Prologue: The Dweller of the Land of Stars

Véryangólë Aldarwion of Tirion paced the length of his sitting room. Outside, the light of Laurelin had reached its zenith.

"How long is this going to take?" he asked the air. The room erupted in laughter.

"It will take as long as it takes, Sailo," said Findárato, his long-time friend and liege-lord.

"Patience, Aldarwion," said Amarië. "If you are going to be a father, you have to learn that children take their own time."

Véryangólë turned to his companions with a helpless expression. Findárato, Amarië, Angárato and his wife Eldalótë had joined Véryangólë's parents and sister in waiting with the distraught father-to-be.

"Indeed, yondo," said Eleniel, his mother, "you took much longer than this to decide to come into the outside world."

Aldarwë walked over to his son and placed an arm around his shoulders. "Relax, pityawë," he said. "This waiting only seems long because you are anxious. Trust me, when it is over and your son is here in your arms, you will think nothing of it."

Véryangólë gave his father a shaky smile. "Does the nervousness get any better, the more children you have?"

Aldarwë raised an eyebrow, but before he could answer, the door opened and the mid-wife, Ninquellë, walked in. Véryangólë's eyes went wide.

"Come, Aldarwion," she said.

As Véryangólë stumbled his way out of the room, Ninquellë smiled and winked at the assembled company. Joyful laughter followed after her.

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When Véryangólë entered the bedroom, the first thing he saw was his wife lying comfortably in their bed. He had expected her to look beyond exhausted, but she looked radiant there with her golden hair spread across the white pillow. To Véryangólë she glowed with a radiance to rival glittering Laurelin; a radiance of joy, a radiance of love, which never left her, and gave rise to her name, Erulassë, 'Eru is joy'.

Eärnyellë was at the side of Erulassë's bed. In training as a mid-wife, Eldalótë's sister had come to help with the birth. When Véryangólë entered, she was placing a small bundle in Erulassë's arms, a tiny fist having taken hold of a long silver braid.

'My son,' Véryangólë thought in awe. For a long while he had known of the existence of his son; but not until now, not until seeing him actually here in his mother's arms, did it seem real to Véryangólë.

Erulassë and Eärnyellë both laughed silently as they tried to disentangle the baby from the Teler's hair without waking him. Véryangólë came over to peer into his son's face for the first time.

"How do you feel, Indillë," he asked quietly, using his name for his wife.

"I have never felt better," his wife said. She smiled down at her sleeping child. "He has your eyes, Atto. Wait 'til you see them."

Atto... "And he has your hair, Ammë," he replied with a crooked grin. He reached out and very gently ran a finger over his child's fuzzy honey-gold head.

"Would you like to hold your son, Atto," Eärnyellë asked. When Véryangólë looked at her in shock and concern, she smiled and continued, "He will not break, Aldarwion."

"You have a sister, verno. Did you never hold her when she was young?" Erulassë asked.

Véryangólë shook his head and very carefully took the newborn from his wife's arms. "We were too close in age. I was not allowed to hold her until she was several months old," he said.

After a few moments he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see his father's eyes filled with joyful tears, too proud to speak.

Findárato was peering over Aldarwë's shoulder. "Are you planning on letting the rest of us see the new addition to our circle, otorno? Or were you going to keep him all to yourself?"

Erulassë laughed. "Would you like to hold him, herunya?" she asked.

Findárato's eyes immediately went wide.

"Don't worry, otorno," said Véryangólë said with a cheeky grin, "he won't break."

Findárato sent him a glare. "Unlike you, my friend," he said, "I have held babies many times before." He gently accepted the small white bundle from his friend. As he gazed at the tiny face, the child opened his eyes. Harebell blue gazed into paler blue. Findárato's look of consternation quickly changed into one of joyful adoration.

"I am so happy for you, my dear friends!" Findárato exclaimed. "I almost feel as if it were my own son's birth." So intent was he on looking at the newborn in his arms that he missed Amarië's blush at his exuberant exclamation.

A look of sorrow and confusion crossed Erulassë's face. "That is good, herunya, for I think he shall have need of your friendship."

Véryangólë looked at his wife fearfully. "What do you mean, melda?"

"I do not know, really. I only feel that Lord Findárato will help our son in a time of great need."

The room was silent for a while, as each person pondered what her words could mean.

"What shall you name him, yondo?" Aldarwë finally asked to clear the tension.

Véryangólë took his son back, and looked from him out the window. "Well, as he was born at the brightest part of day, and his mother is my light," he said, placing a kiss on his wife's hand, "I shall call him Cálion, for he is my child of light." He ran the back of his finger down his son's tiny cheek. Sleepily, Cálion turned his face into his father's touch.

Erulassë took her son back and held him close. "Welcome to Valinor, Cálion, yondonya," she whispered.

