8) Kin - Year of the Sun 61 Lairë (Summer)

Chrys Menelrana

The sight of the High King was electrifying. Chrys had only seen him up close a couple of times, one in Valinor and the other on the Grinding Ice as Fingolfin led his people through horror and loss almost through sheer force of will. It was his leadership that brought them to Middle Earth. Tall and regal, Fingolfin was what Chrys always imagined in a High King. This was a king for whom he could fight. The High King made the rounds through his army and loyal lords. Clad in armor of silver and sky blue with a blue surcoat covered in the images of stars, he thanked each soldier by name for their great victory. When the High King came to the members of the Guild of Elements, he stopped and extended a hand. "Chrys, Carnil, Talan, Elerior and Ralian, you and your army held the hill that was the lynchpin of our counterattack. Without you, I would have had to fight an entire army that would have been entrenched on the high ground. I would not have been able to join with Maedhros for the final push to Angband. Now, our combined forces have laid siege to his dark fortress. We have Morgoth entirely contained. We can now build our lands in peace."

Chrys took his hand and then Fingolfin raised it up to cheers from the surrounding troops. "Thank you, High King. It was an honor to serve." Chrys' armor had been repaired by the elven smiths and the silver plates shone in the sunlight.

"You came when I called, all the way from the south. I now release you from my service so that you may journey back home. I hear the healers have attended to your wounded and are hale enough to travel."

He still had a little bit of a limp, but this was not the place to talk about it. "They are, High King. We will be able to return soon."

Fingolfin put a firm hand on Chrys' shoulder and gave him a friendly tug. "Our smiths have prepared arms and armor for your troops. I would not have you go empty handed. We will always be your friends. Call on me if you have need." The High King shook the hands of the Guild and then continued into the crowd, thanking the troops for their sacrifice.

Chrys turned to be with the Guild members. "We have fought and bled together, and I could not be prouder of all of you. When we return to the vale we will have a feast."

Talan chuckled wryly as he tugged on the high collar of his forest green tunic. "Oh, I'm sure Aelrie will be pleased with you for having her prepare another feast."

"But Laurre will chomping at the bit to help out," Elerior quipped. "He's becoming quite the cook."

Talan kept tugging on his collar. "I hate formal events. This tunic will be the death of me. So itchy."

Carnil spun Talan about to face him. "Here, let me dress you again. I'm going to make a song about this, you know," he said as he straightened the green tunic.

"Ha ha," Talan said, emphasizing each word. Then, he rolled his eyes. "I, for one, am ready to head for home. I fear that, in our absence, the forces of darkness may have spread in the south."

"By the Valar, enjoy the moment," Elerior said with an edge of exasperation. "The stars have shown that years of peace will ensue after this battle. We have some time, Talan."

Talan winced. "Time, time, time. That's all we have when we're immortal. The eons that we spent in Valinor have made us complacent. I'm telling you that time is running out."

Chrys stepped between them. "That's good. You all are right. While we've won a great victory and must celebrate, we have also seen the power of the Dark Lord and must prepare," he said and then looked at Talan. "We will have a feast and then we will train and prepare. Let's leave one of our better smiths here to apprentice under the High King's people. We want every edge that we can get in the coming years. Talan, is this acceptable?"

"Of course. You always find the middle ground Chrys. This is reasonable."

Chrys smiled at the Guild members and then felt a familiar sensation. He looked over to the crowd, searching. His eyes locked onto an elf with golden hair, inherited from his mother's side. "Finrod! Over here!"

Finrod looked over and then a smile crossed over his lips. "Chrys! My kinsman!" he called back and then walked over. He wore a tunic and breeches made from fine cloth in earthly hues of green and brown. His cape was green and bore the sigil of the House of Finarfin, a yellow sun with orange rays spreading out from it. On his finger was a ring of gold with a large green gem and the image of intertwined serpents with eyes of green gems. His face was lean, but warm with piercing blue eyes. They clasped each other warmly. "I heard you had quite a battle. Well done, cousin. No orc can match our swords and spears. There will be songs sung about this for eons."

"I heard you fared well on the battlefield. The House of Finarfin prevails," Chrys said with a grin and then he turned serious. "What of the plan to besiege Morgoth? His fortress is mighty, and he has the power of a Vala? Can we ever defeat that?"

