The Seven Gates by Laerthel

---

The Master of Dreams

Maedhros meets his brothers again, and Tyelcano finally solves the riddle of the dreams.

---

The walk through the courtyard, up the stairs, through the Great Hall and into the parlour was the longest of Maedhros's life.

Joint embassy from Himring and Menegroth could mean anything or nothing at all; and his mind went through all possible significations from beneficial through absurd to terrifying. He was still trying to shun the mental image of Tyelko and Curvo parading around with the severed heads of Menegroth envoys who had aggravated them by breathing too loudly when the jewel-wrought doors opened.

Maedhros let his cousin pass first, suppressing a sudden urge to flee.

If this audience was going to be disastrous, he wanted it to be over soon, at least.

And yet the sight that greeted him upon entering the royal parlour was suspiciously not disastrous. The table was loaded with fruit and wine, the curtains withdrawn and the windows opened, afternoon sunlight wafting into the room. Two empty chairs awaited Findekáno and him, one at the head of the table, and one on its right, but the rest of them were occupied. Caranthir was there, chainmail gleaming under his garments, jewels in his hair, talking animatedly to Captain Mablung of Doriath – a face Maedhros remembered from the Mereth Aderthad – and another solemn, silver-haired Elf he knew not. A map lay in front of them, occupying half of the table; and Maglor was leaning over it from the other side, listening intently to the conversation.

Celegorm and Curufin were absent, which raised his suspicion; but he said naught as Gildor announced the coming of the High King and the Warden of the East. All eyes fell on Maedhros as he stood there, coated in the black blood of the wolf from head to toes, its hide still hanging from his shoulders, the hilt of his broken sword poking out of his belt; and he realized, with sudden longing, that if Tyelcano was not there to remind him that he was supposed to dress for court, then probably none other would dare.

The Himring had no court life anymore after all; the Flames had left most ranks and inequalities in ashes, and Maedhros preferred them that way.

Not to mention that Fingon was not especially dressed like a High King, either, with his bloodied chainmail and empty quiver.

"My greetings to the envoys of Himring and Menegroth," said Maedhros conversationally. He ignored the shot of feverish pain as he stepped on the spot where the wolf's fang had cut through the sole of his boot.

"And mine," said Fingon. "You must forgive our attire; we were expecting to step on a battlefield."

The weight of the jest settled above the table; then Mablung of Doriath leaned back in his chair, eyes gleaming with sudden mirth.

"None can blame the King of the Noldor for thinking so," he said, "but the field is now barren and the hosts retreated."

"The trust our family has placed in my diplomatic dealings is nothing if not impressive," Caranthir remarked.

"I was told that I would now face the consequences of the diplomatic dealings of Tyelkormo and Curufinwë, not yours," Maedhros countered with a very straight face.

"Then get to it, shall we?" Caranthir leaned back in his chair. "Present are The High King of the Noldor, Fingon, son of Fingolfin; the Warden of the East and Lord of the Himring, Maedhros; the Lord of the Gap, Maglor; the Regent Lord of the Himring, Caranthir – that would be myself, of course –, all sons of Fëanor; and also present are Captain Mablung of Doriath, sworn to King Elu Thingol of the Sindar and Beleg Cúthalion the Archer, Chief to the Marchwardens of Doriath, likewise sworn to King Thingol. Laid in front of you, as Captain Gildor must have already clarified, are the terms and conditions of the surrender of the Silmaril that is currently in Doriath, as agreed and laid in writing..."

...by Tyelkormo, Curufinwë and Thingol, whatever that means, Maedhros thought. He kept waiting for the moment when everyone would rise, and storm out of the parlour in anger, but it never came. Caranthir talked about border patrols, watchtowers, scouting territories, redrawn roads, possible escape routes for armies in case of sudden onslaught, trading agreements and taxes: some elevated, some lessened, some depending on the Dwarves. He then listed the different possible routes that the armies of the allied were allowed to take if deemed necessary for warfare – always around the forests of Doriath, never through –, the fortified bridges, the hidden watchtowers outside of the forest that the Sindar had used in the days of the Long Peace, now remanned and under the control of the marchwardens.

He risked a glance at his cousin, but Fingon was not looking at him. His gaze followed Caranthir's finger as he pointed out fortified spots on the map – tengwar scribbled above the original certhas –, and he seemed to have sunk in deep thought; much like Maglor, who must have spoken to Caranthir beforehand as he did not show the faintest sign of surprise.

"...these terms of warfare have been agreed upon by King Elwë Singollo of Doriath and Tyelkormo and Curufinwë, sons of Fëanor son of Finwë, under the following conditions," Caranthir read on. "First in line: the bidding of the King of Doriath that the captors of his daughter should answer for their deeds, in such fashion as their overlord seems fit, and be punished accordingly: this has been fulfilled by the Warden of the East. Second in line: the sincere apology of Tyelkormo and Curufinwë, stripped of lordship and power, to the King and Queen of Doriath and their court: this has also been fulfilled by the parties affected."

Maedhros stared at him.

