The Court of Ardor by AliceNWonder000137  

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The Crossings of Teiglin

The Telepta officers return from the south and settle back into Nargothrond, training, singing, dancing and loving.  But Morgoth's malice is ever present, and his armies press the Men of Brethil under Handir at the Crossings of Teiglin.

Warning: scenes of sensuality.  I want to show a juxtaposition between the peace and tranquility of the realm against the horrors of the Wars of Beleriand.

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46)  The Crossings of Teiglin - Year of the Sun 495 Nénimë (February)

Morelen

It was a pleasant journey back to Nargothrond from the south.  Sailing on the Bregolaph was always a joy, and she had learned an enormous amount about sailing.  Morelen and Caladiel were rigging and repairing sails and using the incantations to harness the blessings of Ulmo for the wind.  The winter sea and weather grew colder as they pressed north, snow covering much of Beleriand.  She loved the brisk temperatures and the exhilaration of the chill winds.  Still, she missed Silmani.  The young woman was a bright spot in their lives, and she and the company promised to care for her as the daughter of their dear friends. But there was no safer place than Ty-Ar-Rana; the wards and golems left by the Vanyar were formidable and her father’s glyphs made it even more protected.  But she made it a point to return as soon as she was able to.

Lyaan was like a second father to her, protective and nurturing and she knew how much he wanted her to stay.  The visit was like going back to her childhood, a simple, joyous time of music and learning.  She was torn between two worlds, one of bliss and one of duty.  Perhaps, one day, her duty would be over.  She wondered what it would be like to go to Valinor?  Would she fall under the Ban of the Valar? After all, she was not at Alqualondë and never hurt another elf who didn’t try to hurt her.  Elves from Gondolin had been trying to sail West for some time now, but many returned empty handed and most had tales of woe like Voronwë.  But she imagined it in her mind, a place of wondrous beauty, timeless, eternal.  So much had changed in Beleriand in just a few centuries.  So much loss. So much destruction.

Their return to Nargothrond was like putting on a comfortable pair of sandals again.  The gate guards were in jovial spirits, talking about another of Túrin’s victories at the Crossings of Teiglin with the Men of Brethil under Handir.  The greeted Notaldo, the captain along with his two lieutenants.  Caladiel was in awe as the passed into the grand cavern where the massive bazaar of shops and kiosks filled the great floor.  Closable vents in the ceiling let sunlight stream in and reflect off of large mirrors that illuminated the whole cavern with a warm glow.  Water from the Narog ran around the perimeter where elegant bridges crossed deeper into the kingdom and there was a lively dock for boats coming and going from the Havens of Sirion and beyond.

They stopped at Cragstone’s kiosk.  The dwarf looked quite aged, bald with a white beard and a lined, craggy face.  “Oh, it’s so good to have you back, my friends. I was afraid that I’d miss you,” he said in a creaky voice.  He was definitely getting old, something that Morelen was very unused to.

“We missed you too,” Morelen said as he poured them mugs of his famous Stone 
Ale.

“Ah, here you go,” he said as he raised his own mug.  “Only the finest malt, yeast and hops for you, along with my own secret spices. Now, I’m glad I caught up with you all. I am officially retiring home to Nogrod and am leaving the business to my son, Throim Cragstone,” he said, gesturing to another dwarf with a bushy brown beard and wild hair around a bulbous red nose.

Throim bowed low.  “I will be happy to see to all of your beverage needs, ladies and gentlemen.  My father will oversee supply shipments to Nargothrond from our home so our superior drinks will continue to flow here!”

Notaldo gave them a small bag of bronze coins.  “We look forward to continuing to do business with your family, Cragstone.  And we wish you a joyous retirement and safe travels back home.”  He then reached into his pocket to give each of them additional gold coins.  “A little extra for your retirement.”

Caladiel scrunched up her face and stared at the two dwarves.  “What…what is this on your face?  Why is there hair on your chin?  And…did something happen to you?  You…you’re so short.”

The other elves grimaced but then Morelen snickered.  She made the same mistake when she first met the brewer.  “Umm, they’re dwarves, Caladiel.  That’s the way they are, short but tough and resilient.  Isn’t that right, Cragstone?”

“Hah!” he chortled out loud.  “Indeed, good lady Morelen.  I remember you saying the same thing some centuries ago.  I may be pushing three-hundred and fifty, but my mind is still sharp, and I remember it like yesterday.  Dwarves have excellent memories for good and bad.  And don’t worry, my lovely blonde elf, we get that all the time here.”  He took a gulp of ale and raised his mug.  “I would be honored if you would see me off tomorrow when I leave in the morning.”

