The Good, the Bad, and the Queen by Robinka

The Good, the Bad, and the Queen

My grateful thanks to: Hrymfaxe for her support and chatting with me about Doriath; Moreth and Pandemonium for their comments and crit at the Lizard Council. Thank you tons!

Read The Good, the Bad, and the Queen

Our country is all that we have, and we will fight to keep it.

 

Until now, little in this land had impressed him. After all, an individual who had dwelt in the harmony of Aman hardly could be expected to find marvels here in the roughness of Beleriand. These days however, since he had entered the land protected by the famous girdle, he found himself in a kind of awe.

Firstly, a squad of silent wardens had appeared out of nowhere and surrounded him as soon as he had approached the northern edge of the woods. Had he heard them? No. Seen them? Surely not, because they wore uniforms of the colors that perfectly meshed with the surroundings. He spotted a row of arrowheads aimed at him from among the leaves, indicating that the wardens had watched him very closely for a time. Of course, he might have expected such an occurrence, but - contrary to his expectations - seeing them with arrows notched, his heart being their sole target, was an entirely different story. On the other hand, he thought as he halted his bay gelding, he was even glad that he saw them - he was not going to seek the entrance like a child in the fog.

"Messenger from the High Prince Nelyafinwë to the High King of the Sindar in the Thousand Caves," he announced calmly and prodded the horse forward. The arrowheads disappeared. "I come in peace and seek His Majesty Elwë Singollo's heed on behalf of my lord."

He bowed as his steed passed by the guardians at a slow gait, and their captain, a little too perceptive - it oddly seemed to him, only lifted a quizzical brow and let him enter. Then, one of the wardens walked over, giving him a short bow, and gestured toward the trees with a wide motion of his hand.

"Welcome." Did he really smile? Or was it a look similar to the one showed by the commander - half alert, half confident. "I shall be your guide. Follow me."

He nodded his thanks and brushed the bay's sides with his heels, shifting a bit in the saddle. A sidelong glance proved his supposition - other than his guide, there were no wardens to be seen. They seemed to have evaporated.

The road wound between the trees; sometimes almost vanished in the thickets, but his guide knew without a doubt where they were going. He was not talkative, but the messenger felt thankful for that. Silence over gold, he thought and adjusted the hood of his cloak when a sudden breath of wind against his face pushed it backward. The warden was humming quietly, and the messenger nearly slumbered, tired from his long journey.

Secondly, the bridge above the Esgalduin, when they had neared it, seemed as though designed by the finest engineers who had put forth their efforts to raise the brilliance of Tirion upon Túna. The guide stepped back and with a small bow encouraged him to move on. The messenger smiled, at the same time nudging his steed to a trot. The hooves clattered on the cobbles. On the other side, he stopped and retrieved a horn. The signal rang clear and loud high above the branches.

"Messenger from the High Prince Nelyafinwë to the High King of the Sindar in the Thousand Caves," he announced once again. "I come in peace and bring word for His Majesty Elwë Singollo on behalf of my lord."

"Welcome," one of the gatekeepers answered. "Dismount and follow me."

Obediently, he swung his right leg above the horse's back, slid to the ground, patted the bay's dusty neck and left him to the care of a groom who was rapidly striding onto the front yard.

Thirdly, the Caves themselves added to his awe a great deal. Rumors appeared to be nowhere near the glamour he was looking at when he crossed the threshold, crouching a little, and descended the stairs in the footsteps of his guide. The torches cast warm light that reflected in the polished walls, candles glimmered in the candlesticks hung high above the heads of passers-by, and when he looked up, he saw the carved vaulting supported by the arched arms of pillars. The artisans that had designed them certainly were not only ‘passable' architects, he thought; they knew the craft inside out.

