Doriath, First Age

"Oropheriôn!"

The call clamored through the silky green trees of the Forest of Region and the nearby river of Galduin bubbled.

The one who was summoned gazed at the lovely countenance of his ward and wondered if he was to abandon her.

" You need not fear for my safety. Where the bright light of Anar glows, I know no fright." His ward told him, her golden hair breezing about.

" Ui(no). Unless I am replaced no matter how urgently my commander call."

Suddenly said commander was upon them. Mablung glanced at his officer and barely swept back his disdain of the Noldorin lady. " Thranduil, your king summons you."

Thranduil bowed, " I am dismissed, Híril-nin(My lady)."

She laughed rosily, throwing a chain of nimrodel and mallyrn leaves around him. " Go, you overachieving ellon."

Swiftly, Thranduil's silent feet bore him to his King's side. A young ellon, he ranged only a hundred and sixty summers; but experience and the grave shadow beyond the Girdle of Malian had made him a warrior and officer long before his time.

He saluted his King, bowing deeply as he showed his respect. " Aran nin, you summoned me? I fear it must be dire tidings indeed if my commander must fetch me."

Oropher Elmoiôn stood beside his uncle and greeted his son with a quick hand grasp. Beside each other, it was a marvel how alike they all were. Oropher's features were fuller than his son's and his check rounded merrily, while his lips were full for smiling. But his eyes, the piercing basalt blue, and the warrior's girth and manner made him equal to his King.

Thingol stood just a little taller than Oropher; his features were thin and severe with a tortured fullness to them. He had seen the beauties of Valinor but had foreseen the folly Elves could commit. Yet his words had not been heeded and Olwë's kin was slaughtered because of it.

Thingol gazed at his young kinsman and then motioned to an epistle he held. " Strange tidings-one whose purport I cannot fathom. Signed by a servant of Era, they ask that one upon whom the Spirit of Eru is strong should be sent to Dor Dinen."

Thranduil remained silent yet his warrior's mind worked through strategies.

Oropher spoke next, " We do not doubt the power and mystery of the writer. He was not observed by any."

Thranduil quirked an eyebrow. ' Yet might he not be a messenger of Morgoth who seeks to weaken you?"

Thingol laughed, the hollowness chinking off the cold halls of Menegroth. " He shall have to do more to disarm me. I am of the mind that his request is to be met."

Oropher stiffened; he had not known Thingol would make this choice.

" Thranduil: you are the brightest and best of my army. Already you stand as Lieutenant. Think you that you should care to represent Doriath at this strange meeting?" Thingol inquired all this nonchalantly, while toying with the large ring on his fingers. " Of course, should it turn out as I rather suppose it will, you'll be prosperously rewarded."

Thranduil was speechless; he didn't want to go! His father, his family. " But there's a new baby coming, my lord."

Oropher winced. " It is shortly near his mother's time."

" He has the largest heart of us all. And the Song of Era graces him," Thingol interjected. " He shall go. I am sorry about the babe; I'll make sure that it is properly blessed at the Naming Day."

Thranduil kept his grimace in hand. " As you wish, my lord King."

Gondolin, First Age

" Glorfindel!" The call echoed off the high mountains that hid Gondolin. The breeze laughed as the high height reflected gold in mockery of the Golden-haired Lord.

Glorfindel climbed down from the skeletony rocks and gazed at the recalcitrant messenger before him. " Well? I was just about to get the perfect shot."

The messenger, a young Elf of eighty summers, who was the King's page, bowed blushingly. " Aran Turgon summons you."

Glorfindel quirked a gay gold eyebrow. " He sent me to shoot the deer for the banquet. I doubt he'd like having his favorite meal lacking."

" Yet despite this, you are summoned by the King himself," the unhappy page said.

Glorfindel, though he felt that he should be annoyed, couldn't be, gazing at the beautiful sky and the crisp clean air; he sighed.

" Here, bear my arms to the weapon masters. I'll to my king at once." He hustled his heavy ashen bow to the page and unbuckled his sword, laying the belt across his shoulders. Seeing his inability to bear the weight, he exclaimed, " Valar, what has Turgon been training the young ones on?"

