The Court of Ardor by AliceNWonder000137  

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Lindele - Music

News comes from the south and the riders speak with King Orodreth about it.  The riders journey to the Isle of Balar and meet with Cirdan and young Gil-Galad where they are exposed to the culture of the Falathrim.  Language and music are the lifeblood of the elves.

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42)  Music - Year of the Sun 494 Girithron (December)

 

Morelen

Morelen sat at the wooden desk in their study, reading a scroll that had come from the south.  Her face was intense, her grayish silver eyes focused.  It had been a long time since a message had come from the south.  Last that she heard, the Guild of Elements had found the Citadel of Ardor, but they lacked the strength to do anything about it other than observe.  As Sandalwood incense burned nearby, she brushed her raven hair that fell just below her shoulders, pushed to one side.  She wore a small silk robe of turquoise and silver, woven to give the appearance of the sea.  She twirled a finger in her damp hair as she finished reading.  “Listen to this, love,” she said to Notaldo, who was working on some administrative matter for the kingdom.  “Chrys Menelrana secured an alliance with a new nation, called Taaliraan. They’re made up of refugees from the north after the Nirnaeth Arnoediad, people from the Falas or Hithlum,” she added, looking up.  “Many of our people.”

He looked up from his paper and shook out the green sleeves of his robes of state.  “Amazing.  Do they plan to strike the Court now that they have the numbers?”

She gazed back down at one section of the writing.  “They are taking a watch and wait stance, trying to learn the intentions of the Court. This part about Taaliraan is fascinating.  It’s made up of people from the north and ruled by King Eldanar, kin of Fingon.  My father says that they visited the capitol of Kirnak, a grand castle, made in the manner of Minas Tirith on Tol Sirion. It has great walls of granite and marble, a true sight to behold,” she said in satisfaction.

“I’m glad that our refugees have found peace in the south.  We could use their strength, but I cannot fault them for leaving the north after the Nirnaeth,” he said and then tilted his head, narrowing his blue eyes. “I know you told me that the Court intends to destroy the sun and moon.  I still cannot imagine how that is possible.”

She thought back on what her father had told her about the mission of the Court, led by Ardana, the Astrologer.  “According to the Guild, the Court must sacrifice a being of immense power to unleash the energy that will fill eight gems of unlight.  These were gems, crafted by Fëanor and devoured by Ungoliant when Morgoth fled from Valinor.  Filled with the power from the sacrifice, the Court will channel that through a dark ritual to Morgoth and the energy that is unleashed will destroy the vessels that Aulë made, likely killing the Maiar that guide them.”

Notaldo set down his quill and narrowed his eyes.  “That’s horrible.  I cannot imagine the devastation and panic that would come from that.  Is there anything that we can do from the north?”

Morelen smiled, her red lips lighting up her tanned features.  “I was thinking the same thing.  It might be time to visit the south again.  I have not been there since I joined the ranks of Fingon’s Riders…when I met you.  The north may soon be ours again if Lord Mormegil continues winning battles.  I would welcome some peace to reunite with my father and the Guild…and The Three who helped raise me.”

Notaldo stood and walked over, gripping her on the shoulders with his hands and kneading her muscles.  “I would like to meet them some day.  Oh, you’re tense,” he said, digging into a knot in her neck.

She closed her eyes and tilted her head back.  “Right there…yes.  Oh yes.”

He worked his hands down her back for a little and then carried her to the bed.  She let her robe fall to the floor and then rolled face down to let him work on her back.  He grabbed a container and poured some warm oil on her skin.  She cooed in satisfaction.  “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Notaldo,” she said softly. “I would have fled back south long ago. I sometimes find true courage…difficult. I’m afraid much of the time.”

“Dear, I worry more about your recklessness.  True courage is not that we lack fear, but that we overcome it, and we don’t let it destroy us.”  He worked on her thighs, and she sighed contentedly.  “Trust me, I was terrified during the Nirnaeth and the Bragollach.  More for you, but the fear tore at me.”