"...third in line: the leave of the King of Doriath to Mablung and Beleg Cúthalion to answer the call of the Alliance and go to war, with as many of their kinsmen as shall go of their own will, as long as they follow the banner of the High King: this has also been fulfilled, as two hundred of the Doriathrim are now stationed in Barad Eithel. Fourth in line: the remanning of outer guard-posts by the King of Doriath and the protection of the Fens of Sirion, the fords of Teiglin, the borderlands of Dimbar and Neldoreth and the crossing of Iant Iaur, keeping these open for the Alliance for warfare: this, for the most part has also been fulfilled as I just showed you." Caranthir rolled out the rest of the parchment. "Fifth in line: the agreement of Sindar and Noldor to be united against the Dark One as their sole enemy until His reign is overthrown; or else, if the Free Peoples of Beleriand are utterly destroyed."

Maedhros now felt Fingon's eyes on his face; but he was unable to look away from Caranthir, still waiting for some unpronounced doom.

"The Silmaril," his brother went on, "retrieved by Beren, son of Barahir and Lúthien, Princess of Doriath is now kept in Menegroth; and there it shall remain until the war against the Enemy is ended. King Elwë Singollo, however, gives his word of honour to return it to the House of Fëanor, should they overthrow the reign of Morgoth and return victorious from war; and there shall be thereafter friendship and alliance between Noldor and Sindar. Such doom has been spoken by Elwë and Tyelkormo and Curufinwë; and upon accord or dismissal of the High King of the Noldor and the Warden of the East, these words shall be sealed in agreement, or discarded."

Silence fell on the parlour again, and Maedhros tried in vain to conceal his bewilderment. The trap was obvious: the newfound generosity of Thingol would only be extended to victors. Still, this was more than he could have ever hoped for.

"Am I to understand," he said, "that my brothers travelled to Menegroth without my knowledge or bidding, and apologized? Sincerely?"

"You are," said Beleg Cúthalion.

"We were there," Mablung nodded, "staring at them with a likewise incredulous expression."

"Well," said Fingon, with a faint undertone in his voice that Maedhros could not quite place, "it is all settled, then. I have nothing against any of these terms; and I shall gladly welcome the folk of Doriath under my banner. There shall be alliance and friendship between us hereafter until the war's end; and when the fighting is done we shall all meet as leaders, and lay the foundations of our new world together."

"What about you, brother?" Caranthir eyed Maedhros above the table. "Have you any objection against these terms?"

"I do not," said Maedhros. "Let it be so, and let no strife come between me and Elwë Singollo again while the kingdoms of Beleriand stand."

Words came slowly to him as he was seized by sudden foreboding. There was something written in the Terms that he should have noticed, or so he thought, but the answer would not come to him; and the shadow lifted from his heart, giving way to fierce joy.

His brothers had made peace with Thingol.

His stubborn, fierce, proud, dangerous, swift-to-anger, slow-to-forgive brothers.

Tyelkormo and Curufinwë.

"Where are they now?" He asked, and his voice was commanding.

"Down in the camp somewhere, I imagine," said Caranthir. "Do not be surprised if you see them with Eöl's men. They came to Himring and asked for protection, as they had been cut off from Thingol's lands since the Flames struck. Our brothers made sure that their plight was known in Doriath, and indeed Thingol had taken in those who chose so – but more then half remained with us, among them a very skilled silversmith."

"What of Eöl, then?" Fingon raised an eyebrow. "Did he die in the Flames?"

"No one seems to know," said Caranthir slowly.

Silence settled in the room, tense and uneasy; and Fingon leaned forward in his chair.

"What happened to the other half of your sentence, cousin? I keep hearing its silent echoes; why would you be afraid to speak it?"

"Not afraid," said Caranthir, "but weary. Weary because I think I know the answer to what I am about to ask; you, however, shall not be ready for the question, either."

"What is it?" Fingon asked again; and Maedhros's skin crawled with unease.

Caranthir sighed.

"Tell me, High King – when was the last time you have had word of your sister?"

---

"You must forgive our brother, truly. That was not a question to be asked in front of Thingol's envoys, or any other than close family. You could say that it was insensitive, but you know Carnistir! He believes in the effects of bewilderment caused by unbridled honesty. Many times, he benefits from it; yet alas, I am afraid that one would need more elaborate tactics to extract the truth out of Mablung, if he indeed knows more than he claims to..."

Like Maglor's three previous attempts at talking to the High King's back, this one fell short as well; and all Maedhros could do was glance at him in commiseration as their walk continued under the scorching summer sun, towards the camp.

"...it may be that Írissë found her way home, or it may be that some misfortune befell her; but sooner or later, we shall have our answers. Think of Tyelcano: we believed that he was captured, and yet now we know that all is well with him!"

Fingon turned around. The movement was as slow and measured as his steps before, not unlike Maglor's voice: soft and level. If anyone was watching them from afar, they could have thought that all was well between the princes of the House of Finwë: to show any sign of strife or distress would have been a misstep on a chessboard swarming with traps.

"Aye, we do," he said, "because Nelyo and I went after him: something you, if I well recall, were vehemently against."

"I was," said Maglor, "and I regret that I was."

"What happened to us being terrible leaders, then?"

"Findekáno," said Maedhros. "Do not twist my brother's words out of their meaning. That is not what he said."

"No, it is not," said Maglor, "and yet I regret that, as well, all the same."

"It matters not," said Fingon with a sigh. "I hold no grudge to you, or Carnistir. And I am sure that my sister shall be found. Why should I be more eager to see her, after all, than she is to see me? Or Tyelkormo and Curufinwë, for that matter? She never came to them, either."

