The Fall Of Doriath by gamil-zirak

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The Beginning Of The End

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THE BEGINNING OF THE END

THE FALL OF DORIATH

Foreword...
This story is an attempt to write an account that broadens the version as told in the Silmarillion and I hope I've succeeded in giving a feasible story.
I sincerely ask that those of you who read this story should not set it aside offhandedly as a work in which the author has lost his own voice in a vain attempt to emulate Tolkien's style. My goal is to write of an intriguing chapter in the history of the Silmarillion, and present it in a manner that adheres to my own preferences and sensibilities in the matter.
If I've ultimately failed in the task, then I apologise. Yet I hope I shall not be overly penalised for the attempt.
I touch on the reasons why I wrote in this manner in greater detail in my Author's Commentary at the end of this chapter.
Thanx!!

MELWEN is Sindarin for "Beloved"

BOOK ONE THE DARK HORIZON

Chapter One...
"THE BEGINNING OF THE END"

Now it has been told that Beren, son of Barahir, along with Luthien, daughter of Thingol and Melian, brought a Silmaril out of the depths of Angband and this was given to Thingol upon Beren's death. Yet Beren and Luthien returned beyond all thought and hope to Middle-earth and dwelt for a time in Tol Galen, the isle in the midst of the river Adurant that was the last of the six tributary rivers of the mighty Gelion.

As the years passed, the thought of that great jewel weighed the heavier upon Thingol's mind for such was its power over him. The years also brought many strange and sorrowful things to pass: The Battle Of Unnumbered Tears; the coming of Turin son of Hurin to Menegroth; the ruin of Nargothrond and the demise of Glaurung the mighty worm and Turin himself.

It was a year after his son's death that Hurin had come to Thingol's halls bearing another great jewel of renown. That was the Nauglamir (Necklace Of The Dwarves), made by the dwarves of Ered Luin for Finrod Felagund, Lord of Nargothrond, and it was the most renowned of all their works of beauty in the Elder Days.

After Hurin had departed, it came into Thingol's mind to have the Silmaril set within the Nauglamir and so join together the greatest works of elves and dwarves. He therefore summoned the dwarven smiths of Nogrod to achieve his vision, yet a perilous doom was laid upon the Silmaril and the Nauglamir was among the treasure cursed by Mim the dwarf. Dwarven curses are known to be potent, and the echo of Glaurung's evil dragon lust was also bound to the necklace, as he had lain long upon the hoard of Nargothrond. So it was that Thingol was slain deep within his own halls by the very dwarves he had commissioned to bring his vision into being.

This terrible deed led to that grievous battle between the dwarves of Nogrod and the elves of Doriath called the Dagor Dornoth, in which the dwarves won the day. However, their victory was short lived as their army was waylaid at Sarn Athrad by Beren and the Silvan elves of Ossiriand, and not one dwarf came ever back over the mountains to their city. Beren and the elves were victorious, and the Silmaril was recovered and taken to Tol Galen where Luthien wore it until her passing.

It was sometime after the death of Thingol and the sack of Menegroth that Dior, son of Beren and Luthien, bade farewell to his father and mother and departed from Lanthir Lammath with Nimloth his wife, his young twin sons Elured and Elurin and his infant daughter Elwing. They journeyed to Doriath where the remnant of the Sindar welcomed them, and Dior set himself to raise anew the kingdom of Doriath.

He gathered there all he could find who now aimlessly wandered the great forests of Neldoreth and Region in sorrow and despair, with only the yearning memories of Doriath's past glory for their bitter comfort. He found more than were expected, for the dwarves had not slain Doriath's maidens and children, and there were still few companies of warriors who had escaped the rout of battle. All these were gathered again at Menegroth and there was begun a great work of restoring the "Thousand Caves."

Much had to be done, for the battle had wrought great destruction to the city's many fair halls and vast chambers. Yet the elves laboured with unwavering purpose under Dior's staunch will and unerring direction, and the restoration swiftly came to completion.

Now it is said that time heals the wounds of both body and mind, as joyous songs and merry laughter were soon to be heard in the forests and halls of the land. Yet the Doriathrim's mirth was halting, as the grief of haunted memory was still near to their mending hearts. Many halls in Menegroth that were once filled with merry elven folk now stood empty, shrouded in solemn darkness as a grim testament to their dwindled numbers.

                                                                                                       ~oOo~

For Dior however, a grief long feared was visited upon him far sooner than he had hoped. There came a time of Autumn during Doriath's newfound tentative happiness, when a messenger bearing a coffer was received from Ossiriand. With hardly a word he laid it in Dior's hands, bowed low and took his leave.
Hesitantly, Dior opened it and gasped in wonder, for therein lay the Silmaril within the Nauglamir!

Its chain was of mithril, shining with a glowing silver, and overlaid with a fabulous multitude of gemstones. There were oval rubies with hues of smouldering red that had flaming crimson hearts, and marquise-like sapphires whose watery colour mirrored the clear blue of a high summer sky. Pear-shaped emeralds glowed bright green, recalling the rustling sheen of the sprawling lawns of glorious Lorien in Valinor. And brightest were the round gems of amber and topaz, burning with a yellow fire that shone with the infant light of daybreak in newcome spring.

Amid the surrounding chain was a spiralling web of interlaced heart-shaped diamonds, sparkling in their transparency as their multi-faceted prisms refracted the light of the father jewel that lay at the web's centre...the Silmaril of Feanor. Its gold and silver light spread forth to the rest of the gems, penetrating them and emboldening their sheen to a richer tone. Yet the gemstones rainbow lustre twirled and danced within the overall glance of the Silmaril, for the joy of the jewel's living light encompassed them, and therefore gave life to the gems colourful hue, as a parent to its offspring.

Dior looked down with wide sight at the glowing jewel that filled all his chamber with its brilliance, and the grey of his eyes were lit with its sparkling reflection. Yet tears of grief were loosed from his brightened stare as falling glitter, for he knew that its coming to him was a sign that his father and mother had indeed died, and gone to that place beyond the circles of the world where go the race of men after their time of waiting. Arda had lost Luthien the Fair forever!
Long did Dior sit there, grieving in mournful silence; now gazing at the shining jewel that was rescued by his father and mother from the iron pit of Angband; now closing the coffer and extinguishing the Silmaril's penetrating light in deep sorrow.

