The Swan's Song by Kimberleighe

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Chapter Four: Moments of Memory

Summary: Idhreniel finally shares a tale with her brother of the Sun and Moon; and says her farewells.

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Chapter Four: Moments of Memory

 

                The night before her departure, Idhreniel found herself alone strolling on the beach.  Ithil brightly illuminated the shore, having chased away what little clouds threatened the horizon.  Her shoes had been left behind her somewhere on the sand since she preferred to walk barefoot.  Each step was accompanied by the squelch of the wet sand sliding to mold around her foot.  The white foamed water tickled her ankles and soaked the hem of her skirts.  She paused again to pick up another seashell, adding it to the collection in the small basket she carried.

                “You resemble Nana more and more.”

Tirnion too had left his shoes and rolled up his leggings.  He did not react when the water crept up over his ankles.  They had been born beside the ocean; the frigid sea ran through their veins. 

                “Nana had all the beauty of the stars in her face.  I am a child of Ithil and Anor,” Idhreniel argued with a smile.

                “What are you doing out here, Sister?”  Tirnion knew the hazards of debating with his sister: namely, the fact that he would lose.

                “I thought I might take a memento of Forlond with me,” Idhreniel responded, showing her brother the shell collection. 

For a while, they gathered the shells, commenting only on the size or beauty of each one.  Tirnion couldn’t resist splashing her and briefly, a water fight broke out between them.  He laughed, holding up his hands peaceably in surrender.  Idhreniel grinned victoriously, throwing her dark hair back over her shoulder and splashing him one last time.

                “I am going to miss you terribly, Sister,” Tirnion said softly, glancing at her.

Idhreniel’s sad smile revealed her own similar feelings.

                “Do you remember when you and Ada would go on those long fishing trips?” Idhreniel asked.

Tirnion chuckled to himself with a nod.  He smoothed the sand from a particularly beautiful blue colored shell.

                “When you would cry and complain to go?”

                “I did not cry!” Idhreniel protested.

His brows arched in disbelief at her objection.

                “You did,” Tirnion nodded.  “I remember your tantrums, Sister.”

                “Do you remember what Nana always said?”  Idhreniel touched his shoulder, stopping him from moving.

Immediately, Tirnion looked to the moon.  Idhreniel’s eyes drifted upwards as well.

                “She said we should count our blessings that we were neither Aurion nor Calathiril, for they meet but once a year,” he whispered, and then added.  “Remind me, Sister.  Remind me of their patience.”

                Idhreniel led him to the dry sand, already feeling it scratch her ankles.  They sat across from each other, as they had when they were children.  She spread the shells out on the silver material of her skirt, fingers brushing over the faint grooves of the shells.  Tirnion began helping her sort them by color and size.

                “Aran Einor and the Star-Kindler grew tired of the dominance of Belegûr and his servants beneath the stars of the One.  They took counsel with Ivon and the other Belain to devise a way to chase the darkness away.  There were many suggestions.  Tauron wished to simply go and wage war with Belegûr.  The Great Smith, Óli, brought up an idea.  ‘What of fire?  We could place a great ball of fire in the sky to illuminate the evils of our former brother.’  Many of the Belain celebrated the idea, but some were ill at ease.  ‘What of my plants?  They will wither under endless fire,’ said Ivon.  ‘And the Edhel will never see my stars,’ reminded the Star-Kindler.  ‘The waters will dry up and Arda will become dust,’ rumbled Ulu, the Lord of the Waters.  ‘But if we allow the starlit darkness to prevail, Belegûr will continue in his evil,’ replied Aran Einor,” Idhreniel paused, looking past her brother to the shadow approaching.  “It seems we have guests, Tirnion.”

                “May I join you?” Ivoreth called, her son sleeping in her arms. 

Tirnion quickly rose, taking Arvellon into his own arms.  Idhreniel watched the tenderness with which Ivoreth gazed at her husband and son.  It eased her heart to know Tirnion would be well cared for when she left. 

                “You need not ever ask, my love,” Tirnion replied with a small smile. 

                “You two seemed caught up in your conversation.  I did not wish to interrupt.”  Ivoreth sat beside Idhreniel.