"What of you, Erulassë?" asked Eleniel.

Erulassë stared out the window for a moment. "All I see of my son," she finally said, "is a tall and strong warrior in a vast country under the stars." She did not tell them of the pain and weariness in her son's eye as she saw him then. She did not speak of it, but it haunted her own eyes, here in the brilliance of Laurelin. Erulassë had seen the vision of this starlit warrior for most of the time she had been carrying her son.

"Therefore," she said, turning back to her family and friends with a smile, "his name shall be Nillenorinwë, the dweller of the land of stars."

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Notes:
In This Far Land: story title taken from a verse of the hymn to Elbereth: "We still remember, we who dwell/ In this far land beneath the trees,/ Thy starlight on the Western Seas" (FotR, p. 78)

Véryangólë Aldarwion: my character, as are his parents, his wife and Eärnyellë

Laurelin: the golden Tree of Valinor

Sailo: one who is wise, as opposed to knowledgeable (istima)

Findárato: Finrod

Amarië: Finrod's love, of the Vanyar

Angárato: Angrod

Eldalótë: Angrod's wife

yondo: son

pityawë: little one

Erulassë: my character, a Vanya

Eärnyellë: my character, sister of Eldalótë; she has silver hair because she and her sister are part Telerin (my invention, not canon).

Indillë: Véryangólë's nickname for his wife, means Lily

atto: papa

ammë: mom

verno: husband

otorno: (sworn) brother

herunya: my lord; the -nya ending is possessive

melda: beloved

Cálion: my father-name for the elf later to be known as Gildor Inglorion

Nillenorinwë: a name of my creation; literally meaning "of the star-land"; composed of ngillë (an archaic form for star) + norë (land) + masculine ending -wë

Chapter 1: Across the Helcaraxë

Only two months had passed since it had happened, yet Véryangólë had already begun to curse himself for his weakness. He looked up, braving the dry cold which assailed his face. There was Turucáno Nolofinwion walking ahead of him, his friend and kinsman Findárato Arafinwion walking beside him, as was his wont, hand resting on Turucáno's shoulder.

A Year ago, Turucáno's wife, Elenwë, had perished in the ice. 'Fate was kinder to her than to my own Erulassë,' thought Véryangólë. 'Better by far the searing cold of the icy sea, than slowly fading from exhaustion and exposure.' Indilië he had called her: as lovely and as fragile as the lily.

'If only we had waited several more years after our son was born before we left,' he thought. 'Perhaps then she could have regained a little more of her strength.' Self-recriminations and doubts constantly played with his heart.

He huddled his sleeping son closer to himself. Dearer to him than Silmarils were his Erulassë and Cálion. Véryangólë cursed himself again. 'Dearer than Silmarils, perhaps, but not dearer than friendship,' he thought.

For love of Findárato, alone, had he convinced his wife that they should leave Valinor. For love of his childhood friend, and duty to the house of Arafinwë. His own father, though grieved to loose his only son to this accursed scheme of Fëanáro, had nevertheless been proud that his house would yet be protecting the House of Arafinwë in Exile. "It is our place. It is in our blood," Aldarwë had said.

As Findárato's standard-bearer, Véryangólë had walked at his lord's side along with the rest of the House of Arafinwe: Angárato, his wife Eldalotë, their son Artaresto, and her sister Eärnyellë; Aikanáro Arafinwion; and Artanis Arafinwiel, who alone of the daughters of the Eldalië had stood up with the Great Ones before the Ring of Doom.

Véryangólë had hesitated to bring his family into the hardships he knew he must face fighting Morgoth, yet he was afraid of life in the Morgoth-marred darkness of Endor without his 'daughter of light'. Besides, she would not leave him to go bereft and alone. Yet now that was exactly what he was. And now Véryangólë saw that he had neither the strength nor the desire to live that life. Findárato's banner had been packed away when Erulassë died, and then he had carried his son, hoping that he could be strong enough for him. But the desolation around him and within him was too great.

Once again, Véryangólë looked to Turucáno. He saw that his back was bowed with more than with the frozen wind. Yet he struggled on. There was yet the light of purpose in his eyes. A light which Véryangólë knew was long dead within his own, and he cursed his foolishness for bringing it all down upon himself. No, for bringing the wrath of the Valar on his innocent wife and son.

"Atto?" Véryangólë felt more than heard the small voice hugged to his chest.

"Ná, yondonya?"

"Why did ammë have to go back to Valinor? Why could she not come with us?"

Tears came unbidden to Véryangólë's eyes, and froze as soon as they fell. It was the same question which the son of Aldarwë had been asking himself these last two months. A wave of sheer hopelessness washed over Véryangólë as he realized that he could say nothing to comfort his son. He stumbled on the ice in his weariness, but he did not have the strength of will anymore to curse his foolishness. A strong hand reached out to steady him.

