The Call of the Loon by SonOfMandos

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Chapter 1

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They moved swiftly between the trees, walking from a branch to another. They were unheard and unseen. They perhaps scared a few birds, but the wind silenced their jumps with its soft howl. They followed the faint source of light that made its way through the forest.

The hunter shot his arrow. It pierced the thigh of the doe. Panicked, the animal escaped. It ignored the throbbing pain in its leg and it ignored it until its body gave up and made it trip on rocks. The doe fell. It tried to get up as soon as it could. The hunter shot again. And again. The animal, painting heavily, squealed and grunted. Blood slowly crawled on the grass like a snake. The world buzzed, was blank and numb. The doe did not close its dark eyes when life eloped its body.

The hunter kneeled next to his prey. He gently scratched the ears of the corpse. His hound sniffed the body of the doe and licked the blood. The hunter brushed a finger against the dark fur, wet and warm. He slid his finger in his mouth and sucked. The strong taste of iron lingered on his tongue. He glanced up at the stars of the nightsky and murmured his thanks to the Great Hunter. He then removed the arrows from the dead body, motioned his hound to come closer, and tied the doe to the back of his companion with large leather straps. He gently slapped his hound’s neck and disappeared into the woods.

From the trees, they could see his glow slowly fade like a grey spectre.

“It’s not the first time I see him,” said one.

“No?” said the other.

“No,” the first one shook his pale hair—pale and white like the hunter’s. “It’s the Man who brought my attention to him.”

“What do you think we should do?” asked the second one. “He’s a Golodh.”

“Observe him, track his moves,” replied the first. His gaze was unfocused and stared at the nothingness.

“But?” pressed the second one who knew there was something unsaid.

“But we must not remain passive forever. The eight-branched star carved on his quiver reveals his identity. We must act before he brings his doom onto us.”

The second one pondered this. His companion was right. While the hunter presented no immediate threat, there was an air of danger that danced around him.

“Let’s ask her to intervene,” said the second one.

The first one raised an eyebrow. “Her?”

“Yes. She will know what to do.”

The first one nodded. “Let’s bring her here.”

 

***

Celegorm came back after weeks. The further he penetrated into the woods, the least he recognised his surroundings. Forests in this world were dense and he could not understand the tongues of their animals. The presence of predators and creatures of Morgoth, had made preys faster, quicker, bigger and more aggressive. A seemingly innocent raccoon would not hesitate to lunge if threatened.

Celegorm was not scared neither at ease. He explored the lands and had come with a handful of his men. He came dangerously close to the girdle of Melian. Celegorm tested waters and came closer to the hidden kingdom each time he hunted in the area. Why was he alive still, he did not know. Sindar were distrustful of the Ñoldor and particularly did not appreciate Fingolfin’s settlement in the north. What they thought of the followers of Fëanor carried more hatred than the evil of the Dark Lord. They resented invaders for subjecting their kin into submission.

He heard a long, eerie call. The call was sung twice and was followed by a strange tremolo sound. Huan rushed to the source of the sound. Celegorm ran after him. They both found themselves running on sand after going through the bushes. A small lake before them was lit by the moonlight. The call came again. It was loud and powerful. Celegorm shivered; Dryads of Yavanna were rumoured to dwell in the forests of Beleriand. They were unpredictable elemental spirits that switched from benevolence to anger in the blink of an eye. Huan barked and howled.

The same haunting wail replied, followed by two others. Celegorm crouched down. His eyes surveyed the lake but found nothing. He could not tell if it were a Dryad, a wolf or a bird. He sang a birdsong. His voice was lost in the concert of eerie calls and trembling wails.

Suddenly, he saw two large dark birds swim in front of him. One carried its chicks on its back. Excited, Huan woofed and jumped into the water. The birds simply turned around and swam away.

“Huan, boy, don’t go too far!” exclaimed Celegorm.

The dog came back to the shore and rolled himself in sand.

“Urh, don’t complain that I have to brush you later,” the Elf groaned.

He let his hound roll around. It was tempting to jump in the water. He put his boy and quiver on the sand and removed his clothes.

“First to reach the water wins!” screamed Celegorm as he sprinted to the lake.

Huan, as expected, went past him in a few jumps. Celegorm hissed when his legs entered the lake; the water was cold. He slowed down and stepped carefully in the lake. Huan had other ideas and pushed him into the water. The Ñoldo swore, coughed and splashed his hound violently. The dog took it as a challenge and jumped right next to his master, splashing him more. They played together like toddlers. A fish brushed Celegorm’s chest. He yelped. Huan, however, was not looking at him.

“What is it?” enquired the Fëanorian as he swam up to the dog. “Seeing a weird animal out there?”

The dog growled lightly. Celegorm glanced around.

