The Last Heir of Fëanor by Astrance

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2 - The Youth of Khazad Dûm

Where we learn what happened after the Fall of Eregion, and how grief set in the halls of Durin.

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Under the willow tree a soldier lies

While in its green branches a raven waits

And the morning wind whispers through the skies

 

Black bird, says he, don’t rush for I live yet

Fly off to my beloved and as a prize

Bring her this golden ring lest she forgets

 

Tell her tonight another I’ll marry

Older than spring, terrible as the dawn

A great impatient force that won’t tarry

 

A black arrow made this uneven match

With the green earth as my single witness

Tell her tonight I have to go

 

Under the willow tree a soldier lies

Below the green branches a raven eats

The western wind softly mourns through the skies

 

Noldorin song

 

 

 

Khazad Dûm mourned. It was now clear no other survivors would come from the Eregion waste, and the western doors were hidden shut. Many of Durin’s Folk and all Elves had lost a loved one; now that the battle was over, a heavy calm fell over the Kingdom Under the Mountain. The forge fires turned to ashes and the never-ending song of hammers went silent in the great halls.

 

On the morrow following Celebrimbor’s death, Elrond once again brought Falmaramë to a council, this time held in a chamber deep within the heart of the mountain. Its walls were richly decorated with mining and forging tools, lighted in a clever way that created fantastic shadows on the stone behind. In the middle of the room stood a long wooden table, polished by time, with assorted chairs carved in the geometric style favoured by the Dwarves. On the high end, however, was a golden throne. There sat Durin, with Narvi at his right hand, and they were the only Dwarves present. A place was set for Falmaramë at Durin’s left; beside her sat Elrond, and then Celeborn of the silver hair. On the rest of the table sat seven smiths: all that were left of the Council of the Gwaith í Mirdain, that had ruled Eregion under Celebrimbor’s authority.

“The purpose of this meeting” announced Durin “is to answer the question of the lady Falmaramë of Eregion’s guardianship until such day as she comes of age. All those present have an interest in her future, or can bear witness to the late lord Celebrimbor and lady Eärfin’s wishes in that matter. Master Elrond, will you please stand?”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” said Elrond with a short bow. “As we prepared to break the siege of Ost-in-Edhil, I spoke at length with both of them of their children’s fate, should they perish. Unfortunately the twins, although obviously old enough to have an opinion on the subject, were not consulted on this by their parents, who wished to hide the very real risks from them. Can you confirm this, lady Falmaramë?”

“I do. We… we knew the war was going on badly, but that was all. We, Falmaros and I, thought we would all stay together until the end. We thought we would all share the same fate.”

“Now, it was quite unknown which of us were going to survive, if any at all,” explained Elrond, now pacing the room. “So, several plans were made but, to make a long story short, here is what was agreed if Khazad Dûm still stood, and I was alive. As steward of the High King in the east, your custody should fall to me, so that you could benefit a courtly education in all areas useful to a future leader. I also have a very personal debt to your family: your uncle raised my brother and me, after our parents left us as orphaned, and I would very gladly return the favor. However, had I died, Narvi and Vali, the longtime friends of your family, would have taken care of you.”

Hearing this, Celeborn scoffed and said : “Come on, they can’t have expected her to get a proper education away from her people. We would have taken her to Lórinand. Amdír would have agreed.”

“I’m afraid I disagree with you on this. Amdír wouldn’t have taken gladly to having the leaders of two different noldorin houses in his wood - houses that famously never got along. Galadriel he accepted for your sake, but I fear he would have drawn the line at the House of Fëanor. Besides, Celebrimbor was adamant that his children should be kept away from Galadriel.” With a wain smile, Elrond added : “Old grudges die hard.”

“Please, go on, master Elrond,” asked the king.

“As you know, the evacuation didn’t go exactly as planned. We hoped to get enough leeway from Sauron’s armies to be able to flee directly somewhere else, anywhere. Well, we were able to reach Khazad Dûm, at great cost to our allies, and Eregion is wholly under Sauron’s control. I still have a war to wage, and certainly can’t bring you along, Falmaramë. Therefore, I propose that you should stay with Narvi, if you agree.”

