The Endless Path
After the chaos of the last week, you are grateful to finally have some time to yourself. Admittedly you do have plans to deal with the Chasind later in the week, but other than that you have essentially nothing pressing to do. You are looking forward to having some time to relax and recover.
Before that, though, you have a task that remains unfinished. You intended to improve your understanding of yourself last week, and instead you ended up throwing a tantrum like an ill disciplined child. Your pride cannot stand it, and the thought of allowing a task to stand incomplete makes something inside you shudder in rage or fear, possibly both.
Though what exactly sitting with your legs folded together has to do with wisdom is confusing you somewhat.
"Great, teacher!" Xandar exclaims. "I used to have trouble with sitting like this until I got used to it."
"Is this another of those human things I do not understand?" You ask flatly. "I fail to see how this could possibly be a challenge, in fact, I fail to see what this has to do with an examination of the self at all."
"I don't know either." Xandar replies brightly. "Just when I used to meditate my old friend would say I wasn't sitting right. Once it stopped hurting it was actually kind of comfortable."
"I am still unconvinced of the purpose of this exercise." You remind the human.
"Don't you remember? You asked me if the Chantry taught me any way of reflecting on your personal failings and I told you that they did and said I'd show you." Xandar states innocently.
You close your eyes and take a single long breath. "Yes. I remember. I was there, you did not need to repeat what you said. If you had listened to my question, you would note that I was asking how having my legs folded atop each other was related in any way to what I asked you."
"I explained it didn't I? The thing about the friend and meditation?" Xandar replies.
"Is meditation the name of this process?" You ask through gritted teeth.
Xandar's eyes widen and he slaps his forehead for some reason. "Oh. Right. Sorry, yes, it's called meditation. Or more correctly it's a subset of meditative prayer called the self-examination. It is a time to reflect on where you are in your spiritual journey, where you fail and where you succeed. Time for the Maker to show you the path forward."
"I see. How do we proceed then?" You ask, more idly curious than truly expecting any help at this point.
"There's a list of questions." Xandar says. "I'll read them out and then we both quietly reflect on how the question is applicable to our own lives. Ready teacher?"
You raise an eyebrow at the human. Sarcastic thoughts about having assumed this ridiculous pose simply because it sounded like fun are held back only by many centuries of discipline, and a healthy fear of your mother[1].
"Yes." You state as dryly as possible.
"Have I questioned the purpose of my life? Do I act with proper reflection on what the Maker wills for me?" Xandar recites from memory.
You endure nearly a dozen of these questions, all with a religious bent and all entirely irrelevant to your personal scenario. It is almost painfully obvious that they were written by humans for humans. The line about the 'temptations of the flesh' had been particularly nonsensical to your sensibilities.
Extracting yourself from the session without giving offence to Xandar is not hard, merely time consuming. Thus you find yourself with much of your morning already consumed. Lunch looms, and afterwards you will have to return to what you attempted last week.
A shame, you had hoped someone might have known more of how to do this effectively. Then again, wisdom is usually the province of the 'old' among humans. As comical as it is to consider anyone who has lived less than a century old.
While you eat lunch and speak of inconsequential things with your workers and friends, you mull over your options to yourself. You think it best to commit to a single piece of the past to consider, lest you find yourself skittering away from true challenges and towards more comfortable subjects.
You choose the three kinslayings. It is the topic that you are most uncomfortable with. In many ways each of the three was a cause or a sign of how far you had fallen. As a person and a collective.
In truth, the first kinslaying at Alaquondë can be said to be the root cause of all the Noldor's troubles in the First Age. You hardly need to revisit the Doom of Mandos, given the way its words still echo in your mind.
Still, of the three, it is the one you feel the least personally responsible for. Leaving aside the fact that it had been your father who was king who led the Noldor into it, rather than you, more pertinently you did not start it.
Though, in the spirit of honesty these self-reflections must be characterised by, it is more accurate to say that you did not start it personally. The Teleri maintain the Noldor drew steel first, and it does sound like the sort of thing your father might have done.
Yet, the first you knew of the plan changing from 'sneak into the port and steal the ships' to 'kill the Teleri and take everything they own' had been when a Teleri had drawn their sword on you.
Admittedly, you think you recall hearing someone drawing their sword behind you but you cannot be certain.
You shake your head to clear it. This is all a distraction, you are letting yourself get bogged down in the details. The important point is that you are not sure what happened at Alaquondë, it had been chaotic and violent. Unlike later kinslayings it was less of a calculated slaughter and more of a mad sword fight in the streets.
