Eyes Bright with Honor by heget

The Fourth

Read The Fourth

Consael did not have to be here. There was no life debt obliging him by oath and honor to be a part of this quest. His imprisonment in this foul dungeon came from freely taken choices. His soon-to-be death was not the fulfillment of an event postponed by the timely intervention of Barahir’s men in the Fens of Serech.

Of the eleven elves in this dungeon cell, Consael was the only one not a veteran of that battle. Before the Bragollach he had never seen Nargothrond or its golden-haired king, and his exposure to mortal men had been limited. Aglar, his sister’s new husband, had embodied the only tie of kinship or fealty beyond that of guest-right linking Consael to any of his compatriots. His younger sister’s husband had been an admirable man, but there were thousands in Nargothrond who by right of honor and obligation of fealty should have hung in chains beside Finrod and the other soldiers, far more than Consael himself. Finrod had not been his lord. Before the speeches in the throne room, Consael’s oath-pledge had been to Celegorm and Curufin. A great irony, for the two had ousted King Finrod from the city he had hand-designed and built - and by that act had removed any loyalty towards them in his heart. By all rights, Consael should have stayed in Nargothrond. His mother would have preferred he advance himself in the wake of the power grasp. Opportunities undoubtedly had arisen when the two sons of Fëanor overthrew the city. If Consael was honest with himself, spite towards his covetous mother influenced his motivation in equal part with his disgust at his former lords.

Motivations made no impact to the werewolves or the order in which they chose their meals.

His family had lived on the coast, south of Mount Taras, before the war pushed their community inward, settling in the region that the sons of Fëanor would rename Himlad in honor of their brother’s fortress, Himring. Though the orcs had destroyed their homes in the battles before the moon arose, Consael’s immediate family had survived, returned to land that Celegorm and Curufin claimed, and receiving their new Noldor overlords peacefully. He knew his parents and neighbors had been thankful of the bright swords and the troops unwearied from decades of fighting who wielded them. Especially in their thanks was the fearsome Huan who singlehandedly cleared the wolves from the forests. That Huan had been a gift from Oromë Tauron himself and that Celegorm had been a student and follower of the Lord of Forests had reassured Consael’s family and neighbors. Oromë was the Valar still deeply respected by the Sindar.

The truth of the Kin-slaying and repudiation of the Valar had rattled Consael’s family and neighbors, but there was nothing they could do to address those wrongs. King Thingol had declared that the Noldor had suffered for their crimes, and as long as the newcomers spoke Sindarin, it was an open display of their repentance. That would have to do, and it was not as if Consael’s family was willing or wealthy enough to relocate once more, at least in those days when it seemed possible to defeat Morgoth. His family was bonded to the woods of Himlad even as they clung to the memory of the coast in family sigils and necklaces of golden seashells passed down from mother to daughter.

Faelineth had been wearing one such necklace as she loaded food and bandages into travel packs for Aglar and him. The supplies had been abandoned with the rest of their gear when the thirteen doned the orcish disguises.

As overlords Celegorm and Curufin had been satisfactory, Consael surmised. He had no disagreeable memories of them from his childhood, or to be honest any memories featuring the two, except hearing their hunting horns during the summer as he gathered firewood. Their status as Kin-slayers had been politely ignored, and difficult to believe, until Nargothrond. Truth was, the only Noldor that Consael interacted with until adulthood had been the steward, constable, and a few servants from the castle. The constable had sent grooms out to teach Consael and his brothers how to ride and to use lance, sword, and bow afoot and from the saddle. Then when Consael was grown, the marshall conscripted him into the defenses of Himlad. Still, Consael rarely interacted with the lords, unless to act as beaters during their hunts.  It was the steward from whom he accepted the yearly payments, though he had publicly pledged his oath before Lord Celegorm and received a bright smile in return. Overall Consael liked the Noldor he served beside, few in number though they were in Himlad. All of the grooms except the chief had been fellow Sindar, even if most were Mithrim from up north who had traveled down with the Noldor. Consael knew his being born in Himlad doomed him from promotions, for only Noldor held high positions of power in Himlad. Still, he had no resentment remaining a cavalry soldier. His mother cultivated all the ambition he lacked, and he had been a poor vessel in which to hold her desires.

He worried if his mother would mourn him. His solace was the conviction that his sister, Faelineth, would. He wondered if she mourned already for Aglar.

None in Himlad’s central castle showed Consael open contempt or discourtesy, or at least he had been too young and sheltered then to recognize it. Consael knew the Noldor called his people Moriquendi, dark elves, and condescendingly thought of anyone who had not lived within sight of the Two Trees as more ignorant and weaker. Because of this attitude, his family did their best to hide his grandmother’s ancestry. She had been of the Avari until she left the dark and secret caves to marry his grandfather. Thus she was counted Celbin, same as any other elf of Beleriand and member of their settlement, and there had been no stigma. But the Noldor put stock in whether one’s family had partaken in the Great March or ever turned back - even if these Noldor were all Returned now. Consael would not chance their scorn. His mother warned his sister to hide their grandmother’s history from the people of Nargothrond as they had in Himlad, yet Faelineth argued that her new husband would not be biased.

