The Seven Gates by Laerthel  

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The Wrath of Turgon

Tyelcano, through many obstacles and contextually inappropriate comedy, tells the Small Council what he has learned; and a decision is made.

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The Seven Gates
Chapter 40. - The Wrath of Turgon

Tyelcano hardly remembered what time was, but he had none to lose.

After his sudden immersion into the indefinite shapes and impossible hues of the Unseen, walking once more within the boundaries of the waking world felt oddly like a dream. Colours were dim and noises were faint, as if he were separated from his surroundings by an invisible, immaterial veil that shifted with his every move. The polished marble floors, painted walls, jewelled doors, mazy corridors, airy rooms and imposing stairwells were molded into the blur of haste, his steps mapping out the path to the King's study by habit and familiarity.

Turukáno was prone to holding small council meetings in the privacy of his own quarters, fond as he was of the view from his balcony: the ruthless heights of the Oroquilta and the gleaming city below. Anardil's judgement had been spoken there, Elemmakil's life had been spared there, and the secret of their dreams had first been revealed there as well; and just as back on that fateful day, a heated debate seemed to unfold in front of the open balcony door.

Tyelcano stepped into the airy parlour with Ecthelion, Laurefindil and the Eagle in his heels, not quite wanting to interrupt yet. He knew that once he spoke, it would prove nigh impossible to conceal his turmoil.

The first face he saw was that of Lómion, schooled into an expression of guided concern. He then glimpsed Voronwë on the other side of the desk, as tacit and stoic as ever; and Anardil, whose eyes were gleaming with laughter as he paced back and forth between his King and Salgant of the Harp, who stood frozen in contempt.

"I see no reason for such calamity," said the Teler, his voice playful yet firm, as if answering a child's question for the thousandth time. "It is a theatre play, Majesty. Simple, harmless comedy that lightens the heart, and gives the good people of your City something to cheer on. Merely because one role is called 'STAR' and another 'HARP', neither of these are necessarily linked to real people. They could be, per se, but there is, I insist, no evidence of such intent. The story itself is, I would say, an allegory of action and speaking of action; but that is meant to elude the watcher at first glance. I suppose one as well-versed in the arts as yourself could say that my play is a parody of the Heroic Lay, in which Heroes elaborate, through stanzas uncounted, on what they must accomplish; and as they do, deadly peril creeps upon them, unseen and unheard."

"Do you take me for a fool?" The Lord of the Harp eyed Anardil with open indignation. "As if your newfound artistic enthusiasm was more than a ploy to mock me!"

"If our King says that no more iterations of my play may be staged, then I shall heed his command," said Anardil with theatrical chagrin. "But that would be such a shame, Majesty! I must say that it is a constant favourite. I cannot remember the last time I saw an empty foothold in the audience."

"Because people are prone to mock, and gloat, and they are drawn to public scorn when it strikes others," said Salgant darkly, "in the same way that one should brace themselves to look away from a killing when blood is being spilled. We are all plagued by a natural curiosity towards the unpleasant: an advantage for your mediocre poetry."

Silence filled the room; and Tyelcano had only a moment to glimpse the sudden, irrational hurt in Anardil's eyes before Laurefindil interrupted.

"Nonsense! Parody or not, that play is great - you know if yourself. Otherwise, there would be no need for the proud Lord of the Harp to complain about it."

All eyes turned to them as they waited on the doorstep: Gwaihir with his solemn, gleaming eyes, Ecthelion as he gripped the doorpost, his face still grave, Laurefindil as he raised an accusing finger at Salgant, and Tyelcano himself, who was still wearing the same clothes he had trained in that morning - and which he had eventually fallen asleep in, although he did not remember retiring to his rooms.

Giving the best pretence of solemn disinterest he presently felt capable of, he said:

"I apologize for the unannounced intrusion, Majesty, but we must speak. It was your wish and command that if an urgent need arose, I should come to you at once; and so have I done."