“You never told me that,” she said, propping herself up with her arms and turning her head to look at him.  “I’ve always seen you as this…this unflappable jokester.  No wait, you changed since you were put in command. More serious.  More focused.  I like that.” She put her fingers on her chin. “I worry about Líreno though. He’s been…distracted ever since Aistallë died.  He dotes on Silmani which is a good thing though.”

“Has he?  I have to admit that we haven’t been as close since you and I were wed.  I really should change that.”

She rolled over and faced him.  “He’s been alluding to having discovered a way into Gondolin and keeps reminding me of the secret exits out of Nargothrond.  Does he know something that we don’t?”

Notaldo wrinkled his nose. “Oh, now you’ve gotten oil all over the sheets.  I guess I have to put some on your front now.”  He dripped the almond oil on her chest and abdomen and began massaging.

Morelen grasped his wrists, which were slippery with oil.  “Answer me.  Do you know something?”

He pursed his lips. “Líreno…he’s been…consumed with the idea that the kingdom will fall after the visit by Gelmir and Arminas.  He keeps bringing up Ulmo’s warning to us.  We had a talk about the bridge at the main gate. I’ve thought about it myself…I recall telling you that the landing would prevent any dragon from gaining a foothold on our side of the river.  I agree that it’s concerning but I trust King Orodreth and Lord Mormegil.  The King took us in when we were refugees and Lord Mormegil has never steered us wrong.”

She nodded and then lay back again.  “Hmmm, I understand,” she said, only partially convinced.  “Still, I’d like to talk to him soon about the way into Gondolin. We should always have a fallback plan. After all, the most meticulously planned battle went wrong at the Nirnaeth.  If things ever go bad, we need to get Silmani to safety.  I just hope that all of this doesn’t consume Líreno.”

Notaldo rubbed the oil into her chest, releasing a sweet, almond and citrus aroma.  “Worry about that tomorrow.  I’ll have scouts recon around the Tol-in-Gaurhoth.  We’ll learn if anything becomes a threat.”  He moved his hands down to her hips and Morelen sighed. He leaned in and nibbled her neck and she stroked his earlobe.

“Mmmm, yes…worry…tomorrow,” she whispered as she pulled him on top of her.

It was another idyllic day in the hidden kingdom as the couple went from their room to the musical chambers and then to the pool baths.  They would train with the company after and then back to the baths. Cragstone had delivered a barrel of mead and ale to the training grounds for them.  He was getting on in years and spoke of retirement back to Nogrod and having his son take over the business.  “I think I’m getting used to this money thing,” she said as she adjusted her azure blue gown that was trimmed in silver, the fabric showing geometric and floral patterns in the weave.  Around her neck was a pearl and silver necklace with interspersed turquoise, the white jewels having been harvested in the Sirion.  She inhaled and could still smell his scent on her and she wanted nothing more than to spend the day in his arms.

“Everything changes and we adapt,” Notaldo said, opening the elaborate door to the musical conservatory. He wore a crimson robe, trimmed in gold with the patterns of stars and birds.  In the chambers, instruments of all types lined the walls along a varnished, hardwood floor that enhanced the acoustics of the rooms.  Soundproofing kept the music in each chamber isolated so that they and their audience could enjoy without sounds bleeding over.  The ceiling of the conservatory was intricately and expertly painted to appear as if there was only sky above, blue with white, fluffy clouds and birds.  The amazing thing about this was that the painting would change from sunrise to day to sunset in real time.  At night, magical lanterns would illuminate the chambers.  This was something that the elvan artisans excelled at, creating such an illusion in many parts of Nargothrond.

Silmani was waiting for them, her lute in hand, an anxious smile on her face.  She practically bounced on her toes.  “I’ve been waiting!” she blurted out.  She wore a seafoam and yellow dress with images of the sun and moon embroidered in the fabric.  “It’s about time you got here,” she said breathlessly.  “Come on!  I have the chamber ready.”  She grabbed Morelen’s hand and pulled her along to the next room where seats were arranged and a recorder and dulcimer sat next to two chairs.

“I see that you have everything arranged already,” Morelen said with a hint of mirth.  She took her seat and picked up the recorder, a long, wooden flutelike instrument with finger holes on top.  Notaldo took his seat and the dulcimer.  He had improved greatly with the instrument in the recent years.

