Who was the High King? by AndyC

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Chapter 2

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“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.