Sad But True by Ecthelion

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The Unforgiven: Part Two

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All of a sudden, he was pulled back to reality, as if the link to the dream world had been severed by a sharp blade. He sat up abruptly, eyes struggling to focus, but when he finally regained the sense of orientation, he began to tremble.

In front of his eyes was only darkness, and in his hands only air.

He bit his lips and tasted his own blood. He closed his eyes almost desperately, wishing to withdraw from reality again, back into that world he saw so vividly in the dream. All that had come to pass lingered: on his chest was her warmth, and in his arms her shape. Not realizing what he was doing, he ran a finger across his lips and was instantly overwhelmed by a tide of emotion he never thought he still possessed. Loss, anger, sorrow, frustration, helplessness, and bitterness: all streamed in and formed a tremendous eddy, in the center of which he was carried away like a leaf in the rapids.

If it had been a dream, if it had been merely a dream, why on Arda did it feel so real?

He sprang out of bed. Action was his expertise but contemplation was not. Now he must go back, whatever he might have to face.

When he left the fortress of Rerir, all he chose to bring with him was his sword, the sword his father made for every son of Fëanor. In the darkness before dawn, his white stallion galloped across the land of Thargelion like a flash of lightning, and Huan followed as always.

The journey back to Himlad took a whole day. His people were surprised to find him at the gate before the first light appeared in the east, but he did not bother to explain. He simply demanded: 'Where is she?'

He knew that even as one who had seen the Light, he had overused his strength. With little rest, he already felt a weariness building up inside of him, true and heavy. But he ignored it. In the first fire of the sun, his eyes blazed fiercely like burning stars.

'Do you refer to Lady Aredhel, my lord?' The guard's easy tone almost infuriated him. He felt an urge for a moment, of grasping the guard right against the chest and shouting some sense into him, yet he only dismounted from his horse. It was one of those very few moments in his life when he managed to hold his temper. 'Yes. Did you not send to Rerir saying she is here? Aredhel Ar-Feiniel.' Would you ask me next if I am referring to the White Lady of the Noldor?

'Lady Aredhel is gone.'

Reins still in hand, he froze. The last bit of consciousness seemed to have abandoned him, leaving in his mind pure blankness. Unaware of his reaction, the guard continued, and his clear Elven voice sounded extremely remote and bizarre.

'It was the day before yesterday that she decided to leave, just before dawn. There was nothing we could do to change her mind, my lord, although we did try.'

The day before yesterday. Just before dawn. When did I have that dream? How could it be so real?

'After all, this is not the first time she has set off alone. Lady Aredhel kept saying that her life here was no different from the boredom in the Hidden City. She often rode to the forests and fields in the south - alone, for she did not wish to be escorted - and came back safe. We expect nothing different this time.'

You fool, it will be different. It will never be the same again.

'Lord Celegorm?'

He was called back to reality not by the guard but by a gentle nudge from Huan. Inhaling briefly, he found his hands trembling. Maybe he drained all his strength; or maybe...

Without a word, he turned and mounted his horse again. 'Come with me,' he told Huan and directed his stallion to head south, leaving a shocked guard and an exhausting journey behind.

...You will find her. However much effort it will require, or however much time it will take...

He searched. He searched indeed. He searched every inch of the land of Himlad, but she was not there. She seemed to have simply vanished without a trace. He asked all the birds and beasts he met along the way. He sent to Amrod and Amras, even to Caranthir, inquiring of news about her. But the answers were the same: no one had seen her. She had never been to Thargelion or the forests in the south. In the end, he had to wonder if his people had fallen under some strange enchantment, for how could she have come? She should have stayed with her brother in a city no one knew about, which at least was what he had learned. Why would she suddenly come out alone, to look for him, if he betrayed her in Losgar and showed no regret for it?

Nevertheless, his heart told him she had come indeed.

He once passed Nan Elmoth but dismissed the idea that she might be there. Eöl, the Dark Elf who lived in that sunless valley, was known for preferring the Dwarves over the Noldor - in fact, he hated the Noldor, of whom she was doubtlessly one.

He would have taken her back at any cost if he had known she was there. He would have summoned all the troops in Himlad under his command if necessary. He could have erased Nan Elmoth from the map of Beleriand for good and risked another kinslaying - kin? Who is kin to a Dark Elf? - if he had known. If only he had known.

Eventually he had to end the search. When he decided to give up, his mind appeared to be torn into two unrelated halves: one was struggling and screaming in memories and dreams, while the other was detached and filled with indifference.

