Author's Notes: Re-upload 10/07 with minor html coding changes (I forgot to code the accents - yes, I am anal retentive - my real life job involves checking other people's work for errors).
Regarding the name Ereinion, I had assumed the name to be Sindarin due to its -ion ending. Quenya, however, has the same ending. In both languages the general word for king is aran, but it differs in the plural: Quenya arani, Sindarin erain. So how do we get to erein? There are two possible explanations: one is that Tolkien changed his mind about the umlaut of a in the last syllable. Earlier entries in The Lost Road, 'Etymologies' show the a =) ei plural - adar as edeir, for example, but revised entries show the later ending - aran is correctly pluralized as erain. This need not have preceded Tolkien's invention of the name 'Ereinion'. Thus, the name might simply use an old Sindarin form, not unlikely in the flux of the language in the First Age (in fact, when the Noldor arrived, it is likely that the i-umlaut of the plural was used only by the Mithrim: aran + -ion would likely come out as erenion). Northern Sindarin must have heavily influenced mature Sindarin, as shown both by grammatical similarity and historical circumstance - it was the first dialect to be met by the Noldor, and was the dialect of most of the Sindar who lived in their lands. By Gil-galad's birth, something akin to mature Sindarin had probably developed, but perhaps the ei to ai shift had not yet occurred, or the name blended his mother's Mithrim dialect with the modern form. (ref. Helge Fauskanger, move.to/ardalambion, 'Ilkorin' and 'Sindarin - The Noble Tongue' and Richard Derdzinski, www.elvish.org/gwaith/language.htm, 'Northern Dialect of Sindarin')
The second possibility is that Tolkien simply preferred the sound of 'Ereinion' over 'Erainion'. ei sounds like English ai in 'rain'; ai sounds like English eye in 'eye' (the opposite of what a native English-speaking reader would expect). Thus, 'Ereinion' is properly pronounced e-rane-ion. When in doubt, it seems best to go with the more pleasing sound, as Tolkien's elves generally opted for phonological harmony over grammatical correctness.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tolkien except Arphenion, who I needed briefly in another story and I figured would he serve equally well here. Translations of Elvish (Sindarin, unless otherwise noted) and additional notes are at the end of the story.
Hope
" Estel we call it, that is 'trust'. It is not defeated by the ways of the world, for it does not come from experience, but from our nature and first being. If we are indeed the Eruhin, the Children of the One, then He will not suffer Himself to be deprived of His own, not by any Enemy, not even by ourselves." - Finrod, Morgoth's Ring, 'Athrabeth Finrod ah Andreth', p 320, pub. Houghton Mifflin
FA 474, Brithombar
From Cuiviénen to the shores of Belegaer, he had served the Valar. Among the first to approach and trust Oromë, at the bidding of Ossë he forsook his heart's desire, to join his grandfather's people and live in the light of the Two Trees in the land of the Valar. [1] This fate, to serve the Vala he most loved, he accepted when that path was closed to him, perhaps forever.
Now Círdan felt betrayed by the Powers. What terrible deed had the Falathrim done to bring the malice of the Enemy upon them? Why must his people cry unnumbered tears when they had neither forsaken the Valar nor sought the cursed jewels of Fëanor? "Are the Bali now so consumed with retribution that they have not thought for their faithful servants?" he demanded of Ulmo. [2]
Such impertinent words might have angered the Lord of the Waters, but the Vala, too, questioned the Powers in Valinor. In vain had he pled with them for mercy on the innocent Heceldi. [3] Now, the fires of the Falas burning bright behind the ships of the Falathrim, he spoke with sorrow. "Nówë, Eruchén i vellwain nin, Valinor sees not the suffering of the elves. [4] Let not thy trust fail thee - take thy people to Balar, and there be sheltered from the Malice, and an apprentice will I send thee. Beyond the shadowy seas shall this apprentice pass, that he might bring thy sorrows before the Valar."
It was not in the mariner's nature to brood; his grief would serve neither his people nor Ulmo's purpose. His own doom, though he knew it not, would hold many more losses and a great deal more pain. Love and duty bound him for all time to his people, to the Sea, and to the Vala of the Deeps. Still, his love would ask of him more than sorrow, and some deeds he would perform on behalf of his kindred would bring more joy than sacrifice.
FA 475, Nargothrond
Meril pushed the covers aside, cold swirling around her ankles as her feet touched the floor. She soon saw the reason - the low fires could not compete with the cold drifting through the open door to the passageway.
Orodreth held his fingers to his lips as she entered Ereinion's bedchamber. She was relieved to see her son's eyes calm in their glassy sleep, his mind restful as he explored his elven dreamscape. Orodreth tucked the covers around the sleeping child and made no sound as he joined his wife outside, gingerly closing the door behind him.
"Another nightmare?" Meril questioned in a low voice.
"No, he sleeps soundly tonight. I sat with him for a time, and I do not think he will be disturbed." In Orodreth's tense expression, however, Meril sensed more left untold. They returned to their own chambers, and the elf rubbed his hands. "But it is cold in here."
"That is your own fault, hervenn vuin," Meril chided, "for you left the door wide open." [5]
"Did I?" he answered, preoccupied. He sat in a chair near the fire and hung the kettle to boil.
"It would be warmer in bed, melethen." [6]
He did not answer for a moment. "I am not sleepy," he answered finally, as her words finally broke into his thoughts.
Meril sighed and kissed her husband's golden head. "Ai, you are hopelessly thick-headed at times." She sat in the chair beside him, pulling a warm rug over their laps. "What troubles you so that it keeps you from your wife's bed?"
"Something unwholesome haunts that room, Meril," Orodreth replied finally.
"It is gone?" she asked, alarmed.
"It is. I was able to drive it away - it does not have the strength it once had, but it bides its time, it heals itself. It will not remain powerless forever."
Rather than press him to explain his riddles, Meril left the cozy warmth to take the kettle from the fire. Returning with the tea, she settled herself again, patiently waiting.
"I begin to reconsider Melian's advice. Mayhap it would be best to send the child away," he continued at last.
"You have told me nothing of this," Meril said in surprise and no little anger.
"I did not think it necessary - my heart would not heed her message."
"And now?"
"I see the danger, melethen. He is only a small boy. He knows this thing only in his nightmares, but I have stood in its shadow, and it is real." He stroked her hair absently as his thoughts led him unwillingly to their unhappy conclusion. "This fate that has been given to him I understand not, but it is a heavy one and we can ignore it no longer. Melian's words prove true - he is not safe here."
"He is just a little boy. Whatever fate may await him, he is now just a little boy," Meril reminded him, dismayed.
"He is a little boy whose dreams are haunted by Morgoth's most evil servant. Think you that a Maia fears a little boy without reason?" Orodreth questioned.
"And where do you think to send him that is safe? Beleriand lies in ruin. He has as much protection here as any other place. Here, with his family," Meril said firmly.
Orodreth did not answer immediately. Were it within his means, he would take his family away from this place. Even in the wastes of Araman, when still a young elf, he saw the suit against Morgoth to be without hope, doomed as Námo foretold. Nargothrond could not stand forever. 'Ai, Fingolfin, you were right to despair!' he thought. He was a king now, however, and he must save Nargothrond or perish with it. "Balar," he answered finally. "There is an enchantment there, it is said, for of it came the isle that brought the Quendi to Aman. Even Sauron cannot cross those waters, for Ossë protects it well." [7]
Meril rose from her seat, her eyes dark with anguish. She had borne their children in a time of peace, but that peace came to ashes on the slopes of Dorthonion when their son was hardly more than a toddler. Recalling the upheaval of her youth, before the Noldor drove Morgoth's goblins from the shores of Lake Mithrim, she was loathe to allow the will of the Enemy to disturb her own house. Yet, once again they must be separated, perhaps forever. She took her husband's hands. "Tell me, that you see no other way. Tell me, that we endanger him by keeping him near to us, and I will submit."
Her answer came in Orodreth's long silence. "Else I fear not only for him, but for what may be."
FA 512, Balar
The forge comforted him, recalling the simpler days of his childhood. Ereinion perched on a stool at Celebrimbor's worktable, transfixed by the Fëanorian's skillful hands.
"You have the loyalty of the people of Nargothrond - you are your father's heir," Celebrimbor said, pausing after he poured the molten copper into a mold. He looked up and met Ereinion's eyes. "I do not presume to take your place among them," he said earnestly.
Ereinion understood; the other elf worried lest he perceive that Celebrimbor had usurped his rightful place among his father's people. "You mistake me. You brought them to safety, and when first you arrived, I could not have led them. I was too young."
