Turgon the Wise | Sarafinwë Turukáno (turukano) wrote in thedoorway, @ 2013-02-24 19:04:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log, earendil ardamire, sarafinwe turukano |
Who: Turgon & Eärendil
What: First meetings and kind of a family reunion
Where: The Lobby of Potts Tower -> trying to find the sea.
When: Backdated before Eärendil's network post.
Warnings | Status: Mentions of war, death etc. | in progress
For the past hour, Eärendil had been pacing his room. He had shut the window, turned out all the lights, pulled the blinds on his window, and still he could not close out all the noise from the city below. Screeching; screaming; metallic noises that he could not understand...all of it formed into a cacophony of sound that grated and wailed at him, louder and more overwhelming than anything he had heard in 6500 years. It was loud enough to human ears that were used to it, of course, but his delicate elvish senses had been held solitary and separate from the world for so long that he knew not how to process so much at once.
He could not think. He needed time to sit and process what had happened to him, where he was, how he had come to be here. But with the sensory overload that this place had brought to him...he was very close to panic. He needed to hear the birds, the sea. He needed to see trees, hills, the natural beauty that was such a part of him and his world. He couldn’t think in this fake metallic forest of busy sounds and more people than he had seen in all his years. It was simply overwhelming. To be brought from lonely sojourn to this wailing swarm of a city was driving him to the brink of insanity.
He had to find the sea.
He had seen a map in the room with the strange blue box. He had seen the sea, he knew it to be near. Surely his heart would guide him there, if he trusted in it? And there, perhaps, he could begin to make sense of this strange land in which he found himself.
Removing the silmaril and putting it in the pocket of his tunic so as not to attract unwanted attention, he skipped quickly down the many flights of stairs to the lobby. He paused at the look of it outside - the people rushing by, the sounds just waiting to assault him...
But somewhere beyond that, somewhere, there was peace. And he had to find it.
***
The isolation in Gondolin certainly hadn’t prepared Turgon for the cacophony of sounds in New York City anymore than the Nirnaeth had his brother Fingon. But he’d had more time to adjust to the busyness of the city and the strangeness. That wasn’t to say that the oddities didn’t stick out, because they did, but he was getting more and more apt at ignoring them or only allowing them to occupy a small portion of his attention. There were many curious things to behold anyway on a more intellectual level.
As it were the elf lord caught himself distracted just briefly as he wandered toward the elevators. He’d intended to retire for a short time and write down his thoughts in a journal he’d obtained but as he scanned the faces of those flitting about the building on their own business one face in particular stood out to him.
He paused dead in his tracks, having to look not once but twice, for surely the man heading away from the staircase was not who Turgon suspected. How could it be? Had the tesseract ripped him away from hearth and home as well? Turgon tucked the items that he was carrying under his arm for safe keeping and angled away from the elevator to follow after the youth.
"Aiya heru!" he called, “Tuor?” and once close enough, reached out a hand to touch the other from behind.
***
Even through the suffocating sounds of this world, the familiar words of his own language caught his ear, and he stopped in his tracks. Quenya, even in this strange place? When it was soon followed by his father’s name and a gentle touch, he turned - and froze.
In one moment, he was overcome with a thousand different emotions, few of which he could even name. His mind was flooded with images of Gondolin that was, flickering memories so nearly faded of setting tiny model ships to sail in the fountains, or staying up late into the night on his grandfather’s knee, hearing stories of Eldamar. And behind them images of horror at the flame that had blocked their path, of the long, dark, sad journey to the sea, leaving all vestiges of his childhood behind in the city that his grandfather had made; the only home he had ever truly known.
Grandfather.
For who else could it be who stood before him? How could he forget that face that he had so adored? But how could this be so? It was surely a trick of his mind, a phantasma hovering near him, a memory of the last time he had been so uprooted.
But the hand that had touched his back was solid and warm, and he could not control the tears that came to his eyes, nor did he make any effort to do so.
“Tuor...was my father.”
