Holidays Gone By by StraightOuttaHimring

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Erestor - Turuhalmë

“Turuhalmë - the ‘Logdrawing’, bringing in of wood to Mar Vanwa Tyaliéva.” (BoLT 2, Index)

It is likely that the Yule log of Germanic Christian tradition served as inspiration. A Quenya name for the winter solstice is Amanar, “Yule and the beginning of the Sun’s return” (Letter to Jonathan Hepworth).

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Wind ran over the wide plains of East Beleriand, screaming in anger as it tore past the weathered stone walls atop Amon Ereb. Though there was still longer to wait for the evening meal, the sun had sunk into the western horizon hours ago, plunging the free lands into an uneasy darkness.

 

Cold and still as stone, Erestor stood alone atop the grand fortress. Once the hilltop would have been illuminated by the many lights coming from the keep. Now, he could count the lit rooms on one hand.

 

"You know, if you don't move soon you will freeze like that, and then everyone will think Nerdanel herself has come into the East, so realistic will your statue be," teased Avalde, coming to lean against the parapet with him. The harsh wind whipped her thick curls around her head, no doubt creating a birds nest for her to untangle later.

 

"They should have been back by now," he replied, his keen elvish eyesight cutting through the darkness in the direction Maedhros and Meletyo had disappeared hours ago.

 

"You worry too much," tsked Avalde. "You are going to give yourself gray hair and then everyone will weep for your beauty lost so young, and when they ask what horrific tragedy befell you, you will be forced to tell them it was no tragedy but your own stubborn mind."

 

Erestor rolled his eyes. "With an imagination like that, perhaps it is I who should be weaving and leave the storytelling to you."

 

"And people say I am the dramatic one," Avalde huffed. "No doubt they just had to ride further to find a log for the Yule Hearth this year."

 

"You say that as if it is no concern," snapped Erestor. "The reason they had to ride further is that all the trees on the plains have withered and died. The land has seen one too many battles, it can no longer nourish all the life that still tries to cling to it's soil."

 

"Look," said Avalde, pointing toward the great southern forest. "There they come, just in time for you to cease your proclamations of doom."

 

Sure enough, in the distance a great cloud of dust billowed across a once-green land, kicked up by the hooves of two approaching horses.

 

"We should go alert the others," said Erestor, turning away from his vigil.

 

"Wait! Before we go, there was a reason I came searching for you. Here," she said, wrapping a thick shawl around his shoulders.

 

His hands instantly flew to the long stretch of fabric, gripping it tight as the wind pulled at the garment and their loose hair with a vengeance. The bulk of the shawl was black as night and fringed with soft tassels, but the edges were adorned with the bright, complex embroidery he had come to associate with the weavers of Thargelion. He fingered the gleaming threads of gold and green curiously.

 

"These aren't our colors?"

 

"No," replied Avalde smoothly, "But they compliment your eyes. And besides, those are the colors I had left."

 

He laughed, though the sound was snatched away and carried across the plain. "I love it, though I thought we agreed on no gifts except for the twins? I didn't get anything for you…"

 

Avalde waved her hand dismissively. "There is no need to worry. I do not need another book that I will only need to pack with me when we inevitably leave this place. When I marry a wealthy lord and have a grand library, I will commission you to fill it with many books, all fairytales and love stories. The steamier the better."

 

"I won't write that," replied Erestor flatly.

 

"You will, because I will demand it." Avalde tried to flip her hair dramatically, but the wind simply blew it back in her face. Erestor laughed even harder as he watched her try to spit out the mouthful of curls. "Oh shut up," she snapped. "Now enough sulking, it is Turuhalmë. We have a long night ahead of us waiting for the sun to rise again, and it should be spent with what loved ones are left to us." 

 

"We should put the mulled wine over the fire so it is ready by the time they get back with the log."

 

"No doubt Haiye has already foreseen their arrival and started it herself," retorted Avalde. "Now stop your fretting. Remember what I said about gray hair?"

 

With that, she drug him from his vigil toward the great hall.

 

. . .

 

The log Maedhros and Meletyo brought back from the southern woods was great indeed, though it would have to be to last through the longest night of the year. Despite the dwindling rations, the people of Amon Ereb had somehow managed scrape together a rather grand feast for Turuhalmë, complete with a roast hog and decadent fruit pies from their stash of preserves. 