"When has Írissë ever informed anyone of his whereabouts?" Maedhros smiled with an effort. "It may as well be that she departed against Turukáno's wishes, sealed as his City is to all."

"Aye," said Fingon, "sealed it is, as the banners upon my walls never fail to remind me. Even Thingol sent us men, few as they might be! Turukáno is the only one left out of our alliance, yet with him lies more than half of the strength of our House."

"Even without him, we are stronger than we thought we could get," Maedhros remarked.

Fingon looked him in the eye. "You still have trust in him."

Maedhros looked away. "It is not him I have trust in," he said softly. "But let us speak of this matter no more, unless you wish to ease your heart of it. I believe we shall soon find the ones we seek."

They had come upon the camp indeed; and Fingon's face still betrayed nothing of his inner turmoil. His wrath, however, soon subsided as the people of the Marches bowed their heads before him, and greeted him with joyful song – which soon blended into a certain Lay of the Warden and the Adan-Eating Wolf, which seemed to have made its way to widespread popularity since the last time Maedhros had set out to hunt.

"You may notice," Fingon told the bystanders, "that your Lord Warden has honoured his promise."

"A whole new Lay could be dedicated the Warden's stupidity as he walked into yet another trap, breaking yet another sword, saved by yet another arrow of your King," Maedhros added truthfully. "Nevertheless, these wolves shall hunt the children of the Edain no more."

Exhaustion returned to his limbs as they continued their walk through the camp. The many sleepless nights of the weeks past had taken their toll on him, fëa as well as hröa; and with the exhilaration of the hunt having worn off, permeating, pulsating pain returned to his foot where the wolf had sunk its teeth in it. He wondered if the footprints he kept leaving on the dusty path were black with his own muddied blood, or that of his foes; it was a wonder in itself that no one had mentioned them yet.

Maedhros was beginning to think that his brothers had left the camp entirely when he finally came upon a large tent at the edge of his people's dwellings. Its flap was left open and Caranthir's now fully grown black hound, Egnor was lying in front of the entrance, stretched across a patch of shadow on the grass. Upon their coming she jumped to her feet, tail wagging; and Maedhros could not suppress his smile as the dog ran to the three of them, barking happily.

"Cease it," called the stern voice of Celegorm from inside the tent. Not a moment later, he stepped out into the sun, his garments light but fit for a hunt, his longbow, bended, hanging from his shoulders. When he saw his brothers and Fingon, he tilted his head, a faint but unmistakeable gleam of mischief in his eyes.

"Greetings to the High King of the Noldor and the Warden of the East," he said, and bowed his head, "as well as to the second best singer of the Quendi, if my new friends of Doriath can be trusted."

"Perhaps your trust is as misplaced as your ability to follow orders," said Maglor dryly.

"I, too, am very glad to see you," said Celegorm. Then, with a pointedly scrutinizing gaze, he eyed Maedhros and Fingon from head to toes. "Should I ask about the manner of endeavour that left the Heroes of our People in such a state of dishevelment, or should I draw my obvious conclusions from that giant wolfskin?"

"Do as you will," said Maedhros. Hearing his brother's taunts, so much like his old self, lightened his heart and eased the pain of his exhaustion. "But then tell me where might I find Curufinwë; for I much desire to speak to you both."

"As do I," said Fingon. He was smiling in earnest now, and the sunlight danced on the golden ribbons braided in his dark hair; he needed no crown to be radiant.

"Then search no longer," called Curufin's voice from the shade of the tent, "and behold the counterer of orders at risk of high treason as he comes to you out of his own free will."

"That, my dear cousin, is one of many ways to describe what you did," said Fingon, "and not exactly the one I would choose."

"It would not be grave enough a wording indeed," said Maedhros, letting the spark of his furious joy overwhelm him. "What possessed you, Tyelkormo and Curufinwë, when you forsook my doom and will and went into Menegroth unaided? What utter folly clouded your mind when you sought Thingol in his own halls and would not rest until your plea reached him?! And how – how on Arda and beyond did you bend his will and move his heart?!"

The stern and commanding voice of the Warden of the East was lost halfway across his speech, Maedhros knew; and all that remained was the voice of Nelyafinwë son of Fëanáro, incredulous and bewildered by what his brothers could accomplish if they so willed it; not for the first time, and perhaps not for the last.

And Curufin smiled.

"The fault is all mine," he said, "as had been the fault of treachery and guile when you first questioned us. I saw no other way to set it right. Tyelko all but aided me in the quest; although without him, I would still be wandering under the hollies of Region, searching for a way that is forever concealed to my eyes."

"You would have not even made it through Nan Elmoth," said Celegorm, "or might I remind you that I pulled you out of a certain mire under the stars?"

"Do not mention it," said Curufinwë. "I feel like Eöl had left such traps behind solely to taunt me." He looked Maedhros in the eye; and his gaze, intense as ever, was open and sincere. "Nelyo," he said, "I did this for the sake of our family alone, in an hour of dire need. You need not be thankful for it, acknowledge it or praise my name for it; indeed, my heart would be gladder if no one spoke of it ever again."

"I hear you," said Maedhros, "but you both must hear me too if I say that I truly am grateful; and I would have never asked such a thing of you."

