The Kingdom. by hennethgalad

Chapter 1

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   Her hands were cool, which made her good at pastry, Tuor wondered if it was because of the bare feet, but could not imagine how. Idril loved pastries, and had learned from the finest cooks, in order that she should be able to make her own pastries. But even in what the Havens there were a dozen experts, including Finrod Felagund's own personal cook. However, Idril had inherited the family gift for crafting, and her pastries were something to be looked forward to. 

   The air was full of the brisk vigour of the sea, salt, seaweed, and the burgeoning life that filled with colour every tiny rockpool, and swarmed in mighty shoals in the sunlit bays and creeks. There were birds everywhere, the noise vied with the booming of the sea until they vanished into a familiar background roar that beat on them with the reassuring constancy of a mother’s heartbeat. 
   Idril smiled when she saw him, Tuor almost skipped across the room, put his arms around her waist and kissed her warm hair. She laughed "How can I work with you hanging on my apron strings!"
   "Yes, how can you? Why do you not swoon and kiss me?"
   "It would be difficult for me to kiss you if I swooned."
   "Ach! You elves! Now you must kiss me."
   "I long to, truly, but just let me finish these peach pies."
   "Peaches, in pies?"
   "You must pay more attention in meetings. You know that we have more peaches than we can use, and they are not like apples, they cannot be stored, we must eat them up, in jams, jellies, pies, wines..."
   "Peach wine... I had not expected it to be so different here, we are only a hundred leagues from Gondolin, yet it seems a different world..."
   "It is... It is nearer to Valinor" Idril was still for a moment, staring into her memory, and the soft wind swirled through the open door, sending flour into shining spirals in the slanting sunlight. It was warm, and not only from the ovens. Hair was lighter, skin was darker as the hot southern sun changed them.

   Eärendil was there, with Elwing. He was as tall as his father, but at sixteen still thin as a child. But he handled his knees and elbows well, and did not break more than a few things a week. His eyes were round with shock, and his face looked pale despite the sun.
   "The scouts are returned; they are all dead, their heads impaled on the broken splinters of the great gates."
   Idril sucked in a hiss of breath. Tuor shook his head "Eru have mercy on us, two hundred gone out of these pitiful few... I feared it was a trap. The fact that our scouts, and indeed the eagles saw nothing... They must have been hiding in the ruins, or in the tunnel... 
   But they wanted to take it back... Listen to me, my son. Your kingdom is gone, and unless the Enemy is defeated, which is beyond our strength and wit, then you must begin with the small things, with what to do with peaches, and build slowly, with strong foundations."

   But their eyes turned to the open doorway, for the kitchen was on the waterfront, and the vast blue ocean curled its white fringe on the very doorstep. And the sea called to them, singing with the deep rhythm of Ulmo and wailing with the wildness of the winds of Manwë. To ride that dizzy shifting peak, where wave met wind, to feel the ship alive beneath your hand, leaning to catch the gale, and skipping like a bird speeding into flight... 
   Idril laughed "What is Gondolin to you, dear Eärendil, you care only for sailing, and Gondolin is far from the sea."
   "I know, mother, you are right, but... I suppose I just liked the thought of it still being there... To visit, you know..."
   Elwing stepped forwards and put her arm through his. Eärendil sighed softly. Idril wiped her brow with the back of her hand and remembered the words Eärendil had spoken, when at age nine he had said 'mother, Elwing and I are going to get married.'
 Idril had been astonished 'but darling, she never speaks.' and the infant scorn, and pride in his (grandfather's) eyes 'she speaks to me.'