The Great Tales of Beleriand: Definitive Edition by Chilled in Hithlum

Part One: Silver and White

This takes place during the sojourn of Hurin and Huor in Gondolin: the Sons of Galdor have forged a friendship with their instructress Idril, daughter of King Turgon.  They embark on a mountain trek but their actions are frowned upon thanks to the princess's ever-present and meddlesome cousin Maeglin.  The day concludes for him with an unexpected and unconventional encounter...

Read Part One: Silver and White

THE GREAT TALES OF BELERIAND

PART ONE: SILVER AND WHITE.

The voice of Idril...

"It began in blood..."

[Murder at Formenos]

"...with theft"

[The Silmarils are taken]

"...with rebellion"

[Fëanor agitates the Noldor]

"...with betrayal"

[The Ships are burnt]

"...and downfall!"

[Fëanor is slain]

"In long ages past Morgoth, the Great Enemy of World, suffered prolonged captivity in the land of Valinor against his most evil deeds, but upon an appointed time he was released.  In vengeance for his shaming he fled that land and with the aid of the unholy spidress, Ungoliant, he left in his wake damage that could not be reversed..."  

[Valinor before and after The Darkening!]

"And under a cloak of impenetrable darkness he returned to Middle-earth to rebuild his northernmost iron stronghold, Angband!  Thereafter the great and fair country of Beleriand and its Elven peoples fell under his shadow; and it so it was that the starlit peace of that land was shattered forever, for never again since this time has war ever wholly ceased..."     

[The raising of Thangorodrim wars against Thingol and the south]

"However Morgoth's enemies were not idle: for those from whom which he had stolen, so-named the Noldor, rashly swore an oath to vengefully pursue him and recover their greatest treasure, the Silmarils!"

[Morgoth laughs as he sets the bejewelled iron crown on his head]

"In this time also the Valar, the Powers of the World, caused the veil over the skies to be lifted and the Moon and Sun blazoned across the heavens.  It is said that far away in the eastern regions of Middle-earth the eyes of Men beheld the light in the west and strayed towards it..."

[Sunrise over mountains: an Eagle soars over Beleriand, finally swooping down behind the Encircling Mountains towards the hidden city of Gondolin]  

"Out of harmony's timeless flight,
Unto broken strife and night

Come O Children, the Firstborn and the Second.  

Beneath the heavens snared in cloud,
marred and choked by evil's shroud
 
Come O Children, the Firstborn and the Second..."

Gondolin...

Present day...

[An Elf maid and two adolescent sons of Men sit in a library surrounded by various forms of literature...] 

Idril: "Strange and varied were the rumours out of the east that delighted our ears in days of old, these for the most part were propounded by wayfarers trading their tales of the Aftercomers.  Of course the stories have all but dried up since our removal to Gondolin.  Still, in after years new tidings of the arrival of the Edain in Beleriand came to us by way of the Eagles baring news from Eithel Sirion; also we have learnt much from the journals of our beloved Aredhel that returned hither from her travels but who to us is now lost..."

Húrin: "Alas My Lady, I cannot enlighten you much further for we are Adan and ourselves born in Beleriand; our childhood stories are bound up with the new rising Sun, and even from our cradles we are told that our tale begins with the migration into the West and out of the Shadow."

Idril: "It is of great sadness to many Elves that our two kindreds were sundered in the beginning, for we shared not in the infancy of our younger brethren." 

Huor: "Perhaps then if you are willing you would show us more..."

The Echoriath...

[Idril, Húrin and Huor traverse a mountain path... an Eagle wheels overhead]

Idril: "My Friends, there it stands..."

[They approach a mound of carefully laid stones, at its base is an overgrowth of weeds and coarse grass...]

Idril: "Alas, such is the grief of King Turgon that he has not appointed anybody to tend to the burial cairn of his father..."

[She proceeds to uproot the weeds...]    

Húrin: "Then is this your first visit since the time of his passing?"

Idril: "My father declared five years of mourning, none have ventured hence; almost three have passed... I could not wait any longer!"

[The weeds are cleared to reveal a low arch of stones beneath which is a slab of Black Piq-stone* and an inlaid plaque of gold baring the name - FINGOLFIN, HIGH KING OF THE NOLDOR!]

Húrin: "He was a great and noble king!"

Idril: "Of course Húrin, your grandfather served mine ere evil befell; it touches my heart that you remember Fingolfin so honourably..."

Huor: "Personally speaking, I found him a bit scary!"

Húrin: "Huor you are in the presence of the Princess of Gondolin, show some respect!"

Idril: "Ha, ha, ha, not at all; it is so refreshing to dispense with formality and not have to..."

[She is interrupted by one uninvited...]

Maeglin: "Thank goodness you are alright: My Lady, when we found you gone we feared to worse..."

Idril: "Strange then that you knew how to find me so soon since I have barely been away from the city for little more than two hours..."

Maeglin: "By happy chance I caught sight of your horses by the head of the pass; Idril, these mountains are far too perilous for your royal person to venture upon unguarded..."

Idril: "Ah Maeglin, what would we do without your sharpness of eye; but as surely as they can see I have two valiants in attendance, Sons of the House of Hador no less..."

[Maeglin looks askance as Húrin and Huor close ranks about her.]

Idril: "See Cousin, I am quite safe!"

Maeglin: [with an undertone] "Safe, for now!"

Húrin: "My Lord?"

[Maeglin ignores him...]

Idril: "If you have tidings of any danger then you are duty bound to say!"

Maeglin: "My sincerest apologies, I did not mean to frighten the children!  Alas, the sadness of the circumstances that imposed the establishment of this place provoked dark thoughts within me and for a but a moment they ruled my tongue; ah, the threat of war is ever present!"

Idril: "Not all the fortunes of war are an evil, after all it was in such circumstances that our fair city was blessed by the presence of our two friends here..."

Huor: "Thank you, My Lady, but credit were it is due Lord Maeglin is right..."

[All eyes turn toward him in disbelief...]

Huor: "Oh the burdens of combat; tell me, Lord; how many Orcs have you killed?"  

Maeglin: "Such insolence!"

Húrin: "My Lord, please forgive my brother's recklessness he is yet unlearned in the ways of protocol!"

Maeglin: "Hmm, well I suppose he is very young..."

[Maeglin ruffles Huor's unruly hair and leaves with a curt bow to Idril...]

Huor: [affectedly] "Well I suppose he is very young..."

[Maeglin overhears and broods at the sound of merry laughter...]

Idril: "Come friends we should away, it does not do to dwell too long in the presence of death..."

[She stops at the sound of soft weeping and turns to see Húrin knelt before the Stone of the King...]

Idril: "Húrin?"

Húrin: [wiping his eyes] "Please forgive me I weep for Galdor, our father who has lost so much: firstly his father and brother, and now Huor and I.  Would that there was a way to let him know we are alive and well..."

Idril: "There is nothing to forgive; come!"

Turgon's Chamber...

[Idril enters her father's throne-room; she is visibly disenchanted to see Maeglin in attendance...]

Idril: "You wish to speak with me, Father?"

Turgon: "Ah, you have saved me a task; I was about to dispatch a search party!"

Idril: "This welcome staggers me: why would you treat with me so?"

Turgon: "I hear now that it is your wont to go off wandering unaccompanied beyond the confines of the city..."

Idril: "Then you heed the lies of an unwanted prowler that stalks my footsteps!"

Maeglin: "Harsh words, Cousin, when I merely wish to ensure your wellbeing..."

Turgon: "Harsh indeed and most ill-fitting for a Princess of the Noldor!"

Idril: "Perhaps?"

Turgon: "I know where you were and with whom..."

Idril: "And why?"

Turgon: "Of course..."

Idril: "Then am I forbidden by your proclamation from visiting my grandfather's graveside until you are ready?"

Turgon: "No Dearest, of course not; but Maeglin is right to express concern regarding your leaving the city without a guard..."

Maeglin: "The King and I feel that mere boys are not suitable escorts for a Royal Princess?"

Idril: "Mere boys; how dare you?  Húrin and Huor are heirs to the vassal of the High King and have already seen action in the war; have you?"

Turgon: "Now, Idril!"

Idril: "No Father, I tire of his disparaging remarks towards them; they are my friends and welcome guests in this house!"

Turgon: "Truly they are: all the more reason therefore not to place them in any unnecessary danger!"

Idril: "Danger, what danger?"

Maeglin: "The colliers have encountered many wild beasts beyond the circle of Tumladen that could easily prey on the unsuspecting and unprepared mountaineer!"

Idril: "There was no jeopardy today, Father, and he knows it; besides an Eagle wheeled above us the whole time, we were quite safe!"

Turgon: "It is true that Thorondor visited this very morn to appraise me on the state of the war, it is good news the Enemy has withdrawn for a time; now how else would we learn this without this with his vigilance?  The Eagles cannot always be on hand to supervise your outings with Húrin and Huor; therefore, in the interests of their own safety, the Sons of Galdor are confined within the city walls!"

Idril: "It is strange that you name them under their father, for at the graveside of yours the elder wept for his own and the loss his family have endured in keeping us safely hidden here..."

Turgon: "Is that what Húrin said?"

Idril: "Not in those words or with my connotation, but the comparison was not lost on me; please father they are guiltless, do not constrain them further!"

Turgon: "Hmm, there is much to consider here; thank you for telling me this!"

Maeglin: "Bare in mind your laws, My King!"

Idril: "Yes, thank you; he knows!"

Turgon: "Can you two not get along; by the Valar, you remind my of my father and his half-brother!"

Idril: [under her breath] "No love lost there then?"

Turgon: "Enough, this time I tire of your disparagement; go now Daughter, I shall see you at dinner!"

[Piqued and provoked, she departs...] 

Turgon: "O Maeglin, was I too unkind to her?"

Maeglin: "Nay Lord, you did as any father would; as any King!"

Turgon: "Why then do I feel like a jailor?

Maeglin: "A Jailor; not so, My Lord!"

Turgon: "Remember what happened with your mother..."

Maeglin: "Firstly my mother left Gondolin during the days of the Long Peace through her own desire and returned by way of her own preference; second and in this instance most important, this is not the wish of your daughter."

Turgon: "I know..."

Maeglin: "Alas, times have changed for the worse since Aredhel's day; and please forgive this for I mean no offence, but I am not altogether sure that the Lady Idril in her purity of heart fully grasps this...  Alack, I have said too much!"

Turgon: "Nay, Sister-Son, I sense that you are troubled; please say on..."

Maeglin: "Its is just that I love you Lord, and my cousin also!"

Turgon: "I know it!" 

Maeglin: "In my heart I fear the evil from without and I could not bear to lose either of you; but thou Lord are strong and able to fend against evil, Idril however is rare and delicate and innocent, she inspires in me the need to protect her.  Therefore as her father, how much more does this apply to you?"

Turgon: "That need is great..."

Maeglin: "Then how does it make you a jailor; on the contrary Lord, not only are you a father to your daughter but a father to your people!"

Turgon: "O Maeglin you speak ever to my heart, but please understand that Idril very much outnumbers you in years and she survived far greater evil ere came to Gondolin.  In spite of this I too marvel at how she remains pure of heart and would gladly lay down my life to preserve hers!"

Maeglin: "Quite..."

Turgon: "You say that I am strong but also is she; hers is fortitude, that of the silver after which she is named - CELEBRINDAL!  However, my daughter's greatest strength is wisdom, and foresight too; both as acutely keen as your sharp vision, and all of them the finest qualities of any great queen..." 

[Maeglin smiles in his dark thought...]

Turgon: "Yet Maeglin in one thing you are correct: a king has a responsibility to ensure the safety of his people.  If as you say that you are able to reinforce iron by blending it with other minerals then surely this can only be to our benefit; therefore I grant thy request to extend the range of your you mining expeditions, but remember that you are not to delve beyond the perimeter of the Encircling Mountains!"

Maeglin: "No, no; of course not, and thank you My Lord!"

The Banquet Hall...

[The Even-bells peel: all are seated at Turgon's table save for Idril and Húrin, Maeglin sits complacently at the king's right hand, exchanging smug glances with Salgant the harpist.  At length the absentees enter and the music stops...]

Maeglin: "My, my, twice in once day; do the customs of this realm count for naught nowadays?"

Idril: "Save your volley, Cousin; my father's word is law here and it is his pardon we beg, not yours!"

Turgon: "Please, let us just sit together and eat!"

[The music resumes and platters of fine food and wine are served; they dine for some considerable time without speaking and the air grows tense...]  

Húrin: "My apologies for tonight's tardiness; alas it was I that delayed the Lady Idril, forgive me Lord, it was not my intent to place her in any difficulty with yourself!"

[Turgon nods quietly with closed eyes expecting a fuller explanation...]

Idril: "Father you see..."

Turgon: "Húrin has taken it upon himself to explain; please, let him do so!"

[Maeglin and Salgant gloat, much to the displeasure of Huor...]

Húrin: "My brother and I are clear regarding your laws, and I know that I speak for him also when I say that we are happy and contented under your protection; but please remember My Lord, we are mortal and you are Elf-kind and we share not the same time span with our loved ones as thee.  Such is our fate and such is our frailty!  In the presence of your father earlier today I was minded of my own and became sad of heart; and in her kindness your daughter visited me to offer succour and concern which I gladly took, alas this caused our delay and late arrival."

Turgon: "Then the matter is resolved!"

[Maeglin grunts ‘Hogwash' under his breath with a cough... Huor glowers at this]

Turgon: "Do you have something to add, Sister-Son?"

[Maeglin feigns that he has mis-swallowed some food...]

Idril: "Or is there something stuck in your throat, Dear Cousin?"

Huor: "I say Lord Maeglin, that painting behind you is rather beautiful; a remarkable likeness, would you not agree?"

Maeglin: "Quite so Master Huor, I did not know that you enjoyed works of art..." 

Huor: "Oh yes, I find them most stimulating... and such a noteworthy subject!"

[Húrin looks askance at his straight-faced brother as Maeglin rises from his seat to pontificate before the portrait of his mother...]

Maeglin: "Behold, The Departure of Aredhel!  Note the ingenious coulisses which frame the central figure whilst still managing to provide the eye with a dioramic view of the city in the background; and here the subtle washes of colour that enhance the white walls.  Although, I feel that the most significant element remains the sublime use of sfumato causing the outlines to be almost imperceptible; this creates an impression of stillness that lends a certain melancholy to the overall piece which, subjectively speaking of course, I believe was the artist's intent..."

Huor: "Hmm, hmm yes I see; tell me Lord Maeglin, when did you first discover that you enjoyed wearing ladies clothing?"

[The whole room erupts with laughter; however an enraged Maeglin scoops up his steak knife and brandishes it aloft with a deep bellied roar; once the room falls silent he embeds the blade into the dinner table...]

Maeglin: "ARREST HIM!"

Turgon: "For what, a jest: I think not!"

Maeglin: "This insolent cur has besmirched the memory of my mother, your sister; I demand a reckoning!"

Turgon: "Do you think that I hold my sister in such cheap regard that the slightest reference towards her could not allow for the tiniest amount of merriment?  The jest was aimed at you not her; indeed if Aredhel is at all dishonoured tonight then it is by your own reaction to the playful arrows of a boy-child defending his brother against snidely comments!"

Maeglin: "I have lost my appetite, may I be excused?"

Turgon: "I think that might be for the best!" 

[Mustering his dignity, Maeglin bows and turns to leave...]

Turgon: "In one thing the boy is right, Maeglin: it is a remarkable likeness!"

[Maeglin storms out with the peel of fresh laughter ring in his ears...]

A corridor in Gondolin...

[Idril catches up with Húrin as he is about to retire to his room...]

Idril: "Húrin one moment, I would know why you took the blame upon yourself for our lateness when it was I that waylaid you?"

Húrin: "I do not know what you mean, My Lady; did I not speak true?"

Idril: "Yes to a certain degree, but you omitted my side of the conversation - the part that made us late!"

Húrin: "Why would I not, that remains between us; what purpose would it serve to betray your confidence when you have shown my brother and I nothing but kindness?  Besides, the king seemed satisfied with my answer and I did not lie to him; for as spake my father in my childhood days - there are some things best unsaid!"

Idril: "You are wise before your years, Húrin: THALION THE STEADFAST, they shall name you in after-years and that title I foresee shall be fully earned - goodnight my dear friend!" 

[As Idril departs Huor emerges from his quarters...]

Huor: "What did she want?"

Húrin: "She?"

Huor: "Alright, the Lady Idril..."

Húrin: "Oh, nothing!"

Huor: "Bah, keep your secrets it does not matter anyway; did you see Old Misery's face when Turgon told him off - priceless!"

[Suppressed laughter echoes along the hallway]

The Banquet Hall...

[After dark Maeglin, still troubled and haunted by the sound of mocking laughter, returns to the portrait of his mother which now appears dim in the borrowed light of his lantern...]

Maeglin: "Why mother, why would Turgon brook the debasement of the remembrance of you, a Daughter of Kings, by the spawn of a lesser race and he himself join in the mockery?"

[He sighs and turns away; to his utter amazement a familiar voice answers him...]

Voice of Aredhel: "Lómion, My Son; look at me!"

Maeglin: "Mother?"

Voice of Aredhel: "Yes, My Son..."

[The image does not move but illuminates from within, and a small patch of red paint appears about the left-hand shoulder; it slowly spreads outwards across the breast and begins to drip until it spatters on the floor.  Maeglin stands rapt unable to move...]

Voice of Aredhel: "When I first brought you to Gondolin did you not take Turgon as your king, swearing fealty to your lord; and did not my brother take you as his own?  Turgon loves you, Son; for on this very day did he not decree unto you that your inherited skill should be put to use for the benefit of the kingdom?"

Maeglin: "You saw that?"

Voice of Aredhel: "I see your heart, Lómion; do not measure others with your father's devices or gauge them only in terms of profit!  Alas that you witnessed not the light of the Two Trees; O My Son, your heart would glow at the recall of it, but you were born under the strangled light of the tallest darkest forest a Child of Twilight, and you saw not even the sheen of starlight until you reached full stature.  Ah, the shadow of that gloom I perceive about you still!  Yet and all I also remember the light in your eye when you first beheld Turgon's fair city and its many wonders; try to recall that exhilaration to your heart once more and forget your woes!" 

Maeglin: "I do remember and yes it stirs me but, Mother, it is only a fleeting wisp without roots; I know that I rank highly in Turgon's eyes and that he gives me ear, but still I stand as one alone..."

Voice of Aredhel: "That is extremely sad and not how I would wish things to be..."

Maeglin: "Much that has befallen is extremely sad!"

Voice of Aredhel: "I cannot see you before me, My Son, but I sense that a shroud has only this minute covered you heart; in this you are like to Eöl, your father, yet unlike him you speak not your true mind and this is why you feel as one apart.  For what purpose would this be?"

Maeglin: "I know not!"

Voice of Aredhel: "You must explore within for that which hinders you and seek for solutions; if you continue to quash your feelings then you will not be able to bring their related thoughts to mind.  Heed this counsel and you will attain the peace that eludes you!"

Maeglin: "Those words come easier than their application..."

Voice of Aredhel: "That is so, but in the doing you shall yield a far greater reward than any temporary profit or advantage gained through self-deceptive delusion!"

Maeglin: "Are you here only to berate me?  Lady, speak some kindness to me!"

Voice of Aredhel: "O Maeglin thou art, but your words are sharper than your eyes!  Perhaps this reunion would be more pleasing to you if you had called upon me in kinder tones; for myself, I cherish this brief moment together albeit from afar..."

Maeglin: "I am abashed and repentant; tell me, how is it that you are able to speak with me now?"

Voice of Aredhel: "Truly I know not, save only that my thoughts ever reach out to you from the Halls of Mandos..."

Maeglin: "Then you miss me as I miss you?"

Voice of Aredhel: "O my little Lómion, unhappy are the offspring of the Second-Born that lose their parents before they themselves gain maturity, alas that a similar fate should befall one of the abiding; in the Halls of Waiting marked-time has no meaning and I exist, simply exist, unable to miss anything."

Maeglin: "Then at least is my father there with you?"

Voice of Aredhel: "I would say do not speak of the least but rather take the most from your life, for ultimately that which you look to is that which you shall find!"

Maeglin: "That does not answer my question!"

Voice of Aredhel: "No, I know; it is a challenging question and one that I cannot resolve to your full comprehension; this place is unlike to any other and is not governed by any physical laws that you might understand.  The answer is both yes and no!  Yes, in that all those who depart the tangibility of Arda come here; but if I understand you correctly then the answer is no, insomuch that I have not encountered any fëa that could be distinguished as the one I knew as Eöl."

Maeglin: "But are not your fates somehow interlinked?"

Voice of Aredhel: "All that has passed between any of us shall be registered on the Tapestries of Vairë and upon those threads we shall meet again when our dealings together shall be judged.  Such is the doom of the Children of Eru: the Firstborn and the Second!"

Maeglin: "You refer to the Second-born with authority, but whilst you walked in Nan Elmoth they were little more than a rumour to us told by Dwarves; for even though their settlement lay at the southernmost eaves of our home we were forbidden to met them - such were the limitations imposed by my father!"

Voice of Aredhel: "Many were those limitations and not least those imposed on your way of thinking; it is erroneous and sinful to refer to them as a ‘lesser race' like your father before you, for indeed they are Children of Illuvatar and of no less import than you or I."

Maeglin: "Then you have met them since?"

Voice of Aredhel: "Nay, My Son: their fate is other than that to the Eldar and I cannot guess at their purpose in Arda, although I do know that once they remove from it their place in Mandos is not the same as ours.  However, I have heard that even the most valiant among them have no chance of return once they have departed from life; and this it is said is their divine gift..." 

Maeglin: "If our fates are sundered how do you know this?"

Voice of Aredhel: "My brother also has trouble remembering this... Thorondor is the vassal of  Manwë, not Turgon; much that occurs in Middle-earth is known by the Elder King and the Powers..."

Maeglin: "And such news filters down even to those kept in Mandos?"

Voice of Aredhel: "You speak as though I am a captive in Angband, not so My Son!  It is true that I walk not abroad as I once did and indeed my abode is in the Halls, but here I am untrammelled by the hröa and I go as I wish, perceiving things as I am able.  In the Undying Lands the Valar are greedy for news from the world without and they hoard it not..."

Maeglin: "What else can you tell me?"

Voice of Aredhel: "No more questions, I grow weary and cannot linger for much longer!  I would urge you to caution but not suspicion, for to take care has two meanings that should not be separated: a good Horse-master loves not his charge any less if he is kicked through his own lack of attention, or indeed a collier such as yourself would not discard his best tool simply because he smote his own hand when not concentrating, would he?  Wake up, Son!"

[Maeglin's eyes flood with white light as he finds himself stood stock still before the painting; it is now bathed in early morning sunlight, beautiful and unsullied by any trace of red.  Disoriented and heavy in body he stretches his stiff limbs, until when he is disturbed by sounds from the adjacent kitchen and flees before he is discovered...]

 

   

 

 

   

---

Chapter End Notes

*Piq stone is an invented name for marble.

Parts Two: Sudden Flame & Three: Scattered Ashes

I give this chapter in two parts mainly because I like their names and feel that they go well together!  There is also a narrative between the two which centres on Finrod and Galadriel (who serves as narrator); but the main thrust of this chapter centres on the devastion and aftermath of the Dagor Bragollach - hence the titles...

Read Parts Two: Sudden Flame & Three: Scattered Ashes

THE GREAT TALES OF BELERIAND

PART TWO: SUDDEN FLAME

East Beleriand...

[Dusk: a male rider in silhouette stops to listen as far off a gruff singing catches his
ear, and with his keen vision he spies a campfire in that direction...]

[Frowning eyes only with reflected flames] "Orcs!  But how have they ventured so far south?"

[He speeds towards the firelight...]

Voice of Galadriel: "For two hundred years and fifty the power of the Elven Lords had kept the evil of Morgoth at bay..."

[The rider halts as the singing grows louder and somewhat sweeter...] "What strange chance is this?  These words are by neither Orc nor Dwarf; and even if the Green Elves sung by night their song should be more pleasing to the ear..."

Voice of Galadriel: "It being then the three hundredth and tenth year of the First Age of the Sun..."

[Presently, the singing stops and the rider resumes...]

Voice of Galadriel: "When it was during the Long Peace on the northern reaches of fair Ossiriand the Land of Seven Rivers, that Finrod Felagund, Lord of the realm of Nargothrond, became the first among the Noldor to encounter the Younger Children of Ilúvatar ..."

[Finrod dismounts and quietly enters a secluded glade with a dying fire where a company of Men lie sleeping; he picks up a harp and begins to play, they are roused and look upon him with awe...]

Voice of Galadriel: "These new folk were the first of Three Houses to arrive thus and whom together became known as the Edain, the Elf-friends; and receiving welcome in Beleriand many young and eager Men took service with the Elven Lords..."

[The establishment of Estolad and the meeting of Fingolfin and Aradan...]

Voice of Galadriel: "The Edain prospered and settled across the northlands proving themselves valiant against the sorties of Morgoth..."

[Haleth fights alongside her father and brother...]

Voice of Galadriel: "And in after-years Fingolfin, High King of the Noldor, seeing that all was good in the land contemplated an assault on Angband; for he knew that peace could not last whilst the Great Enemy endured..."

Eithel Sirion...

[Fingolfin has summoned the Noldorin Lords to the Barad Eithel; in attendance also are Cirdan of the Havens, Bregor, Halmir and Hador of the Edain and Thorondor, Lord of Eagles...]  

Fingolfin: "Smoke rises from Thangorodrim, who can tell what evil strategies Morgoth devises against us?  Have not already his Orcs grown bolder: their forays into our lands serve only as a reminder that in the far north the circle of the siege against Angband remains incomplete.  Ever the more does our foe seek to test us: if Morgoth continues to go unchallenged and unhindered then any doubt in his mind of our might against him will depart, he will become deeper in pride and more perilous!  So now I say to you Lords, whilst we are many and strong and well allied, let us be the ones to test him ere his plans against us are ripe!  What say we put an end to strife?"

Caranthir: "An end to strife?  That shall only be achieved once Morgoth lies as carrion for his beasts and the Silmarils are returned to the House of My Father!"

Fingolfin: "As I have just proposed..."

Caranthir: "It is not what you said!"

Celegorm and Curufin: "Ay!"

Maedhros: "Brothers how can we ever hope to keep our oath unaided, without ourselves lending arms in like cause when called upon by our closest kin?  Regardless of this, the High King speaks true: there has been increased activity in the far north beyond the plains of Ard-galen, our cousins Angrod and Aegnor have documented much in this report before us, we must strike now while time is!"

Caranthir: "So you would place more stock in this foolhardy proposal to risk all that we have built and strived for than the fulfilment of our Father's wishes?"

Fingolfin: "Caranthir, ever does the shadow of this rash oath blight your words; but you must remember that the matter of this danger concerns all Beleriand and not just one family‘s campaign!"

Caranthir: "Maybe so, but the matter of the oath concerns the Sons of Fëanor only; and sooner than aught else we would look to it!"    

Celegorm, Curufin and Amrod: "Yea!"

[Caranthir looks darkly on Maedhros and Maglor...]

Maedhros and Maglor: "Agreed!"

Fingon: "Cousins, nay Brothers all: the necessity is grave, pray be rational!"

Curufin: "And pray tell Fingon, where is thy brother Turgon; squirreling away behind some rocks no doubt, whosoever knows where?"

[General smirking and derision, Cirdan and Thorondor share a glance of disdain...]

Fingolfin: "ENOUGH, YOUR PETTINESS DISPLEASES THIS ASSEMBLY!"

Maedhros: "...and shames the House of Finwë!"

[Abashed silence...]

Finrod: "I too share in my cousins' anxiety, if not their humour; all here present have invested their love and labour into this land over many years, for myself I would not endanger my realm or indeed any other province on the off-chance that Morgoth may not be fully equipped to withstand us - why provoke him?"

[General agreement...]

Bregor: "If I may My Lords, the document from Dorthonion goes unread and there is much in these pages that should give you pause!"

Aegnor: "Thank you Bregor, the High King assures me that copies shall be distributed to each house here represented!"

Halmir: "We have the friendship of the March-wardens of Thingol, might we pass a duplicate on to them?"

Fingolfin: "I have no quarrel with Thingol: I see no reason against it..."

Caranthir: "There is no need for any of that young Halmir, there are a select few already at hand that shall run directly to Thingol's doorstep in Doriath reporting the doings of this assembly; even though it is your valiant folk that are kept apart from those lofty halls and left outside to defend the passes!"

[Cirdan rises to speak, looking sternly upon Caranthir...]

Cirdan: "I alone shall apprise Lord Elwë of what transpires here today and trust me, O Dark-head, I shall not run; the Sindar are not so hasty, moreover we brook not such rash tongues in the presence of kings!  Therefore by your leave Lord Fingolfin, I would add to what Finrod has said in that my mariners have regularly ventured north to the coasts beyond Lammoth and there are no evil gatherings to the west as there have been before.  This would suggest that no assault should befall Hithlum any time soon, if indeed Morgoth has such plans; of course given your concerns we shall monitor this more closely and I will inform you of any change..."

Fingolfin: "Those are good tidings indeed Lord Cirdan, your presence distinguishes these halls; please tell Thingol that I am more than happy to share any news with Menegroth concerning our common foe.  Though alas I fear however that there are many other routes that the Enemy might take should he decide to come in force..."

Voice of Galadriel: "The echo of Fingolfin's words to that assembly would endure long after their utterance, for never again would the time be so ripe to fulfil his plan and never again would the bond between those that opposed Morgoth be as strong..."

Present day...

The Realm of Nargothrond...

Voice of Galadriel: "And alas, for the sake of a few more years of peace... Fingolfin's wisdom went unheeded."  

[A party of Elves ride in entourage along the hilly western bank of the River Narog, they reach a great doorway hewn out of living rock where they are received with honour and gladly admitted...]

Finrod's chamber...

Finrod: "Sister, what a delight to see you; it has been far too long..."

[They embrace...]

Galadriel: "I came as I could..."

Finrod: "And most welcome you are; pray, what brings you?"

Galadriel: "This!"

[She hands Finrod a bound document...]

Finrod: "Ah yes, I have seen this before it is the report Angrod and Aegnor compiled for Fingolfin; I still have my copy somewhere..."

Galadriel: "Open it!"

[He so does and a number of loose leafs cascade on to the floor, as he stoops to pick them up he jolts back seeing a scattering of finely drawn sketches of his siblings and other family members strewn at his feet...]

Finrod: "Is this Angrod's handiwork?"

Galadriel: [with a cracking voice] "Yes!"

[The pages are gathered up with care and laid out on a table; they stand abreast, arms to shoulder, perusing their brother's drawings in silence ...]

Three winters ago...

The Realm of Nargothrond...

[Morning: two riders arrive with great urgency at the Great Gate...]

Finrod's chamber...

Gwindor: "My Lord Finrod, great evil has been done this night.  The Siege is ended and the Enemy has sent forth such fire has as never before been seen; Ard-galen is all but gone to ash and the northlands are ablaze, alas it is reported that Dorthonion has taken the most direct and heaviest onslaught..."

Finrod: [horrified] "My Brothers!"

[They depart in haste...]

The previous night...

Ard-galen and Lothlann: with the peaks of Thangorodrim in the middle distance...

[From east to west across the plains legions of armoured Orcs stand in evenly spaced rows with wide gaps between them stretching all the way back to Angband.  At alternates in the rear of each channel there are immense catapults manned by Orcs and huge vat-like rolling barrows with outfacing spouts attended by Balrogs; each device contains a black pitch-like paste, although the catapults are well stocked at the sides with squat cylinders holding liquid magmata.  

Glaurung the Golden, Father of all Dragons, emerges in his full might out of Angband; he passes along from far western flank to his place in the vanguard on the eastern front at Lothlann, igniting each pitch fuelled machine of war as he goes.  At his signal the captains give the order down the line of attack, "FIRE... FIRE..."

First the catapults discharge their fire spraying bouncing-cylinders and the Balrogs proceed at full pelt with their barrows spewing; the Orcs advance un-scorched along the dry gullies whilst Glaurung burns all before him.  Many unsuspecting Elves and Men are engulfed immediately, such is the speed and deadly precision of the attack... there is fighting on many fronts all that night and well into the next day.]

The Pass of Sirion...

[Afternoon: Finrod and his company approach the Fen of Serech with great caution, to their rear and along the angle of the Ered Wethrin upon their west flank all is desolate but ahead they see that there is still battle at Barad Eithel, meanwhile on the eastern flank just beyond the Echoriath black smoke rises from Dorthonion...]

Finrod: "It is as I feared, Fingolfin is beset at Eithel Sirion; I only hope that the riders of Fingon were able to assist by my brethren in time..."

Gwindor: "There is only one way to be sure, Lord, though I dread what my eyes are about to see!"

Finrod: "Ay, as do we all; Gelmir, take your scouts and circumnavigate the fen, Gwindor you and the archers are with me!"

[Scarcely as the company detaches it is ambushed by Orcs concealed in the wetlands, and being outnumbered the Elves are driven asunder.  Finrod's personal guards exchange arms valiantly, although the greater number of foes fall upon Gelmir's division snaring them with nets and spears; Gwindor watches helplessly as his brother is felled and taken.  The assault is great and Finrod is pressed almost to the point of yielding but there comes aid unlooked for with the arrival of battle-hardened Men out of Dorthonion led by Barahir, Son of Bregor.  They form a ring of spears about the King of Nargothrond and his remaining companions whilst hacking their way out the fray; at length the Orcs are overpowered and are slain, however the greater part of them have already absconded with their haul of prisoners...]

Finrod: "Barahir, what news of my brothers?"

Barahir: "Only that my company were ordered forth to stay any assault on the western marches: the lords Angrod and Aegnor remained with my brother Bregolas and the greater part of our combined forces to confront the main onslaught, otherwise I have heard naught else..."

Finrod: "Was there any cavalry out of Hithlum?"

Barahir: "Nay Lord, the plains were destroyed from the sources of Sirion to the arms of Gelion; it was as though the very mouths of hell had swallowed them whole with lightning speed ..."

Finrod: "The sons of Fëanor are beset too?"

Barahir: "That would be my guess...

Finrod: "You must lead me to my brothers at once, ere they are overrun!"

Barahir: "Nay Lord, you must go back while time is; it is midwinter and will become
dark soon and I fear that the battle goes ill with Fingolfin, this place will soon be swollen with foes..."

Finrod: "I will not forsake them: I demand an escort!"

Barahir: "Then I must decline!"

Finrod: "Am I not still regent in this land?"

Barahir: "Thou art so: but in battle I have the command and my first duty is to protect my sovereign and the second is to defend my land.  Was not that law lain down by thy very hand when you granted my forefathers their own province?"

Finrod: "So you would use formalities against me?"

Barahir: "Nay Lord, not formalities but an edict written in peacetime to come into effect in such days as these!  I share in your anxiety for I too have kin facing an uncertain fate..."

Gwindor: "As do I..."

Barahir: "Please Lord, help me in my first duty so that I might perform the second!"

Finrod: "You sons of Bëor are all alike, you melt my heart: very well I shall do as you command but you must send word to Nargothrond as soon as you are able!"

Barahir: [kneeling before Finrod] "Thank you, My Lord!"

[They are interrupted by the sound of fighting spreading south from Eithel Sirion...]

Barahir: "There is need of haste..."

[Finrod removes his ring...]

Finrod: "Hear me all, I henceforth swear an oath of aid in every need to Barahir and all his kin; in token of this I bestow to him my ring, let anybody who comes baring this ring know of the abiding friendship between my house and his!"

Present day...

Nargothrond...

[Finrod and Galadriel are still looking at Angrod's pictures...]

Galadriel: "It is interesting that both document and sketches reached Menegroth in this present format only recently, moreover it was hand delivered to Thingol by Beleg, the Chief-warden of the March, who in turn received it by means of Halmir of Brethil..."    

Finrod: "Strange indeed!"

Galadriel: "Hmm, what is more there is a note here on the endpaper..."

LORD BREGOR,

THANK YOU FOR YOUR EFFORTS IN COLLATING THE INFORMATION GATHERED ON THE PAGES HEREIN.  ALAS, IT SEEMS NOW THAT YOUR HARD WORK WILL NOT BE PUT TO GOOD USE.  PLEASE FIND MY SCATTERED THOUGHTS ANNOTATED ON THE MARGINS, I HOPE THAT THEY MAY PROVE OF INTEREST TO YOU.

YOURS IN SERVICE

FINGOLFIN, HKN

Finrod: "Ah, the Doom of Mandos befalls us again; if only I had not been so vocal and eager to preserve the work of my hands..."

Three winters ago...

The Barad Eithel...

[Fingolfin watches in dismay from his balcony as his troops are pushed back towards the mountains of Ered Wethrin; beneath him a company of Men defend the open gates so that the fleeing Elves might re-enter the fortress...]

Hador: "The fighting in the east must have gone ill; otherwise Morgoth has sent more reinforcements against us.  Galdor my son, take five bodyguards to protect King Fingolfin!"

Galdor: "But Father, surely the King would have us maintain our strength here; besides Lord Fingon has not yet returned..."

Hador: "Peril deepens the longer this gate remains open and our first duty is to the King; go, there is no time to quibble!"  

[There is great noise as Fingon's returning cavalry joins the fray cutting a swathe through the enemy and hemming in those about the doorway...]

Gundor: "Look brother, deliverance is at hand..."

Hador: "Do not fret Son, you shall see us again: go now and do as I say!"

[The departure of Galdor and his company weakens the resistance at the gate and the defenders are hard pressed in the swell.  Moreover, the advance of Fingon is subdued by sheer weight of numbers and the arrival of a Balrog flaying tongues of fire indiscriminately, thrashing all about it be they friend or foe.  Now, by ill chance the flaming whip catches the rump of Fingon's horse, and in horror Fingolfin witnesses his son's collapse into the seething horde; but amid all that calamity the Balrog suddenly stops dead turning its head to listen, and as though answering a call from afar it turns to flight leaving the battle with such rapidity that for a brief moment the going is barely noticed.  Remarkably, Fingon manages to fight his way to the still opened gate...]

