(This tale is set the day following ’Overstepping Propriety', and the day before ‘The Music Lesson; Part One.)
We left the horses just outside the gate to the ruined village. The cobbled paths were worn away in many places. The stonework on the bridges was visibly cracked and fragile. Some of the houses were crumbling apart, some but remaining foundations. It was not a safe place for Gilastor and Pelorian to tread.
Walking through the gate, we were greeted by a long view over several streets of what had once been homes. There were signs some buildings had been places of crafting or barter, one with a wide veranda that held the look of a tavern, a couple that looked as if they had once had wealthy occupants. But it seemed it was all that was left of the small fishing village. The quayside had some much faded murals on the remaining wood planks that would have led to the ships. There were two tall sail lofts, and structures rotting into the ground that likely once held netting. And it was grey, everywhere.
“It is far from what it was,” Estarfin said.
He picked at the moss on a discoloured white stone. Then he turned to a small arched bridge, spanning a lower walkway, and walked up what, to him, must have been very familiar steps.
I followed at a short distance. I had no idea how this place was affecting him. I could only speculate he had not found much happiness here. It was better to give him room to recall what he would, for he would speak if he wished.
He pointed ahead at a dark and charred building that seemed to have seen some fire damage.
“Over the bridge,” said he.
I ran a hand over the damaged stone masonry of the bridge, and looked ahead.
The house was two stories high, most of the roof had fallen in centuries ago. The blue door was cracked, the paint peeling. The small windows stood like silent guardians of the blackened walls.
Walking inside, Estarfin had to bend down to avoid some of the timber hanging from the ceiling by a couple of rusty nails. There was a creaking sound, and that of scurrying rats.
I waited just inside the door as he looked around.
“The fire spread from the forge, and damaged most of the rest of the house,” he told me, his voice a little rasping, perhaps from the dust we were setting into the air, or from his memories.
“It looks as if it was once a nice house. Small, but well built.”
I touched the remaining plaster and wood cautiously. Estarfin shrugged.
“I never had cause for complaint.”
“ I was expecting far worse,” I spoke my thoughts, turning around to exit through the door, and regard the ambiance of the street.
“Worse?” Estarfin moved to follow me, with but a brief glance back at the wrecked rooms. “In what way?”
“All wood, no stone, and a straw roof.” I explained what I could. “That could be blown away in strong wind. But this place was built to last.”
He gave me a wry expression.
“And I thought it would be tucked away at the end of some dark alley.”
Was that a touch of amusement or irritation in his eyes? I thought the first, but would tread carefully around his memories.
“There was some strength to the walls for anything to remain. It feels more like our style of building than that of the Falathrim. And though down a side street, it is no dark alley, rather the artisan quarter if I am not mistaken?”
“It was quiet,” he said.
I could see something of the desperate loneliness of that time in his eyes. Reaching out, I brushed his hand lightly, that he knew he was not alone. “All this will likely bring strong memories to you. But we do not live in this past.” I spoke.
He looked brighter, a more recent memory, perhaps? And he nodded and pointed to the house opposite. “Those who dwelt therein were weavers of some skill.” He confirmed my suspicion of the locality.
“It is possible I would have liked it here. Not many of our kind, it is true, but anyone skilled in craft can be a good neighbour.”
“I spoke not with them, nor they with me.” He looked down at the half moon shaped step at his porch. “My customers used to leave their requests and payment here for me. And I left their completed work here as well. Most avoided me, if it were possible.”
Such words were as a knife in my heart. After all he had been through, to be treated like that. I would have embraced him then, wrapped him in my cloak of warmth that he knew things would be different. But then that would not have been proper. Not yet.
“Why?” I asked, dreading the answer.
He shrugged.
“Did they know?” I whispered.
“Not all who settled here were Noldor, and would keep their distance. Like I said, it was quiet here.”
“Estarfin, you were here alone for nigh an age?’ The knife in my heart twisted. It was not that I pitied him, by no means. He would have no use for such an emotion. Rather the callous cruelty of excluding him seemed to have been his frequent lot.
He nodded.
I sighed. “The Falathrim I can understand. You do not smell of the sea.”
He laughed suddenly, and that broke through my pain.
“No, I think not.”
There was that curt nod, recognising me. Knowing I still held out my hand to him in this dark dream.
“But the Sindar I would have thought had better manners.”
He sighed, but I pressed on. “I will make an oil that you smell of your old favourite, oranges, but never of gutted fish.”
