Chapter Fifteen
"My King!" Elrond hurried into the private audience room. "The king of Greenwood is here!"
Ereinion looked up startled. He was dressed in armour, not for a battle but for scouting- there was even armour beneath his clothing.
"He is here?" he exclaimed incredulously. "Without warning, without announcement?"
Elrond sighed. "He arrived while you were still on patrol. He is now waiting for you in your private office- as you've instructed me should a guest of great importance arrive and needs to meet with you."
Ereinion nodded mutely and proceeded to his private office- there was no time to change- he had already kept Oropher waiting long enough.
The king of Greenwood was wearing travelling grab in forest green, so Ereinion noted there was no need to fear causing offence. The Wood-Elf looked up when Ereinion arrived and the two exchanged formal greetings.
"What brings you all the way to Lindon?" Ereinion asked.
Oropher looked up at him and raised his eyebrow above the glass of wine the High King had offered him.
"I think you know full well the answer to that question," he said. "I heard things outside of our forest are rather tense."
Now it was Ereinion's turn to arch an eyebrow. "What makes you say that it won't spread to the Greenwood?"
"I didn't say that," the woodland king noted mildly. "When you are surrounded by war, one has to pick a side. And I doubt very much that the King's Men are interested in dealing with elves."
Ereinion hmmphed in agreemement.
"I think you realise that a compromise is in order," Oropher said slowly, his frost-blue eyes firmly fixed on the High King. Gil-Galad, Oropher noted to himself, did not so much as flinch- he merely watched him emotionless and cool- impressive, even Oropher's hardened warriors would have cringed to find they were the sole focus of their king's attention, but this elf had faced far, far worse before.
"I can't pretend that relations between our peoples have always been on the best of terms," Oropher said slowly. "As a rule, elves don't generally discriminate the same ways some humans, I've been told, look down on peoples with a different skin colour or culture other than their own."
That was true, Ereinion thought. He had never really delved that deep into human culture save for the Númenóreans, but he knew, although barely and it made little sense, that humans did have a tendency to look down upon each other- as if it made them feel better. Ereinion for one, could not see how it made them fel better instead of worse.
"But, of course, relations have been tense. I've grown to respect you, yet I can't pretend that your people have been fortunate compared to mine in some ways, more talented, and yet they have been looked upon as higher, even amongst themselves," he said slowly. Ereinion looked grim and nodded. "Elu Thingol's people and the Nandorin elves may have chosen to stay upon Middle-Earth, but it does not mean that we were foolish, undeserving of good treatment or respect in anyway- not that I accuse you of ever doing such things."
Ereinion looked even grimmer than before. This was something he was all too aware of. Just because some elves never undertook the Great Journey or never made it into Valinor, others that did, including the Noldor that arrived during the War of Wrath, scorned them. It was admittedly something shameful and it had not endeared the Noldor to the Avari, Sindar or Nandorin elves. Prideful demands, sometimes even insults were traded- first by one group then another, so despite attempts to mend such grievances it most certainly did not go too well. Not to mention the kinslayings, first in the city of Alqualondë, realm of the Falmari- kin to the Sindar- and then later at the Sacking of Doriath and later in the Havens of Sirion. The fact that some mortals were now saying that the Wood-Elves were less wise and more dangerous than their Valinorean kin certainly did not improve relations, but merely strained them further.
Ereinion had never set eyes on the silmarils, but he found that no matter how impressive the object, it would never be worth the number of lives lost on either side. His mind strayed back to a young girl whom he had started to think- without realising it- more frequently than before.
The image of a small girl with bouncing red curls branded itself deep in his mind- he had never managed to approach her, or even meet her by way of introduction, he had been uncharacteristically shy then. He remembered just watching her dance and frolic around but forced himself back to the present.
"No," he said, before the train of thought led him to think of the copper-haired shieldmaiden whom he strongly suspected might be Estela Nelyafinwiel. "And I cannot pretend that it was shameful on our part. Even though too much damage has been done. But can you honestly say that those who did not even lift a finger during the kinslayings, nor breathed a single word of insult, are as guilty as the rest of us?" he asked emotionless.
Oropher sighed. "No." Ereinion inclined his head and took a sip from a glass of wine. "Finwë and Elu Thingol were friends once- close as brothers. And you might not believe it but Fëanor and his sons were once on amazing terms with the Teleri and Vanyar elves. They weren't always kinslayers."