Faelineth’s marriage had been sudden, one without witness or warning. Aglar had been injured during the Bragollach, poisoned by the foul waters of the fen, and carried back to Nargothrond feverish and arm broken. Faelineth, trained as a healer but rarely allowed to serve, had been pressed to tend those wounded during the flight to Nargothrond’s safety and once more within the hidden city. She had comforted Aglar in those chaotic dark days after the Fourth Battle, when Aglar mourned the death of a brother and believed more family dead. Consael did not blame his sister for her sudden love, for Aglar was strikingly handsome, red-haired and blue eyes burning like all Returned with unnatural brightness, and he was boyish and gentle outside of battle. And he had been hurting, in spirit more than body, when Faelineth first met him, so it was no surprise her healer’s heart moved for him. To marry without a year’s betrothal and witnesses was not unheard of, but to do so during wartime was so, and after the Bragollach no one could deny the war. Consael’s mother had been appalled at their union until Aglar’s status as a lord among the Noldor was revealed, and one with blood ties through the maternal lines to Celegorm and Curufin. Then her mood briefly lightened, before darkening once more when confronted with the mutual animosity between the second cousins. To Faelineth’s face their mother feigned acceptance. Privately he wondered if she would celebrate Faelineth's widowhood.

Consael knew he was going to die in this dungeon, as Aglar had.

A coward fearing death would have stayed in Nargothrond. Celegorm and Curufin overthrew their cousin via speeches that preyed upon a city’s fears, stealing hearts and loyalty. Consael chose contrary. He stepped forward when Finrod asked for companions. Aglar, flame-bright eyes widened in surprise, had smiled gratefully at Consael’s action. Still, those glowing eyes had not masked how bold his brother-in-law thought his actions.

During their speeches Celegorm and Curufin had used Beren’s life as an outlaw and the scars of trauma the mortal still obviously bore as evidence to avoid conflict with Morgoth. Their barely veiled threats of more Kin-slaying had cowed the crowd, but invoking the mortal had swayed Consael in a manner perhaps none would have anticipated.

During the brief time between Beren’s arrival and the moment that the extent of his request and the lengths King Finrod was willing to aid him had been revealed, Consael had approached the mortal man. Curiosity at the chance to closely observe one of the Second-born had been part, but admiration for the many stories of the vast bounty on the outlaw’s head, of how greatly Morgoth feared and hated this lone mortal, and to see if the reality matched all the songs also motivated Consael. In Himlad the Second-born were give little attention, despite their large settlement to the south, as their lords saw no opportunities for trade-wealth. Unlike the dwarves, the mortals entered Beleriand as poor refugees. In Nargothrond attitudes and mutually entwined history were positive, and Consael listened to many tales and songs with interest inflamed. He spoke to Beren when King Finrod was not conferring with him, even took the mortal to meet his sister and have Faelineth inspect him for any wounds acquired during the journey from Menegroth to Nargothrond. Beren had been courteous, if skittish. Consael had been charmed.

In fact the only being in Nargothrond with more instant affection and admiration for Beren might have been Huan. That Consael took as a sign.

Beren spoke naught of his journey from the twisted wreck of Dorthonion down the sheer cliffs infested with Ungoliant’s demonic brood, travelling through that valley of dread and horror to come out mostly unscathed to the forest on the borders of Doriath. Nan Dungortheb, and all the death it had been rightfully named for, Beren gave no details of, and yet of his twelve companions only Consael could with experience guess at some of the horrors Beren had overcome. The group that had fought their way from Himlad to Nargothrond during the Bragollach had numbered close to two thousand when entering Nan Dungortheb: well armored, mounted, with men to spare for sentries. Even fleeing for their lives, the survivors of Himlad had been well-equipped to fight the giant spiders that lurked in those mists. Still they had lost several dozen, and it had taken weeks of terror to transverse the long valley. Celegorm and Curufin chose that route when Himlad was in danger of being overrun instead of trying to break through the fires and besieging armies to their brothers to the north or south because the losses calculated would have been less, and it was known that no orc would dare the spiders’ territory. That they would been granted safe lodgings under their cousin’s protection had been the other draw. Guest-right was vital in Beleriand, a sacred value that allowed the Sindar to survive in wandering groups across the perpetual night, to find shelter with others during winter and times of distress. King Finrod’s generous and welcoming nature was a byword across the continent. Beren had crossed alone, with no companion to watch his back or cover him during night shifts. Killing spiders had been a task for crews, not a lone fighter, and preferably with ranged weapons. In the close range one needed a blunt weapon, a war hammer or club to crush the carapaces. Shields had been the other necessity, one's own and those of one's companions. Consael had nightmares for two years afterwards of trying to smash skittering legs. Beren admitted he had no experience wielding a lance, and that he had carried a sword, not a spear, during his time as an outlaw. Consael thought of what it would take to get in close to the spawn of Ungoliant and strike with precision the weak points in those segmented bodies while evading those envenomed pincers and many legs. The weak points were the bellies or eyes, or to strike through the open mouth during that split second as crushing mandibles dripping with poison lunged to devour face or arm. To exploit those weak points without dying in the process Consael could not fathom. Trapped in Sauron’s dungeon and awaiting a cruel death by werewolf, still Consael counted this better than the suggestion of facing Nan Dungortheb alone armed with only a small sword.

