The Lost Boys by Lady MSM

The Lost Boys

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The Lost Boys

“Voronwe Aranwion!”

Clearly I’m hallucinating.

It was the only explanation, really. Everyone who knew his name was either dead or in Gondolin. Hallucination was the only reasonable explanation.

“Welcome, Voronwe! I await you,” the voice said again.

Voronwe scowled. “Listen, I really don’t have time to be hallucinating…” His voice died out as he turned around and saw who was speaking.

“Ah, it is Voronwe, isn’t it?” said—well, Voronwe was still thinking he might be hallucinating. This person looked about seven feet tall, was built like a bull, and wore the brightest armor Voronwe had ever seen. It seemed like the thing to do was bow, and Voronwe followed his instincts.

 “Yes, it’s Voronwe,” he said. “And…who are you, sir? I’ve been at sea so long I have no idea what’s going on back here. Have we won the war yet? Have the Hidden People come back?”

“Er, no,” said the stranger. “The Shadow’s been spreading and the Hidden City’s as hidden as ever.”

 “Oh,” said Voronwe. He gave the stranger a bewildered look. “But who are you, then? No one’s lived in Vinyamar for years. And…wait a minute, here.” He frowned as realization dawned. “You’re human, aren’t you.”

“You called it,” said the now-apparently-human stranger. “And you’d be—let’s see, what was it— the last mariner of the last ship that sought the West from the Haven of Cirdan?”

“Well, yes,” said Voronwe. “But how the hell do you know who I am?” 

“Funny story, that,” the stranger replied. “See, I talked to Ulmo last night and he said if I found you you’d be my guide.”

Voronwe gaped. “You’ve talked to Ulmo?”  

“Sure have.”

“You’ve talked to Ulmo.”

“True story.”

“But…but…I mean, sir, where am I supposed to guide you to? I mean, you’ve got to be…a king, or something. Loads of people must be waiting for your commands.”

The stranger stared at him for a moment, and then threw back his head and roared with laughter.  

“Oh, hell!” he snorted. “Me, a king! I like you, man. I haven’t heard anything that funny in…wait, are you being serious?”   

“I was,” said Voronwe with some irritation. “You know, you still haven’t answered my questions.”

“Oh, right. Well, see, I’ve got this message to take to Turgon. Know how to find him?”

Now it was Voronwe’s turn to laugh. “Friend, even if you were a king I wouldn’t be able to take you to Turgon. No outsider can go past the gates of Gondolin.” 

“I’m not asking you to take me farther than the gates. Me and Ulmo can take it from there,” replied the stranger confidently.  “And I think I might have a fairly decent chance of getting in.”  

“Oh, really?” said Voronwe. “And who are you that you’re so special?”

“Tuor, son of Huor, of the House of Hador,” answered the stranger. “And good lords, am I hungry.”

Feast of Dreams

I've put this one on here separately before, but I decided it's too little to be out on its own.

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Feast of Dreams

“Food,” said Voronwe.

Tuor sighed in agreement. “Food.”

“Nothing but lembas for a whole week…”

“And you wouldn’t let me kill those orcs…”

Voronwe rolled his eyes with exasperation. “We’ve discussed what happens if you show up at the Hidden City with orcs at your heels, Tuor.” He gave another sigh. “Let me tell you, I’d trade the whole ocean for a plate of steaming hot pancakes right now, with jam on top and a mug of hot cider…”

“Barley stew with big chunks of venison on top.”

“Oysters with lemon like we used to have back in Vinyamar.”

“Potatoes all mashed up with butter and salt, when we could get it.”

“Mince pie and chocolate cake.”

“Hell, I’d even love some of that stew that Aunt Loswen kept in the pot all week and just added things to.”

“By the Valar, you survived on that? Sounds unsanitary.”

Tuor snorted. “Unsanitary? Have you looked at your reflection lately?”

“Have you?”

“Point taken.” Tuor exhaled slowly, watching his breath form in the freezing winter air. Not for the first time, he berated himself for not having left Androth just a few months earlier, so that he wouldn’t have had to struggle through this waist-deep snow and bone-freezing cold, and he’d actually be able to hunt some good game instead of having to choke down that damn awful waybread…but that was in the past, and Tuor made a point of not thinking about the past. His life was short enough.

Under these circumstances, probably even shorter.

