Chapter Fourteen

The Éothéod knew they were in a trap when the Dunlendings appeared out of nowhere.

In truth, they were a few miles south of where they were told the Easterlings had camped.

Riding calmly, they tried on keeping themselves hidden as much as possible, and very quiet, but of course it was a trap to begin with. The 'deserters' were in fact spies.

Ælfnoð halted and pulled his reins when he realised they were in a bottle-neck- in a dry valley surrounded by cliffs too smooth with little handholds for any man to scale on either side, and it was a tunnel valley, he thought in shock. It was too narrow for large things such as men on horseback and they were too closed in together. It did not matter how large their forces were and how dangerous men on horseback could be in battle. If there was not much room, wholescale armies could be slaughtered.

Only too late did he remember that not all Easterlings were horse-riders such as the ones they had encountered, that were like the Éothéod.

Only too late did anyone remember that they were superb with crossbows and ordinary bows.

Only too late did they realise that they were excellent military strategists and tacticians

Two men in black with black face-cloths covering them wearing exotic brass armour sprung upwards on the cliffs near the furthest end. Then slowly, which gave the horse-lords much room to fearfully realise what was happening, more and more men in black face-cloths and brass armour sprung up crossbows and ordinary bows in hand and arrows pointing towards them.

The Éothéod froze.

One of the Easterling commanders raised a hand slowly into the air, before pulling his fingers inwards into a fist and pushing it downwards.

The arrows loosened and started to fly.

Estela knew they were in trouble.

She rode as fast as she could.

Riding hard, she urged her horse on in Quenya and it moved like lightning it seemed. Her elf-ears could already hear the screams of men and those of horses and they were sliced and cut by the arrows of the Easterling warriors. She had no time to waste.

Technically speaking the other Northmen were occupied- and her divisions of forces had just come to their aid.

It was up to her now.

But her ears could hear faster and further than her horse could ride. After all, the sounds she heard were merely the echoes in a tunnel valley.

"Pull back!" Ælfnoð screamed at his commanders and the rest of his men. "We must pull back!"

The men on horses, despite finding it difficult to ride in retreat quickly in such an enclosed space and with arrows firing upon them no less, by some miracle, managed to do it. It was made especially hard as the fallen bodies of their comrades and their horses lay strewn across the ground thickly.

The horses reared as arrows pierced upon many of them. Some men were killed not by arrows, but by the weight of their own mounts.

After pulling back sufficiently, Ælfnoð knew they had to find some high ground to get to the Easterlings. His men raised their shields, but the shields of horse-lords were not too big as they were needed for mobility while riding. So although the men raised their round shields, a few arrows still managed to pierce the men who cried out just as hit their targets.

Ælfnoð screamed at his men to spread out, now they had sufficient space, and get to high ground, to the Easterlings. Leave their horses if they must, riding was useless here- the Easterlings had drawn them into a place of their own choosing.

Worse yet, the Éothéod were divided- not all of their forces were there. The plan- clever but not when one was fooled- was to send out separate divisions or Éoreds, on horseback, and they would meet again when they ambushed the Easterlings at their supposed camp.

Clearly sending out spies to fool them was a thing of genius.

The Easterlings kept showering arrows at them, and one in particular was aiming his at Ælfnoð. But before he could aim, he let out a sound of surprise as an arrow of another kind potruded from his chest, actually piercing through his brass gorget on his chest. He cried out and slumped, falling forwards below.

More arrows were fired, but not by Easterlings. The Éothéod froze as they saw the Easterling warriors being killed and figures dressed in beautifully detailed but practical armour sprang out of nowhere and started slicing the Easterling warriors with their blades, while their bodies fell down below. The Easterlings reacted in alarm but they had little time to react and turn upon the new arrivals as the elves- that was what they were started killing them. All of them uniformly and smoothly dispatching them to Mandos, as beautifully as their style of fighting could be. The Easterlings panicked and a number tried to attack them in rage, but the elves just kept felling them.

One among them stood out.