"So I've been told," Oropher looked highly uncomfortable to say the least and he ran his fingers through his silvery hair. Ereinion remembered too late that Oropher had once lived in Doriath. He cursed himself mentally. What was he thinking?
But before Ereinion could actually apologize, despite opening his mouth, Oropher said, "It's strange but I did not see the eldest sons of Fëanor during the attack on Doriath."
Ereinion startled again straightened. "What?" he blurted, puzzled.
His brow furrowing, Oropher said, "It was written during our accounts that the remaining Sons of Fëanor were present during the Sacking of Doriath, and I did see some of them in the distance, but no one with vivid copper hair the way Maedros' hair was mentioned to be." He looked strangely at Ereinion who found himself at a loss for words. Where was this coming to?
Just then a sharp knock resounded in the room. Elrond stepped in his face grave.
"My kings, " he announced. "I bring news- grave and well."
Ereinion stiffened. "Yes?" he asked.
"The Éothéod- the horse-lords of the Northmen who live near the River Anduin were being attacked by Easterlings. When they set out to confront their foes, however, it turned out to be a trap and they would have died were it not for the shieldmaiden and those that followed her. Acting upon her advice they have sought out to ally themselves with you," he said motioning his head towards Gil-Galad. "And hopefully if you should choose to join my king, with you as well," he said nodding his head respectfully towards Oropher. "The Easterlings are being dealt with as we speak by the shieldmaiden, if they have not already been dealt with."
Awed and relieved Ereinion sat back in his chair, and he still managed to be amazed, although he believed he should have seen it coming. Oropher looked stunned and equally relieved. But Elrond was not finished. "However, she also sends us bad news. It appears that the Haradrim have arrived much sooner than we anticipated. They are heading towards the City of Perlargir."
"The City of the Faithful," Ereinion whispered. "Ready our forces: tell them to pack as much as they can, without being a burden, and to nourish and rest their horses. We leave for battle tomorrow." he commanded. Elrond nodded and left the room.
Only then did Ereinion remember what Oropher had just said. "Every Noldorin elf knows that Nelyafinwë Maitimo Fëanorion or Maedhros the Tall had copper hair," Ereinion said slowly putting down his wine glass. "He inherited it from his mother's family. So did his twin brothers who died very young before their maturity. I was not aware that there are many Sindarin and Silvan records kept that preserved their portraits nor of any that had descriptions of such kinds. There must have been very little."
"There are some," Oropher shrugged. "After all, it is unusual for elves to have such a hair colour, save for the colour of fallen leaves and that is not actually copper. But I admit I've grown interested in the Noldor of late," he took a sip from his glass. Oropher found it unnecessary to pretend to Gil-Galad anymore.
Ereinion leaned forwards."The shieldmaiden?" he asked, attempting to slow his heart in its excitement.
"Yes," Oropher admitted. "We have been trying to search her out for some time now, to discuss the possibility of an alliance."
"And did you?" Ereinion questioned not breathing.
"Yes, we found her," Oropher admitted. Ereinion could barely breathe, his heart overtaking all previous rates it had had, in excitement. His eyes were wide- massive in fact, his hand on the glass was slightly trembling and he found difficulty breathing.
"And?" he asked.
"She refused," Oropher said flatly. "Although I cannot imagine why- she was not adverse to helping us," he told the whole story to the High King.
Ereinion leaned back and rubbed his face in his hand. What did she mean? he thought desperately. He voiced the question to Oropher but he found that he was answering it himself.
The way she insisted on keeping to themselves- the way that she said their own kin had cost them dearly, but not enough to kill them. The way her hair was so much like burnished copper, streaked with gold and silver strands...
She could have been a survivor of the kinslayings, but if so, she would not have kept to herself, so long after the War of the Jewels. Her hair...
He remembered she had been beautiful- the most magnificent creature, he thought. He did not assess her features for he was far too entranced by her, but he saw a similar face shape in portraits of the Noldorin royal family- particularly in portraits of...
And there was her hair. Not the colour of autumn leaves or ginger, but just like Oropher said, it was copper. Purest copper. And from what he saw when he had seen her- he could not deny it was her- it was shot through with gold and silver strands. Gold- a Vanyarin colour, but present in Tyelcormo or Celegorm the Fair, one of the Sons of Fëanor. Silver- that was a Telerin colour...
Silver...
