Who was the High King? by AndyC

Herucalmo was breathing hard as he clambered up over the rocks.  It was undignified – so why was he doing it? 

The question had run through his mind several times in the past half hour.  He’d had to order his bodyguards very firmly to get them to stay behind so he could climb alone, and the more he thought about the entire situation, the more absurd it felt.

Just because of that flash of light.  He shook his head as he rounded an outcrop of rock.  But there was a cave mouth – in exactly the right place.  He allowed himself a brief, thin-lipped smile.  The ground from here to there was fairly level and covering it was straightforward enough.

I’m going to look really stupid if there’s a group of Umbarian pirates here, he thought.  On reflection, that wasn’t totally unlikely.  He’d sent away his bodyguards, headed out on a quixotic impulse to climb the seaward headland of Umbar, alone – just to chase after a glimpse of light that he’d seen as the Sun set on the previous evening.  Why had that light made him so obsessed with finding its source? 

At least I wasn’t so devoid of sense as to come climbing up here during the night. Although – was their any point now?  Whatever it was must surely be gone.

In any case, he could find his answer now – one way or another.  He came into the cave itself, with no attempt at stealth.  If there was a group of pirates here, he would meet his fate as befitted a nobleman of the Line of Elros.

Herucalmo’s eyes adjusted to the dimness inside the cave.  Initially, he thought it was empty, but as his es adjusted, he could make out what appeared to be a small table and rough bed deep inside.  Around a bend in the cave came a figure – a man!

The man – no, it was an Elf! – stopped in surprise and stared at Herucalmo.  He appeared unarmed, other than a long knife at his belt, and he showed no signs of reaching for it. 

“You can call me Kano.”  The Elf’s expression was unreadable.

Herucalmo waited a moment longer – as he understood it, all Elves had several names and would never hesitate to let you know all of them – but this particular Elf was definitely not going to be more forthcoming.

“Hail, Kano,” he said.  “I am Herucalmo, of the House of Elros.”

Kano’s expression changed – but only for an instant.  So briefly that Herucalmo couldn’t be certain of it, but he felt that the Elf’s impassivity had cracked for just a moment.

“Hail, descendant of Elros,” said Kano, at last.  

He seemed unwilling to talk further.  Herucalmo thought he might understand why.  In any case, he had to put the Elf at rest so he could look for that light.

“I assure you that I have no dislike of your folk,” he said.  “Regardless of what you may have heard of Numenor in recent times.”

“Dislike?”  Kano may have appeared fractionally amused.  Herucalmo thought he was getting better at reading the Elf.

“Yes – I’m aware that our reputation amongst the Eldar may not be what it once was.  But I am not one of those who hold against you and your kin – merely due to your good fortune in your lifespans.”

Herucalmo was quite proud of that little speech, so he felt dismayed when the Elf’s demeanour finally cracked for good and Kano dissolved into bitter laughter.

He waited patiently for the Elf to explain what he found so humorous, but no answer seemed to be forthcoming.  At last, Herucalmo felt obliged to fill the silence himself.

“No, in fact, I feel that we should never have moved away from some Elven styles.  Such as, for example, the Elven style of inheritance.”

Kano stared at him.  “What ‘Elven style of inheritance’ are you talking about?”

“The inheritance of the Sceptre, of course.”  Herucalmo shrugged.  “I do have to be honest, though – my preference may be due to the fact that I, myself, could inherit the Sceptre if we had stuck with descent through the male.”

Kano’s face was expressionless once more.

“You see, Tar-Ancalimon had only one child, who has since inherited as Tar-Telemmaite.  He, himself, has only one child – a woman, Vanimelde.  If she could not inherit, why, we would have to go back to Tar-Ancalimon’s father, Tar-Atanamir the Great himself.  And the great Atanamir did have other children.  I am his heir through that line.”

Herucalmo felt awkward again as the silence lengthened.  “Although I am betrothed to Vanimelde, so I will, at least, be close to the Sceptre.  She has assured me that my counsels will always be first and foremost in her mind.  In effect, I will rule Numenor, anyway.”  He paused.  “It would be nice to have the official title, however.”

