The Memory of Gold by Flora-lass  

There is pain. There has always been pain, it seems; but then it is worse. So much worse that I would call it blinding, if I were not already blind. I cannot see the weapons, nor the wounds they inflict. Is that a blessing? I do not know. It is so long since anything felt like a blessing. But perhaps the pain is deafening instead, for I cannot hear myself scream…

But then, something changes. The darkness is different, and so is the pain, and I know I am somewhere else. And then I know no more, for a while.

***

When I first become aware of anything again, I can tell I am lying on something - the ground maybe, but it is soft. The air smells cleaner than I have been used to, and I take great gulps of it; but the pain is still terrible, and I can barely hear, let alone see. But there is a voice and, as if from a great distance, it tells me to be at peace and rest. I hardly know what those words mean any more, but the pain at least gets no worse, and as I manage to move my head a little, I wonder if I can feel a - a pillow? 

‘It is over,’ the voice says. And then something about no more pain, which I cannot believe. And then, ‘Sleep now, until the Lady comes to bathe your wounds.’

***

Some time later, there is a softer voice, full of sorrow but somehow clearer. 

‘My poor child, your suffering has been great, and I see you still suffer. There will be no new pain here, but it will take time for your memories of it to fade. Elves do not easily forget such things.’

I do not know if I speak, or simply think, but I ask: ‘Who are you? And where is this? For I see nothing, and hear little for the pain, and I have no hands and cannot walk, and why can I remember all the pain but nothing of my life before…’ I weep then, and so does she.

‘Hush, child. I am Nienna, and you are Gelmir son of Guilin, and these are the Halls of Mandos. Let my tears soothe your hurts for a while, and perhaps you will start to believe that the pain will truly end.’

Tears soak my pillow, and then I feel them on my ruined limbs - a torrent, but so gentle that I seem to be floating. I have felt nothing like this since - I cannot remember when, and I no longer know what is real. But then everything is dry and soft again, and I hear the two voices, singing quietly together.

***

Time passes, and the pain eases a little, especially when the Lady is near. I can hear more clearly, and I become aware of other voices, and cries of anguish. I ask the first voice (who is always nearby, and who I now think must be a Maia) what is happening.

‘A great battle has taken place, alas. You came to us at the very start of it, and many others have arrived here since. The Lady may be longer in coming to you now, as she is greatly needed elsewhere - though I will still be here, have no fear. But I will be tending others too, and you may sense them around you.’

Later, I do indeed sense one in particular, lying not far from me it seems, and moaning softly. He sounds as though there is little of him left - not unlike myself perhaps, but in an even worse state. I wonder at the sudden clarity of my thoughts; could it be that thinking of another's pain has somehow dulled my own?

I find I can at last move more than just my head, and I manage to edge a little closer. I can hear the Maia soothing him, although not their words - it is not for me to know what is said to others. But then the Maia addresses me.

‘This is well done. There may be comfort here for both of you, if you wish for it.’

I continue my struggle towards this other being, but he is quiet now and hard for me to locate. And then I am abruptly halted, by the smell of blood. I cough, and he becomes aware of me.

‘Please come nearer,’ he says, in a hoarse whisper. ‘For I think we both met violent ends, and I would welcome company.’

He sounds - gentle, somehow - but also like someone who is used to being obeyed.

‘I cannot see you, or feel my way,’ I explain. ‘My wounds are such that…do I smell of blood? I would be surprised if I did not.’

‘Less so than I, I suspect, as you have surely been here longer. I was beaten into the dust, and there is almost nothing of me above the ground. But let me try to…’

He seems to make a huge effort, and I feel a hand on my arm which quickly falls away again.

‘I am here,’ he says, ‘But that is the best I can do, for now.’ It is enough for me to orientate myself, however, so that our shoulders touch.

‘There,’ he sighs. ‘Thank you. I did not know there was even so much of me left, until I reached out to you. Who are you, friend?’

I consider this. I now know my name, but I do not really remember who I am.

‘I was Gelmir, son of Guilin, of Nargothrond. But then…’ I find I cannot say more of myself, and ask him his name instead.

