The Ring of Stone. by hennethgalad

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Chapter 1

after Akallabêth, an architect of the Edain is summoned to meet Gil-galad. 

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   I took ship from Lond Daer to the Mithlond in answer to the summons of the High King Ereinion Gil-galad, to attend the council. I was less troubled than most by the Akallabêth, for I was born in what shall henceforth be called Arnor, in a fine old house by the Gwathló.  

   Yet my mother has been inconsolable, shutting herself away, picking at her food and forgetting to sleep. I think she had imagined a change of heart, or ruler, in Númenor, and herself returning in triumph, with her fine children beside her. For she is very proud of us; my brother the sea-captain, as our father before him, my sister the renowned poet, whose words are sung even among the elves, and I myself, though not famous, have, if I may say so, built some fine houses; for I am an architect, and it was for this reason, not for any great wisdom nor feat of valour on my part, that I was privileged to meet the great Gil-galad, scion of a House of heroic lords of song and legend.
   My own house... My father was accustomed to boast that he was eight and thirtieth in line for the throne of Númenor, while I, being the younger brother, and uncle to my rascally nephews, come somewhat further behind. But since the... the change in the world, my father, though now fifth in line, no longer boasts. 
   Oh the irony...

   He has always been outspoken, my father, swift and sharp. This makes him an excellent captain at sea, but a menace in Court. He was sent away by his mother, when first he wed, for even at Rómenna such bluntness has consequences. Thus, I have never seen the Meneltarma, even from afar, and I cannot quite believe in my grief, wondering ever if I merely mourn since all around me are weeping. 
   But no, the loss is... it is staggering. The ships which set forth to aid the survivors of the great upheaval returned with staring eyes, the island itself, the entire island gone, and only the empty sea where once...

   And later, when their tale had been retold a dozen times, I found myself talking to a drunken first mate, who stared unseeing at his glass, which I refilled often, and finally spoke his thought "It was the things... the things in the water... floating here and there. Oh ! Not the dead, nothing like that, but things... a broken chair, bits of bright cloth, barrels, and cups... I saw a child’s wooden sword turning loosely in the hand of Ulmo...' He ran a bony hand through his hair 'We scoured the sea for weeks, for weeks !' His pale eyes in his dark weathered face looked in horror at mine 'There was less... less salvage than I have seen at the ruin of a single ship. Swallowed whole, the whole country, my own...'
   Those were his last words to me, he stood suddenly, stared at me for a moment then pushed past the other drunk sailors, each telling the same unfathomable tale.

 

   We are beyond grief, or no, we have yet to reach it, perhaps, for our shock is as profound as the depths which have swallowed our land. But the pain waits for us, at the edge of this stunned silence, and we escape as we may, with the bottle, or with love, or, in my own case, with work.

 

   We have a new land to order, and the first task is the Road. There will be towers to build, and I delight in towers. But first, the central obstacle to the smooth flow of traffic between the north and south kingdoms is the Gwathló itself, and the treacherous ford at Tharbad. Of course we must build a bridge, solid stone; there is some good granite on the west bank, away from the fens, yet close enough to be useful.
   But no, the elves say that such a bridge would last no time ( ! ) for the mood of Gwathló varies such that stone would dry and crack, and then be washed away in spate. It is difficult, speaking to elves. To them, clay is water, and rock is clay, for time itself is different to the Eldar. But they want to build a flimsy wooden thing, strung across boats, that would need constant repair and renewal. But, they say 'We do not trust to bridges.'
   As for the dwarves ! They would build towers of metal, sinking steel posts deep into the soft ground, and hang the bridge from them as a swing for a child is hung. I would not dare to set foot upon such a structure, I have seen a badly-made sword snap in the hand; suppose a post of this bridge were to snap ? 
   Ha. After Akallabêth, what is there left to shock us ?

