Bee-Elves by darthfingon

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Bee-Elves 5

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Someone knocked at my bedroom door.  Assuming it to be Canamírë, I shouted for him to enter.  The door opened, but instead of Canamírë it was Celeborn who stood there; his face was a hardened mask of barely contained fury.

"Who are you?" he asked me.

I did not reply, but set my comb down on the dressing table and fussed with the buttons on my robe.

"The Tyrant insists that you are Arfinue of Tirion, and gives me compelling evidence.  So which is it?  Are you Goldórin king or Vaniárin author?"

It took me a moment to realise that he was speaking the language of the Teleri of Alqualondë.  He spoke very well.  Artanis must have taught him.

"I am Arfinue,"

He nodded to himself, accepting this, though the anger in his eyes did not fade.  Then: "Why did you lie?"

"Because I could not face my daughter," I said.  The words slipped out before I had time to think of what I was saying.

Celeborn stepped into the room and shut the door behind him.  He stood beside Canamírë's bed a moment, staring at me, before he sighed and sat.  I was glad that he did.  He was a tall man, taller than I, and had an imposing, imperious look about him.  He was less intimidating while seated.  I remembered thinking, when I first met him, that Artanis' sense of regal entitlement naturally would have led her to choose the largest husband she could find.  The same thought came to me as he sat in my bedroom.  I wished I could have seen them together, as I could tell they would make a handsome couple.  His silver hair would complement her gold; her Noldorin beauty would shine next to the classically Telerin features he shared with Olwë's kin: wide, shallow-set eyes, small nose, and high, sharp cheekbones.  They would have lovely children.  If Artanis ever deigned to subject her royal self to the indignity of childbirth.

"You could not face your daughter," he said after a long pause.  "When we met, you went out of your way to invent a lie about your Vaniárin culture forbidding you from meeting my wife.  Your own daughter, and you could not face her.  Why is that?"

"Because..." I said.  "Because... I knew that if I saw her, I would be unable to leave her."

It was a strange situation I found myself in, and one I did my best to explain to Celeborn, though I fear I did a poor job of it.  When I came to Endor with the Host of the Valar to fight this war of theirs, I was expected to remain well away from the war zone and command my troops from afar.  Eönwë instructed me to stay on the Isle of Balar with Ingwion and Gil-galad, but I wished to do more.  I could not fight, as I had given Eönwë my solemn word that I would not endanger myself in battle, but I could, I reasoned, serve a different purpose.  A vision had started to form in my head of a united kingdom, where all Elves might find peace and happiness in the land of Valinor.  After seeing what kinds of folks resided on Balar and having to watch them needlessly wallowing in the hardship of life in the east, I knew I had a duty to save them.  So, whenever I could, I encouraged the people of Balar to go west after the war.  I told them of the glories of Valinor and the joys they might there discover.

But what of those who had not come to Balar?  According to Gil-galad, many Nandor still resided in the light forests of Ossiriand, and even more remained farther in the east.  It would be cruel not to offer them the same chance at redemption I had given the Balarrim.

I set off into the east with my court.  Such a large group made slow progress as we travelled along the southern coast of Beleriand and then north-east up the river Gelion to Ossiriand; it took us two years of camping to come to the village between the rivers Thalos and Rathlóriel where Canamírë was imprisoned.  Along the way, I spoke with every Nandorin chieftain I could find.  Whether or not they fully understood what I said, I did not know, as none of us spoke Nandorin and I was forced to rely on one minstrel's middling Sindarin skills, but I did my best to convey the message.

I was introduced to Canamírë by the King of the village between the Thalos and the Rathlóriel.  The King had an unwanted, Sindarin-speaking Noldorin prisoner on his hands, and there I was with an entire host of Noldor in need of a good Sindarin interpreter.  I agreed to relieve the Nandorin King of Canamírë in exchange for his listening to my Valinorian proposal.  That night, Canamírë made a proposal of his own: I should abandon my company and continue my mission with a much smaller party.  A small group could travel more quickly, and would be harder for the fiends of Melkor to detect.  As it stood, my large, slow-moving entourage might as well have been a great bull's-eye target for orcs and the like.

This was when the two of us went off on our own with the porters, leaving everyone else behind.  Canamírë, adventuring merchant that he was, was accustomed to this sort of rough travelling.  He was also a wellspring of useful information, such as where to find the kings I sought.  It was he who knew that Celeborn had started a settlement on the shores of Lake Nenuial, he who led the way there, and he who told me the name and history of Celeborn's wife.

