The trails of Nan Elmoth by Chiara Cadrich

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Last journey

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The trails of Nan Elmoth

Part 5 - A last journey

.oOo.

At the sign of the Drunken Goose, the conversations are going well...

The legacy of Uncle Nestegg is disputed by the bunch of his grand-nephews. The problem is the place is unknown, where the grumpy old man has supposedly buried his so-called treasure! Ravinyard, the small estate where the nutty uncle spent most of his time in the end, is regularly plowed from top to bottom by a nephew or another. Wherever the old foolish joker is, Uncle Nestegg must be laughing, to see all these idler nephews of him, trifling all day long!

Mother Mugwort has found and cared for beautiful pipeweed plants in her glen of Rivulet. But the kids of Father Shepstaff have eaten them out! Mother Mugwort claims one of the kids for a stew, as compensation, but old Shepstaff and his goat do not agree.

The great hall of the inn echoes with many usual tattle tales. Yet a flavor of expectation is  hanging around. It seems to the regulars that a small part of their existence has somehow been suspended last night.

A strange visitor has stirred up trouble. Cowherds and cultivators await the arrival of his slim silhouette. His lai of Ar-Feiniel, the lady of Gondolin, relates the disillusioned passion. A radiant princess, but no solar hero. Great deeds, but an embittered and disturbing prince. They will not bother the storyteller - an immortal elf, that's for sure; Who else would chant the misguidance of pride?

But the ending is due to them, however cruel it may be.

.oOo.

Beleriand, First Age…

During each first spring moon, the Lord of the Naugrim of Nogrod gave a sumptuous feast. Eöl, the Master of Nan Elmoth, was a guest of honor because their bonds of friendship had developed over the years. A road leading west from the Blue Mountains now passed through Eöl’s realm. His lands, defended against Ungoliant’s offspring or any other assailant, proved safer for the travelers than the forests of Dimbar to the north, where dwelt some temperamental Noldor. The Twilight Elf went to Nogrod, like every year, to negotiate the bridge-crossing tolls for goods through Nan Elmoth, and to attend the festivities.

As usual, he ruminated dark thoughts, for the disputes with Maeglin had become frequent. Eöl had associated his son more closely with his works and had revealed to him some of his secrets. He taught Maeglin smithing, mine-craft, or the lore about his mysterious poisons and elixirs which he distilled in the catacombs of the fallen star. But the young elf aspired to know his maternal family, and dreamed about the wonderful Noldorin cities.

So Eöl planned to bring sumptuous gifts to his Lady and son. In the chimeras of his unreasoning, did he imagine he would retain the affection of his loved ones, only by renewing the magnificence of his large, yet dark and almost empty halls? He challenged the splendors of his Noldor rivals, usurpers of their kingdoms, but he could not tarnish their attraction in his son’s heart.

.oOo.

The Lady pushed her horse up to the crest of Mirebel. The valley of the Celon River stretched out before her, resplendent with tender greens and enamelled with a thousand colored smiles under the spring sun. On the southern bank stood the gigantic harsh pines of Nan Elmoth, beneath the foliage of which only the light of the stars penetrated.

Lomion watched his mother - Aredhel inspired the fragrances of renewal in full lungs, looking nostalgically to the northern lands. The young elf pushed his stallion to the side of his mother's mare:

- "What are these lands, Mother?"

- "In the distance lies the country of Himlad, where my cousins, Celegorm and Curufin, reign.

- Father claims they are assassins of his people[1]...

A shadow of bitterness passed through Aredhel's clear glance, but she did not answer.

- To the west of Himlad, beyond the river Aros, the north wind sweeps the gloomy moors of Dor Dinen[2].

Aredhel's gaze was lost further west. Lomion knew that there was, beyond the ford of Esgalduin, a valley feared by all the elves, Nan Dungortheb. Yet Aredhel's eyes went astray, fogged with melancholy.

Lomion guessed the desire to see her family and Gondolin’s wonders had awakened in her heart again. From that moment he knew where the hidden city probably stood - beyond Dungortheb. For he possessed a mind as penetrating as his sight, both inherited from his father, together with the name of Maeglin which meant "piercing glance."

