From Library of the Randirim

~~by Esslar

Contents 1 Chapter 11: Ashes falling from the Stars 2 Chapter 12: The Changing of the World 3 Chapter 13: Letters from Home 4 Chapter 14: A Dance of Reunion

Chapter 11: Ashes falling from the Stars

The Ainitirith had carved a path from Menegroth by sword and bow and shield and so delivered their charge to the banks of the Sirion and there they hesitated. For a host soon gathered there; refugees of the great halls, and though Maeglind felt she needed to return to the city, to seek out her love and child, she was pulled on by her companions. Unable to stay so close to the battle, they went southwards, along the river that divided the land. It was said that the power of the Valar Ulmo was in the waters of the Sirion and that may have been so for the thousands of refugees were never waylaid.

Yet, with each step Maeglind felt loss, ever she wished to see Gilhend or Limlear crest a rise behind them but never did she look for their coming, for with the foresight of the elves in her heart she knew she would never see either again. And yet her surviving sisters in arms fostered hope. Of the twelve only these three had emerged from Menegroth, and of the other nine there was no word. Nor was there word of Dior Eluchil or of his queen or their sons. Elwing wept often for the loss of her parents and though it seemed she would someday grow to be the ruler of their people she was yet the smallest of children.

The host moved slowly but in time they came to the mouths of the great river and there they finally came to a rest. Work began on buildings by the shore and the decision was made to reside there, within the circling arms of the Sirion. Menegroth would be forever lost. Also was it decided that a party should be sent back to the fallen city to discover the fate of those who were lost. Nearly thirty departed for that cause, and they went swiftly for they carried the hopes of their hearts and of those who could not go. In this way did the Sindar return to their ancient halls, if only for a very short while.

The story that unfolded before the expedition was a gruesome one. The King was found slain in his throne room, his sword still plunged into the chest of Celegorm, a powerful prince of the Noldor. Also was Curufin, Celegorm's brother, dead in that hall. And in another place was found the corpse of Caranthir. For the Sons of Feanor had paid a bitter price of three of their number to commit the atrocity of the Second Kin-slaying. Seven of the Ainitirith were found around the body of Queen Nimloth, and a great many more foes lay unmoving before them. Of the other two Ainitirith no clue was ever found.

And in a deep hall, Maeglind found the answer to her own doubt. For there lay the body of Tinnutiri Gilhend, pierced by many wounds and fallen not far from five of the Noldor. His shield was broken, his spear missing, but still she could see the strong nobility in his lifeless face. Maeglind felt an immeasurable loss, kneeling in the dark cradling her love's body in her lap. For now she was parted from her love until her own death should find her, and of their son she could find no sign.

There were too many bodies for the expedition to bury but they would not suffer their dead to the desecration of pillagers and decay. Two pyres were built before the great bridge. To the eastern pyre they committed the bodies of their people, and to the west they set fire to the remains of those Noldorin who had fallen there. For though they felt great pain and anger towards the Sons of Feanor, they would not see further atrocity done within their halls by not according the fallen with respect.

It is said that while the great fires burned through the night and the next day, ever was a dirge sung and many were the voices that carried it. It was a song of great sorrow and loss, and of splendor never to come again; of joy and love that has been torn away. This song did Maeglind sing among others and her voice never wavered through it's long length. Her heart was heavy with the words and her own loss, but still her voice soared, for she would have her fallen star sent back to the heavens with wings of song. And when the song was over, never again would the song of Maeglind Tuilinn be heard in that land.

When the expedition returned the Sindar set about building a new home, one of peace if not splendor, there where the river met the sea, and it was known as the Havens of Sirion. There Elwing continued to grow, under the watchful eye of her caretaker and the three remaining Ainitirith. Maeglind invested herself fully into her duty, for she had nothing else left in Arda. In five years time there came another host of refugees from the North. They were the survivors of Gondolin, the great Hidden City, lead by Tuor and Idril; a pairing of Edain and Eldar likened to Beren and Lúthien their son, Eärendil. Gondolin too had fallen into darkness and flame and this host of refugees were all that remained of it. They were welcomed there by the Sindar and there was peace there for a time.

Chapter 12: The Changing of the World

The remnants of Doriath and Gondolin had dwelt peacefully at the mouth of the Sirion for three quarter centuries. Since Tuor and his wife Idril had sailed into the unknown their son Eärendil had been their lord. But Eärendil was on the seas now and his wife Elwing had been left in the Haven along with their sons Elrond and Elros, and now the Sons of Fëanor had returned to claim the Silmaril.

