Chapter Five - The Lord of the Havens

The hilltop clearing lay shrouded in mist. A thick fog blanketed the mossy floor, drifted around the softly bubbling fountain, swirled about the knees of the ancient trees, and hung in tattered shreds from the overhanging limbs and branches. In an hour or two, the morning sun would burn it all off, and restore an earthly air to the clearing. But for now, sunlight had not yet reached the crest of the hill, and the glade, in its shrouded stillness, appeared to be not quite of this world.

Two figures materialized out of a fold in the earth. Cloaked and hooded in the same foggy hue, they went about their business so quietly and with such an economy of gesture, that mortal eyes would have seen little more than a slight shifting of the wind.

Gilthaethil knelt by the spring. After a moment of silence, she unclasped the cup she wore at her waist, dipped it in the water, and spilled a few drops on the ground. She filled a pair of water skins, then filled her cup again and rose to her feet. Circling the clearing, she sprinkled water from her well along the margins of the forest wall and before the door of her dwelling. Maeldhuin watched in silence, having no desire to interrupt the ritual.

"It is done," she said a moment later, and handed a skin to Maeldhuin. He eyed it warily before slinging it over his shoulder. And then, as the first grey light crept into the clearing, Gilthaethil put two fingers to her lips, gave a long, low whistle, and waited.

There was no answer at first, but after a short time, there appeared out of the mists a great stag, silent as a ghost, white as the snows, and as proud of bearing as any king of Elves or Men. The majestic animal stepped into the clearing and lowered his head to Gilthaethil. Watching the scene unfold, Maeldhuin could not help but wonder, yet again, what strange manner of being his benefactress might be.

Gilthaethil acknowledged the stag's obeisance, and laid a hand on its head. For a timeless moment, nothing stirred. Then the stag shook its antlers and broke the spell. The air began to move again, and life returned to the forest. Gilthaethil strode over to the door of the cavern where Maeldhuin stood frozen in awe. "Come," she said. "He has consented to bear us."

"But..but how is it that this animal does your bidding?" Maeldhuin stammered, not daring to give voice to his suspicions.

"I plucked an arrow from his shoulder when he was yet a faun," she answered, hitching her pack onto her shoulders. "He is a lord of the forest now, so take care to mind your manners."

Maeldhuin bristled at her superior tone. He was tempted to remind her that, being a herald, he needed no schooling in protocol. He held his tongue, however, and setting aside his injured pride, he bowed respectfully to the stag. Then, at a gesture from his companion, he grabbed hold of the animal's antlers, and swung himself onto its back. Gilthaethil leapt up behind him, with the kestrel perched upon her wrist, and to the accompaniment of the first lark of morning, they passed beneath the eaves of the forest, and disappeared into the mists.

They journeyed westward, over rolling hills, across glades thick with spring flowers, and through groves of beech and fir where the trees rose so tall and straight, they seemed to pierce the clouds. With little guidance from either Maeldhuin or Gilthaethil, the stag picked its way through the forest. Maeldhuin had briefly questioned the wisdom of this, but a single scathing look from his companion was all it took to assure him that their course ran true.

Ever as they travelled, Maeldhuin scoured the deep shadows beneath the trees for some trace of his master, but no sign did he see, either of Falathar, or of the Orcs that had pursued him. He shuddered to think what might have befallen the herald, and could only hope that he had managed to evade his pursuers, and that he might at this very moment, be cursing his dawdling protégé from the safety of Mithlond's high walls.

Gilthaethil sensed Maeldhuin's trouble. Hoping to draw him away from his dark imaginings, she asked him about home and his travels. He was glad of the distraction and described for her the wonders of Ost-en-Edhil. He told her of his travels near and far, describing even a journey he had made to the distant shores of Númenor. "I remember," he said, grinning, "how my elders, and even the Wise of the Edain warned me against that journey, fearing I would hearken the call of the sea, and forswear my oath. But ever have I followed my own counsel."