Fingon: "Lord Hador, where is my father the King?"

[Hador points up to the balcony but Fingolfin is gone...]

Hador: "I sent Galdor and five others to protect him; ere you came it seemed apparent that we could not hold the gate open for much longer..."

Fingon: "I fear that may still be the instance!"

[Galdor reaches Fingolfin's empty chamber...]

Galdor: "Find the King!"

[As his men disperse there is heard a loud clang as the gate is closed: Galdor rushes to the balcony, there he sees the turning of the tide as the combined forces of Elves and Men massacre the remaining Orcs that did not flee once the Balrog deserted them.  Alas, however he also witnesses in that battle the fall of his father and brother... the words of Hador echo in his head, "DO NOT FRET SON, YOU SHALL SEE US AGAIN!"  

A heavily armoured rider emerges in wrath out of the livery, hacking his way into the fray none can withstand him; but instead of joining the battle he turns north towards the charred plain and the Iron Mountains, where beyond stands Angband...]

Angband...

[The rider stops and dismounts at the threshold of a long causeway leading to the Brazen Doors of Angband...]

Fingolfin: "Here at last, Rochallor, we come to our journey's end; return as you might to Hithlum and if by the Grace of Ilúvatar my unsaddled son survives then you must serve him as you have me... farewell my mighty steed!"

[Fingolfin strides defiantly towards Morgoth's front door sounding a horn to announce his presence...]

Fingolfin: "Morgoth, Morgoth come forth!"

[He smites the door...]

Fingolfin: "Fingolfin is here and he challenges you: come forth!"

[After a prolonged silence he re-sounds his horn...]

Fingolfin: "Morgoth, be thou afraid?"

[He pounds the door again...]

Fingolfin: "Fingolfin, thy sworn enemy comes without company to face thee on thy own doorstep: wouldst thou cower before the faces of thine own captains?  Come now thou Craven King, thou Lord of Slaves; come and meet me here in mortal combat!"

[The ground shakes beneath him amid distant shrieks of terror and thundering footfalls, drawing nearer; at length the doors swing open revealing the leviathan frame of a bulked out Morgoth in heavy black armour wielding his mighty mace, Grond, and in his train comes a multitude of Orcs and many other misshapen beasts beside.  The towering Lord of Angband removes his helm and discards it, looking scornfully upon the Elf: Fingolfin stands firm...]

Morgoth: "Fool, why hast thou come?"  

Fingolfin: "To see thy true face and not that sham disguise you presented in Valinor, and I have come to see thee destroyed!"

Morgoth: "Ha, ha, ha: and what chance is there of that?  See the force I have about me Fingolfin, whilst you stand before them - friendless!  What is to prevent me from ordering them to set thee in bonds, to misuse you as a plaything in my dungeons: what is to stop me from rearranging thee... into one of them?"

Fingolfin: "Application and Pride!"

[A scandalized gasp by those assembled and Morgoth lets loose with Grond upon Fingolfin who manages to jump clear...]

Fingolfin: "Another missed opportunity!"

[Morgoth stays his hand...]

Morgoth: "What mean you by that?"

Fingolfin: "In this very hour your vile company could had the victory at Barad Eithel but for whatever reason you recalled the Valaraukar and the assault was stemmed; who now stands the fool?"

[Morgoth's face contorts with rage and he unleashes a volley of erratic blows with Grond that completely miss, and Fingolfin is able to inflict hurt upon his foe; seven wounds cause Morgoth to cry out seven times.  Enraged, Morgoth pounds Fingolfin with his iron shield knocking him flat three times.  At the last stroke the Elven King falls backward into an impact pit caused by Grond and Morgoth stamps and crushes him underfoot; however, in his last desperate act Fingolfin takes up his sword and hews off his enemy's foot causing him to tumble like a mighty oak at the axe-man's kiss.  They both scramble wildly but the Dark Lord's reach is longer and he snatches the broken Elf with a burnished claw, and in sight of a pack of ravening Wolves he smashes the Elven Lord hard against the rocky face of his outer walls.  In an instant, from out of nowhere Thorondor descends upon Morgoth, and with razor-like talons he deeply grooves his face almost blinding him; and denying the Wolves, the Lord of Eagles bares up the lifeless body of the High King of the Noldor and carries him away to Gondolin into the sorrowing arms of his son Turgon...]        

Present day...

Nargothrond...

Galadriel: "Do not blame yourself for hoping to preserve your realm Finrod, after all were you not instructed by the Lord of Waters himself to seek out such a place as this; moreover, you are not responsible for the decisions of another, as your own regent I should expect you to know this!  I advise you to read this volume afresh as Fingolfin advised the long departed Bregor.  Here you will find that he had it long in his mind to take the course of action that led to his doom, although for myself I cannot deign to understand why he would do it..."

Finrod: "You are a wise counsellor!"

Galadriel: "I am your sister!"

PART THREE: SCATTERED ASHES

Three winters ago...

Dorthonion...

[The northern forests blaze without constraint; legions of Orcs remain unharmed in their specially treated armour whilst many citizens of that land both Elves and Men succumb to the flames...]

Voice of Galadriel: "None had ever considered such an assault of this nature but there was strength in arms in Beleriand; and this was especially true in Dorthonion, whose lords had long considered the danger posed by Morgoth unconstrained.  However, given its proximity to Angband and the open spaces that lay between them the heaviest onslaught fell there..."

[The companies of Angrod and Aegnor are utterly defeated, and also those of House of Bëor whose chief, Bregolas, falls in battle beside the Elven Lords...]

Voice of Galadriel: "Only those engaged on the western front survived..."

[Recap: Barahir's Men rescue Finrod...]

Voice of Galadriel: "And only those that dwelt in the southern and eastern outliers were able to flee or hide themselves away..."

Himlad...

The Pass of Aglon...    

Voice of Galadriel: "But there was also heavy fighting to the east where the Sons of Fëanor were hard put to it..."

[Celegorm and Curufin are pressed back and forced to flee south...]

Himring...

Voice of Galadriel: "Yet there was great valour in that region too..."

[Maedhros defends his citadel with the aid of those fleeing Dorthonion, and though he arrives too late to aid his brothers he repels the Orcs at Aglon...]  

Thargelion...

Voice of Galadriel: "Although the power of Morgoth could not be wholly undone!"

[Glaurung with his entourage breaches Maglor's Gap and defiles the land.  The Dragon enters the stronghold of Caranthir causing him to flee...

Abstract scene: amid fire and carnage figures run erratically hither and thither, Maedhros comes forward and turns his head aside in dismay, behind him is a fleet of burning ships.  Suddenly a pair of hands begin to pull at him desperately, he turns about to see his younger brother Amrod in distress; flames whip up about the face of Fëanor's youngest son and he burns horribly before our eyes...]  

The settlement at Ramdal...

[Amrod wakes with a start; a herald has entered his bedchamber...]

Herald: "My Lord, your brothers have come and demand your presence!"

[Dawn: Amrod, Celegorm, Curufin and Caranthir step out on to a pavilion, below on the foothills there is gathered a huge populace...]

Curufin: "Amrod is right, we cannot hope to house so many in these hills..."

Caranthir: "Surely by the skill of our hands we shall build new homes here, protected under the shadow of Andram..."

Amrod: "But there is precious little arable land hereabouts!"

Caranthir: "There is a mighty forest on our doorstep with fertile ground a-plenty; we could carve out a great society to the profit of all, away from any peril in the north..."

Amrod: "The woods of Taur-im-Duinath are wild with many Dark Elves wandering; I doubt that neither tree nor Sindar could be tamed and I doubt all the more that they would withstand any attempt, howsoever noble your intent!"

Caranthir: "The trees stretch back as far as the eye can see; indeed the northern marches appear to be deserted..."

Amrod: "Nay Caranthir, this action would bring war upon us!"

Caranthir: "Then where shall we go?"

[At this the Great Hound, Huan, leaves his master's side; he trots to the far end of the pavilion flopping his forepaws over the western railing and bays loudly into the air, his howls resound down the long rocky wall of Andram and all eyes turn that way...]

Celegorm: "Look brothers our road is in front of us, Nargothrond lies straight ahead beyond the Andram Wall!  Finrod is always urging us to visit and often tells of the plentiful dwelling space in those caverns..."

[Celegorm rigorously pets his canine companion with many a ‘Good Boy!']  

Curufin: "Ay, and it only need be a temporary measure until we regroup and..."

Caranthir: "No!"

Curufin: "What now?"

Caranthir: "I would rather retry the Fire Drake than grovel for shelter at the door of one who fawns at the flattery of a king of other lineage, howsoever tenuous that kinship!"

Celegorm: "Not this Thingol issue again?"

Caranthir: "Are we not already cast in the role of unwelcome immigrants by Thingol?  And even now we are told that we dare not touch the feral forest occupied by his deportees... ooh, lest the Grey Ones be offended: bah!"

Celegorm: "Nargothrond is the best solution..."

Caranthir: "And one that I shall not consent to!"

Amrod: "Caranthir, you know that all my kindred are welcome to stay here for as long as they need, brothers, cousins or nephews; but if Finrod is able to help with housing the rest of these folk then surely it would make sense to... you know?"

Caranthir: "You are so like to Our Maedhros little brother, and of course you are right!  Celegorm, Curufin, take your people to Nargothrond; I feel certain that our virtuous and valiant cousin will receive you all gladly, for myself I will not abandon the east!  Amrod, if you are willing to house but some of my folk I shall remove yonder to Amon Ereb and maintain a watch on our brothers in the north..."

Amrod, Celegorm and Curufin: "Agreed!"   

Nargothrond (and the Northlands)...

[Celegorm and Curufin are met at the gate of Felagund's halls by a young Northman baring an Elven ring who also seeks admission therein...]

Voice of Galadriel: "And so it was with the coming of the Sons of Fëanor that the ranks of Nargothrond were swelled and fortified..."

[Finrod openheartedly embraces his cousins...]

Voice of Galadriel: "But to the north, the shadow of the power of Morgoth covered the land completely: save only in the places where resistance remained strong..."

[Under the banner of High King of the Noldor, Fingon rides in cavalry to the aid of his cousin Maedhros; many Orcs are slain or driven back...]

Voice of Galadriel: "And in Dorthonion, Barahir would not flee from the face the Enemy!"

[The young man and a company of Elves depart from Nargothrond with Finrod's blessing and head north...]

Dorthonion...

[Dusk: Barahir addresses the remnant of his people...]

Barahir: "Morgoth has not before recked with the valour of Men, at least not with the Houses of the Edain; he knows not that above aught else we desire the freedom to control our own fates..."

Emeldir: "Hear, hear: well said husband!"

[He holds aloft a tattered piece of parchment...]

Barahir: "You have all seen these nailed to our once beautiful trees; who amongst you is tempted by the false offers scrawled upon them that I will not give air to, which of you is willing to betray our Elven friends in return for of perfunctory power under his dominion that translates to little more than a life of thraldom?"

The Folk of Bëor: "NONE OF US!"

[Collective cheering as he rips up the parchment...]

Barahir: "The peaceful days of Angrod and Aegnor are gone: for even now their surviving elites have joined with Maedhros, and I am happy to report that with the aid of the new High King the Elven warriors are pushing back our foes..."

[More cheering...]

Barahir: "However my heart misgives me, for I believe that Morgoth will not stop until all free-folk are wiped clean from the face of Beleriand!  Moreover, I readily forfeit that given the vehemence in which he struck this land it is we that shall always be hit first and hardest, and with our numbers dwindling fast I do not know how long we can hold out against him..."

[A solemn hush descends: Beren steps forward... ]

Beren: "As many of you know I have recently returned from Nargothrond, where it was my sad duty to inform Lord Finrod of the loss of his brothers and to apprise him of the dire situation here..."

[The scene changes to Nargothrond... an ashen-faced Finrod raises from his seat and with faltering steps he leans against a table; the room falls silent.]

Curufin: "Rightly they call your kind Inscrutable and Heavy-handed; one simply does not drop by and announce to a Noldo that his closest kin is dead, be gone this is a delicate matter best dealt with by the Eldar!"

Beren: "Apologies Lords, I meant no offence; I shall leave you to your grief!"

Celegorm: "Hmm, I think it would be best!"

Finrod: "No, please there is no need for that!  Cousins I thank you for your concern and we shall speak more together later; but I implore you not to rebuke this young man, for indeed he comes by my command with the news that I knew in my heart but long dreaded to hear.  So if you might leave us alone for but a few moments..."

[Celegorm and Curufin rise to leave, feigning poorly any lack of offence taken; their disdainful manner increases when they notice the Elven ring worn by Beren...]

Beren: "Forgive me Lord Finrod, I am ill apt to your customs concerning de---, the passing of Elves; indeed it is a thing unheard of amongst my folk..."

Finrod: "Then as is my regard, in this matter you must hold yourself blameless.  Now pray tell, what news other do you bring?"    

[Beren produces a sealed note and hands it to Finrod: it reads...]

MY LORD FINROD,

SON OF FINARFIN, SOVEREIGN KING OF BOTH NARGOTHROND AND DORTHONION,

MAY I FIRST CONVEY MY DEEPEST SORROW WITH THE NEWS OF THE PASSING OF YOUR MOST NOBLE BROTHERS, OUR LORDS ANGROD AND AEGNOR; IN ADDITION I AM MOST GRIEVED TO INFORM YOU THAT THE BURDEN OF RESPONSIBILITY HELD BY BREGOLAS MY BROTHER NOW PASSES TO ME, AND IT IS IN THIS CAPACITY THAT I WRITE TO YOU NOW.  

ALL THE ELVES THAT SURVIVED THE INITIAL ONSLAUGHT UPON OUR LAND DEPARTED TO JOIN FORCES WITH MAEDHROS AND HAVE NOW FORSAKEN THIS LAND, AND SINCE WE ARE ALL THAT REMAIN HERE IT FALLS UPON ME GATHER UP THE REMNANT OF MY FOLK; ALAS THEREFORE, I AM UNABLE TO PRESENT THESE TIDINGS IN PERSON AND I SEND MY SON BEREN IN MY STEAD.  AS HEAD OF MY PEOPLE IT IS MY PRIMARY DUTY TO INFORM YOU OF OUR DESIRE TO REMAIN IN DORTHONION AND FIGHT TO PRESERVE IT, IF NEED BE TO VERY THE LAST OF US.  THIS WE WILL ONLY DO BY YOUR GOOD GRACES AND I PATIENTLY AWAIT YOUR RESPONSE ON THIS MATTER.

YOURS IN FEALTY

BARAHIR, SON OF BREGOR.

Finrod: "Has your father discussed the contents of this letter with you?"

Beren: "Yes, and with many more of us beside; we are all in agreement with him..."

Finrod: "Since you speak for your father then I give to you, Beren, my consent; although I would counsel against such action without strength of numbers.  Morgoth will not relent in hunting you down, his actions prove that he realises that Dorthonion offers strategic high ground, right in the very heart of the northlands, with multiple passes to provide ease of movement for his forces..."

[The scene returns to Dorthonion...]

Gorlim: "Then does Finrod abandon us with naught but dry ash to fuel our hope?"

Beren: "Nay Gorlim, I have more; King Finrod sent me forth to Tol Sirion and Lord Orodreth, a petition for our aid was then delivered from there to Barad Eithel; and Fingon has granted us this grace..."  

[He produces a manuscript and unfolds it...]

Beren: "I am told that duplicates are to be sent to the village halls of all free-folk; here read it for yourselves!"

[He pierces the parchment on a stuck out nail in a nearby post: it reads...]

FROM THE OFFICE OF THE HIGH KING: A DECREE.

I FINGON, SON OF FINGOLFIN, LORD OF HITHLUM AND HIGH KING OF THE NOLDOR, HEREBY STATE:

I DULY ACKNOWLEDGE AND ACCEPT THE INDEPENDENCE OF DORTHONION AS LAIN DOWN BY ITS FORMER REGENT, FINROD, SON OF FINARFIN, AND THAT DOMINION THEREOF NOW PASSES TO BARAHIR, SCION OF BËOR'S HOUSE, AND HIS DESCENDANTS.  THE VALOUR OF ALL THREE HOUSES OF THE EDAIN SHALL HENCEFORTH BE RECOGNISED IN THIS MY BOND; ANY WHOSE HOMES ARE BESET BY PERIL WILL FIND WELCOME IN MY PROVINCE AND NEW ACCOMMODATION HEREIN FOR HOWSOEVER LONG THEY WOULD KEEP IT, THE DECISION WHETHER TO REMAIN OR DEPART MY LANDS SHALL BE WAIVED BY THE KING, LEST IT BE A MATTER OF LAW!

IN SERVICE

FINGON, HKN      

Barahir: "My friends, I know that there is much to digest here but time is short and we must act swiftly and decisively.  We know not when the Enemy with strike again but know this: if Dorthonion is lost then our once beautiful land will become perverted into a place of dark enchantment, but if we are to preserve and rebuild this Free-State of ours then we must change our tactics and make war by stealth, this we cannot do whilst trying to maintain our homes as well!  Therefore while time is I have decided to accept the High King's offer and all of our women and children shall be sent to the safety of Hithlum at first light tomorrow; those who are able shall remain and fight!"

Emeldir: "Ay, and I shall fight beside thee!"

Barahir: "Nay, there shall be no exceptions!"

[Night falls: There is much muttering and fear throughout as families and loved ones cling together...]
 

The home of Barahir...

Barahir: "It grieves my heart also to be parted from you in this way, Emeldir; but you must remember, you are now The Lady of Dorthonion and your first duty lies with the continuance our people!"

Emeldir: "What hope is there in such continuity?  Surely, if we remain in Hithlum then the lineage of the House of Bëor will become mingled and forgotten!" 

Barahir: "Which would you prefer Lady, mingled or naught?"

Emeldir: "Neither, either, aught nor naught; what kind choices are these?"

[She begins to weep: Barahir embraces her...]

Barahir: "Perhaps it will not our fate to govern here in freedom but it is our right to attempt it; however, if a Lord and Lady cannot preserve from peril as many of those in their charge as possible then surely that right is lost!  I entreat you, my beloved, please do not let our parting be made under sufferance; for if you cause it then I will command you!"

The home of Gorlim...

Gorlim: "Eilinel, we cannot abscond; I am a soldier in Barahir's own company like my father before me, imagine the shame it would bring upon us..."

Eilinel: "We have been married barely a year, I will not be parted from you!"

Gorlim: "Please listen to reason, you will be safe in Hithlum..."

Eilinel: "Yes, but can you warrant that we shall be together again?"

Gorlim: "You that know I cannot; come now, that is not fair!"

Eilinel: "Not fair, in that at least you right: I will not go to Hithlum!"

Gorlim: "And I will not abandon my lord!"

Eilinel: "Then there is only one choice, I shall remove south to my grandmother's old house in the high forests overlooking Dor Dínen, and there I shall await you."

Gorlim: "But that place is so remote and lonesome..."

Eilinel: "Then be sure to be posted as far south as you possibly can!"

Gorlim: "Can this work?"

Eilinel: "It must!"

[They embrace...]

Eilinel: "Now quickly, help me load the cart; I must be away ere the Sun rises!"

[The following morning: the sorrowing folk of Dorthonion embark on their great departure; Gorlim in uniform trails in the rearguard, looking back over his shoulder at times in the direction that his young wife will have taken...]

 

 

 

 

---

Chapter End Notes

 

 

Part Four: Bolts from the Sky

This chapter takes its first major diversion from my previous work in that it takes its lead not from The Silmarillion but rather The Shibboleth of Feanor in HoMe 12; which, to this reader at least, offers a far more logical account of the line of the High Kings, assuming of course that the Elves operate a patriarchal society!

All conjecture aside, We follow events before and after the Sack of Minas Tirith... focusing mainly on the relationships between Orodreth, Finduilas and Gwindor.  Oh and there is a good measure of evil doing here too!

Read Part Four: Bolts from the Sky

THE GREAT TALES OF BELERIAND

PART FOUR: BOLTS FROM THE SKY

Voice of Finduilas: "After the disastrous fourth conflict in the wars with Morgoth, Dagor Bragollach - The Battle of Sudden Flame, there came a brief respite in which there was significant movement across Beleriand; most of which was undertaken voluntary by folk seeking safer dwelling places..."

[The regions about Hithlum and the Havens of Cirdan are swelled by incomers...]

Voice of Finduilas: "Nowhere did this seem truer than in Nargothrond; although as fate would have it, the immigrants that arrived there did so out of bitter expulsion rather than open invitation..."

[The refugees of Celegorm and Curufin enter Nargothrond...]

Voice of Finduilas: "However, it is widely agreed that this says more about the kindness of the lord of that kingdom; for amongst the most noble and just of all the Noldor was Finrod Felagund!"

Present Day...

Nargothrond...

[Galadriel is departing for Doriath, Finrod sees her off at the Gate...]

Galadriel: "Are you sure?"

Finrod: "I am, you keep it; besides I have living reminders of Angrod dwelling here in my halls..."

[Galadriel passes the bound document to an attendant as Orodreth steps forward...]

Orodreth: "Farewell, Dear Aunt..."

[They embrace...]

Galadriel: "Tell me, where is Finduilas?"

Orodreth: "I know not, I told her the hour of your departure she should be here!"

Galadriel: "Ah well, do not be too harsh with her; I too remember wonders of youth in springtime..."

[She winks at Finrod...]

Orodreth: "I doubt it not, nevertheless..."

Galadriel: "Now be sure and listen to your Uncle Finrod, he is very wise!"

Orodreth: "Aunt, I am not a child!"

[They laugh together...]

Galadriel: "Finrod, I shall call again as I can; elsewise why not visit us at Menegroth, Thingol and Melian always extend their welcome..."

Finrod: "Ay, please forward my regards to them..."

Galadriel: "Our cousins are abroad I note; no matter, send them my love anyway..."

Finrod: "Farewell, Beloved Sister!"

[The embarkation passes along the banks of the Narog where up ahead Galadriel spies a pair of young sweethearts walking together, she calls out...]

Galadriel: "Farewell, Sweet Finduilas..."

[The Elf maid turns about in surprise and approaches them, the male remains where he is but sinks into the shadow of the rocks...]

Finduilas: "Galadriel, you are leaving now?  I must have lost track of time..."

Galadriel: "No matter we are here now, although I do wonder: why is your friend hiding from us?"   

Finduilas: "I am afraid it is my father, his heart seems shut to any of my... friendships!"  

Galadriel: "Hmm, close friendships?"

Finduilas: "One might say that..."

Galadriel: "Alas, the shadow of grief lays heavy upon Orodreth; it is not easy for a son to lose his father, or indeed a sister her brothers."

Finduilas: "Or a husband a wife?"

Galadriel: "Indeed!

Finduilas: "Therefore one might think that he would show some understanding to Gwindor who also lost his father in the wars, and indeed his brother to the inescapable bonds of Angband..."

Galadriel: "Perhaps, although it is noted that since your friendship with the young captain he seems less careworn; can this be said of your father?"   

Finduilas: "He seems unchanged... I do not know, perhaps you are right!"  

Galadriel: "O Child, it is difficult to see beyond love's first rosy glow and I urge you to keep those feelings close to heart; but for now let that mist disperse and you will see what is before your eyes.  Farewell, Dear Finduilas!"

[Galadriel's long goodbye to Nargothrond concludes with a sweet smile as she passes by Gwindor still trying to blend into the rock face; at length Finduilas catches up to him...]

Gwindor: "What was all that about?"

Finduilas: "Oh, we were saying goodbye..."

Gwindor: "As indeed should we, I am already neglecting my duties!"

Finduilas: "Then let us walk back together!"   

Voice of Finduilas: "I first met Gwindor about a year and half ago when... ah, but I am getting ahead of myself, for this tale has a far more sinister beginning!"

One year ago...

Angband...

[A tall cloaked and black hooded figure accompanied by a large multi-greyed wolf strides confidently along the extensive and wide causeway leading to the brazen doorway of Morgoth's abode.  Ever since the encounter with Fingolfin there have been two pairs of sentries posted at both ends; and each of these greets the visitor with great deference, the same respect is offered as he and his companion are led to Morgoth's chamber.  Once inside, the wolf stands obediently by the doorway whilst his master un-hoods and reverently kneels before the Dark Lord...]   

Morgoth: "Rise!"

[He obeys]

Morgoth: "Well?"

[The dark clad figure produces a wriggling sack from beneath his robes and lays before Morgoth's feet...]

Sauron: "The whelps of Draugluin's bitch, as requested My Lord Melkor!"

Morgoth: "Open it!"

[At this a litter of wolf pups emerge; all are so daunted by Morgoth's eyes that they scurry towards their father and cower beneath his legs, all save for the runt who fixatedly returns his gaze...]

Morgoth: "A disappointing clutch, Sauron, look at them flee; and this scrawny one has barely moved is it blind?"

Sauron: "I am not sure Lord, though I believe it to be the same age as its litterlings..."

[He looks to Draugluin for confirmation...]

Sauron: "Indeed it is; perhaps an examination is in order?"

[Morgoth nods...  Sauron, with a point and a finger click summons an serving Elf out from one of the many shadowy recesses; quick as a sigh he produces a knife and severs the poor thrall's hand casting it aloft.  The runt immediately goes after it and having finished ragging this new toy he laps up the blood, its siblings remain with their father...]

Morgoth: "Uncalled for but effective!"

[The Elf writhes in agony, Sauron side kicks him with a ‘Shush!'...]

Morgoth: "The fellow is in pain, let him scream; indeed your beasts must be hungry they must feast!"

[At Morgoth's signal the he is cast down on the ground as a meal for wolves...]

Morgoth: "What of the bitch?"

Sauron: "The mothers rarely survive the suckling process, alas Lord, neither did..."

Morgoth: "Though she was of good stock?"

Sauron: "The best!"

[The screaming stops as the Elf's larynx is rent from the throat; they turn to see the runt looking back at them with a blood smeared snout...]

Morgoth: "Look at him Sauron; I name him, Carcharoth, the Red Maw!"

Sauron: "Then you have chosen, My Lord?"

Morgoth: "So it seems, mm; so on to other matters!  Two years have passed since the Great Burning and yet we have not made any inroads further than the borders of ash; now, how do you suppose can this be?"

Sauron: "My Lord?"

Morgoth: "You have my ear!"

Sauron: "It appears that the passes are too well guarded in both the east and west..."

Morgoth: "Obviously!"

Sauron: "Are you considering another attack?"

Morgoth: "No, why should I waste my resources?  You say east and west then I say what about the middle; why is Taur-nu-Fuin still inaccessible to us?  Indeed, how is it now that a mere handful of Men continue to hold out against us?"  

Sauron: "I regret to impart that the Orcs shun the burnt forest, for they are in dread of it; several have returned in shame stating that the unquiet wraiths of the slain wander abroad in the regions about that land and inflict harm to any that dare disturb them!"

Morgoth: "Superstitious nonsense!"

Sauron: "Perhaps?"

Morgoth: "Hmm, maybe it is time is to unleash some dread of our own!"

Sauron: "The Urulóki?"

Morgoth: "Nay Sauron, the Dragons function on malice and we require sorcery; besides Glaurung has earned the slumber granted to him and his progeny are unready, I am hoping to imbue them with Art and for that I require their trance state to deepen somewhat..."

Sauron: "Ay Lord, and the Slow Arts cannot be rushed; especially with beasts..."

Morgoth: "Ever do you wish to appear Admirable to my eyes, Mairon; tell me do you miss your God-given name?"

Sauron: "Sauron, is my God-given name!"

Morgoth: "Well met, your mastery with words is unsurpassed; but come now, it is an ample jump from The Admirable to The Abhorred..."  

Sauron: "That depends upon the speaker and the intent; being abhorred by my foes only serves to instil hated and fear in them, whereas for myself my only desire to serve thee, O Master of the Fates of Arda!"

Morgoth: "Good enough, although honeyed poison tastes sweet on the lips!  The days of flattery are dwindling fast and fair-seeming will not avail you; discard your trappings Sauron, the night of phantoms and terror draws near!"

Sauron: "My Lord?"

Morgoth: "It is high-time that I edified you with the skill of intonation..."

Sauron: "My Lord!!!"

Morgoth: "You shall carry my words to Taur-nu-Fuin and there we shall see if we cannot induce some spiritual activity of our own!  Still, first things first, there is an unseemly mess to clean up at my chamber door... oh, and by the way Sauron, you owe me a thrall!"

One week later...

The Pass of Sirion...

[An afternoon in springtime: Gwindor leads a small party of Nargothrondrim to Tol Sirion the residence of Orodreth, Son of Angrod; with them they bring store of food and weapons loaded onto carts.  On this ever blustery day the sky darkened too early by far, and this occurred just as they are negotiating the angle of Ered Wethrin that brings one directly onto the pass itself.  The basis of this sudden and curious weather appeared to have its sources about Dorthonion and the Fen of Serech in black-grey, low and angry clouds.  The Elven party quicken their pace lest they are caught out in the mounting storm...]       

Dorthonion...

Taur-nu-Fuin, The Burnt Forest...

[Night falls with awful rapidity and the air is heavy and charged: flashes of lightning and deafening thunderclaps herald the dreadful downpour to follow.  In a barren clearing amid the charred trees nigh to the banks of the Rivil stands Sauron, clad in dark robes and visible only in the lightening or by the shifting reflections of the inlaid gold set into his black armour.  Atop his head sits a helm with many elongated and upright blades all around that form a crown, and fixed upon it is a long and tapered visor in a similar razor-like design; indeed the whole piece completely encompasses his head and has an overall appearance akin to a Dragon's skull.  

At length twelve Elven prisoners arrayed in Orkish garb are bound in chains and set against wooden stakes fashioned in wide ring, at the centre of which stands Sauron tall and terrible.  They are tormented further by having the dead flesh of evil creatures bound about their faces to form despicable masks whilst close fitting helms are pressed down over their heads to keep the disguises in place.  By the time all this was done the storm had already gathered apace and voices other than were present called out angrily on the fell wind or echoed in the heavy splashes of the river.  To these Sauron paid no mind, since it was foretold to him by Morgoth that this should occur; moreover, despite the apparent conductivity of his attire not one bolt strikes him, for he was cautioned to wear amulets of protection.  

Sauron now stands with outstretched arms in a gesture of one triumphant revelling in the glory of adulation, and throughout the remainder of the episode he chants a refrain of increasing power in a tongue never before heard of, except by the wicked.  It roughly translates as...  

By unholy flesh boiled unjustly in blood,

Scold them

By the toughest of iron, leather and mail,

Hold them

This Sauron repeats this over and over at increasing speed until each of the twelve is lit white by fork lightning that crackles and schismatically dances its way up far above his head inexorably to converge into a singularity that shoots skyward in a pulsating column.  All about the sky lights up in a putrid green, and still Sauron chants, until when at last the lightening discontinues and all is dark; he must act fast here and so in the evil dialect he shouts aloud...

Twelve by twelve,

wander no more.

Split by twelve,

And then a score.  

And there before him stands a multitude of Elven wraiths in Orc-like appearance that have been spread so thin that their very selves have been obliterated, whom of which now are not even apt to move unless Sauron wills it; and before them stands he, unmoving and chilled by what he has done.  By the strangest chance, in this very moment there comes caught on the wind the scream of one that is terrified...]

Tol Sirion...

[Orodreth hastily enters his daughter's bedchamber; she stands motionless with fingers splayed against her window, her silhouette becomes momentary backlit by lightning...]

Orodreth: "Finduilas, your calls roused me; what ails you? ...Daughter?"

[Finduilas, her face stricken with fright, turns to meet her father's open arms...]

Finduilas: "Evil is come!"

[She sobs in his arms...]

Orodreth: "O Child, do not weep!"

[He consoles her...]  

Orodreth: "Here, sit with me on the bedside and we shall wait together until the storm has passed..."

Finduilas: "Nay Father, this storm shall not pass..."  

Orodreth: "All storms pass..."

Finduilas: "Not this one, for indeed once the rain stops then the real tempest shall began; I have seen it!"

Orodreth: "You speak in riddles..."

Finduilas: "Nay, only with foresight of my mother and the remnants of a dream... a nightmare!"

Orodreth: "Your mother was a great prophetess: tell me, what did you see?"

Finduilas: "I saw her face, she was smiling... Oh Father!"

[They embrace, and in her father's calming presence she begins to relax...]

Finduilas: "I had almost forgotten how beautiful she was..."

Orodreth: "I have not forgotten, for in you I see that beauty every day..."

Finduilas: "I miss her terribly..."

Orodreth: "I know my darling, we all do; each day I curse that malevolent arrow and reproach myself for allowing her going to the Havens in my stead..."

Finduilas: "You must not, you know that she would not be parted from Ereinion; besides it was her idea to take him hence after the Bragollach, and at least now we know that he is in Cirdan's safekeeping..."

Orodreth: "She was so close to home!"

Finduilas: "Non could have foretold that craven strays were hiding in the Wethrin or that they marked her return; thankfully those filthy Orcs were slain!"

Orodreth: "Alack, perhaps she was not meant for such evil days as these..."

Finduilas: "That is just it Father, she came to me to warn us against evil to come!"

[They are interrupted by a knock at the door; Orodreth gestures to his daughter with a deferring nod and pats her hand...]

Orodreth: "Come!"

Gwindor: "My Lord Orodreth, oh... my apologies, I was awoken by the storm and fancied that I heard a maiden's voice calling out into the night..."

Orodreth: "And being a valiant out of Nargothrond, you thought that you had better investigate?"

Gwindor: "Quite so..."

Orodreth: "Hmm, your Lord Finrod will be most gratified when I report the vigilance of his Household Guard at work in my own residence; do you not agree Finduilas?"

[Finduilas coyly turns her head away and looks to the floor...]

Orodreth: "All is well Gwindor, you may return to your quarters!"

[Gwindor bows respectfully and catches a final glimpse of Finduilas before he goes, this does not go unnoticed by Orodreth; however, Finduilas with eyes still lowered begins to gently weep...]

Orodreth: "Pay him no mind, he is not the first young warrior whose head has been turned by a noblewoman!"

Finduilas: "My eyes turn to him also, I weep in fear of losing him..."

Orodreth: "But you barely know him!"

Finduilas: "Alas!"

[Orodreth vacillates for a moment...]

Orodreth: "You were telling me of your mother..."    

Finduilas: "I wish that I had more to tell; in my dream she smiled and extended her hand to me and pull me out of bed, thereafter I did not see her face but rather felt a vague presence by my side..."

[Finduilas' Dream... An Elf maid, barefooted and clad only in white nightclothes, traverses a forest pathway; she treads gingerly along unable to prevent the crunch of crispy dry leaves that declare her footsteps.  There is no wind though it be stone cold, and a gathering mist conveys the general sense of anxiety oft associated with the woods at night-time; yet throughout, the reassuring invisible hand of her mother takes hers and leads her on.  To the front overhanging trees converge in the mist obscuring the way ahead; she looks skyward and bare treetops with groping branches cling together to form a cathedral-like mesh over the starless sky.  

In a shocking instant the forest is bombarded from above by falling molten boulders, glowing red and numbering twelve; with amazing rapidity they form a fiery ring around her that ignites the ground like tinder, she is soon helpless amid the approaching flames and fierce heat.  Presently, a great tree crashes down breaking the blazing circle and she is able to clamber over its trunk and out of peril before it too is engulfed.  She runs headlong in the mist and smoke no longer aware of her path; only the onset of rain causes her to suspend that dreadful flight.

She finds herself in a new place indeed, if new be the word, for here no mist hangs at all but rather there is a stark clarity to it; the ground is free of leaves and the few trees that are about are small, spiky and shiny-black in the indiscernibly fine rain.  Oddly enough she does not feel wet, save only for her feet which sink into dank terrain of this desolate landscape.  However and worse of all, she can no longer sense the comforting presence by her side and realising now that she is utterly alone she is afraid; fear becomes horror when out of the eerie silence there comes a mono-metallic sound, repeating evenly - PLINK, PLINK, PLINK!

Absconding she turns about, becoming entangled in the blackened branches of nearby trees which snap and wither on contact with her flailing arms; though before making good her escape the ground beneath her rumbles violently and clammy hands reach up from the grave to clasp her ankles and hold her fast.  Frozen and immobile in the rain she hears it again, at her rear now, that approaching sound - PLINK, PLINK, PLINK!  A dark voice calls out in a tongue that she understands not, although in her failing heart she knows that it calls to her; daring not to scream she closes her eyes tight in the vain hope of not being seen, but the wailing spirits underfoot betray her and she is discovered.  PLINK, PLINK, PLINK, the sound of rainfall on armour; he is directly behind her now!

A finger sharp caresses her flaxen hair moving it to one side exposing the pale neck, he runs its point along the tender skin down from her ear; she cranes in loathing to see the black spider of his gauntlet resting upon her shoulder, whilst his snorts echo in that Dragon-skull Helm.  Before he comes into full view, Sauron seeps his fingers along to her soft alabaster arm and swirling gracefully around to meet her he raises the hand aloft as though leading a dance; she gives an involuntary skip as her feet are released, he speaks...

Sauron: "I apologise dear girl, that you find me thus arrayed but I was not expecting visitors, especially not one as lovely as thee; alas, this unhappy place is unfit for eyes such as yours..."

As Sauron relinquishes her hand the sky lights up behind him, sickly yellow; ranks upon ranks of warriors now stand by awaiting his command.  He removes his sword raising it aloft, and pointing it in the direction whence Finduilas first came thousands of Orcs pass her by as though she were not there; indeed many walk right through her like wraiths and she experiences their roughness...]

Finduilas: "...I turned about to see our home beset and overthrown by our enemies; in desperation I called out to you but my voice failed, I awoke at last when you found me by the window!"

Orodreth: "How horrible, we shall consult with Galadriel at the soonest opportunity!"

Finduilas: "Do you not understand, Father?  We must flee... tonight!  They shall be upon us before first light..."

Orodreth: "Then the Valar be praised for this terrible weather!"