'And it was too painful to be near them,' he thought. For a time he sat in silence while his kinsman held raw gems to the light, his well-trained eye selecting the one best suited to the cut he needed. Strong hands, yet of infinite delicate control. He was reminded, oddly, of his grandfather, of the gentle hands of iron that had held him when he was tiny.
"Celebrimbor, what am I to do?" he broke his silence. "These people are not at fault. They followed their lords out of loyalty, or love. Nearly all Finwë's house has perished, yet the Doom will not leave us. Perhaps the Noldor are meant to have no more kings of our house. What have we brought them but loss and suffering?" The young elf looked at him plaintively through the brilliant blue-grey eyes of their patriarch.
The son of Curufin knew well such remorse. His grandfather's line had been proud, once, the name of Fëanor revered, not cursed. Celebrimbor longed to restore his house to its former glory, to make amends for the wrongs his forebears - that he himself - had done. Likewise must young Ereinion set to right what had gone horribly awry. Through pride and recklessness had the princes of the Noldor led their people into sorrow, slavery and death. Small wonder that the new High King doubted his fitness to be so named.
He set his work aside and moved a chair to sit before Ereinion. "We are of the first families of the Eldar, Artanáro. To rule is in our very blood." He squeezed his kinsman's hands. "All they want from you is hope. And perhaps, now that the crown has passed to an innocent, the Valar may have pity on us all."
FA 476, Balar
The pot-bellied stove wheezed out a heat that nearly took the damp chill off the air. Had those gathered before it been mortal, the damp might have raised some complaint, but it did not greatly distress the two elves. Nonetheless, they had drawn the bench close to the stove, to sit as near as they might to the warmth.
Since they had come to Balar the Falathrim had forsaken their beloved craft of shipbuilding, for they must have shelter; they must build quays on the island and at the mouth of the Sirion. The needs of his people, as they reconstructed their lives as best they could, had so preoccupied their lord that he still had no home of his own. This he did not particularly regret, for he lived on his ship, within the sea that so enchanted him and near to the Vala he loved. Now the young elf had come into his care, he must think of making a home. He considered this with a glance at the little Noldorin prince, who sat on the far end of the bench, bent over his lessons.
Ereinion ignored his attention, feigning indifference also to the mariner's songs and tales of the Falathrim. Círdan thought the youngster willfully withdrawn from him, and could not truly blame the child. Scarce security could he expect from his elders when cast among strangers for reasons Ereinion little understood.
The elf-child worried him. 'Too quiet, too unmoved by what should interest a young mind,' he deemed. The youngster did as he was told - he worked dutifully at his lessons and learned to adjust the sails on Círdan's boat with equal aptitude - yet the ancient elf saw no spark of curiosity, no unbounded desire to know all there was to know. Unnatural, it was, in any elf, more so in a child.
Nothing Círdan did would draw the young elf out of himself. It would be better, the mariner mused, to hear the young one complain. Such apathy, elves thought, came of an unhealthy mind. Moreover, separation of a child from his parents was a tremendous grief to both. Somehow, he must bring the young elf to speak of this grief, lest it consume him.
Ossë, as it turned out, had his own plans for Círdan's home, and when the new year signaled that Arien had at last regained dominance in her dance with Tilion, the Maia led him to the place he had chosen. [8] Upon return to his moorings, much pleased by Ossë's selection, Círdan's sharp elven ears alerted him to a sound faint, yet anomalous to the lapping of the tide. Silent feet carried him around the breakwall, surprising one small Noldo, crying out his misery. ''Tis just the moment I have waited for, if I guess rightly,' he thought. The elf-child jumped up and tried to wipe away his tears, but Círdan caught him. "There, little one, 'tis no shame to cry."
Ereinion wriggled from his grasp, his red eyes and hitching breath the only sign of his earlier distress. "I am too old to cry."
"Who told ye such a thing? 'Twas not your father, for he is wiser, I know." Círdan sat down against the breakwall and beckoned to the child. "Tolo! Pedo! [9] What troubles ye?"
Reluctantly, the elf came to the mariner and sat, but in silence. "You are homesick, I wager," Círdan probed.
A hitch in the child's breathing was the only response.
"Tell me of your family. It is long since I last came to Nargothrond. How does your sister fare?"
"She…not so well, Nana worries for her, since Gwindor died." The elf's lip trembled. [10] "Everything is just so awful. I wish - "
"What, child?"
"I wish it could be again as it was." Ereinion lowered his head and a fall of tangled hair hid his face, though Círdan could see his shoulders shaking. He rubbed the child's back, which seemed to be soothing. He wished he could offer more hope to the little one, whose short life had seen such anguish. He knew in his heart, however, that more trials awaited the young elf; more trials awaited all of the Firstborn.
"I cannot tell you this can be so, for ye know better. Nor can I promise that the future shall hold no more pain. 'Tis mine to keep ye from harm, for the purpose Ilúvatar has made for you, and because your parents sent ye here in love."
Ereinion looked forlornly through fresh tears at the ancient elf. Could not Círdan assure him, at the least, that he might again see his home? Círdan's heart nearly broke; the elf-child's doom lay beyond even the knowledge of Ulmo, and he would not make empty promises. He could offer only his own love. "Ye are not to be bereft and alone, tithephen," he soothed. [11]
The crying child allowed the mariner to hold him, and at last out of tears, he leaned his head against Círdan's chest with a small sigh of acceptance. Círdan stroked the little elf's silky hair, wondering at the stirring in his heart. Amid his keen awareness of Ereinion's pain, sharp as a knife to his breast, there awoke what had so long been denied him by his singular path, the twin joy and sorrow of parental affection.
FA 495, Balar
Ereinion lifted his sister in a hug.
"Ai, muindoren, [12] you are no longer the little elf I knew!" Finduilas greeted him, laughing.
He frowned. The elf-maid lacked color and her eyes had not the sparkle of days past. "And you are less than you were."
"Oh, I am well enough. Do not concern yourself." They started to walk down the pier toward Círdan's home. Her eyes brightened as she looked about the busy port. "The Enemy seems so far away here."
"How fare those at home?"
"Oh, there is little of note to tell. Naneth [13] has sent a great packet of lembas for you - she is certain that there is none to be had among this fishing folk, and that you are in great danger of starvation. She would be greatly surprised to see how you have grown," Finduilas laughed. "I think you shall be as tall as the Sindar." [14]
"Well, she is right that the Falathrim cannot make it as she did. And Adar?" [15]
"Oh, he is much occupied. He worries too much and loses sleep. Naneth thought to send him here with me, that he might rest. We still play at chess each morning, else I would hardly see him."
"Is he still so terrible?"
"Indeed," Finduilas giggled. "I do not think he will ever best me. He always starts out well, but he begins to doubt himself, and thenceforth comes his ruin."
Ereinion stole a sideways glance at his sister, pleased to see that the sea air seemed to have already restored some of her natural color and vivacity. "The sea agrees with you, muinthelen." [16] They had at last reached the end of the pier, and Finduilas was puzzled, seeing no house or path. Her brother pointed westward. "Tirio ennas!" [17]
Finduilas looked, and saw a tall lighthouse standing a league out into the sea. "And are we to swim to it like fish?"
"You can if you so wish, but me, I shall make use of this boat." He stowed her baggage in a little rowboat tied to the pier. The tide was out, and the boat hardly needed the encouragement of the oars as it split the water toward the lighthouse.
When they alighted at the little island on which the lighthouse stood, Finduilas looked about her in delight. "It is like a fairy story," she sighed. Ereinion did not hurry her, knowing his sister's fondness for flowers. Nargothrond was beautiful as only the Noldor and especially Finrod could make of stone, but few living things would grow in its depths. The garden that grew nearly wild around the lighthouse - save where they had pruned it back to make a picnicking lawn - was magnificent. Red seregon, [18] pink campion and orchids in a riot of color grew amid a tangle of mangrove trees and willows, and ivy had started the long climb up the building.
Círdan's home might not be so grand as the hall Arphenion had built in the hills of Balar, but the lighthouse stood as nearly in the sea as a building might stand. In spite of its function as a guide to ships, the tower had a homely air to it. High at the top, a gallery encircled the light and mirrors of its beacon, and an elf could see far on a clear day. Leaning against the rail, Finduilas looked to the southwest, fancying that she could see the Pelóri on the horizon. "Do you think we will ever see Aman, Ereinion?" she asked wistfully.
"I do not know," he answered honestly. "Such things are hidden, I think, even from Círdan."
