“We should visit the grave, should we not?” said Estarfin.
“Yes. We go to see Aearlinn’s grave first,” I replied.
And this was what I dreaded. In memory I would ever see Aearlinn young and vital, running on the grass or through woodlands, searching the rock pools, and swimming in the sea. She was a delight, with a quietly friendly manner to all. And she trusted me to instruct and guide her. As my gaze fell upon Marawendi, I determined that she would not suffer the same fate.
“Follow me, please.” Curumaito turned towards the slope, crossing it to the grass and trees on the far side. We all followed.
“Marawendi, you are safe and shall be safe,” I said to her over my shoulder. “This place is alert to threat, and shall be far better guarded hereafter.”
She smiled a little, but her eyes were very sad.
We came to a small area that overlooked the vale ahead. The trees grew on three sides, filtering the sunlight, when such was to be had. That day was still one of grey skies, grey to match our mood.
There was a small headstone, with her name inscribed. ‘Aearlinn of Mithlond, beloved by many, both Elda and beast.’
“Ceuro’s choice of words,” Curumaito said softly as he bowed his head. “He loved her, you know.”
I could not stop the tears. Yes, I had watched those two become ever closer. Her happiness was a balm for his pain of lost memories. A restorer of his sense of purpose, while he became her closest friend and companion, and then more. I understood something of what he likely felt, and mourned for his lost hopes as well.
We approached the grave and I lay a hand on the cool stone as I knelt before it.
“May you find joy and happiness when you pass through Lord Namo’s Halls, for surely there is little reason for you to remain there long. Aearlinn, Sea-Song, forgive me for my lack of care. I had no idea you were in any danger, dear friend. I would never have left you and Barahirn alone here.”
“We ordered a statue to be made by Echadrion in Celondim, one of her dancing surrounded by her animal friends. I would rather all remember her as she was in life, than the circumstances of her death,” Curumaito said. Then he stepped back out of respect.
I looked at the others. Estarfin seemed weary. Weary of the deaths of our kind, I wondered. He had seen much death. Marawendi had bowed her head. Though she had never met Aearlinn, she could tell she had been much loved by all. Parnard, brushing aside shrubs to come closer to the grave, stood in silence, arms crossed and head unbowed.
There was a flutter of wings as a white raven alighted on the head stone.
“Cugu,” I whispered, and looking up to the roof of the hall I could also see Tiri, her black feathered companion.
I held out a hand, and the white raven took a perch for a few moments. I stroked her head.
“I know,” I said. “We are all lessened at this time. But I shall care for you and Tiri as well as I can. And Filignil shall too, when...if she returns.” Raising my hand I encouraged her to fly to the roof. The bear was dead, but the birds would watch, and perhaps even act as guides in finding the Men?
Then Parnard said all of a sudden, “Ai! If only I had not sought after that Greenwood maiden, her name will not be spoken by my lips now or ever again, then this would ne’er have happened!”
I shook my head. “It is not your fault, cousin. We should have been able to journey to Mirkwood without concern for the safety of those who were here.”
Curumaito coughed politely and said, “To the Hall then? We can have a small ceremony here later, perhaps under the stars, when you are more informed and rested.” He gestured towards the hall doors.
“Is there any news on Filignil?” I asked him as we walked into the main hall, Filignil’s erstwhile domain as Housekeeper.
The healer shook his head. “We have no news of her, good or ill. Barahirn knows nothing of why she left. If Aearlinn did, she has taken that knowledge with her.”
I nodded, then looked around. Nothing had changed. The oven stood unlit. But the shelves containing Filignil’s cooking spices and utensils stood ready. There were a few bowls of fruit on the table and dried bunches of herbs hanging overhead near the rear window. Clean wine glasses sparkled in a row, while the wine rack stood over half full, with more bottles in the cellar.
I turned to view the others, and was pleased to see Marawendi was looking more cheerful and less pale as Curumaito softly explained where things were in the hall, and that she would find a room for herself upstairs if she wished.
She was glad to be in a whole, unbesmirched house, I suspected, and she smiled when she saw Estarfin and Parnard lay down their weapons on the hall bench, set there for that purpose.
“They were stopped before they got this far,” Curumaito said. “Here, I shall go pour us all a glass of wine, and then we shall pay a visit to Barahirn, and see if he is awake.”
“No wine for Marawendi, unless it is brewed from a cow's udder,” Parnard called after him.
I removed my gauntlets and laid down my weapons in the same place as the others. I thought of attending to our horses, but they were safe and would wander to graze on fresh grass. Once we had visited Barahirn, I would see to their care.
Estarfin spoke in Quenya, so that only he and I understood. “It was not your fault. There is no blame here.”
I turned to him, fighting back fresh tears of sorrow and rage, but I also smiled a little. I wished I could hold him in my arms and rest against him for a while. But such actions would be unseemly, particularly in company. I reprimanded myself. I would be strong.
“I know - thank you meldanya,” I said in reply. “But it was I who deemed it safe for us to depart. I should have realised safety was not guaranteed.”
“We thought this place was safe: we were all mistaken.”