 

   Gil-galad himself was a great beauty, for all his age, these elves are so... So old !
I met one of the original Noldor, and he really was older than the sun and the moon. I asked him what it had been like to watch the first sunrise, but he shook his head
   'It was the moon that we saw first, and words cannot convey it. But did you ever find yourself in a crowd, and your hand slipped from your mother’s, and for a little time you were lost ? Yet when she found you and scolded you, her scolding was as nothing to the joy you felt at her touch ? So it was when we saw the moon. We knew ourselves rebuked, but the light was as soft as a mother’s kiss, and made all things seem possible again. The sun ! Well, do you not greet the rising sun with song yourselves ? Aye, and at times, in a fair garden in the heat of summer, it is almost as though we had never left.'

 

   Naturally I was not the only one with designs for a bridge of stone, and each of us was permitted to plead our case, and show forth our diagrams. The council lasted days, the debates were long and intense, yet there was little animosity. The dwarven architects were interested in our work, as we in theirs, and we talked late, after every session, putting our cases again and again, though few were shifted from their positions. 
   On the fifth day I was summoned to the study of the High King. Part of me was expecting to be sent home, with grateful thanks for all the hard work and so forth. But it does not do to anticipate the thought of an elf, let alone one of such tremendous age and such great renown.

 

   The room seemed hardly used, the books looked never to have been taken down from the shelves, the desk untouched, and only one picture, of an old-fashioned ship approaching harbour, adorned the bare walls. The High King of all elvendom knelt before the smoking fire. 'Carastir ? Is that correct ? Do come in, I must apologise for this dreadful fire, every twig of every tree is soaked from these endless rains. Still, at least they seem to have stopped at last, and we can dry out again !'
   'Thankyou sire, yes, only the most prudent, and frugal, still have dry wood to burn.
Sire, let me say how honoured I have been, by your summons to Mithlond, and by the chance to meet my fellow architects in council as we have done. I can never truly thank you enough.'

   Gil-galad poked the fire and blew on it, singing softly, an eeire melody, with half-notes and half-silences, that made me think of the shape of the flame, as though the sound had reached my eyes in some elvish spell. And the fire roared as though oil had been poured on it, and Gil-galad smiled delightedly 'Ah, Mithrandir taught me that song !'
He looked thoughtfully at me 'And others. But please, sit down, do, and share a glass of spiced wine with me.' He put the jug on the hearth to warm, and two silver goblets, as I took a chair by the fire. We were silent for a time; and as the wine warmed, I studied the room and he studied me. I am unremarkable, not notably tall, nor strong, but my mind is as swift as my father’s, though I hope that I guard my tongue more skillfully. 
   'Your father is Steward of Lond Daer ?'
   'Yes sire, these hundred and twelve years now.'
   'But you like to build ?'

   I had to smile, I love to build, all my life... his answering smile was a wonder, like the rising of a new star, and I understood why they call him Starlight. Though I have never cared for men in that way, I could see how such a smile might inspire more than service. 
'So.' He poured the wine, it was truly delicious, a privilege to taste, but he was speaking 'There is a way to resolve the problem of the bridge at Tharbad.'
   I was almost trembling with curiosity, excitement and dread, I said nothing, but sipped my wine and watched him smile again. 
   'You have heard of the elven rings of power ?'
   Fortunately I had swallowed my wine, and spilled only a little when my hand shook. Gil-galad nodded 'Yes, that is the state of mind that comes to all with sense. Of course you have heard of them, how not ? But there are lesser rings, shaped not to rule but to build, or to protect, or to enrich the life of the forest.'
   But for a moment the recklessness of my father gripped my thought 'To build ?' I interrupted him. This is why we were sent to the remote outpost of Lond Daer...
   But Gil-galad merely grinned and nodded 'Ah ! I thought that that would interest you !' He sat back in his chair and stretched out his long legs, twisting the tension from his ankles in the warmth of the fire. I myself sat rigidly upright, there was no one alive that I respected more than the High King, and I am certain that even had he been a lowly deck hand, his natural grace and wisdom would soon have had him at the helm, with all the crew ready at his call.

