Chapter 3: So We Have Heard

(*)

Rauwen watched her people as she waited to address them. Those who had already arrived spoke with each other quietly, pressed against the wall of the largest roundhouse in the Silvan village, where she'd called all the heads of household to meet. They tried to maintain the normal atmosphere of friendly conversation, but Rauwen could see that being called here suddenly worried them.

She laughed along as one of her elders recounted a tale of his grandson's recent misadventure running through the forest after an unruly piglet that had run away, then fallen into a cave so it had to be rescued. The tale teller caught Rauwen's eye and winked; she smiled back at him and nodded. She appreciated what he was doing, trying to keep spirits up while they waited.

As elves came through the door, each offered her a formal greeting, hands over their hearts, then inevitably relaxed when she asked them about their families. She was rewarded with warm words and smiles.

Her eyes passed over the gathering crowd, fondness swelling in her heart. There was nothing she would not do to keep them safe, free, and happy. There were just a few more she needed to arrive before she could begin.

"They are all coming," Sûlwen reassured her.

"You found the bard?" Rauwen asked. A part of her hoped he couldn't be found, but she knew that would carry its own problems. Harpers were too important to the Silvans – they were woven into the fabric of the clan's social life. It wouldn't do for him to miss this discussion.

Sûlwen nodded. "He will be here soon. He was settling a little argument between neighbors. Nothing that you need to worry about, Tywysoges."

"If they wish to speak with me about it, I will be happy to listen," Rauwen said. In the close gathering, she knew they'd all hear, and she was glad. She wanted her people to come to her with their problems. She wanted their trust, and to have her finger on the pulse of her clan, right down to the petty disputes of everyday life.

"We know," Sûlwen said with a smile. A quiet chuckle breezed through the roundhouse. A few elves nodded. Two more elves filed into the already crowded room, then one more.

"Cyfarwydd," Rauwen said with a nod, greeting her clan's bard, Erisdir, by title, rather than by name.

"Tywysoges," he said, returning her greeting with a small bow of respect. He closed the door behind him and settled against it. The elves' faces glowed orange from the light of the fire at the center of the round room.

"My thanks to you all for gathering so quickly," Rauwen began, smiling at her council. "I want to reassure you we are not under attack, nor being stalked by an enemy. This is not an emergency, but there is a decision that needs to be made."

She felt the group ease a little.

"Let us get comfortable, I think we shall be here for some time," she said.

She settled herself into the carved wooden chair her newly formed clan had made for her along with their meeting house. She traced one of the winding, interlaced symbols on the arm with her finger as her people found seats on benches or furs near the fire. Sûlwen left her side to join the others. Rauwen missed being among them sometimes, looking up at her mother sitting in her own Speaker's Seat back in Rauwen's old home.

"I went to investigate the disturbance at the edge of our territory, as you all know. The tree whispers were not wrong – there are strangers in our forest," she said. She watched her people as she spoke. Some sat up straighter. Some leaned to whisper or sign to someone beside them. Some looked worried; some curious.

"They are a group of elves that have come from the havens by the sea, although they came first from Elwë's kingdom in Doriath. They are led by Oropher, son of Olwë. I spoke with his son, but no others. They are looking for my grandfather Lenwë, with whom they wish to speak. Oropher's son did not say why, but I suspect they are looking for a place to settle. It makes me uneasy, I admit."

Whispers were running through the room before she even finished.

"What feeds your unease, Tywysoges?" Erisdir asked. "They are kin, are they not? Your grandfather remembers young Oropher fondly. If Oropher is looking for Lenwë, Lenwë will want to speak with him."

"He will wish to speak with him, I have no doubt," Rauwen agreed. "But the Sindar turned away from our path. They do not know our ways, nor do they care to learn them. They hid behind their wall of power through the suffering of many and did not come out to help any others but themselves.

"Do they come to us now as kin seeking help, or does the son of Olwë come to declare himself King over us all? Oropher's son, Thranduil, was surprised that I did not come running at Oropher's beckoning."