“We will do just that, my friend,” Líreno said, patting him on the back.

As they continued on towards their quarters, Caladiel scratched her head.  “Business?  Coins? What was that all about?” she asked, adjusting her white monk robes.

Morelen shrugged.  “I was very confused at first too.  Ty-Ar-Rana provides food and other items to its people as needed.  We all benefit from what the people create.  But men and dwarves are different.  Their economies are often based on buying things with metal coins which you earn through work.  It’s strange and often complex and I don’t really like change, but I learned,” she said and then scoffed.  “I still favor the old calendar in Quenya but one of our years is One-Hundred and Forty-Four of theirs.  This new calendar has the twelve-month year or coranar but I still use Quenya for that.  Stubborn, I guess.”  She really could be finicky about things like that and spoke Quenya most of the time.

“Oh, yes, that sounds really confusing,” Caladiel replied, her head whipping around at all of the kiosks, where men, dwarves and elves sold their wares.

Notaldo put some bronze and copper coins in her hand.  “Here, try it out.  Buy something.”  He always had a kind heart and was a patient teacher.  It was something that Morelen truly loved.

The monk initiate stopped at a vendor where a fire burned in a metal grill and sticks of meat and vegetables roasted over the flame.  It smelled delightful, sizzling bell peppers, mushrooms, other vegetables along with chicken and beef.  Caladiel held out her hand, and the vendor took three coins and handed her a stick. She took a couple of bites and nodded her head.  “It’s…exotic. It’s so different in the north.  Well, I guess Kirnak is similar but it’s quiet and organized.  Here, it’s just exciting chaos,” she said as loud voices called out, advertising food and other goods.  Jugglers and musicians played to a cacophony of sounds, voices and instruments.  She ran over to another kiosk and bought a blue dress.  “I need something else to wear!” she said excitedly, holding the item over herself. “This is so crazy!”

It was fun, enjoyable even to watch Caladiel’s innocence and wonder.  She had never interacted with anyone other than elves and her awkwardness was endearing.  On the elegant wood and stone bridge from the grand cavern into the rest of Nargothrond, Túrin and Tintallo were waiting with broad smiles.  “Welcome home!” Túrin called out, his arms open wide.  “You missed our last foray north where we decimated another force of the Dark Lord’s orcs.”

“The riders proved their worth again,” Tintallo exclaimed.  “We’ve cleared everything north of the Crossings of Teiglin up nearly to Tol Sirion. The men of Brethil under Handir pinned them in place as the cavalry broke them and ran them down like chickens.” He tossed a leather ball up and down. “That means that we need a good game of Coron Mittarion.  Get settled and then join us.  That one too,” he said, pointing to Caladiel.  “You in the habit of picking up strays?” he asked snidely.

Tintallo was always full of himself and loved to get under people’s skin.  With his looks and his physique, he was a favorite of the ladies of Nargothrond as he was in Hithlum, and it was likely that he had eyes on the naïve monk.  Morelen would have to warn her when she had a chance.

“Telepta Company will be ready,” Líreno said with a smirk.  “We have the fastest player right here,” he added, tapping Morelen on the shoulder.

Tintallo scoffed.  “Speed isn’t everything.  You have to have experience and quick thinking.”

“Well, I guess that leaves you with nothing then,” Líreno taunted in a friendly voice.  This had been going on for centuries.

“We shall see,” the leader of the riders shot back.  “And no amount of oil or butter on your body is going to stop a tackle this time.  Even a greased pig can be caught.”

“Ah, the voice of experience!  Oink!” Líreno countered.  “Don’t worry, you’ll be the one squealing,” he finished as they all laughed.

It was good to see Líreno’s light side coming back.  He was in a truly dark place after the Nirnaeth for many years.  The visit to the south really healed him.  And Túrin was turning things around in the north.  There was even talk about being able to reestablish the Siege of Angband, but Notaldo had his doubts.  In fifty years, they had lost Fingolfin, Fingon, Finrod Felagund, Angrod and Aegnor along with countless other great warriors.  There was little chance that they could gather the forces needed for that ever again.  “I fear that Gondolin is right,” he would say, “Our only hope may be in the West.  I just hope that someone gets through.”