   He reached into the pouch at his waist and drew forth a small silver box, which he opened and held out to me 'This is a ring of stone. Oh, it is not made of stone ! That is mithril, from Khazad-dûm, but the... hm... the harmony of the ring is with stone. I would have you finish your wine, and come down to the shore with me, to see it in use.'
   I must have seemed a fool, for I tossed back my wine in one gulp and made to rise to my feet, but the High King sighed, and seemed to sag in his seat. 'Have you no interest at all in the power of this ring ?'
   I frowned 'Sire, forgive me, I had been led to understand that these matters were beyond the ken of mortals.'
   Gil-galad nodded 'They told me that you are modest, but the pride that I have seen in your work, the care and precision, the confidence of your designs; I think that you are not modest but wise, knowing what you can do, and what you cannot. In the tasks we now undertake, modesty will not avail us. Only certainty, and strength, and confident pride can achieve what must be done. Yet still they say you are modest ! Truly, you are the builder for this work, and since we have this ring, I think that we should use it.'

   Naturally I blushed, and the High King grinned at me again, warming my heart 'I have sailed with your father, long ago, before you were born. He makes me laugh, sometimes deliberately, sometimes not. But I admire his wholeheartedness, his joy in the slap of the wave on the hull, and the leap of the tiller in the hand. But you, you have all that spirit, yet in you it is far more tightly controlled.' The elf nodded slowly 'But with this ring, I may be able to help you to use that stored power, for the good of all.'
   I stared at him open-mouthed, unable to speak.
   'When I sang while making the fire, did aught strike you about the song ?'
   I cleared my throat, and found my voice 'Sire, I took it for an elvish spell.'
   He nodded 'It is a spell, if you like, though not elvish. Do you not know Mithrandir?'
   'I... the name is familiar...'
   'Well, never mind him. But he is very wise, very wise indeed, and if ever you do meet him, treat him as you would the greatest of elves, it is his due.'
   'I hope that I have the chance, sire, wisdom is our greatest treasure.'
Gil-galad nodded slowly 'The more that I know you, the more I like you. So, the song of fire, one day I shall teach it to you, that song is an echo of the Music, which called the world into being. But there are other songs, songs such as the harmonies of the stones, indeed, one such was sung by Fëanor himself, they say, when he built the Silmarils to house the Light.' He looked closely at me, for alas our people generally care little for the distant past and the songs of lost Beleriand. But I have always been fascinated by the elves, and my eagerness must have shown forth in my eyes. 
   'I name you elf-friend, Carastir, and I give to you this ring, in token, not only of your authority in the matter of the building of the Road, the towers and the bridge at Tharbad, but also as a mark of the continuing friendship, between our peoples and I hope' he smiled warmly 'between ourselves.'
   I was abashed by his courtesy, but at length I recalled my manners and thanked him, and then he rose to his feet 'Good ! Come then, take up the ring of stone, and let us build castles of sand, and I shall teach you their song.'

 

 