Ælfnoð watched with wide eyes as a maiden in armour, sliced through the Easterlings with such elegance and grace it seemed more beautiful than a dance. Her sword flashed like lightning with the sheen of stars and even Ælfnoð and his most hardened of warriors had their hearts pierced by the loveliness and grace of the way she saved them. She could move and bend herself in ways no human could, and her reach and speed seemed without equal as was her strength. Her facewas hidden by her helm, but the armour, detailed and moulded as it was, revealed she was a maiden. She swung her sword and then they saw she had another- she was fighting with two blades, something they had never seen before. She spun her swords and spun herself around, catching a warrior behind her back before anyone knew what happened, striking him at his heart. She pulled her sword out, then turned her attention back to her previous front where more warriors were either trying to kill her or were retreating in fear, parrying another's sword blow. Her other sword stabbed him.

She seemed so light, like she was dancing, they would later tell their children. At one point an Easterling a small distance away fired an arrow at her, she brought her sword up and the arrow head met with the metal and it spun around and came flying back to the archer who subsequently was shot. It was truly a thing of beauty, they thought, even though killing was as ugly as could be. It appeared as if she were in complete control of her own environment, never mind that in a battle, it never was so. There was no flamboyance or exaggerations of any kind as was in dance, it was true and natural grace, as beautiful as could be, perfect, even poise and strength and speed. She seemed to absorb the shock and strength of her opponents blows easier than a sword.

But they had no more time to watch.

Men burst through the clearing, and these were Dunlendings. Their faces from where they could be seen were matted with grime and soot, their teeth were stained and their heads and lower faces were covered with dirty, stiff and unruly hair and they resembled brooms or brushes from the top looking down. They carried pitchforks and torches, crude battle-axes, but they were still deadly foes. They also had torches.

The Éothéod thankfully reacted in time and manged to cut down the first wave of Dunlendings. Regaining their strength and confidence helped and soon the Easterlings had either all been killed or fled. At this point all the elves including the shieldmaiden could jump down to assist the horse-lords.

With this the elves attacked with renewed ferocity and the Dunlendings screamed as they were slaughtered. A few fled, but most of them stayed because they were not cowards.

And then it was over.

The few Dunlendings left realised they needed to retreat and fled. The shieldmaiden raised a hand and the elven archers shot their arrows and felled most, if not all of their foes. It was over quicker than it began.

The humans, panting and gasping for breath turned awed gazes to the elven warriors- in particular the maiden. She took off her helm.

Her hair was the colour of pure burnished copper, much richer and more vivid in hue than any colour he had ever seen- it was not the ginger he saw in some folk and it was shot through with something that looked like pure gold and silver.

But when they saw her face many of them dropped their weapons and their jaws dropped too.

She was magnificent- beautiful, more than anything many had seen.

Her skin was creamy and pale but her cheeks were flushed dawn-pink and her face was beautifully and delicately shaped with a delicately cut jaw and chin. Her cheekbones were fine and elegant, smooth and high, and her nose was delicately pointed and small, tapered to a sharp edge. Her rich hair escaped from its knot and framed her face. She smiled at them, many feeling further breathless.

Some of the horse-lords had never felt so pathetic when she smiled, her rosebud lips were hard not to focus on and her armour was moulded perfectly to her voluptuous yet slender figure. It was very distracting and at least the few women warriors they had heard of actually dressed as male ones in disguise.

Estela walked over to them, barely noting they looked thunderstruck. "The Greenwood elves will be here soon enough," she informed them with a musical voice. "I have no doubt that King Oropher will wish to know what happened, especially if it occurred so near to his borders." She looked at Ælfnoð in the eye. He struggled not to gawk or swallow as she fixed those vivid emerald almond eyes at him. "Do you have any wounded?"

"Several," Ælfnoð managed to say. "We have several wounded." she nodded. "We have medics, and supplies we can share. But we cannot stay long. We are needed elsewhere and the Woodland elves will be here soon enough anyway."

Several medics ran forwards and rushed to examine for any that might still be breathing. Others went to their packs and shared out rations and blankets.

Ælfnoð realised he was still staring. He swallowed. "I am sorry, if I may ask..." he trailed off helplessly.

Estela turned towards him. "I cannot tell you who we are," she said quietly. "We do not come from the Woodland realms and we are not a part of Lindon's elves. But please trust we are here to help."

