Chapter 39
The handover of Himring's jewel was like dropping an ice stone into a boiling pot of oil. Although it did not completely quench the burning heat within Fëanorion, it temporarily extinguished the flames of the civil war that might have broken out between them and Nargothrond. When the news reached the depths of Angband, Sauron's roar almost shook the rubble off the cave ceiling.
"Waste! All waste!" Sauron paced furiously in the darkened hall, his invisible rage distorting the air around him. "Those cursed, brain-burning fools of Fëanorion, those damned humans of Meereen—they didn't even fight?! And they even returned the Silmaril?!" His carefully planned scheme to sow discord, exploiting Maglor's complex feelings for Meereen and his desire for the Silmaril to incite civil war among the Elves, had failed at the last moment. Meereen's voluntary return of the Silmaril, Maglor's damned hesitation and compromise, and Melian's witness, had completely thwarted his plan.
"Meereen...it's you again, always you!" Sauron's voice was full of resentment, "An existence that is independent of the music..." He uttered the most vicious curse in the direction of Himrin in the north, and smashed the sand table carved from black crystal in front of him in frustration.
The wounds of the War of Tears were like deep, bone-deep wounds in the land of Beleriand, long unhealed. Though Morgoth had lost many of his minions, including legions of Orcs and numerous Balrogs, and Glaurung himself had suffered many wounds, his core strength remained intact, his dark essence unshaken. Like a wounded serpent, he retreated to his lair in Angband to lick his wounds and gather strength, but his fangs remained deadly. He abandoned large-scale campaigns and instead sent small bands of Orcs to harass the settlements of Elves and Men, burning villages and plundering livestock, sowing constant terror and loss, preventing the Free People from resting and recuperating.
The price paid by the alliance of Elves, Men, and Dwarves was even more horrific, beyond measure. Over half of the elite warriors of the Noldor were lost, and many ancient families were extinguished. The House of Hador among the Edain was nearly uprooted, and the valor of the Dwarf warriors could not withstand the torrent of darkness. Nogrod and Belegost were also devastated. The glory of a century ago seemed but a distant dream. All of Beleriand was shrouded in a great sorrow and a heavy shadow. The road to recovery was long and arduous.
Meereen still chose to dwell in Nargothrond, a haven for his soul, where he found his beloved friend, Finrod. Finrod's wisdom, gentleness, and respect for life were Meereen's greatest spiritual support after the devastating trauma. Rather than wallow in sorrow, he channeled his grief into action. He frequently journeyed to the war-torn Dor-lómin, using his medical skills and compassion for life to help the surviving Edain rebuild their homes and heal the wounds of war. He taught them improved farming techniques, comforted widows and orphans, and encouraged them to rekindle the flame of hope in a land soaked in tears. His presence moved between the ruins of Dor-lómin and the reborn fields, like a ray of warm and resilient light.
Yet Finrod keenly sensed that the deep, heavy shadow of Meereen, lingering from the Battle of Tears and the turmoil surrounding the Silmaril, had not yet fully dissipated. His smile sometimes shone with a subtle hint of fatigue, and when alone, his eyes revealed a deep sorrow, as if burdened by the weight of time. He needed an opportunity, a chance to temporarily forget his pain and rediscover the joy of life.
At this time, Turgon sent an invitation from hidden Gondolin to attend the upcoming Summer Gate Festival. This is the greatest festival of the year, celebrating the time when the sun is at its most abundant and all things are at their most luxuriant, and it is also the day when Gondolin, the city of flowers, shows its unparalleled beauty.
Finrod went to Meereen with the invitation and said, "Meereen, Turgon invites us to Gondolin to attend the celebration of the Summer Gate. Sunshine, songs, flowers... perhaps this is what we need, to leave Nargothrond, to see old friends, and experience something different."
Meereen looked at Finrod's concerned eyes and was silent for a moment. He understood Finrod's intentions. Dwelling on sorrow could not change the past, nor could it illuminate the future. He needed to go out, to let the warm sunshine dispel the chill in his heart. He nodded, revealing a long-lost, relieved smile. "Okay, let's go to Gondolin."