"Your ammë is not here, pityawë, because Ilúvatar willed it so," said Findárato as he placed his arm across Véryangólë's shoulders and leaned over father and son. "And that, otornya," he continued, looking Véryangólë in the eye, "is all that we need know. We must have faith that all is for a purpose; even our own foolishness. Eh, Sailo?"

Findárato stayed with Véryangólë and Cálion. When they finally stopped to rest, Eärnyellë, at Findárato's request, came and took charge of Cálion for a while. The child had had a special liking for her ever since his birth. Since Erulassë's death she had been keeping a quiet maternal eye on both father and son. If Cálion had known that this was the last time that he would see his father, he might have put up a fuss. But, as it was, he was too anxious to sit on Artaresto's lap and share his way-bread, or cuddle close to warm Eärnyellë and listen to her sing softly.

Findárato knew his friend's mind even before he spoke. He could see his heart in his eyes, or rather, the lack of it; and it broke his heart.

"Otornya, please," he said with a sigh as he sat next to Véryangólë. "Do not do this. There is much left in the world, and this ice will not last forever."

"Nay, my friend, now that my light is gone, the world is all dark." His voice was cracked and nearly toneless. Véryangólë looked up at the sky, clear and sharp in the cold air of the Helcaraxë. "The stars are dark." He closed his eyes. "My eyes are dark."

"And what of your son?" A fire suddenly blazed in Findárato's eyes. "Véryangólë..."

"No," said Véryangólë, his voice almost a whisper. "Bold I am no longer, and wisdom... I have none left to give. I am without purpose, and I do not have the will to fight the Helcaraxë. Perhaps if I did not have to battle that..." He trailed off as he looked over at his son, laughing at Artaresto's antics from the warmth of Eärnyellë's lap. He knew he was abandoning his son, but he felt powerless to stop his strength from slipping away.

"Véryangólë Aldarwion, I have never known you to falter before. We have been friends our entire lives, and I have never seen you like this. It concerns me, otorno."

"Ingoldya," Véryangólë said shaking his head. "I do not know how much strength I have left, not even for my son. I grow weary, otorno, and I wish for peace." The look that he gave to his friend was so aged and bereft of hope that Findaráto could not say anything.

Véryangólë struggled to stand up and would have fallen, had Findárato not moved quickly to brace him. Findárato was shocked at how weak his friend had grown. Always Véryangólë had been the stronger of the two. When they were younger they had once gone climbing among the Pélori, and it had been the son of Aldarwë who had caught the son of Arafinwë before he fell to his death. Findárato had always light-heartedly joked with his friend that, as the grandson of the High King, he ought to be the stronger. To which Véryangólë always responded that, as his liege-man, it was only fitting that he was the stronger; in order to protect the King's grandson, no matter how he tried to kill himself. Now his friend's weakness tore at Findárato's heart as he realized that there was nothing left that he could do for this one who was as close to him as his own brothers.

"Herunya," said Véryangólë Aldarwion, pulling himself up to stand before his lord. "There are two things which I would ask of you."

"Name them, dear friend, and I will give them if I can." Findárato's throat constricted as he finished. He had some idea what it was that Véryangólë wanted.

"Herunya, I ask you to watch over my son, see that he is properly taken care of. See that he lives. I know he is not of the Noble Houses, but you are the closest I have ever had to a brother, and there is no one else to whom I would trust his well-being." Véryangólë swallowed hard, tears falling freely down his cheeks, as he steadied himself once again before his lord, hands clasped behind his back.

Findárato wanted to turn away. He wanted Véryangólë to laugh suddenly and clap him on the back, the merry and mischievous glimmer coming back into his eyes. He wanted his friend to live. But he knew, now, that this was not possible. Whether through a weakness of spirit or because of an insurmountable weight of sorrow (and Findárato refused to believe the former), his childhood friend was slipping away from him. He dreaded what Véryangólë was going to say next. He wanted to stop his ears, or forbid his standard-bearer from speaking further. But all that he could do was stand in front of his friend, eyes round and face frozen, looking at the shell of a strength he had known ever since he could remember.

"And I ask..." Véryangólë faltered. "I beg of you, herunya..." He could not bring himself to say it, but he knew that it must be said; for his friend's sake, if not for his own. Véryangólë's strength finally gave out on him, and, with a sob, he crumpled to the ground.

Findárato caught his friend as he fell.

"Herunya, release me from your service." Véryangólë looked Findárato in the eye. "Otorno... Toronya, please, let me go."

"No," said Findárato, his voice rough. "No, Véryangólë Aldarwion, I do not release you from my service. For I do not see that this is now the end."

