Chapter length: ~2,200 words
Chapter IV / The land of pines
From the northern slopes of Dorthonion Angrod and Aegnor, sons of Finarfin, looked out over the fields of Ard-galen, and were the vassals of their brother Finrod, lord of Nargothrond; their people were few, for the land was barren, and the great highlands behind were deemed to be a bulwark that Morgoth would not lightly seek to cross. – The Silmarillion: Of Beleriand and Its Realms
The first few years in Beleriand are hard though nothing alike in hardness to the treacherous ice that Eldalótë still walks on many nights, only to rouse within the warm hold of Angaráto's arms. His bare skin against hers is a blessing that quickly grounds her in the moment.
She breathes in the smell of him and lets herself fall to rest again, in search of better dreams.
There is little need for a gilder in the first, hard years and decades. Eldalótë instead makes use of the spinning and weaving skills that her mother-in-law taught her. It is good to be of use, and like all of her family, she lost long ago any notion of being above hard work because of royal status.
Working at her loom that they purchased from the Sindar for one of the treasures Findaráto brought with him, Eldalótë cannot help thinking of Eärwen weaving white sails for her father's fleet of white ships. For her sake, and for Elenwë's who became as close a friend to her as their husbands are, she stays as far away from Fëanáro's sons as she can. She is glad, though, that Findekáno saved Maitimo from his torment and that the fractured Noldor are working together towards shared goals again. Under the leadership of Nolofinwë, she believes they can prosper in this new land.
But though she is as polite with everyone as she always is, she will not forget the particular part that Fëanáro and his sons played in their coming here. There will always be a shard of the Ice in her heart for them.
She stays behind when Angaráto goes to the kingdom of Doriath as Findaráto's messenger.
'I assume it is best that you do not flaunt your Noldorin wife in case he would count that against you', she says. 'But do take Artaresto with you. He looks more like you than me, and speaks Valinorean Telerin as well as if it was his only tongue.'
'I am loath to leave you behind when I journey to lands unknown to us', Angaráto replies.
She rummages in her trunk. 'The grey-elves and our own scouts say that the way is safe', she says over her shoulder. 'And I shall not be lonely, or if I shall, Aikanáro shall be equally lonely, the constant companion that he is to you, and he and I can keep each other company.' She finds what she was looking for, a golden ribbon for his golden hair.
Angaráto snorts. 'I will never stop wondering how you did not grow tired of his 'constant companionship' decades and decades ago. I feared it at the beginning of our marriage.'
Eldalótë smiles, and tells him to stay still. 'I could not have married you if I didn't like him too. And –' she ties his hair neatly back so it will stay off his face when he rides '– he is my brother too. For many years now.'
Angaráto turns and kisses her. 'I am glad. When the time comes to decide where we will settle, Aikanáro and I would like to share lordship of a realm.'
'Of course.' She pokes him in the chest. 'But do not kiss me while we talk of him!'
Angaráto is angrier than she has seen him since the betrayal of Fëanáro when he storms back into their tent from the council of lords, much earlier than she expected to see him.
He paces around the tent, furious, fuming, but silent. Eldalótë asks whether it would make him feel better to shout and he replies bluntly, 'I shall not, or I'll be no better than the thrice-accursed sons of Fëanáro.'
Eldalótë understands. 'Which one was it this time?'
'Carnistir, again.' Angaráto sighs, and sits down next to her. 'He insulted his brother who agreed to me being sent to Elwë as messenger, and me, and my mother all in one short angry rant.' He tells her what exactly was said, and adds, 'It stings my honour and pride that he should insult my parentage so when I and my brothers and sister have fought through all the same hardships as Nolofinwë and his children, and indeed through more than he has!'
Eldalótë shakes her head. 'Maitimo will no doubt rebuke him as always, but how we shall settle these lands and fight our battles together with Carnistir and his brothers who are more like him than Maitimo, I do not know.'
With the help of great distances, it turns out. Maitimo sends Carnistir to settle in the eastern land that lies at the feet of Ered Luin, and Angaráto's land is to be much more westward.
They ride to their new realm with eager hearts, and a few hundred eager followers of Arafinwë who have chosen to come to the highlands of Dorthonion to live under Angaráto and Aikanáro's rule. Most of them are bold warriors who acquitted themselves well in battle and prefer staying closer to the threat of Morgoth should he send his troops forth in battle again to going further south with Findaráto. A smaller part of them are grey-elves who want to leave the land of Mithrim where they had loss and sorrow.
Eldalótë would have preferred a land more to the south and west, close to the people of Círdan who look favourable upon the kin of Olwë. But Findaráto will keep all that land, for Angaráto and Aikanáro volunteered to take on the watch in the northern highlands.
As they ride there, this time it is Aikanáro who carries their father's banner in honour of Angaráto as the older brother, though they have agreed to be equal lords.
Eldalótë keeps a tight hold on her new horse's bridle. Like their other horses, she was a gift from Maitimo, or Maedhros as he has quickly taken to calling himself. In amends, he gave many of the horses he brought over on the swan-ships to Nolofinwë – Fingolfin, now – and Nolofinwë distributed them among his lords.
Eldalótë's horse is a young mare. She is a little skittish but manageable and shows promise, and Eldalótë certainly wasn't too proud to accept a noble beast of Valinor. It has been wonderful, one of the most wonderful things since their arrival here, to ride out with her husband and son and feel the wind on her face and the power and speed of her horse under her.