“That’s ridiculous” protested Celeborn.

“And what would you have me do? We can’t send her to Lindon, unless you want her to cross a wide territory we absolutely do not control, and where pillaging and worse are still going on as we speak. I will not go against her parent’s wishes and send her to your lady wife. Here in Khazad Dûm she will receive all the care, education, and love needed. Besides, how long before you are of age, Falmaramë? Five short years?”

“Four.”

“How time flies. Tell me, Celeborn, do you really wish to go against the last wish of Eärfin and Celebrimbor, to have me break my word to them, for only four years ?”

Celeborn scoffed again and didn’t answer. Before anyone else spoke, Falmaramë said : “I would really appreciate staying with Narvi.”

The Dwarf smiled at her, and answered : “And I would find it a great honor to be your guardian. But there is the matter of your education to settle. As much as I wish, alone, I won’t be able to teach you much besides metal and stonework.”

“Which is where,” added Elrond “the survivors of the Gwaith come into play.”

The seven smiths looked curiously at each other.

“Now, as you know, it is the High King’s wish that the Gwaith be disbanded. This is a settled matter. Blinded by your lust for knowledge and your thirst of redemption, you, and all of you, led us to the mess we have here today. Celebrimbor, alone, would have been swayed by the King’s advice, but you had to push against his wisdom. The Gwaith will be no more. For as long as Durin gives us his hospitality, we will abide by his laws and trust his justice. Without need for your governance, you will be stripped of all power. However, I am the King’s herald here, and I say that your very last act will be to teach the lady Falmaramë our laws and customs so that, on the day she comes of age, she is able to lead those who fled Eregion.”

“But she’s too young!” cried the one called Ostimir.

Elrond circled the table and bent to the smith’s ear. His words, low and crisp, reached everyone.

“I know you have seen Aman and the light of Two Trees. I know the contempt you hold for those born in Middle Earth. I know you tried to ally with Galadriel to prevent Gil-Galad from being crowned. I know that, to you and your ilk, Gil-Galad, Falmaramë, or me, look like children that should be kept very far away from any kind of power. I also know that I don’t care. When your own bloody mistakes brought Sauron’s wrath upon you, it was the pup Gil-Galad who sent his army, and this army saved your life last week. Yes, I know how you call him - he knows too, I made sure of it. As you were thankful for the pup’s army, you will be thankful for your new lady.” Rising, he added : “This goes for all of you, masters and mistresses. I will come back as often as possible to check on her. If I have any inkling that you are not doing your very best to teach her, I swear I will break you. »

Nothing broke the silence that followed as Elrond calmly went back to his seat. Durin cleared his throat, and the sound startled the smiths of the Gwaith.

“Never was such friendship seen between people as between Eregion and the Kingdom Under the Mountain,” said the king “and never shall it be seen again. Of the three great houses of the Noldor, the house of Fëanor is the eldest. Although they forsook the crown, that has passed to the house of Fingolfin, they shall forever have a role to play here in Middle Earth. I dearly loved Celebrimbor; I will therefore take the lady Falmaramë as my apprentice, and teach her statecraft. She will receive the same education as my sons did in these matters. Many things go beyond our differences in custom, and before I die I hope to renew the friendship between our people for the coming generations. As you will find care in Narvi’s home and knowledge with the Gwaith, I hope you will find a bit of wisdom with me. »

Murmurs went round the table. Elrond raised an eyebrow and shot a warning glance at Celeborn, who had the sense to keep his mouth shut. Frozen and mute, Falmaramë felt her mind reel. After a moment, she rose from her seat and bowed to Durin in the dwarven fashion, and thanked him in near-perfect khuzdûl. She then turned to Narvi and thanked him in the same way. Only then did she turn to the smiths and, with a simple nod, told them she looked forward to learn from them. She felt light-headed when she looked again at Elrond; words at last failed her, and she could only take his hand and press it.

 

In the afternoon, Celeborn rode away with a small force that was to map the enemy’s defenses near the Mountain. Falmaramë had accompanied Elrond to see them off; she now clung to him and Narvi as if she was drowning. “Why did you invite him earlier?” she asked. “He did nothing but be rude.”

