The Aging of Cirdan by Cirdan

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Chapter 3: Unnumbered Tears

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The Lay of Leithian, Release from Bondage, was sung throughout Beleriand. The Falathrim delighted in the tale of Beren and Luthien. Amid sorrow there was joy. The strange love between a Mortal Man and the most beautiful child of the Eldar brought hope to the people of Beleriand, taught that the Darkness did not encompass all that was good. Cirdan first heard the song from a minstrel who had studied under Daeron, the greatest singer in Middle Earth.

The images that Cirdan saw were not the same as those evoked by the talented minstrel of Thingol. When the first meeting of Thingol and Beren was told, Cirdan saw the High King of the Sindar, proud and contemptuous of the Mortal Man, for he did not even take Men into his service. He remembered that same look on a young and fearless Thingol when he had first agreed to travel with Orome the Great Rider to Valinor. The pride that had moved Thingol to demand a Silmaril in return for the hand of Luthien was also part of Thingol's majesty and greatness. Cirdan found that he could not fault Thingol, though he had thus inadvertently brought the Doom of the Noldor upon his own people.

Cirdan remembered Luthien, the young girl with midnight black hair and a shining light in her face. When Cirdan had visited Menegroth again, Daeron had fallen in love with her and taught the Falathrim many songs of Luthien's beauty during their short visit. Many of these had already seeped into the lore of the Falathrim from other Sindarin minstrels, but there were always new ones, songs of dedication and love, of joy and beauty, for Daeron never tired of his source of inspiration. That same young woman, who sang the songs composed for her by Daeron, had danced with unmatched beauty and grace before Thingol and Cirdan. In one dance during Cirdan's last visit to Menegroth, she played with a large pearl, and Cirdan recognized it to be the one that he had given to her many years ago. It remained free and had not been set in any metal, gold or silver. Luthien raised her right arm up at the sky and let the pearl roll smoothly along her arm and across her shoulders. It landed neatly in her left hand. She brought both hands to the pearl and kissed it. There was a twinkle in her eyes. Then in a skip, she was moving and turning and dancing before her father and her father's esteemed guests once again. Cirdan had cherished that last dance as the highlight of the years before the Dagor Bragollach.

The Falathrim also mourned when they heard the demise of Finrod Felagund, fairest and most beloved of the Noldorin princes. The malice of Celegorm and Curufin reminded Cirdan of the words of Mandos: "Their Oath shall drive them, and yet betray them, and ever snatch away the very treasures that they have sworn to pursue." The dreadful deeds of the sons of Feanor seemed to be a sign of that the Curse of Mandos was drawing near, and Cirdan feared that his friendship with the Noldor would bring ruin to his people.

After hearing the Lay of Leithian, Cirdan wanted to travel to Tol Galen, to see the beauty and light of Luthien one last time, but he knew this to be wishful thinking. He wanted to visit Thingol and gaze upon the Silmaril, within which was locked the last Light before the Sun and the Moon. He wanted to go to Tol Sirion to pay his respects to Finrod Felagund, who had been buried on his own isle. But before Cirdan had time to do any of that, he received summons from the High King of the Noldor to join the Union of Fingon.

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In the valleys and the woods east of Ered Wethrin, well hidden from the eyes of the Enemy, the host of Fingon was assembled. Marching under the standard of Fingon were the Elves of Hithlum, the Elves of the Falas, Gwindor's company of Elves from Nargothrond, the Men of Dor-lomin of the House of Hador, and the Men of Brethil of the people of Haleth. The Elves, Men, and Dwarves, assembled on Anfauglith under Maedhros's command, were to attack the forces of Morgoth from the east. The host of Fingon awaited Maedhros's signal before attacking from the west.

Cirdan stood with Fingon on Eithel Sirion. With them were Beleg Strongbow and Mablung of Doriath. While the Men of Dor-lomin and Brethil had trained for war, Cirdan and Beleg had renewed their friendship and contested their skills with the bow. Beleg was now the stronger archer and was able to shoot any target regardless of distance, but Cirdan was still the faster archer and barely even needed to aim before letting loose his arrows. Fingon had been glad to see such camaraderie in his army, but his joy had also been touched with sorrow.

