A Portent of Grief
By
Stargazer Nataku
Imrahil was startled awake from a deep sleep by sudden movement on his bed and, before he could come fully to consciousness, a small hand shook him. "Daddy!" The voice was alarmed, and Imrahil sat up in bed, looking down into his younger son's wide eyes. He was just about to ask what the matter was, when suddenly there was a large crash of thunder and Ercirion threw himself against his father in fear. Imrahil gave a half smile as another peal of thunder caused his three-year-old son to bury himself further into his father's shoulder and another small form streaked into the room and threw himself onto the bed.
Five-year-old Elphir crawled across the large bed and buried his face in his father's other shoulder as the rain began to pound against the shuttered windows and the wind began to moan and wail desolately around the towers of Dol Amroth. The sea itself added the din, roaring as it slammed angrily against its rocky beaches, fighting to free itself from its usual bounds. It had quickly become a wild night of storm and fury, such as did not happen but seldom in a man's lifetime.
Imrahil, now wide awake, pulled both of his sons closer to him and brought the blankets over all three of them. "Daddy," the young boy begged, "Oh, Daddy, make it stop!"
"It's all right, Ercirion," Imrahil soothed the child. "It's just a storm, it shall pass." Imrahil hushed his son, rubbing his back with one hand as he stroked Elphir's hair with the other. Now that the first fear was over, Elphir was making a valiant effort to be brave, but Imrahil felt him flinch with each rumble of thunder and every bright flash of lightning.
"It sounds so lonely," Elpir said with a shiver.
"It does," Imrahil reflected. The wind did indeed seem to be weeping as it raged violently, as a woman who holds her dead husband's body does, unwilling to accept he is gone. "But it is just the wind," he added, pushing aside his morbid thought. "And it cannot blow like this forever." There was another rumble of thunder, and with it came another voice which added, a tone distinct from the fury of the storm. It was a sound that made Imrahil freeze in horror, unfeeling as his one son's tiny arms became tighter around his neck and his elder son clutched his chest.
It was a piercing cry, much different from that of the wind and far more unnatural. The pitch changed even as its shrieking voice lingered in Imrahil's ears and caused his heart to pound. It sounded once more, then again, and then was silent, its absence making the din outside seem to fade away, as though its noise and bluster of the tempest were nothing more than passing things that could be easily borne.
Imrahil felt sweat cold on his skin, as he remembered an incident of his own childhood, when had been only a year or two older than Elphir was. A cousin, several years older than himself, had spent the summer with them. He remembered one night when they had been permitted to share a room, and Herion had told a story which had ensured that Imrahil hadn't slept for a week afterwards.
It had been a story of how Herion's grandmother had heard a cry the night before his grandfather had died, confirming an old superstition that there were spirits who sometimes heralded a coming death with desolate wailing… The noise they had just heard sounded as Imrahil had always imagined a death spirit's would.
Slowly, pulling away from his fear and his thoughts, he felt a tugging on his nightshirt, and he forced himself to look down into Elphir's wide, terrified eyes. "Daddy, what was that?" the little boy asked. There were tears in both his and his brother's eyes, and Imrahil chided himself for being irrational. Childish stories and foolish superstitions, when he was a grown man and a father!
"That," he assured them, "was undoubtedly just the cry of a gull that got lost in the storm. I'm sure he was afraid. Can you imagine being outside in this?" he asked, forcing himself to laugh.
"You wouldn't let us go outside in this," Elphir said, and the tears were gone.
"No, I don't suppose I would," Imrahil answered, giving both his sons a slight squeeze, trying to get rid of the nagging fear the cry had instilled in him.
"Do you think Mommy's okay?" Elphir asked then.
"Indeed she is. She will still be at your aunt's, so she's inside and safe. Still, I bet she's scared since she doesn't have you and your brother to sit with her." Elphir laughed at that, and Ercirion added childishly, "Daddy, you're silly. Grown ups aren't scared of anything. Especially not mommy. But if you're scared, we can stay here."
"I think you had better," Imrahil said, even as Ercirion's eyes began to fall closed, in spite of the thunder. "Come on boys, lie down." All three of them did, a child snuggled on each side of their father. Soon, as the thunder began to fade into the distance and the wind quieted a little, both boys managed to slip into sleep.
Yet for a long time Imrahil lay still, listening to the rain and the steady breathing of his sons, unable to sleep, listening for the sound again, trying to reassure himself that it had, indeed, simply been a gull. The logical, adult part of him insisted it had been; still, there was something within him, perhaps a remnant of childish fear that forced him to ponder the possibility there had been something to the story Herion had told him years ago.
With a sudden jolt of newfound fear, his thoughts strayed to his sister. Finduilas had been ill, Imrahil knew, and with a sudden realization that turned his stomach, he fervently wished that it had not been her death the cry had heralded. She had seemed improved when he had seen her last, but the healers had seemed grim nevertheless…
Imrahil pushed the thoughts away insistently, ignoring the pain in his heart at the thought that his beloved older sister could be dead. It was foolish and morbid, and brought on by noises made strange by the storm and the lateness of the hour and the memory of a childish story.
With that reassuring thought, he finally fell asleep, his sons cuddled at his sides.
Four days later, Eryniel had just returned from her sister's and she was listening to her sons tell the story of the storm. The boys had grown more excited now that the fear of the moment had passed. Imrahil listened as he sat beside his wife, one of her hands pressed in his, her other around Ercirion where he sat in her lap. Elphir sat next to his mother, and it was he who spoke the most, while Ercirion only occasionally interjected a comment.
Yet at that moment, there was movement in the doorway and Adrahil appeared, looking pale and old. A sudden chill of fear passed quickly through Imrahil, and he stood somewhat hesitantly and crossed the room to his father, who looked as if he was ready to collapse. When Imrahil reached his father, Adrahil's hand reached out and took his son's arm in a strong grip.
With a sudden, cold rush of dread, Imrahil knew. The unearthly cry echoed in his mind as Adrahil spoke two simple words before breaking down into the first tears Imrahil had ever seen his father shed.
"She's gone."
OOC: This was written for the September 2003 Fanfiction challenge for the Tower of Ecthelion archive. There is a link for that site in my author's profile. In my biased opinion, I think its one of the best sites on the net for LOTR Fanfiction, so its definitely worth checking out.
For those of you who may be wondering, the idea behind this fic is based upon the banshee of Irish mythology. Thought it was an interesting thing to stick into Middle Earth in order to make this a feasible answer to the challenge for ToE.
At any rate, I hope you enjoyed. Please review if you have the time. :-D Constructive criticism is a good thing. -Nat