The Court of Ardor by AliceNWonder000137  

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Reunion

The Bregolaph makes port and Featur brings them to Tumlinde to meet with Chrys Menelrana.  Gil-Galad and Cirdan hear the tales of the south of Middle Earth.

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44)  Reunion - Year of the Sun 494 Girithron (December)

 

Fëatur

 

When Lysa woke from a trance in Ty-Ar-Rana and told him that Morelen was sailing south, he could scarcely believe it.  He couldn’t stop pacing until she pointed him to the stables for the trip to the coast. Lyaan rounded up their group, and they set out, a pleasant trip to Chrys’ manor for a stopover and then a short ride to the ruins of Gensatra.  First Initiate Thalindra would oversee the complex in their absence.  The First Initiate was a true asset, intelligent, efficient and responsible if a little bland.

On the dense rain forest trail from the manor, Fëatur looked back at Lyrin.  The boy had come a long way but it was still fits and starts. He wasn’t particularly fond of Lyrin’s close friends, Anuven and Edenor, who were, if anything, less mature.  Whenever the three were together, Lyrin would fall back into his old ways, them throwing mock gut punches, joking about passing gas and making off color comments about women.  Fëatur would sigh quietly and grit his teeth and then Lyaan would touch him and say, “I know, I know.  I’ll deal with it.”  Fëatur would just nod, not wanting to offend his friend.  He knew that Lyrin had had a crush on Morelen and he was just glad that she found someone else who seemed right for her.

Lyrin’s other friend, Caladiel, showed some promise at least.  She seemed to take after her cousin, Thalindra.  The stable hand, Teldin, whom he rescued at Gensatra came along too, joining at Chrys’ manor.  Fëatur thought it would be good for him to get some closure at his home.  Fëatur’s excitement grew as they rode nearer to the fishing village.  His message to Yavëkamba was received with joy and she would meet them at the ruins. She had previously established a safe house nearby, one of many across Ardor that they created for clandestine meetings.  It was a quint house, hidden under the dense canopy of the rain forest where the Lurakil Trees grew to over 200 feet in height.  They had talked about building upwards into the trunks and branches but that was a future project.  Still, the floor of the jungle was rich in herbs and curative fungi.

“Their ship should dock this evening,” Lysa said.  “I’ve seen it in my visions thought things become hazy as they enter the bay.”

Fëatur nodded amid the call of parrots and other birds.  “Yavë and I fixed up the dock a bit over the years but we don’t want to make it look like people are settling again or we’d invite scrutiny from the Court.”

The smell of the sea became stronger as they approached the safe house, a small wooden structure, hidden in the jungle foliage.  He and Yavë built it with their two hands, a fond memory for him.  He could still envision her smiling and holding up a plank while he hammered, nails held with his teeth.  It wasn’t much, but it was theirs.  He now saw her outside, gardening, pulling weeds around a bed of carrots, wearing a simple cotton outfit in earth tones, her brown hair tied in a bun.  His heart leapt as it always did, and he pushed his heels into his horse’s flanks to canter ahead.

“Yavë!” he called, a broad smile across his lips and she turned and waved, holding up a carrot with a quirky grin.  Every time he saw her face it was as if it was the first time again even though it had been eons.

She patted her chest over her heart.  “Fë!  Oh, I couldn’t wait any longer,” she said. “And you’re just in time.  The carrots, beets and radishes are ready to pick.”

He swung from the saddle and rushed into her arms.  “She’ll be here.  Our Morelen will be here.  They arrive this evening.”

She gripped him tightly. “I know.  I can’t wait.  This is…this is a dream.”

The others rode up and dismounted, greeting Yavëkamba.  She motioned them into the safe house.  “Come, come, I have lunch ready for everyone…a nice hot vegetable soup and some local fruit.” She led them inside where a pot simmered over a low fire and plates were set on a simple wooden table around strange looking fruit of all colors, some with strange spikes and others with scales like a dragon.  The room had been stocked with healing herbs and potions, a wise precaution should anything go wrong.  The group sat and Yavë brought the soup to the table.  Fëatur was famished after the journey, and he barely ate for as full of excitement as he was.

