Chapter 7
As dusk fell, the sky over Beleriand burned its last glimmers of gold. In the heart of Haladin's camp, a bonfire burned, larger than ever before. The wood crackled, and sparks danced into the darkening sky. The air was filled with the rich aroma of roasting meat, the scent of freshly baked bread, and a subtle hint of longing.
Tomorrow, the Haladin will break camp and set off to continue their long and uncertain journey westward, leaving behind the forest that has sheltered them for so long. Tonight is their farewell bonfire party for their two benefactors who have helped them: Meereen, the "Enemy of Death," and the noble Elf Prince Finrod.
The campground was packed with people. Haladin, men, women, and children were dressed in their finest, freshly starched coarse clothing. Women served elaborate meals, men beat drums of animal hide, and children ran around the campfire, laughing and playing, trying to soften the atmosphere of parting. Chief Barad's face was radiant, and he warmly invited Finrod and Meereen to take their seats in his newly learned Sindarin.
Finrod and his men gladly accepted the invitation. They brought Elf wine, a drink as clear and sweet as liquid starlight, along with melodious harps and flutes. As the Elves struck the first note, the Haladin fell silent, even the boisterous children opened their eyes. The music was ethereal and melodious, like the whispers of the forest blending with the flow of the stars, soothing the weary hearts of the travelers.
Meereen sat beside Finrod, taking in the sight. The light from the campfire danced on every simple, sincere face. The aroma of food, the rhythm of drums, the laughter of children, the music of elves… all of this formed the warmest, most vivid image he had seen since falling into this world. His heart was filled with gratitude and reluctance to leave the Haladin, a feeling so heavy it threatened to overflow from his chest. At the same time, Finrod's presence, like the brightest and most stable light beside the campfire, brought him peace of mind.
The elven wine flowed down their throats, bringing a strange warmth that seemed to relax even their souls. In between the elven music, the Haladin began to sing their ancient migration songs. The lyrics were rough and simple, recounting the journey of their ancestors across the wasteland, dodging shadows and seeking light. The song was filled with strength and resilience, a longing for homeland and an uncertainty about the future. While not as ethereal as the elven music, it carried the weight of earth and the tenacity of life.
Finrod listened quietly, his golden hair sheen softly in the firelight. His deep eyes reflected the bonfire and the figures of these resilient mortals. When the song ended, he sighed softly, a sigh that carried the weight of millennia.
"They sing of the journey of life," Finrod's voice rang out in Meereen's ears, deep and tinged with an indescribable melancholy. "It is short and arduous, yet filled with burning passion and the search for a home. And we..." He paused, his gaze cast upon the boundless starry sky, "We sing of the eternal watch, the ocean of memory, and the voyage that cannot reach the other shore."
Meereen turned his head to look at Finrod. In the flickering firelight, the elven prince, always so brilliant, had a faint, almost imperceptible sadness between his brows. This sadness was so deep that it formed a sharp contrast with his usual gentleness and wisdom.
"Isn't eternity good?" Meereen couldn't help but ask softly, in his not-quite-fluent Elvish. He came from a chaotic world, and eternal life sounded like a myth.
Finrod turned his head, starlight and firelight blending in his clear eyes. "Eternity, melda hên (dear young man)," he said slowly, his voice like the night wind on the strings of a harp. "It is not the endless joy that mortals imagine. It is a mirror that reflects everything. All the brightest glory, the deepest love, the most profound sorrow, the heaviest responsibility are faithfully recorded in this mirror, never faded, never forgotten."
He lifted the cup but didn't drink. His gaze seemed to penetrate the bonfire, gazing into the distant past. "We remember how the light of the Two Trees shone upon Valinor, and how they were destroyed by Morgoth, and the despair of the eternal night. We remember how the oaths of our kin burned like molten lava. We remember the faces and voices of every fallen comrade, every moment of their fall... These memories are like the most precious gems, but also like the heaviest shackles."
His voice carried a deep weariness, a fragility Meereen had never sensed in him before. "Time is to you a river, rushing forward, sweeping away everything. To us, it is a still lake. Every tear shed, every drop of blood spilled, remains forever at its bottom, visible and visible. Joy cannot dilute the pain, new encounters cannot replace old losses; they only pile up, layer upon layer, like a mountain of unbearable pain. It is not the aging of death itself, but the slow wear and tear of the soul under the weight of endless memories."
Meereen listened quietly, a turbulent wave stirring within him. For the first time, he felt with such clarity the unspoken sorrow hidden beneath the elven glory. The eternity Finrod described was not the paradise he had imagined, but a prison imprisoned by endless memories, a long journey for a soul burdened with the weight of all history. This reminded him of the cold, otherworldly ruins deep within his own soul. Those indelible memories of destruction, though fleeting, yet the weight of their trauma resonated strangely with the eternal pain Finrod described.
"So you envy them?" Meereen's eyes turned to the laughing Haladin, and to the laughing child carried on his father's shoulders.