Amid the echo of his footfalls, he heard music that gently sipped into the ears, resounding somewhere deep in the caverns, behind the doors and the tapestries that decorated the walls, presenting mostly the scenes from the Sindar's everyday life. They looked simple, and yet, the messenger's eyes, accustomed to a different standard of quality, widened in admiration. He blamed it on the tough times he had endured, but smiled fondly at the more pleasant memories evoked by the beauty he found in the Sindar's household. It seemed to have adopted the Light the Grey Folk had never seen, the Light that his former home was now bereft of, and this very idea stung him with jealousy and irony.

A voice announcing his arrival down the corridor awoke him to reality, and he stopped to receive greetings from another door guard. A command to enter resounded behind the wooden door. The guard moved aside as he opened it, and the messenger came in. He swept a bow and waited.

"Closer," the monarch of the Sindar said when he turned to the newcomer. "I hear you bring word from the princes of the West. Speak then."

"Your Majesty," the messenger began in a low voice, "the Lord Nelyafinwë and his brothers bade me give you this letter." He reached inside his cloak and took out a piece of rolled parchment, which he held unsure whether he could approach the king without a command. Elwë gestured his acceptance. The messenger came to where the king stood and bowing again, he handed the letter to him with a reverent movement. Then, he stepped back.

Elwë broke the seal with the star of Curufinwë Fëanáro imprinted in the wax, spread the parchment, and his fingers fisted the sides in a quick clench.

"Is this a jest?" he snapped.

The messenger took a step back. Then, with a fast motion, he pushed the hood from his head.

"The letter tells me nothing, for there is no single word in it," the king continued and eyed him sternly, with growing suspicion that could quickly turn into fury. "I strongly suggest you explain this to me," he snarled, dropping the parchment, "or you will be introduced to a far less pleasant chamber of my palace. Well?"

Elwë's hand moved up. And then, his head inclined to the side; the hand froze in mid-motion, because apparently something in the messenger's semblance caught his attention; he studied the man in front of him. After two steps forward, Elwë stopped, folding his hands behind his back, still watching the messenger like a hawk observing its prey.

"You look oddly familiar..." he muttered. "Nevertheless, you will pay for your lords' impudence. No prince of the West insults the High King of the Grey Folk in such a manner. Your very presence here offends me."

"I am Nelyafinwë Maitimo," the messenger answered. "I may look familiar, though I have not too many of my grandsire's features. Only a keen eye can catch the resemblance, or so I have been told."

"You...?!" Elwë chewed a stream of curses, among which Maitimo could recognize ‘insolent bastard' that slipped out too loudly. "Perhaps you may want to enlighten me as to the reason of your arrival, Prince, before I throw you to the dungeons?"

There, Maitimo thought sneeringly, an irritated king of the Grey Folk is threatening me with his bottomless caves. But Maitimo's job was done - and the surprise should be used to his benefit, if he were to achieve the goal, for which he was hoping. The effort seemed worth a little performance and sacrifice. Pride gone, Maitimo knelt on one knee and pressed his hand to his chest.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty, for this trick of a disguise. I have indeed come in peace, and no harm will be done to any of your people," he stated solemnly.

Elwë grunted. "Know that you may not leave this palace," he warned, "and no one will come to aid you."

Having lowered his head, Maitimo smiled.

"Why have you come here?" Elwë insisted in a calmer tone.

Maitimo realized that he would not be allowed to stand up any time soon, but he was willing to let the game be continued according to the king's rules. After all, one should have a truly burning reason to pull the string too far, and Maitimo wished, despite the obvious foolhardiness of his decision to visit Menegroth alone, to leave the Thousand Caves on his own legs, if not on his own terms.

"To pay respect and prove that we - my brothers and I," he answered after a moment, "have fair intentions toward the Grey Folk."

"My, my, you may be a brave man, Maitimo grandson of my friend of old, but you are a clumsy actor." Elwë laughed, clapping his hands. Maitimo winced, because he expected a violent treatment now, which might end up in the dungeons, and he rebuked himself for his - not entirely well performed - attempt at diplomacy.

"You may stand up," the king ordered.

Maitimo did what he was told, catching out of the corner of his eye a servant waiting near the door.

