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Chapter 10 - Rumblings of Discontent
Ingwë gazed around the comfortably appointed dining salon in his home on the slopes of Taniquetil and smiled to himself. It wasn't often that he concerned himself with what would otherwise be considered the day-to-day workings of any of the other Elven realms; but then, it wasn't often that those same day-to-day workings impacted more than just one people. Eönwë had been very clear in his instructions, however, and he had immediately sent forth the messages that called the group of Elven leaders together.
And so now, here they were, some more willingly than others. Thingol had a slightly mischievous twinkle in his eye, and something told the High King that the Sindar was finding the solemn air of his fellow Kings amusing. Finwë looked as if he had swallowed something very sour, and had dressed in dark colors as if to match his mood. Olwë didn't seem much more light-hearted than Finwë, but at least he had the courtesy not to add to the dampening effect.
And now that his guests each had dined well and stood holding newly refilled goblets of wine, Ingwë used the crystal paperweight he'd brought with him and rapped it against the wood of the dining table just loudly enough to draw attention and yet not hard enough to mar the fine finish. "I understand that I have interrupted your busy schedules, gentlemen; so if you don't mind taking your seats again, we can get started…"
Finwë leaned into Olwë and muttered something too softly to be overheard before following instructions. Once all of them were seated at the table again facing the High King of All Elves, a glance from him had all three Kings bowing their heads in unison. "Majesty," Finwë offered him very formally.
"So, now that our wives are involved elsewhere, and we can speak freely, tell me how the departure to Avathar by a few disaffected is impacting our people to the point that the Valar themselves bid us meet to address it," Ingwë ordered in his clear, deep voice.
"They should never have gone, and must have lost their sanity to even consider it!" Finwë exploded. "When Gildor came to me to tell me of the plans, I told him that I would prefer they abandon the idea; but evidently my wishes in this matter meant little."
"And I told Thranduil that I looked forward to seeing what he could do," Thingol laughed heartily.
"You would!"
"Leave it to my brother to make certain we sent mixed messages," Olwë sighed as if deeply disappointed. "I also expressed my misgivings to Cirdan - for all the good they evidently did."
"Frankly, I had begun to wonder if anything would make the face of the son of Oropher shine again; and I was glad to see his fëa strong again," Thingol countered sharply. "What is wrong with going forth from Eldamar anyway? The Valar themselves did not forbid this, so why should we have?"
Ingwë pinched his nose near the bridge. "Now that we all know what each of you thinks of the idea in the first place, and that one of you disagrees with the others, will someone please tell me why the Valar are so interested in our taking charge of the situation left behind in their wake?"
Finwë's face developed a pinched and pained expression. "I honestly do not understand how anyone could not be content with the rest of Time to learn and grow in chosen crafts and skills…"
"And many of my people are equally confused and confounded," Olwë added. "They feel as if this venture is an insult hidden within unseemly discontent."
"Which is why," Thingol growled, his brows suddenly lowered in frustration, "the Vanyar, many of whom never set foot on Ennor in the first place, and the Noldor who remained here when Fëanáro departed, have taken such offense. It must rankle that those they have derided mercilessly for staying behind for so long have turned their backs and walked away. These Vanyar and Noldor are so offended by their victims abandoning them to complain to empty air, that it seems that they now plot and scheme mischief and mayhem against even the loved ones of those who departed."
"Did she write to you as well, then?" Finwë blinked, honestly surprised.
Thingol's anger faded in his own surprise. "Write? To me? Who?"
"Celebrían…"
"I cannot believe that she would write to you – a stranger – and not to me, her own great-grandfather," Olwë ground out, crossing his arms and pushing himself back away from the table.
"But she did not… I have no idea what you are…"
"Whether she wrote to Elu or not is moot. The fact is that she felt she had good grounds for her fears, and I have to agree," Finwë retorted. "Her home was vandalized, her person accosted and threatened in the open marketplace in Alqualondë…"
That bit of news made Ingwë sit forward with a frown. "Is this true?" he demanded of Olwë. "Have you allowed this?"
Olwë uncrossed his arms, but peered around unapologetically. "I did not agree to any specific plans, but I knew of the sentiment of and agree with some of the anger behind it." He leaned forward himself and stabbed a forefinger into the table, glaring at the High King himself. "Besides, it was some of your people – not mine – who gathered outside the gates of Barvedui, claiming some nonsense about a kidnapping…"
Ingwë shrugged. "I had heard some talk in my court of a minor noble going on about how his daughter has vanished, and that she most likely was kidnapped by one of the sons of Elrond Perelda; but everyone here knows the honor of Elrond, and how it extends to his sons…"
"My granddaughter is in fear for her life and the lives of those she shelters at Barvedui," Finwë barked. "She dare not even do her own marketing any longer, for fear of who might accost her. Others there fear because of lack of protection. Barvedui was never intended to be a stronghold."
Thingol's eyebrows soared. "You didst not send her any support, even after her letter?"
"Of course I did!" Finwë roared. "Celebrían is well-liked and honored in my court; I would not leave her defenseless. The point is, she is an innocent being caught up in the chaos…"
"Gentlemen, this gets us nowhere," Ingwë sighed.
A sudden sound of soft bells filled the room, followed by a stentorian voice. "I trust I am not interrupting?"
Immediately, all who were seated had bolted to their feet and were bowing. "You are most welcome, Lord Manwë," Ingwë stated regally. "Might I inquire…"
Manwë's gaze touched each and every Elf in turn. "You are all gathered to discuss those who have decided their fates lie outside the bounds of Eldamar, and the situation that arises now in Eldamar as a result of their departure." It wasn't a question.
