isca the seer ?” He looked questioningly at her and she nodded slowly.

   “Fingolfin, who has declared me a brother to him, will take care that in my youth and ignorance, by folly or neglect, I do not bring pain to Gildis. You need have no fear, my lady.”

   “Fingolfin ? And where is his lady wife ? No queen sits beside him in Barad Eithel, yet you offer him as surety for my child ?” She snorted, and led the way up to the gallery. Hador thought of Fingolfin and felt the heat flood his veins, he knew that his face was blushing, and was grateful that Faenrill could not see him.

 

   She led him into a large, comfortable room, filled with colour, looms and spinning wheels. There were embroidered cushions on chairs and stools, a rich cover on the low table, the long worktable was piled with bolts of cloth, and the tailors trappings. She paused and gestured, and Hador gasped aloud. On the South wall of Midhivor, in the ladies chamber, was a window of glass. 

   “Glass !” He cried, and picked his way carefully across the room, hardly sparing a glance at the worked cloth in the looms, nor aught else, as he put out a hand to touch the treasure. There was only one window of glass even at home, to find one here... 

   “Glass.” He said again ”Why, it is the pride of Barad Eithel, the many windows of glass. How came it here ?”

   “Malach” she said simply, and Hador understood that more than mere tales had reached his people from the Elves.

   “It has been long since Bëor met Felagund. Our people are changed, though we do not feel it”

   “Oh, I do, truly. Look here, and see with my eyes.” She gestured to the finest seat, with cushions even on the arms, as fine as any at Barad Eithel, or Himring. He looked at her as though for reassurance, then sat carefully, and understood.

 

   The view was astounding. The trees had been felled, or fallen, as the ground fell steeply away beyond the living walls of Midhivor, it was a view worthy of a king, surveying his domain from the comfort of his high seat. He could scarcely see the trees, only the rolling hills far below, and beyond, the glint of a river, with glittering streams like silver threads in the great green cloth of the land. He leaned forwards, narrowing his eyes, looking to the South West, to where the lake could just be seen, vanishing into the distance, its still waters gleaming in the sunlight. He could hardly breathe, he felt that she was showing him more than a view, more than the marvel of the window, forgotten in this high remote valley; she was showing him some treasure more precious than jewels, that slipped from his hands as his eyes were caught by a mighty eagle hanging in the wind, made tiny far below by the great height of Gondren above it.

 

 

 

    As the sun set, Gildis drew him away from the laughing crowd "Will you walk with me, Hador son of Hathol ?"

   "Now and always, my lady, and the more I know you, the more proud I am that you should ask it of me."

    They smiled into each other’s eyes, and Gildis nodded, her cheeks flushed, her grey eyes shining. Hador smiled, then thought of Fingolfin, and imagined doing with Gildis some of the things he had done with his lover. He found his own cheeks burning, and lowered his eyes, but Gildis had turned away and led him out of the gate.

 

     The path was narrow and steep, winding up among the silent pines, the shadows long in the last of the light. Below them, from the turn on the hillside, they could see the bustle of Midhivor, the torches being lit, garlands of wildflowers hung between the houses, and children running everywhere. It came to him, for the first time, what was missing from the Halls of the Elves; there were no children. He recalled a long-forgotten lesson Malach had taught him, of the Laws of the Eldar, which they shared only reluctantly with outsiders: they did not wed nor breed in times of war. He frowned, there had been no war this side of the Misty Moutains for hundreds of years, only a few skirmishes with the orcs. Though, he remembered, enough to send the Edain ever further West, as though the Enemy herded them here, to keep them under his eye, or his shadow. Hador sighed; Mortals could not wait for the final battle which would destroy the Enemy, they must live as they had always done, or they would fall without ever striking a blow. 

 

    Gildis had stopped and was looking down at him thoughtfully "Is all well, Hador ?"

    "All is well, though the night draws near, is it far ?"

    "No, not far. And you will be grateful when we come there."

    Hador followed her out of the trees and across a slope of scrub that thinned to coarse grass, and moss, and finally bare grey rock, speckled with rusty lichen. A great snout of Gondren thrust forth beside them, above the trees, above the very air, it seemed. Gildis scrambled up the rock and stood looking down at him, hands on her hips. "Come, Hador son of Hathol, you do not fear the heights, you have dwelt in Barad Eithel !" 

    She laughed as he hauled himself onto the rock, and stood beside her, then took a swift step back, his heart pounding, his skin cold and clammy with fear. For below the rock there was nothing, nothing at all, for hundreds of fathoms. The rock hung in empty air, he felt shrunk to the size of an ant, and longed to scuttle away to the shelter of the trees. But the woman he would wed stood calm and watchful, reminding him now of her formidable mother, and he stood proudly, and stepped up beside her, hiding his fear, and risked a look over the edge.