Kano shook his head at last.  “I truly don’t know where you Edain get your ideas from.”

“What?”

“What you’re describing – I have no idea why you ascribe it to us.”

Herucalmo blinked.  “We got all our traditions from you.”

Kano’s smile was twisted.  “From me?  From Kano?”

“Well, of course not.  From your people.”

The Elf snorted.  “From ‘my people’.  From Elves in general?  Or from just my Clan – from the Ngoldor?  Or from my lands in Beleriand?”

“From the Noldor, of course.”  Herucalmo realised that the Elf’s pronunciation was an archaic one – he had to be truly ancient.  His heart sped.  The being in front of him predated the Fall of Beleriand!  After all – he’d literally just said that.  He’d mentioned ‘his lands in Beleriand’.  He was conversing with someone who had lived since before the land of Andor rose from the Ocean, before Tar-Minyatur himself had been born.  Despite himself, and despite his desire to find the light he’d seen, he was hanging on to the Elf’s every word.

Kano went on.  “You do know that most Noldorin realms – whether ruled by a King or Queen or just a Lord – we set them up from nothing.  Few ever were ‘inherited’.  My kinswoman, Galadriel: she set up the Realm of Eregion, and when she departed, none became King or Queen after her.”

Kinswoman?  Galadriel?  This Elf had to be of the Royal House!  Or at the very least, closely linked with it.  His advice on the laws of inheritance could be crucial.  What if the Dunedain had misinterpreted some ancient law or tradition?  I might be the legitimate Heir after all!

Showing nothing of his excitement on his face, Heruclamo said, idly, “No, not Eregion.  The Noldorin kingdoms in Beleriand, of course.  More specifically, the inheritance of the High Kingship, especially.  You can’t deny that was inherited, and inherited several times.  Of course we can see how that occurred and model our own laws on it.”

Kano stared at him for a full minute before dissolving into laughter again.  This time, it was pure amusement, with no trace of the bitterness that had been in it before.

Herucalmo’s temper flared.  He might be very young in comparison to the Elf, and of a race doomed to die, but he still had his pride.

The Elf lifted his hand, as if to apologise.  Herucalmo’s anger evaporated in curiosity – the hand was scarred.  Didn’t Elves heal perfectly from any wound?  How could his hand look as though it had been scalded and burned?

“I’m sorry, young Herucalmo,” said Kano at last.  “I sometimes forget how we must appear from – well, from a very different viewpoint.”  He shook his head.  “Tell me: how do you think inheritance of the High Kingship worked?”

Herucalmo thought swiftly.  He was sure that he had heard of an Elf with a burned hand; he just had to recall who he was.  He felt certain that the Elf in question was an important one; maybe he should have paid more attention in classes.  History classes, anyway – he was solid on constitutional matters such as inheritance, and the names of the Noldor High Kings was central to that.

“Well, it went from Finwe to Feanor, then briefly to Maedhros Feanorion, but he Dispossessed his House and crowned Fingolfin.  When Fingolfin died, the High Kingship went to his eldest son Fingon, then, after Fingon died childless, it went to his brother Turgon.  After the Fall of Gondolin, Turgon’s daughter didn’t inherit…” Herucalmo felt he had to emphasise that.  “… and the crown went instead to Gil-galad as the only surviving male-line heir of Finwe.  Other than the Dispossessed, of course.”

“Of course,” echoed Kano, his smile thin.

“All the male descendants of Fingolfin were dead, so it went to Finarfin’s line.  Finrod was eldest, but he’d already died, and so had both his brothers, and even his brother’s son, which is why it descended so far.  The Noldor omitted Lady Galadriel – but I’m not sure if she’d already left Beleriand by then.”

“She had,” Kano confirmed. 

Realisation hit Herucalmo like a thunderclap, but he betrayed no sign of it.  Kanofinwe Feanorion!  That was the name of Maglor!  The Elf who had stolen a Silmaril from the Host of the Valar, and been burned by it, and hurled it into the Sea.  Doomed to wander beside the Sea for all Eternity.