"They rebel against the…" Olwë began.
"They distance themselves from their kin who have been less than hospitable since their arrival, and it was our decision not to hinder their actions in the least," Manwë stated simply, moving from in front of the window that overlooked the valley below. Ingwë wondered if the perspective from Manwë's own mansion several hundred paces above looked that much different. Finally, the Vala took an empty seat at Ingwë's right hand and motioned for the Kings to find their seats again. "And the current troubles among your peoples because of their departure merely demonstrate that their main complaint held more truth than any of us – my brothers and sisters included – might want to admit."
"The talk among the members of my court has been almost intolerable," Olwë complained quietly. "I have heard many say that if we allow these others to simply leave, then there is no reason for any to remain in settled lands. They charge that those who go to explore the darkened lands of Avathar commit the same crime as your son did in stealing my ships to go back to Ennor!" His finger pointed at Finwë.
"Except that those who left Eldamar this time stole nothing and killed no one in their eagerness to be off," Finwë countered, swatting at the extended finger. "For all that they might be deluded, or that the taint of living in marred lands for so long might have twisted their thinking, they commit no offense except in the minds of the people they leave behind. They used their own resources to acquire their ships, purchased their supplies through legitimate vendors, and left with a minimum of fuss on their part. As much as I wish they had stayed and tried a little harder to acclimate themselves to life here, I cannot condemn their mode of departure."
"And yet the mood of the people in Eldamar grows ever more fractious and dangerous," Manwë stated calmly, putting an end to the argument. "You are summoned together to find a way to put an end to the chaos now engulfing Eldamar."
"Until the offenders return with their tails between their legs…" Olwë began.
Thingol slammed his fist into the table. "In the first place, you assume that they will fail, which is a foolish thing to do. Thranduil is experienced in dealing with dark and twisted creatures; he did so for well over an age, and with no magic or machinations to hold his realm fast. I would wager anyone here that, within a yen, we will be trading with Avathar for goods we can get nowhere else. In the second place, you all heard Manwë, they are not 'offenders' against anything but some of our wishes."
"The future of trade relations between Avathar and Eldamar are beside the point," Manwë said with soft power, the glasses and utensils on the table rattling slightly and making the collected Kings all gaze at him with some awe and reservation. "Elu Singollo is correct, that those who departed have committed no crime and deserve no punishment. However, each of thee is ultimately responsible for the actions of thy people now, and the potential for crimes here grows greater by the hour. I await the discussion of how you are going to deal with the unrest in Eldamar." The four Kings fell silent, looking around the table at one another. Manwë frowned. "That you will quell the discontent and chaos is not a request," he said, amid more rattling glass and cutlery.
Thingol shrugged. "A collective statement from all of us, read aloud in the courts and published and circulated among all the nobility, expressing our dissatisfaction with any and all acts of violence or agitation against our departed kinsmen or their relatives still in residence here…"
"What about the child that the Pereldar supposedly kidnapped?" Ingwë snapped. "What do you intend that I tell the father of that girl?"
"That attempting to punish the wife of Elrond for something she had no part in flies in the face of honor and justice, for one," Thingol snapped back.
"Celebrían is not as innocent as Finwë portrays her." Olwë's eyes narrowed, and he stabbed his finger into the table. "What about her refusal to allow a representative of the Falathrim to speak to their people who shelter behind her gates? I have a message from Aglarond, asking me to intercede with her and arrange a meeting between his representative and those of his people caught behind the walls of Barvedui."
Ingwë turned to Finwë. "She refuses to allow the representative of the Falathrim to speak to members of his own people?"
Finwë's eyes widened in shock, and he shook his head. "I have heard nothing of this. Celebrían merely stated that she and all who shelter at Barvedui now live in fear."
"There has to be more to the story than this," Thingol shook his head. "To hear Galadriel sing the praises of her daughter, Celebrían would never stand between a rightful lord and his people."
"That is so," Finwë said in a low and outraged tone. "If there are indeed Felessil behind the walls of Barvedui, there must be an over-riding reason that she denies Aglaron's request."
"Once more, you are allowing your petty disagreements to sway you from the task at hand," Manwë said quietly. "However you accomplish it, it is the will of my brothers and sisters that you bring your peoples under control, and do it quickly, before blood is spilt."
Olwë reared back. "Surely it would never reach that point…"
"It already has, once, long ago," Thingol snarled. "Do we really wish to ignore this problem until it happens again? I think a great many people were getting a good deal of satisfaction out of making those who waited until the very end to leave Ennor pay for their so-called 'mistake'. And now that those being maligned have voiced their opinion about their mistreatment by leaving the land, those who delighted in dealing out misery now look for someone new to bear their hubris."
"Slogans carved into gates and garbage tossed over walls is only a step or two away from an armed uprising," Finwë said tersely. "I have watched such chaos foment before, and I have no wish to do so again; but at the same time, I do not wish to have to station an entire company of my army to defend Barvedui pending Elrond's return."
"If it taketh an army, then so be it," Manwë growled, again making the cutlery rattle. "The Blessed Lands shalt not be the site of another blood-bath. Do I make myself clear?" The four Kings all nodded in unison. "Good." He pointed at Ingwë. "Thou wilt rein in your minor nobleman about his daughter by reminding him of the honor of the house of the Pereldar is recognized by Elves and Valar alike." The finger moved to Olwë. "Thou wilt speak to the Lady Celebrían yourself, if needed, to discern her reasons for refusing the representative of the lord of the Falathrim his audience with his people on her estate, and mediate any disputes between them." The finger moved to Finwë. "Thou wilt make certain that Barvedui is well-protected against all who might threaten it, and thou," the finger finally moved to Thingol, "as the only one whose people seem not inclined to dispute this venture, wilt take responsibility for making certain that the joint declaration from all of you concerning the end of all hostilities, rumors, innuendoes and agitation is heard and obeyed in all corners of Eldamar."
