Chapter 5
Confrontations and Betrayals
Dinner in Lothlorien had always been pleasant.
This time, however, we felt the difference, for pain was present, and upon us, it fed.
Celeborn and Artanis had not neglected us, but although the food and drink were remarkable, the taste had disappeared in my mouth, and my throat and gut felt tight, and thus, my appetite was smothered.
Thranduil and I carried out pleasant conversations with one another, as well as conversing upon the matters of war and state. Twice or more, Celeborn had joined us in our conversations, but mostly, he preferred to listen. Artanis sat, silently observing us, although her attention was more on me this night. My companions had ate and drank well enough, and this we all made certain. Only once they were comfortably housed, did Thranduil and I spoke with matters that concerned us for the present. Upon Middle-Earth, the births of the children of elves were less than those upon Valinor, and this was greatly decreased due to wars. For elves bore children. mostly in times if peace and whilst I myself could not blame them, for I preffered as such, we knew that this would signal the end of our race upon this world. For elves were fading, or else they chose to leave these shores for the bliss of Valinor. Yet now, they were also slain in battle. For, Thranduil had told me that, some weeks past the Men of Rohan had fled, taking only their families and necessities for their fortress of Helms Deep. There they had been joined by the forces Elrond had sent them, alongside, Aragorn, Gimli the Dwarf and Legolas, Thranduil's own son, to face the armies that Saruman the White had conjured from the bowels of Isengard, now foul.
"Saruman!" I exclaimed. Curumno, was the name I had known him by, in ages past upon Valinor. A maia who had been sent to Middle-Earth to combat the remnants of Sauron's foul darkness at the beginning of the Third Age of the Sun. He, alongside the other Four Istari- or wizards, on the suggestion of the Lord Aule the Smith. Now, as Thranduil had told me, he had fallen into the seductive lull of darkness, and now serves as Sauron's puppet. Conjuring new foul creatures, by crossing the already foul forms of the orcs, along with those of goblins and men, to create beings he called the Uruk-Hai. Stronger, more foully courageous than orcs, and resistant to the sun, so they were able to move, despite its light, which the armies of Mordor hated.
"How could this happen?" I whispered, but Thranduil had stated that the armies of Isengard were defeated, and now the ents- of all creatures- had finally decided to rise in anger against the tyranny of Isengard and the destruction of the world they held so dear. When Isengard's armies had left, the ents had invaded and the remaining orcs were slain. Isengard had been washed clean- in actual fact, as the dams had been broken. Thranduil reported and the orcs and their foul machinaries, on the surface and below the earth, had been washed away. Saruman now languishes in his tower, unable to leave, or even to cast a little enchantment, for Mordor had now abandoned him.
"But now they will then turn to Gondor." I predicted. And Thranduil nods gravely. But how could such a thing happen? Saruman, had, for many ages past fought hardily against the foul remaining creatures of Darkness, after Sauron's defeat. Him I had known upon Valinor, although I was closest to Olorin- and him I had trusted- as did the Valar that sent him. Now he had been seduced by darkness. That I should be surprised at this very possibility had astounded me. For had not Melkor- now Morgoth- turned one-third of the Maiar, against the Valar and against Eru All-Father? It had been done before. While orcs had been the bulk of his armies, he had other fouler, and more dangerous creatures at his command. The most dangerous and terrible of these had been the fallen Maiar. Ungoliant, mother of Shelob and the Giant Spiders had been one of such, but there were others- beings that forsook their fair forms for foul ones and darkness. Thuringwethil, the Vampire, with wings of a giant bat, who feasted upon blood, had been another, and his herald. Draugluir, a monstrous wolf-like creature, that fed on the flesh of beings, was another, and the father of all the Werewolves. Gothmog and his host of Balrogs had been bright maiar of the Lord Aule, yet there had been kindled by Morgoth, a fell fire. But the most dangerous of these was a Fallen Maia who had been Morgoth's greatest and most cunning servant. Now, even although his power had not equaled Morgoth's, his cunning and twistedness had outdone him: Sauron, who had been known, in Valinor, as Mairon. His was the cause of our current despairs.