Eyes flickered to and fro as the elves watched each other's reactions. The fire shone red in the whites of their eyes.

"They have had trouble," one elf said. "They have lost their homes. Have we no pity for them at all? They welcomed Lord Denethor when he brought our people to Elwë, seeking his protection."

"And Lord Denethor died for his trouble," another elf countered. "Alone and unaided on a hill, fighting a battle he rode out to only at Elwë's beckoning, but the Sindar King did not come forward to fight beside our people until it was too late. Too many were killed because he held our lives less valuable than those of his own people!"

"So say you, you do not know," someone said angrily.

"So say the survivors who came back from across the mountains!"

"Then why did so many stay and join Thingol's people? They may be among those who seek our help even now!"

"There are many things we do not know for certain," Erisdir said. He leaned against the door and looked modestly at the ground, but the voices quieted when he spoke.

"What state were they in, my lady? If they are here to make themselves kings, do they come in power and wealth?" Erisdir asked Rauwen with a slight bow of his head.

His displays of deference chafed her. She didn't believe they were genuine. As her clan's harper, Erisdir was second only to Rauwen. Sometimes she wondered if she needed to give him a reminder of that hierarchy.

"They have some trappings of wealth," Rauwen said carefully. "Many wear silks and fine leather boots. There are more swords among them than in all the Silvan clans put together."

"But?" Erisdir asked when Rauwen paused.

"But their clothes have been remade many times now. What was once fine cloth is worn. They are thin and look weary. They are as sharp as the edges of their blades," she admitted.

"So it is true, then. They are refugees," Erisdir said.

"It appears so," Rauwen agreed, though unhappily. Her bard could turn her words around on her so easily – and her clan would listen. "Refugees who make too much noise and attract a great deal of attention. The birds and animals are silent all around them. Their King's son had been sent out looking for us, but any one of us could evade him with hardly any effort. He knows no woodcraft."

It was on the tip of her tongue to tell them about the tall, pale elf who had stepped into one of the Silvan traps, clueless. She pictured him fighting the vines. He would have fought until he strangled, she was certain. He was fierce and proud. He'd picked himself up off the ground and done his duty to his father, trying to bring her back to speak with Oropher as he'd been asked to. He'd even swallowed his pride to put her at ease. To her surprise, she could not bring herself to tell her people about his humiliation, although it would prove her point well.

Rauwen realized all the eyes in the room were on her, waiting for her to continue. She'd paused too long. Sûlwen was giving her an odd look. Rauwen refocused herself.

"What the Prince does know is how to use a sword, and use it well, I wager. They will bring the orcs and fell beasts down on us again. I fear that even more than I fear that they wish to make themselves our lords."

"They are in danger and they do not even know it," Sûlwen said quietly. "My lady, they have no notion how much worse it has become here in these last years. They will be killed!"

"I warned the King's son about the orcs so he could put his people on guard. They have better weapons than we do, they are not defenseless," Rauwen said.

Erisdir nodded in approval. Two of the elders copied him, easing themselves out of a tense huddle. Someone on the furs sighed in relief.

As uneasy as it all made her, Rauwen could read a room. She could see her people would not accept it if she told them to do nothing. A Tywysoges who could not hold the respect of her clan would not last long. But the Sindar were a danger to her people, and it was her job to protect them.

"I am not blind to their plight," Rauwen said. "We are still the newest and smallest clan in this forest. We have already moved our village once due to increased threats and we have only just rebuilt here. Whatever we do about the Sindar, we must keep our home safe and hidden. It is not our way to ride out in open battle. We do not have the strength of arms to do so.

"I do not wish to bring the Sindar here, into our home," Rauwen concluded. She watched the faces around her as she said so. Some of them began to nod, but they were still looking for more.

"Let us send messengers to my grandfather. His clan is larger and better established than ours. They must travel farther to meet the Sindar, it is true, but they are in a better position to assist," Rauwen said. She hoped that would be enough.

"What of the dangers they face now?" Erisdir asked quietly. A murmur of agreement breezed through the group.