And he stepped to his brothers and hugged them tight, one after the other; and he kissed them on the forehead.

"And I am thankful for what you did as well," said Fingon; "and should our House return from the war victorious, I shall not forget it."

There was a faint undertone in his voice again that caught Maedhros's attention; but before he could mention it, Celegorm squeezed his shoulder.

"I am sure you are eager to hear what we have seen in Menegroth," he said, "but first – I promised the Queen of Doriath that I shall pass you her message upon our meeting. The Lady of the Woods knows all birds in the skies, she said; and in all the long years she had spent listening to them, she has found that it is most unwise to trust the call of a crow."

"That is what she said," Curufin nodded, "Does that tell you anything?"

"Nothing that I did not previously suspect," said Maedhros with an effort. His heart was beating hard and fast in his chest, and the memory of his vision, still vivid and horrible, flashed before his eyes.

Do not trust it, he thought.

He risked a glance at Fingon, but his cousin stood with his back to him, watching the tall figure of Captain Gwindor as he gazed down at the camp from atop the high wall.

"Eager as you both are to forget one of your most valiant deeds," he said, "something must be done about the strife between you and the Nargothrond envoys."

Celegorm stared at him. "Artaresto sent us soldiers?"

"A company has come, each member of their own free will, under the leadership of Captain Gwindor, whom you must be familiar with," said Fingon, in his voice a hint of scorn.

"Ai, not him again!" Curufin rolled his eyes.

"I call him my friend," said Maedhros pointedly. "We have slain many Orcs together while you were tangled in the woods. So if your paths do cross, be as tame as you are able. I shan't ask for more."

"I hear you," said Curufin. "Now – how much did Carnistir tell you about our dealings with the Moriquendi? We have seen many wonders since the three of you rode west."

"I was told that I became the liege lord of Nan Elmoth," said Maedhros, "astonished as I might be at such an turn of events."

"Aye: and you will meet its people," said Celegorm. "Most of them chose to stay with Curufinwë after what happened in Doriath."

"You must have made quite an impression on them," said Fingon.

"Eöl was a craftsman; and so are most in his household," said Curufin. "All they wanted was work, and that is what I gave them – along with the Dwarves, for that matter. Now that provisions can once again travel faster than a snail, we may accounter the entire army, East and West. Within two years, I should say."

"That is far less than I dared hope," said Fingon, fervour in his voice. "Three years from now, we could be upon the Enemy. Even less, if we so wished. We did it – do you hear me, my cousins? We are on our feet once again, after what Moringotto thought was our utter ruin! His black hand has reached too far, and from the ashes of our lands of old we shall rouse our own flames, and burn his fingers."

"Do refrain from such outbursts of poetry in the presence of Azaghâl," said Maedhros with a smile. "I no longer have enough fingers to count the times he made fun of me when I mentioned the Black Hand of Moringotto – does it poke you from above the high wall, Maidros? A most unbecoming shadow of a gesture, maybe, as the sun rises above your beloved hills?"

The sound of their laughter was heard far and wide across the camp; and all was well again for a moment.

Then Fingon crossed his arms.

"Woe to me for ruining this moment of delectable scorn of our enemy," he said, "yet still I believe that we should speak of it sooner rather than later. Before you recount what happened in Doriath, do tell me what you have learned about my sister."

Celegorm and Curufin looked at each other; and for the first time since they had come upon them, Maedhros felt their uneasiness.

"Well, my dear cousin," said Celegorm, "there are different ways to to tell this story. Gentle as I am by nature, I shall choose the happiest wording I can think of – which would be, of course, my sincere, if belated, congratulations upon the birth of your nephew. Maeglin, I believe, the Moriquendi call him. He has a proper name, too, but it eludes me now."

---

The mist never lifted from above the wastelands in Tyelcano's dreams.

He was walking across the same abandoned battlefield for what felt like hours now, each step more difficult than the last, alone in the bleak semidarkness of oncoming storm. Every now and then he heard the rumble of thunder from afar, but the rain never came; and the wind was like a ghost as it brushed the scarce grass around his ankles.

His enemies were dead, his kinsmen were dead, everyone was dead around him; the mountains stood silent and ruthless, the shadows were lengthening, and he knew that neither sundown, nor dawn would ever come.

No answers were coming to him either; and some time ago, he had stopped seeking them.

More than two years passed since he had come to the Hidden City, and with time, he stopped rattling the bars of his diamond cage. Turukáno's promise that he would let him go when his lord finally marches upon Angamando was enough.

It had to be enough.

What more could he have done – conspired against the son of Nolofinwë, close kin to his lord? Paid for his hospitality with nefarious plots and quiet enmity? Roused strife among the Twelve Houses of the Gondolindrim, setting them up for treason against one another? He could have certainly tried to do so; but his heart was adamantly against it, not to mention that his lord would have probably preferred him dead than stooped so low.

So he spent more time with Turukáno, served in the council, rose before the Sun each day so he could train with his sword and break his fast with his friends, and spent his evenings with Gwaihir the Eagle as he slowly regained his strength and ability to fly; and when in rare moments of loneliness, he looked out from the high windows of the palace and beheld the Hidden City with its thin towers and sparkling rooftops, his heart was glad. Even his dreams had ceased for a while, which made it even more bothersome to drag his fëa through the ordeal of this new vision, just as bleak and unremarkable as the last.

