A/N: A gentle reminder that there's that Major Character Death at the end of this chapter.
Chapter V / The long defeat
He has dwelt in the West since the days of dawn, and I have dwelt with him years uncounted; [—] and together through ages of the world we have fought the long defeat.
– The Lord of the Rings, Mirror of Galadriel; said by Galadriel about Celeborn, but Edhellos might have said the same about Angrod
The first time that Edhellos visits Doriath's king and queen with her husband, she is made to feel fairly welcome despite her being one of the Noldor. Artanis, Galadriel as she now wishes to be called, is glad to see her and at once introduces to Edhellos the man who gave her her beautiful new name. Edhellos is happy that her sister-in-law has finally found a man she deems worth loving. He does appear to be worthy of Galadriel's fierce-wise spirit; if not otherwise, then by his adoration of her.
The second time Edhellos accompanies Angrod and his brothers to Doriath, hidden, bitter truths spill free from her husband's lips after provocation by Thingol, and they receive confirmation from Melian the Maia's lips just how much of the Prophecy of North applies to them too.
The prophecy lies heavy on them, dark and inescapable, as Edhellos with Angrod and Aegnor rides home in silence and in shame that angers them all for it is mostly for the deeds of others. Yet they rebelled too and they must pay the price, whatever it will be.
It takes many peaceful years in the cool sunlight of Dorthonion for some of that weight to fade from their hearts.
With Thingol's ban on Quenya, Edhellos grieves the loss of her name in her first language. It is the name that her mother gave her, and she always treasured being Eldalótë, flower of Eldar. She only ever hears it from her husband's lips now, whispered or cried out at private moments.
'You have followed me through every danger, my Eldalótë', Angrod says at one of those cherished moments in the quiet and warmth of their bed where they lie side by side. The roaring flames in the fireplace do well at banishing the cold and dampness that plagues Dorthonion for much of the year.
He traces his hand down her side, leaving it to rest on her hip. There is a small scar there from a poisoned orc-spear that tore through her armour. Angrod bears a larger one on the side of his neck. Strangely, after two great battles, the strike that caused that wound was dealt by a small scouting party of orcs with foul weapons, forcing Edhellos to face the possibility of life without him.
But the wound healed, and Angrod is no less fair for the scar, and he is stronger than ever.
Edhellos blinks and returns to this moment. 'I would follow you through more', she murmurs.
'You may have to.' The set of his jaw is serious. Edhellos knows his worry and feels it too: they believe that apart from the high king, the other rulers of Beleriand don't take the threat of Morgoth seriously enough, rejoicing and trusting too much in the time of peace.
'Then I shall.' Edhellos tips her head up to kiss him softly. 'Do not worry at moments like this, my beloved. We can do that in our council room.'
'Mm. I shall follow your wise advice.' Angrod kisses her back, less gentle, and tips her on her back and settles above her. 'And I find I am not yet weary, my faithful wife with soft lips and silken hair.'
Edhellos raises her hand to gently touch that twisting scar on his neck, and then to his short hair that frames his face as a gleaming curtain. 'How fortunate that I am not tired either', she tells him.
Angrod's smile is the sunrise. 'Let us tire each other out, then.'
Time passes, and things keep changing though the peace lasts. Orodreth marries a lovely Sindarin girl with serious eyes and a silver-bell voice. Soon after their first child is born, Finrod completes his great project in the south and moves there, handing control of his watchtower on Sirion to Orodreth.
Edhellos has not cried since the Ice but she cries when she says farewell to her son and his wife and their child with grey eyes and golden curls, dear and sweet. It is not a dreadful farewell – she intends to visit often, though the ride down from the highlands down to Sirion is arduous – but it tears at her heart like few things could.
Dear Aegnor stays, at least, the last one left of Edhellos and Angrod' family which once felt so large gathered in the high halls of Tirion or the white-sand beaches in the Bay of Eldamar.
Finrod, the eternal wanderer, discovers the Secondborn whose coming was one of the reasons for Fëanor's rebellion. They do not seem like much of a threat, fleeing the threat and shadow of Morgoth and his followers. Finrod in agreement with Angrod and Aegnor gives one group of Men, faithful to Finrod, a corner of Dorthonion to reside in. Their lord Boromir sends several young, keen ones of his folk to Minas Avras to learn new skills under the tutelage of Angrod, Aegnor and Edhellos' people.
Edhellos gets to know those who stay to serve them. How strange they seem at first with their unfamiliar speech, how fleeting their lives.
Yet how much joy and grief they contain in those short lives – how many births to match the swiftly arriving merciless deaths.
Once Edhellos gets to hold a young baby that is the ninth child of its mother. She marvels at the tiny fingers and toes, as perfect as those of any child of the Eldar, and at the mother, who seems tired but not utterly drained in spirit.
