Shadows of regret
Gildor's POV
Beleriand, FA 125
My hands shook so badly I could hardly hold the crumpled sheet and pen, let alone write. Finally I managed to find some, though by no means the right, words.
"Gildor, rider of the second division of far-scouts, to King Finrod of Nargothrond, on the 20th day of Yavannie. My lord, our company was attacked by orcs at dawn. We drove the attackers off, but were ambushed further northwest in the hills, near the source of the River Nenning and east of it. All except Carno, Nimheleg and myself were slain, and great part of the orc-force escaped westward, crossing the river with some losses. Though Macil was our leader at that time I had the front. Responsibility for this must therefore rest on me.
Silmarusse is dead. Without her, I have neither the right to nor a place in your court. I will not return to you, and send Carno and Nimheleg to you with this message. Until reinforcements will reach us here, the trail is cold. I will follow them now, and avenge what I can. My lord, though I go about this wilfully and without your leave, give me your blessing to do as I see fit. Calathaura of Tirion"
Three horses beside Faire had survived the attack. Carno and Nimheleg mounted and after a last attempt to have me go back with them, hastened away southeast. It was getting dusky. We stood beside the wrapped body of Silmarusse, Faire and I. The new cairn which the two scouts had hastily raised while I had gathered firewood was a dark lump in the early night. No. I could not imagine burying her that way. I could not imagine she would have liked the idea. Let them think what they would. I knelt beside the pyre and struck flint over tinder until my hands were raw. It took painfully long to set it all to burning, and when the wood finally caught it was not enough. In wild rage and desperation I reached out as I had been taught not to, and seized the power lying deep and buried in the very land, using it to drive the tiny tongues of flame into a blaze that finally encompassed the whole pyre. Light and smoke rose from it. I did not care which eyes saw this. In fact, had they come I knew I would have killed them.
When the flames of the pyre had died away, I knelt beside the cooling ashes. Though my thoughts churned, I cannot remember what I thought. At one point, I could not endure the mental pain any longer. I knew it was not the way of my people, but it had all become meaningless except for the agony of loss. I wanted to cry, to scream, but everything in me raged against that. I got up slowly.
"Not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains"
There would be no lamentation, no vain echo from me. I closed my hand on the blade of my dagger, gripping so that the edges cut into my palm. With one swift motion I pulled the blade down, clenching my fist on the cuts until the blood dripped from my hand and into the ashes at my feet. Silently, I swore to find every orc of that company, and to slay them face to face. I had cut deep, but soon the blood ceased to flow, and only a dull, throbbing pain remained.
It was far into the year of my stalking and killing whichever orc I could find that by chance a return message of Finrod reached me. It was in a plain, black scroll, signifying that no return answer was expected. By the look of it, it had travelled around after me for considerable time. I did not stay with the scouts who passed it on, and rode away from them that same day, unable to bear their company. As night fell, I ensconced Faire and myself in a sheltered ring of stones in the foothills, with a high wall of stone at our backs. I sat on the grass leaning against Faire's warm foreleg and finally opened the scroll with a cold weight in my gut. Finrod had a vast amount of understanding, but I assumed I had gone a step too far in this.
"Finrod, King of Nargothrond to Gildor Calathaura, on the 24th day of Yavannie. My friend, you have the king's leave in retrospect and my goodwill regardless. I will rather lose your service than your trust.
I received Carno's report also; it is the nature of an ambush to be unforeseeable. I hold all of you blameless for that. Knowing your temper, I beg you to be cautious in your errand. You lost much to gain what Silmarusse and you had. I know you will think with her death you lost all. It is not my part to judge that, but I ask you now what you asked me on the Ice: do not forgo hope yet.
You never considered yourself part of my court. For myself, I consider you part of my house. May your hunt be successful. Fare free. Findarato of Tirion"
It was not what I had expected, or rather feared. Relief and regret fought a vicious and ultimately undecided battle in my heart. It was a very long while until I rolled that message up and returned it to the scroll-case. Then I lay down on the grass and trusting Faire to guard for us fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.
Chapter Notes:
"And those that endure in Middle-earth and come not to Mandos shall grow weary of the world as with a great burden, and shall wane, and become as shadows of regret before the younger race that cometh after"
(The Silmarillion, "Of the Flight of the Noldor")
Bit farfetched explanation for Gildor's by-the-way claim in the Lord of the Rings but I liked it.
Carno: (Q) brave
Nimheleg: (S) white ice
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