Bloody silmarils, book I by Dilly

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Chapter 16 : Game of thrones

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King Turgon liked to build models, and he was particularly gifted in this field, taking care of every stage of his creations, from calculations to execution. That day, he stood in the middle of a giant map, which covered the floor of a room in his palace. The map represented the Beleriand up to the Ered Luin, and also included the Ossiriand. It was painted on the parquet floor, and miniature forts and cities, as well as statuettes of princes, were placed on it.

"So this is the crown of the Noldor," he said.

He had put down a pewter crown on the plain of Ard-Galen, in front of the black fortress and the plaster mountains of Thangorodrim.

"Originally it belonged to Nelyafinwë, Maedhros, the eldest son of the eldest son of Finwë, the high king of the Noldor."

A small statue with red painted hair and one hand missing was at the side of the crown.

"But he bequeathed it to his half-blooded uncle, Nolofinwë, my father Fingolfin, to schmooze. And because he wanted to make up for Losgar's betrayal... Maybe also because he wanted to bang my brother."

Using a rake, Turgon pushed the crown to the part of the map called "Hithlum" and then placed the figure of Maedhros south of Ard-Galen, near a miniature fort on a line of hills.

"Now the power has passed from the House of Fëanor, the Dispossessed, to that of Fingolfin, and resides in the capital of Hithlum, Barad-Eithel, which watches over the fortress of Morgoth : Angband, hidden under the Iron Mountains, and protected by the peaks of Thangorodrim. But there is also another king in Beleriand, installed earlier, King Elu Thingol, sovereign of the Sindarin Elves. He resides in Doriath with his wife, the maia Melian. And with the exception of the people of the House of Finarfin, he does not like the Noldor, because they massacred those of his people beyond the seas."

Another crown, a band of interlacing whiplash lines, was placed on the central forest where the words 'Doriath' and 'Ring of Melian' were inscribed.

"There is a third power, on the western banks of the Beleriand: Círdan le Teler, and his two ports of Brithrombar and Eglarest. He has more or less given allegiance to Thingol, whose race he shares, while remaining autonomous. Finally, there are the Nandor, the Wood Elves who live in the rest of the country, in the East and South. And then there are the Sindar scattered all over the country too... But let's come back to the High King of the Noldor..."

"He has several vassals. First, those of the House of Fëanor, the brothers of Maedhros: Maglor who protects the Breach to the East of Himring, there, Celegorm and Curufin who do the same for the Aglon Pass, to the West, between the hills of Himring and Dorthonion; and then Caranthir the Dark, who reigns over Thargelion, at the very east, next to the Dwarves, and below them, towards Amon Ereb, the twins Amrod and Amras, of whom we don't know too well what they do – on the other hand it's not as if they are of interest to many people. If we go back to Ard-Galen, going southwards, we come across the land of Dorthonion and the northern valley of the Sirion, ruled by the House of Finarfin, that is to say Finrod Felagund and his brothers, Angrod and Aegnor.

All three figurines had their hair painted yellow and a sympathetic expression.

"Then we cross the Sirion and the Ered Mithrim, under the country of the High King... There is Dor-Lómin, the fief of the eldest son, the Valiant and Viril Fingon, his father's favourite. One wonders why..."

Fingon's statuette was the same as Fingolfin's, except that it had braids.

"And to the west, by the sea, there is Nevrast, the land of Turgon the younger son, with the city of Vinyamar, the first one built by the great noldorin architects and builders. But Turgon went to live in a hidden valley near the Sirion, south of Dorthonion... because he wanted to be left alone."

He moved the statuette of Turgon to the place where Gondolin was. Then he went out to continue working on his model of the two Trees.

 

 

Egalmoth the merchant put the letter on the desk of his first secretary, Nindë, a dark-haired elf with a long nose.

"Look what this raptor of Penlodh has laid for us again! A new taxe reserved for the richest elves in Gondolin!

The assistant blinked as he read the letter.

"25 % of total income? That's a huge sum," he whispered.

"You bet it's a huge sum!" exclaimed Egalmoth. "This time, enough is enough! As they say, don't toss Tulkas in the begonias!" (1)

The secretary raised an eyebrow.

"We must act, Nindë, and quickly!"

"But how, my lord? The king will be difficult to convince. Penlodh is his first adviser."

"Then he must be brought down in disgrace."

The Noldo savoured his own words. His eyes shone, turned towards the invisible goal to be reached.

And that very evening, surrounded by other lords and good wine, he bragged in the main lounge of the tower of the Heavenly Arch.

"I'm fed up with this favouritism practised by the king towards the Vanyar!"

Some frowned, others nodded their heads.

"It's not a secret," sighed Enerdhil. "Turgon has always admired them. He even married one of them.

"You know, I've never really been a fan of the Maniac..." Egalmoth began.

"The Maniac?"

"Fëanor. But sometimes I feel like repeating his words: Show me thy black hair!"

"Well, he was in no position to say that, he had three redheaded kids."

"Yes, but red can be accepted. It's the colour of fire. On the other hand, blond hair is evil!"

