Sharpen your swords, O Elves of Nargothrond by maeglin

Tirion, Years of the Trees 1475

"Alatatar, why was Prince Nolofinwë sitting to the right of the King? Is that not Prince Feänaro's place?"

The times were not entirely untroubled, so Anwë considered his answer carefully.

"You have seen me seated at Ingwë's right hand. Is it not Ingwion's place?"

"But you're Ingwë's own brother!  Besides, Prince Ingwion was away."

"And Feänaro is in the North, seeking gems.  Nolofinwë, as second in line, serves in Feänaro's stead, as I serve in Ingwion's.  It is entirely proper."

Laurefin seemed satisfied, and the two continued walking back towards the High King's tower. But the boy was ever curious when it came to matters of lordship, and Anwë eager to teach. Who could say, after all, that the young one would not someday lead his own House?

"And did you not wonder who sat so quietly at Finwë's left? That is the Queen's place, is it not?"

"Lord Arattorë, of course!  Queen and Heir are as the left and right hand of a King, but the First Councillor serves in the Queen's absence."

"You are correct, but that was not Arattorë.  It was Lord Bruithwir."

"A lesser councillor, then?" The boy's forehead wrinkled. "But that would be … against protocol, would it not? Should the seat not have simply been left empty?"

"Finwë never errs in matters of protocol. Think. Who is a lord's right hand?"

"His heir, of course.  My grandfather sits at yours, and my father at his, and I at my father's."

"Just so, indyondo.  Ingwë's and Olwë's fathers remained in the Outer Lands. Finwë's followed him here."

"Bruithwir is the King's father?"

"Indeed. You wonder why you have not seen him before, and did not even know who he was?"

"Has he been away from Tirion since before I was born?"

Anwë laughed, not entirely merrily. Bruithwir never ventured far from Tirion these days.

"Consider, Lauron.  A wise lord never withholds advice from his heir.  A wise heir does not gainsay his father.  Yet Finwë is the King, and must rule all of the Noldor according to his own will. What would you do in Bruithwir's stead?"

The boy thought as they walked, allowing several minutes to pass before replying. 

"I would stay away from councils, or at least stay silent in them. I would give my son advice, but no one would ever know whether he took it."

"Just so. Remember that. A day may come when our people establish new realms. Ingwë and the senior princes are all content with what they have, so if that day ever comes, it will be our sons or grandsons, or perhaps their sons, who become Kings."

Anwë smiled and winked at the boy, but did not fail to mark the similarity of this day's lesson to one he'd received from his own father, Imin, not long after Oromë had made himself known to the Elves of Cuiviénen. He wondered once more whether he would ever see the Outer Lands again, and for the first time, the thought gave him a chill.

Chapter End Notes

Laurefin is, of course, Glorfindel.

"Alatatar" and "indyondo" are my best efforts at the Quenya words for "great-grandfather" and "great-grandson."

Tolkien never says Ingwë was Unbegotten, so here I'm made him the son of Imin (the first Elf to awake at Cuivenen), and given him a brother, Anwë.  Glorfindel is a Noldo, of course, but presumably has plenty of Vanyarin blood, so I took the liberty of making a descendant of that brother.

This story is set 20 Valian Years (equivalent to about 195 Sun-Years) before the Darkening, and I imagine Glorfindel as being a half-grown boy here, equivalent to a 10-year-old human.

Doriath, YoS 465

I knelt briefly before Thingol, then rose.  Never before had I feared to do his duty to my liege, but times were changing.

"You did poorly, my King."

Thingol, shocked for a moment by the blunt rebuke, hesitated a few seconds before replying, evenly, "How so?"

"The Mortal, you mishandled him doubly."  

The King looked tired.  "So the Queen tells me."

"What does she tell you?"

"That I have doomed Luthien to suffering, and invited the wrath of the Feanorians, if not the Valar."

"That may be, but I came to speak of more immediate concerns."

At that, Thingol stood up, and looked sternly down on me.  "I have done yet more harm?"

I cringed, but knew it was my duty to bring the grim news.  "Many of the people are shocked that you would offer Luthien for a jewel, as though she were..." 

"Beren will not return!" he bellowed.  "Did I not make plain that not for all the riches of  Ennor would I give Luthien to one unworthy?"

"Of course," I replied, "but the rumor spreads through your lands all the same.  And ...."

"And?  There is yet more?"

"And others are of like mind with you as to the worthiness of Beren and the chances of his return, but say that nonetheless it was an ill thing to send him to torment in Angband.  What was he but a witless, misguided child?  If his actions merited death, better the swift sword of mercy from us than what he will face in the hands of the Enemy."

