Unbound

Unbound

 
2. The Stone of Song

In the dream I stretch unformed, invisible hands before my face. I know my hands by memory but the space is vacant. I press my fingertips to my eyes and they meet air. There is no freedom in this weightlessness. How can I see without sight? How can I know without feeling? Yet I see and I know and the darkness around me is vacant, its thickness whole and unsettling. I call for help and my words are the thing itself, a sobbing plea. I beseech the void and my voice has no timbre. I am the sum of my memories – but the places I remember are strange and incomplete. A tree, a piece of fine fabric discarded in half-rememberedss. ss. I long for this place as I have longed for nothing else. This regret – I have never felt such vicious laing ing – is coupled with admonishment for a deed I am heedless of committing.

* * * *

I wait by the window, watching. Glorfindel has been away again for weeks and my dreams are vague and frightening. These are new thoughts, my own and yet some other’s. The little path that passes beneath my rooms, like some glittering, mosaic stream, takes the day’s business here and there, skittering like the small birds that scratch in the deep grass beside it. Everything looks the same, yet I know it is very different.

Celebrían took my hands and asked me to walk with her the day of Glorfindel’s departure – I had not expected to see him away so soon. Not unaccustomed to her affections, and my mood written plainly in my stance, I took her interest for care, her smile for shrewd pity, and followed her throughout her private gardens. She spoke little at first, bending now and again to pluck a stray weed or press back a mass of thick growing vines so the more delicate blooms could inhale the sunlight. Her garden was an erratic composition of wildness, which she did little to tame. What chose to grow and flourish did so with fervor and the least hardy, the delicate, sought out suitable crevices of nourishment tended mildly by Celebrían’s sympathy. So it was with all of us.

I followed behind her on the path. She did not turn to me as she spoke, "How are your dreams, Vedith?"

"Both light and heavy," I answered. My mind’s course was strange at that time, too many new sensations and some nagging, dreadful thing that seemed to lurk just beyond the point of waking. "I awake feeling as if I’ve misplaced something that I must find quickly. Like some useful tool, or a page of script that must be read before the next is of any use."

She held silver light in her eyes, like the mists that clung to the banks of the Bruinen. Celebrían sat in a grassy spot of sunlight and gestured for me to rest beside her. I felt like a shadow next to her, a vaguely formed shape. I smoothed the folds of my dress and my hands were dull things. She stroked the blades with her long fingers, pressed her palms flat toward the warm earth. I looked to her face, waiting for her next words. She watched me from the corner of her eyes and smiled gently, "Shall we talk of sweet things and goodness? You watch me as if I am the voice of doom."

"Many whisper of your mother’s gift and assume you hold your share," I said.

Her laugh was deep and breathless, "I have no mind for the future. Else I would have foreseen your own fortune and warned you greatly."

My brow furrowed and I grasped at whatever tragedy I had unwittingly invited in my recent actions. She smiled and squeezed my hand, "No – you have rightly found an honest place for your heart, a warmth that is much returned. It did not take foresight for me to see that path approaching. Your enthusiasm is a welcome reprieve from his mulishness."

I was giddy to agree, "He broods less now, does he not?"

"Can we ever adequately show our thanks?" Celebrían’s warmth was as deep as the streaming light through the trees above us.

I had been lucky in my short days – no blights of terror, no whispered warnings. So many who came and went through our gates bore strangled masks of hardness, eyes clouded in worry of what new foul thing they would be forced to bear, for they had seen so much already. I had been sheltered in this valley for so long that the old stories took little shape and the warnings I overhead in councils meant very little. Terrible things happened, but in my mind they were removed and unreal – ghosts of events that would not touch me.

I ventured what I had been loath to ask before his leaving, "Do you know how long he will sawayaway this time?"

Her shoulders rose and fell just barely, so slightly. "Who’s to say? His absence is a different thing to face now, is it not?"

My eyes opened wide at her understatement. "It’s like a cord constantly tugging. It is miserable."

"Is the feeling familiar as well as ne

This question was strange beyond strange. "I’ve never considered it." I watched her eyes for some clue.

"I have a job for you, Vedith. It is time for you to make sense of some histories. Your parents are long gone away but I had the chance to speak with your mother before your departure. There are facts that she was more mindful to speak than I, but she explained that thare are certain key events of which you would, at some point, become aware. We are a product of all that has come before, and our ties to this land are strong. Do you know anything of your family?"