It was a pleasant reunion, Fëatur sitting beside Yavë, talking about mundane things like gardening. But he had to ask something.  “How are you getting on?  I am still deathly worried that you may be found out.  I swear that I will slay Gorthaur before this ends.  I will never forgive him for what he did to you.  To think that I once thought well of him before I knew the truth.”

She touched him on the hand.  “I take all of the precautions that we spoke about.  I have a lot of freedom once I am at the Citadel.  Your sister is consumed with her Darin Tesarath so she pays me little mind.  Her hatred of Gorthaur works in my favor.  As long as I heal her people, I can do as I please.  But I always follow your advice on avoiding detection and hiding my trail.”

He held her hand.  “Good, good.  I am glad to hear that.  I will never stop worrying though.”

“There is something that you should know.  Rilia the Sorceress is a growing power in the Court and she is finding influence with Ardana. The Astrologer enjoys her displays of strength and sees Rilia as a true asset.  Agents of the Tesarath are hearing rumors that Rilia is searching for Lyaan and Chrys.  She means to destroy them to solidify her place in the Court and to supplant your sister in the inner circle.”  Yavë reached for the last of the furry red fruit in a bowl, but Anuven snatched it up before she could grasp it.

“Too slow,” he quipped as he peeled the rind and took a bite.

Fëatur pursed his lips and closed his eyes for a moment, wanting to slap the smirk off of the elf’s face.  Teldin just looked down, embarrassed and Lyaan gave Fëatur that ‘sorry, I’ll deal with it’ look.  But when? Fë relaxed and nodded.  “I’m sorry, Yavë.  That was the last of that one.”

“I have more in the garden,” she said serenely.  “I’ve named them Rambutan.  Or sometimes I call them Mouse Fruit because they look like furry red mice,” she added with a giggle.

Her laugh was like the lovely ringing of chimes.  “We’ll pick some more after.  And thank you for that information.  Everything is useful.  Lyaan,” he said to his friend.  “Rilia the Sorceress is searching for Ty-Ar-Rana and Tumlindë.  I would suggest that we increase our security measures.”

Yavë nodded.  “She is fearsome.  Not only is she a master of fire, but she is developing a spy network that will rival the Tesarath.  They are to be skilled in gathering information and seduction.  Beyond that, I don’t know.”  She looked back at Fë.  “Your sister is cruel, like Gorthaur, but Rilia toys with her prey.  I’ve heard that her powers rival that of a balrog and she practically worships Arien.”

Lysa narrowed her eyes. “Arien?  But isn’t their sworn task to destroy the sun and moon?”

Yavë shrugged.  “I only know what people tell me in my position, but Rilia is full of contradictions.  I honestly don’t know what she will do during the ritual. Perhaps it may even be a point of leverage to turn her.  From what I’ve heard though, I wouldn’t trust her even if she were to join us.  Rilia best looks after Rilia.”

Fë’s attention was entirely on her words.  In Valinor, he knew of Rilia as a member of the House of Fëanor, but she did not join the Court until after he left.  He recalled seeing her, following Arien like a puppy.  Perhaps this was something that they could exploit.  Her power was something to be feared though as her mastery of fire was awe inspiring.  He took a look outside and saw that the sun was on its downward arc.  Morelen would be arriving soon.  As much as his heart beat for Yavë, his stomach churned for his daughter’s return.  It had been centuries of worry.  After both the Bragollach and the Nirnaeth, it was a battle not to run north to find her. Only a select few knew that she was Morgoth’s daughter.  How that would manifest over time, he could only guess.  And he could not let her know.  It would destroy her.  All he knew was that he raised her well before she went north.  It would have to do.  She was their daughter and no one else’s.

“We should go to greet her,” Lysa said, a smile on her face.  “It has been too long.”