He wondered about the fate of Turgon's ships, sent forth some six years past. Círdan had doubted the fleet would reach the Blessed Land, but said only that Ulmo's designs had yet to unfold. "Hope may arise from its own wreckage," he said cryptically.
Ereinion's hunger for tidings from home remained unsated, and after a meal of seafood, the siblings walked in the garden. "What tidings have you of our kinsman, Celebrimbor?"
She frowned. "I see little of him; he leaves his forge but rarely. He wishes the bridge unmade. Yet he avoids Gwindor, though he is of like mind. I think he fears to ally himself against our father's judgment."
"Gwindor? But how - "
"He has been in Angband," Finduilas said quietly.
Ereinion shuddered. "I think I would sooner die."
Finduilas paused, looking out over the sea. "I believe Gwindor would have it so. He is much altered, you would not know him now." They walked on again, distress written in the elf-maid's fair features.
"Is this what so troubles you that you have grown pallid and thin?" Ereinion questioned his sister gently.
Finduilas plucked a blossom from a cascade of magnolias and appeared to study it intently. "My heart is troubled, yes, but for its faithlessness. I love Gwindor not as I did, and love another now more, yet the other returns not my affections."
They sat down on the little lawn to watch the stars open. "Does Gwindor feel as he did when you were betrothed?" [19] her brother questioned.
She nodded miserably. "Therein lies my fault."
"Poor Finduilas!" He kissed his sister's cheek. "I am glad that you are here. Perhaps you may forget for a time this burden."
"Yes, let us speak no more on this, muindoren."
For his sister's peace of mind, he did not press further. Yet his dreams came uneasily to him that night, his mind disturbed by his sister's strange words concerning disharmony between his father and his most loyal advisors. He wondered greatly about the state of things at Nargothrond.
~~~
Finduilas would soon depart, and Círdan guessed that his ward meant to go with her. His heart warned him that the danger to Ereinion had not lessened, but he hesitated to speak with him, fearful that his affection for the young elf clouded his vision. "Ulumo, istathan aen farn e tegi mae," [20] he prayed, looking out over the foam-tipped waves from the gallery of the lighthouse.
A flash of silver caught his eye and he turned to see Ereinion climbing the final steps to the gallery. A fine elf had taken the place of the little waif who had come to Balar. He had grown tall, after the height of his mother's people, and showed the slender build and graceful features of his father's fair clan. His hair, however, bore the mark of his guardian. Círdan's footman had at last cured the youngster of his tangles, weaving the elf's hair into a single tight braid. In the style of the Falathrim, a silver cord curled around his raven tresses, protecting them from the salt air. However much Círdan's folk loved the sea, like all elves they also loved beautiful hair, and they wrapped their braids in a variety of colorful cords and scarves against the salty air. Pride in the son he had taken into his home and heart tugged again at his resolution to consider only the best interests of his ward.
"You look at me strangely," Ereinion observed, an amused smile playing on his lips.
"I was only observing what a fine elf my tithephen has become."
Ereinion heard the unsaid meaning. "You do not want me to return to my home."
Círdan stroked his beard, considering his answer carefully. No longer a child, Ereinion had now the strength to repel the Maia who stalked him. Though Sauron remained still a shadow of himself, he would reemerge in time, and the young prince was somehow tied to his downfall, of that Círdan felt certain. He now saw that his charge could not return to Nargothrond; he felt intensely that Ereinion must not return to Nargothrond. "Egleriannen aen Ulumo, ni si genin," [21] he murmured.
" 'Twould be a lie if I told you otherwise," he answered finally. "You have become dear to me, as a son. Yet I know you would return to your folk, and I do not blame ye. I ask, though, that you stay, though your heart yearns for your home, for there is danger awaiting ye, should you return."
"And is there not for my sister and my parents? Our people?" Troubled, Ereinion sought the mariner's eyes, to see what truth lay behind his words.
"That is not shown to me," Círdan evaded. "For you, only can I answer." Disaster loomed over Nargothrond, yet he knew not enough - not then - even to send warning. 'Trust in me,' he pleaded silently.
Ereinion's face betrayed his turmoil. Foolish would it be to spurn the ancient elf's advice. Yet, duty called him to his father's people; love called him to his father's side. He swallowed hard. 'I put my hope in your far sight, Odhron-veriol,' [22] he answered in the same silent manner.
Círdan released the breath he had not known he held. He prayed that his ward's trust be not misplaced. He feared Ereinion should not forgive him if his family were lost. Yet he hearkened to a greater voice, to one who loved the elves, even the seditious Noldor, and therein he placed his faith.
FA 512, Arvernien
'That I did not question Finduilas further,' Ereinion reproached himself. He stood at the rails of the ship, transfixed by the ripple of water spurned by the boat's swift travel under a strong wind. No - he had hardly come of age when his sister left Balar. Orodreth would likely have paid no more heed to his son's misgivings than he paid to Círdan's messengers, sent forth in the spring of the next year. Círdan had done all he could to save Nargothrond, and Ereinion knew now that the Lord of the Waters himself had warned against his return to the fated city.
A favorite of Nienna, being like her in his patience and gentleness, Orodreth had left Valinor reluctantly, having no reason but love of his kin to forsake the Valar. Yet he fell nonetheless under the Doom of Mandos, and the Noldo despaired of any help from the West. Still shamed by his ignominious defeat at Tol Sirion, Orodreth heard the whispers of many of his people and their growing doubt in their King. Not even Meril could disarm the demons that assailed her husband's confidence.
The elves were to "become as shadows of regret before the younger race that cometh after." [23] So Mandos had spoken, and Orodreth came to believe that the hope of Arda lay not in the Firstborn but in the Aftercomers. Alas, this belief - not unfounded, as would later be seen - put Nargothrond in the hands of a mortal with more pride than wisdom. Like many with dreams of glory, Túrin mistook prudence for fearfulness and regarded those who doubted him with suspicion. Thus did he discredit the wise counsel of Gwindor and persuade Celebrimbor to keep his silence; thus too were the messengers of Círdan scorned and even the Vala, whence came their warning, disregarded.
Ereinion blinked, realizing that the water had stilled around the boat. He would shortly meet with Túrin's cousin. He would sooner have met with Idril, but Círdan insisted that he speak rather to her husband. "Tuor has served Ulumo faithfully, and him did Turgon choose to watch over the Gondolindrim," the mariner said firmly. High King though he might be, Ereinion recognized in his foster father's voice a tone that left no quarter for dispute.
The first building of the Gondolindrim grew half-finished from the west bank of Sirion, near the harbor. The long hall would eventually serve as a gathering place, but now would provide shelter. Ereinion watched the man and elves at their work until a presence made itself known. He looked to his right and found his Peredhel kinsman at his elbow.
The child was tall as no elf would be at such a young age, and his eyes had not the grey tone of the Firstborn. His ears, however, identified him as a son of Elvenkind, [24] as did his heavy silken hair, the liquid gold of his Vanyarin grandmother. The child observed him shyly until the natural curiosity of his age won over. "Mamil [25] says you are now Tar Etyangoldion." [26]
Small need had Ereinion for Quenya among the Falathrim, and though he had studied it, and recalled it from childhood, for Orodreth and Finrod spoke at times in the High Speech, he extracted the tongue from his memory with some difficulty. Ereinion crouched down to the child's height. "Yes, I suppose I am."
"Can I see your boat?"
Ereinion smiled at the little one's fluid change of subject. "I wait on your father, but when he is done with his work, we shall all go to the boat."
Waiting, it seemed, was a skill possessed by neither child of man nor child of elf. The Peredhel hurried to his father. "Atto! [27] We are going to see the King's boat!" Eärendil announced.
Tuor left off his work. "Well, then, you have found another boat to explore, have you?" His steps had nearly the cat-like grace and softness of the elves as he crossed the distance between them.
"Do not let me interrupt your work," Ereinion protested.
"It is no matter - they will do well enough without me. What can the sons of Hador tell the Noldor of masonry?"
Ereinion stiffened slightly; he had forgotten the man's kin for a moment. They walked in silence to the boat, and Eärendil soon attached himself to the ship's captain. His elders descended into the hold.
"You distrust me, son of Orodreth," Tuor said, in the language with which both elf and man were more comfortable.
Ereinion was startled at the man's perception. "Am I so transparent?"
"That even a mortal might read your thoughts?" Tuor pressed.
"I intend no offense," Ereinion answered honestly.
"Then let none be taken. Trust too generously given has brought disaster upon our peoples, Tórnë." [28]
Ereinion listened as well as he might to the man as he told of the concerns and needs of Turgon's people. He heard his words, but also studied Tuor's gestures, his expressions and listened to his tone of voice. Something in the man was familiar to him. More than familiar - comforting. He shook his head to clear it. Was he so credulous?
