Author's Notes: I have mostly referred to the warriors as males for the sake of simplicity, but this is inaccurate - female elves, though less inclined to fight, did become warriors and prior to having children were nearly equal in strength to males. (ref. Morgoth's Ring, 'Laws and Customs Among the Eldar')
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tolkien with the exception of original characters needed to fill out Oropher's family tree or move the story along. Translations of Elvish words and additional notes are found at the end of the chapter.
A House Divided against Itself
"Despite the desire of the Silvan Elves to meddle as little as might be in the affairs of the Noldor and Sindar…Oropher had the wisdom to foresee that peace would not return unless Sauron was overcome." (Unfinished Tales, 'The History of Galadriel and Celeborn', p 270 pub. Ballantine/Del Rey)
3431 Second Age, Imladris
"Again, those who claim to be the wise prove not so, and now you call to us, those you dismiss, to help unmake the doom you have brought upon yourselves." The Lord of Belfalas crossed his arms, glaring defiantly at the High King's people.
They had come to Imladris - elves, men and dwarves - to discuss the Alliance made by Gil-galad and Elendil. They met now, on the eve of the larger council, to consider the matter first among their own kind, and Gil-galad found the Sindarin lords hostile, as he had expected. Belfalas, he thought, was only bluffing - their friendship with Anárion was solid and they would follow him. He was less sure of the not inconsequential number of Silvan Elves of the Vale of Anduin. Lórinand would follow Oropher's lead, and the Noldo remained uncertain until the last moment that the King of Eryn Galen would even come to Imladris.
"Interesting. I do not recall what valiant deeds your people performed during the war in Eriador. If I am not mistaken, you hid yourselves like frightened rabbits until the danger was passed." Gil-galad shot an annoyed look at the elf-lord. They had little need here for Arphenion's acid tongue.
"We fought the Enemy for centuries, while in Eregion you were seduced by him. Our people had the sense to see him for what he was," Oropher stood, his eyes darkened by rage.
Galadriel snapped. "Enough of this! Morgoth we could not defeat because we fought more amongst ourselves than against the enemy."
"Yes, and your kinsmen slew even those such as my wife, one of your own."
"And my cousin, too, Oropher, do not forget that." There was an edge of steel in the Noldorin king's soft voice. Nonetheless, it had a calming effect as other voices rose in anger. "If you cannot put aside these grudges of the past, then you are welcome to quit this council. But if Sauron is not destroyed, he shall care little whether your people fought against him; he will crush you as he will all other free peoples."
The Sinda reclaimed his seat. "To remain neutral has not been an option for us in the East. Perhaps you have had peace in Eriador and Lindon, but beyond the mountains, the Dark Lord's servants do not sleep and we have had no help from the High King. It seems we are only worthy of notice when our numbers are needed." The Lord of Belfalas nodded in agreement.
"And would you have accepted help? For you certainly never asked it of me. It has been my impression that you have trusted in your own people for your defense, and in them, your trust has been well placed. I would not now seek your alliance if I doubted the valiance of your people."
Thranduil hid a smile at Gil-galad's careful diplomacy. His glance met the sea-grey eyes of his second son in shared weariness of this argument. His father's blind prejudice must not obscure the fact that by their race, they were all - Sindar, Noldor and Avari - enemies of Sauron.
"It matters little how this has come to be. We are all endangered," Elrond interjected. "And we have yet a greater task ahead in admitting our folly to the dwarves and Dúnedain."
Oropher's eyes narrowed at the implications of Elrond's closing remark. Thranduil put his hand over his father's. "Adar, we are fighting the wrong battle here," he whispered. *1
"You underestimate your father," the ancient elf replied under his breath. "Our folly, Herdir Elrond?" *2
"None here at this council had a part in the forging of the rings, but I assure you the aftercomers will assign blame to all elves without discrimination."
"The blame lies both in the creation and in the secret kept, and for the latter the High King and," Oropher looked directly at Celeborn, "those in his confidence I hold to account."
"What is your purpose in forging such divisions among us?" Elrond queried.
"Only this - if you will hide behind lies and mistrust, then do not expect us to submit to your leadership. My people will fight in this war on Sauron, but not in defense of the Noldor."
Though every choice Oropher had made as king and leader of his people had sought to avoid it, war had become inevitable. He had assured, however, that he would participate on his own terms. His host would go forth under the emerald banner of Eryn Galen; he would not march under the blue and silver of the Noldor. Oropher left the council, pleased with its outcome but troubled by its revelations. He hurried to catch his cousin in the hall, pulling him into a discreet alcove.
"What is the meaning of this, Oropher?"
"I think you know well." Oropher closed the heavy drapes in the doorway and turned to face his cousin in the flickering candlelight.
Resigned, Celeborn sat down to await his cousin's tirade.
"These many years, I believed that you truly had the best interests of Malgalad and his people in mind; that though I feared your wife's ambition, you were needed in Lindórinand. Yet, I was deceived, Celeborn. If Galadriel had not been there, Lindórinand would have been left in peace."
"And Gorthaur permitted to focus on the west, instead of dividing his forces. If Lindon had fallen, do you think he would not have turned upon you next?"
Oropher looked at him disbelievingly. "Do not pretend that you had a greater good in mind, Celeborn. If this were so, you would have destroyed that ring."
"It was not mine to destroy," Celeborn said flatly.
"No, it belonged to Galadriel. Your wife, whose ambition has made you one of them. You have forgotten your people, cousin. You are loyal to Gil-galad at the expense of your own kin."
