I have seen the dark universe yawning
Where the black planets roll without aim-
Where they roll in their horror unheeded
Without knowledge or lustre or aim

H.P. Lovecraft Nemesis
~*~

The Year 1404 of the Second Age

Most of the townsfolk agreed that the house took on a peculiar atmosphere after the storm, which had been one of the most vicious ever seen in that part of Hyarrostar, the south-eastern spar of Númenor. 

The rains lashed against the tree-lined slopes with such ferocity that some feared there had been another great war in the East and the world had broken again.  The skies flashed constantly with great bouts of bluish power, closely followed by a deafening rumble across the thick grey clouds.  Many paths turned to mud, being unpaved and rough at the best of times, and along the coast the waves churned and exploded wildly against the sharp cliffs. All around the coastline the lighthouses beamed their guiding rays towards the tortured oceans, pale in comparison to the fierce display lashing across the skies.

Such a night, mused the folk of Hyarrostar, must be an omen from the Valar, and could not portend any good thing.

The house was greatly troubled by the storm, more so than the villages beneath the shelter of the lush woodland.  For the house stood on the clifftop, looking down on the more populous and fertile part of the land, and so was unprotected against the onslaught of wind and bitter water.  Tiles flew from the sloping roofs of its many turrets, smashing into dust against the paved courtyard, while the ornamental trees in the gardens bent double in the gale.  The pewter-coloured panes of the leaden windows rattled, and leaves circled endlessly inside the quadrangle, as the wind moaned and the horses kicked against the stable walls and doors. 

Through all the chaos, however, a calmer sound pervaded.  Soft, ethereal voices spread through the cold, darkened corridors and lofty halls as a small choir, brought up from the village, sang to fight away the shadows and the bleak sounds of the storm. The chief lady-in-waiting to the household stood by them, watching over them as they cooed each note.  When the lightning flashed outside, the blue glimmer caught upon the deep frown she wore and made the fine dusting of perspiration on her brow shimmer. 

Though her eyes were on the choir, her heart focussed on the bed, where her lady lay gasping for breath on sweat-soaked sheets.  Still there was no sign of the healer, nor of the Lord and his esquire sent to fetch the healer from the village.  The lady-in-waiting prayed silently that things would hold awhile until they returned, and that the gentle song might soothe the Lady Ilmarnië’s mind and body.

The midwife was already in attendance, having stayed with Ilmarnië through the night.  It was on her instructions that the healer had been sent for, since she sensed (from her many years’ experience) that all was not well, though she could not say what.  She stooped over the bed and mopped the lady’s brow with a damp cloth, before she stepped aside and wandered into a corner, out of reach of the candlelight, where she and the lady-in-waiting drifted together. 

“Her breathing seems less ragged,” whispered the midwife with a dire, village gossip tone to her voice.  “Yet the fever seems to have risen.  She is so warm to the touch, I dare not think what might be happening in the womb.”

“I sent one of the girls down to see what’s become of the master,” replied the lady-in-waiting.  “But she thought the road might be bad, with the rain and all.  How near is the child?”

“Her waters have not broken yet, but I think it shan’t be long now.  That is if she lasts through this affliction.  I tell you Auriel, I have never seen the like of it, to come on so quick and harsh.”

Auriel sighed, but her poise and dignity never flinched, the result of many years in service to the noble families of Númenor.  “Not that it is my place to say,” she went on in a hushed voice, “but I cannot help but think it is this house, and this place.  Oh, I do not mean the country, Lalaith, as I know it is your birthplace and you love it dearly.  No, the village I find so pleasant and friendly, yet this house has not the same character.  I do not claim to know the full reason why the sister of the king, the daughter of kings should wish to come here, yet I know it was no good thing that pushed her family from Armenelos.”

“In the village it is often talked about,” admitted Lalaith, “yet none know the true reason.  Sometimes I think that suits them better, for they can sit together and drink wine by the barrel while they debate why Lady Ilmarnië might be here.”

“I only know what some of the other girls heard.  Whispers only, not even rumours.  But I heard it said that the lady had a dream, a few days after she found out she was with child, and was greatly troubled by it.  In the end, so they say, she was so concerned that she grew ashen and weak, until the Lord Nairion finally decided to remove her to the country, away from the noise and gaiety of Armenelos.  There were others of their kin in these parts, the lady’s sister for one, and I suppose he felt she might be more at ease.”

