Chasing Mirages by Russandol

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Resurgence

Ereinion makes kingly decisions; a couple of centuries later, Eönwë receives exciting news.

 

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26. Resurgence

 

Lindon, Year 1018 of the Second Age of Arda

‘The King will see you now,’ announced one of Gil-galad’s pages, holding open the door to the adjacent audience chamber.

Elrond and I immediately dropped our lively conversation on the affairs of our office and rose from the plush leather chairs we were sitting on. I smoothed my courtly robes before picking up several rolled maps and two folders crammed with reports from the low table between us.

‘Ready?’ asked Elrond softly.

‘As well as I can be,’ I answered, shrugging.

I could count with my fingers the number of times I had been summoned to Gil-galad’s presence over the last five centuries.

Several months had passed since my return to Lindon before I learnt from Celebrimbor how Elrond had incurred Gil-galad’s wrath for allowing me to travel alone and unsupervised, and worse still, for providing me with gold and horses. The King had given him a thorough tongue-lashing at Council for conveniently forgetting to request his leave before letting a potential spy on the loose, and for informing him of the facts only after the said suspect had been given plenty of time to cross the borders of Lindon.

A heated argument followed, where Elrond had claimed his right to order my duties and whereabouts at will, given that he had been all but forced to accept my fealty, and that the coin was his own. If his fault was deemed negligent or criminal, he challenged, he was ready to bear the consequences.

Gil-galad had prudently stepped back, though the two men had fallen out for several months during which time the matter was tactfully skirted by both. To his credit, he had spoken public words of apology to Elrond after hearing rumours of my return, but I suspected he resented me ever since for proving him wrong. None in the city, except for Elrond, had expected me to come back.

Now my lord and I bowed low in unison before the King.

‘Elrond, welcome,’ he smiled warmly at his kinsman and stepped forward to embrace him closely. ‘No ceremony.’

After pulling apart, but still with a hand resting on Elrond’s shoulder, Gil-galad turned to me. He was free from circlet and robes, dressed in plain trousers, a loose shirt and a slate grey tunic, far more cheerful than I had ever seen him before in formal occasions.

‘Erestor,’ he acknowledged, with a quick dip of his head.

At Elrond’s signal, I spread two charts over a large table, carefully weighing their corners with flat polished pebbles I carried in my pocket for that purpose. Gil-galad stood next to me and studied them. One showed the whole of Endórë, to the edge of its known boundaries, the other was an enlargement of a part of the southernmost area.

‘How reliable are these charts?’ asked the King.

‘They are the best we have, Ereinion,’ replied Elrond, somewhat curtly. ‘We are fortunate that Erestor drew accurate maps during his journeys or we would know nothing about the true layout of these remote lands.’

The King lifted his eyes to gaze at me.

‘I see,’ he said, pointedly, before turning to Elrond. ‘So, what exactly is the news?’

‘We have received reports of uncommon unrest amongst the peoples near the Sea of Rhûn. Revolts, intrigues and assassinations in response to raised taxes. Not the first time that a greedy king pushes his subjects beyond their limits and they repay him in kind.’ Elrond paused, shaking his head. ‘The last few hundred years, four, maybe five, seem to have been rife with conflict in those distant parts of the world, as though something or someone has been stirring trouble, here and there. I have wondered sometimes if these disturbances are linked to the ships of Númenor reaching the shores of Ennor. This time, however, whole tribes have fled south into Nurn beyond the Ash Mountains, as the local people call them.’ Elrond pointed at the right place in the map. ‘They have followed a new chieftain.’

‘So this is the Land of Shadows. Mordor,’ Gil-galad said thoughtfully, running his finger along the inked contour guarding that realm. ‘Why is it named thus?’

‘My Lord King, the surrounding mountain ranges are overbearing and dark, as is the soil,’ I said. ‘The land is barren and inhospitable, a jagged jumble of black ash and lava. Nothing grows there but thirst and shadows, according to the few local folk. Mordor seemed like a fitting name in our tongue when I drew the map.’

Gil-galad nodded. ‘What worries you so much about these particular events that you requested to see me with such urgency, Elrond?’

‘Erestor can explain better,’ replied my lord.

‘A sizeable group of these people have settled in this area in the northwestern corner, not along the shores of the Sea of Núrnen,’ I said, placing the tip of my finger on the spot that one day would be known as Gorgoroth, a name of dread. ‘I doubt a large community can survive there, unless supplies are carted in regularly. So, I wonder what has lured those people to that desert?’