The journey to Gondolin was long, but the scenery was beautiful. The scent of spring permeated the air, and the mountains, forests, and fields along the way were vibrant with life, as if trying to heal the scars of war. One evening, the two camped by a clear stream and lit a campfire. The dancing flames reflected their faces and brought back long-lost memories.
"Finnrod," Meereen said calmly, gazing at the dancing flames, "Do you remember discussing immortality together by the campfire?"
Finrod's golden eyes flickered in the firelight. He smiled and nodded. "Of course I remember. Back then, you were full of curiosity about the short lifespan of humans, even a hint of envy."
"Yes." Meereen also smiled, with a hint of emotion. "At that time, I was still keeping the secret of immortality, ignorant and naive. And you told me, 'Eternal life is like a lake that does not flow. It looks calm on the surface, but in fact, all the sorrow is sunk at the bottom of the lake.'"
He paused, his gaze becoming distant. "Only now, after all I've been through... losing so many friends who fought alongside me... do I truly understand the weight of your words. To live forever means experiencing heartbreaking separations over and over again, watching loved ones turn to dust, while carrying those memories with you as you go on. Those sorrows are truly like the sand at the bottom of a lake, growing heavier with each accumulation."
Finrod reached out his hand and gently patted Meereen's shoulder. His voice was gentle but powerful: "Meereen, sadness is a mark of love. It proves that we once loved and cherished deeply. Eternal life is not numbness, but it gives us deeper sensitivity and longer memories to carry these marks. There must be a deep meaning in the fact that you have been given immortality. Look at this flame," he pointed to the bonfire, "when it burns, it consumes firewood, bringing warmth and light, and it will also leave ashes. But the ashes are not the end, it will merge into the earth and nourish new life. The same is true for our sadness, it will eventually become a part of your soul, allowing you to better understand life, cherish the present, and have more power to protect the future. Don't be afraid of the weight of sadness, it is proof that you have lived and the cornerstone for you to move forward." Finrod's words were like warm spring water, slowly flowing into Meereen's heart.
Under the decoration of the Summer Gate Festival, Gondolin is like a shining pearl inlaid in the mountains. The white walls and towers sparkle in the sun. Flowers bloom on both sides of the city streets, colorful flags flutter, and the air is filled with the fragrance of flowers and the melodious songs of elves.
When Meereen and Finrod passed through heavy guards and finally stepped into this miraculous city, a dazzling figure ran towards them like the sunshine.
"Meereen! Uncle Finrod!" Idril Celebrindal, Turgon's daughter, had grown into a radiant, vibrant, and beautiful elf. She had inherited her mother Elaynewe's golden hair, which shimmered like flowing gold in the bright sunlight of Gondolin. Her face was filled with pure joy as she warmly embraced Meereen and Finrod. "Welcome back! You've finally arrived!"
The joy of reunion infected Meereen, who smiled and responded to Idril's embrace, feeling the vitality and warmth of youth. After settling in, Meereen asked to see the familiar little garden in his palace in Gondolin.
The garden remained the same, even more lush than he remembered. A variety of rare flowers competed for beauty, and sunlight filtered through the stained glass windows, casting a dreamy, rainbow-colored light on the ground. Meereen stood among the flowers, feeling the tranquility and beauty, as if time had never passed. Just then, he unexpectedly discovered another person in the garden.
Tuor, son of Huor, was tall and strong, with the sturdy features of the Edain, but his eyes held the loneliness of a bereaved family and a reserved air unsuitable for the city of the Elven. His father had died heroically during the Battle of Sudden Flame, protecting Turgon's retreat, and his kin had been nearly wiped out in the Battle of Tears. Turgon, grateful for his father's loyalty and compassionate for Tuor's loneliness, invited him to live in Gondolin.
When Tuor saw Meereen, the healer who had long been renowned among the free folk, his eyes immediately showed respect. He bowed slightly and said, "Lord Meereen."
Meereen looked at the young human before him, a complex mix of emotions welling up within him. He saluted, "Tuor, you need not salute me. Your father and uncle were true heroes, and your family shed blood for this land. Please accept my respect." His eyes, filled with concern for the descendants of his fallen comrades, looked at Tuor.