I lay a hand on his arm for a moment. That, at least, was fully acceptable. Then we both turned to the others.
“Come, let us take a drink and gather our thoughts. Then we shall see if Barahirn is awake,” Curumaito was saying.
“He will recover in time. We always do,” Estarfin said, speaking in Sindarin again. He spoke from his experience of being so broken from his fall in the Hithaeglir.
With wine glasses passed round, and a glass of milk for Marawendi, it felt that we should be making a toast, and yet what to? Curumaito was looking at me, but there was little in my mind I would utter. I raised my glass in a wordless toast to us all, and drank deeply. The others needed no encouragement.
“Perhaps a few more glasses later, when we are rested?” I suggested.”If I drink more now, I shall fall asleep.”
I placed my glass back on the table, as did Curumaito and Estarfin, and we all walked along the corridor to Estarfin's room. He took a few moments to examine the condition of his forge, before following us into the adjoining chamber.
“Oh, Barahirn!” I said softly.
Our stable master was apparently asleep, he lay on his back, breathing rhythmically. His face was a mask of old yellowish bruises that had almost faded. His jaw was slightly crooked. One arm was splinted and lay straight over the thin cover. There was a wooden frame over his legs to hold off the slight weight of the cover.
“He is a lot better than he was,” Curumaito informed us, with his usual depth of detail.
Estarfin seated himself in a corner of the room, while Parnard finished off his wine and helped himself plentifully to a pile of wheaten cakes, heaped up on a plate. Marawendi hovered at the door, nursing her glass of milk and looking unsure if she should be there.
I said to her, “Though you know him not, Barahirn is part of our small family, and therefore is your friend. You may remain here, Marawendi, or wander about the Hall at will. Our home is your home now.” I think she was reassured by that, and also at seeing Barahirn sleeping so peacefully. Then she looked at Parnard, who at that moment was lifting more cake to his mouth, and, making a guilty start, he mumbled something about how lembas was good for the road, but it had “such a terrible sameness to it,” and then he proceeded to eat the rest of the cakes.
Curumaito lightly touched Barahirn’s good shoulder. “Lady Danel is returned,” he said softly.
Barahirn’s eyes flickered, he moved a little. “What? What is that, Curumaito?” He turned his head just enough to see. “Lord Parnard!” he said.
His mouth full of cake, Parnard said to Curumaito, “His speech is imperfect!” then hastened over to the stable master’s bedside.
Barahirn was trying to lift himself up on his pillow, and looked around at us, a strange smile on his face. “Lady Danel. Lord Estarfin,” he said, his words muffled and sounding as if he were gritting his teeth as he spoke. His eyes brightened a moment, then clouded with sorrow. “I am very sorry,” he managed to say.
“Sorry for what, dear old friend?” Parnard asked, wringing his uninjured hand heartily.
Old friend! I well knew that Parnard met Barahirn only last summer. ‘Old friend,’ indeed! Yet it warmed my heart to hear him say it.
Curumaito moved to position his pillow more comfortably. “Barahirn heals. Though his jaw, and therefore his mouth, is still one-sided, he can now drink through a straw, and eat with a spoon.”
Barahirn nodded, but then looked back to us with a forlorn expression. “I let you all down,” he said slowly and awkwardly. “I let Aearlinn down, though I would have given my life for hers. I am a Noldo! We do not let Men overcome us.”
I stepped forward, and brushed back his brown hair with my hand.
“A very young Noldo, not a trained warrior. You were one, unarmed, against many.” I sighed with relief that he was alive.
Estarfin rose from his chair and moved to the other side of the bed. I saw him ‘mouthing’ to Parnard, ‘Why does he apologise?’ Parnard shrugged and looked nonplussed.
“I did not save Aearlinn,” said Barahirn. “None of you would have let her die. I still live while she keeps Lord Mandos company.”
Tears formed in his eyes at these words, and I felt a wave of his grief at not being able to do what he believed was enough. “Dear Barahirn,” I said, "you did as much as any could ask. Do not blame yourself. None of us blame you in any way.”
Parnard patted his hand. “Who of us would have expected an attack here?” he said. “Well, Estarfin friend might have expected it,” (Estarfin shook his head) “but no one else would!”
Barahirn nodded, but only a little. “Ceuro sits with me often. He has grief enough to contend with, and guilt that he was not here. But I was. He tells me I am not to blame…but I see her in dream running away down long shadowy corridors with only a few lights…and I cannot catch up…”
“Do not blame yourself,” Estarfin said. “The blame lies with the men, not those who fought valiantly against them.”
“‘Valiantly?’” Barahirn whispered.
Estarfin and I nodded our confirmation.
“It is obvious that you fought valiantly, to bear the injuries you do.” I added.
I dared to think our reassurance made some difference. He nodded; his shoulders seemed to sag a little as if he had let go of some of his guilt?
“There is naught we can say or do that will return Aearlinn to us.” I moved back a pace and drew myself to my full height. “But we can still take action, for her sake and for ours.”
“That is exactly so!” said Parnard. “What will we do?”