The group stood and made their way to the docks, passing the ruined stables.  Fëatur put his hand on Teldin’s shoulder.  The young elf wore rough riding clothes with high leather boots. His auburn hair was neatly trimmed, something unusual for a Silvan elf.  “I’m glad you came.  This,” Fëatur said, pointing to the now aging ruins, grass and vines taking over the town, “this is behind you now.  Look to the future.  You are part of something good.”  It had been just over 25 years since the town was destroyed.

Teldin sniffed and rubbed his nose.  “I know. Thank you.  The Guild took me in when I had nothing left and I am part of something valuable.  I won’t let you down, Fëatur.  I will never forget what you and Yavëkamba did for me.”  The young elf was now the stable master for the Guild and was considered to be an expert horseman, learning under Laurre Menelrana.  He had come a long way.

They walked to the docks where new woodwork had been done.  Nothing too grand as to be noticed, but it could now accommodate some sailing vessels.  Fëatur looked to Lysa.  “Do you see anything?” he asked in a voice tinged with hope.  Seagulls were beginning to return to roost, squawking loudly overhead.  A few sealions grunted nearby, their large bodies sitting on warm sand.

She picked up a seashell and listened to its opening.  “They are nearing,” she said but then her face changed, a look of deep concern coming over her.  “There was…there was a battle.  I see many dead…but I see Morelen’s ship approaching.  It is damaged.”

“What?” Fëatur turned sharply, his mouth falling open.  “What happened?  What do you see?”

“That is all.  We will just have to wait.  I am not a living Palantír.”

In a few minutes a sail could be seen and then a few more.  There were two ships.  The lead ship was damaged, its foresail down.  Sailors crawled up and down the foremast, making repairs as fast as they could. Part of the jib had burned away and the hull had taken a heavy collision, the port wing of the swan ship, broken.  A second ship sailed behind, even more damaged.  Much of the forecastle had caved in and there were holes along the side of the hull.  They saw a Sindarin Elf in a floppy yellow sea hat, steering the swan ship and then oars deployed on both vessels, slowing them for docking.

“Ahoy!” the captain called and they waved back.  He expertly guided the ship to dock and then ran down the gangplank with some crew to tie the ship down.  Fëatur’s eyes searched for any sign of his daughter.  He thought he saw a raven-haired woman sliding down a rope ladder from a boom.  She was dressed in silver plate armor.  That had to be Morelen.  She ran to the gangplank, her eyes moving back and forth and then registering recognition.  It was her. A smile beamed on her face and she ran down to them.  Her hair was matted with blood and sweat and worse, she had a black eye that was starting to swell.  It didn’t matter.  She was beautiful to him.

"Father! Lyaan! Lysa! Lyrin! You're here? How? How did you know?" she called, rushing to them.

Lysa opened her arms and Morelen rushed to meet her embrace. "I saw you. I saw you in my dreams, sailing to us, dear girl.  Oh my…it's been so long.  It is so good to have you back." Lysa stroked Morelen's hair.  "Oh, your eye. We'll get that taken care of," Lysa said in a voice full of compassion.  All of them piled onto the embrace as Morelen bit her lip, steadying herself from shaking.  Fëatur wept openly, gripping her tightly.

Morelen pointed to the riders coming down to meet them. "This is my friend, Líreno and his family, Telerien and Idhrendiel.  My husband, Notaldo and Silmani, daughter of our friend, Hurinon.  We've…we've come for a visit and business from the north on behalf of King Orodreth of Nargothrond,” she said, shifting into an official voice.

Fëatur held her, studying her face. "I can't believe it…I can't believe it.  You're here.  You don't know how much I worried," he said, his voice cracking.  He stroked her face and touched her black eye.  It was time.  It was time to introduce them.  He had dreamed of this moment for ages.  He then pointed back to Yavëkamba who approached slowly, appearing nervous.  Yavë had changed into silk blue robes and her chocolate brown hair flowed down to her shoulders.  "That, Morelen…she is your mother."

Yavëkamba came forward, her eyes misting up and her nose red, but her face beamed with a smile, ear to ear. "Let me look at you, Morelen.  The last time I saw you was when you were an infant.  You don't know how long I have waited for this moment."

