People of the Ice by Fadesintothewest

---

Chapter 14: Elk Home

---

Chapter 14: Elk Home

 

Sílahul passed their hands over Celegorm’s face, bringing him out of his deep sleep, though they wished the young elf could spend more time in the dream world and perhaps would find hope for a different path. Alas, such choices were not for Sílahul to make, though they looked upon the face of one they knew long ago. And Sílahul mourned for those that journied and now seemed forever lost to them.

 

Celegorm woke with a start. He did not need to remember where he was. His dreams had him traveling in Laiquendi lands, desperately on the trail of his grandmother’s path. Celegorm caught glimpses of her, laughing, carefree, unlike the quiet and withdrawn woman he’d heard about.  He’d wanted to follow her, to see his grandfather once more, but he was called forth, like he had been hanging in the dreamscape by a silver thread that was snapped, sending him plummeting to waking.

 

Sílahul soothed Celegorm. “Be calm child, you are landed.”

 

Celegorm grimaced. He was sore. Surrounding him was an intricate wall woven of branches and leaves.  As he looked to the ceiling it would shimmer with the light of fireflies, but only for a moment.

 

“Be not afraid to breathe,”  Sílahul urged the younger elf, allowing their own fëa to shimmer a bit brighter. There was need for extensive lighting in the Laiquendi home for the elve’s own glimmer provided enough.

 

Carefully, Celegorm took in a deep breath, afraid of the pain that would greet him, but to his surprise he found he could take a deep, purposeful breath. Though he was sore, he felt his lung healed, filling, the parts of his hröa, working as they should be. “Thank you,” Celegorm said.

 

Sílahul dipped their head. “Now sit up. Your companions are eager to see you.”

 

And what of their task? Celegorm grew apprehensive. He needed, they needed to get back to Nelyo! “My brother,” he uttered, “we came here to find him help.”

 

Sílahul smiled. They’d known from the first moment they set eyes on Celegorm that curiosity would dictate their answer. “And help you shall have,” Sílahul reassured the younger elf, helped him sit up.

 

The tension Celegorm held dissapated. Realization dawned on him. “Are you who they call Sílahul?”

 

“That is so,” Sílahul replied.

 

Celegorm sat up straighter, taking time to make sure his body could take to the task of movement. Satisfied that he could sit up properly, Celegorm pulled his legs over the side to sit, feet on the floor. “I am indebted to all of who you are,” Celegorm spoke seriously, his hands touching his heart in a show of gratitude and debt.

 

Sílahul noted that Celegorm was serious about his offer and not blind to their multiplicity. “Be careful of indebting yourself to us,” Sílahul warned.

 

This made Celegorm pause. “Wise words,” Celegorm offered, saying no more of oaths and debts. “Yet I need to express my gratitude nonetheless. My brother has been saved but he’s not yet cheated death.”

 

The sound of approaching voices put their discussion to an end. Sílahul and Celegorm turned to greet the familiar voices.

 

“It is good to see you strong,” Fingon shared, crossing the threshold into the space where Celegorm was being tended to. The small woven room grew brighter with the entrance of the other elves, and particularly those born on the other side. Their light was dazzling.

 

Celegorm’s eyes lit up while also feeling immense guilt for not asking after Fingon. “Somehow you managed to escape your predicament,” Celegorm answered.

 

“I seem to have a knack for that,” Fingon answered, leaving unsaid the whispers in his mind that warned him that his fortune would turn soon enough. His light dimmed, though it did not diminish.

 

Sílahul smiled for in Fingon they saw Finwë. “I’ve let your kinsman know that we will travel with you to help your friend.”

 

“That is indeed welcome news!” Fingon replied, the light of his fëa shimmering. Like Celegorm,  Fingon brought his hands to his heart. “I can speak for my father and offer our gratitude but also acknowledge that we are in Sílahul’s debt.”

 

“Let not the artifice of governance be the source of debt,” Sílahul answered, “for debt should be only amongst friends.”