They settled back into their rooms.  It was clear to see how much Líreno and Telerien missed their daughter Idhrendiel and her friend, Silmani.  They would see them again soon, Morelen was sure.  The travelers just had time to eat and wash before they had to head out to the Coron Mittarion court.  The grand sports complex had fields for a number of different physical games and individual exercise, along with spas and pools for recreation.  Magical lanterns illuminated the caverns and, as the players and audience filtered in, the ceiling changed to show an enchanted representation of the winter sky with snow falling.

The Telepta players gathered on one side of the triangular court and began removing their robes to play. It took a bit of convincing for Caladiel to get down to her loincloth for the game.  She stood on the sideline with the Telepta Team, absolutely squirming with discomfort but she was a good sport about it.  “Listen up, Caladiel,” Morelen told her, “there are three teams; us, the Telepta, the Misë, Tintallo’s team and the new Morna.  The object is to get the ball into that basket in the center of the court and tackling is allowed.  No fighting though.  Any team without the ball needs to get the ball to score.  Once our team has the ball, the others block so the carrier can get to the basket.  Got it? Good.  Let’s go.”

It was a confusing mash of bodies and shouting that Morelen loved.  Over the centuries, she had gotten pretty good and the Telepta trained hard.  One thing was that she was blessed with speed, some implying that she had the spirit of Nessa in her, who was the wife of Tulkas and the sister of Oromë.  But Tintallo was still the best player in the game and had Túrin with him.  His team, the Misë, or Green Company, were experienced, tough and motivated.  Towards the end of the game, the Telepta were barely able to keep the Misë to a one-point lead while the poor Morna, or Black Company fizzled, struggling to score only two points.

Tintallo and Túrin strutted about the field, raising their arms up, over and over to incite the crowd and people stood up, shouting cheers and insults to the players.  “These are the final few plays,” Notaldo told the team as they huddled on the sidelines.  “We’re holding close and we need to bring everything to the table now. We have ten points and are only one behind.  Morna will field the ball on this play, and we all know Tintallo’s style; they’re going to go straight for the ball.  He and Túrin are always that way, meet it head on.  We use that to our advantage.”

Morelen liked Tintallo’s methods though.  Meet it head on and beat it.  Things she should have done in the past.  She thought about saying something but decided against it.  As planned, they let the Misë rush in and take the ball from Morna after a good struggle.  Tintallo and Túrin were passing it back and forth between them as they pushed to the basket.  The long game had taken its toll, and they were covered in sweat and dirt.  “Sweep now,” Notaldo called to the team, and they ran at the opposing players.  Líreno dodged around Misë blockers and slid into Tintallo, taking his legs out from beneath him as he was passing.  Caladiel was very light on her feet being a monk and tipped the ball in flight as Notaldo body checked Túrin, keeping him from the catch.  Morelen came down with the ball and stuffed it into the basket. The crowd was on their feet and Orodreth and Finduilas cheered them from a royal box.

The team gathered around their captain.  “Great play!” he said proudly.  “This is game point here.  I need everyone’s mind engaged.  Now, Tintallo always plays to power and directness, so we avoid that and play it quiet again. We’re all tired but they’ve been fighting harder.  Let them wear themselves out.”

This time Morelen had to say something.  She still felt fresh and fast.  The direct approach would be best here.  Attack them head on.  That should be the correct call.  “Captain, you’re right, they’re tired.  I say we hit them directly.  Fight for the ball and take it from them.  I’m still fast.  I can do it.”

He thought for a moment. “You really think you can make it work?”

She was confident and nodded.  “I can do it.”

Notaldo pursed his lips and blew out a breath.  “Alright. We’ll play your game on this.  I trust you.  New play everyone.  We hit them full court…confront them at every turn.  They’re tired and we can win this.”

They did a team clap and took the field, all crouched in an aggressive stance, met by the other two teams. There was an electricity in the air as the two best teams were tied at eleven.  It was Misë’s turn to field the ball, and they did not disappoint with the direct attack, driving straight for the basket to end the game.  Rather than let Morna battle for it, they ran right at the Misë players in a fierce confrontation.  Blockers rammed others as tackles took down runners.  Tintallo skirted past Notaldo and flung the ball at Túrin.  Caladiel tipped it again with her fingers, knocking it off course to Morelen, who caught it and drove right for the basket.  She reached the ball out with her hand and was blindsided by Túrin.  She rolled on the ground, stunned, seeing stars as the Edain scooped up the ball and stuffed it in the basket.

“Game point!” the referee shouted out and the crowd cheered for the great hero of Nargothrond.