Finduilas: "I do not believe this storm to be caused by Manwë or Ulmo..."

Orodreth: "Then the greater need of haste, we must rouse the household!"

Finduilas: "Indeed, though I am curious as to why you name the Valar in this..."

Orodreth: "Without this storm Gwindor and his party should have returned this evening to Nargothrond; you must evacuate there with them now, hurry my child!"

Finduilas: "Thank you, Father; thank you for trusting me!"

Orodreth: "Yes, yes; Go!"
 
Voice of Finduilas: "Tol Sirion is a small river island upon which stands Orodreth's stronghold, Minas Tirith; so-named because of its watchtower built in years past by Finrod Felagund ere the founding of Nargothrond.  Long has it served the Noldor in the wars against Morgoth, for whomsoever holds this strategic fortress controls the Pass of Sirion..."  

[Night, a dense fog encircles the watchtower: two riders emerge and cross the only bridge out of Minas Tirith that spans the western waters nigh to the Ered Wethrin, they head south with great haste.  Thereafter comes the small company out of Nargothrond followed by many bewildered Elves carrying as much as they are able, these are led by Gwindor with Finduilas at his side.  Once the  evacuees have departed hurried preparations are made for the defence of the isle; Orodreth remains behind with his elite company, the Tower Guard!]

Voice of Finduilas: "The assault came quickly and unannounced by drums of war, for the invaders were encamped close-by upon the southern reaches of the Ash-plain nigh to the burnt forest, renamed now as Anfauglith, the Gasping Dust; and they arrived far better prepared and in much greater numbers..."

[The attackers charge down from the northwest corner of Dorthonion and the few Elven ground troops posted on the eastern bank of the river are easily overrun; soon enough, as many volleys of arrows are exchanged between foes, only the scant waters stand between Orcs and the isle.  In the rearguard comes Sauron with Draugluin and many other Wolves beside; with them also is the greater part of his company!  At Sauron's command, Fire-archers take over from their fellows whilst several makeshift pontoons of long tree-trunks are hastily but efficiently constructed across the river; Orodreth watches in horror as events unfold...]

Voice of Finduilas: "Finrod knew that Minas Tirith was vulnerable without the support her allies on either flank: therefore, he caused an underground passage to be made under the fortress for use in such an eventuality as this..."

Captain at arms: "Lord Orodreth, we are almost overtaken; quickly you must flee!"

Orodreth: "Nay Captain, I must stand and face my enemy!"

Captain at arms: "What: and die like Fingolfin?"

Orodreth: "If that be my fate!"

Captain at arms: "I forbid it, you will come now or I shall carry you to Nargothrond myself; bound in sack if so be the need!"

Voice of Finduilas: "And so was that Tol Sirion was lost to Morgoth's most effective and devastating lieutenant, Sauron, the Lord of Werewolves, and many other names beside..."

[Orodreth orders the retreat and Minas Tirith succumbs the greater force of its foes...]

Voice of Finduilas: "However, thanks to the wisdom and foresight of Finrod a great many folk survived the Sack of Minas Tirith..."

[Orodreth and his company emerge from the well hidden escape tunnel: with great sadness he causes it to be blocked up by activating the device to release rocks and rubble along the exit route.]

Voice of Finduilas: "Thereafter Nargothrond became our home and whilst it remained untouched by the shadow of war the populace of divers houses were content, thriving together as Sons and Daughters of Ilúvatar!"

Present Day...

Nargothrond...

[Gwindor visits Orodreth in his chambers...]

Gwindor: "You wish to speak with me My Lord?"

Orodreth: "Yes Captain, come sit with me by the fire...  It seems that you and my daughter are much taken with each other, a fact that came to light last year, to me at least, on the night of the evacuation; tell me, when did this friendship begin?"

Gwindor: "Not in earnest until your household removed here; our eyes did not meet until some six months earlier when I took over the provisions transfer, only then did we ever speak in passing..."     

Orodreth: "So on how many occasions would that be?"

Gwindor: "Three maybe four..."

Orodreth: "Those must have been specially intensive meetings!"

Gwindor: "How so?"

Orodreth: "Three or four conversations in passing, hmm; odd then that on the fourth let us say, you remember, that fateful night our departure when you knocked on her chamber door, odd that my daughter wept in fear of losing you..."

Gwindor: "That I cannot attest to, though of course I doubt not your words..."

Orodreth: "Oh, and why not?"

Gwindor: "For I know you to be true..."

Orodreth: "Fortunate then that we have Finrod in common who says the same of you!"

Gwindor: "Of that I am grateful!"

Orodreth: "Indeed the King and I converse often together and he speaks very highly of you; for that reason, Gwindor, I should like your judgment as to why you think Finduilas would weep for you that night?"

Gwindor: "Finduilas is most discerning or perhaps better to say kind-hearted, for she saw my grief from the beginning when by chance our paths crossed upon my first departure from Minas Tirith.  She approached me to ask who I was since my face had not been seen there before; I explained that I had taken charge of the provision transfer and she placed her hand on my chest saying, ‘Bless You!'  Never before had those words spoken so directly to my heart and never before had I seen such depth of kindness than in those eyes; so much so that I could not wait until my next visit to your abode..."

Orodreth: "Interesting that both of you had lost loved ones at a similar time..." 

Gwindor: "Truly; although neither of us knew this of each other then!"

Orodreth: "Pray continue..."

Gwindor: "After this first encounter a colleague explained that she was indeed your daughter and I did not expect to see her again, or more closely I dared not hope to.  To my surprise and delight on the second visit Finduilas came by again feigning that her pet had escaped and had come in the direction of the storehouse; strange that she did not specify what this pet looked like or even its species, we humoured her and searched for it, inevitably finding nothing, when at length she smiled and thanked us sweetly, claiming that she did not want to take up any more of our time..."

Orodreth: "Hmm, that sounds like her..."

Gwindor: "Of the third time you know Lord, for she treated with you that we stay in the guest quarters due to the inclement weather; and of course you are right the fourth was when in response to her screams I knocked on her door.  That was such a fearful cry, Lord, that I knew in my heart that I must protect her; I do not know how I recognised her voice from a scream but I did!"

Orodreth: "It seems also that I was right also regarding the intensity of those meetings; do you love her Gwindor?"

Gwindor: "With all my heart!"

Orodreth: "And you are of age?"

Gwindor: "I am, Lord!"

Orodreth: "Then you must know that Finduilas is not, not for another thirteen years; you have my blessing, Gwindor, but her Mother Jewel I withhold until she comes of age when, and if you are both still disposed, you may become betrothed!"

Gwindor: "Thank you, Lord!"

Orodreth: "Oh, and Gwindor, it is my wish that what has passed between us remains that way for a while so that I might digest this news for myself; however, do come out from hiding in corners there are some dreadful gossips in this kingdom!"

 

 

 

  

Part Five: The Waiting

In the aftermath of the Fall of Minas Tirith the surrounding lands are hard put to it.  There is great aprehension across the whole region as the war machines of both Morgoth and Sauron prepare unmolested for the final hammer blow and the end of the free northlands...

Read Part Five: The Waiting

THE GREAT TALES OF BELERIAND

PART FIVE: THE WAITING...
 

Voice of Emeldir: "Grievous was the establishment of Sauron's Isle, Tol-in-Gaurhoth, that he built upon the ruins of Tol Sirion; for that place once fair become accused, an abode for wicked creatures and a spy tower for Morgoth..."

[Sauron surveys the lands about him from his tower, Orcs and Wolves patrol the Pass of Sirion...]

Voice of Emeldir: "The free peoples of that region were ruthlessly pursued for the sport of Orcs or elsewise taken into slavery..."
 
[Various atrocities are committed by Orcs and Wolves: homes are looted and burnt, the young and old are slain whilst strong ones are taken...]

Voice of Emeldir: "And the already tenuous lines of communion between sundered families were severed in his swathe..."

Several weeks after the Sack of Minas Tirith...

Eithel Sirion...

[Fingon grants Emeldir an audience...]

Fingon: "Lady of Dorthonion, it gladdens me to see you so hale; how may I be of service?"

Emeldir: "High Majesty, thank you for setting aside time to see me, your gracious hospitality to my folk has been service enough that can be scarcely repaid; however I am in doubt!"

Fingon: "How so, Lady?"

Emeldir: "Lord several dark rumours abound since the loss of Tol Sirion; my folk and I fear for our loved ones in Dorthonion, moreover, we hear now that the ash fields are overrun and that the passage to our homeland is blocked!"

Fingon: "Alas, the fortunes of war have immersed me for too long and I have been remiss in the proclamation of news; what would you know?"

Emeldir: "Just this: is there another way back for my people, a way home?"

Fingon: "There are no safe ways about the Pass of Sirion at this moment especially not for the procession of womenfolk and children, not even under the protection of my own select guard!"

Emeldir: "Forgive the presumption, Lord, but are there not longer routes south of the mountains, through the Vale of the Little Rivers perhaps?"

Fingon: "Lady Emeldir you spoke of dark rumours: regrettably I must inform you that many of these emanate from those lands, and worse most of them can be confirmed in truth.  Of late news has reached us that many dwellers from the outer mountains have been cruelly slain or taken in captivity to Angband..."

Emeldir: "That is grim news and I am sorry of it; yet, as unfeeling as it may sound, does not this circumstance present us with an opportunity to act fast whilst those lands are deserted?"  

Fingon: "Would that it were so; Emeldir, surely you understand that an occupied folk will resist their invaders in any way possible, many are in hiding whilst others counterattack how they may.  Morgoth knows this and has sent many spies abroad in numbers unknown; therefore, until these emissaries of Angband are wheedled out those lands are quite unsafe!"

Emeldir: "Has there been any news out of Dorthonion since the fall of the tower?" 

Fingon: "None... I am sorry!"

Emeldir: "Then I am bereft of hope..."

[She begins to sob and Fingon rises from his seat of office offering consolation...]

Fingon: "Be not in despair Lady, many have testified that your menfolk are among the most hardy and valiant of all the Edain and my heart tells me that they endure still; besides, was it not your lord who directed you to maintain the security of your people?  That is indeed wise counsel, and in friendship I offer you mine if you will have it?" 

[Still tearful, she nods...]

Fingon: "Emeldir, Lady of Dorthonion, I understand your grief for the burdens of leadership weigh heavily upon my shoulders too; I know the difficulty in setting aside personal woes, however I have also learnt that through being strong for one's own people you will find the fortitude needed to sustain you.  Now, being bound by my own decree I cannot compel you to remain here under my protection though I would urge you to do so; if not for yourself only but the safety of your people!"

Emeldir: "Ay..."

Fingon: "This also I shall pledge to thee: if ever it happens that a way of safety can be found to your homeland and you would be gone then I will ensure you safe passage!"

Emeldir: "Thank you, Lord Fingon!"

[They part in friendship...]  

South Dorthonion....

[Dawn: A young soldier laden with a slain doe across his shoulders enters a small secluded log house under the canopy of the Unscorched-wood; finding it empty he casts off the deer...]

Gorlim: "Eilinel, Eilinel..."

[His wife emerges from a trapdoor...]

Eilinel: "Be silent; are you mad?"

Gorlim: "O Wife, I have missed you!"

[They embrace...]

Gorlim: "I bring glad news: Lord Barahir is anxious to know why there has been so little Orc movement of late and has assigned us permanent stations across the land, I requested the southeast sector and this has been granted!"

Eilinel: "Oh..."

Gorlim: "That means I shall be able to visit you more often, just as you wanted... you are disappointed?"

Eilinel: "No, no that is wonderful news!"

[She kisses his cheek...]

Eilinel: "Well done, Love!"

Gorlim: "You are disappointed!"

Eilinel: "It does not matter..."

Gorlim: "Of course it matters; please tell me, what troubles you?"

Eilinel: "I thought for a moment you were going to say that Barahir had ordered a final evacuation from this godforsaken land and we were going to rejoin our kin..."

Gorlim: "I doubt now that such an endeavour would be possible since the Fall of Minas Tirith; even so it matters not, for while Barahir still draws breath he will not abandon the refuge at Aeluin..."

Eilinel: "Then he condemns us all!"

Gorlim: "Nay there is hope: it appears ever the more likely that the lack of enemy movement is due to the fortification of the Pass of Sirion, there have been no raids for more than a month and only last week did our scouts mark a passing out of Orcs on the western marches..."

Eilinel: "Strange, you told me previously that the Orcs shun Taur-nu-Fuin and are in fear of it..."

Gorlim: "Truly I did, but now they seem to have found their courage; who cares as long they are marching away from us?"

Eilinel: "Evil bodes, I can feel it; Orcs like all creatures of habit and do not suddenly change as one!"

Gorlim: "Perhaps something compels them?"

Eilinel: "That is what I am afraid of..."

Gorlim: "Or perhaps now we are too few for the Enemy to consider a threat; perhaps it is as Lord Barahir says, our long patience may have been rewarded..."

Eilinel: "O Gorlim, I hope you are right!"

Gorlim: "In the end hope is all we have..."

Eilinel: "Alas, mine is failing..."

Gorlim: "Once our survey of the land is complete and we know for sure that the Sewer Rats are gone then I feel sure that you will be welcomed at Aeluin..."

Eilinel: "Rats multiply, so do Orcs!"

Gorlim: "O Eilinel, we have prevailed so far, hold true a just a little longer; I am closer now and better able to supply you with provision..."

Eilinel: "Whilst I am sentenced to endless dark days of waiting under a trapdoor?"

Gorlim: "That is a welcome device, when did you have it fitted?"

Eilinel: "Fitted: and by which amenities, time and necessity perhaps?"

[She holds back her tears in frustration...]

Gorlim: "I am sorry... come!"

[They cling together...]

Eilinel: "We will be together in the end, will we not?"

[Gorlim makes no answer: the young couple remain in each others arms...]

Taur-nu-Fuin...

[Dusk; A heavily armoured figure rides in entourage with a company of Wolves along the banks of the Rivil.  They are met by an Orc nigh to the clearing where the inert wraiths still await their master's will; the Surround that place is now called, due to burnt ring of twelve equidistant wooden stumps that encloses the hapless Elf spirits in Orkish guise whom by the curses of Sauron were rent and rent again by way of the evil taught to him by Morgoth...]

Orc: "My Lord Sauron, what an unexpected pleasure..." 

Sauron: "The pleasure will be all of ours once the western lands finally fall, as surely they soon must when the Dark Lord opens his leaguer again; until then I have come hither to personally oversee the final collapse of the petty rebellion that remains here.  Tell me Captain, how many still oppose us?"

Orc: "Not more than sixty, Lord!"

Sauron: "Excellent some sport, enough to pick them off one by one; so Captain, since my last directive what you discovered?" 

Orc: "Not much, save for their perimeter of operations and the estimate of numbers that I have indicated..."

Sauron: "Do not tell me that you have not followed any of them; do you not know the meaning of stealth?"

Orc: "Your orders were clear, Lord: watch but do not approach!" 

Sauron: "Imbecile, I should put your eyes out with the point of my boot; is there not anything, anything that you have noticed out of the ordinary?"

Orc: "Not that I can recall..."

Sauron: "Your vision depends on it, Captain: think!"

[The Orc racks his brains in a white panic...]

Sauron: "Well?"

Orc: "Per-perhaps some of my troops might know of..."

[Sauron's foot finds the Orc's face, blinding his right eye...]

Sauron: "You have one week to save the other eye, so I would suggest that you do not spend too long nursing your wound..."

[He rides impassively on, leaving the reeling captain in agony on the ground...]

The beleaguered North...

Voice of Emeldir: "The massing Orcs continued their nightly rituals of intimidation and never before did such a pall of unease cover the northlands; those that were able prepared as best they could, for they knew not yet what was to come..."

[Night falls amid threatening chants and drumbeats from Anfauglith.  Those in hiding both Elves and Men erect barricades of divers kinds, gathering together whatever arms are available to them; elsewhere in the forests of Doriath and Brethil the watches on the borders are intensified... and the thuds of doom echo ‘til dawn!]

Eithel Sirion...

[Fingon takes counsel with Galdor...]

Galdor: "It is as we feared Lord!  Other than the encampment at Anfauglith our scouts have confirmed a swelling of enemies beneath the angle of the Wethrin; they are well stocked and in far greater numbers than the fallen tower could ever house..."

Fingon: "Then matters are worse: for surely now it is plain that Morgoth plans an invasion, one of which that even the strongest of us cannot hope to stem." 

Galdor: "You have not heard from Maedhros?"

[No reply...]

Galdor: "Nor Finrod?"

Fingon: "Not even Turgon, my own brother; and even though the Sindar are out in force it would seem that the Noldor have gone to ground, the alliance twixt Thingol and Cirdan is enviably strong!"

Galdor: "Happen so, Lord, but remember this: many of the Noldor and the Edain have been dispossessed of their homes whilst the Sindar sit pretty behind fences of enchantment or remain un-assailed by those that shun the sea!"

Fingon: "That circumstance is not the fault of the Sindar!"

Galdor: "Nay, ‘tis Morgoth!" 

Fingon: "Not entirely!"

Galdor: "The Doom of Mandos?"

Fingon: "Hmm..."

Galdor: "Maybe all this is simply a matter of geography; all routes hither are overrun and the skies must be too dangerous for low flight, indeed I have seen no Eagles abroad for a good while now..." 

Fingon: "I know it: indeed Maedhros must be fully aware of what lies on the dust flats, moreover, if the reports are true and Orodreth did escape then I am sure that Finrod will know all regarding the fall of the isle... and all what that must entail!"

Galdor: "If it be that we are alone then must put our untried faith in the power of the Doriath!"

Fingon: "Doriath and Brethil!"

Galdor: "Ah..."

Fingon: "Yes my friend, I am all too aware that Tol Sirion fell just as your sons were due to return from fostering with their mother's kin; Galdor, you and Hareth must be frantic with worry..."

Galdor: "We are concerned, Lord Fingon!"

Fingon: "Yes: indeed you disguise it well..."

Galdor: "My duty sustains me!"

Fingon: "And Hareth?"

Galdor: "Alas, for her matters are different..."

Fingon: "Ah, I wish that I could release you to her..."

Galdor: "In these circumstances I would not go back nor would my wife restrain me!"

Fingon: "All the more reason to return safely then?"

Galdor: "These mountains are strong, Lord, and I intend to remain within their protection for a good while yet!"

Fingon: "Well said, Friend; so do I..."

The following day...

Brethil: Amon Obel, The Hall of Chieftains...

[A juvenile eavesdrops at a doorway, within two older adolescents are talking...]

Handir: I do not understand it, Húrin, you and I have been on many Orc raids together; so why now are we forbidden from this latest council of war?

Húrin: "Grandpa is wise, I am sure he has his reasons..."

Handir: "He and my father have been at loggerheads of late, they think I have not noticed; matters must be serious..."

Húrin: "Ay perhaps, but for now we need to be patient; surely we shall learn of their plans in due time..."

[An affected voice outside startles them...]

Huor: "Or maybe sooooner..."

Handir: "What: who said that?"

Húrin: "I know... Get in here, Sneak, and tell us what you mean!"

[Huor swaggers into Handir's room grinning broadly, he leans cross-legged against a large oaken wardrobe and casually inspects his fingers...]

Húrin: "Well?"

Huor: "mm?"

Húrin: "Do I have knock you on the head yet again little brother?"

Huor: "Now now there is no need for that, Clunk; no, indeed I am eager to see the look on both your faces when I..."

Handir: "I will do the knocking myself if you do not hurry up!"

[Húrin quietly restrains Handir...]

Húrin: "Ignore him, Handir, he is seeking attention!"

Handir: "Trot on, Little Sneak, the Men are talking!"

Huor: "For one I am taller than you both and second, Sneak you say, well fair enough: although I deem you will call that name a boon since I have managed to gain entry where neither of you could not... farewell then!"   

Húrin: "Alright, you have had your little jest; what do you know?"

[A grinning Huor reaches into his breeches pocket and produces a key...]

The privy-chamber of the Halad... 

[The room is empty, the three youngsters enter and hide away in the base of a large cupboard before the council convenes; the door flies open and Halmir comes in with his retinue, the air is tense...]

Halmir: "Enough of this nonsense, Haldir; now please be seated all of you!"

[He remains standing...] 

Halmir: "Our rangers have received word from Beleg of Doriath that his folk believe the invasion is imminent, this night or the next, and in light of this he has passed along this dispatch from King Thingol himself..."

[He unfolds a letter which reads...]

HALAD HALMIR, LORD CHIEFTAIN OF BRETHIL,

FOR THREE SCORE YEARS AND MORE YOUR PEOPLE HAVE REMAINED TRUE TO THE PLEDGE TO KEEP THE CROSSINGS OF TEIGLIN SAFE FROM ALL ENEMIES THAT WOULD ASSAIL US, WHILST UPHOLDING THE LAW TO NEVER ATTEMPT TO GAIN ENTRY INTO MY OWN REALM.  FOR THIS YOU AND YOUR FOLK HAVE EARNED OUR ESTEEM AND FRIENDSHIP.  IN TOKEN I MAKE NOW MY OWN PLEDGE OF ALLEGIANCE TO BRETHIL AND SHARE WITH YOU MY STRATEGY IN THIS THE DARKEST OF HOURS.

IT IS HIGHLY LIKELY THAT THE NOLDORIN ELVES WILL BE CUT OFF IN THE NORTH DUE THE MASSING OF ENEMY FORCES NIGH TO THE FALLEN ISLE, THE RESULT OF WHICH WILL MEAN THAT THE ASSAULT WILL FALL UPON US SOONER THAN ANTICIPATED.  I AM CONFIDENT THAT MY GUARD WILL MAINTAIN OUR SHARED BORDERS AT DIMBAR AND THAT YOUR STRENGTH WILL BE ENOUGH TO DEFEND THE LANDS BETWEEN SIRION, TEIGLIN AND MALDUIN; THIS OF COURSE LEAVES US VULNERABLE TO ATTACK IN THE SOUTH SHOULD THE ENEMY COME ANOTHER WAY THROUGH THE TALATH DIRNEN.  THEREFORE I HAVE ALREADY DISPATCHED TROOPS INTO NIVRIM THAT WILL FOLLOW THE ANGLE OF TEIGLIN AND REINFORCE YOUR COMPANY AT THE CROSSING.  IN ORDER FOR THIS POLICY TO WORK IT IS IMPERATIVE THAT THE NORTHERN MARCHES HOLD IN ORDER THAT WE MIGHT REPEL OUR FOES INTO THE CONFINES OF THE PASS OF SIRION; OUR BEST HOPE THEN IS THAT FINGON IS ABLE TO ACHIEVE THE SAME FROM THE OPPOSITE DIRECTION.

I ADVISE IN EARNEST THAT YOU MAKE READY IN ALL HASTE.

IN ALLIANCE

ELU THINGOL.

Halmir: "This strategy is sound and we shall adhere to it: Hundar my son, you will ride out with Enthor and tell every able man that the muster is at hand!"

Hundar: "Yes Father!"

Halmir: "Enthor, before you leave tell my daughter to make provision here for the women and children and on your return bring back a company to defend the halls!"

Enthor: "My Lord!"

[At this Handir emerges from his hiding place; Húrin and Huor tumble out behind him...]

Handir: "If there is need of haste perhaps we can ride out with Uncle Hundar or maybe assist Aunt Hiril?"

Halmir: "How did you three... never mind: very well, you shall go to Hiril and aid her as you may!"

Haldir: "And what of you father?"

Halmir: "I have already told you Son, I shall be leading the defence by your side!"

Haldir: "I forbid it!"

Halmir: "Who is Halad here: on what grounds dare you question me Head Captain?"

Haldir: "It is the duty of all captains to protect both lord and land; your continuance is vital, you must remain behind!"

Halmir: "Despite the powers afforded by your office they do not outstrip the word of the Halad who is also High Commander, I will not be restrained!"

Haldir: "What then if you fall beside your sons?"

Halmir: "If our people endure my line is strong, and even if its menfolk should fall then Hiril shall rule until Handir comes of age!  Now all of you to your tasks, time presses on!"

[Throughout the day there is great movement across Brethil as armies are hurriedly mobilised, families bundled together in strongholds and provisions rationed and rotated.  At Amon Obel Húrin says farewell to his beloved cousin...]  

Handir: "You are leaving for battle?"

Húrin: "Ay!"

Handir: "But why?"

Húrin: "You heard what was said in Thingol's letter, my father's kin are cut off in the north; if there is a chance of aiding them then I must take it!"

Handir: "And Huor?"

Húrin: "He is of like mind also?"

Handir: "He is so young..."

Húrin: "Yes, but he is wicked fast and sharp of eye; I shall protect him!"

Handir: "Make sure of it!  Alas, am I to be abandoned here as a nursemaid?"

[Huor approaches...]

Huor: "Ha, ha, ha: Nursey, that's a good one!"

Húrin: "Give over!"

Handir: "No, let him jest the cheeky sod; I have grown accustomed to it!"

[They stand in silence for a moment...]

Huor: "Do not feel too badly about staying behind, Handir; your father is right, the preservation of your house is vital!"

Handir: "Not a total dead loss then?"

Húrin: "He has his moments..."

Handir: "We will see each other again?"

Húrin: "We shall dance at each of our three weddings, I promise!" 

[Before parting they huddle in a circle touching heads...]

Huor: "Bye then, Nursey!"

Handir: "Farewell cousins..."

[He turns about to rejoin his aunt and uncle in the preparations for the defence...]

Voice of Emeldir: "And thus came to pass that the valour of many as yet untested was about to be tried in direst of circumstances as the battle for control of the north west was about to begin!"

 

Part Six: The Instruments of Ulmo

This is quite a long chapter taking place during and after Morgoth's assault on the Northwest after the capture of the Pass of Sirion some time before...

Húrin and Huor are rescued by Thorondor and brought to Gondolin; whilst on the following day Voronwë returns there after the disaster of the first attempt to sail into the West in order to gain the pardon and aid of the Valar...

Read Part Six: The Instruments of Ulmo

THE GREAT TALES OF BELERIAND

PART SIX: THE INSTRUMENTS OF ULMO

Eight months ago...

Barad Eithel...

[A cloudy afternoon: Fingon witnesses Morgoth's move against the Northlands, his gut twisting in time with the cyclical drums and inexorable tramping of many feet...]  

Voice of Thorondor: "The High King looked out from his father's watchtower and with dismal eyes he saw his enemies' departure from Anfauglith into Sirion's Pass; and such were their numbers he knew that he was unable to inflict any effective harm upon them without external aid.  In the drear his eyes lingered long and hard upon the furthest mountains at Ladros obscuring from view the March of Maedhros, wherein lay his hope!"  

[Fingon is momentarily distracted by an Eagle's squawk to the south and he follows its flight until it disappears somewhere over the Echoriath.  His eyes return then to the Orc multitude as they pour into the Pass as grains of sand through the neck of an hourglass; still organised, still orderly!  He spies a figure standing tall and proud on a foothill nigh to the banks of the Rivil, his armour glinting dimly in the last of the day's light...]    

The Pass of Sirion...

[Having passed thus far with impunity the Orcs reach the Accursed Isle, they are surprised by a number of makeshift booby-traps of reed and stake...]

Voice of Thorondor: "The defenders and fugitives were aided by the Elves of Mithrim who showed them the secret ways of the labyrinthine Ered Wethrin and its vast underground networks round about the Isle of Sirion, many of which had NOT been delved by Finrod Felagund.  These traps were planted right under the noses of Sauron's main force, whom of which had already pressed on with the southern assault; they not only served as a means of taking out some of the enemy but also provided the signal for attack, feeble though it seemed.  Still, mountains provide good cover and Elven bowmen seldom miss their mark..."  

[By now Sauron had caused several and more permanent pontoons to be erected across Sirion and a great number of Orcs rush the Wethrin-side of the pass where they are met by many volleys and the desperate weapons of the un-housed...]

The Vale of Sirion...

[Sauron's main force falls on Brethil...]

Voice of Thorondor: "Southward the stratagems of Thingol could not have gone any better, for the main assault indeed fell upon the northern marches of Brethil and no attempt at all was made on Dimbar or Talath Dirnen..."

[The pincer movement of Doriath is executed to great effect and the enemy troops soon find themselves encompassed and pressed back...]  

An Eagle-eyed view of the arena of battle...

Voice of Thorondor: "The gambit at Ered Wethrin paid off, for Morgoth's company was unduly delayed and failed to connect with Sauron's; however, their gravest hurt came with the riding out of Maedhros who had watched and waited for the thinning out of foes upon Anfauglith, he was soon joined by Fingon and Galdor, and so it was that many of the Orcs still constrained at the Fen of Serech were ambushed...

At length the attackers became squeezed in at both ends of the Pass of Sirion and they suffered heavy loss!  

Glad was the meeting that night between Noldor, Sindar and Edain; but east of Sirion's Pass stood tranquil Gondolin, visible only from the byways of the air, and encircled by the seemingly impenetrable mountains of the Echoriath.  For the most part, those within that jewelled white city were blissfully unaware to the doings of the world without..."   

Gondolin...

Turgon's bedchamber...

[Turgon shifts restlessly in his sleep, he is soon troubled by unpleasant dreams...]

There is battle between Elves and Orcs - an Eagle squawks - the fighting is reflected within a huge eye that diminishes in size as the great bird (or Turgon) pulls slowly away - first only the head of Thorondor is discernable and then the whole body - the Herald of the Skies hovers in suspended flight, moving neither forward nor to the side; all is still save for the mighty wings which flap at a hypnotic pace until they fade altogether and only the echo of their motion remains...

A deep voice, unforgettable and long suppressed, visits him in the night once more...

Voice of Mandos: "Tears unnumbered ye shall shed..."

The rhythmic flapping motion transmutes into an angry sea...

Voice of Mandos: "...and the Valar will fence Valinor against you, and shut you out, so that not even the echo of your lamentation shall pass over the mountains."

A little ship flounders whilst rapidly growing gigantic rocks break the water's surface from the great beneath...

Voice of Mandos: "On the House of Fëanor the wrath of the Valar lieth from the West to the uttermost East and upon all that follow them it shall be laid also."

A thunderbolt strikes the ship and ignites it...

Voice of Mandos: "Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue."

A great wind howls bringing a blizzard and all is frozen in an instant: a long procession of exhausted travellers staggers into view...

Voice of Mandos: "To evil end shall all things turn that they begin well..."

One of the party collapses and two others rush to their fallen companion, and as the one is un-wakened the two mourn; the main company is unable to stop...

Voice of Mandos: "...and by treason of kin unto kin, and the fear of treason, shall this come to pass.  The Dispossessed they shall be for ever."

[Turgon rocks agitatedly on opulent pillows; the dream changes....]

He takes an early morning constitutional along the Alley of Roses; Idril links his arm...

Turgon: "Thank you for walking with me this morning..."

Idril: "The pleasure is mine Father: you are usually up and out so quickly that I have always guessed that you wish to be alone at first light to gather your thoughts, it was an agreeable surprise to receive your knock at my chamber door..."

Turgon: "I love this time of day it recalls your mother to me; often in Valmar did we walk together before the first mingling of the Light of the Trees.  Ah Daughter, her face in that Silver-Golden glow was something to behold..."

She snuggles into his shoulder...

Idril: "I remember it well... Often in my girlhood did she speak of my escaping from grandmother and tiptoeing behind you both on silver beams when you wished to be alone.  Alas my golden hair always betrayed me and you would say to mother..."

Turgon: "Your little replica stalks us again; ha, ha, ha!"

He becomes enthused...

Turgon: "Then let us away to the North Stair so that I can stand before you and see her semblance again as the sunlight kisses the ridge of eastern mountains..."

They scurry away to capture this moment, giggling like excited children; on the stair they face each other with outstretched hands tenderly held, and in the half-light they silently wait...  

He sees through Idril's eyes his own less careworn face, serene save for the irises of Midnight Blue that dance sprite-fully amid the burgeoning dew forming about them in the escalating dawn.  To him his daughter's features appear somewhat indistinct backlit by the early morn and the snow laden mountains; until when at last a fine strand of new golden sunshine drapes across the peaks of the Echoriath before bursting forth with full throated birdsong.  His eyes tear up in the glare...

Turgon: "Elenwë..."

In one desperate jerk he lurches forward calling out the name of his wife oblivious to his daughter who clutches him tightly and lays her weeping head upon his breast...

Idril: "Oh Father, are you alright?"

Turgon gives no answer but in a swoon slides from her grip, Idril however is quick enough to preclude the dashing of his head upon the stone steps; unavailing she repeatedly calls for her father to wake and frantically shakes his limp body...

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Presently a familiar sound is heard from above and he looks skywards; Thorondor swoops down to meet he and Idril at the outer walls by the Main Gate...

Turgon: "My Old Friend and Counsellor; what brings you here?"

Voice of Thorondor: "My Master!"

Turgon: "The Elder King?"

Voice of Thorondor: "Yes, and the matter is grim; there has been unsolicited communion a-twixt this place and those in the Halls of Waiting.  I have been sent hither to warn you in the strongest terms that there should not be a second.  Manwë cannot and will not restrain the Doomsman again; some things are beyond his mercy!"

Turgon: "Then it was her..."

Idril: "Who?  What does this mean?"  

Turgon: "Your Mother: I saw her perfectly, she spoke to me..."

Idril: "Nay Father, it was I that stood before you!"

Voice of Thorondor: "Alas he speaks true, Dispossessed Daughter of Two Houses!"

At this Idril seems puzzled...

Voice of Thorondor: "Now Turgon, I must report back all that has passed between your realm and the occupants of Mandos..."

Turgon: "I cannot remember her words clearly..."

Voice of Thorondor: "THINK!!!"

Turgon closes his eyes and pictures his wife as he saw her in the morning light; he shudders at the recollection of her voice as she speaks through him...

"IT IS STRANGE THAT YOU SURROUND YOURSELF NOW WITH PINNACLES OF SNOW WHEN IT WAS UPON THE GRINDING ICE THAT WE PARTED; FOR MYSELF I NO LONGER WISH TO FEEL THE BITE NOR REGARD THE SIGHT OF ANYTHING COLD, BUT PERHAPS IT COMFORTS YOU.  TURGON, YOUR FATHER GREATLY APPROVES OF HIS RESTING PLACE BUT IS STILL MOST GRIEVOUSLY HURT TO BEHOLD THY SISTER IN THE HALLS.  WHY DID YOU NOT REPORT HER DEATH BEYOND YOUR CITADEL... WHY KEEP IT SECRET FOR SO LONG?  MANY TIMES IN BITTERNESS HE HAS QUIZZED ME AS TO WHY THIS SHOULD BE BUT I CANNOT SUCCOUR HIM; HE HAS TAKEN TO BLAMING THORONDOR FOR NOT BARING HIM ANY WORD AND THE VALAR WILL NOT SAY WHETHER OR NOT THE EAGLES WERE PRESENT OR ABROAD WHEN SHE DIED.  IN MY HEART I KNOW THAT THIS IS A MATTER OF GRAVE SERIOUSNESS AND I FEAR THE POISON FRUIT THAT TASTES FULLY SWEET UPON THE LIPS.  O HUSBAND, THIS PLACE CHILLS ME AND I CAN LINGER IN IT NO LONGER, BUT KNOW THIS: TURGON YOU CANNOT AVOID CALAMITY BY CLOSING YOURSELF OFF FROM YOUR BRETHREN, OPEN THY LEAGUER AT NEED WHILST YOUR HOUSE IS YET STRONG... FAREWELL, MY LOVE!"  

His eyes reopen and he almost swoons against the city wall but his vigilant daughter prevents the fall...

Voice of Thorondor: "I detect the folly of wonderment about you.  Do not become enamoured by this event My Friend, and remember the warning that I bring; I cannot guess at the ruin that might befall you if there is another knocking upon the Doors of Doom!  Until we meet again, Dear Elf, I commend you the counsel of the Valar..."   

[Turgon's dream changes once again...]

The Dry River bubbles up with foam revealing the passage of the Hidden Way that links the world without to the inner sanctum of Tumladen; Turgon's stamping feet vainly attempt to stem the trickle that becomes a flood.  The water carries him along as it smashes through the Orfalch Echor and the many doors erected there are unable to withstand it.  At length the mountain vale becomes a lake and Turgon finds himself surrounded on a tiny island upon which stands his fair city: he knows that he is in the presence of Ulmo, the Lord of Waters!  

Voice of Ulmo: "Follow me, Turgon!"

He leaps into the water, in an instant the lake drains and the river runs dry once more.  And not daring to leave his mountain stronghold Turgon looks onto the outer world from the secret ravine towards the Ford of Brithiach where lies the last vestige of the Dry River...     

Voice of Ulmo: "As the Valar number it, the Day of Evil has reached its dawn..."

Turgon waits expectantly for Ulmo to continue but there is the longest pause and all is still.  At length the silence is broken by many footfalls on splashing water.  A scouting party of Orcs advance across the ford; their leader stops to sniff the air and halts his company, "Wait, I smell Man-flesh!"

Voice of Ulmo: "The birth of the one I have chosen as the Instrument of My Design draws nigh..."

A throwing axe smites the Orc leader squarely between the eyes and a hidden company of Men ambush their enemies...

Voice of Ulmo: "Therefore, Turgon, heed my words: deal kindly with the Sons of the House of Hador of whom I entrust to your care!  When you awaken you shall know them better!"  

[Turgon drifts off soundly into a deeper sleep...]

The Brithiach...

[The dead bodies of Orcs and Men lay strewn about; a young man tries to retrieve his axe from the Orc's head...]

Húrin: "Leave it Huor, there are more Orcs heading this way!"

[Huor continues to struggle...]

Huor: "Not a chance, this belonged to our grandfather!"

Húrin: "Hador's axe may be the death of us if you do not hurry!"

Huor: "I will not abandon it!"

Húrin: "Then here let me..."

[Húrin grapples with the handle as the second party of Orcs crosses the ford...]

Huor: "They are on us: RUN!"

