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Chapter 22:
Interlude

Yánadur glanced up as he rummaged around in his rucksack, searching the immediate area again. Still no Makalaurë. Or any son of Fëanáro. Or maybe he should stop expecting them to materialize into the air when they did not even know he was looking for one of them.

"Ah!" He bit off a curse as he jammed his finger against something very solid at the rucksack's bottom. He yanked his hand out and flexed his fingers several times. Wait, that might have been an inkwell. He shifted on his knees and dove back in, pushing through the various items and clothing more thoroughly to find the bottom.

A soft chuckle floated over from his right. "Tent before writing, Yánadur," Nyellewen called with a mild hint of exasperation.

Yánadur glanced at his wife, taking note of the humored sparkle in her eyes before pointedly looking down at her lap where she was sorting through her many needles instead of refolding the blankets, which were scattered haphazardly around her feet with one thrown over her knees. He slowly lifted his eyes back to hers, quirking an eyebrow and lightly pursing his lips as he responded with a pointed stare.

The corner of her mouth twitched. "Quiet," she grumbled, reaching down to pull another blanket up on her lap.

Yánadur chuckled and returned his attention to the rucksack, reaching for the nethermost corners. "There is no need to hurry. We are only to construct a lean-to, remember?"

She tossed the folded blanket aside and snatched up another one, shaking off bits of grass. "Yes, but it will still take time."

"Not too much," Yánadur demurred, finally yanking out the inkwell with a disgruntled grunt. He inspected it briefly, ensuring the seal had not in any way become dislodged before setting it aside, delving back in for the other one he knew was down there. "It is a simple structure, and you heard everything Makalaurë said regarding the encampment. Establishing a more permanent organization of the Host will most assuredly see the two of us moving elsewhere. I know I hold no desire to erect a more stable shelter only to dismantle it again."

"When will that be?"

"I do not know." Yánadur looked up again from where he crouched, this time inspecting the fog as he peered around. He gave an uncertain roll of his shoulders. "Mayhap after the fog dissipates." If it ever did. Instead of dispersing, the fog had thickened and surpassed the heights of trees. Yánadur at first assumed the fog had only accumulated along the Grey Fields on the other side of the river, but he later reflected how foolish it was to assume such a thing when that tempest had assaulted them just as mightily on this side. Even after a subsequent month, the turf was still saturated with moisture, lightly dampening the knees of his leggings. "Surely after. No such rearranging can occur when we cannot see even a pole into the distance." He knew the measurement was an exaggeration, but the fog's density was solid enough as to stave off all visibility beyond fifty paces. He could make out clusters of tents and lean-tos in the vicinity, many Elves ambling back and forth to do whatever they did, even the wisps of wood-smoke from campfires. And what he could not see he could hear all around him, from the overlapping exchanges of Quenya to the ruckus of camping to the Lament again being uplifted by varying voices. He even heard the neighing of horses somewhere off to his left, which indicated that the herd of horses had to be quite near. But that was the extent of his understanding. He could not even determine where in the encampment he and his wife were, only that they were in one of the immediate quadrants of Fëanáro's banner, which had supposedly been hammered into the ground at the encampment's center. He returned to his rucksack, halfheartedly pushing items around. "It will clear in a day or three. A little fog never hurt."

"I know. But folk walking through this way will lay sight on a tent long before they see you and I sleeping on the–" Her words' ending was abrupt. "Laiquisyar is coming."

Yánadur looked up, following her gaze off to the right. Lord Laiquisyar was indeed coming, emerging from the fog with a sureness to his step that said he was not just passing through. And as his searching eyes met Yánadur's, it was confirmed when he suddenly hastened his walk towards them. Yánadur just stopped himself from shaking his head. The sight of the Elf-lord was still an oddity, what with him in a dust-ridden cloak and weathered boots instead of regal robes or silken brocades fastened with silver clasps. Yánadur rose to his feet, brushing off his leggings as he gave a deep nod. "My lord."

Laiquisyar returned it. "Master." He gave Nyellewen a brief grin and nodded again. "Mistress." He looked back at Yánadur. "A quiet word, if you will?"

Eyebrows slightly arching, Yánadur spared a brief glance towards Nyellewen before gesturing off to his right. Laiquisyar followed as he led him a short distance away. "What need you, my lord?"

Laiquisyar peered around at the fog and loitering Elves, but it was a fleeting glance. "Might you deliver a message for me to Makalaurë?"

Yánadur regarded him more sharply but gave a slight shrug. "Well, I would not refuse, but why can you not?"