He was scarcely aware of his open dismissal towards lords and princes; and even less aware of how they all moved to obey without thinking - but then Salgant of the Harp halted, as if some spell was suddenly broken on him, and turned to Tyelcano with all the indignance of their last quarrel.

"And why should I obey? You are a disturber of this City's peace, a threat and a prompter, a marrer of reputations! What else may I call one who has his friends write scathing jests on a rival he had bested in a dishonest fight?"

"A dishonest fight it was, aye," Ecthelion snorted. "Him with a training sword, and you with sharpened steel. But such is the fate of one who scorns the greatest swordsman east of the Sea, master-at-arms to Nelyafinwë himself. How did you think such a duel would end? He could put all our heads on the proverbial Wooden Pike, one by one, if so he wished."

"Such boastful exaggerations on my behalf shall not help settle this argument, Lord Warden," said Tyelcano. In less tumultuous moments, he could not have contained his glee - he disliked Salgant with a certain fervency -, but the memory of his vision sat on his heart like a cloud of black dread; and every second not spent trying to avoid the coming disaster was a second wasted.

"So you do not deny that the play is a mockery of our duel," said Salgant. "Then Master Anardil is lying to us once again. How surprising!"

"Your pardon, but the fight scene you so despise is from The Lay of the Wooden Pike," said Anardil. "Not my original. Apparently, the cruel, gloating people of Ondolindë have started writing new versions of my mediocre work. Such things are out of my control, which makes it quite unnecessary to drag me in front of our good King, when clearly, he has more important things to do!"

"Because you can just do as you please, aye?" Salgant snapped. "With neither consequence, nor heed to the dignity and reputation of others."

"If I may weigh in -" said Turukáno, his voice remarkably impassive.

Everyone fell silent immediately. Laurefindil let out the breath he was holding, Lómion rearranged his features into an expression of polite curiosity, Salgant ceased his pacing, Ecthelion crossed his arms, Voronwë bridled his silent fit of laughter, and Anardil looked at the King expectantly, as if he was listening to some argument of excessive length coming to its conclusion. The only one truly untouched by the scene was Gwaihir, who was ruffling his feathers quite meticulously.

Tyelcano, for his part, waged a terrible war with himself not to interrupt. His strife with Salgant seemed so minor in nature now, so insignificant, that he would have scarcely spared it another word if he had the choice. Both he and Anardil had made an enemy for life, no doubt; but what did that matter if at the same time, Nelyafinwë was surrounded by traitors and Findekáno walking into a trap?

"Wounds on one's pride are painful, no doubt," said Turukáno, "and slow to heal. It is sometimes undue punishment to rub salt in them," he continued with a pointed glance at Anardil, "but other times, such grievances cannot be helped. Some atrocities committed within the House of Finwë shall never fade from memory, no matter how many centuries of heroics my cousins and kinsmen might do to set them right. You, Salgant of the Harp, are witness to that yourself, for you have reproached the deeds of the lord's House to his servant; in such a manner which was unjust. I have known Tyelcano from the very spring of my childhood; and I also know that he has a remarkable temper, cooled by many yéni of diplomacy, service and courtesy. If you managed to break through that, and make him hurt you, you must have said something truly vile about my cousin; something that may have angered me as well, were I there to bear witness. For that, you have been punished; indeed, everything that occurred is a consequence of your own doing. If such an uneven duel is fought in the training fields, the outcome shall be worded into song, no matter the parties concerned; simply because the event itself is remarkable. Not good, and not bad: but remarkable. Surely this does not surprise you, Lord of the Harp? Surely you do not think that there would be no Lay of the Wooden Pike sung throughout the City if the roles were reversed? And surely, you do not expect the King of this City to silence his people and cow them, when he had, since the first day of his rule, always encouraged them to speak their minds? If I were to declare that no ill word, open or insinuated, must be spoken of the Lord of the Harp henceforth: I would be sure, then, to set you up for scorn and mockery!"

"See?" Anardil rolled his eyes. "That's what I said, if a lot less eloquently."

