Chasing Mirages by Russandol

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Mistrust

Eönwë gets into trouble in Lindon.

 

A big thank you to Darth Fingon for his theory about the etymology of a particular obscure term.

 

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22. Mistrust

 

My life over the next four days was reduced to a simple routine: work, sleep, work, sleep, with short breaks to eat, sometimes on my feet. From before dawn to after sunset I toiled tirelessly, and my nights, after the first one, were spent in the oblivion of dreamless slumber, triggered by the utter fatigue of my hröa. Elrond had not returned, and I was hoping that he and the King might have forgotten about me.

I only exchanged a minimum of words with my fellow stable hands and the horsemaster Tauras, mostly greetings and farewells, and the odd brief response during shared meals. I usually ate in a cramped firelit room in the lodge immediately outside the stable gates, in exchange for part of my meagre wages.

As a reward for my efforts, Tauras promoted me to assistant groom, dealing with visitors’ horses. Also, on the fifth day from my arrival, he bid me join him and his staff in the customary weapons drill, which took place twice a week, every Orgilion and Orgaladhad, still called Elenya and Aldúya by many.[1] I learnt that it was mandatory for all household men in the service of the King, from noblemen to kitchen staff and grooms, to gather in the training grounds for practice, except through dispensation by one of the King’s weapon masters. Exemptions for ill health required written agreement by at least two of the city healers, handed in to a lord or guild master. I still had my stitches, but they did not bother me and I did not wish to attract attention.

I was not concerned. However gruelling the drill, this was not my untrained hröa from three yéni ago. I was fit and able. In fact, the key difficulty would be to hide my skills.

I almost succeeded.

For hours, we went through forms that tested my patience to the limit, because of the need to remain slow, feign clumsiness and make deliberate mistakes with a rough wooden sword. After pounding straw pells for a while, we were grouped for sparring by ability. Despite offering several openings and refraining from immediately exploiting the flaws of my adversaries’ defences, I could not avoid becoming the winner in my group. Then, I had the misfortune of facing an arrogant lordling, a certain Daeguin, born to survivors of Gondolin, who had recently spouted abuse at us grooms over the matter of a lost horseshoe. He had especially laid into me, lowliest in the pecking order and still unfamiliar with the protocols and workings of the stable. I had not risen to his provocation, but remained silent and even polite in the face of his rudeness, to the point where Tauras, ever the demanding task master, had later praised my forbearance.

When my tormentor recognised me, he muttered insults under his breath and loudly lamented the lack of worth of his opponent. He was not half as cocky when I still stood undefeated and not tired at all after what to him must have seemed like hours, when sweat and exertion were seeping out of every pore of his skin. By then, to my dismay, we had attracted a vast crowd, wagering loudly around us. My fellow grooms stood at the front, cheering for me. Elrond was also there, silent and appraising. I realised I could not throw away the match, as I had first intended to. I toyed with my adversary for a bit longer, until I grew bored, then I made him lose his balance, flung the blade from his hand, and poised mine at his throat.

‘Yield,’ I cried.

‘Never to you, miserable kinslayer!’ he hissed.

Clearly, rumours had spread like fire in the handful of days since my arrival. My vague, ambiguous answers and deliberate omissions and silences had proved to be effective in building my new identity as a dour, taciturn follower of the House of Fëanor.

Red with rage, Daeguin raised his hand, as though to slap me. I dropped my sword and lunged, grabbing him around the neck. I wrestled him down to the ground onto his stomach and crushed his face against the dirt.  A moment later I had his head in a lock from which he could not escape.

‘Yield,’ I repeated coldly, applying a slight pressure on his throat.

Daeguin struggled vainly. In the end he complied. ‘I yield,’ he whispered hoarsely. But everyone around us heard him and that was enough for me. I released him, and would have walked away, had it not been for the group of warriors who grasped me.

‘You are to come with us,’ their leader commanded.

Given that two of his men already held my wrists and arms tightly, I had little alternative but to do as I was told. I heard the loud protests of the other grooms, ecstatic after the trouncing of our common foe.

I was marched back through the West Gate and into the Keep, towards a low building to one side of the King’s House. We waited outside, until Elrond arrived and led us into a room with a huge table, on which several maps were spread. He removed the weights on their corners, rolled them carefully and put them away, before he turned to us.

‘Release him,’ he ordered. ‘Leave us and stay at the ready outside.’

Once the door was closed behind the warriors, he came closer, until he stood next to me. He might be seeking to intimidate me, but I had endured far more demanding inspections under Mairon's steel eyes.