Remembrance came upon him of those two great people who had defied all the conceivable perils that were set against them. Those two whose ardent love could never be matched, nor would there ever be a love so blessed in the annals of the World, from its ancient making to its unknown end.
Dior sighed. Could that son of men, gifted with traits of such noble courage, and sinews that had performed such deeds, along with that daughter of blessedness who was of glorious beauty, purity of heart, and of unequalled power in blissful song, truly have ceased to be? The sad thought made Dior's heavy heart ache all the more. For as he had lost his dear parents, so had Arda lost its two most beloved children.

So it was that Nimloth found him in his darkened chamber, still mourning in the deep of night. She stood awhile in silence by the doorway, watching his bowed form languishing in the dim room. It was lit by a single candle whose thin reddened flame wavered laboriously to hold at bay the surrounding gloom of night and mood. She perceived then that some sorrowful thing had befallen him.

"What ails you my lord that you should sit so, seemingly bowed with grief and come not to retire?" she finally asked in a soft voice.

Dior slowly raised his head to face her and she started, seeing his trailing tears in the ruddy light. But he gestured to the coffer that lay closed upon his table.
"Therein lies the cause of my sorrow Nimloth. Open it and see for yourself what has come to me!"

Fearfully, she took it up and with trembling hands, opened it. The dark of the chamber was suddenly thrust aside, and all shadows wavered and faded as the living light of the Silmaril was released. A gold and silver radiance, twisting and interweaving burst forth, encompassing all, and then slowly seemed to settle, embellishing the room with its dazzling hue. Yet about the gems of the Nauglamir sprang the whirlpool of their colours, spiralling outward in wondrous iridescence, with the bright gleam of the Silmaril flaming at its heart.

Nimloth looked about her, gasping in awe at the colourful display. She noted that a rich hue now permeated the air, so that all shapes seemed at once clear cut, as the furniture, the tapestries, the smooth walls and shining floor had been conceived on the very day of their making, without the blemish of time and use. Her widened eyes turned back to the necklace and she stood a moment, mesmerised by its impossible beauty, and wondered how such as this could fill her husband with apparent grief. Yet as she slowly turned her brightened gaze towards him, the enamouring spell of the jewel was broken, and a sudden realisation came upon her.

"It has come then," she said sorrowfully.

"Yes... it has come to me," replied Dior. "It no longer graces my mother's fair person, or brightens Tol Galen and the lands about. They are gone Nimloth, and I their son am now doomed never to see them again!"

She gently laid the coffer down and went to her husband, setting her slender arms about him. Her eyes closed, loosing rounded tears that gently rolled down her smooth cheeks in expressed sadness. She too had loved them well. The Silmaril's clarity softened, setting a tone of visual melancholy as if its gentle light momentarily mourned with the king and queen.

"To be sure my lord," said Nimloth after a quiet while, "it is hard and my heart grieves with yours. Yet it was a doom of sorrow long foreseen."

"Even so," said Dior, "that makes it none the easier to endure." He leaned back from her comforting embrace and looked into her glistening eyes. "They are gone melwen and shall not return this time. Those twain who humbled the very might of Morgoth upon his throne! Those twain whom even death itself could not conquer!" He sighed then with weary grief.

"Nimloth, I am king, and yet have lived no longer than those of men who are deemed newly come to full manhood. I am as young in years as I am in kingly policy, and would have it that my father were yet living to counsel me from afar, as I would have the gentle knowledge that my fair mother still lived to grace this world. It grieves me deeply that they were granted too few years to enjoy the happiness they so richly deserved."

Nimloth nodded in sad agreement and slowly knelt before Dior, clasping both his hands in hers. "Indeed my husband," she said. "And all of true heart shall grieve with you. But do not fall to despair for you are far more than you know yourself to be. You are king of a great people, all of whom revere and love you. Do you not see what you have achieved? Doriath has been raised from ruin and its people are joyful again! Yet you are the mover of all these things O wise lord and your people do not forget it!"

She then took up the open coffer and held it before her lord. The flaming arms of the Silmaril's heart rose through the rainbow spiral of the Nauglamir to caress his face with a hue that lit him to a heavenly vision of comeliness. Then Nimloth stared in silence. She had not thought it possible that the flame of Dior's beauty could ever burn the brighter.

Tall and lithe of limb was he, with pale skin and long flowing raven-dark hair that fell in smooth waves about his broad shoulders. And he was indeed the son of his mother to look upon, as the very beauty of Luthien Tinuviel in the form of manhood was in his face. Yet in his grey eyes could one read the inheritance of the Edain that was in him. The courage, pride and hardihood of Beren Erchamion his father, of the house of Beor. She raised a hand to gently caress his cheek, losing herself to the wonder of his gaze. How blessed she felt to be loved by such as he. To be loved by Dior the "Beautiful".

Finally she spoke. "Now the great jewel has come to you, my lord. But rather than receiving it in sorrow, I would say receive it now in hope, as I deem your father and mother would have desired. Did we not witness the power of the Silmaril as it were worn by Luthien? How Dor Firn-i-Guinar became an unrivalled vision of light and beauty! It shall surely give added hope to your people, and aid in healing the wounds of your realm. And though Beren and Luthien are gone, let us take comfort that they have left you this legacy to be a memorial of their hope beyond hope that their love would be fulfilled. And so Dior Eluchil their son came into the world, and I Nimloth were thereafter blessed to become his wife!"

Dior gazed long at her and a faint smile lightened his face. Nimloth was indeed a beautiful queen, in appearance as in heart. She was a great lady of the royal house as she was the daughter of Galathil, son of Galadhon, son of Elmo, brother of Elwe (Thingol) Lord of Doriath. Celebellethwas the title given to her by her people; The Silver Maiden of the house of Greymantle.

Dior now remembered their first meeting, when during his youth as he neared early manhood, he had journeyed to Menegroth where he dwelt for a year at the summons of Thingol and Melian, who had wished to see the son of Luthien, and heir to the throne. There had been great pomp and lavish ceremony upon his arrival, and all of Doriath had rejoiced in welcoming the young prince, Dior Eluchil, Thingol's Heir. Great had been his awe upon seeing the many wonders of Menegroth and the majesty of Thingol and Melian, his grandparents. Yet no fair hall or kingly seat was fit to compare to the loveliness of Nimloth, whom he had espied in the forest of Neldoreth whilst wondering alone during a lull in the festivities.

                                                                                                       ~oOo~

It had been on a time of twilight, that coloured the western horizon with the fading red hues of the last vestiges of Anar's fiery passage. The shadows of the land were blending with the coming night that promised to be bright, for Isil shone fully in the sky as a great white opal amid a darkening blanket set with twinkling diamonds. Dior had been walking alone, overwhelmed by the attentions and honours bestowed upon him by the peoples of Doriath.