Morelen lay there, devastated that her strategy had failed.  Notaldo extended his hand and pulled her up.  “It’s just a game.  We did pretty well, so let Tintallo and Túrin bask in the glory,” he said as Orodreth and Finduilas came down from the stands to congratulate the Misë.

The King raised his arms and the crowd roared back for a minute before quieting.  “People of Nargothrond,” he began in a clear, powerful voice like that of his brother, Finrod, “Our mighty hero, Túrin, the Mormegil, has triumphed again.  Give him and his great Captain, Tintallo, your praise!”  The audience was unstoppable, filling the court with noise and shouting.  Orodreth led the victorious away as the winning team would dine with him and his family.

As the crowd filtered from the arena, Líreno playfully kicked Morelen’s leg.  “Oh yeah, take them head on.  That worked well.  Eh, but better this way.  I didn’t want to get all dressed up to dine with the King, after all.  It will be much nicer to just relax at home.  We’ve been gone over four months and Telerien and I are looking forward to settling back in.  I can empathize with Lyaan’s love of home, I really can.”  He picked up and tossed Morelen’s shirt back to her. “Don’t let this get to you.  It’s only a game.”

What they said was true, but it didn’t make her feel much better.  Going head-to-head against Túrin was foolhardy but it made her trust his strength even more.  They dressed and slunk home with the Morna Team.  Their new lieutenant, Ehtyarder, walked with them sheepishly.  Morna had been recently reestablished with mostly new recruits, all from Nargothrond, a change from the riders being all from Hithlum under Fingon.  While Morna lagged behind the other two companies in skill and experience, they were learning quickly and fought well in the last action against the orcs. “It’s good to have you and your team back, Captain Notaldo,” Ehtyarder said in a friendly voice.  “We really look up to you senior companies.  You’ve been around since…since before…”

He nodded, always patient with people.  “We were with Fingon since before leaving Aman.  We rode and trained with Oromë.”

Ehtyarder gasped. “I…I did not know that, sir,” he said respectfully.  “I have heard of your company’s skill with the bow, and I’ve seen the power of Tinatallo’s Company on the field.  I daresay that we are well protected here with such force.  We are new and hope to prove ourselves to King Orodreth and Lord Mormegil.”

“Preservation of the kingdom is paramount,” Notaldo answered.  “Fight smart, don’t take unnecessary risks and protect the King and his family and you’ll do fine.  We’ll be sure to look after you.”

“We greatly appreciate that, sir,” he said, clearly looking up to the Telepta.  “You played a great game and perhaps we will be proper rivals one day.  We will see you for supper.”

Líreno clapped him on the back.  “You’ll get there.  We beat the Misë one out of five now.  It was a lot worse when we were in Hithlum.  And uhh, we’re very informal so just call us by our names.  I’m Líreno, the chief lieutenant,” he said, elbowing Morelen.  “This is Morelen, the junior lieutenant.  And this is Caladiel, she’s new too and she doesn’t mind playing without a shirt,” he added and she blushed furiously, her face and ears deep red.

Ehtyarder bowed curtly. “Pleased to meet you.  I hope that we will become friends as well as comrades.”

Morelen shook his hand. “I know that we will.  Don’t let the…senior lieutenant put you off. Seriousness is not his strong suit. We’ll see you for supper.”

Even though they were defeated it was good to be home.  Their rooms were just as they left them; magical lights coming on to show a waterfall along the wall, tricking down the living room, feeding potted plants as a cool mist floated from the water basins, laden with the scent of peppermint and vanilla, an aromatic mixture that Morelen liked.  The vendor was a nice Noldorin woman, Hithwendë, who blended oils and dried flowers for sale.  Snacks and fruit were laid out on their dining table, gifts from the King for their return.  She waved her hand over the brass tub and hot water poured into it from a spigot.  Oh, that was going to feel so good.  She took a packet that she bought from Hithwendë and tore it open, pouring a powder into the water that blended with the steam, and she inhaled the scent of rose, lavender and eucalyptus.

She tiptoed over to Notaldo and yanked on his robe.  “Time to get in there,” she said, pulling his garment down his back.  She watched him slide into the tub with a grin on her face and then splashed in herself.  The hot water felt divine and she inhaled the wonderful scents that she had poured in. “Well, husband, it’s good to be home,” she said as she sat in his lap.  This tub would always have good memories.