“There’s nothing,” he patted his companion. “Alright, let’s get out of the water, it’s getting too cold for me.”

Lazily, the hunter floated on his back and pushed himself towards the shore. He stood up, shivered and mumbled to himself it was good he had worn his cloak. He could not wait to wrap himself in it. He froze when he felt the tip of a sharp blade against his neck.

“What’s this,” whispered in Sindarin the most melodious voice he had ever heard. “A kinslayer caught off his guard.”

Celegorm swallowed. The figure in front of him was as tall as he, if not taller. Her face was masked and khol circled her dark, dim eyes. A scarf covered her hair, and she wore tight clothes. Like all the other Elves and Men of Beleriand, she did not glow. Her skin barely reflected moonlight.

This is it, thought Celegorm, the marchwardens of Thingol have found me.

“And now, what will you do?” scoffed the Ñoldo. He had to act quick. Huan was too quiet. It made him uncertain and unsafe. “Slay me?”

“Be quiet.”

Valarin. The order resonated through Celegorm’s chest. He had to find a way to remain alive and unharmed.

“You will get dressed and after, you will let yourself be handled by my men,” the voice whispered its low whisper again. She had switched back to Sindarin.

Celegorm could hear the rumbles of a thunderstorm underneath the ethereal music of the woman. She was a Maia, that was for certain, and only foolishness would make him attack her. He would not. Complying was the only sensible decision.

He obeyed, struggling to put his clothes on. His skin was damp from his dip in the lake. The woman stood still, her sword lowered down.

“Like the view?” joked Celegorm as he tried to put his shirt on.

The figure did not laugh. Huan whimpered. The Fëanorian reached for his bow, and his hand was kicked by the woman.

“Ow…,” groaned Celegorm.

The woman made a hasty gesture with her hand, and Sindar appeared from the bushes. They seized him. Celegorm struggled to get out of their grasp. She had his bow and quiver in her hands.

“Stop,” her voice pierced through his chest again. By reflex, Celegorm froze.

“Don’t use Valarin on me,” he sneered.

“Comply and everything will go well,” she sighed.

“Leave me be,” he snarled in Valarin.

The woman pulled her sword in its scabbard and drummed her fingers against the handle. She stared at a point above Celegorm’s head.

“You speak a lot for someone whose sigil is broken. The mark of the Great Hunter bleeds above you. And…,” she said as she approached and brushed her nails on the Ñoldo’s chest, “the curse of the Golodhrim burns your skin.” The woman rested her hand on Celegorm’s stomach. He held his breath.

She always murmured her words, more breath than voice. Softly and mournfully. “Bind him and blind his eyes,” she ordered her men. Celegorm had barely heard her. Huan cried next to him, his tail between his legs. “Fret not,” she addressed the hound. “We are only bringing him home. You are coming too. We will not harm him neither you.”

It was the last words Celegorm heard before a needle punctured his skin and injected darkness in his mind.

 

***

He woke up with a throbbing headache. His mouth was dry and his muscles ached. He breathed in slow, steady exhales. Despite the pain, he felt strangely calm and content; his worries had gone away from the world.

He thought that perhaps, Mandos was welcoming.

Carefully, Celegorm opened his eyes. Above him, branches were intertwined, masking a ceiling of pale grey stone. The room had no windows. Two purple lights danced against the walls. Huan had squeezed himself between the bed and a wall, and was anxiously sniffing his mater’s arm. Celegorm scratched him between the eyes.

“What are you doing in Mandos, boy?” he murmured. “I can’t believe they put you down too…”

He did not have the strength to sit up so he kept lying still. He lost track of time; it hardly mattered anymore. He was too numb to think of his own death.

Moments later, the door opened. A silver-haired maiden came in, followed by a white-haired man.

“He’s awake,” the maiden told the man.

She leaned in and pressed two fingers against Celegorm’s throat. “Mh,” she said. “The pressure is a bit low, but he’ll be fine.” She looked at him. “Can you sit?”

“No,” answered Celegorm sorely. Strength had abandoned him completely; his body felt heavy and empty.

“Here, let me help you,” volunteered the woman.

As soon as he was in a sitting position, Celegorm’s head buzzed. His heart pounded, he panted and sweat pearled on his forehead. Quickly, the man retrieved a chamber pot from under the bed and put it on Celegorm’s lap. The Fëanorian clutched on it, grimacing.

“Go fetch water and the herbal tea I prepared,” said the woman. The man nodded and exited the room.

“Where… Where am I?” asked Celegorm.

“Now? In the personal house of healing of their Majesties,” she replied evenly.

“That’s not what I wanted to know,” growled Celegorm. He closed his eyes; the room around him was turning. “What’s the name of this place?”