' "...Tórnë" '
' "Fingon, Tórnë, i-Nargothrondrim le huilannar." ' [29]
His mother's incisive accent echoed in the reaches of his memory. "The elves who fostered you, they were of the Mithrim, no?" Ereinion interrupted.
Tuor caught himself in mid-sentence, surprised. "Indeed, of the North, in the lands I am told were held once by Tôr Fingolfin."
A son of the elves, Círdan had named this mortal. The man was more than his blood - though cousin to the proud and foolish Túrin, he was foster son to Annael of the Mithrim. "I am not deaf to your concerns," the elf said quickly, returning to the matter at hand.
'Lest he believe me hopelessly distracted,' he added silently. Already he had found such a preconception in Fingon's steward, who clearly mistook the son for the father - his dearly missed, but too often preoccupied father. Yet, he was son also to wise Círdan. 'What my father failed to teach me, I have learnt of him,' Ereinion realized. The mariner was inextricably a part of him. He was more than the Noldor who had rashly turned their backs on the Valar and led their people into misfortune. He smiled at the deviousness of his foster father - he understood, now, why Círdan insisted that he speak with Tuor. The wily elf wished him not only to take the true measure of the man, but also to appreciate his own unique qualities.
The young King spoke with new confidence, revealing what he thought might be done to help the Gondolindrim. He had perceived the visit with Celeborn as one of courtesy, but he saw now that he must ask more of Celeborn than friendship, and what alliances might be forged between Tuor's people and the Iathrim [30] must be forged by the High King. "I wish to speak to Celeborn - his folk are not mine, but the well-being of your people and his people cannot be distinguished," he concluded.
~~~
Near the shore stood a house of whitewashed walls, shining white and defiant under the sun. The interior had little adornment, as might be expected in a home whose inhabitants had left most of their worldly goods to the plunder of the orcs and Easterlings, following the destructive trail of the sons of Fëanor. Here dwelt a prince of Doriath, regent on behalf of Thingol's great-granddaughter and leader of the Sindarin king's remaining people.
"The Gondolindrim would benefit greatly from ties with your folk. Winter shall come too quickly for them, I deem, and they are perhaps more destitute than the Iathrim when you came hither," Ereinion explained his errand.
Celeborn had come to believe that the desperate straights of the Eldar could allow for no more discord between the Noldor and Sindar. Yet the young king underestimated the depth of ill feeling among the remnant of Doriath. Toward the remaining sons of Fëanor, the Iathrim held bitter and deserved hatred, but toward all the Noldor many of Thingol's subjects held resentment. Many of the Sindar perceived the 'High-Elves', as they called themselves, to be arrogant, and Celeborn knew this perception was not wholly inaccurate.
"Our peoples have spoken together informally. Many search for Sindarin kin from both lost kingdoms. Yet there be no coincidence to our meeting here at the mouth of the Sirion." Celeborn was distracted for a moment by a small, dark-haired girl who crept near to listen. "Come, Elwing, do not be shy."
She was a lovely child - in her features, Ereinion thought he saw her grandmother's likeness, and her dark hair had a peculiar silvery light. Her grey eyes betrayed her mother's kinship to Celeborn, for they were alike in color and shape, and she came forth at his summons.
He introduced the young Noldo to the child, who bowed her head wordlessly in greeting and retired to sit on the floor next to her kinsman, half-hidden by his robes.
"She is still shocked by all that she saw and will speak only in Nandorin, her native tongue," [31] Celeborn explained.
Ereinion winced in empathy, having lost his own family, though not so young - nor had he been witness to such horrors as Elwing might have seen.
"We have not such defenses as you have on Balar," Celeborn continued. "Both my people and the Gondolindrim shall hardly stand an assault by the issue of Morgoth, or…others, if we cannot unite."
Ereinion wondered whom 'others' might signify. [32] "Círdan's folk and my own will do all that we can to protect the Havens, but we are many leagues away."
"This I fear," the Sinda confirmed. "I warn, however, that you will get little cooperation from the lords who have settled further north. I have their loyalty, but not their deference. Oropher will take up arms against any who attack us, but he has no love for the Noldor."
"Nor have the Gondolindrim love for the sons of Fëanor. I see not why the Sindar cannot separate the deeds of the Fëanorians from the innocent among the Noldor," Ereinion answered irritably.
"Careful, lest you commit the same crime of generalization you condemn, young king." The silver-haired elf stood. "I fear I have other duties to attend," he terminated their meeting.
Ereinion stood also. "You will meet with Tuor?"
Celeborn indicated his assent. They made their way to the door, little Elwing following furtively behind. As Ereinion took his leave, Celeborn spoke again. "Your father had ties to Doriath of which few knew. He corresponded in secret with my King Thingol and his lady Melian, [33] and it was upon their advice that your people lived by caution and secret until Túrin came among them.
"Do not blame the son of Húrin overmuch," Celeborn continued, seeing the Noldo stir at the name. His eyes took on the far-seeing gaze Ereinion so often saw in the eyes of his foster parent. "The curse laid upon his sire by Morgoth brought your people and my king to bitter ends, yet by Húrin's silent valor did Gondolin stand just long enough. By their jewel and ours shall come the hope of both our peoples."
Regarding the name Ereinion, I had assumed the name to be Sindarin due to its -ion ending. Quenya, however, has the same ending. In both languages the general word for king is aran, but it differs in the plural: Quenya arani, Sindarin erain. So how do we get to erein? There are two possible explanations: one is that Tolkien changed his mind about the umlaut of a in the last syllable. Earlier entries in The Lost Road, 'Etymologies' show the a =) ei plural - adar as edeir, for example, but revised entries show the later ending - aran is correctly pluralized as erain. This need not have preceded Tolkien's invention of the name 'Ereinion'. Thus, the name might simply use an old Sindarin form, not unlikely in the flux of the language in the First Age (in fact, when the Noldor arrived, it is likely that the i-umlaut of the plural was used only by the Mithrim: aran + -ion would likely come out as erenion). Northern Sindarin must have heavily influenced mature Sindarin, as shown both by grammatical similarity and historical circumstance - it was the first dialect to be met by the Noldor, and was the dialect of most of the Sindar who lived in their lands. By Gil-galad's birth, something akin to mature Sindarin had probably developed, but perhaps the ei to ai shift had not yet occurred, or the name blended his mother's Mithrim dialect with the modern form. (ref. Helge Fauskanger, move.to/ardalambion, 'Ilkorin' and 'Sindarin - The Noble Tongue' and Richard Derdzinski, www.elvish.org/gwaith/language.htm, 'Northern Dialect of Sindarin')
The second possibility is that Tolkien simply preferred the sound of 'Ereinion' over 'Erainion'. ei sounds like English ai in 'rain'; ai sounds like English eye in 'eye' (the opposite of what a native English-speaking reader would expect). Thus, 'Ereinion' is properly pronounced e-rane-ion. When in doubt, it seems best to go with the more pleasing sound, as Tolkien's elves generally opted for phonological harmony over grammatical correctness.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tolkien except Arphenion, who I needed briefly in another story and I figured would he serve equally well here. Translations of Elvish (Sindarin, unless otherwise noted) and additional notes are at the end of the story.
FA 474, Brithombar
From Cuiviénen to the shores of Belegaer, he had served the Valar. Among the first to approach and trust Oromë, at the bidding of Ossë he forsook his heart's desire, to join his grandfather's people and live in the light of the Two Trees in the land of the Valar. [1] This fate, to serve the Vala he most loved, he accepted when that path was closed to him, perhaps forever.
Now Círdan felt betrayed by the Powers. What terrible deed had the Falathrim done to bring the malice of the Enemy upon them? Why must his people cry unnumbered tears when they had neither forsaken the Valar nor sought the cursed jewels of Fëanor? "Are the Bali now so consumed with retribution that they have not thought for their faithful servants?" he demanded of Ulmo. [2]
Such impertinent words might have angered the Lord of the Waters, but the Vala, too, questioned the Powers in Valinor. In vain had he pled with them for mercy on the innocent Heceldi. [3] Now, the fires of the Falas burning bright behind the ships of the Falathrim, he spoke with sorrow. "Nówë, Eruchén i vellwain nin, Valinor sees not the suffering of the elves. [4] Let not thy trust fail thee - take thy people to Balar, and there be sheltered from the Malice, and an apprentice will I send thee. Beyond the shadowy seas shall this apprentice pass, that he might bring thy sorrows before the Valar."