Then something surged deep inside her, something powerful like a wave, a need, a beckoning of some kind, causing her to grasp her blade tighter. She did not understand it and did not even have time or space to think as a voice of some kind whispered deep inside. Your name, tell him your name...

"Estela," she said. "My name is Estela."

This was the first time in centuries she had ever spoken her name to anyone who was not a follower, a friend or kin and she almost gasped, clutching her sword, delicate fingers pressing down on the hilt it almost hurt.

It was as if something turned upside down within her and she felt as if her fate had changed.

Or maybe something turned the right way up.

It was magic, that which made her do it, the same kind, she must have thought, as the magic that carried her out into the night and led her to the black-haired elf who watched her with wide sapphire eyes.

Ælfnoð did not seem to notice what she felt and bowed deeply. "Then my lady, we cannot thank you enough for saving us," he said. "Do not thank us," Estela replied, suddenly feeling shocked and very afraid the way she had never been in battle. 'You are still in danger yet. You must inform King Oropher and his elves about what has transpired here- and inform them that the Dunlendings are on the side of the Númenóreans called the King's Men, and that they are ravaging Middle-Earth to weaken us while the King's Men prepare for their assault and invasion, sailing as we speak. They will arrive in the Bay of Belfalas. The Haradrim are moving from the South and it is much slower for them, but must be dealt with soon. Please inform him, and your lords that you must all form an alliance with the rest of the Free Peoples of Middle-Earth- or else you shall all fall."

Ælfnoð stood frozen as did his men. Estela looked at them with warning in her eyes. "You are all in grave danger," she said. "You have no time to lose. not unless you wish to be killed, exiled or enslaved."

Oropher was not in the Greenwood at this time, nor was he making his way towards where the Éothéod were.

No, Oropher was riding towards Lindon.

Why in the in the world would the king of the Wood-Elves make his way to the capital of the High Elves upon Middle-Earth?

The pretext was that he needed to meet with Gil-Galad to discuss a possible alliance to deal with the oncoming threat of Númenor- no longer an ally.

The actual reason that Oropher personally came, instead of sending an envoy was to find out the truth.

After riding over great distances, Oropher at last arrived in the palace of the king. He could not help but stop and marvel. One could say what one willed about the Golodhrim, but they did know their arts, and craftsmanship. The Wood-Elves themselves have always needed other elves or dwarves to trade them goods such as weapons like swords and spears and jewellery. The Noldor or Golodhrim clearly did not feel the same need.

Asking on the whereabouts of Gil-Galad, the High King's herald, Elrond Half-Elven founder of Imladris admitted that the High King had currently gone to review and train his troops, but wold be back soon enough. to make up for the absence, the Woodland king was immediately assigned a suite of rooms fit for a king and a chance to refresh himself from the long journey. He declined, although his companions accepted. He had something he needed to do.

Oropher however, had other requests. He asked to go to their library and meet with one of their scholars.

Elrond raised an eyebrow but was too polite to ask anything. He promised to call upon one of his own trusted scholars and personally escorted the king to the library.

The library was impressive- countless books and scrolls piled as high as could be in cases of all shapes and lengths filled with shelves and holes and the artistic decorations were yet again, tasteful and impressive. But Oropher stood there in shock. Where would he start?

Of course, he knew exactly what he needed to find out. The identity of the copper-haired shieldmaiden that had saved them numerous times yet refused to make an appearance to form a permanent alliance.

And he had a very strong idea on where to look.

The scholar arrived soon enough, bowing deeply and introducing himself as Erestor, councillor to Elrond, among other things. "What do you wish me to help you with, my king?" he asked.

Oropher took a deep breath. No need to drop the pretense straight away- take it slowly- no one should suspect, prospective ally or no.

"I wish to learn about the House of Finwë." he said.

Erestor's face went into utter surprise, if not shock, but then he quickly composed his features into pleasant neutrality. "Of course my king," he said. "But I admit to being confused, after all, I am certain there are many lores written about the Royal House including the events of the War of Wrath..." he trailed off.