Fingon had only recently lost his father. The eagles had brought news of Aradhel's death many years ago. Argon had died in the Battle of Lammoth. Fingon's only surviving brother Turgon had not been seen since his departure from Vinyamar to his Hidden Kingdom. Even Cirdan knew more of Turgon's whereabouts and well being than Fingon. And Fingon's own son was at Eglarest, many leagues south of the war. Fingon had been close in friendship to the children of Finarfin, but Angrod and Aegnor had been slain in the Dagor Bragollach, and Finrod had recently died in the Quest for the Silmaril while fulfilling his Oath to aid the house of Barahir. Orodreth was hidden away in Nargothrond and refused to join the Union because of the evil deeds of Celegorm and Curufin, and Galadriel remained inaccessible in Menegroth. In many ways, Fingon was alone, and his last close friend from the Days of Bliss in Aman was Maedhros, son of Feanor.

The sons of Feanor, on the other hand, had come together for the Fifth Battle. By chance, none had been slain in the Dagor Bragollach though the forces of Morgoth had heavily attacked their lands. The divisions in the ranks, between that of Himring and the March of Maedhros, the Gap of Maglor, Himlad, Thargelion, and East Beleriand, were less noticeable than that of Fingon's host of the Elves of Hithlum, Falas, and Nargothrond. The Elves fighting under Maedhros's standard all followed the sons of Feanor, and Maedhros's brothers supported him. Though the sons of Feanor were the ones who were cursed, their unity made their Fate seem enviable. Though Doomed, they met their Fate together.

"How is my son, Ereinion?" Fingon had asked of Cirdan the night before the appointed day of Midsummer.

"He is well and safe, my Lord," Cirdan had said, for he knew that it was the answer that Fingon sought. If the Siege of Angband had not been broken, Fingon would have wanted to know of his son's growing strength and skills, his learning of lore, and his adventures and exploration as a young Elf approaching maturity. He would have asked if any young Elf-maiden of the Falas had caught Ereinion's eye. Instead, on the eve of the Fifth Battle, all that mattered was Ereinion's safety. It was the sole reason for the severance of son from father and the cause of much anguish.

"When this is over, we will go to see him and maybe he can join me at Hithlum," Fingon said, but his eyes misgave him, and Cirdan could read the doubt in his heart.

Now, looking out at Thangorodrim from the walls of Eithel Sirion, Fingon's eyes clouded with doubt once again. He turned his gaze eastward, toward the host of Maedhros. Cirdan remembered the tales of Fingon's valiant rescue of Maedhros from the precipice of Thangorodrim. Their ancient friendship is stronger than the malice of Morgoth. Our doom hangs upon a thread, Cirdan realized. If we unite with the host of Maedhros, we will be victorious. If Fingon and Maedhros are not reunited in the midst of battle, then we will fall. Fingon's wistful gaze to the east stung at Cirdan's heart.

But then a cry went up, passing up the wind from the south from vale to vale, and Elves and Men lifted their voices in wonder and joy. For unsummoned and unlooked for, Turgon had opened the leaguer of Gondolin and had come with an army ten thousand strong, with bright mail and long swords and spears like a forest. When Fingon heard afar the great trumpet of Turgon his brother, the shadow passed and his heart was uplifted.

"The day has come! Behold, people of the Eldar and Fathers of Men, the day has come!" Fingon shouted. His eyes were clear and bright. Though not yet united with the son of Feanor, the sons of Fingolfin were reunited with each other. Surely this is enough to defeat the malice of Morgoth, Cirdan thought as he looked out at the eleven houses of the Gondolindrim.

After reading the banner of each of the eleven houses and seeing the King of Gondolin with his elven sight, Cirdan joined in the chant of those who had heard Fingon. "The night is passing!"

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Cirdan and the Elves of the Falas were the archers of the host of Fingon and were not at first at the forefront of the battle. Thus, Cirdan did not know about the premature attack of Gwindor until much later. He only knew that Fingon put on his white helmet and led them to war before they had received the signal of the approach of Maedhros. The Elves of the Falas marched under Fingon's banner, for the Elves of Hithlum were few in number because of their loss in the Dagor Bragollach and Cirdan never went forth to war with his own standard.

The bright blades of the Noldor were deadly, and the Orcs fell before them as if a great wave of the Sea had swept the enemy away. The Elves and Men wore bright mail like the moonlight upon crested waves, and so it was easy for Cirdan to target the darker, iron-clad enemy. The armies of Fingon passed over Anfauglith and moved ever northward. They proved stronger than Morgoth had expected, and soon the banners of Fingon were raised before the very walls of Angband. Cirdan warned Fingon that they were too far north too early. Turgon was yet far south, guarding the Pass of Sirion, and Maedhros's army in the east had not been sighted. Fingon refused to listen and established the lands about Angband as his base and main battlefield.