He smiled at me. Some of his previous warmth was returning. He raised his head and looked around. “This place was always dreary, so much cloud.”
I steadied myself with a hand, stretching up on my toes as much as I could. He had the distinct advantage of being at least six inches taller than me.
“Everything is grey; sky, walls paths roofs…..even the small flowers that press through the cracks in the stone” I looked down at my own grey-green tunic a moment. “Only you, with your red cloak and hauberk, bring any colour to this place.”
He was likely in no mood for jesting, but he smiled a little at the familiar bait.
“Was that tree alive?” I pointed at a long dead trunk.
Still in good humour, he nodded and smiled afresh at what was surely something pleasant.
He nodded first at the bridge. “When we used to cross that bridge it smelt of tar, barley and honey.”
I nodded. “I dwelt next to the Stonemasons in Eregion,” I said.
“Noisy, at times ?”
“Very.”
“It was almost always quiet here,” he reiterated. “As to the tree, birds used to sit and sing early in the mornings. At times I wished for the quiet again.”
“How could you wish away the bird’s greeting the day?” I asked with a hint of horror, then we were both laughing at the very idea.
“My stonemasons at first light, and your birds. I know which I would prefer, but it is a wonder either of us could concentrate.”
I walked to the edge of the bridge, looking over at the streets below, and to the quayside beyond.
“Even in so small a place, there would have been music and song."
Estarfin nodded.”Before we marched on Mordor, yes.”
I would not push him on his memories of following Gil Galad, of the ‘Last Alliance’. This was enough for now.
“I do not think all this is due to your forge catching alight.”
“No,” he said softly. “I think not. This just became another forgotten place.”
Again he moved to stand beside me, leaning on the wall and staring at the building opposite.
I was pondering a thought that I had already mentioned to him on our travels from Imladris.
“There was a bakery there once,” he said with a smile of remembrance.
“That would have given off a fragrance hard to ignore. Fresh baked bread is always a temptation.”
Then I said my long-held but less spoken thought.
“I wish you had come to Eregion, instead of remaining here.” I looked up to him. Had he not almost said he wished that too on our journey through the Trollshaws? “But if you had come south, I fear you would have been in the forefront of battle. For that reason I am glad you did not.”
“Perhaps. But I had lost the taste for war. I had thought first to hide myself away from all of this, to be even more remote than I was here.” Again, that terrible loneliness struck me. He could no more have joined Celebrimbor’s expedition than he could have swum to Valinor.
“Oh Estarfin…” I shook my head. “Tell me more of this place when it was alive.” I wanted to turn his attention elsewhere, that no dark mood took hold of him. “It was busy much of the time, yes? The bakery, the markets, the musicians, the other artisans, the tavern?”
He leant on the balustrade of the bridge. “There is little to tell if I am honest. After I crossed the mountains from what little remained of Beleriand, I thought first to dwell entirely alone. There was a forest south and east of here that I tried to live in. It was an uncomfortable home.”
“I would think so,” I commented, holding back my tears, and thinking ‘I was riding with travelling bands, still mourning you.
He continued. “So I came here, and found a forge. I worked, I drank too much wine. I tried to forget our failure.” He shrugged. “At times I walked under the stars, or to the sea.’
“I would that it could have been different for you.”
“It was a time to heal, I think.” he looked around again, his eyes lingering on certain places, certain memories.
“From the battles and the disappointment?” I asked, thinking the healing needed was more of the spirit than the body.
He nodded, running a hand back through his hair.
“I find the thought painful, given that apart from the fall of Eregion, I lived most comfortably among our kind.”
“There is no harm in that,” he turned away from the village to look at me. “I would not wish misery upon you, or any of our folk.”
I smiled at him, knowing he spoke true. “And did it work, did it heal you?”
Estarfin thought for a moment. “No,” he said.
“Not even a little?” I could not help it. I lay a hand lightly on his arm. He did not object.
“I was not wise enough to see this place for what it was,” he continued. “A trap, that had ensnared me.”
“A trap you hid in,” I said softly.
He nodded.
“And you grew comfortable with it.”
“It was easier than trying to change things…”
I sighed, removing my hand, but I understood.
“Sometimes the effort to change is nigh insurmountable.”
I believed he was lost in memories for a few moments then, “If the forge had not burnt to the ground, I would still be here I think. An unquiet ghost wandering these deserted streets.” he said.
No! Say not so.” I protested. I could not bear the thought of him fading in such a manner.
He shrugged. Where else would I have gone?”