The next day they saw Cragstone off.  It was a bittersweet moment.  They were glad that they didn’t miss him and were happy to see him return to his home, wealthy and safe.  But he was an important part of the culture of the realm.  His brews had become a staple for dining halls and functions in the kingdom.  Even King Orodreth kept a select reserve for important events.  Morelen gave him a hug.  “We will miss you, Cragstone.  You’re a part of our people.  Enjoy your retirement.  Perhaps we could visit you in Nogrod one day.”

“I would like that very much, Lady Morelen.  You and your merry band.  You’ve been amazing customers and I was honored to share my craft with you.  Many dwarves complain about elves but all of you have been honorable.  All of you, be well and stay safe.  I know that you fight for the kingdom.  Farewell,” he said and then stole a kiss from Morelen.  “I still got it!  Haha!” he laughed as he boarded the wagon for Nogrod as part of a caravan.  The beard tickled like nothing she had ever felt and she giggled shyly.  She raised her hand and focused her mental powers, unleashing an illusion of colorful southern parrots and tropical flowers flying into the air.  Cragstone clapped and blew kisses as the wagons rode north back to the dwarven realms.

It was like leaving Ty-Ar-Rana where a part of her was still there.  It had become a given that they would gather at Cragstone’s kiosk after a battle or a game and he would roll out barrels of ale and mead.  She did not like change, but she resolved to give his son, Throim, a chance.  

The company settled back into a rhythm of training, sports, music and recreation.  The hot springs and the conservatory were favorite activities, but it was different without Silmani and Idhrendiel, whose passion for music and dance were inspirational.  The training of the companies was going well and even the new Morna riders were progressing.  Using a weapon and being proficient with it was one thing, but fighting from horseback was another and staying in formation with a company, a whole other skill.  The level of training required for the riders was exceptional and the Misë and Telepta Companies had done it for centuries.

Riding in formation filled the morning, along with obstacles and jumping.  Then came practice with weapons, striking stationary targets with spears, swords and other weapons.  Then the Telepta shot with bows at the gallop and in their caracal circle.  Following this, care for their mounts, weapons and armor.  Morelen was right at home, applying polish to the pieces of her harness, bringing it to a silver gleam but she always had time to mentor Caladiel, their newest member.  While the monk lacked the strength to draw the heaviest bows, she was nimble and fast, a good rider.  She really seemed to enjoy the north and the personal freedom.

Morelen handed her Luinë, her blue laen bow and Caladiel struggled to draw the string, barely getting it past halfway.  “Oh, I can’t, Morelen,” the Sindarin elf said, straining.  “How is it that you’re so strong?”

“Hard training.  So, you keep at it.  You’re getting stronger every week.  Your riding is excellent and you’re improving with the sword and spear. And I’m really happy that we could impart these skills to the people of Gavan.”  She took back the bow and easily drew the string to her ear.  It was a good question though.  She was blessed with physical skills beyond the norm. Odd, since her father was very slender and not a paragon of strength or speed and her mother shied away from physical pursuits.

After a full morning of training, they would wash and relax in the hot springs.  There was a select area that Tintallo would always lead them too. This area of the hot springs had a certain hedonistic atmosphere which Morelen enjoyed.  While most elves were relaxed about it, she had a hunger that she couldn’t explain.  The walls were covered in sensuous but tasteful mosaics along with marble sculptures of elves and men cavorting in the water amid fountains, laughing and playing. The quality of the art was so realistic that they appeared to be moving in the spray that cast rainbows in the light. The team tossed their robes aside and dove in, Caladiel being far less inhibited than when she arrived.  Morelen dipped her head below the water, rinsing her hair and then shaking it out.  She could live in here.

As expected, Tintallo made his play for Caladiel, turning on the charm.  Morelen thought to warn her, but he really wasn’t a bad guy, just full of himself.  The pair whispered to each other for a while and then snuggled together under the roar of cascading water from above where plants and vines grew, making the area feel alive.  Notaldo picked a flower from one of the bushes and floated it to his wife, where she picked it up and put it over one ear.  She stood and struck a seductive pose as spray from the fountains floated around her, casting rainbow colors on her skin.  “I’m sorry I lost the game for us,” she said with true remorse.  “I should have listened to you.”

He swam over, his face right up against her abdomen.  “It was just a game.  We’ll get them next time,” he said with understanding.  “But perhaps you need a lesson,” he added with a wink and wrapped his arms around her rear, pulling her to his face.