Morelen shook, her eyes blinking, unbelieving.  Then, tears flowed down her cheeks and she began sobbing like a child.  “I…I…my mother?  I dreamed of this.  You…you are Yavëkamba.”  Her knees wobbled and Notaldo caught her.

He nodded to them. “I know all about you,” Notaldo said warmly.  “I have heard so much.”

Yavë put the palm of her hand over Morelen’s eye and blew out a long breath, her hand glowing green. When she removed it, the eye was healed. “I am so proud of you, Morelen.  I have heard so much as well,” she said to Notaldo.  “I could not ask for a better man to be with my daughter.  Now, I suspect that you have wounded on board.  Come, let us attend to them.”  She went into healer mode, face serious and confident.  “We need to bring the less injured ones off of the boat to the safe house.  We will make them comfortable while I tend to the critical ones who cannot be moved. Let us hurry.  Lives are at stake.”

Everyone rushed aboard where Yavë took control.  She directed Ferui to get the walking wounded onto the docks and to assemble the gravely injured on the main deck where care could be more efficient.  She took a look at Ferui’s arrow wound and the gashes that he took in the melee but he waved her off.  “Not until my crew is seen to,” he said with finality.  Lightly injured crew walked down the gangplank along with captured sailors under guard, Teldin pushing them with a sailor’s short sword. Ferui and Círdan began carrying the critical sailors up on deck and laying them on blankets and tarps, anything to keep them comfortable.  There were moans and cries and they could tell that Ferui cared for every person on the ship.

Lysa went with the ones departing the vessel and took the young ladies with her.  “I’ll start working on them,” she said.  “Your healing skills are much greater, Yavë. Call if you need anything though.” She gestured to Lyaan and the others from Ty-Ar-Rana.  “Time to get to work.  Follow me. Caladiel, stay with Yavë.  She’ll need your help.”

Yavë and Fë went to work immediately with Morelen jumping right in.  Caladiel had done some healing with Lysa so was familiar with the process and the herbs.  Some of the wounds were devastating.  Lost limbs, deep penetrating stabs, missing eyes.  Fë was horrified, but Yavë gave him a reassuring touch.  She had seen this all before, many times.  Morelen squatted down by an injured sailor and held a towel over his abdomen where he had been cut.  She’d seen it all too.  Fë knew the horror of battle.  He fought at Hithlum and in other skirmishes.  He saw the devastation in Gensatra, 25 years ago and it never seemed to end.  Yavë had healed thousands and Morelen was in some of the worst fighting in Beleriand. Caladiel had never seen anything like this, and she shook as tears streamed.

“Mother, what do you need?” Morelen asked seriously, coming over to a sailor with an arm so maimed, it was hanging by a flap of skin.  “We stabilized as many as we could after the battle.”  Her mother moved over to join her.

“You did good,” Yavë answered, not even looking up, but a faint smile was on her lips.  “Hold him tight.”  She looked down at the sailor, whose eyes were full of tears and he whimpered, shaking. “I’m so sorry, young one,” she said in a soothing voice.  “I’m going to have to remove your arm.  It can’t be saved.  I will heal you as best as I can.”  She passed a hand over his face and her palm glowed blue for a moment.

“Fë…my bag,” she continued. “I need the Mirenna and the Gort. You know the dosage.  Also, the sedative.  Hurry please.”  She tied off the man’s arm with a tourniquet just above the elbow.  “Shh…shhh,” she said to the sailor.  “I’m going to numb the pain.  I’m going to take care of you.  You’ll be alright.  I promise. What’s your name, young man?”

He whimpered, shaking, but he focused his eyes on her.  “Please, please…don’t take my arm.  Please. My…my name is Brenion.  Please mistress.”

She nodded.  Fë could tell that she was in emotional agony, but she never flinched.  Yavë felt every death, every injury that she tended, even with the orcs of Angband’s armies. It was a heavy toll.  “Brenion, I’m sorry.  I have to.  I will ease the pain.  You won’t feel a thing and I’ll be right here with you.”