It is even better to be riding to their new home. The scouts and grey-elves have told them that the highlands east of Mithrim and south of the green plain of Ard-Galen are rather barren, growing mainly pine, and rainy like Hithlum. It will be home, nonetheless, their first home after a long time of journeying. It will be the realm that Angaráto dreamed of, long ago in a different land, and Aikanáro too.
Once they are settled in the place of their new home and begun building their citadel, Minas Avras, Eldalótë and Angaráto decide to give each other new names rather than deciding the forms of their names themselves.
They both want to keep their most-used names and only translate them but in the language of the grey-elves, there are alternative word-forms as well as binding sounds in the place where two elements join together to choose from.
'Edhellos', Angaráto whispers against the heated skin of her neck one night, and lowers his head to kiss her breast. 'It flows soft and sweet on my tongue, like you do.'
'Ah.' She arches under his exploring tongue. 'Ang - oh - Angrod.' He pauses his ministrations of her for a moment, and she explains. 'It sounds as much like Angaráto as possible and I want it to, because despite everything that has changed, with me you are as you always were. Strong and sure and oh, oh –' He has continued his way down her body and she can hardly stay still and certainly not speak apart from gasping out his names, old and new.
She tries to tangle her fingers deep in his hair like she loves to do but it is harder to do these days. He cut it short on the Ice and has kept that way ever since. It doesn't even reach his shoulders.
Edhellos misses the abundant golden fall of it, but she understands. The long cold road changed them all, and that is all right. She has hardened too. Besides finding it more difficult to forgive and acceptable not to, she raises her voice more often now and joins in conversations where she may have stayed still and silent before. Angaráto still sometimes speaks for her like he always has, but only when they have spoken of it beforehand in the quiet of their own chambers, in their own private moments that become ever more precious year after year.
She is more protective of what she has now, being aware of all that she can lose.
Edhellos did not see her husband or other family members fight in the first battle at the Lammoth that took place soon after their arrival in Beleriand. She stayed at the rear of the host at Finrod's request, put by him in charge of the others who weren't fighters of first rank and would only engage in battle if necessary. It turned out to be necessary, and she fought as well as she could; well enough to survive while some in the van who were more valiant at arms perished, including the fearless youngest son of Fingolfin.
Even in Dorthonion Edhellos doesn't become as adept at fighting as her family, though she keeps practising. She can defend herself but not well enough that it would make any sense, still, for her to take part in battles by her husband's side, in the sharp front point of the attack.
She has always prided herself on her common sense. The price of it is accepting things she rather wouldn't, like letting Angrod ride to face possible death so far ahead of her.
She sees her family fight later, from horseback on the side of a battlefield with her bow in hand, on a hill high enough to see everything that happens. It is a revelation. Aegnor, her gentle-hearted brother, roars like a lion and his eyes shine bright with battle-rage. It leaves no doubt in the hearts of the enemy that this is a child of the Light that they abhor; and they quiver before him, and Aegnor with his spirit of wrath cleaves them with his sword that soon no longer shines, dripping with gore.
Angrod and Orodreth fight side by side, father and son working violence together efficiently and mercilessly, their moves as graceful and coordinated as any dance performance and as strong and precise as a smith's strike on the anvil. The golden rays on their shields catch the light of the sun and strike the eyes of the enemy half-blind.
When it is Edhellos' contingent's turn to fire, she with her fellow archers shoots arrow after arrow until their fingers go numb. The enemy falters and fails under the rain of arrows and the swift blows from the long swords of the Noldor.
The singers will call it the Glorious Battle, soon, during more peaceful years when there is plenty of time for songs.
Dorthonion makes Edhellos happy in peacetime.
The crags and the pines remind her a little of the times when she was young and newly married and Angrod took her along on the long wanderings he and his brothers went on in the summers in the north of Aman, north of Formenos even, where the treelight was weaker and the nature barren at the rocky foothills of the Pelóri.
The wanderings took place in the summer because it was warmer even there then, and they made long treks because it was before any of them had children or any responsibilities that they couldn't abandon for weeks.
In Dorthonion, Edhellos once climbs one of the highest pines on the highest tor that still supports growing trees. It is a clear day.
She looks to the north and sees the dark shape of the great peaks of Thangorodrim that hides the fortress of Angband, ever pouring forth smoke that forms a stain on the wide blue sky.
Between that place of abhoration and Edhellos' land lie the grassy plains of Ard-Galen. The sight of the green land always warms her heart. The grass there grows tall and strong despite the proximity of Morgoth's stronghold, and it feeds the growing horse herds of the Noldor. Fingolfin has sent many young horses to Dorthonion, too, valiant war-steeds descended from the horses brought over from Valinor.
She looks to the south and sees the land that Angrod and Aegnor and she rule: encircled by mountain peaks, craggy and wooded, and dear, with its fair, tall trees and clear lakes that reflect the full beauty of midday and night skies alike. She and Angrod have many times ridden to such a lake and spent a night there, enjoying starlight and each other.
As she looks over it all, breathing in the lovely scent of pine needles, she can understand a little of the desire for conquest and exploration that drove her brothers and sister-in-law. This is her land, and she is its lady.