The Songs: A Story of East Beleriand by Himring

Chapter 5: Negotiations (I)

They rode a short way as fast as the horses would go. After that, with the fisherwoman out of sight behind them and still no signs of the camp in sight yet, Maedhros slowed a little and almost immediately, out of the corner of his eye, saw Celvandil edging across as if trying to catch his attention. He realized Celvandil wished to speak and slowed further until they could converse side by side.

‘My lord,’ asked Celvandil swiftly and quietly in Quenya, ‘although it seems we have, by great good luck, found the Grey Elves and their famed healer, what shall we say to them? How shall we persuade her to come with us? We are strangers and this is a patient she has never met before! And, if Bronadui has guessed right, will we not be forced to reveal what may have caused the condition we are asking her to deal with? But is there not a risk to that?’

More than one risk, he probably meant, but he was hesitating to spell any of them out, even in Quenya, here where the very bushes might have the sharpest of ears.

‘Maybe. And maybe we could have discussed that part with Bronadui more thoroughly before we set out,’ answered Maedhros. ‘I think we would still have to take things as we find them, though, so follow my lead in this as best you can. I am hoping, myself, that fellow feeling for the plight of one of their own people alone will be enough to carry weight and the distance is not so far. But our Huntress is not of their tribe and Hisilome may seem quite another country to them.’

And maybe, thought Maedhros only a short time later, the bushes had indeed had ears and even that short quiet exchange in Quenya, although not understood as words, had been enough to engender distrust by its tone. But it was more likely, merely, that they could not have luck all the way, as they had had with the forager they had encountered first. As simple as that.

He was facing four Sindarin clansmen who were clearly closely related and at least two of which might be twins, although it seemed probable that the identical scowls all of them were wearing on their faces were making them look more alike than they were. Apparently, Maedhros’s Sindarin was a good deal worse than he had thought, especially when his audience was not prepared to make allowances for a Mithrim accent. The conversation had been going around in circles for a while.

They had regarded him suspiciously from the first; their distrust had flared when he mentioned their healer and from the moment they had guessed he might be hoping to take her somewhere with him, he had failed to get anywhere with them. They would not listen to anything he might say. They would not let him speak to the healer. They formed a living shield attempting to bar him even from view of their camp and would not let him pass to try and speak to anybody else at all.

He had exhausted all his diplomacy on them, so he raised his voice and asked: ‘Are you, then, spokesmen for all your people? Do you truly speak for the healer herself?’

It seemed that his voice carried as he had intended. An incisive female voice called out: ‘Stop fussing, Tirn! Let me speak to the strangers.’

The man who apparently was the one familiarly addressed as Tirn stepped aside, discomfited, and the others followed suit. Maedhros thanked them, much relieved and carefully unironical, and quickly walked on past, Celvandil close upon his heels.

The woman who had spoken was easy to identify, a focus of authority, the rest of the group clustering about her respectfully. She also had the silver hair that among the Sindar sometimes went with a degree of power.

‘Why do you wish to speak to me, elf from overseas?’ she asked. ‘Who do you seek my aid for?’

He bowed politely. He must not make a wrong move now. How should he address her? He would have called her My lady, but in his experience some Grey Elves disliked that, considering it pretentious and southern. He made a guess.

‘Honourable aunt,’ he began, as they did in Mithrim.

‘Aunt?’ said the healer and laughed.

It seemed he had guessed wrong. Luckily, she seemed amused rather than offended.

‘What should I call you, then?’ asked Maedhros.

‘Oh, Auntie will do!’

Now she was teasing him. Maedhros, even without looking, felt Celvandil bristle behind him. He wondered whether he was obliged to stand on his dignity, for the sake of his people, here, but discarded the notion. Regardless of Celvandil’s feelings surely his chances were better if he allowed himself to play along.

‘Auntie,’ he said, ‘Auntie, please, I need your help for someone who is dear to me. She is of your people, of the Eglath of Mithrim, and she is in grave danger of her life.’

Chapter End Notes

"Tirn" is a nickname due to this Sinda's attitude to his relative, not his real name. It means "Guardian".

An earlier version of this chapter was written in the form of a double drabble and submitted to Tolkien Weekly for "Terms of Address (My Lord; My Lady)" and to Legendarium Ladies April for "Intercultural Relations" and " "Skills".

My character Auntie has now been drawn by Anerea! And with particular reference to the scene above and her amused reaction to Maedhros's choice of address!

The drawing is here on Tumblr: link

Do have a look!