- "O My Lady!" Why linger, prisoners of these undergrowth? What can we hope for from these dark silent forests? Apart from the secrets of their cursed catacombs, my father has little to teach me and does not trust me.

Aredhel's mind seemed to come back from a distant dream. She stared at her son with amazement and answered with regret:

- "It would be unbecoming to falsify our Lord, who entrusted us with the care of his domain in his absence."

But Lomion felt her mother's reproach was directed to herself.

They long stood side by side in the saddle, facing the temptation of free sunny spaces. They were about to turn back, when Lomion's sharp eyes noticed a fine volute of smoke rising above the trees a few leagues to the north.

Mother and son stroke like lightning on the back of a spiders horde that was harassing the camp of an elven squad. The infallible eye of Lomion did wonders. He mowed the vile beasts with implacable determination. The woods echoed with the rallying cry of the Noldor, while their swords exterminated the offsprings of Ungoliant. Lomion felt his heart leap in his chest to the sound of the war horns of his mother's people.

.oOo.

Aredhel, her heart swollen with pride, admired her son wielding Eöl's weapons with grace and strength.

Once the monsters were exterminated, the fighters regrouped and rescued the wounded. Thanks to the Lady of Nan Elmoth and her page, they were few. Already the guards of Curufin advanced with a smile.

Aredhel wondered how to tell the Twilight Elf about this scuffle - was he going to take this fortuitous encounter as an opportunity to get along with his neighbors? The Lady of the Noldor wiped her sword, which Eöl had formerly piously forged anew.

A moment alone with her thought about her harsh husband, she knew that he was indeed alerted. Her blade, once unsheathed, warned him of the danger she incurred. An oppressive silence had struck the surrounding woods; Aredhel felt the palpable attention of the tall black pines, awaken from their diurnal somnolence.

Disconcerted by the forest’s austere reticence, she thought she heard an order of return, huddled from under the dark coppices.

- "I am your wife and not your servant, she mumbled firmly for herself. I go where my pleasure and necessity take me!"

.oOo.

When Curufin’s guards recognized her, they were amazed and greeted her with respect. The Noldor had thought her dead for years, lost in the labyrinths of Dungortheb. In their despair, High-King Fingon and his brother Turgon had dispatched patrols around the girdle of Melian, in vain. Eöl had never spread the news of their union.

The elves added with reserve that their reception would have been colder, if the master of Nan Elmoth had accompanied them.

That is how Aredhel decided to defy her husband’s orders. Had he not kept their union secret, like a shameful misalliance? Her son had to meet his other family.

She took leave of the squad and guided her son by the ford of Aros, along Doriath’s border. He took pleasure in the eminent role of a protective knight, and it is said he did not desert.

Curufin, warned by his men, had rushed southwards to converse with his cousin. But when he reached the confines of his domain, he could only intercept Eöl, who had ventured into Himlad.

-"What errand have you, Black Elf, in my land? An urgent matter, perhaps, that keeps one so sun-shy abroad by day?"

In the face of danger, the Twilight Elf retained his anger. He tried to hide the fact he had been sidetracked, and pretended he wanted to join his visiting wife. But Curufin, an elf lord of a bullying temper, despised Eöl. He could not help but hurt him, and in so doing, revealed to him the trail of the fugitives:

- "Do not flaunt the title of your wife before me. For those who steal the daughters of the Noldor to wed them without dowry nor consent, gain no kinship. I gave you leave to go. Take it and be gone. According to the laws of the Eldar, I may not slay you at this time. And this counsel I add: return now to your dwellings in the darkness of Nan Elmoth, and do not cross the Arosiach[3], for my heart warns me that if you pursue those who love you no more, never will you return thither."

Eöl rode away, his heart enraged. He dressed himself in a sumptuous dwarven coat, smithed with hidden features, he had brought from Nogrod, for his son. Light as a fabric and yet resistant, it had been forged in the metal he had invented, galvorn.

