Neighbourly Relations by Himring

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Chapter 1: Early days

Time: just after the settlement of Dorthonion.

 

Names: Angrod = Angarato, Aegnor = Aikanaro, Maedhros = Russandol; also: Edhellos = Eldalote, Celegorm = Tyelkormo, Curufinwe = Curufin

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We had had a glass of the red that Cirdan had sent with lunch to celebrate Eldalote’s first successes in cheese-making on a larger scale. Everything was so new to us, then, and we celebrated it all, every step forwards, every single achievement. I could tell Angarato was feeling unusually mellow. He was whistling very softly, almost under his breath, as we walked along the corridor to his office. I could not quite make out the tune. His mood changed abruptly when he saw the messenger who had been kicking his heels in the anteroom, for, almost at once, he had spotted the Feanorian star on the seal of the scroll that was being held out to him. He accepted it rather ungraciously, by his standards, pulled me inside the office and closed the door.

Then he unrolled the scroll right where he stood, glanced at the beginning of the letter and handed it over to me.

‘For you.’

To my right beloved cousins Angrod and Aegnor, Lords of Dorthonion..., I read silently. I raised an eyebrow at Angarato, who frowned impatiently.

‘Well, what does he have to say?’

...Maedhros, son of Feanor, sends most cordial greetings. I sighed inwardly and scanned the rest of the letter.

‘What does he want?’ Angarato asked again.

‘The same thing as last time. He requests a meeting to discuss several different matters of security and commerce that have arisen on our eastern border.’

‘You go.’

Angarato is named for iron, iron of mind and iron of fist, and, when there is iron in his voice, as there was then, there has never been any use in arguing. I sighed again, audibly this time.

‘All right.’

***

We were quick to establish traditions in these our new homelands and so I arranged to meet Russandol again in the same place where I had met him last time. A narrow winding path descended from the plateau of the highlands towards the pass of Aglon, barely wide enough for two riders abreast. Halfway down, it broadened into a kind of shelf in the mountain face, large enough for a small camp to be set up more or less exactly where a stroke of our uncle’s pen had drawn the border between Dorthonion and the Marches on a rough map of Beleriand.

Russandol was already there when I arrived. He stood politely awaiting me, tall and straight, his deformity hidden under his dark grey cloak. I expected to see his gaze go past me, seeking Angarato and noting his absence, but apparently he had already noticed it when we were further away and higher up. Or maybe he had deduced from the wording of my letter that I would be coming alone, although I had tried to keep it vague, just in case Angarato changed his mind after all. Russandol greeted me warmly as if it had only ever been myself he was expecting, speaking courteous words of welcome and hospitality, and I gladly accepted his offer of water ready heated for us to wash the stains of travel away and a light meal to follow, both for me and my escort.

It was only later, as my companions busied themselves putting up our own tents and Russandol and I walked by ourselves along the edge of the cliff, out of earshot, that I began to tell him how very busy we were and how very hard Angarato was working to make Dorthonion habitable for our people. And all of that was true, but Russandol turned a knowing glance on me and my voice faltered. I blushed and stammered and knew that my pretence that Angarato’s refusal to respond to Russandol’s letter in any way was completely normal and explicable had failed.

‘You need not try so hard to come up with reasons for Angarato’s absence, you know’, said Russandol gently. ‘I never expected him to come.’

‘You did not?!’, I exclaimed, surprised and feeling rather put out. Last time, he had seemed to swallow my would-be casual explanation whole. ‘But you addressed the letter to both of us, putting his name first…’

Russandol smiled at me. ‘I can be very stubborn. I have to warn you: I’m afraid I will continue to address most of my letters to both of you. Because, you know, you never know…’

This was worse than when I had imagined him oblivious. More than ever, I felt myself caught between my brother and my cousin. It was my brother I wanted to defend, at heart—but my cousin was here, right in front of me, and looking unnervingly unoffended.

‘Well, you know he is still very angry, of course…’

I stopped, distressed. That had not quite come out as I meant it to. Where had that of course come from—and why spoken in that tone? I had not intended to reproach Russandol. There was nothing to be gained by holding the Sons of Feanor at arms’ length, not any longer. I did disagree with Angarato about that…

Russandol lifted his eyebrows. It drew my attention to the faint scars on his cheek and forehead that I had been trying to ignore.

‘I do not believe the reason that Angarato does not want to see me is that he resents me because of Alqualonde or Losgar’, Russandol said calmly. ‘Angarato thinks I should be dead.’

‘No!’, I said, shocked. ‘How can you possibly believe that of him?’

‘How? Aikanaro, I am fortunate that only one member of my family thinks I should be dead. If I were a Sinda, my whole family would think so. People do not come back from Angband, the Sindar say, from bitter experience. But we, being Noldor and descendants of Finwe, have decided it is not true of us…’

‘But, Russandol…! That is absolutely barbaric! Those poor, uneducated, benighted Sindar—of course, they know no better than to shun and even kill Morgoth’s unfortunate victims. But you cannot think… None of us would ever dream… Angarato wouldn’t…’

I stopped spluttering and drew a deep breath.

‘We are of Aman, of the Light’, I said firmly. ‘We grew up in the Time of the Trees. It is our mission to bring civilization to Middle-Earth. The Umanyar will learn to see the error of their ways; they will rid themselves of all their superstitious nonsense under our beneficial influence!’

I had expected Russandol to look gratified and possibly a little impressed at my determined rejection of Sindarin prejudices. I had not expected him to look so astounded; I was not entirely sure whether I should put his astonishment down to admiration…

‘Well’, he said, with a strange kind of hesitation. ‘You are, after all, Findarato’s brother and Findarato is, without a doubt, the most civilized person I know.’

Clearly, he saw me look a little crestfallen and hastened to add: ‘I’m sure the Sindar will appreciate your good intentions, Aikanaro!’

He reached out with his left hand and gave my shoulder a little squeeze—the first time we had touched since my arrival or—come to think of it—since Mithrim.

‘It is late already and will be later by the time you have finished setting up. Let us postpone all serious business until tomorrow, shall we?’, he said. ‘But I would like to hear a little more about how you have been doing, all of you!’

And so, striving for neutral subjects, I told him about our exploration of the pass of Anach, about hunting and fishing around Tarn Aeluin and about Eldalote’s cheese. And Russandol, smiling again, said that he looked forward to trying it when Eldalote was ready to export, and I told him he would get a taste sooner than that, for I had brought some as a gift. So we had it for supper and Russandol was full of praise.

But it was not until I lay on my bed-roll that night—trying to relax in unfamiliar surroundings after what seemed a long day—that it occurred to me that Russandol had not said that the Sindar were wrong in what they believed. It was only I who had.