A Light To You In Dark Places by cuarthol

A Light To You In Dark Places

Aegnor leaned against one of the posts of the longhouse, fussing with a scarlet autumn leaf which had found its way into his hands as a distraction.  Finrod was deep in discourse with Boron and Boromir, and he had lost track of where Angrod had gone, for his attention was quite on another matter.  

He was watching with curious interest what the Edain were doing, able to plainly see the activity but not understanding the reason for it.  They had gathered gourds which were too tough or bitter to be of any good eating.  The tops had been cut off and children were elbow-deep in the innards, laughing as they scooped out the strings and seeds.

After they were hollowed out, those able to wield knives safely had begun to carve the most grisly faces into them.  The frivolity of the Edain was a strange contrast to the gruesome countenances which put Aegnor in mind of Orcs; he found it a touch humorous but also unsettling.

Pushing himself off the post, he came to stand beside Andreth, watching her work so intently at the task.  “What is the purpose of these?”

She looked from her work to him, then back to the object of the question.  “It is said they ward off evil spirits.”

He suppressed a snort of disbelief.  “Evil spirits?  Surely <i>you</i> believe not in such things, Saelind?”

“No, I do not,” she answered, smiling at the look of relief on his face.  She tipped the gourd up to look in its ‘face’ and relented slightly.  “Or perhaps I do, by another name.  But such has been our way since the dark years.”

“I will not ask you of them,” Aegnor murmured.  “I know ye do not easily speak of those days.”

“Someday,” she said.  “There is darkness enough this season without kindling more.  Now we make lamps to ward off such evils.”

“Not all darkness is evil,” he said, recalling with fondness the long-ago travels beyond the Pelóri to see the stars of Alqualondë.  Even now he welcomed the coming of night for their beauty.

“Neither is all light goodness,” she countered, “for fair countenance may hide foul intent; but in darkness evil thrives.  Even if light does not wholly drive it out, I will kindle what light I may while I am able.”

“Ever wise.”  He smiled softly, resting his hand over hers.  He withdrew quickly, but the overly-familiar gesture brought a warm color to her cheeks, and he felt it swell in his chest.

“We do not speak easily of what was taken from us.  Especially not to outsiders,” she said.  Hesitating for a moment, and with a quick glance around for overly-curious watchers, she gathered her carving and a candle and motioned for him to follow.  Making her way first to the large pot which simmered over the fire, she drew two mugs of hot cider, handing them both to Aegnor.  Then she lit her candle in the fire and slipped out of the longhouse.

Setting the gourd at the edge of the path, she balanced the candle inside and put the lid on.  The flicker made the face seem even more eerie, a faint yellow-orange glow in the darkness.

Andreth settled herself on the low stone wall which ran along the path.  It was lumpy and cold, but the ground was far too damp to be comfortable.  Aegnor joined her, and for a while they sat in silence, sipping the warm liquid and gazing up at the jeweled heavens.  The air was crisp, prickling at the skin and turning their breath into echoes of the steam which rose from their drinks.

When she spoke, her voice was a mere whisper, conscious of the taboo of telling him  But the way he looked at her, spoke to her, the way he made her feel - she wanted him to know, to draw him a little further into her world.

“There are stories we have passed down for generations, from before our journey westward.  I understand from your brother that your people say we woke with the first rising of the sun.  But in our tellings, we lived in darkness first.

“Adanel hath taught me much which I will not repeat, neither in darkness nor light, of the great evil of those days.  It is from then the custom arose.”

She brought the cup to her lips again, inhaling the spices to ward off dark thoughts.  “We carved the faces of those evil beings into our lanterns and carried them on our journey, that we might pass untroubled.”

Sometimes she wished she did not know these things, but ignorance was wholly unappealing to her.  A shiver raced over her skin, having nothing to do with the cold, but Aegnor removed his cloak, tucking it in around her.  She caressed the soft fur of its lining, letting it distract her for a moment before she resumed, her voice even lower now.

“It is told that we were once deathless, and the Nameless One stole it from us, corrupted our nature, left us grasping with our short lives for a light which we can never now attain.”  She could not hide the bitterness that crept into her voice.

Aegnor felt frozen, unable to even breathe for a moment.  His mind raced with frantic and fractured thoughts as he tried to make sense of the statement.  Deathless?  Was it possible?  Was their Enemy truly great enough to strike even this blow upon them?

At his silence, Andreth glanced up, and beheld Aegnor’s face, drawn tight with a slowly simmering fury as her words sank deeper.  She shrank away, for it was a startling sight, and he pushed his anger down at her response.

“Forgive me,” he said, looking away.  “I did not intend to frighten thee.”

The sudden familiarity he claimed surprised her.  “Thou didst not,” she ventured, following his lead.  “Only thy face was so bright and terrible in fury.”

He turned his gaze back to her, and she felt the fire in him - deep and unquenchable - as he eased his arm around her shoulder.  He was fearsome and yet she did not fear, for she felt his care for her, more with every moment.

“I would never do thee harm,” he swore, and against his own wisdom he let his fingers caress her cheek.

She leaned into him and closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of spices that always lingered around him, like those which warmed them through the winter.

“I will make thee a lantern,” she said, turning her mind away from the past and the darkness.  “To ward thee against the darkness.”

‘I would be thy light,’ he longed to say.  ‘I would be thy protector.’  He took a deep breath.  “More now do I desire to do battle with our Enemy.  Greater evils than I had imagined hath he done.”

“Then every warding thou shalt need.”

He pressed his face to her hair, an even deeper ache growing in his chest for what he could not have; worse, for what had been stolen from them both, if her words were true.  Could they be true?  Could Morgoth have such power?

They sat in silence thereafter, and she dozed in the warmth of his arms as he watched the stars long into the night, questions without answers swirling in his mind.