Two Journeys by Lferion

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Two Journeys

Beleriand

Vinyamar Abandoned

 

Turgon was gone, his city in Nevrast empty -- or nearly so: some of the Falathrim had boats tied at the [southern] docs, beached on the sand, and were living in some of the houses there, but they had come and gone with wind and tide since the Noldor had arrived on these shores. But his brother, his niece, his sister, and all of Turgon's followers had vanished. Fingon knew his siblings lived, connections thin, quiet, walled away, hidden, barely present. Caranthir was a brighter light. The newest and shyest of the coterie, not even a Companion was a larger presence.

Where had they gone? And why? Why hadn't someone said something? Turgon had always loved secrets, intricate puzzles, had been very good at hiding in hide-and-seek, but Aredhel was the opposite. She was much better at seeking than hiding, disliked secrets, though she could certainly keep them at need. There was no sense of coercion, no hint of battle or violence in the too-quiet streets, the silent, empty buildings. There was hardly any sense of the life that had been there, busy and bustling until recently. Just absence. Absence he would have to report to their father, with no explanation.

 

Invitation and Plan

 

Fingon had only once had opportunity to visit Caranthir at Rerir above Lake Helevorn. It had been at Caranthir's invitation, a small sketch of the lake with stars overhead on a separate slip of parchment included in a voluminous report, and on the back -- in Caranthir's highly distinctive hand -- was written "You are welcome to visit at any time. The mountain air and views would do your spirit good." It had arrived at a point when his spirits were low indeed. What had moved Caranthir of all people to send that message, Fingon never knew, but neither did it matter.

 

[Insert Anérea's lovely drawing if ok]

 

Fingolfin had not been happy with the prospect of Fingon away for more than a year, but agreed with the need for a round of personal visits to all the major and as many of the minor strongholds of the Noldor and allied Sindar, Atani, and Avari as could be arranged. He was as upset with Turgon and Aredhel vanishing as Fingon was, if not more, High King as well as parent. It was only strategic sense to check the other pieces on the board. Fingon would take the North and East, Cirnentuia the crown herald the West and South.

 

 

The idea was to start at the far northern end, with Rerir and Caranthir, and then ride down the foothills of Ered Luin to the Dwarven stronghold of Nogrod. Sarn Athrad. Further down the Gelion to Amon Ereb, and back up through Estolad and the lands Amrod and Amras husbanded, full of rich fields, and pastures. Lothlann and the Gap, Himring, and come spring again, work his way back to the Ered Wethrin visiting the various Commanders of Dorthonion's strongholds. Up the edge of the western arm of Ard Galen to Tir Inforn, then finally back down to Barad Eithel.

 

Riding East

 

Fingon stopped at Himring on the way East to Rerir, naturally, for re-supply for himself and his riders, and to discuss things with Maedhros in more detail than any letter could hold. Gather field reports of conditions East. Work through the scaffolding of the of the plan to strengthen the notional wall that was the Leaguer of Angband. Learn a great many names. Having Maedhros beside him, in his arms, their bond fully open to each other, went some way toward easing the distress of his siblings' vanishment, long separation from his dearest heart-friend, the growing weight of royal duty.

 

 

It was early spring, brown and faint green emerging from under the snow. When he returned to Himring, if the intended schedule held, the last leaves would be falling, snow again on the ground. He would toss leaves for children in every hunt-camp, caravan, and walled hamlet from the Autumn Balance to Needle-dark, did it mean he could winter in Himring, light the Solstice lanterns with Maedhros and however many of his brothers chose to gather there for Winternight. He only hoped there was not so much work to attend to as Prince that the schedule would prove too ambitious.

 

 

Leaving Himring, armored afresh in Maedhros' love and armed with information and a quantity of letters, Fingon took the smaller paths at a comfortable pace, ways that snaked through rock formations descending like stairs toward the plains of Lothlann and Maglor's Gap, letting the horses have their heads on the wide slopes down to the racing Gelion, full of early snowmelt. Where the Helevorn stream joined the greater river, the water widened and slowed, making a passable but hardly easy ford even for Elvish horses. Once safely across, they made an early camp, Elves and horses both catching their breath.

 

 

They would not be taking the Dwarf-made road that climbed through the gorge beside the stream and then along the lakeshore, broad and smooth enough for wagons, though one of Fingon's people would ride up that way in the morning to give advance notice. (Though Fingon would be astonished if Caranthir did not already know exactly where they were.) They would admire that most excellent gift of skill and friendship (and mutual assistance) when they travelled South some weeks hence. Fingon wanted to see the mountain route, the messanger-path through the steep hills that rose East of the Gap and over the ridge to Mount Rerir, emerging in a pass above Caranthir's fortress.