Such bravery inspired Consael to pledge his support. Even now, chained in the darkness of Taur-in-Gaurhoth, his admiration for Beren ached in his chest.

Consael thought again of Beren and his halting tales of how the man survived in Dorthonion alone but for the wild animals. How even among the company of Finrod as they crept north the trees had bent their roots and shadows as to hide the mortal man, how the forest had embraced Beren as if he was one of their Shepherds. Finrod and the others had noticed how the grass and dead leaves shifted away for every fall of his feet, how the birds and squirrels called warnings to him, and how his scent never seemed to carry even if the entire company was travelling upwind. Beren sank into the wilderness with an ease a Green Elf could not match, and for one of the mortals this skill was all the more unnatural. Consael knew, as his eleven compatriots knew, that this was a blessing from the Lord of Forests or the Giver of Fruits, and yet Beren himself seemed oblivious to the grace that guarded him.

The growing land loved Beren, and this convinced Consael that to come on this quest had been the correct decision.

Watching the wolves rip into Aglar’s corpse, knowing with certainty he would be next to feel those teeth, still Consael thought of oaths and obligations. His fate had come from his choice, and he felt no regret.

There was something blessed about the mortal, even if it was only the determination that would propel a man to fight alone for ten years against all the armies of Morgoth could send against him and then rappel down the steepest cliffs in Beleriand, transverse the Valley of Dreadful Death, and dare to love the fairest maiden that ever walked the earth. Beren poured honor and glory out like sunlight, and Consael felt his eyes could turn bright as long as he remained in Beren’s presence.

No, Consael did not have to be here.

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Chapter End Notes

Winner for the most obscure character as to inspire a fusion: Raynald Westerling from ASoIaF. (As in other fusion stories in this collection, Aglar is Robb Stark and Faelineth is Jeyne Westerling. Sybell isn’t any more pleasant as an elf, and the Fëanorians make good Lannisters. Maggy the Frog and the Lannister's racism towards her Essosi origins found a perfect parallel in the Avari. The exact blood relation between Aglar and Nerdanel will in another fic.) 

As for Celbin, here's the long passage from HoME Vol XI (emphasis mine):

Associated with these compounds were the two old words Calben (Celbin) and Morben (Moerbin). On the formal relation of these to Quenya Kalaquendi and Moriquendi they had no reference to Elves, except by accident of circumstance. Celbin retained what was, as has been said, probably its original meaning: all Elves other than the Avari; and it included the Sindar. It was in fact the equivalent (when one was needed) of the Quenya Eldar, Telerin Elloi. But it referred to Elves only because no other people qualified for the title. Moerbin was similarly an equivalent for Avari; but that it did not mean only when they later became known. By the Sindar anyone dwelling outside Beleriand, or entering their realm from outside, was called a Morben. The first people of this kind to be met were the Nandor, who entered East Beleriand over the passes of the Mountains before the return of Morgoth; soon after his return came the first invasions of his Orcs from the North. Somewhat later the Sindar became aware of Avari, who had crept in small and secret groups into Beleriand from the South. Later came the Men of the Three Houses, who were friendly; and later still Men of other kinds. All these were at first acquaintance called Moerbin. But when the Nandor were recognized as kinsfolk of Lindarin origin and speech (as was still recognizable), they were received into the class of Celbin. The Men of the Three Houses were also soon removed from the class of Moerbin. They were given their own name, Edain, and were seldom actually called Celbin, but they were recognized as belonging to this class, which became practically equivalent to ‘peoples in alliance in the War against Morgoth’. The Avari thus remained the chief examples of Moerbin. Any individual Avar who joined with or was admitted among the Sindar (it rarely happened) became a Calben; but the Avari in general remained secretive, hostile to the Eldar, and untrustworthy; and they dwelt in hidden places in the deeper woods, or in caves. Moerbin as applied to them is usually translated 'Dark-elves’, partly because Moriquendi in the Quenya of the Exiled Noldor usually referred to them. But that no special reference to Elves was intended by the Sindarin word is shown by the fact that Moerbin was at once applied to the new bands of Men (Easterlings) that appeared before the Battle of the Nirnaeth. If in Sindarin an Avar, as distinct from other kinds of Morben, was intended, he was called Mornedhel.

LaCE details how simple elven weddings can be.