[With one final effort the axe is recovered but the Sons of Galdor find themselves surrounded by baying foes advancing with bloodlust in their eyes.  Húrin charges at one axe in hand, hewing at its midriff and spilling guts, whilst Huor employs his speed to evade them; they are soon blindly running headlong towards the ford, an inexplicable mist envelops the Brithiach obscuring the quarry from the hunters...]

Huor: "Húrin, Húrin, this mist is to thick; where are you?"

Húrin: "Right behind you, here grab my arm!  Ah..."

Huor: "What was that sound... Húrin?  Ah, something has hold of me..."

[The mist about them clears most unusually since it dissipates downwards rather than to the side; the brothers soon realise that they are airborne and held firm in the mighty talons of two Great Eagles...]

The Crissaegrim...

[The brothers are brought to their highest eyrie and abode of Thorondor, Lord of all Eagles; they quail before the might of this most prodigious bird that inspects them at close quarters...]  

Voice of Thorondor: "You have never seen my like before, hmm?"

Húrin and Huor: "No, Great Lord..."

[At this they share a stunned glance; not only are they amazed by their simultaneous response but also by the fact that they understood Thorondor's words, both of them grow even more afraid...]

Voice of Thorondor: "Fear not Sons of Galdor, we feast not upon the Children of Ilúvatar; and besides Ulmo hath chosen one of thee to his purpose, therefore, since I know not which brother, both of you have been saved this night from certain death..."

Húrin: "To which purpose do you refer, Lord?"

Voice of Thorondor: "I question not the will of the Lord of Waters, young Húrin; neither should you!"

Huor: "Wait a moment here, we are snatched into midair where you name our father and some vague purpose and ask us not to question it; I, that is We, demand to know the meaning of this!"

[Thorondor squawks angrily and ruffles his feathers...]

Voice of Thorondor: "We know much impudent one and our eyes see more than you could ever imagine..."

Húrin: "And my eyes see, Little Brother, that by now our flesh could have been torn up as carrion but it is not; now apologise!"  

[Huor mumbles under his breath...]

Húrin: "I am sorry mighty Lord, my brother can be difficult at times; however I am his elder and therefore responsible for him, thus I shall accept his punishment!"

Voice of Thorondor: "Your good grace releases you!  Húrin, do not fret for thy brother Huor, I foresee that he shall follow you always and wheresoever you find yourself he will be bound to your shadow; after all are not the bonds of love the strongest of all?"

[At this Thorondor raises a talon and rends two strips from Huor's garments, but after a brief moment he casts them down and looks away east...]

Voice of Thorondor: "Hmm?"

Húrin: "You seem to be in doubt; is something wrong?"

Voice of Thorondor: "Indeed my own counsel seems strange to me but my heart tells me that it is true!  Very well!  You shall both come with me to the great and fair City of Gondolin, abode of King Turgon the Wise; I cannot say what if any answers you shall learn to your purpose but it seems apt that this is where you should be for now.  However, you should both know that this course is not without its dangers..."

Húrin: "How so?"

Voice of Thorondor: "It goes against Turgon's Law that I should take you thither since he forfendth that any should know the way to his halls, or indeed if perchance that it happens that one does look upon his hidden city then he shall not be permitted to leave it - on penalty of death!"

Huor: "Hence the strips to cover our eyes?"

Voice of Thorondor: "Quite!"

Húrin: "Then if your mind is set, Lord, we find ourselves at your command; take us where you will!  But before we depart may I ask one thing?"

Voice of Thorondor: "Of course!"

Húrin: "You said that Gondolin is where we should be for now; how can it be for now when you say also that those who see it are compelled to stay there?"  

Voice of Thorondor: "That is my dilemma, Dear Ones; I am afraid now it is yours also..."

Huor: "So be it, let us be gone and be done!"

[At first light the blindfolded brothers are taken up again and carried by devious ways to the White City on the Rock within the Vale of Tumladen...]

Gondolin...

[Húrin and Huor are led before Turgon's throne; seated at his left hand is Idril Celebrindal his daughter and stood to his right is Maeglin his Sister-Son...]

Glorfindel: "My Lord, may I present Húrin and Huor the Sons of Galdor, Lord of Dor-lómin..."

Turgon: "Ah, the strays that Thorondor left upon our doorstep; come closer boys, let me look at you!"

Huor: "Begging your royal pardon but we are not dogs..."

[Húrin side-kicks him with a gasp: Huor is undeterred...]

Huor: "Moreover, we did not stray to your door for we were..."

[Idril laughs aloud to break the tension: she looks pensively over at her father...]
 
Turgon: "Ha, ha, ha, you are right; it was uncharitable of me to greet you both thus, in actuality we are unaccustomed to receiving guests here in Gondolin..."

Idril: "Quite uncharitable indeed, Father; would you not agree Cousin?"

Maeglin: "King Turgon is master in his own hall and should speak as he may!"

[Idril grimaces towards Maeglin causing Huor to snigger, and with a warm smile she winks at him... Húrin steps forward with a bow.]

Húrin: "What my brother is trying to say, Majesty, is that we were brought blindfold to this place and know not its locale; truly we came hence with little choice in the matter and we understand not the purpose of our visit to these wondrous halls..."

Glorfindel: "You may address the King as Lord!"

Turgon: "Thank you Glorfindel!  Hmm, visit you say; perhaps Thorondor was remiss in explaining the laws of this realm to you?"

Húrin: "Nay Lord, indeed he deliberated much before deciding to bring us here..."

Turgon: "Curious; it seems then that I have much to discuss with our feathered friend!"

Huor: "He spoke of the will of the Lord of Waters; Ulmo, he named him!"

Turgon: "Ulmo is it; hmm, what can this mean?  Ah well I suppose it shall have to wait... so, I am to understand that you are scions of Hador?"  

Húrin: "He was our grandsire, Lord!"

Turgon: "Then I believe that I am in your debt, my friends; for indeed was not Hador he whom served so well my father, Fingolfin?"

Húrin: "He was vassal to the High King, Lord; as is my father after him!"

Turgon: "Then in token of this I feel duty bound and honoured to name ye both as my fosterlings; this I shall proclaim throughout the kingdom and in Gondolin thou shall be treated as such, my Daughter and Sister-Son shall bear witness to this!"

Idril: "Gladly..."

[Maeglin says nothing...]

Turgon: "Now with regard to your purpose here, that is something that we must discover together; for indeed I am too at a loss with the meaning of this strange chance..."

Idril: "But for now we must get our newest citizens settled in, they must be somewhat dazed by all this; if you will allow me Father?"

[Turgon nods his approval... Maeglin watches greedily as she gently tends to her new charges, but he says nothing!]

Voice of Thorondor: "And thus came the first among Men unto Gondolin..."

The following day...

[Húrin is awoken by a far off trumpet call and Huor by its much closer reply - a small group of riders traverse the plain of Tumladen under the Banner of the King - the brothers go outside unbidden onto an arcade where the returning Elves receive a fair welcome - their leader notices Húrin and Huor as he passes by and though curious about them he flashes a warm smile in their direction - the Elf enters Turgon's chamber alone...]

Turgon: "Voronwë, my heart rejoices to see you again, but you are over-late and we feared that you would not return..."

Voronwë: "Truly that is so, Lord; indeed I have much to report..."

Turgon: "That sounds like hungry work; come, let us break our fast!"

The Banquet Hall...

[All present stand for the King, including Húrin and Huor; Idril comes forward and greets Voronwë warmly...]

Idril: "How wonderful to see you again..."

[They embrace as old friends... Turgon gestures to Maeglin that he give up his seat so that Voronwë may sit in honour at the king‘s right-hand, this Maeglin does in grudging silence; Turgon calls for music...]
  
Voronwë: "Truly the city has never seemed fairer to my eyes, although it would appear that our population has swelled since I was last here..."

Turgon: "Ah yes, may I introduce the Sons of Galdor who is vassal to my brother the High King..."

Voronwë: "Remarkable company indeed; I am most privileged to make your acquaintance..."

Turgon: "Húrin, Huor, please meet Voronwë, our Master Shipwright!"

Húrin and Huor: "My Lord..."

Voronwë: "My King, you flatter me with such a term although it is quite strange that you employ it; indeed it was through my meeting with Cirdan, the Greatest Shipwright in Endórë, that I am overdue in giving any report..."

Idril: "Strange have been the chances of this last twenty four hours, first Thorondor bestows us with two foundlings and then we are blessed with the return of our beloved Voronwë; one cannot help but wonder if somehow their fates are interlinked..."

Maeglin: "Who can tell, save for Ilúvatar alone, what the future has in store for us?"

Idril: "The Fëanturi or perhaps Nienna, I shall meditate on this further and call upon them in my dreams..."

Turgon: "I doubt not that you shall find the answers you seek..."

[He rises...]

Turgon: "Now, if Voronwë is willing, we shall adjourn to my privy chamber and I shall learn some answers of my own... the rest of you please remain seated and enjoy your food!"

[Voronwë reluctantly rises, gazing longingly at the still full table; he does not notice Húrin and Huor watching him intently as they exit onto a bright sunlit corridor...]

Turgon: "Do not worry My Friend, the choicest dishes shall be brought to my chamber directly; and please forgive the youngsters their curiosity, they have had a strenuous time of it lately... truly, they came not to Gondolin of their own volition!"

Voronwë: "Then by whose, My Lord?"

Turgon: "The Lord of Waters!"

Voronwë: "Hmm, then perhaps the Lady Idril is right..." 

[Maeglin soon reassumes his position at the dining table...]

Huor: "My Lady, how is it that Voronwë has leave of the city when we do not?"

Maeglin: "The King's word is law and that is all you need to know; be grateful for the graces that you have already received!"

Idril: "I believe the question was addressed to me; I would thank you, Maeglin, not to speak for me again..."

Maeglin: My apologies Lady Idril, I was merely attempting to save you the embarrassment of impertinent questions!"

Idril: "I would also thank you not to interrupt me!  Besides, it is a fair question from one who is unaccustomed to our laws or our history!"

[She turns to face Húrin and Huor...]

Idril: "The King's reasons are manifold and with his blessing I shall discuss them more fully with you both another time; sufficed to say that Voronwë does not come and go as he pleases, and it is true also that he was sent abroad only this once on a matter of grave importance to the King..." 

Huor: "Thank you, My Lady..."

[Maeglin looks askance at the young man as Idril reassuringly pats the his hand...]

Turgon's Chamber...

[Turgon and Voronwë finish their breakfast...]

Voronwë: "First of all, Lord, may I express my deepest sorrow at the loss of your father; Fingolfin showed himself indeed a mighty king!"

Turgon: "My heart weeps for him still..."

[After a brief moment's silence Turgon resumes...]

Turgon: "Ah yes, my father reigned still ere you were dispatched; I had not realised that it had been so long..."

Voronwë: "Indeed Lord, sending us to the Mouths of Sirion in the last days of winter during the Breaking of the Siege proved well judged insomuch that the fighting had all but ceased.  Your foresight and timing rightly anticipated that those fleeing the horrors of Morgoth should have found shelter ere we departed and would not emerge again until the coming of spring; I feel certain that our going was not observed by either friend or foe, for we were neither accosted nor assailed!"

Turgon: "Good, good; pray continue!"   

Voronwë: "We reached our destination in good time and by then the weather had grown kinder, the deltas there provided good harbourage without too much modification; however, it was the use of preformed wooden beams that proved most fruitful to us and the first ships were built right on schedule.  All seemed well us until the day of the first launch approached when I became troubled by a reoccurring dream..."

Turgon: "A dream?"

Voronwë: "Well, nightmare really... or perhaps a vision!"

[Voronwë's Dream...  He walks alone on an unfamiliar coastline, all is isolated and placid until when out of the West there comes a fell wind upon a cloudless sky; with this there is a great surging of the sea and he stands immobilised as the mounting wave rushes toward him.  The water stops short of the land forming a mighty molten wall before him, and so vast does it appear to his eyes that he is unable to see aught else in any direction other than straight ahead.  

He passes through a barricade of glass-clear fluid and regards an assembly of enthroned figures sitting in ring-like formation, they are apparent as kings and queens but to his vague sight their features are indistinct.  They speak not with words and it is only whilst he remains in their presence that he understands their converse; otherwise he forgets entirely what was spoken, remembering only a sensation of total harmony or perhaps unison as he would later describe it.

Presently one of this congress rises from his seat and Voronwë becomes aware that he is encroaching and grows afraid; only then does he understand the sheer scale of these beings for a mighty hand takes hold of him and impels him backwards to the very point where he first stood.  There, the waters stir and rage in his face with great noise; and even though the ocean's vertical membrane remains intact he quails at the terrible shapes made therein.

At length there comes a mist out of the water's agitation that is quite distinct from the natural sea foam; before long he is completely enveloped by its clutching undulating threads where he finds himself transported to a much less pleasant place than before.  He stands now upon a jagged isle looking out to a trammelled sea fighting against the very mist that keeps it at bay.  On a sudden there is a violent rumbling underfoot, all about great pointed rocks of like-type to Voronwë's isle thrust up like monstrous thorns piercing the surface to create an infinite archipelago across the sea; the mist having blasted skyward upon the first impact now begins to settle to form perimeters around each new land mass.  

The haze deepens into fog and there is flat calm, the indiscernible shapes surrounding Voronwë although quite solid begin to take on devious forms; indeed he fancies that the islands resemble the wreckage of many tangled ships scooped up from the seabed by the very hand of Ulmo himself, and pictures form in his mind's eye of countless mariners that have been or will be lost to the terrible drink.

Ever so slowly, ever so softly, gentle waves begin to lap back and forth against the hidden faces of the rocks; such is the rhythmic nature of this occurrence that one might believe that the sea was sweetly singing under its breath, or chanting a soothing mantra.  Voronwë yields to the lament of the sea that sings the contradictory and enchanting Song of Voyage's End; and becoming ever the more enrapt with this hypnotic lullaby he deems it better to live out the remainder his life as a sea-thrall, provided that the music did not end.     

As one invigorated by a beautiful aria he opens his eyes, seeing clearer now through the thinning mist; the nearest isle now looms large, its inclusions of lodestone glowing green.  His blood already charged with the music of the sea now begins to coarse through his body.  And such is the attraction of the iron within him that he is compelled as filings to a magnet toward the harsh rocks opposite; however, before his body is dashed against them he awakens in a drenching sweat...]

Voronwë: "I have told no other of this dream although it has remained potent within for a long time, so much so that I feel its shadow upon me now even as I speak..."

Turgon: "Would you like to take a moment?"

Voronwë: "Thank you no, I am quite alright; I would prefer to get on!"

Turgon: "Very well..."

Voronwë: "Despite my nightly interruptions we successfully launched all seven ships within a year and prepared to dismantle and return home.  To our utter amaze on the final morning there emerged from the Cape of Balar a ship of infinitely superior design to any that we could conceive of..."

One year prior...

[A small contingent of Sindarin Elves disembarks onto the partially disassembled anchorage, among them comes Cirdan of the Havens...]

Cirdan: "Hail Voronwë!"

Voronwë: "Welcome Lord Cirdan, we meet gladly I hope?"

Cirdan: "Well met indeed, I have not seen you since your youth in Nevrast when your family visited the Falas; I seem to recall then that you expressed an interest in seafaring..."

Voronwë: "Yes Lord, I still own the parchments on basic shipbuilding that you gave me long ago; I have studied them much over the years..."

Cirdan: "Hmm, that is apparent; I take it then that your family removed from Nevrast with King Turgon?"

[Voronwë hesitates to answer...]

Cirdan: "My apologies Voronwë you misunderstand, I was merely asking after your House to extend my good wishes; I know that Turgon departed in secret at the behest of Ulmo, besides I would not ask a friend to betray his king..."

Voronwë: "You honour me with your understanding and kind regards to my family, but my father has already embarked and I cannot pass them on..."

Cirdan: "Oh I see..."

Voronwë: "Lord, truly it gladdens me to see you after so long though I am at a loss as to why you have come..."

Cirdan: "I am surprised that you have not guessed, in part at least, since you sent out a string of ships unlicensed by my charter."

Voronwë: "I was unaware that we were breaking any law..."

Cirdan: "Voronwë, I do not claim governance of the sea but you well know that my mariners patrol all the western coasts to observe and deter our enemies; surely you did not think your actions would go noticed?" 

Voronwë: "Apparently they did not..."

Cirdan: "And regarding laws: no, I do not believe that you were offending any statute lain down in Middle-earth, however, your ships were sailing West beyond our shores where it is widely known to all the Eldar that the law differs there..."

Voronwë: "Then perhaps you come as an emissary of Ulmo?"

Cirdan: "Of all the Valar he is the one that requires the least representation on these shores when it is his voice that flows throughout all the waters of this land.  Nay Voronwë, I come on behalf of some your friends that lie infirmed with us when your ships were stricken at sea..."

Voronwë: "Is my father among them?"

Cirdan: "Alas not... I am sorry!"

[Voronwë is visibly shaken by this news...]

Cirdan: "Many are in need of attention: will you come?"

Voronwë: "I would but King Turgon will be expecting my report..."

Cirdan: "Of course but please understand that many are sick and rambling, and whilst I have them in isolation with only a few healers I cannot control what they might say unwittingly about their home.  Perhaps Turgon will pardon you in the greater interests of confidentiality?"

Voronwë: "You are wise beyond my measure; I thank you and gratefully accept..."

Turgon's chamber...

Voronwë: "Cirdan later explained that those in his care were among the last to embark; telling how the first five ships were lost and how many of his own folk perished attempting to aid them, ‘Ossë was cruel,' he said!"

Turgon: "Then they did not get very far?"

Voronwë: "It would seem not!"

Turgon: "And your father?"

Voronwë: "He embarked first!"

Turgon: "Alas, he died in vain!"

Voronwë: "He was determined to go, Lord; do no take it upon yourself!"

Turgon: "He followed my rash command..." 

Voronwë: "One given for the best of reasons, to seek forgiveness and aid from the Great Ones; please Lord do not doubt that or else our great loss would truly then have been in vain!"

Turgon: "Thank you, Dear Friend; tell me of the survivors!"

Voronwë: "They were in a serious state but in good hands; the healers told us what had been uttered in their sickness and this corresponded to how we found them, no secrets were revealed!"

Turgon: "That is something at least..." 

Voronwë: "All that were saved survived but some are unable to travel far through lasting injury whilst many others expressed a wish to remain in the Havens; this is why so few have returned..." 

Turgon: "I see, and suppose the incursions of Morgoth also kept you at bay?"

Voronwë: "Not entirely, although I must confess that my time at the Falas was a happy one and in all probability we lingered longer than we ought; however, we were not idle there and learnt much in the craft of building ships, for myself I gained a deep understanding with Cirdan... he is truly among the Great!  Ah yes, on our departure he gave me this..."

[He produces a sealed note and hands it to Turgon ...]

TURGON, SON OF FINGOLFIN, FORMER LORD OF NEVRAST,

THE FRIENDSHIP BETWEEN YOUR REALM AND MINE PREVAILED FOR ONE HUNDRED YEARS AND MORE WHEN DURING THAT TIME THE WESTERN COASTS FROM DRENGIST TO CAPE BALAR WERE UTTERLY UNASSAILABLE, IT IS IN THIS SPIRIT THAT I SEND THIS MISSIVE NOW!  I AM SURE THAT WHEN YOU READ THIS YOU WILL HAVE ALREADY BEEN APPRAISED OF WHAT HAS RECENTLY PASSED TWIXT YOUR FOLK AND MINE SO I SHALL LEAVE THAT FOR OTHERS TO CONVEY; WHAT I WRITE NOW IS FROM ONE GOVERNOR OF PEOPLE TO ANOTHER. 

PLEASE BELIEVE THAT NONE OF YOUR SECRETS HAVE BEEN REVEALED TO ME OR ANY OTHER IN MY HAVENS, AND THAT NONE WILL BE DEMANDED BY THOSE THAT HAVE CHOSEN TO REMAIN HERE.  HOWEVER, GIVEN THE CIRCUMSTANCES IN WHICH WE CAME BY YOUR FOLK, AND THESE STRAITENED TIMES, IT IS NOT DIFFICULT TO GUESS NEAR AT WHAT YOU WERE ATTEMPTING.  IN THIS MATTER I AM ILL EQUIPPED TO PASS JUDGEMENT AND WILL NOT DO SO; ALTHOUGH, SHOULD YOUR PEOPLE ENDEAVOUR TO SET FORTH INTO THE WEST AGAIN IN THIS I WOULD SEEK TO DISSUADE YOU SINCE I BELIEVE THAT SUCH A MISSION COULD NOT BE ACCOMPLISHED.  STILL, IF IN THE FUTURE YOUR MIND IS SET UPON THIS ACTION AGAIN I WOULD URGE YOU TO SEEK MY AID IN THIS MATTER; INDEED I SHALL LOOK TO IT AND DEVELOP HARDIER SHIPS THAT MIGHT WITHSTAND LONGER VOYAGES THAN I AM APT TO UNDERTAKE MYSELF, ALTHOUGH I SINCERELY HOPE THAT THEIR PRODUCTION WILL NOT BE NECESSARY. 

IN TOKEN OF THE LONGSTANDING ALLIANCE BETWEEN US,

CIRDAN.

[Turgon digests the letter and calls the briefing to a close...]       

Voice of Thorondor: "Thus it was that once again Morgoth had not fully reckoned the strength of the alliance between Elves and Men when hard pressed, and his planned invasion of Beleriand by way of the Pass of Sirion did not succeed as he hoped.  And He in his darkest thought could not ever conceive of what had been set in motion by his strongest opponent in Endórë, Ulmo, the Lord of Waters; for not even those that he had chosen as his instruments we aware of it..."

Part Seven: Of Predication and Greater Wisdom

When partners do not communicate fully there is misunderstanding, this is especially true of old married couples...

Such an occasion arises when Thingol and Melian receive a guest...

Read Part Seven: Of Predication and Greater Wisdom

THE GREAT TALES OF BELERIAND

PART SEVEN: OF PREDICATION AND GREATER WISDOM

Southeast Brethil…

Voice of Lúthien: “The tenuous peace after the Repulsion at the Pass of Sirion presented the free-folk of Beleriand with a small degree of opportunity for movement across the lands to once more…”  

[A nobleman rides between two Elves as they pass in single file along the treacherous straits between the Arms of the Sirion and Mindeb which lie at the closest borders between Brethil and Doriath…]

Voice of Lúthien: “And an opportunity also arose for a meeting which many of the Sindar of Doriath has long anticipated.  For almost One Hundred years and fifty now, ever since Finrod bore the news to Thingol of their coming into Beleriand, we have wondered much upon the appearance and manner of the Secondborn….”

[Halad Halmir calls to the Elf rider at his front…]    

Halmir: “Master Beleg, the waters grow more perilous here; surely we should have crossed the Brithiach and come to your lands through Dimbar?”

Beleg: “Nay Lord, that road takes us too far north; moreover on horseback it is only passable by the sources of Mindeb at the Pass of Anach, bringing us nigh to the Mountains of Terror… we do not go that way!”

Halmir: “But lo, the rock face becomes far too sheer and the terrain shifts underfoot; this is no path for horses!”

Beleg: “Trust us!”

Halmir: “I can see no road ahead…”

Beleg: “This is as Melian contrived it!”

[The rider at the rear calls out…]

Mablung: “Fear not, Friend, we have crossed this way many times and it is quite safe; your mount is of the Livery of Thingol and among the most surefooted of beasts…”

Voice of Lúthien: “In those days, the arrival of the Edain in great number and their close association with the Noldorin Elves little pleased the Sindar, not least King Thingol; however, in light of recent events and with the proof of their valour, some Sindarin hearts have softened towards these relative newcomers…”

[The curious trinity continue beyond Brethil where the conduit widens somewhat, Mablung with a reassuring smile overtakes Halmir’s horse as they reach a halt just before the meeting of Sirion and Teiglin; coming to a point where the pathway has crumbled away into a steep gorge, apparently caused by the heavy currents of Sirion splashing against a vertical fault line in the rocky wall.  Here the Elves dismount and begin to incant in a tongue unknown to Halmir’s ears: to his utter disbelief a mist invisible dissipates skyward revealing a stone bridge that spans the River Sirion, beginning at the point where the seemingly missing section of road, now whole, plummeted down before them…]  

The Realm of Doriath…
 

Voice of Lúthien: “And it happened for the first time that mortal eyes witnessed the power of the Girdle of Melian in full effect!”

[The Elves ascend their steeds once more and Beleg with an eloquent nod leads Halmir safely across the rushing torrent and they pass unencumbered through the wall of enchantment.  The Lord of Brethil looks back with some unease as the Girdle falls back again rendering the bridge invisible and the opposite pathway broken in appearance; for a brief moment it seemed as though Mablung bringing up the rear traversed a half built bridge with no practical means of support…]

Beleg: “You have just entered the Realm of Doriath, it is a measure of King Thingol’s trust that you have been permitted thus far…”    

Halmir: “For that I am grateful!”

Beleg: “Now, whilst you shall never learn the words to gain entry into these lands, which change constantly with the flow of the Great River, you do know the location of the Secret Bridge; therefore, before we continue any further I must ask you to take a Double-bound Oath never to reveal its vicinity… are we in accord?”

Halmir: “We are…”

Beleg: “Please be aware that the breaking such a pledge would release calamitous ruin on the Oath-maker and all that he holds dear; and such would be your plight that we as witnesses could not forswear its making or offer any succour beyond, even if we be so disposed by pity…”   

Halmir: “I understand and accept!”   

Beleg: “Very well…”

[The Elves instruct Halmir to stretch out his hands ahead of him whilst they drape long braids golden flax upon his forearms to form loose looped spirals that dangle freely at the ends; and turning to face him they each thread an arm through the loops and clasp him at the elbows…]

Beleg: “In your own words state thy vow!”

Halmir: “By the alliance twixt Brethil and Doriath I vow never to divulge to any other my knowledge of the existence of the hidden bridge linking our lands or its location!”

[Beleg and Mablung share a glance of approval and once again intone in an unfamiliar Elvish Tongue.  Presently the cords tighten, seemingly of their own volition, until when at last as the chanting stops they unravel and drop to the floor; Halmir staggers slightly and his companions lead him to a flat rock to rest whilst the braids are recovered…]

Beleg: “Take a moment to recover Lord, simple magic is often the most potent though its effects soon wear off…”  

[Halmir takes a drink of water offered to him by Mablung…]

Halmir: “Masters, I understand the need for secrecy but tell me: why did you wait until we crossed into Doriath before performing the oath?”

Beleg: “It was the will of Thingol and Melian!”

Halmir: “Yes, but…”

Mablung: “Please understand, Friend, we do not question the word of our sovereigns; though it seems to me that they wanted to show you something that goes beyond any form of magic, and that is trust unproven…”

[Beleg coughs with annoyance…]

Beleg: “If you are rested enough, Lord Halmir, I think that we should be getting along while time is!”

The voice of Lúthien: “Their travels would bring them into the deep heart of Doriath, the leading office of Elven power long before the return to Middle-earth of Morgoth and the pursuing Noldor some centuries before…”

[Aerial view of the Province of Doriath…]

The voice of Lúthien: “One journeys south for a short time along the western eaves of Neldoreth the North Forest, reaching the River Esgalduin that meets mighty Sirion; the banks of which lead east toward the stone bridge at Menegroth, wherein sit the halls of Thingol and Melian hewn deep beneath the caves of the greater Forest of Region…”

[They ride in silence for the longest time and Halmir marvels at the beauty of the views of both forests offered along Esgalduin on either side; ahead, the river seems to bend away north though it is shrouded by many trees.  At length, Halmir slows down almost to a halt and looks around uneasily; Mablung draws up alongside him whilst Beleg continues to ride on…]

Mablung: “What troubles you?”

Halmir: “Ever since we entered this land I have noticed no other living thing, save for the Olvar as you call it; yet I cannot help but sense that our coming is being marked by many eyes as yet unseen!”

Mablung: “Fear not Friend, you shall come to no harm!  The Eldar and the Kelvar of this kingdom have never before seen your like and are curious; for you see, Lord, you are the first of Men to come hither bidden by Thingol…”

[Beleg turns about blocking their path…]

Beleg: “Lord Halmir, see there in that thicket a small family of deer; they shall not bolt whilst we are present… go to them if it pleases you!”

[Halmir dismounts and creeps gingerly to the point indicated by Beleg; the lead Elf speaks to his colleague in hushed tones…]  

Beleg: “You presume too much Mablung, the King has not even spoken and trice you have addressed this visitor as FRIEND; moreover, you told him earlier that we question not the word of our sovereigns and then go on to do exactly that!”

Mablung: “Have compassion Beleg, this fellow and his folk have dwelt next to our borders all their lives never knowing, or better never being allowed to know, who or what lives here save only for your wardens and a mysterious king giving out edicts!”

Beleg: “Do you question his will?”  

Mablung: “If that were so I would not be Captain of the Guard!”

Beleg: “Then you should be clear on our orders, escort the Lord of Brethil to the throne; that is all!”

Mablung: “A task requiring only one, and of lesser rank than ours; why else do you think that the Queen requested that we perform this duty?”

Beleg: “Ours is to serve not to question!”

Mablung: “Of course it is but…”

Beleg: “There are no buts, Mablung!  My Friend, heed me: I know you are in the counsel of the Queen and that for a long time now you have been eager for greater openness between the peoples of Middle-earth, but have a care and do let your aim overreach its mark!”

[Halmir returns and they resume…]

Menegroth…

[They are greeted at the stone bridge by a beautiful Elf maiden…]

Lúthien: “Lord Halmir, I am so thrilled to meet you at last; please, please come this way, I know my parents are eager to meet you!”

[She leads them into the Hall of the Thousand Caves, passing along myriad corridors of infinite finery until at last they reach the throne room of Thingol and Melian…]

Lúthien: “I have heard so much of the deeds of your people and the other Edain, of course we have met with the Naugrim before but that is hardly the same is it; after all are we not of the mind of Ilúvatar, the Children of his thought?”

[Therein Lúthien takes her place on the vacant seat beside her parents; resplendent behind them is a wall of golden pine blocks fashioned in divers shapes to depict an immense sunburst that illuminates the three dark-wood thrones and their occupants.  
Brightest amongst these sits Melian, the Queen: who alone being of the Maia radiates from her own being the gentle sheen of Gold and Silver that echoes the lost joy of the Springtime of Arda.  

The stately thrones stand upon an intricately carved wooden dais with three broad and sweeping crescent steps leading onto a patterned oak floor whereupon stand many other Elves in attendance at either side.  In the presence of such serene beauty the travellers are compelled to kneel until when at last the peace is quietly broken and they are bidden, ‘Rise!’  

On a sudden every Elf there present gasps audibly at a noise never before heard in that chamber as the ringing metallic sound of the unsheathing of a sword echoes against the walls; whereafter Halmir steps forward and lays his weapon at the feet of the king and bows reverently…]    

Melian: “You do King Thingol great honour; Halmir, Son of Brethil…”    

Halmir: “It is but a trifle, My Lady; a token in repayment for the salvation of my lands by your armies…”

Melian: “I would not call one doing obeisance to a greater lord a trivial matter…”   

[After a considered silence Thingol speaks…]

Thingol: “Long ago, my kinsman Finrod told me of the plight of a people whom escaping the Shadow came out of the perilous East into shining Beleriand; our home!  And although their coming had been long foretold I deemed it then an ill chance for the country that I loved, and love still; it not being so long back as we count it since Beleriand was overrun by the errant Noldor.  Nonetheless many Elves seemed taken with you Newcomers, and through the wisdom of my chief counsellor, the Queen, and sensing that little could be done in retaliation against this influx without causing strife amongst my kind, I set my concerns aside…”

[Melian glances impassively at her husband throughout but at this last remark she looks away slowly, pursing her lips as one unimpressed by flattery; eyes closed with a sideways upturn of the head held in disregard…]

Thingol: “Yet and all, those latter years of the Siege of Angband passed for us without incident and the better I was pleased, until when at last Finrod visited me baring the Tale of Haleth, the matriarch of your people, who sought independent lands in which her folk could settle in their own right…”

[The Haladin depart from Estolad…]    

Voice of Thingol: “It was given to me that she was self-reliant, single-minded and somewhat detached; though nobody ever doubted her courage!”

[Haleth, in the forefront of her people, helps fend off an attack by the Great Spiders of Ered Gorgoroth…]
 
Thingol: “Of these days we would be glad to hear more from one who knows the fuller tale…”

Halmir: “I would be only too happy to oblige!”

Thingol: “Yes, yes we should enjoy that a great deal: but perhaps a little later!”

Halmir: “Of course but pray, Lord…?”

Thingol: “Haleth was the first Adanic name from your kin-line that I knew of any consequence, of consequence to Doriath that is; and although I never met her I found her story quite intriguing, I admired her mettle!”

Halmir: “Yet you thought her too uncouth to treat with?”     

[Melian interjects in an attempt to quell any brimming tension…]

Melian: “The passing of time brings with it its own wisdom, greater than any first impression might provide…”

[Halmir acknowledges her with a gentile nod but Thingol blunders on…]

Thingol: “Yet more intriguing to me in that time was the report I heard from Finrod of one whom I love little and that I know loves me even less, Caranthir, Son of Fëanor; for it is told that he was eager to have Haleth’s Folk dwell freely under his friendship and protection… this seems a strange business coming from one so haughty as he!”

Halmir: “Haughty?  Perhaps that might describe him since he showed no interest in my forebears ere they proved themselves fit in the defence of their homes after an assault by stealth that went undetected by the supposedly farsighted…”

Thingol: “So then he was moved by shame than aught else?”   

Halmir: “How can I say; I was born not in South Thargelion but at Amon Obel …”

[Melian smiles to herself…]  

Thingol: “Pity: ‘tis the one account to reach my ears that state anything remotely positive about him, I do confess I thought it curious at the time…”

Halmir: “May I ask, Lord; have you ever met this fellow?”  

Thingol: “Oh my word, no!”

Halmir: “?”

Melian: “Then Husband, since neither of you know Caranthir in person I am quite sure that our guest wonders why that name of  is on your lips at all; or indeed as to why he has been asked here!?”

Thingol: “Quite right, please pardon my stragglings Lord Halmir!  Now, it is well recorded that I granted Haleth the freedom of Brethil provided that the Haladin defended the Crossings of Teiglin from our foes…”

[Halmir glances across to Melian who smiles sweetly…]

Thingol: “It pleases me greatly to have seen that when put to the greatest test your people did not flinch from this duty; thus Doriath is glad to officially bestow upon the Halad of Brethil the distinction of Elf-friend and all that it entails.  Please come forward and accept this token of our appreciation!”

[Thingol and Melian rise from their seats to meet Halmir and present him with an ornate bow and quiver of golden arrows…]

Halmir: “Now it is you, Majesties, which does me great honour and more than I deserve…”

Melian: “Oh, how so?”

Halmir: “It was my son Haldir who held the line when we were pushed back to the very eaves of our home and he also that led the charge once your troops reinforced us, whilst I watched impotently in the rearguard…”

Thingol: “Are you not General of your company?”

Halmir: “I am!”

Thingol: “Then from where else would you expect to oversee the battle?”

[Halmir pauses, unable to answer…]

Melian: “Your honesty does you credit, Lord, but your modesty is miss-placed; please, hand me your sword!”

[This he does…]

Melian: “This is a noble blade and its employment by your hand is unfinished; I foresee that it shall spill the blood of many foes ere the end when the need is greater yet…”

[She closes her eyes momentarily: an image of two young men wandering blindly in a mist forms in her minds eye, she takes counsel with herself…]

Voice of Melian: “I see also that those who are lost shall be returned to their right place but until then the father shall lament!”

[She reopens them and smiles, saying no more…]

Thingol: “Moreover: the Halad in waiting shall inherit the title given to you, for our custom dictates that the name of Elf-friend passes from its owner to their progeny.  It is otherwise only when the determination goes individually for a sole act or out of long standing affection!”

Halmir: “Then I am doubly grateful, thank you!”

Thingol: “If you will remain, we shall feast tonight to mark our new Friendship!”

Halmir: “Gladly!”

Thingol: “Excellent, our attendants are at your disposal and I feel certain that my daughter would be pleased to show you the delights of our underworld refuge…”

Melian: “And Mablung, would you be kind enough to arrange comfortable provision for our Friend!”

Thingol: “Beleg, if you might remain but one moment!”

[The room empties…]

Thingol: “I take it then that all went as discussed?”

Beleg: “To the letter, Lord!”

Thingol: “Very well, you are relieved!”

[Beleg bows and turns to leave…]

Melian: “Beleg… are you sure that you have nothing else to add?”

Beleg: “Nay, My Lady!”

Melian: “Your heart reads otherwise; please Beleg, what troubles you?”

Beleg: “Nothing really, just a chance remark along the way!”

Melian: “By Mablung, perhaps?”

Beleg: “I would rather not say without his being present!”

Melian: “Very well… you may leave us!”

Thingol: “Nay, I will hear it!   Beleg, if Mablung has offended any of my laws then you are duty bound to speak!”

Beleg: “It is nothing like that… or at least I hope not!”

Thingol: “Go on!”

Melian: “Thingol, his heart is aching: do not press him!”

Thingol: “Mablung is amongst my most trusted, I would know if I am betrayed!”

Beleg: “Nay Lord, nay; it is just that he was indiscrete in presuming to call Halmir, Friend, before you had spoken!”

Thingol: “Ha, ha, ha; is that all?  Beleg, you had me worried there for a moment!”

Melian: “Elu Thingol!  How dare you laugh at the betrayal of another’s loyalty; no matter how relieved you feel!  And you, Beleg, do not berate a beloved friend in your heart when the only so-called indiscretion is the extension of his hand to a stranger!”

[Both are abashed: Melian is serene once more…]

Melian: “Beleg, you are aware of the missive sent by the King to the Lord of Brethil ere Sauron’s forces attacked from Tol Sirion?”

Beleg “I delivered it by my own hand to their Captain of Watch!”

Melian: “Then that is well, you may now leave!”