Rauwen resisted the urge to sigh in frustration. "Perhaps we can keep watch over them as they pass through our territory. We can stay hidden unless they need help. It is safer," she suggested.

The elves around her glanced at each other, but Rauwen could see they were becoming more comfortable.

"I would like to speak with my household before it is decided," one of the elders along the wall said. Murmurs of agreement passed through the group.

Rauwen nodded and gestured for the food baskets to be brought out. "As I expected. Let us eat now, and we can all speak with whom we will, then you can return to your homes and we will gather again in the morning. I will not decide before I have heard from everyone."

Her people smiled at her and began talking quietly among themselves as a basic meal made its way around.

Sûlwen brought the basket forward and offered it to Rauwen. It was too crowded to speak about what had happened privately yet, so Sûlwen just smiled and caught her eye instead. She held Rauwen's wrist for a moment after she'd handed the food over. Rauwen felt herself loosen a little under the warmth of her friend's palm.

Rauwen tried to listen to the small conversations that sprung up as food disappeared. Her people would give her their thoughts in the morning, and she would be hard pressed to ignore them if a strong opinion arose. So far as she could tell, her proposed compromise was holding.

The group was becoming more relaxed moment by moment. Some of them lounged on the furs and fresh rushes on the floor as they discussed the news. Rauwen let herself chuckle at a jest as one of them.

"Cyfarwydd, will you share a tale?" a voice called from the floor.

A tremor of apprehension shook Rauwen's good mood. Her bard might tell an innocent tale, of course. But he never seemed to miss a chance to drive a point home when he disagreed with her. Rauwen felt the seeds of dread sprouting in her gut.

Erisdir looked to Rauwen, deferring to her, but Rauwen knew she could not say 'no.' It would beg too many questions. It would be too strange, too large a departure from the traditions of her people to refuse a story from their harper on a night when they'd gathered.

Rauwen nodded and smiled. "Please," she said. She stood and relinquished her chair to him. It was the only place in the room everyone could see equally.

The eyes of her clan's council shifted from her to Erisdir. Rauwen went to take his place guarding the door. Sûlwen looked up at her as she passed, but Rauwen gestured that Sûlwen should stay where she was. Rauwen wasn't in the mood for company as she settled in Erisdir's place at the fringes.

Erisdir took the seat in the center of the room, carrying his lap harp with him. He unwrapped it and began plucking at the strings, testing its tuning. His audience shifted about, getting comfortable.

Some of them took out small projects to work on – restringing a bow, splitting feathers for arrows, mending. On a happier night Rauwen would join them with her own projects, perhaps even enjoying some sewing or embroidery. She crossed her arms and watched Erisdir – she hoped he felt it.

The harper strummed a chord and smiled. He closed his eyes and strummed again, humming as he picked out a tune. He played for a few minutes, then began.

"We have heard that Finwë, who was born in Cuiviénen beneath the stars, was crowned King of the Noldor in Aman," Erisdir began.

"So we have heard," the Silvans recited together. Rauwen moved her lips along with them, but she did not speak the words.

Rauwen kept herself from frowning. What could the legendary Noldor King have to do with the Sindar in her forest?

"One day, King Finwë was in the Garden of Lórien, a place of healing, standing beside the body of his wife, Miriel. Miriel, who had departed her body and vowed never to return, for when she had been delivered of her son, she became weary of life and could bear it no longer, so she laid herself down, and her spirit fled," Erisdir chanted.

"Or so I have heard," he said.

"So we have heard," the Silvans answered.

"Now King Finwë loved his son, who was named Curufinwë, but was called Fëanor, for his spirit was bright and beautiful as a flame. But the King could find no peace sitting alone on his throne in Tiron upon Túna, a court of his.

"'Miriel! Wife!' King Finwë said, and her spirit came close to hear his plea.

"'Will you not return? Have you forsaken us? We are alone, and I have not such a line of children as a King should have! Have you not made vows of marriage to me? Have you no love for our son? Return to us!'