“Menegroth.”

Realisation washed over Celegorm. He was not dead. No, he was still alive. He would have rejoiced the news with great joy and merry, had he not been made prisoners.

“You’re not the one who brought me here, are you,” he said. It was hardly a question. The voice of the caregiver was high pitched and she did not whisper when she talked. There was a certain light to her eyes like all Elves.

“No.”

Celegorm waited. “Who are you?” he asked. She did not respond. “Care to give me a name?” he huffed.

“Hm, who did she say you were,” the healer tapped her chin. “Oh, I remember now; Celegorm. Yes, that is your name.”

The Ñoldo grunted. He had forgotten Sindar excelled at being outrageously annoying only because they could be.

“Wrong: my name is Tyelkormo Turkafinwë,” he retorted.

“Not anymore.”

Celegorm inhaled longly. She was lucky he was too weak to smack her in the face. She was also lucky he made an effort to be courteous and civil.

“Your name. I’d like to know your name.”

“Right, but I don’t want you to.”

The Fëanorian growled lowly.

The other healer came back. After drinking the tea, Celegorm was considerably better. The infuriating healer had left and he was now alone with her white-haired colleague. He was no longer dizzy and he could stand up, albeit with wiggling legs. He was too proud to admit his legs would collapse at any time. He did not know what he was proving because he was clutching on the healer’s shoulders like his life depended on it. The Sinda guided him back to the bed. Celegorm dropped like a lifeless bird.

“What’s your name?” he asked the caregiver. Hopefully, this one was more cooperative.

“Aurion.”

“And…,” Celegorm started, hesitantly. “The woman who brought me here from the woods, who was she?”

Aurion’s lips pursed into a grin. “We call her ‘Tinúviel’.”

 

Celegorm recovered under the watchful eyes and snarky comments of the female healer who never bothered to give him her name, and under the practical care of Aurion. Aurion only spoke when necessary. It was pointless to befriend a kinslayer who carried the seal of death around him. Why Celegorm was not in jail, that the son of Fëanor did not know. He suspected Elu Thingol and Melian had evil schemes that were yet to include torture of all sorts. Forced work, possibly.

Huan never left his side.

Healing and passing time gave him all the opportunities of the world to reflect on his past actions, sob under the sheets, plead for forgiveness, cry his mother’s name, pray to Oromë, and all things those with a heart and guiltiness do in the face of their deeds.

He remembered the teachings of Oromë on the Valar and knew that it was not by benevolence that Eru forbade Ulmo to intervene after the kinslaying at Alqualondë. The God of the Sea was dangerous and brutal, but things ended quickly under his hand. The wrath of Námo was feared by all, save for Eru. The Judge hardly forgave and had damned Exiles after death.

Servitude until his fading was now his fate, Celegorm had reasoned. If the Fëanorian were bound to bring the silmarils to Thingol, if it were his only way to repent, so be it. He regretted that he never said his brothers, his nephew and his cousin Aredhel farewell.

One day, or night, or whichever, Celegorm could not tell, a dark-haired guard came to fetch him. Huan trailing behind, they walked through many sinuous corridors. It was a labyrinth of stone and magic.

They entered a great hall. The floor was a mosaic of colourful stones in an intrinsic pattern. The columns were ornate with glistening jewels, flowers and thin branches. Celegorm gazed around, admirative. The genius of the Dwarves, the art of the Sindar, the magic of Melian; this was the most foreign but sophisticated place he had ever seen.

The guard motioned him to move faster. They walked through the hall and entered a room, as impressive as the hall, that seemed to be a private salon. Two women sat on luxurious golden cushions that contrasted nicely with the dark carpet. The embroidery of the carpet depicted wildflowers under the stars.

A tall man stood, taller than Maedhros. His hair was long and grey; his robe was forest green; his crown was heavy and black, but more interestingly, it held together two ram antlers that fell on the sides of the man’s head.

Celegorm held his breath; he stood before Elu Thingol.

A strong hand forced his head down. Celegorm complied and bowed weakly.

“Excuse his lack of manners, my Lord,” said the guard.

Thingol’s lip twitched in a smirk. The guard cleared his throat expectantly.

“Thank you for bringing him here. You are dismissed,” said the King.

“My Lord.”

The guard bowed and exited the room, leaving the Fëanorian alone with the King and his consorts. The hunter found it curious that the King had two wives—such was a barbaric custom exclusive to Bëorian Men. No Firstborn worth the name ever succumbed to such decadence. He never understood how his cousin Finrod befriended them and devoured the pleasure of the flesh with some of them in the secrecy of dense woods.

Huan, oblivious to the tense atmosphere of the room, wuffed and happily walked to one of the ladies, wagging his tail. Not knowing what to do neither what to think of this, Celegorm’s eyes darted stupidly between the King, his hound and the ladies.