[Beleg and Thingol seem a little puzzled by this but they know better than to gainsay the Queen of Doriath once she has been crossed; and following Beleg’s departure she too leaves, her husband remains alone in silent thought…]

The Banquet Hall in Menegroth…

[That evening Halmir has a place of honour at the head of the king’s board between the royal household, at his left-hand are Melian and Lúthien with Thingol to the right; in attendance also are Beleg and Mablung and many other notaries beside.  The plentiful table is broad and long, decked in silver trimmed white linen with candelabra illuming its length; the walls and ceiling are brightened by hangings of merry colours and the great hall is filled with mirth and music, never before has one of Men seen such a fine display of Sindarin hospitality…]

Halmir: “Ah ‘twas rich Lord, once your companies joined mine we gave ground no more and drove our foes back into Sirion’s Pass whence they came, even unto the Accursed Isle!”

Beleg: “Ay… and many there quailed even though it stood seemingly uninhabited and ‘He that is abhorred’ came not forth!”

Halmir: “Truly, both Elves and Men held back!”

[Beleg gives no answer…]

Halmir: “But of course it is well known that the Mighty Strongbow dispatched a great many foes at the Isle ere we were joined by the High King and his company hastening from the north!”

Thingol: “And amid all the tales of defeat in these subdued times the valour of Men was witnessed by the Great and should be remembered with honour!”

[Melian smiles her approval at this…]

Melian: “I understand that you have kin in Hithlum?”

Halmir: “Hareth my daughter is wedded to Galdor, the King’s Vassal, and their two sons were commended to my care ere the assault, but alas they are lost to us; for you see they would not be constrained in the fight but their division was ambushed at the Brithiach and as I understand it none survived!”

Lúthien: “Oh, how terribly sad; were they very young?”

Halmir: “Seventeen and Thirteen: yes still thirteen I believe!”

Melian: “Still Thirteen?”

Halmir: “Hopefully so, since their bodies were the only ones among that group to remain undiscovered but alas the rains washed away any trace of them ere the company was found!”

Lúthien: “So there is still hope!”

Halmir: “Little, My Lady, once you consider that many boys before them, and of lesser age, have been taken perforce into thraldom; my lads are strong and would make prime targets for the Orc Slavers…”

Thingol: “Is that your best guess as to their fate?”

Halmir: “It is amongst my worst fears!”

Melian: “A soldier’s livery often belies his age and it seems to me that still much more needs to be revealed until such conclusions should be drawn; My Lord Halmir, I would urge you against despair whilst hope is still alive!”

Halmir: “I attempted similar words with my daughter and her husband though I doubt not that mine were less graceful as yours; alas, I fear that when I departed there were still three broken-hearts on that doorstep…”  

Thingol: “All this of course explains why you were not at home when first we extended our invitation to you; ah, the misfortune of war!”

Halmir: “Ay Lord, I am told that your summons arrived the day after I departed for Hithlum; I held fast at Amon Obel for sure news with regard to the activities between Ivrin and Serech as long as decency would permit but none came.  After several weeks of waiting need drove me at last, thus I opted to travel only under the cover of darkness and my journey was prolonged…”

Thingol: “I see…”

Halmir: “It is the custom with us that as custodian another’s children one bears any news, good or bad, to the father first; and since Galdor was away on other business when I arrived there was a further delay…”

Lúthien: “Was not your daughter curious as to your business there?”

Halmir: “Convention dictated that I could not see her until her husband returned!”

Melian: “That must have been difficult…”

Halmir: “It was; but still, I did not have to wait overlong…”

Several weeks earlier…

Dor-lómin…

[Afternoon in a half-lit bedroom; a sickly lady is attended to by nursemaids, there is a knocking at the front door which is answered by an adolescent girl; there before her stands an impressive grey horse and rider, unarmed but bedecked with the indigo and gold livery of the High King, she cranes her neck but cannot make out the rider’s face or indeed if he be Elf or Man…]

Morwen: “The Lady Emeldir is unwell and cannot receive visitors today!”

Galdor: “I am sorry to here that, Child; but I come the business of the High King!”

Morwen: “That being so, then perhaps you might leave a message which I could pass along to her…”

Galdor: “Is this how today’s youth would treat with the lord of this land?”

Morwen: “If said lord would care to dismount his steed so as not to speak from on high then mayhap this youth might recognise him!”

[Galdor alights looking squarely on Morwen’s impassive face, her eyes unflinching…]

Galdor: “Is my face enough for you or do I need to produce a royal proclamation bearing the Seal of Fingon himself!”

Morwen: “Do you have one?”

[Half amused and half annoyed he holds out a sealed letter with a deadpan smile…]

Morwen: “I suppose that I had better announce you; please take a seat in the parlour!”

Galdor: “It seems that Dorthonion produces the loveliest of all guard-dogs and perhaps the most spirited…”  

Morwen: “Yes, but they only bite when cornered!”  

Galdor: “I do not doubt it!”

[Somewhat bemused Galdor takes a seat: he does not notice to look of abashed horror on the girl’s face as it sinks in with her to whom she has speaking, nor does he mark the rapid speed at which she ascends to stairway to announce his presence.  He hears the muffled clucking of many voices and the bustle of stifled movement above him until when at last the chastened voice of Morwen beckons him forth.  At length Emeldir and her visitor are left alone, that is of course once the coy-acting maids have got their eyeful of him from the stairway landing…]    

Galdor: “My Lady it grieves me to see you so unwell after less than a year when you last visited the King, especially when I bring further news pertaining that time…”

[Panicked, Emeldir darts forward in her bed…]

Emeldir: “My husband, my son; do they yet live?”

Galdor: “I know not, there has been no certain report from Dorthonion since your folk came to stay here in Dor-lómin; save only for the surveillance of our scouts which has revealed only the movements of our enemies.”

Emeldir: “So there has been some engagement in those parts since Morgoth’s last attempt at invasion?”

Galdor: “From what little I know I would have to say yes!”

[She falls back into her pillows with relief…]

Emeldir: “They are alive then!”

Galdor: “I cannot say…”

Emeldir: “If my husband’s men fight on then I know that he endures still; Lord Galdor, thank you I can rest easy!”

Galdor: “In this matter I am sure you are the better judge!”

[After a brief silence he produces the letter…]

Galdor: “However, My Lady, I am here to bring you this; it comes from the King!”

[He hands the envelope across to her but she does take it…]

Emeldir: “I am too weak, please read it to me!”

[Galdor hesitates…]

Emeldir: “Do not be anxious, Lord; if King Fingon has trusted you enough to deliver his words then I trust you to relay them in his confidence!”

Galdor: “Very well…”

[He opens the letter which reads…]

EMELDIR, LADY OF DORTHONION,

I HOPE THAT THIS NOTE FINDS YOU AS HALE AS YOUR WERE UPON THE TIME WE LAST TOOK COUNSEL TOGETHER, FOR IT IS MY GREAT PLEASURE TO TENDER TO YOU THE SERVICE THAT YOU REQUESTED OF ME THEN.  AS YOU MAY BE AWARE THE CIRCUMSTANCES OF THE WAR HAVE CHANGED, ALBEIT FOR AN UNCERTAIN LENGTH OF TIME, AND AT PRESENT THE PASS OF SIRION IS DEVOID OF ANY FOES.  THEREFORE I SHOULD BE DELIGHTED TO PERSONALLY ARRANGE SAFE PASSAGE TO YOUR HOMELAND FOR YOU AND ANY THAT WISH TO LEAVE; OF COURSE MY INVITATION TO REMAIN HERE STILL STANDS.  I AM LOOKING FORWARD TO SPEAKING AGAIN WITH YOU IN PERSON WHEN WE FINALISE THE DETAILS OF THE CROSSING, BUT UNTIL THEN I WOULD STRESS UPON YOU THE NEED OF HASTE.

IN SERVICE

FINGON

Galdor: “That is all…”

Emeldir: “Alas: oh how long have I prayed in my yearning for home to be quenched of this thirst?  At last the bounties of Fingon’s cup of grace overflow when it is too late to drink from it and I am left only with dry bitter ashes in my throat.  O Galdor, what a foolish woman I have been; the King told me not to give in to despair and now I find that I cannot be cured of it, I am dying from lack of usefulness and a deficiency of hope…”  

Galdor: “Nay, say not such things; there is healing to be had here among the Elf-kind!”

Emeldir: “Ah, grief erodes even the most abiding…”

Galdor: “O Lady…”

Emeldir: “Tell the King, Galdor, tell him that I did my husband’s will; I kept Barahir’s Folk safe here under his royal protection, tell him it is for that reason now that I would not have them know of this new kindness to me.  Tell him that at last I see my task, which is to pour what little hope remains to me into my young charges.  Barahir knew this, therefore if I am not to see him again then I shall honour him by doing this last act howsoever long I last; tell the King that the foolish woman has finally found her purpose at last!”

Galdor: “I will recount those words, Emeldir, but I will not name you foolish!”

Emeldir: “They do say… A fool’s hope is better then none at all!”

Galdor: “And also…Wisdom comes ere the end!”

Emeldir: “Bah, these are but the ramblings of old-wives and matter not!  I grow weary now, Lord, and would rest: please accept my thanks and convey the same to the King, for on this day you have both done me great service… farewell!”       

Menegroth…

Halmir: “Alas poor Galdor, he left Dor-lómin with a heavy heart only to find me on his return, ruefully waiting on the threshold of the Barad Eithel… forgive me, the extract of the vine causes me blether overmuch and flourishes the eye.”

[Melian pats his hand sympathetically…]

Melian: “Be not troubled, Halmir, it is oft good for a lord to unburden a heavy heart away from the eyes of his charges…”

Beleg: “Especially when he is amongst friends!”

Halmir: “Thank you, all of you; it has been a remarkable day and I should hate for it to end with my reeling from over excess.  By your leave, My Lord and Lady, I would like to retire now in order to rise afresh for my return tomorrow…”

Thingol: “Of course: wise is he that looks to the clear morn!”

[In truth the hour was already late and the earlier hustle had long died down with but a few folk remaining; Mablung was slumped half asleep in his seat although Beleg was alert as were the King and Queen, Lúthien was rubbing her eyes whilst Galadriel and her company had long retired.  Halmir arises somewhat unsteadily at first but regaining himself he bows before resetting his chair; a lone minstrel sings a lullaby of The Days of Starlight before the coming of the Sun and Moon…]

Melian: “Hope is alive, Halmir; tend it well and its yield shall be sweeter than aught tasted from the vine… Goodnight!”

The next day…

[Thingol and Melian have risen early to greet the New-day Sun as is their wont; they come to a clearing in Neldoreth long prepared for them and perform their daily morning rituals, when all is done Thingol leads his queen to a nearby stone bench…]

Melian: “My Lord?”

Thingol: “We need to talk!”  

Melian: “Our household will be awaiting us, our guest…”

Thingol: “All can wait!”

Melian: “Then pray, say on!”

Thingol: “Since there is need of haste I shall be blunt: is he the one, Melian, Halmir I mean?”

Melian: “Which one?”

Thingol: “The one of whose coming you foretold to Galadriel!”

Melian: “Even now after these many ages you still leave me staggered; did you even mean those words of friendship offered to the Lord of Brethil or did you agree to all this simply to pre-empt an old prophesy?”

Thingol: “You scandalise me Lady, my word is my bond; moreover, you have not answered my question!”

Melian: “And I have a mind not to since that specific prophesy was given to Galadriel alone, in which I now find that my confidence is betrayed!”

Thingol: “Come now, there has been enough talk this last day of perceived betrayal by trusted ones; Galadriel is no gossip, you know this, and I would not have you think otherwise!”

Melian: “Though you would cast Beleg as the same?”

Thingol: “That was altogether different, and besides it was not I that read the misgivings in his heart…”

Melian: “Beleg is innocent; he knew not nor read the contents of the letter that you sent to Brethil!”

Thingol: “Then the point is moot!”

Melian: “Good, shall we return?”

Thingol: “Not so hasty, My Queen, there is still the matter of Galadriel!  Know this: I only heard of your words with her but recently when Finrod visited us last and the subject arose as a scarce remark on his part as we discussed matters of war; indeed he assumed that I knew all about it and I give him no cause to think otherwise…”

Melian: “What did he say?”

Thingol: “Nothing much, that you spoke with Galadriel long ago regarding the coming of Men and gave a prophesy; indeed it had been a good while since he his sister talked of it for he said, forgotten words spoken in long days past are oft altered in the retelling…”

Melian: “That is true, very well I shall tell you; hmm, it is queer that this should arise now since I cannot help but think those events and what we heard last night from Halmir are somehow linked…”

[She pauses for thought…]  

Thingol: “Well?”

Melian: “I confess, Thingol, we were equally at fault all those years ago; I did not consult you with because of the disdain for Men that you showed to Finrod!  What did you say now, ah yes, ‘INTO DORIATH NO MAN SHALL COME WHILE MY REALM LASTS,’ also, ‘MEN SHOULD TAKE NO LANDS TO DWELL IN SAVE IN THE NORTH, AND THE PRINCES WHOM THEY SERVE SHALL BE ANSWERABLE FOR WHAT THEY DID’ …harsh words, Husband!”  

Thingol: “I was troubled by dreams of ill omen regarding their coming!”

Melian: “And you sought not to share this with me; well never mind!  I meditated on your remarks which at the time I took for vehemence against the Noldor; I spoke to Galadriel of my findings saying that, ‘ONE OF MEN, OF BËOR’S HOUSE, SHALL INDEED COME, AND THE GIRDLE OF MELIAN SHALL NOT RESTRAIN HIM, FOR DOOM GREATER THAN MY POWER SHALL SEND HIM…’  Therefore, Dearest Elwë, to answer your question; no, Halmir is not the one of whom I foretold!”   

Thingol: “How then is this interlinked with what Halmir has told us?”

Melian: “I foresee that the son of one that is displaced from Halmir shall also be a son of Doriath and that he also will claim lineage to the House of Bëor like the first!”

Thingol: “How can this be?”

Melian: “I know not!”

Thingol: “I wonder then who is this first of whom you spoke of to Galadriel?”

Melian: “I have asked myself that question many times… come, let us break our fast!”

 

Part Eight: Dark Bowels

Here we look at the master/servant relationships between Morgoth/Sauron and Sauron/Draugluin.  I have invented my own origin story here for Thuringwethil mainly because I have seen no other...

Indeed any pointers pertaining to the Vampire Lady other than in the Silmarillion would be gratefully recieved...

Read Part Eight: Dark Bowels

THE GREAT TALES OF BELERIAND

PART EIGHT: DARK BOWELS

Voice of Thuringwethil: “Long, long ago, and even longer still…”

[All is void…]

Voice of Thuringwethil: “In the days before days the Powers of the World contended for the dominion of Eä, and those that would be enslaved to them were made flesh, finding their own selves ejected from the Timeless Halls whence they begun.”  

[A corona of purest white arises out of black; its eye burgeons with living colour…]   

Voice of Thuringwethil: “Many were weak, meekly accepting servitude to this master or that, whilst others rebelled alongside the Dark Lord!  The Umaiar: choosing a bestial life but a life of servitude all the same… huh, males!”

[Melkor surrounds himself with Balrogs, Wolves, and other wicked creatures…]

Voice of Thuringwethil: “Yes it is true that they have the strength of the brute, but little else beside, theirs is the province of bloodlust and conquest; ha, ha, ha, conquest under the dominance of a greater lord!”

[The Fell Servants under the eye of Morgoth-Melkor erect towers to his glory…]  

Voice of Thuringwethil: “Oh please, you should understand that we Sisters alike to our brethren also crave the living blood, but the female of the species requires more than raw brutality; we desire autonomy… and the means to achieve this end… the Law!  ‘Strange?’ you might say given our part in the rebellion.  Not really, once you consider universal law and do not overcomplicate it with facile dogmata: THE STRONG ALWAYS DEVOUR THE WEAK!”

[A pallid feminine mouth bares its bloodstained fangs to feast on unholy meat…]  

Voice of Thuringwethil: “Thirteen were we until our eldest sister deserted us for a life of sole determination: Ungoliant they named her, for she took upon herself the shape of a huge and fearsome spidress.  Alas as one alone, losing the potency of the enclave, she was doomed to remain ever-famished… a fate deserved; I cannot rightly say!”

[Ungoliant takes refuge a dank and noisome ravine…]  

Voice of Thuringwethil: “Abandoned, we faltered; a twelve-spoked wheel lacking a hub in dire need of the wainwright!  Until at last, there came two, either of whom could well serve our requirements: sickened by light they had embraced the darkness!  The first came with great occasion, Mairon the Maker out of the Mansions of Aulë, but he looked only to himself enjoying his great status at the right hand of Melkor…”

[Sauron joins with Morgoth-Melkor…]

Voice of Thuringwethil: “The other came as one apart, moving in silence; there is no known name for him although we of the Sisterhood call him, The Groom, since he married his vast knowledge with our own desire and taught us the ways of the Law…”

[A coven surrounds a hooded figure in an equidistant circle…]   

Voice of Thuringwethil: “It is guessed that he ventured forth from the Halls of Mandos because of the manner of his wisdom, but even now he will not brook any discussion on this subject.  Still, it matters naught: why should we Sisters care for such triviality when our lord seeks not subordination only union?”

[The Groom produces a babe from beneath his robes and the Sisters close in to feed…]

Voice of Thuringwethil: “And so… in the long ages that followed many battles were fought, won and lost, and mighty strongholds came and went; even the Dark Lord himself departed for a time or two.  And yet, throughout all this the Sisters remained unaffected; for our Groom bends the knee and provides sound counsel, and shielding us from his master’s schemes we escape his eye… thus the circle remains unbroken… an arrangement that suits all!”    

Present day…

Angband, Morgoth’s Chamber…

[Morgoth limps impatiently about his chamber: from table to shelf and back again he restlessly fingers book-spines, ledgers, maps, scrolls and parchments, his irritation rising with each failed cross-reference.  In frustration, he thumps the tabletop unsettling an untidy stack of documents causing Carcharoth who had been sleeping beneath to dart out between his legs…]

Morgoth: “Ludicrous Whelp, you almost bowled me over!”

[The yearling Wolf is fast grown and already the size of his father but here, now, cowering besides the great throne he seems shrunken to his master’s eyes; and away from the sight of all others, Morgoth indulges in cajoling and remorse…]

Morgoth: “Aw, did Daddy frighten you?  Come on then, come on!”

[When the beast does not budge he produces a pail containing dismembered limbs soaking in the sullied blood of their former owners, Elves and Orcs alike; tempted, Carcharoth bounds across to claim his reward…]

Morgoth: “Who’s my beautiful Red Maw then?”

[In stolen moment’s bliss, Morgoth, the Great Foe of the World, wrestles playfully on the floor; a boy and his dog!]

Morgoth: “By my word, if you grow any swifter you shall soon have my hand off!”  

[He smears Carcharoth’s jowls with blood when there is a rap on the door; Sauron enters at his lord’s bidding but kneels in silence, obliged to await Morgoth’s pleasure…]  

Morgoth: “Look at him Sauron, is he not magnificent?”   

Sauron: “A credit to you, My Master, his father would be so proud…”

[Morgoth, still preoccupied, chooses to ignore his ironic tone or simply does not register it…]

Morgoth: “Well, where is the beast?  One can scarce separate you both these days…”  

Sauron: “Draugluin: come!”

[The Wolf enters as bidden, however his scion bristles at this new presence and Carcharoth leaving his master’s side lurches forward with a snarl; Morgoth finally deigns to look up…]

Sauron: “Withdraw and wait outside!”

Draugluin: “Lord, he is my issue; I must show dominion over him!”

Sauron: “Do as I bid thee!”

Draugluin: “But please, there shall be no other opportunity…”

Sauron: “Would you taste my wrath: do it!”

[Draugluin woefully bows his head in submission and departs with his tail between his hind legs.  Carcharoth barks wildly as he goes, spraying foamy saliva over his snout…]

Morgoth: “Was that really necessary?  It is bad form, Sauron, to emasculate a father before his son you know… Ha, ha, ha, look at the state of you; does that knee hurt?  Rise, you bloody fool!”

[Morgoth returns to his table and papers…]

Sauron: “You are in good spirits, My Lord…”

Morgoth: “Is that a question or a statement?”

[Sauron makes no answer; Morgoth eyes him suspiciously…]

Morgoth: “Am I not the Elder King?”

Sauron: “Indeed, Sire…”

Morgoth: “And where then is my kingdom?”

Sauron: “It is wheresoever thou would elect it to be…”

Morgoth: “Oh really; so tell me, do you see cascades of flame contending with the mighty frost or the ballet of dust riven from crumbling mountains that reassembles according to my construct, or only a rat stinking sewer?”

Sauron: “A sewer, nay Lord; these tunnels are but channels to accommodate the roots of your glorious design and this room a kernel husk to house the nub of thy genius!”

Morgoth: “Flattery, mockery; I cannot tell the difference… it is all double-talk to me!”

Sauron: “It is neither, My Lord!”

Morgoth: “Hmm, I wonder…”

Sauron: “Morgoth they name you out of fear but Melkor thou art in essence, Master of the Fates of Arda; evoke thy true name and rise in might!”   

Morgoth: “You parade adulation like a prostitute, Sauron, I should make you my jester; ha, ha, ha, oh how that would amuse me!”

Sauron: “Tread on me if it pleases you, My Master, but you cannot disguise the knot on you brow; please permit me license to aid in its unravelling!”   

[Morgoth gives no reply but leans over his table, his mighty arms locked straight across the span seeming as a great pyramid held in deep thought.  At length he lights on a severed hand preserved in denaturant brine…]

Morgoth: “I should have slain that ‘One-handed Pumpkinhead’ when I had the chance; instead all I have is this twisted thing in a pickle jar to remind me of my folly!  I admit it, Sauron, I misjudged him in Valinor and even now I cannot fathom his restraint; are not these scions of Feckless Fëanor obligated to that absurd oath of their father’s making?”    

Sauron: “Long has his holdfast stood defiantly open upon the Hill of Himring; perhaps we should consider a concentration of force to the east this time?”

Morgoth: “No, Maedhros will keep; he cannot constrain his brothers forever, besides I have tasted pumpkin and do not really care for it, there are sweeter fruits to harvest.”

[Sauron holds his tongue, sensing an outburst that does not come; at length he speaks, but without affectation…]

Sauron: “How may I be of service?”

[Morgoth inhales sharply through his nose, biting his lip…]

Morgoth: “I misuse you at times, Sauron, I know it; and I know also that you have never really done me false…”

[He falters, considering his words: Sauron interjects…]

Sauron: “But you mistrust me, Lord; you wonder still how it is that I could turn a-face from my old allegiances without compulsion, even now you doubt my choice?”

Morgoth: “Frankly speaking, yes!”

Sauron: “I can make no argument to placate such entrenchment; I can only stand on my record, my service!  What is it here, now, that concerns you so?”

Melkor: “About you, you mean?”

Sauron: “I suppose that would be a start…”

Morgoth: “Your candour is refreshing, very well: I would know whether or not you are you in conspiracy against me?”

Sauron: “What, no… who do imagine I am plotting with?”

Morgoth: “The other who turned aside and came over so freely to my cause; you know the one I mean, the Spider’s replacement!”
 
Sauron: “Him, the so-called Groom; My Lord are you jesting?  Ha, ha, ha, forgiveness please; but me exchanging my policies with that bookworm of Mandos, oh that is rich.  Had you thought I meant to supplant you I could understand it better!”  

Morgoth: “Ha, your words betray you Sauron…”

Sauron: “If naught else you know that I am not such a dullard as all that!”  

Morgoth: “Hmm, even if it were so you possess not the power!”   

Sauron: “Precisely, so I would humbly ask again; how may I be of service?”

[Morgoth’s eyes return to the scattered papers…]

Morgoth: “You ask for license to unravel knots, then set your beady eyes upon this lot and tell me what you see; there is something in there that I am missing, some clue I know it!”

Sauron: “Embroidery of this sort requires a total unpicking and reformation of the image.  I am no seamstress, Master; though I deem the tapestry would be broad and figure also that the best way to begin it would be the stitching of rumours to facts…”  

Morgoth: “Very well, you may proceed!”

Sauron: “I would require unfettered latitude with the thralls and your troops…”

Morgoth: “It is yours!”

Sauron: “And time, My Lord!”

Morgoth: “Has not forbearance ever been my guarantee; you have one month!”

[Sauron bows and rising he stands erect seeming somehow taller, with a broad swish of his black cloak he strides confidently out the chamber…]  

Voice of Thuringwethil: “Thereafter a change came over Angband, though not one instantly distinguishable to the eye, for Sauron shed his last vestige of Mairon the Maker and emerged distinctly altered; assured, swift and thirsty was he, and if indeed it were possible even more ruthless!”  

The dungeons of Angband…

[The thralls of Angband are among the first to note the lengthening shadow of Sauron when he questions many of them under pain; Gelmir of Nargothrond discusses recent events with his cellmate…]

Gelmir: “Aerandir, you are awake…”

Aerandir: “Have I slept so long?”

[Gelmir lifts a chained leg…]

Gelmir: “No, they have confined to us all to quarters; for how long, I cannot say!”

[The elder Elf stirs laboriously to sit up on his stone slab bed…]

Aerandir: “I am fettered also; huh, where do they think I will run off to?”  

Gelmir: “Fifteen did not return with us: it is rumoured that many from other sectors have also vanished, some say that they are taking workers indiscriminately, strong useful ones too, torturing or killing them for no apparent cause…”

Aerandir: “Procedures: I have seen it before, although not on the scale which you are describing… that is alarming!  Hmm, the war must have gone ill with Morgoth else he would not be venting his frustration so vehemently!”

Gelmir: “Frustration, is that what this is?”   

Aerandir: “One can only guess; who knows the will of Morgoth, who would want to?”

Gelmir: “I would rather be forewarned…”

Aerandir: “No you would not, believe me; look around you, Gelmir, this is no council of war it is hell, be inconspicuous my young friend and hope that we go unnoticed!”

Gelmir: “You are afraid; have you undergone a Procedure before, is that why you do not work?”

Aerandir: “Nay, I am grown old before my time and have outlasted any usefulness as a labourer so now they leave me to linger and dwindle away in grief.  Alas, I was alone for so long ere you came that I first thought that my oppressors had shown an ounce of compassion in delivering a companion to me.  I understand now that all this was merely a consequence of overcrowding after Morgoth’s last assault on freedom…”

Gelmir: “Ay and many more have followed since I came; perhaps they are thinning out our ranks some?”

Aerandir: “I think not after what you have told me… Morgoth is a villain certainly, but no wastrel.  Why retain the likes of emaciated me and destroy prime strength?””

Gelmir: “I know not, but I do see how your eyes betray you; you would say more!”    

Aerandir: “It does not do any good to dwell on such things…”

Gelmir: “Perhaps not but neither of us are going anywhere soon, and although we have not known each other so very long I look upon you as a friend; come, will you not unburden yourself…”

Aerandir: “Your inner-sight is keen, but you know not what you ask of me!”  

Gelmir: “I have a good ear too, or so my brother tells me!”

Aerandir: “Very well if you would have it I shall tell you my unhappy tale… Your predecessor was my wife’s brother whom I met at the great feast, Mereth Aderthad, whereat we quickly became friends; I am of the House of Aegnor and his kin hails from Nevrast.  It was whilst visiting those coastlands that I first met my beloved and for a whole summer we became inseparable… but that is another story!”

[He breaks off, pained by the memory…]

Gelmir: “How then did you and her brother come to end up here?”

Aerandir: “Our families were joined ere the Dagor Aglareb; ah, those were fine days but alas all too short lived.  We were fellows at arms in that great battle, he and I, for my wife’s kin removed to Dorthonion after we wedded.  But afterwards, after the Glorious Battle with Morgoth being so easily beaten, the Noldor became over-proud and us younger ones ignoring the warnings of our elders swaggered where we would.  Bohdan and I ventured too far north on a hunt along the eastern mountains when we were taken at unawares and brought hither in chains; I have never once looked upon the open sky since…”

Gelmir: “Oh, how sad… I myself was born in the year of the Third Battle!”

Aerandir: “Sad, yes, my wife was heavy with child when I saw her last… now where was I?  Ah yes!  For the most part my years here have been much like yours are now; backbreaking toil under anonymous cruelty and endless darkness, but in the beginning at least I had companionship in Bohdan, my kin by marriage…”   

[Again he pauses in sorrow but as Gelmir makes to speak he resumes…]

Aerandir: “There were many tales out of Nevrast telling of how that Turgon, Son of Fingolfin, became the most hated by The Dark Lord amongst all the Children of Ilúvatar.  The stories often differed all but for one point stating that Turgon would fix Melkor with his eye causing the villain to blink and flinch whenever they passed in the streets of old Valinor…”

Gelmir: “Melkor..?”

Aerandir: “Yes, that was the Dark Lord’s name ere his return to Endórë!  I am surprised that one as highborn as you has not heard it spoken…”

Gelmir: “Neither have I heard that name nor am I highborn; my ranking in the king’s guard came chiefly through my father’s service and my brother after him!”

Aerandir: “Forgive me, please I meant no slight!”

Gelmir: “Not at all; pray continue!”

Aerandir: “Now, when his lineage finally became known to the enemy Bohdan was taken and broken under many days of agony, the details of which I shall not give air to; adequate to say that this evil was done in order to gain information leading to Turgon’s dwelling place…”

Gelmir: “A Procedure..?”

Aerandir: “Indeed: alas the Power of Morgoth was too strong and ultimately he succumbed!  He was the mightiest, fiercest and most loyal Elf I have known but even he could not withstand that which they meted out on him…”

[He begins to crumble…]

Gelmir: “So they slew him?”

Aerandir: “With a fatal blow, no; rather it was the realisation that his own perceived weakness had condemned his king which split his fëa from its hröa… that and the grievous cruelty inflicted upon his intellect!”

Gelmir: “Turgon lives still, though none now know where he resides not even his closest kin; ha, Morgoth was cheated!”

Aerandir: “Quiet, you fool!  Surely you have learnt not to boast in this place, under these conditions; can you not see that we are in the same danger as Bohdan was some three hundred years ago?”

Gelmir: “Surely the peril is the same for all captives?”

Aerandir: “On the surface of things, yes; however you have shared you life’s story with me and I know where you hail from.  Alas, after such a protracted solitude I was over greedy for tales of the world without and I fear that if either of us is taken for processing then your King Felagund may suffer the consequences!”    

[As though to punctuate the gravity of his remark the familiar grinding of metal on metal screeches overhead signifying the beginnings of a night patrol…]

Gelmir: “They are early; we have not eaten yet…”

[The repeated command, LIGHTS OUT, echoes throughout the honeycombed network of detention corridors…]

Aerandir: “It is better not to speak!”

[They sit a-face in uneasy silence waiting for the lofty gaslight wall fixtures to flicker out until all that remains is borrowed light from the corridor under the slit of the door; in that dimness chains clink together as both thralls take to their granite cots…

All too close, they hear the groaning open of another cell door; an affected voice speaks unable to disguise its natural Orkish rasp, OUR LORD SAURON REQUESTS THE PLEASURE OF YOUR COMPANY!  This is followed by at least two others uttering in more accustomed tones…  

There is heard the sound of struggle and protestation but nothing avails the unfortunate whose fate to suffer it seems was chosen at random; at terrible length he is hauled away for processing and grim silence infects the dark!]

A nondescript chamber in Angband….

[A prisoner stands arms raised, chained at the wrists in the middle of the room of uncertain size; a single source of light falls from above directly onto him whilst Orc brutes beat him callously, until when at last their pleasure is halted by a prolonged CREEEAK at the doorway.  Sauron enters circling the floor, he comes clad and hooded in black robes so as to obscure his countenance; indeed he is perceptible chiefly by his sinister presence or the dulcet honey-and-treacle voice which he so often transforms into caustic bile-and-vinegar…  

WHAT IS YOUR NAME..?

FROM WHENCE DO YOU HAIL..?

WHO IS YOUR LEIGE LORD..?

TO WHOM ARE YOUR FOLK ALIGNED..?

Those would his be his four opening questions, the answers to which would then set the tone and length for the following Procedure…]

The dungeons of Angband…

[All is blackness: Gelmir suddenly awakes disturbed by a rattling wheeze opposite…]

Gelmir: “Aerandir, what is that sound?”

[Silence… besides the effected breathing]

Gelmir: “Is that you, I cannot see the torches are not lit, they have not risen yet; Aerandir, are you awake?”

[Silence… besides the effected breathing]

Gelmir: “Perhaps you are right, it is better to sleep…”

[There is a low and laboured groaning…]

Aerandir: “Gelmir… Gelmir… I am sorry…”

[Presently, the igniting of the torches outside offers scant light and Gelmir notices his companion lying unnaturally on his stone bed with limbs half hanging over the side.  The younger Elf moves in for a better look shuffling gingerly as not to disturb his leg iron.  He crawls across the floor as far as his chain will allow finding his older friend listless, wan and sweating profusely…]

Gelmir: “Aerandir, My Friend; what ails you?”

[Aerandir gestures downwards with his eyes to some stale looking clumps on the floor.  Gelmir picks up one of these bread-dumplings for closer inspection which crumbles between his fingers; he dabs his tongue to find the dough laced with finely ground metallic powder…]

Gelmir: “No: what have you done?”       

[Aerandir stirs painfully…]

Aerandir: “Please… do not judge me too harshly… leave, leave that to Mandos!  I cannot… again… bear to see another who… whom I love…. suffering.”

[As he dies Gelmir carefully retrieves another dough ball that he melancholically rolls between his fingertips…]      

The following day…

The Pass of Sirion, nigh to Tol-in-Gaurhoth…

[Two riders accompanied by a great wolfhound ride into the deserted pass…]

Curufin: “I still cannot fathom why I let you sway me to come out this far north…”

Celegorm: “I trust Huan as much I do you, Little Brother; I remind you again that he has never once let us down before!”

Curufin: “I agreed that he needed a run out after being cooped up in Finrod’s halls for so long, but not to following his blasted nose!  This is treacherous ground we could be heading into a trap: come let us away east!”

Celegorm: “You were the first to doubt Orodreth’s account of events leading to his overthrow, take this opportunity now to see for yourself!”  

[Huan presses on, and before Curufin can protest further his brother leaves his side to follow the hound…]

Curufin: “This is madness!”

[The agitated beast bounds over one of the many improvised gangways leading onto the Cursed Isle and lets out a baleful howl.  Presently seven preying Wolves issue forth from the tower to surround the riders.  The fight that follows is brief with Huan dispatching five of the prowlers before either brother has time to re-notch a second arrow; still, they dismount to pierce the carcasses anyway and stand in readiness for a renewed assault.  At length Huan leaps toward the open doorway letting out a howl of such mockery that none in earshot could mistake for aught else… yet the place remains desolate and none emerge.  In his contempt the Hound of Valinor lifts a forepaw and scratches two runes on the door before returning to his master’s side…]    

Celegorm: “We have been fortunate!”

Curufin: “Fortunate, how so?”

Celegorm: “Those creatures were wholly lupine, had they been imbued with fell spirits then I fear that not even Huan could have withstood them.  We must report what has happened to our cousin the King!”

Curufin: “Yes, this outing has proved more than enough adventure for me; let us go back to hearth and mead!”

Celegorm: “Neither that cousin nor that king; we are not so many leagues from the Barad Eithel, it is long overdue since we paid our dear Fingon a visit!”

[Curufin slumps his shoulders and shaking head in despair he remounts his steed…]

One month later…

Tol-in-Gaurhoth…

[Sauron and Draugluin return to the river stronghold after their short residency at Angband; Sauron grumbles to his companion as they re-enter the keep…]

Sauron: “They are fools all of them, Melkor most of all; he, the greatest under Eru has squandered his power by imitating that which he denies, that which made him!  How does one of such immense and impressive might fail to see the harm he does upon his own being when those that are bent to his will know it or at the least sense it..?”   

Draugluin: “I sense it not… I wear your collar not his!”

[Attendants fuss about but Sauron is in no mood for pampering and shoes them off…]

Sauron: “Have a care, Draugluin; words spoken beyond these walls have a way of frittering northward and the Dark Heart’s tongue tastes only the bitter and sour!”

Draugluin: “How is my realigning allegiance to you worse than your accusation of Morgoth’s foolish squandering of power?”      

Sauron: “You are unlearned in the art of shielding your thoughts, a fault I must remedy; indeed it is a skill I learnt but recently!”

Draugluin: “That sounds intriguing…”  

Sauron: “Yes, there are eyes and ears far beyond these walls that can undo space and stone; it became apparent to me when I encountered the daughter of the former owner of this keep!”

Draugluin: “When… How..?”    

Sauron: “As I perverted the corpses of the fallen at Taur-nu-Fuin she came unbodied before me, and understanding my plan to overthrow her folk she forewarned them and they made good their escape.  Consequently, I knew that if my designs could be so easily cheated by an Elf-maiden merely dreaming then steps had to be taken to prevent such a reoccurrence…”

Draugluin: “How then did you achieve this?”

Sauron: “I told Melkor the whole sordid tale, of course I stressed upon him the apparent dangers if our enemies perfected the skill of unaided remote vision; thereafter he was all too eager to convey his knowledge and art…”

Draugluin: “And you are prepared to endow this gift unto me?”

Sauron: “Why not; after all you have re-pledged you collar to me.  Hmm… indeed I shall implement it as a conduit and in this way should your mind begin to stray I can readily bring you back to heel; um yes, I like that!”  

Draugluin: “As you will, My Master!”

Sauron: “Ha, you are a faithful one; truly, if the Dread Lord attempted to smite me in your presence then I would wager that you would go for him…”

Draugluin: “Ay, and doubtless perish in the attempt!”

Sauron: “Naturally…”

Draugluin: “Then tell me, Master, I am confused: you say that Morgoth is immense and dreadful in one breath then berate for folly in the next, do you not love him?”

[Sauron begins to laugh hysterically…]

Sauron: “LOVE, HA, HA, HA; I never thought the day would come when such a word should dribble like the very slobber from the snout of a Werewolf!  Love is a nipple for the weak, suckling milk to keep one dependant, it promotes vulnerability and the vulnerable always have something to lose!  Love disgusts me, I hate it; and for that fact I am angered all the more at myself!”