The page could not help glancing at the warrior as he strode ahead. Broad shouldered and husky with a brawn more Dwarfish than Elfish, there was not doubt of his litheness and serious beauty.

Glorfindel set a hearty pace towards the city; occasionally, he turned round to help the youngling over the more difficult places. But he preferred to bound ahead, his hair flying and his grey eyes flashing as he took in the sights of the world he lived in. And he relished in being alive.

As they entered the city, he abandoned some of the evident joy that he had in being alive and quickly marched towards the King had had summoned him. The young ellon puffed behind him and then sighed with relief when he burst open the doors to the opulent study and exclaimed:

" Turgon, what are you about? Not only do you send me to hunt and then summon me back before I've time to get one buck, but your page! He can barely hold the weapons of a soldier. Look at him!"

Turgon Fingolfiniôn turned round from the ornate golden desk and clasped eyes with Glorfindel. Turgon's dark hair fell in liquid waves from a Dutch braid that terminated at the nape of his neck. His aquamarine eyes were cloudy and Glorfindel immediately sensed the fear and uncertainty that surrounded his best friend.

" Mana sa(What is it)? The shadow of fear has fallen over your face." Glorfindel reached out to his friend and for a moment, a deep assailing terror fought for precedence.

Turgon extended a silvern parchment to him. " They ask that he upon whom the grace of Eru is the greatest be sent to Dor Dinen. We know not who sent the epistle nor who how he could have come without our knowledge."

Glorfindel took the letter from him and read over it. " It has not the style of any of our known foes. Sauron is not so kindly taken and Melkor knows not of our location. It must be from a friend."

" A friend who asks for our best warrior. Who asks for us to risk the security and safety of our homeland. Ui(no)! I will not risk it," Turgon exclaimed seizing the note and throwing it into the fire. It curdled under the heat and then crumpled in a fragile heap.

" You're afraid?" Glorfindel inquired, his eyes resting interestedly upon his friend, while he tilted his head in wonder.

" Yes!" Turgon sighed. He clutched at his temple and then smiled at his friend. " Mellon, of course I am afraid. My family, my daughter, my kingdom, my friends. Should I not fear one who can enter my kingdom without my knowledge?

Glorfindel gazed at the mouldering heap of ash and then shrugged. " You should fear what the opposite promises. If they are our friends and we deny them, will they not be angered and perhaps become our enemies? I see no evil in this note; I see power and ability, but not evil."

Turgon heaved a heavy sigh and then glanced at his adopted brother. " I cannot risk loosing you. You are my rock, my second-in-command. Since Argon's death, you are my brother."

Glorfindel gave him a wry grin. " You have Fingon. And he's much more powerful than I. Put it before the Counsel. They also are much wiser than I. And they will know what is right."

Turgon gave him an annoyed glance. " And why do you think that you would be the one going?"

" Because I highly doubt that you will be sending anyone else."

" There's Ecthelion."

Glorfindel's eyes came alive in gray sparks and he growled at his friend, " Don't you dare send him! He is your best warrior and my best friend, you not withstanding. I would die a hundred deaths before his life is risked."

Turgon gave him a sad smile and then he looked at the ash heap. " I know. It doesn't make it easier."

" It's not meant to be easy, mellon; if it were easy, life would be blessed and there would be no death for those of us who are immortal. But it is not and we are cursed to live and watch others die, if we do not die ourselves."

Turgon nodded at his friend and then sat down. " Summon the Counsel. We will take stock."

March of Maedhros, First Age

" Fëanor's son!" The call descended down the rocky crags of Maedhros's march and ricocheted to the hidden valley that Maglor called his own. The puddling stream glimmered and laughed at him as his harp frolicked on decadent notes and tender harmonies.

The black haired lyricist turned to the one whose summons had disturbed his pleasure. " You are quite the fool to disturb me, Fëamorë."