Laiquisyar made a mild face of chagrin. "I cannot find him. He bounces all over the encampment. I enquire after his location and arrive at one place a person bid me go only to be informed he is elsewhere." His lips pressed into a tight smile. "All it has accomplished me thus far is losing myself four times now in this fog."

"Yet you found me?"

"By happenstance. I was walking onward to another place his Highness allegedly is."

Yánadur stared and gave a slight, wondrous shake of his head, marveling that the Elf-lord could navigate this encampment with any measure of success at all. "Well, I look for him myself and can claim no better success of the task, but if I come to him first, certainly. What is your message?"

"Only that I must speak with him without delay. I will await his summons, but I have received a fair number of complaints and they need to be addressed."

Yánadur's eyebrows shot up. "Complaints? If they are in response to splitting what remains of the tents' material, Makalaurë already knows. It is fine with me to live with a lean-to, but even I confessed to him to being ill sanguine with giving canvas away, particularly after my wife underwent all that effort to plait it. No one is delighted, including Makalaurë."

Laiquisyar was shaking his head before he even finished, looking away as he let out a stiff sigh. "This has naught to do with the tents, Master Yánadur. Though since you mention it, I would remind you that the decision with the canvas was never set in stone. It was but a suggestion since a third of the Host is without lodgings."

Yánadur regarded him more seriously. "Then what for are these complaints if not the tents? Tell me not people are grumbling about the fog."

Laiquisyar's brow puckered as he twisted around to look over his shoulder, but then he grabbed Yánadur's arm and guided him a few steps further away. He lowered his voice, leaning in close enough to invade his personal space. "Yánadur, several people have come to me requesting that the shields not be buried."

"What? Why?"

"I know not fully the reason. Nor do I know if they have taken the plaint to one of our princes, and nor do I know when Makalaurë plans to even do it. But he needs to be made aware of this if the families have not addressed him about it."

"But why would they protest the burial? It is being prepared for as we speak. Surely they explained themselves?"

Laiquisyar gestured helplessly, looking slightly discomfited. "If it can be named a reason. I cannot really say, Yánadur. Several families spoke of not wanting this place to be their departed's final resting ground if we are to relocate again. That they would rather wait to honor them for when the Host is more permanently settled, you understand?"

"Wait now, my lord. Relocate again? What is this you speak of? We are settling on these fields. You know it was decided to reside here. The Host knows it."

"I know, Yánadur, I know. You need not retell it to me. I did as Makalaurë's runners relayed and all of the Host was called to heed him before his banner crossed over the river. But the families I speak of seemed —" He hesitated. "— unconvinced of the plan to establish our home here. They said no words to that effect, but it was the impression I gained and his Highness needs to be informed. So…." He lifted his eyebrows in question. "Know you his whereabouts? I have searched for well over two hours now."

Yánadur gestured the question away impatiently, his frown deepening into something sharper and even alarmed. "My lord, are you saying some people believe that we will be migrating south? Is that what this is about? I know you to be a lord of eloquence, but pray spare me it now."

"Truly, I do not know. I speak honestly, Loremaster. But regardless of what I speak or conclude, the princes need to be informed of the families' appeals. It may be Makalaurë will talk with them and proceed on anyway with burying the shields, but I think he would take what they say into account."

"There would –" Yánadur faltered, eyes flicking over Laiquisyar's shoulder where he caught sight of a familiar face newly emerging from the fog. It was Vëantur and for a moment Yánadur thought he might be just ambling around, which was possible since this speck of land was in the confines of Fëanáro's banner. But he moved with a sure-footed step directly towards them and Yánadur hesitated further. He looked back at Laiquisyar and gave an unobtrusive bow of his head. "I shall relay it to Makalaurë if I see him, or refer you on the matter since he will most certainly seek to speak with you directly on this. But Commander Vëantur comes, so I will bid you farewell if it is your will that passersby not know of that particular plaint."

Laiquisyar lifted his eyebrows and glanced behind him, moving a step or two to the side as Vëantur came nearer. He tossed Yánadur a meager smile. "Preferably yes." He turned to Vëantur, dipping his head. "Well met, Commander."

Vëantur returned the nod with a weary one of his own. "My lord. Yánadur." Yánadur resisted the temptation to raise his eyebrows at the sight of seeing the Commander finally without any armor or armaments strapped to his robust frame. Not even the customary dirk that every warrior now rarely went without, that was currently buckled even to his own belt. Vëantur either did not notice Yánadur's reaction or ignored it all together as he addressed Laiquisyar, gesturing behind him from the way he came. "Prince Makalaurë is looking for you, my lord."

