A Journey in Darkness

In Cavern's Shade: 2nd Chapter

"I am a stranger here, within a foreign land;
My home is far away, upon a golden strand;
Ambassador to be of realms beyond the sea."

A great feast it was to be, yet Artanis could not help but feel that it was nothing more than a thin façade. She brushed at her gown, her one remaining proper gown, as Fingolfin raised his goblet to begin the toast. The rest of their clothing was threadbare and the grinding ice had stolen the majority of their possessions from them so that princes now lived as paupers. Yet Findaráto had been the most prudent in protecting his wealth, for he had brought a wealth of jewels and precious metals with him out of Aman, hoping with it to make alliances and barter for whatever they might need but at the moment that hope seemed in vain for all of his wealth did them no good as they could not eat jewels or gold nor could they spin them into cloth.

Artanis had never been a sedentary girl but the hard winters had taken their toll upon her both physically and mentally. It was with embarrassment that she now recalled her words when she and her brothers had debated seeking refuge in Menegroth.

We are the children of Arda, those who have seen the light. We do not need the aid of our dark cousins in order to settle here. Furthermore, why should we wish to put ourselves in their debt? It is below us. Such an alliance would most likely prove to be detrimental. Findaráto had thrown his hands up in frustration. He knew that his sister was intelligent but she could be so headstrong, so stupidly and unreasonably stubborn at times. Artanis felt shame wash over her at the memory and, worse than that, guilt.

The first winter had been the hardest and their joy at surviving the Helcaraxe had been short lived, for many more had perished in that starving time and well did she remember the pangs of hunger she had felt, the way that her eyes had grown sunken, the bony protrusions of her elbows and shoulders. The loss of her beauty, though only temporary, had been a humbling experience.

They had not known how to cultivate the land here nor how to hunt the animals, which were more agile and wary than those in Aman, and they had only survived by happening across several green elves who had been kind enough to show them how to grow root plants like potatoes and parsnips. Yet they had not been able to communicate well with them and the Laiquendi seemed somewhat averse to them, unwilling to let them starve, but reticent to remain in their company. Once they had seen that the Noldorin host would survive, they visited less and less frequently until, eventually, they had disappeared entirely.

The elves of this land were mysterious in that way for, though she was sure that they were all around them, she never saw them, nor did anyone else. They seemed to be entirely one with the land and it concealed them, offering them cover that it did not put forth to the Noldor. Now that she was here, Artanis could not exactly recall what she had supposed before she had come, but it must have been something along the lines of assuming that all the elves of Ennor were some sort of homogenous group. Yet, even in the short time that they had spent with the few green elves, she had learned that this was not so.

There were the grey elves, or the Sindar, the Eluwain as they called themselves, and these were the people of the hidden kingdom ruled by the mysterious king, Elu Thingol that her brothers has spoken so highly of. Then there were the green elves, or the Laiquendi, but they had once been Nandor. Avari there were as well, and they had a very unfriendly relationship with the Sindar. The Noldor had expected to find a virgin land and had instead blundered into a political world of which they had no knowledge. This had been made abundantly clear to them by the green elves who, though they could not communicate extensively with them as they did not speak the same language, were not hesitant to physically show their displeasure with the Sindar or the Avari when asked about them. Yet, at the same time, it was clear that these elves bore far more loyalty towards Thingol than they ever would towards the Noldor.

Fingolfin had once had the poorly thought out plan to send the green elves to obtain information about Thingol but the green elves had become extremely angry at the mention of this. This was the instance in which Artanis had realized that there were elves and then there were elves, for the elves of middle earth were quite different than the elves of Aman, and in unexpected ways. These elves could become quite angry and mercurial at the slightest provocation and had no compunctions about raising their voices or shouting, even if they were speaking to Fingolfin or Turgon, Fingon or Findaráto. Indeed, they seemed not to respect the hierarchy at all and could be downright impudent at times. It was all very shocking. Artanis had had some vague notion that the Noldorin host might be greeted with welcome and great fanfare. Instead, she found that they were avoided, and that Thingol and the Sindar spied upon them from near and far, ever present, never seen.

