Triptych, II by Grundy

Triptych, II

Read Triptych, II

I.

When Lúthien first hears of the Golodhrim, she is uncertain what to think. They all are, really. Why have the children and grandchildren of their old friends suddenly returned? Why now?

Gradually, the story is pieced together, like one of Nimloth’s quilts. They came for the jewels that hold the light of the trees. And for vengeance. And for quarrels. And for desire, or curiosity, or… There are as many reasons as there are Golodhrim, perhaps more.

Most she understands. The jewels she does not. It is her mother she turns to for an explanation. Melian explains to her what she understands of these hallowed jewels that contain the light of the Trees that her parents alone among the Iathrim have seen. Her mother allows her a glimpse, and chuckles when Lúthien Thingoliel says she prefers starlight. But there is a note in among the mirth Lúthien will recognize only much later, the day her father demands Beren bring him one of these jewels.

II.

“I didn’t come for any jewel.”

Celegorm puts her in mind of a cat – but a large one. He lounges near the fire, as appreciative of the warmth as any other feline. The same light she saw in her mother’s shared memory of the Trees glints in his eyes.

When she demands archly what he did come for – to Beleriand, for she catches herself before he can pounce on the double meaning, his people delight in word play – he laughs softly, but there is not much mirth in in.

“I guess you could call it love,” he says, a bitter twist to his mouth. “I came for my family.”

She gleans from his mind what he will not put in words – that he wonders if he chose the wrong part of his family. But having chosen, he will fight as hard as he can for what’s left of them.

III.

When her son’s spirit joins her and Beren beyond the circles of the world, it fairly blazes with the light of those Trees, far more so than it should merely from holding the jewel for a time.

It is only as he tells her the story of how he died she learns that light was the last thing he saw – the memory of it fading from Celegorm’s eyes.

“I sent it away,” Dior says, his indignance a bittersweet echo of her father. “I hid it with the children and sent them to safety.”

She does not have the heart to tell him that is not wholly true. Nor does she try to explain that it was not the jewel Celegorm wanted, or that mattered to her.

Perhaps her granddaughter’s choice will be wiser.