Celeborn shook his head in disgust. "You live in the past, Oropher."
"Indeed. I live in a past in which we once put our kinship above all other loyalties." Oropher mused, mesmerized by the candle's wavering flame. He turned to look directly at his cousin, his pale grey eyes overcast with anger and hurt. "You lied to me," he spat. "Not one word did you speak of what might destroy us all."
"It was not my wish to deceive you. I was not free to reveal all that I knew."
"You were not free because you have become but a thrall to your wife and to the High King," Oropher accused.
"And so we come to the crux of the matter." The elf-lord's voice sharpened with his rising temper. "This has nothing to do with the rings. This is nothing more than your irrational hate for Galadriel. You are resentful because she survived, and I cannot help that."
"Caranthir spared her life! Anórieth was not killed for a Silmaril. She was killed as a descendant of Finarfin's sons. But never did he or any of Fëanor's sons hate Galadriel. She - remained - loyal - to - them." His terse words dripped with venom. *3
"She has spoken often enough against them!" Celeborn knew that Oropher's words were not entirely untrue. Yet Galadriel bore no guilt in Caranthir's madness. If he spared one and took the other, it was not the fault of the survivor.
Oropher interrupted his thoughts. "It is in her deeds that she has been found wanting," his cousin said softly, almost gently. "You have made your choice, you who see farther than me, yet are blind. Now I make mine. We share blood, Celeborn. But we no longer share kinship."
3432 Second Age, Eryn Galen
The elf leapt lightly down the hill of the glen, as silent and graceful as the deer for which he was named. He paused on a rock overlooking the path and studied his quarry, snaking its way north toward the forest. At last, his target came within range, and he jumped lightly into the path, startling several elves in the party.
"Mitharas! One day you will be rewarded with an arrow in your backside," Innolas warned.
Like an irrepressible puppy, the elf hardly heard the scolding of his kinsman. "Where are you going?"
Innolas threw up his hands, anticipating his cousin's next question. "We are going to the Iron Hills. Gather your things, and you may go with us. But be quick!" Mitharas scurried up the path. Watching him go, Innolas knew his cousin must soon enough become more sober in his behavior; he might enjoy the waning days of his childhood while they lasted. His coming of age was not far away, and war came even closer. Whether he was deemed old enough to join the warriors or left behind, the young elf must cross the threshold into maturity.
A flurry of blond braids soon came flying down the path, and with the Wood Elves singing a merry song, the party set off again. The errand to the Iron Hills had little levity to it, however. Eryn Galen was ill prepared for the coming war. The Silvan folk did not wear armor in their battles in the forest, for it hindered their movement and stole their great advantage of stealth. Now something must be fashioned. They had not the time or resources to produce full armament for their entire host, or accustom themselves to heavy mail, but at the least they might craft helmets and breastplates. Their own smiths could not handle the overload, and Khazad-dûm was busy with the making of armor for the hosts of Gil-galad and Elendil and for its own host. Much of this work Khazad-dûm had sent to its northeastern cousin, but Innolas hoped that the Iron Hills had yet metalworkers to spare.
The talk during their five-day journey largely concerned the war. The subject hovered over the elves in all their doings, it seemed, and Mitharas listened eagerly to his elders' ruminations. Gently, Innolas tried to temper his cousin's enthusiasm - an archer who had earned the stingy praise of Brónalm he might be, but Mitharas knew little of the horror of battle. Indeed, his participation in the war his parents still debated.
As they neared the Iron Hills, Innolas grew silent, considering the negotiations before him. Dwarves troubled him. Language mirrors its speakers, and dwarves kept their language secret. The elf felt that this secret was a barrier between their peoples. He had learned to deal with them, as could not be avoided, but he would never truly understand them. What little he knew of Khazâd was that it was a harsh, unforgiving language, with little ornamentation of its sound - a reflection of its speakers. By contrast, Sindarin was designed to be soft and musical to delicate elven ears. This was quite lost on the dwarf who stood in line before them, casually sharpening his axe while he waited, oblivious to the aural discomfort of the elves behind him. Innolas, with no small effort, held his tongue and complained not of the unpleasant noise, and he cast a warning look at his young cousin.
At last, it came their turn. An agreement emerged after several hours of negotiation, though Innolas thought the dwarves overcharged them, knowing too well their need. As they wound their way back through the tunnels, Mitharas, who had watched the transaction quietly, now spoke. "Grandfather says that they would cheat their own sires for gold."
"I would not call it cheating - their word is as honorable as any elf's. The goods we have purchased will be first-rate and finished in the time promised," Innolas explained. "Grandfather remembers the dwarves of Nogrod, and all the evil they did in Doriath. There are yet some clans, one hears, who are nefarious in their dealings. But the dwarves of Wilderland and Hadhodrond are the Longbeards, Durin's descendants, and they are honest, if unpleasant." *4, *5
They left behind the dwarf mine with relief, bringing cheer to the Wood Elves, who had small love for caves. "Keep alert," Faunil warned, as they set out to return home. "I heard the negyth speaking of orc raids out of the Ered Mithrin." *6
On the second night, the party found a form of shelter in a stand of trees. In the dark hours, a low warning whistle roused them. The approaching orcs outnumbered them, Innolas saw, but not by more than half. He had faith enough in their archers to know his party would be an adequate match. He debated whether to attack, and have the benefit of surprise, or wait, hoping the company would turn aside and pass them unawares. His brother would attack, he knew; his father, more cautious, would likely hold his guard at the ready.
