BETA: Anarithilien. Thank you as always my dear. How many years have you been betaing for me? xx
The Minas Ithil stone: In Where The Shadows Lie, Legolas accompanies Gandalf into the now empty tower of Minas Morgul where they find a Palantír. They also find a mirror like the one they found in Phellanthir (Through a Glass Darkly) which is one of the 'thin places between the Dark and the World. In WTSL, the Nazgul try to use it to escape the Dark.
In LOTR Sauron had a Palantír which is how he was able to corrupt Saruman and Denethor, but there is nothing to say which one it was. There were four in Gondor: in Orthanc, Minas Tirith, Minas Ithil and Osgiliath. The Osgiliath stone was rumoured to have been lost and it doesn't really matter if the one Gandalf found is the Ithil or Osgiliath stone. I have made it the Ithil stone and Sauron had the Osgiliath stone, which was lost when Barad-dur fell.
It doesn't matter if you haven't read any other fics. The important thing is that all of these things have been made by Celebrimbor -who also made the Three Rings of Power. And we don't really yet know why.
Reminder that earlier in this fic, Maglor tells how Arveleg gave the task of bringing the Palantír to Eldarion to Torhîr Tryygson, 'a Man of irreproachable reputation, trusted on both sides and honourable. He was a scholar who knew the tales of both Houses, of both realms.'
Rúnyaturma: Maglor's pendant given him by Fëanor.
Maglor's words over Ascatar-axo: He used the same to wield the Song in battle against the Barrow Wights. Then when Fingon heard afar the great trumpet of Turgon his brother, the shadow passed and his heart was uplifted, and he shouted aloud: Utúlie'n aurë! Aiya Eldalië ar Atanatári, utúlie'n aurë! The day has come! Behold, people of the Eldar and Fathers of Men, the day has come!
Aurë entuluva!: This was Húrin's cry, 'Day will come again.' It seems to me to be particularly appropriate for the Men of Cardolan that they be given some hope.
Líre te tulien mar, ú nirien macili ter homiltar - A song to bring them home, not drive swords through their hearts. (Thank you to Shihali on Discord, SWG.)
0o0o0o
SUMMARY: It's been a long time, sorry. Been distracted into writing Russingon instead.
Ascatar-axo, the lost Palantir of Amon Sul, had long ago been promised to Cardolan by Arveleg, King of Arnor. But he was killed in the battle by the Witchking's forces and Cardolan was devastated in the same year. Elrohir and Baranor have discovered Ascatar-axo and in the process of taking it to Gondor and to Aragorn, have helped the hobbits investigate the strange fires on the Barrow Downs. These have been lit by Erestor and Elladan although we aren't yet clear why.
They use Ascatar-axo to destroy the Barrow Wights and in the process, they are helped by the ghosts of Cardolan, especially that of the Last Prince, Eldarion. Erestor sacrifices himself to save Elladan and is fatally injured. Maglor used the Palantír to call his spirit/fëa back and so we know the Palantír can also do that. But it cannot do more to heal Erestor- in the same way that we need different treatments at different stages of intense burns, Erestor needs Vilya now. So Aragorn, Gimli, Elrohir, Elladan and the Hobbits are returning to Bree and then they will split, and the Hobbits will return to the Shire (Sam's wedding is imminent!) and the others go to Rivendell. They will pass the Angle and take a message from Baranor to come to the Tyr Gorthad and repopulate it. The Hobbits gave their blades of Westernesse to Baranor- two are still in the barrow, so they have given him the sheaths. Meanwhile Maglor, Legolas and Baranor have remained. Maglor has Ascatar-axo.
0o0o0o
Chapter 48: The Draken Eldarion Hårfagre.
Erestor floats on a sea- his lungs hurt so he thinks perhaps he is not floating at all but is drowning. The floating is because he is not anchored to anything at all but pain. No. Pain is too slight a word for this.
It is raw agony in flayed skin and scorched flesh, chewed muscle and bone.
The Úmaiar have him. They do not dissect him to chew piece by piece but everything, all at once, is being torn apart, devoured.
Here in the Dark, purple pain engulfs him. There is Gorthaur. Bauglir.
His mind slowly fights for some sort of control and cannot….Pain dissolves all thought.
There is something….
Far away. Like a hand reaching down to him where he is sinking, obliterated in agony and pain, a thread of blue weaves through the purple agony.