Perhaps it was this yearning for knowledge of the unknown that fueled her so or perhaps it was the rumors that surrounded the hidden kingdom and its mysterious king, and almost certainly it was in great part due to the enchanting words that Aikanáro had spoken regarding Menegroth but, whatever it was, Artanis had become more and more possessed by the burning desire to see one of these Sindar for herself, to see whether they were more man or myth. At times she could almost feel their presence, knew that they were nearby. She would hear a rustle in the trees or a soft voice upon the wind and it would send her running in the direction of the sound, only to be met with shadows and silence.

And now, today, she had gotten her wish at last. Fingolfin's toast, given in halting but moderately fluent Sindarin, was over and she had heard none of it, caught up in her reverie, but she clapped in applause along with the others before partaking of the feast before her. The food was good, the best she had eaten in a long while, for the Noldor were becoming increasingly adept at cultivating the land and gone were the days of starvation. There was meat on their bones again and friendship in their hearts, for today was a day for setting aside differences and uniting all of the elves in one cause. Ambassadors had come from all the peoples and realms of Beleriand and much effort had gone into impressing the ambassadors sent by King Thingol of the Sindar, for a potential alliance with him was proving to be more and more important.

Whatever her initial assumptions may have been, things were as Aikanáro had said: Thingol was no rustic woodland elf playing at King, but he was indeed a great King in his own right, a king on par with those of Aman. She felt obligated to respect this elf she had never met if only for the reason that he was lord of this dangerous and unforgiving land. He must be mighty indeed to be able to govern such a thing. And then there was the fact that he knew all of their movements. Nearly as soon as Feanor's people had moved into the north they had received an emissary from Thingol asking their business.

Now, Artanis was looking at two of this King's subjects and she had to admit that though she was impressed, she was not surprised, for they resembled the land they were born of, just as she had supposed they might: they were tough. There was one called Dairon and the other called Mablung and both of them were tall in stature and strongly built, unlike the green elves and Avari who were more willowy and shorter. Only Dairon wore a tunic, though its style and cut was quite different than those of the Noldo, and the one called Mablung was clad merely in deerskin leggings, leather bracers, and a strange silvery-grey cloak that seemed to blend into the shadows. The one called Dairon also wore a suede jerkin over is tunic, the skin of his hands and face, for that was all that was visible, as pale as snow, but Mablung was bare-chested and burnt by the sun. It was quite the contrast when compared to the ornately brocaded and stiffly starched clothes of the Noldor but the Sindarin garments were finely made, even if they did not wear very many of them. Still, the green elves wore considerably less than even the Sindar, sometimes employing clothes made only of leaves; there was indeed a stark contrast between the two peoples.

Dairon was the taller of the two, with long mahogany hair that was tied into two braids and keen, flashing copper eyes set in a kind face. Mablung was not as tall but he was built like an ox, thick and powerful. His pitch-black hair was shaved on the sides but stood up straight down the center of his head, ending in a long ponytail tied with a strip of leather. His face was sharp and angular with simmering blue eyes and a seemingly permanent wry grin; there was something about him that was almost sensual. But all that she could do was look, for they did not speak Quenya and Artanis did not speak Sindarin. However, they were managing to communicate with her brothers, who also did not yet speak Sindarin, as well as Fingolfin, through some sort of hand gestures and, despite the relative lack of conversation, they seemed to be enjoying themselves.

Artanis could feel the lust for wandering rising in her heart once again and she fantasized about asking them to take her with them to their hidden kingdom, where surely all had eyes like theirs, filled with mirth rather than the light of the trees. What wonders must lie there, what fantastic things, she wanted to see all of it!

"Artanis," the somewhat annoyed voice came from her left, startling her out of her thoughts.

"Yes?" She asked and Angaráto rolled his eyes as he sopped up the sauce on his plate with a bit of bread.

"For the Valars' sake sister, must I keep calling your name? Artanis, Artanis, Artanis, you are more harebrained than mother's forgetful old cousin lately."