‘We have found out very little about the man who has become their ruler,’ added Elrond. ‘Few have seen him because he hides behind a small group of servants, loyal, mute, and feared by all. Strangers are all but banned without invitation. From whispered rumours of those who have been to Nurn and back, we believe that this man may be planning fortifications which would make that land virtually impregnable. Like a barren Gondolin, Ereinion.’

‘So, what is your advice?’ queried the King.

‘Only yesterday, your Council challenged the necessity to retain our eyes and ears as far as Rhûn and Khand at great cost to your treasury. But I believe we need to extend our network in that area, at least for a while, until we learn more.’

After Elrond spoke, I held my breath. As well as to safeguard the realm, I wished to hear from remote realms for my own reasons. I had briefly considered whether this bold leader could be Mairon, but I had swiftly discarded the idea. My friend relished comfort and luxury. Whilst he might have hid in bleak places to escape the eyes of the Valar, he would not voluntarily exile himself with a train of followers into a desert whose only wealth was ash, or become a ruler of an empty land where the scarce, muddy water stank of sulphur.

‘The Council of Lindon is not interested in how many kingdoms are falling half a world away when the prosperity of our own may falter,’ spoke the King at last. ‘I doubt I can divert more monies to grant what you ask.’

‘But what if...?’ protested Elrond.

Gil-galad raised his hand. Even in this informal audience, my lord fell silent at once.

‘Consider it fortunate that your tendrils are not cut short. I have always defended your office tooth and nail, reminding any narrow-minded Council members who oppose that expense about the risks of overconfidence. I only need to mention Nargothrond and they fall silent. Do not fear; we shall not forgo our gathering of intelligence, nor our constant vigilance abroad. I promise.’

Elrond nodded, still uneasy, and the King continued.

‘You know the pressure I am under to spend more coin nearer to home. Keeping the army permanently deployed to closely guard our borders all but drains my coffers. We wish to increase our trade volumes to fight the competition from Númenor, but the road repairs do not come cheap, and we are still waiting for Círdan to deliver the ships he promised four years ago, while the rascal charges us half a Silmaril to use his fleet. Eregion’s tribute is countered by the bill we owe them for ore. I should have listened to Celebrimbor all that time ago. If I had, I would be bagging the profit instead of letting it fall into the pockets of my astute cousin Galadriel. In short, I am struggling not to raise taxes.’ The King chuckled without joy. ‘I would rather avoid a quick demise like that monarch in Rhûn, which means evaluating priorities and risks carefully, and forgoing anything that might seem unnecessary at the moment. Surely you understand.’

The King stared at my lord, frustration written all over his face.

‘I do, Ereinion. We shall do our best with what we have,’ answered Elrond, breathing out slowly to contain a sigh.

 

~ o ~

 

 

Lindon, Year 1202 of the Second Age of Arda

One bright day of summer, Elrond received a long letter from Celebrimbor in the same dispatch that delivered the official report and the levies from Eregion to the King. In his letter, Celebrimbor enthused about a traveller recently arrived at Eregion, who possessed a wealth of arcane lore that he employed in a wide range of arts and crafts, with wondrous results.

‘Celebrimbor raves for three whole pages about the ideas this gifted artisan has already shared with the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, his beloved brotherhood of craftsmen. Only then he remembers to tell us that his name is Artano. Apparently, the remarkable similarity of his name with my kinswoman’s ataressë has not sufficed to place him in favour with the Lady of Eregion,’ chuckled Elrond, scanning the tight lines of writing. ‘This Artano claims to have been sent by Aulë himself, to teach and guide those of the Edhil who have remained in Ennor despite the summons of Manwë, with the aim of making these shores in to the likeness of Aman. Is that not presumptuous...?’

His words seemed to fade. A chasm opened inside me, and I felt as though I was falling. No! Who else, but...

‘They also call him Annatar,’ added my lord, raising his head and putting the letter down.

I turned my face away, feigning to peer outside the window in order to hide the sudden tears of joy that blurred my sight and threatened to fall.

Annatar. None other but me knew that Mairon Aulendil, once Sauron the Abhorred, disciple of Melkor, answered to that name.

At last, Mairon wished me to find him.

 

 

~ o ~

 

Eregion, Year 1207 of the Second Age of Arda

From the top of the fir-covered ridge we beheld for the first time the imposing grey towers of Ost-in-Edhil, reaching up to the sky like fingers of stone. A disturbing image of a bleached skeleton’s broken ribcage, half-buried in the sheer granite outcrop flashed across my mind.

‘About bloody time,’ grumbled Elrond. ‘My backside is sore and I am starving.’