He knows that…presence.
He knows that… he gropes at words that pain dissolves.
Obliteration is better than this sea of pain. It is the only word he can grip.
But that blue-silk thread is slowly, carefully spooling itself around him. Like a cocoon. Slowly it dims the purple agony to something less anguished.
He knows it….
He cannot think of the word. Cannot remember the thought from a moment ago.
Ah, but he knows it, like he knows himself.
Better than himself.
At last he speaks it.
Elladan.
Elladan is here.
Elladan is with him.
He will not let go.
0o0o
Even though he was entering the main circle of the Iaun-Gynd, Maglor felt a stir in Erestor's thoughts. He felt it like a ripple in the Song, a cry of pain so intense it threw him for a moment into the distant past when his poor tormented brother had at last given up and killed himself.
Abruptly he stopped and turned back for that physical agony that was beyond anyone to heal.
Legolas too turned and stared at Maglor for a moment, his eyes wide. 'We must trust to the sons of Elrond,' he said softly, 'And Aragorn. If there was more that you could do, you would have already done it. You told Elrohir that Erestor needs a gentler power now,' Legolas continued. 'Ascatar-axo did something…'He gestured his lack of understanding with a wave of his hand. 'But its power is too intense for more and would harm Erestor if used again.' He paused and then said, softly, 'Elrohir says that Elrond will come.'
Breathing in sharply, Maglor blinked and looked away. He nodded silently but the name alone was enough to pierce him. 'Elrond will sail soon,' Elrohir had told him, and then demanded, 'Will you really not even bid him fare-well though you will be sundered from him until the Ending of the World?'
That had sent a lance of anguish through his chest. He knew that Elrond had searched for him, that Närmó too had searched, endlessly it seemed. When Maglor lay dying at the feet of Thorendaw, Närmó had hissed furiously in his ear in spite of how gently he held Maglor's hand, 'I have searched everywhere for you. I have walked in stranger lands than this one following rumours of you, in the souks of Far Harad, in the water-fields of Khand, in every mountain range in Middle Earth I have trod in your footsteps and always you eluded me.'
He sighed heavily. What good would it do? For Elrond it would simply ignite a forlorn hope, and for Maglor himself, it was an indulgence that he could not give in to. For his child's sake. Better for Elrond to leave these shores hating Maglor and angry than thinking here was someone else he was leaving behind whom he loved. He thought of Arwen and the grandchildren that would come and Elrond would never see.
Ah, the pity of it. The Choice was a cruelty and no more than that.
Maglor's hand fell upon Ascatar-axo, a smooth bulge in the worn leather of the satchel he had taken from Aragorn and slung over his shoulder. He felt the Palantír pulse as if in response to that thrum of pain, like a sacrifice well received.
He noticed that Legolas still rested his gaze upon him and wondered if Elrohir had told him, or had he guessed that the Elf with whom they had fought was none other than Maglor Kanafinwë Fëanorian, whose sword gleamed with the blood of Doriath from whence his grandfather, Oropher had come.
It was a clear, sunny afternoon with the blue sky scored with fine cirrus clouds and the skylarks singing above on the high moor. But they paused now at the entrance of the barrow with its high white chalk walls that gleamed like teeth. Legolas now handed each of them one of the rushlights he had brought with him. Maglor recognised the characteristic weave of the dwarves of Erebor and knew that Gimli had made these up for them.
'Here.' With a quick smile, Legolas struck a flint and lit each of their torches. Flames leapt up over their faces and reflected on the great kerbstone of the Iaun-Gynd. For a moment it seemed the firelight made molten the curlicues and spirals carved into the stone, and though it was fleeting and then gone, Maglor felt as if the Iaun-Gynd was not entirely of this world but a space between.
Baranor had already entered in his keenness and interest, for when they had come out, they had been heartsick and weary. He looked about himself with interest, holding the torch aloft so he could better see.
'These passages do not seem much damaged,' he called back over his shoulder and was already disappearing into the dark. His rushlight streamed smoke as he passed. The torchlight glinted off the helm that he carried, and it became a dim bronze gleam in the darkness. At his belt, Maglor had noticed too that he wore the Mergyll-Dagnir- two were complete, but he also carried the empty sheaths of the two thrown at the Barrow Wights by both Legolas and Erestor. He supposed that everyone hoped he would find the two lost blades but at least the sheaths would rest where they were intended.