It was not in the mariner's nature to brood; his grief would serve neither his people nor Ulmo's purpose. His own doom, though he knew it not, would hold many more losses and a great deal more pain. Love and duty bound him for all time to his people, to the Sea, and to the Vala of the Deeps. Still, his love would ask of him more than sorrow, and some deeds he would perform on behalf of his kindred would bring more joy than sacrifice.
FA 475, Nargothrond
Meril pushed the covers aside, cold swirling around her ankles as her feet touched the floor. She soon saw the reason - the low fires could not compete with the cold drifting through the open door to the passageway.
Orodreth held his fingers to his lips as she entered Ereinion's bedchamber. She was relieved to see her son's eyes calm in their glassy sleep, his mind restful as he explored his elven dreamscape. Orodreth tucked the covers around the sleeping child and made no sound as he joined his wife outside, gingerly closing the door behind him.
"Another nightmare?" Meril questioned in a low voice.
"No, he sleeps soundly tonight. I sat with him for a time, and I do not think he will be disturbed." In Orodreth's tense expression, however, Meril sensed more left untold. They returned to their own chambers, and the elf rubbed his hands. "But it is cold in here."
"That is your own fault, hervenn vuin," Meril chided, "for you left the door wide open." [5]
"Did I?" he answered, preoccupied. He sat in a chair near the fire and hung the kettle to boil.
"It would be warmer in bed, melethen." [6]
He did not answer for a moment. "I am not sleepy," he answered finally, as her words finally broke into his thoughts.
Meril sighed and kissed her husband's golden head. "Ai, you are hopelessly thick-headed at times." She sat in the chair beside him, pulling a warm rug over their laps. "What troubles you so that it keeps you from your wife's bed?"
"Something unwholesome haunts that room, Meril," Orodreth replied finally.
"It is gone?" she asked, alarmed.
"It is. I was able to drive it away - it does not have the strength it once had, but it bides its time, it heals itself. It will not remain powerless forever."
Rather than press him to explain his riddles, Meril left the cozy warmth to take the kettle from the fire. Returning with the tea, she settled herself again, patiently waiting.
"I begin to reconsider Melian's advice. Mayhap it would be best to send the child away," he continued at last.
"You have told me nothing of this," Meril said in surprise and no little anger.
"I did not think it necessary - my heart would not heed her message."
"And now?"
"I see the danger, melethen. He is only a small boy. He knows this thing only in his nightmares, but I have stood in its shadow, and it is real." He stroked her hair absently as his thoughts led him unwillingly to their unhappy conclusion. "This fate that has been given to him I understand not, but it is a heavy one and we can ignore it no longer. Melian's words prove true - he is not safe here."
"He is just a little boy. Whatever fate may await him, he is now just a little boy," Meril reminded him, dismayed.
"He is a little boy whose dreams are haunted by Morgoth's most evil servant. Think you that a Maia fears a little boy without reason?" Orodreth questioned.
"And where do you think to send him that is safe? Beleriand lies in ruin. He has as much protection here as any other place. Here, with his family," Meril said firmly.
Orodreth did not answer immediately. Were it within his means, he would take his family away from this place. Even in the wastes of Araman, when still a young elf, he saw the suit against Morgoth to be without hope, doomed as Námo foretold. Nargothrond could not stand forever. 'Ai, Fingolfin, you were right to despair!' he thought. He was a king now, however, and he must save Nargothrond or perish with it. "Balar," he answered finally. "There is an enchantment there, it is said, for of it came the isle that brought the Quendi to Aman. Even Sauron cannot cross those waters, for Ossë protects it well." [7]
Meril rose from her seat, her eyes dark with anguish. She had borne their children in a time of peace, but that peace came to ashes on the slopes of Dorthonion when their son was hardly more than a toddler. Recalling the upheaval of her youth, before the Noldor drove Morgoth's goblins from the shores of Lake Mithrim, she was loathe to allow the will of the Enemy to disturb her own house. Yet, once again they must be separated, perhaps forever. She took her husband's hands. "Tell me, that you see no other way. Tell me, that we endanger him by keeping him near to us, and I will submit."
Her answer came in Orodreth's long silence. "Else I fear not only for him, but for what may be."
FA 512, Balar
The forge comforted him, recalling the simpler days of his childhood. Ereinion perched on a stool at Celebrimbor's worktable, transfixed by the Fëanorian's skillful hands.
"You have the loyalty of the people of Nargothrond - you are your father's heir," Celebrimbor said, pausing after he poured the molten copper into a mold. He looked up and met Ereinion's eyes. "I do not presume to take your place among them," he said earnestly.
Ereinion understood; the other elf worried lest he perceive that Celebrimbor had usurped his rightful place among his father's people. "You mistake me. You brought them to safety, and when first you arrived, I could not have led them. I was too young."
'And it was too painful to be near them,' he thought. For a time he sat in silence while his kinsman held raw gems to the light, his well-trained eye selecting the one best suited to the cut he needed. Strong hands, yet of infinite delicate control. He was reminded, oddly, of his grandfather, of the gentle hands of iron that had held him when he was tiny.
"Celebrimbor, what am I to do?" he broke his silence. "These people are not at fault. They followed their lords out of loyalty, or love. Nearly all Finwë's house has perished, yet the Doom will not leave us. Perhaps the Noldor are meant to have no more kings of our house. What have we brought them but loss and suffering?" The young elf looked at him plaintively through the brilliant blue-grey eyes of their patriarch.
The son of Curufin knew well such remorse. His grandfather's line had been proud, once, the name of Fëanor revered, not cursed. Celebrimbor longed to restore his house to its former glory, to make amends for the wrongs his forebears - that he himself - had done. Likewise must young Ereinion set to right what had gone horribly awry. Through pride and recklessness had the princes of the Noldor led their people into sorrow, slavery and death. Small wonder that the new High King doubted his fitness to be so named.
He set his work aside and moved a chair to sit before Ereinion. "We are of the first families of the Eldar, Artanáro. To rule is in our very blood." He squeezed his kinsman's hands. "All they want from you is hope. And perhaps, now that the crown has passed to an innocent, the Valar may have pity on us all."
FA 476, Balar
The pot-bellied stove wheezed out a heat that nearly took the damp chill off the air. Had those gathered before it been mortal, the damp might have raised some complaint, but it did not greatly distress the two elves. Nonetheless, they had drawn the bench close to the stove, to sit as near as they might to the warmth.
Since they had come to Balar the Falathrim had forsaken their beloved craft of shipbuilding, for they must have shelter; they must build quays on the island and at the mouth of the Sirion. The needs of his people, as they reconstructed their lives as best they could, had so preoccupied their lord that he still had no home of his own. This he did not particularly regret, for he lived on his ship, within the sea that so enchanted him and near to the Vala he loved. Now the young elf had come into his care, he must think of making a home. He considered this with a glance at the little Noldorin prince, who sat on the far end of the bench, bent over his lessons.
Ereinion ignored his attention, feigning indifference also to the mariner's songs and tales of the Falathrim. Círdan thought the youngster willfully withdrawn from him, and could not truly blame the child. Scarce security could he expect from his elders when cast among strangers for reasons Ereinion little understood.
The elf-child worried him. 'Too quiet, too unmoved by what should interest a young mind,' he deemed. The youngster did as he was told - he worked dutifully at his lessons and learned to adjust the sails on Círdan's boat with equal aptitude - yet the ancient elf saw no spark of curiosity, no unbounded desire to know all there was to know. Unnatural, it was, in any elf, more so in a child.
Nothing Círdan did would draw the young elf out of himself. It would be better, the mariner mused, to hear the young one complain. Such apathy, elves thought, came of an unhealthy mind. Moreover, separation of a child from his parents was a tremendous grief to both. Somehow, he must bring the young elf to speak of this grief, lest it consume him.
Ossë, as it turned out, had his own plans for Círdan's home, and when the new year signaled that Arien had at last regained dominance in her dance with Tilion, the Maia led him to the place he had chosen. [8] Upon return to his moorings, much pleased by Ossë's selection, Círdan's sharp elven ears alerted him to a sound faint, yet anomalous to the lapping of the tide. Silent feet carried him around the breakwall, surprising one small Noldo, crying out his misery. ''Tis just the moment I have waited for, if I guess rightly,' he thought. The elf-child jumped up and tried to wipe away his tears, but Círdan caught him. "There, little one, 'tis no shame to cry."
Ereinion wriggled from his grasp, his red eyes and hitching breath the only sign of his earlier distress. "I am too old to cry."
