Annael by Tomour

Chapter 2; Annael, section 1

Prologue: Tuor, Veronwë and the Glamhoth

Chapter 1: Rian

Chapter 2: Annael (1 of 5 sections)

Read Chapter 2; Annael, section 1

"What will we do with this one?" The tall Dawon challenged Annael, his captain, as they looked upon the infant sleeping in swaddling cloths.  “Humans are sickly.  How will we keep sickness and death from this boy when the Enemy presses us on all sides?"

 

Annael smiled at the child, touched the wisps of baby hair, saying nothing. 

 

To force the point Dawon said, "The short span granted to his kind can be cut shorter in a thousand ways," Annael glanced up  as Dawon pressed on "and this one will only be in the way.  Would it not be better to leave him with his own kind?" 

 

Annael looked back to the small face of Tuor for a minute more. Then he said, "His mother and father are dead, like their parents before them.  His father’s brother is imprisoned in Thangodrim and Tuor’s aunt and cousins are in mortal danger.”  The babe's eyes, dark little pools, fluttered open and looked into his as Annael spoke. 

 

He turned his head to look straight at Dawon, “Surely you don't think we are incapable, that we know not the wells of wellness?” His eyebrows arched, “I am certain, we will not fail where his people would struggle to succeed." 

 

Dawon said nothing, and glowered at the child. The long locks of his hair hung in two straight lines, framing his fey face.

 

"Besides," Annael continued, "we owe a debt to his father.” He reached out toward the infant, watched the eyes focus on his fingers. "I will never forget his parting words to Lord Turgon: “From you and from me a new star shall arise.” Again, Anneal caught Dawon’s eyes, “I am certain you would not have me undo my promise to his mother, nor dishonor our long friendship with his ancestors before him, back to old Hador."  

 

Far off, in the silent trees, a jay called raucously. Annael looked out the window, then back to Dawon's downcast face, "This more I believe, the fate spoken by Tuor’s parents is from the Valar. It is our destiny to shelter the good that Tuor bears."  He returned to the child, cooed a little and touched the babe's forehead lightly. Tuor moved his infant hands, waving.  Smiling broadly, Annael concluded, 

"We will raise this mortal child as one of our own."  Dawon looked with concern on his brow, and nodded silently. 

 

So Tuor was sheltered among the elves. Rian's son was like a ray of light in the darkness, but light can be dangerous when you are trying to hide.  Since he was their only child as 'uncles and aunts' they all fed, carried and sang to the babe till he walked and played.  Dawon watched him like a hawk, expecting every cut or bruise to kill him, while strong Amdír played with Tuor. His thick arms carelessly tossed the toddler in the air just to make him laugh.  In joy and safety Tuor grew to be strong and golden-haired like his father

Chapter 2, Annael, section 2

Scenes from Tuor’s childhood.

Read Chapter 2, Annael, section 2

By the time he was six Tuor showed a clear talent for music, so they taught him to sing and to play various instruments, harp and flute drum and more. They sang songs of the divine beings, the Valar, old friends now living in distant lands. Tuor longed to see those Valar too. He said, "With them I will be at peace; restful like the lake when the wind is gone." Annael wondered if this was childish dream, or prophecy.

 

When they sang songs about Ulmo, ruler of the waters, Tuor felt a special wonder. Listening, he learned that it was the power of Ulmo, through water, that had carved valleys and caves and had formed stalagmites out of stone. Even more wonderful were stories of the ocean.  The older he got the more Tuor questioned them about oceans. "How could there be so much water? What makes it move in waves? Does it taste different than the salty water of Lake Mithrim? When can I go see it?" 

 

In response most elves would just just laugh at his unanswerable questions, or get a distant look and say, "We shall see.  First, we must resist the shadow over this land.” Tuor watched as they continued their guerrilla war against the orcs and the men of the east, and kept Tuor safe. 

 

By the time he was seven Tuor's lessons included the use of simple weapons and the martial arts. He liked the challenge of martial arts, and noticed how Annael smiled when he did well. Still, he could tell they protected him. They did not let him get wounds like they did, and never took him on raids. Occasionally the enemy forayed into their mountain valleys, but the elves treated them harshly there. It was by fear that these cruel men ruled one another, and so it ruled them.  Fear of Morgoth's shadow hovered ever behind them, and fear of the hidden elves before them. This aided Annael's people, protecting even Tuor, for a while.

 

As a boy his biggest worry was disapproval from his people.  Dawon, especially, said things that made Tuor feel odd, and unwelcome.  The elf was not unkind so much as bold-faced in his honesty.  Once, when Tuor was about eight years oldhe asked the elf Maerwen to take him to see ocean waves crashing in, and rolling under. But Dawon overheard the request and said, "There is no purpose to visit the ocean.  We will only go there if we were planning to leave Middle Earth.  Besides, the only way to the sea from here is hidden and dangerous to reach in a time of war. If we go, it will be on a path that you are not allowed to follow."  Tuor felt chastised and looked to the floor, but Dawon spoke on.  "No, it is not your destiny to see the edge of the earth.  This is your place." The little boy's eyes filled with tears, but before crying in front of Dawon he ran from the room

Chapter 2, Section 3

Tuor begins to face death, and the differences between the elves and him. 

