Chapter 3: The Council of the Sael
They came from all across Middle Earth. The ten Sael, the ten wise. They were all rulers of various kingdoms and so were summoned to the council. Thus it happened that on a breezy autumn day King Leod of Rohan, King Arahad of Gondor, along with his son Lord Aragost, Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel of Lothlorien, Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrian of Rivendell (who were also Nénariel's parents), Barukhir and Khîmled of the dwarfish race, and Lord Laerlende of Telerindór (who was Nénariel's brother), met at Taurëcarde to discuss the actions that must be taken against Moradan.
The council was held in the "strategy" room of Taurëcarde. All the Sael were seated around a round table in beautiful chairs of gold and silver. Appearing in the doorway, Nénariel was clad in a stunning gown of white, with a simple silver crown adorning her head. Her long golden hair fell around her shoulders and her purple eyes shone with the knowledge of the wise. On her left stood Aearion, the captain of the Várelen. He wore a cloak of deep blue around his shoulders, which matched the color of his eyes. On her right stood her sister Ëariel, the lore master of Taurëcarde. She wore a gown much like her sister's in style, but it was a soft-bluish grey that made her dark brown hair stand out.
"Welcome to Taurëcarde. You have been asked to come here today to help decide what actions must be taken against Moradan." Walking to the table, Nénariel, Aearion, and Ëariel sat in the three empty seats. "There have been rumors of his stirring for some time now. King Arahad of has reason to believe that Moradan will attack," she said, motioning to the King.
"Yes my lady," he said, rising. "Moradan was last seen moving through my kingdom after his defeat by the Várelen. We were unsure of his whereabouts until recently. We now have reason to believe that he is lurking between Rohan and Gondor.
"Last month we had reports of a disturbance on our borders. My son Aragost went to see what was causing it. Two of the villages had been burned, leaving no survivors except for one small boy. He was much too frightened to tell us of his ordeal, but after taking him back to Minas Tirith he was finally able to describe what had happened.
"Moradan attacked in the middle of the night, while all the villagers were sleeping. He came not alone, but with an entire army of Orcs. They set fire to boy's house, waking him up, as well as his mother, father and baby sister. The last he saw of his mother and sister, they were trapped in a burning room. As for his father," here Arahad's voice faltered. "Well . . . his father was slain by the Orcs in front of the child's eyes. He ran behind the house and hid. That's where Aragost found him." He sat down.
Silence filled the room. Finally Nénariel broke the quiet. "What is the boy's name, and where is he now?"
Aragost spoke up for the first time. "His name is Aidan. He came with us to the council. We were unable to leave him at Minas Tirith-he wouldn't let us."
Nénariel smiled. "Well, we'll decide what to do with the child later. But for now we must get back to the matter at hand. Leod, you've had similar problems in your kingdom correct?"
"That's true. We have also had burned villages and sightings of Orcs on our borders. We must come up with a solution, or else Moradan will continue to terrorize Middle Earth."
"Leod speaks the truth," Galadriel said. "We must take action soon."
Nénariel remained silent as the others tried to come up with a plan. They discussed fighting with magic, cutting off his supplies, and using brute force. Finally they turned to Nénariel, awaiting her decision.
After looking around at the faces of the people gathered before her, Nénariel spoke. "Moradan has many armies of Orcs. Against them, we have no choice but to fight. Moradan will be harder. We must have weapons that are more powerful than swords. My craftsmen can fashion a sword of great skill and great power that can easily defeat him."
"Yes, but what about the others?" Khîmled asked.
"Others?" Nénariel asked, the confusion evident in her voice.
"Lord Ulculda, second only to Moradan. He is as large a threat to us as Moradan is. We cannot ignore him."
"Why have you not informed me of this until now?" she said, her eyes clouded over with anger.
Barukhir answered her question. "Until now only rumors have been heard."
"And now?"
"We learned yesterday that our suspicions were true. He exists and he is a threat."