"Such was your earlier council to me, in private.  Whence came these rumors?"

"Not from me, Lord." I replied, appalled at the suggestion.  "Have I ever served you with less than my full heart?"

"Nay.  Ever you have served well, Saeros. Forgive me - our troubles weigh heavily.  Truly.  What is your council?"

I tried to give a diplomatic turn to the substance of what I had to say, but for once failed, and the words came out in a rush.

"Stop driving friends and allies away!  First Eöl left, and most were glad to be rid of him.  But we still have none who can match his skills.  And since then, you have heeded those who say aught against your decisions less with each passing year!  How long since you lent your ear to Elmo?  Your own brother, who held our people back for your sake!  He knows he is forgotten and dwells on the south-border.  His descendants and their families - they are yet loyal, but you try them!  In all this appalling business, where were Galadhon, Galathil, and Celebornl?  Do we even know?  They all hold the respect of the people, to say nothing of being princes of the realm."

"Which of our lords and captains still stand close by you, my King?  Beleg, Mablung and I.  Few others.  And even Beleg wavers.  Beleg!  The mere thought is unimaginable, to voice it almost treasonous, but I am sorry to say it is true!"

"And, though there will be no open rebellion, if you do not take action to stem this tide, many will simply leave.  And the ones that leave, on balance, will be more spirited than those who remain.  Talk spreads again, particularly in the South and the East, that the Girdle is an ill thing, at least as ... it is currently used."

"And - " here I suppose I must have llooked truly fearful - "Daeron has gone mad!  I've begged him for many long-years to let go his foolish longing for Luthien, and take a wife like the rest of us.  Being what and who he is, he could have any unattached elleth in these woods, save only Luthien, but he would never listen to reason.  And now he is..." 

Words failed.

At the mention of Daeron, Thingol's defiant countenance faded into a morosity singularly unfit for the Elf he once had been.  "Poor Daeron - ever was he my friend as well.  What curse is laid upon him, I do not know.  Nay, I know all too well, and though it is one for which few will lay blame at my feet, I regret it the most.  Luthien's beauty is as a rock on which many good men have broken themselves.  Though most have moved on, sensibly, not all can.  Most are unimportant, but Daeron is vital.  Doriath needs him, even more than Mablung, perhaps as much as Beleg.  They are all irreplaceable."

"She must marry, my King.  If she loves Daeron not, she must choose another.  A troublesome jewel may be buried, but it would be better to set a guard on it to warn others off.  And, though you are King, you cannot be that guard - only a husband can.  Though of course none wish Luthien to come to grief, and she in turn means no harm to any of us, I must say that our realm is coming to harm because of her."  

"And whom would you recommend for her?"

Daeron, of course!  Or at least I would, had your daughter's long toying with his heart not finally ruined him!   But such words, even Melian dared not say to Thingol.  I sighed, knowing I had already said too much.  Yet I must answer, and there were indeed other fitting options.

"If our laws permitted it, Beleg.  Alyri his wife was slain so long ago by the Hunter, or whatever evil creatures stalked the woods in the very earliest days, that our laws seem cruel, and designed to punish the guiltless.  Was Beleg not already a widower even in your youth, my King?"

"Yes, but that law, even I cannot set aside, Saeros, as well you know.  Have we not seen enough would-be couples pleading before us, and have I not denied them all, sending them away with naught but empty words of pity and cold comfort?  Few of my duties have been more painful, but that law is the doom of all the Quendi, not only of the Sindar."

"I question the truth of that, my Lord.  Not your sincerity, only your interpretation of what must be.  The Avari do not obey that law, and little harm has come to them.  Even some of my Nandorin kin have broken it and remarried, saying they do not believe their spouses imprisoned in Badhron's halls wish them either to remain forever lonely here in Ennor or to follow them into death needlessly.  Nor do they believe that that is the Valar's intent.  I myself do not believe either fate was intended for one such as Beleg.  He is worthy of your daughter.  Kind, yet strong enough not to be overwhelmed by her."

Thingol now grimaced, and I  saw an untoward look of pain pass over his face. But he said only, "Even so, I may not overturn that law for those who dwell within my bounds."

"As you wish, Sire."

"I will think on your words, Saeros."

"Thank you."

"I wish your wife and all your family well, as ever.  Please tell them that.  You may go to them now; I have no more need for you today."

Throat constricted, I nodded and took my leave.

It was all coming to an end.