That first night before the gates of Angband was the one of the worst in Cirdan's life. Being so close to the Dark Enemy of the World, Cirdan felt his heart waver. The Falathrim were more susceptible to the presence of Morgoth than Men and had not seen the Light of Aman so were not as strong as the Noldor. Many broke into heavy sweat; some broke into tears. Here, the sweet and sorrowful sounds of the Sea were far away, and instead of the fresh smell and airs of the ocean breeze, the Falathrim were choked by the dust and fumes of Morgoth's black clouds. Cirdan felt the power and majesty of one who had before been accounted among the Valar. He beheld the peaks of Thangorodrim and knew that no power of the Eldar would ever overthrow them. He feared that the Darkness would swallow him and that he would die in the Gasping Dust without ever feeling the refreshing waters of Ulmo again.

Cirdan tried his best to maintain his composure and bolster the spirits of his people. He played on his lyre made from a great turtle shell and sang the Aldudenie, the Lament for the Two Trees. He sang of the grief and terror on that fateful day when the Light failed and the Darkness sought to strangle the very will. He sang of this not because he despaired but because he had hope, for the Moon and Sun had arisen over all the world after the Darkening of Valinor. Cirdan had beheld his long-time home of Middle Earth bathed in light for the first time, and the waters of the Sea were no longer dark and fearful but bright, beautiful, and peaceful. The Noldor had found a way to continue to live though the Dark Foe had done the most injury to them. Even amid the Darkness and sorrow, there was hope and joy. The Falathrim were calmed. Though many now wept for grief of the Two Trees, none wept for fear of Morgoth.

Cirdan continued to sing, but now he sang a song of his own invention. He had shared the vision of Ulmo, who had been instructed most deeply by Iluvatar in the Music of Arda. Cirdan's voice reflected the power of the Lord of the Waters, but his music also reached beyond that of the Valar and touched upon one of the two musics of the third theme of Iluvatar. His voice was soft and sweet, a mere rippling of gentle sounds in the delicate melodies in the midst of the smothering Darkness, but it could not be quenched and took to itself power and profundity. His song was deep and wide and beautiful but also slow and blended with an immeasurable sorrow, from which its beauty chiefly came.

When Cirdan's song ended, night neared dawn. Fingon had been surveying his troops and had stopped to listen to Cirdan's enchantment. He came to join Cirdan, who now settled in his tent to get what little rest he could.

"The Ainulindale, the Music of the Ainur, is very great in you," Fingon said.

"I was of the Lindar, the Elves of Song." Cirdan served the High King some rice cakes, white wine, and some dried fruits.

Fingon smiled wanly, welcoming the change from corn cakes. "I always eat well when I'm with you, Lord Cirdan."

"The Falas is blessed by the protection of the Noldor. Our fertile lands could not have yielded such crop if the servants of Morgoth had defeated us in the First Battle. And our ships brought us supplies from as far south as the Mouths of Sirion before we began the journey north. I gladly share what I have with you."

"I know. If you hadn't brought supplied, especially lembas, I'm not sure I would've been able to feed all my troops. Queen Melian would never have gifted to us lembas, nor would Thingol have given us dried persimmons, mangoes, hazelnuts, and other such delicacies. I have not tasted such things since the bountiful harvests in Aman." Fingon's eyes were distant, and Cirdan wondered for the hundredth time about the splendor of the Blessed Realms. "Maedhros and I used to share persimmons in our youth. He was a picky eater and would always skin the persimmons and cut them into fine slices no thicker than a sheet of parchment. I'd eat three or four slices at once, but he'd savor the delicate flavor of each thin slice."

Cirdan put his hand on Fingon's. "He is coming, High King of the Noldor. Let us retreat south and await the coming of his troops from the east."

"Nay, Lord Cirdan." Fingon sighed and looked toward the Gates of Angband. "We cannot turn back now or Morgoth will think that we do not have enough strength and will let loose all his forces upon us. We will go on, and if we meet defeat, then let it be so. Our deeds shall be the matter of song for those Elves who survive to fight on. Do not ask me again to take the path of cowardice."