Draugluin: “Why?”

Sauron: “Hate should be smelted and honed in the belly’s smithy to produce a fiery weapon to wield against one’s foes.  Hatred born out of contempt only sickens to the core to produce one as frail as those that would profess peace and harmony!”  

Draugluin: “Give me fear and discord anytime…”

Sauron: “Well spoken, My Friend, for those two are the keys to dominion; although do not confuse this with hatred for that is the power that impels them…”

Draugluin: “Strength is my weapon; I chose a bestial life and understand no other power, especially not that of the Great such as of thee or Morgoth.”

Sauron: “Dominion is power and power is strength, yet strength cannot be expended without yielding some personal power: understand?”

[Draugluin looks at him nonplussed…]

Sauron: “In the beginning you and I chose our own forms and allegiances under The Powers: right?  Now, for Melkor this is quite different since his being comes directly from the Old Power, the eldest, and that is something which cannot be replaced once dispersed into others.  The creatures of his design, though brilliant, are but corruptions of already existing things dominated and misshapen through the application of his own essence; but in his obsessive experimentation he has overreached his aim and become ever more earthbound…”

Draugluin: “And yet, Morgoth remains a mighty tyrant!”

Sauron: “The greatest and most terrible there shall ever be upon Arda!  It is for that reason I would urge to never utter the name Morgoth again; that name was created by his enemies in scorn of him and he hates it!”

Draugluin: “And hatred bore out of contempt….”

Sauron: “Precisely: but more than this, that dishonour reminds him that he was meant for so much more!  The realisation of it scolds him at his very foundations and none now exist that are unstained by his wrath; but what is worse for him is that he is no longer unequalled and he knows personal fear…”  

Draugluin: “So is this why he is so destructive?”

Sauron: “How do you mean?”

Draugluin: “Fear as I know it in others is primal, raw, of delicious scent and irresistible taste; it is a thing I have rarely experienced for myself.  If like to ourselves the King of Angband has become earthbound and indeed knows fear then surely his first concern lies in the preservation of his mortal form…”

Sauron: “Go on!”

Draugluin: “Well, I would seek to eradicate anything that I feared so that it no longer posed a threat to me…”

Sauron: “But if you were unable to do this..?”

Draugluin: “Then I would remove myself in order to avoid it…”

Sauron: “…and that would be pointless because?”

Draugluin: “It is a temporary measure, for whilst fear goes unchallenged it never leaves you.  I am ashamed to admit that the recent news of the Great Hound has somewhat frightened me and I am restless and eager to see him destroyed; how much more then would such fear apply to the Great Lord?”

Sauron: “I do believe you have tasted your first mouthful of profundity!”
 
Draugluin: “That is your province, Master, I recognise it not…”

Sauron: “Come now you are Umaiar, you were at my side when I joined the rebellion during the Marring of Arda; do you not remember aught else, The Music perhaps?”

Draugluin: “That was not our concern, I like so many others tried to hide from it!”

Sauron: “Weakling… I almost pity you; I immersed myself it!  And even though at that time I stood at Aulë’s side, it was then and there that I first encountered the Dark Lord; you should have seen it, Draugluin: ‘Melkor the Magnificent’ contesting with the very will of Eru!  Ah, for that one shining moment: there was nothing or nobody to compare to him then!”   

Draugluin: “And how about now; to me he seems all that and more…”

Sauron: “And how about now, hmm?”

One day earlier…

Angband, Morgoth’s Chamber…

[Sauron stands before his lord, and with scroll in hand he proceeds to read aloud; Morgoth nonchalantly sits a-throne leaning on one arm of the chair causally stroking beneath his chin with flats of his uneven fingernails…]

Sauron: “In the course of the last month Nine Hundred and Eighty-seven thralls were processed…”

Morgoth: “Sow few?”

Sauron: “Alas Lord, my efforts were hampered by a breakthrough in the Great North Wall, for the overseers there would not spare any workers; claiming that their orders came directly from your factor…”  

Morgoth: “I have heard naught of this progress until now… ah good, good!”

[After an awkward silence Morgoth senses that Sauron waits further prompting but hangs back until he is just about to speak; and then beating him to it Morgoth sweeps his fingers out from under his chin with a flourish, gesturing his ward to furtherance…]

Morgoth: “You may continue…”

Sauron: “Of the number indicated there were Five Hundred and Twenty-six fatalities, Two Hundred and Seventy-two near fatalities, the rest had nothing to offer and were so put back work without delay.  Of the Two Hundred and Seventy-two I have recommended Eighty-four for further processing once they are physically able to withstand it; their details are hereby logged.  Ah yes, there was also another fatality and near fatality, both unprocessed and from the same cell; it seems that they poisoned themselves although the younger of the two looks likely to survive, again their details are logged…”

Morgoth: “Stringent as always…”  

Sauron: “Now, given the time restraints of this exercise…”

Morgoth: “Etcetera, etcetera… What did you learn?”

[Sauron looks squarely upon his lord, un-chastened…]

Sauron: “On examining the documents that you presented to me I took my brief as the acquisition of hitherto unknown information pertaining to our enemies in the war…”

[He pauses: Morgoth chooses to ignore his insolent legalistic tone so Sauron returns to the scroll and resumes, but this time with more restraint…]    

Sauron: “I began the process with the descendants of Finwë: Fëanor and Fingolfin are as we know slain, but Finarfin of whom you wondered much is fled back to Valinor and came not into Middle-earth… although the same cannot be said of his children!  Moreover some of his progeny are closer than we thought, for you see, Lord, they claim kinship through their father’s marriage to that Thingol whom we so esteem; and it is understood that one of Finarfin’s issue, a daughter I believe, dwells within the very Halls of Menegroth.  Now, two of his sons were slain during the Great Burning and it was his grand-scion that I deposed after taking the Watchtower of Sirion.  That leaves us with but one more and perhaps the most powerful, King Felagund of Nargothrond they call him; does that name hold any meaning for you My Lord?”

Morgoth: “I do not recall hearing that name in Valinor: Felagund, Nargothrond, hmm?”    

[Morgoth scours a crudely drawn and incomplete map of Beleriand…]

Morgoth: “Curse that damnable mapmaker: I take it that you did not discover the whereabouts of this fabled kingdom?”

Sauron: “Alas not, save only that it lies away to the south…”

Morgoth: “Do we not have any of its wanderers in our prisons at all?”

Sauron: “None that I could discover within such time constraints…”

Morgoth: “Alright, alright you have found your mark; are you now satisfied?  Trouble me no further with the doings of the other children whose fathers I have already slain, I weary of hearing their names; unless of course you can offer me Turgon!”

Sauron: “Had I that prize, Lord, I would not have waited until this day to speak with you.  Those that knew him of old now claim ignorance to his whereabouts and for this many died under sufferance; indeed many hold that he departed West long ago, for there is no trace of him here in thy kingdom!”

Morgoth: “Impossible, he resides here still; I know it!”

Sauron: “There have been reports of ships unlike to those of the Mariner’s floundering at sea; perhaps…”

Morgoth: “Perhaps nothing, you are wrong Sauron!”

Sauron: “Then mayhap he has taken up residence with Thingol or his kin in Hithlum?”

Morgoth: “Both unlikely: for as you report says ‘tis Finarfin who claims kinship with the Grey-lord not Fingolfin, moreover Hithlum is too crowded to hold the whole host of Nevrast.  Drat it all, the fox eludes me still…”

Sauron: “There are many more eyes and ears in your service than ever before, Lord: perhaps their attention needs to be honed?”

Morgoth: “Ay and mayhap your own whetstone has become glazed, Master Sauron, given that I charged you personally with the taking of the Burnt Forest; I notice the absence of that matter in your report, save only for the pedigree of two long dead Elven brothers that once dwelt there…”

Sauron: “Ah well, My Lord, I was coming to that…”

Tol-in-Gaurhoth…
 

[A dark figure crosses the moon as we return to the discourse between Sauron and Draugluin…]

Sauron: “And so, Draugluin…”

[Presently a loud scuffling is heard above them: Draugluin shrinks back startled, bristling as he looks to the rafters, Sauron glances up coolly barely moving his head…]

Sauron: “Be at ease, Friend, ’tis but a messenger contracted out of Angband, the ever guileful Thuringwethil; descend dear lady and give us your news!”

[Draugluin does his utmost not to cringe as a Vampiress in bat-form flutters gracefully downward; she lands deftly, her wings splayed wide on the still Elvish-patterned floor, her rodentine features are lowered.  Quivering membranes balloon between the spindle fingers of her wings and she rises emerging as a starkly beautiful woman.  Dark of eye was she with luscious raven hair tumbling long down her pale complexion and mantle of ash-grey-black.  It seems to the Wolf that instead of arms only the batwings remain, although he does not care to inspect her too closely; in turn she ignores him utterly and stands defiantly before Sauron…]

Thuringwethil: “Lord Sauron, the Sisters of the North are ill apt to such lack; we are always provided for!”

Sauron: “Alas, Sweet Darling, this place may not compare to the higher echelons beyond Thangorodrim; but still, I like it…”

[She wriggles uneasily in her own skin casting a scornful eye over the space of bastardised design; neither Orkish nor Elvish…]      

Thuringwethil: “I refer not to lack of home-comfort but the provision to perform a basic covert task unencumbered by prying Eagles, ravening Spiders and blasted Elves in all directions; I had to take refuge amidst burnt trees and phantoms, leaving myself open to revelation!”

Sauron: “Should I have erected a belfry for you in the heart of Taur-nu-Fuin; mayhap that would have made your duty more pleasant?”     

Thuringwethil: “We Sisters are also ill apt to cynicism…”

Sauron: “Enough, Woman: what news?”

Thuringwethil: “Twelve remain by my count, desperate Men disbanded in continually mobile factions.  To my reckoning there is little or no purpose to their movements, save only that of despondent rabbits surrounded by fox dens…”

Sauron: “Twelve, only twelve… hmm; and what of the little house, was there any movement there?”   

Thuringwethil: “I found no such house at the location given; moreover living trees remain there obscuring my view from above.  Still this matter seemed important to you and I spent much of last week scouring that area but I can assure you, Lord, that region is desolate!”

Sauron: “Lack, alack: Sister I fear that you are correct, I did not prepare your mission brief properly, indeed I should have provided clearer instruction!”

[Thuringwethil sneers down her nose…]

Thuringwethil: “Quite so… and I do not think that Lord Melkor will be too impressed with your base of operations once I report back to Angband!”

Sauron: “Oh really… and pray, when will this distressing event take place?”

Thuringwethil: “This very night!”

Sauron: “Then off with you, go… there is no time like the present!”

[Draugluin prepares to lunge as she reverts to bat-form but Sauron stays him with a wave of his forefinger.  Thuringwethil takes flight but finds her exit barred by an invisible wall of dark power; unable to depart she screams her displeasure at Sauron.  The Dark Apprentice takes up his staff issuing a bolt at her and with a resounding ‘DOWN BITCH’ she crashes to the floor, a shrieking broken woman.  It is now obvious to the circling Draugluin that she indeed has arms for one them lies exposed and dislocated at the shoulder…]    

Thuringwethil: “Outrage, outrage: you shall pay dearly for this Sauron!”

[Sauron treads hard on her effected shoulder…]

Sauron: “I should have Draugluin ravish you here and now; what would your Sisterhood make of that, or indeed your precious Groom?”

Thuringwethil: “No, no; please, you must not!”

Sauron: “Ah yes, they say that Vampiri and Lycan are wholly incompatible; but who are they… and what do they know… shall we find out?”

Draugluin: “But; My Lord?!”

Sauron: “He would do it if I bade him, he would!”

[The dismayed Wolf rears back…]

Sauron: “Fret not, Dear Friend, I could never debase your loyalty so crudely I was merely stressing a point…”

[He digs his foot into her shoulder once more, she cries out in pain…]

Sauron: “Look to him, Sister Thuringwethil, and learn!”

Thuringwethil: “Learn from that creature… ha: the Sisterhood knows more than either of you could ever conceive of…”

Sauron: “And especially in the dark matters of the Law; hmm?”

Thuringwethil: “Correct… And innumerable of such laws that I shall have no hesitation in crushing you with before the Jury of One…”

[Sauron laughs incredulously…]

Sauron: “The Jury of One?”

Thuringwethil: “The Dark Lord himself!  Oh-oh, how I shall laugh when I see you quake beneath his boot!”

Sauron: “With such florid imagery how can I resist?”

[He stamps on her a third time but this time she stifles her suffering…]

Thuringwethil: “Hackneyed drolleries are naught compared with the eloquence of the Groom; you shall see!”

Sauron: “Enough of this game it bores me…”

[Sauron produces a parchment which he unfurls triumphantly in the face of the prostrate Vampiress…]

Sauron: “Look on this Sister it is a contract, the wording is my own but all importantly the signature at the bottom is Lord Melkor’s: read it!”

[He gloats as the horror of what is written thereon etches itself onto her face…]

Sauron: “As you can clearly see it states that from now on you shall serve me HOWSOEVER REQUIRED AND REGARDLESS OF ANY OTHER CALLING FOR A PERIOD UNLIMITED!  This means that the Circle of Twelve Sisters is forever broken and the Little Groom’s conspiracy of litigation is done for; ha, ha, twelve desperate Men and twelve desperate Sisters, that must be my lucky number!  Just think, Draugluin, when this is known throughout the ranks we shall be hailed as heroes; perhaps now the Vampiri will have to get their hands dirty like the rest of us!”

[Thuringwethil hisses wildly as Sauron and Draugluin howl with derision…]

Sauron: “Come now, Pretty-pretty, do not take on so; see here, we shall have your arm mended in a trice…”

[He snaps the shoulder back into place leaving her writhe and agonise across the floor; at length she stops, pounding with sweat and breathing hard…]

Sauron: “Now, let me provide full instruction that you might be prepared and lack for naught: listen well!  The house referred to earlier does exist, we know this!  You shall find it easily enough in a clearing beneath the canopy of living trees; and since you value secrecy so much the forest itself should provide cover enough to meet that need.  
You will remain there for a period of no less than one half of one year and compile for me a detailed report of any movement round and about that locality; if however during this time any of the Twelve come within your vicinity then you vacate immediately and report to me!  Is that clear enough instruction for you?”

Thuringwethil: “Yes, My Lord; would you have me go right away?”

Sauron: “You may take a night’s rest and depart at dusk on the morrow; until then we shall have to see to that shoulder…”

Thuringwethil: “By you will, Lord Sauron!”

[With a handclap from Sauron his attendants hurry in to see to her needs and carry her off to bed…]

Draugluin: “Master, can you trust her?”

Sauron: “Oh yes, she is bound to me now; you saw her face as she read that contract she knows it too!  The Sisters of the North know the penalty for breaking an indenture sanctioned by Melkor; after all, most of said penalties were drawn up by that ‘Blunt Little Pencil-point’ the Groom!”

[Both roar with laughter…]

Sauron: “Draugluin, old friend: that is the proper application of Hate against a foe!”

Draugluin: “And she now has six lonely months to mull it all over”

Sauron: “Ha, ha, ha, how sweet it is…  Now, while the mood is up, let us see if we cannot get to the bottom of this Hound of yours!  Two runes, H V; hmm..?”

            
 

    

 

Part Nine: Desperate Hearts

The following takes place in Dorthonion during the same time period as the previous chapter.  Here we look at the hopelessness of Barahir's plight but focus mainly on the decisions of the unfortunate Gorlim and how one choice made in deceit, no matter how futile as it turns out to be, can lead to mistrust between friends...   

Read Part Nine: Desperate Hearts

The Great Tales of Beleriand

 

Part Nine: Desperate Hearts.

 

[The following takes place in Dorthonion during Sauron’s sojourn in Angband…]

 

Voice of Eilinel: “No rumours of the world without ever reached Dorthonion: save only in the abodes of the wicked! And for a former bustling territory with so many passes in or out we became essentially landlocked, cut off from the life-giving rivers and rent asunder from our life-enriching kin!”

[Orcs and Wolves sack the villages and homesteads of Men, now desolate …]

Voice of Eilinel: “Alas… wretched was the lot of Barahir, an outlawed lord in his own land, whose Men were pursued and slain one by one by an enemy that he would not nor could not treat with or lend any credence.”

[A young man pursued by an unseen foe runs blindly in the night when at length he stops, panting heavily; he looks about warily to listen and find his bearings, the sounds of his enemies seem to have fallen away…]

Beren: “They have turned westward; it worked!”

[He presses on…]

Voice of Eilinel: “So it was that Beren, Son of Barahir, sped to the dwelling place of his father with tidings that, had he but known it, would change the lives of us all…”

[He pounds on the door of a sheltered groundskeeper’s lodge south of the fields that surround the once grand home of his parents, his father answers…]

Barahir: “My Son…”

[Beren stumbles exhausted into his arms…]

Barahir: “Are you hurt?”

Beren: “I came as soon as I could, Father… I…”

[Barahir carries his son into the humble two-roomed dwelling; there is broth on the flame as he inspects Beren for signs of injury, finding none he clears the spare seat of clutter and sits him by the fire. Finding himself an insufficient nursemaid Barahir fusses pointlessly over the weary young man until when at last Beren accepts a tepid bowlful from the pot in order to curb his attentions…]

Beren: “We have to leave, Father; this place shall soon be overrun!”

Barahir: “I swore a solemn oath!”

Beren: “Nay, I mean that we must forsake this roof; our enemies are destroying and burning every dwelling in their path, it is a matter of time ere they detect this lodge!”

Barahir: “To where then do you propose we go?”

Beren: “Somewhere high…”

Barahir: “You mean Aeluin; has it come to that?”

Beren: “Ay, Lord Father, it has!”

Barahir: “And the refuge there?”

Beren: “Alas no…”

Barahir: “I gave the order months ago!”

Beleg: “Without the time, provision nor manpower no construction occurred…”

Barahir: “I see it now, over late; I have spread you all too thinly…”

Beren: “The Blessed Tarn is our only source of clean water!”

Barahir: “Very well, if the road is high then the choice is already made!”

[Beren pauses deep in thought…]

Barahir: “What is it, Son; what else have you withheld?”

Beren: “Matters are worse Father, far worse; they are hunting us like beasts, picking us off for their own sport. Unit by unit they chase us down with Wolves, we are herded apart and those too slow are ripped to shreds. This is no mere Orkish devilry, I have witnessed nothing else like it; mayhap Morgoth himself has ventured forth from his pit to finish us off?”

Barahir: “Morgoth or one in his stead; tell me, how many are we?”

Beren: “Too few…”

Barahir: “Curses: how long should it take to assemble everyone at Aeluin?”

Beren: “At a guess, a week… ten days!”

Barahir: “Send out the swiftest runners at first light and call everybody to Aeluin!”

Beren: “I will go…”

Barahir: “Not this time, Son, I need you at my side!”

 

Several days later…

The home of Gorlim and Eilinel…

 

[Dusk: Gorlim enters the house, he removes the rug covering the trapdoor and raps twice and then once… his wife emerges.]

Eilinel: “Husband praise-be, I thought that I was discovered; I am certain that I heard snoopers outside last night and have dared not move all day. I expected you this morning, where were you?”

Gorlim: “All is well: I am here now…”

[They embrace…]

Eilinel: “I thought it was too dangerous for you to come here after dark…”

Gorlim: “It is not yet dark but soon will be, Eilinel, in many ways: I have grave news!”

Eilinel: “What, what is it?”

Gorlim: “The agents of Morgoth are spreading with speed across the land; we have sustained many loses, mainly in the north.”

Eilinel: “Alas, I feared as much with the coming of night prowlers.”

Gorlim: “There is more…”

[He produces a slip of parchment…]

Eilinel: “Here, let me see!”

Gorlim: “It is encrypted, I shall read to you!”

[She grabs the missive away from him…]

Eilinel: “No, I would see for myself; besides you taught me the codes, remember?”

[She strains to read the words in the gloom…]

Eilinel: “You were not followed?”

Gorlim: “Nay, I am certain of it!”

Eilinel: “Then perhaps a little light, my eyes cannot properly adjust…”

[Gorlim strikes a tallow-dip and setting its saucer down on the mantle he hears his wife’s soft sobbing…]

Eilinel: “Tomorrow at midday… so soon?”

Gorlim: “If not sooner, Barahir requires a headcount in all haste; noon is the latest time possible for us to up-camp if we are to benefit from the daylight!”

Eilinel: “Whatever shall you do?”

Gorlim: “Return of course; what else can I do?”

Eilinel: “Flee: let us flee, now… tonight!”

Gorlim: “I swore an oath, Eilinel; an oath to defend lord and land!”

Eilinel: “Forsake it: forsake this place as has Ilúvatar!”

Gorlim: “Lady, you forget yourself!”

Eilinel: “I hold not that station! I am a young wife denied the first fruits of marriage clinging to the last threads of… I know not what!”

[She clutches him tightly sobbing into his shoulder…]

Gorlim: “I cannot abandon Lord Barahir in his hour of need!”

Eilinel: “You yourself said it and this document makes it clear: Lord Barahir is unaware whether you live or not, we could…”

Gorlim: “Yes but…”

Eilinel: “We could leave undetected; we could… please Husband!”

Gorlim: “Ragnor knows that I live ‘twas he that handed me Barahir’s orders. There is naught else for it beloved, you must remove with me to Tarn Aeluin; the refuge there must be built by now!”

Eilinel: “We have kept our secret too long, Barahir would…”

Gorlim: “Yes our lord will be wroth, with me most of all, but our numbers are too few and he needs every fighting man; and besides, whither would he banish us?”

Eilinel: “That road is too perilous dire for us to take now; did you not say that the way north is strewn with hunters?”

Gorlim: “You would be under the protection of the company!”

Eilinel: “A company that in all likelihood would come under attack; how could any of you defend yourselves and protect me at the same time? Moreover, I would only slow your progress… your plan is without hope!”

Gorlim: “Then we are lost!”

Eilinel: “Nay, Gorlim, I said your plan is without hope not mine!”

[He stares blankly to the floor…]

Eilinel: “It is the best option if we are to remain together; can you not see?”

Gorlim: “Eilinel, matters are grave you must listen! Earlier today Ragnor heard of the slaying of his brother at the hands of the hunters; indeed only one of that scouting-party survived and by his reckoning the enemy shall be upon by the morrow…”

Eilinel: “All the more reason for haste!”

Gorlim: “A moment please… I have not finished! In the face of such sorrow Ragnor did not despair, he was already making plans to counter our foes when the order came from Tarn Aeluin - I beg you, do not ask me to dishonour such courage!”

Eilinel: “I like Ragnor well and I mourn for his loss, truly I do; but…”

Gorlim: “But..! But..! …but what, Eilinel?”

Eilinel: “Do not despise me, Gorlim: please!”

Gorlim: “I could never despise you, Beloved; I am sorry…”

Eilinel: “I have an idea, it will break your heart to hear it but I can see no other way…”

[As Eilinel continues the viewpoint changes to a nighttime exterior: a small cottage sits in a forest clearing with candlelight flickering from a single window…]

Eilinel: “Go back to the camp, be seen… act naturally; tell them that you heard something queer on your return and would investigate it…”

Gorlim: “Like what?”

Eilinel: “I do not know… anything… but make it sound trifling enough so that you might go alone!”

 

The southern reaches of Dorthonion…

 

[Night: a lone figure treads warily beneath the canopy of the trees, the full moon shines behind bare branches like a fractured plate on black satin…]

Voice of Eilinel: “You must find a fallen brother…”

[The man stops in his tracks…]

Voice of Eilinel: “One disfigured and unidentifiable…”

[He raises his axe… hesitates… and looses a blow…]

Voice of Eilinel: “Dress him in your attire…”

[Fumbling hands unfasten a breastplate…]

Voice of Eilinel: “Take him to a place where he can be easily found by your fellows on the morrow; I shall make ready for our departure and await you here…”

[Gorlim tearfully lifts the cadaver under the arms and drags him from the place whence he fell…]

 

The following week…

Tarn Aeluin…

 

[Midday: Barahir addresses the remnant of his company…]

Barahir: “The third year of our tribulation shall soon be drawing to its close; one in which we have suffered the heaviest loses since the Bragollach. Unspeakable ill has befallen each of us in defence of this narrow land that has grown overly large to govern: twenty-four cannot ever hope to hold it. The House of Bëor is facing extinction! It is obvious now that the war for us is lost but if we fall we fall together, either fighting or striving; not like beasts caught in the nets of the perverted!”

[General cheering, but Barahir gestures them to silence with his hands…]

Barahir: “None have come to our deliverance and I deem it now that none shall!”

Beren: “Send word to Nargothrond: King Finrod will have not forgotten us!”

Barahir: “And which envoy would you propose; there are none now here that know where it lies…”

Beren: “I do, Father; you forget that I have already set foot in his halls…”

Barahir: “I forget nothing! The journey is too hazardous in these days for one alone, the answer is no!”

Beren: “But Father…”

Barahir: “You have my decision!”

Radhruin: “My Lord, more and more enemies withdraw northward each day; even Ragnor’s company reached this place unmolested coming from the southern reaches. Perhaps now is the best time to go?”

Barahir: “In this we are agreed, but not so far; the shorter the distance the cheaper the fare, and indeed the better shall we fare! Nay, ’tis not Finrod we need look to but Fingon and our kin. That is the swifter road to salvation: for so spake my wife ere she departed, in Hithlum the lineage of the House of Bëor will become mingled and forgotten…”

Beren: “And what of our oaths, Father?”

Barahir: “Ah, well therein lays the choice!!”

Radhruin: “What choice, Lord?”

Barahir: “Strange have been the reports to reach my ears in these last few days; not least the removal of Orcs when they had our companies beset and hemmed in. Naught that I have heard makes much sense to me and I cannot rightly say, yea or nay, if there is a last hope for any of us… But I can say this: oaths you have sworn to me and for this night only I release you from them, in order that you take counsel with yourselves and your fellows so that on morrow’s first light we can vote on whether or never to depart this land for Hithlum!”

[A heavy silence descends as the company bow their heads in deep thought: Barahir moves amongst them and clasping a shoulder here or patting a back there he shares a brief word with each. At length he stands before them once again…]

Barahir: “We stand together this day as equals and so hereafter so shall it be; a heavy doom is laid before our feet and is not like to shift soon, therefore I say to thee Brothers of Bëor shall we not feast together beforehand ere the dusk attempts to swallow up our hope?”

[For that shortest of times their hearts are lifted and they all unite in the preparation of that meal; all save one, for Gorlim strayed from the group when Barahir moved among them and alone he stares into the mirrored waters of Tarn Aeluin…]

Voice of Eilinel: “I shall make ready for our departure and await you here…”

 

One week ago…

The home of Gorlim and Eilinel…

 

[Early morning: Gorlim returns to his house to find the front door wide open…]

Gorlim: “Eilinel… you are an eager one; I am sorry it took so long but …Eilinel?”

[Within he finds many items missing, including his wife; he lifts the trapdoor, now exposed, and calls out to her… no reply! Growing ever desperate he scours the little house, searching in ridiculous places like cupboards and drawers for his beloved; realising his folly he stops, panting for breath…]

Gorlim: “Mayhap she had to leave in a hurry; but surely she could not have carried all these things with her… The barrow: of course, she has gone on ahead!”

[He makes to move but another thought checks him…]

Gorlim: “To where though?”

[His eyes light on the mantle and the encrusted fingers of tallow creeping over the saucer’s rim; a horror takes him and he abandons the house and searching for his wife he goes the way he came…]

Voice of Eilinel: “Had Gorlim but checked the rear of the house then he could not have failed to notice an upturned barrow with scattered jumble all around…”

[As he wonders aimlessly under the canopy of the Unscorched Forest a familiar voice calls out to him…]

Gorlim: “Why did we not decide where we were going to ahead of time?”

Ragnor: “It is decided; Aeluin, we are going to Aeluin!”

Gorlim: “Ragnor, oh… I did not see you!”

Ragnor: “You look terrible, where have you been?”

Gorlim: “What… I…”

Ragnor: “No matter: come and collect your things, we are almost ready to leave!”

Gorlim: “It is not yet noon!”

Ragnor: “No, and we are hardly a full garrison; come on now!”

 

[Gorlim looks at his crisp reflection unmoving on the waters of Aeluin, he drops in a pebble to distort it; the image changes to a ragged column of Men on the move…]

 

Ragnor: “You have certainly given us all quite a scare!”

Gorlim: “How so?”

[Another pebble drops into the water and ripples distort Gorlim’s face once more this time to reveal a chained prisoner in Angband suspended by the arms, the hooded figure of Sauron circles him: the dialogue between Gorlim and Ragnor continues…]

Voice of Ragnor: “You left camp last night ne’er to return and go unseen until I find you roaming insensible; then there is the matter of the poor dead wretch in your garb deposited outside our camp this morning. Gorlim, my friend, what is going on?”

Voice of Gorlim: “As I told you last night I went to investigate a curious sound: that it turned out was a brace of foxes bringing down a fawn…”

[An Orc lands a punch on the prisoner’s gut…]

Voice of Ragnor: “You have heard ravening foxes before, surely?”

Voice of Gorlim: “Ay, but not combined with the wail of a hapless doe unable to defend her young; it is eerie, all the more verily when that sound carries across the Ringing Ridge…”

[Another punch…]

Voice of Ragnor: “The Ringing Ridge, you ventured that far?”

Voice of Gorlim: “Not I, the sound only; do you not recall the northerly wind last night?”

Voice of Ragnor: “I recall how loud was…”

[And yet another…]

Voice of Gorlim: “Truly, and that coupled together with the sound of foxes in carnage one might imagine how odd the sound?”

Voice of Ragnor: “I am beginning to…”

[Sauron, laughing, removes his hood…]

Voice of Gorlim: “You disbelieve me?”

[A punch to the face…]

Voice of Ragnor: “I did not say that! Gorlim, you have known me long enough to realise that I do not mince my words…”

[The prisoner spits blood…]

Voice of Ragnor: “However as you say, it sounds odd!”

Voice of Gorlim: “It was!”

[A gauntleted hand under the chin lifts up his head…]

Voice of Ragnor: “Very well! So, you found a dead fawn: what then?”

Voice of Gorlim: “There were bloodied fox tracks all about but the doe had not abandoned the scene…”

[Sauron gives an expression of mock concern…]

Voice of Gorlim: “I thought that some venison might sustain us on our road to Aeluin but I had left my bow behind at camp: remember, you saw me collect it earlier?”

[The metallic hand pats the prisoner’s face…]

Voice of Ragnor: “Ay, I recollect something like that! Mm, venison would have been welcome but alack it seems that we were not meant to have any! How is it that you did not return afterward?”

[A pointed finger runs upward across his cheek…]

Voice of Gorlim: “The beast looked so emaciated that I fancied my chances with an axe…”

[It stops close to the tear duct…]

Voice of Ragnor: “I see…”

Voice of Gorlim: “Well, it seemed to me that if the foxes were so successful why not I; but a deer and a fawn are two different propositions…”

[The point descends back sharply leaving a cut alongside the prisoner’s nose…]

Voice of Ragnor: “Quite so!”

[Sauron’s face twists in anger…]

Voice of Gorlim: “But ere I could ready a throw the creature perceived my thought and fled…”

[The prisoner’s expression afraid…]

Voice of Ragnor: “And naturally you gave chase…”

Voice of Gorlim: “She was limping from her wounds…”

[Sauron forms his hand into a blade and punctures the prisoner’s side…]

Voice of Ragnor: “Come now, Gorlim, what is this tale?”

[The chains are released and the prisoner falls to the floor…]

Voice of Gorlim: “So you do think me a liar?”

[Sauron leaves and the prisoner is dragged away…]

Voice of Ragnor: “For the sake of our friendship I will not call you ‘Liar’; however, there is plainly something troubling you and it is not a dead fawn!”

[Another pebble plops and the image of Gorlim reforms…]

Voice of Ragnor: “I could impel the account from you but I will not, not unless I must; I would much rather that you unburden yourself freely!”

 

[An early gloom descended that day looking into the waters of Aeluin when Gorlim felt a hand on his shoulder…]

 

Ragnor: “Gorlim, our repast awaits; it is venison, can you not smell it?”

[Gorlim follows, choosing to ignore the pointedness of the remark; at the camp he notes that a gloom has also settled upon Barahir’s company…]

Gorlim: “High words uttered at low noon seldom remain bright for long…”

Ragnor: “Yet remain the better for having been said! Though I marvel at this coming from one of whom which has barely spoken a word this whole week… There is much more to digest this night other than deer!”

Gorlim: “I am sorry, that was ill judged!”

[He scuffs the ground with his boot in self reproach…]

Ragnor: “Gorlim, will you not share my table such as it is?”

Gorlim: “You mean the ground upon which we stand?”

[They share a brief smile in reconciliation ere joining in line to receive their ration; once served both sit apart from the others and eat, at length Ragnor speaks…]

Ragnor: “It is said that these waters were hallowed in ages past by Melian herself…”

Gorlim: “Ragnor…”

Ragnor: “It seems that she…”

Gorlim: “Rag-Nor!”

Ragnor: “Yes, Gorlim…”

Gorlim: “I repent of the lies I told!”

Ragnor: “I have seen it weigh upon you each day since leaving the encampment: for what reason would you do it?”

Gorlim: “My w-”

[Presently Barahir comes amid them…]

Barahir: “All is well do not get up; Ragnor is it, you captained in the southern marches?”

Ragnor: “Ay Lord, although I came by that office through ill fortune…”

Barahir: “That is oft the way of it, alas! I understand from the men that your brother fell just last week…”

Ragnor: “Sadly, yes!”

Barahir: “I am unhappy to hear it; tell me, what was his name?”

Ragnor: “Randol, he was a scout among our company!”

Barahir: “Perhaps you will tell me about him some time soon; though be assured Captain, ‘Randol the Scout’ shall be entered into the annals of our Exemplary Dead!”

Ragnor: “Thank you Lord, but many others fell besides him…”

Barahir: “Ay and all of them had names; hopefully if memory will serve we shall reckon them all!”

[They bow their heads…]

Barahir: “Pray tell, who is your silent companion?”

Ragnor: “This is Gorlim, a warrior brave!”

Barahir: “Would you add any names to the annals, Gorlim?”

Gorlim: “Nobody in particular, My Lord!”

Barahir: “Your kin perhaps?”

Gorlim: “I have no kin save for my brethren in arms…”

Barahir: “What of your father?”

Gorlim: “He died some years ere the Bragollach!”

Barahir: “What was his name?”

[Gorlim averts eyes from the attentiveness of Barahir’s…]

Gorlim: “Angrim, if it pleases…”

Barahir: “Would that be ‘Angrim Iron-hand’ perchance?”

Gorlim: “He did go by that name, yes!”

Barahir: “I believe he served under my father and brother!”

Gorlim: “That is so!”

Barahir: “He was a man of great renown in the field… and worthy of remembrance!”

[Gorlim looks to the ground making no answer…]

Barahir: “It grows suddenly chill! Well, you are both welcome to join us for mead by the fire; for now I shall leave you to your meals...”

Ragnor: “Thank you, Lord, we shall come directly…”

[Barahir leaves…]

Ragnor: “That was poorly met, Gorlim!”

Gorlim: “Reminders of my father do not leave me in a courteous temper…”

Ragnor: “Why not?”

Gorlim: “A man of great renown, bah! I tell you Ragnor, Mighty Angrim did not make use of his Iron-hand in the field only; would that my poor beaten mother was still here to demonstrate the truth of my words with her bruises…”

[He sets the remnants of his platter aside…]

Ragnor: “Regrettable as that sounds there is no cause for incivility to your liege-lord!”

Gorlim: “I shall set it right soon enough…”

Ragnor: “See that you do! Now, to the matter between us that needs must be set aright…”

Gorlim: “Can it not wait?”

Ragnor: “I think not!”

Voice of Eilinel: “Why Gorlim said what he did thereafter he could never again fathom; but even a faithful beast will lash out at a friend or master if hurt and cornered…”

Gorlim: “I did hear a deathly wailing that night, Ragnor; I did! When I returned to investigate it the sound called to me again; echoing back sad and low from the Ringing Ridge. And then… and then I saw it; I could scarce believe my eyes!”

Ragnor: “Saw what, Gorlim?”

Gorlim: “The wraith of Randol, your brother!”

Ragnor: “Liar, how could you?”

Gorlim: “Yes I lied before and I have admitted my guilt but I did so only to spare you from this horror!”

[Ragnor holds his head in his hands trying to weigh these words…]

Ragnor: “You are telling me it is for this reason that you have been so withdrawn inside your own thought?”

Gorlim: “I am…”

[Ragnor sits a moment in bemusement…]

Ragnor: “What happened after?”

Gorlim: “It… he… the… Randol beckoned me to follow and I did; and as one rapt in this vision I cannot rightly say how far we walked together or for how long. At length he led me to the point where our fallen brother lay…”

Ragnor: “Fallen you say; he was already dead?”

Gorlim: “Alive, but barely so.”

Ragnor: “Judging by his appearance he must have been suffering…”

Gorlim: “He was: greatly!”

Ragnor: “Thus you fitted him in your own hauberk and breastplate?”

Gorlim: “Yes and tightly too since his armour was split at one side; I had no swaddling bands about me to stem the blood …”

Ragnor: “That must have been agony for him…”

[Gorlim nods ruefully but gives no other response...]

Ragnor: “Where was my brother in all this, his wraith I mean?”

Gorlim: “He ascended to the treetops and watched from above…”

Ragnor: “And he made no words?”

Gorlim: “The dead are mute are they not..?”

Ragnor: “Yet they wail!”

Gorlim; “No speech was there between Randol and me whilst he was visible to my eyes… or any other sound either!”

Ragnor: “So it is your assertion that my dead brother’s sole purpose here was to lead you to this dying man… and back again?”