 

Fingon bowed his head. Sílahul’s words were wise and the few days they tarried waiting for Celegorm, Fingon realized just how much Noldorin social order was dictated by their capacity to mortgage good deeds to some future endeavor or promise. “Then let us have the bonds of friendship be the liability that holds us together,” Fingon replied.

 

Looking to Celegorm whose own light was brighter, Sílahul added, “We prefer that and yet we are also selfish in our desires. We are curious about your brother’s state and more curious still to see another of your grandmother’s children.” Moving closer to Celegorm, Sílahul leaned over and whispered in his ear, “We loved her so and pleaded with her not to journey.” Leaning back, Sílahul said for all to hear, “And yet because of her journey you are here.”

 

It brought Celegorm great sadness to know his grandmother’s life was once so full, had been loved so greatly, and in spite of that, she chose the Halls to rest. That was now a more bitter tale. Celegorm ached for his father.

 

Sílahul interrupted Celegorm’s thoughts, “We will be ready to travel tomorrow. We leave you two to plan.”

 

Fingon and Celegorm bowed their heads and Sílahul departed.

 

“Our horses?” Celegorm queried.

 

“Safe and ready to carry us hence. Our provisions are replenished and we are all in good enough health to travel,” Fingon replied, wondering of Kyelep too was going to make the return journey with them.

 

Celegorm winced. “I did not ask how you fared, but I will not apologize. My mind is elsewhere and lies do not sit well between us.”

 

“Indeed they do not,” Fingon answered. “I take my leave. We must prepare to leave.”

 

“As soon as we can,” Celegorm agreed.

 

Fingon replied, “I will see to it.”

 

)()()()(

 

Celegorm was reunited with Amarthan and Acharede, accompanied by Fingon, later in the day. While Celegorm was sore he needed to move if he was going to travel. They could not wait on him to fully heal. They needed to get back to Nelyo. The four discussed the advice the group was given on what road to take back and how much time to take.

 

Before long, the group had another visitor. This time it was Kyelep. “I request the remainder of your time,” Kyelep spoke to Celegorm. To the other three, she offered, “I know you all need to make haste to ready your group to travel. I expect my request is reasonable.”

 

Celegorm answered for the group, “And I would be humbled to have your time and if you would have it, answer the many questions I have.”

 

Kyelep smiled. “If only because I see my sister in your features, though I cannot say yet if she is present in your convictions.”

 

This stung, but Celegorm did not protest. Acharedel, Amarthan, and Fingon said nothing and took their leave, but not before Kyelep informed that that she too would accompany them. This was welcome news for all.

 

Once out of earshot, Acharedel bristled, “He has none of the convictions of Míriel.”

 

“Careful now,” Fingon cautioned, knowing that though they were on the forest floor away from most of the prying ears and eyes of the Laiquendi, those elves were stealthy enough to be close, nonetheless. And whether they knew or understood Quenya was not revealed to Fingon.

 

“I only speak truths,” Acharedel retorted.

 

“Of this I am always reminded,” Fingon shot back.

 

Amarthan laughed at Fingon’s reply.  Steering the conversation back to their preparations, Amarthan offered, “I have some of the medicines Sílahul asked us to carry. We should split them between us as Celegorm will have to travel lighter and we will also have to bear some of his original burden.”

 

“We are experts at that,” Acharedel answered, shooting a look at Fingon who simply smiled at his liegeman’s temper.

 

“I too am in a hurry to return,” Fingon admitted. “I cannot bear to consider how much worse Nelyo will be.”

 

Acharedel’s countenance softened. “We’ve received no messengers from the sky. Surely if he worsened your father would have sent out the hawks.”

 

“I can only hope,” Fingon answered, ruminating on thoughts of what if. What if the hawks were sent and had not found them? What if?

 

Amarthan spoke, “I for one would like to return in different circumstances. I’ve learned more in these few days than in my entire life about them.” Shaking her head, she added, “It’s a pity that what I did know about the Laiquendi were at best misconceptions and worse still, simple prejudice.”

 

Acharedel confessed, “I am embarrassed to admit that I leave here understanding how little I truly know.”

 

Fingon placed his hand on Acharedel’s shoulder. “Then we gained something beyond our original intent.”