A snort of laughter pulled him out of his morbid musings. Tuor glanced at     Voronwe to see his friend unsuccessfully attempting to hold back a fit of giggles.

“King Turgon would be so disappointed if he learned we’d died of starvation out here,” Voronwe snickered. “He hates it when he’s beaten to the punch.”

“You expect he’ll be so keen to kill us?”

“Well, you are a stranger…”

“Ah, well,” said Tuor, leaning back with a grin. “He can kill me all he likes, just as long as he feeds me first.”

Reputation is Everything

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Reputation is Everything

The palace servants were a gossipy lot. Quite frankly, with such dysfunctional and interesting employers, it was difficult for them not to be. And after everything that had happened in the last week—well, that just made things even better. There was a new person in the city. A human. And his adjusting to city life was one of the funniest things the staff had ever beheld.

“You wouldn’t believe some of the things he says,” declared one of the dining room serving girls. “When he was eating dinner with Their Highnesses on his first day here, he picked up a fork and said ‘What is this?’”  

“Ah, that’s nothing,” said a pageboy when the laughter had died down. “When I showed him to his suite, he got this really bewildered look and asked which room was his.”

“When I asked him what he wanted for breakfast, he just said ‘Food.’ When I asked him what kind, he said ‘All the bacon and eggs you have,’ and went back to sleep.”

“I doubt he’s ever seen a pretty girl in his life before. Have you seen how he acts around Her Highness? Like a boy of twenty."

“Well, he is only twenty-three…”

“No, you don’t say? Why, he’s just a kid.”

This new information caused a brief silence among the staff. A lad that young, and that poor, giving up what little he had to try to save people he’d never met, was something that they’d never heard of before.

“Gods bless the boy,” said one of the cooks finally.

There was a murmur of assent.

Friends in High Places

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Friends in High Places

“So you’re from…where, exactly?” asked Ecthelion.

“The mountains, ‘round Lake Mithrim,” replied Tuor before taking another swig of his beer. “We lived in this place called the caves of Androth.”

“Hm,” said Glorfindel. “I’ve never been.”

“You’ll want to stay that way, it’s a rotten place,” Tuor said sagely. “Only reason we lived there was because couldn’t nobody attack us in a place so remote.”

Voronwe said nothing. In truth, he was having a hard time getting over the fact that he was sitting in a pub with Glorfindel and Ecthelion, two of the richest and most well-respected gentlemen in the city. He knew, of course, that they only reason they’d invited him along was because he was friends with Tuor, but still, he’d take what he could get.

“And how are you liking the city?” Ecthelion inquired. “Must be a good deal different than what you’re used to.”

Tuor gave an extremely unsophisticated snort. “That’d be the understatement of the century. I’ve never eaten so well in my life. And I don’t understand how you all manage to get up in the morning, with the beds being so comfortable and all.”

Glorfindel laughed. “You have no idea how much trouble I have with that. And what do you think of our royal family? I should point out that being terrified of them is a perfectly normal response and one that most of us have experienced at some point.”

“They’re all right, actually,” said Tuor. “At least the king is. Maeglin…I sort of feel like I’ll want to avoid him.”

“Go with that feeling,” advised Voronwe, glad he had something to contribute to the conversation. “I’ve only spoken to Maeglin about twice and both times I wanted to go hide under something.”

“He has that effect,” Glorfindel agreed. “And Idril? What’s your opinion of Turgon’s lovely unacknowledged heir?”

There was a brief silence, in which Tuor looked embarrassed and seemed to be trying to figure out what to say. Eventually he managed to get out, “Idril…she’s great.”

The other three grinned, and Ecthelion leaned nearer to Voronwe. “This,” he muttered conspiratorially, “is going to be interesting.”

Her Highness

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Her Highness

“Miss, you can’t be barefoot in here,” scolded the barkeep. The cloaked woman who had just entered flipped back her hood, revealing a bright gold braid (oddly streaked with black) and an annoyed expression.

“Is that so?” Idril, princess of Gondolin, inquired coolly. “I thought I had made an agreement with all the business owners in this city that I am allowed to be barefoot wherever I want.”

The barkeep seemed temporarily stunned, but recovered her composure quickly. “Goodness, I’m sorry, your Highness. I didn’t realize it was you.”

“Perfectly all right. Don’t lose any sleep over it. Now, where…ah, there they are.”