His mind flew back over an age ago when he had last seen the whole family in Tirion, the palace of the king. There was a tiny girl with vivid copper-hued hair and she was being swung upwards and spun around by her extremely tall father who also had copper hair...
And then passed to her mother who fed her and had hair of such brilliant, luminous woven silver that it was almost blinding although not garish. It was utterly lustrous.
As lustrous as the strands in her daughter's hair- small and grown.
The maiden was tall- guaranteed she wasn't as tall as Maedhros, nor was she that intimidating- her bones seemed fine, delicate even, but she was somewhat the height of the Lady Galadriel, they were both incredibly tall- taller than humans, as tall as male elves.
No suspicion could be considered correct until unshakeable proof is given, but Ereinion already knew the truth in his heart. The question was, did the Woodland king know too?
And if those suspicions were confirmed out loud, how would the wood-elves- or the rest of the elves as a whole- react? Would they rather die than accept an alliance with a Fëanorian?
Dawn saw Ereinion riding with his warriors towards Perlargir, city of the Elendili.
Estela had ridden further than ever when she heard that the Hardarim had arrived. But it had taken time, especially as she had been busy dealing with the remainder of the Easterling forces already in the Rhovanion and make solid plans to prevent other armies from arriving from that direction.
After causing havoc to the Easterlings, she had instructed, at a distance, her followers to do the same to the Dunlendings, and aggressively at that. The Dunlendings would then face open aggression once they encountered the Fëanorians, and then using tactics and strategies she had discussed with them, the Dunlendings would have to be forced into a retreat back to their hills. The Haradrim were the real problems now, along with the fleet of the King's Men.
Problems arose for Estela when she had heard the news of the Haradrim's march northward. This was certainly not good.
Fearfully she hurried. It was harder than normal with all the furious, raging Dunlendings causing as much havoc as they could amongst the Northmen- whom she'd had to assist and convince to join with Gil-Galad and the Elendili.
The Easterlings were hard, but thank Eru, they were not as challenging as she had first thought, Estela remembered. Telperinquar had promised his division's assistance once they met at Perlargir. And it was at Umbar where the King's Men held power, would Estela deal with, before she could get to the city of the Faithful. Tulcano, her cousin would meet her there.
Sometimes she wondered what it would be like- to have some peace, to rest. But she knew any chance of a life like that was gone long ago. But soon she came across a village raided by Dunlendings.
The Dunlendings she saw held torches this time, they set fire to the thatched roofs of houses and cut down their inhabitants with pitchforks- of all things- and axes. She almost cringed when she heard them scream- she doubted they would spare even the children- and if they did it would only be for slavery.
Estela reacted swiftly, springing off her horse and slicing one Dunlending after another. Her division followed and swiftly, the Dunlendings were dealt with while she signalled others to put out the flames- there was a creek nearby. Once it was over, the survivors looked breathless and Estela quickly gave them instructions to gather as much supplies as possible without being a burden- they needed to leave the are and go north.
One of the old women gasped and fell at her feet. Estela helped her up. She was startled at how thin and fragile the woman felt- her bones, her flesh, everything. She had helped older humans before, but it never ceased to make her cringe inwardly. Judging by what she had learned about the aging of the human race, this woman had to be at the age, where elves would just be beginning to mature physically. Yet this woman was growing weary.
"Thank-thank you..." she gasped. "Hush," Estela said, she pulled out a flask of water and helped it to the old woman's mouth. She drank as deeply as she could. The old woman raised her eyes towards Estela and they widened.
"So it's true," the old woman mused in wonderment. "The Fair Folk would arrive to save us... Led by a creature of such great beauty- with hair brighter than a flame..." she trailed off.
Estela forced herself not to flush. It was unnecessary. "Please," she said, she turned towards the rest of the survivors. "Is anyone else injured?" Some had cuts and broken bones but they could be treated, she had medics.
Estela moved to rise, but the old woman, who was now lying on some blankets clutched at her hand. "My lady," she rasped. "Please, there is great danger. The king of the island that rose from the sea... the island shall sink one day, soon enough."
Estela felt her breath catch. "You mean Númenor?"
The old woman nodded and clung tighter to her. "The king that is yet to be... The child... there is one who escaped." she rasped.
Estela moved slowly, heart pounding even harder than right after the fight. "Escaped from what?" she asked slowly, barely moving.
The old woman's eyes met hers- they were blue, not as vivid as elven colours, but bright enough, with something she did not expect- some sort of focus, some wisdom, some determination, she did not know.