Silmani plucked the strings of her lute, setting off a sweet note.  The room was paneled in rich woods, oak, cedar and cherry, acoustic panels that were designed to enhance the sound, the porous nature of the panels reducing echo and reverberation, giving the music a clear, warm tone.  She pointed to the two adults.  “The Cat’s Paw,” she said hopefully.  Morelen nodded and began to blow into the recorder, sending light, airy notes into the room, her fingers flying over the holes, sounding almost like a cat, tapping at toy with a paw.  Silmani joined in next, blending the pluck of her strings with Morelen’s clear notes.  Notaldo began picking at the dulcimer strings in harmony and room filled with delightful music, a true heart of elvendom.  The door opened and the players paused for a moment to see that King Orodreth and Finduilas were entering.  The King wore gold and green robes with a laurel crown on his head while his daughter wore a similar colored gown that flowed to her feet.  She was radiant in the jewels of the realm, a necklace of diamonds and sapphires with a mithril circlet, bearing an elfstone in the center upon her brow.

The musicians stopped and stood but the King raised his hand with a smile.  “No, please continue.  We heard that you were playing and we couldn’t miss it.  We were enthralled by your performance at the ceremony.  You three are an asset to the kingdom.”

The three bowed to King and Princess.  “We were about to play Almarë Síra, This Day is a Blessing,” Morelen said with an edge of pride.  The dulcimer led off, followed by the recorder.  Silmani tapped a tambourine to keep time.  They then took a deep breath and let their voices free.

“We are blessed in this day in the memory of the trees.

Light from Telperion and Laurelin bathe us in our glory.

Their rich glow sets us free.

Almarë Síra!  Almarë Síra!”

Within seconds, more people filled the room, taking chairs and then sitting on the ground, cross legged. Morelen smiled between breaths, nodding to the growing audience.  Silmani began to look nervous, but she continued in a clear voice, occasionally wiping sweat from her brow.  They repeated the chorus three more times and then their voices trailed off.

Finduilas held her hand over her heart.  “Magnificent, my friends.  Simply sublime.

The three stood and bowed low.  “Thank you, my King and fair Finduilas,” Notaldo said.  “I have been a warrior against the darkness all my life.  I wish for things other than war and fighting. So, it is wonderful to play for you, with my wife and Silmani.”

Finduilas approached and took Morelen and Silmani’s hand.  “You must join us for dinner.  I would dearly love to chat with you more about the south.  Your life there sounded idyllic.”

Morelen nodded with a smile.  “It really was.  My father, Fëatur, is a noble, courageous soul.  My mother, Yavëkamba, is still inside the Court of Ardor, spying for him. I cannot imagine braver people than my parents.  The Three, who helped raise me, live in a city created by the Vanyar, when they tarried on their journey west.  It is a fascinating city, full of wonders and magics that we cannot understand.  But my father has written that conflict with the Court is growing and that the Court is nearing a time where they will try to destroy the sun and moon.”

The King’s face blanched. “Destroy the sun and moon?  Is this even possible?  Why did you not tell us sooner?”

Morelen pointed her thumb at Notaldo.  “We have debated that often.  And our defense of the north is a most necessary thing.  Since the Nirnaeth, we cannot do much to assist them and my father says that their new alliance with Taaliraan gives them the strength to fight the Court.  I felt that it would be nothing more than a distraction to us here.”

Orodreth nodded slowly, pursing his lips.  “Yes, I see the wisdom in that.  But please trust me with such information.  I would be honored to help the south with whatever we can spare.  After all, Chrys Menelrana is my cousin.  So, how would the Court even do this?  It seems…impossible.”

“This is all that my father and I know about this…the Court collected a number of gems, created by Fëanor, that had been devoured and belched forth by Ungoliant,” she said to gasps in the room.

Orodreth gazed downwards. “Ever the shadow of Fëanor darkens the land.  From his Silmarils to his cursed sons, so much destruction and death have followed in his wake.  There is no love lost between his sons and I.  I withdrew Nargothrond from the Union of Maedhros solely because of them and what they did here.”  He looked back up, a dark expression on his face.  “It is something that I now regret.  Please continue, Morelen.”

