Times of Change. by hennethgalad

Chapter 1

Holiday Feast: fish course.

   Ten leagues out from Nargothrond they lit the first camp fire, and the Captain, who had been at Dagor Bragollach, threw up. Ereinion, whose eyes had been closing, found himself wide awake, as the mess was cleaned away, and the Captain helped to his tent. Nobody would tell him anything, conversations would stop when he came near, but the name of the battle, and the shocked silences of the adults, filled him with dread. And now the Captain, whose hearty laugh had made Ereinion himself laugh along, even when he did not understand the joke, was ill at the mere sight, or perhaps smell, of an everyday camp fire.      

  Ereinion thought of the dead, his uncles, his cousins, his favourite storyteller, the lieutenant who did tricks with cards... it was horrible, he felt a little sick himself.
His mother had promised to follow him to Barad Nimras, very soon. But of course father must stay to fight off the Enemy, and she could not leave him just to hold the hand of Ereinion. Ereinion had stood up very straight and assured her that he did not need his mother to watch over him any longer, and smiled boldly, but in his heart he had cried out to her to hold him tightly and make it all not have happened.

   Galdor was there, with soup, and bread, and a flask of miruvor. Ereinion had only tasted it once before, when he had fallen from his horse and hit his head. He looked at Galdor's kindly smile, and felt his dread deepen. Were things so serious ? But Galdor smiled "We are all upset, my little lord, will you not drink some miruvor with us ? Leaving home is always a sad time, and when I go to sea, on the first night, all the crew drink once together, to mark the change."
   Ereinion took the small silver cup and drained it off, feeling the warmth soften his sinews and ease his breath. He smiled up at Galdor "I should very much like to go to sea with you, and drink with your crew."
  Galdor laughed, not so heartily as the Captain, but with a complicated, grown-up laugh, that seemed to say "yes" and "no" both at once. Ereinion frowned "I can sail already, you know, I learned from Fingolfin himself, on Lake Mithrim."
   "My lord" said Galdor, straightening his face "I do not doubt your valour nor your hand on the tiller, but only whether you, or even I, shall have much time for sailing, in these difficult times. And when you have learned a little of the moods of Ulmo, and take the helm yourself, you will forget old Galdor and choose a crew of your own."
   Ereinion looked up at Galdor, his pride injured "I do not forget my friends, Galdor ! I am sorry if my request was impertinent, I know you are a very important and busy Elf, and it is not your place to teach children."
   Galdor blinked at him, and looked serious. "Forgive me, sire, it is I who am impertinent. It would be a great honour to teach you to sail, the Captains will clamour for the privilege. But I think Cirdan will wish to teach you himself, and if you were my own son, I would urge you to learn from him, as we have all done. But come, eat your soup, for whatever the future may hold, one thing is certain, you will need the strength to face it !"

  Ereinion ate slowly, gazing round at the little camp. There were the six tents, the kitchen on its trestles by the fire, the great heap of baggage, and the faces in the firelight, gathered round the crackling blaze. He tried to spot the guards, hidden among the trees, but the fire had dimmed his eyes, and the camp might as well have been unguarded for all that he could see of them. The tall trees rustled around them, but the low dell sheltered them from the rising wind. Ereinion thought of the waves on Lake Mithrim and of the painting in his room "Storm at Vinyamar", and looked at Galdor, who had not only seen giant waves like that, but sailed through them. Or over them ? Ereinion longed to see the sea for himself, he felt left out, everyone else had seen it, except a few of the old wood Elves. But even they sang a song, comparing the top of the forest with the wind of Manwë lashing the trees to the waves of the ocean. There was only one way to know if the song was true, he must see for himself.    And now, in the worst way, his dream was coming true.

   The morning sun was sharp and bright about them as they reached the summit of a low, grassy hill, and a blinding flash of light caught their eyes far ahead.
   "Is that the sea ?" cried Ereinion excitedly, but the others laughed.
   "Nay lord, that is the White Tower of Finrod, Barad Nimras, fairest of dwellings in all Beleriand !"
   Ereinion frowned, what of Nargothrond ? What of great Barad Eithel, halls of Fingolfin ? But Galdor smiled at him "You doubt our word ? But you have not seen Barad Nimras from the sea, shining like a golden rosebud as the sun sets behind the passing storm. You have not clung, dripping, to the mast, shivering in the cold, with blue lips and white fingers, and seen the lights of our tower twinkle over the black heaving sea. You have not staggered up the white stone stairs, and wept as the warmth of the hearth prickled your frozen fingers.

   "Oh Barad Nimras, hearth and home, 
    We long for you, yea though we roam...'

   Well, but you shall see, we shall be there by dusk."