I am talking to the surviving son of Feanor.

Herucalmo belatedly continued talking.  Kano – Maglor – had to have noticed his discomfiture.  “And… and even Finrod’s nephew, Orodreth, had perished by now.  But Orodreth was survived by a son, which is why it went to him.”

“A half-Sindarin son, at that.”  Kano commented.

“Which, according to my tutor,” said Herucalmo, “Might actually have helped him unite the surviving Elves of Beleriand under his High Kingship.  Noldor and Sindar alike dwell in Lindon under Gil-galad.”

“True,” conceded Maglor.  “However – can you explain exactly how you see the High-Kingship descending through all those… imaginative… steps?”

Herucalmo lifted an eyebrow.  “Through eldest son to eldest son, of course.  And then, when the line fails, back up to the eldest brother of a King who last had a brother, and descending through him.”

“Ah.  With the exception of the Dispossessed, of course,” said Maglor.

“Of course, abdication can be allowed.”  Herucalmo frowned.  “Although we don’t have quite the same thing.  A male Heir can pass on the Sceptre to his own heir immediately of course, and his reign is deemed to have lasted for a nominal year, but a female Heir can reject the Heirship entirely.”

Maglor shook his head.  “The contortions you Edain follow, sometimes.”

“I take it that this is not how the High Kingship passed?”  Herucalmo felt another surge of excitement.  Of course – Maglor himself had briefly been High King of the Noldor in Middle-Earth.  When Maedhros had been captured, and before he’d been freed by Fingon.

Maglor shook his head, slowly.  “I think your entire viewpoint is coloured by the fact that you are not Elven,” he said.  “You see – Elves aren’t supposed to die.”

“I know that!”  Herucalmo was surprised at the bitterness in his own voice.  “We are Doomed and you are not.”

Maglor held his gaze, levelly.  “I might disagree with which of us, precisely, is Doomed, but let it be.  Elves die only by mischance, and, in Aman, at least, that should be temporary.  When the discussion first arose on Death in Aman – after the death of the Lady Miriel – certain considerations were made and agreed.  Should an Elf be killed – by a fall, by drowning, by any sort of accident – we knew they should return, in time, from the Halls of Mandos.  However, their possessions and their responsibilities would endure until they were able to return to take them up once more.”

In spite of himself, Herucalmo was fascinated.

“In the very rare cases where that would happen, it was decided that the Eldest of the House in question would take guardianship of the House until the fallen Elda would return.”

Maglor looked distant.  “When Finwe was slain, Feanor ensured that he would be the one to take charge of the entire House.  There could have been some uncertainty.  After all, this was not talking about buildings or possessions – it was the authority of the Finwe himself.  And Finwe had become the leader of the Second Clan by acclamation.  There had been no ‘inheritance’ involved ever before.”

“And Fingolfin had been deputising for Finwe beforehand, right?”  Herucalmo was proud of his recollection.

Maglor nodded.  “Feanor feared that Fingolfin could be named leader by acclamation, or by being regarded as the Finwion most skilled and used to the roles of leadership.  He insisted – loudly and publicly – that the right of leadership would descend as the right of guardianship of the House.  His speech at Tirion…”  Maglor’s eyes were fixed on a far point again.

“In any case, things were not quite settled.  The Ngoldor were split.  Some looked to Feanor; others to Fingolfin.  Even in the camp of the latter, some looked to Finarfin and his eldest son.  There was no tradition of inheritance of the High Kingship, and the Ngoldor were, at that point, split.”

“And then, after…”  Maglor choked for a moment.  “After we came to the shores of Middle-Earth, and lost our… lost our King.  After that, Maedhros assumed the leadership of those of us who were left – by all rights.  The eldest of the House, the best at leadership – it was simple and clear.  But then he was lost, and then Fingolfin crossed the Ice.  We were in two armed camps, and another Kinslaying was very possible.  I – we – didn’t know how to heal the wounds.  Then Fingon rescued Maedhros, and…”

Herucalmo was hanging on to every word.  History had never been so vivid.

