Between Twilight and Dawn

 

The night will never stay,/The night will still go by,/Though with a million stars/You pin it to the sky;/Though you bind it with the blowing wind/And buckle it with the moon,/The night will slip away/Like sorrow or a tune.  “The Night Will Never Stay”, by Eleanor Farjeon

 

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, places, events, and concepts are the property of the J.R.R. Tolkien Estate.

Sindarin:

Nin car = My house

Aran = King

Ada = Daddy

Nana = Mommy/Mummy

Hîr nin = My lord.

Mell = Dear (Adj., so “nin mell” would be “my dear/my dear one”)

Gell = Joy

Author’s Notes follow the chapter.

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Chapter One

It was a large room. Large, with double doors of intricately carved oak wood that opened onto a little receiving and play area. He stood right inside the doors, his feet on the polished rock of the floor, his grey eyes glancing about. He had not had a chance to take a good look at this room before, only a quick glance about to be sure that it had not been touched by the recent attacks within Menegroth. He could easily see the details of the chamber, for it was lit by high white lamps on the walls, though Anor’s last rays still clung to the sky outside at this hour.

Two small grey cloaks hung by the entrance on low hooks, embroidered with traceries of silver and blue vines and leaves about the borders and cuffs. At the floor beneath were two pairs of soft, grey leather boots, also small, with work to match the cloaks about the lace wraps. How ever did they get such footwear onto the feet of children? It would take a good deal of tugging and pulling, indeed. He had never attempted such a thing himself, preferring much rather to shove small feet into low shoes.

His eyes drifted to the shelves carved into the living stone, gazing over the toys and playthings and games all housed there. They had not been touched for quite some time. He stepped over, taking a thin wooden box from the shelf and lifting the lid to peek inside. A puzzle, of a rainbow over a herd of deer, he guessed, having put this one together several times himself. He replaced the box and reached for another, this time finding a chess set with figures carved as innocent animals, the board checked in soft polished oak and darker cherry. There were many things he recognized and remembered, long stored here without use. His gaze strayed to the assortment of things that littered the floor. He smiled briefly at the numerous wooden blocks painted in bright colors, some stacked into towers or forming fences around carved ponies with dark, inky eyes in their soft, grainy faces.

On top of a small stool lay a copy book, the pages held together with a much threaded blue ribbon, the corners rather dirty and dog-eared. On the cover was a hand drawn picture of a tree and what might be a horse, along with the owner’s name. He flipped it open, to a random page.

Nin car.

The letters were large and unshaped, obviously copied from an adult’s example, and accompanied by a sketchy drawing of a tall house, a fall of water at its side.

He turned the pages slowly, smiling at each scrawled word and the picture coupled with it. Here was a storm cloud pouring rain, a loaf of bread, a swan….and then he reached the most recently touched page, towards the end.

Aran.

Here was a picture of a person, the legs and arms elongated in the style of the very young. The figure was scribbled over in dark blue, and gifted with a large wobbly smile.

Written underneath the drawing, as though added later, in very large letters:

Nin Ada!

He closed the book carefully, so as not to crumple the pages, replacing it in its spot. The play area led into the bed chamber, where the soles of his boots fell with soft taps on polished tile, a green and white pattern of interlaced diamonds and squares. The stone walls were painted white, and small, pale stars dotted a ceiling the color of thick pines. The two small beds were made up with spreads embroidered with small green leaves in a quilted pattern, lacing and circling over the white cloth. When he lifted the pillows, there were folded nightshirts of soft fabric underneath, and if he peered over the sides of the beds, there were little slippers, one pair blue, and a yellow one alone by itself. Whatever had happened to its mate?

Shaking the wondering out of his head, he turned to look at the fireplace on one side of the room with its heavily barred grate. A large slab of swirling white stone served as the hearth, and there was a soft rug laid down nearby. The fire itself had gone out some time ago, leaving only a charred log. On the other side of the chamber was the doorway to the bathing room, where there was a tub with inlays of green vines, and a low counter with pitchers and wash basins. He was surprised to see water still in the bath, cold now, as was the water in the pitchers. A pile of ribbons and hair clasps was next to one basin, on top of a folded towel. The boys had such long hair. Dark strands of it were on the combs, on the counter, on the floor.