Exasperation flickered in Laiquisyar's expression before he closed it off, a wry grin twisting his lips as he exchanged a look with Yánadur that was at a cross between aggravated and humored. "Where is he?"

"The gardens." Vëantur gestured behind him again. "For his own banner. The third quadrant, I think. Or second? He is in his banner regardless and should still be there. He just arrived from Tyelkormo's. I crossed him on the way."

Yánadur's smile towards Laiquisyar was more genuine this time, touched with a hint of drollness. "Well, I would fain say Vëantur's account has profited you more than I, my lord. I trust you need none of my assistance anymore?"

Laiquisyar harrumphed dryly. "For now, you mean to say. The way my hunt for him has progressed, he will have left the gardens come the time I arrive." He turned on his heel and left the two of them, giving a nod towards Nyellewen as he passed her. "Mistress, a pleasure."

She angled her eyes up at his address, eyebrows lifting as she hastily gave an awkward bow from where she sat with multiple materials now piled in her lap. She looked at Yánadur, brows hiking up further in question. He gave a short, dismissive shake of his head. He turned back to Vëantur and speared him with a lighthearted glare, cocking his head to the side. "Does Makalaurë truly search for Laiquisyar or merely said you so to send him away?"

Vëantur tossed a hurried, almost discreet glance in Nyellewen's direction before grabbing Yánadur's arm in a far fiercer grip than Laiquisyar had and pulled him even further away. "We have a problem."

Yánadur hummed. "Your astuteness fails you if you have finally realized that."

He clenched Yánadur's arm even harder and gave him a brief, stern shake, his expression darkening. "Withhold your jests, Yánadur. This is serious."

Yánadur sighed. "I know, Vëantur, so pray release my poor arm. Laiquisyar just told me."

Vëantur let go, brow faintly creasing. "How came he to know? He was not there."

"Was not– You speak not of the shields?"

"What about the shields?"

Yánadur frowned, looking between Vëantur's eyes but seeing nothing but genuine confusion there. He hesitated, shifting back a small step. "What problem have we, Vëantur?"

Vëantur slid his eyes away, giving a small, reluctant shake of his head. "It concerns Maitimo's banner. I went and spoke to them. In Sornion's place, that is. I know –"

"How did I not hear of it? That is no small gathering."

"The laurel branch is arranged along the east-northeast right now, so Maitimo's people did not exactly have to congregate. I know I had no real right to address them, but after Fëanáro's sons I know not who is properly next in authority except you and me as commanders."

"Yes, yes. Go on."

"Well, Maitimo's people are unhappy, to say the least."

Yánadur regarded him skeptically and not a bit grimly. "A reality even one half drunk can glean. What say you, Vëantur? That Maitimo's people are forlorn when that is now foreseeably the longstanding state of his banner? That particular problem is nothing new."

"No. I mean rather that they are displeased with their Highnesses. Right now. With their decision to forsake Maitimo to Moringotto. I went to them to gather their numbers – Makalaurë is collecting them for Curufinwë to figure as he and Fëanáro did for the first encampment," he added. "But Fëanáro assigned me that duty as his Second, so I assumed the same was bidden of Sornion. Yet Maitimo's banner would not spare my ear when I addressed them. I do not fault them for their discontent, mistake me not, but Makalaurë needs to be aware of it."

Yánadur stared at him uncertainly as he lapsed into silence, his frown deepening, and he opened his mouth to question just what it was the Commander was attempting to say without actually saying it. Sudden realization swept over him. "Wait now, you bring this to me so that I may tell Makalaurë?" he demanded in barely curbed incredulity. "Really? I thought you above such guile, Vëantur. Valar, from what I know of you, I believed you not even capable of it."

Anger flashed in Vëantur's eyes as he gave a sharp shake of his head, looking mildly uncomfortable. "It is no matter of guile, Yánadur. I come for your ear, your perspective as well, and yes, I confess, to ask you to say this to Makalaurë. But not out of guile," he insisted tetchily. The uneasiness in his face grew and he gestured openly, as though it were obvious. "You know him, know all of them better than I do and I know not what to conclude with this, know not what to do, and sweet Elentári, I hardly know how to bring such a thing to Makalaurë, doubly so when I know I may be seeing something that is not there. Tirion's unrest still haunts me and I fear to be predispositioned in my judgment of this. Valar, I cannot find it within myself to even fault Maitimo's banner for how they feel. They are bereft without Maitimo, leaderless without him or Sornion, and it was difficult when facing them not to sympathize with how Makalaurë's decision affected them."

Yánadur narrowed his eyes. "I thought you supported Makalaurë's decision."

