Where Ulmo throws in the towel about those stubborn elves.
When a Vala Warns
Year 494
Turin
Just like the Valar to rain on our fun. Just when we finally got our grand bridge up, some weirdos from the coast turn up demanding we tear the entire thing down on orders of Lord Ulmo of the Waters or something. Well, His Majesty is not listening to them and they can take a hike, I say.
On a lighter note, Finduilas suggested I should pick up some poetry-writing since her last beau fancied himself a bit of a bard. That really sucks. I am lousy at rhyming, but I will give it a shot. Perhaps crib something from the pages of The Forbidden Scribbles of Daeron on Luthien I use to line my boots with to keep my toes from freezing.
Your bosom is the well-spring of my hopes,
Your hair is the peacefulness of the darkest night…
Wait, that does not work. Finduilas is blond, not dark-haired
Your hair is as the rays of the sun… Fine, now what rhymes with sun?
What is this line about flowers and secret sanctums? And where does a willow staff come into it? That is why I hate Eldar love poetry. Never made any sense to no one. Give me a good old heroic ballad anytime.
Orodreth
Lord Cirdan sent some of his lads up from the coast with some dire warning about the new bridge, just as I was opening it officially. It puts a damper on the ceremony. My future law-son reassured me that old elf has probably gone gaga from drinking too much and staring at the sea. I mean, if Lord Ulmo really has an issue with our bridge, he could just wash it away with the Narog… Wait, I hope Lord Ulmo does not see this.
Well, Elu Thingol did not do too badly with a Mannish law-son, apart from his daughter going mortal as well… I mean, he ended up with a Silmaril where the Feanorions failed. I doubt Finduilas will ever dare go mortal on me. She adores her Ada too much for that. I think I will stick with the bridge and this new campaigning thingy instead of all that sneaking in the dark about Uncle Finrod was fond of. I never understood that stealth thingy he had the guards try to train me in. I mean, was it that important that I learnt how to creep about like a shadow in the night? It is not as though I am fond of that bed-hopping sport he was into.
Finduilas
I hear from my ladies my Ada just topped himself in idiocy – a feat we had thought nigh impossible since he banished Gwindor to kitchen duty on grounds he was too ugly for court life. When your city's patron Vala speaks, you listen and obey. Not shoo the messengers off with arrows. What was Turin thinking? I do hope Lord Ulmo's in a forgiving mood, lest we find ourselves flooded out.
Argh! I have half a mind to don ellon's clothing and hit the road for Balar. Though let's be fair, my direction sense stinks and it is more likely I will find myself on Angband's doorstep instead if I take off alone. Wonder if I can get a message to Gwindor. He's probably the only one left with sense about here. I suppose I will get used to him being one-handed and his scars. Turin turned out to be such a peacock but everyone else thinks I am head over heels in love with him. Fine, he can dance but wait a few more decades and he wouldn't be strutting his stuff on the dance floor with the ladies.
Gwindor
The bridge is up. We might as well start blowing trumpets and roll out the welcome mat for the Black Foe and his minions. Campaigning? I remember my last campaign. Fancy banners and trumpets, shiny armour and glorious rallying speeches. Look where I ended up. Fourteen years in the mines of Angband, that's where. Even Lord Ulmo is not keen on His Majesty's new take on our fight against Morgoth. I wonder how Finduilas is holding up. I heard from the butler she and Turin were dancing all evening. Well, I doubt she will be keen on leaving her life as princess here.
Too bad Lord Cirdan's envoys did not stay around long enough for me to join them on the road back to Balar. I will miss Finduilas but I doubt she will miss me much. There is nothing left for me in Nargothrond. At least in Balar, I might meet my Atto, as disappointing a reunion that will be. I'd like to meet up with Tyelpe again. I wonder if he can fashion an artificial hand to help me out with life a bit. Nothing too fancy, but enough to help steady a broom and such.
Author's Notes:
Can't really blame Orodreth there, can we? He isn't going to be around to witness the sticky end of Doriath. It is too bad Gwindor and Finduilas did not manage to talk to each other and hatch a plan to elope to Balar, but given Turin has effectively jinxed Nargothrond, they might end up eaten by werewolves or something.