“And has she been well since?”

“She has moments where the light seems to return to her eyes and the colour to her cheek, but these grow fewer and less frequent.  I cannot say if that story I told you is true, and I only tell you since I know you shall not breathe a word of it beyond this house.  I did think for a while that the pregnancy might be flawed in some way, though every care has been taken regarding the Lady’s health since she discovered the child.  Yet then you came to see her those few months ago and said that all seemed well with the baby.”

“All is well with the baby,” said the midwife.  “My concern at the moment is that the mother’s illness might change that, however.  That is why I wish the healer would put down his wine and hurry.  The longer this is left to ravage her body, the more chance there is that the child might suffer.”

Auriel, the lady-in-waiting, glanced towards the window, where the lightning cast strange shadows through the trees.  “Even with the road out, I cannot see as it should take this long for them to get here.  Still, the song seems to have calmed her a little.  Over the last few days I have found it to be the only comfort to her.  Sometimes, when her fever grips her, she calls out indecipherable things, and it is as if the song is her rope, to pull her from the clutches of darkness.”

“And what was this dream, if I may ask?  Though I cannot see how a dream might bring on an illness such as this.”

“I do not know for certain,” replied Auriel.  “Only that it concerned the child somehow. Shortly after we came here, I found the lady sitting in the atrium alone, looking extremely pale and forlorn.  I feared she might be in one of her dark moods and asked if I might bring her something.  She did not reply at first, then she said something, which I remember to this day, that I could not and do not understand.  She said, and again I know you will say nothing of this, ‘perhaps the child might not survive.  Some die, you know, in birth, even in elven children it is so’.  Well I thought she might be worried, as some ladies are when with child, and this was the cause of her grey colour and drab humour.  ‘You need not worry about that’, I told her.  ‘For I’m sure the child is safe and well, and here in the countryside there is quiet and clear air.  And the gardens have such great spaces for the little master or mistress to run around in when old enough.  And you being of royal blood, my lady, and of the Line of Elros, I am sure you would have long years together’.”

“Good words,” said the midwife.

“So I would have thought, but the Lady seemed little comforted.  Then she said the most curious thing.  She said, and I shall try to remember this exactly, ‘oh the little master will live long, of that I am certain.  Yet it is how he shall live that is a weight upon my heart’.  That was when I first had an inkling of what that dream might have contained.  Some dire thing concerning the child.  I know it was bold of me, yet before I knew what I was saying, I asked her what she had seen.  I asked her if she knew something, and all at once she turned pale.  I do not know what fate she foresaw, but from the awful expression she wore, I doubt if it was a pleasant one.”

“Well, both she and Lord Nairion are of the Line of Elros,” mused Lalaith.  “So is it not possible one or both of them might have some gift of far vision?”

“Aye, that was what I thought,” said Auriel.  “That was what I thought.”

With another weary sigh, the two women listened to the last, fading notes from the choir’s song, then in the silence that preceded the next piece of music, they both let their gaze fall upon the Lady Ilmarnië, who lay asleep yet stirring restlessly.

“I wonder though what it was that she saw,” breathed Auriel, “that could bring such a melancholy upon her.”

A commotion sounded below the window and the choir faltered slightly, distracted by the noise.  Auriel waved them to continue, then crossed to the rain-streaked panes to look down on the outer yard.  Distorted by the rain, she saw three dark shapes move across the pale flagstones; three men on horseback heading towards the gates.  A moment later she heard the deep groan as the gates opened and scraped against the stone.

“That should be Lord Nairion,” she declared, exhaling in relief.  “And I think he has the healer with him.”

“Thank the Valar,” muttered the midwife, casting one last concerned look over her charge, as Auriel hurried out to meet the returning lord.

~*~

Auriel stood in the cloisters around the central quadrangle, watching the rain beat down on the pale stones as Lord Nairion dismounted and let his groom lead the horse off to the warmth of the stables.  Behind him, the esquire had already scampered into the cloisters and to shelter, while the third figure stood huddled inside his cape, his face mostly hidden by the hood.  Still, Auriel could see that it was not the healer from the village.

Shooting the lord a look of concern, she raced out into the stinging rain and went to Nairion.