Many had left the ways of war behind them since coming to havens. The reknowned March-wardens of Doriath were too few now to resist the force that bore down upon the Haven. There seemed little hope, yet there were still the Ainitirith. Maeglind had not been idle these long years and she faced them head-on at the gate to the Manse where Elros, her charge, resided. Another of her sisters would be guarding his brother and the third shielded precious Elwing from harm. Though the Fëanorians had come on them suddenly, there was yet confusion in their own ranks, for many would not commit the atrocity of the Third Kinslaying. And so Maeglind held the door. Elros stood behind her, hastily garbed in armor fashioned in the likeness of an eagle's wing and in his hand was a sword, but he was as yet too young for soldiering.

Uncounted blades beat upon her shield the press of the soldiers beyond was more than she could long withstand. A streak of light cut through the air, nearly missing her helm but cleaving her shield and beyond was a Noldorin in princely raiment. Maeglind did not guess who it may have been as she thrust her own blade forward, piercing through the thin armor of his shoulder and bearing him down with her own weight. But this left her flanks open and now a great force came down upon her from behind and she collapsed limply.

When she roused again, the battle was over and what few were left of their people were left in great sorrow. The surviving Sons of Fëanor Maedros and Maglor, for Amras and Amrod had perished in the attack, had succeeded in seizing the Havens. Yet still they did not receive their bounty, for Elwing, bearing the Silmaril on her breast, had leapt from the cliffs and into the sea. The Sons had then claimed Elrond and Elros as captives and retreated from the Haven even as the sails of Gil-galad, High King of the Elves, and Cirdan the Shipwright could be seen upon the waves coming towards them. Nearly as sorrowful to Maeglind was the news that her two sisters-in-arms had perished. In one day she had lost her charges, her home, and those she felt as kin. And so she had no reason not to follow the last remnant of her peoples as they bound themselves to Gil-galad's people and departed to the island of Balar. There she dwelt in some respect for her valor and her age and her skill, but her she felt no more than small joys in the world of Arda.

But her tale would not end here, in the rest of lonely sorrow, for Elwing who had cast herself to the sea had been born up by the Valar Ulmo and transformed into a great swan. In such a form she flew to Eärendil aboard his vessel Vingilótë and reunited they had turned towards the west. By the light of the Silmaril they alone were delivered to the hallowed land of Valinor and there they pleaded the case of Eldar and Edain before the Circle of Doom and so earned the repreive of the Valar. A great host came forth from that place, made of the Vanyar and those Noldor who had not left in exile and at their head came the Eönwë, the Herald of Manwë. During the Great Battle they destroyed the hosts of Morgoth, emptied Angband, and took Morgoth captive. Other tales speak more of these happenings, especially of Eärendil's battle with Ancalagon, greatest of all dragons, yet at their conclusion Eönwë called for the Eldar to return with him to Valinor and there to find succor from their sorrows.

Long did Maeglind sit in somber thought on the shores of Balar. She looked to the west for a day, knowing that Tinnutiri could be waiting her there, and then she looked to the east for a day, knowing that if she departed Arda she might not ever return. And in the end she remained, for the Oath she had sworn to bind herself to Tinnutiri was still strong in her heart, and she would not forsake what remained of the people of the Sindar whatever shadows remained in Arda. So she stayed, and when the ravages of the War of Wrath caused Beleriand to sink beneath the waves, she settled again in Lindon beside the Ered Luin along with the rest of Gil-galad's peoples.

Chapter 13: Letters from Home

3432 SA
When Lachecthel had first received the call to arms from his liege Thranduil he had for the first time the notion denying his lord's command had occurred to him. Ever since he had come with Thranduil's party from the ruin of Beleriand he had been loyal to the Sindarin King, but that was before Nilvanya and Tomenel. His son had only been twelve at the time and that was nigh three years hence. And now that he read the letter from his wife he wondered if he should not have lent more thought to that notion. Yet still he knew that if the Dark Lord remained secure in Mordor, his family would never be safe; for no lone Captain could stand against the tides of Sauron's army. It was for this reason that he had donned his armor and spear, bid farewell to wife and son and home and journeyed in Thranduil's host to Imladris.