At his back, Gilthaethil snorted. Maeldhuin twisted 'round only to be faced with an indulgent smile. "Pray continue."

"Aye, well, ... as I was saying, I journeyed across the sea, and tarried a while in the land of Númenor. There, as I wandered among the western hills, it seemed to me that the ocean breeze carried a scent of flowers, perhaps the flowers of Valinor."

"Did you not wish to follow and join your people in the Undying Lands?"

"I heard the call, and I would be lying, if I said it did not awaken in my heart a desire to see those shores. Yet, I was still young then, and filled with wonder, and would not heed the call when all I cherished was here."

"Do you still feel that way?"

Maeldhuin paused. "My duty to my lord and to my people binds me to these mortal lands."

"Duty only? What of your loved ones?"

"They remained in Ost-en-Edhil," he answered softly. "What of you," he asked, trying to shake off his gloom. "What stories can you tell? I am weary of talking of my own deeds. Have you no tales of your own to tell?"

"I lead a quiet life."

"Have you never travelled?

"Who would tend the spring if I heeded the call of every passing adventure? While I am keeper of the well, I have little leisure for journeying."

"But how came you there? Who chose you? Did your family tend the well before you?"

Gilthaethil paused while deciding which of the herald's questions she would answer. "All the family I have lives in Mithlond."

"You are of the Falathrim, then, or perhaps of the Teleri?" The herald's voice fairly sang with relief.

Gilthaethil stiffened. "That is not what I said. As for travels," she continued, more tersely than before, "I know these hills and the lands from here to the Sea, but little else. There was never any need for me to journey farther."

"I have journeyed to Mithlond before. Might I have seen you there on some earlier errand?"

"Mithlond is not my home. I doubt it ever was." Gilthaethil's tone did not invite any further questions, and for the next while, the pair travelled in silence.

They emerged from the trees in time to watch the moon rise over a wide valley dotted with farmsteads, orchards, and rich pasturelands. Gilthaethil slid off the stag's back, stretched, and gazed pensively into the distance. "We must dismount here," she said, and pointed to a twin cluster of lights twinkling over silver waters. "Yonder lie the River Lhûn and the Havens of Mithlond. Can you can walk that far?"

Maeldhuin dismounted and took a few careful steps. "I can walk... after a fashion." His ankle was still sore, but, healing. Bound and splinted as it was, it would bear his weight. He looked around and found a sturdy branch for support. "I am ready."

They bowed their thanks to the stag, who nodded once and disappeared into the forest shadows.

"Will the sentries let us pass after nightfall?" Maeldhuin asked.

"They will let me pass," Gilthaethil answered, then grinned. "You, however, I cannot say."

Mithlond was the oldest of the Elven cities east of the Misty Mountains. In the dark, confused years following the Ruin of Beleriand, Círdan the Shipwright had removed the surviving remnant of his people to the twin harbours on the River Lhûn. There, where the waters broadened to a wide Gulf, the Shipbuilders established their havens.

Círdan's city was, above all else, a city of seafarers, and it drew both life and livelihood from the waters that bathed its shores. Its port and shipyards served all the free races, procuring vessels, not only to the Eldar journeying to the Undying Lands, but also to the Men and Dwarves who sought trade between Númenor and Middle Earth. Not all were drawn solely by Mithlond's safe anchorages and graceful grey ships, however. As the Havens grew in size, so too did they increase in beauty and renown. Scholars and lore masters sought out her houses of learning, while mystics and clerics sought enlightenment in her temples and holy places.

The sun was high in the sky when the two travellers reached the Western Gate, and Gilthaethil directed Maeldhuin to a bench of carved stone while she presented herself to the sentries. Maeldhuin's ankle was throbbing after the night's long walk, and he welcomed the opportunity to rest. "Ask if they have news of Master Falathar," he called. Gilthaethil nodded and strode quickly towards the Gatehouse. Maeldhuin tilted his head back against the stone. He closed his eyes, and listened to the sounds of City as they cascaded gently over the walls, beckoning to him with the promise of warmth and welcome.