"And what should we proclaim as the penalty for violating the terms of this proclamation?" Olwë asked archly.
"Trial in the Ring of Doom," Manwë stated with a tone that chilled all in the room with him, "and if found guilty, banishment to the halls of Mandos for no less than an Age. There will be no further Kinslayings in Aman, and retribution against any who instigateth or abetteth violence will be swift and harsh this time." He gazed sternly at all of them. "Each of thee haveth thine tasks, according to the concerns and suggestions you have stated; I shall hold each and every one of thee responsible for seeing thy separate parts through successfully."
Four Kings all nodded agreement with gaping mouths; and with a gentle chorus of unseen bells, the Vala simply evaporated from view.
"I hate it when they do that," Finwë muttered sourly.
"Be glad they do not come and go in flashes of lightening that leave burn marks in the flooring," Thingol shook his head and then looked at the High King. "Is there anything more that needs to be said on the subject, Majesty?"
Ingwë shook his head. "All that remains is for us to discuss the wording of that proclamation and then all sign one document that we shall then send to the copiers. Let us take a small respite now, and meet back here at eight bells. Finwë, if you would make arrangements to have parchment and writing supplies delivered as soon as possible, that would help things along. Olwë, as you have the best hand of all of us, I would appreciate it if you would agree to be our recording secretary for the nonce."
Both Finwë and Olwë rose and bowed, looking quite stunned.
Ingwë crooked a finger at the Sindar. "Elu? I would have you walk with me for a moment while your brothers confer and prepare for the rest of our session. I believe that you understand those who have left us better than the rest of us, and I would hear your thoughts on the matter of how to deal with a new realm in Avathar, should such come to pass."
"Delighted, Majesty." Thingol rose in concert with Ingwë and with a smirk left the other two Kings looking at each other with stunned expressions on their faces. Ingwë sighed as he followed Thingol through the door, remembering days when both Olwë and Finwë were far less somber and tense and wishing he knew how to rediscover the charming Elves he remembered from many, many ennin ago.
oOoOo
"You heard me correctly." Astaron gazed around the small salon at some of his closer friends at court. "My youngest child, my beautiful Liraiwë, has been stolen from me. Stolen, I say!" He nodded, his scowl as fierce as he could make it. "By those mongrel pereldar and their sacrilegious fantasies of creating another Eldamar away from the Valar!"
"I have seen your daughter and Elrohir Elrondion, Astaron, and she did not look as if she were doing anything not of her own choice." drawled Mánayar, a distant relative of King Olwë's by marriage. He didn't even bother to straighten from where he lounged against the jamb of the doorway into the Palace garden, but tossed back his golden hair with a casual hand in an affected gesture. "And, if you remember, the Pereldar are favored by both Valar and sovereign alike, so it is not as if she were consorting with a fisherman or…"
"Yes, Elrond is favored, and yet he refuses to accept any of the honors that have been offered him. He counsels no King, refusing them all – even his own former lord in Endor. What kind of man does not have some loyalty that can be called upon?" This was a favorite topic, and Astaron smiled at the thought of the opening he was being given. "What is more, this 'venture' they have undertaken is going against the wishes of the King, and most likely the Valar themselves. And we all remember what happened the last time.."
"Then again," Mánayar replied, finally pushing himself erect and walking to the center of the room to face him, wine goblet dangling indolently from a limp hand, "to hear others speak of it, your outrage at thy daughter's departure comes more from the idea that you just might not be able to insinuate your way into the High King's relations by selling the girl in marriage to Minaringwë."
Astaron's mouth worked angrily, but without a sound escaping for a moment. "Selling?" he demanded finally. "Is it not a father's responsibility to…"
"Selling. There is no other word for it." Mánayar's voice was insolent and damning. "Do you honestly think that your actions have not been noted by those of us who have been here at least as long as you? You have three daughters, and with each one, you have sought to ally yourself with the royal family a mote closer. The first two were more pliable, doing as they were told. Your youngest, however…" The wine goblet waved at the others in the room, who stood staring at the exchange. "I cannot say I blame your Líraiwë for running away, though. I understand Minaringwë has some personal habits that are… appalling, to say the least."
Several others in the room snickered behind politely shielding hands, but Astaron gaped. "The point is," he continued, trying to regain control of the situation, "these mongrels have done little but cause trouble wherever they go. The progeny of the first King from the Isle of Gifts – Elrond's own brother's spawn – even had the audacity to attempt to invade Eldamar, if you remember!"
"You would blame Elrond for the failings of his distant nephews?" came a scathing voice from the other side of the room.
Put that way, even Astaron had to agree it sounded ludicrous. "The point is that half-breed blood inspires rebellion against the proper order of things. Eärendil pulls the Valar into battle against Moringotto. The distant children of a mortal Elros invade Eldamar in an effort to acquire immortality for the Second-born against the design of Eru Himself. Now, Elrond and his sons lead gullible men into this mad exploration of lands long abandoned by Ainur and probably even Eru, and they manipulate innocent women into leaving the protection of their families to go along. And, it seems, even close association to the mongrel breed taints those who are of better lineage, or have you not heard that Celebrían refuses to allow the duly appointed lord of the Falathrim to speak to Círdan's folk who have taken shelter in Barvedui?" He folded his arms over his chest and glared at Mánayar, challenging him to come up with a rebuttal to that.