Armed in war, he pursued the fugitives, persuaded they were going to Gondolin. Tapped by the anguish of someone who fears treason without being able to admit it, he galloped like the wind.

.oOo.

Aredhel and Lomion, whether the spring days of Beleriand were kind to them, or whether they were protected by the influence of Melian, the kingdom of whom they passed along, reached the ford of Brithiach without hindrance. Then they abandoned their horses and slipped into the upper hidden valley. The slender young elf, dressed in the gray outfit that concealed him so well under the foliage of Nan Elmoth, held by her hand his mother, a tall lady with a white mantle slamming in the cool breeze blowing from the Sirion valley.

They struggled climbing along a gorge, a long defile that seemed like the dried-up bed of an ancient river. Aredhel's eyes shone with confined tears, when they presented themselves before a powerful arch, resting on either side on pillars carved in the rock. An imposing portal of intertwined bars, wonderfully worked and studded with iron, forbade passage. They had reached the first gate of Gondolin.

Elemmakil, captain of the Gate of Wood, advanced to greet them. He had recognized Ar-Feiniel for the lightness of her stride, long before the fugitives had reached the door.

Half a league further, the second door barred the Orfalch Echor with a large wall, the masons had erected in the manner of a single solid block, flanked by strong stone turrets. Gray-clad guards opened the way for them, and the block swung on invisible hinges.

Thus succeeded the six gates which guarded the defile, torn like a great ax blow hewn by a god across the mountain, its steep sides rising to vertiginous heights. Lomion, subjugated, admired the art of the Noldor and the power of their arms. And he was astonished at the pink rising to his mother's cheeks when powerful captains, such as Ecthelion and Glorfindel, bowed before her queenly port, with a dreamy smile on their lips, and escorted them to the next door. For many of these valiant elves had, in their youth, hoped and courted the white Lady of the Noldor.

At last the light became more intense, and the vegetation denser as the walls lowered on either cliffs. Aredhel seized her son's hand when he discovered the Hidden Valley. A great plain stretched out at their feet, a gentle hilly meadow above which flew great eagles. Set in a circle of high mountains, brightly colored orchards shone between the dark masses of forests that grew on the slopes. Silvery cascades criss-crossed the plain like a cultivated checkerboards, strewn with basins in which the sun shone. In the center stood a large rocky hill, which had been an island. Now, powerfully fortified and magnificently built, there stood Gondolin, that rivaled with glory and beauty with Tirion itself in the Undying Lands.

The King's Tower darted proud and white among the fountains, where the sovereign himself had built Glingal and Belthil, gold and silver trees in memory of Valinor's two wonders. Lomion was dazzled by the power and splendor of this kingdom, which surpassed his mother’s tales. He silently watched sculptures and constructions. He admired the harmonious domestication of water and plants. He lingered at the passage of each singer, opening his delighted soul to the epic or joyful melodies of the Noldor. Lomion had a vision of what might have been the glory of Nan Elmoth under the leadership of Eöl, populated by numerous Sindar, challenging their Noldor neighbors with ingenuity and splendor in deeds of hand and spirit.

They were led before the King, who gave them a magnificent reception, delighted as he was to see his sister again, and discovering his nephew. Turgon had a feast served and his harpists came. He heard Aredhel’s story, moved by her renewed enthusiasm for the marvels of Gondolin. They sat under the protective branches of the gold and silver trees, in the luminous chirping of the waterfalls, and perfumed clouds of petals. Lomion remained silent, struck by the rejoiced joy of his mother, and stunned by the splendours of the valley. The power and genius of this people seemed to have no limit. The king, who was watching him, was able to read the struggle inside him. The young heir’s pride suffered from the admiration that awoke in spite of himself. What would result, jealousy or adoption?

.oOo.

Dark and terrible, leaning on the trail like a hound launched for the cure, Eöl pursued his wife and son. The sword of Aredhel, the masterpiece he had reforged with his blood to charm and protect her from the dangers of the world, called him and guided his instinct as a hunter. Flying on the wings of rancor, riding beneath the moon like a fiery ghost, he reached the Brithiac at the moment when Aredhel was entering the bed of the dried-up river, a lively white figure in the midst of the gray rocky scree.