Nénariel mulled over this new turn of events. This changed all of her thoughts and plans. Now two threats existed, and both were equally dangerous. She didn't know what Ulculda's weaknesses were, but she doubted that he had many. Quickly she tried to think of a plan to defeat him, but was disrupted by Ëariel's sweet, sing song voice breaking into her thoughts.
"What are you thinking of?" she asked, her eyes piercing into Nénariel, almost as if she was reading her mind. Nénariel looked at her sister before answering.
"We will fight Moradan and his army now, just like we were planning. I'm unsure what we should do about Ulculda. Until we can decide what will be done, we will just watch his every movement. Aearion, can you start preparing the Várelen for battle?"
Aearion stared ahead, his mind pondering what he was supposed to do. "How much time do we have?" he asked, trying to figure out if it would be possible.
"Six months or less."
"Hmm . . ." Aearion seemed to be unsure. "We need new weapons made; all of our old ones have seen their days in battle, but are not fit to fight anymore. And our armor will need to be patched. Many of the soldier's fighting and horseman skills are rusty, so that will take time to prepare. All in all, I would say we need eight months at the least. Would that be possible to allow?"
"It will be done. Leod, Arahad, you must gather your armies as well. How many soldiers will you be able to send to fight against Moradan?"
"I believe that I will be able to have around 50,000 soldiers ready to fight," Arahad answered.
"And there will be 30,000 horsemen from Rohan," Leod offered.
"So with the 50,000 Gondorian soldiers, the 30,000 horsemen from Rohan, and the 60,000 Várelen we have 140,000 soldiers. But that's not enough, we need more." Nénariel looked around at the other Sael, hoping that somehow they would be able to find some more fighters to go against the Orcs.
Celebrian spoke up in a very soft voice. "We can get 100,000 elfish soldiers in eight months."
"How is that possible?" Nénariel asked, unclear on she was planning.
"There are many young elves that are training to fight. They will be ready by the time that we move against Moradan. With them, we have 240,000 soldiers, that should be enough to hold the Orcs off, allowing someone to attack Moradan and defeat him." Celebrian's eyes were glowing with excitement.
"So it shall be." And that ended the Council of the Sael.
Nénariel walked beside the Laurënen, towards the forges. Aearion walked up and fell into step beside her. They walked in silence for a few minutes, until Aearion broke the tension.
"What's the matter?" he asked. He had always been able to know her feelings.
"Nothing," she replied. "It's just . . . well . . . I'm having my doubts about our fight against Moradan. Eight months is too long to wait. We need to move sooner, or else Moradan will have gathered too much strength."
"Well it can't be helped. I can't get the Várelen ready in any less time."
"Try!" Nénariel snapped.
"Something's wrong," Aearion stated. He put a hand on her shoulder and spun her around so she was facing him. "Tell me what it is."
"Nothing's wrong with me! The only thing that's wrong is your inability to train the Várelen." The anger in her voice was clear now. She tried to calm herself down; she knew that she wasn't really angry, she was just tense.
Aearion's expression grew cold and distant. "I must go now. I have some business that I must attend to." With that he turned around and walked towards the stables.
"Wait!" Nénariel called out, trying to stop Aearion from leaving. But it was too late; he was already gone. Heaving a deep sigh, she continued on her way to the forges.
The forges of Telerindór were extensive. Most days the roar of the fires and the pounding of hammers could be heard escaping the doors. Nénariel walked into the forges. The air was dark and smoky. Along one wall hung many swords. They were all silver, but different designs were engraved in them. There were two elves working on a sword when Nénariel entered. Seeing her, they stopped their work.
"I need new weapons made. Good battle weapons. I need enough for the entire Várelen by spring." The tone in her voice left no room for arguing. "I also need their armor to be mended."
"Yes my lady," one of the elves said. "We will start working right away."
"Good." She walked out of the forge and was blinded by the setting sun. Trying to clear her mind of the fight with Aearion, she prepared herself for the hard eight months that lay ahead of them.
