Heart of Flame: A Tale Of Sauron

The Beginning of the End

In the height of golden summer, the Year of the Trees 1490 in the brilliant month of Cermië, Nanwë gave birth to her last child. Her labor was the easiest of the three, according to Calarmo. After wrapping the freshly bathed newborn in a silken swaddling cloth, Luimëníssë brought him to the window of the birthing chamber to look upon the sea for the first time. She rested her nose against his soft head covered with a thick of tuft of white hair just like his grandfather Olwë's.

Her mother lay against the pillows, her dark hair spread around her and a light sheen of sweat on her forehead, but she was at peace. The weeks leading up to the birth had been difficult. Luimëníssë had spent many evenings at her side, speaking of lovely things as they embroidered or spun, anything to keep her mother's hands busy. She was too distracted in her final months even to study. So occupied with whatever vision she may receive at the birth, Nanwë could barely spend ten minutes at time in her books.

"He is perfect, amilye," she said, burying her face in his warm scent. The baby had barely cried when he was born, merely whined until he was wrapped and fed at his mother's breast. "The sweetest babe I've ever seen."

"The only one you've ever seen," her father teased as he came along side her and tickled the child under his chin. "But look at this, he brings a storm off the sea."

Rain pattered across the water and then gently over the gardens. It wasn't a tempest, only a soft summer rain, the droplets tinged with salt. Calarmo grinned, peering out over the garden.

"I suppose I can't blame you entirely for this, son," Calarmo commented wryly to the babe as he took him in his arms. "So what name shall I bestow upon you, hmm? I believe Calarion shall do for your mother will probably end up winning the debate of what to call you as she usually does. What say you, wife?"

They peered back at Nanwë. She was sitting up straight in bed, looking out at the rain, grey eyes filled with tears and her mouth parted. But her expression was not one of fear, only awe and then deepest remorse.

"Oh my little son," she breathed, blinking as trails of tears rolled down her pale cheeks.  

Luimëníssë rushed to her mother's side and grasped her hands. Her skin was ice cold. "What is it, amilye?"'

"This child will not stay with us long, I fear."

 Luimëníssë grabbed her throat, fear wrenching at her nerves. "What do you mean? What did you see? Was it a vision?"

Mother stirred and patted her daughter's hand. "It wasn't like that of you or your brother's. It seems that your little brother is born to wander. I saw a strange land, far from these blessed shores. He strode mountains and valleys clothed in rough raiment. But he was happy, or at least appeared to be. Then I saw the most wondrous, strange..."

"What?" Calarmo moved towards the bed.

Nanwë lifted her hands for her child and her husband complied. Nestling down into the pillows, the misty breeze drifting through the open window, she kissed the babe's downy forehead and held his tiny hand. "It was an orb, a golden orb lifting high into the sky, it's light blotting out the stars. It rose over the mountains and he turned to look. He smiled upon it as though it were a friend."

Luimëníssë released her breath and gave a laugh. "This is a lovely thing. You see, mother, you had nothing to fear."

Shaking her head,  Nanwë kissed the baby's hand, her eyes closing. "But I fear it means he will leave us someday and travel far, too far to return. I believe the land he wandered was to the east, the dark lands of our past, for it was wild and unsettled. For this, he shall be called Vantaro, for his feet shall carry him far."