 

“Certainly,” Acharedel responded. “I believed myself tolerant and perceptive and now see how narrow and biased my views of this world are.”

 

“This bodes well for all our peoples,” Amarthan observed, thinking that the mighty Noldor needed to be brought down a notch, or two.

 

A whistle from above caught their attention. An elf soon materialized from the forest canopy. “Your horses will be guarded. You can leave your supplies here. A farewell awaits you amongst the leaves of the forest between the rivers.”

 

Fingon looked to the dark and imposing canopy of the old forest. “And we will show our gratitude to the forest and all that dwell within. Thank you.”

 

The elf smiled and like an enchantment the branches of the trees extended and the elves walked up towards the heights of the trees of the mighty Forrest between the rivers, noted for its darkness and despair. And yet while they encountered despair under its dark foliage, the group also found wisdom and friendship. They were returning with Sílahul but also with more than that.

 

)()()(

 

For most of the journey Kyelep and Celegorm spoke, with Celegorm describing his brothers, their likes and dislikes. He avoided offering more intimate details about his parents’ relationship, of Indis, of the fracture of the Noldor.

 

They were taking a Laiquendi path along the foothills towards the Fens of Sirion. They would cross the Andram after hours of riding and continue along the other side of the gentle hills. They were making good time, but on seeing those hills that the Sindarin called Andram, the long wall, Fingon felt the tiniest of that terror that took hold of him when Thangorodrim loomed in the distance. Though these were gentle and rolling hills not covered in shadow there was something of a warning in them. Fingon turned his eyes towards his companions, hoping to shake away the feeling in the pit of his stomach.

 

Sílahul glanced from the hills and back to Fingon, observing the young elf’s turmoil. Ever the healer, Sílahul spoke, “We know those hills as anc kawa.”

 

Fingon raised a curious eyebrow. Acharedel and Amarthan too listened.

 

Sílahul continued, “Elk home, for the herds here were a sight to behold.” Sílahul sighed. “They are less in number and tend to hiding since the dark lord’s creatures began hunting them. There is no reciprocity in their taking.”

 

“Tell me more of this relationship,” Acharedel urged. Fingon too wanted to hear more. Sílahul did not speak much but when they did their words, their stories taught them much.

 

“We have depended on these herds for sustenance, for clothing,” he shared, pointing to his clothing.

 

Amarthan offered, “I noticed your elk tooth tunics. These are highly valued amongst my people, though we do not make them.”

 

“They make for valuable trading,” Sílahul shared. Their smile turned into a frown. “With the decimation of the herds, we found ourselves without a major source of food. The anc are important people to us and we to them.”

 

Fingon looked to the hills to see if he could spot the tell-tale signs of elk. He smiled when he saw a trail left by a sizeable group. The hills darkness was dispensed by Sílahul’s words.

 

“In older days,” Sílahul continued, “when a member of our people would die, we would bring them to the hills and lay them to rest.”

 

Fingon sighed, feeling himself a fool. “That death is a long tradition of your people tells me much of the chasm between how we know and feel in the world. I feel like a child to the story of death.”

 

“Aye,” Sílahul agreed, “That your people are.” Sílahul looked up at the hills with heartache and love. “But for us, this is a place for our dead and with time they become of the earth and sedges grow where the body was laid to rest. ”

 

“Elk grasses,” Amarthan spoke with realization. “I did not know…” she faltered and cast an apologetic glance at Sílahul. She asked what was on all the young elves minds: “We had assumed your dead were returned to Ossiriand?”

 

Sílahul shook their head sadly. “These lands, from the river Sirion” they indicated sweeping from east to west, “to the Western mountains are our territories, but since the Dark lords return we are circumscribed in our ability to visit all our relatives.”

 

“Do you bring your dead here still?” Fingon asked, his eyes tracing the horizons of the vast territory.

 

“As best we can,” Sílahul replied.

 

“I feel a fool for treading over these sacred hills without offering a prayer,” Fingon shared apologetically.

 

Sílahul narrowed his eyes at the Noldo. “Then remember the lesson that all of Endórë as you call her is this. Get to know her many parts and you will come to understand them as relatives so you can greet them as they deserve.”