Legolas walked silently between them both. Their torches cast long shadows ahead of them.
They quickly left the daylight behind, and the dark fell softly around them. When Baranor next spoke, his voice was hushed with awe. 'I am glad the Orcs are gone and can never be resurrected, but the bones of my ancestors had lain here for countless years before the Barrow Wights possessed these tombs. Do you think that Ascatar-axo destroyed all of those too?' And then, a little sadly, 'And the ghosts that you say helped you both, are they all gone too?'
Maglor saw Legolas let his gaze drift along the wide shelves carved from the rock. There was little to be seen. A long spear head of mithril lay in the deep, soft dust. A couple of beads of obsidian nearby. He glanced at Maglor then for they were here for a shared purpose.
'I am sorry,' Legolas said quietly to Baranor. 'I think they are indeed now only dust…' He paused, looking down as if in thought and Maglor thought he did not like to disappoint because he then said, 'But I hope that Ascatar-axo did not destroy everything. I hope indeed that there is a treasure that survived deep in the heart of the barrow.'
Maglor knew what it was that he hoped for; the Draken Hårfagre Eldarion. Built for a King, to honour a treaty.
They walked through the darkness, deeper into the barrow. In their torchlight, there was an occasional glint of copper and iron, and then later, agate and onyx. These had been left by ancestors older even than Haleth herself, Maglor thought. Herders and hunters living in the woods that had once covered the lands of Eriador and who never crossed the Ered Luin into Beleriand. Maglor remembered how the first Men they had encountered had not had shields at all, and no swords but bows and arrows, and only spears for hunting, axes for felling trees for wood. They had not been fighters until they met Elves who had shown them how to use knives and arrows as weapons and given them swords and shields to help them fight Bauglir.
How long have they lain here, he thought for it was strange to think of the passing generations of Men. And he wondered too that while bones of both Orcs and Men had disintegrated in the destructive power of Ascatar-axo, iron and mithril, obsidian and copper remained. It had punched a hole in the cave roof too and caused rockslides, but that was localised. So, he thought, it can be wielded like a sword. He thought too how he had used it to call Närmó back from the brink of death…
It seemed that Legolas was thinking similarly for he turned his head to look back at Maglor and said, 'Is it not strange that Ascatar-axo is such an immense weapon and yet the King of Arnor did not use it against Angmar when he was besieged at Amon Sul?'
Maglor knew the answer all too well. 'It was already on its way here when Angmar struck,' he replied. 'Arveleg had entrusted it to one of his closest men, Torhîr Tryygson, but he was delayed, I think by spies and traitors. By the time he got here, it was too late. No one knew that of course. Arveleg believed it had been delivered to Cardolan as promised. Eldarion thought Arveleg had reneged on his promise and fled to Fornost. He never knew that Arveleg had been slain.'
To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well…And he had begun well, and it had ended in the slaughter of Cardolan.
Except.
He had another chance. Here and now.
'When he saw the slaughter here, Torhîr must have returned to Amon Sul,' Maglor continued. 'I think he must have found that too under siege or occupied. He must have hidden it until he could replace it in the secret chamber. No one would think to go back and look a second time.'
The air had grown cooler as they passed one chamber and then another, going deeper.
'I suppose that Arveleg's descendants knew that Ascatar-axo had been lost somewhere and that the enemy did not have it. They must have been desperate to stop any search for it and so the story was put about that the Palantír had been taken to Fornost. Of course the survivors of Cardolan must have believed that too.'
Baranor was listening now and turned his head slightly towards them as they walked through the darkness. The torchlight caught his profile for a moment and Maglor could have been walking with Eldarion, so alike was Baranor to his ancestor. 'Except the secret was entrusted to a very few Dunédain. My father knew. That was why I was sent to join Elrohir in the search for it in Amon Sul when Arvaron was wounded. It should have been he who met Elrohir.' He lifted his torch and looked ahead. They had come to a junction and Legolas gestured straight ahead. 'We found it in a secret chamber under the fortress,' he said, following Legolas' directions. 'The walls were painted with the story of Elendil and the founding of Arnor. It showed the ships getting blown ashore in the storm, and Elendil being met by the Elves. It showed too, the seven stars and seven stone and the white tree.'
And then he recited the old rhyme:
'Tall ships and tall kings
Three times three,
What brought they from the foundered land
Over the flowing sea?