“My Lord?”

Nairion scowled for a moment.  “Ilmarnië – how is she?”

“The midwife is with her now,” replied Auriel, walking with the lord and the man-who-was-not-the-healer towards the cloisters and the stairwell leading up to the third floor and the lady’s chamber.  “She is still very hot, sir, though her breathing has slowed and she has had some sleep.  The midwife believes the child will come soon.”

“Good, then perhaps this will be over,” said Nairion, adding beneath his breath, “though I doubt it.”

“I am troubled, sir,” Auriel went on, glancing over her shoulder at the other man.  “Where is Minarwë?  I thought he would be here.  The Lady needs to be attended…”

“Have not a care, for I bring her a healer,” said Nairion.  “Though Minarwë shall not be the one to attend her.  That is the thing that delayed me.  Minarwë is dead.”

Auriel paused by the door of Ilmarnië’s room and frowned at him.  “Dead?  How?”

“That can wait.  Nolendil will tend to the Lady.”

Nairion held the door open and then stood in the threshold as the healer moved in to the bedside.  Auriel glanced inside and saw the midwife throw the same confused frown towards Nolendil, before she too moved in to aid Ilmarnië.

Moments later Nairion went further into the room, and Auriel found the door closed and herself alone in the hallway, listening to the ravages of the storm.

~*~

Just before midnight, Auriel heard the first screams as she sat in the kitchens with some of her kin, who also served the Lord Nairion.  All of them, seated around the battered wooden table in the centre of the low, steam-filled room, looked towards the ceiling and frowned.

“That will be the little master coming then,” remarked the cook, a distant cousin of Auriel’s, though the resemblance between them made most believe they were twins. 

“Just the start of it,” corrected the kitchen maid, the cook’s daughter, as she stared into her soup bowl.  “My Ehtelë was fourteen hours before arriving.”

“I doubt if the Lady would last fourteen hours,” said Cook.

“She’s strong.  She always has been,” replied Auriel.  “Whatever ill came over her lately, the blood of Tar-Minyatur flows in her and that cannot be conquered lightly.”

Another wailing cry answered her from above. 

“So why was Minarwë not with the Lord?” asked the kitchen maid.

“Oh, did I not tell you?” Cook replied, before Auriel had a chance to speak.  “He is dead.”

“Dead?” said the maid.  “How?”

“And how do you know this, Elwen?” added Auriel.  “The Lord himself told me barely moments ago.”

“Endacar, the groom told me,” replied Elwen.  “He heard the Lord and the new healer discuss it.  He and the esquire went to Minarwë’s house to fetch him and found him there.  They thought it was the lightning, though I never heard of such a thing happening indoors.  They found him sitting by the window.  Apparently they saw him as they came along the path, sitting at the window with the grimmest face upon him, and then they noticed, as they grew near, that he had not moved.  They broke the door and entered, and found him dead and cold.  They think the flash caught him through the window somehow.  Since the house was locked and no one else was inside, they cannot account for it any other way.”

“Strange business,” muttered Auriel disapprovingly.  “So who is this fellow?”

“From some village on the other side of the forest.  The Lord and esquire had to ride fast as Astaldo to get there and back again in time.”

Another scream, this time followed closely by a bellow from the thunder raging outside.

“Then let us hope the baby has that speed too,” sighed Auriel.  “For the Lady’s sake.”

~*~

With dawn came the final surcease of the storm, and the countryside lay swathed in mist and dampness, the smell of the lush vegetation thick on the air.  The sea too seemed to have quietened, and a few ships could just be seen, like distant swans upon its glassy grey waters. 

Once all the fires in the house were lit, the linen in all rooms save the lady’s changed, and preparation for breakfast begun in the Great Hall, Auriel returned to the kitchens and found Elwen tending a pot of oats that seemed big enough to feed an army, let alone the fifty or so people in the household.  Neither woman spoke, but they exchanged tired smiles that betrayed a sleepless night.

Auriel made herself a mug of hot herbal tea and sat by the table, letting the steam warm her nose and cheeks.  Until the fires had a chance to waft their heat around the place, the house felt damp and cold.  She also noticed another subtle change in the feel of the place, a strange, unsettled feel that made her anxious as she moved from room to room to do her daily checks.  Although she had lived there for several months and knew each corner by heart, she found herself taking fright at reflections and shadows that morning.  She felt – though it took her most of the morning to reach the definition – like a stranger in the house, mindful of her behaviour and manners all of a sudden and afraid to touch things lest they break. 