The boys looked on in surprise as Idril calmly slid onto the bench next to Glorfindel, draping her cloak over the back. She raised an eyebrow at their expressions. “Why is everyone giving me that look tonight?”

“Well, there are several reasons,” Ecthelion replied. “The main one being that seeing that a princess in a pub is a somewhat abnormal occurrence. Also, what are those black streaks in your hair?”

“There’s what in my hair?” Idril pulled her braid over her shoulder to inspect it. “Oh, bloody hell, I must have stuck my pen in my hair without realizing it again.” As if just realizing he was there, she turned to Tuor with a dazzling smile. “Hello, new boy.”

 “Oh, er…hello,” said Tuor, with that combination of eagerness and intimidation always apparent when he talked to Idril. “What brings you here?”

“If I did one more minute of paperwork I was going to scream,” said Idril with a shudder. “I remembered you lads often went to the pub around this time and I thought I’d come see you.” She said this presumably to everyone, though it seemed to the others that it was aimed specifically at Tuor. “That’s all right, isn’t it?”

“Are you joking? We’re honored,” said Glorfindel. “Anyone up for a game of Rat Trap?”

Rat Trap—a card game most residents of Gondolin had been playing since they were children—involved a lot of slapping the table in order to claim useful cards. At one point, Idril’s hand hit the table immediately before Tuor’s came down on top of hers.

They stared at each other briefly, eyes wide, before Idril snatched her hand away—and the cards with it.

“I win,” she said briskly, before pulling on her cloak and hurrying out of the building, leaving the boys looking confusedly after her.

Idril stopped coming with them to the pub after that.

Sleep Deprivation

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Sleep Deprivation

“What the hell is going on here?” demanded Voronwe.

“Ah…nothing,” replied Tuor. “Maybe try to be quieter…”

“If there’s nothing going on, then what is she doing here?” hissed Voronwe. “Having the princess of Gondolin asleep on your couch kind of implies something is going on.”

“Oh,” said Tuor uncomfortably. “Well…she came over after the feast to see if I was all right, and then she just sort of passed out.”
“How long has she been here?”

“About twenty hours. She told me she’d only slept about ten hours in the last four days, so I really don’t want to wake her up.”

Voronwe whistled in disbelief. “That girl works too hard. Weren’t people other than her supposed to be planning the War Games too?”

“Well, you know how Idril is,” said Tuor with a shrug. “Probably didn’t think anyone else was competent enough to do it—and in her defense, she might’ve been right. Who else do we know who could’ve planned a week-long event on ten hours of sleep?"

“You make a good point. Better hope she wakes up soon, though…people are starting to worry.” Voronwe flopped into a chair and put his feet up on the table. “So, I probably should have asked this sooner, but how are you, anyway?”

“Oh, you know me. I’ve gotten so many blows to the head that by this point in my life they don’t really bother me anymore.”

Voronwe laughed. “That’s my best friend. The hardest head in the city.”

A groggy noise came from the couch. “Hardest what?”
    

Get Rich Quick

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Get Rich Quick

Tonight was the night, Glorfindel was sure of it. It took an extremely special occasion to make Idril wear something not sensible—which certainly described that gold, low-cut thing she had on—and Tuor had had five shots of rum, which tended to make him considerably more honest where Idril was concerned. With any luck at all, one of them would finally tell the truth about their feelings for the other, and then they could both stop being so damn miserable.

When he mentioned this to Ecthelion, however, his friend shook his head. “I wouldn’t count on it, old boy,” he said. “I’ve never met two people worse at talking about their feelings than Idril and Tuor. Far more likely that they’ll avoid each other all night.”

“Ah, but this is a celebration, and the start of a new year besides. I’ll bet you five gold they’ll kiss.”

Ecthelion raised his eyebrows. “Fine, I’ll take that bet, but you’ll regret it.”

And as the night progressed, Glorfindel was beginning to think he really would. Tuor and Idril, rather than falling into each other’s arms as he had hoped, barely spoke to each other, and they didn’t even dance. It was only when Tuor stepped out onto the balcony, and Idril followed him a moment later, that he began to hope again. When they finally returned about half an hour later, dazedly happy looks on both of their faces, Glorfindel, Ecthelion, and Voronwe immediately pulled their young friend aside.

“Where have you been?” demanded Ecthelion.

“And what are those red smears on your face?” added Voronwe.