Seven stars and seven stones
And one white tree.
As he spoke, the lights from their torches picked up a soft yellow glow for they had come to the treasure chamber where both Baranor and Legolas had been laid by the Úmaiar and where the treasures of Cardolan had been gathered, whether by the Úmaiar or the last Men of Cardolan before they fell, Maglor did not know. There was the gleam of gold, silver. Jewels. A strange pile of armour was on the floor and when he held up his torch to see it more clearly, he saw that it was a horse's shaffron, plated in copper and bronze with hares and boars chasing each other over the lineaments. A breastplate too lay beneath it, and he thought this must have been the armour that Eldarion's horse had worn in the last battle. It seemed almost like the horse had been standing there only moments before and then suddenly disintegrated.
'Do you think the Barrow Wights gathered this treasure and brought it here?' Baranor mused. 'I thought the Orcs and men of Rhudaur would have plundered it, but I suppose the Barrow Wights claimed it.'
Legolas stood near the plinth and looked about. 'This is where I awoke,' he said. He gazed upon the gold and silver and jewels, but he did not touch anything.
Baranor placed the helm carefully upon the plinth and began laying out the rest of the armour, but Maglor said quietly, 'Bring the helm. It should bear witness to all that passes.' He thought that something of Eldarion at least should witness what was to come.
They did not linger in the treasure chamber, and as Legolas led them deeper, it grew cooler and eerie. But at least there was no longer the whining wind and cold of the Úmaiar.
'Where are the other Palantíri?' Baranor asked. 'The Elostirion stone is on the Tower Hills of course. And the Ammúminas stone was lost in Forochel. Ascatar-axo is here, but what of the other four? The King has two, does he not?' he asked a little more loudly for Legolas was ahead. 'The Minas Arnor and the Orthanc stones. But what of the Osgiliath and Minas Ithil stones? Where are they?'
Legolas glanced back at him over his shoulder. 'Yes, Aragorn has the Orthanc stone, which was hurled at Gandalf by Gríma Wormtongue, Saruman's minion.' He shuddered as if a horrible memory had suddenly surfaced. 'I think Saruman would have thrown Gríma down after it if he did not need him and it is a pity that he did not. Gandalf surrendered the Orthanc stone to Aragorn. And Denethor, the last Steward, used the Minas Tirth stone and there it remains. Gandalf believes that Sauron had the Osgiliath stone, which he thinks was stolen by Sauron in the capture of that city. But it must be lost now in the fall of Barad-dûr for nothing could have survived that destruction.'
Maglor picked his way over rubble that had fallen onto the floor of the passageway but listened intently for he was suddenly keenly interested in how Gandalf guessed that Gorthaur had the Osgiliath stone, which had been believed lost in the Anduin when the city was sacked. The story had been told that it had simply rolled out of its tower. Indeed, Maglor had always found the very idea preposterous. More importantly, if Gandalf thought the Osgiliath stone was in Barad-dur when it fell, that meant that the Wizard must also know for certain the whereabouts of the Minas Ithil stone.
Baranor was clearly thinking the same thing for he asked, 'What of the other one? If Sauron had the Osgiliath stone, then what of the Minas Ithil stone? And why did Sauron not make more use of the Osgiliath stone? Surely it has the same properties as Ascatar-axo?'
Legolas canted his head towards Baranor slightly and Maglor could see the torchlight reflect upon his face. He was thoughtful. 'Indeed,' said the Woodelf Elf. 'It is something that is puzzling me too. Surely Sauron would have known of its power? But Saruman, also of the Wise and a Wizard, did not seem to use the Orthanc stone beyond seeing into Sauron's designs.' He held up his torch for they had come to a crossing of the ways, and he hesitated for a moment before taking the straight passageway.
They stepped carefully over a pile of rubble that had fallen from one side of the tunnel and perhaps it was this distraction that made Maglor then use the old familiar names so easily. 'The first Palantíri were Fëanáro's and were brought from Aman,' he said. 'They were designed merely as seeing stones, to help us communicate one with another in Endorë. The Elostirion is an ancient stone from Aman,' he said. 'That is why it only looks West. Perhaps these Palantíri in Orthanc and Minas Tirith were those seeing stones. I do know that Ascatar-axo is Tyelpë's work, not Fëanáro's. I recognise his signature. And that leaves the Ithil stone alone unaccounted for.'