"Where did you hear such calumny?" A young Noldo named Arairon pushed his way to the center of the room in a huff. "There must be some mistake."
Astaron lifted his nose and gazed haughtily down at the young courtier, newly arrived from his parents' estate outside Tirion. "There is no mistake. The news was all over this morning; I am frankly surprised you are unaware of it. She keeps a representative of Aglaron from speaking with and checking into the conditions endured by his father's people – and all at the behest of her husband!"
"This I have heard as well," Mánayar admitted with a wry expression. "There are rumors that the Falathrim at Barvedui are being held prisoner there."
Arairon's face was livid. "You would accuse the grand-daughter of Arafinwë himself of the basest of all…"
Astaron pasted on the kindly smile of a shark. "I merely report the news as I have heard it. If it is false, where are those who would know the reality? Why have no efforts been made to disseminate the 'truth' of the matter?" He gestured around the room at those who were nodding in agreement. "I am certain we all would like to believe the Lady Celebrían blameless of any wrong-doing. But the fact remains that a complaint has been lodged against her by those whose word is beyond reproach…"
"The Lady Celebrían's word is also beyond reproach, as is that of her mother." Arairon glared at Astaron. "What says the Lady Galadriel of this?"
"As if we could trust her word," came another derisive voice. "Her husband, once one of the most powerful lords in all of Endor, refused to take part in court life in much the same way as the Perelda. He, too, joined in this unspeakable venture. She is as tainted by the influence of those mongrels as the Lady Celebrían."
Astaron smiled quietly, finding himself immensely satisfied with his efforts that day if others were now starting to carry his tune for him. If Arairon's expression were any indication, word would be hastening back to Noldorin keeps of the betrayal two of their noblewomen had committed, all because of those despicable, mongrel pereldar.
Canyaneldor had been right: this was almost too easy.
oOoOo
Nallango sat tall in his saddle, watching with sharp grey eyes over the column of seventy-five soldiers he'd been instructed to take to Barvedui, the Peredhil estate outside Alqualondë. He didn't particularly enjoy being this close to the sea or to Alqualondë. Too many bad memories waited for him at the waterfront; memories of deeds he hadn't really wanted to do, and of a sword piercing his throat and sending him into Mandos for a stay that had been infinitely too long.
But his Lord had commanded him to take responsibility for safeguarding the welfare of his grand-daughter and those who looked to her for safety, and so he was simply not looking in the direction of the wharf. Thankfully, Barvedui was located some distance outside the city, nestled into a small valley in the foothills to the northwest, and so he'd not even had to enter the city at all, or deal directly with bad memories. The road they were marching down was lined on either side with woods, giving Barvedui a remoteness that not many truly enjoyed.
He had heard rumors of this place, even in Tirion, of how it was very much like the stronghold the Peredhel had built in Endor and then turned into a refuge for all who sought shelter, but he hadn't given them much credence – until now. There was a whisper of peace in these woods that reminded him of the quiet sanctuary within Lórien, where he had spent several yeni healing from the anger caused by learning of the fate of those he had followed before. The sound of rushing water, of water tumbling freely, was like a soft music that soothed without making a production of itself. And behind that, he could hear…
"Lúnafindë!"
"Sir!" His second trotted back from where he had been leading the columns.
"Ride ahead. I do not like what my ears are telling me."
Lúnafindë lifted his head, and Nallango could tell the man was listening with all his strength. Suddenly, his second clenched his hand to his chest, wheeled his mount, and sped off to race ahead of the foot soldiers. He vanished over the crest of the hill the road had slowly been climbing within moments.
"Step lively, now," Nallango called out to the seventy-five in his company, and then began calling out a new cadence that not quite doubled the speed the men were moving.
It seemed as if only a few moments passed before Lúnafindë was galloping back towards him. "Sir! There are about twenty outside the gates of Barvedui!"
Nallango's eyes narrowed. His Lord had warned him to prepare for trouble; it seemed that they were going to be walking straight into it the moment they arrived. "Do they attack? Do they seek to bring down the gate?"
"No, sir, but they are most unruly." Lúnafindë's face folded in disgust. "They have a wain full of spoiled meat and fruits that they are tossing both at the gates themselves and over the gates and walls…"
"How far ahead?"
"Less that half a league, sir."
Nallango wrinkled his nose. "I would that we were closer. But we shall be there soon enough. Any armed men among the mob?"
Lúnafindë shook his head. "None that I could see, but I did not get close enough to make note of every man there. I figured you might appreciate the advantage of surprise."
"You figured correctly." That was one of the things Nallango appreciated most about his second in command: the man's unfailing ability to anticipate his strategies. Knowing that the mob was most likely civilians just causing noise and trouble made his job in the short term much easier. With luck, just the sight of armed men would put a run on all but the most foolhardy.
But knowing that there was at least a minor confrontation ahead made him wish that it were worth making his men jog. No doubt the Lady Celebrían would be distressed by the mess being made at her gates, but once the mob was dispersed, his men could handle both a clean-up detail as well as establish a protective presence. Nallango leaned forward and patted his stallion on the side of the neck. "No serious action today, my friend, after all." Alago tossed his head and pranced in place for a moment before continuing to keep pace with the company.
The minutes seemed endless, but finally Nallango and Lúnafindë crested the rise and could gaze down at the gates of Barvedui. The sound of the jeering and taunts from those who seemed to be having great sport tossing refuse over the tall gates and walls echoed clearly from the rocky cliffs that bordered the protected valley beyond.