She took a breath and looked around the room.  “I don’t fully understand the magic behind them, but these gems embody ‘unlight’, they devour light and energy.  No one I know can explain it, but it must have come from the evil of Ungoliant.  The Court has a number of these and they need a catalyst to unleash and focus the unlight onto the sun and moon.  This will require a perfect eclipse where both are in the same place in the sky at the same time.”

“What kind of catalyst?” Finduilas asked.

“My father says that it has to be a blood sacrifice…and the sacrifice must have Vala blood.”

Orodreth blew out a long breath.  “Yes, that would make sense.  We know that the Ainur can have offspring as Lúthien is proof of that.  Does the Court have such a catalyst?”

“My father has alluded that they do, but will say no more on that or who it is.  I cannot imagine how such a catalyst was produced.  Would it be the offspring of Morgoth?  Or some other Ainur?  If it were Morgoth, such a horror should be destroyed,” she said emphatically.  

“Please write to your father and let him know that Nargothrond pledges what support we can give.” The King put his hand on his chin for a moment, pondering.  “Actually, I think it would be wise to grant you leave to return to the south and deliver the message personally with my compliments and with proof of my resolve. After all, Lord Mormegil says that any immediate threat to the kingdom has been dealt with after our last battle. I think you’ve earned a respite.”

Morelen’s face lit up. “I would be honored to carry your message and to see my father and The Three again.  When would you like me to go?”

Orodreth grinned and motioned to Notaldo and Silmani.  “I would like the three of you to go and see the south.  It is something that I have always wanted to do.  You will have to give me a full description upon your return.”

She gripped Notaldo and Silmani’s hands.  “Of course, my King!  It would be my pleasure.”

“I shall send word to Círdan for a ship,” he said and then nodded his head.  “We shall see you for dinner.”  Orodreth and Finduilas departed with the audience, who were murmuring about the recital and the Court.  

Morelen practically bounced with excitement.  “I cannot believe that I will be able to see my father again.  It’s been centuries.  I cannot wait to show you the wonders of the south.  I’ll show you the jungles that are so full of life, Chrys Menelrana’s manor house in Tumlindë and Ty-Ar-Rana where I was raised.  Oh, you’ll love him and The Three.  So wise and noble.  I learned singing and dancing from Lysa.  They say that she is the Galadriel of the south.”

Silmani clapped and then held her hands over her heart, her eyes wide and full of wonder.  “What else?  What else is there, Morelen?”

She took the young lady’s hand.  “There are birds, Silmani, birds that can speak.  Birds that have such a wondrous array of colors, blue, green, red and yellow. They’re called parrots.  And then there are huge, monstrous beasts, gray in color, who have noses as long as three horses lined up.  We call them Oliphants or Mûmakil in the mannish tongue. Their calls shake the ground.”

Silmani put her free hand over her mouth and Notaldo smiled.  “You’ve been promising me a tour of the south for some time now,” he said. “I want to try that dessert of ice with flavored sauce.”

“Oh, it’s a treat down in the south, especially in the summer when the heat and humidity are strong. It’s very different down there.  During the heat of Urui or Urimë as we Noldor say, you can start sweating just by stepping outdoors.  Ty-Ar-Rana has some system that cools the interior.  Even the Three cannot fathom its workings.  Oh, I can’t wait,” Morelen said, her smile ear to ear.  “I suppose we should start packing.”  They placed their instruments back on the stands and hurried back to their quarters, where they met Líreno.

“Just the people I was looking for,” he said, his voice tinged with both amusement and worry.  “Do you have a moment?  It’s important.  He reached down and kissed Silmani on the head.  “Silmani, I have to speak to my friends.  Could you give us a moment?”

Morelen patted her on the back.  “Head to your room, dear.  I’ll be there soon to help you pack,” she said, and the girl hugged Líreno and skipped down the hallway.

 

Líreno leaned in with a conspiratorial look on his face, glancing around.  He handed them a parchment.  “I’ve mapped out an escape route from Nargothrond to where I believe the hidden gates of Gondolin to be.  It took a lot of travel and a lot of coaxing with the Gondolindrim at the Havens of Sirion.  It’s not exact, but it expands on the searches of Gelmir and Arminas.  I am still heading their warning.”

