Sirion by Grundy

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Of Cabbages And Kings

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Maedhros sighed to himself as his council filed into the chamber they usually met in when the occasion called for it.
It hadn’t been unexpected.

Maedhros had known better than to hope that the Sindar would give up hope of recovering their princes so easily, much less that the Noldor on Balar would not want Eärendil’s sons well away from the Dispossessed before the Oath could rear its ugly head again.

The only surprise was that the demand had been so long in coming – and that it was such a lowly delegation that had been sent.

He would have understood it if the junior functionary sent to him was someone who could actually recognize the boys, but little Elrond had said it was no one he knew – and anyone who hadn’t seen children of their age recently enough for Elrond to recall him wasn’t anyone who could count on recognizing whether or not the children before him were the right ones.

Then again, perhaps the court on Balar expected him to do as he understood some of the moratani did and kill the messenger.

He had already read the letter, and sent orders down to the guardhouse that the courier and his escort were to be kept comfortable but not allowed beyond their own rooms until he sent for them later in the day. They could hardly complain when they’d been given spacious guest quarters, including a common room, and had food sent down from the great hall for them at dinner.

Besides, he had already allowed them more than they’d expected – a glimpse of one of the peredhil twins. He’d meant to take both boys with him to greet the messenger yesterday, but Elros had managed to turn what should have been a simple lesson in the kitchen into a minor disaster, so taking him hadn’t been an option.

He would need to make sure the couriers saw both boys at the same time before they departed, lest the absence of Elros – or only seeing them separately – spark a rumor that one was dead.

He passed the letter to his brother, whose eyes flicked back and forth quickly, mouth occasionally pursing as he read – knowing Makalaurë, the pinched looks were occasioned by the awkward and inelegant phrasing as much as by the demand to have the children returned.

No, ‘surrendered’. As though they were spoils of war or vanquished foes instead of little boys.

He chuckled inwardly at the thought that his brother had most certainly taken exception to that line.

The boys in question were currently well-occupied, with Varilon teaching them their family tree from Finwë on – hopefully giving them something other than Fëanaro to think on. Were it not for the pressing business of dealing with Gil-galad, he would have taken today’s lesson himself, for it sounded as if the twins had reached the point where they needed to have the ‘yes, Uncle Fëanaro was quite crazy’ conversation he had known would eventually be necessary.

Given Elrond’s natural affinity for stories and lore, genealogy should keep him occupied the entire day. He would probably have to be convinced that riding practice after lunch was necessary. Elros, on the other hand, would likely lose interest and ask to go play with his puppy by mid-morning. But he did enjoy stories, so hopefully it would be a few hours at least before he tried his tutor’s patience.

Maedhros had looked in on the schoolroom briefly before coming to the council chamber. All three children had been listening raptly to Varilon, who had instructions to remember to speak of Irimë and the Arafinwions, Findarato and Artanis in particular, rather than focusing only on Nolofinwë’s line.

He was not sure what to make of the lack of demand for Glinwen’s return. Perhaps the lords of Balar thought the girl dead. He certainly hoped that was all it was, and made a mental note to mention her by name in his reply.

He had briefly toyed with the notion of sending the girl back with Gil-galad’s couriers, for while no one could argue his competency in raising young Noldor, he would be the first to admit his ignorance when it came to what a young Sinda should be taught. He had just as quickly discarded the idea as impractical for several reasons, first and foremost being the child’s safety. He wouldn’t send an elfling with an escort of less than twice the number that had ridden hence from the mouths of Sirion.

The environs of Amon Ereb were still safe, for his patrols kept it free of orcs. But the Andram was not, and raiding parties could descend swiftly, spotting prey from their lairs in the hills long before any scout could recognize the danger. If they were mounted on wolves, only skilled riders would be able to outrun them. Glinwen was as yet no more a rider than Elrond.

When Makalaurë finished reading the letter to himself, he read it out loud, in a neutral voice, that all present would know its contents. There were a few moments of silence after he finished, as the other neri in the room absorbed what they had heard and considered their responses.