I shifted in my saddle as though in sympathy, also glad to see the end of our journey, for very different reasons. At the sight of the fortress-city of Eregion, my heart was racing, from hope, apprehension or both.

My idle hours of travel had been inevitably spent lost in memories of my years with Mairon, twined with wild fantasies that had stirred me to near frenzy. Now, having reached our destination, I was fearful of meeting a stranger in his stead or, worse still, of finding him a stranger, having renounced as a shameful weakness the feelings he had hidden for so long. My dreams, grown rampant again ever since news of Annatar reached us in Lindon, might soon become true or crumble to dust before my eyes.

Eagles flew in circles over the surrounding low hills, hunting their prey. The Hithaeglir rose majestically in the background, large ragged sheets of dark stone climbing up to a snowed summit, covered by light clouds.

‘All that thirst for adventure, my lord, is it quenched by a mere six weeks astride a horse?’ I teased, when at last I prised my stare away from the breathtaking view.

‘You started it all, you know,’ complained Elrond. ‘Ever since you returned from your journey singing praises about the wonders of the workshops of Khazad-dûm, Celebrimbor became restless. He had never been too fond of Galadriel and her Iathren husband, but joining their venture to build a new realm was an irresistible proposition after all his disappointments in Lindon [1].’

‘I hope he has found the challenge he sought,’ I said.

‘His secret dream has always been to rival the skill and fame of Fëanor,’ replied Elrond. ‘Ereinion had no choice but to clip his wings. Here, however, everything is different; in such a young realm his ambitions may flourish.’ He shrugged and nudged his horse into a walk. ‘For me Eregion holds a definite allure, for a far different reason. As soon as I arrive, I shall request, bribe or beg a hot bath. I have been dreaming of letting my toes get wrinkled in scalding bubbly water for weeks.’

‘Do you truly mean you will not miss your invigorating dips in icy streams, my lord?’ I laughed. ‘Or my solicitous assistance during your bathing?’

‘If you ever again move so much as a finger to dunk me, I will have you flogged for insubordination,’ he growled with mock severity, while fighting a smile.

‘Really?’ I drawled provocatively, spurred by the tingling of arousal. The thought of Mairon’s hand closed upon the handle of a whip brought to my lips just before punishment flashed before my eyes. ‘Would you enjoy that, my lord?’

His fierce blush reached the top of his ears, and he glanced at me angrily.

‘Of course not, Erestor.’

I wondered if he would, given the chance.

 

~ o ~

 

Ost-in-Edhil may have been erected as a fortress, but once inside the gates I was struck by the pleasant proportions of its buildings and the rich complexity of the stonework, as though every block of granite had been hewn to fit a most elaborate jigsaw. The striking architectural style was patently influenced by her allies of neighbouring Khazad-dûm. Two marked differences were seen in the less angular profiles of roofs, doors and windows, and in the daring structures, including graceful bridges spanning over our heads to link opposite sides of the street, and turrets that seemed to magically defy gravity. Every stone spoke of the absolute mastery of the arts of geometry, mechanics and masonry.

Compared to the sober, simple elegance of the towns of Lindon, the level of embellishment of this city was almost overwhelming. The ubiquity of carved friezes, pavements inlaid with complex geometrical patterns, polished wood doors bound and adorned with gleaming brass fittings, and gilded mouldings and weather-vanes verged on ostentation. I wondered if this lavishness served to prove to the residents of Ost-in-Edhil the success of their venture away from Lindon. Had it not been for the chilly breeze and the different hue of the light, and for the large numbers of long-bearded Dwarves hastening past, I could have believed these were the bustling, ornate streets of Tirion before the Darkening.

Elrond asked me to join him in his first audience with the Lord and Lady of Eregion. From the main gate, an escort of four soldiers garbed in bronze breastplates and white cloaks led us to the Domed Hall, the seat of government of Eregion. The inner main chamber was in the shape of a circle girdled by tall marble columns of many colours, and its roof was an impossibly high hemispheric frame of slender metal beams supporting hundreds of triangular panes of glass, so that the huge room seemed to be open to the sky.

This magnificent structure drew our eyes upwards in awe, and I almost forgot the purpose of our presence in the Hall.

‘Welcome, kinsman,’ spoke a woman’s rich voice, prompting my eyes to snap back ahead.

Both the Lord and Lady of Eregion were walking towards us, having stood up from their twin thrones at the far side of the Hall. I stayed respectfully a few steps behind while Elrond advanced and bowed low to them.