At a silent gesture, the soldiers spread out into a line to advance on the mob, and then moved in. It wasn't long before someone in the crowd took a backwards glance and called out a warning. Nallango gave a sharp order, and the soldiers drew their swords as if of one mind and continued forward, making it impossible for any of the mob causing trouble to escape.
Finally, once the wain carrying the refuse was behind the soldiers, Nallango called out a halt. "Who leads you?" he demanded in a booming voice.
"No one," a saucy voice came from the midst of the mob. "We're just letting our neighbor know what we think of…"
"By the order of King Finwë, you are to leave off and return to your homes at once!" Nallango didn't intend to give these people the slightest chance to negotiate, or even voice their complaints. "There are proper channels through which you may voice your discontent, and you are advised in future to use them and not your current strategy."
One brave man stepped forward. "Who are you to challenge us? We do not follow Finwë. Our Lord is…"
"Your Lord will be just as outraged as mine to know that you do this," Nallango interrupted him without remorse. "If you do not wish to plead your case before him after spending time in our Lord's dungeons, I would suggest you form a single file line and begin the long walk back to the city."
"But… our horses…" came a plaintive voice.
Nallango's eyes narrowed. "What of them?"
"You do not expect us to just leave them here…"
The second in command looked over at his Captain with a smirk, and Nallango smirked back. "That is exactly what we expect you to do. The horses you leave behind will be taken to Tirion, where you can claim them from the King Finwë's stables after explaining to him why he should return them to you. After three months, any horses not claimed will become property of King Finwë and used as mounts for his cavalry."
"That's…"
"You cannot do that…"
"Our Lord will not stand for…"
Nallango merely crossed his hands over the pommel of his saddle. "You may bring complaints against me, of course, if you wish. My name is Nallango, and I am Captain of this company. I am certain your Lord will want to hear from each and every one of you why you feel you have been… abused by me in this manner, especially as I have just given you instructions on how to reclaim your property. You might also remember, as you step forward to complain, that the Lady Celebrían is your Lord's great-granddaughter as well." He straightened slowly. "Now, the time has come for you to depart this place." When no one moved, he shrugged. "Those who remain will be detained by my men, and marched back to Tirion to stand trial for attempted violence against a member of the royal family. It is your choice, gentlemen, whether you walk back to Alqualondë voluntarily or in chains."
With a gesture, he told Lúnafindë to take charge of the small string of horses tethered not far from the wain, and his men opened a hole in their line so that all who wanted to begin the long walk back to Alqualondë could do so. Slowly the sound of frustrated, resigned muttering grew audible, and in small groups of two or four, the men turned their backs on the Barvedui gates and began the trek homeward.
Nallango ordered five of his men to follow along behind the routed mob to make certain that they all did indeed return to the city, and then rode forward to the gates. "Hello the gates!" he called out in accented Sindarin. "In the name of King Finwë, I greet the Lady of Barvedui."
There was a moment of silence, and then he could hear the heavy bar that held the gate against the outside being drawn aside. The carved wood, defaced by rough carvings of insulting epithets and soiled where rotting filth had been thrown and fallen away, slowly moved just enough so that a man's head could peer out from between them. "From the King, you say?" he inquired carefully, and Nallango could see that he held something in his hand that was out of sight – most likely a sword.
Nallango swung down from his mount, straightened his cuirass, and marched smartly to stand in front of the small opening, then saluted. "I am Nallango, son of Tundaldo of Tirion, Captain of the Fifth Company of His Majesty King Finwë's troops. We were ordered to provide needed security for the Lady Celebrían after she sent a letter expressing her reservations about her safety…"
The gate swung open wider even as the man's face broke into a smile to match. "You are a welcome sight, Captain, as you can imagine. Most of those who were the warriors among us have departed for a time, and the Lady was unprepared to have to defend her home from such…" He'd been correct: the man had hidden a sword out of sight when the gate had been cracked. That sword was now hastily thrust back into its scabbard. "I am Aranor; my daughter is the wife of Elladan Elronnion. Welcome to Barvedui!"
Nallango found his hand clasped warmly in a grip that was strong and sure. This Aranor might not have been warrior trained, but he was probably capable of using that sword against invading merchants, townspeople and ne'er-do-wells if the necessity arose. "Allow me to distribute my men and send word back to the King of what we found here, and then I would speak to the Lady Celebrían, if I could." He gestured to Lúnafindë. "Choose a man, take one of the spare horses we now control, and get word to Tirion and the King of the situation. Ask if there are any further orders His Majesty would wish carried out here, and then hurry back. Then set a detail to clean up this mess, both outside and inside, and prepare guard duty rosters." He turned back to Aranor. "The Lady Celebrían, please?"
"This way." Aranor took a couple of steps and then stretched out his arms to lead Nallango into the estate. The immediate vicinity of the wall was littered with garbage, enough of which had been chucked over the gates and walls that it was quite noisome. Considering the beauty of the property beyond the reach of the Vanyarin throw, it was a affront to more than just one sense.
"My men will be cleaning this up…"
"We have pits dug, back in the orchards, where the garbage can be put to good use," Aranor answered quietly. "I am certain the mess was meant to offend and incite, but the Lady chooses to have us think of it as free fertilizer." Aranor beckoned a man in simple tunic and leggings closer. "Brongalad, please assist the men in cleaning… this… and show them where we have been putting our neighbors' offerings."
The golden-haired man gave a graceful bow, and Nallango's lips twitched into a grin as he watched the man head over toward the gates. "Fertilizer? I am certain the garbage was not intended to aid in growing Barvedui's crops this season."