“What say you, my lords?” Maedhros asked.

Not that he didn’t already know how he wished to answer, but he wanted to hear the thoughts of his loyal counselors and captains.

“I say it’s a ridiculous demand,” Pelendur snapped. “Yes, we got the children here safely enough, but that was with a quarter of our total strength on the move with them. How does Gil-Galad expect us to ensure their safety all the way back to Arvenien? Or does he propose sending a ship to the eastern side of the bay to collect them?”

“Even then, it would hardly be any better,” Roquendil pointed out, his brow furrowed as he considered options. “The danger would be the same no matter the end destination, for we either secure the road or risk the forest. This is the worst time of the year to travel, with winter waning. There can be a blizzard one day with everything melting and turning the land to a mire the next. There is ice on Gelion yet, but not necessarily strong enough for sleds, so we cannot use the river to speed the journey. And we have no scouts left that know the forest well...”

“You talk of the manner of giving them up,” Handelon interrupted. “Speak first of whether or not we should!”

“This is not about whether or not we like the children,” Tercender sighed. “It is plain enough that we would all rather have them stay.”

“No, speak freely,” Maedhros ordered. “I would hear your reasoning. Particularly if there is more to your thought than how sorry we would be to bid them farewell.”

“I think I follow Handelon,” Pelendur said slowly. “It would be one thing to return the children to their own parents. But the girl is an orphan with no remaining kin, and Eärendil has not been seen on these shores in some years. Had he returned, either he would have written himself, or the lords of Balar would have made sure to tell us of his return, for we would be clearly in the wrong to keep the boys from their father.”

“Are we less in the wrong to keep them from Gil-galad?” Makalaurë asked, still in his neutral council voice, which gave away nothing of his own thoughts.

“With all respect, my princes, I say yes,” Handelon said. “And I doubt I speak for myself only in that.”

When he saw the expectant looks on both his lords’ faces, he continued.

“It would be one thing to hand them over at the command of a Noldor king,” he explained. “But this Gil-galad is Noldo by birth only, and scarce more than a child himself, not even of age yet. Had he been raised by his father, among other Noldor as he ought to have been, I would not object. But he was not. He has been surrounded by Sindar and Falathrim all his life, and knows little of our ways. He has not even mastered our tongue - he writes a letter his father would have blushed for in a thirty-year-old!”

“You are saying that you do not trust him with the young princes?”

Pelendur snorted.

“Forgive me, my prince,” he said, “but I for one do not. Should the worst happen and you and your brother fall, I will look to those boys upstairs before I look to this so-called Noldoran on Balar. If it’s a choice between a child and a child, I’d rather one of these children. At least I know they’ll not condemn me on sight. And you’re teaching them better sense than Gil-galad has shown so far.”

“They have the better claim in any case,” someone muttered.

“Itarillë did not proclaim herself High Queen,” Maedhros pointed out, looking around trying to identify who had spoken. “Nor have we ever had a ruling Queen.”

“That does not mean her son’s claim was forfeit,” Handelon argued.

“Aye, better her blood, even diluted with atani and Sindar, than some untried pup who cannot even speak to us in our own words,” declared Tercender. “Itarillë took it on herself to save what could be saved from Ondolindë. Her atan fought in defense of the Noldor. Her son seeks to aid the free peoples, even if I doubt he’ll succeed. What has that boy on Balar ever done? Run away? Hidden on an island and relied on Ulmo to protect his people for him?”

“It was to Nolofinwë you ceded your right, my prince,” Handelon added. “Not to Findarato. As such, I do not see how any of the house of Arafinwë may claim the crown while the line of Nolofinwë survives in Endorë.”

Maedhros frowned. If it had been only one of his lords speaking so, he might have ignored it. But looking around his Council, he saw looks and murmurs of agreement on all sides.

“It’s plain enough we can’t keep the young princes here forever, my prince,” Pelendur said. “But you could at least keep them long enough to train them properly. They’re quick learners – look how far they’ve come with the language in but a few months. Let them stay and learn how to be princes and kings from those who know what they’re about. Amon Ereb is in no imminent danger. You are their kin, and have as much right to them as the king on Balar.”