He shook his head at the hairs on the tiled floor, deciding that small fingers must have pulled them from combs and dropped them there.  His gaze drifted to a large puddle of water in a far corner with an overturned rinse pitcher. How had that ended up there? A sick feeling sprouted in his stomach when he noticed a splattering of blood near the pitcher, blending into the water on the floor. Something like that certainly did not belong here.

He turned, hastily leaving the bathing room, then taking long strides through the bed chamber. He hurried to the double doors, hands already out to push them open, when his elbow jarred something from its place on one of the shelves. It met the hard floor with a crash, and he started slightly at the noise in all this silence.

When he looked, there was an intricate metal box on the floor where the tile of the playroom met that of the bed chamber, its hinged lid slightly ajar. For a moment his concerns left him, briefly forgotten. As he bent to pick it up and put it away, a few stretched, metallic notes came from it, as though from a plucked harp. The music box. He fished out the key on its long yellow ribbon, contemplating whether or not he wanted to give it a few turns. He knew the music would come out as a slow tune that had been coupled with sweet words at one time, words that yet lingered in his own mind. It might be good to hear the notes again. And yet…and yet he was not so sure if he wanted to listen to the lullabies of the departed.

 “Ada!”

“Ada! Ada! Ada!”

Dior nearly dropped his grandmother’s box again as two small bodies came into swift contact with his legs, his thoughts interrupted. He smiled at the two seven year olds standing near him, both wrapped in large, white towels. Bath water dripped down their noses and legs, forming little puddles at their feet. He caught Elurín dabbling in the water with his toes, and Eluréd’s dark hair was still filmy with soap. Had they been outside their room like that? They must have been. “Why are you not in your bath?” he asked, confused, and then remembered the blood on the floor, “What happened in there? Are you all right?”

“Are you going to read to us, Ada?” Eluréd piped up, wrapping his towel closer about himself and bouncing on his toes. Ada hadn’t read to them for such a long, long time. There had only been rushed kisses goodnight when the nursemaid led them down the hall to Ada’s study, and most times he had not even been there. Maybe things were going to change though.

“Oh, yes, Ada!” Elurín exclaimed, his attention quickly drawn from the puddle at his feet. He gripped the loose folds of his father’s robe with two small hands, staring up into Ada’s face, “I want the dog story!”

“Careful, you are losing your towel,” Dior tugged the fluffy cloth around his son’s shoulders, worried that the child might chill, “What happened in the bathing room?” He glanced about, suddenly realizing that the boys’ nursemaid had not come into the room with them. “Where is Glassell? And where were you?”

“She had to get more water, since Rín made her spill some,” Eluréd offered, wishing that his towel hadn’t gotten so damp. Maybe he could grab the coverlet off the bed and wrap up in that. It would be much warmer.

“That’s how I got cut, Ada! See?” Elurín announced, pointing urgently at a healing line of red on his forehead. He moved to feel it, to see if it had scabbed over yet, and then dropped his hand, “The healer said not to touch, or it would bleed again. That would be bad, Ada.”

“Yes, it would,” Dior nodded, relieved that everything seemed to be all right. Glassell must have darted off to find someone to look at the cut, he decided, though he wondered why she hadn’t at least hurried the children into robes. That was the way he had expected to find them: robed, slippered, and ready for bed. He sighed at the soap still in Eluréd’s hair, and then prodded the twins into the bathing room. “That soap needs to come out of your hair, little boy,” Dior signaled for Eluréd to kneel next to the tub, picking up an untouched pitcher from the counter.

“It is out,” Eluréd pulled his towel closer still, eyeing the rinse pitcher with contempt. When he was all grown up, he wouldn’t have a hair night. No mucky soaps and no rotten rinses.

Dior picked up the pitcher, shaking his head at the look on his son’s face, “Tip your head back.”

He had hardly gotten a bit of soap out when Eluréd began a rush of complaints, his small hands pressed firmly over his eyes, “Ada! It’s getting in my eyes! And in my ears! And it’s cold! You forgot the towel!”

“I am sorry,” Dior drew in a short breath, but continued to pour the rinse through his child’s hair, making sure all of the soap ran into the tub. He had not helped with his sons’ baths since…since before he had accompanied his father to Sarn Athrad, months and months ago. How could have he forgotten something as simple and routine as a towel over his child’s eyes?

