The Court of Ardor by AliceNWonder000137  

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The Council

King Finrod holds a council to determine how to fight Glaurung.  Morelen gives her testimony on the fight against the dragon.  The Sons of Feanor make an appearance.  Some foreshadowing of the fate of Nargothrond.

27)  The Council - Year of the Sun 311 Quellë (Fading)

Morelen

The years that they spent in and out of Nargothrond were among the most idyllic of her short elven life. She was just over one hundred and fifty, barely a full adult among the High Elves and many things were still a wonder to her.  After a bath, she sat in their quarters with only a towel, admiring the wall fountain that ran from floor to ceiling.  It had interesting geometric shapes that the water flowed around, creating almost musical murmurs throughout the room.  Lillies floated in the basin while other flowering plants provided a pleasant aroma. Morelen closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.  The simple act of doing nothing and having no one needing her was most pleasant.

Notaldo had been gone for a couple of days, meeting with the lords of Nargothrond to help with a more offensive strategy to bring down Morgoth and end the war for good.  During this time here, she made friends with the dwarf, Cragstone and learned to enjoy the quality ale that he helped brew.  Her daily trips to the bazaar, the pools and the hot springs had become a ritual.  Was this what Valinor was like?  Why did the Noldor ever leave?  She had heard the story of Fëanor and the terrible oath, but it was still so hard to believe.

She heard the door open and looked to see Notaldo enter.  He wore formal robes, sky blue and silver from the House of Fingon with the sigil of a sun before an eight-pointed star on his left breast.  His curly brown hair fell loosely about his shoulders.  He seemed excited, a big smile on his lips and a sparkle in his eyes.  “Morelen, we need you.  King Finrod wants the person who saw the dragon up close.  We have to find some way to deal with it,” he said emphatically, beckoning to her.

She narrowed her eyes for a moment, feeling resistant.  “You were there.  Why can’t you tell them?  I’m just a rider.  You’re the captain.”

“Yes, but we need another perspective.  I played you up to the kings.  This can only be good for us.”

She was concerned for a moment about the politicking, but then accepted Notaldo’s words.  “Very well.  When am I needed?”

He made a big grin, which she knew was meant to appease her.  “Ummm, now?”

She sighed and grinned back.  “Of course, dear Notaldo,” she said with a sarcastic edge.  “What do I need to wear?”

He went to the closet and pulled out one of her gowns.  “This one. The one I bought you from Lindariel the seamstress out in the bazaar.  This will do very well.”  He held it up, a V Neck with a lace back and a hint of gold on aqua with seafoam fabric and a tea-length skirt down to just above her knees.  “So daring.  I love this one.”

“I’m still not completely comfortable with this new…economy.  Coins?  I mean, how many coins can you carry around in your pocket?  I think it would be too heavy at some point.  Things were simpler when we just got what was needed.”  She stood and walked over, reaching out to feel the material, which reminded her of white azaleas, soft and smooth.  “I love it too, but shouldn’t I appear more…martial? I’ll be talking about dragons after all. This is more of a ‘dinner next to the waterfall’ sort of attire.”

He grinned big again, white teeth in a tanned face.  “Oh no. They’re going to love it.  Trust me.”

Morelen cocked her head and raised her eyebrows.  “If you say so,” she said as she dropped her towel to the floor, revealing her bare form. She was no longer the skinny kid who had joined the riders but filled out and muscular if still slender.  She was known to be exceptionally strong and fast among the company as if some powerful spirit resided in her.  “Happy now?” she asked coyly.

Notaldo blew out a long breath and reached for her, but she slapped his hand and covered herself.  “Oh, don’t we have to go now?”

“Oh, you…yes, yes, we need to go,” he said as he looked up to the ceiling.  He held out the dress and she turned back and slid into it.  She looked into mirror and began braiding her hair. “Just comb it out.  Let’s get going before I get more distracted.”

“Fine, fine,” she said and ran a brush through her black hair to straighten it and quickly threw some products on her face.  Since arriving at Nargothrond, Morelen had become used to spending more time on herself than on her sword and bow.  She was enjoying this life of leisure, knowing that it would go on for centuries. The stories that her friends told of Valinor, eternal and unchanging, were inspirational.  And she was becoming more and more enamored with both dwarven and human music.  Dwarven music was deep and sonorous, something that touched and moved the listener. Human music was as varied as their people: some light and airy, some fast and lively, some told of love and adventure.

She fluffed her hair a couple of times and then turned to Notaldo.  “I’m ready.”

Notaldo then led her back to the royal hall through a series of smaller caverns with winding paths and staircases.  “This will confuse any attackers.  The design of the defense is to stop anyone at the great entry hall.  The people could flee inwards to this veritable maze and shelter here,” Notaldo said, gesturing to the narrow tunnels.  “One warrior could hold up dozens at each of these junctions.”

Morelen nodded. “Impressive.”  With his guidance, she began to understand strategy and tactics, offense and defense.  She narrowed her eyes and gave him a sideways glance.  “But what would happen if a dragon like Glaurung got in?  Wouldn’t these narrow corridors channel his fire and trap people?”