The noble lords and ladies and the great crowds had astounded his young mind, as he had only known his father and mother, and all but a few Silvan elves who seldom came to Tol Galen save at times when they sought to witness the beauty of Luthien, and listen to her blissful songs. Yet even then, they but came in small companies, as they did not love great concourse among themselves save at need.

But that early night he stole away from all the merriment, seeking a time of gentle peace and quiet solitude in the woods of Neldoreth. He had wandered aimlessly, following the flow of the Esgalduin as it ran south of the dark hill of Menegroth. Suddenly he stopped, startled, for shimmering white lights sprung up amid the high branches of the tall alder trees that bordered the river. He stood in wonder and even so, voices were raised in gentle song, filling the woodlands with their enchanting melodies. He sat himself down by the river bank, enjoying the blissful mood.

The river passed by in gentle flow, its dark waters mirroring the wavering white lights in the trees and the distant silver flames in the heavens. He was then reminded of his home, as the singing of the Doriathrim was akin to the cherished pastime of the Silvan elves, whose fair voices could be heard far across the woods of Ossiriand.

He likened the peaceful river to the easy flow of the Adurant, whose waters encompassed the isle of Tol Galen that was as yet his home. However, Doriath had by far the greater beauty, for a potent sense of elvish bliss lay heavy upon the land. It were as if a discernible power of wellbeing lay in the earth, the waters and the airs of the realm that was not present in the outer lands beyond the Girdle of Melian.

It was the undeniable power of the Silmaril, coupled with the potency of Melian's enchantments that heightened the blissful nature of Thingol's realm, turning it into a paradise within the mortal lands that lay beyond the blessed realm of Aman. Dior had wondered then whether he would ever leave Ossiriand and remove to Doriath as was suggested by many. Perhaps one day he would, he surmised.

Even as he thought this, a movement from across the river caught his eye, and his glance slowly widened with interest as he looked on. There appeared a maiden, tall and slender and clad in white. The glowing lights in the trees shone brightly upon her garments, amplifying her shining presence in stark contrast to the surrounding shadows of the deepening night. Her skin was pearl white, and her youthful face was beautiful. Yet her hair was of a rare hue of flowing silver, and fell in a glimmering cascade to her waist. It were as if the glowing sheen of the stars as reflected in the dark waters of the Esgalduin on a moonless night were somehow caught and enmeshed in her locks.

Dior could all but stare, taken aback by her delicate beauty. He thought he had witnessed all the wondrous sights of Doriath, but here was a jewel he had not yet seen. He watched in mesmerised silence as she knelt upon the greensward and began to sing softly to the contented night with a sweet voice. It were a song of awakening and rising; of growth and of blooming. Surely enough, the moonlit grass about her began to flower, and soon all the eastern bank had sprouted white petals, glowing with a soft dreamy hue. There grew that which all the Doriathrim revered; Niphredil the flowers of Luthien.

Dior swiftly rose to his feet, marvelling that his mother's flowers would heed the maidens call, and she looked up towards his sudden movement, startled by his presence. In that moment their eyes met and fate's purpose was fulfilled before an audience of white and silver fire under the dark canvas of a summer night. A smile had formed upon his face then, for he knew in his heart that he had, as his father years before had declared;
"Found what he sought not, but finding would possess forever!"
TAKEN FROM THE SILMARILLION; CHAPTER 19 "OF BEREN AND LUTHIEN"

As if reading his thoughts, Nimloth had returned his smile. Their courtship thereafter had been swift, for such was the strength of feeling between them. Upon Dior's departure they had plighted their troth, and after a short time, Nimloth had followed her love to Dor Firn-i-Guinar, where they had become husband and wife.

Dior's thoughts now returned to the present, and his faint smile broadened to further lighten his countenance.
"Indeed, joyful was the day I first laid eyes upon you, singing by the dark waters of the Esgalduin," he said softly, tenderly returning her caress.

Nimloth mirrored his smile. "And ever joyful is the memory of that day in my heart Dior Aranel! Now let us look to make this and all the days we have together full of happiness, for ourselves as well as our people. And in so doing, honour the memory of Beren and Luthien well!"

Dior looked down at the jewel as it now shone with a mirthful light, and the gems of the Nauglamir sparkled in glad reply. He could not deny its beauty. He raised his gaze to Nimloth's smiling eyes and opened his heart to the comfort of her hopeful words. When morning came he would face his people and reveal the return of the Silmaril to Menegroth, as well as the grievous news of Beren and Luthien's end.

Indeed, it was a doom of both joy and woe that were bequeathed to any who would keep a Silmaril of Feanor. Its coming to Doriath would be of no exception to that fate!

                                                                                                       ~oOo~

The Doriathrim woke to a glad morning when the summoning bells began to toll. Even as the elves hearkened to the ringing that echoed throughout the city's passageways, chambers and halls, the king's heralds came to them and bid all who could to make their way to the Menelrond, which was the great Hall of the Throne of Thingol.

Now there were many places of congregation in Menegroth, but the Menelrond was by far the largest and the fairest. It was designated mostly for the nobles of the underground city, yet the heralds bid all, the higher and the lesser to come. Then many began to wonder what could be of such import as to warrant the open invitation, but the heralds bid them to set aside their questions as all would soon be revealed to them. Therefore, they came from all parts of Menegroth, mingling into a single-file that meandered along the main route to the great hall. Stewards gave curt nods to the crowds as they passed through the massive archways that led into the hall from its northern and southern ends.

Before them yawned a vast high arched roof that hovered far above their heads, and was upheld by two sets of pillars of shining stone. These were carved as the boles of beech trees that spread mighty arms at their summits, extending themselves as bracing arches to the hall's ceiling. Winding up their mammoth trunks in a spiral of set intervals were shining lanterns, whose golden light illuminated carven figures of birds that peered among the pillars branches. Forest animals too were depicted in stone, with taut haunches, sharp antlers and proud heads gleaming in the golden sheen.

In-between the pillar lines was a vast area of breathtaking ornamental beauty that took up almost half the hall. Spaced about it were tiered fountains, with circular and polygonal basins made of white marble in which were hewn fair water-side seats. Amid the basins were ornate columns that rose to sprout shimmering waters that fell in cascading curtains of silver. Other fountains contained marvellously carved animals, spouting water from their mouths, with hinds that upheld inner basins, at whose centres were richly carved figurines pouring jars of overflowing water back into the crystal-clear basins with delicious sound.