   We strode across the dry, rippled beach to the frill of seaweed, and stepped barefoot onto the smooth wet sand. Gil-galad laughed 'The sunlight on the water, how deep and rich the colours are ! So many shades of blue ! Do architects concern themselves with colour as artists do ?'
   'Not if by artists you mean painters. But we architects like to consider our work as art, and art with purpose other than the expression of a mood, or the representation of an image.'
   'I ask your pardon, truly ! My family speak to me yet concerning my neglect of the book and the scroll. But what would you ?' he waved his arms expansively and I looked around at the green heights of the sheltering cliffs, and the swaying masts of the ships, and the tall grey towers bright with fluttering banners. The sunlight seemed cupped in the haven as in the hands of a kindly father. 'They brought me here as a child and left me in the care of a sailor !'
   I laughed then, Círdan the Wise is many things, but to describe him dismissively as "a sailor" would have been impertinence from any other. But I could picture Gil-galad jesting with the grave old elf, and making even those shrewd eyes twinkle.
   'Sire, it is widely known that Círdan takes more pride in you than in any other of his accomplishments. Perhaps even a sailor may raise a child well ?'
   'Widely known eh ? Ha, that is good to hear. But there is yourself to consider, for you also were raised by a sailor, and you are... Well... in you the blood of the eldar, and indeed the Maia Melian... oh, I know nothing, nothing of such matters. Indeed, Elrond, who has a very personal interest in the subject, can offer little insight. But we, that is' he looked apologetic, then smiled at me again 'You seem so like one of us ! We elves see things, not merely distant things, but small things, details that may be too fine for your eyes... Forgive me. It is difficult at these times not to sound like a boastful child.'
   'Sire, since we are barefoot on the shore and about to build castles of sand, I am feeling a little childlike already.'
   He laughed, and I smiled at him, with real warmth in my heart, and on an instant my reckless spirit had the words out before my cautious mind could save me.
   'I wish we could be friends !' I exclaimed to the High King Ereinion. He smiled with closed lips and hooded eyes, then laughed again 'Have I not already named you elf-friend ? Do you think that I spoke in jest ?'
   'Sire, no, I... Naturally not ! But I thought... I thought that all of our people were counted elf-friends, since the first founding of Númenor.'

   We looked at each other, that desperate searching look that is seen so often now, as people beg to be told that there has been a mistake, that the news was wrong, that things are not as they are. And Gil-galad stepped forwards and laid his hand upon my arm and sang softly for a moment, in unfamiliar words. Yet the spell of his song worked upon my spirit and the fire within me roared up again, and I sighed, and smiled, happier than I had been since... My toes were sinking into the sand, the saltwater pooling around them, the hand of the elf was still on my arm, and on an instant the ground rushed away below me, as though I had been snatched into the air by an eagle of Manwë. And instead of my body below me in the growing pool, I saw a dark tower, shining black, with sharp hard edges, and spikes at the topmost peak, and a great ring of stone, filled with black water. I have never had a vision, no member of my family has the gift of seeing, and I looked into the thoughtful eyes of the elf.

   'What did you see ?' he said simply. I told him of my strange vision, but to my astonishment he clapped his hands together and laughed again. 'Oh my dear friend ! You must come with me to the Mountains of Mist ! At the southern tip, where the river Isen sets forth for the sea, just such rocks as you have described may be found !'
   'Sire, I am familiar with the orc-glass deposits at the Gap of Isen, but they cannot be used for building, the stone is brittle and... soft.'
   The elf held out his hand, and the silvery white ring gleamed in the sunlight 'Wear this ring, and while you bring your thought into harmony, I shall...'

   But his words eluded me, on the instant that I picked the ring from the palm of his hand. A ring of power ! It was appalling, to give so weighty an artefact to an impetuous fool such as myself ! But in a waking dream I placed the ring on my longest finger, and turned my hand this way and that, admiring the lovely thing. Yet very swiftly it came to me that the world was unchanged; I could not see further, or nearer, the cries of the birds were no louder, nor comprehensible, and the elf scrabbling in the sand at my feet was still as unknowable as the deeps of Belegaer. At last I spoke.

   'Sire... I think you must be mistaken in me, in my elvish blood, for this ring has no effect, all is as it was before I donned the ring.'
   'Wait a moment, there, now, what do you think ?'
   I looked down, and there, the wet sand glittering in the sunlight, was the House of Círdan, the three domes, the two wings and the steep slope of the garden. I gaped in renewed astonishment, but Gil-galad laughed and sprang to his feet 'By the stars Carastir, how many times do you think I have built this house, on this sand ? I was raised here ! I could build it blindfolded ! But come, hearken now, with all your spirit, and I shall sing the song of stone binding.'

   I will not repeat his words, they are dangerous in the wrong hands. But truly I listened as though it were the last thing I would ever hear, and when he instructed me to concentrate on the ring and repeat the song, while gazing at his sand house, I was glad that my singing voice is tolerably fair.