"My apologies brother, though if you weren't running your mouth all of the time I might have more of a propensity to pay attention. It is a cumbersome task indeed to pluck but a few flowers from a garden of weeds." Angaráto elbowed her and she elbowed him back with a laugh. Then he grasped her elbow and pulled her close so that he might lean down and whisper in his ear.

"Look at them," he said and she followed his gaze to where her cousins sat at the far end of the rustic wooden table, dappled sunlight falling upon six sets of shoulders. "Do they look repentant to you?" Artanis shrugged.

"A tiger does not change its stripes…" she began.

"…and birds of a feather flock together." Angaráto replied and Artanis knew by his words that he had not forgotten the harsh things that Caranthir had said to him when he and Aikanáro had been newly returned from Menegroth.

"Exactly." She replied. "They'll do it again, when given the chance." She sighed. "Do you think Findaráto is sincere in his trust of them?" Her brother nodded, swallowing his wine.

"It's Findaráto, of course he is, have you ever known him to be anything other than sincere? He wears his heart on his sleeve and one day it will get him killed."

"Don't say such things Angaráto!" She whispered, feeling a dark shadow move across her heart. "Have we not contemplated enough dark things already?"

"Better than ignoring them as Findaráto would have us do. If word of what Feanor has done ever reaches Thingol's ears it is better that we were first friends than foes. Perhaps the judgment will not be as harsh. We ought to tell him ourselves. Believe me, I have met him."

"It is not our place," Artanis began, twisting her dress between her fingers nervously, her eyes glancing up momentarily towards where the two Sindarin emissaries sat, but they were chattering away in their own strange language, blissfully oblivious to the tensions around them.

"If not ours then whose? Maedhros? The Feanorians will never say anything.

The fact that we did not participate ourselves in no way exempts us from the blame. Do not forget that we could have stopped them, ought to have stopped them, and yet we stood by out of fear for our own safety and fortune. Someone ought to tell Thingol." Angaráto fumed quietly.

"I fought," she insisted, "and besides they are leaders in their own right, Findaráto and Fingolfin…" Artanis began, even as she knew that she was merely trying to avoid the topic. Yet even as she spoke she knew that her words were not her own, for truthfully her heart lay with Angaráto's argument, though when first they had arrived she had thrown in her lot with Findaráto. She did wish that hotheaded Angaráto would stop speaking of it already. The Sindar were sitting right there and though she knew they did not understand, it still seemed to lack in tact and decency.

"Findaráto, Fingolfin, the Feanorians, they are all in another king's territory." Angaráto said, accentuating each syllable. "And he is not one to be messed about with, this…" he almost said Thingol's name but paused, noticing how the two Sindarin heads kept bobbing up at each mention of their king's name, "king," he said instead.

"I am still sour with you over that. Do not think I have forgotten." Artanis said, furrowing her brow and pushing food about on her earthenware plate. It had not been fair at all. Her older brothers were always running off doing exciting things with Turgon and Fingon and she was always left behind with the women and, worse, the babies, which she didn't even like. She had braved the Helcaraxe and she could shoot better than any of them, even her father said so, yet they were always leaving her behind. They never said it directly, yet she knew the reason and saw past their excuses; they were frightened of her visions, just as her parents had always been, frightened that she would fall and hurt herself, frightened that they would not be able to deal with her when she entered that state of mind. Recently the visions were getting worse and still she could not manage to control them, was not even sure if it could be done.

"Aikanáro and I had to ride fast. We could not waste time. Besides, we were unsure of whether or not we would be welcomed." Angaráto dismissed her anger.

"I am a faster rider than either of you and you know it!" She scowled.

"It has been fourteen years," her brother laughed, "surely you cannot still hung up on that little sister." He put her off again. "And, furthermore, if I recall correctly it was with great joy that you greeted us upon our return."

"Only because I wished to hear the tales of your journey and because you were a welcome alternative to them," she nodded towards her cousins at the end of the table. "You went to Menegroth without me and you knew how much I wanted to go and how much I wanted to meet the Sindar." She said, her voice rising. The two Sindarin heads bobbed up again at the mention of their capital city.

"Artanis," Angaráto took her elbow, "keep your voice down. It wasn't as though we excluded you intentionally, we merely did not think to ask you."