"No doubt, but the Lady reminds us that attitude and outlook are often the difference between victory and defeat." The cobbled and well-traveled road wound around a twist in the valley, and suddenly Nallango found himself facing a beautiful set of buildings that seemed as if they had been grown in place rather than constructed. Cliffs rose sharply behind the compound, and the sound of water falling and running quickly was louder, more prominent, but no less soothing. With all the buildings, stone was carefully carved to mimic trees and vines, and roofs were low and framed by the branches of the ancient trees that had not been disturbed at all in the construction. The roof tiles were the color of the cliffs, which only helped the buildings seem even more as if it had always belonged here. The tops of trees could be seen everywhere, as if the house had been built around everything that had been here.
Accustomed to the more ostentatious architecture of Tirion, with its towers and more stolid stonework, Nallango had to blink. This was a style he'd not seen before, most likely one that had evolved on those eastern shores under constant threat of darkness. The design soothed and comforted the eyes, even as the music of the water calmed the spirit. Suddenly he wasn't so unhappy at his new posting. This was a place that he could learn to appreciate.
Before the open door of the largest building stood an exquisite woman who could only be Celebrían, great granddaughter of Finwë and Olwë and daughter of the Lady Artanis. Slightly behind her stood another silver-haired beauty who put a hand on the Lady's shoulder.
Aranor led the way to the steps. "My Lady," he said, bowing deeply. "May I present Captain Nallango, just arrived at the head of a company of your grandfather's men to vouchsafe your safety and that of all who find refuge here."
Nallango's eyes narrowed slightly at the odd wording. Nevertheless, he bowed deeply. "We have put the run on those who were gathered outside your gates, Lady, and are instructed to remain here for as long as you continue to experience trouble."
"I am certain that Aranor has told you of your welcome, but allow me to repeat it. You and your men are most welcome in Barvedui." Celebrían's voice was a mellow alto with the light accenting that was so characteristic of those who had stayed long in Endor. "This is Celebriel, my daughter by marriage. Aranor, her father, you have met. This," she said, indicating another quiet man wearing a sword but looking anything but like a warrior, "is Menester, my acting seneschal. How many men have you?"
"We are seventy-five, Lady. Your great-grandfather wished there to be no question that you would have sufficient protection."
"Menester will show you to the barracks where our own unwed warriors were once housed," Celebrían said with a quick look at her seneschal, who gave a shallow bow. "If you will follow me, Captain, we can offer you some refreshment while we discuss our needs."
Nallango retrieved his bundle of belongings from behind his saddle and then allowed another simply dressed man take very capable charge of his spirited stallion. "We have a few more horses than you might think, Lady," he said, remembering suddenly. "We… um… temporarily relieved your tormentors of their primary mode of transportation to this remote spot. If there is room in your stables or corrals, we would house them here until we are secure enough that I can delegate men to take them to Tirion."
Celebriel put her hand up to her mouth in a soft snicker. "You took their horses, Captain?" Even Celebrían turned and blinked in surprise.
"I was thinking that the walk back might give the majority of them something to consider when pondering a return visit; and I let them know that they could reclaim their property by requesting them back from King Finwë himself – in Tirion. The walk there might reinforce any perceptions begun this day."
The Lady of Barvedui threw her head back and laughed, the sound bouncing from the nearby cliffs and echoing through the valley like a crystal bell. "I believe that you and I shall get along quite nicely, Captain. That is a move that I would have expected from my husband's Battle Master, Glorfindel; it is good to see that his common sense and humor are not such isolated instances as I thought."
Nallango followed Celebrían into a gracious salon bounded on one side by a wall of windows that looked out into a surprisingly natural-looking garden where wildflowers grew wherever they wished between tall trees. Surprisingly, the garden seemed to be situated in the middle of the house itself, for the reflection of more glass could barely be seen through the leaves. "Your home is quite beautiful, Lady, and most unusual."
"It is similar to Imladris," Celebrían explained as she gestured to a padded bench near the garden window and handed him a goblet filled with a delightfully light and restorative juice instead of wine. "My husband was ever happiest seeing to his home; I wanted him to get the same satisfaction here."
Everything in him understood exactly what she meant, and he couldn't help be just a little jealous that she had been allowed to make her home here while he could only visit. "I did hear something that is of concern to me, however," he said after another sip of his drink. "Aranor said that there were some who had found refuge here?"
Celebrían nodded. "It is not well-known, but those who once looked to Círdan for guidance have become a divided people. Those who did not agree with his taking part in the journey to Avathar remain in their homes on Tol Eressëa, performing their usual tasks, and they now call Círdan's son Aglaron Lord. Those who chose to continue following Círdan, however, have either accompanied him over the sea or come here." She turned, poured herself some of the beverage, and then sat down at the other end of the comfortable bench. "Yet, despite King Olwë being informed of this development, the new Lord of the Falathrim on Tol Eressëa has decided that he has the right to order me to allow his representative to speak to those who follow Círdan."
"And you refuse him permission to do so?" Nallango was curious.
"I was instructed to do so by the Lord of these people, no less than Círdan himself. He said that his people should not be put upon or pressured by those who remain. The gates are always unlocked for those within who might wish to leave, but those who wish eventually to follow Círdan to Avathar have no desire to speak to Aglaron's representative." She shrugged and held the base of her goblet to her thigh. "And for this, I understand I am now accused of kidnapping and holding people prisoner."
"I would like to speak to these people, to satisfy myself that they genuinely have no desire to speak to the representative; and then I shall send a message to His Majesty, asking him to intercede on your behalf." Nallango took a healthy draught of his beverage. "I believe that much of the trouble here is because few understand the complexities of the situation."