I shook my head slightly. It was true, I did not. I’d never had the desire to know more. The light we sat in felt too warm and I moved to stand in the shadow of a nearby oak. Some creeping thing stretched behind me and the solid weight of the tree at my back eased my shaking. "Such assignments I have been charged with before in my learning. This is the first time Glorfindel left without any notes for my amusement."

"Erestor awaits you. . ."

"Must he look over my shoulder?" Good to me as he’d always been, Erestor had a way of reminding me of my deficiencies.

"I asked him to unearth some texts for you. The stories will be quite familiar but their meaning has shifted a bit. You’ll find details and facts that have escaped you until now."

"So I am to read?" I pressed myself closer to the rough bark behind me. Celebrían stretched full out in the grass and her bare feet were too near my own. She closed her eyes to the light and smiled sweetly. I could not escape the thought the she took some pleasure from my confusion. She had always been a mother to us all, but there was some mischief afoot.

"That you are."

"And what will my reading reveal to me?"

She opened an eye slightly and glanced in my direction, "The Fall of Gondolin."

* * * *

Where would this lead me? I wondered – standing at my window, the paths glimmering in the last light of day. I had yet to visit the library though Erestor nodded curtly whenever I happened upon him in some hallway. My hair was caught up in a scarf that once belonged to my mother. I had bound it to gather berries when the sun was at its highest – longing to feel the bright colors snap free from their vines and their weight collect in my basket. I delivered my spoils to the kitchen, save a handful or two that I hoped to work into a paste for my own work.

I slid the smooth, fine fabric from my head. My hair ached to be free, falling heavy around me. I took my eyes from the path and passed the scarf through my fingers. The fabric was light and insubstantial, tightly-woven of the deepest blue. Perhaps the blue of the sea? I wouldn’t know. Our crafts allowed objects to remain with us for years on end, but I wondered if I would outlast the fabric in my hand or would it set sail with me some distant day? Our spirits were the only constant in this changing land.

The Fall of Gondolin? I toI to open the vaults of my love’s suffering? Relive the facts so that the details flowed more real to me than the litany of songs? There were times when his memory was as vivid to me as my own – and not in the great things. The smallest details, tangible as the scarf in my hands. The true chord of a word greatly changed to the present, the carving on a doorway, a small, forgotten fountain.

What could further study bring rather than deeper empathy for a time so lost?
But something in Celebrían’s request implied that I was to search for my own history. I had never rued my orphaned state so harshly. How much easier my answers would come if my parents were near for asking. . .

Once again, I wasted time in Glorfindel’s absence. I waited, suspended in the memory of his touch, his deep kiss – afraid to move too quickly else I never know such pleasures again.

I bound the cloth about my head once more and made a slow path to the library.

* * * *

"Good evening, wayward child," Erestor raised a hand in greeting although his gaze did not lift from the papers before him.

I busied myself with the neat volumes of a nearby shelf, a finger sifting through the light screen of dust. "Good evening."

"I had a chance to admire your work on the eastern wall of the inner courtyard. Your skill steadily increases – although the style remains a bit rudimentary." He again made no effort to face me as he spoke. "Trees, always trees – have you considered trying your hand at other forms, even in study?"

I resisted the temptation to come to the defense of my trees. "I’ve been experimenting with color. Just today I gathered some berries. . ." I took a seat opposite the table where he worked, "Trees are far more interesting – they are thankful for long study and quiet watching, other forms tend to move about too much."

While many could impose with an upward tilt of their chin, Erestor contrived the exact opposite. His composure remained fixed toward the table surface, chin downturned – only his eyes rose to meet me. "Then teach your hand to work faster."

"Your advice is faultless as always." I settled more deeply into the chair and tucked my legs underneath me. "I’ve been sent on an errand by our Lady, doubtless you know this already."

He gathered his papers into a neat pile and arranged his pots of ink into an orderly line, a sentry of little basins. Erestor’s inkstained hands were his only failing. I esteemed those hands and all the characters they had scribed. A small fire smoldered sending slight light from the hearth to the area where he worked. Its dimensions were small, but its warmth was great. The greater part of the library rested in shadow.

"Life has much changed for you since I had the chance to sit here with you last," Erestor rose and motioned for me to follow. "You are wed?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. I care little for the old ways – although I assume ill all all be finalized, and writ in a matter of time."