***
Disappointment flooded over Turgon in a sharp cascade of crushed hope. At first sight the boy had appeared to be the lord’s son-in-law but having looked upon him now he wasn’t quite what Turgon had been expecting. He nearly offered up apology for mistaking him before he could register the stark resemblance between the other and -
What had he said? His father?
Turgon looked him over, even stepping back a pace in his disbelief while he searched him for some truth. No, no he could not be. A man grown! Aye a man indeed, he had the look of the Edain - the look of Tuor on his fair face, riddled with the touches of elven features. No. No there could be no god in the high heavens so cruel to place this fantasy upon him now.
“Eärendil?” he questioned, disbelief seeping into his tone. “How can this be?” His heart ached, mixed with longing, pain and fury. His eyes smoldered with it.
***
“Aye,” he said, and his voice broke on the syllable. His throat burned with emotion, and were it not for the anger in the other’s eyes, he would already have embraced him. With his grandfather had died his childhood, his home, and his innocence, and the memories that returned to him were nearly too much to bear. He had been happy in Gondolin, happy and carefree as he never would be again. It was always a surprise to him the good memories were so much more painful than the bad ones, when they were lost.
He took a step forward, his grey eyes meeting his grandfather’s with hope and desperate longing. If only it could be true, if only just for a moment...
“Grandfather?”
***
He stepped back instinctively when the other advanced on him, shaking his head just briefly while he assessed the situation. Given their circumstances it was not out of the question that Eärendil would appear here, but it felt like some cruel joke that he’d appear only days after Turgon began to mourn the boy and his terrible fate. Had his yearning called him forth from the stars? Could this truly be him?
He couldn’t contain the breath he hadn’t been aware of holding any longer and with its exhale came a pitiful sound of grief laced with joy.
“Ai! Eärendil!” he exclaimed and closed the gap between them, invading all personal space as he reached up to touch his face, his hand smoothing over his high cheekbone and back to his hair where the long fingers curled. “Valar’s gace, you are real,” and his voice broke and tears welled in his eyes.
***
He froze as his grandfather touched his face, unmoving except for the one tear that streamed down his cheek to fall on Turgon’s hand.
“I am real,” he said softly. “And ai, how I have missed you, grandfather!” He threw his strong arms around the King of Gondolin, embracing him as if he were afraid he would disappear if he did not hold tightly enough. He was far shorter than his grandfather, even though he was still taller than the average Man, and he pressed his face against his shoulder and wept. There was pain in the sound, but just as much joy in this reunion. He was no longer a boy of seven, but he had in him also the blood of the Eldar, and they did not see shame in tears.
“It has been many ages since I have laid eyes on Gondolin, but still it is the fairest city in all the land, and the city of my heart. For it was there that I last knew true freedom, and where I left the innocence of childhood behind.”
***
“Valar’s grace,” he repeated, enfolding the boy in his arms with the strength of a father’s love, holding to him both firmly and tenderly to ease the pain in the other’s heart. His fingers remained curled in the blonde hair, cradling his head gently against his shoulder while the youth cried. His tears brought Turgon’s pain forth and his own tears fell from his eyes in response.
“Oh child,” he said, for though Eärendil was much older and not in fact a child in age or appearance he was still the son of Turgon’s daughter, “you are the child of my heart. I have called and to me you come,” he said. “I thought you your father, but you are so much more than I could hope for,” he pulled away enough to look the other man in the face, framing it gently in both hands that he might look at him closely.
He could find no words to speak though and so merely hugged him again.
***
After a time, Eärendil pulled back a bit from the embrace, wiping his eyes without shame. “But how am I here, grandfather? How has this come to pass? They spoke many words to me when I arrived, but I did not understand them. Have I died? Have I at last come to rest in the Halls of Waiting? Is my journey at an end?”
There was hope in his voice, but fear and sadness as well. He had no fear of death, and aye, was weary enough to wish it at times. However, he would never have done anything to hasten it, or anything that would have brought his beloved Elwing more grief than he already had given her.
“Is Elwing in this place, grandfather?”