"That is the problem Angaráto, I am always an afterthought," she said drolly, sipping from her wine. Her brother was on the verge of a reply when the two Sindar cut into the conversation, perhaps having sensed the tension that had arisen between the siblings. Dairon looked at them expectantly and said something but Artanis and Angaráto were at a loss as they were ignorant of the languages of the elves of Middle Earth, most of all, the language of the Sindar, having directly dealt with them the least of all.

While Artanis and Angaráto frantically tried to understand, the Sindar seemed not to share their anxiety, merely staring at them with kind and somewhat hopeful faces. "Could you repeat yourself?" Angaráto asked hopefully.

"Aikanáro, you don't need to speak so slowly and loudly. They aren't deaf!" Artanis hissed.

"What do you want to know?" She asked, shrugging her shoulders and throwing her hands up as if to pantomime incomprehension. Mablung laughed and said something but they still could not understand. The Sindar laughed again and Dairon drew out a piece of paper and a charcoal pencil, drawing two figures. One was a circle with lines coming out of it and the other was a plain circle with five-pointed stars surrounding it. He pointed towards the sun and then placed his finger on the circle with lines.

"Oh he means the sun," Angaráto said, pointing at the sun himself to confirm. Dairon nodded enthusiastically. He pointed at the drawing of the sun again and then at the real sun, pantomiming it moving across the sky, then he pointed at the other drawing and did the same thing. Artanis and Aikanáro stared blankly for a moment and then Dairon repeated the gesture while Mablung said something in Sindarin. Then they both imitated the questioning gesture that Artanis had made.

"I think he means the sun and the moon," Artanis said to Aikanáro. She repeated Dairon's gestures and then pointed to the two drawings. He nodded but still seemed a bit puzzled. Turning the slip of paper over he drew a mass of stars on it and then pointed up at the sky, moving his hands as if to show that there were thousands of stars up there. Next, he drew a round circle on the piece of paper amongst the stars then pointed up at the sky, drawing a circle in the air with his finger. He pantomimed a look of surprise then and, suddenly, Artanis understood.

"The sky was dark and there were only stars then, poof, the moon appeared! They saw the moon and the sun moving across the sky. They want to know where the moon and the sun came from!" She said, excitedly, repeating Dairon's motions. The elf smiled and nodded enthusiastically.

Artanis took the paper from Dairon and began to draw. First, she drew the two trees of Valinor and drew rays of light emanating from them. This seemed somewhat incredulous to Dairon and Mablung and they poured over this drawing for some time.

"Thingol," Dairon said, pointing to the trees.

"Yes, yes, Thingol has seen them." Artanis said and they seemed to have reached some sort of understanding.

"Ernil, Celeborn Ernil." Beleg said, pointing at one of the trees.

"What does he mean?" Artanis turned to her brother.

"Celeborn is the prince of Doriath, do you recall? I met him briefly when I was there, but did not speak to him much as he does not speak Quenya. Ernil….I know I have heard that before." Angaráto pointed at himself. "Ernil?" He asked and Dairon nodded. Then he pointed to Findaráto and Aikanáro, further down the table. "Ernil?" He asked again and Dairon nodded again. Angaráto pointed to Artanis. "Ernil?" Dairon shook his head.

"Riel," Beleg said. "Ernil, Ernil, Ernil, Riel." He said, pointing to each of Artanis's brothers and then her.

"Celeborn Ernil?" Angaráto asked, pointing at the drawing of the trees. Mablung laughed raucously and shook his head. When the two Sindar stopped laughing they began the explanation again.

"Celeborn," Mablung said, pointing at one of the trees. "Glawar," he said, pointing to the other. "Celeborn," he said pointing back at the other tree.

"They call one of the trees Celeborn and the other Glawar," Artanis said.

"I think so," Angaráto replied. "And only Thingol has ever seen them. They lived in darkness here until the rising of the sun and the moon. But which tree is which?"

"Celeborn. Celeborn Ernil," Dairon said, then pointed at the tree again.

"Celeborn Ernil?" Angaráto asked, taking a strand of his own golden hair between his fingers and tugging on it. "Menegroth, Celeborn Ernil?" Mablung nodded then pointed at the tree again.