In the end, the wind made his decision, for it shifted, carrying their scents to the orcs, and they lost both the chance of surprise and the chance of non-engagement. He scarcely needed his sword; the archers swiftly cut down the attacking orcs before they could advance. Beside him, Mitharas' bow sang, and Innolas noted the fire in the youngster's eyes. Indeed, a fine warrior he would one day make, but he must first learn that his calling had a dark side. Not all battles would be an easy rout. The remaining orcs turned to flee, and Faunil and two of the Wood Elves swiftly mounted their horses in pursuit, lest the survivors summon a larger host in revenge. Two among their party had minor wounds, but the orc arrows had borne no poison. Orcs rarely used poisons except in war - to find the plants and distill the lethal resins required care and attention, and even for wicked purpose, the foul creatures had little aptitude for such work.
Warriors all, the Silvan Elves of their guard congratulated the young Noldo on his fine archery. Innolas was more circumspect in his praise. "You did well, Araseg, but we are fortunate only two were hurt, and not badly. Even when skill is in our favor, one may be felled by mischance. *7, *8
"By luck, their number was small, and the shadow of the trees concealed us, for orkish eyes are sharp in the dark," he continued, as they retrieved arrows from the dead orcs - and made certain that they were, indeed, dead. "Though our guard is responsible for our safety, we too have responsibility in leading them, for it would be a grievous blow to lose even one."
The youngster nodded, but Innolas thought his cousin little heeded his words. 'He is far too innocent to go to Mordor, Málissë must see that,' he fretted.
3433 Second Age, Eryn Galen
Nórui was furious. "I am older and have far more experience. Mitharas knows nothing of these things, he is but a child."
Málissë refused to be moved. "That is why you remain here. You know these woods better than your brother - you can better protect those left behind."
"Grandfather said that I will go," the elf-maid insisted stubbornly.
"It is not your grandfather's decision to make." The thought of what might befall his daughter in Mordor - he had been to war, he knew its depravities, he knew orcs - had set his mind against Nórui's wish to march with their host.
"Have you considered Laigil's will in this?" Innolas spoke up.
"It is settled. We will not discuss this again." Ignoring his brother-son's question, the elf stalked from the room.
"Iaeth-tharn Golodh dorthol!" the elf-maid muttered. In unconscious imitation of her father, Nórui likewise left the room, frustration with her lot clear to all who would see. *9
"If Málissë is determined to take his son to war, I see not why his daughter must therefore remain behind."
"Laigil will not allow it. She will not risk losing both her children. If it were left to her, I suspect that she would keep Mitharas near to her, for he is young, too young, I deem, for this," Berinaeth echoed her son's concerns.
"But you do not feel the same?"
Berinaeth smiled. "I do, but you are neither of you so young as your cousin. It is your own choice to make. Though I am loath to see so many who are dear to me in such peril, I know it cannot be helped. If the Dark Lord is not defeated, all that we cherish will be lost." She sighed. "Your father's sister sees far, and it is not at all times a gift, for she sees sometimes things that are beyond help."
3434 Second Age, Battle of Dagorlad
Sauron's forces already massed at the crossing at Parth Celebrant, effectively closing the gap at the Fords of Isen to hosts from the western lands. Therefore, the forces of Gil-galad and Elendil took to the mountain passes, a slower path, but more direct. The Galadhrim and Durin's army likewise traveled north to the bridge over the Anduin. Here the Galadhrim joined Oropher's host, and when the men and elves from the west had regrouped, the Alliance turned south. *10
When the enemy learned of the north crossing, the fell host fled to the marshes and infertile flats to make its stand, leaving devastation in its wake. Neither man nor Noldo understood the fury and grief that swept through the Silvan host. They could not know what beauty the orcs had destroyed in these scorched and blackened lands, nor would the elves of the west - save Círdan and one or two others who had made the Great Journey - recognize the creatures who had recently occupied this land.
Whither had gone the Entwives none would know. Perhaps they could not escape the fires and so burned with their gardens, or perhaps they had chosen this fate. Or perhaps they fled far into the east. But they were gone.
Bereft of vegetation, the desolate flats showed no sign of spring when the Alliance at last met Sauron's men and orcs - creatures united not by love for their master but by loathing for elves and the Dúnedain. Elven eyes detected a heavy black cloud billowing from Mordor; elven ears cringed from the piercing cries of the Nazgûl, and the ground on which they met their foes would henceforth take the name of Dagorlad.
For some weeks, they pressed forward slowly. The Alliance clearly had the advantage, but Sauron had yet to reveal all his tricks. One warm night, shadowy figures rose from the marshes, threatening the rear lines, yet they did not attack. Instead, they turned and fled north. The elves took off in pursuit, but runners soon brought orders to Gil-galad's rear guard - to maintain a defensive stance. The High King thought the men deserters of Sauron, and was wont to let them escape.
The men had other designs. "Your children's heads we will mount as trophies and your wives will wish to join them in their fate," they taunted. This the Wood Elves could not ignore, even if those with their loved ones safe in Lindon had no fear. The far flank closed quickly on the men, following them into the marsh. The trap laid, orcs drove from the south, catching Malgalad's folk between the two forces.
