The Legacy of Loss by IgnobleBard

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Chapter 1

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"All day, the colors had been those of dusk, mist moving like a water creature across the great flanks of mountains possessed of ocean shadows and depths." ~ Kiran Desai, The Inheritance of Loss

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All day, the colors had been those of dusk, mist moving like a water creature across the great flanks of mountains possessed of ocean shadows and depths. Varda’s light could not pierce the shadow, nor Manwë’s winds drive away the heavy mist that hung like the sense of expectation and foreboding surrounding the warriors who stood in service to the Valar. 

 

Victory was nigh, but fragile as the obsidian that littered the slopes of the fiery mountains. The land was torn and broken, the troops weary yet determined. Wisdom and bitter experience told us Morgoth would make one last, desperate push for victory. Yet we clung to the hope his attempt would be a feeble one. His greatest beasts, the Balrog, were conquered; killed or driven away. His foul experiment the free folk called Orcs lay slain for leagues all around. The savage Eastern Men, who worshiped Melkor as the Elves and West Men rightly esteemed Eru Ilúvatar, remained many in number but their power was greatly diminished. They were as weary and battle worn as we, and those with doubt in their hearts sapped the power of Morgoth from the place where his power grew strongest, in the living creatures that fed him with their adulation, service - and fear.

 

The air was still, the very earth silent with the waiting that stretched through time itself like  a worm through loose soil. Then slowly, the light changed and the mist took on the glow of flames rising from the mountains. A tumult of sound rent the sky as flame and lightning gave form to the great shadows of beasts never before seen or imagined in the pristine halls of Taniquetil, nor all the lands of Aman. 

 

Even the Valar fell back in surprise and fear, and we with them as the winged creatures harrowed the land, turning the living and the dead to ash with their breath. The scope cannot even be described, for the creatures were massive and their destruction equal to their size. 

 

The thought of it amazes and haunts me still.

 

I would like to be able to say I saw Vingilot descend from the sky with a host of great birds and slay the largest of the creatures I came to know as dragons, but my flesh was burnt away by one of the lesser of Ancalagon’s kin. I fled to the West in terror and despair. And that is where Oromë found me.

 

He came into the wood and called my name. I hesitated, but finally slipped from the thicket where I had hidden myself and came timidly before him.

 

“Forgive me, master.” I could barely get the words out, such was my shame.

 

“You have nothing to be forgiven for, Ruiechil. You fought with great valor. I am proud of you and all who joined the battle.”

 

“I cannot forget those beasts, my lord. How can such evil exist? Why does Eru allow this discord in the music? It is unholy.”

 

“If it helps, I don’t fully understand it either. You and I have hunted the beasts since the beginning but nothing compares to that final battle, which we won by the way.”

 

“Thank Eru! Though I did not think you would be here if we had not.”

 

“I know the lands of Arda have been your home for a long time,” Oromë said gently. “You thrived there and imbued the vast woodlands with your peaceful beneficence. Perhaps it was wrong of me to ask you to leave your home and join the fight, but even had you remained, your dear forest is no more. The lands have greatly changed.”

 

“Not only the land, my lord. I feel different now. Something fundamental has shifted within me. I do not feel the same way about Arda now. My thoughts, my being, are filled with a nameless dread. I am restive and afraid even now, even in victory.”

 

“Would you like to remain in the forest here and not return to Arda? You will never again be disturbed by war.”

 

“No, I fear to remain here and dwell on what has happened will work ill with me. I do not want to become a spirit of despair and sorrow.”

 

“Perhaps you should seek out Irmo for advice. I think he can help you.”

 

When I entered the gardens of Lórien I knew Oromë was right to send me here. I could feel the deep relaxation of pleasant dreams surround me like a warm embrace. I was welcomed by by brethren and by Irmo himself. I was reluctant to tell him the details of my experience but he allowed me to rest within the gardens until I was ready. We talked of my fears and I told him I had never felt this way before in all my time in Arda.

 

“Perhaps you would consider helping with my work here,” he said. “I have found the best healing comes from helping others.”

 

“What do you have in mind, my lord?”

 

He smiled and led me to a fountain within his palace. “Look within and tell me what you see.”

 

Within the rippling waters a figure emerged, a stalwart warrior with the hardness of Men. His dark hair was sweaty upon his pillow and he tossed restlessly within the grip of a dream.

 

“Go within,” Irmo said. “Tell me what you see.”

 

“He is in a dark forest. The trees surround him on all sides. The trees move on their own and he is afraid. How can anyone be afraid within a forest?”

 

“In the dreams of Men, things are never what they seem. See even now how the trees turn into an army. How the branches become swords and spears? What would you suggest we do?”

 

“I know that place, there is a wide, sunny meadow just beyond these trees.”

 

“See if you can take him there.”

 

I concentrated on the sleeping man and slowly the images in his mind shifted and a light shone beyond the darkness. He stepped into the meadow, into the sun. His brow softened, his muscles relaxed, and I felt his fear melt away, leaving the shadows behind.

 

Instantly, I felt lighter and less troubled myself. The darkness had been defeated after all. There was nothing more to fear.

 

Irmo smiled to sense the change in me. “Would you like to work with me in easing the dreams of those troubled by the war?”

 

I had never considered leaving my master, but the music in Lórien spoke to me in a way the forests never had. Perhaps this was my destiny after all, to lead restless sleepers from the shadowy horror of their nightmares into the light of peaceful dreams.

 

As I considered Irmo’s words, the most beautiful voice I ever heard spoke to me. The first voice I had ever heard, the one who had taught me the music. I joined the voice out of sheer joy and Irmo added his as well. The pact was sealed. I had come home.