Notaldo shook his head confidently.  “That won’t happen.  The great gates would stop him, and he would have a tough time getting across the River Narog.  He wouldn’t get much purchase on the landing, and we could rain arrows down on him from above.”

She nodded in agreement, glad that he had thought it through.  “I can see that.  It’s good that we have such a great defense.”

He smiled at her. “You’re starting to get a good grasp on strategy and defense.  What we are planning here now is offense.  We don’t have the numbers that we want to assault Angband directly, but Finrod has an announcement that he wants to make that could change things,” he said as they arrived at the doors to the great council hall.  Four elite guardsmen stood outside, holding short glaives against their shoulders.  One Noldor elf stood with them, tall with golden hair.  He wore a simple circlet of silver with a ruby at its center and rich robes of scarlet and gold.  Notaldo bowed and motioned for Morelen to do the same.  “My lord Orodreth,” he said.

Orodreth tilted his head. “Captain Notaldo.  We are ready to hear the testimony of your rider.”  He looked at Morelen and she felt a knot in her stomach.

“I’m not good at presenting,” she told him in an awkward voice, not making eye contact.

He looked at her sympathetically.  “You’ll do fine.  Just describe what you experienced.  We need to devise strategies for Morgoth’s new monstrosities.  As if balrogs weren’t enough,” he said with a bit of a dark chuckle.

She took a deep breath. “I can do that.  Whatever I can do to help.”

He opened the great doors to the council room, thick oak doors adorned with gold and silver leaves, painted by artists to look real.  Colorful gems were set on the doors’ face to appear as glittering stars. They were greeted by wonderful aromas that emanated from incense burners that lined the room, cedar, sandalwood and cypress.  Morelen drank in the setting, the grand council chamber that appeared as a glade in Valinor, trunks of great trees running to the ceiling with branches like rafters, interlocking overhead.  Gold and silver leaves and fruit hung from the branches and the walls of the room held alcoves with wooden statues of the Valar, lovingly detailed and painted to appear almost real.  What struck her the most was the gathering of the greatest of the Noldor, all engaged in lively debate.  Her stomach knotted even tighter.

She leaned over to Notaldo. “That’s…that’s the High King?” she said, almost as a question.  “And King Finrod?  Lady Galadriel?”

He nodded.  “Yes, and over there are some of the Son of Fëanor. Maedhros and Maglor.  I think that’s Curufin there too.  He is most like his father in bearing and appearance and a master smith himself.”  

“Did you know Fëanor?”

Nodaldo shrugged.  “Everyone knew Fëanor.  Maybe not personally, but he was the Noldor.  Proud, brash, abrasive, brilliant.  I can’t say I liked him for the things that he did, but he was a force to be reckoned with.”

Morelen’s eyes widened. “The Kin Slaying?”

“Yes…among other things,” he answered with a slow nod.  He guided her forward towards the gathering of kings.  “My lords, this is my rider, Morelen.  She was the one who fought Glaurung.  She has seen him up close.”

Finrod turned and looked her over and then smiled.  To Morelen, he was everything that she imagined him to be: regal, noble and wise. His robes of gold and red were intricately woven, almost seeming to be alive in the patterns and shapes that practically danced on the fabric.  He wore a gold circlet over his golden hair that flowed down do his shoulders.

His sister, Galadriel, stepped in front of Morelen and looked down her nose.  She held a finger to her lips and narrowed her eyes.  “You have a darkness about you, child.  Who are your parents?” she asked in a slow voice, seemingly devoid of any emotion.

Morelen’s heart froze in her throat.  The Lady Galadriel was a power to behold and her intensity was overwhelming.  “My…my lady…my father…my father is Fëatur and…and my mother is Yavëkamba.”  She felt foolish and weak, stuttering like that and looked away, her cheeks flushing hot.

Galadriel grasped Morelen’s chin and turned her face to look into her eyes.  She said nothing for a few moments before speaking slowly again. “I know Fëatur.  He fought bravely during the Dagor Aglareb.  He supports our cousin in the south, Chrys Menelrana. I know he has a dark past.  I can see that in you…and something more.”

“Enough!” someone called out and everyone turned to see Curufin, a scowl on his lips, impatiently drumming his fingers on a table that he stood next to.  The Lord of Himlad wore a crimson tunic and breeches as did his brothers.  “We’re here to discuss defeating Morgoth, not enjoy a cozy family reunion.”

Galadriel’s nostrils flared and the light in her eyes darkened for a moment, but she said nothing. Finrod’s smile faded, but he stepped up to the podium and clapped his hands.  “Attention everyone.  We have made a lot of progress in these discussions about the Siege of Angband.  I am of the opinion that this cannot go on forever.  As we saw, he can breed orcs quickly while our numbers grow slowly.  We need a long-term strategy to defeat the Dark Lord.”

“Hasn’t that been obvious for some time,” Curufin said with a sarcastic edge.  “We must take him on directly and end this for good.”