The fountains waters and their statues and columns were lit from below by submerged crystalline stones that glowed with a watery silver light, and were made of the craft of Melian the Maiar. The run-offs from the fountains were in the form of shallow descending stairways, over which splashing flows skipped and churned down into broad channels cut into the floor in-between each basin. Bordering the artificial streams were soft turf patches of dark green, which in turn were bordered by fine oaken benches, gilded and cushioned with velvet.

There were many sheltered walkways, formed of intricately carved vines and creeping plants. These rested upon sturdy stone trellis-work, that criss-crossed the hall's floor between the lawns and fountains. Spacious grottos and cosy niches that were lavishly furnished for comfort, and softly lit by candles of scented wax were cut into the walls facing the ornamental garden. Its pathways were paved with many coloured stones that somewhat resembled the chequered surface of a chessboard.

There were slabs of pale blue Turquoise mirroring rustling green Peridot. Opaque banded Malachite and the dark blue-violet of Iolite formed little arched bridges over the waterways, with hand-railings that were carved in the likeness of alder branches. The soft green of jade and the milky white iridescent sheen of moonstone ran across intersections in laid knots and pattern-work that charmed the eye. The western half of the hall broadened to a wide empty area that was paved with the gloss of Hematite that radiated a silver hue as it spanned before the dais of the king.

Here the hall's surface rose in three step-like tiers to a wide level of marble, where a lengthy carpet flowed down from the throne's base as a crimson path, to the foot of the dais where it met the hall's floor. Placed aside to the right of the red tongue was a long table, overlaid with fine green cloth upon which shining silverware was arrayed. Chairs with leather seats and gilded arms in the form of tree limbs were placed about it. That was the dining area of the lords of the realm.

The red carpet rose again in three tiers to another level where an exquisite table was placed, overlooking the lords dining area. This table was overlaid with white silk that was embroidered with silver and laden with vessels and utensils of gold, and lavished with fruit and decked with garlands. Five seats of immaculate craftsmanship were placed at its sides. For this was where the king and queen with their family would dine.

The red carpet rose a final three steps to rest at the feet of the high seats of the king and queen. Both chairs were made of oak and were tall and intricately crafted in sensitive detail. Their wooden frames were covered in scroll-work and meandering traceries with fair elvish devices, and their legs and armrests were in the form of carven tree limbs with winding stems and leaves of silver. Of open grill-work were their tall cushioned backs, punctuated with rows of cusp-and-foil roundels that were carved between the uprights that supported steep canopies.

However, the queen's canopy was in the form of a carven birch tree that seemed to half grow out of the wall behind, so that many of its silver branches and leaves were as wide spread tracings. Very beautiful were the thrones of Thingol and Melian that were now the seats of Doriath's new king and queen, Dior and Nimloth.

To the left of the dais was a guarded arched doorway that led to the Solar. Raised twenty feet above the floor, and carved into the northern wall that looked to the dais from the right, was the Minstrels Gallery where the king's musicians would perform. Its walls were draped in flowing red velvet, and bulging balustrades of white stone with great shining orbs upon the corner pedestals, formed the ornamental ledge. A doorway, situated at the very corner of the hall where its west wall met its northern side, opened to a flight of steps that led to the gallery.

Tapestries of intimate artistry, shining shields of unparalleled craftsmanship, and banners displaying colourful coats of arms, decorated the great hall's walls. Stepped Buffets of many tiers, and covered with rich drapes edged with silken frills also hung upon the walls, and displayed an array of exquisitely made treasures of adornment. Running along the walls beneath the oaken shelves were heavy ornate chests that were set upon sturdy legs, and beside these were long trestle tables, along with neatly stacked benches that were mainly used for banquets.

However, the real wonder of the Menelrond lay in its lighting, for its lofty arched ceiling was awash with a white gleam. The natural roof was overlaid with rock crystal, and in-between the layer splayed a radiance that shone through the transparent and colourless quartz with a light that challenged that of the sun that shone above ground.

No tale tells of how Melian achieved this feat, yet she placed a power in that light so that the halls and chambers of Menegroth would come to life at dawn, mimicking the rising of the sun, and slowly dim to darkness at dusk and thereby give over to the natural glow of the realm's lamps, torches and candles. Of all her works in Middle-earth, the light of Menegroth was considered her finest by Doriath's people.

Now presently all were stood before the dais of the king, and the immense crowd fell silent and watched with anticipation as Dior brought out the coffer and held it before him.
"Elves of Doriath!" he cried. "You have all been summoned to witness that which signifies an eternal grief, and yet a hope beyond reckoning!"

The elves turned to one another with uncertain glances, questioning each other in low tones as to their king's proclamation. Yet Dior opened the coffer and held the Silmaril aloft for all to see, and it filled the great hall with a living light more glorious than that which Melian had devised for Menegroth. Now many who stood there had seen the Silmaril at such times as Thingol had worn it, and these now wept with joy upon seeing its return. Yet there were others who now saw the rumoured jewel for the first time and these gasped in wonder, for it seemed to them as if a star of Varda had been drawn down from the Ilmen, into their lord's outstretched hands.

"Behold!" cried Dior. "Here is the jewel that Beren and Luthien rescued from the deadly perils of Angband! Here also is the jewel that was coveted by the dwarves of Nogrod, who in their malice slew our king, and so attempted to destroy his realm! Yet they won it not from Thingol's people, but paid dearly for their folly and evil deeds!" Now more softly he said, "And here is the jewel which thereafter was worn by Luthien the Fair, who so became a vision of such beauty and loveliness, as fit to compare to a vision seen only in the ancient West of song!"

There he fell silent, overcome by grief, for he had dearly loved his mother. But the elves looked at each other with wonder upon their faces, as they did not yet understand the full meaning of the Silmaril's return.

"Now that jewel has come to me," Dior continued, urging himself on against his anguish, "and so signifies the end of Beren Erchamion, son of Barahir and Emeldir of the house of Beor. And of Luthien Tinuviel, daughter of Thingol Lord Of Beleriand and Melian the Maiar!"

A great hush fell across the great hall in a silence of utter disbelief. Only the gentle fall of cascading water from the hall's fountains could be heard. Even the chirping of the Nightingales that lived amid the carven branches was quietened.

"To my father, I say the memory of your courage and your great deeds shall be honoured, and never fade though time immeasurable should pass! To my mother, I say that ever shall your passing be a grief to elven-kind, for you are now forever lost to your people. Yet your beauty, your song, your love and sacrifice shall remain imperishable in our hearts memory, and endure in song and tale even to the appointed end and beyond!"