Chapter End Notes

I've always wondered how Saeros, who must have at one time been worthy of his position as one of Thingol's counsellors, grew so bitter by the time he's introduced in the Silm.

The discussion of the Laws and Customs near the end owes much to Jael's wonderful "All Lies and Jest."

"Luthien's beauty is as a rock on which many good men have broken themselves." echoes Sam's famous quote from TTT about Galadriel: "But perhaps you could call her perilous because she's so strong in herself. You could dash yourself to pieces on her, like a ship on a rock, or drown yourself, like a Hobbit in a river, but neither rock nor river would be to blame."  What's true for Galadriel must have been even more so for Luthien, and Daeron indeed does drown himself.  But as Sam says, Luthien's not to blame.

Doriath, YoS 472

The King of the Sindar shook his head angrily.

"I forbid you to go.  You will not march with those betrayers of our kin."

Beleg looked at Elu, just stared into his eyes, his features growing colder than a starless midwinter night.

Elu, standing not three feet from the warrior, stared back, or rather down - being the tallest of the Children of Illuvatar had its advantages.  The King's wrath could be terrible, and it was most certainly gathering.  Great power shone from eyes of the one who had been chosen, who had seen the Trees.  A will mighty enough to cow any of his subjects ... or almost any.

"You forbid me?"  came the reply, finally.  "I think not."

"All those in Doriath, all, are subject to my command.  You will hear my words, Beleg!"  

"Once we were Kwendi.  All of us.  Perhaps for most of us, that has changed," the Unbegotten replied, "but not for me.  Those in Doriath, you say, are yours to command.  That is true, and rightly so.  Outside of Doriath, however, we are free to do as we wish.  All are."  The last words were almost whispered.

Elu's eyes gleamed strongly enough to cast faint shadows on his recalcitrant Marchwarden's face.  "You will fight alongside those murderers, then?"

"Against the one who murdered Finwë your friend, the same one who murdered Alyri my wife, and countless other Kwendi besides?  Yes, I surely will."

"Goodbye, my King.  If I return, I hope to find welcome here in these woods.  But if not, there are others who might make better use of my bow."

With that, Beleg Cuthalion turned on his heels and departed, destined for unnumbered tears.  

Chapter End Notes

"Kwendi" is the Primitive-Elvish equivalent of "Quendi", meaning all the Elves.  "Tatyar" and "Nelyar" are the second and third groups to awaken at Cuiviénen, who later became the Noldor and the Teleri/Sindar/Nandor.

Shortly after his arrival in Nargothrond, YoS 490

"Well met, Turin son of Hurin."

The look on the Man's face was both priceless and pitiful.  "How... how came you by that name?"

The Elf, who had been waiting comfortably in Turin's chambers, shifted forward in his chair.  "Your name is written plainly enough in your thoughts, for those who would see."

"How came you here?  And through a locked door.  That is the work of outlaws, not the Noldor."

A quiet chuckle.  "And are there no outlaws among the Noldor?  But here, at least, I am not outlaw.  Merely one who is fond of doors and locks, and wishes to speak with you."

Turin closed the door behind him.  "Very well.  But I would know your name."

"Agarwaen son of Umarth.  Or, if you prefer, Celebrimbor son of Curufin son of Feanor."

Silence for a moment.  "I see.  And why are you here?"

"To speak with you, of course.  Why else?"

"But why not at table, or, since you must be a lord, your chambers?"

"Those would not be proper for the discussion I wish."

"A serious matter, then."

"Yes.  I would seek your aid."

A grim laugh.  "Then you are a fool, for all who seek that come to grief."

"I will come to grief whether I am a fool or not.  As will you.  Why, then, should I fear to ask a boon?"

"I have little to offer except service to Nargothrond in battle.  Dor-lomin is fallen, and I am now lord of no one, save myself."

"You are the lord of less than that, for the moment, but your service in battle is of great worth."

"I have already offered my sword to the King, as you must know, so what boon could you ask?  I have only one life to give."

"There are two parties in Nargothrond.  One, the people of Finarfin, who are for the most part, shall we say, not overbold in heart.  You have seen Orodreth.  The other party, those of my people who followed my father and uncle here, escaping from Dagor Bragollach.  We are bold, to excess.  Much like yourself."

Turin motioned for Celebrimbor to continue.

"The problem is that the first party greatly outnumbers the second."

"You would have me set strife here then?  I have had more than enough of that, but why would you want such strife when we should be fighting Angband?"

"I want no strife within Nargothrond.  And few hate Angband more than I."

"What mean you then?"