Glorfindel grinned wickedly. “You kissed Idril, didn’t you.”

“Well, a little,” said Tuor, reddening slightly. “Well, actually, a lot. Well, actually, that’s all I’ve been doing for the past half hour.”

Still grinning, Glorfindel turned to his oldest friend. “Pay up.”

Cold Feet

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Cold Feet

“I ain’t sure about this,” said Tuor nervously, his twangy Mithrim accent thickening as it always did when he was under stress. Voronwe, fortunately, was still able to understand him.

“Tuor, think about it,” he replied calmly. “You’ve been sweet on Idril since you first came here. You love her. And now you’re finally getting married after seven bloody long years. What’s there to not be sure about?”

“Well, I’m sure I want to marry her,” Tuor explained. “I just ain’t sure she isn’t going to change her mind. I mean, I ain’t classy, I ain’t rich…honestly, I’m startin’ to think there are more drawbacks than benefits to marrying me.”

“Tuor.” Voronwe rolled his eyes. “Please think about what you’re saying. Idril adores you. The amount she kisses you in public almost scandalous. And need I remind you that this is the same Idril who’s been vowing for years that she’d never get married? If she gave up that particular life goal for you she’s not going to change her mind.”

Tuor sighed. “Everything you’re sayin’ makes a lot of sense and I shouldn’t be having any problem believing you. I’m just gettin’ the nasty feeling that a lot of people don’t want this wedding to go through and are going to do their best to cause trouble.”

“Well, that’s probably true of some people, but seeing as the wedding is in an hour, there isn’t much they can do.” Voronwe stood up and squeezed his friend’s shoulder encouragingly. “You’ll be fine. You’ll be more than fine. You’ll be ridiculously happy, which you deserve to be, because you’re an excellent fellow and the best friend I’ve ever had. Also, Idril’s a very attractive girl, and you’re finally going to get to…fully appreciate that after you’re married. Does that help?”

“Surprisingly, yes,” said Tuor with a grin. “Let’s do this.”

Unfortunate Timing

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Unfortunate Timing

“Morning, gents,” Voronwe said brightly. “Where are you off to?”

“I figured we’d stop by Tuor’s house—well, it’s Idril’s now too, I suppose,” replied Ecthelion. “Gods, I’ll never get used to that.”

“They just got married yesterday, old boy, give it some time,” advised Glorfindel. “Anyway, Voronwe, since we worked so hard at getting those two together—without having them notice that we were doing anything—I decided they owed us lunch. Come along, you helped too.”

“You sure this is a good idea?” Voronwe asked. “I mean, it’s the day after their wedding. They might want some time alone.”

“Nonsense!” said Glorfindel. “We’re their best friends. They’re always happy to see us.”

This sounded questionable to Voronwe, but he as was eager to get his best friend alone to ask him about his wedding night, he decided the excursion was worth the risk.

As they approached Tuor’s (and now Idril’s) house, Voronwe noticed the kitchen windows were wide open, with noises he couldn’t identify coming through. A few yards closer, and all three friends stopped in their tracks, looking at each other with awkwardness and surprise.

None of them claimed to be the most observant man in Gondolin, but it would have been hard to miss the ecstatic cries coming through the open window.

“You know,” said Glorfindel conversationally after a few moments of stunned not-quite-silence, “maybe we should visit them for supper instead.”

Family Planning

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Family Planning

The impassioned knocking at his door cause Ecthelion to jump out of his chair and hurry to answer it, slightly regretting that he was only wearing his bathrobe. Then again, it was midnight. Anyone with the nerve to call at this hour deserved a bit of awkwardness.

“Oh, thank the Gods you’re still up,” said a very frazzled-looking Tuor as soon as Ecthelion opened the door. “I would have gone to Voronwe’s but ever since he and Iavas had Ilverin they’ve been less open to me dropping by at odd hours and you’re one of the only people I know irresponsible enough to be up at midnight…”

“Tuor. You’re a mess. Calm down and come in.” Tuor followed the second half of this advice, if not the first, and collapsed into Ecthelion’s chair. With a sigh, Ecthelion sat down next to him.
“What the hell is going on with you?” he asked. “You look like someone just told you there was no more bacon in the world.”

“I shouldn’t be acting like this, I should be happy…it’s just that, Ecthelion, Idril told me today she’s going to have a baby.”