Dior fell silent again, and all heads in the hall were bowed. Then there rose the murmur of weeping maidens and lamenting elf lords as it finally dawned upon them that Beren and Luthien were no more. For many, this new grief now brought old half forgotten sorrows to the fore in their aching hearts, and many being overwhelmed, cast themselves to the ground in despair, though they stood within the very light of heaven.

Yet Dior took the Nauglamir and clasped the Silmaril to his neck, and behold! now he appeared as the fairest of all the Children of Iluvatar! All looked up at their king in amazement, for the rays of the jewel seemed to well through his body so that for a moment, he became as a figure imbued with white flame, with a flickering tongue of power upon his breast, and the very light of Aman reflected in his beautiful face. The gems upon the Crown of Doriath began to gleam as if lit by a growing inner radiance, and the silver of mithril of which the crown was made flashed in a sudden blaze of white fire, ordaining him anew with the kingship of Doriath.

Then the light of the Silmaril began to wax in brightness, and spread outward from Dior's person. As a bright star it had been, its light strong and yet contained. But now its brilliant radiance set forth, mingling with the Menelrond's illuminations and overwhelming them, reaching out to every shadowy corner of the vast hall in widening beams of living light that held the elves mesmerised in great wonder, as they basked in the glory of its power.

At once a change came upon all things caught within the Silmaril's glance, as a veil of shaded sight is lifted to reveal a newness of perception; a vibrant abundance of colour; a sharpness of clarity. Then, as if rejoicing in its release, the gold and silver light of the jewel sent a shower of glittering flame raining down upon the hall, momentarily embellishing all with a sparkling tint.

Then all despair was cast away from that people, as the transcendent light of a descended star would cast aside the brooding shadows of the deepest dungeon, where unhappy prisoners that cower helplessly in the miserable dark are suddenly enheartened beyond all reason, to imagined aid that might be forthcoming.
Hope was kindled in their hearts!

Then all that host cried out in one voice. "Hail Dior Eluchil! Now surely is Doriath risen to glory once more!"

"Indeed to witness an eternal grief I said," said Dior, "yet also a hope beyond reckoning! See now the power of the Silmaril has healed the sorrows of our hearts! So shall it heal the hurts of our land, fostering the growth and wellbeing of old that was lost to Doriath!" He came forward now, to the very edge of the dais, and the great light that was about him shone upon his peoples upturned faces.

"Now hearken to me!" he said. "For this is a new beginning for us all as we are come out of the shadows, back into the light! And it is to be hoped that we shall long dwell within its wholesome power! However, let us know that though our hearts shall never forget our grievous loss, the holy jewel shall nevertheless serve as a memorial to those twain who won it in hope for themselves, and so sent it to Doriath in hope for us all! And I say to you with the foresight granted to me now, that whatever may betide after this blessed day, the fate of the Silmaril shall lead it even unto the heavens, where it shall remain a sign of hope to all of true heart in Middle-earth, though the darkness should rise to devour the world!"

As he said these words a change came upon him, for an even greater majesty was now revealed. Taller he looked, even like to Thingol his grandsire, and it seemed a potent power were now placed upon him. The noble hardihood of the fathers of men; the dignity and beauty of elves, and the reverential wisdom and power of the Maiar. He was indeed the heir to the throne of Doriath, now fully revealed before his people.

All bowed low before him and cried again in one voice. "Hail Dior Eluchil! Let the king now rule us in great glory and bliss!"

                                                                                                       ~oOo~

And so the Silmaril of Feanor resided once more in Doriath, and its power was felt again in the woods of Neldoreth and Region. For Dior always wore the jewel when he rode far and wide about his realm. Its holy light then healed the dreary mood of the forest that had taken hold since Melian's departure.

Bright flowers blossomed about the lands in their multitudes, swaying on slender stems in the wonderfully scented airs of the land. The rivers flowed keen and clear, sparkling in the newfound light, and spoke once again with watery voices of dazzling enchantment. The forest animals began to thrive in the rejuvenated green woods, and birds sang in glad tones under clear skies that were lit by sun and jewel.

Festivals long celebrated yet lately abandoned were renewed, and the greenswards of Neldoreth were alive once again with the singing, the dancing, and the feasting of merry elves. At the time of midsummer, the king and his people would gather beneath the triple piers of Hirilorn, even as Thingol and Melian had done of old, and under the sprawling shade of the mightiest vault of leaf and bough in Neldoreth, there was great merriment.

Thus led by Dior, Thingol's Heir, and with the aid of the Silmaril, Doriath indeed regained its glory of old, and its people were content.

Yet outside their realm word slowly spread like a meandering breeze that blows from a warm place out into the open wilderness, gathering strength yet growing evermore colder. So too were the ears that heard the tale of Doriath's rise from ruin. Wandering elves of the Sindar were first to hear the rumour and many forsook the now perilous wilderland and repaired to Menegroth, swelling its numbers. Yet soon word reached the cold ears of the people of Feanor, who in turn went to their lords and told them all they had heard.

Then the Oath of the sons of Feanor was waked again from sleep. Each tale of the light and joy brought to Doriath by the Silmaril, and of Dior the king riding hither and thither about his realm, wearing the jewel in his pride, stung their hearts. For the Feanorrim had become a wandering people who camped in the wilds of the south, cursing their hard fate in bitterness as they remembered their glory days of old.

Therefore the six remaining princes of Feanor's house gathered again at Amon Ereb, where their greatest strength was held under Maedhros. There they took council with one another, while spies were sent ahead to learn the ways of the land. Soon messengers were sent out to Doriath to claim their own!

Now here must be told of a part of the Doriathrim who dwelt near the eastern eaves of Region, the mighty southern forest of the realm. They were a mingled folk of Sindarin elves of Beleriand who had fled the Dagor Bragollach and sought refuge with Thingol their overlord, and Nandorin elves who had removed there after the death of their lord Denethor, who was slain upon the hill of Amon Ereb. There also dwelt a few Sindarin elves of Doriath, who preferred the wide lands beneath the free airs to the stony underground halls of Menegroth.

There was a small forest that was sundered from the main wood by the river Aros that flowed from its source in the north near the pass of Aglon. Beneath the forest's eastern eaves flowed the Celon, that began in the northern hills around Himring where Maedhros once held his fortress before its fall.

Southward, the Celon would meet with the Aros, and at their inflow was the beginning of that wood named Arthorien. This stood between those two converging rivers, spreading wider as the rivers drew apart to the north, until it became the sprawling land of Himlad that the sons of Feanor once held. From the eastern bank of the Celon, began the westmarches of Estolad, where a mingled people of the Three Houses of the Edain still dwelt.