So deep in thought was Maglor that he missed the sudden sharp look that Legolas gave him. Instead, he continued. 'If either the Osgiliath or Ithil stone had such power as Ascatar-axo, Gorthaur would certainly have known how to use it.' He said Gorthaur with all the hatred in his heart for Morgoth and his cruellest, most subtle and deceitful minion. He was glad Gorthaur was vanquished, but Maglor had wanted to him to suffer as great an anguish as the beast had inflicted upon poor Tyelpë, or upon his dear brother, Maitimo and countless others who had been in thrall in Angband. But the Valar had yet again allowed Gorthaur to slip between the worlds and go into the Dark. 'So what is Mithrandir doing with the Ithil stone?' he asked frankly.
And looking at the shocked realisation on Legolas' face, Maglor deduced that it was true.
0o0o
Through the long dark tunnels they passed, coming eventually to the chambers where Maglor had first come upon the fëa of Legolas. Maglor saw that Legolas lifted his torch higher and he could see how the passageway narrowed slightly so they had to walk single file for a while until the tunnel suddenly widened. The Woodelf had not answered Maglor's question about the Ithil stone of course, but it was rhetorical anyway and so required nothing once the shock had passed. His murmur of 'That is not mine to tell,' had been confirmation enough.
Legolas held up the rushlight and the light flickered over the walls. He paused at a junction where two tunnels met and bent one knee upon the floor, sifting dust through his fingers. Maglor saw the firelight glow over his cheekbones and cast shadows of his eyelashes upon his cheek. When he looked up at his companions, Legolas seemed bereft. 'There were the bones of a woman and child here. But they are gone. Eldarion told me his sister had returned to find his child who had become lost.'
Maglor took a sharp breath. Branwen. He remembered her as clearly as if she stood before him, pinning that brooch onto her brother's cloak as a protection. The brooch was of bluestones that shimmered like the wings of damsel flies, an heirloom given to her ancestor, Haleth herself, by a love-sick elven lord who could not persuade her to stay by his side. Maglor wondered where it was now. He thought as well of the little ghost child that had turned to him for protection and which the Wights had so cruelly taken.
So it was with heavy hearts that they left the chamber and scrambled over rockfalls that were more and more frequent for they drew close to where Ascatar-axo had unleashed its terrible power.
Suddenly Legolas gave a cry and stopped. He lifted his torch higher and then stooped to scrabble amongst the rubble. Triumphantly, he straightened up and raised his hand.
In his hand was a dark blade. 'This is the blade I threw at Hrungnîr,' he explained, hefting it in his hand. The hilt glittered with red gems. 'I did not know if it had survived but it seems the Mergyll-Dagnir are designed to remain in this world even after they have been used.' He frowned. 'Merry's disintegrated when he struck the Witchking but perhaps the spells that bound it unravelled so they could attack the Nazgul.' He looked down at the damasked blade and a dark light glinted in his eyes. Maglor frowned; he thought for a moment that something had slipped over Legolas' face, almost a hunger, like a smudge or a stain on the Woodelf's spirit. But it was so fleeting that he doubted it was more than the light flickering in his eyes.
'I wondered if we might find the other knife that Erestor threw when the Úmaiar attacked Elladan' Legolas was saying. 'It must be somewhere through here, in the next chamber.'
Weak daylight penetrated the darkness and showed the rubble and damage where Ascatar-axo had blasted a hole through the roof and hurled the Úmaiar into the Void. Maglor had no memory of this for he had been bleeding his life out, the door of the Dark opening to engulf him.
'When my people come here, we will restore all these chambers,' Baranor said softly, looking about at the rubble and scree. 'I will search for it,' he reassured Legolas as the Woodelf stood in the centre of the chamber and looked about.
'It will be here somewhere,' said Legolas. 'Perhaps under this rubble.' He moved a little of the scree with his foot. 'Now I wish for the Dwarf,' he smiled. 'Perhaps Gimli will send you some of his engineers.'
Maglor said nothing. He would be long gone by then.