“Maedhros then solidified the rule.  He handed the crown to Fingolfin and said, ‘If there lay no grievance between us, lord, still the choice would come rightly to thee, the eldest here of the House of Finwe, and not the least wise’.”  Maglor looked at Herucalmo, as if to ask him if he could see the obvious.

Herucalmo thought for a long moment, and then his eyes widened in realisation.  “Of course!  Fingolfin, as well as being most qualified, was now the eldest of the House of Finwe!  The guardianship of the House – with Finwe gone – should be exercised by the eldest of the House.”

“The eldest here of the House.”  Maglor looked pleased, and nodded.

“Wasn’t he the eldest, in any case?”

“No.  He was, indeed, older than Maedhros and all of the rest of us, but he had an older sister.  Findis stayed behind.”

“But the High-Kingship never descended to a woman,” protested Herucalmo.  “And we can see why.  The High King in Beleriand needed to lead the armies – to be a warrior.  The Eldar traditionally do not have women as warriors.”

Maglor looked amused.  “Thank you for educating me on our traditions.”

Herucalmo flushed.

“Perhaps a woman would have had difficulty – although I would have liked to see anyone argue the case with Aredhel.  Or Galadriel, for that matter.”  Maglor looked pensive.  “Perhaps Findis might have insisted on pressing her case as Eldest of the House – but it wasn’t really in her nature, in any case.  She never really wanted power or authority.  Had she been of like temper to Galadriel, or to Aredhel, and therefore accompanied us into Exile… well, things may have been different.”

“So – the real rule was ‘Eldest of the House’, and that mutated to ‘Eldest male of the House’,” said Herucalmo, slowly. 

Maglor shrugged.  “If you insist.  It was never really tested.  Had Lalwen not died in the opening flames of the Bragollach, when she was visiting her nephews in their camp north of Dorthonion… you know, I’ve considered that his little sister’s death might have been the final straw that broke Fingolfin and drove him to his insane duel.”

“And after Fingolfin, Fingon inherited as the oldest left of the House – other than the Dispossessed Feanorians, of course,” murmured Herucalmo.  “And after him, it was naturally Turgon, and then Gil-galad was the final male of the House of Finwe left standing, so it had to be him.”

“Is that what you think happened?”  Maglor’s expression was unreadable.

“What do you mean?”  Herucalmo was confused.  “The Succession is a matter of fact – not opinion.”

“Who’s fact?”  Maglor shook his head.  “What decrees and laws were passed by Fingon that all followed?  What obeisances were made?  In what way did Fingon do anything that resembled the actions of a High King?”

Herucalmo struggled to recall.  “Ah – he led the Noldor in the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, didn’t…”

“The Battle that came to pass following the Union of Maedhros?”  Maglor was now definitely amused.

“Ah…”

“The Battle in which Nargothrond refused Fingon’s call?  The Battle to which Fingon was surprised to see his brother lead out his own troops from Gondolin?  This implies ‘High Kingship’ to you?”

“Well, I suppose…”

Maglor shook his head once more, the amused expression still clear.  “I don’t know who wrote the histories you’ve read, but to be honest, after Fingolfin, we had no High King.  Under Maedhros’ choice of words when he crowned Fingolfin, he, Maedhros, should have been regarded as Fingolfin’s heir from the start.  But Fingolfin always had Fingon deputise for him, and after the Bragollach, we were in no state to try to unite the Ngoldor in any case.  Much was done by diplomacy and tact – Maedhros and Fingon were great friends, so neither would refuse the other.  Perhaps you could claim that the High Kingship was effectively split between them – but Finrod never truly followed either of them, and neither did his heir, Orodreth.  In effect, we had three camps: the Feanorians followed Maedhros, Hithlum followed Fingon, and Nargothrond followed Finrod.”

“What about Gondolin?” asked Herucalmo.

“What about Gondolin?”  Maglor looked scornful.  “Gondolin did nothing, until they turned up at one Battle, to everyone’s surprise.”