"Food and wine," Elwë addressed to the servant. "Prepare a chamber for our unexpected guest. And tell Her Majesty I wish that she come here. Dismissed."

The servant silently went away, while Maitimo took his chance to look closely at the breathing legend that he had heard about from his grandfather. The regal looks and dignity that instantly demanded respect aside, there was something peculiar about Elwë that Maitimo found hard to define. Perhaps, he mused, the silvery-haired, heavily robed and exceptionally tall - even to the eyes of the one that was named ‘The Tall' - king seemed a little uncommon among those ordinary, light-footed people, dark-haired and clad in dun garbs; perhaps it was the mystic aura of his disappearance and reunion with the third tribe of the Quendi, Maitimo could not tell. Either way, he thought, he was now face to face with a myth, and because of that alone he felt slightly intimidated, despite the fact that he had lived amongst walking antiques back in Aman. As he eyed the king, he wondered whether he had unfairly expected a primitive man in a rustic, inhabitable dwelling, but what he had seen so far was contradicting to some beliefs popular amongst the Noldor - especially amongst those who could not hold strong beverage well.

"Finwë's grandson..." Elwë was muttering as he watched Maitimo with matching interest. "Has your grandsire returned as well?"

"Yes..." Maitimo's voice hung in the air, which caused one of Elwë's elegant brows to rise questioningly, "but only in our hearts."

"He is dead then...?" The king sighed as if figuring out the cruel answer to his question, then turned on his heels and linking his hands behind his back, he paced a few circles in silence, seeming to struggle with the news in his mind. "The land of never-ending happiness happened to be deceptive. The doom crept upon him..."

"Pardon?"

"Never mind. Well, since you are here and I have not killed you yet, even though I shall probably regret that sooner or later," Elwë graced Maitimo with a weird grimace that was apparently akin to an awful smile, "tell me: what is the real purpose of your kind visit?"

"Strategy, and my sincerest offer of co-operation," Maitimo said.

"You may sit." Elwë gestured toward the table in the corner of the chamber. Maitimo shrugged the cloak off his shoulders and hung it across the backrest of a chair. "The strategy as to what in particular?"

"War." Maitimo sat down, outstretched his legs comfortably, and crossed his forearms, placing his elbows on the armrests of his chair. "With Morgoth."

"I might have known." Elwë joined him at the table, across from him, and having folded his hands he put his forehead to them, then slowly turned his head a few times. "I need no more wars, son of Fëanáro. I fought Morgoth. I need no more death, blood, pain, nor the devastation of my land."

"Lands..." Maitimo broke in, "we can defend them together."

Elwë glanced at him between his entwined fingers. "You have chosen a place for us already, have you not?"

"I merely have a suggestion," Maitimo replied. Elwë stood up. With a few strides, he was in front of Maitimo, bending forward.

"Admit it. You and your kin have already placed us - on such a position in the rank you think best for you, which not necessarily means it would be best for us. In your presumption, you see this land as your dominion, your heritage to do whatever you choose."

"The dominion of orcs," Maitimo said, "the orcs that roam freely across the lands, unchallenged, even undisturbed."

Maitimo did not know whether it was for his blunt words that Elwë suddenly straightened up, or whether it was the knock on the door. When the king bade the newcomer enter, the servant carried a tray in, quickly disposed of food and wine, deftly arranging plates, flasks and goblets on the tabletop, then he bowed and walked away without a word.

"Help yourself," the king encouraged. Maitimo rinsed his hand in a small bowl, dried it with a towel, reached for the flask and filled the king's glass. Having subsequently poured a glass for himself, he raised it and saluted to Elwë. The king smiled mildly, but answered in a similar way. He tore a good chunk of roast game, placed it on his plate, then wiped up his fingers with a napkin.

"The orcs do not enter Doriath," he stated.

"It doesn't mean they will not try," Maitimo counterpointed. "I know you fenced your land purposefully. I only wish you, Your Majesty, to revise your general standpoint."