Véryangólë's brow contracted and pain flashed across his eyes. "Arafinwion, you see that I am too weak..."

Findárato stopped him. "I see that this is not the end of all, and know that we shall meet again. I would then have my most faithful friend and liege-man at my side." Findárato attempted a smile, which his friend weakly echoed. "As for your son, I shall raise him as my own; and make sure that he knows how valorous his father was. When you meet him again, you shall be proud of him." Tears were threatening Findárato's eyes by now. If he had thought that the fire in Véryangólë's eyes was dead before, he watched now as even the embers and ash were swept away as his friend withdrew further from him.

"Thank you, herunya... otornya." Véryangólë's voice was barely a whisper.

"Go now, voronya," said Findárato quietly. "Go and commend me to thy lady wife, and the Lord of Mandos. Go, and find peace." With his hand he closed eyes which now only reflected Varda's bright jewels hanging high above.

For a long time Findárato sat there in the ice and snow bent over the body of his friend. He mourned greatly, but he did not sing his lamentation. No, they had ceased voicing their laments after the first hundred deaths. Once they left the cruel ice and finally made their way into Endor there would be time to raise laments, however many of them were left, for those whom they had lost.

After a while he got up and called two servants over to watch over the body. As he turned, he saw Eärnyellë watching him, Cálion tucked in her arms. Eldalotë was sitting near by, bent over Artaresto's head resting in her lap. Angárato sat next to them, rubbing her back, his eyes as dead as Findárato knew his own were. As he approached them, he saw the tears running down his sisters-in-laws' cheeks.

Gently, Findárato lifted Cálion from Eärnyellë's arms and held him close, looking at him. He had hair of his mother's Vanyarin gold, and his father's harebell blue eyes. Findárato smiled. He looked like he could very well be a son of the 'golden house of Arafinwë'. If Amarië... He shook his head. There was no use in thinking about what might have been.

"Come," he said loud enough for those around to hear, once again the tall son of Arafinwë. "Come, it is time that we find our way out of this land of shadows."

With his friend's son in his arms, Findárato turned to the east, their only way out of the ice. He thought that he could spy, at the very limits of his sight, the black peaks of rocky mountains standing out against the stark white of ice and sky.

We must look forward in hope, he thought, if we are to live.

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Note's on characters:

Findárato: Finrod

Turucáno: Turgon

Cálion: He is almost 10 at this time. Gildor as the foster-son of Finrod is entirely my own fancy.
This is only one of many ways that "of the House of Finrod" can be taken.

Véryangólë and Erulassë: (my characters) little Gildor needed parents

Angárato: Angrod

Eldalotë: Wife of Angrod

Artaresto: Orodreth; I am following Tolkien's later position that he is the son of Angrod, rather
than his brother.

Eärnyellë: (my character) Sister of Eldalotë

Artanis: Galadriel

Aikanáro: Aegnor

Arafinwë: Finarfin

Linguistic Notes:

Finrod's mother-name was Ingoldo, which I assume was later 'Sindarized' to Inglor (in much
the same way as Finrod was from Findárato). While I do not think that Ingoldo was ever
translated, I suspect that it is in someway related to noldo/ngoldo meaning 'wise one'.
I think that this is appropriate for an elf often referred to as "the Wise".

"I see that this is not the end of all, and that we shall meet again.": There is no reason to
suppose that Finrod yet knows of the re-housing of the fëar (souls) of the quendi. Yet,
he does know that their fëar are entrusted to Námo, so this is either fatalism on Finrod's
part (i.e.- "We are all going to die."), or faith in the grace of Ilúvatar.

"Bold I am no longer, and wisdom... I have none left to give.": Véryangólë is here making a
weak pun on his own name, roughly meaning "bold wisdom". It's bad, I know, but give
the poor elf a break.

Atto: Daddy

Ná, yondonya: Yes, my son?

ammë: Mommy

pityawë: Little one

otornya: My (sworn) brother; they grew up together, after all.

Toronya: My brother

Sailo: One who is wise

Ingoldya: -ya is an ending signifying a (possessive) endearment

herunya: My lord; Véryangólë, of course being the good liege-man that he is, is usually more
formal towards Finrod than Finrod is to him.

Chapter 2: Mereth Aderthad (FA 20)

"Cálion, what in Arda are you doing?"

"Shhh, Itaril. Get down, or else they'll see you," answered the young elf. He was sprawled on the ground next to a boulder, looking down the hill at the host of green elves walking below.

Itarillë Turukániel sighed, but crouched down beside Cálion's boulder and prodded him in the side. "Why are you hiding from them, Inglorion?"

"Have you ever seen anything so... wild?"

Startled, Itarillë focused her gaze on the back of the child's head. 'Well, I guess for one who has only seen the high Noldor and the Sindar of Doriath, the Laiquendi were a bit strange,' she thought. Even the Sindar were closer to their Amanyar cousins.