***
"Shh, one question at a time," he said gently. "You are not dead and these are not the Halls of Waiting - I know not how any of us have come to be here but here we are ages beyond the world we know. It is a realm of men and their dominion is absolute. While you reside here your journey is at rest.." Unless the world was coming to its brutal end. For that was when the boy was supposed to come from his lofty heights. It saddened Turgon to think on, he had hoped briefly that Eärendil might have come before he was set upon the stars so that he'd never need to know that misery.
"Elwing is not amongst us," he said sadly, "but there are others of us. My brother, some cousins, Lord Glorfindel and a Sinda Legolas. We are not alone."
***
“Ai, but I have left her?” The distress was apparent on his face, as was his deep love for her. “I promised her I would not, grandfather. And yet I have come to this - “ he waved his hand dismissively, at a loss for a word to describe this strange and foreign land in which he had arrived. “And she is alone in her tower! What shall she be told when I do not come to her? Will the Valar punish her because I have strayed from my task? Will everything I have done be for naught?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to control his panic. When he found the control he needed, he looked up at Turgon again.
“Your brother? Lord Fingon - but I have never met him. And Lord Glorfindel is here! My memories of that brave Lord are mixed indeed. And I know of Legolas, although we have never spoken. He was one of those who helped the Hobbit Frodo to destroy the ring, and to restore the throne of Gondor.”
***
“Nay! Nay!” he insisted, taking Eärendil’s hand to offer the simple comfort of touch, a reassurance that he was grounded and okay to be so. “You have not abandoned her or your task. The Valar have willed it to be so and so it shall be, do you understand? You need not fear for her. Or for yourself,” he hoped. He had been forbidden to return to mortal lands and those of the Eldar. What repercussions would they suffer for his defiance? But on the same breath it had probably not been the boy’s choice to come from the stars. As surely as it hadn’t been his choice to go into them from the start.
“You are brave,” he said, touching his shoulder and then his face again, “you must continue to be brave for a time. Until we come to understand this world and our place in it.”
***
His Lord Grandfather’s words made sense, and in them he began to find peace. This world was strange, and he understood but little of it, but as he had said, they were not alone. He exhaled, and some of the tension in his shoulders eased. Strange though it was, his heart was full of joy at the idea of having, for a time at least, freedom from his eternal errand. It was wrong that he have such a time, surely it was not what the Valar intended, but he had not come here intentionally. He would have to trust in their mercy and fairness, and that he could do.
“Grandfather, you said that there were cousins here. Which cousins? For there is something I must show you.”
Looking around him to make sure that none were watching, he pulled the Silmaril from his pocket, sheltering it in his hands so that it did not shine too brightly around them.
“Are there those here who would do me harm for this?”
***
His eyes alighted upon the Jewel that he’d only ever seen from a distance many years ago in Tirion and for a moment he was swept up by the sheer beauty of it. For the light of the Two Trees reflected in the jewel and brought forth a thousand memories of those days, making the ache in Turgon’s chest hurt tenfold for being here now when all he wanted was to be back there.
But his mind caught up to the reality and alarm shown in his eyes and in his frame. He went rigid and placed both hands over his grandson’s own, covering the jewel entirely without touching it himself ere he be tainted by desire for it.
“Put it away!” he insisted, voice low, concerned. “Never show it again. Never allude that you have it with you, do you hear?” he said, meeting the boy’s eyes. “There are some here who would take it from you. Maedhros,” he said, “and his father.” He chose not to speak his name ere it summon the man himself to their sides. Fate would have it be so, out of cruelty.
***
Eärendil returned it to his pocket, his eyes narrowing in rage as his grandfather spoke the name of Maedhros. The thought of Maedhros’ father, the gem’s creator, filled him with ice. He had never met the man in person; he had died many hundreds of years before his birth. But from the stories he had heard, his heart ran cold. Father and son would both gladly slay him for the gem, and think nothing of his death.
But Maedhros himself...he felt his hands curling into fists.
“I do not know how much you know, grandfather, but Maedhros attacked the Havens of Sirion while I was at sea. He slaughtered my people and took my children captive. Elwing only survived with her life because of the pity and mercy of Ulmo. I am not a man of war, such things do not settle well with my heart. But he is one I should like to see forever trapped in the Halls of the Slain.”
