Bearer of Chiaroscuro by AdmirableMonster

bonus epilogue: aman: the dream of a faraway place

Mairon sleeps, his tattered eäla watched over by three Elves who make uneasy truce to keep their vigil over him.  In Lórien’s golden haze, Irmo sends dreams to him, fragmented but true, of past and present.  He sees Tyelpe and Lómion flee from Gondolin with Idril, hand in hand, a babe tucked in the crook of each elbow.  The babies scream when Mairon falls.  Tyelpe weeps, and Lómion holds him tightly, wordless.

From Gondolin to the mouth of the Sirion.  Tyelpe and Lómion build high walls, Lómion with an intense and unmatched loyalty to Idril, Tyelpe with a fierce animated joy that bleeds to all who help.  The children play with little Eärendil.  Ebony-skinned Morna follows him everywhere and says they will be his knight.  Pale-haired Sinde pretends they do not care for him but secretly ties up little packages of sweets and leaves them at his door.  

When the last of the Sons of Fëanor come to Sirion, Tyelpe stands before them, with Lómion at his back, and their children hidden at the water’s edge, half-grown but hand-in-hand with Elwing.  A truce is forged.

As Morgoth grows his forces, Mairon stirs in an uneasy sleep, and Irmo whispers to Manwë of mistakes and failures and abandonments.  The Valar go at last to the Elves of Beleriand.  Mairon watches the great dragon Ancalagon rise with stinking breath, and then he watches Morna and Sinde, at Eärendil’s back, rise in answer.  They are grown now.  Morna’s black hair is as long as Irissë’s, and Sinde’s silver is cut neatly to their chin.  They are opposites and complements, and their Song with Eärendil’s, brings down a dragon’s.

Tyelpe and Lómion forge weapons for the Host, exchanging kisses and concern, but unlike Mairon, Morna and Sinde return.

Beleriand sinks beneath the waves, but the family sails with Gil-Galad’s fleet to Lindon.  Morna and Sinde dote on Elrond and Elros as they once did on the twins’ father, Morna openly, Sinde secretly.

One day, they have a great picnic out in the bright sunlight.  “Will you tell us of the one who bore us?” Morna asks their fathers.  “You never speak of them.”

Lómion bites his lip and looks away.  Tyelpe smiles sadly.  “Yes,” he says.  “I will tell you his story now, and one day, I am sure you will meet him yourselves.”

The wind rustles in the trees, and the birds begin to sing as he speaks.

Far away, across an ocean, Mairon’s eyes flutter and open.