 

Acharedel glanced at Kyelep who was walking ahead but obviously listening to the exchange. Acharedel hesitated, but felt what she had to say was important: “The, the ice,” she stumbled, “our journey across the ice exacted this knowledge at a price, though we believed we were one with all before, we didn’t quite understand it.”

 

“I would hazard you didn’t. Without knowledge of death you could not conceive yourself as kin to the life around you that perishes,” Sílahul answered.

 

Kyelep spoke to Celegorm, “I will know more of this story of the Ice. You Noldor are tightlipped about it.”

 

“It is not my story to tell,” Celegorm whispered, trekking with care on the ground he walked.

 

Speaking up, Fingon replied, “I am afraid we are bound by our lord to not speak on it. Surely my lord Fingolfin will discuss this story with you upon our arrival to our camp.”

 

Acharedel looked ahead. She wasn’t sorry she let that slip. She desired to learn more, to understand what the road ahead might be, and who the Noldor could become.

 

Kyelep shook her head exasperated. To Sílahul she said, “Our long lost kin now known as the Noldor are queer creatures.”

 

“That they are,” Sílahul observed. “Perhaps if they were always honest and straightforward and not ego bound, their actions would not create stories that are so scandalous they need to be secret.”

 

Kyelep laughed, “Imagine a life like that.” Kyelep turned back to face the hills, allowing her thoughts to focus on that place. Sílahul did the same.

 

Sufficiently chastised the Noldor of the group also looked at the far green hills that were closer now, observing the sedge sprouted on the hillside, in the crevices, in the ravines and beyond. Fingon did not know if each sedge represented a burial site. If that was the case, there were an awful lot of them. This was sobering.  Perhaps this was the feeling in his stomach: death. The Noldor were but children in the face of it.

 

Celegorm’s own thoughts took him to his father’s death and all that was left of him: ashes. They had taken those ashes with them after the battle that took Fëanor’s life. The ashes were remade by Curufin into a gem that was secured upon the chair the king sat on and housed in the makeshift throne room. Nelyo often shared how he could feel the heat from the gem on his back when he sat on the chair. Celegorm had not asked Maglor if he too felt that heat. Surely he did. Celegorm glanced at the witch. Acharedel reminded him of the ice, of what Aredhel lost, their child. Fingolfin’s host should not have the kingship, he thought bittelry to himself. They were of ice and Fëanor, his people, his sons were of fire! Fëanor was a spirit of fire and it was only just his legacy would pass on to his sons. No one else! Celegorm’s raging thoughts were cut short by a song

 

Sílahul began singing a haunting melody. The other elves, save Kyelep, did not understand the words, but hearing it and seeing Kyelep’s face of mourning, they knew that Sílahul was praying, was singing a song of greeting to the Laiquendi dead and they realized a greeting to the anc. They crossed into the territory of the elk, the sedges, the grasses, and roots of the hill through the enchantment the singing spun, finding melody in the breezes and tall grasses. The further they walked into the hills the more it seemed that they were accompanied by shapeless spirits. Every now and then they could see the twinkle of an eye of an elk that came to answer the greeting, quietly snorting. The stars above lighted the path through the sacred lands and on to the other side of the elk home into the Fens of Sirion.

 

)()()()(

 

“We are being watched,” Celegorm shared quietly.

 

Indeed a small group of Doriathin elves trailed the group as they neared the Fens, following them until they reached a neutral crossing at the river Sirion, just south of Doriath’s borders. It was there that the leader made themself visible to them. He was a tall elf, of silver hair and carried a large black bow.

 

Amarthan spoke up, “Beleg the Archer, I am glad to see you on a border you normally do not frequent.” That Amarthan’s face beamed upon the sight of this elf offered some ease to the Noldorin companions.

 

The elf paused, allowing a quirk of a smile form on his lips. After a moment he lowered his head and raised it, the queer smile still gracing his beautiful face. “Amarthan, you are known to me and counted as kin. ‘Tis true, I am far from my northern assignment.” Looking over the others he revealed, “I heard of your journey on your way South and see now the reason for it.” He glanced at Kyelep and Sílahul. “Welcome to borders you cannot cross dear friends. Ah to have you close and not be able to invite you into my home. Alas my King has spoken!”