***
Eärendil’s words ran cold in Turgon’s heart and his own fury matched that of the boy’s for a moment. He had no love for Maedhros or his brothers but he had reached some accord with them in the name of peace. But knowing the cruelties the elder elf had committed to and learning still of new ones made his heart burn with hatred. He had promised his own brother he would not speak badly of Maedhros and to that he would hold but he could never love or respect the other. He didn’t want to.
Turgon calmed himself with several breaths and met the other’s eyes again.
“I know it,” he said, “and I would agree with you. But we are few in number here and they are serious with their laws. Even were it in my heart to send him on his way to Mandos’ judgment I would not do it here. I counsel you against any such action that would lead to harm for either of you. Not for his safety or in doubt you could defend yourself, but for peace. We must stick together in this place.”
***
He bowed his head in assent to his grandfather’s words.
“You speak wisdom, which is a better course to follow than that of anger. I must tell myself that while he committed great atrocities against those I love, he and his brother cared gently for my children when I was not permitted to return. I am grateful to him for that, and it is upon that I must concentrate. I have no desire for war or strife, especially as I know not how long I will be allowed to remain here. It is a reprieve from my errand, and one much desired. If Elwing were here, I could almost consider it a holiday, if I believed the Valar granted such things. So I will not waste my time with bickering and anger. I shall defend myself, grandfather, but only if he makes war against me.”
He sighed, glancing out the door at the busy traffic and noxious city.
“I sought the sea, but I cannot hear it or smell it from here. Is it nearby, grandfather? Perhaps you would come with me, and we could carry on our conversation in somewhere a bit more peaceful and familiar.”
***
“I am glad you see wisdom in my words,” he said, relieved. He believed Eärendil would not seek a fight with Maedhros, or perhaps he was only clouded with bias given their blood ties. Whatever the case he would take Eärendil’s side and be the first in his defense if he must.
“The sea is near, near enough.. but we must walk a distance through this city and you will see many foul things you might not understand. It is busy and chaotic. If you are willing to venture forth we might find it, and if you cannot make it far then we need not continue onward.” He didn’t want to overwhelm him with the sights, sounds or smells of New York City.
“You may be recognized,” he said a moment later, turning toward the doors and the streets of New York. “But do not fear, you will come to no harm while I am with you.”
***
“If you are with me all will be well,” he smiled, having a grandson’s faith in his beloved grandfather. “I trust you not to lead me into harm.”
He followed Turgon towards the doors, feeling a bit braver now that he was not alone and had some time to adjust to this place.
“Recognized? By whom?”
***
“People,” he responded. He himself had only been approached a handful of times with people making references to things he didn’t understand or know about. His general demeanor when walking the streets deterred most people, but there were the occasional stubborn few who couldn’t or chose not to read body language.
“Your face,” he elaborated a few moments later as they began their journey to the sea, “will seem familiar to some here and they will ask for you to sign your name on small papers. Or even to take what they call photographs. Like portraits but not painted. It is a strange world.”
***
“They know my face?” he said with confusion. It was true that he had been mistaken more than once for his father, but other than that he knew few who resembled him. “Strange indeed, but I suppose I shall do it if it pleases them. It seems such a little thing, in truth. Could I have one of these...photographs of you, grandfather? For when this place takes me back? I should like to have it to remember you by. I have missed you so.”
***
He did not have the heart to tell him that if he went back he would in all likelihood not remember any of this. His uncle had disappeared and reappeared without memory of it and so he supposed it must be the same for all of them. How tragic to be brought here then ripped away so violently and without notice. Without chance to say good bye. Turgon frowned to himself then nodded at his grandson.
“Aye,” he said, “we will get you some and likewise I would have some of you.” He paused with that thought in mind, “I know of your birth,” he said, “through Lord Glorfindel telling me of it.. but I come from a time where you do not yet exist. Your mother and father have wed..” He smiled at the memory, as he always did and would forever.
“I am glad to learn of you.”