Concealing his steed, the Twilight Elf hastened in pursuit of the fugitives, like a serpent cautiously but swiftly crawling between the rocks.

He rarely lost sight of his wife and son, despite the turnings of the dried-up riverbed. He slipped like a shadow behind them, yet unable to catch them. Having reached the end of the rocky defile, Eöl hesitated, restrained by some premonition. At last he penetrated into the thick shadow between the steep cliffs. Never had any darkness inspired him with so gloomy a presentiment.

There he was taken by the never-failing watch - several arrows gushed out, unable to pierce his armor. But strong elves assailed him from all sides. Despite his resistance, he had to give way under the number. When he saw the power of the Wooden Gate and the splendor of his opponents’ weapons, Eöl held his wrath. He looked up at them and demanded his due. Elemmakil, astonished at the stranger’s allegations, nevertheless perceived the restrained fury and the duplicity of his prisoner.

.oOo.

The king never tired observing his nephew’s reserved admiration. Lomion weighed in his heart, the harsh virtue of Eöl, and the grave magnificence of Turgon. Unfortunately, there was little love in this equivocal balance. Aredhel, meanwhile, spoke of what had happened to her during her long disappearance. The King also guessed that his sister, out of respect for her son's feelings, concealed from Turgon, many things he ought to know.

Idril Celebrindal joined her father on the terrace of the fountains. When she appeared on the threshold of the marble palace, she moved with such a grace, that her silhouette seemed to float on a silver stream. She bore the golden hair of her Vanyar ancestors, that Lomion had never contemplated. Surrounded by white petals hung in the harps’ melody, the princess ran to Aredhel with a crystalline laugh, and hugged her. Then she turned to Lomion with astonishment, and the brightness of the girl's eyes fell upon him. A radiant triumph of hope over darkness, the King's daughter seemed to conceal within her a fragment of heavenly light. Idril welcomed her cousin with a tender grace. But her smile faded, when she perceived the deep emotion of Lomion, a prey to doubt.

Then a messenger came from the gates before the king to give him an account of strange news. Aredhel blanched and stood up:

- "It is certainly Eöl, my husband and father of my child! By what prodigy of tenacity has he succeeded in following us? I felt guilty of having abandoned him without explanation. Now the fear of his wrath tarnishes my joy of breathing at last under the sun of Gondolin!"

Turgon answered with wise and reassuring words. The mirage of a cloudless happiness floated in Aredhel’s soul for a moment, but Eöl's pride and rancor against the Noldor came back to her mind. Sensing the worst, she nevertheless pleaded for him:

- "Do no harm him and bring him before the King's justice, if my brother allows it!"

The guards brought Eöl, his neck stiff. With a look he embraced the scene with a grin of hatred. Aredhel stood before Turgon, who sat on his mithril throne encrusted with pearls. Maeglin, a little way back, already had a foot on the platform and glanced furtively toward a girl who stood straight and modest behind the high seat. Pale and trembling, Aredhel was unable to meet her husband and explain her decision to him. She read in Eöl's posture and looks, both his astonishment at the Noldor deeds, and his tenfold hatred.

The spouses looked at each other for a moment. If Aredhel had perceived a prayer, perhaps she would have taken a step towards her husband. But Eöl's glance only bore reproaches and imprecations. When Aredhel turned her face away in disgust, the Twilight Elf walled up against the universe.

Then the king rose:

-"Welcome, kinsman, for so I hold you. Here you shall dwell at your pleasure, save only that you must abide here and depart not from my kingdom, for it is my law that none who finds a way hither shall depart."

With contempt Eöl looked at Turgon advancing towards him to welcome him. The Twilight Elf deliberately ignored the outstretched hand:

- "I acknowledge not your law. The Noldor have no right to usurp kingdoms in the lands of the Teleri,where your criminal pride has brought affliction. I have come to claim what is mine. My wife can stay in this gilded cage, where she will sicken as she did before. But not Maeglin! My son will not be taken from me! Come to join your father, Maeglin, son of Eöl, I command you! Leave the house of thine enemies, the slayers of thy people, or be accursed.” He said with an imperious gesture.

