Cúthalion by ohboromir

Cúthalion

Read Cúthalion

Before there was anything, there was Nothing.

The hroa did not remember the Nothing. It had not been crafted yet, a ball of yarn waiting beside the loom. The fëa, however, was there, free and bright and eager, burning in the light of a single flame. It remembered the quiet comforting presence that enveloped all the waiting fëa, humming with music that did not match any the fëar would ever hear again. The music made the bodies; new and strong and unmarred, and then it laid each one into the World, sleeping figures melting out of grass, beside the rippling waters. Many of them were in groups, or pairs, but others were alone. The fëa that would make their pair did not exist yet; others, still, would be content without a pair, whole the way they had been within the Nothing.

They did not know how much time passed, between the creation of the fëar, and the placing of the bodies. Time meant nothing to them, even less than it would in life. They would learn later that others, more powerful and more divine, had waged war for them, and this had delayed the placing. But eventually, it came.

When they opened their eyes for the first time, all they could see was stars.

He remembered this. The memory of Nothing had faded, lost, but the impression of starlight through his eyelids and the dazzling shine when he opened his eyes was unforgettable. It was Him, now, though he would not choose a name for many years. He knew who he was, but he did not have the words for it yet. He climbed to unsteady feet, numb as though he had been lying in the grass for hours, though he did not know how he came to be there. Everything that he saw amazed him.

Grass cushioned his feet, slowly making way for cool sand as he approached the lake-shore, guided by the sound of singing. The wonders delayed him; he stopped to touch every tree, to watch a squirrel skitter over the branches, he sat and watched a sapling grow, he laughed at bees in the flowers. There was no urgency, no Shadow yet, only joy and hope and song. He did not mind that he was alone, though he passed others who were in twos and threes and fours.

By the Lake, they had gathered, and groups began to form, as those more like leaders emerged, and more things were discovered. They wove baskets from the lake’s plants, drank its cool water, and played in the shallows. There was always food; the trees and berry bushes were plentiful, and then someone made a spear, and then fire, and then they cooked and dressed and wrapped the babies in blankets of fur.

Shadow crept over them gradually. At first, it was just a few people; they would vanish, suddenly, and not return. The first idea was that they had taken the wrong path and hurt themselves, but then they began to see the Shadow itself, creatures stalking them in the woods, nothing like the fair and pleasant creatures that they had encountered so far - not even the bear or wolf was as terrifying - they would only eat you, but the Shadow would take you away, and make you into a false version of yourself, if you lived.

He was not afraid. He ventured far and wide in those days, under the canopies of the forest, unafraid. He had rocks and his spear, and his hands, and there were none who were quite as strong and brave as him.

But he needed something more. They had been experimenting with bows for some time now. The ones they had made so far had been good. Strong. But he wanted more. He wanted to be the best.

Beleg, as he had now begun to call himself, crept through the woods. It was there that he found it, the yew, with its branches sagging under the weight of its years.

First, he selected a branch as long as he was tall. With great effort, he cleaved it from the tree, and sat at the base of the trunk to begin his work. Carving, humming, the movement and the sound coming naturally to him. He had never been a worker of Song, until now, when it flowed between his blade and wood, guiding his hands and sinking into the bow.

For many days, he laboured beneath the tree, branch in hand. So long he was gone, that none of the others expected him to return.

But he did, and the bow was with him, Greater than any the world would ever see again; Belthronding, he called it, for the strength he had given it. There would never be another - he knew, in his heart, that he would not be able to do it again.

Cúthalion, they called him after he returned, and he became among his people mightier than ever before. When Elwë came and they decided to march over the land, leaving the waters of the Lake, and go across the Sea, he would reluctantly agree. But for now, he was content to laugh and hunt under the stars he had always known.

Fate marched towards him as unyielding as the wood of Belthronding. But Beleg would be ready.