“To Imladris, as you eventually did.”
“Only because I could no longer stay here.” his head was lowered, his eyes darkened as he remembered that time. “It forced my hand.”
“And you found Imladris not to your liking?” I bated him, knowing that it was far from the truth.
He looked at me and smiled. “It felt like awakening from a dream to find there is still some joy in this world.”
“I smiled with him. I remembered the first time I saw Imladris, and that while it was still being built. “A place where our folk could gather, where we were not shunned by most.”
He nodded, moving to sit on a step to the bridge.
“And you found it better thereafter?”
“Perhaps. But for an age there were many of our folk here, or hereabouts as well.”
‘Who did not speak with you’ I thought. I moved to sit near him.
“Waiting to sail West?”
He shook his head. “No, not at all. This was a strong kingdom, for awhile.”
“Gil-Galad was a strong King. I did think of stopping my wanderings and settling in Lindon.(Why had I not done so, I thought now with hindsight) but Celebrimbor’s voice became louder to me.”
“I can understand that,” Estarfin said.
“My distant cousin, he said to us ‘Come build a new realm, where we can craft at will and make a new home here to rival the beauties of Valinor, that we are masters of our own fate, even as was intended’. Not that I rejected Gil Galad as a lesser Lord.”
“He made no proclamation to force our people to live anywhere.” Estarfin recalled.
I turned to look back as the mist lowered to enshroud his old home. “I wandered, and then settled in Eregion.”
“What more could we have done with those years,” Estarfin said, also looking back at his disappearing house.
“We could have lived them,” I said emphatically. “if I had stopped wandering for a few years; if you had come out of hiding…perhaps things would have been very different.”
He turned to me.”That is all in the past. While peace remains, we have today.”
I nodded in agreement. ‘Even if peace is lost.’ I thought. I would not be parted from him now.
“But you spoke of rest, of time to heal. The building frenzy in Eregion was perhaps not the best way. There was no pressure from Celeborn or Galadriel, but Celebrimbor was ever eager to press ahead, to do more. I did enjoy conversing over crafting with Dwarves again.”I thought back to my youth, and the Dwarven trade envoys with fondness, and to the works with those Dwarves of Khazad Dum.
“They are a strange folk. I do not understand your interest in them.” Estarfin had been listening attentively. I knew he had no love for the children of Aule.
“Interest because like us, they serve Aule. Because they are also skilled smiths and masons.”
“Served Aule,” he said.
“We can still learn from them,”” I continued.” I know they are strange of appearance, but they are skilled of hand. And it behooves us to learn the arts of smithing from whoever we may.” I paused for a moment to add, “Not a fallen Maia, though.”
He knew what I meant.
“I do not love them, but I would learn what little they will share. Does that make sense to you?”
Estarfin shrugged. “What is there to learn from them? Their mail is fine, but other than that…”
“I have learned some techniques from them for fashioning jewelry. Mostly circlets and necklaces, and mostly the metalwork, not the gems. Celebrimbor and the most skilled of the Mirdan learned from Narvi. I do not say they know more than us. I say we know different things. Did you never learn from any of their smiths?”
“They were never keen to share,” he retorted.
“I know,” I said softly. “But Celebrimbor knew how to trade with them, as did our Prince. And that with a cautious hand.”
“Would you have called any of them friend?”
‘Tread carefully’ I thought. ‘Do not give Estarfin cause for more pain.’
“One, and that after a fashion. Some few I trusted in gemsmithing, many I did not. They were not dishonest, but good tradesfolk out to make profit, and sometimes that from our skills with little in return. The one I met as a child of no more than twelve. He was patient with my many questions, and taught me little by little of his love of woodwork. He I called friend. But he died of course, a very long time ago.”
Estarfin nodded. “Even their kind is so brief.”
“They are but a little longer lived than men.”
I had learned a lot from that visit. My heart was moved with a sorrow I intended to remedy. It would likely take some time, but if he would, there could be much healing even now. Iit was best not to stay overlong in that village, I deemed.
“Thank you for bringing me here,” I said, “And for sharing memories with me.” I bowed my head to him.
“There is nothing left of this place.” he replied.
“I think we should return to Numastaya and cheer our mood? The sky turns towards dusk.”
He stood and turned to take a last look at what was visible of the old house.
“There is a life ahead, though not here. But home and wine and stars now?” I held out a tentative hand to him.
He nodded, taking my hand in his. “Come then, Danel,” he said. “We go home.”