Notaldo’s face wrinkled up at first, but Morelen stayed him with her hand.  She looked over the parchment.  “Thank you, Líreno.  I haven’t forgotten.  What do you propose that we do with this?”  The parchment showed a map with specific landmarks that would guide a traveler. They would have to go north along the Sirion and look to the Crissaegrim, the Encircling Mountains.

“Keep this to yourselves, please,” Líreno said quietly.  “This information cannot fall into the hands of the enemy.”

Morelen nodded.  “I understand,” she said solemnly.  “We will guard this with our lives.”  She tilted her head to the side.  “Say, the King has tasked us to take a message to my father in the south.  We will be departing in a fortnight and be staying for perhaps three months or so. Would you care to join us? Notaldo and I, plus Silmani will be going.  I’m sure the King would not mind a fourth.”

Líreno narrowed his eyes for a moment, thinking.  “I…uhhh, why yes, yes, I would love to.  I’ve heard so much about the south from you.  I’ll…uhhh…let Telerien know to start packing.”

Morelen poked him on the chest.  “You need a little bit of fun.  You’ve been so dark lately.”

He pursed his lips. “I can’t shake what Gelmir and Arminas said.  I just want us to be ready…just in case.”

Two weeks flew by and the King happily granted Líreno leave to join the trip.  They went by horseback to the Havens of Sirion, which was really a growing outpost of docks and fishing vessels.  A two masted boat took them to the Isle of Balar where they saw a great port and the banners of the Falathrim under Círdan.  The port was alive with activity, seagulls buzzing about with fishing boats coming and going.  The town had grown significantly since the Nirnaeth where refugees from Hithlum, Dor-Lómin, Nevrast and the Falas had settled.  Beautiful gray swan ships lay at anchor along the extensive docks, much larger than the fishing boats that they had seen.  The crew of the boat helped the travelers onto the docks with their bags and wished them safe travels.

They looked for a harbor master’s office and found a simple building built of wood and stone.  They entered to see a room adorned with the artifacts of the sea, nets, oars, hooks and shark’s jaws mounted on the walls. The smell of the sea was strong here as was the lapping of waves on the posts of the dock.  A Sindarin elf, in rough sailor’s garb and a red knit cap, looked up.  “Ah, High Elves?  What can I do for you?  Oh, are you also here from Gondolin?  I’m afraid that your ship will not be completed for another month.”

Notaldo shook his head. “No, we’re here from Nargothrond. Here is our letter of introduction from King Orodreth.  We need transport to the south.”

The harbor master brightened and extended his hand.  “Ah, Gaerion, at your service.  Sorry for the mistake.  We’ve been getting Gondolindrim flowing into the port since the Bragollach.  Many have been going west to beseech the Valar for aid. Very few have ret…ummm,” he said and then saw Telerien and young Idhrendiel and Silmani and stopped himself. “Well, anyway, you’re not from Gondolin. A ship south, huh?  Well, it’s been a while.  You know we used to have a steady stream of traffic south when Fingolfin was High King and then Fingon.  Lots of supplies, weapons and armor, but that pretty much stopped after…you know.”

Morelen nodded with a smile.  “Yes, my father and his friends were the recipient of your supplies.”

Another sailor perked up. He stood up from a wooden rocking chair and took his floppy yellow sea hat off, his blond hair spilling down his neck. “Did I hear you correctly?  Your father is from the south?  I used to make the trip frequently some years ago.”

“Yes, my father is Fëatur.”

The sailor scoffed with a big grin.  “Yes, yes, Fëatur!  I know him. I took him south many years ago, centuries ago.  Captain Ferui at your service.”  He extended his hand.  “It’s been quiet lately.  I think I could be convinced to take you south.  I’d love to see the jungles again and your father owes me a story about the famed mûmakil.”

Morelen and Silmani clapped their hands.  “We would love to hear that too.  It has been too long since I was in the south,” she said.  “Over three-hundred years, I think.  Before the assault on Hithlum.”