Málissë and his company hurried to aid the Lórinand elves. Oropher could send no others, however, as his host was already engaged in fierce fighting. Málissë might have had reinforcement from the rear lines of Gil-galad's host, but their captain learned too late of the slaughter in the marshes. The Silvan Elves fought hard, and wrought great loss upon their attackers, but two-thirds of Malgalad's folk perished, including their king. Málissë, too, had fallen.
The Alliance held their pursuit of the retreating army in order to rest and tend to the wounded and dead. Caunolas sent the warriors under his command to help with these tasks, then sought his cousin. In the mud of the marshland, he spied a glint of pale hair, and with a new appreciation for the golden hair his grandmother had bequeathed upon her descendants, he hurried to the young elf, who crouched over the still-warm body of his father.
"He is dead," Mitharas noted impassively.
"Come, Mitharas, it does you no good to remain thus."
An elf of Círdan's folk approached them warily. His people had suffered light casualties and had come to help bury the dead of the battle in the marshes. The elf knew time was precious, but the young Noldo resisted the efforts of his kinsman to lead him away.
"You must come away, Araseg. We must move again soon." Caunolas pleaded with the shocked and stricken elf. "You can do no more for him." Gently, he pulled his cousin from his keening position.
Mitharas seemed to come to his senses then, and a new expression, hard and cold flashed through his face. He turned away, wiping a grimy hand over his eyes. He did not look back.
Caunolas shook his head, disturbed by his cousin's strange mood. He had not the leisure to worry over this, however. His grandfather had returned from discussions with the other leaders, and told his captains that they would soon press forward. Many dead remained near the marshes; dead they must bury or burn in the small time left to the work crews. The elves who had fallen in the deeps of the marshes must remain so. Caunolas loathed the thought that the Firstborn's remains would thus mingle with the dead of Morgoth's abomination, but it could not be helped.
Oropher offered a prayer to Mandos for the quick release of the souls of the dead. Such would be the fate of his lost elves; they had given their lives valiantly and selflessly. There were many evil deeds done in the marshes on that day, however, some to remain undiscovered for hundreds of years hence.
3434 Second Age, Morannon Gate
Mordor loomed ahead, shrouded in a dark mist. Near to the Morannon Gate, the mist, oily and unwholesome, thickened. The gate itself appeared unguarded, yet Gil-galad was wary. He could not accept that Sauron had abandoned all defense of his outer fortifications and awaited the Alliance within. No, some stroke awaited them. Moreover, Anárion and the elves of Belfalas, delayed by a much smaller host, would reach the gate within a day. He therefore signaled a halt to their march. After consideration among the leaders, Oropher agreed to send his scouts forth. Where there was need of stealth, few elves could best the wood folk.
Tired warriors ate, rested and tended to minor wounds. As the hours crawled by and the scouts failed to return, Gil-galad's certainty that the scouts had met with some unfortunate end confirmed his fear of a trap ahead. Now he waited on Anárion. The men of Gondor knew more of Mordor than did his own people or Elendil's men of the north, and this knowledge he would need.
Oropher grew increasingly restless, worried for his scouts, and suspicious of the High King. He wondered aloud whether the Noldorin king had abandoned Oropher's flank in the marshes, finding them expendable, and if he now hardened his heart toward the missing scouts.
Grumbling arose among many of the Wood Elves, echoing Oropher's voiced and unvoiced thoughts.
"If it were his folk missing," Galion complained, "he would not be so slow to attack."
"A Belain! What does this Noldo await?" Caunolas paced restlessly. *11
Thranduil felt the anger like a wave, rolling through the Sindar and Laegrim and their like-minded sons - those who had reason to be wary of the Noldor. *12
Innolas came up through the ranks. "There is foulness is at work here, Adar."
Brónalm agreed. "There is a bad feeling about this mist. 'Tis more than cover for the light-fearing spawn of Morgoth."
"You fear it breeds dissention," Thranduil surmised.
The Cúcherdir shrugged. "I do not have your sister's gift for sight, but this air I like not." *13
Thranduil, too, felt this dread, and sought to mollify his father. "My heart tells me we are afflicted by some sorcery, Adar. Think on this, lest your passion lead you into rash deeds."
His father turned to him, and Thranduil knew no words could hold him. In Oropher's grim face he saw bile and distrust, grief too long nurtured and deserted now by reason and restraint. No hope had Thranduil of appeal to the wise king who had so long held back the shadow from his realm, no hope of appeal to the care Oropher had for the people he so loved.
No hope might stay the rush on the Morannon.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tolkien with the exception of original characters needed to fill out Oropher's family tree or move the story along. Translations of Elvish words and additional notes are found at the end of the chapter.
"Despite the desire of the Silvan Elves to meddle as little as might be in the affairs of the Noldor and Sindar…Oropher had the wisdom to foresee that peace would not return unless Sauron was overcome." (Unfinished Tales, 'The History of Galadriel and Celeborn', p 270 pub. Ballantine/Del Rey)
3431 Second Age, Imladris
"Again, those who claim to be the wise prove not so, and now you call to us, those you dismiss, to help unmake the doom you have brought upon yourselves." The Lord of Belfalas crossed his arms, glaring defiantly at the High King's people.
They had come to Imladris - elves, men and dwarves - to discuss the Alliance made by Gil-galad and Elendil. They met now, on the eve of the larger council, to consider the matter first among their own kind, and Gil-galad found the Sindarin lords hostile, as he had expected. Belfalas, he thought, was only bluffing - their friendship with Anárion was solid and they would follow him. He was less sure of the not inconsequential number of Silvan Elves of the Vale of Anduin. Lórinand would follow Oropher's lead, and the Noldo remained uncertain until the last moment that the King of Eryn Galen would even come to Imladris.