He almost shuddered when he heard the whizz of flight just above his head – the sound eerily shrill, as if the feathers were too heavy and the wingbeat too powerful –, and stopped short as the large carrion crow landed on top of a bloated horse carcass in front of him.

It was only now that Tyelcano realised what had been missing from this dream: the crows. There used to be so many of them whenever he found himself on this timeless battlefield: their rattling caws would never cease as they would eagerly await their feast. Now there was only one: this large bird with claws like blades, feathers like the blackest night, and a clever gaze – too clever.

Caw, said the crow. It hopped closer to him, opened its wings then folded them again, looking at him expectantly. Caw. Caw. Caw.

"What would you have of me?" Tyelcano said. "You showed me a path that I cannot take; or else threefold would I break my word. I cannot do it!"

Caw, said the crow again, hopping from one carcass to the next. It flapped its wings with ominous urgency, its shiny, coal-black eyes never leaving his face.

"Leave me alone, carrion-bird!" Tyelcano snapped at it. "You shall not lead me astray!"

The crow cawed at him for a last time, then disappeared as if it had never been there – and Tyelcano gasped.

Further away among the dead, beyond mist and shadows, he saw a gentle, golden light: a colour that was not the hue of Anor, nor of any flower that grew in the lands of Beleriand.

A colour of gold that came from a time that could never again be.

He was instinctively drawn to that light. With slow, light steps he eased closer to it, his hand on the hilt of his lord's dagger – how strange! he never wore his lord's dagger in his dreams! –, every muscle tense and ready to flee.

It seemed, however, that there was nothing to flee from. The glow gradually became brighter, then blinding, then all-encompassing. Tyelcano could not have kept away from it even if he so wished; it was the light of a morning before mornings existed.

And then, he heard the Voice.

Do not be so hesitant to stand before me, it said, for you have nothing to be ashamed of.

The Voice was close to him and far from him and all around him at the same time. It came from nowhere in the sense of coming; it had simply been present with him at all times when he walked the mysterious paths of his dreams. Fëa to fëa,terrifyingly close, yet unfathomably far; and that realisation shot an arrow of sudden dread through his chest.

Fear not, said the Voice. If I wanted to hurt you, I would have; and if I sought to to ensnare you, I would have planted the seeds of my lies long ago.

Perhaps you have, said Tyelcano through the perilous pathways of ósanwe. Now it might be time to harvest them.

It certainly takes courage to behold your protector after all this time, and call him a liar, said the Voice, yet little else did I expect from a servant so loyal to his House. I could have sought your lord directly, of course – and I tried, yet his thoughts are now closed to me, and barred with iron. I could have gone to the High King and his brother; and so I have tried indeed, but the High King is so tangled in his grief and his desire for revenge that he only ever sees what suits his needs; and his brother has become withdrawn and selfish, wanting to keep his city and treasures for himself. I could have gone your friends; and so I have also tried, but none of them found a way to me. They see their dreams as no more than a burden: an unsolved riddle.

So did I, until now, Tyelcano admitted.

Yet you have not given up: not fully, the Voice soothed him. Many trials I have laid before you, Tyelcano of Himring, and each one you overcame. Many times I put your honour and character to test, and each time you stayed true to yourself. You could have betrayed your lord, or your friends, or the King of Gondolin, or even all of them; and you never did. You have not forsaken the kin of Thorondor in his need, either; you have not let the servants of the Enemy retain your lord's message for the High King; and you have not voted after your heart's desire in the Council when you were so asked. You are brave, and noble, and valiant, and honourable, and good of heart; and this is why I now speak to you in a way that is all but forbidden between the Exiles and those that come from Beyond.

Are you – are you one of the Powers, then? Tyelcano asked, incredulous. Have you not all forsaken us when we left? How are you here, in my mind? Who are you? Show yourself!

There are many Powers on Arda, Tyelcano of Himring, said the Voice, all of which are vastly different. I am the master of your dreams; and that is all you need to know. I could take any form in front of your eyes, fair or foul; little would it matter, for I appear as I see fit. I am the wind by night when it whispers through the cracks in the walls of your home; I am the patter of rain on your cloak through your long journeys; I am the light of the moon when it makes things appear eerier than they truly are; I am the shadow that follows your steps and the echo of voices that call after you only in thought.

You have memory of Aman, said Tyelcano, and you knew that I could not stay far from its light; but the Powers I have known there no longer walk among the Exiles.

You know that some still do, even if you now abhor them, said the Voice, and there are more that you will never encounter. Ai, you Noldor are prone to the most far-fetched presumptions of your own importance! Indeed these lands and many of their dwellers would prevail even if you were all to die, to the last Elf. It is not my particular interest to save you or the ones you love; yet still, as I observed your actions, I could not help but try. The crows are my friends, and they have been guiding your steps for a while.

They have brought Orcs upon me, and led my brothers-in-arms to death! Tyelcano let his wrath seep through their delicate link of ósanwe, observed as its immaterial flames burned high and hot. They have led me astray and locked me in a diamond cage so I could do nothing for my family!

I could now crush your spirit and tear it to pieces, the Voice whispered; and such was its latent power that Tyelcano recoiled in sudden fear. I know that you have seen death and ruin and treachery and pain and suffering; for this and this alone I keep my patience with you, though not for long if you keep testing it. Behold me then, Tyelcano of Himring, if you truly think that my crows have been plotting your ruin!