There are none among the Eldar who have fathered or mothered nine or even eight children. Edhellos cannot but regard the Secondborn, and especially their women, with respect. She is glad that her people's skills can help them live longer and healthier lives. How many more dangers there are to them in the world!
And how dangerous one of the Edain's strong-hearted, wise-hearted women can turn out to be to a man of the Eldar.
One day Aegnor leaves with a few of his men to ride a long patrol around Dorthonion, as he often does. Two weeks later he returns, changed.
Edhellos comes to welcome him home when she is told that he is back. She finds him stabling his horse.
'Welcome back, Aegnor. Is all well in our land?' Aegnor turns to him, and Edhellos blanches. 'What is wrong, brother?' She rushes to his side. 'Have you been hurt?'
'I have been dealt a strike from which I will never recover', he answers.
'Where?' She can see no blood or bandages, no breach in his armour.
'In the eastern highlands, at sunrise.' Aegnor busies himself with his horse's tack and doesn't look her in the eyes. 'And again at night on the shore of Tarn Aeluin.'
He will not speak more until the evening when he and she and Angrod are gathered for dinner in a private room, servants sent away.
Aegnor tells Edhellos and Angrod that he met a mortal woman who at once touched his spirit. A few short days they had spent together before Aegnor continued on his patrol.
'She would have come with me but I told her that I cannot bind her to me. Not at this time of untrue peace which may end my life at any moment, and should it spare me, we would be torn apart by age.' Aegnor stares into his wine. 'Yet I will never be free of her. I touched her hand and she…'
'What did she do?' Edhellos begs. Beside her, Angrod sits frozen.
'Nothing but be beautiful in the light of the sun and the scent of heather, and bright like the stars in the dark of a moonless night. The night, the night I said goodbye there was a star caught in her hair', is all that Aegnor can speak before staring, silent, into the fire for a long time. Eventually he says, 'I have turned away from her and I shall never see her again in life – not by intention, not by chance; that much is given to me to see. But the memory of her –' His bitter-sweet words fade away.
'The memory of her you shall always have', Edhellos says quietly. She embraces Aegnor's still, stiff form and takes Angrod's hand, and they leave Aegnor to his memory and silence.
Her heart chilled and heavy for Aegnor, that night Edhellos burrows as deep into Angrod's arms as she can before they fall to rest together.
'We were so fortunate, my love', she speaks into his chest. 'We found each other young, and there happened to be no obstacle in our way. Our boring love story, as Maglor and Fingon called it long ago, is the best thing I could imagine happening.'
'I know.' He sighs into her hair. 'Even if Morgoth should break the siege tomorrow and slay us, we have had centuries to love each other. Aegnor didn't get a single moment of love unsullied by heartbreak.'
Edhellos almost cries at that, and Angrod holds her so tight within his arms that it is as clear a demonstration of grief as tears from him would be.
The brightness of Aegnor's eyes is ever dimmed since that day apart from in the heat of battle when it is more fearsome than ever, as if he were avenging the loss of even more than before.
'We must flee now, my lady, if we ever will! The enemy is drawing near', one of the guards calls to her, coughing from Morgoth's foul smoke that for the first time reaches even their highlands.
Angrod and Aegnor rode to battle earlier, leaving Edhellos to lead the defence of their home in case the enemy overruns Dorthonion. She looks wildly around her, a painful band constricting around her heart at the sight of her beloved home and her brave people.
She is no great fighter but she is a princess of the Noldor and she has forged herself a heart of a warrior over the centuries nonetheless. She can see the tops of distant pines red with fire. There is no safe route to flee to the lands of their allies, and Edhellos will not lead her people to hide in dark caverns and wait to be hounded out of them.
'We will stay and fight to defend our home', she tells what remains here of her people, and her heart rises to a battle-song at the sight of a fierce will rising into their eyes.
They stay to fight a battle that appears hopeless, as is the wont of their people. As she draws her bow at the sight of the enemy approaching, she prays that at least her son and his family will be spared this onslaught of fire and fell creatures, or that he can fight it off. Orodreth was only a child when they fell under the Doom; children should be spared such judgement.
Her prayer will most likely go unanswered, but pray for her child she must even if she can expect little aid from the Valar she turned her back on.
She wonders how Angrod fares in the battle he rode to.
When only hours later Edhellos' armour is pierced by a foul black sword, and all the world is red with fire and pain, she doesn't know if all the pain is hers or if she has been given the strange mercy of drawing her last rasping breath at the same time as her ever-beloved.
A/N: I want to warmly thank everyone who has followed (or read in one go) this fic about less-known, less popular Silmarillion characters.
I enjoyed writing Edhellos' story in spite of its sad ending.