Read Chapter 2, Section 3

Death marked their days.  Usually, they killed others, but Tour saw the bodies of elves brought back from battle. His elders did not hide such natural and expected things. At burial they sang songs of the spirit's journey to the land of the Ainur. Though they loved Middle Earth, they sang of the joy when they would awaken in the undying lands beyond the sea. But something nameless about this troubled Tuor.  Faeron brought this shadow into Tuor's awareness clear and cold.

Faeron was not very strong, but he was a dexterous weaver, making fine cloth that others turned into capes, robes, and shirts.  Tuor admired this skill. Faeron was often kind to Tuor, showing him how to weave, or making a cloak for the boy.  Tuor liked him.  Llike of all Annael's people, he was also a warrior. Late one autumn day when all clinging leaves had faded to a toasty-brown, Faeron led a foray into Orc territory. 

Returning in twilight, they came upon a group of eleven orcs and took to battle. Faeron led the charge with their battle cry "Gurth an Glamhoth!" His first opponent died with Faeron's first sword stroke and so he rushed the lead orc. The creature's wet snout flared as Faeron rained down blows with his sword. The enemy's thick blade was being used more as a shield than for attack. Faeron sensed the orc wanted to turn and run, so, as another orc came at them from his left, Faeron pivoted. But, in desperation the first orc thrust his weapon recklessly. The rough sharpened spike at its end went through a seam in the armor, between ribs and into Faeron's heart. The elf seared off the orc's arm. As the orc fell squealing Faeron felt all energy fade; his blood stopped flowing, except for what ran from the wound. Moments later every orc was dead with arrows in their skulls or cut by sword, but Faeron was also gone beyond any healer's art. They returned with his body to the caves, preparing it for burial, setting the body in an open space to sing farewell to their friend and the sun sinking into the West.   

Tuor looked on the corpse in repose, pale, expressionless and unmoving. "Where is Faeron now father?" he asked, as he always did when an elf died. Annael also answered as always, "In the Halls of Mandos, never to return.” A question came to Tuor. After a pause he asked, "And when I die in battle, will I also go to the Halls of Mandos?" 

For a moment Annael stood, troubled, looking to the west. He thought of joking that Dawon would never let Tuor face anything as dangerous as battle. Then he turned to Tuor, staring into his face for a long time, considering. Finally, he nodded to himself and said, "I do not know" and looked carefully to judge Tuor's response.  The boy's eyes were full of questions.  Annael continued, "No one has ever said what is the fate of your people. Perhaps you are bound to this Middle Earth like the trees, arising from it and returning only to it. But your eyes shine with wisdom, and you have as strong a spark as any elf, and I love you dearly." He smiled and Tuor smiled back.  But the wheels kept turning. In a bit, Tuor’s  brow furrowed again.  

"So," Annael moved on, "I wonder: perhaps you will walk the paths of Valinor with me some day." Tuor's face relaxed; in that uncertain moment he was at least certain of love. Annael concluded, "I do not know.  Perhaps your destiny is even greater than mine, but for now we will both live as long as we can. Let us leave the future for the future."  He put his arm around Tuor and they joined in a song of the Valar. 

Chapter 2, Section 4

Tuor continues to grow, and gains a friend, but a shadow also grows. 

Read Chapter 2, Section 4

Tuor’s training as a warrior continued. The enemy spread through Dor Lomin and despite all the elven victories, their numbers grew.  Tuor often overheard discussions about how long they could mintain their advantage.

Twelve years after his birth, on midwinter’s eve, Tuor was sitting by the fire with many of the elves, singing rich harmony, all voices lifted together.  Even in times of sorrow and war the elves wove songs of beauty and courage.  This song was about the historic first day they saw sun rise in the sky as a surprise of glory and vitality and power.  For Tuor it was a song of myth and dreamtime, pulling him beyond into worlds only imagined.   

This particular group were those closest to Annael, and Tuor called them the “Inner Circle.” Annael sat at the west side of this circle.  He laid his hand on a small harp, but did not play it. It was newly made and carved with the shape of ivy leaves.  As one song faded into silent reverie he stood, lifting the harp. “When one has a talent it should be honored” he spoke.  “When a warrior excels that one should be given a mighty weapon.  When someone weaves very well, they should have the best loom on which to create cloth. And one who sings well, should have fitting accompaniment."  Everyone smiled and nodded.  Tuor could not imagine who was to be honored.  He felt again alienated, knowing that no one had told him anything about this. Annael continued his speech, "Thus, I give this harp to one who has sung with us for twelve winters now and shown his talent.” he looked about to the eyes of his people and smiled mischievously "Even though his first songs were of nothing but woe and hunger.”  

The others all smiled or laughed and then they all turned to Tuor, who blushed mightily. “For you my adopted son” Annael beamed, holding the harp in one hand and beckoning with the other.  