"Far it be from me to question the wisdom of your judgement, Majesty," said Salgant with a lilt that suggested otherwise, "yet I do believe that Tyelcano of Himring could have stopped all this. He could have silenced his friends, but he was unwilling."

"I tried," said Tyelcano, "quite valiantly, but entirely in vain. I confess that I do not enjoy such notoriety, either. And now, if you will excuse me, Salgant of the Harp, I must speak with the King about matters of far greater importance than either your pride or my personal dignity."

"And just who do you think you are to call an end to my requested audience with the King?" Salgant snapped.

"I am Tyelcano of the Household of Finwë, second-in-command to the Warden of the East," said he, voice colder than ice, "and you are out of this room."

His words had a power of command, and his eyes still shone with the strange, distant light of the Unseen. Before that light, Salgant was cowed; and once more he turned his back on him and left, his sudden awe stronger than his resentment.

"The rest of you may stay if the King wills it," said Tyelcano.

Turukáno looked around in the room, and drew a deep breath.

"If I am not mistaken," he said, "whatever you shall now reveal concerns the mystery of our dreams."

"Alas! They are no longer a mystery," said Tyelcano. "And so the day has come for the King of the Hidden City to fulfil his promise and open his Gates in front of me, lest a terrible fate befalls us all."

If he was waiting for a reaction, he did so in vain; for Turukáno's face remained solemn and calm.

"Speak," he said, "and let me be the judge of that."

And so Tyelcano spoke. He recounted the details of his last dream from beginning to end, leaving nothing out. He described the Master of Dreams in such detail he could, and he also tried to explain his impressions of the Unseen World. Yet time and time again, words failed him, for no language was fit to uncover the secrets of Beyond.

He tried, nevertheless; and when he spoke of the chains Unseen that bound the Easterling followers of the Feanorean camp, Laurefindil cried out in dismay.

"What cruel mockery to taunt Nelyafinwë so! Him who is ever brave and vigilant! But such a ruse should have been expected, of course. The servants of the Enemy cannot stand before him, and so they must strike from behind: a secret knife between the ribs. I pray that you warn him in time. And the High King!"

"These are grave news indeed," said Lómion slowly, "if true."

"I have had my doubts at the beginning," Tyelcano admitted, "as I told you. But then I have truly walked through the Unseen, and saw things that Were. Not even the power of the Marrer himself could have made them appear differently! Illusions cannot corrupt the very essence of our fëar. The Master of Dreams could have perhaps disguised himself if he truly is as powerful as a Vala, or nearly so; but even then he could not have altered everything else I experienced. Did Gwaihir himself not say that I have returned from Beyond?"

"I did," said the Eagle, "and I maintain what I said when you woke in the world of the living. You may have seen the truth, as bare as it can be, but your understanding of it cannot be separated from what you wish to believe."

"What I wish to believe?" Tyelcano stared at him with dismay. "Do you truly think that I wish for my Lord to be so cruelly betrayed?"

"Nay," said Gwaihir, "but you wish to accept the explanation offered for what you have seen. You hope these things have been shown to you because it is within your power to prevent them. You wish to believe that this Master of Dreams comes to you with aid in the hour of gravest need."

"That is what I must believe, or else I would drown in the blackest despair known to the Firstborn!" Tyelcano cried. "And it is illogical to assume otherwise," he added in a much steadier tone. "Since when does the Enemy reveal his dark designs? He would never take such a risk, and he would never underestimate the Lords of the West again, either. Nelyafinwë and Findekáno escaped him once; he shall not allow them to do so again, not unless they break down the very walls of Angamando and take the Silmarils from his crown."

"Nothing has been revealed," said Gwaihir, "merely claimed by one who calls himself the master of your dreams. Not all dreams - yours."

"But I have seen..."