“I wanted things to be clear. Word of your father’s death will soon reach Galadriel - I dispatched the messenger myself yesterday evening, and Celeborn sent another one before leaving. She will certainly try to get your custody. I want her to hear from her own beloved husband that it will not happen.”

After a slight hesitation, Falmaramë spoke again. “I know this will look stupid, but, could you please explain me why my parents were so set against her? I was never told.”

“Ah, that’s a long story,” sighted Elrond. “Let’s have a walk while I tell it. We’ll have to go back to the ancient days in Valinor.”

They slowly strolled along the colourful streets of Khazad Dûm while Elrond told of the strife between Fëanor and his younger half-brothers Fingolfin and Finarfin. Then came Fëanor’s last rebellion, leading to the First Kinslaying in Alqualondë. Elrond told of Fëanor’s departure in the ship of the slain, while Finarfin’s kin travelled the long and perilous way through the northern ice to rejoin Middle Earth.

“Once Galadriel and her brothers got to Middle Earth, you can imagine they were not in the best disposition towards Fëanor - but he was now dead, and his sons were more concerned with their war than with building realms. At first, the children of Finarfin were welcomed by Thingol and Melian who ruled together in Doriath, and Galadriel stayed there for quite a while. Her brothers made themselves powerful in war; she met Celeborn, and led a peaceful life with him, hiding the precise circumstances of the flight of the Noldor from the people of Doriath.”

“But her brothers all died.”

“That they did, and it awoke something in her. When she became the only one left alive, and their kingdoms all fell, she remembered that she had wanted power once, too.”

They had reached a promenade above one of the main arteries of the city and stopped for a while, watching the mix of Dwarves and Elves below. Rays of sunlight coming from windows higher up woke the golden stone; somewhere, a fountain was singing.

“The High King, by any right, should have been Maedhros, eldest son of Fëanor, but Maedhros renounced the crown in favor of Fingon, the eldest son of Fingolfin, who had saved his life. So, Fingon ruled - but when he died, his own son Gil-Galad was much too young to reign - he was then much younger than you. Instead of setting up a regency, his uncle Turgon claimed the crown for himself and sent the child to be raised in his mother’s family.”

Falmaramë frowned. “That’s unfair.”

“That’s true. But many thought only one who had known Valinor and the light of the Trees was worthy of the crown. When Turgon died, that reasoning would have put his cousin Galadriel as next on the list. By then, however, Gil-Galad had come of age and felt, shall we say, unhappy about things, and we had an interesting quarrel of succession. He was the only remaining candidate from the house of Fingolfin. Galadriel was the only one from the house of Finarfin. Maedhros was loosing himself in his war and normally wouldn’t have cared, but he disliked Galadriel and weighted in favor of Gil-Galad. Galadriel had no land and no army to back her claim while Gil-Galad had his mother’s kin. That was the end of it.”

Birds, come from the outside, landed on the pavement and pecked at some invisible crumbs. The pair began walking again as Elrond told how the Valar, in the War of Wrath, defeated Morgoth, and how in doing so ravaged the land. He explained how Gil-Galad had settled in what remained of Lindon, now become the shore of the Great Sea and how, as a gesture of good faith, had given land to Galadriel to rule in the north, beside the lake Nenuial. The last sons of Fëanor died. Meanwhile, Celebrimbor and his smiths were looking for a place to settle, and founded Eregion, close to the like-minded folk of Durin.

“Eregion acted as a beacon for many,” explained Elrond. “It promised to be richer than any of our kingdoms had ever been; while it was landlocked, commerce downriver to the coastal settlements of Men was easy. And, of course, the alliance with the Dwarves was plentiful. The people of Nenuial came, and for a while the two houses cohabited. Your father governed with the Guild, where he was the first among equals, and Galadriel ruled her own people. Little by little, however, those she had brought from the north rejoined the smiths, so her power greatly eroded. And then, Annatar came.”

Leaving, they passed under a wide arch and left the sunny promenade, going down elegant stairs to rejoin the avenue below.

