Two months by maeglin

Hammer

A future lord of Gondolin carries a message to a hostile realm.

Western edge of Neldoreth Forest, Doriath, YoS 108

The Noldorin messenger halted and stood stock-still, seemingly turning to stone.  After a long minute, he reopened his eyes and looked directly at the guard-captain still sitting "hidden" in the upper branches of a great hemlock.  Then he grinned, looking very pleased with himself.

At once, several guards dropped to the ground, while more remained above, all with arrows nocked.  The Sinda captain followed, and stepped forward to meet the intruder.

"Greetings, Lord.  None of the Noldor may enter these woods, save those who are kin to Finrod, and that only with permission of Elu Thingol.   I was informed of no arriving visitors, and you do not bear the proper token.  If you seek to pass eastwards, you must go around, either to the North or the South.  The northern route is the quicker, the southern the less perilous." 

His gweth's arrows remained nocked.  The messenger frowned, and seemed to consider which path would be better, looking both north and south, and then eastwards again, before turning back to the tall Sinda.

"Captain, I thank you for your suggestions.  However, I bear a message to Elu Thingol, so my road lies directly eastwards."

"You may give the message to me.  I will take it to the King.  On my honor, none save Thingol will unseal it."

"Thank you again, but as the message is verbal, I must decline.  It is for Thingol's ears alone."

"Yet you may not pass.  Here the King's will is law."

"Naturally.  As my King Turgon's will is law to me.  And he orders me to deliver this message personally to Thingol.  Surely you understand."  

Though short for a Noldo, the messenger was built like a bull.  He stood his ground, vast legs set wide apart.  Striking gold-overlaid mithril armor indicated that his House was not a minor one.

The captain frowned.  "Yet you are unknown to us.  At least give me your name.  Here you may await the King's decision."

"Rog."

"That is no name for a Noldo.  Your true name, and that of your father, so that we may know you."

The messenger's eyes glinted in the twilight. "Rog is my only name.  My wife gave it to me when we awoke, and I have never felt need of another."

Receiving no reply other than astonished faces (still behind nocked arrows), the messenger at last spoke once more.  "Is Beleg Cuthalion no longer Marchwarden?  He, at least, will know who I am.  We knew each other well, and fought beside one another, as brothers.  A very long time ago, but he will not have forgotten me, I think."

The Captain returned to his senses.  "Beleg yet dwells in these woods, so of course he is Marchwarden.  I shall send for him, but you must await him here."

Rog relaxed his stance and smiled.  "Excellent!  Tell Beleg the Hammer has returned to Ennor, is sorry he ever left it, and is eager to see the Strongbow."

The captain took one of the other guards aside and spoke swiftly and quietly.

Rog looked upon the guards.  Their bows were now aimed downwards, but still drawn.  Quite ridiculous.  He needed only to call upon the visor of his helm in thought for it to snap shut - he feared no feathered shaft.

"Come now, penneth nin, put away your arrows.  You will not need them today, but I am a temperamental fellow, and like not being threatened so."

And so, less then a week later, Thingol heard that Turgon would be leaving Nevrast, where (generally) he was headed, and that many Sindar would be accompanying him.  

Since the captain of Doriath was wise and his guards disciplined, the most astonishing news of the messenger that came to the ears of the rest of the Iathrim was that he had thrice beaten Beleg at arm-wrestling.  Very few indeed could make such a claim.

Chapter End Notes

Rog was the lord of the House of the Hammer of Wrath, one of the Twelve Houses of Gondolin.  His is such a strange name that I assume it must be very ancient.  For non-HOME-fanatics, the 'My wife gave it to me when we awoke' implies that he was one of the Unbegotten.