Quenta Narquelion by bunn

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Steadfast in Friendship

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The doors of Belegost were shut, and a strong guard of heavily-armoured dwarves in mail and helmets embossed with runes manned the towers and guard posts that stood around it. The Dwarves did not fire on the approaching Elves, but they did not seem happy to see them, either.

They waited outside the gate all day, hungry, thirsty and all of them uncomfortably aware of the sights of the huge siege weapons and war bows that were trained on the ground where they stood, but trying not to show it, while Maedhros politely greeted first one Dwarf and then another, and another. It appeared that the Dwarves of Belegost did not quite know what to do with them.

Maglor moved quietly through the Noldor, speaking to one and then another, reminding them once again, in Quenya, which was not much spoken by Dwarves, that Belegost had been their true and trusted ally in battle, and that their lord was counting on them to speak softly and choose their words with care.

Fëanor had almost decided that the entire journey North had been a waste of time, and was considering whether there was any merit in his going North alone, to see what Morgoth might be up to, when at last a Dwarf came out who seemed uncomplicatedly pleased to see the Elvish visitors.

It was Audur of the House of Azaghâl, known as the Elf-friend, who had fought beside them in the Nirnaeth Arnoediad years before. There were white strands showing in her beard and hair now, but she was hale and cheerful as she greeted them. Maedhros sighed with relief to see her.

She brought with her younger dwarves, some of her many nephews, bearing gifts of hospitality. They were generous ones too, for all that they had taken so long to arrive: white bread, thick slices of goat cheese and smoked ham, jugs of wine, and slices of a rich dark cake studded with fruit and iced with sugar. These last were received with such obvious delight by Elrond and Elros, who probably had never encountered such a delicacy before, that several of the company set their own slices aside for them, as for younger brothers.

The Noldor were welcomed at last into the city, and brought to the high-ceilinged, finely decorated guest rooms designed for Elvish visitors. They had stayed there before, in the immediate aftermath of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad: a time that seemed much less black now in the memory than it had done at the time.

The rooms were fitted with fine wooden furniture, built tall enough for Elves to use comfortably. The sitting room that they gave to Maedhros even had a small window, rather than light that came only from lamps or through long shafts from the mountaintops.

“May the stars shine on Caranthir,” Maglor said to his brother, collapsing into a well-padded chair with considerable relief when the Dwarves had left, departing with many bows and compliments. All the others had retired for the night. “It would never have occurred to me to sell them licenses to use our ideas, rather than simply make whole things to sell to them. You’d think they’d be upset about it, but Audur seemed delighted!”

“I am not sure that they would have been so delighted if we had wanted to take away all the treasure that they have so carefully accounted as ours,” Maedhros said, and then rubbed his tired eyes. “No, I am being unfair. They are very generous hosts. And they will be most happy to trade us workshop time and materials for the gold and silver, which is just as I’d wish. It will give us time to speak of alliances. ”

“Do you think they are all right?” Maglor asked him. “Caranthir and the others, I mean. In the Halls of Mandos.”

“I don’t know,” Maedhros said, slowly. “I cannot believe the Valar would be deliberately cruel to them. But... I am not sure they will understand them either. Particularly Curufin.”

“Poor Curvo...” Maglor said. Maedhros looked at him, and Maglor made a gesture of acknowledgement. “Oh, all right. It wasn’t his fault that he was afraid, and could find no way not to be, for all his ingenuity and pride. Harder for him, too, because he was the only one of us with a son to worry about. I should have been kinder.”

“And Celegorm?”

“Don’t push it. I’m not sure I’m quite that forgiving yet, even if you are.”

“Celegorm didn’t attack the Havens,” Maedhros pointed out.

“What a cheering thought. Oh, all right. I admit it: I lost the right to say harsh words to any of our brothers at the Havens, when our own people tried to stop us and I killed them... Can I stop thinking about it now?”

Maedhros shrugged. “Mandos will probably understand Celegorm more easily than Curufin.”

“Or our father, for that matter,” Maglor said. Maedhros looked down at his cup, avoiding his brother’s eyes. “If Mandos understood our father, we might not even be here... I hope he is all right. It will drive them mad, if they lock them up with nothing to do, and the Oath. Well. Madder. But that would still be better than failing and... everlasting darkness. Surely the darkness will at least wait for the last of us to fail in our task. Surely...”

“I don’t think the everlasting darkness has taken them yet,” Maedhros said, although he did not explain why he thought so. “But we will very likely find out, soon enough.”