Fë put the berries and the vial of salve in her hand, and she poured it into Brenion’s mouth.  Then, she took the crushed leaves and put them in a small tin.  With a wave of her finger, the leaves smoldered, glowing orange. She blew the smoke over the sailor’s face and he relaxed, his eyes glazing over.  Then, she put a smooth wooden stick between his teeth.  “Here, bite down, Brenion.  Caladiel, hold his legs.  Tightly now.”  The poor girl grabbed the sailor’s ankles, fumbling with her grip.  Ferui and Círdan came over as Gil-Galad helped wounded off of the ship.

Ferui knelt down and put his hand on the young elf.  “I’m right here with you, lad.  I won’t leave you.”

Fë handed her the saw as he had done before.  Yavë put her hand on Brenion’s chest.  “Close your eyes and bite down.  With the Gort, you will feel no pain, but a tugging sensation.  Be brave, my young man,” she said, her voice just cracking. It was over in less than a minute. “Fë, finish for me and bandage him. I have to move on.”  She put the palm of her hand on Brenion’s face.  “You were so strong.  So strong.  Rest, I’ll be back to check on you.”  She stood and wiped her nose.

She, Morelen and Caladiel moved onto another young elf.  He was burned nearly beyond recognition.  Ferui came with them and held the young sailor’s hand.  Yavë shook her head and Ferui began to tremble. “I’m sorry, lad.  I’m sorry.  Go to Mandos and rest in his care.”  He looked at Yavë.  “His name is Fendir.  I…I was there when he was born.  He’s…he’s sailed with me since….since,” he tailed off and then bit his lower lip hard.

Yavë knelt down next to Ferui as Fë handed her a vial of Gort solution, a big one.  “I’ll ease Fendir’s passing,” she told Ferui.  She touched him on the chest and her hand glowed blue again.  “Drink this, Fendir.  I am right here with you.  Ferui and I won’t leave until you are with Mandos.”  She poured the lethal dose of Gort into his mouth, and he swallowed.  Caladiel was already breaking down in sobs and Morelen bit the back of her knuckle.  It was going to be a long night.

Yavë did not rest until every injured sailor was tended to, even the enemy.  Only when the entire crew was treated did Ferui and Círdan allow themselves any care.  By then, the captain was pale, losing so much blood.  Hîgwen hugged him tightly.  “You stubborn old fool!” she said.  “I can’t lose you.”

Fë slumped down on the deck, his back to a mast while Caladiel was barely conscious from exhaustion. Yavë blinked her eyes with fatigue. Only Morelen seemed still energetic. Fë knew that it was her Vala blood. As the sun rose, Lysa poked her head up the gangplank and nodded.  They had cared for the less injured and the prisoners were secured.  Fë rose and walked painfully over.  “We cannot let them go.  They’ll recognize you.  We can’t risk it.”

“I understand,” Yavë answered.  “Thank you for thinking of that.”

Lysa stumbled over, her eyes full of fatigue.  “We saved them all, even the enemy.  Their captain told me that half of their fleet was destroyed in this battle.  I think we’re safe for the moment.  We need some rest, but we can move onto Tumlindë after. Chrys would love to meet everyone.”

Ferui practically crawled over.  “To all of you, thank you.  You will be welcomed with open arms on Balar.  And you,” he said, pointing to Fëatur, “you owe me a Múmakil story,” he added with a mischievous smile.

Fë chuckled.  “And I have one.  You are welcome to join us in Tumlindë, where stories of the south will be told and the hospitality of the Menelranas will be open to you.”

Later that morning, Fëatur wove an illusion to hide the ship, tendrils of power weaving through wood and sail, blending the vessels with water and jungle.  “If one gets too close, they can see through it,” he said, “but a mile or so off, the ships look like part of the ruins and jungle.”

Morelen watched in wonder, her eyes big.  “I admit that my magic has lagged behind my archery,” she said.

He gave her a mock look of sternness.  “We are going to correct that,” he said with a smirk.

Morelen turned to her mother.  “And watching and helping you was wondrous.  I have learned so much.  You are everything that I imagined.”