I sighed. Traitors may be expected in any war, but the betrayals sting, nonetheless.
For I too, had known a traitor- Maeglin Lomion, son of Eol the Avar, and of Irisse- known as Aredhel by the Sindar, the one elf who had betrayed his own kind to Morgoth. His mother Irisse had been cousin to my father, as Nolofinwe's daughter. As the beauty of Irisse, floats before me in my mind, do I once again remember by losses- although I put them firmly behind me as my people would not need this. Irisse had been called the White Lady of the Noldor, for although her flowing mane was black, as polished jet, as well as her eyes, her skin was white as fresh, finest, milk or snow. She had always dressed in naught, but in silver and white. Her face floats in my mind, and I remember the face more delicate, perfect and fairer than a flake of snow, and large shining eyes. How I had loved her! For along with Artanis, she had been present in my early life. It was she, as well as my father and Tyelcormo, my uncle, who taught me to ride fast and to shoot with a bow. Yet, she had perished. I swirled the wine in my chased silver goblet. I had drunk little. I could barely consume a single morsel nor a drop. "Thranduil, King, these betrayals are more concerning than most. What news now of this fellowship that you speak of? You mentioned that Gandalf now holds the powers Saruman once possesed as the White Wizard, and that he along with Gimli, son of Gloin, Aragorn, Elendil's heir, and your son Legolas fought against Isengard with the Rohirrim, and the force that was sent by Elrond, yet you speak not of the Halflings- including the one called Baggins that bears the One Ring." My face tightens for an instant. "What of them?"
Thranduil looks grave. "Boromir, the son of Denethor was slain, after their passing from Lothlorien, where they took temporary refuge within these woods. The fellowship is broken, two of the Halflings had been taken by the Uruk-Hai, but are now safely returned to Gandalf. However, the one called Frodo Baggins and his closest companion, was seperated from the company, just before, or during the death of Boromir. They now make their way towards Mordor."
"Two halflings on their own?" I asked. "No other to guide their way? Have they even a map?"
Graver now, Thranduil replies that no, he has not the slightest indication of how they would make their way into Mordor, but he shall trust in the will of Eru All-Father.
We bowed our heads in reverance to the Name, and soon we retired to our chambers for the night. We will convene in the morning.
***
Sleep I had, but my dreams, still were memories.
In Aman I had known little of what was going on, only that, my father was unusually fearsome in trying to prevent something. He had stood, shouting and gesticulating, with him were Artanis, my mother, Earwen her mother, Arafinwe Artanis' father, Olwe my mother's grandfather King of the Teleri and my grandfather. Not Feanaro, but the eldest of Olwe's sons, my mother's father. Aracalimar was tall and his hair was of the purest, finest most luminous silver. His eyes were indigo, darker than my mother's renowned violet, and they held graveness in their gaze. Yet, also doubt. "Would one amongst our kind do such a thing?" His voice held more incredulity than ever I have heard it. "Would Feanaro, your father, do such a thing?" "He is mad and wild with grief, rage, and his own stubborn pride!" My father shouted. His rage frightened me, for, until now, I had never seen such an emotion within him. And always, had he shown the greatest of love and respect towards my mother's family as well as all else. "He listens to no one! he will listen to no one, but his own stubborn pride and raging grief! He listens not to me, nor to my brothers and mother! Only to himself and his own "insticts" "- he spat out the word, as if it was naught but the filth of Morgoth-" and none could sway him! He is my father no more!"
All in the room, save Artanis, who was never surprised, inhaled sharply. Even the child who was supposed to have been sleeping. None had ever dared to say such a thing ere this moment. But my father still raged.
"Maitimo, do not speak such things!" My mother exclaimed, she rose suddenly. "For Feanaro has always been our most High and Noble Prince, even to those not of the Noldor, and now our King. He is your father also, no matter how you should deny it!" Her voice grew ever more distressed. "Cannot even Nerdanel sway him? She has always been able to put reason within the depths of his mind."