"I do. But that does not mean I cannot empathize. If it were Fëanáro in Maitimo's place…." He trailed off with a soft sigh, looking suddenly tired and the weariness tempered the stiff set to his shoulders. He looked at Yánadur less harshly, almost in commiseration. "Maitimo is no less than Fëanáro to me, but there is a sea of difference that cannot be crossed between the two when compared, Yánadur. Maitimo still lives and his people's fealty to him is rearing its head. Its loud head."

Yánadur glared at him in mounting unease. "What then do you say? They mean to actually defy Makalaurë?"

"No." Vëantur faltered, his expression shifting with a hesitance that was completely unbecoming of him. "I do not know. No one suggested anything of the sort, but….Valar, just while seeing the lot of them, it was made plain to me just how massive Maitimo's following is, even more so now since many of those following Fëanáro migrated to his banner as liege. Which also made me realize that I very much need to learn what that spells for me as Fëanáro's Second, for all of us who marched under his Star."

"Then what problem is there exactly? No one can fault Maitimo's people their displeasure without being named a hypocrite, but Fëanáro's following is even larger than Maitimo's and you speak no ill of them."

"Because the fire of Maitimo's banner is still burning, Yánadur," he snapped, expression darkening with frustration again. "Fëanáro's is not. Do not act the charlatan with me by feigning some cold disinterest at their response to the princes' decision, not when all who know of your own accord with Fëanáro's House can guess the place Maitimo holds in your heart. The people of my sire's banner, they are quiet. Resigned. Many moved themselves to Maitimo's banner even though they still congregate before Fëanáro's, but now Maitimo is gone too. Along with Sornion. In that vein, they are more fractured than my sire's banner being without its liege and Second, despite it being lesser in number."

Yánadur dithered but then gave a grudging nod. "True. But do you –"

"Vëantur!"

They spun around, finding themselves faced with a swiftly approaching Carnistir. Yánadur let out a huff of air. Finally, he may speak with one of them! He almost voiced the sentiment aloud, but Carnistir's unmistakably irked demeanor kept him quiet. His attire was just as relaxed as Vëantur's, even more with how he wore only a billowing white shirt and dark leggings, but by the hassled expression on his face, he was more strung up than the Commander was. The Commander whom Carnistir now regarded with a look that was almost a glare, though the confusion that crinkled Carnistir's brow stopped it from being anything more than an intense stare. "Did you collect Maitimo's numbers?"

Vëantur frowned, shoulders stiffening. "Yes," he answered cautiously.

Carnistir gave a nod as he came to a halt, the confusion clearing and the intensity of the stare wilting away. "So they informed me when I went to do it myself. Give them to me before you retire, as well as my father's. Or to my Second if you cannot find me."

Vëantur's eyebrows rose. "Halatiron received the healer's release?"

Carnistir nodded. "He is on his feet, though not wholly hale, so he will not take up all the duties as my Second just yet. You know where my banner is?" Vëantur nodded. "Good, then. And would both of– What face is that, Yánadur?" Carnistir quirked at eyebrow at the steaming exasperation Yánadur failed to mask then and there.

Yánadur pulled a sullen look. "Nothing," he grumbled. "I just seem to be the only one who cannot navigate the encampment in this fog."

Carnistir exchanged a fleeting glance with Vëantur, a glimmer of what might have been amusement sparking in his eye, but it was there and gone all too quickly. "It helps if you just walk it, you know. Once you identify the banners' sites, it is simpler. But the both of you search out your Captains and see them informed of the meeting on the morrow. Safety is paramount and we need to organize the scouting and rotation of sentries."

"Captains only from the ranks of the Noldohossë?" Yánadur asked.

"For now, yes, though the lords of the Host will be present. Numbers to me, Vëantur," he reminded distractedly as he turned away. Yánadur opened his mouth to call him back and he even heard Vëantur draw in a breath at the same time, but Carnistir only went a few steps before he spun back around, pointing at Yánadur and looking decidedly chagrined. "And Yánadur," he added after a moment of hesitation, and he could not quite meet Yánadur's eyes as discomfort visibly grew. "The conversation we had before Moringotto's messenger came?" He waved his hand. "Forget it happened. Please?"

Yánadur resisted a small smile. "Forgotten, young one."

Carnistir narrowed his eyes at the quirk of his mouth but gave a single nod, turning back around. Yánadur bit off a curse. "Carnistir!" he called.

"Highness!" said Vëantur at the same time.

Yánadur looked over at him, mildly curious as to just what the Commander wanted. Carnistir slowly spun back around on his heel, his dark eyes swiveling impatiently between them before he nodded at Vëantur. "What?"