‘Fingon, son of Fingolfin,’ he says. And then, simply but shockingly, ‘For a short time I was the High King...’

‘My lord!’ I burst out. Dimly I remember hearing that Fingolfin had fallen. ‘What - what happened to you?’ I have forgotten how to address the High King correctly, but he does not seem to mind.

‘Balrogs. And Maedhros did not…’ He breaks off, and takes a deep breath before continuing. ‘But now I know who you are! The heralds brought you, and…oh…can you ever forgive me, that I did not save you from such treatment?’

This is too much for me to contemplate, but I know it is not his fault. All I can do is press our shoulders more closely together, although this is not how one would normally behave in the High King’s presence.

‘Your brother charged the enemy in response,’ he goes on. ‘But I do not know what happened...’

‘Gwindor!’ I cry, and cry, and I can only think that he must have taken my place in - that place.

He briefly touches my arm again. ‘I am sorry,’ he murmurs.

We lie in near-silence for a while, and then he says, ‘You say you cannot see - but I do not believe you can be truly blind, here. The Maia told me that I would gradually become aware of my body again - and it is already happening, or I would not be able to touch you. Might it not be the same with your eyes?’

I cannot quite take in his words at present, and do not know what to say in response; but he continues, in a different vein. ‘I believe we have met before. Did you not once come to my father and I, bringing gifts from my cousin?’

There is no reason to doubt him - this king who is so crushed and yet seems far more concerned for me than for himself. Was he not once called the Valiant? And in that flash of memory, I seem to see a golden spark in the darkness, although it is gone in an instant.

‘My lord!’ I breathe, ‘Do you - do you have gold in your hair? For I think I saw…’

He laughs softly. Laughs. I have not heard laughter for I do not know how long. ‘Not here, my friend, I fear - but I would have been wearing it when you saw me. It is good for us both to remember that. It is a start, I think.’

‘Indeed it is,’ says the Maia, who has approached unnoticed. ‘And now you should both rest a little, until the Lady comes.’

We are both obediently quiet at first. I am exhausted, though the pain is still less, now somewhat replaced by grief and fear for my wonderful, foolish, brave brother. And then King Fingon moans, as he did when I first heard him, before I knew who he was. 

‘My lord, are you in pain?’ I ask.

‘Yes,‘ he readily admits. ‘They said the pain would return with the feeling, for a time, but that it would pass. I would it were gone…but also, I have such fear and grief, for all those lost and left behind, and that hurts just as much…’’ And he breaks off with a sob.

‘Now I have that fear, too,’ I say. ‘But the Lady Nienna will help with all the pain. She has already helped me. It will ease, my lord…’ And I am saying what I did not believe when it was said to me, but I now find I do.

‘Thank you,’ he gasps. ‘Please, stay with me?’

And I do, until the Lady arrives, and we are moved apart, for her to tend first him and then myself.

‘You do well,’ she says, when she reaches me. ‘And Fingon has been glad of your presence. But you have a new grief, do you not?’

‘My poor brother, Lady! And our parents, left to mourn us both…’

‘There may yet be some hope for him,’ she sighs, as her tears rain gently down.

***

After I have slept awhile, the Maia gives me a message from King Fingon. He had hoped to speak to me again, but some of the Guard who fell in his defence have learned that he is here and asked to see him. Of course he would want to see them (though it is surely too soon, and I worry for him). But then they tell me that I, too, have a visitor.

‘Gelmir, my treasure!’ says the kindest voice imaginable; and all at once, certain memories come flooding back. It is my king, Finrod Felagund, and he has known me since I was born. I find I cannot bear that he should see me like this, and all words fail me. (And if I even knew he was dead, I had forgotten).

He sounds as though words are failing him, too. 

‘I am so, so sorry,’ he chokes, ‘that I escaped the Bragollach but you did not. And for everything that came after…’ And he takes my - my hand? How can he be holding my hand, when it is gone? This must surely be a dream. Or perhaps it is another memory.