‘I was wrong to trust you,’ he began.

‘Lord Daeguin insulted me,’ I retorted. ‘I may be a servant, but I have the right to defend myself.’

‘That overproud scion of the House of the Heavenly Arch has had it coming for a long time, and he will get a good tongue-lashing or worse from the King.’ He waved his hand, irritated. ‘But you well know this is not what I mean. Can you explain why you fight like the Men that once served the Dark Lord?’ he queried dryly, going straight to the point.

By then, I had learnt that Elrond ran the spy network for Gil-galad.

‘I never served Morgoth or his allies, my lord,’ I replied calmly.

‘Few masters know some of the moves you used, let alone teach them.’

‘I learnt them long ago from men who dwell in distant lands, but not those who fought alongside the Black Foe,’ I admitted. ‘There is no evil in knowing the skills of your opponents.’

‘Who are you, then, and where did you travel to acquire that rare wisdom?’

I remained silent. I could have crafted a story, but I was certain he would go to any effort to have it verified or disproved. Nothing but the truth would hold water, and I was not allowed to speak it.

‘You have said to others that you came from Aman with the sons of Fëanor and fought in the War,’ he continued. I looked at him, sharply. ‘Yes, I have made some enquiries, and Tauras has told me all he has found out from you, which is little. You keep your council, Eglanir. Nobody remembers your unlikely name, or your face. And yet, a warrior of your exceptional skills would have been impossible to ignore, whichever lord of the Eldar he gave his allegiance to.’

My continued muteness did nothing but spur his suspicions, but I held his intent gaze unflinchingly. I was no criminal. I had been wronged, bound to exile and silence, and I was not afraid.

Elrond sighed and walked towards the door. At his rap, it was opened from the outside. He murmured an order, and soon a bundle was brought by one of the warriors and placed on the table. Elrond unwrapped it to uncover my few possessions: my spare clothes, a small knife, a belt, an ivory comb, and the leather bag that the Telerin sailors had given me. All objects were well crafted but simple, and did not betray their origin. After a quick scan, he picked up a folded scrap of parchment. Realising what it was, I stilled, cursing my stupidity.

‘What does this writing say? Or is it a code?’ he asked, handing me the parchment. I picked it up with a trembling hand. ‘My beloved...’ I did not speak aloud. I felt myself blushing. Confident of the secrecy granted by the alien symbols of Kiinlúum’s written language, I had poured my feelings onto the parchment.

‘It is the beginning of an unfinished letter to a friend,’ I explained blandly, ‘penned in the tongue of the distant land where he used to live.’

‘A friend,’ he repeated, staring at me sceptically.

His sharp gaze studied me from head to toe, and soon locked onto my wrist cuff, which I had disguised with a thin scrap of leather woven over and under it several times. He grabbed my forearm; I did not resist when he lifted my wrist to the level of our eyes.

‘What is this?’

There was no point in lying, when he only needed to snap his fingers and get his men to hold me down while he checked the truth for himself.

‘A piece of jewellery, my lord, covered for safekeeping,’ I replied through my teeth.

I watched him slowly uncover the brilliance of Mairon's gift.

‘This gleams as bright as moonlight!’ he gasped when it was revealed.

He turned my wrist one way and the other to inspect the metal band closely, tracing his finger over the pattern of sparks.

‘Surely not...’ he stammered. For the first time since we had met, Elrond had lost his easy aplomb. ‘Celebrimbor has raved about the wonders of a fabled metal of Valinor, which in Ennor can only be found in secret mines in far Eastern mountains.’ He peered at me, bewildered. I did not speak to confirm or deny his guess.[2]

‘How do you take this cuff off?’ He frowned, back in his cold interrogator role.

‘It cannot be removed, my lord.’ I answered dryly. ‘Unless you cut my hand off.’

Startled, he tightened his grip on my wrist until the flow of blood pulsed under his pressure. I yanked my arm away.

‘You seem to revel in being an enigma, Eglanir,’ he snapped.

‘Not particularly, my lord.’ I shrugged. I was growing tired of his endless questioning, which could only end one way.

‘Whom did you serve before you came to Lindon?’

‘For a long time, no one. Before that, I am not at liberty to tell you.’

I was tempted to smile in triumph at his grimace of annoyance, but I doubted such a gesture would improve his mood. I was glad of having learnt to school my features under Mairon’s severe tutelage.

‘There is still evil left after the Dark Lord was vanquished, and several of his minions are unaccounted for.’ His tone was grim, all remaining traces of empathy or willingness to understand discarded. ‘I fear that you may be a spy, enslaved and twisted into his service, perhaps.’