“So… if Fingon wasn’t really the High King, I suppose Turgon…”

“Turgon was King of Gondolin, and only ever that,” said Maglor, his voice flat.  “The only people who might have credited him with the High Kingship of the Ngoldor in Exile would be Gondolindrim who knew no better.  He skulked in his precious Hidden City, celebrating holidays and living in comfort, and would still be there today, had he only the opportunity.”

Herucalmo thought that sounded a bit harsh, but said nothing.

“Maedhros and the rest of us were fugitives, with no chance of leading anyone other than ourselves.”  Maglor thought for a moment.  “Had Finrod not fallen in Beren’s Quest, I wonder if he could have made himself High King.  It is plausible.  More plausible than Turgon – Finrod might have issued decrees, called for the scattered Ngoldor to unite under him, rallied the people.  But no – there may have been the opportunity for a High King then, but none took it.  And after the Fall of Gondolin, not even the Gondolindrim would claim that Idril had any authority beyond her own peoples’ refuge.  No-one had any power until Gil-galad united the remnants of the Ngoldor during the War of Wrath.  He may be regarded as a High King – but under the same rules that saw Finwe become leader.  By acclamation.”

Herucalmo felt foolish.  Of course there had been no single governance of the Noldor for all that time.  The books had said – but whatever they said, it was obvious that there had been no polity to rule.

 “That’s why you’re so amused,” said Herucalmo.  “We’ve based generation after generation of our constitutional law on a perceived succession that never happened.  And certainly not one that ever followed the rules we decided it did.”

Maglor smiled.  “Exactly.  And our “rules” that saw Fingolfin as High King – well, those were applied after the fact to justify what had already happened.  It was an excuse, rather than anything else.  And that women never inherited…”  Maglor shook his head.  “Happenstance and the tempers of any who might have been eligible.  When Finarfin came out of the West, he was our High King, and the rules that supported Fingolfin – and might have supported Maedhros had he pushed his claim – they pointed squarely at him.  Eldest of the House of Finwe by right.  Then, when he left… well, who would contest Gil-galad’s claim, in any case?”

Herucalmo thought there was a flaw in the logic.  “Could not Galadriel have claimed the High-Kingship after Finarfin’s departure?  She was certainly the Eldest left available.”

“Galadriel wanted a realm in Eriador.  And, other than me, there was no-one else older than Gil-galad who could have asserted any right by descent.  And who would ever follow me?”

Maglor had dropped any pretence of concealing who he was.  Herucalmo could not have been quite as impassive as he thought he had.

“So, young man.  That’s the true ‘Ngoldorin’ rule for succession: whoever looks to have some sort of right and is in the right place at the right time, and has someone to follow them.”  Maglor turned from him.  “I am weary now.”

“I’d say you’ve proved to anyone’s satisfaction that it was ‘the Eldest of the House’” argued Herucalmo.  “Well, the Eldest of the House who is present, willing, and able.”

“As you prefer.”  Maglor shrugged.  “I’d have thought that was covered under ‘looks to have some sort of right’, but if you want it formalised.”  He stood and made as if to walk away, deeper into the cave. 

I would be Eldest of the House of Atanamir after Vanimelde, when our parents are gone, thought Herucalmo.  Even before any children we might have.

“By the way,” said Herucalmo, almost absently.  “What was that light?”

Maglor whirled.  “What light?”

“I saw – something.  Last night, at dusk.  A glimpse of light.  Different from any I’d ever seen.  It entranced me,” confessed Herucalmo.  “I couldn’t stop thinking of it.  A beauty, a richness, silver and gold alike.  A living light.”

“In a flash of light you saw for maybe a moment?”  Maglor scoffed.  “I think perhaps your memories are changed to justify your own actions.  You came here on an impulse; you are trying to justify it.”

“I saw something,” said Herucalmo, stubbornly.

Maglor thought for a moment.  “Where were you?”

Herucalmo walked to the cave mouth and pointed.  Almost due east, across the Bay of Umbar, close to the Haven itself.

“That explains it,” said Maglor, dismissively.  “You saw the last flash of Anar as she sank into the West.”