The Avari elf bowed to the ellon before him and then spoke in a subdued tone, " Forgive my impertinence, but Lord Maedhros seeks your presence."

Maglor cocked an eyebrow and waited as he finished the sonata to answer. " My brother should remember that I am a Master here as well. I do not have to answer his calls."

Just then the harsh tones of Maedhros, the eldest son of Fëanor, tortured of Melkor, the Haryamá(the Lefthanded), sounded throughout the echoing valley. " And you would be wise to remember that I am Lord of Maedhros's March. You will obey me!"

Maglor seethed inwardly before he placed his harp gently aside. " As you wish, hanno(brother). What did you desire of me?"

" We have received a message that I do not trust at all. They desire that he upon whom the spirit of Iluvatar is the strongest be sent as some sort of messenger to Dor Dinen." Maedhros's temper was already aroused by having been sent the offending epistle. His brother's unwillingness to bow to his power had only antagonized it.

Maglor was immediately interested. " And why do you not trust it?"

" Know you of any Elf who would send us such a message without desiring our death? We are surrounded by our enemies. If is it not Morgoth and his vampire, Sauron, then it is the Moriquendi Thingol." Maedhros spit his name and then turned forcibly upon his servant Fëamorë, " What are you doing here? Go back to the March and wait for me!"

The Avari elf bowed, muttering to himself about how he preferred serving Valië, and that she was a much better ruler than the angry Fëanorian.

" If only he would stop harping on Valië! He is driving me insane about Valië!" Maedhros exclaimed, using his right hand to massage his temple.

Maglor laughed silently, " My dear brother, we are already insane. We are poisoned by our desire to hold the Silmarils. Do you not think us already mad? And as for Valië, she is a much better ruler than any of us. The letter, I should like to meet with them. Something tells me that it is for our betterment and that we would be wise not to annoy the Valar by refusing their invitation."

Maedhros cocked a suspicious eyebrow. " The Valar? They sent the note?"

" Aye, can you not sense the song of Eru and the sorrow of Nienna emanating off of it. It is all I can hear in this valley since you brought it." Maglor told him, shrugging off of the rock. His eyes were open and honest, the brilliant gold of his eyes shimmering as he watched his brother's turmoil. Ever since Fingon had returned him from Thangorodrim, he had been in a mad temper. He hoped that perhaps this letter signified an end to it and a return of reason to the House of Fëanor.

Maedhros struggled against his desire to please his brother and to do away with the anger and violence that existed between the Valar and the family of Fëanor. But the old rage and madness were too much. All he could recall as their part in refusing to grant the Silmarils to the eldest son of Finwë and how they had helped cause his death. " Ui! I refuse to send any one of the House of Fëanor. They will be killed if any leave the March! Maglor, I mean it. Any and all will be subject to my command."

Maglor gave him a silent, unassuming look. " Well, then, I suppose I know exactly what to do."

Maedhros was immediately on his guard. His brother had precipitated multiple fights the same way. " Do not challenge me, Maglor."

" I won't challenge you. I submit to your authority. Let us go before I am tempted."

Maedhros stood as though stunned, the letter falling from his single grasp. " What?"

" I won't challenge you, hanno. Oh, and burn that letter. The song of the Valar is quite strong upon it. I almost want to accept it."

Well, that was the first chapter of my Promise of Tulkas storyline. It's not the best, but it's not the worst. I wanted to convey a sense of uncertainty and difference. Each of the characters react differently and each of their kings react differently. I was interested to see how the three main characters would be unique and how they would handle the Call of Tulkas.

Just a few little authory tidbits. The Valië spoken of will later have her own storyline. It will actually tie in with Elwanu's from the first story, Found!. Another thing that I tossed in there was Maedhros's unbalanced behavior after his torture and Fingon's rescue. I've never thought of him as the most sane of the sons of Fëanor. I think that this proves it. The Avari elf who is his servant also ties into the Valië storyline. His name means Dark Soul.

I hope that you enjoyed this update and that you will continue following the storyline. I truly enjoy this story and hope that you love it as well.

Living for Christ,

Jetta Lee