His older brother, Maedhros, cuffed him on the chest with the back of his left hand.  “Respect, younger brother.  Do not make me send you away,” he said sternly, getting Curufin to look down.  “My apologies, King Finrod.  Pray, continue,” Maedhros said, waving his artificial right hand that was fashioned of red laen.

Finrod gave them a wan smile and then looked back to the gathering.  “We have here the greatest of our people, but still, it may not be enough. I may have found the solution to our problem.  In my recent travels I encountered a clan of men who are willing to join with us against the power of Morgoth.  Their leader, Bëor, has agreed to become our ally and his clan will add many thousands to our ranks.  I have, in turn, agreed to provide them with arms and armor along with the training of our people.”  He turned to and put his arm around a man with white hair and a beard.  “We have welcomed men into our halls for a few years now, but this is the first large clan that we have met and we are glad for their friendship.”

Bëor thumped his fist on his chest.  “I will serve and fight for the House of Finrod against your enemies,” he said in accented Sindarin.  “My men are hardy warriors and there are other clans behind us, heading west.”  He was dressed in elven robes of red and gold with a fur cloak, obviously of mannish design.  The mismatch of styles gave Morelen a chuckle. 

 

Finrod took Bëor’s hand warmly and bowed his head.  “We are honored, my friend.”  Then he turned back to the lords and gestured towards Morelen.  “I would like to give the floor to a rider in the Telepta Company under Fingon.  She and Captain Ruscano fought the dragon up close.  We lost the good captain, may his journey to Aman be peaceful and may his soul find healing in the Halls of Mandos.”  He beckoned her to the podium.  “Morelen, daughter of Fëatur, please share your experience with the lords.”

Her breathing was shallow and heartbeat rapid, but Notaldo put a comforting hand on her shoulder. She walked hesitantly up to the podium and nodded to Finrod.  “Thank you, good king.  Your hospitality has been unparalleled, and I shall never forget the warmth and kindness of your people.”  She scanned the gathering and gulped down hard.  “I cannot add much as my experience was brief and terrifying.  The dragon exudes fear and I sensed an extraordinary, but malicious intelligence in it.”

“Intelligent?” asked Maedhros.  “Other than the balrogs, Morgoth’s beasts are just brute creatures such as the trolls.”

“I looked right into its eye, and I could feel a malevolent intelligence.  When it looked at me it seemed to know who I was.  It could have easily killed me, but it hesitated.”

Maedhros leaned forward and put his chin on his laen hand.  “This is grave news.  If, indeed, this monster is intelligent we cannot fight it by force alone.  This will require some additional thought.”

Curufin stood and gestured angrily at her.  “How can we accept the word of this scared little girl?  What do we actually know beyond how she let her captain be slain?”

This stung Morelen and her face went bright red with anger and shame.  She wanted to say something…to challenge him, but no words came. Notaldo stood up sharply and pointed his finger at the son of Fëanor.  “How dare you!” he called out.  “You weren’t there.  I saw what happened with my own eyes.  Morelen fought bravely and she’s lucky to be alive.  Nothing could have prevented Glaurung from doing that.”

Curufin’s hand began to move towards his sword, but Maedhros caught him with his left hand. “Don’t even think about it,” the eldest brother said with an even harder edge.  “Sit down.  Now.” The younger brother snorted but did as he was told.

Morelen was glad for the intervention and gave Maedhros a slight smile and a head nod.  “Like I was saying, I sensed a malevolent intelligence in Glaurung.  We cannot fight him with normal means, but he does have weak spots.  We were able to drive him away by shooting arrows into his mouth, nostrils and eyes.  Beyond this, I have no other knowledge on how to fight him.”

Finrod came back to the podium and took her hand.  “Thank you for that.  I know it must have been difficult.  Every bit of information will help in building a coherent strategy against the Dark Lord.  We will make sure that all of the houses of the Noldor have that information.  We have enjoyed a long peace, but I fear this will not last.”

Morelen was impressed with Finrod’s compassion and wisdom.  She bowed to him and quietly went back to her seat, next to Notaldo.  She felt a hand on her shoulder and looked back to see Fingon. “Well spoken, you two.  We need people like you in our ranks.  Please stay and learn more of our strategy.  I will need you to pass word of this to the company.”

Notaldo nodded.  “Of course, my prince.”

Finrod went on to discuss how the human clans would receive training and arms and how they would bolster the ranks of the Noldor.  “Our smiths are working hard to produce quality weapons for our allies.  And, while we remain in contact with Elu Thingol of Menegroth, I fear that he will give no aid because of the rash acts of a few of us,” he said, looking pointedly at the Sons of Fëanor.  “Such things cannot, now, be undone so we can only look forward and band together as one to stand against Morgoth.”

Morelen chanced a look over to Galadriel, who was watching Finrod closely.  She meant to say something else.  What could that have possibly been?  Did Morelen even want to know?  One thing was for sure though.  She was too afraid to ask.

Chapter End Notes

I want to showcase the wonders of Nargothrond and the Sons of Feanor, particularly Maedhros and Curufin as well as the wisdom of King Finrod.

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