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

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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!

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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!"