The Blind Windows
By Le Chat Noir
- Part two : The Walking Death
"Curufinwë, come down at once! You are going to hurt yourself!"
The young child looked down from the tall tree. It was very high from the branch to the ground. Maybe even Father could not have reached it with his outstretched arms. And he had not ever seen any elf who was taller than Father; except maybe Russandol, who could appear tall when Father was not there.
The cooper-headed elf was standing below the tree, on the ground, very far below, with his arms open wide. The elfling looked down, sitting on the branch. He was well balanced there. He would not fall. But Russandol was looking upset, and worried, and the boy did not know how to get down.
It had been easy to climb, easy to get higher and higher in the ancient tree. Then he had seated himself there, and enjoyed the view. It had been hours ago. Now he was afraid, very afraid; maybe if he did not come down and Russandol could not climb up to get him he would have to spend the rest of his life there, never coming down.
"Curvo!"
His brother's voice was growing more and more worried. The boy looked down still. It was high. But Russandol was there at the bottom, with his arms outstretched. Maybe he knew that he was stuck, that he could not come down. Older brothers always guessed everything.
He wondered how long someone could survive by drinking rainwater and not eating.
He looked up then, staring at the patches of sky that showed in between the interwoven branches of the tall tree. Then down again, into his brother's reassuringly familiar face.
He jumped.
~
This time, as he looked down, there was no one there waiting for him to fall into their open arms. But he had grown, taller and stronger, and had acquired the subtle balance that was the lot of all elves.
Smoothly, he let himself slide off the branch, and dropped gently on the grass below, with almost not a sound.
The House of Fëanàro laid not too far away, and he thought he remembered the path.
~
He trailed five fingers down the soiled windows, leaving tracks of relative clearness on the glass and dark stains on his fingertips.
On the other side was only darkness.
There was no one there. No fire burnt in the hearth of the House of Fire. The plants in the garden had grown wild again; the lonely fountain had long dried up. The wooden panels of the once-proud door were rotten to the core; and the gate had fallen from its hinges when he had pushed it open.
No one.
There was no one there.
~
He took pleasure in walking across the city.
"Are you a Reborn one?" the child had asked him.
"Yes." he said. "Why do you ask?"
The small boy followed his steps. "I don't know. You're wearing the white cloak; that one Ada's sister wore when she came back, and she said that it was the cloak of the Reborn." The child looked at him with big, guileless eyes, and frowned. "But she wore the hood, why don't you?" he added, before running off.
Why don't I, he thought.
Many people stared at him as he passed. He saw curiosity in their eyes, vague interest maybe; no fear, no doubt lingered there. Sometimes he stared back, and the people turned their eyes away, without once blinking or blushing under his glance.
They don't know, he realized. They don't know my face, the sound of my steps; everything has been forgotten. Time must have fled past.
He looked down at the even, perfectly paved road his feet trod on.
The Blessed Realm, he berated himself. Aman, the Land of the Valar. Perfection and bliss brought to you by special Ainu clientele service, with a nice ten per cent reduction for next time you call.
Even in Tol Eressëa pain and dread have been forgotten.
A slight knot insisted on tying itself in his stomach, and he tilted his head as he walked.
How long?
~