She looked up and gasped, holding her hands over her chest.  She really did want a family, something her parents would be proud of. She felt Notaldo working his magic and she scrunched her face in an almost pained expression and glanced over to see Caladiel straddling Tintallo.  She hoped that he would be good to her.  If not, she would remind him.  It was good that Caladiel was away from Lyrin and his friends.  She started to think of something else when he hit the right spot and she trembled, biting her lower lip and letting out a high-pitched moan.

And the blissful months continued in the magical underground kingdom until Urimë at the end of a wonderful summer.  It was easy to forget all of the horrors that came before: the Nirnaeth; the Bragollach; Glaurung.  Music flowed through the halls along with the squeal of happy children.  While Morelen loved hearing this, she endured a feeling of being deprived of something for having a child seemed to be beyond them. She walked the halls to the conservatory past children running with their musical instruments, ready for another class or lesson.  A young boy, holding a flute, bumped into her.  “Oh, I’m sorry, miss!” he said.  He was in such a rush with his friends that he wasn’t looking.

“It’s no problem at all, young man,” she said warmly.  “Just watch where you’re going.  I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“My momma says the same thing,” he answered brightly.  “Thank you,” he finished as he and his friends continued on.

She smiled and waved at them as they looked back.  It was a wonderful moment, but it made her miss Silmani even more.  The young lady, that she saw as a daughter, was into early adolescence, growing more curious and capable every year.  Still, for an elf, it would be another 60 years before she was a full adult.  She took a moment to wonder what Silmani was doing right now.  She hoped that Lysa was giving her the same love and attention that she received in the south.  She imagined the young lady dancing and learning martial arts while riding out to see the Oliphants and probably having a pet parrot by now.  She chuckled inwardly at the idea of Silmani teaching a parrot to speak.

After music practice she wandered the wide caverns and corridors, admiring the art; carvings and mosaics of elven life, stopping at a grand bas relief of Finrod Felagund meeting the humans, playing his harp as they listened and then another of him with the dwarves, hewing out the areas that would become Nargothrond.  She touched the stone of his likeness, sad that such greatness had fallen to such evil.  Then, there was another in a series that depicted Beren and Lúthien in Doriath; the killing of the vampire, Thuringwethil by Huan, the Hound of Valinor; the infiltration of Angband and the recovery of a Silmaril; and the return of Beren and Lúthien to Middle Earth.  Morelen heard that they were living peacefully in Doriath under King Elu Thingol.  She hoped that they were.

As she turned to walk back to her quarters, Túrin and Tintallo approached her, their expressions serious.  “Morelen,” the Mormegil said, “the companies are mustering.  The armies of Morgoth are pressing on the Crossings of Teiglin.  The Men of Brethil under Handir are holding them but they need reinforcements.  Gather your gear and meet us at the bridge.  I’ve ordered the stable masters to prepare our mounts.  King Orodreth will follow on with the infantry.”

The whole sense of peace and tranquility came crashing down as the reality of the Wars of the Jewels reared its ugly head.  Morgoth’s evil and all of his spawn needed to be destroyed for the world to be at peace. She nodded.  “What do we know and what is our plan?”

Tintallo grinned. “We hit them head on as always. The strength of our arms has never let us down and Lord Mormegil will show us the way.  Ride forth, Morelen, Lieutenant of the Telepta and conquer with us,” he declared in a voice of supreme confidence.  It was infectious.  Túrin had never lost a battle as the Lord of Nargothrond’s Armies.

“I’ll meet you at the bridge,” she said, returning the grin.  “Head on.  Let’s do it.”

Notaldo was already waiting for her, his armor and weapons laid out on the bed.  He was in his padded gambeson and arming doublet that went under the armor for comfort and added protection plus hose and chausses over his legs.  She helped him don his armor, which was a two-person task.  As she put the cuisses over his thighs, she let her hand brush along his abdomen along the flap needed to relieve oneself.  “Can we keep trying for a child when we get back?”

He inhaled sharply. “But of course,” he said with a wince.

She giggled as she put the rest of his leg armor on and then placed his padded cloth and mail coif over his head.

“Your turn,” he said slyly as he picked up her under armor garments.  “I doubt that your dancing attire will be useful in battle,” he added, gesturing to the short, pleated skirt and form-fitting top.  She started to remove those, but he stopped her. “Mmm mm, I’m here to help,” he said, undoing the skirt, letting his hand brush her the same way that she teased him.

Her breath shuddered. “We…we have to go,” she said but he shook his head.

“Turnabout is fair play.” He pulled her top off, his hands gliding over her chest.  He put her padded gambeson on and then her doublet.

“Oh, curse you.  I can’t concentrate,” she said with a groan.