"I thought I would weep with joy to hear word of my daughter," I said to Celeborn.  "After learning of the deaths of my sons, I prayed that she was still alive and safe.  But when I learned where she was, and that I might see her again, the joy was small next to the sense of apprehension."

"But why?" Celeborn asked.  "You had not seen her in four long-years.  Would you not wish to be reunited?"

"Yes.  More than anything.  But you must understand... I had lived those four long-years with the pain of losing her.  And I remembered the fire of her conviction when she marched fearlessly onward after I turned away from that folly.  She wished to be free in the east.  She longed for new lands and experiences and..." I paused, searching for the words to best explain how I felt.

"Hear this," I continued.  "Do you believe that, if I asked Artanis to come back to Valinor and take up her former life, she would do such a thing?"

"No," said Celeborn.  A little hint of a smile played on his lips; he knew her better than I did, and even I was sure of what the answer would be.  "She has no desire to return."

"And would you also believe that, if I were to make my presence known to her, she would accept this brief visit gracefully and thereafter allow me to depart?"

This time, Celeborn took a long breath and held it while he considered his answer.  "No," he finally admitted.  "No, I think she would try to convince you to stay.  That is her only complaint about living in the east: she is separated from her family, and believes she will see neither you nor her mother ever again.  If she knew you were here... she would ask you to stay with her."

"And do you think," I murmured, "that I would be able to refuse her request and cause us both the pain of parting all over again?"

He did not answer, but I did not expect him to.

"I am weak.  She is my only daughter, my little girl, and do you think I could refuse her?  If she asked, I would stay.  I could not bear to put her through another farewell.  Our last parting was torment enough."

"So stay," said Celeborn.  "You return to Nenuial with me, and-"

"And what?  Abandon my wife?  Abandon my people?  My crown?  Do you not understand?  I cannot stay.  No matter how much she might wish it, it is impossible.  If she asks, I will stay, but since I cannot stay, I cannot even give her the chance to ask.  You see?"

For a long, uncomfortable moment, Celeborn stared at me.  Then, with a sigh and a shake of his head, he stood.  "You are a damned coward, Arfinue," he said.

"Yes," I replied, "I am.  It shames me, but at least I admit it."

"You are so afraid of your own weakness that you won't even give yourself a chance to be strong.  And," he added as he opened the door, "you underestimate Galadriel."

The Sindarin name he spoke was unfamiliar, but I knew at once who he meant.  "Galadriel..."

"She is not your little girl any more," he said with a thin smile.  "She is a great lady of strength and wisdom, and you do her an injustice with your assumptions.  She would not stupidly and selfishly demand you abandon your own life to stay with her.  Nor would she wilt like a fragile flower when it came time for you to leave.  You should come back to Nenuial and announce yourself to her.  No more Vaniárin lies.  I think you would be pleasantly surprised.  And proud."

~

As soon as the sound of Celeborn's footsteps disappeared down the corridor, I went to find Canamírë.  Celeborn had been right; I was a coward.  And, cowardly as I was, I could not bear the thought of being alone right then.  I needed a distraction.  I needed something to take my mind off of what Celeborn had said.  If I focused on his words, I felt sick to my stomach at the thought of the mistake I had made refusing to see Artanis - Galadriel - at Nenuial.  Memories of mistakes were the last thing I needed.  They would be detrimental to the quest.

I took a breath to calm myself and rounded the corner out of the bedroom door, only to almost collide with Canamírë right there.  He stood leaning back against the wall as if waiting for something.

"Oh!"

"Oh!" he echoed in return.  "Araf-  Your Highness."

"Canamírë.  Good.  Just the person we need to see.  How long have you been there?"

He did not answer.

"Did you overhear my conversation with Celeborn?"

Again, he did not answer.

"How much of it?"

"Well, what you must understand is that I don't speak Telerin, so even the parts I overheard were fuzzy at best.  I had to guess."

"What did you guess?" I asked.

He smiled sloppily at me, which made him look very much like Oropher.  "You were using singular pronouns."

That was the most important thing he had overheard?  "Well, yes," I said, irritated.  "Celeborn is our kinsman and equal.  Therefore, we may speak to him intimately."

"I'm not your equal?" he asked, feigning a hurt expression and clasping his hands over his heart.

"No.  You, Canamírë, are our guide.  And you have some guiding to do.  Take us to Oropher.  We wish to say farewell.  It is time to leave."

"Leave Eryn Galen?"

"Yes."

"Now?"

"Yes."

"You mean it this time?"