The three embraced. This was the family that Fëatur had dreamed of for so long.  If only now they could rescue Moran.  Should he tell her that she has a brother?  Maybe now was not the time.  Everyone was exhausted and rest was needed for the day.  They bathed in the river near the safehouse, people wading in and splashing.  Fëatur strode in, holding Yavë’s hand.  He never tired of gazing upon her.  They squatted down, lathering each other with soap that Yavë brought.  It was her own special blend, medicinal and soothing.  Morelen and Notaldo came up and joined them.  Fë noticed that Notaldo was broad and muscular, a true warrior.  He felt a little embarrassed by his own lean, almost feminine physique.  And Morelen, though slender, rippled with muscles from centuries of training and battle, a far cry from the skinny girl he left in Beleriand.  He looked over to see The Three bathing, Lyrin’s eyes upon his daughter’s body.  He didn’t think the boy ever got over his crush. They cleaned up and spent the remainder of the day preparing for the ride to Tumlindë.  Morelen and the riders polished their armor, smoothing out dents, sharpening swords and refilling arrows.  Fëatur brushed out his robes while Yavë restocked the safe house, plucking silver Mirenna Berries and crushing dried leaves.

“I can see where Morelen gets her…tidiness,” Notaldo joked to her parents and Morelen threw a polishing rag at his head.

The next morning began a four-day journey to Tumlindë with the wounded on litters and the prisoners walking.  It would have been a much shorter ride.  Sailing Master, Lodon, took command of the Bregolaph, overseeing repairs, while Círdan and Ferui were away.  Lodon insisted, as Círdan’s visit to the south was key to their visit and the captain needed to stay with the wounded.  

Fëatur slowed his horse and leaned over the crippled enemy captain, a Sindarin elf with blond hair. “You will remain with The Guild for some time.  We cannot release you.  There are wards and glyphs throughout this jungle should you attempt to escape.  If, in time, you repent and decide to join us, you will be tested but such a thing is possible.”

The captain cradled the stump of his hand, that was expertly wrapped in a bandage.  “I am Lindaer.  You have treated me and my crews with mercy.  I am grateful.  I…I doubt your friends would have received the same from me and mine.”

“I appreciate your honesty. I guarantee that you will be treated well by the Guild, if not particularly warmly.  That is, so long as you attempt us no harm nor try to escape.”

The captain blew out a sigh.  “You have my word.  If I may, sir, why are you fighting us?  We are both elves?  The Court brings the light of the one true god, who will be the King of the Earth. He is the chosen one.  You would do well to join us.”

Fëatur remembered saying the same thing.  Thinking the same thing.  He was once deep in the cult, a true believer like Lindaer and his sister.  He made it his mission to show them the truth. Perhaps they would see who Morgoth really was.  “I will explain more when we arrive, captain.  Just know that I, like you, were deceived by Morgoth and it is an agony that I will never be free of.”

By the end of the fourth day, Fëatur knew that they were near.  He sighed with relief when he saw Chrys and Laurre on horseback on the trail leading to the manor.  “Hail Chrys…Laurre!  Well met!” The two rode to meet them where he explained what happened at Gensatra.  They brought the wounded to the house where Aelrie, Chrys’ wife and Miriani, her sister, began bringing people to the infirmary, Yavë still providing care.  Guards took the prisoners to the stockade, a well-managed and humane structure, if rather plain.  There was a sense of excitement in his heart.  This would be a moment to remember.  As they dismounted, Teldin took the horses back to the stable.

“Chrys…Laurre, I want you to meet my daughter, Morelen and her husband, Notaldo.  Also, this is Círdan of the Havens, Gil-Galad, son of Fingon and Captain Ferui of the Bregolaph.”  He swept his hand around and introduced all of the others.  “My friends from the north, this is Chrys Menelrana, Lord of the South and his son, Laurre.  They are kin to Orodreth.  There is Chrys’ wife, Aelrie and her sister, Miriani.”

Chrys smiled broadly. “Well met, my friends, well met.  Come, come inside, we were expecting you.  We have refreshments in the dining hall and rooms for all.  You will find no finer comfort in the south.  I like to call it, the last homely house.”