"Yes, you have seen something." The Eagle ruffled his feathers. "But you needed guidance to open your eyes to the world Beyond. The chains you have seen binding those Men were explained to you to be chains of treason: explained by the one who brought you there. You might have beholden Things That Are, but can you lay a doubtless claim that you have understood them as they Were? I think not. It may as well be that you are chained to Nelyafinwë yourself in eternal service, and the King of this City to his brother by the love of family; but those chains you could not see, because your eyes were shut to them."

Tyelcano stared at the Eagle, his chest welling with sudden gratitude. It felt as if some spell had suddenly been broken on him, and he drew a deep breath. His mind was no longer frozen in horror and determination, and the cogwheels of his wit were turning again.

"You are right, of course, Windlord," he said with respect. "Forgive me my harsh words. I have seen something indeed, but my understanding of it could be faulty. It may as well be I, and not my lord, who is being led into a trap."

"You both might be," said Lómion. "Or neither. We must find a way to be sure."

"There may not be one," said Ecthelion gravely. "Not in time, at least."

"Tell me, Windlord," said Anardil suddenly, addressing Gwaihir with far greater respect than what he usually accorded to Lords of the Noldor, "what do you remember of your injury? How did your wing come to be broken? Could that also be the work of this Master of Dreams?"

"I do not know," said the Eagle with regret. "If I try to remember, my thoughts fade to blackness. And I have a hurt that is Unseen; my wing is healed, but that other wound makes me tarry here still, while the open skies are calling. My folk are strong of body and stronger of spirit, but such terrors take time to overcome. Yet I still do not know how I have suffered; and not knowing is the gravest wound of all."

Tyelcano felt the tendrils of dismay creep across his chest at this declaration; but he was not nearly as aggravated as Anardil, who began pacing to and fro in the room.

"The Master of Dreams said this was a test," he said. "Of fortitude. Well - I am no lore-master of renowned wisdom, but if one is capable to hurt an Eagle so as a part of their mind-games..."

"You are making assumptions too," said Tyelcano. "The Master of Dreams never said that he caused Gwaihir's hurt. He merely observed my behaviour that night - and I must confess that I am surprised he found it favourable," he added with shame.

"Then what of your coming here?" Anardil pressed. "That one he caused: his hand was in it, through his crows. Your kinsmen were slaughtered, and he did naught to stop it! And what of that day when you found the..."

"He may have been merely observing Tyel," Ecthelion cut in tactically, "taking every opportunity for a trial. So he would have done if he were truly one of the Powers; much like the Lord of Waters did to our King before we were led here, to this Valley, to find our peaceful home."

"Or we may be facing the same dilemma as good Lord Salgant," said Anardil. "My play was, originally, a jab at him: this is true. However, by the time I finished it, it ceased to be one, and became art, however mediocre; or a message, if you prefer. The story does have a deeper meaning - while it is also a petty jab. Two different truths grapple for the consideration of anyone willing to choose; but choosing is a luxury, and as such, it entails the abandon of one truth in favour of the other. Do we have that luxury now?"

Everyone stared at him in wonder.

"That was a wise thing to say," said Voronwë, and his voice was strange.

Anardil tilted his head. "What can I say? I may have learned some rhetorics from Lord Mopey here."

Tyelcano drew a sharp breath. "Can you, at least, not call me that in front of the King?"

"Oh, please," Laurefindil chimed in, "it is an epessë like any other."

"It is not an epessë," Tyelcano retorted, "merely an insolent remark upon my person that you three have grown too accustomed to, weary as I often am to offer proper retaliation."

"Well, kinsman," said the King, eyes gleaming with mirth, "that is oftentimes the very foundation of an epessë."

Tyelcano glanced up at him in wonder at being called his kin; and he saw, with even greater wonder, that he was smiling.

"Do not despair!" said Turukáno. "I know that duty is calling you with utmost urgency, and your heart trembles for both Nelyafinwë and my brother. Yet this I say unto you, Tyelcano of Himring: do not despair! For amid so much sorrow, darkness, doubts, fears, and misgivings, it is finally becoming clear to me what I must do."

"And what must you do, o King?" Lómion asked. "Surely we cannot believe every word that comes from this Master of Dreams when we know nothing about him?"