"Yes!" I snapped.  "We are through with this place.  We need no more of Oropher's insanity, and no more of Celeborn's making us to feel guilty, and no more wasting time.  Let us move on to Cuiviénen.  If we leave now, we should be far into the south before the snows come."

Canamírë protested no further; he had been eager to leave ever since we arrived.  We found Oropher in his presence chamber, where we also, unfortunately, found Celeborn.  Celeborn must have come to Oropher directly after leaving me.  He was seated near the fireplace and holding the arrest warrant he had produced earlier, though looked no closer to arresting the traitor Oropher than he did to growing wings.  He had no soldiers in the room to assert his claim.  Oropher had four.  It might as well have been Celeborn under arrest, and, judging by the uncertain look on his face, he knew this.

"Ah, Arafinwë Noldóran!" Oropher greeted me.  He gave no explanation as to why Quenya was suddenly the language of choice once again, but I was glad for the switch.  An excess of Sindarin made my head ache.

I bowed to him.  I would do whatever necessary to put myself in his good graces before I left.  "Your Highness King Oropher."

"Reeve Oropher," he corrected.

"Of course: our error.  Reeve Oropher."  He had never corrected me before.  Some scheme was in the works.

"You've met my good friend, Prince Celeborn?"

"We have," I said.  "We had a lovely conversation with him not an hour ago."

Celeborn's eyes flicked up at the mention of his name, but otherwise he appeared not to have any interest in what we were saying.  With his knowledge of Telerin, he would certainly be able to understand some of the speech, but I could not help but suspect that Oropher's choice to use Quenya was meant to exclude him.

"Celeborn thinks he should be the King of Eryn Galen."

"Oh?"

"Mm," Oropher confirmed with a nod.  "Thinks people need a real blood prince to rule them."

I refrained from stating that I agreed with Celeborn, and smiled politely at Oropher.  'Creative' as he was, Oropher had neither the hereditary background nor the political experience to be an effective leader.  It was amazing that he had lasted this long already.

"Problem is," he continued, "Eryn Galen isn't a kingdom.  It's a...  uh... thing where there is no king but a reeve that the people choose."

"A republic."

"Sure," said Oropher.

I also refrained from stating that republics were a ridiculous notion that would never work.

"Anyhow, he's also here to arrest me."

"We are sorry to hear that."

"I know.  So am I.  He's doing such a bad job of it, too.  It's kind of... hmm... what's that word when you feel bad for somebody who's being really stupid?"

"You find it embarrassing for him?"

Oropher clapped his hands together.  "Right!  That's it.  It's embarrassing."

"How terrible.  However, we are confident that Prince Celeborn will eventually discover a method of arresting you that is to your satisfaction."

"I hope so," said Oropher.

"In the meantime," I told him, "it is with great sadness that we must announce our intention to leave you now.  We fear we have overstayed our welcome, and it is time to continue our journey to Cuiviénen."

For the first time since our meeting, Oropher looked genuinely dismayed.  I think he had grown accustomed to having me around as a constant audience for his foolery.  "But..." he stammered, "but... but...  this is Cuiviénen!  We are building a new Cuiviénen here!"

"We know, Oropher, and we understand how important your New Cuiviénen project is to you.  However, it is imperative that we visit the original Cuiviénen, the one by the great lake where the Elves first awoke, and speak to its inhabitants."

Dejected, he sat down hard in his chair opposite Celeborn and stared at the floor.  "Cuiviénen is dying," he finally said after a long and awkward pause.

"We beg your pardon?" I asked.

"It's dying."  His voice sounded different when he spoke these words.  It was not his elegant king-voice that he used to speak at banquets, and nor was it the jester-voice that sang nonsense songs and held conversations with dogs.  This voice had the unmistakable tone of simple truth to it.  For the first time, it sounded as if he had dropped his act and was speaking seriously.  The change sent a chill down my back.

"We do not understand.  What do you mean by this?"

He shifted into Sindarin, allowing him to speak more freely.  Canamírë translated line by line.

"Something is wrong.  For years, since the start of that war in the west, there have been signs of a coming disaster.  Dark clouds hang in the north.  The earth shakes, more and more violently each time it happens.  In some areas, animals are disappearing.  I've had people from the south and west arriving in Galadhost.  The first came three years ago, but now more are starting to follow.  They bring disturbing news with them.

"The Glindrim are leaving their lands, and some of them end up here.  What they tell me is that, beginning a few years ago, the animals started to disappear.  Game is becoming scarce.  Fish are dying off without spawning, leaving the rivers full of weeds and little else.  Even the insects are becoming a rare sight.  They see it as an omen.  Something terrible is about to happen.  If the animals and insects know to leave, then they should leave, too."