Glorfindel startled.

"I remind you that the Valar have always held the Vanyar in high esteem."

Egalmoth raised his hands to the sky.

"The Valar? Stop telling me about the Valar! They're shy bladders! Who was it that went after Melkor when he ran away like a thief, with all the silverware, and after ruining our giant candles? Us! The Noldor! With our little hands! While the Valar were hiding behind their mountains... And they grew them! Why did they grow them? Because they chickened out!"

The other knights took their heads in their hands.

 

* * *

 

A few days later, Egalmoth and his secretary met again to take stock of their initial research.

"I can't believe Penlodh managed to concentrate so much power in his hands!" exclaimed the merchant as he looked at his papers. "He rules two Houses, the House of the Pillar and the House of the Tower of Snow, he is Mayor of the Palace, Great Chamberlain, Intendant of the Treasury, First Counsellor to the King..."

"And the king is so infatuated with him he gave him a part of his apartments," Nindë added bitterly.

Egalmoth had a dry laugh.

"Soon he will distribute the Lembas instead of Idril! Besides... I wonder what's in this tea he brings to the king... Who knows if he doesn't use it to cloud his mind..."

"We should try to have it analysed...

"Do you know someone in the kitchen?"

"The pastry chef."

"Very good. Did you find anything else? He must have a weakness somewhere. Everybody has one. A fiancée? A concubine among the natives?"

"I didn't find anything about it, I must admit. It would seem that he has no particular love interest."

Looking pensive, Egalmoth scratched his chin. He made his conjectures aloud: "If there is nothing on the women's side – which doesn't surprise me that much, just between us – maybe there is something on the men's side ? I've always found him suspicious."

"Alas, I found nothing, Lord Egalmoth."

"Have you searched his past? Not only in Beleriand... "

"Indeed. I took the liberty of having a few biographical elements gathered..."

"Good."

Nindë took his notebook and began to transmit and synthesise the information he had found.

"So... From a rather modest origin, he was born near Valimar, to a noldo carpet-maker father and a vanya mother... His mother was a herbalist."

"A herbalist? Interesting..."

"He has two brothers and a sister. His brothers, as well as his parents, stayed in Valinor. As for his sister, Nieninquë, she followed the exodus and settled in Mithrim, then more recently in Vinyamar. She does nothing special in life. According to my latest information, during the king's trip to Vinyamar, Penlodh took the opportunity to bring her here, to Gondolin."

"Good. Maybe you may find out things by investigating her later."

"Still about Penlodh, in his youth he took courses at Tirion University in various doctrines, including the most prestigious. He even spent several years meditating in the Pelori with a Vanyarin master."

"Only the Vanyar waste their time doing this kind of crap."

"Then Penlodh came to live permanently in Tirion, where he became one of Fingolfin's advisers. After the Crossing, when Turgon left to settle in Nevrast, Fingolfin recommended him to his son."

"And the son wanted to please his father, of course..."

 

* * *

 

After leaving his secretary and fellow conspirator, Egalmoth continued his investigation by going to the barracks of the Tower of Snow. Aredhel, the king's younger sister, was busy there training young archers.

"So Penlodh has entrusted you with some of his responsibilities in this House, My Lady," Egalmoth commented aloud.

"Indeed. But why should this be a surprise? Does it bother your pride as a dominant male raised in a fundamentally patriarchal society?"

The merchant's eyes widened. Suddenly remembering the way the Nandor trade unionist spoke, he was subject to post-traumatic stress disorder.

"Uh... No... Not at all..." he replied with difficulty. "Besides, I sometimes think... that since Penlodh runs two Houses... he could leave this one to you."

"I don't know..." Aredhel murmured thoughtfully. "I'd never thought of that."

Hit, said Egalmoth to himself.

"Whatever... You must see him often... and be close to him."

"Not really," said the young woman. "He is very kind, but he's a secretive person."

"I always wondered if he had plans to get engaged... Or if he was dating someone... I don't remember ever seeing him arm in arm with a woman."

"I don't think so either..."

"Has he ever courted you?"

Aredhel laughed.

"No! That's not like him."

"Really? A beautiful woman like you!"

Egalmoth thought his compliment would be well received. It was not. Aredhel looked exasperated.

"By Nessa, it's unsane! This way of always reducing women to their physical appearance!"

"That's not what I meant..."

"Oh course it was what your meant ! Your Noldorin macho education conditions you and speaks for you!"

The merchant tried to keep his cool.

"What I wanted to say... is that maybe he has other tastes... apart from women."

"Huh?"

Aredhel frowned without understanding.

"That he is a faggot!" specified Egalmoth.

The elf-woman shook her head.

"No, I rather believe that he is not interested in the things of love, and that he prefers to devote himself to his work... A bit like my brother Fingon."

Egalmoth could not suppress a laugh.

"If he's like your brother Fingon, he is a faggot..."

"What? But my brother isn't..."

"Come on!" said the merchant. "Either he is, or he's locked in a closet with glass doors! A guy who embarks on a suicide mission to save another who has already sold him twice... If that's not love!"