"'Finwë, Husband,' Miriel said. 'I have made such vows, and I have love for our son, but by his birth I am diminished, and can keep my vows no longer. I cannot return.'

"'So you have said,' Finwë told her. 'And I hearken. Do you disavow me then, that I am free again to marry?'

"And Miriel was silent for a long time, but Finwë did not leave.

"Or so I have heard," Erisdir said.

"So we have heard," the Silvans answered.

Rauwen narrowed her eyes, trying to predict where this might be going. Perhaps this truly was an innocent tale. She had not heard it told in many years, for the Noldor held little interest to the elves of the wood.

Erisdir continued, plucking his harp as he chanted.

"'Finwë, husband, I will not return. Whether you can marry twice I cannot say. Your vows are not mine to release.'

"'Miriel, wife! Who, then, can release me? Or shall I be alone for all the long years of Arda, while you sleep?'

"'The Valar must say this, or who can?' Miriel said. 'The vow of marriage between the Eldar makes two into one. When water is poured into wine, can it later be separated, though the regret is great?'

"'But I have asked the Valar, and they have said thus: return to Lórien to ask again if Miriel should agree to release you, and then we shall decide,' he said.

"'Then there is another who has your heart?' Miriel said, and she was weary.

"'I have only looked upon her, but her heart she has offered to me,' he said. 'Do you release me, or will you return?'

"'And what say our son?" Miriel asked. 'Does he not satisfy you, my lord? Are you so alone, while he is with you?'

"'My son is very great, and I love him, but he is my son and not my companion,' Finwë said. 'What say has he in this? A child does not tell a parent how to live, nor a subject tell a lord.'

"Miriel was silent for a long time, but Finwë did not leave.

"Or so I have heard," Erisdir said.

"So we have heard," the Silvans answered. The small sounds of busy hands that often accompanied a tale had died down. The eyes of the council were fixed on the harper.

Erisdir hummed and continued.

"'Miriel! Answer! Will you release me, or will you return?' Finwë cried.

"'Finwë, my lord, who I have loved! He who shares my fëa! I cannot return, I have not the heart,' Miriel said. 'I release you, though I know not its wisdom. Now I shall leave even this place of healing forever, for I am weary indeed.'

"Thus departed Miriel, one who was born at Cuiviénen beneath the stars, and the bond of marriage between them was sundered. And the Valar gave their blessing, that Finwë might marry again, and thus it was that he took Indis of the Vanyar as his wife, though he had promised, once, to cleave only to Miriel, and though his son was grieved.

"Or so I have heard," Erisdir said.

"So we have heard," the Silvans chanted.

Rauwen's eyes flickered over the faces of her people, many of whom looked at the ground, uncomfortable. To end a marriage and take another was unthinkable. It would rip the very fabric of the couple's souls.

She recalled what she'd heard Erisdir call this tale before and felt the heat of anger rising in her chest. The Great Betrayal, he'd called it. She watched Erisdir pointedly, although she forced herself to keep her face neutral.

Her bard's eyes caught hers for a moment. She did not blink.

He looked away, and continued.

"Now, the bond of Finwë and Indis seemed blessed indeed, for she sat long beside his throne in happiness, and bore him two sons, and two daughters.

"But always his first son, Fëanor, burned for his mother and his father's betrayal of her, and he grew to loathe his brothers and sisters by Indis, though they were his kin. The heart of Fëanor grew dark, which turned his hands and his mind to hatred, though they were the keenest hands and mind ever to bless the Eldar. Thus, the forges of Fëanor ceased to foster things of beauty, and he instead made swords and weapons, which were as sharp as his anger."

Rauwen listened as Erisdir continued on, summarizing the tales of all that had befallen Fëanor and those who followed him. She listened to her bard's beautiful words as he spoke of Fëanor drawing his sword against his brother, and Fëanor luring his people away from Aman, and of his terrible oath to recover the jewels of light he'd wrought.