Vëantur shot a questioning look at Yánadur but plowed on. "May I acquire an audience with Makalaurë, Highness? I have a suggestion concerning the Seconds. I do not know when he might have an hour free, so I can await a summons."

Carnistir stared at him in no little bewilderment, but then the stressful lines of his face noticeably eased as his eyes softened. He almost seemed to deflate a little bit, his shoulders relaxing, which Yánadur could not make sense of since faint traces of exasperation made their way into the shrewd look he was giving Vëantur. "You are still my sire's Second, Vëantur," he said solemnly. He lowered his head, jaw clenching as his voice grew more subdued. "Though Atar is now gone and any authority of your position as his Second with him, we intend not to dishonor his memory by forgetting that. You still have leave to approach us as you will."

Vëantur was silent, his face an unreadable mask, but his dark eyes shined with a disconcerting light as he nodded his head only once in response to whatever he took from what Carnistir said. But the single nod was evidently enough for Carnistir because he turned to Yánadur. He waited with an air of expectation and then gestured openly when Yánadur did not so much as open his mouth. "Yes?"

Yánadur hesitated further, ignoring Vëantur's gaze that he could now feel burning into him like an iron brand, but ignoring even more the very acute sensation of discomfort that surged through his chest as he reached into the pocket inside his jerkin. He withdrew the broken parcel of hair with a stiff jerk of his hand and held it out towards Carnistir, unable to meet the prince's eyes and whatever look might be in them. He stared into empty air, swallowing thickly. "Take this from me, Carnistir. I will not bear it another day."

Though roughly spoken, his voice was unyielding and he did not lower his hand. He still could not summon the courage to turn up his eyes, and part of his mind chided him for it, but neither he nor Vëantur spoke. He waited, allowing the silence to grow awkward and intense, but then he felt Carnistir close the small gap between them and take hold of the parcel. He did not snatch it away, but he was not calm about it either. Yánadur looked up to watch Carnistir's back as the dark-haired Elf hurried away with as swift a gate as he came, disappearing into the fog. He resisted a sigh but nonetheless relished the relief at no longer feeling that stiff bundle press against his ribcage.

"The time Carnistir allocates to conversation grows shorter by the day," Vëantur commented idly. He raised an eyebrow at Yánadur, eyes inquisitive. "What discussion spoke he of? What happened?"

Yánadur waved the question away. "Nothing." He then reached out and smacked Vëantur's shoulder none too lightly, earning a surprised and baffled look from him. He glared back just as stringently. "Why did you not say anything?" he demanded. "Now was as ripe a time as any to express your concern for Maitimo's banner."

Vëantur let out a resigned sigh. "Because I know not if it is a legitimate concern to express. Being unhappy is not grounds for a problem, Yánadur. If it were, then the whole Host is guilty of being a problem. But there are so many of them under the laurel branch and frankly, all of them combined with those of Fëanáro's Star is like having a bear with a sore head ambling around the encampment. Actually, I think I would prefer a bear with a sore head. It would be easier to face." He raised his eyebrows at Yánadur expectantly. "So, will you tell him?"

Yánadur grimaced, the indecision plain on his face as he regarded the Commander reluctantly. "It is not within me to withhold any pertinent information regarding the Host, but what exactly am I to tell him when –"

He was interrupted by the mellow-pitched blowing of a pipe. He spun around in slight disbelief to look at his wife, who had abandoned the cloths on her lap and was now playing a melodic, cheery tune on her time-weathered gemshorn. Yánadur felt a small, sad smile touch his mouth as he recognized the children's lullaby, a smile that grew into something more humored as he looked at Nyellewen pointedly. She held his gaze, her agile fingers never slowing or faltering as they moved along the seven holes, and Yánadur gained the impression that if she had not been preoccupied with blowing into the instrument, he would have felt her meaningful glare at full force. He nodded his understanding at the silent message, turning back to Vëantur as she kept on playing.

Genuine amusement stubbornly turned up the sides of his mouth even further when he saw Vëantur regarding his wife with complete perplexity, shooting quick, questioning glances his way. "She can hear us," he explained. But any gaiety left as he consciously lowered his voice. "But really, what am I to tell Makalaurë when everything you say may only make smoke instead of anything with real substance? Even you express doubt to there being any truth in it. And to be truthful, Vëantur, I cannot believe the Host would yield to such division and strife. We are stronger than that, above it. Valar, it was that passion of the Host's fire and ambition that carried us across the Sea and to these fields."

Vëantur looked at him somberly, a bitter set to his expression. "All due respect, Yánadur, I think the fire of the Host died when Fëanáro did."