"Who told ye such a thing? 'Twas not your father, for he is wiser, I know." Círdan sat down against the breakwall and beckoned to the child. "Tolo! Pedo! [9] What troubles ye?"
Reluctantly, the elf came to the mariner and sat, but in silence. "You are homesick, I wager," Círdan probed.
A hitch in the child's breathing was the only response.
"Tell me of your family. It is long since I last came to Nargothrond. How does your sister fare?"
"She…not so well, Nana worries for her, since Gwindor died." The elf's lip trembled. [10] "Everything is just so awful. I wish - "
"What, child?"
"I wish it could be again as it was." Ereinion lowered his head and a fall of tangled hair hid his face, though Círdan could see his shoulders shaking. He rubbed the child's back, which seemed to be soothing. He wished he could offer more hope to the little one, whose short life had seen such anguish. He knew in his heart, however, that more trials awaited the young elf; more trials awaited all of the Firstborn.
"I cannot tell you this can be so, for ye know better. Nor can I promise that the future shall hold no more pain. 'Tis mine to keep ye from harm, for the purpose Ilúvatar has made for you, and because your parents sent ye here in love."
Ereinion looked forlornly through fresh tears at the ancient elf. Could not Círdan assure him, at the least, that he might again see his home? Círdan's heart nearly broke; the elf-child's doom lay beyond even the knowledge of Ulmo, and he would not make empty promises. He could offer only his own love. "Ye are not to be bereft and alone, tithephen," he soothed. [11]
The crying child allowed the mariner to hold him, and at last out of tears, he leaned his head against Círdan's chest with a small sigh of acceptance. Círdan stroked the little elf's silky hair, wondering at the stirring in his heart. Amid his keen awareness of Ereinion's pain, sharp as a knife to his breast, there awoke what had so long been denied him by his singular path, the twin joy and sorrow of parental affection.
FA 495, Balar
Ereinion lifted his sister in a hug.
"Ai, muindoren, [12] you are no longer the little elf I knew!" Finduilas greeted him, laughing.
He frowned. The elf-maid lacked color and her eyes had not the sparkle of days past. "And you are less than you were."
"Oh, I am well enough. Do not concern yourself." They started to walk down the pier toward Círdan's home. Her eyes brightened as she looked about the busy port. "The Enemy seems so far away here."
"How fare those at home?"
"Oh, there is little of note to tell. Naneth [13] has sent a great packet of lembas for you - she is certain that there is none to be had among this fishing folk, and that you are in great danger of starvation. She would be greatly surprised to see how you have grown," Finduilas laughed. "I think you shall be as tall as the Sindar." [14]
"Well, she is right that the Falathrim cannot make it as she did. And Adar?" [15]
"Oh, he is much occupied. He worries too much and loses sleep. Naneth thought to send him here with me, that he might rest. We still play at chess each morning, else I would hardly see him."
"Is he still so terrible?"
"Indeed," Finduilas giggled. "I do not think he will ever best me. He always starts out well, but he begins to doubt himself, and thenceforth comes his ruin."
Ereinion stole a sideways glance at his sister, pleased to see that the sea air seemed to have already restored some of her natural color and vivacity. "The sea agrees with you, muinthelen." [16] They had at last reached the end of the pier, and Finduilas was puzzled, seeing no house or path. Her brother pointed westward. "Tirio ennas!" [17]
Finduilas looked, and saw a tall lighthouse standing a league out into the sea. "And are we to swim to it like fish?"
"You can if you so wish, but me, I shall make use of this boat." He stowed her baggage in a little rowboat tied to the pier. The tide was out, and the boat hardly needed the encouragement of the oars as it split the water toward the lighthouse.
When they alighted at the little island on which the lighthouse stood, Finduilas looked about her in delight. "It is like a fairy story," she sighed. Ereinion did not hurry her, knowing his sister's fondness for flowers. Nargothrond was beautiful as only the Noldor and especially Finrod could make of stone, but few living things would grow in its depths. The garden that grew nearly wild around the lighthouse - save where they had pruned it back to make a picnicking lawn - was magnificent. Red seregon, [18] pink campion and orchids in a riot of color grew amid a tangle of mangrove trees and willows, and ivy had started the long climb up the building.
Círdan's home might not be so grand as the hall Arphenion had built in the hills of Balar, but the lighthouse stood as nearly in the sea as a building might stand. In spite of its function as a guide to ships, the tower had a homely air to it. High at the top, a gallery encircled the light and mirrors of its beacon, and an elf could see far on a clear day. Leaning against the rail, Finduilas looked to the southwest, fancying that she could see the Pelóri on the horizon. "Do you think we will ever see Aman, Ereinion?" she asked wistfully.
"I do not know," he answered honestly. "Such things are hidden, I think, even from Círdan."
He wondered about the fate of Turgon's ships, sent forth some six years past. Círdan had doubted the fleet would reach the Blessed Land, but said only that Ulmo's designs had yet to unfold. "Hope may arise from its own wreckage," he said cryptically.
Ereinion's hunger for tidings from home remained unsated, and after a meal of seafood, the siblings walked in the garden. "What tidings have you of our kinsman, Celebrimbor?"
She frowned. "I see little of him; he leaves his forge but rarely. He wishes the bridge unmade. Yet he avoids Gwindor, though he is of like mind. I think he fears to ally himself against our father's judgment."
"Gwindor? But how - "
"He has been in Angband," Finduilas said quietly.
Ereinion shuddered. "I think I would sooner die."
Finduilas paused, looking out over the sea. "I believe Gwindor would have it so. He is much altered, you would not know him now." They walked on again, distress written in the elf-maid's fair features.
"Is this what so troubles you that you have grown pallid and thin?" Ereinion questioned his sister gently.
Finduilas plucked a blossom from a cascade of magnolias and appeared to study it intently. "My heart is troubled, yes, but for its faithlessness. I love Gwindor not as I did, and love another now more, yet the other returns not my affections."
They sat down on the little lawn to watch the stars open. "Does Gwindor feel as he did when you were betrothed?" [19] her brother questioned.
She nodded miserably. "Therein lies my fault."
"Poor Finduilas!" He kissed his sister's cheek. "I am glad that you are here. Perhaps you may forget for a time this burden."
"Yes, let us speak no more on this, muindoren."
For his sister's peace of mind, he did not press further. Yet his dreams came uneasily to him that night, his mind disturbed by his sister's strange words concerning disharmony between his father and his most loyal advisors. He wondered greatly about the state of things at Nargothrond.
A flash of silver caught his eye and he turned to see Ereinion climbing the final steps to the gallery. A fine elf had taken the place of the little waif who had come to Balar. He had grown tall, after the height of his mother's people, and showed the slender build and graceful features of his father's fair clan. His hair, however, bore the mark of his guardian. Círdan's footman had at last cured the youngster of his tangles, weaving the elf's hair into a single tight braid. In the style of the Falathrim, a silver cord curled around his raven tresses, protecting them from the salt air. However much Círdan's folk loved the sea, like all elves they also loved beautiful hair, and they wrapped their braids in a variety of colorful cords and scarves against the salty air. Pride in the son he had taken into his home and heart tugged again at his resolution to consider only the best interests of his ward.
"You look at me strangely," Ereinion observed, an amused smile playing on his lips.
"I was only observing what a fine elf my tithephen has become."
Ereinion heard the unsaid meaning. "You do not want me to return to my home."
Círdan stroked his beard, considering his answer carefully. No longer a child, Ereinion had now the strength to repel the Maia who stalked him. Though Sauron remained still a shadow of himself, he would reemerge in time, and the young prince was somehow tied to his downfall, of that Círdan felt certain. He now saw that his charge could not return to Nargothrond; he felt intensely that Ereinion must not return to Nargothrond. "Egleriannen aen Ulumo, ni si genin," [21] he murmured.
" 'Twould be a lie if I told you otherwise," he answered finally. "You have become dear to me, as a son. Yet I know you would return to your folk, and I do not blame ye. I ask, though, that you stay, though your heart yearns for your home, for there is danger awaiting ye, should you return."
"And is there not for my sister and my parents? Our people?" Troubled, Ereinion sought the mariner's eyes, to see what truth lay behind his words.
"That is not shown to me," Círdan evaded. "For you, only can I answer." Disaster loomed over Nargothrond, yet he knew not enough - not then - even to send warning. 'Trust in me,' he pleaded silently.
Ereinion's face betrayed his turmoil. Foolish would it be to spurn the ancient elf's advice. Yet, duty called him to his father's people; love called him to his father's side. He swallowed hard. 'I put my hope in your far sight, Odhron-veriol,' [22] he answered in the same silent manner.