                “You are no interruption, Ivoreth, but a welcome addition.”  Idhreniel sent her a warm smile.  “I was only fulfilling Tirnion’s wish for a tale.”

                “She bestows our mother’s stories on everyone but me,” Tirnion interjected with a soft laugh.

                “Complaints, complaints!”  She only chuckled at her brother’s grumbles.

                “You must continue then,” Ivoreth replied.  “Please.”

                Tirnion offered his son to Idhreniel and she cradled the babe quickly, relishing the warmth of the child in her arms.

                “Aran Einor was perplexed at what could be done.  He sat high upon his throne, pondering their choices.  It was Lúrin who came to him.  The Dream-master proposed they set two great lights in the skies, one of fire and one that would allow the beauty of the Star-kindler’s work to still shine  The other Belain agreed to the idea and divided themselves into two groups to create these lights.”  Idhreniel’s eyes turned to Ithil.  “Óli worked long to infuse a chariot with all the brilliance of his forge fires, while Elbereth and Ulu fashioned a ship of a thousand stars.  The Star-kindler and the Lord of the Waters were finished first and all the Belain marveled at the work of their hands.  She was named Ithil, but not yet could she voyage into the skies.  She had no captain.

                Quiet sat Ithil in the waters of the sky above the far West until Óli unveiled his great chariot.  Tauron lent some of his fastest horses to pull the vessel.  The steeds were black as night with fearless hearts and bright eyes.  ‘Who would dare tame these beasts?’ asked Aran Einor, watching the chariot race, burning the ground it touched. ‘For we cannot send such a wild gift near the Children.’  One of Tauron’s own, Aurion, was chosen for the task.  He alone was able to restrain the beasts to carry their great burden.  While the Belain were debating over who would manage Ithil, Calathiril, the twin sister of Aurion, came before them with a plea.  ‘O wise ones, please hear my request,” she cried.  ‘I would ask to be given the care of Ithil, to follow my brother eternally.’  ‘And what qualifies you?’ Aran Einor replied, his gaze sharp upon her.  ‘She is one of my servants,” murmured Ulu.  ‘There is no one better to guide our ship through the skies.’”  Here Idhreniel paused, quickly handing Arvellon back to his mother.  The child had awoken angrily. 

                “He is ever hungry,” Ivoreth explained as she rose.  Tirnion stood with her, as if to go with, but she stayed him with a hand.  “I can handle our child, Husband.  Spend this night with your sister.”

Tirnion still looked undecided as his wife walked away.  After gathering up the shells she would keep, Idhreniel stood as well, sliding an arm through his.  She picked up her basket.

                “Will you escort me back, brother?”  She knew he wished to be with his wife and child.

                “If you agree to finish the tale,” he replied.

                “Of course,” she said, swinging her basket.  “So, Calathiril was given command of Ithil and she was allowed to first fly the skies above Arda.”

                “Nana said it was a beautiful sight,” Tirnion interrupted, his gaze caught on the bright orb in the sky.

                “Nana could make anything sound beautiful,” Idhreniel reminded.

Tirnion laughed and nodded.

                “I cannot disagree.”

After a moment of memory, Idhreniel resumed her tale.

                “The servants of Belegûr quaked at the onslaught of light.  The Dark Lord peered up at Ithil and commanded his beasts to attack it.  He would suffer no light to reach the depths of his fortress.  Yet, the Belain had not sent Calathiril on her path without a sword to fend off any foes.  Valiantly, she fought off each and every one of the evil beings that sought to bring down her ship.  Then Belegûr himself ascended to the skies, his great hammer in hand, ready to knock the ship from the sky.  Calathiril was frightened by the ominous shadow, but she gripped her sword bravely.  Belegûr laughed, lifting his hammer to destroy the light. 