Itarillë remembered seeing a Laiquendi chieftain who had come to speak with her grandfather. He and his followers had looked so strange among the glittering mail and bright banners of the High King's house. "Rustic" her grandmother had called them, in their clothes of greens and browns, and their long dark hair in their eyes.

Their eyes... yes, Itarillë remembered those. The eyes of her people shone with the light of the two Trees of Aman. Those of the Sindar and the Falathrim, with the light of the stars; less bright, but no less piercing. The light of the Laiquendi was as light filtered through the leaves, and as deep as the roots of the oldest tree. Yes, perhaps wild was the proper term. One felt somehow that these Nandor were more perilous than any other quendi she had seen.

"Come, Cálion," she whispered, shaking his foot to get his attention. "Your father and aunts are looking for you."

Cálion wrinkled his nose and turned to glare at Itarillë.

She tried another tactic. "Your father wants you with him when he greets the Moriquendi lords. I am sure you will be able to meet these Laiquendi in person. Is that not better than spying on them? Come," she said, seizing the child's momentary indecision to grab his hand and pull him up.

Cálion sighed and walked after Itarillë. "Does this mean that I have to wear that stiff tunic again?"

Itarillë laughed. "Well, unless you think it more seemly for the cilmyondo of the head of the House of Arafinwë to appear before visiting dignitaries looking like the son of a shepherd, with grass-stains on his clothes and grass in his hair," she said as she picked a leaf off of his tunic.

Cálion sighed again, and turned to look once more at the troop of Laiquendi. They were not really that far behind them now. The leader looked directly at Cálion and smiled. The young elf smiled back, slightly startled, and hurried to catch up with the daughter of Turukáno.

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"Atto! There are..." Cálion burst into Findárato's tent and stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide as platters. There before him were his foster-father, and his uncles Angárato and Aikanáro, and his aunts Artanis, Eldalotë and Eärnyellë, and... the strangest creature he had ever seen. It was taller than everyone in the room except Findárato, and shaped like an elf. But its long silver hair grew from its chin and face, as well as its head. Its eyes, though, were unlike anything that Cálion had ever seen: deep as wells and restless as the sea. The creature smiled at the child and chuckled, his eyes shining like stars.

Findárato smiled, as well, and turned to his foster-son. "Cálion, I would like you to meet Lord Círdan, lord of the elves of the Falas. Lord Círdan, my son, Cálion."

Cálion, meanwhile, edged over to stand behind Findárato, mouth still open. He was, being nearly thirty, too old to hide behind his atar like he was barely a decade, but he was not quite sure that he believed Findárato that this hairy creature before him was an elf.

"Ma nas Quendë?" he whispered.

The reaction of the other elves was immediate. "Véryangólion!" cried the Lady Artanis. "Tancavë! Ro ná Elda."

Eärnyellë looked like she was trying very hard to hold in her mirth; a task which became harder when she looked at the horrified faces of her younger brothers-in-law. Círdan and Findárato just laughed.

"Ah, be calm, hiril nîn," said Círdan, his eyes still dancing. "The boy has caused no offense." Then he turned to Cálion. "Come here, hên nîn."

Cálion looked up at Findárato, who nodded and stepped out of his way. The young elf cautiously walked up to the Shipwright. "Manen...? Mana...?"

"Why does my hair grow on my face, hên nîn?" Cálion nodded. Again Círdan laughed. (Cálion liked the Shipwright's laugh; it reminded him of long forgotten memories of the waves of Alqualondë.) "Ah, now many are the songs the Falathrim sing about that. Someday I shall sing them for you, and you shall decide which you like best."

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"Atto, guess what I saw!" Cálion once again came running into the front meeting area of Findárato's green and silver tent; this time, though, from the back living quarters. His feet were bare and his hair was still wet from his bath. He was wearing a good pair of dark green leggings and a matching silk under tunic, but he seemed to have run out before putting on his over tunic, or letting Eärnyellë fix his hair.

Círdan had left shortly after Eärnyellë led the young elf off to wash up, and now only Aikanáro remained talking with Findárato.

"What did you see, yondo?" Findárato asked, beckoning Cálion to come and sit by him on a large trunk. After he sat down, Findárato put an arm across his shoulders and drew him close against his side.

"Atto!" Cálion laughed. "You'll get your tunic all wet, and then Aunt Nyellë will scold you, too!"

"That's alright, yondo, I am the lord of our house. I think I can weather your aunt's scolding," Findárato replied, laughing and winking at his chuckling brother. "Now, are you going to tell us about your adventure?"

But before Cálion could tell his father and uncle about spying on the Laiquendi, Eärnyellë's voice was heard from the back.

"Cálion! Come back here and let me finish your hair!"