“Except for Ty-Ar-Rana,” Lyaan quipped with a wink.  Chrys led them into the manor through the big wooden double doors at the main entrance. Carvings on the doors depicted the Two Trees, one on each side, painted in silver and gold.  The house itself looked as if it were part of nature, blended with trees, painted in earthen tones, windows carved like branches with stained glass. Flowering vines and plants ringed the structure, adding bright colors like pinks and greens and reds.  The fragrance of jasmine filled the air.

Aelrie and Miriani both curtseyed to Gil-Galad and took the bags to the rooms with other staff. Chrys gestured them into the dining room, a grand hall with fireplaces and braziers that were just roaring to life by some magical means.  Several large tables were covered in cloth with porcelain plates and glasses set.  The other members of the Guild were just filing in and taking their seats: Talan, of water; Elerior, of air; Carnil Ravirë, of earth; Ralian, of light.

Fëatur smiled, remembering his return to Middle Earth from the Halls of Mandos and his first meeting with the Guild.  He fought hard to earn their trust and become a full member of the team that would oppose Morgoth in the south.  He held Yavë’s hand as they gave thanks to Manwë and Mandos for another day.

“Come, please be seated,” Chrys said.  He took his seat at the head of the table and the others sat around him.  Trays of fruits and vegetables were set, along with drinks of fruit juice and teas.  Aelrie and Miriani returned to sit and the group dined, talking about their adventures and getting to know each other.  Círdan told of the journey and the battle, Gil-Galad pledged friendship with the south and Notaldo told of the promise of renewed trade with Nargothrond.

Then, Fëatur told of the growth of the Court and of the Ritual to come.  “Our astrologer, Ralian, along with the Enclave, have foretold that the Ritual of Darkness will come within the next century.  The stars can only look so far ahead so that is all that we know.  We have a plan in mind to disrupt the ceremony, but the Citadel is too well guarded.  When we know more, we plan distracting raids on the other holds of Ardor where we hope to draw off their forces, chasing us into the shadows.  Stealth and surprise are our weapons.”

“But what of your new ally, Taaliraan?” asked Gil-Galad.  “I hear that their armies are formidable, many having served in the north.”

“Indeed,” Chrys said. “We have pledged mutual defense for the common good, though King Eldanar prefers to hold the bulk of his troops to guard their borders.  He is still reeling from the Nirnaeth and remains cautious…understandably.  And we are still hesitant to risk open war.  But know this, we have a secret way into the Citadel, thanks to Fëatur, Yavëkamba and Lyrin.”

Gil-Galad pursed his lips and nodded in satisfaction.  “This is good, and we need good news.  Things have turned for the better in the north, but I fear that Túrin has led Orodreth to become rash.”

“I second that,” Círdan added.  “I sent messengers to both Gondolin and Nargothrond, bearing Ulmo’s message.  They were not greeted warmly by Túrin and…politely brushed off by Turgon.”  Gil-Galad looked down.  That was his uncle whom he admired and respected, but Círdan’s words were true.

Notaldo spoke out, “I trust Lord Mormegil and King Orodreth…but I do have my reservations.  My scouts have reported seeing increasing troop movement in Tol-in-Gaurhoth.  We cannot ignore that but Túrin has proposed a preemptive strike to destroy them.”

Círdan’s face became solemn.  “Still, how can we help the south,” he said, changing the subject.

“We have much to trade as we did with Fingolfin,” Chrys said.  “Your ships carried all of that cargo when he had more discourse with the north and we were the recipients of your largesse.  Now, we wish to pay it back.  The jungles and rainforests of the south offer exotic and powerful healing herbs and mixtures plus a sticky tree sap that can be made into flexible, but strong objects.  The dwarves, who taught us this, call it Ogamur.”