When I raised my gaze again, I could not fail to notice how tall Galadriel was, even more than her silver-haired husband or myself. When I had walked amongst the exiled Noldor in my fana, this trait had not seemed so remarkable. It was equally striking to look up into her profound, starlit eyes, framed by the deep gold of her hair. Her white gown added to her radiant majesty and I instinctively lowered my head as a mark of deference.

After greetings were exchanged, Elrond waved me forward and introduced me. During their time in Lindon I had never been in their presence. Celeborn of Doriath only spared me a glance that lasted two, at most three heartbeats, but from Galadriel I sensed a deep interest, as though she were evaluating me. I guessed she was adding my name and attributes to a long mental inventory, for future reference.

‘Welcome, Erestor,’ she intoned in a voice as entrancing as the rippling of harp strings. ‘I sense that we have met before, either here or in Aman, but I fear my memory fails to recall your name or your face.’

‘No doubt because you must mistake me for another, more fortunate man, my Lady. I wish with all my heart I could say we have indeed met,’ I answered gallantly, and was rewarded by a peal of her silver laughter.

She glided on to greet other members of Elrond’s company, and soon we were all guided to our accommodation, after an invitation to join her and Celeborn in a feast to honour Elrond’s visit.

 

We met Celebrimbor near the entrance to the vaulted audience room, hung with tapestries and chandeliers of brass and glittering carved glass. When he greeted us, embracing us tightly in turn, his eyes were sparkling with the joy of seeing us again. I was glad to see him glowing with the confidence brought by success.

Just by looking at his garb it was clear that he had risen up in status from his time in Lindon. We knew of the influence and wealth of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain, which he headed. As he enthusiastically described his current and future projects, I watched his eyes, and an elusive sense of familiarity suddenly nagged at the edge of my thought, probably an echo of Fëanáro.

My attention wavered when I heard a burst of merry laughter that tugged at my heart, almost making it stop. I turned as though pulled by strings in the direction of its origin. Then I blinked, to make sure I was not dreaming.

He stood so that I could only see him in profile, speaking animatedly within a group of nine other men. The pendant of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain gleamed on his chest, an exquisitely enamelled eight-pointed star framed by a square, identical to Celebrimbor’s but made of silver instead of gold.

I admired his elegant, fluid grace, his ease amongst the Quendi, while listening to his most beloved voice without registering his words, just savouring its timbre, the inflection of his speech in the tongue of the Sindalië.

A wave of soothing relief washed over me as I watched: Mairon had not turned into an evil avenger to redress the wrongs the Valar had inflicted upon us both, as I had feared during my darkest hours.

Almost afraid that he would vanish before my eyes, I whispered his name in my mind. Ósanwë was banned to me, but we had sensed each other’s presence in the past. At once he stilled and stopped talking, before turning to face me. His eyes met mine, widening in recognition that must have struck him like lightning, because I saw him flinch.

To his credit, he immediately schooled his shock into a blank, even polite expression. When Celebrimbor noticed him looking in our direction, he waved at him to join us. My hands began to sweat and a shiver shook me as I watched Mairon walk with the easy confidence of a lion amongst his pride.

His beautiful features were the same I had known and loved in Kiinlúum, and yet here in Eregion he allowed the might contained within his hröa to radiate forth even more openly, thus revealing more of his true nature while wholly incarnate, like Melyanna once had. He was the flame, irresistibly alluring, and I was a dark moth, drawn to him and helplessly consumed by his brightness.

As he came closer, his intense gaze raked me from head to toe, not once, but several times, lingering here and there, as though his quicksilver eyes could bare me to the skin. A raging blaze of desire surged from my groin when his lips quirked ever so slightly into a faint smile, invisible to all but me. For over five yéni I had longingly replayed memories of his every gesture, however minute; this time the image before me was real, and laden with promise.

When he turned his attention to Celebrimbor, it was as though summer sunshine had been obscured by storm clouds, casting the world beneath into oppressive murk.

‘Elrond, Erestor, meet Artano Aulendil, arrived from Valinor at the behest of the Belain to lend assistance to our efforts in Ennor [2],’ spoke Celebrimbor, fondly wrapping his arm over Mairon’s shoulders. My lover’s warm smile at this friendliness stung me like nettles.

Mairon bowed with a rustle of his rich robes of deep purple silk.

‘My lord Elrond,’ he said. ‘I am honoured to meet you at last.’