“Galadriel disliked him from the first. Later, Gil-Galad advised against him, too. But Annatar was charming and generous, and promised the Valar’s forgiveness. After committing three Kinslayings, your people were desperate, and your father didn’t fight the Gwaith when they proposed to issue him a formal invitation to stay.”

The pavement here was made of stones of many colours, arranged in geometrical patterns. They passed several shops and offices, and started going up again.

“This is when Galadriel made her biggest mistake. Instead of attacking directly Annatar and expose him for the enemy he was, she only sought to undermine his power over the Gwaith. She was the landless ruler of a major House; she had tasted full power in the north, and thought she could do better than your father. Well, to her defense, she probably would have. And so it was only a matter of time before she thought to combine these two goals: chase Annatar from Eregion, and rule again. Your father didn’t take it well. It was now Galadriel’s second bid for a power that wasn’t hers, and she lost more bitterly than the first time. She was banished from Eregion. Gil-Galad then remembered her previous attempt and kindly asked her not to come back to Lindon.”

“So she went to Lórinand?”

“It is where Celeborn hails from, although he hasn’t set foot there for ages. As you know, he still elected to stay behind.”

“Why?”

“Well, in order to get to Lórinand from Eregion, you have to either go other the Caradhras pass, or under the mountain through Khazad Dûm. However, many cold winters followed by cool summers have closed the pass.”

“But why didn’t he go through Khazad Dûm? Didn’t Durin allow him through together with Galadriel?”

“Oh, Durin did allow him to cross. Galadriel and her daughter got through all right.” A conspirator glint shone in Elrond’s eye. “You may have noticed the lord Celeborn was somewhat tense, haven’t you?”

“Yes, I have,” answered Falmaramë. “But with everything that happened, well, everyone is, and he’s always been a bit strained.”

“That’s true. However, he has another problem, more ancient. He hates closed spaces and considers unnatural to live underground. He is a man of the wide forest, used to the open air. When he lived in Doriath, he never set foot in Menegroth if he could avoid it. When he suddenly had to cross Khazad Dûm and spend two days and nights deep below the highest mountain in the land, he was quite unable to do so. Galadriel had to go alone, and meet alone his kin.” Elrond’s lips twitched. “I only met them once, and I can only imagine how they greeted her. These sylvan people, they can be prickly.”

“But now he managed to do it?”

“I think Sauron’s pursuit proved an excellent incentive to get inside. Couple this with his ancient contempt for the Dwarves, and you get his present fey mood. Really, it was a charity to send him back against Sauron.”

An inspiration struck Falmaramë. “So that’s why the meeting was held so deep below the usual levels?”

“Not my idea, but yes. Durin wanted to make him feel as unwelcome as possible, to deter any ideas he might have had about your guardianship.”

“The might of Durin’s Folk is the might of the Mountain,” quoted the girl. “I see. But I thought my father had mended things with Galadriel when the war broke out.”

“On a political level yes, he did. On a personal level, he and your mother still distrusted her thirst of power, and were loath to entrust their children’s education to her. They didn’t want to see any of you two turned against your own people.”

They strolled silently for a while; the crowd was getting thinner.

“How are you dealing with all that, Elenatta? Did you manage to get any sleep last night?”

“What answer are you expecting? Of course I didn’t sleep, or if I did I thought I was awake and relived everything again and again. I haven’t cried for the last two hours, though, and it has to be some kind of record. I wish I could go to the forge and hammer down something.”

“And that’s the longest answer you’ve given me for a while. Now, if you will excuse me, someone is following us,” stated Elrond as he stopped and turned around. “Who are you?”

An elven woman with mousy hair stopped where she was and curtsied. She wore tattered clothes and had the harried look of all those who had survived the fall of Eregion.

“I apologize, my lord, I didn’t dare to interrupt you. My name is Insil. I was a seamstress in Ost-in-Edhil. I saw you and my lady walking, and I would have liked to speak with her. Is it alright?”

With a gesture of his hand, Elrond deferred the answer to Falmaramë, who responded with embarrassment. “Please, Insil, rise. Of course you can talk to me.”