‘I have no hands now, or feet,’ I finally manage to say. ‘And everything is dark.’ But then, starting to collect my thoughts, ‘My lord, I cannot stand and bow to you as I ought.’ Perhaps I should kneel, I think in alarm - but no, I know he would not expect that of me…

‘It breaks my heart, to know what was done to you,’ he says. ‘But this is Mandos, and much can be restored. I was also imprisoned and sorely wounded; but my companions who died before me came to find me here, and there has been such comfort in that. I believe you can feel whole again, although it may not be yet. Tell me, can you sit up - have you tried?’

I have not - but for him, I do. He helps me, and then I am enfolded in a careful embrace. I would have expected pain, however gentle his touch - but there is only warmth and comfort, and the relief is overwhelming. It is like being a child again.

‘You must tell me if I hurt you in any way,’ he says. ‘But you looked so much in need of a hug!’ Suddenly I have the thought that he has said this to me before.

‘I do not think you could hurt anyone,’ I murmur.

‘Oh, I could. I did so when someone I loved was threatened, and it is how I came to be here, for I was wounded in the wounding…but that is a tale for another time. Rest now, and be assured that no further harm will come to you, if I have anything to do with it. Neither here in the Halls nor when we Return.’

I have given no thought at all to Returning, which seems impossibly far off; but now I feel afraid. I cannot suppress a shudder, and his arms tighten around me slightly. ‘This will be a long, hard road for all of us,’ he says, ‘but we will face it together. Soon you must meet my beloved Ten, who will welcome you warmly among them. They remember you, and I am sure you will remember some of them.’

I am still so tired, but with him I feel loved, and that is truly a blessing. ‘Would you - would you sing to me?’ I ask, and he sighs, sadly.

‘I cannot, alas. I lost my Song in the dark, and it has not yet been restored. I am sorry - but I believe it still can be. As can your sight…‘

His hair brushes against my face, and suddenly there is a flash, much brighter than the one I saw with King Fingon. And I find I can reach up and run my fingers through it, as he let me do when I was very young…

‘Your hair is still like shining gold, my lord,’ I whisper, as I drift towards sleep.

Now there is a smile in his voice. ‘You see, dear one? There is healing to be found here.’

***

But it is not so easy, however much my King wishes it were so. I dream of my blinding, and wake to my own screams and renewed, burning pain. But something has changed; now I feel anger alongside the agony, and some strength in my arms again, and I want to fight and lash out against what has been done to me. The Maia is there, and at first seeks to restrain me, but I push them aside and lurch to my feet (which I can feel at last). Why should I not stand up to the deeds of the Enemy, rather than continue to lie broken and helpless as I have been? 

The Maia soon understands what is happening, and does no more than steady me when I sway. And there is someone else here; at first I think it is still King Finrod, but he tells me that he is Edrahil, one of his ten companions, and that he has come to be with me while the King is with his cousin Fingon.

I am still shaking with fury - and glad of this new fire inside me - but I am not yet strong enough to stand for long. At Edrahil's urging, gentle yet firm, we sit, and I find he has much to share.

‘Many of us have dreams such as yours, at times,’ he says. ‘It seems they must be endured as part of the healing, dreadful though they are. We all care for each other, when it happens. But there is something I must tell you. Your father and I were friends - do you remember me at all?’ 

‘I am not sure,’ I say, slowly. ‘You do not feel like a stranger, but I have forgotten so much of my life in Nargothrond. I hardly even remember my parents clearly; Angband robbed me of almost everything. Will you speak to me of - of home?’

So he does, calmly and quietly, answering my many questions, and helping me recall what I had lost. Each time he reminds me of something, it is as if my own memories are restored. When he speaks of the crown of Nargothrond, and how it was (and no doubt still is) my father Guilin's task to care for it and keep it safe, he is suddenly clear to me again - I remember often watching him at his work, and how I had assisted him whenever I was allowed to.

Edrahil does not venture into how he and the King and their companions came to leave the City and met their ends - that is best left for later, he too says. But there is a link with Beren and Luthien, whose deeds had sent ripples through Angband which had reached even my ears.

My father is a lover of craftsmanship and beautiful things, and not a great warrior; but I find myself asking why he did not accompany them.