"And because there are those who so revile my husband that they will take every opportunity to make trouble for him – and now me, in his absence."
"Perhaps so, Lady, but you are no longer without allies. My Lord knows of your distress. He shall soon hear of the entirety of the matter."
Celebrían smiled gently and tapped her goblet to his. "Let us hope this trouble is so easily dealt with. Oftentimes, it takes more than common sense to convince those who find great entertainment in making others uncomfortable to find some other way to spend their time."
oOoOo
She could hear them, almost the moment that she left her apartment to head to the audience chamber. The invitation hadn't been so much an invitation as a command, after all. But everywhere she went, she could hear them, some of them laughing at her, some of them pitying her. Others…
Celeborn! Galadriel shot her husband yet another fiery telepathic growl which, as had all the others for a very long time, went unanswered or even acknowledged. It would be a very long time, if ever, that she'd forgive him for everything that he'd done or not done lately, most especially his insistence on going along with that ridiculous expedition to Avathar. His place was at her side, and she'd waited longer than reasonable for him to come to her.
He'd taken far too long in deciding to finally cross the Sundering Sea, and never made any secret of the fact that in many ways wished that he'd never left Ennor. He'd never bothered to interest himself in the business of her grandfather's court, even when it was obvious that Finwë would have welcomed someone of Celeborn's strategic genius and diplomacy. He had taken a lowly scribe's position instead, preferring to practice his calligraphy over assuming any of the posts that she with her connections could have acquired for him. But he'd gone running the moment Elladan's letter had arrived and never once looked back or asked her what she thought.
And now he was gone, leaving her to face all of the courtiers and nobility with their pity and their rampant rumors alone. Celeborn was gone, Elrond was gone, her grandsons were gone, and she wasn't speaking to her daughter any longer. She was alone. No one understood.
Galadriel lifted her head and tried not to look half as distressed as she was as she walked down the marble-tiled corridor from the family wing. But try as she might, she couldn't convince herself to meet the gazes of those she passed on the way.
"Lady Artanis! A moment of your time…" A hand caught at her elbow as she passed.
"The hour of the audience is nearly at hand," she reminded the man bluntly, trying unsuccessfully to jerk her arm from his keeping. His touch had awakened the sense of weight and coldness that had kept her from sleeping well of late, and now her hand ached. The man who owned the restrictive hand was shorter than she was, and she looked down her nose at him, both literally and figuratively. "And my name is Galadriel now. I wish people could remember that." The only name she wanted was the one he had given her, but now he was gone…
"Galadriel, Artanis, whichever. What I want to know…" The hand tightened on her elbow painfully and dragged her to a full stop. "…is whether you approve of your daughter's behavior of late?"
As if surfacing from an unpleasant waking dream, Galadriel stared at the man. I know him, I think. "I have no idea what you are speaking of," she stated firmly, pulling herself as tall as she could. "Do I know you?"
"I am the ambassador from the Falathrim," the man stated, his face showing his astonishment.
No wonder he was shocked. They had been dinner partners at her brother's home only a ten-day earlier, and had spoken long into the evening about a great many things. His name was Mitheneb, she remembered now. Why did I forget? How did I forget? "What business have you in judging my daughter?" she demanded, struggling to gain control of the situation again.
The ambassador's face was shocked. "Have you heard none of the news then? Your daughter holds some of my people hostage behind the walls of her home…"
"Celebrían would never do such a thing!" Galadriel was beyond incensed. "My daughter is honorable, and would never hold anyone against their will. Why do you tell me such lies?"
"It is no lie, Lady. Even now, her gates are under siege by those who disapprove of the manner in which her sons also coerced a poor, innocent Midhren girl to sail with them. The child's father is convinced that she, too, was kidnapped…"
"My grandsons would never do such a thing either!" She didn't need to look around to see that her raised voice had gathered a small audience. "And I will thank you for not spreading false rumors about my family, lest I need to put my case to the King himself and ask for some satisfaction."
That made the man back up a step and loosen his hold on her. She pulled her arm in close to her body, spying her father at the end of the hallway, just outside the audience chamber door. "Excuse me. I, at least, intend to be where I was commanded to be to hear whatever pronouncement is so important." She pushed through the circle of gaping nobility and hurried along down the corridor, cradling her hand against her chest.
"My daughter," Arafinwë greeted her as she approached him. His gaze was loving, as always, but now with a touch of worry. "Are you not well? You are pale…"
"Have you heard the rumors?" she demanded, her eyes wide and shocked.
Arafinwë surrounded her shoulders with his arm and gave her a quick hug. "I hear many things in these halls of late. Of which rumors do you speak?"
"That Celebrían holds some of the sea-folk hostage? That Elladan or Elrohir have kidnapped some Vanyar girl?"
"Oh. That." Her father's voice had gone flat. "I was warned that such falsehoods were being spread, but I had no idea that the nobility was doing their part in the dissemination. I will have to bring this to the King's attention…" He blinked and looked at her with worry. "Daughter, you are not well."
"How could they believe that Celebrían would do anything so despicable? She may support the ridiculous expedition, but she is an honorable person. And I hear the gates of Barvedui are under siege!" She grabbed at his hand. "Atar, we have to do something!"
"Peace, child. I believe our Father-King is intending to address that problem with his proclamation. But I worry about you, my dear."
Galadriel shook her head, dismissing his concern even as she massaged her right hand absently. "I am fine. Well, I am well enough with Celeborn gone on this misadventure. I asked him not to go, as you well know, but would he listen?"