Gorlim: “I saw him nevermore once I begun to haul the stricken fellow away; though thinking on it now I do feel that an invisible hand guided me back to camp. I am not learned in such things, Ragnor, but yes I guessed it then and deem it now: this was your brother’s final act of mercy ere passing beyond these shores…”

Ragnor: “My brother was a kindly man, even more so in less evil times, and I believe him capable of such mercy; but to add to another’s suffering… surely it is more merciful to finish off a man beyond saving?”

Gorlim: “You are right of course. But night brings many thoughts and the heart can overtake reason; it is entirely possible, indeed highly probable, that I misread your brother’s true intent and, and…”

[Visibly shaken he breaks off…]

Ragnor: “What is it?”

Gorlim: “Having witnessed your courage earlier that day, even in light of the news of your own brother’s death, I suppose that I wanted to help this poor comrade fading before my eyes…”

Ragnor: “I understand, Gorlim, truly I do…”

[A tear then a flood runs down Gorlim’s face as he watches the falsehood take root in the heart of his friend…]

 

The following morning Barahir addresses his company…

 

Barahir: “The time has come at last for us to decide whether to stay and hold this land to the last of us as we have sworn or to renounce that ideal and rejoin our loved ones in Hithlum; either way the decision is yours! Now, once the votes have been cast the oaths that I released you from shall be reset and each of us will be newly bound to and toward whatsoever direction it leads! Am I heard?”

[General shouts of assent…]

Barahir: “Beside me on this tree stump is a goblet and twenty-three black pebbles; each of you shall take a pebble and etch it with either one line for stay or two lines for go then place it inside the goblet to be counted thereafter… very well, you may proceed!”

Radhruin: “Only twenty-three, Lord?”

Barahir: “I shall not be voting since I am unable to release myself from a self-proclaimed oath, though I can remake it anew based on your choices; moreover, twenty-four is an even number which may lead to the possibility of a split decision. Nay, this method is the surer!”

Beren: “How long do we have?”

Barahir: “You have had all night: time is commodity in short supply, I expect your answer within ten minutes!”

[Gorlim joins Ragnor as the men take their pebbles and mark each one according to individual choice…]

Gorlim: “I find myself once more a penitent before to you…”

Ragnor: “On what grounds?”

Gorlim: “My un-manful display of tears yester-eve…”

Ragnor: “Bah, set it at naught, Gorlim; I have!”

Gorlim: “I shall, you have my thanks!”

Ragnor: “Though I would know how it was that on that day we found a cadaver outside camp but not you?”

Gorlim: “I must have collapsed dead tired on my return for I recollect waking beside the body, it was still dark and I could not judge the hour. So much is still a blur to me but what I remember most of all the tackiness of dried blood on my hands whence I had dragged him, yet I cannot even state when he had stopped breathing!”

Ragnor: “So much for him, what about you?”

[Gorlim scratches deeper into the pebble with his knife…]

Gorlim: “ Whilst you all slept I must have stole into camp to recover a change of clothing, I must have; for the next that thing I know as a certainty is waking by the hill streams washed and changed…”

Ragnor: “Two hours I searched for you, Gorlim…”

[A voice calls out to all…]

Barahir: “Men of Bëor, all are now called upon to cast their vote!”

[Gorlim and Ragnor are amongst the last to join in line. Clack, Clack, Clack, the votes are cast; at length Gorlim speaks in hushed tones…]

Gorlim: “How could you have been certain that the body was not me?”

[Ragnor casts his vote and turns to look at Gorlim…]

Ragnor: “Your wedding ring!”

[Gorlim looks in horror at his ringed left hand… the pebble drops!]

 

Three days later…

Northwest Dorthonion…

 

[Night: Barahir leads his laden company under the shadow of lessening foothills…]

Voice of Eilinel: “So it was that all too late my wish had come to pass and Barahir led the last of his defenders out of Dorthonion…”

[They reach the gap at Rivil’s Well…]

Voice of Eilinel: “But it was never meant to be my fate to be amongst them!”

[Some fill canteens whilst others set up camp…]

Voice of Eilinel: “Alas, for those too it was not their fate to complete this journey…”

[On a sudden they are assailed by Orcs and Wolves in great number…]

Voice of Eilinel: “For Sauron is vigilant as he is cruel and he did not wholly abandon Taur-nu-Fuin and he set watches about its many exits…”

[The company are forced to flee whither they came sustaining great loss…]

Voice of Eilinel: “And so it was that Barahir could not escape his oath, nor could the twelve that he had remaining to him!”

 

Part Ten: Malady, Milady

A brief episode of motherly and brotherly concern...

Read Part Ten: Malady, Milady

The Great Tales of Beleriand

 

Part Ten: Malady, Milady…

 

Eithel Sirion, early spring…

[A lady writes at a desk…]

 

Voice of Hareth: “My Dear Father… Finally the days lengthen and we are able to reassume our correspondence. It is wise I deem to first give thanks that the peace lasted throughout winter and I pray and trust that Brethil remains untroubled. Though I deem also that these tenuous strands are ever like to snap at any moment in some affray across the land; rumours of which at all times come overblown in the fear of some new escalation by the Enemy. This war is all anybody speaks of, it is intolerable; that and the only other topic in wintertime, the festival of Yule! The latter was a spartan affair this year, even in the Hall of Fingon; the noble High King maintained that it would be unfeeling to overindulge in times such as these, yet he insisted that all his lords and ladies attend the board. For myself I would have much rather removed to our seat in Dor-lómin but Galdor, my beloved lord and husband, endures in his devotion to duty our Elven Sire and will not leave his side…”

[She rises and placing down her quill Hareth walks to a window…]

Hareth: “Oh my boys, where are you?”

[She pauses half expecting a reply, slumping in despondency at the harsh silence she returns to her task…]

Voice of Hareth: “Forgive me Father I must not complain, there is naught else to want for in Dor-lómin that I do not want for here; indeed from that place but recently there came grim tidings…”

[The cadaver of lady lies in sober repose…]

Voice of Hareth: “Alas, the Lady of Dorthonion departed this life at the turn of the year. How the king bemoaned it, he even had a lament composed in her name…”

[Fingon reads a notice in sorrow…]

Voice of Hareth: “Emeldir the Hale he named it, using such words as ail and frail; it was duly reverential with a lovely refrain, the essence of which spoke of separation and longing…”

Hareth: “A grief I understand all too well…”

Voice of Hareth: “I know the king is equitable and good-hearted but I envy him; I envy the love that my husband shares betwixt us both, the greater share I fear goes to him, and duty - duty! What of the duty owed to his wife, his children?”

[She thumps the desk in frustration and tearing up the letter she returns to the window. Rain spatters against the glass trickling down to distort the view of the world without. Presently she becomes flustered at the opening of her chamber door…]

Hareth: “Galdor: you return so soon?”

Galdor: “You seem surprised…”

Hareth: “Typically other duties call you hence at this hour: why would I not be?”

[She lights upon the torn strips on the bureau then to him, he is looking straight at her and about to say something; she runs across the room to embrace and kiss him…]

Hareth: “Of course I am surprised and pleasantly so; you just, well, surprised me is all…”

Galdor: “Then since this a moment for nice surprises I have another for you…”

Hareth: “Húrin, Huor; they are restored to us?”

Galdor: “Not that nice alas; Fingon has granted your request, we have leave to return to Dor-lómin whenever we wish…”

Hareth: “Ah, so you asked him then…”

Galdor: “It seemed important to you…”

Hareth: “Two moon-turns ago perhaps…”

Galdor: “I see…”

Hareth: “Oh, and what exactly is it that you see?”

[Looking rather stumped he searches the walls for an answer…]

Galdor: “I see that you have resumed writing to your father again…”

Hareth: “Yes, and what of it?”

Galdor: “That is good is it not; perhaps you might like to visit him in Brethil?”

Hareth: “So, just me then; yes, that should serve you well enough…”

Galdor: “Not at all, I love Halmir as well you know and I would be delighted to stay in his halls; we have six weeks to do whatever you wish…”

Hareth: “Six weeks: these are those the crumbs we should be grateful for, or did you not have the courage to ask for more?”

Galdor: “I asked for nothing, the king commanded it!”

Hareth: “Of course he did, how foolish of me…”

Galdor: “Would you rather he had not?”

Hareth: “I would rather have our sons back…”

[She repels his warm advance…]

Galdor: “So would I, Hareth, likewise so would Fingon…”

 

The Great Library, Gondolin….

 

[A young man reads alone…]

Voice of Hareth: “After the reported loss of Húrin and Huor, only once more did there come any outside communication on the matter. From Doriath an embroidery arrived of finest silk depicting a border of fruits and flowers, and within that in Elvish script it simply said ‘Hope is Alive’; this was discreetly initialled M. at the bottom right-hand corner… ”

[He is joined by another…]

Idril: “What news regarding your brother?”

Húrin: “Little change alas, the fever has not broken; I have not been permitted to sit with him for almost two days…”

Idril: “Have trust, the physicians know their craft!”

Húrin: “Elven craft ay, but I’ll wager that they have not dealt with the frailties of Men before now…”

Idril: “Perhaps not but there little that we Elves do not know regarding herb-lore, a remedy shall be found.”

Húrin: “Forgive me My Lady, I am overwrought with worry and have hardly slept. I told him to keep warm; for as our mother always says, a few bright days do not herald the end of winter!”

Idril: “A brother is not a mother!”

Húrin: “Nor am I trying to be, but… it is difficult to explain to one who does not sicken; we are mortal and our lives are short enough, the elder has an obligation to the younger!”

Idril: “Are you saying that since your brother is unwell then you are duty bound to be ill also?”

Húrin: “No, not at all!”

Idril: “I do not understand; to hear you speak and by your actions I cannot see any other outcome…”

Húrin: “Huor is my little brother and in the absence of my parents I am responsible for him!”

Idril: “How so?”

Húrin: “I have to keep him safe!”

Idril: “Now I am confused: did you not both come to this place via great birds with razor talons and severe beaks after being rescued from raiding Orcs, I ask you how is that keeping him safe?”

Húrin: “The circumstances were different then we were at war, moreover Halmir our grandfather did not impede his going out to fight!”

Idril: “And so because he was the elder, despite any misgivings, you did not gainsay his decision?”

Húrin: “There was no decision to gainsay as such since we did not ask permission to go; we just went - as we had many times before I would add!”

Idril: “Hmm, and if I recollect you said once that your uncle constrained your cousin, who is of an age with you, from going to that same battle lest he come to harm…”

Húrin: “As was his right as a father!”

Idril: “Quite so; why then as the elder to Huor did you not do the same?”

Húrin: “I know my brother’s strengths and besides he was with me!”

Idril: “And there it lies: Húrin, you cannot shadow every move your brother makes or govern his every decision, he has a will of his own and a strong one at that. I do not say leave him to fall into peril without a guide, but you must not attempt to live his life for him howsoever good your intent; that course can only lead to setback and illness for yourself.”

Húrin: “You are right of course: thank you!”

Idril: “Not at all, now go and get some rest!”

Húrin: “I shall…”

Idril: “There is one good thing to come out of all this you know…”

Húrin: “Oh yes..?”

Idril: “I doubt that Huor will go outdoors any time soon without an overcoat!”

[They share a laugh before Húrin retires…]

Part Eleven: Home from Home

This chapter looks at relenting and return insomuch that both Sauron and Turgon deal (respectively) with the coming and going of those under their authority... 

Read Part Eleven: Home from Home

THE GREAT TALES OF BELERIAND
 
 
PART ELEVEN: HOME FROM HOME
 
 
Tol-in-Gaurhoth, morning…
 
 
[Sauron and his company emerge from the deterioration of Tol Sirion…]
 
Voice of Draugluin: “Despite the winter green things always return to this accursed land, and at no other time than in springtime does the world seem so, so… Elvish!  Their very essence is on the air, it galls the senses; and that yellow rider smirking upon high blights the eye and heats the blood.”  
 
[Sauron scans the peaks of the eastern range; sunlight glares from the mountaintops to afflict him momentarily and shielding his sight he turns about to re-enter the tower…]   
 
Voice of Draugluin: “Lord Sauron deems me unaware in such matters but I know we feel alike in this …” 
 
Sauron: “Draugluin, come!”
 
[They remove to a cool and shady chamber: Sauron treads the tiles awhile…]
 
Sauron: “She is due to return today…”
 
Draugluin: “Who: that witch?”
 
Sauron: “Thuringwethil, yes…”
 
Draugluin: “You seem uncertain, My Lord, do you doubt her?”
 
Sauron: “Of course I doubt her, but if you mean do I doubt her return - then no; she above all others understands the constraints of a lawful agreement!”
 
Draugluin: “Forgive me, Master, but foregoing these days have found you ever the more pensive; why does she weigh so heavy on your mind?”
 
Sauron: “It is more the lack of her…”
 
[Draugluin sniggers lecherously…]
 
Draugluin: “Say no more, Lord, I shall ensure that you are not disturbed when she arrives…”
 
Sauron: “Dotard, you presume that I drive by base urges like thee - I am Sauron…”
 
[The pregnant epithet miscarries…]  
 
Sauron: “Nay Draugluin, do you not remember that I instructed our Vampiress - not witch - to return hither without delay if any ventured into her region of watch?  I am disappointed; I fear that this waiting has been a pointless diversion!” 
 
Draugluin: “I take it then that you learnt no more from that forest wench we caught ere she died?”
 
Sauron: “Is she dead; nobody told me…”
 
Draugluin: “Oh, I…”
 
Sauron; “Hmm..?”   
 
Draugluin: “After all this time I, we, guessed…”
 
Sauron: “Guessed wrong, surmised and gossiped no doubt: allow me to show you the truth of it!”
 
[Much to Draugluin’s aversion Sauron removes his heavy dark robes to uncover a surcoat and tunic of finest Elven silver accented with violet.  He slides an amethyst ring onto his left forefinger the power of which causes his complexion to radiate palely from within; and finally the Great Deceiver imbibes a tincture which with a shake of the head transforms his raven hair into golden tresses.  And as though naught seems amiss he primly surveys a rack of bottles on a shelf, nimbly fingering each label until settling on the one that he seeks…]    
 
Sauron: “Your turn!”
 
[Draugluin bristles…]
 
Sauron: “Conjecture begets its own consequences: drink!” 
 
[Lapping the potion from Sauron’s hand he writhes in torment at its ingestion; in the violence he finds himself shrinking into a spindle-legged soft-haired powder-grey pointer such as the Elves employ for hunting - he is appalled!]
 
Sauron: “Come!”
 
[The rearranged combination of Sauron and Draugluin descend to the dungeons…]
 
Draugluin: “My Lord, why thus a deception?”
 
Sauron: “Fool, creatures of thy order speak not; lest thou would have me inaugurate thee with an irrevocable whimper!” 
 
[The beast complies, fully subjugated.  They pass along dingy corridors, Sauron bears a lidded serving tray; at length they reach the last cell, a sliver of sunlight illumines the ground under the door - they enter in, the room is homey enough.]  
 
Sauron: “Dear Lady, I bring you some repast…” 
 
[He lifts the lid to reveal a hearty hot breakfast and presents it to the prisoner; Draugluin recoils at the smell of it…]
 
Eilinel: “Lord Annatar, it has been so long…”
 
Sauron: “I know… I came as I could!” 
 
[She gratefully receives the food…]
 
Sauron: “I trust you are well treated?” 
 
Eilinel: “Thanks only to you I deem…”
 
Sauron: “Come, come now, and eat up my dear!”
 
[Barely noticing her visitors standing by and devoid of any airs she tucks in greedily; at length she remembers herself…]
 
Eilinel: “My Lord, what a fine hound you have!”
 
Sauron: “Yes they found him nigh to by the Ash Plains, a stray from some hunting party no doubt; pet him if you wish!”
 
[Draugluin snarls; Eilinel withdraws her hand…]
 
Eilinel: “Have you named him?”
 
Sauron: “As you can see he is still quite wild; the master of this establishment will not permit my naming him until he is, shall we say, broken in.  It is a wonder that he allows me keep him at all…”
 
[Sauron resists his natural compulsion to put the boot in lest he betray the ruse…]
 
Eilinel: “Forgive the presumption Lord, but why do you wait on him; the master of this establishment I mean…”
 
[He sits beside her at table…]
 
Sauron: “I am here perforce as are you child: O woe betiding, my beloveds… my wife… my children… they are held in ransom against me.”
 
Eilinel: “In ransom, for what cause?”
 
Sauron: “I was deep in the counsel of Lord Orodreth ere the former lord of this keep escaped the latter, it is for this reason my life is spared now.” 
 
Eilinel: “So you survive by trading secrets with the Enemy?” 
 
[She draws away from his side…]
 
Sauron: “Eilinel, if that were so I would not be sat here with you now, nor neither would my loved ones still draw breath…”  
 
Eilinel: “I grasp not your inference; surely the Enemy could extract any information he wanted from you under duress?”
 
Sauron: “Duress, I take it you mean corporal torture?”
 
Eilinel: “Well, yes…”
 
Sauron: “I feared the same thing at one time but I have seen no evidence of it here; have you?”
 
Eilinel: “I cannot say that I have, but still we are held captive here against our will!”
 
Sauron: “As prisoners of war alas, yes that is true… besides I have come to learn that He is too subtle for all that and by far a more civilised lord than one might expect.”
 
Eilinel: “It must be a caution then, being ever on guard?”
 
[He half smiles…]
 
Sauron: “My Dear I have tarried overlong, here let me take your tray!  Perhaps you might permit me to visit with you anon?”
 
Eilinel: “Yes, Lord Annatar, I should like that…”
 
Sauron: “Then let us dispense with the formalities… just Annatar, please!” 
 
[The door locks behind them; Draugluin dares not speak until addressed…]
 
Sauron: “I suppose you are wondering what that was all about…”
 
Draugluin: “It had crossed my mind…”
 
Sauron: “Very well, but first let us revert to our more accustomed profiles!” 
 
[A shaft of daylight invading the cavern illumines a great store of crates haphazardly crammed into one corner revealing the original intention for the use of this space.  The shadows cast by this light also betray the true outlines of Sauron and Draugluin…]
 
Sauron: “I really must have something done about those damnable fissures…”  
 
 
Gondolin, the same day…
 
 
[Húrin and Huor stand on a wide terrace ornamented with white floral balustrades overlooking the city and the mountains beyond…] 
 
Huor: “Why does the Sun not obliterate the light of the Morning Star?”
 
Húrin: “Eh, a bit deep for you that?!”
 
Huor: “Perhaps, but I have often wondered why we see it in the morning but not at evening when by rights it should shine all the brighter…”
 
[Idril approaches…]
 
Idril: “Such a question might only be truly answered by the great Elentári herself but we amongst Eldar see it as a sign of hope for a new day.”
 
Huor: “If that is so then why is it not visible everyday?”
 
Idril: “To those with eyes to see it is visible all the time!”
 
Huor: “Ay, those with Elven sight…”  
 
Idril: “Not necessarily…”
 
[As she speaks unclouded sunshine spreads all around causing the star-like formation of diamonds on her tapered sash to radiate in myriad hues of splendour…]
 
Idril: “…perhaps you might like to visit the observatory ere you depart!”
 
[Húrin is the first restored from this reverie of colour…]  
 
Húrin: “I am sorry, did you just say depart?”
 
Idril: “Yes, your prayer has been granted!”
 
Húrin: “How is it so, would the King open this mighty leaguer?”
 
Idril: “Naught so much as that; indeed his law stands ever the more resolute, thanks in most part to Maeglin, but your words with regard to the mortality of the Second-born reached him somehow…”  
 
Húrin: “Did you hear that Huor, we are going home!”   
 
Huor: “What… How..?”
 
 
Maeglin attends Turgon in the King’s Chamber…
 
 
Maeglin: “My King, I must beseech you to rethink your decision…”
 
Turgon: “A king’s words once spoken should not be gainsaid!”  
 
Maeglin: “I speak not against you but rather to the law set down by your own hand…”
 
Turgon: “I know what you would say and the more do I love you for it; Maeglin, this time matters are different!”
 
Maeglin: “May I ask why?”
 
Turgon: “You may and I shall answer you on the rider that you continue to remind me of your fervent regard for the wellbeing of Gondolin!”
 
Maeglin: “Now and always, Lord!” 
 
Turgon: “Very well… On the eve of the arrival of Húrin and Huor I was visited in a dream by Ulmo in which he charged me to deal kindly with the Sons of Galdor though he did not say why.  Proclamations of this sort remain fresh in the mind for a goodly while and the importance of this one drove home quickly with their unexpected coming the next day.  Accordingly, I obeyed Ulmo and in time I have come fond of my young fosterlings, very fond…”
 
Maeglin: “Your pardons please Lord, but if your decree is one made out of fondness then I must return to my original request…”
 
Turgon: “Ha, you are so alike to your mother dear Sister-son; patience was not her strongest suit either…”
 
[Maeglin says nothing…]
 
Turgon: “Have I told you how our people first came to Gondolin from Nevrast?”
 
Maeglin: “Yes, My Lord!”
 
Turgon: “Hmm, I doubt that I have shared all of it with you since only a few know of what I am about to tell you.  For you see ere we departed Ulmo visited me in full register bidding me to leave something behind in Vinyamar that I alone would recognise when one came with it to Gondolin sent hither by the Lord of Waters.  Now, I had not thought about this for the longest time until when two nights back I dreamt about it again; only this time the visions were so much more vivid than at any other time previous.  And not only that I also saw my brother Fingon consoling two hooded figures, a man and a woman, but when the hoods were removed the heads of Húrin and Huor appeared; then on the following day as you already know Húrin petitioned me to allow he and his brother return home…” 
 
Maeglin: “Dreams are fractured disjointed things, Lord, and in my experience not to be relied upon…”  
 
Turgon: “Passing dreams maybe, but this was far more than that and has felt so ever since; moreover, why are Galdor’s sons interconnected to such a landmark occasion in my life and a divine prophesy as yet unfulfilled?”
 
Maeglin: “You are not named The Wise unduly, Lord, as so oft indicated in your laws; but to any of this I cannot rightly say since these experiences are your own and upon which you are the best judge.  However, I would urge you to consider the practicalities of letting them leave if not the consequences…”
 
Turgon: “The practicalities are simple enough, I have dispatched a finch to fly past the eyries, Thorondor will come; and if he is willing to take them both then they shall leave blindfolded as they arrived.  My heart is quieted in the surety that he shall return them home to Dor-lómin by a devious course.  I am uneasy now though in what you mean by consequences?”    
 
Maeglin: “My father was most displeased when Men settled in Estolad, deeming it an infestation by vermin so close to our abode; he forbade any countenancing of them.  An overreaction perhaps but he certainly substantiated their weakness and lack of fibre!  Lord, look at how Huor almost perished in the cold in refusing to take precaution against the elements: does that not show disobedience and lack of sense?  In fairness I am inclined to trust the elder brother more, but if the youngster is so reckless as to risk his own mortality in such a way then what is to prevent him from being rash in his speech regarding Gondolin?” 
 
Turgon: “It is that same mortality that has prompted my choice, Maeglin; I know not whether it is Húrin or Huor whom Ulmo has appointed to accomplish his will, however I am quite certain that this cannot come to pass with them aging and dying behind these walls.  Regrettably, the rest I shall have to leave to the chances of Eä and the grace of the Valar!”   
 
Maeglin: “Being born of twilight I cannot ascertain the ways of the Valar but I can say that the king’s grace is great indeed!” 
 
Turgon: “Grace is the better part of tolerance!”
 
Maeglin: “As is wisdom to valour: My King, this is a brave choice you make but are you certain, truly certain, of its wisdom?”
 
Turgon: “None more I understand you doubts, Sister-son, but my heart tells me that grace is the wiser path; however, might I suggest that you have Húrin and Huor swear oaths to you never to reveal my counsels or the location of this this place, for surely I will have them do so.”
 
Maeglin: “My Lord..?”
 
Turgon: “All speaking peoples pure or black-hearted, be they Elf, Man, Dwarf, Orc, or even Vala, knows what ruin might befall if an oath is broken: how much more so if that same oath be sworn twice?” 
 
Maeglin: “Or made in over-haste…” 
 
[Countless memories etch themselves upon Turgon’s brow…] 
 
Turgon: “…or made in over-haste!”   
 
 
Tol-in-Gaurhoth, nightfall…
 
 
[Sauron watches from a tower window expecting Thuringwethil’s return: not until the shadow of a great Eagle passes west across the moon does she make an appearance…]
 
Sauron: “You have cut it fine!”
 
Thuringwethil: “By my calculation I am three hours early…”
 
Sauron: “So, what have you to report?”
 
Thuringwethil: “Is it not customary south of the Ash Plains to offer the weary messenger some refreshment..?”
 
Sauron: “Sorry, we are fresh out of newborns!”
 
Thuringwethil: “Claret will suffice…”  
 
Sauron: “And a raw platter no doubt?!”
 
Thuringwethil: “Since you are offering…”
 
[He composes himself patiently whilst she deliberately, almost daintily, consumes the hastily prepared fare; she becomes aware of his weighty eyes upon her and speaks before finishing…]
 
Thuringwethil: “I found the forest-house where you described it would be; that region was desolate and utterly devoid, save for the creatures that kept me sustained.  I supposed that you had sent me on a fool’s errand, and in some respects still do; however, at the last this proved not to be.  For on this very morn one came haplessly nosing about the premises.  Naturally, during my imposed sojourn I had looked about the place ensuring that naught was disturbed but not so this fellow, he grew ever desperate and disorderly as the search continued…”
 
Sauron: “Did he call out any names perhaps?”
 
Thuringwethil: “Aileen, or something like that; I could not hear properly since he was indoors at that particular moment…”
 
Sauron: “Hmm… anything else?”  
 
Thuringwethil: “Well yes, a companion ranging elsewhere called out his name quite clearly to which he replied and quickly scurried off; he is called Gorlim!”
 
Sauron: “Gorlim, eh?”
 
Thuringwethil: “Yes I am certain of it!”
 
[He licks his lips…]  
 
Sauron: “Sweet Lady, you have something on your chin; here, allow me!”
 
[With all the grace of his former kindred Sauron sweeps in beside her, and with an elegant forefinger scoops up a trickle of blood-wine which he smears flatly across her lips.  She makes to protest but he depresses his fingertip against the softness of her mouth, speaking softly…]
 
Sauron: “Shush…You have done well!”  
 
[He leans in to take her lips with his own but too soon she withdraws and stands alert, somewhat ruffled.  Assured in his own prowess, he rises…]
 
Sauron: “Your Sisterhood is done for, Thuringwethil; I have demonstrated this to you already!”
  
[She tosses her head defiantly…]
 
Thuringwethil: “Yes Lord, it is abundantly plain that I am at your behest now!”
 
Sauron: “I shall not force you in this, Bonbon, but rather I would ask: where else will you find comfort?”
 
[He extends his hand towards her….] 
 
Thuringwethil: “I am nobodies Bonbon!”
 
[Sauron laughs: at length Thuringwethil accepts his hand…]  
 
Voice of Draugluin: “So it would seem that Sauron and I are not that different after all, for a fiery spirit trammelled in mouldering flesh will ever seek out a counterpart…”
 
 
Night in Dor-lómin…
 
 
[The silhouettes of two young men are caught against the warm light of a row of houses: two others older than they rush outside to greet them lovingly, soon enough these are joined by many more beside…]   
 
Voice of Draugluin: “And is it not true that all persons need a place they can call home…”
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
           
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 

Part Twelve: Curds and Waybread.

It is a dangerous thing to dismiss a niave girl; for once she has a willing audience who will listen, who knows what she might say?  

Read Part Twelve: Curds and Waybread.

THE GREAT TALES OF BELERIAND
 
 
PART TWELVE: CURDS AND WAYBREAD.
 
 
Present day: the Southern Marches of Hithlum nigh to the Mountains of Mithrim…  
  
[A juvenile girl wanders heedless under summer skies…]
 
Voice of an Old Crone: “What a frailty it is, the innocence of youth…”
 
[The youngster shields her eyes against the sun’s glare under bridged hands and with a smile of recognition she proceeds…]
 
Voice of an Old Crone: “…especially when all one’s only concern is where to find the ripest blackberries.”
 
[Basket in hand the girl reaches a clump of large blackberry bushes at the foothills…]
 
Voice of an Old Crone: “He-he-he: ripe indeed!” 
 
[A figure approaches, shrouded in tatters and bent over a crooked staff: the girl is lost in her task…] 
 
Crone: “All alone, Little Blossom?”
 
[Startled, she turns to face her…]
 
Crone: “Did I frighten you child: I’m so sorry…”
 
Rian: “No, no, you just gave me a start is all!”
 
Crone: “What must you think of me, creeping up on you like that?”
 
Rian: “No matter I am quite unharmed…”
 
Crone: “Look now, you’ve spilt some berries: here allow me…”
 
[The frail woman stoops with great difficulty, unable to reach the floor…] 
 
Rian: “Truly all is well; see there are plenty more…”
 
Crone: “He-he-he, well we’ve gotten off to fine old start haven’t we?”
 
[Rian smiles politely…]   
 
Crone: “I haven’t seen you ‘round these parts before: d’you hail from the mountains?”
 
Rian: “Oh no, I am not Elvenkind…”
 
[She gathers up her long hair to prove her mannish ears…]
 
Crone: “Well I’m beggared, one with such gamine beauty as yours not an elf: I wouldn’t have believed it!”
 
Rian: “Thank you… but it is my cousin whom they name Elfsheen, not I!”
 
Crone: “Well she’s not here now, is she?  I only see you, Little Blossom!”
 
[There was something in her tone just then, something menacing!]
 
Rian: “No, but she shall soon be here to meet me!”
 
Crone: “You’re doin’ me false little girl, there’s no-one ‘round for miles…”
 
Rian: “T-truly, she is…”
 
[The crone edges nearer and nearer…]
 
Crone: “Nah, you’re alone… quite alone!”
 
Rian: “Perhaps then I had better head for home…”
 
[Rian tries to evade her, but with surprising rapidity the hag snatches her arm…] 
 
Crone: “P’raps you’d best be-comin’ with me!” 
 
[However she might struggle the youngster cannot escape the clamped grip; the crone pulls her close sputtering harshly into her ear…]
 
Crone: “Don’t test me, Little Blossom; I ain’t as fragile as I seem!”  
 
[Whilst the struggle continues the crone begins speak strange words in an evil tone.  On a sudden something fizzes past the girl’s shoulder, directly at the very point where her tormentor’s head had just been; somewhat perplexed she turns about to see a spent arrow resting on the ground but the crone is nowhere to be found.  Coming back on herself she finds the figure of an Elf where nobody stood before; he smiles kindly and Rian falls to her knees in a swoon…]   
 
 
The outliers of Dor-lómin…
 
 
[Past noon: two girls of similar age to Rian casually talk together whilst walking down the Long Approach Road of the Ward of the Edain.  At either side of that wide shingle roadway stand rambling hills on lush fields with some small occasional woods besides.  Rising in the east the Mountains of Mithrim seamlessly adjoins the Ered Wethrin in the south, the inner angle of which has packed dense forest; and not too far out from that forest lies home…] 
 
Aerin: “My Lady, we should go back for her…”
 
Morwen: “Morwen, please, call me Morwen; how many more times?”
 
Aerin: “Morwen, really, do you not think…”
 
Morwen: “…if anyone should be milady it is you, since it is my kin who are guests in your land!”
 
Aerin: “And speaking of your kin we left your cousin alone on the plains; remember?” 
 
Morwen: “Fret not, Aerin, once that little songbird failed to find her treasure she will have turned tail long since and flew home…”
 
Aerin: “Rian was looking for blackberries not treasure!”
 
Morwen: “Ha, you are dippy… almost as green as her!”
 
[She links Aerin’s arm…]
 
Morwen: “But you are more fun to be with; we are going be great friends you and I.”
 
[Something attracts Aerin’s gaze…]
 
Aerin: “My L-, Morwen, look; a rider approaches!”
 
[They continue arm in arm, jostling and tittering as they go in speculation of who it might be; as the rider nears they wait to meet him…]
 
Aerin: “Oh, it is my cousin who comes!”
 
Morwen: “Hmm, shame it is not the other one…”
 
Aerin: “What was that?”
 
Morwen: “Oh, nothing…”
 
[At length the horse pulls up alongside them…] 
 
Huor: “Aerin, Lady Morwen, you were gone so long that your mothers grew worried…”
 
Morwen: “And here we are, safe and sound!”
 
Huor: “Tell me, have either of you seen the Lady Rian?”
 
Aerin: “She has not returned?”
 
Huor: “Hmm, so it is right that she set out with you both this morning?”
 
Morwen: “Tagged along more like, we told her to go back…” 
 
Huor: “Even so, she is not at home!”
 
Aerin: “She wanted to pick berries…”
 
Huor: “… and you did not I take it?”
 
Morwen: “No, we had things to discuss!”
 
Huor: “Things like my brother?”
 
Morwen: “What, no; why has he..?”
 
Huor: “Has he what?”
 
Aerin: “Stop teasing her Huor, and you stop it too Morwen; come on we have go back and find Rian!”  
 
Huor: “What about your mothers?”
 
Morwen: “They know not when and where you ran into us, we can contrive something later: alright?”
 
[They turn back whence they came…]
 
Morwen: “A gentleman would give up his saddle for a lady…”
 
Huor: “Ay and when we come across Lady Rian I shall!”
 
 
The Elven Settlement at Lake Mithrim…
 
 
[Rian stirs from dazed slumber on a wide cushioned wooden chair, the surroundings are unfamiliar to her, and regaining her bearings she sees that the place is well lit and homely enough.  Momentarily a figure entering the open plan room startles her…]  
 
Annael: “Good, you have wakened…”
 
[The girl makes to bolt…]  
 
Annael: “No, no, do not get up too quickly you have had quite a nasty episode!”
 
Rian: “Who are you, where am I?”
 
Annael: “You are in the abode of Annael of the Mithrim Elves, and you are?”
 
Rian: “My name is Rian of the First House, Daughter of Belegund!”
 
Annael: “You are a long way from home child!”
 
Rian: “Not so far, our kin are fostered now in Dor-lómin!”
 
Annael: “We are aware of the plight of your people and the sadder for it.  Even so, Daughter of Belegund, you have ventured far from your dwelling place.” 
 
Rian: “Please, what hour of day is it?”
 
Annael: “Twice past noon!”
 
Rian: “I really must be going!”
 
Annael: “It was by happy chance that I discovered you when I did, an encounter the like of which you experienced earlier would enfeeble even the strongest of us…  You must eat!  Here, I have prepared some skimmed-cheese and bread to restore your vigour!”
 
[He hands over a shapely wooden tray with saucer of lumpy cheese in runny fluid and three pieces of cobbled bread, the smell of which causes Rian turn her nose away…]
 
Annael: “It is not so bad as all that: use this bread to soak it up, trust me you will soon feel recovered!” 
 
[She accepts his offer, still uneasy in her surroundings…]
 
Annael: “Be not afraid, Rian, you are quite safe in my house!  Eat..!”
 
[He smiles and nods, leaving her alone… and as he goes a fat spindle-legged spider of unearthly shape silently emerges from Rian’s box-basket.  It clambers awkwardly up the inside of the wide handle, coming to rest upside-down once reaching the top…]  
 
 
Hithlum: the border marker between Hithlum and East Dor-lómin…
 
 
[There rests at the end of the Long Approach Road a solitary standing stone upon which is transcribed runes signifying the letters E, D and N.  At this point Huor and the two girls come to a halt, he dismounts…]
 
Huor: “So this is where you parted company with Rian: what could any of you possibly want to do in a place like this?”
 
Morwen: “We have said already, Rian wanted to pick berries and we wanted to talk!”
 
Huor: “And that is all?”
 
Morwen: “That is all!”
 
[He looks at his cousin; she lowers her eyes and nods unconvincingly…]
 
Huor: “There are plenty of places at home in which to gossip in confidence, but if this is what you are saying then very well.”
 
[He surveys the landscape for a moment…]
 
Huor: “The best place to gather berries from here would be along those foothills thither…”
 
[Morwen begins to titter…]
 
Morwen: “We told her they were called Eldar-berries!”
 
[Huor tries not to smile…]
 
Huor: “You told her that no doubt, Lady Morwen, not Aerin…”
 
[Morwen crinkles her nose and makes a face at him; he smiles at her cheekiness…] 
 
Huor: “I wonder then, where did you two go?”
 
Aerin: “We turned back toward that little forest we passed ten minutes ago!”
 
[Morwen looks askance at her…] 
 
Huor: “Ha, ha, ha, you went looking for the witch: I knew it!”
 
Morwen: “What of it?”
 
Aerin: “Please Huor, do not tell on us!”
 
Morwen: “He will not, will you?” 
 
Huor: “It is for the both of you to go back and cover your own tracks, I feel quite certain that Morwen’s strong wits shall avail; as far I am concerned we never ran into each other!”
 
Aerin: “Oh thank you, Huor!”
 
Morwen: “Hmm, thanks greatly: you have dragged us all the way back here for naught!”
 
Huor: “Not for naught, I now know where to start out from; with some good fortune I will find your cousin and return the hero.”  
 
[He remounts his horse…]
 
Huor: “Out of interest, did you ever find her… the witch I mean..?”
 
[Morwen shakes her head as one unimpressed after much effort…]  
 
Morwen: “Bah, the closest we came to that was in passing by some mad old woman who looked us up and down a bit before moving on.”
 
Huor: “Ah well, never mind!”
 
[She shrugs it off…]
 
Huor: “Perhaps, Morwen, I shall have better luck: farewell!”
 
Morwen: “That’s Lady Morwen to you…”
 
[Before galloping off with a ‘ck-ck’ to his horse, he flashes a mischievous wink…] 
 
 
The house of Annael…
 
 
[The Elf returns to his young guest…]
 
Annael: “I trust you are feeling better?”
 
Rian: “Yes, thank you!”
 
Annael: “See, it was not so bad after all… the cheese?”
 
Rian: “No, no, most invigorating… “
 
Annael: “Now, I have instructed the livery handlers to prepare you a horse; do you ride?”
 
Rian: “Yes I do, thank you again!”
 
Annael: “Given today’s events I would escort you home if you will permit it…”
 
Rian: “You are most kind, My Lord!”
 