"And accept your superiority, am I correct?" Elwë asked. "That is not going to happen."

There, Maitimo thought, this was Elwë's main concern. "Cavalry has its advantages."

"Cavalry is useless in massed woods!" Elwë spat back at him with a sinister hiss.

Maitimo frowned. He had expected that Elwë would be a tough partner in talking. Picking a slice of bread, he decorated it with roast meat and a few bits of pickle, brought the food to his mouth, and bit in it, never averting his eyes from Elwë's face. The Sindarin king helped himself with smoked cheese, then sat back in the chair and watched the wine swirl in his glass as he slowly twisted his hand. Then, his fingers clenched around the goblet.

"Let me tell you what I think," he began in a far quieter voice than just before. "My people have lived in these woods, in this land, for many an age. They labored hard to make it as habitable as can be. They paid with their very blood for their efforts; it was a cruel price; they bled not once, not twice, but for many long years, they have had to deal with the evil that still lurks far in the North. I shall not ruin the delicate balance they have constructed according to your whim. Do I make myself clear, Prince of the West?"

"Very much so." Maitimo inclined his head to the right. "No one will ever underestimate you and what I saw upon my arrival. I know well who put their hands to the taming of the wilderness, and for that I sweep a deep bow before you. Yet this land is wide and..."

"You seem eager to offer me what is rightly mine," Elwë did not let him finish.

"And you gave us what did not belong to you," Maitimo shot back.

"What would you like me do?" Elwë shrugged, then sipped a huge gulp and allowed himself another portion of the wine. "To invite all of you here and divide my land between you? Surely you are not a fool to believe that I would do it."

"No. Of course not." Maitimo rose from the chair and pulled the loaf of bread closer to himself, took a knife and sliced a rough bit. Elwë noted his effort, but did not comment, only exhaled deeply.

"Too close an encounter with the enemy," Maitimo informed him as he raised the stump of his right hand. "I am not a young lad unaccustomed to hardship. Or warfare, for that matter.

Elwë acknowledged Maitimo's almost casual remark by nodding thoughtfully.

"Let me be honest with you, Your Majesty," he continued as sat down looking at his shortened forearm. "We have come here on purpose, yes, but we are not your enemies. Furthermore, we are allies against that one who is solely responsible for my grandsire's - and your companion of old - demise. For it was Morgoth who slew Finwë on the threshold of his household. It was Morgoth who violated the peace of Aman and brought death amongst us for the first time. And for that will be no forgiveness, as long as I draw breath."

"You have my sincere sympathy, Maitimo." Elwë lowered his head for a moment, then looked him straight in the eyes. Maitimo held the gaze without blinking, until Elwë busied himself with the wine again. "Please, continue."

"There is not much to add, I am afraid," Maitimo answered. "Except that you can rely on us, should dire needs arise."

"Where were you when my people spilled blood in the war with Morgoth?"

"You cannot blame us for your losses, Your Majesty," Maitimo objected.

"No. But you cannot guarantee that my people will come back home unharmed," Elwë pointed out.

"No one can."

"So you see," the king shifted in his chair and crossed his forearms on his chest, "that you cannot offer me anything more than I have already. Not a good trade, Nelyafinwë. You must revise your standpoint."

Point taken, Maitimo thought and chewed on his lower lip.

"The Noldor will still hold their ground and protect your land from the orcs," he at last said with a sigh. "When time comes, they will challenge the enemy with or without your assistance."

"Vengeance is tempting," the king admitted. "I understand your point, Prince. I will not interfere, in any way or means, in your policy as long as it stays away from my borders and respects the laws I have established."

"We are equal in our aspiration to rule on our own - to be independent," Maitimo stated. "I however have forsaken that need, because the kingship by right belongs to my uncle. He is my superior as far as the leadership of the Noldor is concerned. Therefore calling me a prince is overrated, unless you are referring to my noble blood and heritage, not my current rank, Your Majesty."

"Such modesty," Elwë chimed in. "I am touched."