In terrified awe, Tyelcano raised his head and looked. The uneartly golden radiance began to take the shape of a figure in front of his eyes, fairer than spring, more regal than any prince of the Eldar, young and old and glad and sorrowful and benevolent and dangerous at the same time. Even as he glimpsed his face, the shape of his hands or the fabric of his clothes, his mind could not take in what he saw; the stranger's Presence was all-compassing, and absolute, and it dimmed the barren dreamscape of the battlefield around them.

All he could do was fall on his knees, and hang his head.

"Rise, child, and fear me no longer," said the Master of Dreams; and he took his hand, pulled him on his feet, and gazed fondly upon him. Tyelcano could not comprehend the sight of his face, either; his eyes were distant stars, their light cold and cutting like a sharpened blade, seeing into the depts of his fëa, his past and his present, his wants and his needs, his duties and his intentions. His Presence was hot as a high-burning flame, attracting the eye and making the rest of the world seem bleak and colourless. Tyelcano doubted that he would have ever looked at either the towers of Ondolindë or the high walls of Himring clad in winter frost, or even the Mountain of Túna in the light of the Trees if this Presence was beside him as he came upon them.

"Was it all meant to be, then?" His voice cracked with emotion. "Was it your hand that guided me all along? Were you seeking to unite us against our enemy?"

"Yes and no," said the Master of Dreams. "Yes: I have sent you dreams; and yes, I have intended them as a manner of guidance. But I had no way of knowing if you would all find your way to each other, or heed the call of my crows. Many things happened since you left your home: by my measure of time, it was less then a blink of an eye ago – perhaps you would deem so yourself –, yet the plans that are now set in motion would have been unconceivable back then. You have accomplished much more than you think, and I am grateful for it; which is why I now come to you with grave warning. So hear me! The whole house of Finwë, but especially the High King and the lord that you love so fervently, are in deadly peril; for the wrath of their Enemy has been kindled, and soon it shall turn against them with all its might. He knows of their plans and agreements, their alliances and treaties, and he has laid a trap for them: one that is cruel, deadly and twisted, and it shall soon close above their heads." The Master of Dreams tilted his head, and beheld Tyelcano with sudden scrutiny. "And die they both shall indeed, unless their eyes are opened to the enormity of the treason that awaits them."

Tyelcano felt as though all blood had been suddenly drained from his body.

"Crush my spirit and scatter it into the stars if you so wish, Master of Dreams," he said weakly, "but how do I know that you are true to me? None of the Powers have heard my pleas since Losgar, not even in the depths of my despair."

But the Presence did not strike him, nor did it curse him; it radiated warmth, and understanding, and care.

"Still alert and watchful, still unwilling to betray his Lord," he said, and held Tyelcano's face between his palms. "You are truly one of a kind: but I have not expected less, of course. You have walked under the Trees with Powers mightier than myself; and if you think I seek to blind you with phantasms and fever dreams, you are mistaken! I have not shown myself to you so I would speak of horrors that might be, or might never come to pass. I am not here to earn your trust either; you must grant it or deny it yourself. The sole reason I have woven myself into your dreams, and spoken to you with my spirit is to show you things in motion at this very moment, as we speak; for there is nothing closer to the truth than witnessing Things That Are."

"Show me how?" Tyelcano stared at him. "Through ósanwe?"

"Of course not," said the Master of Dreams. "I could deceive you just as easily, showing you illusions. If you now look around, you see nothing that truly Is: only a tapestry of magic that I have woven around your mind so you would comprehend my Presence, and not fear it. Nay; if you want to learn the truth, you must come with me to the Unseen World, where no children of Illúvatar walk. Beyond hearing and sight; beyond appearance and touch; beyond feeling and life. I have no power over what you shall witness there. Will you come and be wiser, or will you sink back into your dreams, and let your lord face his doom alone?"

Tyelcano did not fully understand why he was so afraid. The Master of Dreams seemed kindly and fair, the light of Aman full and golden around his figure.

But Melkor had seemed kindly and fair as well when Manwë freed him of his chains, and let him walk in Aman.

It could all be a terrible, terrible trap – but it mattered not.

If his lord was truly in danger, he had to know of it. Has he not suspected so for years already? Has he not been weary and suspicious of his dreams ever since he had begun seeing them?

What if just once, just this once, the Powers sent him help? What if they have seen all the deeds of valour that Maedhros and Fingon had committed, and they finally deemed the House of Finwë worthy of saving? Thorondor himself had once come at the plea of Fingon, after all.

What if they were not entirely abandoned?

What if there was a true chance to overthrow the Enemy, to reclaim the Silmarils, to reunite Noldor, Sindar, Avari, Teleri and Laiquendi, and go home?

The Master of Dreams extended his hand, and Tyelcano took it. His grip was cold and firm as a band of iron around his wrist – not what he expected –, and the first steps were slow and hard, as if dragging through a thick wallow of immaterial mud.

"If you let go of my hand, you shall be lost forever," said the Master of Dreams. "No child of Illúvatar walks houseless in the Unseen World, for such a deed is beyond their power and comprehension. But if I am with you, I can help you stay on the path."