Círdan released the breath he had not known he held. He prayed that his ward's trust be not misplaced. He feared Ereinion should not forgive him if his family were lost. Yet he hearkened to a greater voice, to one who loved the elves, even the seditious Noldor, and therein he placed his faith.
FA 512, Arvernien
'That I did not question Finduilas further,' Ereinion reproached himself. He stood at the rails of the ship, transfixed by the ripple of water spurned by the boat's swift travel under a strong wind. No - he had hardly come of age when his sister left Balar. Orodreth would likely have paid no more heed to his son's misgivings than he paid to Círdan's messengers, sent forth in the spring of the next year. Círdan had done all he could to save Nargothrond, and Ereinion knew now that the Lord of the Waters himself had warned against his return to the fated city.
A favorite of Nienna, being like her in his patience and gentleness, Orodreth had left Valinor reluctantly, having no reason but love of his kin to forsake the Valar. Yet he fell nonetheless under the Doom of Mandos, and the Noldo despaired of any help from the West. Still shamed by his ignominious defeat at Tol Sirion, Orodreth heard the whispers of many of his people and their growing doubt in their King. Not even Meril could disarm the demons that assailed her husband's confidence.
The elves were to "become as shadows of regret before the younger race that cometh after." [23] So Mandos had spoken, and Orodreth came to believe that the hope of Arda lay not in the Firstborn but in the Aftercomers. Alas, this belief - not unfounded, as would later be seen - put Nargothrond in the hands of a mortal with more pride than wisdom. Like many with dreams of glory, Túrin mistook prudence for fearfulness and regarded those who doubted him with suspicion. Thus did he discredit the wise counsel of Gwindor and persuade Celebrimbor to keep his silence; thus too were the messengers of Círdan scorned and even the Vala, whence came their warning, disregarded.
Ereinion blinked, realizing that the water had stilled around the boat. He would shortly meet with Túrin's cousin. He would sooner have met with Idril, but Círdan insisted that he speak rather to her husband. "Tuor has served Ulumo faithfully, and him did Turgon choose to watch over the Gondolindrim," the mariner said firmly. High King though he might be, Ereinion recognized in his foster father's voice a tone that left no quarter for dispute.
The first building of the Gondolindrim grew half-finished from the west bank of Sirion, near the harbor. The long hall would eventually serve as a gathering place, but now would provide shelter. Ereinion watched the man and elves at their work until a presence made itself known. He looked to his right and found his Peredhel kinsman at his elbow.
The child was tall as no elf would be at such a young age, and his eyes had not the grey tone of the Firstborn. His ears, however, identified him as a son of Elvenkind, [24] as did his heavy silken hair, the liquid gold of his Vanyarin grandmother. The child observed him shyly until the natural curiosity of his age won over. "Mamil [25] says you are now Tar Etyangoldion." [26]
Small need had Ereinion for Quenya among the Falathrim, and though he had studied it, and recalled it from childhood, for Orodreth and Finrod spoke at times in the High Speech, he extracted the tongue from his memory with some difficulty. Ereinion crouched down to the child's height. "Yes, I suppose I am."
"Can I see your boat?"
Ereinion smiled at the little one's fluid change of subject. "I wait on your father, but when he is done with his work, we shall all go to the boat."
Waiting, it seemed, was a skill possessed by neither child of man nor child of elf. The Peredhel hurried to his father. "Atto! [27] We are going to see the King's boat!" Eärendil announced.
Tuor left off his work. "Well, then, you have found another boat to explore, have you?" His steps had nearly the cat-like grace and softness of the elves as he crossed the distance between them.
"Do not let me interrupt your work," Ereinion protested.
"It is no matter - they will do well enough without me. What can the sons of Hador tell the Noldor of masonry?"
Ereinion stiffened slightly; he had forgotten the man's kin for a moment. They walked in silence to the boat, and Eärendil soon attached himself to the ship's captain. His elders descended into the hold.
"You distrust me, son of Orodreth," Tuor said, in the language with which both elf and man were more comfortable.
Ereinion was startled at the man's perception. "Am I so transparent?"
"That even a mortal might read your thoughts?" Tuor pressed.
"I intend no offense," Ereinion answered honestly.
"Then let none be taken. Trust too generously given has brought disaster upon our peoples, Tórnë." [28]
Ereinion listened as well as he might to the man as he told of the concerns and needs of Turgon's people. He heard his words, but also studied Tuor's gestures, his expressions and listened to his tone of voice. Something in the man was familiar to him. More than familiar - comforting. He shook his head to clear it. Was he so credulous?
' "...Tórnë" '
' "Fingon, Tórnë, i-Nargothrondrim le huilannar." ' [29]
His mother's incisive accent echoed in the reaches of his memory. "The elves who fostered you, they were of the Mithrim, no?" Ereinion interrupted.
Tuor caught himself in mid-sentence, surprised. "Indeed, of the North, in the lands I am told were held once by Tôr Fingolfin."
A son of the elves, Círdan had named this mortal. The man was more than his blood - though cousin to the proud and foolish Túrin, he was foster son to Annael of the Mithrim. "I am not deaf to your concerns," the elf said quickly, returning to the matter at hand.
'Lest he believe me hopelessly distracted,' he added silently. Already he had found such a preconception in Fingon's steward, who clearly mistook the son for the father - his dearly missed, but too often preoccupied father. Yet, he was son also to wise Círdan. 'What my father failed to teach me, I have learnt of him,' Ereinion realized. The mariner was inextricably a part of him. He was more than the Noldor who had rashly turned their backs on the Valar and led their people into misfortune. He smiled at the deviousness of his foster father - he understood, now, why Círdan insisted that he speak with Tuor. The wily elf wished him not only to take the true measure of the man, but also to appreciate his own unique qualities.
The young King spoke with new confidence, revealing what he thought might be done to help the Gondolindrim. He had perceived the visit with Celeborn as one of courtesy, but he saw now that he must ask more of Celeborn than friendship, and what alliances might be forged between Tuor's people and the Iathrim [30] must be forged by the High King. "I wish to speak to Celeborn - his folk are not mine, but the well-being of your people and his people cannot be distinguished," he concluded.
"The Gondolindrim would benefit greatly from ties with your folk. Winter shall come too quickly for them, I deem, and they are perhaps more destitute than the Iathrim when you came hither," Ereinion explained his errand.
Celeborn had come to believe that the desperate straights of the Eldar could allow for no more discord between the Noldor and Sindar. Yet the young king underestimated the depth of ill feeling among the remnant of Doriath. Toward the remaining sons of Fëanor, the Iathrim held bitter and deserved hatred, but toward all the Noldor many of Thingol's subjects held resentment. Many of the Sindar perceived the 'High-Elves', as they called themselves, to be arrogant, and Celeborn knew this perception was not wholly inaccurate.
"Our peoples have spoken together informally. Many search for Sindarin kin from both lost kingdoms. Yet there be no coincidence to our meeting here at the mouth of the Sirion." Celeborn was distracted for a moment by a small, dark-haired girl who crept near to listen. "Come, Elwing, do not be shy."
She was a lovely child - in her features, Ereinion thought he saw her grandmother's likeness, and her dark hair had a peculiar silvery light. Her grey eyes betrayed her mother's kinship to Celeborn, for they were alike in color and shape, and she came forth at his summons.
He introduced the young Noldo to the child, who bowed her head wordlessly in greeting and retired to sit on the floor next to her kinsman, half-hidden by his robes.
"She is still shocked by all that she saw and will speak only in Nandorin, her native tongue," [31] Celeborn explained.
Ereinion winced in empathy, having lost his own family, though not so young - nor had he been witness to such horrors as Elwing might have seen.
"We have not such defenses as you have on Balar," Celeborn continued. "Both my people and the Gondolindrim shall hardly stand an assault by the issue of Morgoth, or…others, if we cannot unite."
Ereinion wondered whom 'others' might signify. [32] "Círdan's folk and my own will do all that we can to protect the Havens, but we are many leagues away."
"This I fear," the Sinda confirmed. "I warn, however, that you will get little cooperation from the lords who have settled further north. I have their loyalty, but not their deference. Oropher will take up arms against any who attack us, but he has no love for the Noldor."
"Nor have the Gondolindrim love for the sons of Fëanor. I see not why the Sindar cannot separate the deeds of the Fëanorians from the innocent among the Noldor," Ereinion answered irritably.
"Careful, lest you commit the same crime of generalization you condemn, young king." The silver-haired elf stood. "I fear I have other duties to attend," he terminated their meeting.