But my father shook his head.
Dimly I remembered the confrontation between my two grandparents, the parents of my father. Now King and Queen of the Noldor, they had fought, and both had been unwilling to back down. Nerdanel had tried to convince, in vain, Feanaro to stay. Feanaro, snarled, for once harsh with his beloved spouse. He will go, and if she would not accompany him, than woe unto her, for her love had been false for all the years of their union, and she would now abandon him when he had needed her the most. They argued, and their rage frightened me more than ever. My father was right. My grandfather was not the same. Then Nerdanel, the Queen, had tried to convince her husband, in vain once more, to let the youngest of their children, and their grandchildren, or simply even I, to remain in the safety and peace of Valinor. He had refused. He shouted that their children and grandchildren, including I, were at least, loyal, and would never abandon him, now at such an hour and when they would live in freedom outside the "cages of the Valar" and would be safe only with Morgoth gone from this world. My grandmother had stepped back, wounded deeper than ever at this, the doing of her beloved, and then hardening her gaze, quietly stated that even he, Feanaro, would not have them all. In spite of all his misdeeds, this, the last meeting and parting with his wife, was the one misdeed, I believed, my grandfather regretted. Apart from the death of his two youngest sons. Yet he had not backed down.
I knew not what happened after, but later I gleaned that Olwe my forefather, as Finwe had been as well, Arcalimar, my grandfather, father to my mother, and most of the other Teleri, had not believed my father's words that my grandfather was now a danger to them. As of such, many of their people, the Teleri, had been slaughtered at the Kinslaying of Alqualonde. Only my father, and uncle Macalaure had stood apart from the rest of the Noldor, including their father and brothers, as they slew the elves to take their white, swan-masted ships for the world which I now fight for. However, due to the fact the Noldor were their people and Feanaro and his sons, their father and brothers, did my father and uncle also claim responsibility alongside them. Even so, many were not fooled, and still felt deep love and admiration for my father, yet in the records, their names had been darkened by the misdeeds of their blood.
Their fall, from such a height was what pained me the most, for soon the Lord Namo, forewarned the Doom, that would befall them and the Noldor who would die in such a war. My father and his brother had not protested their innocence. And so Doom would be theirs to share.
My memories than shift, forward in time, to the time, after the slaying of my grandfather at the hands of Gothmog, Lord of Balrogs, to after my father had been proclaimed the King. He had then been captured by the forces of Morgoth. After the treachery of the Battle-under-Stars, he had been captured. Dimly, I see flashes of my mother's shattering heartbreak, and my own, and I remember how she had screamed in agony, as if she had been the one put to torment, within Angband, the new and more terrible fortress that Morgoth had now built. The treachery had been planned by Sauron and my father had been placed under torment, refusing to give the Enemy satisfaction by any show of pain, fear, or despair, and no information. He had hung from one of the Thangorodrim, fiery mountains that Morgoth had raised. Until the day when Findekano, his cousin, had rescued him on the back of one of the Great Eagles sent by Manwe Sulimo, King of the Ainur. I remember the time I had half-heartedly played in the courtyard, in the palace of Nolofinwe, half-brother to my slain grandfather, when I saw, fluttering in front of me, a moon moth. Then someone had shouted, pointing to the sky, a shout that sent my mother, Nolofinwe, and many others running. My father and Findekano on the back of an Eagle of Manwe.
More memories come flooding, as water does come, flowing from a the ruins of a great dam, such as the ones the ents broke in Isengard. Gondolin. I gazed upon the Hidden City once more, before its fall. It was a pale shadow to the brilliance of the cities of Aman, but its wonders were well known and were told of in awe. I remembered how Turukano had welcomed me, stating his sorrow that my parents were not here, as he blamed, not them, but Feanaro, for the death of his wife Elenwe, who had perished, whilst journeying on the Helcaraxe, the grinding icy wasteland. Itarille had smiled most glad, to see me once more, the cousin she thought never to see again. And then Maeglin.