This and, once more in the spirit of total honesty, the rage and betrayal that still colours the memories of that time, mean you do not feel particularly guilty for the first Kinslaying. A tragedy? Absolutely, but it is one that you argue is as much the Valar's fault as it is the Noldor's.
It had been their orders that barred the ships from you. Though the Sindar like to pretend otherwise, your father had offered to hire the ships, or outright buy them first. It was the Teleri's loyalty to the Valar, who had already failed your people due to their fondness for their own, that caused the first Kinslaying.
You had just wanted the ships. Nobody needed to die.
You breathe deeply and allow the rage of times long past to flow out of you. After several moments of stillness, you reexamine your thoughts.
Perhaps, you grit your teeth at the thought, just perhaps the Valar had a point.
You maintain that they shunned the responsibility for what Morgoth did, and that their solution would have been a betrayal of those in Arda and left your people's vengeance unfulfilled. That the host of Valinor had swept Angband aside after the creation of Dragons is, if anything, only more evidence that they absolutely could have led you to Arda and finished the War of the Jewels inside a decade.
Yet, without the aid of the Valar, despite the arrival of men and the best efforts of the mightiest of your kind and theirs, Angband had never fallen. Your rush to take vengeance had been, in hindsight, hasty. Even with the ships denied you, it is not as though there had not been other options.
Though the Helcaraxë had proven treacherous, and sending the whole of the host that way would have been madness, it is not as though your people could not have spent some time preparing for the journey. If anyone could have thought of a way to cross safely, it would have been your father.
You sigh, realising that you have gotten lost in your own thoughts. Fortunately, nobody disturbed you as they were departing lunch. You sit, now alone, in an empty hall.
The sigh echoes off the walls, adorned with mosaic rather than tapestry as they are. You might need to change that as the numbers grow. The sound of so many people speaking at once is starting to strain your ears.
You are hesitating again. You had thought you were beyond this now; resolved to not let fear rule you. The Second Kinslaying, the one that took place at your command. The one that destroyed Doriath.
With a shake of your head, you stand up and walk towards the woods. The soothing comfort of trees will hopefully put you in a better mood for self-reflection. If nothing else, it will feel less tragic than sitting alone in an empty hall thinking on your past crimes.
The canopy of green interspersed with occasional rays of bright sunlight, the breeze blowing through your air, it is invigorating and beautiful. Not quite as beautiful as Doriath had been admittedly.
There is no avoiding it now. The second kinslaying. The first of your premeditated kinslayings. A bitter laugh escapes your lips. If only it had been the last.
You had sent messages, you had attempted to negotiate. First with Thingol and then with Dior. Truth be told, you had never expected much from Thingol, he was a stubborn and hateful Sinda at the best of times. Proud to proclaim his independence from the Noldor, even as he clung to the skirts of his Maia bride.
You take several long deep breaths. Now is not the time to get lost in bitterness of the past. It was only a few minutes ago that you nearly lost yourself in anger towards the Valar, and at least they are still alive to be furious at.
Though given the favouritism Thingol enjoyed while alive, it would not surprise you if he was already out of the halls.
No. Put aside your bitterness, you command yourself. Whatever grudge you held with Thingol can and should die with him. The last thing you need is to become a dark shadow of your father, bitter, furious and clinging to long past slights.
What kind of an example would you set for the Chasind if you did that?
Where were you, ah yes, you were intending to consider the lead up to your assault and sacking of Doriath.
You had been the last resistance to the idea. It was Turko who suggested it when the Girdle fell, Kurvo had backed it almost immediately. From there they had won over Moryo quickly, but there it stopped. Kano had been his usual self, but the twins had been surprisingly helpful. They had rightly pointed out that not even all seven of you could assault Lúthien, who had matched Morgoth himself before she possessed the Silmaril.
Admittedly, you had already been testing the Girdle prior to that. Nothing serious, just one or two of your brothers would ride to the borders and idly test the boundary. None of you believed you could overpower it, of course, but perhaps you could fool it.
You had gone once or twice personally. You had not wanted to harm anyone, or to slay any particular individual. However, in the three decades that passed after the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, you had considered maybe sneaking in and stealing the Silmaril.
It had been your property after all, Thingol had not claim to it. Lúthien, perhaps, for she had stolen it from Morgoth, but Thingol had only ever claimed it to deny Beren his daughter. It was only his lust for its beauty that had seen him horde it for himself. It was yours! Not his!