“Hîr nin!” There was a sudden exclamation as Glassell stepped through the door with a pitcher of fresh rinse, closely followed by an Elf with a steaming bucket of water.

Eluréd tentatively removed one hand, “Not fair! Elurín will get a warm rinse!”

“Elurín is going back into the bath,” Glassell sighed heavily, stirring the hot water into the tub. When she had agreed to watch over the sons of Dior Eluchil and his wife upon their arrival, she had not expected such difficult, unhappy little boys. Whatever had possessed the son of Lúthien and her Beren to entreat Ilúvatar for three children in as many years as could be counted on one’s fingers, she did not know.

“I want Nana!” Elurín crossed his arms firmly over his chest, making it impossible for the nursemaid to take his towel. It had been explained multiple times that Nana was very tired from the trip and still had to take care of Baby Elwing, so Glassell was going to help her by watching over Eluréd and himself. Elurín brought his feet up under the towel when the nursemaid made an attempt to haul him up and into the bath. She was not Nana! Glassell didn’t know anything about playing pretend or snuggling little people into their beds or not using those awful, crummy silver barrettes in his hair. And she had long, scratchy fingernails!

All in all, he had decided he didn’t like her. Not at all.

“Yes! I want Nana to give us our bath,” Eluréd announced, then clamped his hands over his eyes again as his father poured more rinse over his head, “You forgot again!” He drew in a shuddering breath, hurt that his own Ada didn’t remember about water getting into his eyes. The child sucked on his lower lip. Ada seemed to be forgetting lots of important things lately. 

Dior sighed heavily, looking around the bathing room. The tipped pitcher was still on the floor, with the unnerving bloodied puddle, and the hot water bucket was turned over next to the tub. Elurín sat on top of it, so wound up in his towel that Glassell could not get him into the bath. Damp towels were on the floor with a slimy cake of soap, and Eluréd was still kneeling next to the tub, starting to breathe is sniffling little gasps and not daring to take his hands off his face. Whatever had happened to the two little boys who used to splash in their bath and refuse to come out? He briefly considered sending the nursemaid out and finishing the task himself, but there were people already waiting to speak with him…people that would sorely doubt his priorities as king if he were to cancel a specially scheduled meeting so early in his reign...especially a meeting specially scheduled because he had missed an earlier meeting.

“Nana is feeding Elwing,” Dior leaned over to tickle Elurín’s feet, effectively getting the child to jump up long enough for him to grab the towel and use it to dry Eluréd’s hair. “Get into the bath, Elurín,” Dior rubbed his other son dry, getting up from the floor, “Finish up in here, and then to bed. Glassell, please find someone to clean this place up. And soon. And do not let them out of the room like that again.” He hurriedly kissed first Eluréd on the forehead, then Elurín, “Nin mell, nin gell.”

Eluréd rubbed his face in his brother’s towel, peeking up to look at his departing father, “Aren’t you going to read, Ada?” 

“She’s hurting me!” Elurín screeched as Ada headed out the room. He glared at Glassell, who was working soap through his hair, then stuck out his lip, “She needs to cut her nails, Ada!”

“She will,” Dior took a deep breath, stepping through the doorway. How long had they been in Menegroth? A week? Just barely… He cast a brief glance at Eluréd, “I am sorry, but there are people waiting for me, important people. Good night.” 

As he crossed the bed chamber, wondering whether or not the damp spots on his outer-robe would dry on the walk to the council room, Dior heard the voices of his sons still calling after him. Their words mixed together in a jumble of complaints and cries, swirling about his head as he approached the hallway. One tentative little question nearly tugged him back, and he had to pause in order to shake its force away.

“We’re important people too, aren’t we Ada?”

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Author’s Notes: In this story, Eluréd and Elurín are portrayed as twins, even though there is some disagreement over whether or not they were. Since there is also disagreement over the year of their birth, for the purposes of this piece it shall stand at 495 of the First Age. This story begins in Fall 502. If you’re a stickler for dates, I’d be happy to explain the timeline for this story.

Any questions or comments are more than welcome. All reviews will be replied to at the end of the next chapter.

If you’d like to see drawings of Eluréd, Elurín, and Elwing, send me an email and I’ll get them to you.

--Aranel (aranels@hotmail.com)