At that moment, the chariot of Aurion galloped into the sky.  The Dark Lord screamed in pain at the terrible light and the thunder of Aurion’s team.  He dropped his weapon and was driven back into his caves.  Aurion commanded the chariot of Anor to Ithil’s side.  ‘Your timing is impeccable, as always, Brother,’ said Calathiril.  Aurion laughed in response.  For a time, his chariot accompanied her ship through the skies and there was no darkness in Arda.  Those were the happiest of times for the brother and sister for they were ever together.  Yet, Arda and its Children languished in the continuous day.  So, Lúrien beseeched the Star-Kindler to separate the lights to allow a time for rest. 

                Elbereth ordered them apart.  Aurion was to rise and at his setting in the West, Calathiril would begin her journey.  The siblings were heart-broken to be parted thusly.  ‘Will we never see each other again?’ Aurion asked sadly.  ‘We shall, Brother, but patient must we be.  My ship shall this time catch your chariot,’ Calathiril promised.  So it is, that once a year, Ithil passes Anor’s path and darkens the day.  We should celebrate those brief moments, for Aurion and Calathiril are reunited.”

                They had come to the door of his home.  Tirnion embraced his sister firmly.

                “Though your path takes you far from me, I will celebrate when we are together again,” he whispered in her ear.

Idhreniel buried her face into his shoulder, overcome for a moment with emotion.  He held her steadily.

                “I have never been parted from you,” she said quietly, wiping at her eyes.  “I will miss you terribly.”

                “Just as I will miss you.”  Tirnion kissed her forehead.  “Promise to return to me safe, Sister, and I can face ennin with only your letters.”

                “I will return safe to you,” she vowed, stepping away from him.  “Until our next meeting, Brother.  Please give Ivoreth and Arvellon my love.”

                “Until then, Idhreniel.”  He gave her one last smile before disappearing into his home.

Idhreniel remained still before the closed door for a moment more. Her shadow passed silent over the door as she left.

                The streets of Forlond were not yet deserted and lights shone from the windows of the homes.  Idhreniel began the trek up to the King’s Halls.  Logic told her that she should return to her empty rooms to rest before her journey began in the morning.  However, she could not resist the lure of the singers.  The gardens were lit with their songs and all the benches had been pushed aside for some dancers.  The silver vision in the center of it all caught her eye.  Celebrían twirled and swayed to the music, her laughter fueling the song on.

                “It is hard to ignore her,” came the murmur by her ear.

Idhreniel nodded, side-glancing at her companion.

                “She is lovely,” she agreed. 

Elrond silently nodded, his eyes never wavering from the silver figure.  She had to smile when Celebrían swept up to them, boldly holding a hand out to Elrond.  He barely hesitated before accepting, and allowing her to lead him.  Neither could take their eyes off the other as they danced.  It seemed to take Celebrían no time at all to have the stern son of Eärendil smiling.

                “I cannot decide which is more enamored with the other,” Ereinion murmured in her ear. 

                She felt his hands on her shoulders and reached one hand up to cover his.

                “I think it is more obvious with Celebrían,” Idhreniel responded.  “But Elrond cannot resist her.”

                “It seems no one can.”

They remained content spectators to the joyful songs and dances.  The thick grey fog devouring the gardens chased most away to their homes.  Celebrían laughed with Elrond as the couple approached Idhreniel and Ereinion.

                “I did not know you were such an accomplished dancer, Elrond,” Ereinion commented.

Elrond’s eyes narrowed slightly as he studied Ereinion’s innocent expression.  The King retained his unreadable expression ignoring Idhreniel’s subtle and rebuking squeeze to his hand.

                “I have many talents other than an affinity with numbers, Gil-galad,” Elrond responded quickly, his face a study in ambiguity. 

                “Of course you do,” Ereinion replied, a smirk edging his lips.

The Peredhil didn’t respond, his lips tightening slightly as he stared at the King. 

                “Gil-galad, if I may be so bold, I had heard you have a hidden talent as well.”  Celebrían’s voice distracted the men from their silent standoff. 

                “I beg your pardon?”  Ereinion focused on her, immediately wary of her train of conversation.

                “I had heard you are an accomplished singer.”  The silver lady left Elrond’s side, linking arms with the King.  “I wonder if you might grace us with a song.  I do not know when I might have such an honor again.”

                “I trust that you will return to Forlond.”  Ereinion began to shake his head.