The woman rose and thanked her. “I’m sorry to bother you, my lady, and I really wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. It’s just that some of us, well, we spoke with our friends here. Durin’s Folk, they’re short-lived, and they know how to mourn for the dead, while we, we don’t really. I had never lost anyone before, because I never was in any of the cities that fell in Beleriand, and now my sister and my son are dead. The Dwarves, they usually don’t talk about it with outsiders, but they have this custom where all those who knew the deceased gather for a night to say nice things about them. And there’s some of us who feel we should do it, but for everyone who’s gone to Mandos and not just our own kin. So tonight they lent us a hall and we’ll meet there. And I saw you on the promenade, and I know you lost your family too, so maybe you would like to come?”

Something very hard was suddenly lodged in the girl’s throat, and her eyes filled with tears before she found her voice again. “I would like it very much, thank you.”

“It won’t be a grand affair like you must be used to though,” hurried the seamstress. “Our friends offered to give us something to eat, but that’s all.”

“No, it’s all right. Thank you. What are the time and the place?”

As they left, Elrond remarked in a dead-pan voice : “Looks like your two-hour stretch is over.” This made the sniffing girl choke back a laugh. “I think I may like to come, too.”

 

They went back to Narvi’s, who was waiting for them, and they sat on the low sofas drinking warm tea with honey. Falmaramë guessed her two guardians probably ought to busy themselves somewhere else, but she was glad for the company. When Narvi heard of the wake, he shook his head. “This is a good idea this Insil’s friends had. I should have proposed it to you.”

“But what is it really?”

“In your language, it would be called nenyare. It’s a time to honor the departed’s memory and say goodbye, but also to find support in your community, to feel that despite your loss you are not alone. One may tell stories about the departed’s life, sing songs, or drink in their name. Usually, the nenyare is followed by seven days of deep mourning, for the close kin. When you sit in mourning, you don’t work, and you stay home to take care of your grief. You don’t have to talk to anyone if you don’t want to. People may still come to see you, though, to bring you food and be there to help you in any way.”

“This sounds really good,” said Falmaramë. A whole week to find her balance, before her schooling began. She, who was set to live as long as the world, never thought she’d be that grateful for a single week.

“I could stay the week,” volunteered Elrond. “Celeborn won’t be back for a few days anyway, and we’ll need time to study his reports and Durin’s maps before making a decision.”

“What will be the next step then?” asked back Falmaramë.

“I’m not sure yet. First thing to do is remove what remains of our host from Khazad Dûm, which is quite overcrowded, and bring them to a safe place somewhere. It will have to be in the Misty Mountains: the west is closed for now, and the east is already fully settled by the Sylvan elves, and some tribes of Men. After that, build something, anything, and bring people there. Durin’s hospitality is great, but we shouldn’t abuse it.”

 

The nenyare was held in a small hall high up in the city. By the time Falmaramë and Elrond got there, it was getting dark, and the brightest stars were already shining through wide windows looking west. The hall was dimly lit by lamps set upon square pillars; shadows danced over the maze patterns on the painted walls. People were mostly assembled in small groups; some were drinking, while others sat down alone in grief. There was a murmur through the crowd when the pair was recognized, and some came to salute them. Someone tried to sing a slow lament, but their fair voice broke, and Falmaramë then realised she hadn’t asked the most important question of all.

“How many died?”

“Too many. We lost nearly a third of the population. Maybe more. The wounded haven’t finished dying.”

A new horror spread across the girl’s face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You had your own grief to face. You still have.”

She looked around, uncertain, and after a moment articulated her thought. “But I’m their lady, or I’m to be fairly soon. There must be something I should do. Can do.”

Her guardian didn’t answer, so she left his side and sat gingerly on the ground beside the closest mourner, a woman with red hair. After a short silence, she greeted her, and the girl asked who she had lost. Soon, she found herself in a circle of people who came to talk. Each told a story about those they had lost; some couldn’t stop talking, while others chocked on their words and said nothing. They cried. They hugged. Falmaramë heard how her mother had thrice made the run through the evacuation corridor. Many said that, if it hadn’t been for her cool head, they would have been lost through the smoke and the mayhem. Others, who had fought the orcs foot-to-foot, remembered how their comrades had fallen beside them, and wondered why themselves were still alive. They spoke of Celebrimbor drawing the enemy to him, in order to distract him enough to allow the last convoy to escape. She heard how a man had been separated from his child, without being able to go back. There were tales of wounded left behind with only a knife to defend themselves, or to take their own lives with, tales of great heroics and small cowardice, tales of peaceful people thrown in an abyss of violence. She listened to them all, and also shared her story, with some pain. By that time, more people had come; she heard how they had been harassed through the woods, unable to stop, having to run madly for their lives, only to see their slower spouse and friends be taken. All shared their story through the night, in the musical language of the Noldor that is like a song woven through the world.