Now there was a curious friendship between the Sindarin elves of Arthorien and the Edain of Estolad, and at that time the elves still journeyed to that land, giving what aid they could to the troubled remnant of men who were at times harassed by orcs that came down from the conquered north.

So it was that one such elf journeyed alone to Estolad. Haldir was his name, and he was one of the Doriathrim who had taken special pity on Estolad's people, and so journeyed to that land more often than any other, as he was a master of healing and of great service to the beleaguered men.

He had long been away from the Edain as he partook in the merry festivities of high summer in Doriath. Yet though all news of Estolad from recently returned elves was good, his heart had been moved of late to up and visit his friends. Of the urgency that compelled him, he did not know. But such was the growing doubt in his heart that he hastened from his home, crossed the Celon and proceeded eastward up the gently sloping lands that led away from the vale of the river.

It was late afternoon, and the westering sun was hot. Haldir stopped, took in a long drawn breath of clear air, and smiled with the simple pleasure of delighting in nature's grace. But when he turned his gaze eastward, his content faded, as the feeling of doubt returned to obscure his joy. What was this fear or worry that afflicted him? He sighed and took a step forward, but suddenly halted again.

A whistling wind blew down from the east, and with it came a sound that stopped Haldir in his tracks. He stood stock still, listening, and then he heard it again; a sound that could not be mistaken. Borne upon the breeze came the distant approach of galloping hooves. His gaze surveyed the eastern horizon as their pounding rumour grew in his ears.

Then he saw them. Two distant silhouettes suddenly appearing over the lip of the horizon, stark against the clear blue of open sky. Haldir looked about him with growing unease but he was alone, and far from any friends. He shifted nervously where he stood as the two horsemen drew closer. They rode upon steeds of great stature, strong and clean-limbed, with brown coats, swishing tails and long dark manes. The riders themselves sat tall in their saddles, with free flowing raven-dark hair, and grey cloaks streaming behind in the sweeping winds of their approach.

They swiftly reached him and reined in their neighing horses, barring his way. Then the strangers sat silent for a moment, regarding him with sharp eyes. Haldir glanced warily at them, but said nothing under their hard stares. Finally one of the riders alighted from his horse, and strode forward to face him.

"You are an elf of Doriath are you not?" he asked in a stern voice.

"I am lord," replied Haldir in a clear tone that sought to belie his growing fearfulness.

"Then you are one of those whom we seek," said the stranger with a swift turn to his companion. He eyed Haldir a moment then asked, "Are we known to you, wood elf?"

Haldir studied the two elves with great interest. They were clad in plain attire that was travel-stained from seemingly long journeying, and their faces were very fair to behold, though the one who stood before him was fairer still. Haldir surmised that he looked upon elves of importance as they seemed stern and wilful, and there was a lordly air about them that they could not conceal. Indeed, by their appearance, their speech and bearing, Haldir concluded that they were high lords of the Noldor. However, he could not yet tell to which house they belonged.

"Well are we known to you or no?" asked the seated rider impatiently. His steed gave a snort, pounding the ground with its great hooves as if mirroring its master's hasty mood. Haldir dared not chance a guess, for fear of giving offence to the proud strangers.

"Forgive me my lords," he said. "I do not wish to offend, yet I am unaccustomed to meeting lords of other elven houses as I so take you, and therefore know not who you are. Long have I dwelt within the Girdle of Melian and never ventured far beyond our borders, even in the peaceful days of the Long Siege. News from without has always come faintly to those of the Doriathrim who give half an ear, and the little I know of the Golodhrim is through the many songs and tales of their great deeds against the Dark Power of the north. Yet songs and tales may only give names to unknown faces, and speak of matters far removed from the quiet of our woods."

"So it has always been with you elves of Doriath!" said the elf on horseback, regarding Haldir with hard eyes. "Cozened into idling and storytelling behind the power of Melian, whilst leaving the perilous deeds of war to the rest of us! Indeed I take offence that you know not the lords of those who aided the Sindar in their time of need, when Morgoth loosed his power over starlit Beleriand before the Sun and Moon!"

The elf who stood before Haldir raised a hand, checking his companion. "Nay!" he said with a swift shake of his head. "Blame not Doriath's people overmuch. Thingol's haughty mood towards the Noldor had him shun us all, save those of the house of Arafinwe. Yet being his loyal subjects, his people could only follow the mood of their lord. However, Thingol is dead and the Girdle is removed. Doriath's time apart from the rest of Beleriand is at an end and its people would do well to heed this!"

The words of the stranger now surfaced a well of memories to Haldir's mind that spoke of a yearned past that sadly was no more.

"You speak gravely lord," he said solemnly, "for that may indeed be how it was with my people. Yet be that as it may, we of Doriath heed well the end of our protected peace from the sorrows of the greater realm, having just borne the brunt of Fate's cruel blow ourselves."

The seated rider stirred in his saddle, his hard stare becoming darker still. "And perhaps it were a good thing that you and your people finally felt the dint of battle at your own door, thus curbing the churlish pride and disdain of the Sindar of Doriath towards the Noldor, whom many ever blamed for stirring the evil of the north though it were ravaging your lands ere we came!"

Haldir stared at the rider in amazement at his grim words, but his companion swiftly intervened.

"Peace my brother!" said the fair elf. "We are not yet come with harsh words to these folk, but are here only to deliver our message to their king."

Haldir started at that. 'They are brothers, come with a message for Dior our king!' he thought. His mind raced swiftly over the lords of the Noldor. They were not of Finarfin's house as all its princes were slain. Only Turgon yet lived of Fingolfin's sons, thus leaving the princes of the eldest house of Finwe.

Haldir blanched a little, yet chanced his guess. "Permit me to ask my lords, yet could it be that you are lords of the mighty house of Feanaro?"

A faint look of surprise passed over the fair elf's face. "Well guessed wood elf," he said. "I am Turcafinwe that is Celegorm in the Sindarin tongue, who was Lord of Himlad on a time."

Haldir bowed low before him. "Forgive my ignorance lord Celegorm, but the quaint life of the wood so blinded me. This is indeed a great honour!"

Celegorm laughed. "Then you are doubly honoured this day for I am also come with lord Curufin."

Haldir turned to Curufin and bowed again, yet he was filled with churning doubt. The coming of powerful lords of Feanor's house did not bode well for Doriath. The mood of these two sons of Feanor was known to all that people as their treacherous part in Luthien's tale was not forgotten. Moreover, their threat to Thingol over his keeping of the Silmaril was still fresh in the minds of the Doriathrim.