"Artanis…"
"Galadriel!" She pulled away and stared at him hotly. "How many times must I tell you and everyone else that my name is Galadriel now?" Her right hand began to toy with the ring on her left forefinger.
"Daughter…"
"I truly am not feeling well after all, Atar. Will you make my apologies to the King? I think I need to…" She gave the ring a wicked twist and turned away, walking back down the corridor towards her apartment and ignoring utterly the looks of astonishment on the faces of all those she passed yet again.
Arafinwë's gaze finally met and held that of Mitheneb, the ambassador from Tol Eressëa. "She is not handling the separation from her husband well," he said, feeling as if he needed to offer an excuse for her erratic behavior.
"I meant to confront her, but not to…" Mitheneb turned to watch the door to her apartment slowly close. "But come to think of it, she did not look well at all. Do you suppose that she is ill?"
"She has…" Arafinwë caught himself. He didn't know this new ambassador to the court well enough to be confiding anything. "I shall have to consider what to do," he admitted instead, and then turned to gesture toward the audience chamber. "It is nearly four bells. We should go in, if we wish to have a decent spot."
His worried glance back down the corridor allowed Mitheneb to enter the room before him.
oOoOo
"You have what?" Astaron had to work not to let his mouth hang open in shock.
"Keep your voice down," Canyaneldor shushed at him angrily, "and close your mouth. You look like you have lost all reason." He looked around, apparently was satisfied that no one had found their conversation interesting, and leaned closer over the table. "I said that I have thirty men, all armed and trained in the warrior arts, just waiting for the word to storm Barvedui and take the wife of the Perelda hostage against her husband's return."
Astaron shook his head, both in denial as well as to clear it so he could think. "You must be mad! Armed men invading Barvedui? Are you intending another Kinslaying?"
"Do not be ridiculous. There are no warriors left behind those walls," Canyaneldor hissed, his eyes taking on a strange glow. "There are maybe a few there who would try to stand against us, but other than that…" He grinned coldly. "The distress of his wife should draw the Pereldar back to Eldamar, where we will be waiting for them. They will bring your daughter back to you, and stand trial for kidnapping and coercion."
Astaron stared at his neighbor, wondering why he had ever thought to cooperate with this man's plans. Angry he might be at the fact that Líraiwë had escaped his plans for her future – and his – but he had never intended for things to go this far, or get this dangerous. "I don't know…"
"This is what you wanted, you told me." Canyaneldor's voice sounded insulted. "You have been making your case at court, you have told me. It is a little late for you to suddenly change your mind."
"I want my daughter back, of course, but…"
"And this is the way we force them to bring her back," he hissed and leaned forward over the empty mugs. "This is Tirion, my friend, but those Pereldar settled in Alqualondë. It is an obscenity that we allow anyone remotely associated with these… Kinslayers… to find their homes among us, after all they did." His hand clenched into a fist held so tightly that the knuckles turned white. "You are Vanyarin, you cannot understand. My father, my uncle, my two brothers – all dead at their hands. And now, these murderers return and live among us as if nothing had ever happened…"
"But Elrond was not even…"
"It does not matter! Elrond was raised by the two eldest sons of the worst of them and has obvious Noldorin leanings. His blood is tainted with Maiarin and Mortal blood. He is an insult, and his sons an affront as well. Their mother is Noldor..."
"You forget, Celeborn is Silvan…"
But Canyaneldor was no longer listening. "All Noldor deserve to wait in Mandos until the very end, when they can be the meat shield for the rest of us against Morgoth himself. They deserve nothing but our scorn and our swords." He reached out and grasped Astaron's hand tightly. "We need only a few more men, and then we will take the Peredhel's women and force them home, where we can deal with them properly at last. Be ready for the word."
He drew his cloak tight around him and rose to stalk toward the tavern door. Astaron stared after him, his blood running cold. Open rebellion – open armed rebellion – against the Pereldar could not only spell the end of any hopes of bettering his standing in the court, but bring down the doom of the Valar about his ears should anyone actually get hurt or killed. What was more, he knew all too well that no suit against the sons of Elrond would stand; Líraiwë had been very clear in stating the obvious: she had reached her majority, and was betrothed.
"Can I get you anything else?" The tavern maid brushed against his shoulder enticingly. "Wine? Something stronger, perhaps?"
"Wine," he sighed and reached for his coin pouch and handed over the coppers needed to bring another mug.
He was trapped. Canyaneldor was right: he had been speaking out against the Pereldar and their departure for Avathar at court for days, slowly convincing some of the minor nobility of the validity of his complaint and worries on behalf of his daughter. Were violence to erupt toward the Lady Celebrían, he would undoubtedly be one of the first to be assumed involved. He'd never thought that Canyaneldor would carry things this far. Making mischief for an upstart was one thing; an armed uprising against the granddaughter of a King was something else entirely.
Worse, he didn't dare go home and try to talk to Calimaiwë about this. She had grown fond of Aurin, the head of the kitchens of the Pereldar. All it would take would be for her to let slip a little information, and…
He barely acknowledged the arrival of the brimming mug of cheap wine, but caught it up and took a deep drink the moment the maid turned away. There had to be a way out of the impossible situation he was in that didn't end up costing him his honor and reputation at court. There had to be!!
Elven Vocabulary
Atar - (Q) father
Belain - (S) the powers (Q. Valar)
ennin - (S) multiple periods of 144 years (Q. yeni)
faer - (S) soul, spirit
Moringotto - (Q) Morgoth
Perelda - (Q) half-elf
Pereldar - (Q) half-elves (Elrond & his sons)
Valar – Q. the Powers (pl. Valar)
yeni - (Q) multiple periods of 144 years (S. ennin)
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