"You are the mightiest warrior here.  Nargothrond can choose, as the King favors, to hide, and wait for aid from the Valar.  Or it can choose to go forth in battle while our lives last.  It is plain that you would choose the latter.  But you are only one man."

"I am only one man, you say, but in battle I am worth many.  Yet still you have asked no boon."

"Can you not guess it?  I had heard your mind was as sharp as your blade.  Is it?"

A scowl.  "Then you should also have heard that I am not one to patiently play word-games.  Speak plainly!"

"Very well.  The boon is thus.  Lead by example, and help the people of this city to understand that arms are indeed the best wall against Morgoth.  I cannot, for my skill in battle is small, at least in the wielding of weapons.  Forging them is another matter, but it is the wielding that wins renown."

Now Turin laughed.  "I, an example?  The slayer of my greatest friend?  The captain who led his men to ruin?  The ungrateful fosterling?"

"Beleg's death is held by all to be an ill chance.  You are not the only one here who has slain Elves, either by the sword or with fell words, but you are the only one who is not blamed for it.  The lesser party here cannot sway the greater, because of such grievances.  The grievances themselves are just, but nonetheless our approach to fighting Morgoth is the better.  You can sway the people of this city if you are clever.  There is great might and courage in the people of Finarfin, but it is also very difficult to awaken them from their present slumber.  Finrod himself failed to do so."

"I have heard the blame for that lies at the feet of your own father and uncle."

Celebrimbor stood and strode silently towards Turin, stopping within a foot of his face,  Being a head shorter, that was as close as he could get without touching him.  Elf faced Man, the former holding the latter's eyes, utterly without fear.  Turin wondered, for few now looked on him without apprehension.

Celebrimbor held this posture for a long moment before replying.  "You have heard correctly.  But not all of us have gone mad.  You, Turin, are far closer to madness than I.  Should I fear you?  Ha!  Of course not, for you agree with what I say.  It is only your enemies, those who disagree with you, and those you love, who need fear you.  I am none of those."

Turin glared down at the Feanorian.  "Fell words.  Those, your kin are known for.  But you speak the truth."

"And you hold truth in high esteem.  The truth, then, Turin son of Hurin son of Galdor, is that while we cannot hope to defeat Morgoth, at least we may assail him.  But Nargothrond will not do so unless you lead it into battle.  And you will not lead it into battle unless you convince its people you are worthy to do so.  And the way to doing that, lies first through my people.  Win our respect, and you will win that of the others, or at least the majority.  Not as quickly as you would prefer, but in the blink of an eye as we account it."

"You seek to use me for your own ends.  Though we are of the same mind on this matter, I do not like it.  Though mortal, I am no child."

"Then you would know why I seek to 'use' you, as you put it?"

"I would."

"Because I hate Morgoth.  Anything I can do to harm him, I call good."

Turin laughed.  This Elf was unlike any others he had met.  "Well said, my fell friend!  I shall do as you suggest.  If indeed there are others of like mind here, we will do great harm to him, before we die."

"That is my hope.  As he laid a curse on your father's kin, so his deeds led to a curse being laid on all of my kin, even the fair people of Finrod, who were indeed as blameless as the young children of Hurin.  For that, he must pay."

With that, Celebrimbor departed, leaving Turin alone to his thoughts.

Chapter End Notes

Celebrimbor would know a curse of a Vala when he saw one.  And Turin must have had help in winning supporters.

"Secrecy is not finally possible: arms are the only wall against Morgoth" - Turin, The Children of Hurin

The reunion in Tirion was more than Galadriel had dared to hope for.  Celebrian was well and whole.  Nolofinwë and many of his House had been reembodied, and Galadriel found her father was glad to be rid of the Kingship he had never sought. 

All brimmed with joy at her return.  Many had been born long after the Exile, and Galadriel found her tales of both Ennor and the Time of the Trees in great demand.  It was awkward to again be a subordinate after so many years as a ruler, but suffering some minor insults to her pride was hardly a burden after three Ages of fighting Morgoth and Sauron! 

And all of her brothers were back!  Finda, with Amarië and their children by his side, was happier than ever.  Angarato fairly sparkled whenever his newly returned son and grandson were about.  Artaresto and Aikanaro were as she remembered, ever in petty quarrels, yet inseparable.  Her parents' eyes particularly shone at the sight of their family whole again after so many years of agony.

Innumerable cousins also renewed acquaintainces..  Soon enough she had  laughed and sung with her mother's side of the family, of both branches, from Olwë and Elu on down.  Death indeed sat lightly on the likes of the Greymantle, and Beleg Cuthalion who was again his Marchwarden, though the latter longed for his proper home in Ennor.