"Then follow you I will," said Tyelcano, and so they walked through the gentle golden light; and upon their steps, the endless mist of the battlefield rose to immaterial heavens, the clouds rolled back, and gave way to  starlit sky beyond Sun and Moon.

And so they walked in starlight; and draped themselves in clouds across the windy sky, and disappeared Beyond.

Aside from the fear for his lord's life, his doubts and some feeling of ineluctible doom, Tyelcano had to admit to a certain degree of longing towards the Unseen, a domain that the Firstborn did not know much of. Those who had set foot in Aman, and saw the Light of the Trees were said to have a presence Beyond, a source of strange wisdom and sometimes foresight. Fëanáro had walked there, perhaps, before he stopped seeking the counsel of Aulë, or Tyelkormo, when he still followed the steps of Oromë; but it had always seemed to Tyelcano that whatever one witnessed in the Unseen World was impossible to share, for the same sight could appear different to the eyes of another.

Fëar of the Firstborn did not, by nature, dwell houseless with their hröa still intact; and Tyelcano wondered briefly what would happen if he broke free of the grasp that held his hand. Would he ever find his way back into his world, or would he be confined to the Unseen beyond eternity? Would he then learn secrets that none speak of? Would he then gain knowledge of things unacknowledged? How powerful could he become?

"Greed does not suit you," said the Master of Dreams, and Tyelcano bowed his head in sudden shame. "But do not judge yourself so harshly: curiosity is natural. Raise your eyes, and behold the Things That Are!"

Tyelcano did; and he was astonished to be standing in something-like-a-camp, bathing in something-like-the-summer-sun, surrounded by colours he could not name and shapes he could not comprehend.

"Look further," said the Master of Dreams; and when Tyelcano again did as he was told, he began to understand that he was, indeed, standing in a camp. Above him stood the high walls of Barad Eithel, gleaming with impossible hues, and upon those walls, banners were hung.

All banners of the Free Peoples of Beleriand, even those of Doriath and Nargothrond.

Tyelcano stopped, and stared.

Lord Nelyafinwë had done the impossible – but why was he even surprised? His lord had been committed to impossible odds and inconcievable heroics since he had been rescued from the Iron Prison. There was nothing he could not do.

"Look even further," said the Master of Dreams, "and let the truth come to you."

Tyelcano looked again, and his eyes slowly opened to the depths of the Unseen. He saw that the camp was full of soldiers of all affiliations, and guards, and craftsmen, and healers, and many more: all blurred patches of faint glow in the fabric of Arda; mostly pleasant to the eye, but sometimes with strange patterns and depths, the meanings of which his mind could presume rather than understand, as if he was touching pieces of fabric to feel the differences in texture.

"You see them now the way they truly are," said the Master of Dreams. "Keep looking!"

Tyelcano glanced up at him, but his face was veiled in the radiating glow of his Presence, sharp and painful and beautiful and terrible in its might; and his eyes stung.

His sight getting sharper with every glance, he observed the armies of his lord and the High King, slowly climbing the steps of stone to Barad Eithel. No one seemed aware of him as he walked past them; Eldar, Edain and Naugrim passed around him and his guide as they made their way through the gates and into the streets. Tyelcano witnessed that those who had come from Aman had a Presence in the Unseen World indeed, unable as they were to notice him from within the confines of their hröa. His kinsmen were clearest to his eye, although perhaps it was a matter of affinity rather than power alone; and when he came upon the High King of the Noldor, his fëa welled with love, and briefly, he basked in the warmth of a familiar presence.

He followed Fingon through the courtyard and along the high wall; and that was when he saw the Truth.

On top of the wall waited three Men. Their faces and voices remained a mystery to him this deep in the Unseen; but he saw that their hands were bound with ties crueller than iron and sharper than steel.

Shackles that went deeper than skin, flesh or bones.

Restraints that were woven into the very fabric of their souls.

Chains that were, themselves, Unseen; and as such, there was only one possible source that they could come from.

"They are the sons of an Easterling chieftain who now bears the trust of your kinsmen," said the Master of Dreams. "Their father is likewise chained; so are most of their people. Some chains are attached to those of others, and not the source: a cruel, sinister curse that shall deepen the wedge between Eldar and Edain. Look, and behold!"

And again Tyelcano looked. Space and distance meant little and less in the depths of the Unseen; it was enough for his heart to turn toward the Himring and he saw it already, somehow standing in the courtyard of his Lord and atop the high wall of his King at the same moment; and he beheld the far stronghold in the East, swarming with traitors.

"What may I do?" He cried out in desperation. "If only I could speak to them, Unseen, and warn them!"

"You cannot, and must not," said the Master of Dreams, "and even if you could, they might not believe you. But you should not yet lose hope! The Enemy merely wants to cut off your lord from the High King so his victory may be all the greater. The very essence of his plan is the assumption that the High King is not powerful enough to withstand a sudden onslaught alone, were his armies roused by some bait or other treachery to reveal themselves before the time is right. Find your way to Barad Eithel, and tell him what you have seen; and no bait shall be enough to break his resolve. You may still save him; and your lord, vigilant as he is, may also escape the throes of treachery."

Tyelcano did not answer him. All he could see were dark, shapeless patches of shackled thralls, their number larger than he could fathom. The shadow of despair descended upon his spirit, and the beauty of the world could not penetrate the vaults of the Unseen to lighten his heart. His sorrow darkened the world itself around him instead, dark forebodings whispering their terrors in his mind.