Meereen soon noticed the undeniable connection between Tuor and Idril. Though he had never personally experienced love, the story of Beren and Lúthien's earth-shattering love was deeply ingrained in his heart. He could sense the quietly burgeoning, passionate, and pure emotion in the attentive, gentle gaze Tuor cast upon Idril, and in the subtle shyness and joy Idril displayed when speaking to Tuor. This made him heartbroken that Idril had found true love, yet his heart was also filled with anxiety. The union of elves and humans was destined to be fraught with thorns and challenges, and the price Lúthien paid was still fresh in his mind.
To Meereen's surprise, Turgon seemed unusually tolerant of this. In a private conversation, Turgon, gazing at his daughter walking side by side with Tuor in the distance, whispered to Meereen and Finrod, "I see the light in Idril's eyes, and the resolve in Tuor's. Fate has already been written, and the second union of Elves and Men is about to come. Like Lúthien and Beren, their love may bring pain, but it will also bring hope. I cannot stop fate, but can only bless and protect it." The eyes of the hidden king were filled with deep concern for his daughter's future and a calmness that saw through fate.
The celebration at Summer's Gate was grand and joyous. The elves' song, dancing, wine, and flowers temporarily dispelled the gloom of war. Meereen reveled in the joy of reuniting with old friends and the wonders of Gondolin. The warmth of the sun seemed to melt the heaviness of their hearts. After the celebration, Meereen and Finrod returned to Nargothrond, their hearts filled with relief.
Time passed quickly, and a few years later, an exciting news came from Gondolin: Tuor and Idril Celebrindal made an eternal vow and became husband and wife under the witness of the Hidden City, which marked the official beginning of the legend of the second union between elves and humans.
The night the news came, Meereen had a clear and hopeful prophetic dream.
In his dream, he once again saw the light of the Garden of Lórien. But this time, the center of the light wasn't Estë, but Gondolin. He saw Idril, pregnant, standing with Tuor on a white tower, gazing up at the brilliant starry sky. A meteor, incredibly bright and trailing a long tail of light, streaked across the sky, like a beacon cast by the Valar, falling towards Beleriand with unparalleled power and hope. The meteor's light dispelled the dark shadows that enveloped the earth and illuminated the faces of all the free people—elves, men, and dwarves. The courage and hope to overcome the darkness were rekindled in their eyes, as if Estë's voice echoed in his mind: "When the stars descend upon Gondolin, the light of hope will pierce the darkness and illuminate the path to victory for all the free people."
Meereen woke from his dream, his heart filled with indescribable excitement and certainty, and he immediately told the dream to Finrod.
After listening to this, Finrod's golden eyes sparkled with wisdom and joy: "The stars are coming... the light of hope... this is no accident. Meereen, this may very well be the revelation and blessing given by the Valar. Morgoth's dark rule will eventually be broken, and his evil conspiracy will never succeed. The child of Idril and Tuor will be the hope for the future of Middle-earth." Finrod's words were full of firm confidence in the future.
In the spring of 503 of the First Age, a child destined to be recorded in history was born in the Hidden City of Gondolin.
After a long and difficult birth, Idril finally gave birth to her and Tuor's son. When the baby's loud cry pierced the quiet night sky of Gondolin, an indescribable breath of light and blessing spread. The child was named Earendil, which means "lover of the sea" or "blessed one."
At the same moment that Earendil was born, a miracle happened.
A meteor, vast and dazzling, like a blazing diamond, trailed a trail of blinding silver light across the sky, tearing through the dark night of Beleriand. With unparalleled brilliance and power, it crashed into the Sea of Belegaer, echoing the cries of a child. Its brilliance illuminated all of northern Middle-earth, piercing even the shadows of Angband, and sending Orcs shrieking and hiding in terror.
In Nargothrond, Meereen and Finrod stood on the terrace and witnessed this earth-shaking scene. The light of the shooting star illuminated Meereen's excited face, and he murmured, "It is he, the star of hope blessed by the Valar, has come."
Finrod gripped the railing tightly, his eyes filled with relief and determination: "Yes, Meereen. The light of hope has come, and the darkness will eventually end." The meteor that streaked across the night sky was like a beacon lit by the Valar, announcing the arrival of Earendil the Blessed, and also foreshadowing that the final hope of fighting against Morgoth had been quietly lit in the deepest darkness.
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