"I can confirm that," said Celeborn.  He spoke softly, hesitantly, trying not to intrude.  "Folk of Ossiriand have recently begun to join the settlement at Nenuial.  They bring me the same news."

"But we were in Ossiriand," I said.  "We saw nothing of this, and we were there only two years ago."

"And much can change in two years," Celeborn replied.  "You will remember that while you were with me at Nenuial, there was an earthquake that caused two half-built homes to collapse.  You left that next spring.  Had you stayed a short while longer, you would have still been there when a party of several hundred arrived.  They risked crossing the Ered Luin in the middle of winter to reach what they believed to be the safety of Eriador, and they told me more would be on the way once summer made the mountains more passable.  I have no doubt I will return home to find new tents full of new refugees on the lakeshore."

"That's why we're building in Galadhost," said Oropher, nodding.  "For when the great migration comes up from Cuiviénen. Those folks will need homes."

"For refugees from Cuiviénen?" I asked.  "Oropher, are you telling us..."  I let my voice trail off as he nodded.  That was exactly what he was telling me.

"Three years ago, a small scouting party came up from the south, looking for new, safe lands.  I did not know who they were, and their language was strange even to the natives of this forest; it took a long time for us to communicate anything in a way that we all understood.  But they eventually told us their story.  It was terrible to hear.  They came from Cuiviénen, and were descendants of those who had originally refused the journey into the west.  They did not want to leave, but felt they had no choice; they thought the land had been cursed.  Fish were gone from the water.  Animals had moved up into the mountains or died off.  Each year was worse than the last, and the people were finding it harder and harder to feed themselves.  The leaders sent five scouting parties out to search for new lands, and one of those parties came to me."

"And so..." I began, but did not finish the thought.  No-one spoke.

And so Cuiviénen was doomed.  It was possible that, even as we held this conversation, the last of the Elves of the Waters of Awakening were on their way to Eryn Galen and wherever else they might have decided to go.  They were leaving their ancient home.  It was exactly what I had thought I wanted, as I travelled on this mission across Endor, but now that I heard it to be true, the news gave me no joy.

~

Canamírë and I did not leave that day.  Oropher, demonstrating an uncharacteristic bout of common sense, wisely counselled that we overwinter in Galadhost and then set out again in the spring.  Upon consideration, I deemed his suggestion to be valid.  I had no desire to cross the Hithaeglir when snow could strike at any time.  I also had no desire to spend the winter in a draughty log house, in bedroom that had no glass in the window, but this was the lesser of two evils.  I ordered new, warm clothing made of leather and the local silver-sheen fabric, which, Celeborn informed me, was a specialty of Sindarin craftsmanship originating in Doriath.  Thus, properly attired, I settled in for a long winter of freckle songs, fatty pork, and having to constantly think in three different languages.

Some folk did arrive from Cuiviénen not long after the first snows.  There were few of them, proud, dark-haired and dark-eyed people clad in furs, who spoke little, even to each other.  They kept mainly to themselves, though did agree to some conversations with Oropher, full of gestures and meticulously enunciated words.  So he learned from them that many had come up from the south, but few wished to live among strangers, beholden to a foreign lord.  Those that valued their autonomy above all else had continued around to the north-eastern parts of the forest to make their own settlements.

I tried my best to speak to them on several occasions throughout the winter.  They did not particularly appreciate my stories of Valinor, nor seem to have any interest at all in listening to me try to speak to them in words they did not understand, but a few did enjoy the pictures I drew of grand stone cities, swan ships on the open sea, and the clothing people wore in the west.  They adored the small collection of Noldorin jewellery I had brought with me on my quest, to the point that a few disagreements arose over the meaning of the verb 'to borrow'.  I bit my tongue and told myself I could always have new jewellery made once I returned to Valinor.

Finally, in late spring, Oropher announced that the weather had grown warm enough to cross the mountains.  Canamírë and I would be leaving with Celeborn's party, Celeborn having long since discovered that his valiant plan of arresting Oropher and bringing Eryn Galen under proper Sindarin rule had several monstrous flaws.  Not the least of which was that Oropher had an army, and Celeborn did not.

"I honestly did not think they would be this well organised," he admitted to me as we inspected the horses before our departure.  He had lent me one of his fine grey mares to ride, and I had handed over my remaining pony to his soldier-porters.  Where my own porters had gone off to remains a mystery to this day.