An unaccustomed loneliness flooded him unexpectedly and he was not ready for it; he almost reeled at the longing it struck in him. A longing for home. Not Valinor. Nor even his fortress in the Gap. It was not a place at all. It was Maedhros, and Närmó, and the boys. It was singing a lullaby while a sleepy child snuggled heavy against him. It was Elros always struggling to stay awake, asking for another and another story, a song. It was Elrond, Erinyator as Nelyo called him, when little Elrond had so carefully taken that scarred stump of a wrist to soothe it, and tried so hard to heal a deeper wound that could not heal. It was Elros; an old Man, looking up in astonishment as Maglor stole silently into the King of Numenor's bed chamber and held the trembling hand as he passed beyond the world.
It was Elros.
He wished he could go back.
He wished he had never spoken the Oath.
He wished…
They had to climb over rubble and a deep rockfall now and Legolas said back over his shoulder, 'This was not here before.' He sounded anxious but still he led them on. Where the walls were undamaged, they showed high levels of decoration, the traditional spirals and patterns of Haleth, and the mapping of the stars as they were over a thousand years ago.
Onwards through another chamber and then a longer, narrow passageway that Maglor did not like at all. It looked completely blocked by a rockfall, but Legolas scrambled up the steep slope, nevertheless.
'Up here,' he called. 'We can just about climb through.' As he reached down to help Baranor up the steep scree slope, his face was lit up with joy and excitement by a silvery glow that seemed to come from beyond the rockfall. 'You will need Dwarves to repair this wall for you when you come into your own,' he said brightly, as he pulled Baranor up after him.
The silvery glow was eerie, creeping through the thin gap between the cave roof and the top of the scree. Legolas slid carefully through the gap and disappeared. Maglor leapt swiftly over the scree slope and balanced on the sliding stones as Baranor took a breath as if he were a little afraid, but he followed nevertheless.
Maglor peered through the gap. Legolas and Baranor stood below and Baranor was holding his torch up to the walls and staring at stylised paintings over the walls.
A shock of memory hit Maglor. More than fifteen hundred years ago, he had stood in the same chamber with Eldarion and wondered at these paintings of bison and elk, the stylised stick men that hunted them, the strange stars that even he did not remember. Maglor felt the air shift and his hair crackled slightly. There was some great power present. He felt Ascatar-axo change, seeming to expand and under his hand it shivered as if in anticipation. They were here at the omphalos of the Iaun-Gynd, the centre of the great migrations of tribes before they had passed West.
Quickly Maglor scrambled down the scree and joined his companions. Legolas gave him an excited look and turned to lead them quickly along the narrow passageway towards the silvery light. Baranor stumbled in his haste to follow for his eyes were upon the strange light that grew stronger and then suddenly they emerged from the tunnel and there, exactly as it had been fifteen hundred years ago.
The Draken Hårfagre Eldarion.
Ascatar-axo had not touched the ship, nor the centuries that had passed. It was protected by that secret power that was at the heart of the Iaun-Gynd. The Úmaiar had never found it, never come here. Not until the very end at least.
Baranor stood beneath its prow gazing up in awe, the silvery light reflected upon his handsome face and to Maglor it was as if he stood with Eldarion once again, as he had more than a thousand years past.
The tall dragon prow lifted above them; its gunwales were folded back like wings. The dragon stared beyond the stone caverns and into the far, far distance like it might be watching the Sea. All those years ago Maglor had thought how like it was to the Swan ships in size as well as grace. He remembered with a shock how those ships had ridden so lightly across the waves, and he could almost feel the Draken under his hand, he knew the way it would cut through the green-glass water, its sails filled and plunging and lifting on the waves, the Sea's sough and breath rushing past him, heading for the wide green-blue horizon.
But this ship was set for another sea. One that would take Men to their place of rest.
0o0o
Legolas stood on the Draken's gangplank and watched as Baranor slowly took a step onto it as if he thought it might crack under his weight and Legolas understood why. How long had it been here, waiting for Eldarion, for Arveleg? But now here was Baranor, the Prince of Cardolan restored! He felt a surge of joy in his chest for Cardolan was restored and he could not help smiling, throwing his hand out to catch Baranor's and pull him aboard after him. He swung the young Man round to look in delight upon this graceful ship that had withstood the Barrow Wights, Ascatar-axo and Time itself. A smile blazed over his face, and he saw that even Vanwë smiled in response.