Annael: “Annael please, we of the Mithrim do not assume lofty styles!”
 
Rian: “Do you not follow leaders at all?”
 
Annael: “The closest to such would be Cirdan of the Havens: but in essence no, we are a people apart and free of any political construct.  Now, whilst we wait for the horses will you take a drink?”
 
[He hands her a fine-cut highball tumbler scarce filled with clear liquid…]
 
Annael: “Here, sip it!”
 
Rian: “Mm, smells like honey!”
 
Annael: “Gently now, Miruvor is a most potent infusion!”  
 
[She takes his advice…] 
 
Annael: “There is not enough in there to inebriate you, but still have a care!”
 
Rian: “By your great kindness you have proven yourself a friend!” 
 
Annael: “That is good to know!  So then in the spirit of our new found friendship, tell me why one as young as yourself would venture unescorted so far away from home?”
 
Rian: “I came berry picking!”
 
Annael: “That is self evident; which alone is surprising given their abundance at this time of year…”  
 
Rian: “I was given to understand that Elvish Berries are different - better somehow!”
 
Annael: “Berries are berries!”

[She averts her eyes somewhat abashed by his half-mocking smile…]  
 
Annael: “However, none of this explains why you are alone!  Now, long before I beheld your encounter with - whatever that was - I heard most of it…”
 
[He taps his leaf-shaped ear…]
 
Annael: “…am I right in saying that you expected to meet with your cousin?”
 
Rian: “You heard it right but I did not altogether speak true, for you see…”
 
[A rapping at the door interrupts them: Annael attends to the caller and returns momentarily…]
 
Annael: “The horses are ready if you would care to follow me!”
 
Rian: “You have been so kind, I feel that I owe you an explanation; can we not speak together a little longer?”
 
Annael: “Of course, we will talk on the way back!”
 
Rian: “What I would say is best uttered behind safe walls rather than in the open air…”
 
Annael: “Let me guess: your cousin has other interests than you and you being curious as to what those interests are followed her, feigning that you wanted to pick berries.  I presume that your cousin was not alone when you parted company.  In her, shall we say, desire to be with this other she invented a story about special berries so as to be rid of you: am I right?”
 
Rian: “In part, yes…”
 
Annael: “I can imagine the rest; now come there is need of haste, your family must be anxious!” 
 
Rian: “I have no family to speak of, my mother died when I was young, and my father… my father entrusted his only child into the care of his brother’s wife whilst he and my uncle remained in Dorthonion fighting a hopeless cause to retain the blistered lands.  I know not whatever fate may have befallen him!” 
 
Annael: “I feel certain that your aunt loves you very much, and your cousin too for that matter; Rian, please, let us away!”
 
[She stands but something within her stops her from following…]
 
Rian: “Who is Turgon, and where is the Hidden Kingdom?”
 
[That stops him in his tracks…]
 
Annael: “Why would you ask such a thing?”
 
[She pauses, wondering why herself: at length she continues…]
 
Rian: “To answer you fully I must first ask whether you know of Húrin and Huor.”
 
Annael: “By name, no!” 
 
Rian: “They are the Sons of Galdor, Vassal to the Noldorin King; recently returned to Dor-lómin after a sojourn of wellnigh two years…”
 
Annael: “In these straitened times they were no doubt fostered by kin…”
 
Rian: “Yes in Brethil, although only until the Northwest Invasion over a year ago when report came to Galdor that his sons were missing and presumed lost to Arda…”
 
Annael: “What has this to do with Turgon?”
 
Rian: “First, tell me who he is!”   
 
Annael: “Turgon is brother to the same Noldorin King, he it is who some hundreds of years ago departed from Nevrast with of his own folk and many of our people, going to where none now know whither…”
 
Rian: “The Hidden Kingdom!”
 
Annael: “Just so: therefore I would ask again how the Sons of Dor-lómin are aught concerning him…”
 
Rian: “Mostly, by way of rumours…”
 
Annael: “Ah rumours, a dangerous past-time…”
 
Rian: “That depends on what are they based!”
 
Annael: “What… the truth… that is the most perilous of platforms for anecdotes!  But I will hear your tale since I deem you are most determined to tell it!”
 
Rian: “Well… everybody in Dor-lómin noted the manner of the brothers’ return, for they came borne on the backs of Great Eagles looking hale and finely dressed.  This is not how one would expect to find dispossessed wanderers returning from a battle scarred region, would you say?”
 
[Annael raises his eyebrows in silent response…]
 
Rian: “Moreover no news came forth thereafter, save only for the ‘Proclamation of Rejoicing for the Restoration of the Sons of Galdor!’
 
Annael: “So there was a feast to mark this happy event?” 
 
Rian: “Of sorts; though it was an understated affair in which Galdor and his family made only the briefest of appearances…”
 
[She lifts her nose haughtily…]
 
Annael: “You seem disgruntled, what is amiss?  From what you have said it appears that Galdor met standard civic requirement…”
 
Rian: “Perhaps, but many wondered still at the lack of certified statement in respect to this remarkable situation; naturally supposition and gossip roused amid the populace.”
 
Annael: “But no unrest I trust?”
 
Rian: “No, only incredulity…”
 
Annael: “I see… what else?”
 
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
Dor-lómin: several weeks earlier…
 
 
[Morning: on a green space surrounded by thatched and wooden dwellings stands a series of tents of divers shapes and sizes, some are already in a state of disassembly.  There is much activity as the townsfolk busily attend to the business of clearing up after a public gathering; there is also much chatter too, and many eyes are drawn still towards the largest tent where the noble lord and lady filed through with their reinstated sons the night before.  Morwen and Rian are among the bustle too, both carrying a wooden form to the edge of the field…]     
 
Morwen: “I tire of this game; Great Aunt Emeldir would have scolded us as loiterers for news… and she would be right!”
 
[They add their form to an already building stack…]
 
Rian: “What do you mean to do?”
 
Morwen: “What… tell you, and give you another song to sing - Songbird!”
 
Rian: “Stop calling me that!”
 
Morwen: “Then stop using me as inspiration for your little airs!”
 
Rian: “I have not - do not: I will not, I promise!  Besides I am just as curious as you to find out what happened with Húrin and Huor…” 
 
Morwen: “Shush, not so loud; very well, I suppose two sets ears are better that one!”
 
Rian: “Ears for what?”
 
Morwen: “Listening of course, now I know you have mastered that art…”
 
[They both pull the same crinkled-nosed expression at each other…]
 
Rian: “Very well, I shall reshape the question: ears for where?”
 
Morwen: “That big canopy yonder.  I noticed more than one of Galdor’s household entering just now; enough folk are talking already, surely one of them has something to say about it!” 
 
Rian: “We are not of their kindred, how will we get inside?”
 
Morwen: “Ha, ha, ha: tents are not fortified keeps, we simply walk in!”
 
Rian: “And what, offer our services?”
 
Morwen: “Precisely…”
 
Rian: “Then what?”
 
Morwen: “Be sociable, talk to people; hmm, perhaps not… in your case just listen!”
 
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
Annael: “So as your Great Aunt would say you loitered for news…”
 
Rian: “I did, Morwen did not; she made a beeline for one Lady Aerin, cousin to the brothers - she it is with whom I left in my own cousin’s company earlier today.  However, I would not say that my efforts were wholly fruitless…”
 
Annael: “How so?” 
 
Rian: “As I washed pots outside two young steward-hands malingering from work stood nearby and began talking together.  They spoke of Húrin and Huor…”  
 
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
Alann: “My mother said that last night’s presentation would leave the townsfolk unmoved; ever the more so since it is they that are left to clear up!”
 
Daven: “Ay she was right, and I wager that is not all she had to say neither!”
 
Alann: “Ha, you know her; ever with an upturned ear…”
 
Daven: “Well..?”
 
Alann: “Turns out that after his Lordship questioned his sons he was less than satisfied with their report; it seems that he wanted to press them harder on the subject of where they had been but the Lady would not have it…”
 
Daven: “She has lightened in mood since their return, still precarious to work for though and no mistake; go on!”
 
Alann: “My mother heard from a the privy-doorman, who heard it from one of the silver service guild, that Crafty Old Galdor had a little counsel of his own; all the top brass attended, not the boys of course - nor her Ladyship…”
 
[They both clear their throats in derision…] 
 
Alann: “Talk had already turned to Eagles, finery and such before the guildsmen had finished serving; many had already concluded that Húrin and Huor had dwelt amongst Elves this past year…”
 
Daven: “Sounds reasonable…”
 
Allan: “The question remained of course, in whose house?  Galdor protested at most of the suggestions offered; you know, given his position with the High King and the consequences of withholding such news from one so close in his service.”
 
Daven: “Yes, I see… but whoever it was, they must have had some degree of influence and riches; a high degree says I.”  
 
Allan: “Somebody like Turgon?”
 
Daven: “Who?”
 
Allan: “Some mythical king, departed to a ’Hidden Kingdom’ it seems; it matters little for at the mere mention of that name Galdor grew enraged and dismissed the servants in some haste…”
 
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
 
Annael: “In one thing you are right, Rian, your tale is based mostly on rumours and I repeat my warning to you of their danger…”
 
Rian: “Yet you have confirmed to me that Turgon and his kingdom are real!”
 
Annael: “Turgon yes, but for all I know he departed these shores long ago; he is of high lineage and his father perished fighting the Great Enemy.  Therefore, since his purpose remains unknown I deem it good that his realm remains hidden.”
 
Rian: “He sounds wonderful…”
 
Annael: “Be not overly enamoured by that which is unattainable - Rian?”
 
[She sits dreamily not paying attention…]
 
Annael: “Tell me, what did not your cousin make of this account?”
 
Rian: “What… oh… bah, I told her nothing of it; she kept her own counsel so I kept mine!”
 
Annael: “Have you spoke to anybody else regarding this?”
 
Rian: “No, no: just you!”
 
Annael: “That is well, I would that…”
 
[There is another rapping at the door…]
 
Annael: “I would that you speak no more on this matter… excuse me!”  
 
Voice of an Old Crone: “I can see why my sister chose this form…”
 
[Whilst the elf’s back is turned the spider silently jumps down from the basket…]

Voice of an Old Crone: “But she grew too large for it to be useful…”
 
[It skitters away unnoticed behind Rian’s chair…]
 
Voice of an Old Crone: “Besides, spiders are always famished…”
 
[…and escapes under the crack of another door!]
 
Voice of an Old Crone: “I’m famished!”
 
[Presently, Annael returns accompanied by a young man; Rian looks in amazement at Lord Huor, he returns her gaze with a gentle smile…]
 
Annael: “This has been an eventful day, come I shall accompany you both back to Dor-lómin and explain my part in these proceedings to your families; fortunately there should be enough hours of daylight for the return leg…”  
 
[Rian rises bashfully from her seat rarely averting her eyes from Huor, she blushes as he stoops to hand her the basket…]
 
 
The foothills of Mithrim…
 
 
[A crooked figure watches from afar as a riding party pass into the southern reaches of Hithlum from the east…] 
 
Voice of an Old Crone: “So, Sister Thuringwethil, the circle is broken but the net is widened.  The Dark One is more than displeased with your lack of report; lucky for him that the Witch of the Wood is on hand to cast an evil eye over this land…  Frightening children is so much fun - he, he, he!
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
  
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   
 

Part Thirteen: The Gift Corrupted

Sauron offers a prisoner the chance of 'escape' from Tol-in-Gaurhoth...

Read Part Thirteen: The Gift Corrupted

THE GREAT TALES OF BELERIAND
 
 
PART THIRTEEN: THE GIFT CORRUPTED…
 
 
Tol-in-Gaurhoth, autumn…
 
 
[A tall figure passes serenely along a dimly lit corridor and approaching a dead end he reaches the furthest door along.  He holds two bags: one a short handled hempen sack, quite full but showing only tattered clothing pressed in at the top, the other a neat black messenger bag with a trailing shoulder strap slapping the ground…]
 
The feign voice of Annatar: “Am I not a benevolent Lord?”
 
[Stopping, he places the bags on the floor; but carefully, so as to avoid the dim pool of light seeping under the door sliver…]
 
The feign voice of Annatar: “Am I not bright?”
 
[He brushes down his Elven garments, inserts the key and the heavy door clicks open; he flinches against the daylight…]
 
The feign voice of Annatar: “Am I not beautiful?”
 
[Entering the cell that he has caused to be made homely, Sauron cannot help but expel a snigger; low yet still audible…]  
 
The feign voice of Annatar: “Am I not dutiful?”
 
[Within sit two women: one at table, Eilinel, Wife of Gorlim, and the other in the dimmest corner wearing the habits of a Vardan Vesta, a Sister of Starlight…] 
 
Sauron: “Ladies, I regret that I cannot tarry, the proprietor will soon miss me if I am gone from his service overlong; I trust you are both… getting along?”
 
Thuringwethil: “Eminently, Gentle Sir, we have much to talk about…”
 
Eilinel: “However did you arrange it?” 
 
Sauron: “Bribery, My Dear; I could not countenance your being alone another night longer.  It is remarkable what illicit wine from the master’s stores will afford one with thirsty gaolers.  Ah, that reminds me…”
 
[He reaches into the pockets of his tunic and produces a flat bottle…] 
 
Sauron: “Am I right that the sisters of your order take wine; will claret suffice?  I trust it will be enough to see you through - Sister?”
 
Thuringwethil: “Rodwen!”
 
Sauron: “Rodwen… hmm?  I do hope that all this sinful talk of bribery and liquor is not an offence to your ears Good Sister…” 
 
[Half-smirking, he hands Thuringwethil the bottle…]
 
Thuringwethil: “All actions begun in kindness redound to the Glory of Ilúvatar!”
 
[He nods and winks slightly at that answer and then turns his attention to Eilinel…]
 
Sauron: “Do you imbibe, Sweet One?”
 
Eilinel: “No, no thank you!”
 
Sauron: “Very wise and a good thing too methinks…”
 
Eilinel: “How so Lord Annatar?”
 
Sauron: “Oh, no reason…clarity of vision and such.  Eilinel, be a dear and draw down those blinds!”
 
[She complies at once, whereafter Sauron looks behind each shoulder theatrically and pretends to check the door.  He brings in the bags and reaching into his pockets once again he extracts a rolled up bundle of cloth which he places on the table.  He pats the bundle affectedly and with an exquisite wave of farewell he leaves, not forgetting to lock the door behind him…]  
 
The feign voice of Annatar: “Time to go, Sweet Eilinel, time to go…” 
 
Eilinel: “What is it?”
 
Thuringwethil: “Pray open it and see!”
 
[Eilinel carefully unfolds the cloth in which she finds a rolled up parchment tied with string.  She picks it up to open it but something heavy slides out from within and clatters on the table giving her a jolt…]
 
Eilinel: “A key, what can this mean?”
 
[Thuringwethil standing behind rolls her eyes in exasperation…]
 
Thuringwethil: “It is upon us to seek answers howsoever they present themselves!”
 
[The counterfeit Vardan Vesta takes up the parchment, nimbly snapping the strings with strong nails; it is a diagram which she expands across the tabletop revealing yet another smaller scroll within.  Upon the outer side of this is written one word in a fine swirling hand - EILINEL.  The letter enclosed reads…]
 
 
MY DEAR EILINEL,
 
I CAN NO LONGER JUSTIFY TO MYSELF ANY FURTHER IDLENESS WHILST ONE WHOM I NOW LOOK UPON AS A FRIEND ENDURES NEEDLESSLY.  IT HAS NOT ESCAPED ME THAT MORTALS FARE BADLY UNDER INCARCERATION AND DESERVE NOT TO PERISH INNOCENTLY IN PRISON SIMPLY BECAUSE OF THE WARS THE IMMORTALS.  WHILST IT IS NOT UPON ME TO FREE ALL THE PRISONERS IN THIS KEEP, WHICH AT ANY RATE I COULD NOT DO WITHOUT AROUSING SUSPICION; I CHOOSE TO DARE IN ASSISTING WITH YOUR ESCAPE AND THAT OF YOUR COMPANION.  CERTAINLY IT IS AT GREAT RISK THAT I SEND YOU A MAP OF THE TOWER AND DOOR KEY BUT YOUR NEED FAR EXCEEDS MY OWN; FOR AT THE VERY LEAST MY LONGEVITY AFFORDS ME THE POSSIBILITY OF A BRIGHTER TOMORROW.  AND IF THAT IS MY HOPE THEN SURELY I AM HONOUR BOUND TO SHARE IT WITH YOU - MY FRIEND.     
 
I HAVE LEARNED THAT THE PROPRIETOR OF THIS ESTABLISHMENT PLANS TO JOURNEY NORTH ON THE MORROW AND HAS ALREADY CALLED IN MANY OF HIS TROOPS TO ACCOMPANY HIM.  THIS IS A RARE CHANCE, EILINEL, SINCE THE EASTERN FLANK LEADING TO YOUR HOME WILL BE MUCH LESS GUARDED.  NOW, YOU WILL SEE ON THE PLANS PROVIDED THAT I HAVE CHARTED A WAY OUT TOWARDS THE EAST POSTERN LEADING BEYOND TO THE SELDOM OCCUPIED TERRITORY NIGH TO THE EAGLE’S RANGE.  I HAVE NOTED ON MY ROUNDS THAT THE SWITCHING OF GUARDS AT THIS GATE TAKES THE LONGEST AMOUNT OF TIME JUST BEFORE MIDNIGHT, THIS IS INDEED FORTUNATE SINCE IT PROVIDES FOR THE COVER OF DARKNESS.  I STRONGLY ADVISE THAT YOU TRAVEL ONLY AT NIGHT AND REMAIN UNDER COVER BY DAY TO AVOID PRYING EYES.  
 
IN THE BAG YOU WILL NOTICE ENOUGH FOOD TO SEE YOU HOME; IT IS ONLY KITCHEN SCRAPS ALAS, NOT MUCH I KNOW, BUT THERE IT IS.  EILINEL, WEAR THESE TATTERS, COVER YOUR HEAD AND DIRTY YOUR FACE; FOR IT IS BY NO MERE CHANCE THAT I HAVE SELECTED THIS PARTICULAR COMPANION TO AID IN YOUR ENDEAVOUR.  WHO BETTER THAN A VARDAN VESTA AND HER NOVICE TO GO UN-HARRIED ON THE ROAD?  IF ALL GOES WELL I WILL BE ABLE TO HOLD OFF ANY REPORT OF YOUR GOING UNTIL THE PROPRIETOR RETURNS; TAKE HEART EILINEL, I SHALL CONTRIVE A CONCEIT FOR HIM IN THE ENSUING DAYS TO COME.  HOWEVER, FOR MY OWN SAFETY I URGE YOU TO STUDY THE PLAN CAREFULLY AND COMMIT IT TO MEMORY SINCE I WILL REQUIRE YOU TO BURN IT ALONG WITH THIS MISSIVE - I HOPE YOU UNDERSTAND! 
 
IN SINCERE FRIENDSHIP,
 
ANNATAR, LG.
 
 
[Dumbfounded, Eilinel passes the letter to her counterpart; at length she speaks…] 
 
Eilinel: “Surely, this is too good to be true…”
 
Thuringwethil: “Why say you that?”
 
Eilinel: “That all these pieces should fall together at one time; do you not find it odd?”  
 
Thuringwethil: “It is the providence of Ilúvatar!”
 
Eilinel: “I have seen no evidence of that in recent years.”
 
Thuringwethil: “O Child, think what you are saying!”
 
Eilinel: “It is your Elvish Doctrine that has dragged us all into war in the first place!  If the so-called Loving Hand of Ilúvatar caused all creation to come into being then why has there been so much tumult from the onset?”
 
[Thuringwethil finds herself somewhat stumped being unaccustomed to theological debate, especially in the defence of her sworn foe; in the event she sits in sombre repose for a moment…]
 
Thuringwethil: “In faith we find inner strength and a reason to strive…”  
 
Eilinel: “You sound just like Gorlim did; he clung to all that too…” 
 
Thuringwethil: “Gorlim: is that he of whom you spoke of so lovingly last night?”
 
Eilinel: “My husband yes, although it should be said of him that duty comes before aught else!”
 
Thuringwethil: “You speak often of him in both the past and present tense; do you not know whether he yet lives?” 
 
Eilinel: “I have learnt naught of the wider-world being held here these past months.”
 
Thuringwethil: “Yet you have been treated kinder than most…”
 
Eilinel: “Thanks only to the consideration and provender of Annatar!”
 
Thuringwethil: “Is it not then such a leap to witness the providence of our beliefs?”
 
Eilinel: “Twisting words against me, how predictable!”
 
Thuringwethil: “You think me some sort of pious fanatic?”
 
Eilinel: “Yes… No… you mean well enough, I do not know!”
 
Thuringwethil: “Is not well meaning enough under these constraints?”
 
Eilinel: “It is a start I suppose!”
 
Thuringwethil: “Good… then we shall start from there.  You have endured much I can see that, much too much for one your age; but surely you would be with Gorlim again if there was the remotest chance would you not?”
 
Eilinel: “Of course…”
 
Thuringwethil: “Look then at what you know: a well meaning friend has stated clearly his reasons for wanting to help you and has provided the means to do so at the best time possible.  All other things aside, is this not worth grasping with both hands?”
 
Eilinel: “I know what you would say to me and… but I…”
 
Thuringwethil: “All too often it is said that fear and doubt is sinful, although I know not where it is written; but wastefulness on the other hand, especially in great need, is not only sinful it is stupidity!”
 
Eilinel: “No more doctrine!”
 
Thuringwethil: “I promise…”    
 
Eilinel: “Very well, let us be gone from this place!”    
 
The feign voice of Annatar: “Fly, Eilinel, fly away home: the road ahead is quite safe!  And you too Thuringwethil, but not on batwings - oh no; take the pilgrim’s way and fare on foot, perhaps you may learn a little humility!”  
 
[The escapees flee as directed, but in heading toward the Crissaegrim they do not go unnoticed; an Eagle flies northward…]
 
 
The Pass of Anach…
 
 
[In the remaining dark of the second night the travellers arrive at the southern reaches of Dorthonion nigh to the Encircling Mountains…]  
 
Eilinel: “See I told you, the old watchman’s lodge; it was abandoned after the Great Burning.  Come, we shall get a fire on!” 
 
Thuringwethil: “Go on ahead; I would be alone a moment to offer my devotions…”
 
[At the soonest opportunity Thuringwethil retrieves a flask of ‘claret’ from her bag and drinks greedily, then another; and being of her particular order she leaves no trace of red.  At length she enters the somewhat austere lodge furnished only with a heavy oaken table, no chairs, a belly-stove and some logs; already a fire crackles merrily…] 
 
Thuringwethil: “We need to black out the window if you are to keep that fire going…]
 
[By a happy chance the tabletop doesn’t overhang the legs; therefore the companions tip it over on one side and with a grinding slide across the floor they butt it square against the window wall…]
 
Eilinel: “You have not yet eaten; here, there is plenty to share…”
 
Thuringwethil: “I am not hungry… <not for kitchen scraps at any rate> …besides, my folk can endure much longer without food!”
 
Eilinel: “But surely…”
 
Thuringwethil: “I have enough to sustain me in my bag… <barely> …berries and such; go on, eat!” 
 
[Eilinel tucks in…]
 
Eilinel: “Do you plan to return in the morning?”
 
Thuringwethil: “To where, have we not just escaped imprisonment?”
 
Eilinel: “Home to Doriath, it lies just south of here…”
 
Thuringwethil: “Oh I see, no not yet; first I must see you home safely.” 
 
Eilinel: “Will not Mother Melian be missing one of the Order of Varda?  Come to think of it I have not asked how it was that you left there and came into captivity…”
 
Thuringwethil: “Alas, the grief for me is all too near!   A delegation of sisters set out on pilgrimage to the Havens for the Feast of the Equinox; it is a great honour to be chosen for this since the stars shine clearer on those shores than anywhere else in Middle-earth, and the towers there offer wondrous views to the reverent.  But for us this was not to be!  It happened nigh to the Springs of Ivrin on the journey across: we were assailed by a party of Orcs who slew us all - all save me!  For you see I fought them, Eilinel, I fought with all the strength in me; even so I was overcome at the last, and one…  excuse me… and one of them bore down on me…”
 
[She pauses for effect…]
 
Eilinel: “O Rodwen, I am sorry…”
 
Thuringwethil: “I would have gladly departed my body then and there but the Orc Captain stopped my brutish assailant ere he did his worst upon me; I can only guess that the captain wanted some proof of his account!  From that hellish meeting I came to the dungeons of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, where but for the kindness of Annatar I doubt that I would have survived…”  
 
Eilinel: “I feel so wretched for having you relive all that…”
 
Thuringwethil: “Let us speak of it no more; tell me something of cheer, tell me of Gorlim!”
 
Eilinel: “Gorlim, Gorlim, I have known him since childhood; he and his father, Angrim, were among the last of the mannish-folk to remove from Estolad to Ladros.  His mother had recently died and he looked as a wounded creature to my eyes; I expect it was pity at first but I simply took him to my heart.  Truth is, he was unready to accept caring from another font and he did not much like me; but I persevered, I would tease him unmercifully, rarely letting him out of my sight howsoever he tried to escape me…”
 
[She laughs softly and sighs…]  
 
Eilinel: “He is not what one would call particularly handsome and I am not altogether certain that his lineage is wholly of the First House as Angrim maintained, for Gorlim is quite fair-haired for one of our folk…”
 
[She instinctively reaches to her own hair before realising that it is covered up…]   
 
Eilinel: “Not altogether straw-haired mind; but certainly fairer than most!  Now, it was not until his father grew sick for the first time that we really associated with each other, for you see I had always wanted to gain knowledge of healing and…” 
 
[Thuringwethil rapidly loses interest, realising too late that she has overshot her aim; insomuch that the telling a woeful tale of one’s own and asking another to share their’s with you often provokes them do so… in laborious detail!] 
 
Thuringwethil: “Quiet, what was that?”
 
Eilinel: “What, what is it?”
 
Thuringwethil: “I am certain I heard something; stay here, I will check outside!”
 
[She prowls in vexation outside the lodge, muttering curses; meanwhile Eilinel shrinks into a ball between the legs of the propped up table, for as one accustomed to hiding she knows that shadow is the last option when there is no other cover.  Thuringwethil contorts in silent frustration at the absence of her bag, though at length she remembers the flask that Sauron gave to her in the cell, the remainder of which is still on her person; she gulps it down with a wretch…]
 
Thuringwethil: “Save me from infernal girlish prattle and fusty blood!” 
 
[She would abandon her task but the slinking dawn threatens the night sky compelling her to return indoors…]
 
Eilinel: “I heard some commotion, what did you find?”
 
Thuringwethil: “A mountain goat I believe, it must have strayed onto the foothills, it was too far off to be certain; and in any event it ran off…”
 
Eilinel: “You seem quite shaken!”
 
Thuringwethil: “I am fine…”
 
Eilinel: “Very well, where was I…?”
 
Thuringwethil: “You know, perhaps I am a little shaken… time to rest I think!”  
 
The true voice of Sauron: “Humility I am told is a desirable trait in others, I for one cannot see the attraction; it is said that it garners inner strength but I do not believe it.  Give me fear over frustration, for the bent will breaks a weak spirit every time!”
 
[The morning’s thin glory swathes chilly Beleriand; and to the south in the Forest of Neldoreth Thingol and Melian offer their early morning dedication; as always they are joined by nightingale song in their Incantation of the Sun…]   
 
 
The Halls of Menegroth…
 
 
[Thingol and Melian returning are met by Mablung…]
 
Thingol: “Mablung, what brings you forth so early?
 
Mablung: “This message, Majesties, it has upon it the seal of the Noldorin King!”
 
Thingol: “Oh I see, hmm… thank you Captain, I trust we shall see you at breakfast!” 
 
[Melian nods courteously and with a bow Mablung leaves them.  Thingol languidly looks at the Seal of Fingon on the envelope and with a fat puff of air flops his arm down by his side, the unopened letter swinging between his forefinger and thumb…] 
 
Melian: “Well, are you not going to open it?”
 
Thingol: “Here you read it; I care not for this missive!”
 
[She refuses the handover…]
 
Melian: “It has the royal seal and is addressed to you alone; besides, how can that which is unknown trouble you or not?”  
 
Thingol: “Very well, as usual I am sure you are right…”
 
[Melian looks askance at her husband as he breaks the seal: the letter reads…]
 
 
ELWË, KING.
 
FIRST OF ALL MAY I EXPRESS MY WARMEST GREETINGS TO YOU, THE QUEEN AND YOUR ENTIRE HOUSEHOLD; I PRAY THAT THIS MESSAGE FINDS YOU ALL WELL.  IT HAS BEEN FAR TOO LONG SINCE WE LAST CORRESPONDED AND IT IS REGRETTABLE TO ME THAT OUR KINDREDS HAVE FALLEN INTO ESTRANGEMENT.  INDEED IF THIS WERE NOT SO THEN PERHAPS WE MIGHT DEVISE TOGETHER A LESS PRIMITIVE WAY OF COMMUNICATING ONE TO THE OTHER…
 
 
Melian: “When I said read it, I meant aloud!”
 
Thingol: “Oh it is just customary drivel; I swear he opens with that same paragraph every time…”
 
Melian: “Every time; how many dozens of letters is that now?”
 
Thingol: “Alright, both times!  Greetings and health to you and yours - can we not talk more, and so on…”
 
Melian: “Read it, Thingol!”
 
 
I WRITE TO YOU NOW WITH NEWS THAT MAY CONCERN YOU THOUGH I FEAR IT COULD ARRIVE TOO LATE FOR YOU TO TAKE ANY ACTION.  ON THE MORNING THAT I PENNED THIS MESSAGE WORD REACHED ME THAT ON THE PREVIOUS NIGHT TWO WOMEN FLED FROM THE STRONGHOLD OF TOL-IN-GAURHOTH.  THEY HEADED SOUTHEAST AND IT SOON BECAME APPARENT THAT THEY INTENDED TO TAKE REFUGE IN THE MOUNTAINS NIGH TO SIRION.  IT IS NOT THIS CURIOUS ESCAPE THAT HAS PROMPTED ME TO WRITE BUT RATHER IT IS THE APPEARANCE OF THE WOMEN THEMSELVES, FOR THEY FLED IN THE ATTIRE OF A VARDAN VESTA AND NOVICE.  IT IS WELL KNOWN ON THE ROAD THAT THE PILGRIM SISTERS OF STARLIGHT ARE SACRED TO QUEEN MELIAN SO THEREFORE I ENTRUST THIS NEWS TO YOUR FACTOR.
 
NOW, WHILST I AM CERTAIN THAT YOU ARE AWARE THAT THE EAGLES OF THE CRISSAEGRIM KEEP WATCH OVER THE NORTHLANDS FOR MANWË, I AM UNSURE  WHETHER OR NOT YOU KNOW THAT THEY PASS ALONG NEWS TO CERTAIN OF THE NOLDORIN HOUSES; I MENTION THIS SIMPLY BECAUSE THIS IS THE SOURCE FROM WHICH MY INFORMATION CAME.  
 
 
IN SERVICE,
 
FINGON, HKN.     
 
 
[Thingol screws up the letter and tosses it aside…]
 
Thingol; “We have Eagles in our service - the pompous swine!”
 
[Melian stoops to retrieve it…]
 
Melian: “Ever do you permit preconception to narrow your view; Elu, will you not abandon this destructive practice?”
 
Thingol: “…’twas neither the Grey nor the Green who caused this kin-strife!”
 
Melian: “Nay, but ’tis the Grey King who abounds its furtherance!” 
 
[Thingol appears both angry and wounded at the same time…] 
 
Melian: “That was harsh and rash, please forgive me!  
 
[He takes her extended hand…]
 
Melian: “Thingol, I doubt not the sincerity of this communiqué for it contains grave news if you would but heed it!” 
 
Thingol: “How so?”
 
Melian: “The vestas are all accounted for and we have not taken in novices for four years now, not since the Bragollach!”
 
Thingol: “If the sisterhood is whole then surely all is well…”
 
Melian: “It troubles me that our foe would employ the garb of one of their order; to what end, Thingol, should he do this?”
 
Thingol: “As the Noldo said they are well known on the road; besides they dress distinctively my love, in attire which could easily be replicated!”
 
Melian: “I know… that is what concerns me!”
 
Thingol: “Do you fear treachery from within… or treachery without perhaps?”
 
Melian: “I fear that always from Tol-in-Gaurhoth!  One moment please…”
 
[She smoothes out the letter against her thigh and reads it in silence…]     
 
Melian: “You are right, Thingol, I do foresee treachery here and a cruel one at that; it is for this so-called novice that I fear for the most, alas, her fate is all but sealed!  Dark wheels are turning beloved, and I cannot envisage how even we here in this seclusion will escape them…”
 
Thingol: “How near is this peril?”
 
Melian: “Far but all too near, it is difficult to tell!  One thing is certain though, the ripples of this particular treachery will lead to these very halls; for my prophecy to Galadriel will come to pass within the next five years, and one of Men shall come unbidden to Doriath and the Girdle will not withstand him!”
 
Thingol: “Then we must find this novice, and quickly - I shall dispatch Beleg and Mablung to scour the mountains, I shall even beseech the Eagles for aid!”  
 
Melian: “Alack it is as King Fingon guessed; the news has arrived over-late!  But there is hope in this: nowhere does the prophecy state whether this man’s coming will be for good or ill, and never since its making has this part ever been revealed to me though I continue to ask, even until this day.  I deem now that sometimes it is good not to know certain things ahead of time!”
 
Thingol: “Then if the board is set there is naught else to do but be vigilant and let the pieces move as they will; come my love, let us break our fast!”   
 
 
Night in Dorthonion…
 
 
[The walkers arrive at the house of Eilinel and Gorlim, all is dark; they enter in and Eilinel fumbles for tallow to light.  On a sudden she hears a finger click and the far corner of the room illumines.  Sat there in an armchair is a dark robed figure of whom she vaguely recognises…]
 
Sauron: “Looking for this?”
 
[He gestures towards the tallow candle on the occasional table beside him…] 
 
Eilinel: “Who are you, why are you here?”
 
Sauron: “Come now, I know that I am a master of deception but surely you know me; step a little closer my dear sweet Eilinel!”
 
Eilinel: “Lord Annatar - but how?”
 
[He wittingly pinches the bridge of his nose at the brow and removing his fingers sprinkles away invisible dust…]
 
Sauron: “You really have no idea do you?”
 
[Thuringwethil kicks the back of Eilinel’s leg forcing her to ground…]
 
Thuringwethil: “Kneel before Lord Sauron!”
 
Eilinel: “Sauron!”
 
[He nods coldly; Eilinel looks behind in disbelief at her fellow traveller…]
 
Sauron: “And this, sweet one, is my attendant Sister Thuringwethil!”
 
Eilinel: “You are no Vardan Vesta!”
 
[Her tormentors laugh…]
 
Thuringwethil: “Shall I drink, Lord?”
 
Sauron: “All in good time, I would…”
 
[Eilinel chances a break for the door, though she is soon overpowered, thrown down and held fast…]
 
Sauron: “Really, is this how your Elven betters taught you how treat with visitors; to run out on them at the soonest prospect?” 
 
Thuringwethil: “This one subscribes not to Elvish teaching, Lord, or their beliefs; she said so herself…”
 
Sauron: “How amusing, there was I thinking to provide moral succour on the last leg of your journey; ha, and all the while the irony was lost…”
 
Eilinel: “Get twisted, you filth!”
 
Sauron: “Oh I fully intend to… but let me tell you this, it may surprise you!  We are not so unlike as you might think, the Elves and us; we both know from whence we came and differ solely on the thereafter - I will not bore you with details!  Shun the truth if you will but it does not make it any less true!”
 
Eilinel: “You are alike; you both deal in absolutes…”
 
Sauron: “I knew that I liked from the first but could not put my finger on why; I almost regret wasting time with disguises, what fun discourse we could have had…”
 
Eilinel: “I am already bored, kill me now and have done!”
 
Sauron: “What, NO, NO, NO; I have not been so piqued and tickled like this for ages!  I would not have us part without you knowing a thing or two, or I for that matter.  Tell me, what do you know of the Gift of Ilúvatar to Men?”
 
Eilinel: “That right now it would be a mercy!”
 
[He laughs aloud, uncontrollably at first but soon regaining composure…]
 
Sauron: “Such drollery… but clearly, this one knows more than she cares to admit!”
 
Eilinel: “We learnt by rote…”
 
Sauron: “That, I can believe… but answer me this: how would you feel if I said that I could rescind this so-called gift, that I could undo mortality?”
 
Eilinel: “That, I would not believe!”
 
Thuringwethil: “Now, My Lord?”
 
[He looks askance at her…]
 
Eilinel: “Now what?”
 
Sauron: “It seems my hand is played for me, no matter!  Eilinel, Daughter of whomever and of whichever House, I present to you a choice; tell me all you know regarding the outposts of those that still oppose me in these lands and die quickly, otherwise help me take part in a little research that I have in mind!”
 
Eilinel: “I will never tell you anything!”
 
Sauron: “Predictable, somewhat disappointing and yet a little fortuitous… for me that is!  And fortuitous too for you perhaps, if all goes to plan; Eilinel, this procedure has not worked on Elves ere now, but you however could be the first of your kind to become something… well, something new!  Thuringwethil, you may proceed; but gently now, she is not a feast…”
 
[Eilinel struggles in terror but cannot escape her captor-companion’s grip.  And amid deathly screams the Vampiress sinks sharp fangs into her neck, exalting at the taste of living blood as she draws it in.  At length the captive falls silent and limp in her arms and Sauron orders Thuringwethil to cease; Eilinel slumps lifeless to the ground…] 
 
Thuringwethil: “Is she dead?”   
 
Sauron: “No, no, just a little drained!”
 
Thuringwethil: “Has it worked?”
 
Sauron: “I know not, mannish folk differ organically to Elves…”
 
Thuringwethil: “So what now, Lord?”
 
Sauron: “Now…we wait!”