"Interesting. I do not recall what valiant deeds your people performed during the war in Eriador. If I am not mistaken, you hid yourselves like frightened rabbits until the danger was passed." Gil-galad shot an annoyed look at the elf-lord. They had little need here for Arphenion's acid tongue.
"We fought the Enemy for centuries, while in Eregion you were seduced by him. Our people had the sense to see him for what he was," Oropher stood, his eyes darkened by rage.
Galadriel snapped. "Enough of this! Morgoth we could not defeat because we fought more amongst ourselves than against the enemy."
"Yes, and your kinsmen slew even those such as my wife, one of your own."
"And my cousin, too, Oropher, do not forget that." There was an edge of steel in the Noldorin king's soft voice. Nonetheless, it had a calming effect as other voices rose in anger. "If you cannot put aside these grudges of the past, then you are welcome to quit this council. But if Sauron is not destroyed, he shall care little whether your people fought against him; he will crush you as he will all other free peoples."
The Sinda reclaimed his seat. "To remain neutral has not been an option for us in the East. Perhaps you have had peace in Eriador and Lindon, but beyond the mountains, the Dark Lord's servants do not sleep and we have had no help from the High King. It seems we are only worthy of notice when our numbers are needed." The Lord of Belfalas nodded in agreement.
"And would you have accepted help? For you certainly never asked it of me. It has been my impression that you have trusted in your own people for your defense, and in them, your trust has been well placed. I would not now seek your alliance if I doubted the valiance of your people."
Thranduil hid a smile at Gil-galad's careful diplomacy. His glance met the sea-grey eyes of his second son in shared weariness of this argument. His father's blind prejudice must not obscure the fact that by their race, they were all - Sindar, Noldor and Avari - enemies of Sauron.
"It matters little how this has come to be. We are all endangered," Elrond interjected. "And we have yet a greater task ahead in admitting our folly to the dwarves and Dúnedain."
Oropher's eyes narrowed at the implications of Elrond's closing remark. Thranduil put his hand over his father's. "Adar, we are fighting the wrong battle here," he whispered. *1
"You underestimate your father," the ancient elf replied under his breath. "Our folly, Herdir Elrond?" *2
"None here at this council had a part in the forging of the rings, but I assure you the aftercomers will assign blame to all elves without discrimination."
"The blame lies both in the creation and in the secret kept, and for the latter the High King and," Oropher looked directly at Celeborn, "those in his confidence I hold to account."
"What is your purpose in forging such divisions among us?" Elrond queried.
"Only this - if you will hide behind lies and mistrust, then do not expect us to submit to your leadership. My people will fight in this war on Sauron, but not in defense of the Noldor."
Though every choice Oropher had made as king and leader of his people had sought to avoid it, war had become inevitable. He had assured, however, that he would participate on his own terms. His host would go forth under the emerald banner of Eryn Galen; he would not march under the blue and silver of the Noldor. Oropher left the council, pleased with its outcome but troubled by its revelations. He hurried to catch his cousin in the hall, pulling him into a discreet alcove.
"What is the meaning of this, Oropher?"
"I think you know well." Oropher closed the heavy drapes in the doorway and turned to face his cousin in the flickering candlelight.
Resigned, Celeborn sat down to await his cousin's tirade.
"These many years, I believed that you truly had the best interests of Malgalad and his people in mind; that though I feared your wife's ambition, you were needed in Lindórinand. Yet, I was deceived, Celeborn. If Galadriel had not been there, Lindórinand would have been left in peace."
"And Gorthaur permitted to focus on the west, instead of dividing his forces. If Lindon had fallen, do you think he would not have turned upon you next?"
Oropher looked at him disbelievingly. "Do not pretend that you had a greater good in mind, Celeborn. If this were so, you would have destroyed that ring."
"It was not mine to destroy," Celeborn said flatly.
"No, it belonged to Galadriel. Your wife, whose ambition has made you one of them. You have forgotten your people, cousin. You are loyal to Gil-galad at the expense of your own kin."
Celeborn shook his head in disgust. "You live in the past, Oropher."
"Indeed. I live in a past in which we once put our kinship above all other loyalties." Oropher mused, mesmerized by the candle's wavering flame. He turned to look directly at his cousin, his pale grey eyes overcast with anger and hurt. "You lied to me," he spat. "Not one word did you speak of what might destroy us all."
"It was not my wish to deceive you. I was not free to reveal all that I knew."
"You were not free because you have become but a thrall to your wife and to the High King," Oropher accused.
"And so we come to the crux of the matter." The elf-lord's voice sharpened with his rising temper. "This has nothing to do with the rings. This is nothing more than your irrational hate for Galadriel. You are resentful because she survived, and I cannot help that."
"Caranthir spared her life! Anórieth was not killed for a Silmaril. She was killed as a descendant of Finarfin's sons. But never did he or any of Fëanor's sons hate Galadriel. She - remained - loyal - to - them." His terse words dripped with venom. *3
"She has spoken often enough against them!" Celeborn knew that Oropher's words were not entirely untrue. Yet Galadriel bore no guilt in Caranthir's madness. If he spared one and took the other, it was not the fault of the survivor.