But his son made no reply, and regarded him with horror. Maeglin glanced at Idril, who poured tears of compassion for him. Then, in deep silence, Lomion bowed before Turgon as before his sovereign.

Dumb with indignation, Eöl foresaw Maeglin reigning over mingled Noldor and Sindar, a bastard prince of a doomed people, complicit in elf-slaying by elves.

But Turgon had sat back on his throne. He seized the scepter of the law and spoke in a stern tone:

- "With you, Dark Elf, I shall not argue. Your sunless forests are defended only by the swords of the Noldor, without whom you would labour, chained in the pits of Angband! Here I am the King, whether you like it or not, my doom is law! You have only one choice: to abide here, or to die here, and so is for your son!"

Then Eöl caught Turgon's gaze and challenged him without weakening. He remained for a long time without a word or a gesture, mad with rancor. The harps and fountains had fallen silent.

Aredhel shook her torpor and took a few steps towards her husband with a regal grace. But Eöl shivered in disgust at seeing her approach. His son's allegiance to his enemy was the last treachery, that had destroyed his mind.

Suddenly, swift as a serpent, he seized a javelin he held hid under his cloak, and cast it at Maeglin, crying:

-"I choose death for both of us!"

But Aredhel sprang before the dart, and it smote her in the shoulder.

Glorfindel overcame Eöl and set him away in bonds, while others took care of Aredhel.

.oOo.

It was decided that the criminal should be brought the next day before the King's justice. Aredhel and Idril implored mercy for him before Turgon, who hesitated.

But in the night, Aredhel caught fevers, although the injury had seemed light. The wound was cleaned again, but soon the Lady of the Noldor was the prey of frightful spasms. She passed by daylight, a green foam on her lips, and her face twisted with pain. For the point of the javelin was poisoned by the evil spells Eöl had brewed with spiders venom, and no one had realized it until it was too late.

Thus Eöl found no mercy when he was led before Turgon. He was dragged to the ramparts of Gondolin, to be thrown into a black chasm.

Mute of horror, Maeglin contemplated his hobbled father. With his gaze on fire, Eöl finally called out:

- So you forsake your father and his kin, ill-gotten son! Then here shall you fail of all your hopes!

And it is written that Maeglin, despite the affection of the King and the compassion of Idril, knew no respite. For he had succumbed to the charm of his cousin, and desired her without hope. The Eldar did not marry so close to one another, and all the more so because Idril had this passion in horror. He went for many great undertakings, but no satisfaction nor power could ease his grief.

As the years passed and Maeglin looked at Idril, waited for Idril, wanted Idril, love in his heart turned into darkness. In Gondolin germinated an accursed seed, which would bring it to an end.

But this is another story…

.oOo.

At the sign of the Drunken Goose…

The regulars look at each other, their mug on their lips. They should have known it... Curses from the old days rarely end well... Yet usually, there is still a ray of hope, after the misfortunes, in the end. But the enigmatic smile of the storyteller reassures them: that may be for next time!

With an off-putting gesture, but with a roguish look, old Shepstaff wipes the froth on his lips with a reverse of his sleeve:

- Mother Mugwort and her stooge the gardener, don’t you think they would be kind of cousins?

But Rhast, the gravedigger, replies:

- And you, you wouldn’t be a close cousin of your gossip the goat?

And the conversations resume their routine at the Drunken Goose...

.oOo.

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NOTES

[0] - This passage is recorded in the Silmarillion, chapter 16, Maeglin. Several quotations are extracted from it and marked in italic.

[1] In order to go to Middle-earth and recover the silmarils, the Noldor assaulted the Teleri to appropriate their boats. This is the first elven slaughter by elves, punished by the curse of Mandos. A sort of original fault of the Noldor, from which result all their sorrows in Middle-earth, told in Tolkien’s Silmarillion.

[2] Literally, in Sindarin, the silent country.

[3] The ford of river Aros.