Ashes of the Past by Lyra

Chapter 1

Read Chapter 1

Ashes of the past

Tatharwen was staring at her mother in disbelief, her cheeks fiercely red and her eyes filling with angry tears. "Why didn't you tell me?" she shouted. "How could you keep this a secret all this time?"
"How could I not? Listen to yourself! I was clearly right to keep it secret," Tirniel said harshly, trying hard to keep her own temper in check as it threatened to flare up. It was not a part of her heritage that she was proud of. Well, there were not many parts of her heritage that she was proud of. Which was precisely the point, of course. "I might also point out that it would have remained a secret if you hadn't pried into the secret compartment of my jewelry box."
"You said that I was free to choose whatever I wanted for my wedding!" Tatharwen cried. "I thought that included even the more precious pieces that normal people would keep in a secret compartment!"
"I assure you that it is an extremely precious piece; as far as I know, only ten of them were ever made," Tirniel said hotly, taking refuge in pedantry.
"Then why aren't you wearing it, if it's so precious?" Tatharwen sobbed, hurling the pendant at her mother. She was too upset to aim well; it flew over her mother's shoulder, hit the wall and dropped harmlessly to the floor.

By now, their argument had alerted Tatharwen's father, who peered into the cave-room to find out what was going on. "What is this I'm hearing? Angry voices, and tears on the eve of my darling's wedding?" His gaze wandered across the scene - his daughter's flushed face, his wife's barely maintained self-control, the open jewelry box – and was finally drawn to the golden pendant on the dark stone floor. It had the distinctive shape of an eight-pointed star, with a red gem set in its centre.
"Ah," he said mildly. "She found out."
Tatharwen's fierce stare fixed her father's gentle blue eyes. "You knew?" she asked, stunned. "You knew about it and never told me?"
"Yes," her father said. Unlike Tirniel, he found it easy to remain calm. He had never been prone to anger, being as level-headed as the lakes of Lindon and steady as the caves in Greenwood where they had made their home more recently. He even managed a smile, although it was tinged with sadness. "Your mother told me on the eve of our wedding, so I knew what I was getting myself into and had a chance to draw back." His smile grew warm as he looked at his wife. "As you can see, it did not deter me."
"I suppose it is fitting that you should learn the truth on the eve of your own wedding," Tirniel said ruefully.
"What, that my entire life has been a lie? Yes, that's a fine thing to learn on the eve of one's wedding!" Tatharwen cried out.
Her father's smile remained firm. "Your life has not been a lie."
Tatharwen snorted furiously. "You told me that my grandfather was an accountant, and my grandmother a geographer – you told me that they died in the Second Sack of Doriath --"
"All these things are true," Tirniel retorted. "That is where they died – just not on the side you thought they were on." She bent down to pick up the pendant, her thumb gently brushing the multi-faceted garnet. "Mother was a scholar and cartographer, and Father did keep accounts – indeed, much of this day was spent with administration and accountancy – only that they were also the Lord and Lady of Thargelion, while it lasted."

Tatharwen struggled to regain her composure. Mechanically, her fingers began sorting through the pendants and bracelets and rings in her mother's box, ostensibly as if she were searching for further discrediting material, but actually mostly to distract herself. Her breath slowed to its normal gait, although the colour did not fade from her cheeks. "So my grandfather was," she frowned as she recalled her history lessons, "Caranthir. The red-faced monster. A name as dark as his heart." She looked her mother in the eye, shaking her head. "I can't believe you've been teaching history all these years and never even winced. He truly must have been a monster."
Tirniel clenched her own eyes shut. "What we teach in history has very little to do with the father I knew. He was strange in some respects – very blunt; often lost in thought; prone to grim moods and flares of temper – not unlike certain daughters I could mention." With a lopsided smile, she went on, "But I loved him dearly. As a father, he was a fine man. That is not to say that I condone his deeds."
She continued to toy with the Fëanorian star in her hand. "My parents named me Nauratirniel, Guardian of the Flame, but after Doriath, I knew I no longer wanted to guard that flame. It was easy enough to take on a new identity – refugees were making their way to the coast from all over Beleriand, and one more made no difference. Their stories were all more or less the same, of death and destruction. Nobody bothered to ask for mine. I settled by the Mouths of Sirion like everybody else who had been uprooted in those days. I avoided the Noldor – not that the Gondolindrim would be likely to recognise me, or even know of my existence, but better safe than sorry – and lived among the Sindar instead, trying to make amends for my parents' deeds by volunteering for tasks that benefitted the community. I worked as caretaker and teacher in one of the many orphanages. After the War of Wrath, my skills as a cartographer were called for, so I travelled the width of Lindon for a while, which was how I met your father – " her free hand sought out her husband's – "and fell in love. When King Oropher decided to move to Rhovanion, that was a good occasion for me to cut the last ties to my parents' folk. Now, I teach the past so that we may learn from it and do better in the future, but I refuse to let it rule my life."

Tatharwen gave her a resentful stare. "If you cut those ties, then why did you keep the damned pendant?" she said, her voice full of hurt.
Again, Tirniel had to take a steadying breath to reign down her temper. She put the pendant back in its proper place, the now-open drawer that was normally concealed within the framework of her jewelry box.
"I am not sure that you will understand," she said, looking down at it, "but I still want to remember my parents. In spite of what else they did, they were my parents, and we loved each other. I cannot forget how I built little towers underneath their desks, how Father taught me to write, how Mother showed me how to read maps. My heart still hurts to think of them – dead, possibly never forgiven, condemned to be either not mentioned at all, or called by terms like 'red-faced monster'. Is it really so astounding that I never told you who my parents really were?"
"Well, I certainly wish I had never found out," Tatharwen said, more sad than angry now. "My mother, the Fëanorian. My grandfather, the --" She stopped herself short, gathering herself, and then said, "What am I supposed to do now? What about my wedding?"

"Well, I would advise you not to wear that one tomorrow," her father spoke up, pointing at the golden star. "But fortunately, your mother has some other fine pieces; how about the moonstone with the silver branches? Or maybe the pearls would be a good choice..."
He was silenced by his daughter's glare. "That's not what I meant, and you know it. What am I supposed to tell Maenar?"
Tatharwen's parents exchanged a rueful look. Eventually, her father's lip quirked into a cautious smile. "Well, should you ever have a child that is hot-tempered or rebellious, red-faced or, for that matter, red-haired... you can tell him that it runs in your mother's family."