‘I am no thrall of Morgoth,’ I replied.

‘Why did you come here?’

‘I am not able to tell you, my lord.’

He slammed his hand on the table, in anger.

‘Damn you to Vé, Eglanir!’ he cried. ‘Help me a little, if you wish me to help you. Otherwise you will regret it.’[3]

I remained unmoved by his threat, almost sorry at his frustration.

‘Do what you must, my lord. As I do.’

Again, he knocked on the door.

‘Lock him up,’ he commanded his men.

‘I have committed no crime,’ I protested when they clamped their hands roughly over my arms.

‘That is a matter for the King to decide,’ answered Elrond. ‘But not just yet.’

At his signal, the soldiers took me away and pushed me down a flight of stairs into a nearby small stone chamber, an empty storage room with a barred window and a lock on the thick iron-bound door that could double up as a cell. When the door clanged shut, I sat on the floor under the window, wrapped my arms over my knees, wearily dropped my head on them and waited. Not long afterwards, the same warriors returned with a cot, blankets, a jug of water and a bucket.

Soon, I missed my previous life as a groom.

Days trickled by monotonously; the only interruptions to my isolation were the three times a day when my jailors would bring me food and drink. They treated me kindly. I was fed, given warm blankets and even some books, when I asked. Every other day I was allowed to exercise within an adjacent courtyard for an hour or two, under armed guard. Afterwards they would bring into my cell a small wooden tub and several buckets of warm water, so that I could have a bath.

Once I queried my guards about this civilised treatment.

‘This is not Angband,’ was their offended reply.

From what they told me, they were not used to handling prisoners beyond those locked up for brawling or becoming a nuisance when drunk, usually after a festival.

Every morning the guards asked me if I was willing to speak to Elrond, and I regularly declined to do so. I resigned myself to the battle of wills. Unfortunately, there was very little I could offer to slake Elrond’s thirst for information.

One day a robin landed on the windowsill. After tilting its head and looking at me intently, he flew away. Had Manwë sent him? I had not sensed the will of my lord within the little creature. Yet again, I wondered if his hand was behind my very convenient imprisonment, which turned any desire to reunite myself with Mairon into a complete impossibility, while time inexorably erased any precious trails of his whereabouts, if truly he had left Kiinlúum. My frustration veered into simmering wrath at the injustice of my captivity.

After almost a moon-round of this bleak existence, Elrond, whom I had not seen at all since my arrest, entered my cell one morning. I rose to my feet and bowed in greeting. He nodded curtly in acknowledgement.

‘Are you well, Eglanir?’ he queried, almost kindly. I had not expected that to be his first question. Was he attempting a new strategy?

I waved my hand around slowly, so that he could take in the stone walls of the bare room, the narrow bed, covered by a blanket, the table the soldiers had dragged in one day, on which lay an empty plate and jug and two small books, the chair, a change of clothes hanging from a lonely peg on the wall, the locked door.

‘As you can see, my lord, my every need is catered for most adequately, except for freedom.’ I chuckled humourlessly. ‘To what do I owe the honour of your visit? Have you come to relieve the tedium of my hours, maybe? Or to threaten me with dire measures?’

Ignoring my questions, he picked up the books on the table.

‘A Treaty on Doriathren Joinery’ and ‘The Star-crossed Lovers of Himring,’ he read, and raised an amused eyebrow as he thumbed through the second book, before closing it and shifting his keen gaze to me.

‘Not my choices.’ I shrugged, and smiled in return. ‘Your men were kind enough to lend me what they had.’

‘Indeed.’ He put the books back, squaring them neatly before looking at me. ‘The King has repeatedly enquired about you, Eglanir. Just now I have declined, on your behalf, his invitation to a private audience later today. When he questioned me about your lengthy absence, I had to explain your current circumstances. How much longer will you have us playing this tug of war? Surely, you must be tired of staying here.’

‘I would leave gladly, my lord, but it is the warriors under your command who hold the key that unlocks the door,’ I retorted levelly.

‘Speak the truth of who you are, whom you served and what your purpose is in Lindon, and you can walk out with me. I will take you to see Gil-galad.’

‘As to who I am, I could perhaps spin a lie that you would believe, at least for a while, but I shall not, my lord.’ I squared my shoulders and held his intent look. ‘I have served no lord for three yéni, and you can assure your King that I have not been swayed by the Black Foe.’

‘Why would either of us trust you if you refuse to even identify yourself?’ His frustration was as palpable as mine.

‘As I said before, I am not free to do so, my lord. But I am no enemy.’

