The Journal of Alatáriel, Missionary by Clodia

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The Sack of Alqualondë

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The Journal of Alatáriel, Missionary

 

 

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THE SACK OF ALQUALONDË

 

JUNE 10. How swiftly has the joy of the Blessed Realm been darkened and marred by the treachery of Melkor! For the past five days, all of Alqualondë has held its breath, awaiting the moment when the Valar shall rekindle the light of the Trees. Yet the darkness has not lifted and we cannot know Their reasoning, nor do anything but trust in Them. Our faith upholds us, as it has ever done.

Now I fear for my father’s people and their faith in the Valar; for from Tirion have come uncertain and fearful tales that say my grandfather Finwë’s stronghold at Formenos has been assaulted; that my grandfather is slain and the Silmarilli taken; and that all of this has been accomplished by the dark arts of Morgoth [1] and Ungoliant. It is even said that Fëanor has claimed the kingship of the Noldor and sworn open revolt against Lord Manwë. If I were now at Tirion – but I am not, and to wish otherwise serves no purpose, although my people have never needed my counsel more than they do at this moment. I fear the power of Fëanor’s “wild and potent words”[2] almost more than I fear the malice of Morgoth.

JUNE 13. My fear has proven well-founded. These words are written in haste; for Fëanor has come with his sons to Alqualondë, and demanded of King Olwë ships and an alliance against Morgoth. On hearing King Olwë’s refusal, Fëanor departed in anger to the plain where his hosts are gathering. I dare not predict what he may do now.

Teleporno has come to summon me to his grandfather’s council. He is armed and brings a bow for me, should the need arise. I have always known that Fëanor had the capacity to commit acts unimaginable in one of the Eldar;[3] now even the Teleri fear the outcome of my kinsman’s unreasonable fury. It terrifies me that my father and my father’s people are said to be on the road to join Fëanor at this very moment.

JUNE 15. My pen refuses any letters but these:

“There they fought and fell by foes outnumbered,
by treachery trapped at a time of night
when their fires faded and few were waking –
some wakened never, not for wild noises,
nor cries not curses, nor clashing steel,
swept as they slumbered to the slades of death.”[4]

I have neither the words not the will to describe the unholy and sacrilegious carnage that took place yesterday. My attempts to marshal my scattered thoughts are thwarted by the immensity of the devastation that has overcome Alqualondë. “Desolate lay the scarlet field”[5] – and desolate now lie the streets of Alqualondë, streaming scarlet with the blood of the Teleri! The harbour, which only two days past was white with the sails of the Telerin swan-ships, is all but empty. Fëanor has taken the ships by force and his host slaughtered all who stood in their way.

We [6] cast them back from the ships, with our bare hands at first. Then:

“Blades were naked and bows twanging,
and shafts from the shadows shooting wingéd,”[7]

– and there was fighting everywhere upon the white ships and on the quays beneath the light of the lamps, and the gem-strewn shores were spattered in an instant with blood. “In rank on rank of ruthless spears that war-host went,”[8] and although we drove them back three times, at last they overcame us, suffused by reinforcements fresh to the field.[9]

I have some few scattered recollections of fighting upon the bloodied piers at my dear Teleporno’s side. How we managed to preserve the ship that we have been building for all these long months, I do not know. Few others of the swan-ships remain and those of the Teleri who still live are overcome with grief. King Olwë swears that he shall never see a Noldo without wishing him dead; that he shall beseech the Valar for vengeance; and that this slaughter shall not be forgotten for so long as a single mariner dwells in Alqualondë. He has walked among the corpses that line the crimson shore and called upon Ossë for aid. I doubt that Ossë will come, for it seems to me that He would have intervened in the battle, had He been able; but some say that they have heard the sound of Uinen’s weeping on the wind and Teleporno tells me that he has never seen the sea so rough or waves so huge before.[10]

I shall not weep if Fëanor and his sons come to harm in the stolen ships of the Teleri, although I shall grieve for the Elves swept to their watery graves by Fëanor’s fiery words. My one consolation – and it is but slight – is that I saw neither my father nor my brothers anywhere during the fighting. I can only hope that they took no part in this most terrible of Elven deeds.[11]

Both I and Teleporno are still too weary to contemplate how this will affect our plans for the future. We shall take further counsel tomorrow.

JUNE 16. My sleep has been greatly troubled by dreams of the awful events of the last few days. I cannot forget how I saw Elves fall into the harbour’s dark water, pierced by black-feathered arrows from my quiver. I think that I will never be able to look upon Alqualondë again without recalling the slaughter perpetrated by my kin. After much deliberation, therefore, Teleporno and I have arrived at a decision. We are to depart Valinor forthwith.

I would still delay to plead our case before Lord Manwë, were there any likelihood that He might smile upon us; but in the aftermath of Fëanor’s murderous revolt, I do not believe that we would be granted leave to depart Valinor. The prospect of sailing without the Valar’s blessing causes my heart to shudder within me; yet I can bear to remain in Valinor no longer, and the sacred nature of the labours that lie ahead encourages me to believe that our duty lies across the sundering sea. Once we have made ready the ship for the voyage, we shall set sail into the darkness. If we cannot have Their blessing, we shall do Their work nonetheless!