And that was when he felt the coming of his lord; so mighty and powerful that he pressed his free hand to his chest, feeling as if he had been pulled from underwater to finally breathe.

The fëa of Maedhros shone with a white light, so sharp and cold and brilliant that Tyelcano could barely look at him; and yet the sudden familiarity of his Presence soothed him, and chased the shadow of his fear away. To have him this close at the risk of deadly peril, with so many things to say but unable to speak was torture; and yet it seemed almost as though their bond of unbreakable loyalty could bridge the two Worlds, for Maedhros raised his eyes to meet his.

Almost as if he could still perceive him, even across the unfathomable distance of Beyond, even Houseless.

"If he could see you now," said the Master of Dreams, "it would bring even greater peril upon you both. Come! You have learned enough. You must return to your body, or else you will lose your mind."

Tyelcano knew little of the art of ósanwe, its limitations and inner workings. All he did was wish, with sudden fervency, that his lord would hear him beyond hearing, understand him beyond understanding, feel him beyond feeling across Seen and Unseen. The Master's grip was iron and fire on his wrist, pulling him back within the confines of his hröa as it lay abandoned.

Beware, he told Maedhros with mind and heart, with stern will and great urgency. You are in danger.

Shapes and colours dimmed around him, and his mind slipped from conscious thought.

Beware.

Danger.

Beware.

---

Tyelcano awoke with a gasp, almost tumbling out of his bed as he was seized by a fit of violent shaking. His head was pounding as if some Dwarf had mistaken it for an anvil, and white spots swirled in front of his eyes as he struggled to keep his limbs still. Strong arms grabbed him from above, holding him in place, their touch warm and familiar.

Laurefindil!

He only realised that he was still speaking through ósanwe when his friend gave a start, almost falling on the bed himself. Suddenly mortified, Tyelcano opened his mouth, but his mind did not yet gain back its ability to form spoken language.

"What in the name of Manwë and Varda...!" Came Ecthelion's voice from behind. "Stars above, Tyel, what have you done?!"

"I..."

It was frustrating, truly, how language formed a solid obstacle in front of the things he wanted to say. To simplify them in such a manner seemed nothing short of a disgrace...

But even his thoughts fell silent as Gwaihir the Eagle sat on the board of his bed, folded his feathers and beheld him with scrutinizing golden eyes.

"You have returned from Beyond," he said. "You walked through the Unseen, and came back with knowledge beyond your understanding. You would do well to beware of it."

"The – what?" Laurefindil stared at him. "The Unseen? We looked for you everywhere until we found you in your own bed! We thought that your fëa had left your body in silent anguish, and gone to Mandos! We feared..."

"I am here," said Tyelcano, though each spoken word felt like gravel scrobbling a chiselled marble floor. "The dreams – the dreams have been sent by the Powers. A warning. They have always been a warning." With an effort, he set up in the bed, heart rattling desperately in his chest. "I must speak to the King... I must..."

Gwaihir laid his large head upon his chest, turned slightly to one side so he could hold Tyelcano's gaze with his left eye.

"I owe you my life, servant of the Star," he said, "and that is the only reason why I shall say it again: beware of the Unseen! The future, in its pure and absolute form, cannot be predicted by those within Ëä; even the Powers are not able to draw more than elaborate lists of possible consequences. What you have seen may never come to pass."

"I have seen Things That Are," said Tyelcano. "The truth."

"Truth can take many shapes," said the Eagle, "and it can save you as well as lead you to ruin."

He spoke no more, slowly raising his head from the bed; and Tyelcano found that his weakness was gone, and his mind cleared.

"Not this time," he said. "A trap has been laid for our people through treachery, and we must not fall in it. Now take me to the King, and heed my warning, or else I shall tear this City down, brick by brick, until I free my way out of it; for the only way Moringotto may get to my Lord again is over my dead body."

* * *

---

Chapter End Notes

I have recently posted a third (and probably penultimate) gapfiller to 'Gates', titled Thou Shalt Lead (And I Will Follow). It explores the relationship of Maedhros and Maglor between chapters 30 and 38 through seven flash fiction pieces, with one glimpse into the future at the end. Check it out if you are interested – this chapter gives a small nod to two of the seven scenes:)

On the number of Doriath envoys: In 'The Silmarillion', only Beleg and Mablung show up to fight in the Nirnaeth; the Grey Annals and some other versions, however, mention "a small troop" from Doriath joining Fingon's army in the West. I chose to go with that version simply because it seemed more plausible that Beleg and Mablung would not travel entirely alone through a war-torn land.

The representation of ósanwe or "interchange of thought", its use and its conditions and the depiction of the Unseen World are all based on the full essay titled Ósanwe-kenta, edited by Carl F. Hostetter for the 1998 edition of Vinyar Tengwar – a true gold mine of cosmology, ethics and etymology. We know, of course, very little of the Unseen World itself, so I tried to fill in the gaps with my own humble imagination, with the hope that the result would not feel too subpar:)

I also admit that I wanted to raise the stakes a little bit. As this fic is a canon filler, you must already know that the Nirnaeth is going to be a disaster, but I maintain some artistic liberty on exactly what kind of disaster it will be :D