 

Kyelep replied, “Little do we care of lords. I don’t hold it against you Cúthalion.  You are kin and kindred. I have missed you too!” Kyelep, the elf known as Beleg, and Sílahul hugged, exchanging quiet words. The Sindarin scouts behind them kept still, their eyes locked on the Noldor. Celegorm locked eyes with them, but his ears were trained on the words exchanged by the others.

 

Beleg stood back, “We will ferry you to the other side for we need to get to the other side to find some wayward sheep!” Looking at Fingon and Celegorm, Beleg greeted them, “Well met sons of the Noldor. I have long wanted to make each of your acquaintance.

 

“And I yours,” Fingon offered, taking Beleg’s hand in a warrrior’s greeting. “I have heard many a story of your bravery and skill with a bow. I would like to exchange information with you sometime, if only to make all our peoples safer.”

 

“I too would like that,” Beleg replied to Fingon. “I think you’re a trouble maker and prone to fits of disobedience. This suits me,” Beleg continued, with a wink.

 

Fingon smiled. “I look forward to meeting soon at a time we can break bread.”

 

“And I will find you out in the wilds and we shall know one another,” Beleg affirmed.

 

Celegorm too greeted the warrior, thanking him for his hospitality and saying nothing of Nelyo, quietly thanking Kyelep and Sílahul for not saying anything about their mission, though obviously Beleg had a clue and certainly had knowledge of Nelyo’s predicament.

 

Turning to Acharedel, Beleg spoke, “Perhaps then I will have the pleasure of your name?”

 

“My apologies, lord,” Acharedel offered, having falling into her role as liegeman to Fingon. “Acharedel.”

 

“So you have also taken a Sindarin name,” Beleg declared. Coming closer to Acharedel he looked her over. “A wise choice of liegeman.”

 

“Indeed,” Fingon answered.

 

Amarthan chuckled. “I would like you all to know that Beleg is hardly ever this talkative,” she informed the others.

 

“It’s the moon,” he teased leaning on his bow, a move most bow people would not make, but Beleg was not just any elf. “Truth be told my words are meant to diffuse the terror you did not witness here but hours ago.”

 

“You mean those sheep you are after?” Amarthan rightly guessed. The remainder of the group exchanged concerned glances. None of them had seen or felt anything amiss. This was worrying.

 

Beleg smiled, quieting his tone. “You will be safe. Now make haste! Follow the western border of the river Sirion. We give you permission to travel close to the border, but do not cross it! The dark forces have been testing our defenses recently.”

 

Fingon and Celegorm exchanged worried glances.

 

“I’ve not heard word of anything serious coming from Mithrim,” Beleg added. “The people of Brethil have word of your return. Make haste!”

 

The group bowed deeply before Beleg. “Thank you for your aid,” Celegorm offered sincerely.

 

Quickly the group was ferried across the river alongside a number of Doriathin soldiers, making for quite an uncomfortable ride. On the other side Beleg and his company quickly disappeared to their task. Understanding Beleg’s words, the group hurried North and into safety where their elven horse friends were waiting to carry them back to Mithrim.

 

)()()()(

 

Dawn saw them coming to Fingolfin’s keep. The rising sun over Ered Wethrin was a welcome site! Though the last part of the trip after their departure from their Sindarin guests in Brethil was demanding. They wasted not much of a moment to rest. Too much darkness was stirring and there were warnings of foul creatures testing Sindarin defenses. Messenger hawks had been sent to Fingolfin and Maglor, announcing their return.

 

Celegorm found his own hawk being kept by the Sindarin elves. It had not made its way back for it had been wounded. It found its way to Celegorm’s horse and this is how the Sindar found it and helped it heal. It was not quite ready to journey so it travelled with Celegorm, safely stored in a stiff pouch under his cloak. He hoped the other hawks fared better than his, but Celegorm was also satisfied that this exchange of information could hopefully become commonplace. Beleg’s words affirmed to him and the others that they needed to at least exchange security intelligence.

