The Fall of Gondolin

Una imagen muy dinámica, me encanto

I wasn’t conscious of my actions. Anger drove the last remnants of my fading fea. I was on Caragdur, the place where my father had been killed. He had tried to kill me. I was trying to kill a child, just as he had tried to kill me, little older than a child at the time. I was trying to kill Idril’s son. She sparred with me, my black dao blade against her silver katana. Tuor arrived with his axe. There was so much fire. I was falling.

The feast dissipated, for the Gondolithrim to gather and sing songs of life and death and the spaces in between as the sun was to rise. Except, that the sun didn’t rise. Fire rose from the north as armies of great strength engulfed us. Black smoke smothered the doomed dawn. I squeezed Hithuȝo and tried to focus on Moth’s rhythmic breathing. This was my fault. I was the reason that so many would die. The thing that truly frightened me was that I was so far gone that I didn’t have it in me to feel anything anymore. I had been broken over and over again so many times that I was left as a mere shell. A shadow.

The feast began. So many elves and so many different smells and so many noises. I didn’t touch the food, and no one sitting around me noticed. I was falling, and they looked the other way. The folk of my house sat further along the table, talking in loud voices of things that I could not discern from the rest of the clamant. I needed to escape. I squeezed Hithuȝo, but it did little to calm my racing senses. Everything was collapsing around me. I hummed a tune that Amme had sung and rocked myself back and forth. I missed Amme. I shattered. Tears rolled down my cheeks. My body ached from days of eating so little and working tirelessly in my forge and mine. I didn’t think that my fea and hroa were totally bound anymore. I was fading away, and no one was noticing.

“Sit next to me.” He couldn’t read my signs, either, as he had not learned Iglishmêk. Amme had, as a way to communicate with me when language was unavailable. I wanted to tell Uncle to leave, that he needed to evacuate the city. The city would end in flames soon. But I didn’t have the words. Turgon forced me into a seat on his right side, beside the golden lord of the Folk of the Golden Flower. He didn’t spare me a glance, as he was deep in conversation with Ecthelion and Salgant. Idril sat on Turgon’s other side, with Earendil and Tuor beside her. The strings of my heart pulsed with seething hatred upon looking at her. She had betrayed me. I had trusted her, and she had let me fall. Though, I had betrayed her, as well.

I nodded to my uncle, and dragged myself out of the warm embrace of my black blankets. It would be gloaming out, so I needed not worry about the sun. As I stepped out of my house into the city of white marble with Moth settled on my shoulder and Hithuȝo clutched tightly in my hand, Turgon rested an arm on my shoulder to steady my shaky movements. I cringed away from the touch. Turgon’s hands were warm and heavy, unlike Amme’s thin, calloused ones. I missed Amme so much. Turgon walked with me to the hall where the feast was to be held. There were too many elves, too much noise. The Folk of the Fountain had arranged bright lanterns wrought of shimmering jewels, and they pierced my eyes with pain unbearable. Things were already so impossible. Why did they have to make them even more so? “Uncle,” I began, but Turgon cut me off.

“Maeglin, Tarnin Austa begins soon. I insist that you join us, as none in the city have seen you in the past two weeks. I am worried about you,” quoth Turgon, his words dripping with a hidden poison. I had heard him speak of his hatred toward me, how I was a burden left behind that he wished not to care for. I was of no use here. I was the cause of their downfall. Morgoth was likely rallying his armies, preparing to strike at any time. And I hadn’t found the courage to say anything. I had given up fighting. Amme had told me that I was someone who always fought, even when it was hard. But I’m not. I gave into the despair. I was falling.