Ferui bowed.  “Then it’s settled.  The winds and sea will be perfect at dawn, the day after tomorrow. I’ll start to prepare the Bregolaph for departure.  You will love my ship.  It’s a veritable floating palace upon the seas,” he said with a huge smile.  “The world may change, my friends, but the sea is eternal.”

Ferui took them to a tavern and inn that was full of Sindarin Elves and Edain, much more rustic and lively than any Noldorin establishment.  Music from stringed instruments and recorders loudly filled the room along with wild dancing and singing, not all in tune.  Morelen narrowed one eye with a weird, half smile.  This was…different…not unlike the music of the men of Nargothrond but certainly more free and definitely more bawdy.  She moved to cover Silmani’s ears, but the young lady rushed up to the stage over a wooden floor covered with spilled drinks and food.

A band of elves and men played, belting out a tune about a randy fisherman’s daughter keeping the fishermen warm.  Morelen had to admit that it was funny.  Ferui gestured them to an open table.  “You folks enjoy!” he yelled over the music.  “I’ll start rounding up the crew, but I’ll be back later!  You can get rooms at the front desk.  You won’t want to miss the fun after sunset when the fisherman get back though!”  He signaled an elven serving girl.  “First round for my friends is on me!”  He clapped Notaldo on the back and headed out.

Mugs of ale and mead arrived, thick and frothy.  Morelen took a long drink and then wiped her mouth with a napkin.  “I don’t think we’ll hear any song about the Two Trees here,” she said jokingly.  “But I kind of like it.  It’s so…so lively.”  A male and female member of the band began bumping their midsections together in an act of mock intimacy and Morelen’s eyes got huge, and she covered Simani’s. “By the Valar!  That’s…yeah.”

Notaldo chuckled. “It’s definitely different beyond the confines of the Noldorin kingdoms.”

Líreno took his wife by the hand and pulled her to the dance floor.  “I like it.  It’s…it’s free.”

Morelen looked around the large main hall, high ceilings held up by wooden pillars and upper floors for the inn.  Reminders of the ocean adored the walls and rafters, harpoons, oars, nets and glass balls used to float them.  A shark and a swordfish were preserved and mounted on the wall by the front desk along with horrifying and mystical creatures with bulbous heads and tentacles. As she scanned around, she saw a Noldorin elf, his hair disheveled, his eyes glassy and a dozen empty glasses on the table in front of him.  His clothing was worn and slovenly.  It looked like he hadn’t bathed in a while.  She tapped Notaldo to indicate that she was going to speak to the man.

She approached him with a smile.  “Hello, my good fellow.  I am Morelen, traveling with family and friends,” she said and sat down at his table. “I was surprised to see another High Elf here.”

The man snorted and took another long drink and then let out a belch.  “You’re going west, huh?  Don’t even try it.  You’ll find nothing but despair and death.  The Valar have cursed us.  I would advise you to turn around and return to Gondolin.”

“You’re from Gondolin? We are actually from Nargothrond.”

He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes.  “So, Turgon didn’t send you?”

She shook her head. “We are envoys of King Orodreth, heading south to the Guild of Elements and the Kingdom of Taaliraan.”

He took a deep breath and blinked his eyes.  “Sorry, too much to drink.  I’m Voronwë, late of Gondolin, late of Nevrast, late of all over the place,” he said darkly.  “I was sent west by the High King in a ship that Círdan built for us.  Seven years we searched for the Undying Lands.  Our mission was to seek forgiveness from the Valar and to plead for assistance.  Nearly out of supplies, we abandoned our task and returned to Middle Earth where our ship was destroyed in a storm.  I, alone, was saved by the grace and mercy of Ulmo, brought to shore in Nevrast.  There, I met a man named Tuor and led him to Gondolin.  I could not stay though.  My mind was wrecked, much like my ship.  I returned here to…drink and debauch and…to forget.”  He took another long drink, draining the mug and then ordered another.

“Did Ulmo give you any message?” she asked.  “Gelmir and Arminas delivered one to us through Círdan, not too long ago.  They said that we should close the gates and destroy the bridge for the forces of Morgoth were growing.”