 

With more than a few glasses of mulled wine buzzing through his veins, Erestor was sprawled lazily in front of the fire, the alcohol making his wit slow and smiles easy. Avalde and Haiye were sitting next to him, leaning against each other's backs for support. Avalde was watching with delight as the twins squealed over each gift they opened while Haiye gazed blankly in the distance, no doubt caught up in another vision or memory of the distant past as was her wont. 

 

Maglor had somehow managed find a large set of wooden horses and warriors to gift to the boys, and Elrond now clutched one of the horses tightly to his chest as he sat cradled in Maglor's lap. It was much more appropriate than the elegant and fully functional hunting knives Maedhros had given them, though there was no questioning which gift Elros was more excited for.

 

Finally they opened his and Haiye's gift, an ornate compilation of stories from Gondolin that he had spent the past several months carefully transcribing while Haiye painted whimsical illustrations to accompany the tales.

 

"A book!" exclaimed Elros in mock surprise, "I never would have guessed!"

 

"Brat," Erestor spat,  making a face at the little elfling nestled just out of his reach in the safety of s Maglor's embrace. 

 

"What's it about?" asked Elrond, fingers trailing over the flowing script with reverence.

 

"It looks like a penned collection of stories from Gondolin, from whence your family hailed," said Maedhros solemnly, flipping through the pages. "They will be good stories for you."

 

The twins looked at him in silent deference. Though Maedhros guarded his words closely more and more with the passing year, Erestor doubted there would ever be a time when he couldn't silence the room with a single sentence, so eager where others to listen to him.

 

"Does it tell of the first time Tuor gazed upon Idril?" asked Elrond hopefully.

 

"It certainly does, with illustrations of love at first sight and everything," replied Erestor.

 

"What about Aredhel telling Turgon to shove his rules up his--"

 

"Elros!" exclaimed Maglor, clamping his hand over the boy's mouth. Not that it would have mattered, as the room was already echoing with laughter.

 

"Yes," Erestor answered, "though maybe not illustrated as vividly as you seem to remember it."

 

"But that is the most important part of the story," chuckled Maedhros, causing Elros to beam with pride from behind Maglor's constricting hand.

 

"Ada, will you read us something from the book," asked Elrond hopefully.

 

"Well," sighed Maglor with an indulgent smile, "I suppose it is long still until dawn and what better way to pass the time than with a story? What should I read?"

 

"Aredhel and her escorts battling giant, elf-eating spiders through the dreaded Nan Dungortheb!" exclaimed Elros, brandishing his knife dangerously.

 

"Absolutely not," Maglor shot down, carefully prying the knife from his hands, "It is far too dark and cold a night for that and I don't want you and your brother getting scared."

 

"How about the tale of Glorfindel and the Balrog?" suggested Erestor.

 

"Again?" cried Avalde, throwing her head back in exasperation only to have it promptly collide with Haiye's and startle the older girl out of her trance. "Did you at least illustrate him well?" she asked Haiye. Haiye threw her a mildly offended glance in response.

 

"It is a classic story," shrugged Erestor nonchalantly, "and well-suited for a long, dark night."

 

"If we must," Avalde sighed. "At least he is a rather handsome hero. Prehaps I shall marry him one day, and we shall have a dozen elflings and I will dress like a princess of the old world."

 

"No!" wailed Elros, throwing himself into Avalde's arms. "I am going to marry you, I just haven't grown up enough yet."

 

"What do you think, Haiye," asked Erestor, "are we sitting with the future Lady of the Golden Flower?" The seer treated them to a dramatic eye roll and a single, firm shake of the head. It was a flat no.

 

"You are kill-joys, the lot of you," spat Avalde, glaring at her two friends as she drew Elros into her lap.

 

"Are you all going to continue on like this, or can we start the story now?" asked Elrond imperiously from where he was still snuggled into Maglor's side.  

 

"Apologies, my prince," replied Erestor pompously with a flourish of his wine glass. "We shan't keep you from your story any longer."

 

Maglor smiled at the rag-tag bunch assembled in front of him. Only when he judged them properly settled did he open the book and begin to read in his famously mellifluous voice:

 

"Among the many stories of beauty and bravery that have passed down to us from the fair City of Gondolin, there is yet one whose valor outshines all others, whose memory elves draw strength from even on the darkest of nights when hope seems far from reach..."