 

Acharedel couldn’t contain her relief. She rode a bit taller on her mount and her eyes shone brighter with the light of the two trees. They were safe. Well into the guarded territory of Fingolfin’s army.

 

“I feel it too,” Fingon whispered riding close to her. Looking from Acharedel to his father’s standard flying in the distance, Fingon could not help but appreciate the tenacity of his people, of all that the blue and silver standard represented.  His eyes shone bright.

 

“Strange,” Sílahul commented, coming up to ride next them. “How your eyes flicker with light when overcome with emotion. From the dim glow of a candle to the radiance of a star, your eyes do deceive your emotions, when you allow them.  We prefer that you not tame this.”

 

Fingon raised an appreciative brow not tearing his eyes away from the home that grew closer.

 

Sílahul looked over at Celegorm. His eyes were dim. Celegorm was also relieved but certainly not happy to be headed to Fingolfin’s keep, it appeared, revealing more of the tensions that lay between the Noldor. After a quick moment, Sílahul turned their attention back to Acharadel. Her eyes shone with particular delight. Sílahul was fond of this elf, appreciated her curiousity and youth, but also felt for her. Speaking to her, Sílahul asked, “What is your word for dawn?

 

“Ára,” she answered, the shape and weight of the word filling her with light and purpose.

 

“Ára,” Sílahul repeated allowing the words to roll across their tongue. “We like the sound of it,” they approved. “Its better suited to that what we see.”

 

Fingon turned to look at Sílahul, unsure of what the Laiquendi healer was getting at, but there was something political about it, that was for sure. 

 

“Accarrë is my mother name and I have taken the Sindarin form. Are any of your names not prophetic? For my mother’s was…” she trailed off. That her mother had remained in Tirion was something she never spoke of, never thought of. The pain too large to confront.

“Prophetic,” Sílahul answered, looking to the standard far in the distance. Acharedel’s name reminded him of that standard. Too proud, too vengeful. Too veiled. Speaking to Fingon, Sílahul asked, “Is it not also a tradition of your people for you to come by your own name?”

 

Acharedel looked ahead at the standard, her duty, and answered for her lord: “It is for many of our people, but I was guided by duty. I felt my name spoke of that duty. It suited me.”

 

“It does not suit you now,” Sílahul countered. Acharedel stiffened on her horse causing Fingon to reach out and grab her arm. Sílahul shook their head and laughed. “Your Sindarization of your name is incorrect you know.”

 

Acharedel let out her breath and finding some amusement, chuckled. “Oh I know. Been told as much.” With this she glanced at Amarthan who was also smiling. “I kept it.”

 

Fingon released her but rode next to her. He knew his friend, that they were all spent and being so close to home, perhaps a little too open with their emotions.

 

“Just now, though, we saw you speak what Endórë tells us is your name,” Sílahul said.

 

Acharedel looked thoughtfully at Sílahul. “I felt it too,” she revealed.

 

“Ára,” Fingon whispered. “It suits you,” he said, nudging her with his leg. Fingon did not care for her mother name, felt it put too much of a burden on his friend, found that he used it more as a reminder of duty than the friendship they once had.

 

Acharedel glanced at Fingon, observed he was watching her closely. She sighed. “I want to be Ára but…” her voice dropped off.

 

“What is it?” Fingon urged. Celegorm leaned over on his horse, curious as to what his former lover’s friend would say.

 

“Do you think it will change me? That I will fail in my duty to you?”

 

“Folly!” Fingon countered. “If all in your name is a duty to me, then I say, name yourself.”

 

Acharedel shook her head vigorously, “But what am I if not your liegeman?”

 

“My friend,” Fingon answered quetly.

 

Kyelep spoke up, “A friend, a lover, a son, a daughter, a mother. These relations make for survival.”

 

Acharedel glanced back at her with understanding. Amarthan, once again, said not a word, choosing to be the quiet observer once more in this world.

 

“Then to my friends,” Acharadel announced, “I shall be known as Ára even if it is unusual for one of our names.”