"Celeb, orn," he said, then he took out his mithril dagger, pointing at the silver blade. "Celeb," he said. Then he pointed at one of the beech trees behind them. "Orn," he said.

"Celeborn is Telperion, the silver tree," Artanis said, the realization dawning over her. "And the prince of Doriath is named Celeborn."

"Yes, I think they are trying to say that he was named after the silver tree, and that Thingol named him after seeing the trees. He has silver hair." Angaráto said.

"Is he Thingol's son?" She asked and her brother shook his head.

"His nephew," Angaráto replied. Mablung pushed the paper back towards Artanis, gesturing for her to continue her story. She drew the great spider, Ungoliant, and showed her piercing the trees, draining them of their light, and then she crossed them out, drawing them dying. She could tell by their gasp of horror that the Sindar understood and they began to whisper between themselves. Artanis continued, drawing Yavanna and Aule creating the sun and moon out of Telperion's silver flower and Laurelin's golden fruit. She then drew these two moving across the sky and the Sindar seemed satisfied, sitting back and sighing mournfully. They continued to talk amongst themselves for a few moments and then Dairon turned to Artanis once more and asked her something, raising his hands to his eyes as if weeping mournfully.

"Was it sad?" She asked. "Yes, it was very sad indeed." She motioned crying and the Sindar nodded gravely.

"I like them very much indeed!" She said later, after the feast had disbanded and she had been forced to speak to her much-loathed cousins. "I do wish that I could have gone with them. I should so much like to see Menegroth."

Findaráto laughed at her enthusiasm. "As should I little sister. Perhaps we may one day go together, hm?"

"I should like that very much," She said. "Angaráto said that it is a place of wonders: a thousand caves and each one of them a magical living forest. Melian is as beautiful as the dawn and as terrible as an earthquake. Thingol is wise beyond measure and the Prince Celeborn exceedingly clever. Then there is Luthien, the princess, and she can sing like the birds and dance in a way that enchants all who see her. She is nearly my age too, imagine, we might become friends!"

"Is that so?" Findaráto asked. "Well," he said, turning towards his sister and favoring her with his kind eyes. "As you know, I am not like Aikanáro and Angaráto, content to follow Fingon and Fingolfin into the Northlands. And, when at last I am ready to build my own kingdom I intend to go to Thingol to ask him permission."

"When you are ready?" Artanis said, laughing, "brother, you have talked of nothing but founding your own kingdom since first we arrived yet twenty something years have passed and still we wander about as nomads, living here and there."

"It has to be exactly right you see." Findaráto said with a wink.

"The place? And how will you know that it is exactly right?" She queried.

"Because I will! Because I will just know!" He said, taking her hands and spinning her about in a circle while she laughed. Despite their differences, Artanis did love her brothers very much and, most of all, Findaráto was her favorite.

"This is very finely wrought Frerin," Celeborn said, holding up the glittering chainmail, admiring its delicate yet strong craftsmanship in the light of the fire from the forges. The smithies had never been his favorite place; something about not being able to see the trees and sky, or at least the likeness of them, bothered him and he had always had a particular aversion to fire. Yet, he knew how much the dwarves from Nogrod coveted the king's recommendation and Celeborn was the king's ears. He hefted the mail, amazed at how light it was.

"Ho ho! I am very glad to hear that, very glad indeed," the dwarf said, the trinkets in his braided beard jingling as he laughed. "But you do not like armor do you Master Celeborn?" He asked, reaching out to take back the mail a little more quickly than was polite, almost as if he half expected Celeborn to steal it.

"I wear it when Thingol requires it of me, but truth be told I prefer leather. Yet there are many of the wardens, and the king himself, who I am sure would be glad for the protection that such quality dwarven mail can offer," Celeborn replied with a smile.

"Celeborn of the trees. You and Beleg," Frerin said, "there's a green elf bent to the both of you, and there was to that Amdir too." And, though he was smiling there was a hint of dissatisfaction in his voice. It was one thing that set Celeborn ill at ease when the dwarves of Nogrod were around, that tendency to be dissatisfied with anything other than exactly what they wished. He much preferred when it had been the dwarves of Belegost who had resided in Menegroth.