Baranor stared up at the mast, mouth slightly open in wonder and indeed, it seemed that if they but called aloud, the sails would be loosed and filled with the wind from the west. Running his hand admiringly along the gunwale, Baranor made his way to the prow where there was a wide plinth, deeply and ornately carved with the same spirals and curlicues that were carved into the menhirs at the opening of the barrow, and in all the significant places of this great sanctuary. The plinth was long and wide enough for two men to be laid and Legolas realised it was indeed a sarcophagus, a tomb. At the head, a cup had been carved , a resting place for the Palantír that would accompany the Man beyond the Bounds of Arda.
Legolas walked slightly behind him, for this was Baranor's time and he was but a joyful witness. 'Here I think is where Eldarion intended that he and Arveleg would lie in great honour side by side, just as they had fought, until the End of the World when they would rise up to fight their great foe together, the Witchking of Angmar,' he said. But he was more sombre now. 'We know that they were betrayed by spies within their camp,' he continued, 'and Eldarion believed that Arveleg lied to him and fled to Fornost, taking Ascatar-axo with him. I hope now that Arveleg has been vindicated and I wish with all my heart that Eldarion knows somehow that Arveleg kept his faith.'
Baranor walked forwards now and placed a hand upon the sarcophagus. 'King Elessar has rectified that,' he said. 'And Cardolan is sworn in friendship to Gondor and to Arthedain once more through Elessar's troth.'
Legolas looked at Baranor and clasped his shoulder in friendship for he liked this young Man who was honourable and brave, a worthy successor to Eldarion. 'And Ithilien and the Greenwood will be your allies also.'
Baranor looked surprised and pleased at the gesture of warmth and smiled. Then, more seriously, he said, 'Arveleg's bones are long lost and will never now be laid to rest here. It will be our great privilege that when that sad time comes, it is here at the heart of the world that I hope that Aragorn Elessar, the King who reunited the kingdoms of Arnor and Gondor, will agree to wait for the Dagor Dagoreth, and the children of Haleth with him.'
Legolas' breath caught.
He could not bear the thought of Aragorn's death. For then Legolas would be free then to sail as his heart yearned since he first heard the cry of the white winged gulls. But to leave behind all of this Middle Earth that he loved was an unbearable anguish too. All the Fellowship would pass beyond the bounds of Arda one by one, and he could not follow. He would be left behind on that far distant shore.
A hand touched his gently and he looked up into Vanwë's kindly face. A strange light that not quite starlight but something else lit his grey eyes. It was the same light that was in Glorfindel's eyes, and Gildor Inglorion's. But it was the compassion, the understanding in that touch that moved Legolas. He knew that Vanwë understood for he knew it too.
Baranor too put his warm hand upon Legolas' shoulder and gave a rueful smile, and said, 'Let us fulfil our pledge, and give peace to those who have for so long deserved it.' He slid the Mergyll-Dagnir that he wore upon his belt and placed them upon the plinth. There were now three blades in the sheaths of black metal that glinted with red stones. They reminded Legolas of Aícanaro with his dark, sibilant sentience. Baranor shifted the blades around, smiling as he lifted each one and read aloud what was inscribed upon the sheath:
'Who shall sound the horn in the hills, ringing?
Who shall call them back to the grey twilight, those Kings of Old?
Shall he free the faithful and restore the lost Kingdom?
He paused then for here was the empty sheath of the last blade that was still buried somewhere under the rubble. Baranor read the runes on the black metal sheath.
'Not once shall he pass the Door to the Dead,
Alone shall he pass but not alone he will return.'
He looked up at them. 'We still don't know what the last means.'
'Perhaps that is yet in the future,' said Vanwë.
The three of them stood looking down at the Mergyll-Dagnir that Baranor had arranged at the cardinal points around the empty cup that was intended for Ascatar-axo.
Now Vanwë pulled the leather satchel from his shoulder, flipped open the flap and lifted the Palantír from within. 'In this moment,' he said in his rich voice that resonated around the ship and the great chamber, 'the prophesy of Malbeth is fulfilled. The Mergyll-Dagnir are restored and here, in the name of Arveleg of Arnor as was and Elessar, heir of Elendil, I return to the children of Haleth the Palantír that was promised to Eldarion, your ancestor. Here is Ascatar-axo.'
He lifted the Palantír in one hand and held it out towards Baranor. Baranor hesitated fractionally and Legolas shifted nervously. He both wanted to hear its Song again but feared its destruction. But Vanwë smiled reassuringly and at last, Baranor took it in both hands and then placed it carefully in the cup that had been made for it over a thousand years ago.