“We may. You know, I never thought it would be me and you, still here at the end. Well, it would be you, of course. You’re tougher than an old boot and the oldest. You were always the strong one. But me? I never thought I’d last longer than Caranthir. Or the twins.”

“That’s strange,” Maedhros told him, pouring more wine into both cups. “I always thought that it was you who was the strong one. I’ve leaned on you, all the way since... Thangorodrim.”

“And here I thought I was just following your lead,” Maglor said lightly.

“Oh, don’t,” Maedhros looked distressed. “That makes it all even more my fault... I’m sorry, Maglor. I never thought it would come to this.”

Maglor leant forward again, looking serious and looked him straight in the eye. “It is exactly as much my fault as it is yours. Never doubt that.”

Maedhros gave him what was almost a smile. “Thank you for the comfort. I know my choices have been terrible. Yet you have followed me, every step, although I led you into darkness, and I am grateful. We should have stayed in the North, and tried to retake Himring, instead of going south to Amon Ereb. If I had been able to hope that it would bring us closer to the Enemy’s Silmarils... We should never have attacked Doriath. You were reluctant, and I... Fingon would have...” he let the sentence trail off.

“Fingon would have stopped us, if he were here, you think?” Maglor said.

“That’s not quite what I meant,” Maedhros said, sounding apologetic.

“Perhaps he would have tried, at that. But perhaps he would not — can you be quite sure that he would have tried, for Dior’s sake? Doriath never did one thing to aid Hithlum, or any of the Noldor.”

“Perhaps not for Dior’s sake, but for Nimloth’s, yes, I think so. For Nimloth, and all the rest in Doriath who never took or held a Silmaril. Yet died for it.”

“I suppose so.” Maglor shifted, uncomfortably. “I had thought of making a song for poor heroic Nimloth, but who would sing it but me? And no-one here would want to hear it... All the same, who knows what Fingon might have done, if he had been the one with the Oath hanging over him? Fingon was never one for hesitation.”

“No. No, he wasn’t. Isn’t: he’d want to return to life again, if they let him. And surely they will, in time. The Eagle came at his request, after all. I keep thinking, what would he do? And then realising that if he were still here, he’d probably be on Balar, regarding me with horror, like Gil-galad... At least he’s free of all this, in Mandos’s halls — and I don’t have to look him in the eye. But I wish I could have found another path.”

“The hour is far too late for handing out blame,” Maglor said. “I might have stopped you. I could have tried. You were not yourself. I saw it but I was so afraid you’d leave me to the Oath, that I buried myself in music and would not see...”

“I absolutely refuse to let you steal the blame from me,” Maedhros said wryly.

“In that case, let us share, and leave it that it’s hard to fight the Oath. Anyway. Here for a change we have warm water — how long is it since we had that — beds to sleep in, and will not be woken by a night attack. I’m going to wash, and sleep, and walk in dreams of happier times. If you’ll take my advice, you’ll do the same.” He drained his cup, got up, and went out.

Maedhros’s eyes went to his father’s spirit. He looked Fëanor in the eye for a long moment, but he did not speak. Fëanor did not speak either.

* * * * *

Safe behind the massive walls of Belegost, the Noldor repaired and replaced their broken and damaged gear. The thin, shaggy horses, sheltered in stone-walled stables from the oncoming winter, bloomed with health again on the hay and oats that the Dwarves traded from the East. The Noldor spun the Dwarves’ goat-wool and flax into fine light cloth, and made new clothes, and even worked a little fine gold thread into some of them, in case their lords should wish to hold a festival some day.

The forges and workshops of Belegost — at least, those accessible to visitors of almost twice the usual height — were busy with Noldorin smiths working alongside the Dwarves to reinforce the defences around the great gates: the Noldor working mostly with stone, the Dwarves with metal. They were doing good work, too, Fëanor was pleased to observe, although he did have to make a couple of quiet corrections to the plans, where efficiency savings had unaccountably been missed.   

He was able to work quietly on the spirit-sword too, when there was no-one else about, and, after some observation of the technique, even borrowed an idea that the Dwarves were using in their armour-making, which he thought could be usefully extended outside the realm of metal to the art of the spirit, to reinforce the armour called from air and water that he had made for himself against the biting cold of Angband.

In a cupboard in the guest quarters, Elrond discovered a pile of books of poetry and stories from Valinor, left behind by Celebrimbor on one of his visits here long ago, which were passed around joyfully and read in turn by the entire company, even those who could remember Valinor personally.