"You thought they would be huddled in the woods, struggling to make a fire by rubbing sticks together?  Waiting like lumps for the benefit of your great wisdom?" I asked.

"Well... yes, actually."

I nodded in agreement.  "So did I."

Most of the town had gathered to see us off, standing in a tight circle around the pack horses and generally being in the way of all the last-minute back-and-forth running for supplies and forgotten items.  Forty-one of us were leaving, and everyone else wanted to see the spectacle.  Friends and family embraced, bidding farewell to those they knew they might never see again.  The group of forty-one included not only me and Canamírë with Celeborn and his soldiers, but also twenty-two Nandor of Eryn Galen and seven of the quiet Avari from Cuiviénen.  They would continue on to Valinor with me after the war.  This was less than I had hoped for, but twenty-nine was better than none.  I could always try to collect more from any settlements we found along the way.

Oropher appeared just as we were ready to leave.  He was wearing the red Kinging Robe he had worn that first day at the fountain.  He pushed his way through the crowd until he came to where Celeborn and I stood, and insisted on embracing us both several times.  "Sorry to see you go," he told me.  "This was fun.  Don't suppose you'll be coming back?"

"Alas.  No."

He turned to Celeborn.  "And I'm sorry you weren't able to arrest me as planned."

Unsure of whether to grin or scowl, Celeborn made an awkward face halfway between the two.

"Anyhow.  Have a good journey.  Hope you make it home safely.  Mountains should be fine this time of year, but if there's trouble, you can always come back."

"Thank you, Oropher," I said.  "We will always remember your hospitality."  Among other things.

"Thanks.  But if you're not quite ready to go..."

"We are ready.  And we should go now, to cover as much distance as we can before the sun sets.  We do thank you, again, for everything you have done for us."  I placed both of my hands on his shoulders in a traditional Noldorin blessing.  "May your prayers always fly swiftly to the ears of Elbereth,"

"Thanks," he replied.  He then paused, as if searching his thoughts for an appropriate blessing of his own.  "Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

For the next several minutes, I tried to think of anything I could not imagine Oropher doing.  The list was very short, and still most of those I could not rule out for certain.

We rode out to the unmistakable sound of Oropher singing.  Exactly what he sang does not warrant mentioning.

~

"So does this mean you will return to Nenuial with me?" Celeborn asked.  We had crossed the bridge earlier that day, and were riding perilously close to the eaves of the Nandorin forest.  We were forced to stick to higher ground, as the horses could not manage the rocky beach terrain below.

"Perhaps, I answered.  I still had not decided one way or another, though my thoughts leaned increasingly toward seeing Artanis again.

"We have a ways to go yet.  You have the entire journey through the mountains and across Eriador to decide.  But you know what my thoughts on the matter are."

Yes, I did.  He had made himself abundantly clear.

Ahead in the underbrush, we caught a quick glimpse of two painted Nandorin men before they disappeared back into the forest.  I knew they were watching us, and I knew they wanted us to know they were watching us.  They would never have allowed themselves to be seen otherwise. There were likely a dozen of them hiding in the trees, peering silently down.  Oropher had assured me they would pose no threat to a group as large as ours.  I hoped he was right.

"Did you speak to any of those fellows on your mission?" asked Celeborn.

I shook my head.  "No.  They were... ah... aggressively disinterested in any sort of foreign presence in their land."  I related to him the tale of the fur tube.

"Now if any folk are in need of enlightened western leadership," he said, laughing, "it would be folk such as those."

"I agree.  Oropher told me that a friend of his, Amdír, is attempting to do just that in the southern part of the forest, but his influence over the tribes is limited."

"Amdír," Celeborn muttered.  "Another treason warrant I should have written..."

"He, like Oropher, tries to rule them as a friend."

"Friendship will never work with these people.  They need strong leadership.  They must be told what to do, or else they will accomplish nothing.  Such a waste.  Think of how much greater they would be if only they had a true lord to give them guidance!"

I looked back along the riverbank behind us at the line of the forest receding toward the horizon.  Lindórinand, Oropher had called it: Vale of the Land of the Singers.  Those singers had yet to learn of the glory of the West.  "Yes," I said.  "They would be great indeed."

"Ah, well," said Celeborn.  "That is a worry for another day.  Are you hungry?  I could do with some dinner.  As soon as we're out of the shadow of this forest."

"That sounds like a delightful idea."

I looked behind me again.  Some of the Nandor of our group were staring intently at the trees, no doubt searching for their hidden kin.  But we did not stop.  On and on we went, moving step by slow step on the long journey into the west.