“That wasn’t sunlight.”  Herucalmo shook his head.

Maglor looked at him with a condescending expression.  “I think I’ve witnessed more sunsets than you.  Herucalmo, when the Sun sets, sometimes the air and sea cause – well – some spectacular effects.  I’ve seen a green flash at times.  Gold is more common, of course.  It is likely that the light of the West that you saw was simply a momentary flash of light as the Sun set.”

His expression softened.  “Although it would be stunning and surprising to an Adan who had never witnessed such before, of course.  No, young Herucalmo, you were simply privileged to see a light of the West that few ever see.”

“Light of the West,” murmured Herucalmo.  “Very well.”

He wasn’t happy about it, but what more could he do?  With reluctance, he turned and walked away.

***

Maglor watched the boy leave.  Adult though he might be by the measure of the Edain, he was still very much a boy.  So different from his ancestor, but he could still see the faintest lines of Elros in the lad.  Sadly faded, though, beneath an encrustation of self-regard and entitlement.  Still, he might have prospects – if properly nurtured.  Yet all he had heard tell of Numenor made him dubious that such could happen there any longer.

He turned and walked back to the recesses of his cave.  He had to be more careful in the few, rare moments he allowed himself to regard the jewel.  He had thought it well concealed here; he had been wrong.  The boy had obviously caught a glimpse of the Silmaril for the briefest of moments.  No, Maglor would move on once more.  Should Herucalmo return, he would find only an empty cave.

Where to go?  The Numenoreans ruled the coasts to the north, all the way to Gil-galad’s realm.  He had to stay near the coast – he had to; the Jewel compelled him.  Therefore he had to go south.  There was another Numenorean haven to the south, but beyond that, he should be out of their area of influence.  It would be unpleasantly warm, of course – Anar could be blazing hot even here, but his measure of “scorching” had a different scale to many Elves.  In those few, far-between moments that he reached for Father’s Jewel, he was painfully reminded of that. 

No, he could cope with the heat.  Time to go.

***

Herucalmo never did return to the cave, or find Maglor again, but he remembered the conversation all his life.

Chapter End Notes

Reading Lyra's Embalmer's Apprentice, I thought of Herucalmo and his usurpation of the throne from his son.  His journey to Umbar in that story made me think of who he could encounter in his time there.

Everyone, of course, rationalises their own actions, so what was his rationale when he seized the throne?  Other than "I want it and I'm good at it, of course"?

In addition, in days gone by - oh, it must be more than twenty years ago, now - the High Kingship of the Noldor and its succession was a perennial topic of discussion on the old rec.arts.books.tolkien newsgroup.  Way back then, it struck me that some of our animated arguments (about agnatic primogeniture  versus cognatic primogeniture, a Salic bar, or a semi-Salic bar, or absolute primogeniture or...) felt absurd.  Why would immortal Elves have evolved detailed and specific rules along those lines when, prior to their Exile, they never expected their Kings to die?

The rule for Kingship of the Teleri: "Is your name Olwe?  If so, you're the king."

And yes, I know that we're just labelling various options for succession, but looking at the earliest successions of the kingship in the kingdoms in the British Isles... they were very much situational and driven by circumstances.  The "rules" tended to be applied in retrospect to whomever had turned out to be the King after all.

Couple that with the well-discussed biases of the written Silmarillion by their supposed author(s), and there's a huge space for discussion.  This just grew out of that discussion - what happens when Herucalmo, in his "holiday" in Umbar, runs into a voice from the First Age with an alternative view and the credibility to support it?  And that alternative point of view just happens to coincide with what he'd like to rationalise for the "true" rule of succession by which he would be rightly the King after Vanimelde.

(Of course, Herucalmo's rationalisation is biased - he overlooks that his rule only works from Tar-Atanamir onwards - and would be sheer chaos if ever applied, with the Kingship skipping around the wider House of Elros from elderly figure to elderly figure (although realistically only the House of Andunie would really benefit; other lines would have shorter lifespans)).

And of course - why did Herucalmo choose the regnal name "Light of the West"?