No word came from the Valar to Belegost.

“Do you think it is possible that Mahal might be offended at us?” Audur asked Maedhros, one winter evening when the snow lay heavy around the mountain-walls, and the fires burned bright and warm in the halls, sending flickering light to reflect on the shining carvings on wall and ceiling. “You have met him! If he has come to Middle-earth to fight the Enemy, as you say, why would he not call upon his own people for aid?”

“I do not know if Mahal is with the host of the Valar, or if he remains in the West,” Maedhros said. “I did not see his face or speak to any of the host: we only saw the ships from afar as we began our journey North.”

“You would recognise him, and we would not,” Audur tugged on her beard in amazement. “That still seems so strange. Mahal has not spoken to us for time out of mind.”

“I know that he has not forgotten you. He spoke often and proudly of the Dwarves and their accomplishments,” Maedhros said. To Fëanor’s mind, he was exaggerating matters a little, but then that was diplomacy for you. “I cannot be sure, but it is my belief that Mahal will send you a message when a time comes that one is needed. But in the meanwhile, let us see what we can make out of what the hosts of Valinor are doing.”

He took out three small round balls of crystal from their leather pouches, one by one, with his left hand, and placed them on the low table. “These will not give us the range of vision that we used to have, when I showed them to your lord Azaghâl at Himring,” he said to the dwarf. “The seeing stones work best when there is another seeing stone to call to, and there are few left in Beleriand now.”

“I have never seen any of these so close before!” Audur leaned close to examine them, until her nose was almost touching the stone. “How do they work?”

“I cannot tell you how to make them, if that is your meaning,” Maedhros said. “Making them is not a field I have studied.”

“Nor I,” Maglor said, a little apologetically, when Audur turned to him inquiringly. “I fear we lost the knowledge with my brother Curufin.”

“I only know how to use them.” Maedhros said. “They call to one another, so unless you direct them elsewhere with an act of will, they show what the other stones can see. You can touch thoughts through them too, even if the other stone is held by someone who is not of your blood or allegiance — even if they do not know how to hold their mind open, even. That can be useful, sometimes.”

Audur looked alarmed and pulled her chair back, leaning well away from them. “Are there none in the hands of the Enemy?” she asked.

“No. They are safe, I assure you,” Maedhros said, reassuringly. “Fingolfin the king had the same thought as you. By his command, all of those that were made in Middle-earth are subject to their masterword, known only to a few. Any of the seeing stones that fall to the Enemy become lumps of rock again. He cannot use them.”

“Clever,” Audur said, a little regretfully, and she reached out and touched one cautiously. “I wish we knew the trick of making them. But they will show us the host of the Valar, you say?”

“I hope so.”

He pushed the three stones together in a group, just touching and held his hand above them for a moment. They flickered, and the hearts of them blossomed with a faint golden light. Maedhros spoke a few quiet words, and then looked down, deliberately, staring at his silver hand.

Images curled into view, floating in the air, small and bright, merging one to the next: a ruin, burned and smoke-blackened, barely recognisable as what had once been Fingolfin’s great keep of Barad Eithel. Orcs were burning something near the gatehouse, their figures outlined black against the red flames.

The scene changed, and a pale cold lake was washing thin ice over broken stones which had once been finely-carved. Fëanor recognised it as Mithrim, but only because he remembered it so well. Another broken wall... was it Himring, or Caranthir’s old fortress upon Mount Rerir? It was hard to say. Something huge and dark was scuttling through hills which might once have been in Dorthonion. Darkness lay on Nargothrond, only a splintered patch of moonlight shone through a broken door. Fëanor had seen it all before, of course, and yet unlike Maedhros, he could not look away.

“They always seek first for the other stones, in the places where they were often used to speak with them,” Maedhros explained. “Now I will turn them to look into the South.” He took a deep breath and reached out to touch the nearest stone.

Banners, white banners flying against a sky full of stars, flowing in a wind from the Sea. So many of them that they were beyond count. The Host of Valinor was on the march under the winter stars.

With the clear sight granted by death Fëanor could see, woven through the ground and reaching into the trees, the dark essence of the enemy. It had reached so far from Angband now! he thought, in horror. Across the hills of the Taur-nu-Fuin, the precipices of Ered Gorgoroth and the Valley of Dreadful Death, across the woods that had once been Doriath across the Andram wall down to willow-meads of Tasarinan, Morgoth’s reach now stretched, coiling in darkness.