The Silvans muttered with disapproval when they heard of Fëanor's sons taking their father's oath. 'Ai!' she heard her people cry when Erisdir recounted the story that was most horrific and hardest to believe – of Fëanor and his sons killing their own kin to steal ships so they could sail away from Aman.

Sûlwen keened in distress as Erisdir spoke of Fëanor's abandonment of his brother's host to cross the Great Ice, which had been their only recourse, as they had been banished from Aman, and had no other way to travel to Middle-earth. A few eyes darted towards Rauwen, then quickly away.

Rauwen made herself unclench her jaw. She'd already lost, she could tell. Her careful compromises would no longer satisfy her people. They would tell her so in the morning. Tonight, she had much to consider. She forced her shoulders to relax and listened as Erisdir finished the story.

"Thus as Fëanor lay dying he set not aside his vow, but made his sons affirm it, and then his body burned and he died.

"Now we have heard many things, from many mouths, of the suffering of the sons of Fëanor and the evils they wrought in the throes of their vow. And though their actions were their own, the poisoned well from which they drank was the well of their father, who betrayed his brothers. And the well from which he drank was the well of his father, who betrayed Miriel, his wife.

"Thus it seems to this teller of tales: those who betray their kin suffer, and their children suffer, and the greater the betrayal the greater the suffering, which shall echo down the years until all is lost to ashes.

"Or so I have heard," Erisdir concluded sadly. He struck a beautiful, final chord on his harp.

"So we have heard," the Silvans murmured.

With unusual quietness, the council packed up their things, said their 'good evenings' to each other, and made their way home to speak with their families. In the morning, they would reconvene and give their thoughts to Rauwen, who needed to be prepared with a solution that would not force them to challenge her.

If she were Lenwë, or her mother, she might not need to be so careful – but Rauwen was not her grandfather. Rauwen had been the leader of her own clan for only a few decades. The legend of her birth would only carry her so far. She still had to earn her place.

Erisdir bowed his head towards her as he walked out the door. "Tywysoges," he said.

"Cyfarwydd," Rauwen said with a nod, her face schooled into neutrality.

Finally, only Sûlwen was left. Sûlwen sighed deeply and stood, approaching Rauwen with caution.

"They are our kin," Sûlwen said quietly. "You are my leader, and you are my beloved friend. I never wish to take the side of another against you—"

"But you agree with him," Rauwen said calmly. "You think we need to do more."

"My eldest brother went with your uncle, Lord Denethor, and died beside him," Sûlwen said quietly. "The ones who came back from Doriath said his wife was with child, and she did not join our people who retreated to Ossiriand – she joined King Thingol's people in the guarded city. She— she could be with them right now, with his child. If not, the Sindar may be able to tell me of their fates. Do you know no one who might be among them? Does their suffering not touch your heart?"

"It does touch my heart, dear friend," Rauwen said, taking Sûlwen's hands in her own. "But it is my duty to keep us safe and though it may not seem it, they will bring us peril."

Rauwen watched Sûlwen's face, which was filled with sadness and worry.

"It does not matter, in any case," Rauwen said. "Erisdir has won, clearly, if even you have been swayed. I will have to come up with a better solution."

"Will we go to them, then?" Sûlwen said hopefully. "Our bard was only sharing his opinion, in his own way," she added sheepishly.

"His opinion holds much sway," Rauwen said. With only Sûlwen in the quiet roundhouse, she let her frustration leak into her voice.

Sûlwen nodded unhappily. Rauwen was her dearest friend, but it was awkward for Sûlwen that her chieftain and her bard were at odds. It was uncomfortable for the whole clan.

"Sûlwen, I know we are both tired, but I need your help with one more thing before we go to sleep," Rauwen said with a heavy sigh.

"What is that?" Sûlwen asked.

"If we are going out to meet the Sindar, we must be prepared to impress them. I think they look down on us. If we arrive in our hunting clothes– " Rauwen frowned, thinking about the blond elf she'd met in the woods and his confidence in his father's right to call her to him.

"I will need my woad robes," Rauwen concluded.

