Bearer of Chiaroscuro by AdmirableMonster

the dry river: a character stumbles across a secret

The echo of Mairon’s footsteps was loud in his own ears.  The river bed beneath was thick with silt and dust.  The walls of the canyon rose high on either side and above them he could see little.  His heart was pounding within his chest.  He could turn around, even now.  It might be safer for the children.  It would certainly be safer for him.  But he would be leaving Tyelpe and Maeglin to die, and he could not do that.  If there was anything in the world he could do to save them, he would do it.

As he walked, he became aware that the sound of his footsteps were not the only echoes.  This place was glutted with them—as if it was a kind of nexus for the Song.  He could hear the sweet tinkle of running water, which had passed this way centuries before or even longer.  He could hear the swiftness of the wind, and he could hear fragments of the leitmotifs of those who had passed through before him.

There was Tyelpe’s determined voice.  I must study the architecture!  What materials have been used for these gates, I must—

You must lie back down, my lord, you are injured.

Just one look—

The whispers faded.  And now ragged panting filled Mairon’s ears.

Ammë, is this the way?  Is it truly safe?

Stars, he sounded so young.

Hurry, Lómion.  Careful, you’ll miss your step.  Yes, it is safe.  We will be safe.

Their murmuring whispers threatened to fade as well, but Mairon tried to hold this time, following them, putting his feet down in the same places that the young Maeglin had done, years ago.  He heard a sudden soft ping, the parting of delicate metal, and the noise of something light falling to the ground.  Frowning, instinctive, he put his hand down into one of the churned-up holes in the river-bed, and his hand closed around something pointed.

Pausing for a moment, he lifted it and found he was holding a little pendant of silver-and-garnet.  The clasp had caught on something and snapped open.  The pendant itself was in the shape of a scarlet flower with long, thin petals.  He could feel his shadow’s touch upon it, and he hurried along after the echoes.

Ammë, where is your necklace?

I must have dropped it—hurry, Lómion, there is no time!  We’ll come back and find it later, I won’t lose something you made for me, love, but we must move swiftly now.

She had never returned.  Mairon swallowed, a chill settling over his soul, and he tucked the pendant into one of the pouches strapped to his waist.  Lómion.  Tyelperinquar.  I’m coming.