"Escaped from the wrath of the Guardians of this world- the guardians the Creator gave us," she whispered. "Escaped from the elves that fought against them, escaped from when the Iron Fortress fell."
Iron Fortress? Estela thought confused. Then the answer slammed unwelcome into her. Angband!
And the Guardians of this world was no doubt the Valar.
"Five there were," the old woman rasped. "Five slaves to the one who stole your grandfather's stars."
Estela felt ice flood through her. "What are you talking about?"
The old woman chuckled then clutched at her throat and chest. After wincing she looked back up to Estela. "I know whose child you are," she smiled. "I know of the war that your fathers fought against the Dark One- the enemy of this world. I know of the Oath your grandfather and father took. An oath that never bound you, that you never followed. But I know also the Hope the Masters of Spirits promised... The Fëanturi- the guardians of souls- they said that you would be hope."
Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled and it started to rain. They were in hastily built shelters, much to the relief of the villagers. Yet Estela took no notice, gazing at the woman's feverishly bright eyes. She restrained the urge to shiver- not from cold, but from the power that came from this woman that she knew nothing of.
"One of them has escaped. The Great Slave, the one who tricked your father," she hissed. "The others are slain- the giant spider whom you saw in the courtyard ere your forefather's death... consumed herself she has, in her eternal greed. The great fiery one, impaled by a spike and drowned during the Fall of the Hidden City... The blood-drinker and the demon wolf- dead... all dead... Save one."
Lightning flashed again and a cold ice flooded through Estela like as such she had never felt before... No, it could not be... no...
But this woman knew her identity. She knew who she was. And she was not mad.
The War of Wrath was never truly over. This much she had known. In all her years since she had left Valinor, Estela had never found peace. What little joy she could have came from rescuing the lives of others. But to know this... To know that one escaped...
How many servants?
Morgoth had the balrogs- Gothmog was truly dead, killed by Ecthelion in the fountain in Gondolin. Dragluin the Werewolf and Thuringwethil the Vampire were dead- Dragluin slain by the Hound her uncle had, and Thuringwethil too. But there was another... One they called the trickster... What was his name?!
She nearly screamed in frustration. There was another... Someone who had evaded the Valar before... Not just during the fall of Angband, but Utumno, Morgoth's first fortress. Someone who had been a lieutenant... Someone that had served Morgoth so well, yet kept to the shadows.
Someone who had been one of the Fallen Ainur.
They spoke of a lieutenant. But before Estela could delve into the memories, the old woman pulled her down again with surprising strength and looked deep into her eyes.
"Listen child and listen well," she rasped. Estela barely noted the strangeness of this mortal woman calling her- who had been born during the Age of the Trees and lived for over an Age- a child. "He will come- and he desires many things. The House of your fathers, both Dark Ones hated more than anything. The elves they hated above all else, the line of your fathers- more than any other elf. They seek to destroy you- to infect you... Perhaps he will spare you for his amusement. But trust no one that claims to bring gifts. No worldly gift comes without a price. If you do not remember anything else I say, remember that."
Thunder rumbled. Estela found herself gazing deeper into the woman's eyes as memories drifted by. Memories of a walled city... quenching of the light, a courtyards, and a giant bloated shape...
The old woman tightened her grip- if that was even possible. "Seek out the one you saw," she whispered. "The one with the blue eyes, like sapphires. The one that saw you where others could not..."
Estela paled further. "That was a dream."
The old woman scoffed. "No dream I tell you. Hide no more, one more deed is enough to convince the others of your goodness and strength, the next time, they will not be adverse. Find him, and remember, look to your children, for if the House of your fathers shall fall, so shall he triumph and the world shall plunge into a terrible darkness once more."
Children? Estela thought bewildered. What children? But she could not ask the woman to explain herself because Maltariel, her friend had come up from behind her.
"My lady," she said. "We need to leave, we have done as you instructed. Help will come to these villagers soon enough, we have made sure of it- we also have enough supplies for them."
Mutely, Estela nodded and she turned back to the old woman... to find her gone. She had vanished. Estela's eyes searched wildly around her, but she could find no trace of the old woman.
She might not have been mortal after all.
Heart still beating loudly Estela stood and took a deep breath. She then heard the old woman's voice, From the sea it came and so to the sea it shall return... But not you, our Hope. You shall endure even as you lose hope yourself, still you give others... The line might not be cursed...
If you so wish it, our Hope.