Here the hosts of the High King Gil-galad and the King of the Númenóreans, a tall man named Elendil, had gathered had armed themselves. The Vale was filled to bursting with their number. Elves from every corner of Arda and men from the North and the South had answered the call. The greatest host that had ever been assembled since the War of Wrath. And word had come that yet more would come: dwarves from the Halls of Khuzud-dum, men from lines less noble than that of the fallen West, and beasts and birds of all forms and natures. All were to gather for this march: to break open the Gates of Mordor and topple Barad-dûr to rid the world of Sauron's evil forever. Compared to that, how could he weigh a missing son?

3434 SA
With the forces of Gil-galad and Elendil assembled on his doorstep, Sauron had unleashed the bulk of his forces and their had been grand battle. The hosts of the Free Peoples had met the Enemy with steadfast resolve and in the end had broken the great Gates of Mordor. Behind Aeglos, Spear of Gil-galad, and Narsil, Sword of Elendil, it seemed they could suffer no defeat. The plain of their victory was named the Dagorlad. As a giant among elves, Lachecthel had faced troll after troll until the blade of his lightning-spear had smoldered with their black blood. With the fire of his fervor in his eyes he had laid waste to all the foes that had come before him. None there after would ever question his position as Captain or his aptitude with the spear that he had carried from Doriath.

His memories of those days were dim now but still he remembered his own Father and of his last sight of him, wrestling with the soldiers in the Halls of Menegroth. Even after thirty five centuries the rage still burned brightly within him whenever it was kindled. He had been left an orphan by the Second Kin-Slaying but though he found refuge with others in the Silvan lands of Ossiriand, he had forever remained war-like afterward. Lachecthel had no song left in him, for it had burned away long ago.

The host was yet preparing to move through the Black Gate to lay siege to Barad-dûr itself when another message came with the supply train. Tomenel had been spotted in the wilds of Eryn Galen; appearing as a wild-child of one of the mortal races, but none had been able to capture him and return him to Nilvanya. Always he turned back into the woods and disappeared into the forest.

3440 SA
The siege had lasted for six years and still sorties and missiles flew from Barad-dûr to assail them. The most recent had robbed Elendil of one of his sons, a tall man named Anárion. The host of the Free Peoples would not be broken though and should it take a hundred years they would remain on Sauron's doorstep. For at the least while they ringed him in he could harm no others.

Thranduil had lost his aides on the Dagorlad and now required of his Captains that they should accompany him to gatherings of the Generals of the Host. Lachecthel did not relish these councils, for seldom did he seek the company of others, but he would do his duty. On a time he had spotted a warrior within Gil-galad's vanguard and though he had tried he had not been able to place her from his mind. He had not seen her face for the helm that she wore, but the indigo and crimson armor was distinctive amongst the gold and silver of the rest of the Vanguard. In either case, she had not seen him and seeing no purpose to her identity he succeeded in putting her out of mind.

The latest note from his wife spoke again of their son. Tomenel was seen again, in the company of a wolf, far further westward than any had guessed. Though Lachecthel could not fathom why his son should tolerate the company of such a beast, he could reason now why Tomenel had left their home: He was trying to join his father.

3441 SA
The Siege was over. Sauron at last had come forward in all his fel and terrible might and before Barad-dûr he had grappled with Elendil and Gil-galad. The mightiest of the Free Peoples had fallen then, but Isildur, son of Elendil, picked up his father's broken blade and severed the one ring from Sauron's hand. The Enemy was defeated and soon all of Arda would know of the fall of Barad-dûr.

The Host would soon separate and return to their own kingdoms but even as the stones of Barad-dûr toppled, Lachecthel stood before Thranduil and begged a boon. Somewhere in the wilderness of Rhovanion his son wandered wild and he could not tarry any longer. And so it was that Lachecthel flew from Mordor and began his search for his son, which is yet another tale. Yet the Last Alliance was successful and the Enemy was defeated, if only for a time, and the Second Age of Arda came to an end.

Chapter 14: A Dance of Reunion

It began with awareness, as though waking from a long and transient dream that one could no longer recall. First came sounds and then sight. Above her were beams, carved as branches and stars painted on the ceiling. She awoke and found herself at the dawn of another day. It was the Year of the Sun, near the end of its Third Age, and the Buiamath, amongst the first of the Elder Children of Iluvatar to awaken so long ago had risen for another day.