Irisse, sister to Findekano, Turukano and the valiantly slain Arakano had appeared, once more, in Gondolin, after many a year. We had presumed her dead, and grieved, yet, she arrived with another: a young one dark-haired, and pale, his face bore the same strength and features as most of the Princes of the Noldor, so I had thought to have seen them before, in Valinor, yet I knew him not at all. I was bewildered to his resemblance to my kin. Then Irisse had stepped forth, her black eyes, like onyx stones, shining from between lustrous sweeping lashes, she wore a look of joy and pride as she gazed upon the boy. Her finely-shaped face had glowed, and she called the boy Maeglin- as was his father-name and her name for him was Lomion. He was her son, she stated, with pride, as Turukano gazed in joy upon his sister-son, for the first time. I had watched from a high balcony overlooking the Throne Room and heard Turukano say that all honours would be given to Maeglin, his sister-son. Then the herald had announced another arrival, that of an Avar. I was stunned. Never had I ever gazed upon one of the Avari, before such a moment, all the elves I had met had been from Valinor, yet the Avari had not left these lands. I assumed they were now taken by Morgoth, yet the Avari survived and they had tribes of their own. Here was one now, Eol who claimed my cousin as his wife and Maeglin as his son. He had been brought forth, and Turukano, unwilling to let loose the location of his city, had offered him a choice- stay or die.
Yet Eol had said, "I acknowledge not your kinship,and I refuse your offer of a place amongst your kindred. I come instead for my wife and son. If she will not come, then back to the forests of Nan Elmoth, shall my blood and I go. Come, Maeglin my son!" The Dark Elf was pale, and I learned later, from Maeglin that he despised the light of the sun and moon, and walked in starlight. He was tall, robed in black utterly, and he wore the armour, of a black metal which he had forged. Galvorn. That was the name.
Maeglin did not move, and suddenly Eol, his father, went still and silent. It was as if a spell had took him, I saw then, the sudden twitch of his hand, before he threw the glittering dart. I cried out then, and Irisse, hearing my cry, and seeing the dart, glittering with poison, threw herself in front of her son. The dart had pierced her flesh, and despite the efforts of our healers, she had died that night. I had left, to call for more help, so to Itarille, did her last words go. I knew naught of them, as I never asked, yet I heard she pleaded mercy for Eol, also. Yet mercy was there none, and Turukano, grieving once more for his sister, had ordered the death of her husband. For he had slain his wife, whilst trying to slay his own child, what father could do as such? Eol had been thrown, over the high walls of Gondolin and his last words were, "So now you speak naught, ill-gotten son! Beware, for one day, it is you who shall suffer the same fate!"
Itarille had looked at her new cousin with the light of suspicion in her eyes. "Itarille," I said sternly. "What ill will would you hold against your cousin, who suffered, not only loss, but also betrayal?" "Oh my cousin," Itarille sighed. "Would that I could tell you, most beloved kin of mine, but the pain draws too near my own heart and the shame of yet another reason compells me to turn my face away from his." "What shame?" I demanded. Yet she had not answered. How could she? For hers was the face Maeglin had gazed at the most within the throne room of her father, and she shone, to him, with the light of the Sun. The golden beauty of Itarille had swayed his longing for her heart, as well as her form, and perhaps it was his dark nature, or such premonitions of his slain parents, that along with such a forbidden longing, made her look at him with distaste. For the Eldar wedded not with kin so near.
Maeglin would betray the City, to Morgoth for love of her.
And now my visions cloud to fast, I feared my mind would be destroyed, Elda or no. Immediately I awake- to the present. I sit up gasping, my lungs longing for cool air. Were these memories seen through a waking dream, or with the bounds of sleeping memories of long ago, let loose. I stood up.
Such terrors were better forgotten.
Top: The Kinslaying at Alqualonde. Above Left: Aredhel/Irisse is ensnared by Eol in the forests in order for her to remain and marry him. Above Right: Turgon, Idril and Maeglin, who longs for his cousin, who despised such abominable affections. Bottom: Fingon the Valiant rescues Maedhros the Tall on an Eagle of Manwe, from the Thangorodrim.
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