                “But Gil-galad, the lady is requesting it of you,” Elrond cut in.  “You would not want to refuse a lady.”

Now it was Gil-galad’s turn to narrow his eyes and glare at his relation.  Elrond remained a picture of innocence under the stare.

                “It is true, Ereinion.  Even a King should not refuse a lady’s request,” Idhreniel smiled broadly.

                “Betrayed by my advisors,” Ereinion said with a shake of his head.  “I suppose I must acquiesce, lady Celebrían.”

                “That was my intent.  I saw a harp in one of the rooms near your office.  Do you play as well?” Celebrían and Ereinion moved towards the halls, arm-in-arm.

                Elrond and Idhreniel followed at a slower pace.  They were within range to hear the entire conversation, but neither felt inclined to join in.

                “It will be odd to conduct tomorrow’s business without you at the table,” Elrond said.

Idhreniel glanced over to him.  He absently studied the banners of the lords of Lindon and Eregion.  Recently, his own had been added, placed directly beside Gil-galad’s. 

                “Yet, you will excel at it, as you have with anything to which you set your mind,” she praised.

He spared her a brief smile. 

                “Except Gil-galad will not enjoy my company as he has yours,” he replied.

                “He will learn.”  Idhreniel gazed at the King’s back.  “You have always been destined to act as his right hand.  It is your right, as his blood.”

                “I always thought he might find crown a queen to be such.”  His meaning was not lost.

                “The Noldor have no need for a queen, Peredhil.  It would be wise to remember that.”  Her tone remained calm and gentle.

                “So I shall,” was all he responded.

They wiled away the hours in song and laughter until a grey dawn lit the sea.  Celebrían was the first to retire, then Elrond.  Idhreniel watched Ereinion languidly strum the harp strings from her seat across from him. 

“Am I allowed a request?” Idhreniel asked, moving to sit on the cushion by his feet.

“Never,” he answered, brushing his knuckle against the curve of her cheek.

He hummed softly, the familiar tune one of Meldilmë’s composition.  Their gazes met and he softly sang of spring, of green trees and grass, and of sweet birds trilling in the open meadow.  As he sang, the world came alive, and they were running through a memory.  His fingers left the harp to play across the soft curve of her cheek, thumb brushing her bottom lip.  Her cheeks came alive with warmth under the touch.            

“I cannot go to the harbor.”  He desisted his singing suddenly, as if every note had led to this deafening crescendo.

His touch fell away as the moment blurred back into reality.  Idhreniel hid her disappointment with a nod, having half-expected this decision.

“I assumed as much,” she replied, rising slowly.

He copied her movements, placing a hand at her elbow to keep her close.  His gaze lingered on her face as if he was committing it to memory.

                “Then we part ways here.”  His voice was sad.

Their embrace was firm, but quick.  Idhreniel placed a gentle hand on his cheek, smiling softly.

                “For a while, we part, Ereinion.  I told Tirnion I will visit when I can.”  Her thumb brushed the soft skin tenderly.

He turned his head, pressing a kiss to her palm.  His eyes met hers as his lips paused over the racing pulse in her wrist.  They lingered in this pose.

                “I expect you to write.”  He stepped back away from her touch with a polite smile.  “I would like to hear of Ost-in-Edhil.”

                “As you wish, Gil-galad.”  She bowed her head.  “I shall bury your desk in my letters.”

His grin warmed as he chuckled.

                “I shall look forward to it.”

Idhreniel gazed at him only a moment longer before departing for her quarters.  She did not look back; she could not. 

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Chapter End Notes

Tirnion: brother of Idhreniel, captain of the King’s Guard, husband to Ivoreth

Ivoreth: wife to Tirnion

Belain: (S) Valar (singular: Balan)

Aran Einor: (S) Manwë

Belegûr: (S) Morgoth

Star-kindler: title for Varda (Elbereth [S])

Ivon: (S)Yavanna

Tauron: (S) Oromë

Óli: (S) Aulë

Ulu: (S) Ulmo

Lúrin: (S) Irmo Lórien

In response to MPTT Challenge "Eye of the Beholder".