He picked up his helmet. “Looks like you’re ready to go,” he said with a wink and her eyes went wide.

“Uh, pants?”

He laughed and then picked up her hose and chausses.  “Oh my, I think you’re perfect like that,” he kidded and she spun around, poking her bare rear at him, which he slapped.  “Fine, fine, let’s get you ready.”  He put the remainder of her armor on, pulling the leather straps tight for ease of movement. He slapped her on the pauldron over her shoulder.  “We’re ready,” he said, handing her the silver helmet with the crest of the House of Fingolfin just beneath the sigil of the House of Finarfin and a bright blue feather at the tip of the helm.  “I think it was much better without the pants, but I would be too distracted.”  He went to the door and held it open.  “We best get to the muster.”

They went into the hall where Líreno kissed Telerien.  Her face was flush and she smiled awkwardly.  It looked like everyone was finding love in this time of bliss.  Líreno looked at his wife seriously, changing the tone.  “You remember what I said about the escape passage.  Should anything go wrong, you take as many people as possible and head to the point on the map that I gave you.  We will join you there and find Gondolin.”

“Please don’t talk like that,” she answered.  “You will win.  You always win.”

He shook his head. “Not always.  I just want you to be prepared.  If we have to, we’ll head south to be with Idhrendiel.  But if anything goes wrong, we will find you.” He then pointed to Notaldo and Morelen. “And you too.  We’ve been over this,” he said, waving his arm towards the main gate.

In the long hall that served as the quarters of the riders another door flung open and Caladiel burst out of Tintallo’s room, giggling as she stepped out.  Both were fully armored and ready.  Morelen felt good about how far she progressed since arriving at Nargothrond, finding a lot of her own way but was she ready to fight.  The Wars of Beleriand were brutal, horrid and unforgiving while war in the south had been mostly small units clashing in stealth and ambush.  And there were no dragons there.  She got a chill thinking about Glaurung.  Caladiel made eye contact with them and cleared her throat.

Morelen touched her on the pauldron over her shoulder.  “Nothing in the south prepares you for the horrific battles in Beleriand.  This will be your first real fight.  Orcs are savage and we may encounter werewolves or balrogs.  Stay close to me or Líreno.  Take no chances, we will lead the way.  Understand?”

She nodded, her expression turning serious.

“Good.  I promised Lyaan that I would look after you and I will.”

Caladiel smiled in appreciation.  The shy, introspective girl was still in there.  Tintallo came out next and was surprised by the gathering in the hall. “Oh!  I’m sure Túrin is waiting for us,” he said, trying to inject a martial demeanor into the group.

“We’re with you,” Notaldo answered.  “Are we sure we want to take the direct approach?” he asked, some doubt tinged in his voice.

“It’s never failed us before, so yes.”

Morelen interjected, “I think we can trust Lord Mormegil.  We’ve gone from strength to strength with him.”

Líreno tilted his head with one eye narrowed.  “That is something that makes me nervous,” he added, his skeptical side showing again. “It’s easy to become complacent when you win all of the time,” he added, jibing about coron mittarion.

“Don’t blame me if you don’t practice as hard as we do,” Tintallo shot back with a wink.

“Ah, point taken. Some of us have families, you know.”

The great gates of Nargothrond were held open by the sentries where beyond lay the massive bridge built on the order of Túrin.  He stood there, resplendent in his armor and the Dragon Helm of Dor-Lómin, a black and gold barbute helmet with a flared back and the sculpture of a golden dragon at the crest.  Grooms had assembled at the far end of the bridge with the cavalry mounts.  “Come friends,” Túrin called to the assembling riders.  “Let us ride forth and confront the enemy.  Our allies, the Men of Brethil, await our help.  They have been fighting for days now.  We must go with haste.”  They jogged to the assembly field where grooms handed reins to riders, and they mounted up under the sunny summer sky.

Túrin rode over to each company where he gave inspiration to the officers.  “Notaldo, lead the Telepta well and with valor.  I know that you don’t always think the direct approach is best, but we have shown that, once you bloody the nose of an orc, he becomes a coward.  We hit them hard and fast and they will fold and we will minimize losses,” he said, his smile visible through the gaps in his helm.  “Are you with me?”

“We are, Lord Mormegil.”

“Are you with me?” he yelled to all of the riders, his voice fierce and powerful.