"We have a ring around the south side of Angband. We don't have the numbers to encircle him, nor do we have power to bring down a Vala. But he is contained for now and his armies are decimated. Morgoth has seen the might of the Noldor, and brilliance of the High King and he sits afraid in his halls."

Finrod looked over the Carnil. Well met, fellow bard," he said, clapping Carnil on the shoulder. "I would invite you to our contest of song this evening. You easily rival my skills so it will be a battle for the ages."

Carnil smiled and spread his hands out. "I wouldn't miss it. But will Maglor be there? I don't stand a chance against him."

Finrod laughed aloud and gave a broad smile that lit up the area. "Neither do I, but it won't stop me from trying." He tilted his head back and put his hand to his chin. "Lyrics have been running through my mind. What do you think of this? Golden leaves fall thick on green grass in the land of peace and plenty," he began to sing before shaking his head. "Rubbish, pure rubbish. "I'll come up with something good before tonight."

Chrys continued to look around, searching for more people. "And where are my other cousins?"

"I couldn't tear them away from Fingon's fine cavalry. They are busy admiring the great steeds of Dor Lómin," Finrod said with an off handed wave.

"I must greet them," Chrys countered. "I haven't seen them since the Mereth Aderthad."

"Oh, come now cousin. It's only been just over forty years," Finrod said with a wide smile. "Follow me. "You should absolutely bid them greetings." He walked with a sense of purpose with the Guild keeping up and Chrys limping along. "I must tell you all that about a decade ago, I had vision from the Vala Ulmo. He showed me secret underground halls, abandoned by the petty dwarves. Nulukkhizdîn, they called it. Yes, quite a tongue twister. Apparently, our Sindarin cousins hunted them out of the caverns, unaware that they were a civilized race. It sits on the western banks of the River Narog, and we have decided to call it Nargothrond."

Chrys nodded, listening to every word. "I'm intrigued. We should visit on our journey home."

"Of course," Finrod declared as they approached the tall steeds of Fingon's cavalry, proud white horses known for their speed and stamina. He pointed to a tall woman with golden hair, wearing a tunic and riding pants dyed in forest green with intricate gold and silver designs in geometric shapes. "Galadriel! I've brought our cousin."

She turned and recognition filled her radiant face and her bright eyes twinkled as a faint smile passed over her lips. "Cousin Chrys, it has been too long," she said in a voice full of melody and warmth. She moved to touch him on the shoulder, and it almost seemed as if she were floating over the earth in her grace.

Chrys bowed his head in respect. "Hearing about Galadriel is one thing but seeing her in person is another experience entirely." It was as if the world were moving in slow motion just by being near her.

Galadriel chuckled quietly, never one to display too much overt emotion. "You are too kind. I heard of your valiant stand on the hills of Ladros. The High King has you to thank for holding so firm so that he could link with Maedhros. Now the containment of the Dark Lord is complete. I, for one, wish to build on this new land. You've no doubt heard of the construction of Nargothrond?"

"I have, my lady. I cannot wait to see Nargothrond when it's completed. We do intend to visit on our way back to the south though to see the construction. I'm sure we have a lot to learn."

Galadriel nodded. "We wish to teach you all that we know. And I've heard that your hold in Tumlindë is a sight to behold…that it looks like a little slice of Valinor here in Middle Earth. I would like to visit one day as well."

"We would be honored," Chrys said with deep respect.

She touched him by the hand and seemed to peer deep into his soul. She cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. "I see greatness and valor in you. There will also be great sacrifice," she said with all seriousness as she looked to the members of the Guild. "You will stop an abomination," she continued as she put her hand in front of her mouth in horror. "I…that is all I see."

Finrod stepped in. "My younger sister is gifted with sight. Still, that could mean anything. Let's not dwell on what may yet pass. Come, please join us. Our brothers are waiting. Angrod would love to show off his new son, Orodreth. Along with Aegnor, they still have the fire of youth. They held the highlands of Dorthonion against Morgoth's forces and none could withstand them." He swung up into the saddle of his brown horse and pointed off into the distance. "Ah, I can see them there. Here, take these horses," he said to the Guild. "It's just a short ride for these fine steeds."

Galadriel and the Guild members climbed into saddles, and they bolted off towards Finrod's brothers. Chrys marveled at the speed in which the elven steeds galloped at and inhaled deeply of the clean air as the wind swept through his hair.