Ereinion stood also. "You will meet with Tuor?"
Celeborn indicated his assent. They made their way to the door, little Elwing following furtively behind. As Ereinion took his leave, Celeborn spoke again. "Your father had ties to Doriath of which few knew. He corresponded in secret with my King Thingol and his lady Melian, [33] and it was upon their advice that your people lived by caution and secret until Túrin came among them.
"Do not blame the son of Húrin overmuch," Celeborn continued, seeing the Noldo stir at the name. His eyes took on the far-seeing gaze Ereinion so often saw in the eyes of his foster parent. "The curse laid upon his sire by Morgoth brought your people and my king to bitter ends, yet by Húrin's silent valor did Gondolin stand just long enough. By their jewel and ours shall come the hope of both our peoples."
- [1] 'his grandfather's people'
- It is implied in The Peoples of Middle-Earth, 'Last Writings' that Círdan is nearer kin to Olwë than Elwë, making him a descendent of the former. I'm guessing that if Tolkien meant him to be a son of Olwë, he would have stated such, but given his status and his age, it does not seem unlikely that he would be a grandson. (ref. pp 385-386, pub. Houghton Mifflin)
- [2] Bali
- Valar (Old Sindarin). It is stated in The Peoples of Middle-Earth, 'Last Writings' that the language of the Falathrim was archaic and remained so. Thus it seems likely that Falathrin lay somewhere between Common Telerin (of which we know almost nothing, but it was well-preserved in the Telerin of Aman) and mature Sindarin, which must have developed over the course of the First Age. By the early 500s mature Sindarin was probably in use through most of Beleriand (Doriath and Gondolin being the obvious exceptions), but some very important words might retain the older form, giving the Falathrim an ancient flavor to their speech.
- [3] Heceldi
- Eldar left in Beleriand (Q). As explained by Pengolodh in The War of the Jewels, 'Quendi and Eldar', the language of the Valar was Valarin, but the Valar were quite fond of the languages the elves had made, and must have used Quenya in many of their debates - otherwise, we would have no record of their discussions, as few of the elves learned Valarin.
- [4] 'Nówë, Eruchén i vellwain nin'
- 'Child of Eru, who is most dear to me'. Nówë is Círdan's original name. (ref. The Peoples of Middle-Earth, 'Last Writings', p 392 pub. Houghton Mifflin)
- [5] hervenn vuin
- dear husband
- [6] melethen
- my love
- [7] Even Sauron cannot cross those waters
- With the drowning of Númenor, Sauron did cross the water, but had to relinquish his body to do so. In his battle with Lúthien, he capitulates rather than do this, because it would be the equivalent of death to him - he would remain only as a spirit. He is able to remain potent when Númenor is destroyed because his essence has been bound into the One Ring, though he can never again take bodily form. When the Ring is destroyed, his diminished spirit stays in ME - perhaps the Maiar are subject to the same immortality as the elves, and only through Mandos can a Maia whose hroa has been destroyed be rehoused. (ref. LOTR, 'Appendix A' p 1013 pub. Houghton Mifflin)
- [8] 'the new year signaled that Arien had at last regained dominance in her dance with Tilion'
- The Elvish calendar was not precisely adjusted to the astronomical calendar, with time being added every twelve years and this adjustment omitted every third yen (144 years), so that the calendar dates of the equinoxes and solstices would stray by about eight days around the actual event. Nonetheless, as this straying seems to keep the new year fairly close to the vernal equinox, one can assume that this is intentional.
- [9] Tolo! Pedo!
- Come! Speak!
- [10] Nana
- Mama
- [11] tithephen
- little one. In Old Sindarin the consonant cluster np became nph and then ph, losing the n; I'm guessing that in a compound word the resulting cluster of np must likewise be softened to ph. This is somewhat attested by Tolkien's example of arphen, in which the liquid r changes the plosive p to the spirant ph. However, one would expect dp to behave as it does in stop mutation, producing orophen rather than orodben - Tolkien did his best to confuse us by not following his own rules, and changing them often! In any event, this use of pen should not be confused with the prefix pen-, as that means 'without', quite the opposite meaning of the suffix -pen, 'one' (which comes from primitive kwén). (ref. Helge Fauskanger, move.to/ardalambion, 'Sindarin - The Noble Tongue'; The War of the Jewels, 'Quendi and Eldar')
- [12] muindoren
- my brother
- [13] Naneth
- mother
- [14] 'as tall as the Sindar'
- The Noldor are always described as the tallest and fairest and strongest and best at everything, but I choose to see the Noldorin historians as a bit biased! In any case, Thingol is stated to be the tallest of all elves, and the hobbits, surrounded by Exiles returning to Aman, note that Círdan is very tall.
- [15] Adar
- Father
- [16] muinthelen
- my sister
- [17] Tirio ennas!
- Look there!
- [18] seregon
- stonecrop (flowers, for those as horticulturally challenged as me)
- [19] 'Does Gwindor feel as he did when you were betrothed?'
- According to The War of the Jewels, 'The Grey Annals', they were betrothed before Gwindor was captured.
- [20] 'Ulumo, istathan aen farn e tegi mae'
- 'Ulmo, may I have wisdom enough to lead him well'. Ulumo is a guess at how Old Sindarin might have rendered Valarin Ulubóz, which the elves confused with their root ULU, Common Eldarin ulumó, 'pourer'. The rest is mature Sindarin. (ref. The War of the Jewels, 'Quendi and Eldar' and The Lost Road, 'Etymologies')
- [21] 'Egleriannen aen Ulumo, ni si genin'
- 'Ulmo be praised, I now see'
- [22] Odhron-veriol
- lit. 'protecting parent', the nearest I could come to 'Foster father'
- [23] "become as shadows of regret before the younger race that cometh after."
- (ref. The Silmarillion, p 96, pub. Ballantine/Del Rey)
- [24] 'His ears, however, identified him as a son of Elvenkind'
- My apologies, but I go with the Peter Jackson version here. I like those pointy ears, and Tolkien did suggest that elves' ears were 'leaf-shaped'. (ref. The Lost Road, 'Etymologies' p409, pub. Ballantine/Del Rey)
- [25] Mamil
- Mama (Q). Quenya was still the language of Turgon's house, though the people of Gondolin spoke Sindarin. Eärendil must have spoken it, and the years Tuor spent in Gondolin would allow more than enough time for him to learn to speak Quenya quite well, especially as his native language was Sindarin.
- [26] Tar Etyangoldion
- King of the Exiled Noldor (Q). Any mangling of the Quenya genitive here is entirely my fault. It should be noted that the general word for king, aran, usually referred in specific cases to a king of a region, whereas tar referred to a king of a people.
- [27] Atto
- Daddy (Q)
- [28] Tórnë
- My King (Ilkorin). Tôr is found in The Lost Road, 'Etymologies' (TA, TA3). Ilkorin, originally thought of as the language of the Sindar before the Exiles brought Noldorin to Beleriand, was not abandoned after Tolkien decided that Quenya was the language of the Exiles and that Noldorin (Sindarin) was the language of Beleriand. It appears that Tolkien later thought of Ilkorin as the dialect of the Mithrim. (ref. Helge Fauskanger, move.to/ardalambion, 'Ilkorin' and Richard Derdzinski, www.elvish.org/gwaith/language.htm, 'Northern Dialect of Sindarin') As for the ending -në, 'my', used in place of -en, its mature Sindarin equivalent, it appears that the Common Eldarin suffix -njá produces -në in Northern Sindarin.
- [29] "Fingon, Tórnë, i-Nargothrondrim le huilannar."
- "Fingon, my King, the people of Nargothrond welcome you."
- [30] Iathrim
- people of Doriath
- [31] 'She is still shocked by all that she saw and will speak only in Nandorin, her native tongue,'
- That Nandorin might have been used in Dior's house before he came to Doriath is based on a vague rumination on the etymology of 'Elwing' in The Peoples of Middle-Earth, 'The Shibboleth of Fëanor'. Tolkien changed his mind (regarding the root of 'Elwing") later in POME, 'The Problem of Ros'. As she did live among the Green Elves in Ossiriand when she was very small, she may well have spoken their language. The rest is entirely my imagination, but one would think that a six year old who loses her entire family to violence would be somewhat damaged by the experience.
- [32] 'Ereinion wondered whom 'others' might signify'
- I'm assuming it is not yet known that Elwing has the Silmaril.
- [33] 'He corresponded in secret with my King Thingol and his lady Melian'
- (ref. Unfinished Tales, 'Narn i Hîn Húrin', Appendix p 160 pub. Ballantine/Del Rey)