‘You will find that my patience can outlast your desire for silence,’ he replied with a scowl. He rapped his knuckles on the door, and the warriors opened it for him.

‘Are you intending to keep me locked in here for ever?’ I cried, as he left. When he did not answer, I slammed my fist against the closing door, in rage.

His visit made me restless. I was confined within a hröa within a locked room within a city far away from where I wished to be. The urge to break out was nigh on unbearable.

A few days later, a chance to escape presented itself, and it was impossible to resist. I overpowered my guard, recently assigned to his post, snatched his sword and dagger from his belt, locked him in the cell and ran up the stairs. I had no plan of what to do next, but I kept running. Someone raised the alarm.

Not much later, I found myself backed against a wall, surrounded by a score of angry warriors with their swords drawn. Elrond arrived at a run.

‘Drop the blades, Eglanir,’ he commanded, panting slightly.

‘No,’ I snarled. ‘I cannot endure imprisonment any longer. Let me go!’

Slowly, he walked towards me, unarmed. I could have thrown the knife and slain him, but despite having claimed that he could not trust me, he dared approach even nearer, close enough that he could prise away the weapons from my unresisting grasp. At that moment, his men fell on me with the force of a bursting dam, and I was crushed to the ground. I could barely breathe from the pressure, until many hands pulled me up and tied my wrists behind my back so tightly that I soon stopped feeling my fingers.

‘Your fate is no longer in my hands,’ said Elrond, looking very pale. There was reproach in his voice, as though I had failed his test.

I was dragged into the grand King’s Hall of Forlond, a lofty chamber built of creamy sandstone and pierced by a row of many tall leaded windows that turned the mosaic floor into stripes of coloured light and shadow. I had no time to admire the tapestries or statues lined against the opposite wall, as the soldiers forced me to keep up with Elrond’s strides. We stopped before a low dais on which Gil-galad sat tall upon his throne. The small crowd of courtiers and counsellors gathered around their sovereign regarded me and my escort with undisguised curiosity.

‘My lord,’ said Elrond, after rising from a deep bow, ‘I request trial for this man.’

I scanned the assembly, spotting many familiar faces including those of Celebrimbor, son of Curufin, and of my recent adversary Daeguin, who glared gleefully at me. I had known most of the men in Gil-galad’s court as his captains or advisors during the War, but of course none recognised the bedraggled prisoner as the once Herald of Manwë and Commander of the Hosts of the West.

My eyes turned to Gil-galad, but only briefly. I bowed too, as far as those holding my arms allowed me.

‘Release him,’ ordered Elrond. I was mercifully cut free. The numbness of my hands was soon replaced by a pulsing, needling ache that made me wince.

The King’s resemblance to his father when he departed from Aman was remarkable; Ereinion’s dark hair, however, was not black but a rich hue of brown, and it was not braided with gold, as Findekáno used to wear it, but loose, bound by a gold circlet. His grey eyes, devoid of the radiance of Aman, but nevertheless bright enough to justify his name, raked me for a long time, no doubt attempting to appraise me from my appearance. When he turned his attention to Elrond, he listened attentively to every word of his spymaster’s succinct summary of my refusal to declare myself, and of my foiled escape attempt.

‘Was anyone hurt?’ asked the King, when Eärendil’s son concluded his report.

‘Nay, my lord, though he could have caused grave harm, had it been his wish,’ answered Elrond. When the King nodded, he stepped to one side.

At that time, I dropped to one knee with my right hand on my heart, thus requesting acknowledgement from the King and, hopefully, leave to address him, too. If those watching me had anticipated that I would behave as a peasant or a groom, they were probably disappointed. I displayed my best Noldorin manners, in all likelihood outdated and excessively formal, as I had learnt them watching over Finwë's court on Manwë’s behalf.

‘Speak,’ granted Gil-galad, regarding me with renewed curiosity. I rose to my feet before I began.

‘May the mantle of diamonds of the Star-kindler ever shelter your path, my lord King,’ I began. My calm, courteous greeting raised an excited murmur across the crowd. ‘Let me assure you that it was never my intention to cause any harm, but merely to seek my freedom when the walls of my prison were all but crushing me. Whatever rumours may have reached you, I am no kinslayer.’

I could speak the truth with conviction. After all, we Maiar are immortal, even outside Time; our existence may only cease by the will of Eru.

‘Yet you have claimed to be of the House of Fëanor,’ replied Gil-galad.

‘I have let this past allegiance be assumed, but never confirmed or refuted its veracity,’ I clarified. ‘As Lord Elrond will have explained, it is my silence that has brought me to your presence. Is muteness a crime in your lands, my lord King?’

