Chapter 1: The Lecture
Mírimë sighed as she slowly woke up from a lovely dream in which she took a walk trough a lush valley with huge waterfall, and afterwards indulged in spying on a group of shirtless elven warriors practicing with swords. She chuckled as she thought about the lecture on a proper Vanyarin lady's behaviour, which her dreams would surely earn her, should they be publicaly known. That thought quickly brought to mind something else:
„Master Calimórë invited some noble to hold a lecture on the War of Wrath and..." Mirimë yawned, noticed the time, started, and exlaimed: „... and I'm late!"
She quickly dressed, grabbed her satchel with writing implements, dashed out of her parents's house and ran at breakneck speed trough streets of Valmar, all the time thinking:
„This is my second late arrival in twelve days, and on a day where there is a guest invited. Master Calimóre will not be happy and I imagine the noble will be even more upset. Just my luck."
Mírimë had not arrived at school very late, but her arrival managed to interrupt Master Calimórë in the middle of his introduction of the guest, who gave our tardy student an unpleasant look. Some of Mírimë's fellow students smirked at her and the Master frowned.
„I apologize for being late, sir," offered Mírimë.
Her teacher just nodded and resumed his speech. Mírimë sat down in the last row of seats. Her first thought was that today will probably have consequences in the form of an essay on some very boring topic. Her second thought was that she should have just remained at home and excuse her absence from the lecture by saying that her father suffered a minor poisononing when a mixture which was meant to turn into fast-drying ink released choking fume, and the poor elf required her help. This whole lecture would in all probability once again glorify Vanyarin soldiers, villify the Noldor and degrade capabilities of the Moriquendi, just as written records do.
Mixing of various inks and testing various new writing implements made by her father would be much more interesting. Mírime supressed a yawn and tried to concentrate on the lecture, in case it should be the chosen topic for her essay.
„ … but don't think that those of us who fought in the War of Wrath have a bad opinion about our kin in the Middle Earth just because they are Moriquendi, or that we ascribe characteristics typical for followers of Fëanáro to all Noldorin exiles. No, young ones. We have a legitimate reason for our thoughts of them."
Mírimë was now completely awake and alert. Master Calimórë was also interested in the talk, instead of pretending to be so. There may be some new information after all. Meanwhile, the Vanyarin noble, Lord Horëamo, continued with the lecture.
„I was myself a witness to incompetence, partiality and abominable behaviour of those in charge of the exiles' and Moriquendi troops. One incident, or should I say tragedy comes to my mind in particular. You see, Morgoth's minions had many camps and small strongholds dispersed throughout the region of Beleriand, and these had to be dealt with. One day a company of Vanyarin soldiers and another, consisting of both Moriquendi and the exiles, and led by a Noldo, encountered one of those places.
The Vanyarin commander was of the opinion that the orc lair should be destroyed as soon as possible. He was also convinced that should his and the Noldo's company join forces, they could do away with the foul place quickly and with minimal loss to their side. The Noldorin commander -named Erdanon- remember the name, such a person should not remain anonymous, brushed this matter aside as nonsense. Furthermore, his second-in-command and the company's healer were caught while trying to convince our commander's right hand, Mairacallo, and several others to disobey, should they be ordered to attack."
Mírimë glimpsed a quick succession of expressions on her tutor's face. Master Calimórë first nodded in agreement with Lord Horëamo's words, then looked thoughtful, as if trying to refresh some old memory. This expression was followed by a frown similar to the one he used when he tried to make a student admit the real reason for badly done or non-existent homework. Then he leaned slightly forward in his seat and looked more attentive than before.
"Perhaps he has heard a different account of this matter," Mírimë thought and returned her focus to Lord Horëamo's talk.
„... as I said, commander Erdanon dissmissed the problem of the orc stronghold and the plans to destroy it as nonsense and it proved to be a grievous mistake. At night, scouts reported incresed activity of the orcs. This activity was in fact a preparation for fight. Our kinsman deemed it wise to vanquish the orcs immediately and led an attack on the stronghold. Unfortunately, he was knocked unconscious and his second had to take over. We will never know whether he panicked or let himself be influenced by Erdanon's people. All we know is that due to his orders and due to Erdanon's unwillingness to cooperate, a fight that should end in swift victory for elves turned into a blood bath."
"He has definitely heard a different story about this fight," went trough Mírimë's head as she glanced at her tutor, who was beginning to look quite angry. The noble lecturer seemed oblivious to Calimórë's expression and carried on.
"Dear students, you maybe think that we are now at the end of this terrible story. Sadly, you are mistaken. It had equally terrible continuation. Erdanon eventually changed his mind and arrived at the scene of battle, but his soldiers had done too little too late. His healer then made a point of treating his own comrades first, even though some of the Vanyar were more seriously injured, and the commander of the unfortunate company, who had meanwhile come out of his unconsciousness and was understandably worried for his men, was abused both verbally and physically by said healer and even by Erdanon's second-in-command. So you see, we have ample reasons to think ill of both Moriquendi and the exiles."
Horëamo went on and on about other things, but Mírimë did not pay much attention. Two things confused her: Calimórë's anger at hearing an account of a fight differing from the one he himself had heard, and the reason why soldier from Mairacallo's company needed to be treated by a Moriguendi healer. They had their own healer with them, hadn't they?
The lecture, which was apart from the tale of incompetency indeed quite boring, eventually ended and Mírimë went to the tutor's desk to discuss her late arrival.
"I think we should apply the rule 'three times is enough'," Master Calimórë smiled. "You are going home without extra homework. But before you go, I have noticed that you paid some attention when Lord Horëamo talked about the orc-stronghold incident..."
"You are right, sir."
"I will give you a piece of advice then. If you want to know more about the time of the War of Wrath or if you want to find some mention of Lord Horëamo's story, you should look at the translations of chronicles written by Middle-Earth historians, or better still, try to learn to read Sindarin and make a trip to the library at Avallónë to see the originals. The historians who wrote them had quite sharp tongues, or should I say quills, but I have heard some of those who fought in the war praise their works' accuracy."
"Thank you for the advice, sir. I'll remember it."
"I'm glad to hear that. Remember also that late arrivals should not be a regular occurrence. Good day, Mírimë."
„Good day, sir."
Mírimë then went to other classes and put the morning's lecture out of her mind. Master Calimórë had not done so. When he thought about Horëamo's talk, he got angry again. The noble was lucky that his head did not suffer a collision with a heavy flying object. Calimórë would have to talk about today's lecture with Erdanon. Such an account of that long ago fight couldn't be allowed to circulate among people even though the fight happened about six thousand years ago. It cast a very unflattering light on people close to the history teacher's heart and Calimórë would rather spend eternity in Mandos than just sit and do nothing about it.
"You have a serious problem, Horëamo," thought the teacher and gave a very unpleasant smile. "Very serious problem indeed."