Even some she had not expected to see came to greet her: the Ambarussa, Tyelkormo, and most surprisingly, Carnistir.  The latter had explained in his typical fashion: "Mandos made a mistake," and had maintained a grim facade for several minutes before laughing and embracing her.  They had talked for hours.  It seemed that this was a place of healing indeed....

 But not all came to Tirion.  Amroth was nowhere to be found, nor was he in Namo's Halls, but since she had long suspected that her son had chosen to remain Houseless, this grief was not a shock.

More disconcerting was the absence of Indis and her relatives.  Finally, she asked her father.  "Atar, where is Daernaneth?"

 He frowned.  "At the foot of Taniquetil, with the rest of the Vanyar."

"They will not come?"

 "No."

"Are they much occupied?"  Vanyar were known for their love of family, and must be in the midst of something crucial if they could not visit. 

At that he laughed bitterly. "Occupied?  Nay.  They do naught but 'glory in the light', as they put it.  That is all they have done since we returned from the War."

"Is Ingwë still High King?" 

"Supposedly."  In truth Ingwë had been effectively unkinged when he declined to sail to that war, and the Vanyar had followed Eonwë directly ever since, but this was not openly spoken of in Tirion, even among princes.  "But he has not given either myself or Nolo any direction or even taken council with us since Eru dealt with the Numenoreans." 

"So they do naught?"  Galadriel was astonished.  

"They still sing their songs and tend their fields, but they are not as you remember.  In fact, daughter, I do not advise that you go to see them.  My last visits were most upsetting.  It is as if they are losing control over their own feär."  

"They are fading then?  Here?"  She shuddered at the thought. Her father had not seen many Elves fade, and perhaps had misinterpreted something - otherwise his words made no sense.  Or perhaps the Vanyar no longer had need of hroär, and were fading in the other manner long foretold.  But that was not supposed to happen yet!  Was the time of the Elves ending even in the Blessed Realm? 

Arafinwë embraced his youngest child.  "Nay, I know what fading is.  Nor is it the other - Dagor Dagorath is not upon us.  But this is ill enough!  Their hroär are as fair as ever, but their feär are ... slipping away!  I doubt Amille would even recognize you without prompting.  Have you ever seen one who was grievously wounded, and though healed in body, became thrall to the poppy-medicine?  We had a few among our people after the War.  But the Vanyar are nearly all like that now, though there is no poppy there that eyes can see.  That special spirit they once had, which so enchanted us, is utterly gone.  Please, do not go to Valimar!" 

 "There is nothing we can do for them then?"

He shook his head sadly, unable to answer further.

Chapter End Notes

'Death sat lightly', one of the prettiest phases applied to a reembodied Elf, comes (I believe) from Marnie's 'Seeds of Old Trees'.

Lothlorien, T.A. 2463

Celeborn considered the makeup of the Council. Two Maiar, three Ringbearers, the reborn Glorfindel - and himself. There were to be eight Members, with five votes needed to decide policies, so one had yet to be added. The nomination of the final member was his to make, but the others could reject it.

Of those who both had the gravitas necessary to effectively serve on the Council and were worth considering, the only ones whose whereabouts were certain were Thranduil and Erestor. There were a few others — Gildor came to mind — who had the necessary lineage, but to put it kindly, Eru had not favored them with the greatest of mental faculties.

"You would not consider Thranduil? He is, after all, the only King among us," the silver-haired lord proposed.

All except Cirdan shook their heads. This was to be a council of the Wise, and the implicit vote on whether Thranduil was wise was five to two against him.

With the current seven, in matters where the interests of the Quendi of Ennor conflicted with 'the greater good', Celeborn knew well that he would on occasion have as many as six votes against him. The Istari would not favor the Elves. Glorfindel seemed for all practical purposes a Maia, and one could never be sure where his mind truly rested. Elrond had strange ideas based on some unpronounceable, foreign word — self-abne-something? — and no longer resembled Gil-galad's herald. Cirdan would usually side with Celeborn, but in matters of great import, might be too easily swayed by Ulmo and Ossë. And his own wife, alas, would cast away all for the chance to return to Valinor.

Though Celeborn had hated Erestor for two Ages, at least the latter could be counted on to favor the Quendi, so at the worst, he would have one ally. Associating that word with the heart-son of Curufin was a strange irony, but as his beloved was wont to say, the world was changing.

So, the words came evenly. "Then I nominate Erestor." Heads nodded, and it was done.