"On your feet, Fëanorian!"

Maeldhuin eyes flew open, and he found himself in the centre of a ring of spears. Forcing himself to remain calm, he stood up slowly. Gilthaethil stood some distance removed, shrugging her shoulders, and shaking her head in a gesture of helplessness.

With a sharp gesture, the Captain directed one of his guards to Maeldhuin's side. "Drop the stick!" he ordered.

Gilthaethil stepped forward. "He is injured. He needs the staff for support."

The guard considered this briefly. "Very well, so long as you are willing to answer for his actions, my Lady. But if he should try anything clever..."

Maeldhuin tried to take a step forward, but the guard at his side, held him back. "I will not, I assure you. Only, tell me, what offense have I committed? Why am I being taken thus?"

The Captain addressed his reply to Gilthaethil. "There have been strange rumblings from the East, my Lady. The Lord Caredhel has ordered that all strangers be apprehended for questioning."

"I am no stranger here," Maeldhuin cried, "but a messenger from Lord Celebrimbor of Eregion. I have been in this city before and I demand treatment befitting my rank!"

"Save it for the Lord Caredhel. Now move!"

***

The chamberlain cleared his throat and pushed open a pair of intricately carved oak doors. "My Lord, the Lord High Constable of Mithlond seeks admittance. "

A deeply annoyed voice sounded from behind a tall stack of books. "Blasts and fogs! What does he want of me this time!" A clatter of armour and booted feet precluded any further study, and so the owner of the voice resignedly stepped into view, carrying an armload of ancient scrolls.

He was tall, even for an Elf, and was dressed in a dusty blue tunic, and scuffed boots. He had long silver hair, tied back with a simple leather thong, and a neatly trimmed beard, of silver also. His well-muscled arms and rolling gait marked him as a mariner. The light of wisdom that shone in his startlingly blue gaze identified him as Círdan, Lord of the Falathrim, Shipwright of the Eldar, and ruler of Mithlond and the surrounding lands.

With an elegant sweep of his richly trimmed cloak, the Lord High Constable executed a deep bow. "My Lord, we intercepted this Fëanorian spy loitering by our gates."

At these words, Gilthaethil strode forwards. Her dark eyes flashed in anger and her voice was brittle with rage. "Loitering?" she repeated. "He was resting whilst I presented myself to the sentries."

The Constable continued, nonplused. "The Lady Gilthaethil claims he is a messenger from the East."

Maeldhuin spun around. Gilthaethil? Was that her name? The Constable appeared to know her, and treated her with a certain measure of respect. Falathar had warned him of the resentment and mistrust that had long ago soured relations between Círdan's folk and his own. Had Gilthaethil betrayed him to her kin?

The Constable was describing the circumstances of the arrest, embellishing the tale to his advantage, Maeldhuin realized. In fact, as he examined his accuser, he gave a grim laugh, noting that the Constable seemed to be no stranger to embellishments of any sort.

"Is there aught of your circumstances that amuses you, Fëanorian?" the Constable hissed, and resumed his epic telling of the prisoner's arrest.

Maeldhuin, for the moment ignored, continued to study his accuser. The Constable's rich garments and proud bearing showed him to be one who was accustomed to wealth and power, and his cold gaze told him he would not hesitate to wield them to their full extent. Their eyes met briefly, and Maeldhuin detected a look of unmingled scorn in the functionary's look. He drew himself to his full height, raised his chin and squared his shoulders.  For all his humble attire, he was no beggar. He was proud to wear the livery of Eregion, travel worn though it may be, and would not allow some soft-handed coxcomb to dismiss him with a condescending glance.

Doing his best to ignore the harsh grip of his guards and the throbbing ache in his ankle, Maeldhuin stood up tall, and cast about the room what he hoped would pass for a disinterested gaze. Although he had been to Mithlond before, this was the first time he had been admitted to Círdan's private study. If he had expected to find himself surrounded by ethereal opulence and ages-old splendour, the disordered clutter quickly dispelled any such preconceptions. Indeed, the room resembled more closely a artisan's workshop than the council chambers of the wise.