   We were silent for a time, and I looked wonderingly at him, but he laid his hand on my arm, though he did not speak. And so we waited, while the small waves of the haven rolled and unrolled on the shore like scrolls in the hand of a restless child. The gulls floated on the rippling water and on the strange shifting surfaces of the air, where our numbers strive in vain to measure the immeasurable. But nothing had happened, the ring was merely metal, and I was merely mortal, and Gil-galad, who had become someone I would die rather than disappoint, had been wrong about me, about my elvish blood, and my towers would never be built and my family would share my mortification. 

   Yet suddenly Gil-galad laughed again, and pulled at my arm. I must confess, I looked indignantly at him, yes, at the High King of the Eldar ! For I am not accustomed to being pulled by the sleeve. But he only grinned and stooped over his sand house. I touched it, gently at first, and then firmly, and at last I picked up a pebble and hammered it against the curve of a dome, and felt the pebble crack in my hand. 
I straightened up then, and stared at him in astonishment 'How... How did you do that ?'
Gil-galad smiled 'I have told you, my ignorance is as vast as the sky ! I did that by accurately remembering the sounds that I was taught. And while you bear that ring, you will find that your voice is... you see, I cannot explain it ! Elrond knows much more, he will be glad to tell you all that you wish to know, and much more ! How he delights in explaining ! But come, you and I, we are practical people, let us learn by doing ! Build, oh architect, and sing the song as you have heard it !'

   He understood when I wished to keep the models we had made, they are on my window sills, his as perfect as centuries of practice could make it, and mine as perfect as my mortal hands could craft, as the most intense focus I had ever experienced guided my hands, my breathing and my hammering heart. People always admire them and ask about them, but I have become expert at changing the subject, and few like to pry.

 

   My greatest pride is in the bridge at Tharbad, but my most celebrated accomplishment is the tower of Orthanc, at Isengard. The bridge... We had to build great causeways on either bank, we had to drain part of the fens to the north, the Nin-in-Eilth. The elves strung their small boats together and we crossed on their swaying wooden bridge while we worked, King Elendil and his family heaving on ropes with the rest of us, sharing our eagerness to truly open this land to our people.
   Oh, my joy when first I stepped across, and knew that henceforth a rider could travel from one end of the kingdom of Elendil to another with naught to stay his path ! And a crafter of the dwarves nodded slowly and gave me a look of approval, which meant almost much to me as the many songs sung in my honour. And I used the ring, I stood beneath each arch, and sang the song of stone binding, and the bridge will stand now until the enemy throws it down, or our people are destroyed.

 

   But Orthanc was a feat of a very different kind, and at first I was doubtful that it could be done. The black glass lay sunken, half buried in fern and bramble, set as the talons of an eagle, with the hindmost buried deep in the flesh of the valley. 
   But when I saw these four piers of stone, worked to suit us, it seemed, though the elves denied any hand in their shaping, when I saw the stones and recalled my vision, I knew that it was true, it was in harmony with the Music. Though they still tell me not to use the word harmony, but there is no other word we have...
   The excavation seemed to me to be more challenging than aught that we had accomplished at Tharbad, but we had learned much there, of each other and of the nature of the task. And the elves sang other songs, songs to stir the blood and fire the spirit and raise the heart of all who heard, and the mighty pillars of black glass lifted into the air as a child might lift a stick.

 

   What a time. I was scarcely aware of the ring of stone they built around us, but I climbed the tower at last and looked down, and there it was, a great circle enclosing the ruins of the green. I looked down at the ring upon my finger, and took it off, and looked through it at the fortress of Isengard, and the sun cast the shadow of a point across my arm.

   I wondered at my vision, whether the pool I had seen were to be a moat, or defensive lake, in some war or battle yet to come. But that was for others to concern themselves with; my task was accomplished, the song was sung, and here was the ring of stone.