Yánadur frowned, shaking his head. "That is not true."

"Is it not?" he retorted skeptically. "We are all here because Fëanáro revealed to us how wondrous Endórë is. Without his fire lit under us, I doubt we would be standing here having this conversation. Our people would have dreamed and yearned from afar, yes, but would never have stepped foot from the white streets of Tirion."

Yánadur did not respond to that, had no response if he was honest with himself, and he finally relented with a brief sigh, his shoulders dropping. "Very well. I will bring it to him, or try to."

"Thank you," Vëantur said in clear relief. "I dread the thought of starting such a conversation, but…."

Yánadur shrugged it off. "I may as well. I need to speak with him, as it is."

A new, curious light entered his eyes. "Oh? Is all well?"

Yánadur grunted in consideration and crinkled up his face, looking away into the fog. "I believe so. I have just been meditating on something he said about their Oath."

"What of it?"

"Well…." Yánadur wavered at the insistence in Vëantur's visage but mentally kicked himself, rolling his eyes at his own hesitance. "Everything that has unfolded this past month suggests that Maitimo and I were correct in what we postulated in the fissure. You remember, no? That Moringotto would rather see us gone from Endórë than engage us in war?" Vëantur nodded. "Makalaurë concurs, but the day Moringotto's messenger came? When you came to where we sat on the sward? Before you did, I enquired of Makalaurë what he could want of Maitimo, why he does all this at all. I still believe it to be principally true that it was a shrewdly wrought design to see his will accomplished without surrendering a Jewel, in that Maitimo is the real means of appeasement. That he will be victorious with all three Silmarils in the end. Crowned by them, evidently," Yánadur added morbidly, mouth twisting down. "But with Maitimo –"

"Valar, Yánadur," he uttered in a harsh undertone as he took a step closer, face shadowed with grave concern. "Are you planning to open the debate anew if we should depart from Hísilómë or not?"

Yánadur lifted an eyebrow. "Last I recall, there never was a debate."

Vëantur nodded. "There was not. But Yánadur, this is a mess right now with Maitimo's banner alone. Do not misunderstand me, for I am not saying you should keep silent, but just have prudence in whom you choose not to keep silent with. You see it as well as I how people are becoming somewhat desperate for some manner of an explanation or resolution to all this. We cannot afford a riot on our hands if this spirals out of whatever control is still holding the Host together."

Laiquisyar's side of their conversation knocked meaningfully on his conscience, but Yánadur shoved it down, lifting up a hand to stop Vëantur's talk. "Three points of contention I now hold with you. One, you did not let me finish. Two, I never said I was going to reopen a debate that never happened. And three, what I was attempting to say I only intended to discuss first with Makalaurë. But this reticence of yours – yes, reticence! It is unlike you. Always you are strategizing and endeavoring to find a solution to the problem. Since when do you act so charry with whom to speak about something unpleasant?"

"I said not you should tell no one, just to be careful in whom you tell, whatever it is you intend to say. And I apologize for interrupting. What you said even now goes to make me rethink several things, but –"

"Then why do you bid me keep even that quiet?"

"Because any such speculation still provides no answer as to why he took Maitimo and only him." Yánadur could hear the frustration in his voice and the frown that now etched its way into Vëantur's brow only made it more pronounced as he spared a brief glance towards Nyellewen again. He lowered his voice even more. "If leverage was Moringotto's objective during this whole thing to really give us incentive to depart, any person with half a brain would have kept the rest of those Elves alive. Valar, could you imagine the weight those fallen Elves' families and friends would have put on Makalaurë's shoulders had they been held hostage? But instead, Moringotto killed them. Instead he most assuredly gave their families all the more reason to fight this war against him instead of giving them an incentive to do as he tells us to do. So why only Maitimo?"

Yánadur was nodding, somewhat blearily. "I know, I know. Makalaurë and I already discussed this."

"And I with Tyelkormo and Curufinwë. I mean not to repeat any discourse you held with the prince, but yes. The incentive to send us away is probably true. In this I have no qualm believing you and Maitimo were correct in such speculation, but there is something unseen to our eye, Yánadur. Something fails to add up as to why he wants Maitimo."

"And what do you think?"

Vëantur opened his mouth but paused, lowering his head with a small shake. "I do not know, but just be careful. That is all. Regardless of what we say, the Host is going nowhere, the princes the least of them. Their Oath keeps them here and frankly, no pleasure lies within me to go elsewhere either. Even if it is true that Moringotto solely aims to see us gone, there is not by any star I would swear to believe he would just let Maitimo go. Why would he? Why, when he could use him as leverage for something else against us, particularly if we gave into it this first occasion and thus prove to Moringotto that using Maitimo as a bartering token actually works? He owes us nothing and there are none to hold him to his word."