Sûlwen's eyebrows shot up. "The blue ceremonial robes!"

Rauwen nodded. "We will begin airing them out tonight before we sleep. In the morning you must find fresh flowers for our hair. We must all wear our finest. I need this Oropher to see that he is in our land: we do not bow to him."

"Of course, my lady," Sûlwen said. Her face had turned from sad to thoughtful. "I hear what you say, I am not deaf to your concerns. It is well to arrive at our best, I think."

"They still call us 'Nandor,'" Rauwen huffed. "As if they are not the ones who abandoned these lands, following the Great Hunter blindly."

"Well," Sûlwen said. "You cut a handsome figure in your best robes, my lady. This Oropher, son of Olwë, is sure to be impressed."

Rauwen snorted. She looked at Sûlwen, her eyes half-lidded. "I can always tell when you are trying to flatter me into a better mood."

"And it always amuses you," Sûlwen said with an impish grin. "I think this Prince you admire so much will be impressed as well, my lady. You will surprise him, since he thought you nothing but a soldier."

Rauwen blinked at Sûlwen and shook her head in surprise. "Admire? I do not care if he is impressed," she protested.

"No?" Sûlwen asked. Rauwen knew her friend too well. She could hear the false innocence in Sûlwen's voice.

"I noticed that you did not tell our people that you found him helpless in one of our traps," Sûlwen said, one eyebrow raised.

"He acted with honor," Rauwen insisted. "Humiliating him would only bring ill will on us. Do not tell the others, Sûlwen. I told you in confidence."

Sûlwen dropped her eyes. "Forgive me, Tywysoges, I only sought to brighten your mood."

"I know," Rauwen said, gentling her voice. She offered her friend a brush of fëa against fëa, sharing reassurance, but also her worry. Sûlwen responded in kind, taking one of Rauwen's hands in her own.

"I do not think these Sindar are so quick to jest as we are. We must tread carefully for now. Come, let us go home. We will air out our robes and sleep. Light will come with the new day, and then we will leave our little haven and meet these distant kin."

(*)

Notes:

Hello and thank you for reading this chapter, I really hope you enjoy it! Next update will be October 26th. If there was anything that stood out to you about this chapter, I'd love to hear about it. I'm a little stalled in the writing process right now. Your support is so helpful when you share it!

Terms

"Cyfarwydd" is a Welsh word that means 'storyteller.' It was used historically to describe professional tale tellers, many of whom passed stories down from one to the next by memorization. I understand it also has connotations of being a wise person and sometime an advisor. In this story, I've built the Cyfarwydd of the Silvans up as important people within a clan, second only to the leader. (That's Tywysog/Tywysoges still.)

General Notes

I'm picturing the Silvans living in houses similar to Celtic roundhouses, but more camouflaged with branches and leaves since they're in a forest village, not a cleared and settled down. I'm still pulling from that Welsh and Celtic historical background, but with some adjustments to fit the Silvans' setting. Forest dwellers keeping pigs is supported by certain old Celtic tales, which mention herds of pigs being kept in the woods - likely, in part, because it was good for keeping brush under control to prevent forest fires!

Keep an eye on the story of Denethor's death (not human Denethor from Minas Tirith) - that's a canon tale, but it gets no more than a paragraph in the Silmarillion.

This is the first time, but not the last time in this story, that there will be a tale within a tale. I did a lot of research to use an oral tradition format that uses certain linguistic patterns used in some old Celtic stories, such as those in the Mabinogian. It was fun! I hope you don't mind that it's a bit old fashioned sounding.

The story of Finwë, Miriel, Fëanor etc. somewhat conforms to the canon text - if you're a Silm fan don't come for me, please! Playing with the PoV is part of this story, so this isn't necessarily 'the' story so much as it's a version of the story the Silvans learned passed from one person to another over time. It's also being told for a purpose, so Erisdir's point is built into how he's framing everything. If you are a Silm fan - what do you think of how the Silvans view the Noldor? I'm curious!