 

Falmaramë spent the seven following days as a recluse in Narvi and Vali’s apartments. She slept a lot, waking often in cold sweat from disturbing dreams, and ate what was served without tasting it. The only visits she accepted were from Elrond, who by now was practically living there, and slowly her balance returned. It was still precarious but, when she came out of deep mourning, she felt ready to begin her work.

Soon a routine set in: mornings with the Gwaith, afternoons following Durin, and as much time as possible with Narvi and Vali, who spoilt her to the best of their abilities. The elven smiths, wether from their own hearts or as an effect of Elrond’s threats, pushed her like they had never done. While in Ost-in-Edhil they used to tutor her with the unexacting care of those with more pressing matters to attend, they were now relentless. She learnt gemcraft and metalwork, how to balance a blade and cast a ring, how to cut a stone and choose an alloy. She used to think she was a decent smith, and now, as she was taught deep spells to protect her craft, she measured how vast her ignorance was. While she hammered, melted and sharpened, she was also quizzed on noldorin lore and law, as well as the history and customs of other kingdoms. Fortunately, she was a quick study, with nimble hands and an alert mind, but more often than not her shoulders ached and her eyes stung from the heat.

Durin’s teaching was more placid. A stool was set up for her beside his throne in the Chamber of Records, so that she could listen to him dispense justice and settle quarrels. In between, he would question her, and her answers would lead to more probing of her logic, to hone her mind and reasoning. He often presented her with moral dilemmas, which they would discuss back and forth, and rejoiced in word-play. Falmaramë soon deeply loved the elderly king, after being intimidated by him for many years.

When she returned to her guardians at night, they would chat away the evening; on the rare off days, they would all make the crossing to the eastern vale where the mirror of Kheled Zâram lay, and enjoy the sun near the great lake. At first, despite their best care, she seldom laughed, and her countenance was stern. But as time passed, she began to smile again and then, for an instant, there was an echo of her former self, as a merry fire lit her eyes, however briefly.

The western roads were still closed, crawling with enemies. Elrond had finally left through the eastern door; Celeborn had grudgingly followed. Following old maps, they had found a way through the Mountains, up north, and settled in a hidden valley. Faithful to his word, Elrond came back as often as he could, each time remarking how Falmaramë had grown. Indeed, she became nearly as tall as him, fit and strong from her hours in the forge. She listened intently to his reports of the works in the newfound refuge, which was called Imladris. It was a natural stronghold, set in a deep valley where a swift river ran. In the east was a large circus of stone - a high crest of peaks and glaciers that progressively lowered in a winding valley until, after several miles, narrow gorges became the only way in and out. After that, the river curved through lower hills, until it reached the low lands of Eriador where marshes marked the beginning of Sauron’s dominion. All traffic was made through the Mountain pass and along the eastern way: while Elrond’s host harassed Sauron’s troops in the lowlands, stone workers and architects rejoined Imladris. “This will never be a proper city like Ost-in-Edhil was,” explained Elrond. “There isn’t enough room, to begin with, so we’re building several smaller settlements along the river. But the valley is lovely, sunny and full of flowers in summer; a good place to rest and live.”

This was on Elrond’s third visit. They were sitting outside, on a flat stone on the edge the of lake, enjoying the autumn light. The mountain slopes around them were a fiery hue, awaiting the first snow, but they still reflected like pale flames in the dark water.

“I can’t wait to see it. Khazad Dûm may be my home now, but sometimes I miss being outside. Not for an afternoon or a day one has to plan for in advance, but just being able to get out and walk in the fresh air whenever I fancy.”