"Yes," Oropher said, willing himself to sound patient. "But I already know what there is about the War of Wrath- I would like to know about the members of the House, in specific, rather than the general overview given by our scholars. After all, I know that the well-known names of most of the Noldorin were given by the Sindar, and that there are members that have been left out because they were not overly active during the War of Wrath- neither did they cause events to go into motion during that time period." he held his breath.

Erestor blinked once, but quickly smothered his remaining confusion and browsed through the shelves. He returned with a scroll, which upon unfurling, Oropher saw, was a family tree of the House of Finwë .

The name Finwë was in large, ornate print, and was connected by two horizontal lines each indicating marriage. One line on the left connected him with the name Míriel Serindë and another to the names' right connected to the name Indis. The line connecting Finwë to Míriel Serindë was connected to a vertical line connecting it to the name Fëanáro or Curufinwë Fëanáro. The Noldor, he had been told, had a father-name, a mother-name, possibly a nickname or epessë along with a name which spoke of whose child they were. It was highly confusing. But he knew this was Fëanor.

The line connecting the king's name to Indis the Fair, niece of Ingwë High King of the Elves, had four names attached to it indicating four children, not the two as most elves on Middle-Earth believed. There were two daughters, he realised. And apparently Nolofinwë or Fingolfin had another son.

Oropher frowned. He now realised that the stories he believed, about the House of Finwë being bigger than it was said to have been, was in actual fact, true.

"What happened to them?" he asked pointing to the names Findis and Irien Lalwendë and the name Arakáno- Finwë's two daughters by Indis and Fingolfin's youngest son. Erestor frowned.

"Findis never left Valinor, it is presumed she left to return to Valmar, City of the Maiar and the Vanyarin elves with her mother. Irien Lalwendë went with Fingolfin but was either slain or went missing. Her fate is unknown." he paused. "Arakáno or Argon was slain during the Battle of Lammoth not long after they arrived in Middle-Earth- he managed to kill an orc commanding officer but was slain himself."

Oropher frowned. This was valiant but never recorded in the Sindarin archives. It was always believed that Aredhel was Fingolfin's youngest child as well as his only daughter. But looking back, he thought that despite the fact she appeared largely inactive in comparison to her brothers in the fight against Morgoth, she was remembered because of her famous end- by betrayal- and by the fact that she was the mother of Maeglin the traitor.

He frowned. Maeglin's name wasn't on the family tree- unsurprising because they would be ashamed, but neither was the rest of his generation, including Eärendil the Mariner, nor his sons Elrond and Elros. He was confused.

When he asked the question to the scholar, Erestor's reply was that it was a general overview of the House of Finwë and that if wanted something more specific, he only needed to ask. Oropher took another deep breath.

"I wish to learn about the House of Fëanor."

Erestor went into shock. What was the woodland king doing? He went to another scroll and unfurled it. Inside the emblem of the eight-pointed star showed itself and the name Curufinwë Fëanáro was connected to the name Nerdanel and on their their sons and spouses.

"Curufinwë Fëanáro or Fëanor was the eldest son of Finwë," Erestor explained. "And the only child of his first spouse Míriel Serindë. I believe you know the story of his birth and of Míriel Serindë's demise my king?" Oropher nodded. "His wife was Nerdanel called 'the Wise' because she was not only skilled but patient and prudent. She was a sculptress who made statues of such life-like quality that they were often mistaken for reality until people saw that they were, in fact, still."

"She had red hair didn't she?" Oropher asked, daring himself. Erestor looked baffled. "yes, my king, she did. She inherited it from Mahtan her father. He was a smith who taught Fëanor prior to him leaving to the Halls of Aulë."

It seemed surreal, fantastical and utterly magical that any earthly being should live in such close proximity to the Valar and the Maiar, Oropher thought, as to actually learn from them. Why in the world did Fëanor even want to leave?

Of course Oropher would have known about the red-hair of some of the Fëanorions, he had lived, a long time ago, in Doriath, so he must have seen them at a distance, Erestor thought, but then again, Maedhros did not arrive until after the city was sacked and most of them had fled.

It did not explain why Oropher's eyes moved downwards to scan the Fëanorions- the Sons of Fëanor. He noticed the king's ice-blue eyes move downwards and trail among the names of the spouses. "They were married?" he asked, not daring to move.