Yánadur stared at him for a long moment, eyes darkening as they slipped away. "I had not thought of it in that regard. But you are right. There is nothing to suggest Moringotto would not push another bargain if he is successful with this one."

Vëantur shrugged. "Or I am wrong. Mine is one supposition among many."

"Have you told one of them of this?"

Vëantur shrugged again, more dismissively this time. "Why trouble them with something that would amount to nothing? There is nothing to support it and the Host is near enough to a state of upheaval. And we are here to stay in the Grey Fields, so why aim to bring forth fire from a spark?" Vëantur turned to retreat back the way he came, appearing both more vexed and sapped by their conversation than when he first arrived. "With your pardon, I should retrieve those numbers for Carnistir before I forget. Or before he disappears."

Yánadur reached out, grabbing his arm and hauling him back. "Hold now, Vëantur. Their Oath is what I intended to talk about before you interrupted."

Vëantur absently brushed down the crinkles in his jerkin where he had gripped it. "Ah yes, their Oath. What does it have to do with this?"

"Well…." Yánadur swiveled his eyes off to his left, discomfited. "Perhaps nothing. Part of me feels it to be a foolish query, but believe you Moringotto knows of their Oath?"

Vëantur leaned away, clearly taken aback. "No. How could he?"

Yánadur nodded, his brow furrowing. "So I thought also."

The bemusement grew. "Where came that question from?"

"Nowhere, really. As I said, it was but something Makalaurë said, or inferred, rather. Just another tenuous supposition among many, so do not trouble yourself with it."

"Why? What spoke he?"

"Well, it was only a thing he mentioned in passing. We were discussing the bat's message, why he felt prone to distrust it, and Makalaurë said that Moringotto knew they are to remain here because of their Oath. It led me to since wonder what difference it would make if Moringotto knows of their Oath or not, if it would make any difference at all."

"A good question, but again, how could he? Particularly when he goes unaware we are even in exile?" Vëantur nodded at Yánadur's quizzical frown. "Despite the conditions, both messengers of Moringotto bid us return chiefly unto Eldamar. Why would he demand that of us twice over if he knows we are unable to?"

"Hm." The hum was not anything cynical, but Yánadur still considered him uncertainly, demurring with a roll of one shoulder. "I suppose so, though I can little fathom one such as Moringotto being so grossly misinformed. Yet you are right about his messengers. I purposed to enquire Makalaurë about it, but now perhaps I should just let it be."

"I am not saying to censure yourself, only that Makalaurë may have simply spoken without full awareness of what he said. Who can say? He might just retract the suggestion if you make mention of it." He turned to walk away again, looking back at Yánadur one more time with raised eyebrows. "You will inform Makalaurë?"

Yánadur raised his eyes to the sky. "Yes!"

"Thank you." He headed off, giving Nyellewen a relaxed salutation as he passed her, to which she returned with a half bow that was made awkward by the gemshorn's hampering. But she maintained the rhythm, not stopping her blowing until Yánadur trailed back over to her side. He lowered himself alongside his rucksack once more, unfolding a collapsible stool to sit on instead of kneeling. He sighed, leaning on his knees as he tossed a wry glance towards his wife. "Not particularly subtle, were you?"

She shrugged, wiping off the mouthpiece with her frock. "It was the first thing to come to mind short of yelling at you to lower your voices." She looked to her left, squinting as she peered into the fog to where Vëantur had disappeared. She turned back to Yánadur, eyebrows lightly peaked together as she searched his gaze. She hesitated, glancing to her left again. "Is everything well?"

Yánadur evaded her gaze. He absently pursed his lips, staring down at the lopsided pile of blankets between them, momentarily humored by the lack of care she paid to their folds. "I do not know." He raised his eyes up to hers, shaking his head with a spent sigh. "I just do not know anymore."

O = O = O

Makalaurë ran his thumb over the broad leaf of the cabbage shoots, staring at its deep pigmentation in slight amazement. He leaned back, resting his hands on the hull of the wagon as he slowly shook his head at Sinyalvë standing just off to the side. "Praise be to the obstinacy of plants, I think. It is a wonder the life the vegetation still lives with, despite all the circumstances that should have shriveled up their roots."

Sinyalvë hummed in consideration, not appearing as taken aback. "I will not complain. I have often found myself pondering since coming to Endórë how these Moriquendi live off the land, or rather how the land manages to thrive without the aid of Laurelin. Or how our own gardens did not die after the death of the Trees. Starlight is hardly enough, or so I have always thought."