Oropher interrupted his thoughts. "It is in her deeds that she has been found wanting," his cousin said softly, almost gently. "You have made your choice, you who see farther than me, yet are blind. Now I make mine. We share blood, Celeborn. But we no longer share kinship."
3432 Second Age, Eryn Galen
The elf leapt lightly down the hill of the glen, as silent and graceful as the deer for which he was named. He paused on a rock overlooking the path and studied his quarry, snaking its way north toward the forest. At last, his target came within range, and he jumped lightly into the path, startling several elves in the party.
"Mitharas! One day you will be rewarded with an arrow in your backside," Innolas warned.
Like an irrepressible puppy, the elf hardly heard the scolding of his kinsman. "Where are you going?"
Innolas threw up his hands, anticipating his cousin's next question. "We are going to the Iron Hills. Gather your things, and you may go with us. But be quick!" Mitharas scurried up the path. Watching him go, Innolas knew his cousin must soon enough become more sober in his behavior; he might enjoy the waning days of his childhood while they lasted. His coming of age was not far away, and war came even closer. Whether he was deemed old enough to join the warriors or left behind, the young elf must cross the threshold into maturity.
A flurry of blond braids soon came flying down the path, and with the Wood Elves singing a merry song, the party set off again. The errand to the Iron Hills had little levity to it, however. Eryn Galen was ill prepared for the coming war. The Silvan folk did not wear armor in their battles in the forest, for it hindered their movement and stole their great advantage of stealth. Now something must be fashioned. They had not the time or resources to produce full armament for their entire host, or accustom themselves to heavy mail, but at the least they might craft helmets and breastplates. Their own smiths could not handle the overload, and Khazad-dûm was busy with the making of armor for the hosts of Gil-galad and Elendil and for its own host. Much of this work Khazad-dûm had sent to its northeastern cousin, but Innolas hoped that the Iron Hills had yet metalworkers to spare.
The talk during their five-day journey largely concerned the war. The subject hovered over the elves in all their doings, it seemed, and Mitharas listened eagerly to his elders' ruminations. Gently, Innolas tried to temper his cousin's enthusiasm - an archer who had earned the stingy praise of Brónalm he might be, but Mitharas knew little of the horror of battle. Indeed, his participation in the war his parents still debated.
As they neared the Iron Hills, Innolas grew silent, considering the negotiations before him. Dwarves troubled him. Language mirrors its speakers, and dwarves kept their language secret. The elf felt that this secret was a barrier between their peoples. He had learned to deal with them, as could not be avoided, but he would never truly understand them. What little he knew of Khazâd was that it was a harsh, unforgiving language, with little ornamentation of its sound - a reflection of its speakers. By contrast, Sindarin was designed to be soft and musical to delicate elven ears. This was quite lost on the dwarf who stood in line before them, casually sharpening his axe while he waited, oblivious to the aural discomfort of the elves behind him. Innolas, with no small effort, held his tongue and complained not of the unpleasant noise, and he cast a warning look at his young cousin.
At last, it came their turn. An agreement emerged after several hours of negotiation, though Innolas thought the dwarves overcharged them, knowing too well their need. As they wound their way back through the tunnels, Mitharas, who had watched the transaction quietly, now spoke. "Grandfather says that they would cheat their own sires for gold."
"I would not call it cheating - their word is as honorable as any elf's. The goods we have purchased will be first-rate and finished in the time promised," Innolas explained. "Grandfather remembers the dwarves of Nogrod, and all the evil they did in Doriath. There are yet some clans, one hears, who are nefarious in their dealings. But the dwarves of Wilderland and Hadhodrond are the Longbeards, Durin's descendants, and they are honest, if unpleasant." *4, *5
They left behind the dwarf mine with relief, bringing cheer to the Wood Elves, who had small love for caves. "Keep alert," Faunil warned, as they set out to return home. "I heard the negyth speaking of orc raids out of the Ered Mithrin." *6
On the second night, the party found a form of shelter in a stand of trees. In the dark hours, a low warning whistle roused them. The approaching orcs outnumbered them, Innolas saw, but not by more than half. He had faith enough in their archers to know his party would be an adequate match. He debated whether to attack, and have the benefit of surprise, or wait, hoping the company would turn aside and pass them unawares. His brother would attack, he knew; his father, more cautious, would likely hold his guard at the ready.
In the end, the wind made his decision, for it shifted, carrying their scents to the orcs, and they lost both the chance of surprise and the chance of non-engagement. He scarcely needed his sword; the archers swiftly cut down the attacking orcs before they could advance. Beside him, Mitharas' bow sang, and Innolas noted the fire in the youngster's eyes. Indeed, a fine warrior he would one day make, but he must first learn that his calling had a dark side. Not all battles would be an easy rout. The remaining orcs turned to flee, and Faunil and two of the Wood Elves swiftly mounted their horses in pursuit, lest the survivors summon a larger host in revenge. Two among their party had minor wounds, but the orc arrows had borne no poison. Orcs rarely used poisons except in war - to find the plants and distill the lethal resins required care and attention, and even for wicked purpose, the foul creatures had little aptitude for such work.
Warriors all, the Silvan Elves of their guard congratulated the young Noldo on his fine archery. Innolas was more circumspect in his praise. "You did well, Araseg, but we are fortunate only two were hurt, and not badly. Even when skill is in our favor, one may be felled by mischance. *7, *8
"By luck, their number was small, and the shadow of the trees concealed us, for orkish eyes are sharp in the dark," he continued, as they retrieved arrows from the dead orcs - and made certain that they were, indeed, dead. "Though our guard is responsible for our safety, we too have responsibility in leading them, for it would be a grievous blow to lose even one."