Incredulous, Tuor came forward.  He looked into Annel's eyes for assurance, then took the harp.  He could hardly believe the beauty of the wood.  Words celebrating his birthday were carved delicately into its surface, along with spirals, curves and the image of leaves. He admired it for a while then struck a chord.  It's voice was perfect.  Song just seemed to flow from the strings, effortlessly. For a while his lone voice echoed in the hall, then all joined in, layer upon layer, till they were one. 

Only four months later, Annael was speaking in a circle. The elves sat at the end of evensong time beneath the stars and outside the opening of Androth. At first they went over the day's successful raid against an Orc band. Then Annael laughed, "It reminded me of the way The Glorious Battle began." His hand swept from left to right as if clearing a table. “The stupid glamhoth did not know what hit them.” The others smiled. Then they echoed his thoughts recalling out loud details and moments of that victorious day. Tuor knew they were remembering a battle that took place more than four-hundred years before his birth. At that moment the only family he had ever known seemed alien to him.  He felt alone, utterly "other", and fatefully mortal. 

Stepping away and looking into the night Tuor thought of facing death in war, and how it would be better than dying of old age and illness, which the elves said always came to "his kind.” Winter was coming and all was quiet that night. "No moon," he heard his foster-father say. All the elves with him nodded silently, all remembering a time before all this, before sun or moon or even war. His folk surely loved him, but as if he were a flower, beautiful and brief, or like a splash of water on a hot day, invigorating, but too soon gone. They were immortal; he was mortal trapped in-between elf and human, yet of neither.  

Chapter 2, section 5

As a teenager, Tuor seeks a direction for his life, and a vision of the future arises.  

Read Chapter 2, section 5

The years passed and Tuor became restless with youth. Water had little to say to him anymore.  Instead he became competitive with the elves.  He had grown very strong, able to wield the war axe as well as the the grey-elven bow. The first time he beat one of his friends in sword-play he was elated and thoughtlessly said: “Ha. That is how we humans do it!” But the expression on his uncle’s face made him feel ashamed at his insult.  

Often he grew enamored with one female elf or another, doting on her for weeks, but all saw him as a mere child, and kindly brushed him off.  Still, everyone noted that he grew in knowledge, strength, and beauty, tall and valiant.  When he was sixteen years old he became angry thinking about the long story of the grief of his people, and how futile the little attacks of the elves where.  He railed at how the harsh tribes of the east enslaved ‘his people’ and how the orcs brutalized them. “They do not respect Middle Earth and someday it will swallow them!” he insisted.  “ We are its power and its health.  We must drive them out instead of harassing them with random raids!” They smiled kindly, for he always seemed the child amongst them.

Not much later he was with a patrol on the northern edge of the woods, following a group of orcs. Tuor came up beside Annael and spoke. “We must do something father.  We must attack; burn the Easterling houses, ruin their fields, something.  We must drive them from the land.  This is our home, where we live and here we will die.”

"No, young one,” Annael said, "far from here will your fate carry you." These words seemed to harden Tuor’s dark mood so Annael added, "I know for certain that the shadow of Morgoth will not lift from Hithlum until his terrible fortress of Angband is overthrown. Thus we trouble him for a time but the day will come when we must go south to the mouth of the river Sirion to band with others and then mass an attack, or make a final escape across the sea."

"But how could we ever leave these valleys?” protested Tuor, “Surely we would bring men and Orcs upon us quickly."

Annael’s response was mysterious, "We will go East and seek Annon-in-Gelydh, the gate of the Noldor. It is hidden, but it waits for those who will find it.  It was made with skill long ago in the days when Turgon ruled at Vinyamar. It will lead us to freedom.

At this name, something stirred in Tuor.  He had heard it long ago and hope awakened on hearing it again.  He looked to Annael and asked, "Who was this that once ruled?"

"He is," replied his foster father, "a son of mighty Fingolfin and is now accounted High King of the Noldor. He lives as the most feared of all the foes of Morgoth. He is the one who escaped the ruin of the Battle of Tears because Huor, your father, and your uncle Hurin of Dor-Lomin, held the passes of river Sirion.  Because of your father, Turgon lived to rule and to fight on."

Tuor said with sudden certainty, "Then I must go and see him. For my father's sake, he will lend me aid to drive the evil from my people's homeland.”

Annael shook his head, "To visit Turgon is something no one can do, for his stronghold is hidden from the eyes of men and of elves. No one knows where it stands, though we all have heard of his gleaming city of white.”

Tuor said, incredulity and challenge in his voice, "I can't believe that you father, leader of our people, could not know something so important!"

Annael sighed, "Not one grey elf could ever know. Of the Noldorian elves, there may be some who have ventured from there and know the way. But," he insisted, "none ever speak of their knowledge. I am certain that if you wish to speak with Turgon, first you must come with me to the far havens of the south and there we will seek wanderers from the hidden kingdom." 

Like a well-spring, small, yet flowing on to become the mightiest of rivers, the desire rose in Tuor to travel and see mighty Gondolin the most beautiful of all the cities of the world. He would go, whether his foster father allowed it or not.

---

Chapter End Notes

End of Chapter 2 of “Tuor Comes to Gondolin.”