"Whatever my personal preferences may be," Celeborn said, "I know fine work when I see it and I shall be glad to give my recommendation to the king on your behalf if that would be agreeable."

"A purchase order would be more agreeable," the dwarf said bluntly. "My people have done fine work here and we are growing tired of these continual delays."

"I understand your concerns," Celeborn told him "but you must understand that my people do not do things in the same way as yours. It is not uncommon for such things to take them awhile." However, in the back of his mind he was beset with doubts, for it seemed that the dwarves believed Thingol had made them some promise about purchasing their wares and Celeborn began to worry that Thingol may indeed have done just that and then neglected to inform him. The king had a regrettable habit of making promises when he was in exceptionally good spirits and then not following through on them later.

"Not everyone has all the ages of the world to wait about," the dwarf glowered. "If you mean to come here and tell me that you, you who has the king's ear, you who are the king's hand, cannot do anything about this situation then I shall have to call you a liar sir," the dwarf huffed.

"You would be correct to say so," Celeborn said with an uneasy laugh. "Peace, Frerin. I shall speak to the king on your behalf and I assure you that this situation shall be soon remedied."

"So much for the promises of elves," the prince heard the dwarf huff as he left the smithies.

"Look at her! Isn't she spectacular?" Thingol asked, watching as Luthien bounded about the hall with the other revelers in a wild dance. He and Celeborn sat together upon a pile of cushions, leaning against a pillar, well into their cups. All about the hall the inhabitants of Menegroth, both elven and dwarven were doing the same, feasting and reclining and making merry, for today was a particularly special day: Luthien's begetting day.

"Of course she is. There is none finer," Celeborn said with a grin, assuaging the king's fierce pride in his daughter as he refilled both of their cups with cold beer.

"You know," said Thingol, pointing at Celeborn with a finger made less steady by the amount of alcohol that he had imbibed, "I still recall with exquisite vividness the night that she was conceived."

"Uncle!" Celeborn laughed, shaking his head. "There are certain things that I neither desire nor need to know."

"Just you wait nephew, one day you too shall know the joys of fathering a child and then you shall know exactly what I am talking about," Thingol said with a grin.

"I fear not Uncle," Celeborn said, "for I am well past the marrying age now and I have no luck with the ladies."

"A greater lie I have never heard," Thingol said with a booming laugh. "There is not a single woman in this city who does not secretly wish for an offer of courtship from you and many a married one as well I would reckon," he said with a wink while Celeborn shook his head in mock exasperation at his uncle's teasing. "How can you not be interested in any of them?"

"I have plenty of experience uncle, if that is what you are implying," Celeborn said. "Too much perhaps. I find that I have had an aversion to courtship entirely for the past few decades."

"It would not be wise to extrapolate your experiences with Venessiel onto all women Celeborn. I assure you that not everyone is like her, most are not like her in fact."

"When I find the right woman I shall be sure to let you know uncle," Celeborn said dismissively, taking a long drink from his glass of beer and ardently wishing this conversation were over.

"You know," Thingol said with a conspiratory glance. "This Artanis who travels here with her brother Findaráto, the Finarfinians, she is said to be a rare beauty and to possess a very keen mind. Dairon and Mablung sang her praises after returning from the Mereth Aderthad; hair like spun gold, eyes like the stars, a smile of pure radiance they said."

"I ought not refill your glass for I can see how drunken you must be to suggest such a thing," Celeborn said, even as he poured fresh beer into his uncle's goblet. "A Noldo?" He shook his head. "All I have heard of them has been arrogance. Besides, I care not for golden hair. Cease with this business of pairing me off, I beg of you!" The two of them laughed, reveling in the merriment of the evening, the joy of the music, and the heady feeling of alcohol in their veins.

"As a matter of fact," Celeborn said, "there is something about which I have been meaning to speak to you."

"Celeborn, I am trying to enjoy these festivities," Thingol said, disgruntled, waving his hand about, "this, this celebration in honor of my daughter's begetting day and I can tell from the tone of your voice that you intend to speak to me of some loathsome political topic."