The youngster nodded, but Innolas thought his cousin little heeded his words. 'He is far too innocent to go to Mordor, Málissë must see that,' he fretted.
3433 Second Age, Eryn Galen
Nórui was furious. "I am older and have far more experience. Mitharas knows nothing of these things, he is but a child."
Málissë refused to be moved. "That is why you remain here. You know these woods better than your brother - you can better protect those left behind."
"Grandfather said that I will go," the elf-maid insisted stubbornly.
"It is not your grandfather's decision to make." The thought of what might befall his daughter in Mordor - he had been to war, he knew its depravities, he knew orcs - had set his mind against Nórui's wish to march with their host.
"Have you considered Laigil's will in this?" Innolas spoke up.
"It is settled. We will not discuss this again." Ignoring his brother-son's question, the elf stalked from the room.
"Iaeth-tharn Golodh dorthol!" the elf-maid muttered. In unconscious imitation of her father, Nórui likewise left the room, frustration with her lot clear to all who would see. *9
"If Málissë is determined to take his son to war, I see not why his daughter must therefore remain behind."
"Laigil will not allow it. She will not risk losing both her children. If it were left to her, I suspect that she would keep Mitharas near to her, for he is young, too young, I deem, for this," Berinaeth echoed her son's concerns.
"But you do not feel the same?"
Berinaeth smiled. "I do, but you are neither of you so young as your cousin. It is your own choice to make. Though I am loath to see so many who are dear to me in such peril, I know it cannot be helped. If the Dark Lord is not defeated, all that we cherish will be lost." She sighed. "Your father's sister sees far, and it is not at all times a gift, for she sees sometimes things that are beyond help."
3434 Second Age, Battle of Dagorlad
Sauron's forces already massed at the crossing at Parth Celebrant, effectively closing the gap at the Fords of Isen to hosts from the western lands. Therefore, the forces of Gil-galad and Elendil took to the mountain passes, a slower path, but more direct. The Galadhrim and Durin's army likewise traveled north to the bridge over the Anduin. Here the Galadhrim joined Oropher's host, and when the men and elves from the west had regrouped, the Alliance turned south. *10
When the enemy learned of the north crossing, the fell host fled to the marshes and infertile flats to make its stand, leaving devastation in its wake. Neither man nor Noldo understood the fury and grief that swept through the Silvan host. They could not know what beauty the orcs had destroyed in these scorched and blackened lands, nor would the elves of the west - save Círdan and one or two others who had made the Great Journey - recognize the creatures who had recently occupied this land.
Whither had gone the Entwives none would know. Perhaps they could not escape the fires and so burned with their gardens, or perhaps they had chosen this fate. Or perhaps they fled far into the east. But they were gone.
Bereft of vegetation, the desolate flats showed no sign of spring when the Alliance at last met Sauron's men and orcs - creatures united not by love for their master but by loathing for elves and the Dúnedain. Elven eyes detected a heavy black cloud billowing from Mordor; elven ears cringed from the piercing cries of the Nazgûl, and the ground on which they met their foes would henceforth take the name of Dagorlad.
For some weeks, they pressed forward slowly. The Alliance clearly had the advantage, but Sauron had yet to reveal all his tricks. One warm night, shadowy figures rose from the marshes, threatening the rear lines, yet they did not attack. Instead, they turned and fled north. The elves took off in pursuit, but runners soon brought orders to Gil-galad's rear guard - to maintain a defensive stance. The High King thought the men deserters of Sauron, and was wont to let them escape.
The men had other designs. "Your children's heads we will mount as trophies and your wives will wish to join them in their fate," they taunted. This the Wood Elves could not ignore, even if those with their loved ones safe in Lindon had no fear. The far flank closed quickly on the men, following them into the marsh. The trap laid, orcs drove from the south, catching Malgalad's folk between the two forces.
Málissë and his company hurried to aid the Lórinand elves. Oropher could send no others, however, as his host was already engaged in fierce fighting. Málissë might have had reinforcement from the rear lines of Gil-galad's host, but their captain learned too late of the slaughter in the marshes. The Silvan Elves fought hard, and wrought great loss upon their attackers, but two-thirds of Malgalad's folk perished, including their king. Málissë, too, had fallen.
The Alliance held their pursuit of the retreating army in order to rest and tend to the wounded and dead. Caunolas sent the warriors under his command to help with these tasks, then sought his cousin. In the mud of the marshland, he spied a glint of pale hair, and with a new appreciation for the golden hair his grandmother had bequeathed upon her descendants, he hurried to the young elf, who crouched over the still-warm body of his father.
"He is dead," Mitharas noted impassively.
"Come, Mitharas, it does you no good to remain thus."
An elf of Círdan's folk approached them warily. His people had suffered light casualties and had come to help bury the dead of the battle in the marshes. The elf knew time was precious, but the young Noldo resisted the efforts of his kinsman to lead him away.
"You must come away, Araseg. We must move again soon." Caunolas pleaded with the shocked and stricken elf. "You can do no more for him." Gently, he pulled his cousin from his keening position.
Mitharas seemed to come to his senses then, and a new expression, hard and cold flashed through his face. He turned away, wiping a grimy hand over his eyes. He did not look back.