My carelessness alarmed Erestor more than the tidings. "What else brought you to this place – brings any of us through the years both long and swift? We are the old ways and you best consider who you drag along with you in your nonsense. I’m afraid we did you a poor service overlooking your study and manners. Glorfindel would hardly let us guide you in any extreme – always tending to you himself, and its up to him to bear truntrunt of your wanting education. You will have a ceremony and you will stand tall with the noble house you join yourself to – do you understand me?" His threatening finger wagged an inch from my nose. "There is much concerning you I will never understand."

He commenced his stroll through the shelves and I followed like a biddable hound. "What do you imply?"

"You are both familiar and strange. Take this," he handed over a heavy, overly large volume – I was not ready for its weight and caught hold just as it moved to slip through my hands. "And take care!"

I pressed the volume to my breast and followed still.

"You were dropped along your parent’s path to the sea as if you were a long awaited missive. They hurried on under cloak of stars and no explanation was given, or needed for those who tended you. It is strange that they would have sought their last voyage without you." He passed another volume a bit more gently.

I considered his reasoning. "There are many who come here to be fostered."

"Really? So many whose parents are both living and able to see to their care and raising?"

A final volume placed atop the others and he ushered me back to the fire. "You put too much thought into my presence," I said. "It is well known that the call of the sea is great and undeniable once it awakens in my people. My parents wished that I answer the call of my own accord – when my time comes."

Erestor ushered me into the chair he occupied upon my arrival, replacing his sheaf of papers with the books in my arms. "Children are not so frequent in these times as to cast them off on a whim. You parents denied themselves much pleasure, and you much guidance, leaving you here with us. There has to be more to this than you - or I - can decipher."

"And this is what I seek?"

He regarded me carefully, his dark eyes prying deep within my own as if their color could issue a clue. "There is a greater history awaiting you, I’m afraid." And was that sympathy buried a shade beneath his meaning? He straightened suddenly, "Start with these volumes – their language will not tax you."

I sighed.

"Tear your mind from golden hair and start your journey." With a faint smile and curt nod in farewell he took his papers and exited quickly.

The night was warm and mild and it felt strange to be alone amongst the shelves and forgotten lore. A slight wind stirred the scattered tapestries with a snap against the stone walls. The fire flickered and the open balcony seemed a far more welcoming diversion. I reluctantly turned my attention to the tomes before me, smoothing my hands against the cover of the first. True, I had never known much darkness in my life – even my parent’s passing was a thing I accepted with warm regard. But throughout my life I had felt the shadow of some distant thing approaching – the changing times in the world outside the valley I assumed, or the memories of others that had come before me.

And the dreams that visited more frequently, diminishing when Glorfindel was present, but large and looming when he was away – to whom did these visions belong? I had not ventured this line of reasoning with him. His touch was still too new and I could not quail our joy with shadowy questions. I closed my eyes and pushed my thoughts toward him, bright thoughts – like some carefully guarded fraud. Even with great distance between us I could feel his warmth spreading through me. I marveled at this ecstatic bloom of heat, as if his arms had found me and not simply his thoughts. As my eyes opened and the balcony took shape before me, my vision was broad and deeper as a result of this convergence – the night beyond the doorway filled with luminous color.

"Cease your idleness and get to work," Erestor once again – having crept from the bowels of the shelves. I often wondered how many secret entrances he could contrive.

"You are a merciless taskmaster," I waved him away before he could open the first bound text before me. "I was preparing."

"You were being aided in witless distraction."

I opened the volume myself, "Save your complaint for Glorfindel’s return and leave me be." Erestor turned his attention to the fire and I scrutinized the first page, worn smooth from use and weighty in my hand.

Seven names are given te cie city
Gondobar
Gondothlimbar
Gwarestrin
Gar Thurion
Gondolin the Stone of Song
'But they who love me most greatly call me Loth, for like a flower am I, even Lothengriol the flower that blooms on the plain . . .'*

tbc

* * * *

*The Book of Lost Tales – Volume II, "The Fall of Gondolin" (pg. 158) – Tolkien

I was certain this story was through with me after the first chapter – no such luck. It has cld med me for its own and I haven’t had a moment’s peace. Each line is crafted with love and devotion for my dear, dear beta – whose skills are noticeably absent from this continuation. Wherever you are my little friend I miss you terribly and I hope you find this chapter in some strange and circuitous fashion – and that you recognize it for the honest and most heartfelt apology I could ever devise.