Maedhros’s eyes narrowed. He was only looking at the host. “Those are Noldor, from the banners. This must be the host of Finarfin. They are still on the banks of the river Narog, I think. South of Nargothrond, from the look of it. ”

“So far South, still? I thought they would head straight for the Anfauglith and the gates of Angband, as we did,” Maglor said in surprise. “But then, I suppose they landed much further South, and have been fiercely opposed from the start.”

“We knew the host of the Vanyar landed further north and west than the Noldor did, at Eglarest. They had to fight for it,” Maedhros told Audur. “But it has been some time since the seeing stones have consented to give us sight of the Noldor host. We saw them land at the Havens at the mouth of Sirion, and they were camped there for a while after they cleared out the orcs near the shore. But that was months ago.”

“They are under attack!” exclaimed Audur, looking at a flurry of activity, barely to be seen in the distance.

Maedhros looked thoughtfully at the bright image, distant and yet present. “Orcs and Men are not the only servants of Morgoth that are roaming Beleriand now. And he can work the weather, too. I think they are having to fight for every foot of land. I will try to show it more clearly.”

He stroked the stones with one finger, cautiously. They saw for a moment a whirl of images. Great spider-webs strung between the trees to hinder the army’s movement, and monstrous water-beasts diving and bellowing in the River Narog. As they watched, a small party of warg-riders burst from the trees and feinted at the Noldorin flank, which struck back swiftly, racing after them.

“Oh no,” Maglor said softly, and winced, seeing at once what was coming. The sortie was following the lightly-armoured warg-riders a little too close to the river, moving at speed and unwarily. Then, inevitably, the ground collapsed beneath them, bearing the armoured Elves down into the water, where savage teeth and the swift river awaited them.

“It’s painful to watch,” Maedhros agreed. “But they will learn. We did! Soon they will think twice before they dash into a counterattack against a swifter foe on unknown ground without thought or planning. And even now, they must be doing the Enemy a good deal of damage. The Vanyar slaughtered orcs in heaps when they re-took Eglarest, and the few that got away fled in terror. But our Enemy is well prepared, and his forces are legion.”

The host of the Noldor of Valinor was under deep shadow now, and it was hard to make out even the white banners they carried. “I think he’s sent them another hailstorm,” Maedhros said. “We’ll see no more until it is over.”

He reached out to the stones, but before he could touch them, a face appeared, young but stern, lit by a warm light. Behind him, a high room adorned with tapestries could be seen. His dark blue cloak was fastened with a great gold brooch marked with the winged sun and stars of the House of Fingolfin. He looked out of the image, meeting Maedhros’s eyes for a brief moment, startled and frowning, and then made an impatient gesture and the image vanished. The light in the stones faded and went dark.

“Who was that?” Audur asked, in surprise.

“That,” said Maedhros, with a resigned note in his voice, “was Ereinion Gil-galad, High King of the Noldor in Middle-earth. I said these stones all look to one another. Gil-galad has at least one of the stones of Hithlum with him, on the Isle of Balar. Sometimes they call to one another unasked, if he comes to use his stone when I am using these. He has nothing to say to me. A pity. I would like to hear his opinion of the advance of the hosts of Valinor.”

“I have never understood this,” Audur said, puzzled. “I understood that you are the eldest son of the elder line of your house, lord Maedhros. How can it be that this Ereinion Gil-galad claims to rule your people? It is as if some lesser house should seek to take the place of the line of Azaghâl. It turns everything upside down!”

“Things are different among the Noldor, to how they are for the Dwarves,” Maglor said, quickly, glancing cautiously at his brother.

“I set aside the kingship of the Noldor, long ago,” Maedhros said, calmly. “Gil-galad is a far better king than I could be, and his father was my cousin and more than my friend, long before he was my king. I have had other business.”

“Well, it still seems very strange to me,” Audur said, looking disapproving.

 

* * * * *

Elros and Elrond were practice-fighting, with light, blunted practice blades and real, full-length war shields, at one end of one of the long drilling-halls that the Dwarf-guard of the mountain-city used for their practice. They both moved gracefully, but they were at the awkward, long legged stage of their growth, and so were less agile than one might expect of children of the Eldar.

Maglor was watching and calling out advice from time to time. They had been going long enough that both were breathing heavily, when Elros managed to catch his brother off-balance and knocked him sprawling.

“Four-one to me!” he called out triumphantly.