Yavëkamba raised her hand. “I can provide a lot of those herbs. I have spent long years finding such and developing potions and cures.  Grarig leaves that speed healing, Carneyar flowers that clot bleeding, and,” she said, producing a golden fruit that looked like a pear, “Yavëthalion…which I named, by the way, that can be made into powerful healing potions and ointments as well as tasty jams and jellies.  It only grows on the coastal regions, but it would thrive on the coasts of Beleriand.  This one is for you,” she added, offering it to Círdan.  “You should eat it soon and it is sweet and succulent, but keep the seeds and plant them on them your isle.  They grow slowly but bear fruit all winter and spring once grown.  I like to think of them as…reflections of Laurelin.”

Círdan smiled as he received it and took a bite out of it before passing it to Gil-Galad and Ferui. “This is a wondrous gift.  And we cannot thank you enough for what you did for our crew.”

Gil-Galad nodded after taking a bite.  “Amazing and thank you.”  Then, he narrowed his eyes and tapped his lips with his thumb.  “I mean no offense, but I have to know…why did you follow Morgoth? I find such a course unthinkable.”

Both Fëatur and Yavëkamba blushed furiously.  Chrys was about to say something, but Fë waved him off.  “You are right to ask that question, my prince.  We have both long pondered the answer to that.  I want to take you back to a time in Valinor that The Guild and Lyaan and Lysa remember.  Morgoth had been released from the Halls of Mandos, and he was declared repentant.  He supplicated himself before Manwë, begging forgiveness and pledging his help to the Eldar.  For all appearances, he was true to his word,” Fë said, feeling waves of shame wash over him.  He would never be clean until Morgoth was defeated along with the Court.

“He found many who were sympathetic to him,” Yavë continued.  “Ardana, the Astrologer was among the most powerful of these.  And for those who have not seen him, you have to understand that Melkor was charismatic, magnetic, the most powerful of the Valar. At the time, we did not fully know what came before and why he was imprisoned.  He wove a tale of tragedy, misunderstanding and victimhood.  My…empathy led me astray.  In his telling, he was the oppressed.  He only wanted to do good…to bring us knowledge that had been forbidden. I was a follower of Yavanna and Estë, learning healing, compassion and mercy from them.  But Melkor showed me things that I could not imagine…spells of powerful healing.  He was a being of incredible knowledge and beauty.  I was convinced to go with he and Ardana to Angband where he showed us illusions of goodness and light.”

Fë nodded, holding her hand.  He knew that she felt as guilty as he.  “And it was all an illusion.  Soon, the words changed…the anger and the rage surfaced…the narcissism.  He was the chosen one.  He was the only one who could fix it.  The Valar were the true enemy and his dominion over Middle Earth was stolen from him.  Revenge consumed him.  It was then that I began to doubt but I kept my fears to myself except for Yavë.  It was only when Morgoth and Ungoliant ruined the Two Trees that I truly knew what evil I had supported, and I willingly surrendered my life to Mandos, expecting to be cast into the endless void.  He did not forgive me, but he tasked me to right my wrongs…to show him that I could earn his mercy,” he said, shaking, a single tear running down his face.  He looked away, unable to bear their gaze.

Morelen held his other hand.  “Father…I never knew…never knew the whole story.”

Yavë lowered her head and covered her face.  “I was too cowardly to follow.  I valued my life too much, so I remained.  Then…somehow, Fë sent me a message with a system that we had established.  He was alive.  I pledged my life to work from the inside and to destroy Morgoth’s plans.”

“I can tell you that she has risked much to help us and continues to risk all,” Lysa added.  “She has more than redeemed herself and we are deeply in her debt.”

Gil-Galad nodded slowly, understanding coming over his face.  “I am satisfied.  It can be all too easy to be led astray, and we can mistakenly trust those who would do evil with it.  I think of Maedhros and the Easterlings.  I think of my forebears and Fëanor, who slew the Teleri for their ships and then left us on the ice.  I cannot fault you now that you fight for the Free Peoples and I welcome your friendship.” He stood and extended his hand to Fë and Yavë, then to Chrys and The Three.  “I hope that we stand at the beginning of a new era.”

Lysa nodded.  “Though I still fear that this is only the beginning of our struggle.”

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Chapter End Notes

Next, we journey on to Ty-Ar-Rana.  Cirdan offers to help build a fleet.