JUNE 18. This day, my affectionate Partner and I took our leave of Valinor. Alqualondë is still awash with grief and Teleporno’s kin begged him to remain – King Olwë’s family was not spared in the awful massacre, and his parents, who have already lost one son to Fëanor’s cruelty, are distraught to think that they shall now lose a second to a greater cause – yet even their tears could not stay our departure. The work that awaits us beyond the ocean is too vital to linger in this besmirched idyll.

Against the utter darkness that clings to the swell of the waves, the sails of our ship are as white as chalk. I am grateful for what little illumination is provided by the lanterns, without which we would be utterly swallowed by the blackness that has fallen over the world with the extinction of the Trees, by whose enduring generosity we Elves have been always nurtured and enlightened.

We passed Tol Erëssea earlier. A single swan flew mournfully overhead, but it did not fly down to greet us. Soon even the isle lay behind us; and, as my lingering looks hovered over the land, I said,

“O Blessed Realm! pledge of the love We bear
For thee, beloved children!”[12]

But, in obedience to the duty that lies upon me, wealthy as I am in the wisdom so abundantly bestowed by the Valar, I can leave thee, and go to distant, impoverished climes; and, in my heart, I repeated those well-known lines of Rúmil’s,

“Commandst Thou in Thy love that we should come
To Thee, for loving Thee be ever love
And life; and we, loving Thee, hence come now,
Across the sund’ring sea; so far, and yet
Wouldst farther go, in furth’rance of our love.
Wouldst cross for Thee the vasty arctic ice;
At Thy command, the sea be naught again;
For but Thy word stands surety ’gainst all harm.”[13]

 

 

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[1] Melkor had been renamed Morgoth by Fëanor when the latter learned of his father Finwë’s death at Formenos.

[2] The anonymous author again betrays himself by citing the Lay of Leithian (VI.1604). As Lord Celeborn observed, what the author lacks in the way of a grasp of literary history is more than compensated for by his excellent literary taste.

[3] Cf. ‘Introduction’ (n.2).

[4] Here the author includes a stanza from the Lay of the Children of Húrin ([Version 1] II.680–685), the lay composed by Dírhaval of Sirion, the Mannish poet who was slain when the remaining sons of Fëanor sacked that settlement. It is not clear why the author felt that such martial themes might have been prevalent in Valinor at this time; possibly he considered that the songs of the Quendi from the perilous period prior to Melkor’s capture by the Valar would have been preserved and transmitted even in the Blessed Realm. Or it may be that his priority was the selection of thematically suitable verse, and that the anachronism did not occur to him as an issue. (Certainly the latter possibility conforms to his usual modus operandi.)

[5] A line from Daeron of Doriath’s Lament for Denethor (II.548).

[6] The Journal’s account of Lady Galadriel’s role during the sack of Alqualondë is quite straightforwardly untrue. It is generally agreed that she was not among the vanguard of Fingolfin’s host, which arrived at Alqualondë after Fëanor’s assault on the Teleri had begun and joined battle without troubling to discover the cause of the conflict. Most probably, therefore, she did not fight at Alqualondë with the hosts of the Noldor. It is certain, however, that she did not take up arms in defence of the Teleri, as the Journal would have us believe. The presentation of this episode plays a crucial role in the anonymous author’s campaign to transform Lady Galadriel’s history into one of unblemished heroism – a campaign which anyone who lived through the second sack of Doriath will know to be perfectly unnecessary, since the lady’s preservation of King Dior’s daughter Elwing and many of Doriath’s most vulnerable residents without striking a single blow was a deed more truly heroic than anything within the compass of this Journal.

[7] Again the author cites the Lay of the Children of Húrin ([Version 1] II.648–9).

[8] Another citation from the Lay of the Children of Húrin ([Version 1] II.977–8).

[9] The sack of Alqualondë has been extensively catalogued elsewhere; other than the intrusion of Lady Galadriel and “Teleporno”, this brief account is substantially accurate, if more emotive than descriptive. It is agreed that swords were drawn only after the Teleri resisted Fëanor’s assault on their ships; that the Noldor were driven back three times before the arrival of Fingon with the vanguard of Fingolfin’s host; and that the Teleri, most of whom were armed only with hunting bows, suffered massive casualties in the fighting that ensued.

[10] Many of the stolen ships were indeed wrecked by storms shortly after the sack of Alqualondë; according to Maglor’s Noldolantë, the weeping of Uinen caused the sea to rise in wrath against the Noldor, although it has also been suggested that the Noldor were simply incompetent seamen (Pengolodh [139 F.A.: 28]).

[11] Since the people of Finarfin and Finrod came last and late to Alqualondë, travelling at the very rear of Fëanor's hosts, it is entirely possible that this hope (in itself not implausible in the Lady Galadriel's mouth) was not expressed in vain.

[12] Part of ‘Yavanna’s Apostrophe to the Elves’ from The Voyage of the Calaquendi (III. ii. 4–5), attributed to Rúmil of Tirion and brought to Middle-earth by the Valarin hosts in the War of Wrath; this is therefore a rare example of a quotation that would not have been wholly anachronistic in the mouth of Lady Galadriel at this period.

[13] The opening lines of ‘The Reply of the Calaquendi to Oromë’ from The Voyage of the Calaquendi (I. iv. 27–35); cf. n.12.