Erestor nodded. "Yes, in Valinor, the Eldar often married in their youth. Of course the twin sons of Fëanor were too young, but the rest, save for Celegorm did- although he married rather late."

Now it was Oropher's turn to be confused. "I thought he was infatuated with Lúthien?" he started. Erestor shrugged. "Whatever madness occurred there, thankfully passed." Elves of course, had only one actual love in their lives, save Finwë and Finduilas, but it did not mean that infatuations could not occur before marriage, although they lacked the true depth of actual love, understanding, and so forth.

Oropher shook himself out of it. Gil-Galad would be back anytime soon. "And who did they marry?" he asked. "A variety of persons," Erestor said. "Maedhros and Maglor married Telerin, Celegorm's wife is unknown, Caranthir's was Noldorin and so was Curufin's." Oropher was once again shocked. "They married Teler?" he asked jaw dropping, uncharacteristically.

Erestor gave a sad smile. "Maedhros married a Telerin princess," he said. "she was the granddaughter of Olwë and therefore the grandniece of Elu Thingol. Maglor's wife was a lady of the Telerin court."

If the Woodland king had been holding something, he would have dropped it. "How?" he whispered.

Erestor shook his head. "What people know mostly about Fëanor is mostly his works and during the events of the War of Wrath- very few have documented him during the days of his childhood, his youth, his marriage and his relation to his sons. Very little is given. After all what interest save for his accomplishments and his involvement in avenging his father did anyone give?" he asked. "But in actuality, it was known by the Eldar of Valinor that prior to the kinslaying in Alqualondë, Fëanor and his sons were on excellent terms with the Teleri and their royal family." Oropher looked disbelieving, thunderstruck. "In fact Fëanor actually designed and supervised the building of Alqualondë and the other cities of the Teleri. He was an unbelievable architect and craftsperson, naturally they wanted him to do the job. So when the two sons of Fëanor fell in love and were betrothed, no one objected- in fact the opposite happened and people were overjoyed."

Oropher could not have been more stunned than if Manwë and Varda themselves appeared into the room juggling stars. What in Arda...

Erestor looked at the king sadly. "I know this was hard to believe," he said. "But the Fëanor that was after Melkor was released and the one that was before, were so different, that people actually believed them to be different persons, even those of his family. Yes, there was the tension between himself, Fingolfin and Indis, but nothing truly worthy of note happened until after the release of the Dark Lord."

Oropher shook his head. It was as if everything he had known and been taught had been shaken and turned upside down- which would be truly an upheaval as the lessons he had learned and his experiences were what made him who he was.

It was almost impossible to believe and yet...

Remembering at the paintings of Alqualondë done by those that came from Valinor, Oropher could however, despite the differences in design, materials and layout, see the work of Noldorin minds and hands everywhere. The Telerin peoples prided themselves in shipbuilding and sea-faring, but they would have not have had their magnificent Harbour City had the Noldor not stepped in- and of course that included only the most gifted- Fëanor.

Still thunderstruck to the core, Oropher tried to get his thoughts in order. "And the grandchildren?" he asked. "Did Fëanor have any grandchildren?" he asked.

Erestor once again looked astounded. "Grandchildren?" he echoed. "Not that we know of- not that which has left Valinor from what I have been told," he said. "No records of any grandchildren of Fëanor have survived- or rather none known to those outside of Valinor. If there were, it is doubtful that they even took part in the War of Wrath, but even those that had contact with the Sons of Fëanor said that there were no children."

Hope crushed through him like fog is crushed during the heat of the midday sun. Who then, was this shieldmaiden? He had been so certain- well, almost? Who was she? How could they find her?

And most importantly, how could they convince her to join forces with and save them?

Phew! The inspiration for the Battle in the Tunnel Valley was provided for by written accounts of the Battle Of Kadesh- although I didn't exactly stick completely to what happened. Oropher now has his suspicions- which are crushed by Erestor- now we know it's not true- there are grandchildren of Fëanor, and Estela and Celebrimbor/Telerinquar are two of them, but they have been keeping a low profile courtesy first of their parents, then by Estela. But now the Wood-Elf views on Fëanor have been shaken in Oropher, much to his shock. These guys might not be so bad after all.