The Shipwright perceived Maeldhuin's bewilderment, and a flicker of amusement played briefly in his sea blue eyes. As soon as the Constable finished his report, Círdan strode over to where Gilthaethil stood, and welcomed her with a warm embrace. "My dear child!" What a delightful surprise! I did not expect to see you again before the winter!" He drew a chair, which Gilthaethil ignored.

"I had not intended to visit again so soon, my lord, but we have a pressing errand. May I present my companion, Master Maeldhuin of Eregion? He bears an important message from the Lord Celebrimbor."

"From Celebrimbor, you say?" Círdan's features darkened at the name.

Maeldhuin bowed his head. It was all the reverence the tight grip of the guards would allow.

Gilthaethil fumed. "Oh, by the heavens, will you not release him? Consider his raiment, if you will not believe me. It may be somewhat the worse for wear, but it is still the livery of Eregion, and shows him to be who he claims to be."

Círdan nodded wordlessly. The guards released their captive, and withdrew to the margins of the room.

Maeldhuin bowed deeply, and began. "Hail! Sage Círdan, Lord of the Fala …"

"Bah! Save your flowery phrases for court, boy. What is your errand?"

The Constable cast Maeldhuin a look of cold disapproval. He drew close to Gilthaethil, and in mocking tones he whispered, "So, Gilthaethil, what is this latest stray you've dragged home?" Gilthaethil's retort was too quiet for Maeldhuin to hear, but the daggers in her eyes eloquently revealed the tenor of her reply.

Maeldhuin remembered the task at hand, bowed his thanks, then straightened his back and took a hesitant step towards the Lord of the Havens. "My Lord, I carry an urgent message for His Majesty the King. My companions and I have travelled in great haste through paths fraught with peril. I can afford no delay. I come to ask your aid in..."

Círdan held up a hand, and halted Maeldhuin's speech. "Why are you limping?"

"'Tis nothing, my Lord."

Gilthaethil interrupted. "He was injured escaping from a band of marauding Orcs. One of his companions was killed, and of the other, we have had no tidings, and fear he has been taken."

Círdan's features softened slightly. "Do you require a healer?"

"Nay, my Lord. The Lady Gilthaethil tended my injury as well as any healer. It does not trouble me much, only, I have walked a greater distance today than perhaps was wise."

Círdan pulled a chair from behind one of the numerous tables. "As you will. Sit down, at least, lad, before you fall over." Círdan drew his own chair close and seated himself opposite the herald. Gilthaethil drew a stool nearby. Only the Constable remained standing, looming darkly above the Shipwright's shoulder.

Maeldhuin was not accustomed to this manner of welcome. Usually, he performed his duties in great council halls or audience chambers, surrounded by advisers, attendants, and a host of courtiers. Seated thus before so great a lord as Círdan, Maeldhuin felt his tongue cleave to the roof of his mouth. His formal phrases were of little help now, and he searched his mind for an appropriate opening.

Círdan spared him that ordeal. "I have seen you here before, have I not?"

"Aye, my lord. In happier days, I bore missives here from my Lord."

Círdan's brows arched quizzically. "In happier days, say you?"

Maeldhuin's eyes darted to the faces of the guards standing along the walls. Círdan understood the messenger's unspoken concern, and dismissed them. "My lord," Maeldhuin began in a whisper. "Great evil has befallen my City."

The Constable's eyes flashed in anger. "What have the wretched heirs of Fëanor wrought this time?"

"Peace, Caredhel, let the herald reveal the fullness of his tidings."

Maeldhuin ignored the Constable, and, taking a deep breath to steady his nerves, he told of the dire events that had befallen his City. He recounted all he could, struggling to master his emotions and maintain his decorum, refusing to let the Lord of the Falathrim see the true depth of his fear and pain. He could not suppress a shudder, however, when he told Círdan of Sauron's wrath, and of his bitter promise to exact his vengeance upon the Eldar. "He has sworn to destroy us all, my lord. Already, I fear he has laid waste our City and cruelly slaughtered our people."

