Such Great Deeds by Himring

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Chapter 2: Eithel Sirion (I)

Beleg and Mablung arrive in Barad Eithel in order to join Fingon's army. They are late arrivals, trying to find their feet and assess the situation.
Features a short appearance by Cirdan.

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‘Elu Thingol generously gave us leave to come,’ said Mablung smoothly, ‘seeing that we regretted having no part in such great deeds.’

The face of the High King of the Noldor went blank for a moment.

‘He’s learned to conceal his emotions,’ thought Beleg, half relieved, half regretfully.

Then Fingon smiled and, whatever thought had just passed through his mind, his smile was still as warm as it had once been at the time of the Mereth Aderthad.

‘And glad we shall be to have the heroes of the Battle of Brethil fighting on our side,’ he proclaimed, ‘for tidings of the deeds done at the Crossings of Teiglin have reached our ears and your reputation has gone before you. You dealt the forces of Angband a grievous blow there! We rejoice that you are willing to strike at the Dark Foe again on our behalf!’

He stepped forward and down off the dais, having thus taught the assembled Eldar and Edain what to think of the new arrivals from Doriath. Some were hastily banishing expressions of deep disappointment from their faces, Beleg saw. But Fingon Fingolfinion came towards them, hands outstretched.

‘Welcome, Mablung,’ he said, simply. ‘Welcome, Beleg.’

Almost, thought Beleg, as if they were not seeing each other face-to-face for the first time since they had met at the Mereth Aderthad.

***

Cirdan had come and gone.

Having spent several hours closeted with Fingon in private conversation in the afternoon, he also made time to talk privately to Mablung and Beleg. It was late and he was due to leave again the next day. As he entered the quarters they had been given, he dismissed his two Falathren companions. At first he rejected the beaker of dry white wine Beleg offered him, courtesy of Fingon’s hospitality. But then he changed his mind and accepted it after all. Wine in hand, he strolled over to the window and leant out over the sill. Beleg wondered whether Cirdan was pondering what to say or checking that there was nobody within earshot—maybe it was both? They had met regularly in recent years, but never away from Menegroth, and Beleg had been conscious of a feeling of constraint, as if Cirdan increasingly felt impelled to keep his opinions to himself. Or perhaps it was  Beleg who had no longer felt able to talk freely?

Cirdan took a deep breath of moist night air that almost came out a sigh and turned back towards Beleg and Mablung.

‘I had asked him to wait, you know,’ he said. ‘Well perhaps not precisely that, but I suggested to him strongly that there might be reasons for waiting, for putting off the attack. Not now, not today, of course—this was before…

'And he asked me,' Cirdan said, evidently quoting from memory, 'Fingon asked me: “Wait for what? If you give me a good reason to believe that there’s something worth waiting for, that in a decade or two or three we will have a better chance of holding our own against Angband than we do now, I promise I will consider it. Do you think Thingol will change his mind, if I wait twenty years? Will Orodreth? Cirdan, will waiting do anything for us but give the Dark Foe time to build up his forces again, even more? Do you think Morgoth is so abashed at Luthien’s one, single victory that he has given up his far-reaching plans and is now cowering harmlessly behind his Iron Throne for fear she just might take it into her head to don her bat costume again?"

"And, Cirdan”, he said, “Cirdan, remember how much we have come to depend on mortal allies! I might ask my cousins to delay—although they might in turn argue that we have already delayed too much—but the Edain and Easterlings are a different case. They do not have the life of the Eldar. In twenty years, Hurin, on whose aid I am relying, will be twenty years older. In twenty years, the eastern alliance my cousins established could have fallen apart again, untested…”’

Cirdan’s voice trailed off. He took a mouthful of his wine, as if he was trying to wash down the aftertaste of that conversation. He studied their faces. Did he fear he had said too much? They stood in silence for a moment. We are in unfamiliar territory, thought Beleg, and it has nothing to do with how many days' journey it is from here to Neldoreth. He looked at Mablung. But Mablung was steadily watching Cirdan, waiting for him to continue.

‘I told Fingon, earlier,’ Cirdan said. ‘I’m telling you as well. If things should go wrong—there will be ships waiting. I’ll be sending them up the Firth of Drengist as far as they can go and there will be others waiting off the coast of Nevrast, where the Gate of the Noldor opens out towards the sea.  But they cannot wait for long, those ships! Because you know—if that is what happens, if the need should arise—I will have to look to my own defences. Urgently...’

He drained his beaker.

‘They were good years, you know, in a way’ he said, ‘despite everything. Although I guess Elu might think it disloyal  to my own kindred for me to say so, as they were Kinslayers who helped to keep the orcs from my doorstep.’

He shrugged, walked to the door and stopped there.

‘Forget what I said. In no way am I eating my heart out over these folk! And in any case, of course, I firmly believe we shall win.’

‘We will not say a word to anyone,’ Mablung assured him and Beleg nodded silently in confirmation.

‘May the Belain forgive me,’ said Cirdan. ‘There’s his son awaiting me in Eglarest, young Ereinion—expecting me to bring him news of his father. I’m not sure I know what to tell him! I guess I will tell him nothing at all yet, if I can help it, just hand over his father’s latest letter. And we shall see what the outcome is, soon enough.’

 

***

 

As they were making their way through an intricate series of busy courtyards and down yet another winding passageway back to their own lodgings, Mablung said quietly to his companion: ‘Beleg? I believed I had a fair idea of what we were getting ourselves into, but I’m less sure of myself now…’

‘Yes’, said Beleg, a little vaguely. He was finding it hard to shake off his impressions of their visit with Hurin and Huor. The brothers had recently returned to Eithel Sirion, so Beleg and Mablung had taken the first opportunity to renew the acquaintance and to pass on a message from Gloredhel, their aunt in Brethil. Hurin and Huor had grown to impressive stature, physically and mentally. In itself, that was not unexpected, of course. Beleg had heard reports of Hurin’s great personal valour and also of his leadership qualities that had done much to save the day during the Dark Foe’s last incursion into Hithlum. It was striking, nevertheless, to one who had last laid eyes on Hurin as a mere stripling--and not so long ago, it seemed. The brothers had been brave boys at the time of the Battle of Brethil, certainly, but nevertheless boys, children…

In twenty years, Hurin, on whose aid I am relying, will be twenty years older, Fingon had said.

Mablung beside him made a small embarrassed sound. Beleg guessed the confession had cost him something to make and he had expected it to receive more attention.

‘Yes,’ he responded again, now fully alert. ‘You can never know what is on the other side of the mountain range till you’ve climbed it, can you?’

‘A bit of ancient wisdom from the Long March, Old One?’ asked Mablung, smiling.

‘Don’t knock the old sayings,’ said Beleg. ‘They are often the true ones. But I’m beginning to wonder whether I should have encouraged you to come.’

‘You encouraged me?’ exclaimed Mablung. ‘It was I who insisted, surely? It was I who went and badgered Thingol!’

‘You were the more vocal, yes,’ said Beleg, nodding. ‘I was the more determined. And I think Elu knew it.’

‘Is that so? Whatever—I don’t regret having insisted, Beleg,’ said Mablung seriously. ‘I may be feeling out of my depth, but I don’t regret being here and I’ll face things as they come. But I’m glad you’re with me. I’m glad I’m not here alone.’

Nobody was watching the strangers from Doriath, Beleg thought. And in any case, why care whether they were watching and what they thought?

He put his hand on Mablung’s shoulder and briefly they leaned together, their foreheads touching, in the darkening passageway.