“You will absolutely love it there. And there’s so much building left to do once we can properly focus on it; we absolutely need this to give hope to your people, and the war should soon come to an end. After much going to and fro, Númenor will help us. While they join forces with Gil-Galad and attack from the west and the north, we will cut Sauron’s retreat in the east and push him back through Calenardhon in the south. This will be our best opportunity since the fall of Eregion. His forces are spread too thin.”

“And then?”

“I don’t know if we can absolutely defeat him, but we can at least hope to chase him from Eriador. There’s the slight problem of the rings of power.”

Falmaramë closed her eyes and turned her face to the sun before answering, and Elrond noticed how like her father she was becoming. Beside waves of raven black hair was an oval face with a round forehead and high arched brows; her grey eyes could have been his. She didn’t have his high cheekbones, however, and Elrond wondered who in her ancestors had first sported this thin and determined jaw.

“The Three we know of. Most of the Seven have been destroyed, Durin saw to it. It wasn’t easy to convince some of the other houses, but he did it. I saw the remnants of each ring; well, the slag, really. What can the Nine do? Men are said to be weak. We haven’t seen proof of their use yet.”

“You forget the One.”

“The One is linked to him. Sauron is the One, and the One is Sauron. Destroy the One, the other will follow. Or the other way round, it should be the same. And if after killing him the One is still intact, just chuck it in a fire to be sure.”

“So we only have to get to the most powerful being in Middle Earth - the most protected one too - and either kill him or snatch the ring on his finger and melt it,” ironized Elrond. “Easy as stealing cake from an infant. Will you bring your pet dragon to provide the fire?”

Falmaramë had a curt laugh. “Well, if you say it like that. But anyway. I hope you can at least kick him back into Mordor so we can all move to Imladris when I’m of age. Next year.”

“Do you feel ready?”

“I don’t think I will ever be,” she said, sobering up. “I don’t think anyone ever is. But I’ll do my best. It will be hard not to rely on Durin’s advice.”

“You can choose counselors. Indeed, it is the recommended course of action.”

“Now you are the one to pretend something’s hard is easy.” She counted on her fingers. “Beware of courtesans, for they will humour you instead of stopping you when it is necessary. Beware of stuck-ups - Durin calls them something else - for they will push you to violence when leniency is necessary. Beware of cowards, for they will push you to leniency when you should be inflexible. Beware of braggarts, for they will lie and give biased judgments. Beware of the taciturn, for they will fear to speak aloud what may be crucial. Oh, this list sounds better in khuzdûl, now it’s all clumsy and doesn’t rhyme anymore. Anyway, with this, I will be lucky to find enough for a picnic, let alone a council.”

“You are hard. Many wise and honest people will follow you.”

“I’m sure they exist. The problem is how to find them. I can’t yet bring myself to trust any who sat on the Guild, although I do think highly of them, if you get my meaning?”

The freshening wind brought them back inside. As they passed the gate, Falmaramë grabbed Elrond’s arm. “Before you go, you have to come with me to the forge so that I can show you what I’m working on. Will you believe this is the first time none of the Gwaith have any really bad critics to make?”

It was a silver headband, thin and soft as a ribbon in the hand, but a perfect mirror of solid metal when worn. The front was set with several white stones in the shape of the eight-pointed star of Fëanor; above it stood a small cabochon of polished black stone. Two others flanked the star. Elrond didn’t have to ask who they stood for.

 

It is told elsewhere how, during the following winter, the alliance of Elves and Men drove Sauron from Eriador. Cut from his supplies, harassed relentlessly from three sides, he had no choice but flee to Mordor. His host was disbanded into smaller bands that hid or surrendered, and for a while there was peace.

 

In the early summer, some days before the shortest night, Falmaramë came of age. Claiming the birthname her father had given her, Telpënar, she received the oaths of the survivors of Eregion. Later on that day, she stood before Durin and gifted him her first complete great work: a crown of blackened mithril that was a wide band engraved with the silhouettes of the Mountains, Barazimbar being central. Over them, she had inlaid white gems following the patterns of constellations over Khazad Dûm, and seven bigger stones were set above. The crown was incredibly light; over the dark metal, the gems shone like white fire. It remained forever in the house of Durin, and was afterwards called the Summer Night.