Your breath sounds harsh in your ears, fury boiling up at the dead once more. The green leaves shimmer faintly, a distant smell of smoke begins to drift into your nostrils.
Doriath had been in ruins, its greatest defenders dead. All Dior had to do was give you the gem, you would gladly have taken up the task of defending his lands. Curse his foolish, stubborn, youthful pride! He should have given it to you!
The screams of Sindarin maids, the battle cries of the warriors all fade away. You chase Dior into the caves, Kano hard on your heels.
What choice did you have? Your oath compelled you, you had to retrieve the Silmarils from whoever had them. No matter the cost. Not love, not honour not league of swords could stop you!
Dior's body lay at your feet. You roughly hauled him up, searching for that jewelled necklace with the Silmaril. It was not there. You all but tore his clothes off searching, to no avail. Kano was turning the treasury upside down, but you knew it wouldn't be there.
"Search everywhere!" You roared to the warriors around you. "Turn every stone, search every crevice! Find it! Find it!"
You had to find it, you couldn't have failed. You had come too far.
The chirp of a bird jolts you out of your memories. The green woods are still, filled with light and colour and entirely absent of ghosts.
A quiet sob nearly escapes your lips. Slowly you sink to your knees, unable to hide from the truth any longer.
"I'm sorry father. I failed." You whisper.
The truth is you had already given up by the time you rode to Dior. You had no longer believed the Oath could be fulfilled, that you could overcome Angband. You had not wanted to admit it, not to your brothers, the ghost of your father and most importantly not to yourself.
How many elves died for your pride?
To your shame, you do not know.
A Student Once More
Yesterday had been something of a rollercoaster. From the, somewhat frustrating, joys of Xandar's idiosyncrasies to dark thoughts of the First Age, it had been exhausting. Thus, you awake with no plans or considerations nagging at your thoughts. You are not so foolish as to believe you can spend a day in idleness, but you entertain thoughts of inspecting the vineyards and tasting the wine.
Thus, when Merrill asks if you were free, you answered yes. Her request surprises you.
Ever since the death of the Hahrens Merrill has been withdrawn. She spent most of the last week with her clan, and even after her return she has spent much time on her own. You do not believe that she has even done any magical research in some time.
Hence the surprise when she looks you in the eyes and says, "Teach me to talk to people."
A joke will likely give you time to gather your wits. "Generally you open your mouth and make sounds with it."
"This isn't a joke!" Merrill thunders.
The smile falls from your face and you turn the weight of your gaze on the elf. At first she meets it defiantly, but as her anger slips away she shrinks in on herself somewhat.
"Sorry, I shouldn't have yelled." She says. "But I'm serious, I need to learn how to talk to people."
You consider her words and her expression in silence for a few moments more. She is still meeting your gaze, and though she is no longer puffed up in anger, she is not shrinking. Nor is she displaying any of the nerves she usually does in socially tense situations.
"Why?" You ask. "Not that I am necessarily unwilling to teach you, but it is a significant commitment, and I was under the impression that you were more than content with your current path in life."
Merrill frowns. "I am. I just need to know how to talk to people better. You know what a stuttering mess I can become."
"That is merely a matter of confidence, and it something that can only be cured by practice and exposure." You reply flatly. "I do not appreciate it when people attempt to avoid my questions."
Merrill's determination wavers, and you can see her start to fidget. You can see the moment she clamps down on her nerves and forces herself to speak.
"Why're you acting weird, you've never been hesitant to share what you know before." She says, voice steady more due to stubbornness than confidence.
You tilt your head to the side. "Merrill, you have wanted to learn my 'magic' as you called it since we met. It was the reason you brought me to your clan. Now, here you are asking me to teach you, not more of that magic, but how to talk to people. A task you have never shown interest in, and one that clearly makes you uncomfortable. Why would I not wish to know more?"
Merrill's eyes widen and she hangs her head. "Oh, right. I guess that makes sense. You know I'm not possessed, right?"
You roll your eyes. "Obviously. I am no ignorant fool to ascribe any strangeness I do not understand to magic. I merely wish to know why the sudden shift in interest. It may well be that you are overlooking something and do not need to waste time with intensive study of something you lack natural skill in. If not, it will help me teach you to know what you wish to achieve."
Merrill's eyes dart back up to you then away. You settle in to wait as she remains silent for what feels like an eternity.
"It was my fault." She says quietly. "I don't know what I said, but Lanaya lost it. It's my fault she's attacking us, I lost my friend and I don't know why. Before I was angry, and I still am, but I want, I want to be able to not do it again. At least. If I can, I want to convince her that I'm right, that she's only hurting herself and her clan. But I don't know how. Please. Help me."