Indeed, it was an unsaid fear in their hearts ever since the Silmaril had returned to their land, that the sons of Feanor could now make true their threat of war against Doriath, as the protection of the Girdle was no more. Haldir guessed that this was undoubtedly the purpose of their journeying, and the content of their message. A dark sense of foreboding crept into his heart, yet he hid his dismay and greeted them with as fair words as came to his mind.

"Indeed I am doubly honoured this glad day to stand before such high lords of the Golodhrim! And I would say to my lord Curufin that though the mood of many of my people may be as he so put it, I for my part have ever held the Golodhrim in high honour and esteem for their valiant deeds and rendered service to the Edhel of Beleriand!"

Curufin said nothing but Celegorm smiled. "Well said wood elf. Yet who are you?"

"I am named Haldir, and dwell within the forest of Arthorien that lies between the rivers Aros and Celon." He pointed back to the western backdrop that looked to the distant vale of his woods.

"I see," said Celegorm, following the wood elf's gesture with his keen grey eyes. "Yet for one who claims to be so road shy in having hardly left the protection of the Girdle, we somehow find you far from home."

"That is true lord," Haldir steadily replied. "However, I was nearing my journey's end as I was on my way to Estolad, where a remnant of the Edain still dwell. It may be accounted a long journey on foot as you see me, yet not so far from my home by steed."

Haldir walked over to Celegorm's horse and raised a hand to pet its head. Yet the horse gave a reluctant snort, shook its great head and backed away a few paces. The wood elf slowly turned back to Celegorm, dismayed and a little embarrassed under stern eyes that momentarily lit up with distant amusement.

Haldir sighed. "Alas my people have only few horses to speak of, and therefore we have to make do on our own two legs. Yet do not think I deceived you lord, for Estolad is indeed the furthest I have ever ventured beyond the forests of my home."

"And what business would you have with the Edain who dwell there?" asked Celegorm.

"There has been a friendship between my folk and theirs that began soon after the main hosts of their people left for their later realms," answered Haldir.

"I find that hard to believe as your king's mood towards men was perhaps harsher than was towards us," said Celegorm.

"My lord Thingol's mood towards men was indeed unfriendly in those days," replied Haldir, "yet he saw our friendship as being harmless enough in his policies, and so let it be. But none of the Edain were ever permitted to pass the Girdle, even to our small forest. Be that as it may, our friendship grew closer still after Morgoth's power was loosed again upon the world. Throughout the perilous years, my folk have given aid and comfort to that people, and of late they in turn have comforted us in our own sorrows of the day."

Curufin scowled, alighted from his steed, and strode forward to stand before Haldir who took a fearful step back upon seeing the prince's black look.
"So you would deal with that traitorous race!" he said venomously. "Though it surprises me little, as you dark elves are as lowly as the accursed race of men, and therefore suit each other well.

Yet as if that were not enough, you would now claim our birthright in your insolence, and so gain an undeserved joy, happiness and strength from it while its true heirs suffer in the wilderness. Our realms are all but destroyed, and our people and lords are forced to live a simple life, bereft of all their power and glory of old through battles waged not only for the Noldor, but all the free peoples of Beleriand!"

Curufin's flashing eyes now scornfully appraised Haldir from head to toe. "Answer me this O Sindar. Who instructed your wandering kin in their advancement from the rude ways of the wilderness to the noble customs of Aman? Yet know this dark elf! The ancient light that was there before Arien and Tilion rode the pathways of the sky does not belong to you and your people. A skill and labour far beyond the furthest reach of your thought went into preserving it! An Oath beyond all oaths was sworn to claim it! And many a grim deed was done on the long road to retake it! You elves of Doriath do not fully comprehend your peril by withholding the Silmaril from we the sons of Feanaro!" He turned then to his brother. "Give him our message Turcafinwe and let him begone! We did not come all this way to exchange friendly banter with these elvish thieves!"

Celegorm produced a rolled up parchment, sealed by a wax stamp of the heraldic emblem of the house of Feanor.
"Receive this Haldir," he said as he handed it to the wood elf. "Herein lies the word of all the remaining sons of Feanaro, urging yet again the surrender of the Silmaril to the house of its maker. We are come to claim our own Haldir, and yet mark you, we are come in peace, hoping your king shall return what is ours to us in good faith. I see your dismay at my brother's harsh words, yet take heed, for he has much cause for his anger and grief.

Our father left it to his sons to retrieve his great work. Should we now leave the Silmaril in the hands of yet another who would withhold it against his dying wish? Our Oath of old was not spoken lightly Haldir, but remains the very scion of the Noldor's grave choice in treading the long road to Middle-earth, forsaking even the blessed realm of Aman!

Do you hear Haldir! This business of the Silmaril is well above the simple minds of the quaint forests of Doriath. Yet I would blame Thingol who named it, and Dior who now keeps it, for it is only by their grasping choices that the quiet of your woods is now threatened. I therefore implore you to go to your king and persuade him if you must to see clearly in this matter, as much shall rest upon his answer... for good or for ill. However, know that either way, the Silmaril is ours. Not only by our desire for our father's inimitable work, but of greater import it is by our very right as his sons that we so claim it!"

Celegorm then paused for a moment, as if to regain his composure, for the light in his eyes had brightened as his own anger seemed to heighten with his words. Haldir looked at the two princes fearfully as it seemed that under their fair countenances was a perilous fey mood that would stop at nothing to regain their father's work.

"There!" said Celegorm as he seemingly mastered himself. "We have spoken, you have heard and now you must go! However, be swift, for we shall await Dior's answer here!"

"Indeed make haste!" Curufin put in. "For you would not want to keep the sons of Feanaro waiting, or we may enter into Doriath ourselvesand unbidden, seek for what is ours as the way is now open to all!"

Haldir shuddered inwardly at the threat, yet bowed low before them. "My lords," he said. "I have indeed taken heed to all you have said and admit that these high policies are far above me. Yet what I fully grasp is that one war was enough for Doriath, which suffered so because of it. Far more grievous would it be for another to be waged against Thingol's realm, and evermore so were it now between elf and elf!"

Curufin looked at him with glinting eyes in the mounting dark. "And that came to pass once before dark elf as you well know. And so shall again, if we are refused a second time by the Teleri! Yet you are overbold to berate the sons of Feanaro so! Swiftly would I have dealt with your insolence, had we not needed you to run our errand. Go now I tell you, and pray that your king shall be wise for his people, as well as himself!"

Haldir bowed again with great fear in his heart. "I shall deliver your message to Dior my king, and I pray that wisdom shall prevail for us all!"

