The Darkest Season by Elleth

Chapter 2

After news arrives of the Silmaril in Doriath, discussion follows.

"We can't tell them. We cannot do it," Handrin said. He was pacing the circular room while the pigeons cooed above them. Hwestonnen, more stoic now that he had barked orders into the guard house that Asgarvain and Handrin were to accompany him, nevermind the watch, was already sporting a white stain down the front of his robes. The pigeons cared little that the three people gathered in the room with them were likely discussing the rise or fall of the House of Fëanor, and went about their business as usual. For once not even Handrin was laughing, instead he was thumping the butt of his spear on the ground nervously as he walked. The noise, the cold, and the acrid smell of the droppings were almost more than Asgarvain's nerves could bear. She willed herself to stay leaning against the wall out of the way of the worst drafts of wind through the flight entrances, and not hit Handrin around the head with her gauntlet.

"What do we do? They will sooner or later learn it, no matter our intent to keep it secret, or we wouldn't be hidden away in a dovecote," she snapped. "And I would rather they learned it from someone with half a mind, rather than some rambling fool who hopes to win the favour of the Cs."

"They have names," Hwenstonnen cut in with an expression to curdle milk, "– My lord, at any rate, will hardly rush to Doriath and knock on their doors demanding the Silmaril, he is less impulsive than that. It is a good thing lords Celegorm and Curufin are patrolling to the south; I would not vouch for them after their vow to destroy Doriath while Thingol ruled," he finished, never moving from the center of the room where he stood with his arms crossed over his chest.

"We still haven't answered the question. What do we do? It's a lost cause either way, once they learn about the Silmaril they will have to go, this time, with no Union of Maedhros to plan and keep them on their best behaviour – they are oathsworn to go and take it, though all of Doriath stand in their way. Have you forgotten Lond-in-Eilph? And that was for ships, wasn't it, nothing their existence depended upon."

"You're overreacting, Handrin, you weren't even there. It's not their existence, it's their peace of mind that depends on the Oath, what little they have left of that. Which is bad enough, admittedly." Asgarvain's eyebrows rose as he began chewing on his lips after the reprimand. It was no secret that he harboured some scholarly fascination with the story, but in a fortress with many of the original forces, he was decidedly unlucky finding someone willing to speak about the kinslaying. She, at any rate, was not going to relive that night unless it was for a very good reason. "Their continued existence – and ours - depends on them not going to Doriath," she stated. "Because once they learn, they will go, and I don't believe for a second that the Doriathrim will escort them to the throne room of Menegroth and hand them the Silmaril with a bow wrapped around it. So they will fight for it. At least my lord Maedhros will, he is that kind of fool."

"All of them. All of them will, for different reasons of their own and one they share; family loyalty," Hwestonnen stated. "I've seen it often enough, even when they were small. Once one brother began something, all of them either followed, or at least stood up for the one in question whether or not they truly agreed. This once it will be something they can all agree on, for all their various motives. Otherwise, I daresay, the two of us would still be in Aman."

"Even better, so we cannot count on support from any of them to sway their brothers' opinion. And if they learn that we withheld our knowledge of it... this is going to be a disaster. " Handrin looked from Asgarvain to Hwestonnen with a frown, perhaps, even with their doom impending, unhappily reminded of the fact that he was not only the lowest in rank of the three and serving the youngest sons of Fëanor, he was also the youngest of the three, not born until the Long Peace began.

"Quiet now, Handrin. We will need the most reasonable of us to speak with the most reasonable of them. Which means that I will speak to Maedhros, fool though he can be," Asgarvain said.

Hwestonnen gave her an appraising look. "They say he values your service," he ventured. "Why don't you – although I will be coming with you. I want to relate the discovery to him personally. The less hearsay, the better."

"Then I'll be coming as well," Handrin stated and knocked his spear on the ground. "Now that I know, I will not have a good night's sleep not knowing what will happen."

The three of them looked at each other, and with the agreement in their air between them, all of them stepped closer until their hands met and clasped.

"To anyone else, silence," Hwestonnen said. "I have told my men nothing, and do not want them to be part of this - our meeting here would have been in vain if the whole guard prattled their fool mouths bloody over the accursed stone."

Asgarvain nodded. "And when? In the morning? My lord rises early and his mood is best after breakfast. I suggest we find him in his chambers before he opens court."

Hwestonnen nodded gravely. The discussion must have seemed concluded to him, because he began to head for the latch and ladder in the corner to descend back down to the guard house, and Handrin, with a look back at Asgarvain, trailed after him.

Asgarvain leaned her head back against the cool wood of the walls and breathed shallowly against the smell – and the rising nausea about the prospect of having only a few hours to find the right words. The pigeons cooed above her, but for once she did not feel comforted by the noise. Outside, the weather had quieted down again, the whistling of the wind had subsided, and the last peal of thunder had rolled a distance away to the south. The storm had passed quickly, but her shoulder had not stopped twinging. There was a worse one yet to come, and her nightwatch on the walls was far from over.

Chapter End Notes

Lond-in-Eilph should be obvious from context. It's a hypothetical Sindarin form of Quenya Alqualondë modelled after extant place names like Lond Daer and Nîn-in-Eilph. It does seem rather more easy to pronounce than that more obvious parallel formation, Eilphlond, and avoids the possbily awkward consonant cluster in the middle on top of that.