“We are with you!” the company called, Morelen loudest of all.  There was a sense of pride and invincibility when she was near Túrin.  His strength, his will, his confidence and his prowess were undeniable.  No elf in Nargothrond could defeat him in any physical contest.  As the troop assembled, King Orodreth emerged in his glittering armor and the captains of the infantry along with a choir of children to sing them off.  It was magnificent, a true image of the soul of elvenkind.  She saw the boy who ran into her and waved at him as they rode north.

At the swift canter Morelen urged Lindarion ahead to catch up to Tintallo.  He looked over as the hooves of three-hundred cavalry thundered towards the Crossings of Teiglin through the land known as Talath Dirnen, the Guarded Plain.  Green forests of pine trees dotted the plains where Orodreth had placed scouts to guard the approaches to the River Narog, and they waved as the cavalry rode by.  “Don’t you dare hurt Caladiel,” she called to the Lord of the Riders.  “She’s young and innocent.  I’m supposed to look after her.”

He raised his visor and narrowed one eye.  “Well, not that innocent anymore,” he jibed.  “Don’t worry, Morelen.  I do like her.  My hunting days may just be over.  I’m just sorry I didn’t get you first,” he added with a wink.  “But then you’d be addicted to me.”

“Hah, in your dreams, but thank you.  I will hold you to caring for her,” she said and then slowed to rejoin her squadron.  She scanned the riders under her command, doing a silent count in her head and steered Lindarion around them to ensure their armor and weapons were battle ready.  The forty-nine that followed her were battle hardened and had served with her since Hithlum plus Caladiel who had trained extensively as a monk but had never fought in a major battle or against orcs.

“Trust in Lord Mormegil, my friends!  He will see us through.”

The elven horses traveled swiftly, and they neared the Teiglin close to dusk on the following day, the blues of the sky darkening and shifting to red and orange.  It would have been a beautiful summer evening but for the threat of Morgoth’s Armies once again.  Morelen rose up in her stirrups and scanned the approach to the crossings and there was no sign of battle.  Then, she saw the bodies.  “Tintallo! Lord Mormegil,” she called out ahead. “Almost one league ahead, near the river!  I see bodies…orcs and men.”

Túrin turned his horse and trotted over to her.  “I have missed your incredible vision while you were away.  It is like having an eagle fly above us,” he said.  Her heart soared at any compliment from this great general who had brought the realm back from obscurity to greatness.

“Thank you, my lord. I see no signs of battle, just the bodies around the river.”

“Very well…let us investigate and see what transpired,” he said and then had their herald wave the banner of Orodreth.  “Ride to the river but be cautious.  There was a battle but no signs of any live enemy.”  The companies reformed and set out in orderly columns as the Telepta drew their bows.  What could have happened?  How long ago did this occur?

They moved forward cautiously, Telepta screening the advance to prevent an ambush.  As they closed, Morelen could see more clearly, a vast number of dead orcs and a significant number of the Men of Brethil, slain, along with spears, swords and arrows sticking out of the ground.  It was a hard-fought battle.  The Teiglin ran swiftly up to the crossings where an army could more easily ford.  It was there that Handir opposed the crossing of Morgoth’s force…and paid the price.  Corpses of men, orcs and even horses floated down river.  Caladiel gasped at the sight.

Tracks led west from the battle.  An army had succeeded in pushing through.  “We’re too late,” Túrin said as he dismounted and looked at the aftermath. He knelt down at one corpse in fine armor.  “I had feared that Handir would fall before we arrived.  This was yesterday.  There was nothing we could have done,” he added as he rolled the body over to see a broken arrow shaft in his eye.  Handir’s sword was bloody and covered in gore.  “He fought to the end and made the enemy pay.  “Misë and Morna, let us bury the dead of our allies.  Telepta, I need you to scout west and find the enemy.  Shadow them and we will pincer them between us and King Orodreth’s infantry force.  We’ll pin and crush them.”  He brought out a map as the officers knelt around him.  “It looks like they’re crossing Talath Dirnen going west.  We herd them…get them to cross the Narog where they’ll be caught between the Narog and the Ginglith with nowhere to retreat. Then, we destroy them here,” he said, drawing a circle on the map.  “…here at Tumhalad.”

CODEX:

Weapons:

Kynac – A single edged bladed weapon, longer than a dagger and shorter than a shortsword.

Ikasha – A large, multi-edged throwing star.

Clothing:

Gambeson – a quilted shirt worn under armor.

Doublet – a fitted jacket.

Hose – leggings worn under the armor.

Chausses – loose pants worn under the armor.

Pauldron – armor over the shoulder.