The Coat of
Earendil
by Lothithil
Melian of
Doriath, the
Maiar who loved Greymantle; Turin Turambar, fated to be mastered by
fate and his blade that was once Anglachel, forged by the father of
Maeglin... DarkElf does know how to choose her company!
Chapter Seven: The Black Blade
I left Doriath as quietly as possible. Clad in my skins and feathered
cloak again, traveling lightly and swiftly as a sparrow’s flight, I
focus all of my awareness on the forest. Marchers and bounders mark all
the ways into and out of that land, and the Girdle of Melian withstands
the cunning of Morgoth still. To avoid their notice I creep and climb,
stalk and slide, sometimes moving no faster than the shifting of the
shadow of a tree to work my way past their watchful eyes.
The mail shirt rides in a pack that I have secured across my trunk and
light as it is, still it is unwieldy. Much of my patience I must pay to
keep it safe. I am very aware of the importance of its survival; more
vital than my own. But I am the conveyance and so though I do not wear
it, still the coat of Eärendil protects me.
I have won my way to the edge of the grove of mighty oaks, where once I
lingered in idleness. Still I marvel at their slow wisdom and voices. I
would that there were trees such as this in Tumladen!
I become aware of another. Luminescence casts my shadow before my feet
and I turn to find Melian following. I swiftly kneel and she raises my
head with a touch. She is lovelier than any living thing; her eyes are
moistly radiant.
"I felt thy presence in the Girdle, dark elf. Wardens and guards can be
circumvented, but not my eyes. Whither goest thou?"
"My queen, I am bound to return from whence I came, on an errand most
important. I cannot tell more, for the lives of those I love bind my
lips with secrecy."
"Say no more, I know thy purpose. It is foreseen by the Wise, and so
you shall be aided in this by Powers beyond the world. I ask only to
learn how wouldst thou return?"
"I know not, Lady. Yet I must try and in the seeking find such help as
you describe. To remain in one place is to be defeated."
"Your words are full of the wisdom that Kings should heed," spoke
Melian, and she gave me a small bundle that she bade me take with her
goodwill. "This is lembas. Eat of it sparingly. It will serve you on
your journey. No other food will you require so long as you consume it
solely. May you find speed, and chance favour you."
I accepted the gift, and she disappeared into the trees as mist before
the sun. Blinking as I come out from the shadows of the trees, I head
out into the wild lands.
Speed I found, but chance eluded me, and though I moved with all the
stealth I had learned, still I was encountered often by roving bands of
orcs and bandits. Little interest was I to the latter, for I bore no
equipment that they recognized as useful. The orcs I slew or fled from,
counting on my swiftness and woodcraft. It served me well, until I was
found by a large band of orcs, returning with prisoners to Angband. I
was surrounded before I could flee, and thrust into the cluster of
frightened and distressed captives, Elves and some Men who were
gathered from the ruin of Nargothrond. My captors were hasty and
unwise, for they did not despoil me but bound me with cords. I heard
their speech; they were concerned about a band which pursued them
intent on rescuing their prisoners.
Closer I came to death that night than ever before, and to neither
skill of mine nor hand of fate can I accredit it, but only to Turin
Turambar. He and his band followed and slew the orcs; freeing all of us
and bidding us go to the refuge of Doriath. Turin looked into all the
faces of the captives, but found not the one he was driven to seek.
He looked at me and saw that I was not a refugee of Nargothrond, and
for a moment he was puzzled. I returned his regard, then knowing
nothing of him or the weight of his curse. I refused to turn back
toward Doriath, but took my chance and slipped away in the confusion of
movement to continue my journey. Ten paces maybe I came before I was
stopped by a blade level with my throat, and I recognized that black
blade and heard its whispering song, an echo of the cursing of the Elf
that forged it.
"Seek you to betray your own people, elf? Has the Dark One already
enthralled you? I shall slay you now before you go another pace, and
leave you for none to grieve."
"Slay me if thou will, Mormegil, but know that in doing so you take not
one life, but two. Your sword sings for my blood, as it did when you
slew Strongbow your friend."
Turin started, and grabbing my hair he bent my head back and said
fiercely, "How do you know these things?" His teeth were bared like a
wild beast.
"I hear the voice of the sword. It speaks in the tongue of my people,
the Morquendi. It tells of its history and the reaping it has done, the
names of its victims and the lives it hopes to claim. Feed it if you
will, but I swear I am no thrall. Thy black deeds may someday be
cleansed from thee, for thou art indeed cursed. If you do this thing,
then you condemn all folk to thralldom who do not escape to the West."
His blade that shone lay against my neck, and he hesitated long as he
pondered my words. A voice called behind us; one of his men hailed for
him to come. The trail of another band of orcs had been uncovered.
Turin released me and lowered his sword. "Seeking Finduilas is my
errand set, to fulfill a promise to a fallen comrade. Against my
judgment I will not slay you, but you must tell me whither you are
bound."
"All of the strength of Gorthaur could not wring from me that tale,
mortal. Use thy blade or sheath it; is there no limit to the lives thou
would disrupt? What is the life of one more elf to a slayer such as
thee?"
He turned away then, sheathing his protesting blade and I wasted no
time but gathered myself and ran. The words of the sword-song echoed in
my mind and I felt time press on me.
Far above my head, an Eagle circled, but I could not see him for the
smoke of the burning of Glaurung.