‘The King bade him stay and guard his treasure, as he had done so faithfully and for so long,’ Edrahil says. ‘Our City needed good people within as well as without, in such troubled times.’

All at once I think of Gwindor, who must also have stayed behind at that time, but left later - and I wonder what has happened to his company, since the battle charge of which King Fingon spoke. No doubt many of them are here in the Halls and in need of help and comfort. I resolve to ask about them - and just then, Finrod returns.

‘I hear you have been standing!’ he exclaims. ‘That is such good news.’

‘And then Edrahil here sat me down and reminded me that my father was your Treasurer,’ I reply. ‘I had wondered why you called me treasure, but now I understand!’

‘Indeed he was!’ he says. ‘And not only your father, but your mother, too. I hope they still serve my family, for I would trust them with anything of mine - they brought all the treasure safely across the Ice, and your mother became the Guardian of the Nauglamir. You were named for it, Joy-jewel.’

My mother! And the Nauglamir! How could I have forgotten? The most wonderful combination of gold and jewels, which was stunningly beautiful at any time but seemed to burst into new life whenever the King wore it. I had loved to look at it almost as much as my mother had. And as I think of it, in Finrod's presence, I see flashes of gold, more and longer-lasting than previously and with hints of colour, too.

I know it cannot truly be here, and this is only memory, but it still brings me joy. ‘I remember you wearing it so vividly, my lord - I can almost see it,’ I whisper.

‘Do you really?’ he says, softly, and squeezes my hand. ‘That is such a comfort to me, as I hope it is to you. I loved it so much - perhaps more than I should, and it is lost to me now, but it was too special ever to be forgotten.’

Other memories fall into place then - my mother trying to describe how different the jewels had looked in the light of the Trees, and how some of them had glowed on the Ice and given them hope, and the marvellous explosion of colours when the Sun rose - and both my parents' wonder and delight at the work and skill of the Dwarves…

‘I would like it if we could speak of this further very soon - but are you rested enough to come and see my cousin again?’ Finrod asks. ‘He has been asking about you, and he is determined to have constant company, even though it tires him out.’

‘I think so,’ I say. ‘And I would like to try and walk to him. But my lord, I am concerned for my brother's companions. Could we seek them out?’

‘Fingon and I have already spoken of them. The Maiar are tending them as yet, but we will find them soon, when they are ready.’

Edrahil and Finrod help me up, and with one of them on either side I slowly make my way to where Fingon still lies (but the smell of blood is much reduced). He greets me warmly, although his voice is weary, and he says that seeing me on my feet has made him determined to sit up unaided.

‘My dear cousin has been attempting to do my hair,’ he tells me, and he sounds almost happy. ‘He did not have much to work with, but there is gold in it again! Here.’ He manages to take my hand, and places it on a slender plait, into which I can feel that thread has been woven - and then there are tiny points of golden light before my eyes.

‘I think - I think I can see it!’ I gasp. 

‘It is the Lady Vairë's finest, I am told,’ Finrod says. ‘If anything could pierce your darkness, surely it would be that.’

I hardly dare to let go, in case the gold disappears - but finally I do, and it does not. I sit speechless then, simply staring at it, as Fingon clasps my shoulder and Edrahil rubs my back - and then Finrod envelops me in another hug. His hair is now a faint golden glow, and that does not disappear, either.

Tears fill my eyes, and I realise that the burning, which had been there since the dream, has stopped. Not for ever, I am sure; and I do not know how much more of my sight I will regain, or how long it will take. Perhaps I will have to wait for a new Life, and even then I may never see as I once did. But for now, at least there is gold to light my way.

Chapter End Notes

The title is inspired by a radio play I heard some years ago, called The Memory of Light. It was about Louis Braille, the inventor of the tactile reading system for blind people, who lost his sight due to an accident when he was a small child. I'm visually impaired myself, and have great admiration for him.

Tolkien Gateway gives 'joy-jewel' as a possible meaning of the name Gelmir, so I have made use of that.

It isn't hard to imagine Finrod giving wonderful hugs - but credit for the idea must go to Chthonion!

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