"Well, I am certain the Valar achieved some longstanding method to see these dark lands flourish, mayhap even disclosed it to those who enquired. Perhaps the Moriquendi themselves know." He cocked his head, gaze traveling along the rows and rows of maturing buds and those so matured they were already flowering. And then his eyes moved up further and around to observe the many more carted gardens that surrounded the one he stood at. "I may be no gardener, but I think it is time to uproot these heads, as well as the rest of the foodstuff sprouting."

Sinyalvë turned towards him. "Already? What of the soil?"

Makalaurë waved the question away, still perusing the cultivated plants. "It will be in fine fettle. We will still survey the soil more thoroughly as we did east of the river, though more at leisure, I think. There is no reason to assume the Grey Fields will be any different on this side. Just start planting. They can always be uprooted again. And we need to see granaries built sooner than later, so there is no reason to delay."

"Granaries? We will begin to build actual structures, then?"

Makalaurë shook his head. "Only granaries for now. The construction of more permanent housings will be discussed at the next council, but do not raise your hopes too high. Such amenities are far off, and we will still long creak our shoes on timber floors before even plain masonry."

The Elf-lord grunted. "A pity. I know many would rather proceed on with finally building their own lodgings than plait more canvas. We have housed ourselves in naught but tents since our coming to Endórë and I myself do not deny craving the sight of solid walls again. I often left Tirion to hunt with my grandchildren, so I have never minded a long duration of camping, but now I think I loathe its perpetuity."

"Priorities, my lord. And food comes before comfort. Sowing the fields for cropping is our next priority."

"How many granaries? Surely not for all the gardens of the Host. It would be impossible to build so many."

"Of course not. They will be only for the communal gardens, just as it was in Tirion. Each person is responsible for the health of their own garden." He fell silent, a slight frown creasing his forehead as he calculated the many numbers with each banner. But he shook his head again with a small wince. "It is too soon to determine until all the numbers of the banners are gathered. We can deliberate a more accurate number then, but just start building them. I would rather have spare granaries readied to be filled than a shortage of them, not that such will happen. A number will long be determined before even five are constructed."

"Stilts or stones?"

Makalaurë made a face at him. "You really ask that? Stones, of course."

"I only ask because a substantial time will be spent in searching out that many rocks and then hauling them to whatever patch of land will be the granaries' foundations. And there is no guarantee we will find enough of those specific rocks considering how many granaries need to be built."

Makalaurë vacillated at that, eyes trailing away from Sinyalvë's gaze as he mulled over the words. "A fair point." He sighed. "Stilts, then. But only until the stones are acquired, granary by granary," he emphasized. "Stilts will not survive another storm akin to that one a month ago."

Sinyalvë frowned at him. "You anticipate another storm of that might?"

"Contingencies, Sinyalvë," he intoned meaningfully. "We should have begun devising plans for them long ago."

"True enough," he conceded. "What of the gardens, though? You called me here specifically for them."

"I want them readied to be uprooted and I am asking you to arrange it. Begin with my sire's banner; it is the largest in every regard and can be used as a model for the others. My brothers and I will deliberate the encampment's layout with the Council and implement it come the fog's dissipating, so we will know where to build the granaries then." He tossed a humorless grin towards Sinyalvë. "And regardless of the time to have passed, the soil is assuredly lush for planting after all that rain." He looked out at the expanse of tumbrils, gaze flicking between the many Elves and even children standing alongside their mothers loitering around their wooden hulls. He tapped his palms against the rim of the cart before him, stepping away. "Consult with the gardeners. If Laiquisyar comes, tell him I await him at my lodgings. He knows where they are."

Sinyalvë looked at him not a little sternly. He pressed his lips, gesturing at Makalaurë to wait. "If I may be so forward, Highness, Laiquisyar can answer you later. You need to rest. I can see the fatigue plain in your face."

Makalaurë leveled a steady look on him, allowing the silence to stretch for an uncomfortable amount of time, but Sinyalvë maintained his gaze with a grave one of his own. He canted up an eyebrow almost audaciously, his voice unmoved though not loutish. "I shall be in my tent, my lord. Pray relay it to Laiquisyar should you see him."

Sinyalvë stared at him for a long moment, almost looking as though he was ready to argue the point. But then he lowered his eyes, a flash of disappointment briefly appearing in them even as he gave Makalaurë an obsequious bow of his head. "As you say, Highness."

Makalaurë nodded in return and walked away before another word could be said.