“This I give in thanks for the protection you gave my people in the time of our greatest need. No treasure can ever repay what the People of Durin did for us. You shed your own blood and gave your own lives to save us, and then accepted us as your own kin in your city and your homes. May your beards grow forever long! Long may Khazad Dûm last. In your hour of need, call, and the house of Fëanor shall come to your help.”

As she bowed low, Durin rose from his throne and took both her hands in his. Golden light poured from the high windows of the great hall and danced between the many pillars, settling over the small silhouette of the King in his silver cape and crown before his tall pupil, who was clad in robes of deep red trimmed with black. “This final lesson I shall give you, lady Falmaramë of the House of Fëanor. I know you beware of your own heart, which can make you overly severe, so this I now say: stay true to yourself. When in doubt, look for wisdom, but also look at your own soul. Do not try to mimic your father, or anyone from your lineage, for you would fail. Be yourself, as your spirit is brave and kind, and you shall prevail.”

Forgetting formalities, Falmaramë knelt, and they embraced before the many onlookers of their two people. When they separated, she felt wordless, so Durin spoke again.

“Go now, child of my friends. Life awaits you.”

 

As Falmaramë left Durin’s great hall, she was followed by her teachers of the Gwaith that was no more, and all noldorin onlookers. They descended east to the Dimrill Gate, where they rejoined the throng of elves ready to leave Khazad Dûm, and left to rejoin the wide world. Many where caught between hope and tears, for they left dear friends behind. There waited Narvi and Vali; they were to accompany their former charge to the last of the Dwarves’ territory before saying goodbye. Her banners were raised for the first time: a single silver star over a deep blue field, and the long column of exiles soon took to the road towards their new refuge. They left behind the dark mirror of Kheled Zarâm and descended the narrow eastern valley full of brooks and birdsong. With so many people, the going was slow, and night fell as they reached the bottom of the valley and set camp in the wide woods.

“Lórinand is close by,” remarked Narvi. “Where are you set to meet Amdír and the lady Galadriel?”

“A bit further north along the road. We should get there by tomorrow evening.”

“You don’t look happy.”

“I beware of them.” And indeed Falmaramë’s brow was furrowed. “But I have to meet them, if only to reassure Amdír that I don’t intend to vie for influence other Lórinand and the Greenwood.”

Narvi pressed her arm. In the firelight, his brown eyes shone with care over his thick beard. “You could have avoided that if you had left by the western gate. The way would have been shorter, too, and it is quite safe now.”

“No. I need to meet them, sooner or later.” After a slight hesitation, she added : “And I do not want to set foot ever again in that vale. It still echoes with my father’s cries.”

Silence fell for a while, and Vali spoke. He was usually a Dwarf of few words, and chose them carefully. “When fate delivered you to our door over four years ago, I am not proud to say I doubted you. I thought your spirit had been broken beyond healing. We do not have children, and I confess I selfishly thought we would get to keep you forever, as your wounds prevented you to take your place among the mighty of this world. I was wrong. While I grieve tonight for these fancies, I am proud of who you have become. Your father’s cries may still ring in your ears - they will for long years to come - but you have learnt to live with your burden. I saw you change from a scared child to a resolute young lady. This pain will always be with you, be part of you, but it didn’t devour you. Your world is now turned upside down again, and I pray to Aulë you find happiness in Imladris, or wherever life leads you.”

Leaning forward, they clasped hands. Falmaramë’s eyes were brimming with tears.

 

On the morrow, they parted ways. The road to Imladris was uneventful; the meeting with the King of the Wood went well, although Galadriel gave a strange look to Falmaramë when she first saw her. The column of exiled slowly stretched through the mountain foothills; below the Mountain Pass, they met with Elrond and a small group of his counselors, who lead them along the rest of the way.

The hidden valley of Imladris was even fairer that Falmaramë had thought; her heart leaped at the sight of the swift river running white through mossy wood and clear meadow. The summer heat hadn’t yet melted the snow-capped peaks in the distance, and the lower ridges were covered in waist-high grass and flowers of all hues over which swallows cried.

“Welcome home,” said Elrond.