- I should have gone back. I should have gone back as soon as I learned she came. The fact that she came to look for me was already beyond me. Why did I not trust her?

- You are deceiving yourself again, and you know it. How much longer do you plan to live in lies? She has never given you what you desire. As for this time, did she not destroy your pride a second time and leave you in pain and confusion? It was nothing but her perfect revenge.

At some point, two voices managed to merge into one.

Now you know what you need to do, for you have handled it once.

But why was it so difficult if he merely followed an established path? If experience could help reduce the pain, why was there not even the slightest numbness?

Fortunately, there was always time enough for everything to pass into oblivion.

Nearly thirty years of the Sun later, in the same peaceful days, he received an unusual request in Himlad.

'Lord Celegorm, we have two guests at the gate.' his lieutenant reported. 'They wish to see you, but have refused to reveal their identities.'

Having become bored with his daily routine and sitting now idly behind his big oak desk, he looked up with a little enthusiasm. 'Bold, but interesting.'

'Would you see them then, my lord?'

'Why would I not?' he was not afraid of assassination. As known to all, it was extremely difficult to kill a son of Fëanor, to which his eldest brother could testify. Moreover, he had his sword at his side, and he was very confident of using it effectively at need. 'Send them in.'

Soon afterwards the guests were shown into his chamber. He remained seated and looked them up and down, feeling no need to speak first. They wore grey cloaks and hid their faces under grey hoods, but their bearing was proud and lordly with careless grace, which made them most likely lords of the Grey Elves.

He frowned. Thingol disliked the Noldor in general and loathed the House of Fëanor in particular. What could two Sindar of high status want from a son of Fëanor?

Before starting to question them, he suddenly had a strange foreboding. For a moment, he could not but stare at one of them intensely, caring nothing about courtesy, for those eyes hidden in the shadow were peculiarly disturbing. Had he seen them before? And where had he seen them?

'Celegorm,' said a familiar voice then. 'It has been so long since last time we met.'

He jumped up, so abruptly that he crashed into his desk with an audible thump, but he hardly felt any pain, for all his senses seemed to have departed at once. Right in front of him, the one who just spoke stepped forward, took down the hood, and threw back the cloak. With that, snow-white was released from the bondage of deep grey, so bright that it was almost blinding in the sunlight of midsummer.

Then their eyes met again.

'Irissë.' He blurted out her name, as if he had never tried hard to drive it from his mind. Her name. It was her. It was indeed her. How did he convince himself that he had forgotten her? Did he not see her in his dreams over and over? Now she was here, no less beautiful than she was in his memory, hardly changed a bit.

No. His senses began to come back. Something is different. Maybe it was because she called him by his Sindarin name. It was strange to hear it from her, almost a sign that indicated an end of all that had passed.

But how could there be an end when there was never a beginning? And if there was truly no beginning, why did his dream of her feel more real than any truth he had learned?

'You look unchanged.' she interrupted his wild train of thought, after fixing her eyes on him for a little while. 'Yet for us, no change is expected.'

The magic dissipated. Ages ago on the green plains of Valinor, she said exactly the same words, also after a long separation from each other. At that time she rejected him with mockery, though later apologized, while he refused her apology with pride, though his pride was marred ever after.

Stop lying to yourself. A dream is a dream, nothing more.

He straightened himself and recollected some composure. Not until then did he notice her companion, who had been standing quietly behind her: a handsome boy, tall and strong, fair-skinned and dark-haired like her, in all ways appearing to be one of the Noldor. Still looking at her, he casually referred to the boy. 'Is he your guar—'

'No,' she interrupted him. 'Not only my guard. He is my son.'

He found what she said incomprehensible at first. With great effort, piece by piece, he put her words together. As the understanding grew, he felt chilled to the bones and eventually saw the picture. He stared at her again, and this time everything fell into place - how could he possibly have been so blind? In her eyes he saw the shadow of it, and in her voice he heard the echo of it: a permanent bond, irreversible and unbreakable, by life or death, together or apart, as long as Arda endured, until the end of days.

He had wished to share a bond like that with her, but she first refused him relentlessly, and then gave it to someone else, without even informing him as a brother and friend.

He looked at the boy and back at her. She met his gaze directly, proud and stubborn, with challenge in her eyes. Suddenly he found himself detached from the world, and something shielded his heart from reality, like smoke wrapping around fire.

'Celegorm, this is M—' she started.