 

Sílahul laughed, “Is anything usual about the Noldor? Crossing the Ice, leaving a home twice?!”

Fingon leaned towards Acharadel and caught her. Grabbing her hand he said, “Ára, my friend. I am glad you are with me in this unusual journey.”

 

The group laughed. Even Celegorm grunted. They turned to watch the sun rise fully in the sky and in an hour they were in front of Fingolfin’s gate, greeted by the crystal clear sound of trumpets.

 

)()()()(

 

Fingon couldn’t contain himself as he crossed the threshold into his father’s camp that was truly a proper village. He slid off his horse, handing his gear to waiting elves and into his father’s arms. These elves watched quietly, much like Amarthan, did their job, and would later tell their loved ones of all that conspired.

 

“How fares he?” Fingon asked his father in his accented Sindarin.

 

Celegorm too was hasty but stood back, though he wanted to demand the same.

 

“Not well,” Fingolfin admitted. Looking up from his son he appraised the Laiquendi elves that stood quietly. Using Sindarin as Fingon did, Fingolfin declared: “I offer you my welcome and gratitude. My daughter, Irissë, will help you with whatever you need in the way of comfort. In the healing ward you will have whatever we have at your disposal.”

 

Sílahul bowed their head. “We hear the urgency in your voice. Let us not waste a moment on unnecessary frivolities. We need to see the patient immediately. We will take some light food in drink in your healing ward.”

 

“Of course,” Fingolfin commanded. Looking to Kyelep, Fingolfin raised an eyebrow. She was utterly familiar.

 

Kyelep smiled. This elf was a closer replica of Finwë than Fingon, she considered. “I wish to speak with you and my nephews.”

 

“Nephews?” Fingolfin questioned, though he had guessed the woman was related to Miriel for she seemed a copy of the Miriel that Fingolfin remembered from paintings and from his father’s memories, except that this elf was happy.

 

Fingon cleared his throat, but Kyelep spoke instead: “Miriel was my sister and I seek to make acquaintance with my family. I also want to know the story of why my sister perished and how you came to be.”

 

Behind Fingolfin, an elf chuckled. Fingolfin’s eyes were round with surprise, responding, “Strange days!” Fingolfin was caught off guard by the forward request coming from the sister of Miriel. He did not know how to respond to her request. Was there danger in telling her that part of the story? How much would she deduce of the other parts of their nefarious story? What did she know of the Fëanorians? It was clear he had to tread lightly with her as Fingon’s eyes were wide with caution. Do not offend her. She is not danger to us. Of this I am sure, he heard his son share through mind speech.

 

Fingon spoke up, “Kyelep saved us. The Laiquendi, we, I, owe them our lives.” At that Fingolfin spun to look at Fingon. Silently Fingon shared an image of his pursuit by orcs in the forest. Fingolfin gasped and turned to look once more at the silver-haired Laiquendi woman. Fingolfin wanted to throttle Fingon for once more finding himself in such danger. More importantly he understood he now stood in debt to the Laiquendi.

 

It was Lalwen who answered this time, “And you shall hear that story. I will gladly tell it.” Moving closer to Kyelep, Lalwen introduced herself, “I am Írimë, sister of Fingolfin, and daughter of Finwë and Indis, a woman I am sure you are curious about.”

 

Kyelep studied Finwë’s daughter. Surely she looked like her mother, but she also had her father Finwe’s nose. “I would like that very much,” Kyelep replied.

 

Lalwen glanced at Fingolfin and winked so all could see, diffusing the situation and shifting the protocol to one that was more informal. “It is settled then. I will be your minder while you are here.” Looking at Fingolfin, she offered provocatively, “Noldor men do not come easy to trust, so it is up to the women to tend to these things.”

 

Kyelep laughed at this. “The women of the Noldor surprise me indeed!”

 

It was Sílahul’s turn to speak. “And how would we fair amongst the Noldor,” they asked pointedly but politely.

 

Fingolfin bowed his head. “Amongst the people of my house and those loyal to me, we honor kwen though it was one of the many traditions made outlaw on the other side by the Valar.”

 

Sílahul smiled softly. “We are pleased kwen was not lost to you, though it seems we were not welcome in your Blessed Realm.”