Too late, Cirdan saw the glint in Fingon's eyes. Before these very gates, Fingolfin had dueled with Morgoth. The mighty pits of Grond bubbled with the black blood of Morgoth. They were vivid reminders that the most proud Elven-king had been slain here. Fingon would not retreat. Battle lust had entered his heart, and the need for revenge for the deaths of his father, his grandfather, his brother, his cousins, and many others besides made him fey. It was as if the fumes from Morgoth's black blood had poisoned his mind.

The sun did not rise over the plains of Anfauglith, for the black smokes and vapors of Angband clouded the skies, but in what Fingon knew to be morning, the battles began anew. The Orcs swarmed forth like insects but fell like rain before the fury of the hosts of Fingon. This time, the fighting did not end with the coming of the night or the following day, nor would it until the end. There were few moments of rest for the Elves and Men, and warriors were rotated in shifts to the forefront of the battle. By the third night, the foul odor of the multitude of slain Orcs filled the plains with the smell of death, but Fingon would not retreat. Many times, it seemed as if they would break down the very Gates of Angband. Still, the hosts of Maedhros did not show. Then, on the fourth day of the war, Gwindor and the Elves of Nargothrond burst through the Gate and slew the guards on the very stairs of Angband. A great cheer was taken up among the warriors of Fingon. But at that moment, Morgoth issued forth his main host from the many secret doors of Thangorodrim, and their numbers were very great and there were wolves and goblins and trolls amidst their ranks. Thus began Nirnaeth Arnoediand, Unnumbered Tears, for no song or tale can contain all its grief.

Fingon was beaten back from the walls and forced to call a retreat over the sands. Without the support of the eastern troops of the Union, there was no hope of victory. The Men of Brethil held the rearguard, and Cirdan's Elves of the Falas stayed ever by Fingon's side and kept the enemy at bay with their deadly arrows. The enemy pressed ever nearer, and Cirdan was forced to cast aside his bow and instead draw Kirwath, the sword gifted to him by Thingol. The Falathrim followed their lord's example and drew their long knives of hard shell with edges of glass shards from the sands of their beloved shores, but the close combat was difficult, and Cirdan lost many of his shoreland pipers. The Men of Dor-lomin fought fiercely, and many fell in brave combat against the Orcs and trolls. The Elves of Hithlum were the most deadly of Fingon's host with their swords of steel, but exhaustion was setting in and many were slain in the great onslaught from Thangorodrim. So it is that few cannot always fight against the many.

On the fifth day as night fell, Fingon's western host was surrounded while still far from the safety of Ered Wethrin. Dark clouds blocked the starlight. The enemy pressed them ever closer, but a white fire burned brightly in Fingon's eyes and his trumpets and cries in battle brought courage to his troops time and time again. In the morning came hope when the horns of Turgon were heard in the south. At that trumpeting, the clouds broke for the first time since the beginning of the war, and pale moonlight shone through the patches of clear sky. The Gondolindrim marched to the aid of Fingon clad in mail that shone with the bright colors of their jewel-encrusted shields, and the sight of such brilliance of green and blue and gold and silver and many colors besides was a great relief from the darkness of Morgoth's troops. Turgon hewed his way to the side of his brother, and the meeting of Fingon and Turgon in the midst of battle was glad. Then hope was renewed in the hearts of the Elves. In that very time, at the third hour of the morning, the trumpets of Maedhros were heard at last coming up from the east, and the banners of the sons of Feanor assailed the enemy in the rear.

But before the hosts of Fingon and Maedhros could unite, Morgoth loosed his last strength from the pits of Angband. The dragons and balrogs came between the western and eastern armies, and Maedhros was assailed from the rear by the Men of Ulfang. Many of the Easterlings that had been summoned for the war joined in the treachery of Uldor the Accursed or fled the battlefield. The ancient friendship between Fingon and Maedhros remained unfulfilled. The Union of Fingon failed and was later known as the Union of Maedhros, for most believed that the Curse of the Oath of Feanor had been the cause of the defeat.

Fingon was now assailed by a tide of foes thrice greater than the force that was left to him, and of those remaining, most were of the Gondolindrim, for the Elves of Hithlum and Falas and the Men of Dor-lomin had long been diminished by the earlier days of the war. Gothmog and his legion of balrogs drove a wedge between the Elven hosts.