Findárato looked down at his foster-son.

"I escaped before Aunt Nyellë knew I was out of my bath," Cálion said sheepishly.

His father and uncle only smiled and shook their heads.

As Eärnyellë walked into the room she shook her head and pointed the comb in her hand at Findárato. "I tell you, Findárato, you are just as bad as your son. I hope you were planning on changing before Lord Nolofinwë calls the Gathering."

Cálion looked at the large wet spot on his father's side and gave him a sympathetic 'I told you so' look. Aikanáro laughed heartily.

"Yes, amil," said Findárato with a smile. "I will change. But Cálion had something very important to tell me." He looked down at his foster-son. "Yes, yondonya?"

Cálion looked thoughtful for a moment. "Atto, have you ever seen a real Laiquendë?"

"Sure I have, Cálion, and so have you. There are Laiquendi in Doriath."

Cálion's brow wrinkled in perplexity. "But none of the people in Aran Thingol's home look like the Laiquendi I saw walking into the camp today. Why do they look so different? Why are they so wild-looking?"

"I'll tell you what, yondo," Findárato answered, looking at Eärnyellë. "If you sit still and let your Aunt Nyellë fix your hair, I'll tell you about the Laiquendi. How does that sound?"

Cálion nodded his head eagerly, and sat with his back to Eärnyellë.

"Do you remember learning about Cuiviénen and the Great Journey, Cálion?" Findárato asked.

Cálion nodded and said, "Yes, Atto. Enyalmo has been telling me about the Great Journey, and I know some of the songs that you and Aunt Nyellë sing about Cuiviénen."

"Good, and do you remember the different kindreds of the Quendi?"

"I think so," said Cálion, thinking hard back to his lessons with Enyalmo the lore-master. "There are the Vanyar, the Noldor and the Teleri in Aman. My Ammë was a Vanya, and we are Noldor," he finished brightly.

Eärnyellë chuckled. "And my amil is a Teler," she said.

"As is ours," said Aikanáro, indicating his brother and himself.

"Very true," said Findárato, nodding at Cálion, "but what of the kindreds of the Úmanyar, hina? Do you remember those?"

"This is where it gets really confusing, Atto. I know that there are the Sindar under Aran Thingol and the Avari from across the far eastern mountains, but I don't know where the Falathrim and the Laiquendi fit in."

"Well, you know that the Teleri were the last of the three kindreds to leave Cuiviénen, right?" Cálion nodded and Findárato continued. "Well the Teleri, themselves, were split into three groups. The one under Aran Olwë finally came to Aman. Aran Thingol's people stayed here in Endor, either at the Falas with Heru Círdan or in the forests of Doriath. The third group was led by Lenwë and stayed east of the Ered Luin, until Lenwë's son brought a group into Ossiriand. It is these Ossiriandrim who are your Laiquendi," Findárato said, tickling Cálion's ribs, who shrank back into Eärnyellë and giggled.

"So they are Avari, then," concluded Cálion.

"No, Cálion," said Aikanáro. "The Avari are those who refused to leave Cuiviénen with Oromë. The Laiquendi are Eldar, like the Sindar and Falathrim, because they chose to make the Journey; but they are true Moriquendi because they neither saw the Trees, nor were they under the influence of Tári Melian. The Sindar call them Nandor because they turned back on the Road."

"But, themselves," added Eärnyellë, as she pulled her nephew into a hug, "they call Lindar, 'the singers'. I have heard Tári Melian speak of the music of the Lindar, and am looking forward to hearing them tonight at the Feast."

"But they look so different from everyone else. They are all dressed in green and brown, and do not carry swords or ride horses," said Cálion.

"They are a forest people, Cálion," said Aikanáro. "They use no metal, or anything not given to them by the trees or the animals of the forest. I hear that they have become incredibly proficient with their bows, and that their woodcraft surpasses even the Sindar. Perhaps we can ask some of the Lindar to teach us of their arts while we are here, toron."

"That is a very good idea, toronincë," said Findárato. "I shall have to ask their leader, Lygnô. So, hina, does that answer your question somewhat?"

"Yes, thank you Atto, Uncle Aikanáro, Aunt Eärnyellë," Cálion said distractedly. "We have people from all of the kindreds here," he continued thoughtfully. "There are Noldor, and some, like us, who are part Vanyarin or Telerin from Aman. Daeron and Mablung are here for the Sindar; and there are the Falathrim and the Lindar."

"Yes, Sailo," said Eärnyellë. "That is why Ingaran Nolofinwë has called this feast Mereth Aderthad: it is the reuniting of kin long sundered."

Findárato smiled and raised an eyebrow at his foster-son. "How would you like to come meet the Lindar with me, yondo?"

