From the sea by ford_of_bruinen

From the sea

They had honoured him with a suite in the King’s tower. Immaculate marble walls shone in the sunlight that streamed in through the large stained windows. Lush carpets covered the floor, as brilliantly white and cool as the walls and each piece of furniture was a piece of art. He should have felt honoured, comfortable, but instead he felt as if he had been trapped in a gilded cage.

He left the room, walking down stairs and through corridors polished to perfection and his discomfort grew. He did not have many memories of what the city looked like from their journey through it, Ulmo’s voice had thundered in his head, pushing aside emotions and impressions. Looking around he saw house after house of shining white marble. The cobblestones were pale grey and laid in precise patterns along the lanes and closes of the city.

Intricately carved fountains overflowing with fresh spring water decorated the square in front of the Palace, spraying fine bejewelled drops over the trees carved of silver and gold. It was a city honed to perfection, far from the rough caves and dirty hovels of his childhood and early manhood. He felt torn between admiration for things alien but beautiful and disgust over the opulence and the gaudy displays of wealth.

The city itself towered over the moors around it, as alien to the wild landscape as he was to the city. He found himself wondering if it was possible to find a way through the mountains that would allow him to leave this city and its strange people. He was not a stranger to elves, he had been raised by their hand after his mother had passed but they had been weary refugees, living a life in the shadows and without luxury. Even their faces had worn fine lines from their hard lives. Here the few faces he remembered seeing were youthful and ageless and they seemed closer to laughter and song than to hardship and grief. He wondered if he imagined the undertone of despair beneath their joyful voices.  

His aimless wandering had taken him into a garden where tamed roses climbed in orderly rows over the gazebos and fences. He found himself wondering if the flowers were any more real and alive than the two trees that decorated the courtyard. To his surprise his  fingers met soft petals, silken and warm.

"My mother made this garden once, in a world across the great sea," a soft voice said behind him.

He spun around, hand on the sword by his side and froze. The figure in front of him was different from the other elves he had known. Golden hair spilled in inviting curls over creamy shoulders and the large and tilted blue eyes watched him calmly. Small white toes peeked out under the bottom of the robe that clung to mysterious curves and indents. His mouth was dry as he watched her, seeing for the first time the legendary beauty of the elves.

She smiled at him, reaching out to rest her cool fingers over the fist gripping the sword. "I will not harm you, nor will any other in this city."

His body tensed and tightened as he watched the slender white hand over his own. He had heard of such creatures but not met one. Awkwardly he wondered if she would break if he touched her, gently, to see if her skin was as soft as it looked. She looked small and frail and suddenly he felt large and clumsy.

She let her hand fall to her side. "The entire city is a memorial to what we left, from the white buildings to the cherished gardens and the trees in front of my father’s house. Gondolin does not look towards the future, we dwell on the past here, " her soft voice was sad. "There are times I think my father built this place, trying to bring my mother back."

He nodded awkwardly, unable to find words suitable to address such perfection. She smiled again, eyes glittering amusedly at him. "You are not much of a talker are you?"

Distractedly he shook his head, listening more to her voice than the words she said. He could listen forever he decided, her voice was sweeter than the music of the sea itself. Suddenly his entrapment in this gilded cage felt a blessing rather than a curse.

"I am Idril," she said, holding her hand out towards him. "I would like to welcome you to our city. I remember your father well."

He stared at her, his world spinning as he tried to accept that this mere slip of a girl, looking no older than himself had seen more years in her life than he ever would. Treasuring the moment of glory in the presence of her beauty he took her hand and lifted it to his lips.

Her cheeks grew pink at the kiss and she lowered her gaze to the ground, words deserting her as they had already fled him.

Reaching out he traced a calloused finger lightly over her rosy cheek, marvelling at the softness and warmth of her skin.

Breathlessly he let his hand linger against her. "I am Tuor," he said unsteadily.

"Yes," she said, raising her gaze, trailing her fingers through his beard. "I know. You came from the sea."