Chapter Eleven: An Encounter with Elves
The figures in chainmail were Elvish, of course, and neither I nor the couple of men I had brought along could understand a word. This was balanced out by the fact that the Elvish guardsmen were similarly unable to understand Adûnaic, as evidenced by their lack of response to our slow and careful questions. The encounter may have resulted in bloodshed, embarrassment, hand gestures, or some combination of the three, but fortunately Elendil was more than willing to act as a go-between translator. I knew I had made a sound decision in taking the lad with me.
"He says 'why do you come armed to this land'?," said Elendil to me, after one of the Elves barked something at us. "Also, he says to speak Sindarin. He once served Thingol of Doriath, and hates Quenya."
Not being able to speak Sindarin either, this made no great difference to me. "Tell him we come in peace, and that we wish to see King Gil-galad."
Elendil translated that into what was presumably Sindarin. The Elves glowered at us with their hideously ancient eyes, and then nodded. One of them muttered something.
"He says that you may see Gil-galad, but that you must hand over your weapons before you enter the High-King's presence," said Elendil.
I consulted with my men. It seemed a reasonable request. "Tell him we accept."
Elendil translated, while I undid my sword belt and handed it to one of the Elves. My men did likewise, as did Elendil. We were then led through the streets of Harlond to a large central hall. Part wood, part stone it was no more inherently impressive than any building one would find in central Armenelos, yet it carried with it a certain intangible flavour entirely lacking in Númenórean architecture.
On entering the hall, I discovered a large fire burning in the centre of the room, the smoke disappearing through a hole in the roof. An Elf with a thin careworn face and dark braided hair stood warming his hands. He was clad in simple green, embroidered with a device of twelve stars. One of the Elvish guardsmen walked over and whispered in his ear. The Elf turned to face us.
"Visitors from Númenor," he said, in accented Adûnaic. "Welcome to our humble abode. I am Ereinion, known as Gil-galad. Alas, but the domain of the High-King of the Noldor is not what it once was. "
"So you can speak our language!" I exclaimed.
The Elf smiled. "Of course. Your tongue is a changeable one, but variants of it are slowly becoming the Common Tongue of these lands. We Elves are what you would call old-fashioned, but we would be poor traders if we did not have a grasp of the language of our neighbours."
"But your guards couldn't understand us!"
"That is what you think," said Gil-galad primly. "Congratulations, by the way, to the young man for his excellent grasp of both Sindarin and Quenya."
Elendil beamed, while I gritted my teeth at the game the guardsmen had been playing.
"May I enquire as to your names?" said the High-King of the Noldor.
"If it please my lord, I am Elendil son of Amandil," said Elendil, bowing. I cringed. One would have thought that he was a servant of the Elf lord, rather than a man of Númenor.
"Amandil? Is your father of the line of the Lords of Andunië, by any chance?"
Elendil nodded. "Yes, my lord. He is the Heir to Lord Numendil."
"A most excellent man your father is too," said the Elf warmly. He turned his gaze to me. "And you would be?"
"Calion," I said, using the Elvish form of my name. I hadn't used in in years, if ever, but I decided that the Elves would appreciate it. "I am nephew of Tar-Palantír, of the line of Elros Tar-Minyatur."
The warmth melted from the Elf's face. "Pharazôn," he said.
I saw no point in denying it. "That is correct. I have spent much time in these lands, but have never visited Lindon."
"So, Pharazôn son of Gimilkhâd, why do you come to our halls?"
"I ask for aid."
Gil-galad laughed haughtily. "You ask for our aid? Is this a jape?" He was as venomous as my uncle, I thought, but the long years of immortality had soured him well beyond Inziladûn's level.
"No," I said, keeping my temper. I told myself I could hardly have expected anything different. "I wish to remind you that we have a common enemy in Sauron of Mordor. Númenor has the ability to crush Mordor if only our Empire put its mind to it."
"So one lot of slave-drivers defeats another lot of slave-drivers. Why should we care?"
What happened next surprised even me. Elendil of all people piped up. "Because there is hope for Númenor."
"Precious little," said Gil-galad.
"But more than there is for Mordor," said Elendil. "Or have the Elves forgotten that they too were once victims of pride and perpetrators of atrocity?"
I wanted to hug the lad. Comparing Mordor with Númenor may have been ludicrous, but he visibly had Gil-galad on the run.
"Númenor has a King who worships Elves," I said, seizing the opportunity. "Yet my uncle refuses to attack Sauron. If you can convince him that an assault on Mordor is necessary, Númenor can purge this great evil from the world. This is the aid I of which I spoke."
"You expect me to sail Númenor and beg your King to change his mind?" His tone was of clear disgust. Gil-galad no doubt thought that such petty political games were above his immortal people. Pointy-eared hypocrite.
"I do not ask that of you," I said. "I merely ask that you write him a missive suggesting an attack on Sauron. My uncle will treat any document with your seal attached as virtually divine."
"You can join forces with our King when he lands," said Elendil eagerly. "An alliance of Men and Elves to combat the Dark Lord of Barad-dûr."
"Re-enacting Tar-Minastir and his armada?" said Gil-galad. "I remember that, back when Númenóreans were still loyal to the Valar. But that was many centuries ago, and for all Tar-Palantír's efforts, the shadow is now too ingrained upon Númenórean hearts. I will not sully my people by marching alongside such Men. But as for the missive, I shall think on it. In the meantime, you may stay in Harlond and enjoy our hospitality."
"Do we get our swords back?" asked one of my men. Later I told him that I was not paying him to ask stupid questions.
"You will have your weapons back when you leave Harlond," said the Elf King. "Not before."
So it was that we spent some weeks at the court of the High-King of the Noldor. I was thoroughly bored very early on in the piece, and had to content myself with playing dice with my men. I generally lost, which did not improve my temper. Elendil naturally loved the Elvish township, and would spend hours speaking with its eldritch inhabitants.
"Did you know, Pharazôn, that my pronunciation was all wrong?" he said to me one day. "I was using the Fëanorian thorn, rather than the more generally accepted 's'. Gil-galad said he hadn't heard the thorn in many centuries, not since Maglor disappeared."
"That's interesting," I said, barely able to conceal my boredom. "Kindly remind Gil-galad that we still await his pleasure."
Finally, as I was seriously contemplating packing up and setting sail without the missive, Gil-galad called us back into his presence. He held a scroll in his hand, which pleased me no end.
"Well, Pharazôn," he said, "I have considered your request, and I have decided just this once to accommodate your wishes. Believe me, I shall only do this on one condition."
"Which is?"
"That you never worm your way into my sight ever again."
I took the scroll, and bowed politely. Getting the missive was what I wanted. As for not encountering Gil-galad again, well, the feelings there were perfectly mutual.
"But as for Elendil here," said Gil-galad, "I feel our young Elf-friend needs some token of our affection to carry home with him. I therefore make you this gift."
A large wooden chest was brought in. The High-King opened it, and Elendil and I looked inside.
"Seven crystal balls?" I scoffed.
Gil-galad gave me a withering look. "These are no crystal balls. They are the palantíri of Fëanor, the seeing stones."
"What do they do?" I asked.
"They see," said Gil-galad. "Now be gone from my sight!"