“Did you enchant my dog?” he blurted out.

Thingol scowled. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

One of the ladies huffed. The other continued to pet Huan without paying Celegorm attention. She, Celegorm noticed, had four arms and dark blue veils with beaded crystals on her head that cascaded on the carpet. She did not seem to have hair, only an ocean of silks. The other’s appearance was less unusual: she had two arms and regular hair, although her carbon coloured mane had tiny diamonds that glowed like stars. They had to be the Queen and the Princess, the Ñoldo reasoned. A soft sigh of relief escaped his mouth; the King only had one wife! There was still hope left in this world!

“Come and sit,” ordered the monarch.

Celegorm obeyed. Aurion’s instructions echoed in his mind: in the presence of people of higher castes, one must sit on their heels as a sign of deference. High people could sit with their legs crossed and the close circles of the royal family were allowed to lay down on their sides or stomach. The King spread his long legs lazily and propped himself on his elbows.

The mind of the Fëanorian raced. He hated to sit on his heels. It hurt his knees and feet (how Sindar could handle this position for hours was beyond him, even with a cushion!). He preferred to keep his legs crossed. The matter of Iathel castes system presented a puzzle for him: he was captive, therefore, among the lowest caste. However, he was an Elf of the West, therefore higher than the Dúnedhelath—this is what his logic dictated him, but reality was that the peoples of Beleriand hated invaders from the Undying Lands. His Ñoldorin-ness made him lose points, nevermind that he was a reknown kinslayer. Probably a single caste had been made just for him, a caste lower than all the others. But, as a prince and grandson of Finwë, surely he was not at the bottom of the pyramid. Celegorm could not determine what he was neither what sitting position was proper. It was infuriating and so was the entire caste system of Doriath that was beyond ludicrous. In Tirion, ranks were determined by age and wealth. This was an easier thing to determine.

“On your heels,” said Thingol.

Ah. Celegorm had his answer. He nevertheless cringed, “My grandfather was King Finwë; surely I can sit legs cr-…”

“No,” Thingol cut him off.

Huan, for good measure, lied down on the carpet, his head resting on the lap of the four-armed lady. Celegorm knew she had a name, Melyanna in his tongue and Melian in the tongue of the Grey-Elves, but four-armed lady was more descriptive and accurate.

“You have been summoned here to discuss of your fate,” declared Melian. Her voice was clear and deep. It made the hunter shiver. “Naturally, your destiny would be to be left alone in a cage, rot in the forest outside my girdle and be offered to the spiders and werewolves of Nan Elmoth.” Celegorm winced and hissed. The Maia continued, “It had come to my attention that it was my daughter who brought you here, therefore she shall be the one making the final decision.”

Celegorm looked at Lúthien with surprise. So she was the woman of the lake! It all made sense why her eyes were dim and reflected no light, and her voice had the haunting song of a phantom. Lúthien rested her head on her mother’s shoulder and smirked. She played with Huan’s fur. Apprehension devoured Celegorm from within. Thingol took a bowl full of grapes and watched the scene with interest.

“Your blood carries a smell of temptation,” started the princess. “I wish to drink it, if only it wouldn’t be such a waste to take your life away! We never met a pupil of the Great Hunter before. You must understand I refuse to let go of someone who sings like a bird, hisses like a snake and growls like a bear.” She gazed at Huan lovingly. “I am sure your companion would rather a life in safety than a life of evil and treachery.” She glanced up at Celegorm. The pointy tip of her tongue brushed her lips. “You are very fair. You see, my betrothed is not from this kingdom and is often away. Despite my many friends, I often feel lonely.” She smiled with light affection. “I could use a retainer.”

Thingol opened his mouth like he wanted to object, but closed it immediately after. He tapped his bowl with his fingers, frowning and pensive. The bitter taste of disappointment lingered; just like his wife, he had wished to put the Fëanorian in a cage and witness a monster eat its meal.

He sighed. “So be it.” He raised his bowl in salute.

Lúthien clapped her hands. “Splendid!” She jumped on her feet. “Follow me,” she addressed Celegorm and intimated him to stand up. “I will show you my personal quarters.” The princess slid an arm across the hunter’s waist. “Oh, my precious little gift, I wonder what use I could make of you…,” she purred against his ear.

In a normal situation, arousal would take possession of Celegorm’s mind and body. This not being a normal situation, cold sweat and dread ran down his spine. He prayed to Mandos that the appetite of half-Maiarin princesses was not untamed, or else he would truly request to be put in a cage and be left at the mercy of predators.

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Chapter End Notes

Golodh: Ñoldo
Iathel: Doriathrin
Dúnedhelath: Beleriand Elves