"The whole city, you are certain of this?"

"Nay, my lord. I am not wholly certain, for I was not there among my kin. But this is what I believe."

"Where were you?"

"Cowering in some rat's hole, no doubt," Caredhel muttered. "If you had any shred of honour you would have aided in the defense of your home."

"Nay, my Lord! That is not how it was, I swear." Maeldhuin's eyes grew bright but he refused to shed tears before those who would condemn him. "It is true that my companions and I watched the devastation from the crest of a hill five leagues away from my City, safe while the storm descended upon my home, do not believe that cowardice drove us from our walls. The Lord Celebrimbor sent us away ere the storm unfurled upon us. I am no soldier. None of us were. How would we have aided our City by staying and perishing upon her walls? We were couriers. Our duty was to our Lord, and to the messages he entrusted to our care."

The Lord of the Havens leaned back in his chair and pondered Maeldhuin's words in silence. Stirring finally, he turned a weary gaze on the courier. "Your news is dire. And I perceive that you do not tell me all you know. Yet I do not doubt the urgency of your plight. Vague whisperings have blown in on the Eastern wind, filling the air with rumours of this new evil. So, I ask you, Maeldhuin of Eregion, what would you have of me?"

"Tidings, Lord. Has Master Falathar come to Mithlond?"

Círdan bolted upright. "Falathar is your master? He is your missing companion?" Maeldhuin nodded. Círdan sighed and his shoulders bowed at the weight of his tidings. "Nay, lad, he has not."

Maeldhuin's heart sank. "Then I fear his duty falls to me. Lord Círdan, I must seek out the King. Celebrimbor bade us deliver a message to him."

Caredhel whispered into Círdan's ear, "Make him deliver his message to us, here and now. We will judge whether or not it is fitting for the King to hear."

Círdan waved the Constable away and returned his attention to the prisoner. "For all that you are well-intentioned, my heart counsels me against aiding Celebrimbor. My people have suffered greatly at the hands of his fathers. Surely you must know that there are some who would rejoice at your tidings."

Maeldhuin bowed his head. "Aye, my lord. But Celebrimbor is not his sire. Nor should you believe that all of Fëanor's kin are tainted with the pride that drove our fathers from the Blessed Realm. We are craftsmen, lord, much as your own people, and seek only to improve our skills, not, as some would have it, for self-aggrandizement, but for the betterment of all free races."

"Your loyalty does you honour, and I sense no deceit in you. I do not hold you accountable for the misdeeds of your forefathers, for I see none of their arrogance in your bearing."

"Then give me leave to speak with the King."

"Alas, it is not in my power to grant you that which you seek. The King is campaigning far in the North, driving the forces of Forochel from our lands. He will not return for many months. How else may I aid you?"

There was little else Círdan could do to help. Maeldhuin could neither deliver the tokens into the Shipwright's hands, nor reveal to him the full nature of his quest. His only choice was to seek out the King in his northern encampment. "A horse, Wise Círdan, and provisions, that I may reach the King, and fulfill my duty. That is all I ask."

"I will consider your words, and your request. For now, get you to the Healers, and have them tend your injury. There will I send word to you." Turning to Gilthaethil, Círdan added, "Escort our guest to the Healers, and see that he is suitably cared for, then return to my chambers. I would hear your counsel, as well."

Maeldhuin's face froze. What counsel could one such as Gilthaethil possibly give the Lord of the Havens?

* * *

Gilthaethil sat in Círdan's private chambers, stroking the kestrel's feathers.

Círdan paced the floor with slow and measured steps, much as he would pace the deck of a ship. "You believe his tidings?" he asked.

"He has given me no cause to doubt them. What else but the direst need would drive him into the heart of the forest?"

Caredhel gave a sour laugh. "Lies and deceptions! 'Tis but a ruse. He would appeal to our sense of compassion, insinuate himself into our hearts, then open our gates to his murderous kin!"