"I supposed you would be."

"And you even have a sense of humor," he added. "I underestimated you."

Maitimo laughed aloud. "Yes, you did."

Yet, the level of understanding and good mood they had achieved meant nothing. Well, maybe not nothing; not much, to be frank. Dancing around one another as they had done, suited courtship, not political negotiations, Maitimo mused; now they might get to the point.

"Prejudices come from ignorance more than often," Elwë said suddenly.

"I could not have stated that better, Your Majesty," Maitimo agreed. "Well, with that behind us, let me at least try to convince you that we have not come to Beleriand because we want your lands and rule in your stead or to supervise you. We were driven... No, we left because we have free will and, well, yes, we want our own lands and make our people conduct their lives as they wish," he was saying without a break to take a breath. "We respect your laws. Now, the only thing I would like to ask you to consider is to unite with us under one banner to get rid of the evil once and for all, Eru willing."

Maitimo paused to take a deep breath.

"The evil that had caused my grandfather's death..." he added, lowering his voice to a whisper. "And my father's. And the death of many, many more innocent people."

"Can you warrant that none of your kindred will come to me and demand their share of my kingdom?" Elwë asked.

"I cannot say that on every single one's behalf," Maitimo answered.

"Indeed, you cannot..." the king muttered. "Listen then. My people are not faint-hearted. If you surmised that we hoped you would protect us from all evil powers, you are wrong. Of course, we need allies. Who does not? But, we do not need conquerors, commanders that tell us how to live and raise our children. The line between alliance and dominance seems too thin to me in this case. That is where my reluctance comes from. Try to see things as I see them and you will understand - if so many of you left the Blessed Realm, be it in need of leadership, or because Valinor seemed suffocating to you, then what more evidence I need to assume that you simply head toward being the rulers here? If so, why should I step aside and welcome you? With my arms open wide, should I invite you and politely bow before you? Why? Give me one reason, except the usual - ‘because we are the Calaquendi'. One really good reason."

With his fingers fraying the hem of his outworn tunic, Maitimo could not find a proper answer right away, suddenly thinking himself witless.

"Here," the king woke him up from his reverie, "have a drink, Prince of the Noldor." Handing Maitimo his refilled glass, Elwë smiled - this time it was a sincere smile of success.

"My thanks." Maitimo emitted something akin to a grunt.

The small door in the wall across from him opened, and the queen of the Sindar entered the chamber. No, she did not tread in; she glided inside; her silent steps reminded him of the soft caress of a wave upon a sandy shore. Maitimo put his goblet aside and stood up, bowing before the Maia, who smiled at him with a gentle nod. She held out her hand, which after a moment disappeared in Elwë's as he took hold of it.

"Your Majesty," Maitimo greeted the queen, when she had sat down at the table.

"Sit, please."

Melian had a richer, lower voice than he might have imagined; immediately, he thought of rustling leaves, in which wind whispered...

"No, I have no birds nesting and chirping in my hair."

Elwë chuckled. "I would hazard a guess that our guest thought of that," he remarked.

"No. Actually, I was thinking about waves," Maitimo objected.

"Let us leave the wonders of nature aside," Melian said. "What matters of great importance were you discussing?"

"Cultural differences, for the most part," the king explained as he poured a glass for his wife.

"Ah yes, our favorite topic for quite some time here." Melian accepted the drink. "Since we were acknowledged of your arrival, kind sir."

"I can imagine," Maitimo ventured, rising from his seat. "I am called Maitimo, Your Majesty."

"Please." Melian gestured toward his abandoned chair. "Is your curiosity sated?"

"More than less," he answered.

"Ours is not, I am afraid," Elwë added. "Which leads me back to our main concern. I assume we have reached a crucial point in our debate. Have we not?"

"Your Majesties," Maitimo began, "I assure you that the Grey Folk have everlasting friends and allies in us."

"Likewise, we are friends of your people, Prince," Melian answered.