He nodded. “Aye.  Ulmo gave a message to Tuor to take to the High King that he should abandon the hidden city and move to the Havens of Sirion.  I led Tuor to the hidden gates and we were held by Elemmakil, Captain of the Guard of the Gates of Wood and then brought before Ecthelion of the Fountain who recognized the arms that Tuor carried.  It was there that I requested to depart and return here. The sea is my life now.  I’ll likely die here.”

Morelen thought for a moment and then showed him the parchment that Líreno made.  “Voronwë, my friend is worried about what Ulmo said.  He has a plan should Nargothrond fall that we should flee to Gondolin.  Can you tell me if this map is accurate?”

He looked it over and then shook his head.  “I shouldn’t say.”

“Please Voronwë, just a yes or no.”

He nodded, reluctance written on his face.  “Yes, but I’ll say no more.  Now please, Morelen…I am glad to make your acquaintance, but please…leave me to my drink.”

She placed her hand over his.  “Thank you, Voronwë.  Be well. Be healed.”  She put the map back in a tube and sealed it, putting a ward on the cap.  Then, she stood and went back to their table where Líreno and his family were just returning.  She pulled the map case out of her bag just enough to show Líreno and nodded to him with a smile.  He understood and let out a sigh of relief.  She pointed over to Voronwë with her thumb and he lifted a glass to the elf.

Captain Ferui returned, accompanied by two elves, the leader who looked old and young at the same time.  His hair was light blond, almost white and his eyes were keen.  The most unusual thing was that he had a scruff of a beard. He wore the garb of a sailor, rough, treated cotton and comfortably cut to handle both fish and sails.  The other elf was a Noldo, his face almost innocent with dark hair and a chiseled face with a strong jaw and cheeks.  He wore fine silk robes of blue and silver with the sigil of the House of Fingolfin.

“Greetings, my friends,” Ferui said with a bow.  “Please let me introduce you to the master of ships, Círdan and-”

“Gil-Galad,” Morelen finished as the table stood and bowed low.  “My lord…we are honored.”  They turned and bowed to Círdan in turn.

The shipwright waved them off.  “No, no, I am but a simple sailor.  My life is for the sea but it is good to meet you.”  He had a smile that was wise and compassionate.  His eyes held the knowledge of eons.

A cautious smile spread over Gil-Galad’s mouth.  “You served my father, Fingon,” he said as if he already knew them.  He looked down for a moment before continuing.  “He wrote me frequently before he fell and he spoke of his company of riders like they were family.  I could envision you all as I reread his writing…Nandamo, the herald, Tintallo, the Captain of the Misë and you,” he said to Notaldo, “are Notaldo, Captain of the Telepta, Líreno and Morelen, his lieutenants.  I knew you the moment that I saw you.”

Tears streamed down Morelen’s face and her heart both ached and soared.  She had no idea that Fingon was telling his son about them.  “Yes, my lord.  And I knew you the moment that I saw you.  You are your father’s son.  Serving him has been the honor of my life.  I was there…there when…,” she trailed off, her voice cracking.  

Círdan nodded sadly. “I know that you all fought with courage.  Please, please, sit down.  Be comfortable.”  He signaled the innkeeper.  “Ethirbenn! I’ve been fishing all day and I’m hungry!”  There was something so comfortable about the shipwright.  No pretense.  No formality. He was just…Círdan.  “I’m sure you haven’t eaten yet.  Please join me.  I would love to hear your tale.”

The innkeeper waddled over with his wife.  Ethirbenn was rather chubby for an elf, but food was his life.  He and his wife, Eithadis, brought over platters of fish, shrimp, lobster and clams and a large bowl of thick broth with seaweed, octopus and squid.  It was truly the bounty of the sea.  “Carefully! Carefully!” Eithadis scolded her husband.  “How many times do I have to tell you?  Every night, most of the soup ends up on the floor and I have to clean it!”

Ethirbenn put the dishes on the table with a huff.  “Yes, dear.”

They scurried away, Eithadis shaking her finger at her husband.  Líreno chuckled.  “They seem to have this down.  Is this…?”

Círdan nodded with a smirk. “Every night.  Yes.”