Cálion's eyes light up immediately and he launched himself at his foster-father. "Oh, thank you, Atto!"

"I am sure there are children among the Lindar here," Findárato said as he held his son close. "Perhaps you will be able to find a friend among them closer to your age."

----------------------------------------

Notes:

Itaril/Itarillë: Quenya forms of Idril

Turukáno: Turgon

Amanyar: the elves of Aman

Úmanyar: the elves not of Aman

Laiquendi (Laiquendë, sing.): green-elves of Ossiriand, also called Lindar and Nandor

cilmyondo: chosen-son, foster son (Q)

atar/atto: father/papa (Q)

"Ma nas Quendë?": "Is it an Elf?"

"Tancavë! Ro ná Elda.": "Certainly! He is an elf." When separated from the verb,
the masculine pronominal ending -ro becomes emphatic. I wanted to make
the distinction between he and it very apparent, hence the use of -s (in nas)
and ro. Cálion uses Quendë, instead of Elda, because he wonders that the
creature before him is even a talking being. Artanis uses Elda to try to explain
to the child that, not only is this an elf, but he is also not one of the Avari.
Cálion's question is the equivalent to our asking, "Is that human?" Hence
Artanis' ire.

hiril nîn: my lady (S)

hên nîn: my child (S)

"Manen...? Mana...?": How...? What...? (Q)

yondo: son (Q)

amil/ammë: mother/mom (Q)

aran: king (Q and S)

Cuiviénen: the lake where the elves first awoke

the Great Journey: when the three elven kindreds followed Oromë to Aman

heru: lord (Q)

Avari: "the unwilling", those elves who never left Cuiviénen

tári: queen (Q)

toron: brother (Q)

toronincë: little brother (Q)

hina: child (Q)

sailo: wise one (Q)

ingaran: high king (Q)

Mereth Aderthad: the Feast of Reuniting, took place FA 20 at the pools of Ivrin (S)

Chapter 3: Oaths and Allegiances (FA20)

It was close to midday when King Nolofinwë called the Gathering. A dais was set up at the north end of a field next to the Narog. Nolofinwë's chair sat upon the dais, and a blue awning with silver embroidered stars hung over it. The elves gathered for the Mereth Aderthad were arranged along either side of the king by kindred and House: along Nolofinwë's left were the Houses of the Noldor, each under their banner, beginning with the King's children and their liege-men; ranging through the House of Arafinwë; and, finally, the Dispossessed House of Fëanáro, represented by his two eldest sons and their warriors. To the right of the dais were the Houses of the Úmanyar: Daeron and Mablung closest to the King, being messengers from their King Thingol; Círdan with the Falathrim and various wandering Sindar of Beleriand; and the Laiquendi of Ossiriand who followed Lygnô, for they would no longer take a king.

The Lords of the Houses of the Noldor, both great and less, were each dressed in silks and velvets of their house colors. The richness of their clothing and the variety of their bright colors were a marvel to eyes not accustomed to such pomp. Reds, greens and blues of various shades and values made the host of the Noldor a riot of color. The children of the House of Finwë each wore a circlet to denote their rank: gold for the House of Nolofinwë, silver for the House of Arafinwë. Bright gems they wore and long, fair swords were at the sides of the lords and their warriors.

The Sindar, grey-elves of the twilight, wore cool blues and greys. Less ostentatious was their raiment than that of their Amanyar cousins, but no less elegant. Of the Sindar, only Círdan wore a circlet of silver, as a lord in his own right; and Daeron, as a prince of Doriath.

The Laiquendi dressed, as always, in the colors of the forest; and Lygnô, their chief, wore a crown of ivy and pale blue flowers.

The Eldar were thus gathered to be formally presented to the King, and to each other. The Úmanyar were the first to present themselves before the King. Lygnô and Laicognô, his son, walked forward with three other chiefs of their people, Nolofinwë's herald announcing their names. They bowed before the dais, and Nolofinwë advanced to take Lygnô's arm. Gracious words of welcome and thanks were exchanged, and the Laiquendi retreated. Next, Círdan and several Sindar approached. Lastly, Daeron and Mablung stepped before Nolofinwë to present the greetings of their King and Queen.

Next, the lords of the Noldor advanced. Findecáno, Turucáno and Írissë stepped forward and bowed before their king. Nolofinwë smiled and warmly embraced each of his children. Then Findárato, Angárato, Aikánaro and Artanis approached and were no less warmly received by their uncle.

The last of the Noldorin houses to present themselves before the King were the sons of Fëanáro. Only Maitimo and Makalaurë had accepted the King's invitation, and they brought few of their people with them. As they walked up the avenue of elves to the canopied dais of the King, all eyes were on the brothers. From the House of Arafinwë, and a great many of Nolofinwë, disapproval and veiled hostility radiated. The Úmanyar looked on in wonder at these mighty and fell Noldor, resplendent in their silks and gems. Long bright swords hung at their sides, and their hair hung loose, free of any plait or ornament.