“The king on Balar will certainly disagree, and we would be hard put to win an argument of who is closer kin. Not to mention the Sindar may be moved to attack us for withholding their princes,” Makalaurë pointed out.

“Their king, you mean,” Maedhros corrected. “The letter is clear enough that Queen Elwing has not been seen any more than her husband has. By my lights, that means the boy I had to fish out of the fountain in my courtyard this morning is a king.”

Handelon laughed, while most of the other lords did their best to suppress grins. Maedhros caught at least one quiet ‘long live King Elros.’

“The king on Balar won’t thank you for pointing that out.”

“The king on Balar is unlikely to thank me no matter what I do,” Maedhros snorted.

“Nor is he likely to be pleased that we are holding a boy who can claim the kingship of both the Noldor and the Sindar,” Makalaurë shrugged.

One king, Maedhros thought suddenly, feeling both amazement and a touch of bitterness at the thought. One king for both peoples. Is that not what we have needed all these years, a leader both sides would follow? And now that it may be too late, we have one.

“It is not the Sindar I am concerned with,” Pelendur said dismissively. “I notice their lords have not written to you. We are discussing a purely Noldorin matter. You may have abdicated your crown, but you are still the boys’ elder kinsman and by our laws, have every right to assume guardianship of your orphaned cousins.”

Maedhros glanced at his brother, who gave a subtle nod.

“I thank you, my lords. You have given me much to think on. I must now reflect on how best to answer King Gil-galad.”

There was a round of polite bows as the others took their leave, until only Makalaurë remained.

“Well?” Maedhros asked. “You studied the law just as I did.”

“Then you know as well as I do that Pelendur has the right of it,” Makalaurë answered ruefully. “Gil-galad would have been wiser to make the case that he is closer kin to the boys, for I believe there is a double relation between them, through his mother as well as his father. But even so, you are the eldest of the House of Finwë on these shores, and if we were to judge according to our laws, that and having the boys already settled here would surely settle the matter in our favor.”

“According to what impartial judge?”

“Yes, well,” Makalaurë sniffed. “There are no judges in this case, are there? It comes down to whatever you decide.”

“Wonderful,” Maedhros said sardonically. “My decisions always end well.”

His brother sighed.

“I cannot say that mine have gone much better. At any rate, I see it thus: the boy has written to you as the High King of the Noldor. He made no mention of the Sindar beyond Celeborn and Oropher’s demand to know that their young kinsman are well. Again, had he claimed to speak for both peoples, or to be acting in accordance with Queen Elwing’s wishes, he would have strengthened his position. Nor did he have Artanis write in support of his claim – and she would certainly have produced a more compelling argument, possibly even testimony as to what Queen Elwing intended for her sons. Gil-galad is young, and not very well advised, it would seem. I believe he means well, but I would not entrust him with children.”

Maedhros sighed at the unfortunate accuracy of his brother’s comment. If the boy king’s advisors could not guide him better than this, it did not bode well for the education of Eärendil’s sons if they were sent to Balar. And they would need the best education they could get – for even if one recognized Gil-Galad as the Noldoran, Elros was the Sindaran, with poor little Elrond his brother's heir at least until they came of age.

“You had already decided, had you not?” Makalaurë asked shrewdly.

“In truth, no,” Maedhros replied quietly. “I knew what I wanted to do, but what I have wanted to do and what duty has demanded I do rarely coincide. And I did not suspect that so many of our folk felt no allegiance to Artaresto’s son, or that they would transfer their loyalties to the twins before they would look to him.”

“And now that you know?”

“Now that I know, my duty and my wishes for once align,” Maedhros said. “The boys will go to Balar – when they are older. They shall remain here as long as it is safe for us to keep them. We will not ‘surrender’ them until we have taught them all we can. When that day comes, we will send young Gil-galad not just the twins, but the surety that all the Noldor will stand behind him in the fight against the Enemy.”