"You're such an awful person!" exclaimed Aredhel. "I won't let you insult my brother like that! Get out of this room!"

"She's not so open-minded, after all", Egalmoth thought, scurrying off with what little dignity he had left.

 

* * *

 

Soon, Nindë reported to Egalmoth: the herbal teas that Penlodh had prepared for the king had been analysed.

"What was the result?"

"Mint, St. John's wort, and chamomile. A classic recipe to combat black moods and digestive problems, it seems. Nothing harmful to health, on the contrary."

"It may depend on the dosage."

"On your side, my lord, have you found other elements that could harm him ?"

"Not really. Only guesses... But I think we'll have to make do with it. As the proverb says: Slander, there will always be something left of it! That's what I'm going to do. I'm going to talk to Turgon about it. Breathe the seed of suspicion into his mind."

"Maybe it could work."

"Send a message to the king saying that I wish to meet him alone, in private."

Egalmoth received an answer within hours. The king was ready to meet him that evening in his apartments.

 

* * *

 

After a good dinner, the trader put on his blue mantis and set off. The guards let him pass through to the top floors of the King's Tower. But when he entered the first living room, he was surprised to find that no lights were on. Only starlight was visible through the wide windows.

However, a very tall, hieratic silhouette was waiting for him in the shadows. It turned around, becoming more visible. Its hair was lighter than Turgon's: it looked like chestnut and not black. The nose looked different too.

"What a pleasure to meet you, Lord Egalmoth," said the elf.

It wasn't Turgon. It was Penlodh.

"What? Where is the king?"

"He will not come."

"Why?"

"Because he never got your message."

Egalmoth startled.

"Because I know you are plotting against me," Penlodh continued. "And because since your messenger had several members of his family being convicted of bribing jailers so that the Lord of the Fountain could not get out of prison, he thinks he owes me some service in return for my indulgence."

"The traitor ! I will exclude him from my House!"

"He will enter one of mine."

"You're such a..." Egalmoth whistled.

"Son of a small carpet maker? But I didn't come here to harm you. I would like to know what made you take a chance. What you have to reproach me with. So that we can discuss it... Even if you have nothing concrete against me."

"You know that very well! This new tax on wealth! And as for what I hold against you... I know that it's you who give the recipe for the infusion that the king takes, and who have it prepared. Who knows what you have put in it?"

"The king suffers from melancholy," Penlodh simply replied.

Most of the time he would keep his eyes down, and then suddenly raise them up to stare at you, and then you would notice that the iris of his eyes was extremely light. The eyes of the half-vanya seemed to open your soul as if it were just a banal material thing, but there was also a certain gentleness and kindness in them that seemed to respect that soul as something fragile and unique, as powerful and important as the whole world – as another whole world.

"Think, Lord Egalmoth. What will it change to your life, to pay this tax ? You will still have as many precious stones embroidered on your clothes. And what? Maybe a little less carnelian with your bath balls."

"Ah no! Bath balls are sacred! Wait a minute... How do you know that?"

"There is nothing that escapes the king's police," replied the Steward.

Egalmoth was fulminating inside. He felt as if he was facing an unknown and omniscient entity against which all struggle was in vain.

"If you need extra time for payment," Penlodh said, "you can ask for it to the Treasury."

"I don't need a delay," protested Egalmoth. "Who do you think I am? One of those penniless Sylvans?"

He left the room.

This time, he might have lost... but one day he would win. He would discover Penlodh's weakness... And then he would crush him. As one squashes a fly. Or rather as an orc squashes a fly. For elves don't kill flies.

 

* * * * * * * * * * * *

 

It was an image that all the young Noldorian elves born in Beleriand had in mind.

In the vast royal yurt supported by an imposing wooden frame, Fingolfin, sitting on a curule seat, had a calm and grave face. Facing him, Maedhros Nelyafinwë, thin in his rich clothes, had knelt down, his long emaciated face hidden by locks of red hair.

"f there lay no grievance between us, lord, still the kingship would rightly come to you, the eldest here of the house of Finwë, and not the least wise."

He removed the Fëanorian crown from his hair and handed it to his uncle.

And Fingolfin accepted it and took it in his hands.

 

But what followed was not known.

Night had fallen, and all the members of the court had returned to their tents or campsites. The guards remained outside. Fingolfin was alone in the part of the yurt that served as his hall of honour. Sitting on the wooden throne, with his brother's crown on his head, he seemed pensive.

After a moment he took off the crown and looked at it, resting it in both hands, with a melancholy and weary look on his face.

Then his face changed, and an unexpected word came out of his mouth.

"FINALLY."

 

 

 

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Chapter End Notes

- (1) In French = "Faut pas pousser Mémé dans les orties !" => "Faut pas pousser Manwë dans les orties !"

- This chapter is dedicated to the memory of Enguerrand de Marigny.

- Also I'm sorry for Egalmoth's pov.

- Game of Elven Thrones : https://petitedilly.tumblr.com/post/615055219544473600/game-of-elven-thrones-this-thing-i-will-never-do