When the twins were born, they quickly proved to have possess a fearsome set of 'puppy eyes' as Turko called them. What Merrill lacks in their natural gifts, she makes up with her 'I am a poor mortal who doesn't understand anything' expression.
You sigh. "Very well."
Merrill's expression brightens.
"However." You state firmly. "I will not be taking you as my apprentice."
Merrill blinks in confusion. "I wasn't… Oh. Right, you mentioned you were a diplomat, I wasn't asking…"
"That is fortunate, as you have neither the time, nor the natural inclination I would look for in an apprentice." You inform her.
Admittedly, if she had wanted to, or you thought it was the best method to help her, you would have overlooked those facts. There is not a single prince among the Eldar who is not aware that sometimes you have to compromise on the ideal in order to get a result in a relevant timeframe.
"With that firmly established, let us begin." You say.
"Yes." Merrill exclaims, pulling paper and writing implements from seemingly nowhere. "Where are we starting?"
Your grin is not even slightly malicious, Merrill's plainly visible trepidation is entirely unwarranted.
You lead Merrill away, towards the areas where you know the staff congregate. Several different subgroups have taken over some of the smaller halls, such as the hall of poetry and turned them into gathering places. You do not begrudge them doing so as long as it does not foster rivalries between them.
If anyone asks why the groups always seem to end up intermixed in the great hall, you plan to smile enigmatically.
"Tell me, how familiar are you with the others who dwell in my halls?" You ask Merrill.
"Uh, somewhat?" She replies uncertainly. "I try to speak to most of the elves, strangely the other Dalish tend to avoid me for some reason, but the city elves are more welcoming."
That does not surprise you, given that Merrill represents the authority of the clans as Marethari's chosen successor and you get the impression that the Dalish who live in your halls are expressly avoiding their clans.
"Excellent." You praise your student. "I am glad that you are taking the initiative in making connections to others."
"It sounds a little patronising when you put it like that." Merrill mutters.
"It is entirely sincere, I assure you." You reassure her. "It is far too easy for us to shun that which makes us uncomfortable, you are wise not to do so."
"Thanks." Merrill replies, her cheeks turning pink. "So what now?"
"Now, you are going to introduce yourself to someone, have a conversation. It will establish a baseline on what I need to teach you." You inform her, poking your head into the hall of games, and spying your candidate. "That man in the corner with the dice, Walter. Introduce yourself to him."
Merrill freezes, glancing from Walter to yourself. "Uh. What? I mean, what do I talk about with him?"
You gently urge her forward. "This exercise is about how well you talk to people, not how well you can deliver a prepared conversation."
Merrill wanders over to Walter. Though you do not move from outside the door, you can still hear the conversation across the room.
"Um. Hi? You're Walter, right?" Merrill asks.
The human looks up, suspicious. "Yeah. What do ya want?"
"Oh, um. I'm Merrill." The Dalish says.
"Yeah. Heard of ya. What do ya want?" Walter replies, eyes narrowing.
Silence stretches out for a painfully long time. Merrill is fidgeting, and Walter is glancing around, clearly expecting something to happen.
"So, uh, what are you doing?" Merrill tries.
You force yourself not to sigh. This is akin to the time Turko attempted to ride Huan, you want to look away, but you feel compelled to watch. Hopefully elves are as resistant to scarring as the quendi.
"Listen lady, if ya ain't gonna tell me what ya want, get out of here." Walter snarls.
"No. It's not. I just." Merrill stutters.
Walter scowls. "Is this some kinda trick? Did Milton put you up to this? Are ya even a real Dalish, or did you put on face paint to scare me?"
You start to walk forward, hand stretching out and power marshalling. You fully expect Merrill to snap, the way she has in the past, and you fear what she might do in a moment of rage.
It proves unnecessary. Merrill's ears start to blush, and she quickly turns and runs back to you, her whole face bright red.
She pushes past you and crouches down by the wall with her face in her hands.
You are tempted to give the lesson up as a bad deal. After all, nobody enjoys being humiliated or failing, and Merrill just experienced both. Yet, it is from such things that true growth is born, and you are not willing to let this teaching opportunity pass just yet.
Still, that does not mean you are unsympathetic to Merrill's plight. You take a seat across from her, relaxing against the wall until she is ready to speak.
It takes a little bit of time, but eventually Merrill pulls her face out of her hands, pink still tinging her cheeks.
"So. I didn't do great." She says.