"Nay," said Turukáno, " we cannot. Either the dreams are a trap or they offer true guidance: we cannot know which is true. One may argue that the Enemy would never reveal his plans to such an extent, for he is many things, but not reckless. The guidance of the dreams seems true and wise at first sight indeed; and yet the more I dwell on this Master of Dreams, the more I believe that his intentions are tainted with darkness."

"There is a chance that they are, no doubt," said Tyelcano with sorrow, "and yet I cannot think of a wiser choice than to follow where my dreams lead me."

"Is that so, counsellor of Kings?" Turukáno looked at him sharply. "Then answer me this: what do you think shall happen to Nelyafinwë's glorious alliance if you go now and cry treason at the third of his armed forces? What shall happen to his plans and treaties and newly forged bonds of friendship? How fast do you think the banners of Doriath and Nargothrond shall disappear from the walls of Barad Eithel? How bitter shall be the divide among the Free Peoples once more? The Union of Nelyafinwë is one the like of which we have never seen; and in its singularity lies its great weakness. Ai, if I had neither honour nor hope to vanquish my enemies by force of arms, this is exactly how I would plot their demise!"

Tyelcano had to grab hold of the King's desk so he could stay on his feet. Cold, numbing terror seized him, holding him in place.

"You have the wisdom of your grandsire," he said, "and I a shortness of sight. How fortunate I am to have come to you, Turukáno son of Nolofinwë! And how could my Lord ever rely upon my advice again if I am so reckless?"

But the King looked at him with love and respect; and he came to him, and bowed to kiss his forehead.

"Do not berate yourself," he said gently. "This is a harsh trial indeed, but you need not face it alone. We do not know if we are being betrayed or guided; so we must assume both, and must find a solution for both."

"But how is that possible, Majesty?" Laurefindil exclaimed. "How could we both listen and not listen to these dreams?"

"I assume that we shall abandon the duality of choice that our predicament, at first sight, presents us with," said Tyelcano. "I can see that now."

"Then you could perhaps put it into words that mediocre poets also understand...?" Anardil quipped.

"Listen well, my friend," said the King, his eyes gleaming. "If Nelyafinwë and my brother are being betrayed, we cannot sit idly: we must thwart the Enemy's plans the best we can. And a treason we know of is a treason we can control." Turukáno crossed his arms. "One thing I believe to be true: Moringotto must indeed deem my brother lacking of power. He must truly think that if he managed to withhold Nelyafinwë from him, then his army would not be strong enough to match the strength of Angband."

"Aye," said Tyelcano, "and it would not, in fact, be so."

Turukáno tilted his head. "Ai, kinsman, but what if it was?"

Tyelcano stared at him.

"Surely you do not mean..."

"The wisdom of my grandsire only runs so deep within me," said Turukáno sharply. "All fear the wrath of Nelyafinwë, for it is mighty and destructive; and all fear the wrath of my brother as well, for it is brilliant, and scathing, and suddenly it strikes like thunder. Yet Moringotto should now learn to fear my wrath as well: contained as long and deep as my spirit is able, but cold and final in its might. For I am patient! I can wait for yéni uncounted to deal a blow if I believe it is warranted; and when I do, my enemies will cower. Moringotto shall not chase my brother into a dark corner and slay him like a rat! He shall not make a cowardly attempt on my cousin's life, and have his army turn on him! And he shall not trap you either, servant of my House, and have you inadvertently betray the one you love most. I shall march upon Angamando, for the hour has come; and the night is passing. Let the Master of Dreams think that I have become selfish and withdrawn, that I have shut my heart to my kinsmen in the East and West! Let the Enemy think that I wish to keep hiding, that he need not fear the threat of my power! Unseen and unheard I shall strike; uncalled for and unlooked for I shall come, and turn his own trap against him."

"You are going to war!" Lómion exclaimed.

"I am." The King raised his head, and Tyelcano almost trembled at the sudden sternness of his glance. "But no one can know that I am: least of all my brother and Nelyafinwë."