Like a sigh, Ascatar-axo seemed to settle in the cup and the silver glow of the Draken seemed to intensify.
Legolas stared into its obsidian surface, remembering the power of the stone, how it had elated him enough that he could have willingly stepped into its obliterating embrace, as had Eldarion. It had been powerful enough to not only vanquish the Barrow Wights, but to bring the whole cave roof down upon them.
As if he knew their thoughts, Vanwë said, 'Do not fear. It is an instrument and but needs to be played.' His voice, rich and melodious at any time, had deepened and Legolas knew that here was a Singer of great power.
As if in response to that voice alone, a light stirred in the depths of Ascatar-axo and streamed outwards. Crimson streaks swirled slowly through the obsidian darkness, like waves, growing deeper and brighter. The crimson light flickered over Vanwë's face and in his eyes. It flashed over the ruby gemstone at his breast and over the red jewels of the Mergyll-Dagnir, so all shone with the same deep light as Ascatar-axo. The black metal of the sheaths gleamed dully like mercury and the runes etched upon them ignited suddenly and became like molten silver.
Legolas stared in wonder. There was that smell of hot iron and petrichor like lightning had just struck and he glanced at Vanwë to see that his lips were moving, as if he murmured some incantation. Listening hard, Legolas made out the words, but it was in Quenya and Legolas was no scholar. The crimson waves seemed to oscillate with the cadence of the words and Vanwë repeated the sequence again and again, each time more intensely.
'Utúlie'n aurë! Aiya Eldalië ar Atanatári, utúlie'n aurë! Auta i lómë!
And then, his voice deepened and rolled the words over his tongue as if these had even deeper meaning. 'Aurë entuluva!
Legolas felt the hair on his scalp and neck stiffen as if the moment were portentous and immense. An answering low thrum came from Ascatar-axo, a low, immeasurable sound that reached deeply into Legolas' heart, resonating thunderously through his blood. The reverberation of that single note shook his very bones, pulled on his pulse like the Moon and tide, and under his feet, the Draken shuddered. He saw the three of them reflected in the crimson-black glass: Vanwë's eyes were shot through with silver. From his open mouth, silver light poured. Legolas felt his own hair stream upwards in the rush of hot, burning air that ignited the darkness. Power rippled under his skin, charged through his body and hands, too hot, burning.
Vanwë sang then, a long, low rill of melody: Líre te tulien mar, ú nirien macili ter homiltar
Ascatar-axo's blaze dimmed to a gentler pulse, the dazzle of heat and power ebbed and swirled slowly, like huge waves. The reverberating chords oscillated about each other, pure and resonant, a helix of Power, interlocking, curling and clasping each other like lovers.
And oh, that music! He wanted to stand there and listen to it forever. It filled him with rapture. His lips parted with the wonder of it, the strains that pulled at the heart of him, at every cell with the intensity of its beauty. Home, it murmured. Home. A longing swept over and through him, cuiviéar. Oh, the Sea.
Great chords swelled, like ships launched on the waves, like seabirds taking flight. The murmur of the sea and the wind was all about, and he thought the ship plunged upon glass-green sea and white horses surged about it, heads thrown back and then curling down to plunge into the sea and the spray flung over the deck. Long spools of sea mist streamed about him as if the molten silver of the runes on the sheaths of the Mergyll-Dagnir had lifted and were caught in the wind…
And then he heard a voice call him. 'Aurë entuluva…Aurë entuluva….'
It was a beautiful voice and the cry reached into him and plucked at his heart as if it were a harp so easily played. A susurrus of distant voices murmured over the deck in the mist that was streaming around them. There was the briefest sensation of the high blue sky streaked with cirrus clouds over the wildness of the Moor, the lonely cry of curlews and the song of skylarks. White tufts of cotton grass and yellow marsh flowers where the moor became bog and marsh. Sturdy ponies, flaxen manes and tails high in the wind galloping over the empty wild moor.
Too many voices for one Song.
And the mist settled over the Draken like a fine gauze and dissipated.
Except in the slightest breeze, there trailed one last strand of mist that came slowly behind all the others, like a hand brushing over the tall cotton-grass as the Last Prince approached and drifted a blessing over Baranor. And then it was gone.
The Palantír was quite suddenly cold and black. Silent.
Legolas felt his face wet with tears.
0o0o0o