Her tone is attempting to be cheery, as though she is unaffected, but you can hear the embarrassment, self-recrimination and hurt. It is a cocktail you are quite familiar with.
"It could have gone worse." You say.
"Really?" Merrill snaps, part angry part sad. "How could it possibly have gone worse? That was the worst conversation I've had in months!"
"Well, you are still alive." You reply calmingly. "You did not get into a fight, no one was hurt. More importantly, it was not a conversation with anything depending on it. There are no consequences for failure."
"Besides feeling like a fool." Merrill mutters glumly.
"True, but there are worse things than feeling foolish." You reply. "As I have said to Ranger, nobody expects a child to run before they walk, but once we are grown we believe we can. Mistakes are a part of learning, and everyone begins somewhere."
"Maybe, but it still feels shi… I mean bad." Merrill grumbles
"True." You acknowledge with a nod. "However, you now have a choice. You can let your fear of failure, of shame, end the lesson here and now. Or, you can continue and ensure that you never make this mistake again. The choice is yours."
Merrill is silent for a moment, but you did not doubt her answer for a second.
"What did I do wrong?" She asks.
"Let us begin with some self-reflection." You reply. "What do you think you did wrong?"
"What didn't I do wrong?" Merrill asks, exasperated. "I stuttered, I froze, I didn't hear anything that the human said, and I ended up getting sent out of the room like a child!"
You listen calmly, remaining silent after Merrill finishes speaking, giving her time to collect her thoughts.
Merrill fidgets awkwardly. "Well? Don't you have anything to say?"
"I merely wished to give you time to think if you desired it." You inform her. "Let us think on the matter further, why did you freeze?"
Merrill blinks. "What?"
"Why did you freeze? Why could you not hear what Walter said?" You repeat, slightly louder.
"I…" Merrill, never one to be slow on the uptake pauses to think for a time. "I got too in my head. I was too busy thinking about what I was going to say to actually say anything."
You smile. "A good start, that is certainly a problem. Perhaps more pertinently though, I think, is your nerves."
Merrill frowns. "Are you saying that I can't be nervous? That I should just stop feeling nervous? I thought you were supposed to be a good teacher."
"That is not quite what I mean." You reassure her. "Your emotions are only so controllable, and I am not saying that you cannot feel nervous. However, what you did was allow your nerves to get in the way of your actions. You were so nervous about saying the wrong thing that you said nothing."
Merrill nods slowly, frowning as she considers your words.
"You will be amazed how far simple confidence will take you, even feigned confidence." You continue. "In many circumstances, especially casual ones, many sins can be forgiven if you are confident enough."
"What, do people not take offence if you insult them confidently?" Merrill asks sarcastically.
"Not necessarily, however having the confidence to admit to a mistake and apologise sincerely will soothe all but the most bruised egos." You reply.
Merrill nods again. "Ok. So, I guess the secret is to just keep trying?"
You shake your head with a wide smile. "Not at all. Instead, you are going to find out why all Noldorin princes are singers."
"This is a terrible idea." Merrill hisses to you.
"It is not, that is your nerves talking." You reply calmly.
"I'm not even that good of a singer." She snaps back.
You smile encouragingly at her. "Only one way to improve I'm afraid."
You step into the hall of song, where Ranger and Xandar are sitting. You wave to them as you pass and step into the centre of the room.
"Thank you both for coming. Merrill's going to be singing a song for a lesson. I appreciate you both coming to provide an audience." You tell the pair.
"Don't worry about it." Ranger grins. "Happy to help."
"Do your best Merrill!" Xandar yells, waving a sheet with the word Merrill painted on it.
Merrill shudders and breathes nervously as she walks into the centre of the room.
"I'll count you in and keep time on the drum. Give it a bar or two before you start." You whisper to her.
She nods shakily and does so.
There is nothing exceptional about her performance. She is a passable singer, no more. Still, she is flush with excitement after finishing. The rush of performance, and the release of nerves and fear of failure are a heady combination. Heady enough that she agrees to a bigger audience next time.
Over the course of the week you increase the size of the crowd, and eventually stop counting her in. People enjoy the singing, and nobody has the skill to realise that she is not a particularly great singer. In fact, the public singing helps her meet people with a similar interest.
By the end of the week she's singing in the main hall and even taking requests. You grin in satisfaction.
You have boosted her confidence and gained a singer in one fell swoop. Truly your genius knows no bounds.
[1] No the infinite void is not enough distance to be safe from her. Your fear of her is EXTREMELY healthy.