Up ahead he could see Finrod's camp and his bright banners, a harp and a torch on a field of gold, fluttering in the wind. Angrod and Aegnor were already waving as was Eldalotë, Angrod's wife. Chrys felt an excitement at seeing so much of his kin again. It had been just over forty years since the festival of Mereth Aderthad. He rose up in the stirrups and waved back, yelling a greeting.

The sun was just setting as they rode up to the camp and dismounted, tethering their horses. Chrys had a big smile on his face as he ran up to Angrod and Aegnor, the two youngest siblings. The children of Finarfin had gathered and it was a sight to see. There were roaring fires all around the camp and the aroma of cooking wafted in the air. Chrys and the Guild swapped embraces with Angrod and Aegnor. Angrod's wife, Eldalotë, bowed to the guests and held up their young son, Orodreth. "Welcome," she said. "We thank you for helping to bring about a better world, one of peace in which we can raise our son."

Angrod stepped in, his face full of pride. "His father name is Artaresto in Quenya. I could not be happier bringing a child into the world. Just look at the beauty of the land," he said, gesturing around at the plains, hills and forests. He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes. "I feel that great things are in store for our son."

Chrys leaned forward and made a funny face at the baby and Orodreth laughed with glee. He tickled the baby's belly to even more laughter, eliciting smiles and chuckles from the group. "Family is important. I want a safe world where we can raise our children in peace and prosperity." He felt a pang of longing to return home to see his own wife and son. Even a short year to the elf was too long to be away.

"A noble goal. One we all seek to make into reality," Aegnor said. Then, he beckoned to the campfires that were being lit. "Come, let's enjoy the fires. The food should be done soon. I, myself, am famished." He looked directly at Chrys. "And we have chicken, just for you. You must stay to hear the music too. As you know, my older brother is quite the singer."

Chrys gave a wry smile and looked around for the food. The mere thought of roast chicken made his stomach growl. "So I've heard. We have quite the bard from the south too." He turned to Carnil Ravirë. "Carnil, are you prepared to match Finrod?"

Carnil's eyes widened with a bit of fear and surprise, and he put his palms out. "Oh Chrys, I'm not even close. I can play a lively tune for dinner in our halls, but I cannot hold a candle to Finrod."

Galadriel stepped in, her golden hair fluttering in the evening breeze. "Nonsense Carnil. We've heard you play, and your skills are not to be underestimated." Then, she gestured to the open field of grass. "Come, let us sit together and enjoy the company. I look forward to hearing you once again." They sat on the warm grass and Carnil pulled his lute from a leather case.

Finrod approached and sat with them, lute in hand. "I say that we treat these fine folks to some quality entertainment," he said with a wink to the group. He cleared his throat and brushed back his golden hair. "It's good to be among friends and kin. It will be a moment to cherish and remember." He took a moment to tune the instrument, tightening some of its strings. "This was a gift from Irmo, the lord of dreams. It was made from one branch of Laurelin," he said, showing off the intricate carvings on the wooden surface. "I studied under him in the gardens of Lórien, just outside the City of Valmar. It was a time of bliss and peace." He strummed a chord which seemed to fill the entire camp with sound.

"I think that might be a good place to start," said Chrys. "The gardens of Lórien." He thought back to his time in Valinor and the beauty of the gardens and forests, the scent of evergreens and flowers with the light of the Two Trees peeking through the canopy onto the forest floor. "I was a servant of Manwë and a student of Eönwë for sword and shield," he said. "I always regret never learning the musical arts from Irmo."

"The prowess of your bladework is a boon for our people," Finrod said, countering. "We all have a part to play cousin." He looked to Carnil and nodded. "Lórien it is then. Well, shall we?" Finrod began with a chord that rippled in the minds of the audience. When he and Carnil began to sing it was as if a force of energy came from their mouths. Soft tendrils of light played above them and began to form into shapes and then visions. A spectral forest formed above them with trees swaying in the breeze. A garden then formed that sprouted flowers and fruit. The audience lay back upon the grass and were amazed at the scene. The power of the bards' voices brought them to the garden as their words were full of enchantment.

The world almost ceased to exist for Chrys. He closed his eyes, and he was once again in Valinor as Laurelin waned to the waxing of Telperion. There was no Morgoth, no orcs, no demons, only the love and the peace of the Valar. He could feel the pulse of energy from the music, and he was transported in his mind to the peak of Mount Oiolossë, the home of Manwë. He could feel the chill and see the snowcap on top of the mountain where the Vala's home was. He exhaled a deep and contented sigh. He was home.