Annael by Tomour

Chapter 2, Section 3

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

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.