With that, he turned away and began the long journey to Menegroth. The sons of Feanor stood silent as they watched Haldir's form fade into the twilight. Afar off, rising above the river valley, the forest line of Arthorien stood, crowned with the reddened sky of sunset that darkened as it merged with the starlit night overhead. There was the sound of approaching horses but the brothers did not stir. Soon ten riders had reined in beside them, and there they sat, silent; their fair elven faces grim to look upon. Yet their eyes shone in the mounting dark as they stared intently towards Doriath......

---

Author's Commentary:

Well, let me try to explain my take on the Fall of Doriath and why I wrote the things I did.
Firstly, I'm trying to give what I would see as a feasible account of the events leading up to the final attack on Doriath. The inspiration behind my approach is the Unfinished Tales volume. In that book, Tolkien gives fairly detailed accounts of events barely touched in the Silmarillion.

For instance, in the tale of Turin we are introduced to a host of characters and get far more descriptions and dialogue. So we come to know of Turin's childhood friendships with Sador and Nellas. How he joined the outlaws and his interactions with Androg and Mim. Who can forget the detailed account of Glaurung's demise and Nienor's suicide. What's revealed is very interesting and it really saddens the reader to know that had Tolkien taken the time, he could have written the Silmaril in such wonderful detail, producing a book that would have easily quadrupled the size of LOTR.

What a book that would have been! After reading the Silmarillion, I'm afraid to say that I see the LOTR as being somewhat stale. All the great events took place during the summarised First Age, yet we have to make do with a detailed account of the Third Age where things are far tamer and wearied. But that's just my opinion.

Anyway, in reading The Unfinished Tales, one can only imagine what Tolkien's detailed take on say, the Nirnaeth Arnoediad would have been. Or his detailed description of Beren's horrific journey through Nan Dungortheb. Or his take on the various interesting speeches, friendships and alliances made during the Mereth Aderthad, the Feast of Reuniting.

There's such a wealth of unexplored stories in his universe that he barely touched upon, that it's truly frustrating to even think about. All he left were enticing summaries and half finished works.

Still, we must be thankful. Thankful for Fanfic that is, for what he left unfinished as our guide, we as Fanfic writers can only try to complete. We may never have his flair for language and classic writing, but we all attempt to give our own interpretations of events and hope we are as near to what the source would have thought and wanted.

So, I've chosen the Ruin of Doriath to be the tale that's open to my interpretation.
Why? Well it's a story that has very little said about it in any of Tolkien's works, and yet is to my mind one of the most important events to take place in the First Age. The first time in Middle-earth and the second time in history that elves fought with elves.

It always makes me chuckle when I think of what would have happened if the Silmarillion were never published. Can you imagine the flak a Fanfic writer would have suffered had he wrote a story of noble elves plotting to kill other noble elves, and actually going ahead with it! Purists from all over would have cried foul, deeming that the holier than thou elves as they are portrayed in LOTR, would have never conceived of committing such terrible acts.

It would have been utterly impossible as thoughts of malice, treachery and hatred were not in elven nature. The adventurous writer would therefore have been roundly accused of seeking to demean Tolkien's high-minded idea of elves.

Thank God for JRR's Silmarillion that would debunk all such purist myth and hail unelf-like behaviour of that sort as undisputed canon. It says a lot about slash fic, for who knows where Tolkien's sensibilities might have taken him, had he somehow survived to our modern times. But that's another subject.

Now in tackling the Fall Of Doriath, where would one begin?
For me, the tale of the (Second) fall of Doriath begins with Dior receiving the Silmaril from Ossiriand. In the summarised version in the Silmarillion, (which is the backbone of my tale), Dior receives the jewel from an unnamed lord of Ossiriand and stares at it in grief over his parents apparent death.

I decided to add an intimate moment with Nimloth because it intros her important character to the tale and in such a moment of grief, she would be the fitting one to comfort her husband. Dior then shows the Silmaril to his people and tells them that Beren and Luthien are now really dead. That's the occasion I've used to have Dior put on the Nauglamir and appear as the fairest of all the Children of Iluvatar before his people.

In the process, the Silmaril shows its power by giving hope to his dismayed folk. I think it's feasible to portray the Silmaril in that light and not just as a mere jewel. Tolkien himself states in the Silmarillion that the jewels were indeed, living things. Being so means they could have had their own agenda in matters.

So the Silmaril uses its power to somewhat enhance Dior, assigning to him a look of greater authority. At the time of this story, Dior was only about 36 years old, and though he was very noble (being the son of Luthien), with a firm will that had led the Doriathrim in the restoration of their realm, he would still have seemed a bit of a youngster or lightweight when compared to the great majesty of Thingol.

The jewel therefore grants him the look he would have naturally achieved over many years of living, since in the oncoming months he shall have to become a bastion of hope to his beleaguered people. It seems better for the Doriathrim to be led in battle by a king who's reminiscent of Thingol's great stature and presence, than by one only newly come to manhood.

So here we see that the Silmaril already knows of the grim fate of Doriath and is kind of preparing the elves who shall have to defend it. It's in a sense using its great power to influence the Doriathrim to champion its cause as it can't go back to the Feanorrim. So its power installs hope in their hearts, from which comes courage and wisdom. Much more shall become apparent in the following chapters.

The next part is of the sons of Feanor finding out that Dior now has their jewel and sending some elves to claim it. I made it Celegorm and Curufin because they have always been vehement in their pursuit of the jewels and they are inseparable in most of their endeavours. I don't think they would have entered into the great forests of Doriath, out of wariness. They know that once the reason behind their errand is known, it's not going to be to the Doriathrim's liking. They would have looked for preferably one of the Sindar to deliver their written request.

In this case it's Haldir of Arthorien. The whole idea behind the friendship between the Sindar of Arthorien and the Edain of Estolad is loosely based on the friendship between the Edain of Brethil and Beleg and the marchwardens who aid Halmir lord of The Haladin in battle against the orcs of Sauron. Just because Thingol didn't like men doesn't mean all his people shunned them. It's a prime example of the Doriathrim living in friendship with others, despite the Girdle and their king.

When it comes to Haldir's meeting with the princes, Celegorm is naturally far more diplomatic than Curufin because, well, Curufin is more or less Feanor in the story since he was closest in all traits to his father. While I've always pictured Celegorm as being decent enough until you defy him in some way, scorn and disdain come naturally to Curufin whose mood has been described by Tolkien as perilous and crafty.

So there you have it. The first chapter to this story. Its mode is up close and personal in parts so it's going to be long, but I hope you will enjoy it for the full duration.

Dedicated to the wonderful world of Silmfic...