The Lord of the Havens stopped his pacing, and paused by the tall window. He turned his gaze towards the silver waters of the firth, revisiting in his mind the troubled past shared between his people and Fëanor's proud kin.

Caredhel crossed to his side. "Consider, Uncle, what good has ever come of our dealings with the heirs of Fëanor? I will die ere I trust any spawn of that brood. Have you forgotten the day the streets ran red with the blood of our people?"

"Peace, Caredhel! I have forgotten nothing. I fear that we are all bound in some way to this herald's tale. I heard the knell of doom in his words, and all our Fates resonating in them."

Caredhel's voice shook with passion. "All the more reason to send him back to his own land! Why jeopardize the safety of our city? The Jewel Smiths are cursed. Condemned by the Valar, and by their own vile deeds. Do we wish that curse to be visited upon us?"

"Our actions towards this Fëanorian may influence our destiny. Maeldhuin's purpose may be noble, but any decision regarding Celebrimbor's plight is not mine alone to make. I will convene a Council of the Wise, ere we send word to King. Maeldhuin will present himself before us, and deliver his message to all in attendance." Círdan seated himself behind a long table, and began sharpening a well-worn quill. "Caredhel, you will carry these messages to Elrond and to Galadriel and Celeborn."

Gilthaethil looked up in surprise. "Caredhel? Why not send Maeldhuin?" she asked. "These matters concern him more closely than anyone here!"

"Caredhel may be right. Perhaps this is all a ruse. I will not trust him until I know for certain where he stands.

"Nay!  Do not say that.  In your heart, you know he speaks the truth!"

"He has told us no lies, but neither has he told us all he knows. Besides, he is not fit to ride. Should evil befall him, what hope his lord has placed in him will be lost. Nay, he will remain here, rest and heal."

"Then send me, not Caredhel!" Gilthaethil pleaded. Círdan's eyes narrowed with apprehension, but he said nothing. "I alone here have spoken with him at length, and I alone know the urgency of his mission. Consider also, " she added, indicating her rustic garb, "who would suspect one such as myself of carrying your missives? Who would suspect me of having dealings with the great of our people? Do not send Caredhel, I pray you! He will poison their hearts against Maeldhuin's cause."

Caredhel twisted around, the colour high in his face. "Poison them? You do me an injustice, Gilthaethil. I have spoken only what my heart compels me to. Whatever our Lord decides, he should bear in mind our long grievance against the House of Fëanor, something I cannot expect you to comprehend."

The kestrel screeched, and Gilthaethil took a moment to soothe it before replying. Her voice when she spoke, had lost its edge of cold rage, but none of its intensity. "Your heart plays you false, Caredhel. Maeldhuin is innocent of any wrongdoing. But you would still spread your misguided lies, sully Maeldhuin's good name with doubt and conjecture, whilst he would remain here, unable to make an account of himself."

She turned her back on her kinsman, and crossed the room to Círdan's desk. She watched in silence as he blotted the last of the summons, then rolled and sealed each sheet of parchment. "Give me the messages," she said, handing him a large leather tube.  "I will carry them for you, and let the Council pronounce untainted judgment on our guest.

Círdan's features grew stern. "Your request surprises me. I am inclined to consent to it, but only because you are the more skilled in woodcraft." Caredhel's jaw dropped. "Oh, do cease the artifice, Caredhel. We all know how you loathe any disruption of your comforts. Instead, I would charge you with arranging appropriate accommodations for our guest, and seeing to his comfort."

Caredhel's demeanor brightened at these words. "I understand, my Lord, and know just the place."

Círdan recognized the eager look in his nephew's eyes. "Mind, Caredhel, he is an envoy of Eregion, and an honoured visitor. He is to be treated as such."

"Aye, my Lord. Shall I post a guard by his door?"

"Heavens, no! Have I not made myself clear? He is to be treated with respect befitting his rank. I will not have it said that the Falathrim are ungracious hosts. Now, leave us. I would spend some time alone with my daughter."

* * *

To be continued