 

Aredhel spoke up, “One of the many, many ways we were imposed upon.”

 

Sílahul observed a different manner of being in the young woman that they did not see in the other Noldor. She carried it quite proudly. She had won much but at such a cost! Perhaps they could help her too, they wondered.

 

Aredhel glanced past Celegorm, ignoring him. “Follow me,” she spoke to Sílahul. They followed. This adventure was turning out to be more interesting than they could have imagined, but their thoughts also turned to the patient. There was a darkness in the village that was surely coming from him.

 

Likewise Lalwen also offered Kyelep much needed respite. “You must be famished from your arduous journey,” Lalwen observed the muddied clothes and the tired horses.

 

“I am,” Kyelep admitted. “Food and company would be welcome.”

 

“I shall have the rooms near my own quarters readied, if you agree?” Lalwen queried.

 

“I do,” Kyelep responded. She liked Lawlen.

 

Lalwen gestured, “This way.” They walked away together caught up in quiet conversation.

 

“That leaves you,” Fingolfin directed himself to Celegorm. “You are in need of rest. You may stay in replacement of your brothers.”

 

Celegorm looked around but did not see Amrod or Amras.

 

“They are in the healing ward. Nelyo is not well,” Fingolfin informed Celegorm. “They do all they can to keep his fëa tethered. In your state you will not help Nelyo. Go rest and regain your strength.” Fingolfin ordered. “One of your healers will be with you shortly and assist you in whatever manner you best see fit.”

 

With that Celegorm was dismissed. Instead of complaining Celegorm followed Finrod, though he was livid with Fingolfin’s treatment of him. It seemed relations between the Fëanorians and Nolófinwëans had soured more.

 

“It is wise you were not contrarian. The mood here is tense,” Finrod shared. “The love between our houses is more a burden of memory than something tangible. Our future together, I dare say depends on your brothers survival,” Finrod spoke, leading Celegorm to his quarters.

 

“How much longer will I be welcome here?” Celegorm asked.

 

Finrod looked to Celegorm, his eyes cool, appraising his half cousin. “If your healer asks it, we will tolerate it for a while, but if he deems it unnecessary for you to be with your brother then you will return to your camp.”

 

Celegorm gritted his teeth. “And we are in no place to counter,” Celegorm replied. “I hope he lives because I love him,” Celegorm added, more for himself than Finrod.

 

“Nevertheless,” Finrod countered, “Let us hope Nelyo recovers because we need him. Otherwise Fingon’s deed will have been in vain, I fear.” He loves him more, Finrod silently indicted Celegorm.

 

“He will survive, “Celegorm countered, his mask of calmness replaced by eyes full of fire.

 

“Here you are,” Finrod indicated, ushering Celegorm into his room and closing the doors. Finrod did not wait to see if Celegorm needed anything.

 

Celegorm stifled an angry and frustrated shout. He wanted to yell and curse his cousin, but not now. He needed to focus on Nelyo’s well-being and his own healing. He was dreadfully sore. His lung ached. After a moment there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” Celegorm announced and in came one of the Feanorian healers with a tray of food and drink. Celegorm wasted no time in barking out orders to the Fëanorian healer: “I need to rest, regain my strength quickly to aid Nelyo.”

 

The healer nodded. “Eat and drink this tea,” he directed, offering a mug to Celegorm. The healer’s words broached no argument. “While you sleep I will tend to you,” the healer added. Celegorm sighed and sat, ate, and swallowed his tea quickly, under the watchful eye of the healer. The healer informed Celegorm of the exchanges between Maglor and Fingolfin, how Curufin had come demanding Nelyo be moved back to their camp. Indeed, things had quickly devolved. Celegorm had felt more at ease in the forest of the Laiquendi. The danger that lurked there he could tolerate. The unease that seeped into his bones in Fingolfin’s camp was disconcerting. He was entirely at their mercy and little did he trust them. Nelyo needed to get better to put a stop to his upstart uncle. Like it or not, Nelyo was the rightful leader. Celegorm smiled thinly. Kyelep would be an ally in this.