The Gondolindrim and Men of Dor-lomin were separated from the Elves of Hithlum and the Falas and were forced toward the Fen of Serech. The two Elves of Doriath were nowhere to be seen. Fingon fought as he yielded ground and retreated toward Sirion, but at last he was surrounded by balrogs and werewolves and drakes. The Elves formed a tight circle around Fingon, and Cirdan was by his side. Twice they broke through their enemy's formation, but each time, they were surrounded again. They broke through the ranks of their enemies a third and final time. Fingon and his bodyguards managed to elude their pursuers for a while, and at that time, it was but noon, yet the sun was partially hidden by the clouds and offered no comfort. They rested for a short while in the plains that offered no place for hiding.

King Fingon looked skyward and said, "Tears unnumbered ye shall shed," and the Elves shuddered, for such were the words of Mandos of old.

"All is not yet hopeless while we have you with us," Cirdan said.

Fingon shook his head. "It may be so, but I know that Morgoth seeks the scion of Fingolfin, who wounded him seven times ere the end. If I am slain, Lord Cirdan, fight not against doom and seek safety in flight. To you, I have entrusted Ereinion, last of the High Kings of the Noldor. Do not fail me."

Tears feel freely from Cirdan's eyes. "I will obey, my Lord."

"But until that moment, we will fight by your side," said Erellont.

Fingon nodded. "Until the bitter end, if bitter it must be."

The guards of Fingon were hardly rested when their pursuers attacked once more. Cirdan was separated from Fingon's side but fought to break through to rescue the High King. At last Fingon stood alone with his guard dead about him. The drakes kept Cirdan's small group at bay. They watched the fight between King Fingon and Gothmog but were unable to come to his aid. A seventh balrog came from behind and stung Fingon's swordarm with his thong of fire. Then Gothmog hewed Fingon with his black axe, and a white flame sprang from the helm of Fingon as it was cloven. The balrogs and werewolves beat him into the dust with their maces. The remaining Elves became fey as they saw Fingon's blue and silver banner trod into the mire of his blood. The servants of Morgoth laughed as they mutilated the body of the High King and barely noticed that a small group of Elves yet remained.

A flash of lightning, as white as the fire that had sprung from Fingon's helmet, filled the dark skies of the empty plain of Anfauglith. A heavy rain began to fall. A great wind came out of the west. The balrogs let out a cry greater than any that had ever been heard or would be heard again until the fall of Gondolin. The drakes hissed and retreated to Angband with the balrogs and werewolves following. The waters from the skies awakened Cirdan from his madness. He stopped his Elves from assaulting the retreating enemy, for they had absolutely no hope of victory. Only three besides him remained now: Falathar, Erellont, and Aerandir.

"We are all that live of the host of Fingon," Cirdan said grimly. "We must return to Hithlum and evacuate Fingon's people."

"What of the body of the High King?" Falathar demanded.

"We do not have time to properly bury him, but nor should we leave him for the return of the werewolves," Aerandir said.

Cirdan and his companions crossed the sands to where King Fingon had at last fallen. Cirdan knew that what Aerandir had said was true, that they could not bury Fingon but could not leave him to the wolves. Even as he pondered this dilemma, a glimmer of green amid the broken body of the king flickered as the sky lit with lightning once more. Cirdan drew the necklace out from beneath Fingon's mail. It was a brilliant green stone set in silver in the shape of an eagle with spread wings, and Cirdan knew it to be the Elessar, the Star-stone. At the next crack of lightning, the stone became a green fire in Cirdan's hand. Cirdan dropped it and stepped back as the body of Fingon became engulfed in the flame despite the heavy rain that drenched the four Elves. Cirdan was too tired to honor the funeral with his voice, but in his mind, he sang a song of the Eglain for High King Fingon.

Guided by the Lonely Star,

beyond the utmost harbour-bar,

I'll find the heavens fair and free,

and beaches of the Starlit Sea.

Ship, my ship! I seek the West,

and fields and mountains ever blest.

Farewell to Middle-earth at last.

I see the Star above my mast!

When the green fire died, all that remained was the Elessar and the broken shards of Fingon's sword. He unclasped his cape, and with one scrap, he reverently gathered the ashes of the King and folded it into a small blue bundle. He wrapped the shards of Helluin in the remaining tatters of his cloak and took the Elessar. The Star-stone was cold and dark now and seemed unnaturally heavy. Though Cirdan yearned for peace and release from the burden of memories, he knew that his time had not yet come. "The sign has been given," Cirdan said. "Day will come again."