They went slowly once in the hills, and when they reached the watchtower in the pass, a cold wind stripped any warmth from their faces. Snow lay thick on the slopes, glittering in the spring sunlight, Rerir's heights white-clad even in the warmest days of summer. The trees were just beginning to show new green at their tips, but the lake below was free of ice, and color spilled from ledges and terraces. The watch-Elves greeted them with smiles and led the way down to Caranthir's welcome.

 

Rerir

 

At night the stars burned with majesty, distant, immeasurably out of reach. Mirroring the sky, Lake Helevorn was filled with stars. Some seemed to float like foam on the surface, others gleamed in the depths, drowned deep. Fingon longed to swim among them, though even in the height of summer the water was bone-achingly cold, and the stars would vanish with the first ripple. It was quiet here, the air clear, above the layer of Thangorodrim's exhalations, ever-present in some degree in Ard Galen, the slopes of Ered Wethrin, the hills and valleys of Dorthonion. Quiet, calm, and very beautiful.

[Postcard Image]

 

Beleriand Risen

Riding East Anew

 

Now, in Beleriand newly Risen, newly Sung awake out of memory, all these ages later, the shapes of the hills were the same, the river-courses, the grasses and ground-cover, the over-arching bowl of the sky, the fortresses great and small, but much of the rest -- trees, cultivated land, small hamlets and way-stations -- were like a mirage, a glass overlay. So he followed the same path to Rerir he had before, and as he rode, Fingon Sang the detail he remembered to the landscape. He was only reminding, not re-creating, small work, not the Great Work that they had done earlier.

Faint lines firmed, branches leafed out, grass thickened and flowers appeared like colored stars thickly clustered in the fields and on the hillsides. There was the way-station beside the spring, sheltered by the beech grove, little used in summer, a necessary haven in winter. Even the clouds gained density and contour from the thin wisps, the scents of rain and rosemary adding themselves to the bright air. Himring, Lothlann, present to the last detail, if still scant of inhabitants, but those would come soon enough. The slopes of Ered Luin were a mix of states, doubled and dense, thin and translucent, sudden mists and a conviction of edges where none were visible. Fingon sang the path present singular with focus. These mountains were in two worlds, Round and Flat, by nature and intent. Not be a good idea to alter, even if he could. This was not the main road to Rerir, but a useful back way, better made safe than not, even here and now. By the time he reached the watchtower in the pass and a clear path to Lake Helevorn and Caranthir's open welcome, Fingon was nearly as tired as the first time, though much, much happier.

 

Rerir Renewed

 

There was no-one at the watchtower, on duty or otherwise, though it had been Sung back firm in every detail, and people certainly were there regularly. The stones were scrubbed, the many small windows glazed and polished, wood supply tidily stacked. Fodder and hay in the small, new stable. No doubt the tower kitchen had been re-stocked and the linens thoroughly aired. Pots of herbs and flowers stood by the main door, leaves and petals warmed by the afternoon sun scenting the air. Still a defensive and defensible outpost, but also clearly a place of welcome, of hospitality, of peace.

 

 

Fingon discovered he was not quite ready to break his solitude, and Celegant had already found his way to the stable, nosing the door open and whickering to catch his attention.

"Yes, my dear, you may go in." Fingon made quick work of relieving Celegant of gear and tack, giving him a good rub-down with the tools provided. Temporary accommodation for horses had been available previously, but this was all new, purpose-built and intended for use. The mountain path would never be a busy thoroughfare, but apparently Caranthir expected it to be more widely known and openly traveled than before.

 

Lake Helevorn

 

Caranthir had always understood the value of silence, of being without need to fill one's immediate space with talk or music or audible industry. Fingon had learned to value that kind of quiet, and Rerir was generously providing. Today Fingon was exploring Lake Helevorn, letting the breeze and surface currents take his small skiff where they willed. He had oars and a tiny sail at need, but he was enjoying the randomness. The far side of the lake met a sheer face of interesting rock, and he was delighted to find that what had looked like reflections or shadows on the pale stone were plants, tenacious bushes and small trees that had taken advantage of cracks between the stones to set their roots, and there they flourished, defiant of the challenging conditions, green and fragrant. For a moment, Fingon was reminded of a different cliff, just as sheer but unnaturally smooth, a backdrop of torment and despair, offering no foothold. But hope had come to that place, unlooked for. Maedhros was not with him on this trip but Fingon knew he was well and happy and enjoying his own quiet. They had come through, and now even cliffs grew green