There was something about the easy nature of the Falathrim that appealed to Morelen.  She had heard in the market in Nargothrond that High Elves were stuffy and oftentimes self-important.  She wondered if she were like that.  The way that these elves spoke, moved and treated each other was so different.

Notaldo looked at Gil-Galad.  “My prince, if I may ask, were you not in line to be High King after your father?”

“A fair question.  I was still very young after the Nirnaeth. I was not fit to rule.  I had a messenger inform my uncle that he should be High King of the Noldor.  Turgon is wise and experienced.  He is the right person to rule our people.  Now please…tell me of my father.  I wish to know all from the people that he was closest with.”

Morelen patted her chest over her heart.  “He was…he was magnificent.  He had the look of eagles and I would have gladly given my life for his,” she began and the others nodded.  Then, the three riders gave the prince their story.  Morelen told of her witnessing Fingolfin’s death and her desperate attempt to save Fingon.  They rounded out with how they came to serve Orodreth and Túrin’s victorious campaigns.

Captain Ferui and Círdan listened intently as Gil-Galad soaked in every word.  “I helped to defend the Falas,” the prince said.  “But your exploits are extraordinary, my friends. While I am jealous of your service to my uncle, Orodreth, I am glad that you fight for all of the Free Peoples.  May I invite you to stay at my manor?  The inn is…nice but it can be difficult to rest after dark until the early hours as the clientele is…boisterous.”

Círdan chuckled. “You High Elves are so averse to boisterousness.”

Gil-Galad smiled, slightly embarrassed, his cheeks red.  “We prefer a meditative quiet.”

Just then, a song belted out from the band, lively and loud, about a visiting sailor, seducing the wives and daughters of the local fisherman and stealing them away. Ferui’s face lit up, his eyes and mouth wide.  “I should be so lucky!  I can’t get rid of that wench if I tried!”

Círdan laughed out loud. “You’d fall off your ship if it weren’t for her!”  Gil-Galad gave a wan smile.  It was obvious that he was uncomfortable with the casual atmosphere of the Falathrim. He was still very young and he reminded Morelen of Lyrin down south.

Ferui pushed the palms of his hands up to the people at the table.  “Come, come!  Get up! It’s time to dance!  Feel the music!”

Morelen made a weird smile and shrugged, grabbing Notaldo and Silmani by the hands.  “Hey, our host ordered us to dance!  Come on!”  They stood and headed to the dance floor, joined by Líreno and family.  Morelen looked around and the Falathrim were just gyrating and flowing to the music, movements spontaneous and free, unlike the dances of the High Elves, scripted and polished, practiced and traditional. The music of the Noldor had a theme, a memory, a purpose while this was just…music.  She felt stiff at first, trying to impose some of her learning onto her movements.

Ferui tapped her on the shoulder.  “No, no, this isn’t the Echoes of Eldamar!  Just feel the music!  Feel it in your heart and in your gut!  Not in your head!  Flow, young lady!”  He went back to letting his limbs wobble with a Sindarin woman in front of him.  He pointed to the lady.  “My wife, Hîgwen, the sticky maiden and boy is she sticky!”

With an evil grin, Hîgwen slapped her hand on Ferui’s crotch and squeezed.  “Sticky indeed!”

Ferui nearly doubled over, howling, but then cackled.  “Save it for later, dear!”

Morelen didn’t know whether to laugh or not and Silmani’s eyes were huge.  Still, she tried to emulate them and waved her arms and hands around, letting her head flop about.  It felt weird.

Círdan danced with a Sindarin woman.  He glanced over and nodded his approval.  “Not bad, not bad.  You would have loved Cuiviénen,” he said.  “It was so wild and free under the starlight.  We created language, song and music.  Those were heady days,” he added with a faraway look.

Morelen’s mouth fell open. “Cuiviénen?  The birthplace?  I…you…sir, you are ancient.”

His eyes twinkled, ancient and young at the same time.  “Indeed, young lady.  Now, breath in the music and be free.”

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Chapter End Notes

I had thought to go right into the Fall of Nargothrond but I felt that an interlude to the south would be interesting and a deeper look into elven culture, the Sindar vs the Noldor.