“Oh,” said Ecthelion. Then, “Oh.”

“I’m not really sure why this has me so shaken up. I mean, I suppose it was fairly likely…”

“Considering you two have barely left your bedroom for the last month, I suppose you’re right.”

“Unnecessary. But the thing is, Idril and I are going to be terrible parents. I mean, I love Idril, but she’s stubborn and overworked and always annoyed about something, and I’m lazy and disorganized and vulgar. Can you even imagine a kid that’s a combination of us?”

“I can,” said Ecthelion. “And that kid would be smart, and practical, and opinionated, and we’d all love him. We will. Sure, you and Idril are a pair of the oddest people I’ve ever met, but you’re also my friends, and I’m sure you’ll be brilliant parents.” He stood and picked up a bottle of brandy from a shelf. “And now, seeing as you’ll have precious little time for getting drunk over the next year, I say we use tonight to celebrate.”

“Your solutions to all my problems involve brandy,” remarked Tuor.

“That,” said Ecthelion, “is because I’m brilliant.”

Reunion

This one's a bit longer...but hopefully still enjoyable.

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Reunion

Earendil sat on the beach, happily digging through the wet sand. He’d found some really great seashells already, and if his luck held up he’d have loads of them to bring back to Ma.

He had to admit, as much as he’d liked their big house back in the city, the Havens were just about the nicest place he’d ever been. There were lots of kids with funny accents, and he got to go outside every day, and the ocean was just great. One of the big boys had caught a fish with his bare hands the other day, and he’d even promised to teach Earendil how to do it. Honestly, if his uncles and Granddad had still been around, things would have been perfect.

“Why, hello, son.”

The voice came from a lady who was kneeling next to him and giving him a sad kind of smile. She had straight brownish-yellow hair and light blue eyes, and Earendil decided he liked her.

“Hello,” he said, and then quickly added, “ma’am.”

The lady’s smile got a little less sad. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Earendil.”

“Nice to meet you, Earendil. What are you digging for?”

“Seashells. For my ma.”

“Oh, I see.” She suddenly looked sad again. “I’m sure she’ll like those.”

“My ma really likes seashells.” Earendil frowned. He wasn’t sure if he should ask why she was sad, but he was pretty curious, so he decided to risk it. “You look sad. How come?”

She looked shocked for a moment, but then laughed. “Well, you’re quite perceptive, aren’t you! Don’t worry, dear, I’m really all right. You just remind me of a little boy I used to know and haven’t seen in a long time.”

“Was he your son?”

“No, not really. But my husband and I took care of him after he lost his parents, so it was almost like he was ours.” At the sound of approaching footsteps, she turned and smiled at the curly-haired man walking toward them. “And there’s my husband now!”

“What have we got here, darlin’?” asked the man. He gave Earendil a friendly wink. “Should I be jealous?”

“Ah, Annael, this handsome young lad’s just been keeping me company ‘til you got back,” the lady said. “I was just telling him he looked like the little boy we used to take care of. Don’t you think he looks like Tuor?”

“Tuor?” asked Earendil.

The man smiled in the same sad way the lady had. “Yes, that was our little boy’s name.”

“Funny,” said Earendil. “That’s my pa’s name.”

The stunned look on both of the adults’ faces made him grin. He stood up and brushed the sand off his knees. “Want to come to my house?

 “Well, hello, dear,” said Ma, opening the door. “And who’s this you’ve got with you?”

“This is Annael and Loswen. They used to take care of a little boy who had the same name as Pa. Can I have something to eat?”

“Just a minute, Earendil,” replied Ma. She turned to the lady and her husband with a big smile. “Did he say your names were Annael and Loswen?”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the lady.

Ma’s smile got even bigger. “Tuor!” she called over her shoulder. “We’ve got company!”

“All right, woman, I’m coming!” There were a few fumbling sounds before Pa walked into the room, looking a little annoyed. But as soon as he saw Annael and Loswen, he stopped dead in his tracks.

“Uncle Annael?” he said quietly. “Aunt Loswen?”

Everyone was quiet for a minute, and then there was suddenly a lot of hugging and yelling and really happy noises. Earendil watched for a minute before turning to Ma.

“Pa’s really happy to see them, huh?” he asked.

“He is,” said Ma, looking like she had tears in her eyes. “And you should be too. Those are your grandparents, dear.”