"How shall we keep such a secret?" Laurefindil shook his head. "The Master of Dreams has been watching us for many months now: how could we hope to thwart him if he does indeed need to be thwarted? Even if we closed our minds to him and pretended not to heed his warning, he would still know the truth."

"Would he indeed..." said Turukáno. "That is certainly what he wants us to believe. Yet if it is truly through ósanwe that he spoke to us, it is within the power of our will to hide from him."

Tyelcano looked at him, confused. "Is it truly?"

"We may always hide; even from Manwë himself if we so choose," said the King, puzzled. "But surely you must know this if you have practiced the art of ósanwe?"

"I have heard of it," said Tyelcano quickly, heart hammering in his chest, "but the details of a craft are seldom mentioned in passing."

He knew that his attempt at evasion was all to poor; but Turukáno made no mention of it.

"As I said, we may refuse to speak to the Master of Dreams," he continued, "and shut our minds so he cannot visit us anymore, either. If there is any fault in choosing so, I shall take it upon myself, and endure any punishment the Powers seem fit."

"But what of the crows?" Anardil said. "They have found their way in. We have all seen them."

"My people can stop them from coming if so you wish, King Beyond the Mountains," said Gwaihir. "You have always been our friend, and the Lord of Waters led you here to dwell with us. It is only natural that you shall have our aid, and any tidings we may get from the outside world; for even if you wish to strike unlooked-for, you must first learn where to deal your blow."

"Well spoken, Windlord," said Turukáno, "and I thank you." Then he looked around in the room. "Every word of these dreams and their Master must remain between us. Let the Lords of Ondolindë know that their King has a chance of vanquishing the Enemy, and he shall follow his brother to battle when the day comes. Let it be known that I require no oath and extend no obligation to any of them to follow my lead; all I do is ask, with conviction that I have made the right choice. But no word of this must reach them, either, before the Great Council when the moon turns. Until then, we shall lay low, and wait; and say naught to the Master of Dreams if he appears."

"If your dreams haunt you again," said Gwaihir, "conjure a door with your mind and shut it behind yourselves. Not even the Dark One is able to break into your mind if you so choose."

"That is not what he once told me," spoke Tyelcano softly, before he could stop himself.

He only realized that he had spoken aloud when the air froze in the room, and everyone stared at him.

"You -" said Anardil in a choked voice.

With great effort, Tyelcano schooled his freatures into an expression of mild embarrassment.

"Forgive me," he said, "I was far away in my mind. You were saying...?"

Anardil shook his head. "Did you...?"

"Did I - what?" Tyelcano tilted his head. "I am afraid you have caught me at the end of an exceptionally long thread of thought."

"Well, that was a particularly odd coincidence, then," said Anardil sharply. Tyelcano withstood the scrutiny of his friend's gaze; his silence was a lie that hurt his conscience, but he saw no alternative to it.

"We were saying," said Gwaihir the Eagle, his eyes bright and all-knowing, "that whatever else you might have been led to believe, you have a choice. If you so decide, you may refuse the dreams, and shut their Master out of your mind."

"It never occurred me to try," said Laurefindil suddenly. "And I find that truly odd, since my dreams have caused me a lot of anguish at the beginning. I was very slow to accept that I must see them, time after time; and eventually, I stopped fighting them, deeming them useful. I admit that I long for battle, and to avenge Findaráto, and see the outside world again."

"Aye," said Ecthelion, "I feel the same."

Anardil said naught; he turned away, towards the magnificent view of the City, and crossed his arms. Voronwë looked fleetingly at his back, as if he was going to say something; but then just as abruptly, he turned away, and bowed before the King.

"These are grave tidings indeed," he said. "I can do naught but trust the Powers: the strings of our fates are in their hands. Let me know, Majesty, if there is anything you shall have of me. I remain, as ever, at your service."

"I will, and thank you," said Turukáno. "Let us all take our leave now, and rest, and most of all, think: for we shall need wisdom and patience for the toils to come."