Mesmerised, I watched his sensuous lips as he spoke, wishing their silky softness upon my skin. My gaze dwelled on his eyelashes fluttering lightly when he blinked, then on the perfect ears whose lobes and tips I had kissed, teased and nibbled to his moans of pleasure. His fingers, that had explored and tormented my body in so many ways, bitter and sweet, reached up to touch the ebony sheen of the plait whose end, bound with gold thread, rested on his strong chest. In the end, I realised I was all but devouring him with my eyes and forced myself to look away, breathless with arousal.

Then he faced me, and the slightest twitch of his mouth and the spark of his eyes, far brighter than Galadriel’s, told me that he shared my excitement. The tingling that coursed through my every nerve made the centuries fall away, as though we had never parted. I gasped.

‘Are you well, Erestor?’ Elrond asked, grasping my arm in concern. ‘You look pale.’

‘Merely tired, my lords,’ I mumbled nervously, running the back of my hand over my brow.

‘Erestor?’ spoke Mairon, and I could hear his amusement at my name. ‘I believe you have spoken of him, my lord Telperinquar. Did you not mention his notorious arrival at Lindon, something about a hunting accident?’

‘One of the royal hawks flew into his head,’ replied Elrond. ‘A notoriety that could have lost him an eye.’

‘Indeed,’ said Mairon pleasantly, his eyes locked on mine. ‘Fortunately, Manwë stayed his beloved bird in time. I would hear this intriguing tale sometime, Erestor. There are not many on these shores with whom I can indulge in reminiscence about the old days of the Trees.’

‘As you wish, my lord,’ I replied, more calmly, ‘whenever my duties allow.’

‘Very well, Erestor, no doubt it will be a pleasure.’ He nodded at me, with a polite smile, before turning to Elrond again. ‘However, I would first speak to you, my lord, about the matter of my messengers, who were turned down at your borders.’

This time I was relieved when his attention moved elsewhere, hoping that my feigned weariness had passed muster with my observant lord. There were far too many reasons why keeping my friendship with Mairon a closely guarded secret was the wisest course of action.

‘I will be delighted to meet you at your convenience, once you are rested from your journey,’ Mairon was saying to Elrond. ‘I am keen to discuss your requirements to obtain your King’s permission for my future visit to Lindon. While Gil-galad’s caution is commendable, I hope to prove to you that it is wholly unfounded in my case.’

‘Certainly, Lord Artano,’ answered Elrond, unsmiling. ‘I shall get a message delivered to you once I have completed my lord’s business with the Lord and Lady of Eregion.’

I was somewhat startled by his coldness, and did not miss Mairon’s briefly pressed lips, which he then curved into a light smile. With a shallow bow of farewell, he strode away, back towards his earlier companions. Purposefully, I averted my gaze from him and instead let it linger over the fabulous tapestries adorning the chamber.

Soon afterwards I begged to be excused and returned to my room, itching to meet Mairon in private while frustrated because I did not even know where he lived. It was maddening to be twiddling my thumbs while he was so close!

I was tempted to take my aching need in hand, but denied myself release, vowing to wait for Mairon to grant it. I sighed hopefully; in the past he had excelled at drawing me to him.

 

A while later, I sat by lamplight staring at the open book in my hands. My eyes scanned the page for the twelfth time, still without grasping its meaning, when a soft knock on the door made me leap with excitement. My disappointment at the sight of a young servant was hard to master, but I bid him enter, and asked him to place the heavy basket he carried on top of a side table.

‘With my lord’s best wishes for your enjoyment after your long journey,’ he recited tonelessly.

When he left with a hasty bow, I pulled off the white embroidered cloth, neatly tucked along the edges to cover its contents.

Fruit. Apples, pears, quince, plums and grapes. And at the very top of the colourful pile sat a plump ripe orange. My whole body tingled as I picked it up lovingly, knowing what hands had held it before mine, and turned it around. As I imagined, there was a very sharp cut on its rind, almost invisible. When I ripped the orange in two with my fingers, I found that a tiny piece of waxed paper had been folded into a thin strip and inserted into its middle. I licked the juice that had begun to drip off my hands, slowly savouring its sharp sweetness, along with the deluge of memories that came with it.

Shaking, I fumbled to open the note.

Follow me from the tree inside the hall.

Rušurigas

 

 

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[1] I am following the description of events outlined in Unfinished Tales, where it was Galadriel and Celeborn who founded Eregion in the year 750 of the Second Age. Celebrimbor only became Lord of Eregion after he initiated a revolt (at some time between 1350 and 1400) against their rule that led to Galadriel’s departure and her crossing the Hithaeglir (Misty Mountains) to settle in Lórien, while her husband remained behind in Eregion.

[2] Balan (Sindarin, pl. Belain) equivalent to Quenya Vala