She put this down to frayed nerves brought on by the storm, which had been unprecedented.  Even the kitchen, though, where she passed most of her free time and where she usually expected a warm, comforting welcome, felt at odds that morning.

Just as she sat down, there came a great thumping from the upper floors, as though several people were running up and down the halls.  Auriel and Elwen both looked upwards in unison.  Another, long and ragged scream filled the air, only slightly muffled by the fabric of the house, then suddenly it ceased and all was silent.

Auriel held her breath, waiting for the next sound, since it would tell her what had happened.  There could only be two reasons, she thought, for things to go quiet.  Either the Lady had finally succumbed to her fever and the hardship of labour, or…

After what felt like a lifetime, she finally heard the crying from the rooms above, a whining, high-pitched sound that sent waves of relief washing over her.

“Thank the Valar,” muttered Elwen, throwing her cousin a beaming smile.  “That’s him here!”

~*~

Ilmarnië shuddered and lay still against the sodden pillows, her gaze fixed on the darkness of the ceiling above her.  By her side, Nairion stood and gazed over the midwife’s shoulder as she wrapped the child’s tiny body in soft blankets.

His expression, however, was hardly befitting a doting father.

“Is that…” he began, speaking quietly so his wife might not hear.  “Is that normal?  I mean, what is that…?”

“His colouring?” said Lalaith, with a glance towards the healer, Nolendil. 

“It does happen,” he answered, wiping his hands.  “I have never seen a child born like that, but I have heard it said.  Something that happens from time to time though we never know why.  He seems quite healthy to me, though.”

He tried to look earnest and convincing, but Nairion continued to stare at the child in puzzlement.  His son did seem strong enough, but his skin was as white as a corpse and the thin strands of hair on his crown seemed to shine, like the raiment of ghosts.  He wriggled and shifted his weight in Lalaith’s arms, eyes firmly closed and tiny face framed by the pale blue blankets.  Finally Nairion reached out to hold the child himself, and as the morning light caught his features he almost seemed to glow, as though he had been carved from alabaster.  Though the unsettling feeling remained, the sensation of that minute body in his arms forced Nairion to smile at last.

“Do you wish to hold him, My Lady?” asked the healer, gathering up his things.

Ilmarnië let out a groan.  “I wish to sleep,” she sighed.  “And cannot.”

“Not even for a moment?” said Nairion.

“Not now,” replied Ilmarnië.

“Perhaps a rest would be the best thing,” said Nolendil diplomatically.  “Your fever has come down, My Lady, but it has not yet passed.”

“Then you will stay in the house,” said Nairion.  “Until she is well?”

“Of course, if that is my lord’s wish.”

“Indeed it is.”

Nolendil wandered towards the door, glancing awkwardly around, like a stranger suddenly thrown into a room full of foreign folk.  He paused a while by Nairion’s shoulder and looked down at the baby with the same fixed smile he had worn all morning.

“Any thoughts as to the name, My Lord?” he asked.

“I suppose I must have some,” sighed Nairion quietly.  “For he must have a name.”

Nairion thought for a while, but found that the name came to him only when he had emptied his mind. 

“I think he shall be Marillion,” he concluded.  “For he is like pearl.  Like he was carved of it.”

“Marillion then he shall be,” muttered the healer, leaning over the child.  “And long may you have good fortune young master.”

“Aye.  And thank you again, Nolendil.”

“’Tis nothing, My Lord.  ‘Tis nothing.  Call for me if you should need anything, but I think I shall try and sleep for a while.”

The healer left and the midwife moved in to take the child.

“There we are, My Lord,” she said.  “And we’ll see that someone else has some sleep, ay young master?  For the night was hard on you too.”

“Hard on all of us,” mumbled Nairion.  “Though it is finished now.  I should hope.”

__

Notes

Astaldo – another name for the Vala Tulkas, who ‘rides no steed, for he can outrun all things that go on feet, and he is tireless’.  (Silmarillion: Valaquenta)

Marilla – Quenya, ‘pearl’, so ‘Marillion’ would be ‘pearlescent son’