Tyelcano watched as the others left, hoping to appear innocent in his lingering, for he did not wish to withstand the prying questions of his friends. And yet even now as he ran his fingers through the rootlets on the nearest bookshelf in a perfect pretense of absentmindedness, he felt Ecthelion's eyes on his back.

"A word, kinsman," said Turukáno, and Tyelcano felt the grip of his hand on his shoulder. They both waited until Laurefindil closed the door behind himself - quite reluctantly -, and stepped out to the balcony.

"Now, inevitably," said Turukáno, "you will ask me what I plan to do about Nelyafinwë."

"And your answer, I trust, shall soothe me," said Tyelcano. "If the Master of Dreams told the truth, he is in terrible danger. Surely you do not expect me to sit idly while those Easterlings are plotting his downfall!"

"We do not know if they are," the King reminded him. "We only know that there is a risk."

"A considerable risk," said Tyelcano pointedly. "A risk that makes sense."

"And what exactly may you do now, alone and unaided, if I let you to him?" Turukáno's eyes were grave. "Tell him all that you have heard? What would he do, then? You most of all know very well how he is in his wrath. And if you tell him naught, that same wrath shall turn against you."

"What may I do, then?" Tyelcano cried. "Naught? That would be the cruelest treason of all: to suspect my Lord's life in danger, yet remain in peace and prosperity, in the last safe haven of the world where no evil can harm me! How could I stay? I could find no rest, no solace; your best wines shall turn to eisel upon my tongue and your finest food to ash."

"Patience," said Turukáno. "We shall learn more of these Easterlings; and when we have, we may devise your glorious return. If you stop thinking with your heart, do you deem it likely that the Enemy would have Nelyafinwë murdered at some remote and desolate place, without the grim satisfaction of making him watch his own plans founder? Nay! Moringotto would sooner plot to slay my brother in front of his eyes!"

"We do not know that any more than we know the intentions of the Master of Dreams," Tyelcano remarked.

"I am almost sure of it," said Turukáno, "and even if the dreams are misleading, there is one impartial piece of truth we have learned. Moringotto is trying to interfere with Nelyafinwë's Union: to mislead and divide his allies. He thinks that it is necessary to meddle so: and that means that our strength in arms stands a chance. We are a threat to him!"

Tyelcano had no answer to that. The awestruck dread he had felt upon his journey to the Unseen World had worn off by now; it all seemed like a faraway dream. Of his triumphant epiphany, only baleful confusion remained. In all his long years, he had never felt more uncertain of what to do, or what to hope for.

"You shall stand with me when the day comes," said Turukáno gently, "and hear the sound of my trumpets as they herald the coming of war. You shall meet Nelyafinwë on the battlefield, and proudly he shall look at you in the light of a new dawn. Again I say to you, servant of my House: do not despair! For the hope we have gained from the Master of Dreams is greater than any hope kindled in the hearts of the Eldar since the days of bliss in Valinórë across the Sea; and whatever our fates must be, they are tied together. Be glad; for you most of all have been cruelly tried, and you have passed that trial."

"I hope you are right," said Tyelcano; and he pulled his cloak tighter around himself as a cool wind rose from the green valley of Tumladen below.

All light and beauty faded against the depths of the Unseen World; and he suddenly wished he had never been tempted to behold them.

* * *

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Chapter End Notes

Author's Notes

The Tyelcano vs Salgant conflict is discussed in more detail in a companion piece of seven parts I posted under the title 'Between the Lines'.

"Lord Mopey" is (or will be), in fact, Tyelcano's epessë:)) I'm still hesitant on the exact translation, but if "copper-top", "redface", "guy with the great hair" and so forth can exist, then so can Lord Mopey.

The word 'eisel' is Shakespearean English for 'vinegar' -- it probably sounds very quirky and pretentious but it's SO in character for Tyel to use something like that in his emotional turmoil that I just couldn't resist. Let's keep in mind that he is older than the city of Tirion :D