Her life this past age had become a steady routine with little variance. Each day she would arise and after breaking her fast she would don her arms and patrol the paths of Ered Luin. Seldom was she given any purpose for this patrol, but she felt it was her duty all the same. To the younger Eldar she would meet along the way she was a part of their own routines. To them she was simply Buiamath, the Shield that Serves, and few if any knew the long story of her life.

And so she arouse, and she ate, and she walked through the halls of her home; decorated with the small birds for which she had once been named, or perhaps they had been named for her. She no longer could recall. In a small room she found her arms just as she had left them, polished from the evening before and she strapped them on with the practiced inattentiveness of one who has done a task so often that their mind is no longer required for it.

Her house sat in a prominent location near the middle of Tinnudor and the path from it's door carried her feet through Falathrond and then west across the bridge to Duillond. There she had brief and small words with the citizens as she passed by the town and turned north along the road. The sun was high in the sky now, moving on it's own familiar path amongst the clouds. Birds sang from their perches in bright trees that swayed in the wind to their own songs. And on a far off hill beside the road she spied a tall man, standing alone and looking up at the sky. As her path carried her closer to him she continued to watch him with some curiosity. The tall man picked up a spear from where it must have lain in the ground and then he fell into a stance that she had seen often enough to recognize. The Ectliltha, Spear-Dance, was practiced by many of warriors as training but also as a decorative form during Festivals. And it was not long before the man, who she saw now was dressed entirely in dark grey garb, began to slide through the various forms of his Ectliltha. She watched as she walked and saw forms that she recognized as basic to the art and some that she guessed to be from the Silvan of Eryn Galen far to the east. Many movements she could not recognize, or only afterward would realize their nature as the man flowed through them as smooth and sure as water cascading through a brook. In a portion of her mind she imagined that many forms were reminiscent of those she had seen long ago in fallen Menegroth, now sunken beneath the seas. The man leapt and spun and ducked amongst imagined foes of air and long grey hair twirled in the air around his head. His movements were fast and had his foes been of a more tangible nature it would certainly have been a brutal battle for the green hilltop.

She was near enough now to make out the man's features and amongst his movements she noted sharp features and bright, fierce eyes. She was struck by them for a moment, though she could not say quite why and her feet turned from the path and began to climb the hill. And at that time the man brandished the spear in the final movement of the dance and she recognized the rune-etched blade and haft from ages gone by. The tall man was looking at her then as her pace quickened and it seemed to her that his face was incredibly familiar and the name beyond hope came to her lips as she cried "Limlear!"

The man, who she was now closing upon, gave her a puzzled look for a moment and said. "No. I am not Limlear, but why should you call out such a name in such a way?"

"If you are not Limlear, Son of Gilhend and Maeglind, then how did you, whom I name Bregaur, come to carry that spear?" The name had simply come to her mind as she watched the elf move through his dance.

The man studied her for a moment as if trying to guess her purpose, or puzzled by some other question within his own mind and Buiamath was forced to wait for his response. "I am the son of Lachecthel... who's essi was Limlear. I have carried the Fanaur since his fall in battle long ago. Most have called me Garaf Mithfaron. I see age in your eyes Lady, but I do not recognize you. I would know who asks such things and calls me by my sire's fathername."

Buiamath stood wide-eyed, stunned by all that she had heard in but a moment's time. Limlear was gone, but he himself had had a son who now stood before her. And despite the loss of her son, a loss she had mourned long ago, she felt great joy in this discovery. "I am known as Buiamath but I have had other names in the past and among them was Maeglind. If what you say is true, then let us go and celebrate for I am your fore-mother and our family, broken apart so long ago, is again brought together."

"I suppose it must be so, for none other would know my father's essi so readily, or recognize this spear which has been my birthright. It is unfortunate that my father is no longer among us, but my brother will be overjoyed."

"A brother?" She felt as though her head were spinning. "Please, come with me to my home and let us talk. It is clear there is much to say!" Bregaur nodded and as they began to walk down the hill he spoke to her of how his father had come to Eryn Galen with others from Beleriand and had married a Silvan there who had been his mother. He spoke of how he had followed his brother, a scholar named Esslar, into Eriador some months ago and so had come to these lands. And all the while while they walked Tuilind sang and her voice was again as a chorus of songbirds.