[Anérea's lake-cliff-tree photo]

 

Sky Dance

 

There were sounds, smells, things that still made him startle, flinch, shudder, even now, but the sharp scent and array of explosive sounds of fireworks were not among that number. Fireworks smelled nothing like dragonfire, the bitter miasma of balrog, and the bright, concussive pops, booms, crackles of fireworks going off were exhilarating, not frightening. (Though Fingon did prefer to know when fireworks were going to be set off -- unexpected loud, sharp sounds were not and would never be ideal.) Knowing they were coming, fireworks were amazing and astonishing to see, hear, feel: ephemeral fire-flowers filling the sky with light.

 

 

Standing on the parapet above Rerir's gatehouse (Caranthir's fortress was no longer entirely focused on defense, but it would never not be a fortress, any more than Himring), Fingon watched the sky ripple and glow in blues and greens, curtains and spirals of color. There had been the occasional hint of color in the sky on the Ice, near the end of the journey, and after the Sun rose, Tir Inforn, Himring, even Barad Eithel had seen auroras, when the smokes and vapors of the Enemy had not obscured the stars, dimming even Arien and Tilion on the worst days.

But there was none of that poison in the air now, and everyone could breathe the freer for it -- those in the Round World as well as here in the Flat. The colors in the sky could dance freely, joyously, as the winds danced in the grasses and through the leaves, playing with raindrops and snowflakes as it pleased. Helevorn, mirror-still, reflected the stars (undimmed by the colors, shining within them) and the slow stately display. The sky made no sound, but it, too was part of the great Music.

[Aurora image]

Chapter End Notes

There were two instadrabble sessions. The prompts are marked with a 1 or a 2 to show which session, and then the number the prompt came in the sequence. They are listed here in the order they appear in the story.

1:2
Holiday Party
By The Sea: In the southern hemisphere, it’s summer - the perfect time for a seaside holiday or a BBQ on the beach! Create a fanwork featuring the sea.
Double drabble

Postcard
Image of the Milky Way reflected in a lake
--Caption: Night view of Lake Helevorn
--Text: You are welcome to visit at any time. The mountain air and views would do your spirit good.
1:1
Restoration & Rebuilding
“Just like a tree that loses branches and dead leaves in the Autumn, I will rebuild anew. I will rebuild new branches and leaves. I will rebuild and maintain only what bears me fruits.”
― Mitta Xinindlu
Drabble. Another drabble and double-drabble at the beginning of the Beleriand Risen section. All of these were written with both prompts in mind.

1:4
"That's Life" by Frank Sinatra. On YouTube
Drabble

2:1
Restoration & Rebuilding
Image of Notre Dame with scaffolding
Two drabbles (End of one section, beginning of the next)

1:3
Block Party
Image of a woman laughing and tossing autumn leaves
1:5
Image of red lanterns from underneath
One drabble incorporating both prompts

2:7
Easy - Snake - Breath - Stair
Drabble

2:2
Holiday Party
Gift-giving: From hobbits to Galadriel to Sauron (excuse us, Annatar), there is plenty of gift-giving in the Legendarium. Create a fanwork that features gifts or their givers.
2:8
Weeks - Stripped - Slowly - Lay
Double drabble incorporating both prompts

Postcard
Image of the Milky Way reflected in a lake
--Caption: Night view of Lake Helevorn
--Text: You are welcome to visit at any time. The mountain air and views would do your spirit good.
2:3
"Landslide" by Fleetwood Mac On YouTube
One drabble incorporating both prompts

1:1
Drabble and double-drabble

2:5
Holiday Party
Clean Up: Alas, the party's over, and someone has to clean up. We're playing Chip the Glasses Crack the Plates in honor of those brave souls. Create a fanwork that deals with cleaning up, whether it's routine chores, the aftermath of a party, or perhaps even the beginning of a new Age.
Drabble

2:4
“People rescue each other. They build shelters and community kitchens and ways to deal with lost children and eventually rebuild one way or another.”
― Rebecca Solnit
Drabble

2:9
Photo by Anérea of a vertical rockface at the edge of a lake, with a tree growing out of a crack part way up
Double drabble

2:6
Image of a large golden-orange firework against a partly cloudy dark blue sky
Drabble

1:6
Image of a blue-green spiral aurora above snowy mountains, reflected in a lake
Two drabbles

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