'Wait, Aredhel.' he snapped. 'If I wish to know someone's name, I should ask him directly.' watching her closely, he continued. 'So I would not be rude.'

I would forget nothing you have said to me.

All of a sudden, the dream of her came to his mind, more vivid than ever. It thrust into his chest a spear of pain, at the point of which was his twitching heart, and he wondered why he still suffered if he could not feel any longer.

She did not expect his words and was rendered speechless. He saw the look on her face and recognized part of it: surprise, hesitation, and compassion - no, not exactly, for there was no compassion. Then what was it? Could it be regret?

'Lord Celegorm,' it was a third voice that broke the silence. 'I am Maeglin.'

The boy's voice was deep, melodic, and persuading, well beyond his age. Such a voice itself could serve its owner as a special power, which he had witnessed in his family. But what caught his attention was the boy's eyes: dark, not of the Calaquendi, yet extremely perceptive and penetrating, sharp indeed. Immediately he found himself hating those eyes. A simple glance of them could pick up unguarded thoughts and spy out secrets deeply buried. He hated those eyes, and hated even more their owner. You should not have existed, he thought. You should not have existed. In the scarlet wound just torn open in his heart, those dark eyes planted seeds of dark flames.

'My father is Eöl of Nan Elmoth.' continued the boy.

Eöl? The Dark Elf hiding in the dark forests of Nan Elmoth, always hostile towards the Noldor? No. Deep inside, dark flames sparked and crackled, licking the redness around. It cannot be. You should not have existed. You should not have existed.

But he remained calm on the surface. He had not learned nothing from Curufin in all these years. 'Did your father send you here?'

'No, my lord. On the contrary, we disobeyed him.' The boy then gave a full account of what happened, plain but precise. They wished to visit their Noldorin kin, but they were forbidden to do so. Several days ago, Eöl accepted an invitation and left for Nogrod to join the Dwaves for a feast, so they decided to take the chance to return to the Hidden City. However, the servants of Eöl watched them closely, and they had to name their destination as Himlad. Therefore, Eöl would learn their whereabouts, and Eöl's own horse was faster than theirs.

He fixed his eyes on her while the boy was speaking. The echo of words flowed past his heart like cool water, easing urges and suppressing anger. As dark flames stopped spreading in his heart, his mood also softened. Am I mistaken then? Since you wish to escape from him, does that mean you have regretted?

She did not flinch; instead, she held her head high. Once you said the House of Fëanor would never change their hearts. Now I say the House of Fingolfin is not different. I leave him now for the freedom of my son and myself, which has nothing to do with my heart.

He read her thoughts, for she set no guard around them. She wants me to know. Instantly, dark flames flared from blood and flesh, whirling and blasting, like dying ember supplied with fresh fuel. So this is how she took her revenge on me, her real revenge.

Miraculously, he still kept his face unperturbed. When the boy finished, he even managed a smile. 'As my kin, you will certainly get good horses here - actually the best ones.'

'Thank you, my lord.' the boy lowered his head.

You should not have existed. Behind the desk, he clenched his fists, until all the finger joints turned pale. You should not have existed. Yet he heard his own voice calling in his lieutenant and giving an order, as if nothing had happened. 'See to all the needs of Lady Aredhel and...Maeglin. Now.'

His lieutenant, who had been waiting outside, nodded and then opened the door for her and her son. She glanced at him before she moved, but he paid no heed. Although he was watching, everything seemed to be scattered into pieces in his eyes, illogical and meaningless. Indifferently, he watched her and her son. She turned to leave and lingered a second at the door, but she did not look back. Her son simply followed her out.

He watched until the door closed behind them. Before its sound died away he had drawn his sword, teeth clenched. A familiar urge overwhelmed him. His heart was screaming silently in the raging dark fire, and once again he understood what his father must have felt when he made the decision of rebellion against the Valar. They both lost the most important things in their lives, and the only difference was that in the madness of rage and grief his father believed they could achieve their vengeance without aid, while he knew clearly that what he wanted had completely fallen out of his grasp, to regain which there was indeed no hope.

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Chapter End Notes

Thus ends my speculation of why Celegorm lingered at Rerir when Aredhel went to Himlad to find him. According to The Silmarillion, she had stayed in Himlad for months before she got lost in Nan Elmoth.

Aredhel's second visit to Himlad was not recorded in The Silmarillion. The story here referred to a text in HoMe 11, in which Celegorm offered not only good horses but also a promise of 'other aid'.