Caunolas shook his head, disturbed by his cousin's strange mood. He had not the leisure to worry over this, however. His grandfather had returned from discussions with the other leaders, and told his captains that they would soon press forward. Many dead remained near the marshes; dead they must bury or burn in the small time left to the work crews. The elves who had fallen in the deeps of the marshes must remain so. Caunolas loathed the thought that the Firstborn's remains would thus mingle with the dead of Morgoth's abomination, but it could not be helped.
Oropher offered a prayer to Mandos for the quick release of the souls of the dead. Such would be the fate of his lost elves; they had given their lives valiantly and selflessly. There were many evil deeds done in the marshes on that day, however, some to remain undiscovered for hundreds of years hence.
3434 Second Age, Morannon Gate
Mordor loomed ahead, shrouded in a dark mist. Near to the Morannon Gate, the mist, oily and unwholesome, thickened. The gate itself appeared unguarded, yet Gil-galad was wary. He could not accept that Sauron had abandoned all defense of his outer fortifications and awaited the Alliance within. No, some stroke awaited them. Moreover, Anárion and the elves of Belfalas, delayed by a much smaller host, would reach the gate within a day. He therefore signaled a halt to their march. After consideration among the leaders, Oropher agreed to send his scouts forth. Where there was need of stealth, few elves could best the wood folk.
Tired warriors ate, rested and tended to minor wounds. As the hours crawled by and the scouts failed to return, Gil-galad's certainty that the scouts had met with some unfortunate end confirmed his fear of a trap ahead. Now he waited on Anárion. The men of Gondor knew more of Mordor than did his own people or Elendil's men of the north, and this knowledge he would need.
Oropher grew increasingly restless, worried for his scouts, and suspicious of the High King. He wondered aloud whether the Noldorin king had abandoned Oropher's flank in the marshes, finding them expendable, and if he now hardened his heart toward the missing scouts.
Grumbling arose among many of the Wood Elves, echoing Oropher's voiced and unvoiced thoughts.
"If it were his folk missing," Galion complained, "he would not be so slow to attack."
"A Belain! What does this Noldo await?" Caunolas paced restlessly. *11
Thranduil felt the anger like a wave, rolling through the Sindar and Laegrim and their like-minded sons - those who had reason to be wary of the Noldor. *12
Innolas came up through the ranks. "There is foulness is at work here, Adar."
Brónalm agreed. "There is a bad feeling about this mist. 'Tis more than cover for the light-fearing spawn of Morgoth."
"You fear it breeds dissention," Thranduil surmised.
The Cúcherdir shrugged. "I do not have your sister's gift for sight, but this air I like not." *13
Thranduil, too, felt this dread, and sought to mollify his father. "My heart tells me we are afflicted by some sorcery, Adar. Think on this, lest your passion lead you into rash deeds."
His father turned to him, and Thranduil knew no words could hold him. In Oropher's grim face he saw bile and distrust, grief too long nurtured and deserted now by reason and restraint. No hope had Thranduil of appeal to the wise king who had so long held back the shadow from his realm, no hope of appeal to the care Oropher had for the people he so loved.
No hope might stay the rush on the Morannon.
- *1 Adar
- Father
- *2 Herdir
- Master
- *3 "But never did he or any of Fëanor's sons hate Galadriel. She remained loyal to them."
- All that can be truthfully alleged against Galadriel is that she was one of the more enthusiastic Exiles and that she point-blank refused to tell Melian the truth about the Kinslaying. However, it is said of Turgon, Finrod and Angrod that they were not exactly fond of Fëanor's sons; nothing like this is told of Galadriel. Tolkien's later conception of Galadriel was quite different - she becomes a hero who fought with Celeborn (now her cousin and one of the Teleri in Aman) against the Kinslayers (the story of her refusal to give Fëanor a lock of her hair is part of this late emendation, as told in The Peoples of Middle-Earth, 'The Shibboleth of Fëanor'). This, however, does not mesh well with LOTR, in which it is implied that she has a guilt for which she must atone, an interpretation Tolkien confirms in The Letters of J.R.R. Tolkien, Letter 297. Personally, I find her annoying as a saint (even a flawed saint, as in LOTR), and much more interesting as she appears in The Silmarillion, and so have chosen to portray her according to Tolkien's original conception of the character.
- *4 "And there are yet some clans, one hears, who are nefarious in their dealings."
- According to The Silmarillion, dwarves fought on both sides in the war fought by the Last Alliance. To those aligned with Sauron, I find no references, but Durin's folk fought against him.
- *5 Hadhodrond
- Khazad-dûm
- *6 negyth
- dwarves
- *7 congratulated the young Noldo
- I've used the convention of assigning clan-identification through the father, as Tolkien did with Finarfin's children (who were actually only a quarter Noldorin, due to their Vanyarin grandmother and Telerin mother). Though Nórui and Mitharas would probably identify themselves as Sindar, they would be, strictly speaking, Noldor.
- *8 Araseg
- Little deer
- *9 "Iaeth-tharn Golodh dorthol!"
- "Controlling, stiff-necked Noldo!"
- *10 Durin's army
- I don't believe we're told the name of the King of Khazad-dûm who fought with the Last Alliance, but there were four Durins in between the first, who died at the end of the First Age, and Durin VI, killed by the Balrog in TA 1980, so likely as not, it was a Durin. (ref. LOTR, 'Appendix A')
- *11 A Belain!
- By the Valar!
- *12 Laegrim
- Green Elves, aka Laiquendi
- *13 Cúcherdir
- Bow-master