Finrod followed his gaze, a complex smile playing on his lips, one tinged with compassion and a hint of longing. "Yes. At a certain moment, perhaps. I envy their freedom. I envy their ability to forget, to truly bid farewell to the past and move forward lightly. I envy the unreserved passion and purity they ignite in their brief lives. Death is an end for them, a restful sleep into the unknown, and also a kind of liberation."
He withdrew his gaze and looked towards Meereen, his eyes filled with even greater sorrow. "But this is also the meaning of our protection of them. Let this brief flame burn longer and illuminate more places in this long and increasingly dark era."
The bonfire that night left an eternal mark in Meereen's heart. He saw the heavy shackles behind the eternal beauty of the elves, and also saw the bright light in the short life of humans. Because of this resonance of the heavy burden, he and Finrod established a bond that transcends language and penetrates the soul.
The next morning, under the rising sun, the Haladin dismantled their tents and packed their belongings. They again expressed their deep gratitude and blessings to Meereen and Finrod. Barad embraced Meereen and said in the awkward Common Tongue, "Gurth-vir! Land of Light! Farewell!" The children clung to Meereen's clothes, reluctant to leave. Finally, this resilient group set out on the dusty westward journey, disappearing at the edge of the forest.
The camp was empty, leaving only the embers of the campfire, scattered traces, and a boundless silence. Meereen stood in the clearing, a profound sense of emptiness suddenly gripping him. The bustling, warm, needed feeling that had lasted for months receded like the tide, leaving only a cold, lonely reef. The forest remained lush, but without the tint of human voices, it seemed all the more empty and desolate.
He returned to his nest deep in the forest, and for the first few days he tried to fill the void by gathering herbs, studying the Quenya tome left by Finrod, and even trying to observe the night sky according to some star charts taught by Eol. But loneliness followed him everywhere, and the bonfires of the Haladin and the starlight of Finrod were gone.
One day, he went out as usual to look for a rare herb that Finrod had mentioned as having calming effects. When he brought his harvest and was thinking about trying to make a new medicine, an ominous premonition made him quicken his pace.
When he was still some distance away from the tree nest, a pungent smell of burning and some kind of fishy stench entered his nostrils. Milin's heart sank suddenly and he ran wildly. The scene before him made him feel like he was falling into an icy cave.
His carefully constructed tree nest, the fern-leaf hut that had once given him a sense of security, lay in ruins. The thick branches supporting the platform had been roughly chopped off or smashed, scattered across the ground. Tough vines had been cut, and the thick fern-leaf roof had been torn off and trampled into a mess, a mixture of mud and dark red blood that had already turned black. The ground beneath the tree nest was littered with crude, barbed arrows and several blood-stained, hideous animal tusks.
Orcs! It was the Orc Squad! They found this place!
Meereen climbed the wreckage with cold hands and feet. His store of dried herbs, the containers of dew he had painstakingly gathered, the fragments of the Quenya tome Finrod had given him... everything was destroyed. In the center of the tree nest, the dry moss mat he had used to sleep on was roughly turned over, leaving dirty footprints and a sticky, foul-smelling stain on it.
The sanctuary was completely ruined, desecrated, no longer safe or habitable. A deep sense of defeat and a rage of being completely deprived of it washed over him, his last safe haven gone.
At this moment, a cold, hoarse voice, with a hint of deliberately restrained but still obvious gloating, sounded from the shadows behind him: "It seems that the shadow of the forest does not always favor you, lost one."
Meereen turned around suddenly, and Eol appeared there without him knowing, still wearing his dark green robe, leaning against an ancient tree, his dark eyes scanning the remains of the tree nest, a faint, cold arc hanging at the corner of his mouth.
"Occasion?" Meereen's voice was dry.
"It's obvious," Eol said slowly, as if admiring the destruction of a work of art. "They are like locusts, swarming at the slightest scent. You have finally attracted the minions of darkness." He paused, his gaze turning towards Meereen. Something seemed to flicker in the depths of his dark pupils. "Your little dollhouse is finished. This forest is no longer safe for you."
Milin was silent, looking at the ruins before him. The huge sense of emptiness and the new sense of crisis intertwined together, making him feel unprecedented fatigue and confusion.
Eol took two steps forward, approaching Meereen. His scent, a blend of ancient moss, metal, and bitter herbs, grew more distinct. He gazed into Meereen's eyes, his voice low and strange, almost bewitching. "Come back with me to Nan Elmoth. Deep within my palace, I have everything you need. Stone walls a hundred times stronger than this humble lair, warding off any uninvited guests. Vast libraries contain the lost lore of Middle-earth, the secrets of the stars, and even ancient scrolls on the nature of power. The environment there," he surveyed the devastated landscape, his tone tinged with obvious contempt, "is a thousand times better than this pile of rubbish. More importantly... my palace is hidden away, safe from Orc harassment and unwanted gazes. I know you have many secrets, and I can help you."
Meereen looked at Eol, the gloomy elf. The offer he now offered was extremely tempting. A solid shelter, an endless collection of books, a safe environment—that seemed to be what he needed most. He remembered that when he was with Eol, although he was suppressed, he was indeed never harassed by the Orcs. And those books, the knowledge about the nature of power, might answer the questions he had about his own abilities.