"All the more reason to get it out of the way quickly then," Celeborn said with a smile while his uncle made an attempt to glower at him.

"You plied me with beer," Thingol said accusingly.

"The dwarves are restless," Celeborn told him.

"I thought that was what you were going to say," Thingol said with a sigh.

"You can't put it off forever. You did, after all, employ them to craft things and now that they have crafted what you asked for you delay their orders and their payment. They have a perfectly logical argument."

"I did not lure them under false pretenses," said Thingol, growing agitated. "It was they who wished to come here to use our smithies and I who provided them with an opportunity to do so. I owe them nothing. I should throw them all out." There was a brooding look in his eyes now as he surveyed his mug of beer.

Celeborn pressed his fingertips together and pursed his lips while he considered how best to present the issue to his uncle, frustrated with him. Though, it was not as if he had expected a different answer; when pushed, Thingol generally pushed back reflexively and aggressively, even when it would have been better for him to compromise. Celeborn frequently saw the beginnings of the same reactionism in himself, no doubt a result of the fact that it had been his uncle who had raised him. Indeed, he had acquired many of Thingol's mannerisms, for better and for worse, but, in seeing the harm that was occasionally brought to Doriath by his uncle's reactionary temperament, Celeborn continually strove to mediate his own.

"You saw how many soldiers Denethor lost in the war due to their weak armor and primitive weapons. The blades of our axes were crafted by the dwarves and the heads of our arrows as well. The superiority of dwarven made weapons have been proven, the armor will prove itself as well."

"And our bows were more powerful, our armor, both leather and mail, more sturdy, all crafted by Sindarin artisans. It is not entirely because of the work of the dwarves that we prevailed. If the dwarves wish to utilize our smithies then I shall be happy to have them but it does not mean that I am compelled to buy their wares. Dwarven made armor…" Thingol shook his head.

"Not ready?" Celeborn felt the anger bubbling within him and struggled to force it back down. "Then when, pray tell, is the proper time? Perhaps lives could have been saved with such armor, for it seems to me more sturdy than what we have now. We may have won the war, and we certainly did not suffer casualties as severe as Denethor did, but you cannot deny that our losses were not great. You know as well as I do that something is afoot, something dire, else why would the Noldor have come from Aman? Indeed, this you have confided in me. These are strange times and dangerous ones too. Melian has said as much, should we not heed her warnings? It would behoove us to make ready before we have need to be so. The next war may be more dangerous still." He had done his best to suppress his frustration yet he had not been completely successful and the hints of his anger had bled out into his tone.

"Watch yourself nephew," Thingol said with a glare, his jaw tensed. He eyed Celeborn for a long moment before continuing and Celeborn felt his heart sinking, for he knew by that familiar look that his anger had put his uncle off and Thingol was now all the more likely to reject his petition. "This is about more than practicality; it is about history, about culture. Our people barely like metal armor at all. They are certainly not ready for that crafted by dwarves. It is too drastic of a change for them. None of them want it, would you even wear it?"

"I would be willing to try it," Celeborn said, but he had paused too long and Thingol had read in that silence his unwillingness.

"Would you?" Thingol laughed and shook his head. "Don't play false with me nephew."

"I would try it," Celeborn repeated himself, firmly this time.

"And Mablung, Beleg, have you spoken to them?"

"Mablung said he would think about it."

"Think about it? And Beleg?"

"He thinks that it is too cumbersome to be useful," Celeborn admitted, "but it need only be used in times of war. And besides, might it not be better to part with a little silver and retain the loyalty of the dwarves of Nogrod than to turn them away angry? We might need them as allies."

"No," Thingol shook his silver head. "No. Celeborn, I have heard enough of this." He held up his hand to stop his nephew's protests. "This has gone on for far too many years and you have come to me asking for a decision so, very well, I will tarry no longer. Frerin is out of line to demand such a thing. My answer is no and that is final. No one wants dwarven armor and no one needs dwarven armor."

And Celeborn stood, making to depart from that place, for Thingol was not the only one who was quick of temper. "Your highness," he said tersely, bowing before he departed.