Maitimo gulped. A somewhat awkward moment of silence stretched almost unbearably. He realized that the royal couple was waiting for him to restart the conversation; however, he had fallen out of the need of talking. He could see it was pointless. He understood Elwë's point - perhaps in similar circumstances he would have decided to act like that - but failure had a bitter taste. Overall, the exodus from Aman had been but a series of disasters, since the very start. Maitimo could get past another unlucky outcome, although he was coming to a conclusion that no one would eagerly support him, save for his brothers - even though they were fed up with him right then - and, probably, Findekáno, who had proved his devotion to the infamous House of Fëanáro in the most spectacular way.

Thus pondering his current situation and risking an interrogation as to why he was silent, Maitimo was trying to find any positive aspect of his mission, aside of the fact that it was a swindle with an ironically comical touch to it. He suspected that the Sindar would have no sense of humor when it came to reveal the whole truth, and his bravado seemed of no use, because he did not gain allies he had hoped for, and now the entire task was turning out idiotic. His brothers were right - he should have listened to them when he had still had a chance.

At least, his curiosity was indeed satisfied.

"Have you any word from my brother?" Elwë asked, picking up the very topic that Maitimo would have loved to avoid. "I would imagine he might want to pass on news or greetings."

Inwardly, Maitimo cringed, but he strove to maintain a calm exterior, glancing past Elwë's shoulder at the opposite wall where a candlestick hung. The candle smoked and released a column of sparks with a quiet, yet clearly recognizable hiss.

"I know not of that. I came here bearing no news from Alqualondë," he replied, fearing that his voice would come out too stern, or even worse - trembling. "Lord Arafinwë's children might have been asked to bring word from Olwë, I should think."

"Yes..." Elwë frowned. "They might, indeed."

Melian studied Maitimo with caution, which he did not like in the slightest, but withstood her gaze without flinching; once his breathing calmed, he looked away, reaching for his goblet, and drank the last drops of the wine.

"The only reason," he said as he placed the goblet back on the table, "we may have to invade your kingdom is obvious, Your Majesty." Maitimo looked at Elwë and stood up to give emphasis to what he was going to say. "If by any ill chance you take away something that belongs to us by right, tradition, or law. Then, you may expect us at your doorstep. I however firmly believe that no such occurrence will happen."

"Harsh words, grandson of Finwë," Elwë replied, rising from his seat. "Yet, I sense that you speak honestly. It is natural for any living creature that they will fight to keep what they have, if need be."

Melian said nothing, though Maitimo had a weird feeling, underscored by an unpleasant shiver down his backbone, that she knew. Everything. Every secret he was trying to hide she might have seen through, and that idea threw him off balance. He returned his gaze to the king and bowed by way of farewell.

"If you will excuse me, Your Majesties, I shall take my leave."

Elwë responded with a courteous nod and clapped his hands aloud. Immediately, the door opened and the servant came in, waiting for orders. "Our guest wishes to rest now," the king said.

The servant bowed before his sovereign, then before Maitimo, turned on his heels and left silently.

The audience was over. Maitimo closed the door behind him with a quiet click.

~*~

The door swung open and smashed against the wall. Maitimo barreled onto the corridor. He looked around and, in spite of the frenzy, recognized the place near the main gate of the Thousand Caves, then he broke into a run, a sword in his hand.

"Kano!" he shouted. "Kano! Gothmog's flaming arse! Kanafinwë!!!"

"Here!" answered a voice from afar, outside the caverns.

"Thank Eru," Maitimo rasped, slowing down as he wiped the blood from his weapon with the flap of his cloak and waded through the carnage, past the slain and wounded Sindar, out into the fresh air. Once outside, he noted that his brother was unharmed, then he looked over his shoulder, sheathing his sword, and snarled, "Your dwelling is bleeding, Elwë. You should not have touched what was not yours."

---

Chapter End Notes

The title is borrowed from the name of Damon Albarn's musical project; the quote from "Dances with Wolves" (1990, directed by Kevin Costner).