***
At hearing the time from when his grandfather had come, Eärendil’s face contorted into a mask of sadness. He hoped very much that Glorfindel had already told him of the fall of Gondolin, and that he would not have to break to him such grievous news.
“Do you know...all, then?”
***
He regarded him peacefully then nodded once, “I know of the Fall,” he confirmed, “Lord Glorfindel and I discussed much of the time that follows the city’s demise. I know some of the War of the Ring but not all the close details. Worry not, such sadness has already been laid upon me.”
Though it pained him he long knew that Gondolin would not survive forever. Her destruction did not weigh any less heavily on his shoulders though.
“Your mother’s wisdom,” he continued, “saved many lives that day.”
***
“My mother’s wisdom, and Lord Glorfindel’s bravery. Without either, I would not be standing here speaking with you, and Middle Earth would be in ruins. I owe them both so much. I shall be glad to see Lord Glorfindel, and thank him for all he has done for me.”
He was silent for a moment before turning back to Turgon, pain bleeding from his posture and expression.
“A bright light died that day, grandfather. In my heart and in Middle Earth. In all of my dreams, when I dream of home, it is always in Gondolin with you, and my parents, and the joy that I felt while I was there. I shall never know such happiness again.”
***
It saddened him to hear the words. He never wanted any of his family or Idril’s to know such pain or misery. He had wanted to keep them safe. And the poor boy only had a short seven years of peace and happiness before his life was forever changed. What folly he’d committed to let the words of Ulmo’s message go unheeded. He sighed softly and looked at his grandson.
“I know your truth,” he said, “I feel it too. It is not Eldamar I yearn for, or Tirion. But Gondolin. That was home and ever shall it be even when I have passed from this world into the next. But she is gone and neither you nor I shall ever know of her again. But hold to your memories in fondness, not sadness. You will see them all again - those who made Gondolin special and made her our home.
“You will find peace one day. Happiness. Find peace here while you still can.”
***
“Yes, we must find peace where we can, and in what time we can,” he agreed. His grandfather’s words had always seemed so wise to him, and even though he was now a man grown, they still seemed full of wisdom that he would never know.
He reached the door, and opened it, taking a moment to absorb the rush of sound that hit him when he did. But he did not feel so afraid anymore. The few minutes he’d been given to take in the place, and the presence of his grandfather, along with the resurgence of his own quiet bravery, had quite calmed his initial panic.
“I am very old, grandfather. And I have wished for peace for many long years. In truth, I do not even know how many years I have lived; the count has seemed inconsequential. I never wished to be counted among the Eldar. Take no offense - I love you all dearly and am proud of the blood that links me to you and your kindred. But I am my father’s son, and wished for peace, and freedom beyond the bounds of this world. But I could not refuse Elwing, or condemn her to eternity alone. I come here from the first year of the Fourth Age, and so much has happened since the Fall of Gondolin that it surprises me that the memories of those short seven years of my childhood are still so painfully clear.”
***
"I do not fault you," he said quietly, "you are indeed your father's son. I love him as my own and I could never hold your choice against you. It is, after all, your choice to make. But that you have chosen to be counted amongst us is indeed a blessing. I would not lose you to the world before I have ever had a chance to truly know you."
He was quiet as they stepped out into New York City, leaving the confines of the Tower behind them. He stayed close beside his godson so that he would be a comforting presence amidst the chaos of this brave, new world.
"You hold to what was important to you. It isn't so queer an idea that Gondolin would be what you remember. You have seen much?" he questioned. "Do not think on it too hard or else it would drive you mad, my son. You will find peace, I promise you. In the end of all things. Eru would not abandon us so easily."
***
“I have seen very much,” he said a bit darkly. “Many things I would rather not have seen, but lovely things as well. I do not even know how to describe the stars, or the amazing things in the Heavens. There are no words in Quenya or Sindarin. But to watch things that have caused such pain in Middle Earth, and to have had no chance to influence them...to watch my children grow to adulthood without me...it has not been easy.”
He shook his head.
“But it is worth it, grandfather. Because there is much joy in Middle Earth, where there would have been none.”
***