More importantly, Eol's words carried an unprecedented urgency. Though masked by his icy exterior, Meereen could sense Eol's need for him. He needed the peace and vitality he brought. This sense of being needed, at this fragile moment in Meereen, enveloped in emptiness and a sense of crisis, seemed particularly weighty. He might as well give Eol a chance to trust him.
The relationship between the two had already been subtly reversed through the transactions on the nights of the new moon and Eol's awkward gifts. It used to be that Meereen needed Eol's knowledge, but now it is more like Eol needs Meereen's existence itself.
Meereen's gaze flicked over the remains of the tree nest once more, the stained moss mat stinging his eyes. He took a deep breath, the cold, damp forest air filling his lungs. He had no choice, not yet.
"Okay." He heard his own voice, with a hint of fatigue and compromise, "I'll go to South Elmos with you."
A subtle glint flashed in Eol's eyes, like a prey caught in the darkness. He nodded slightly, the cold curve of his lips seeming to deepen a little. "A wise choice. Take what you can take, and we will leave immediately." He turned, his figure blending into the shadows of the forest, as if opening a door to a deeper, more unknown realm for Meereen.
Meereen bent over, searching among the ruins. He picked up the torn, mud-stained Quenya tome and carefully brushed off the dust. He then found the dark leaf container Eol had given him for holding herbs; thankfully, it was strong enough to hold it intact. Finally, he clutched the jade flask Finrod had given him at his chest. The warm touch was his final anchor.
He stood up and took one last look at the forest where he had first struggled and had briefly gained warmth and friendship. Then he set off, following the dark green figure ahead, as if it were shadow itself, into the depths of South Elmoth Forest, towards Eol's palace hidden among the ancient trees and mist.
The forest's landscape deepened, towering ancient trees blotting out the sun, thick vines entwined like giant pythons, and the air was thick with a scent of decay and renewal, a gloomy feeling that the sun could not reach. Eol's residence was not the magnificent castle Meereen had imagined, but more like a massive fortress built of dark stone and strange metals, nestled among giant ancient trees and jagged black rocks. It lay silently in the heart of the forest, exuding a cold and secretive aura that kept people at a distance. Eol particularly enjoyed the dark environment, and Meereen later heard that he even offered treasures to King Thingol in exchange for living there.
Passing through a heavy black iron gate carved with twisted vines and obscure runes, Meereen officially entered Eol's domain. The interior was vast and complex, dimly lit, with only the strange minerals embedded in the walls and pillars, which emitted a cold green or dark blue light, providing illumination.
The air was filled with a stronger scent of metal, ore, old parchment, and various indescribable herbs. The passage was flanked by tightly closed heavy stone doors, and no one knew what was hidden behind them. The entire palace was like a huge, living maze, so silent that only their own footsteps could be heard echoing in the empty stone corridors.
Eol brought Meereen to a relatively spacious bedroom, decorated in a typical elven style. There was even a small spring in the corner that flowed out from the cracks in the rocks and flowed into the small stone pool below.
"This is yours." Eol's voice sounded especially cold in the empty stone chamber. "It's better than your tree cave. There are some basic Sindarin and plant atlases on the bookshelf. It's enough to keep you occupied. Don't wander around." His dark gaze swept over Finrod's jade bottle, tightly grasped by Meereen. His eyes were slightly cold, but he said nothing more. "Remember this above all," he emphasized, with an undeniable warning, "the depths of this palace are my workshop and the heart of my library. No one may enter without permission. Outsiders are not welcome there, and especially not the breath of the Noldor."
"Noldor?" Meereen caught the unfamiliar word.
Eol's face instantly darkened, like frozen ice. "Those exiles who crossed the sea from the west, claiming to be noble, bringing war and curse! Their presence will taint my land!" His voice was filled with deep disgust and hatred. "If you encounter any elves in this forest who wear the symbol of the star and crescent and speak the harsh Quenya language, stay away immediately! Especially do not bring them here! Otherwise..." He didn't finish, but the cold threat permeated the air like a substance.
Meereen's heart trembled, and he silently memorized the two key words "Noldor" and "Star and Moon Emblem". Eol's hatred for these elves far exceeded his previous imagination.
After giving his instructions, Eol turned and left. The heavy stone door closed silently behind him, leaving Meereen alone in this cold, empty bedroom filled with a strange and forbidden atmosphere.
Meereen set down his simple belongings and walked to the single, small window of the stone chamber. Beyond lay the thick, impenetrable forest mist and the twisted, gnarled branches of ancient trees. He stroked the cold stone walls, feeling the warmth of Finrod's jade flask in his palm. This place was indeed strong and safe, safe from the threat of the Orcs. The books on the shelves exuded the allure of knowledge, but there was no warmth of the campfire, no laughter of children, no singing of the stream, and even less the starlight and understanding that Finrod had brought. There was only boundless silence, cold stone walls, and Eol's gloomy warnings.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