 

   The sight made his stomach turn, the fall would not only crush him, it would be a torment, it would last an age. He was astonished at her courage, and appalled at his weakness, but the sweat prickled on his brow and his breath was as swift as his heart. 

    "It is a fine sight, is it not ?" she asked pleasantly, sitting down with her legs hanging over the precipice. He backed away again, nervous as a foal, then clenched his fists, gritted his teeth and carefully lowered himself to sit beside her. After a while his heart beat more slowly, the fear of falling seemed far less while he was safely seated, and at length he was able to smile at Gildis, and to take in the view.

     

     All of Mithrim lay before them, a green carpet, with the waters of the remote lake gleaming yet under the evening sky. The first stars shone in the deepening blue, but they faced the West, where the light had not faded, and cast its glow upon wisps of pearl grey cloud. He felt as tall as Manwë, surveying the world, and smiled at Gildis "Will you be my lady of the stars, Gildis of Midhivor ? Will you be my Elbereth ?"

    She smiled and put out her hand, he took it and kissed it, and knew that soon her hand would not be enough; already he could feel the warmth of her, through her plain dress, and the shine in her eyes.

   "And are you Manwë now, son of Hathol ?"

   "I fear not... Manwë would not dread the heights as I do. I admire your courage."

    "Ah no, it is only the courage of familiarity, for this is where I came when I was sent from home in disgrace at my endless racket. Here I could sing and shout, and trouble none with my noise. Indeed, if it were not for this place, I could never have... I came here to practice whenever my duties permitted, and it is my favourite place, as the seat by the glass window is my mother’s."

    "And your father ?" he asked with a smile.

    Gildis laughed "He is a hunter, at heart, and until two years ago, my grandfather let him roam free, and ride with Hathol at his pleasure. But when the old man died, my father had to return, to help with the managing of the timber. But he is most at home on the chase, riding among the trees with your father. But my brother, who stayed beside the old man, will soon be ready to take up his burden, and release my father back to the wild woods, where his heart is."

    "I am delighted that our fathers are so close, it makes our marriage a thing of harmony. But tell me, does this place have a name ? Indeed, surely there is a song or tale for such a wonder ?"

    Gildis smiled sadly "Yes, this is called The Widow's Stone. There is a song, but first, I shall tell the tale in brief. For my father lost his brother here, and the widow was his brother's wife. 

 

     My father was the younger son, by some years, and little more than a boy. Midhivor itself was built, but the Walls were not yet finished, when my grandfather and his people sought timber from the land below where we sit."

     Hador looked at her in surprise, but she smiled darkly "The Elves do not change, but the shape of the land is not so fixed. For as they worked, the birds rose screaming into the air. There came a sound as thunder, though the sky was clear, and the trees shook though no wind blew. My grandfather shouted and they began to scatter, fleeing for their lives, though they did not know the cause of their fear, nor where to go to find refuge. But they fled. And the trees slid down the slope, the land moving beneath them, crushing all in their path, and my grandfather felt the ground moving beneath him as he ran, and leapt to safety on the steady ground beyond the fall. The ground crumbled, the trees were crumpled, the whole face of the hillside fell away, and swept up my father’s brother like a fallen leaf, swallowing him whole. The terrified folk watched as the broken trees and rocks roared down into the valleys, reshaping the land, leaving behind this tooth of rock, and the great gulf of empty air below, where once the wolf, and my father, had run through the pines. 

    But worse was to come. The widow of my father’s brother, newly wed, came here to this rock, to see where her love had fallen, and in her grief and anguish, cast herself off without a sound, following him into death."

 

    Hador looked at her in horrified silence, but she began to sing; the sad and simple song of the people of Midhivor, who faced death and mutilation among the trees, axes and saws, and assuaged their grief in music. 

    As she sang, the sky deepened to black, and behind them the waxing Moon rose and set the grey rock glittering. Hador felt a deep peace settle upon him, far removed from his troubles, high above the world, his hand warm in the hand of dear Gildis, his heart soothed by her song and her beauty. For as the light of the Moon  caught her cheeks, she seemed more Elven than the Elves, her fair hair gleaming, her eyes shining, and her beautiful voice flowing through him like wine.

 

    He thought of kissing her, but as the song ended she laughed and leapt to her feet.

    "Come, Hador, we must return, or you will miss your supper, and there is something yet to see."

     He stood, and stepped swiftly back from the edge, smiling at her laughter, then scrabbled down the rock and gasped as he turned.

     The Moon shone through the pine trees, each cone and needle silhouetted against the light; and hanging from each needle and cone, and lodged in every nook, and glittering on every hanging web, the dew sparkled like myriad crystals in a majestic Elven chandelier, turning the dark forest to a wonder of twinkling light