“Ow,” said Elrond, letting the shield go with a clang, and rolling on his back to rub the knee that he had bruised on a stone bench as he fell. “You are getting far too good at this. I don’t want to fight you any more!”

“You let him back you against the wall again,” Maglor told him. “You’d be evenly matched if you pushed him harder.”

“I really don’t think we would,” Elros said.

“And that’s why you aren’t.” Maglor said, gesturing to Elros who waved his sword triumphantly at his brother, grinning.

“Well, I’m still all bruises. Can we stop now? I’m tired.”

“No. If you want to walk out of a battle and not just into it, you need to be able to fight when you are tired. Pick up your shield.”

Elrond picked up the shield. “Will you fight me for a bit?” he asked Maglor plaintively. “You don’t shove as hard as he does.”

“Perhaps I should shove harder, then. But all right. Elros, you have done well. Go and find Carnil, and tell her I asked her to fence with you for a little while. Elrond, we’ll stand in the middle so you don’t bounce off the furniture. See if you can get my shield down.”

“This seems so pointless,” Elrond said, circling Maglor with sword extended as Elros ran off. “Could I not try a word of command? I would if this were a real fight.”

“If you tried to use a word of command on me, here inside a mountain, I could bring it down on your head,” Maglor said, turning effortlessly as Elrond lunged at him panting, and knocking his sword-tip to one side with the shield. “I wouldn’t even need much strength of my own. I could turn yours back on you. It would be a terrible risk to take: you would have to be desperate. A sword is more precise, just as effective against many foes, and nothing like so tiring, once you are used to using it. ”

“But I’m never going to be able to beat someone like you with a sword.”

“You might be surprised.” Maglor caught the sword-tip again and moved sideways. “Don’t forget to look where you are going! You’ll be too close to the wall again. Maedhros could show you how he’d do it. He’s better than me, even with his left hand. Perhaps I’ll ask him to give you a lesson.”

Elrond stepped back in alarm, his sword-tip dropping. “No. I don’t want...”

“Why not? It is better to learn from the best.”

“I am afraid of Maedhros,” Elrond said, in a low voice.

“Oh.” Maglor was taken aback.

“Don’t tell Elros. He says we should be afraid of nobody.”

“Well, that’s Elros. Don’t take him too literally. Of course you should be afraid of... of the Black Enemy of All the World. Everyone should. He is much to be feared! But my brother Maedhros does not want to hurt you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Elrond, I am standing right in front of you with a sword in my hand. If we wanted you dead, you would be dead, you have known that for years.”

“I don’t mean you.” Elrond put the sword and shield down neatly side by side on the floor and stared at them. “I mean him. He’s the one that... ”

“No. Don’t ever say that, or think it,” Maglor said, and his voice was sharp with pain and anger. “Maedhros has killed his own kin, but so have I. Over, and over, and over...Do not fool yourself into believing that I am the one that you can trust. Do not blame Maedhros for my decisions. I chose to take the Oath. Foe or friend, foul or clean... I am sworn to kill, or the Everlasting Darkness takes me.”

Elrond took a step back in alarm at the anger in his voice. Maglor put his sword and shield down on the ground, next to Elrond’s, and held out his hands, weaponless.

“I chose to be a murderer,” he said, in a quieter voice, despairing. “You should trust me no more than him. Less. Maedhros tried to forswear the Oath, and it tormented him cruelly. I have not dared to do the same. If Maedhros is your enemy, then so am I.”

Elrond looked at him for a moment, then he stepped over the swords lying on the floor, and laid a hand on Maglor’s arm. “You are not my enemy,” he said seriously. “If I had a Silmaril, I would give it to you.”

Maglor looked at him, speechless.

Elrond looked uncomfortable at the silence. “Also, I have got your shield down,” he said, pointing at it where it lay on the ground.

Maglor laughed, painfully. “You have,” he admitted. “Don’t tell Elros. If you do, he won’t rest until he has done it too, and I don’t think I need the practice. I already have enough bruises.”

Elrond picked up the swords and offered Maglor one of the hilts. “Should we go on?”

Maglor reached out to take it, and then let his hand drop to his side instead. “I find that I am very tired of swords, just now,” he said. “Shall we go out from the city into the hills instead and practice singing up a landslide?”

“Yes!” Elrond said eagerly “But I thought it was dangerous?”

“Of course it is dangerous. But I am the infamous Maglor, Son of Fëanor, and you are the one who has just taken my sword and shield. Unless we encounter a Balrog, nothing we meet in the hills will be as dangerous as we are.”