‘This is not a formal trial,’ replied Gil-galad. Despite my respectful tone, his eyes remained cold, still appraising me. ’Your unwillingness to declare your purpose and loyalties do not provide conclusive evidence to accuse you of any particular offence against our laws. And yet, we have the power to decree your imprisonment or your expulsion from Lindon, if we suspect that you pose a risk to the security of our realm. What have you to say now to avoid either fate?’

‘That on this day I owe my fealty to no lord upon Arda, unless I name Manwë Súlimo, or Eru Himself.’ My boldness, and the public naming of the Allfather, a deed which many amongst the Eldar considered on the edge of blasphemy, stirred further commotion. ‘That I fought the enemy under the banner of the Hosts of the West, and have never served evil.’

I could see a spark of doubt in Gil-galad’s eyes. He wished to believe me, but wariness was engrained in the heart of each and every surviving Noldo in Endórë.

‘Those are worthy words, Eglanir. Yet, how can we trust you, when you keep silent about your name and claim to give your allegiance to none?’

‘Let my deeds earn your trust, my lord King,’ I vowed.

Gil-galad did not reply, but remained thoughtful for a short while.

‘I regret the harm my bird caused you,’ he spoke at last. ‘My debt still weighs on me now, and I owe you compensation for that unfortunate incident.’

‘There is no harm done and no debt owed, my lord,’ I answered.

He nodded in approval at my acquiescence.

‘Above all, I have a duty to my people and my realm. We have enjoyed peace for a long time, but we have not forgotten what it is to be afraid, and we must prevent a return of evil to these lands.’

In his grave eyes and in his brief hesitation, I sensed the regret of the decision he had made.

‘I shall grant your freedom, Eglanir, but you are banished from Lindon, never to return unless this mandate is revoked by me or my heirs,’ pronounced Gil-galad. ‘An escort will take you to the inland border of your choice. As retribution for your injury, I shall provide you with a horse and provisions. If you dare defy my justice, I shall have no choice but to place you under guard and make it my own business that you are given no leeway to flee.’

At his words, I bowed low, attempting to remain decorously impassive, when all I wanted was to grin in triumph. I could not hope for a better outcome, my very wish made true.

‘I regret your mistrust, my lord King, but I accept your ruling.’

It was then that Elrond collapsed to the ground, as though struck dead. His eyes moved wildly, unseeing. I leant forwards to assist him, but I was pulled back by the warriors flanking me. Gil-galad himself rushed to his aid, as did Celebrimbor and others, while whispers rose swiftly to a clamour of agitated voices.

As quickly as the fit had started, it finished. Elrond passed his hand over his eyes and tried to stand, but the King had knelt by his side and held him fast in his arms, not allowing it.

‘What did you see this time, Elrond?’

My heart sank, and a burning tide of fury rose up to my throat, choking me. I should have expected trickery, but it never crossed my mind that it would come in this guise.

‘He saves me, us... helps... he fights...’ stammered Elrond. ‘Darkness rises. Again. Armies. Your banner falls, my King. He picks it up. His sword...’ He stared at me, then closed his eyes and shuddered. ‘He shall stay. Help us. He must...’ His voice broke.

Gil-galad turned up his face to peer at me intently, as though he saw me for the first time.

‘Must he, now?’ he echoed.

‘Yes, my King, I am... certain,’ whispered Elrond. His gaze flared with an inner fire. ‘Erestor must stay.’[4]

Manwë had finally spoken my name.

 

 

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[1] Both sets of words are the names for the first and fourth day of the six-day Elvish week, dedicated to the Stars and Two Trees of Valinor, respectively. The first set is Sindarin; the second is Quenya.

[2] The idea of mithril mined outside Moria appears in HoME VII, “The Treason of Isengard” and was later discarded by Tolkien.

[3] Vé (Gnomish) an old name for the Halls of Mandos

[4] Tolkien did not provide an etymology for the name Erestor, and there are several theories about whence it was derived. I have adopted Darth Fingon’s. The name might be connected to QL RESE? Qenya word restor (meaning ‘kinsman’ or ‘helper’). This is supported by the fact that when his character first appeared with that name in the first drafts of Lord of the Rings, Erestor was meant to be a kinsman or ‘helper’ of Elrond. Interestingly, he was also classed in early drafts of The Lord of the Rings (HoME VI, The Return of the Shadow) as a ‘Half-elf’, a concept which would also hold some truth in the present story, though clearly not in the way Tolkien intended.