The sons of Fëanáro looked neither left nor right as they approached Nolofinwë. Their faces showed no emotion; their eyes betraying neither indignation nor repentance.

"Hmf," said Eldalotë quietly. "Look at them. One son of Fëanáro has enough pride for a host of elves, and here we have two. Where are the other five, I wonder?"

"Morgoth has been contained, sister," replied Eärnyellë, "but it is still not prudent to leave the North and East undefended."

"If that's the case, then it would have been best if these two sons of Fire had stayed away as well."

"That surely would have caused unnecessary questions from the Úmanyar," said Eärnyellë. A slight frown of disapproval creased her brow. "Both Nolofinwë and the sons of Fëanáro seem to desire to keep the full circumstances of our arrival quiet. Too much public animosity between us and the elder house of Finwë would be bad politics. And since it is then their wish to at least appear united, it is much better that the more intemperate of Fëanáro's sons stay far away."

Eldalótë looked at her sister incredulously. "Surely the ill feelings between our Houses must be apparent for all to see! They are, after all, the Dispossessed."

Eärnyellë only shrugged.

Maitimo and Makalaurë swept low bows before the dais.

'Court manners,' thought Eärnyellë, slightly amused. 'Those two, at least, have enough sense to know when appearing too proud is imprudent.'

Maitimo then stepped forward to kneel at the feet of the King. He pressed his right hand to the stump of his left before Nolofinwë in a gesture of submission, although his back was straight and his eye gazed boldly into those of the King. Makalaurë knelt behind him.

A ripple of amazement passed through the gathered Noldor. Eärnyelle and Eldalotë both drew in a breath in surprise.

Maitimo had abjured the crown in favor of his uncle, but he had never offered his fealty. Neither had Nolofinwë asked for it. Nolofinwë had clasped the hands of his sons and of the sons of his brother Arafinwë in acceptance of their offered homage in Mithrim. Maitimo and all of his brothers had been present, but none had stepped forward to pledge themselves to their new King. His younger brothers' motives were uncertain, but Maitimo was reticent to swear an oath when he was already driven by an all-consuming Oath. Nolofinwë was wary of the same, and so did not press any of them. Now, though, he found the eldest son of Fëanáro kneeling before him, offering him both his fealty and that of his House.

The King's face never changed as he looked at his nephew, never betraying his qualms.

"Why have you come before me, Maitimo Nelyafinwë?" he asked in firm, sonorous Quenya. His words both of the formula and asking the reason for this unexpected gesture.

"My King," replied Maitimo, veering from the traditional words to answer his uncle's implied question, "I come for the good of both of our peoples to offer you my obedience in all, save that which pertains to the oath which binds my heart."

Nolofinwë's eyes hardened slightly, and jaw tightened imperceptibly, but he placed his hands around Maitimo's. "I accept your offer of fealty, Maitimo Fëanárion," he said, "on behalf of yourself and of your people."

He dropped his hands and motioned for Maitimo to rise. The King placed his hands on his new liege-man's shoulders and placed a kiss on both of his cheeks. Nolofinwë held Maitimo's eyes for a moment before he nodded shortly and sat down.

Maitimo backed down from the dais, and he and his brother once again bowed low before their King. Their scarlet cloaks flared behind them as they turned and walked back to their places, heads high and faces as impassive as when they had come.

Cálion stared at the bright lords. His uncles never had anything good to say about the lords of the House of Fëanáro, and his aunt Eldalotë refused to even hear their names. He did not yet know why these proud and powerful lords evoked such strong reactions from elves usually so composed, but now, watching them as they walked away from Nolofinwë, Cálion was awed by their powerful presence and the fierce fire burning deep in their eyes.

As he walked past the House of Arafinwë, Makalaurë's eyes were caught by a golden-haired child leaning against Angaráto's sister-in-law. Eyes the color of harebells locked with his. Where had he seen those eyes before?

A crease appeared on Makalaurë's brow, as he looked away. He was not yet sure what he had seen in the child's eyes during the brief moment they had connected. The field of a battle. An elf with flaming red hair, and only one hand, on his knees before a golden elf with fury and anger in his blue eyes. Eyes the color of early spring harebells, burning as bright as the gems Makalaurë's father used to make. The fey golden warrior held a glittering sword to the other elf's neck.

It was just the flash of an instant, yet it caused a deep sense of foreboding in Makalaurë's heart. What new horrors were in store as a result of the Oath? And what of this new oath his brother had just sworn? Makalaurë was sure that a day would come when they must be forsworn of one or the other of these two oaths, and he had no illusions about which bound his and his brothers' hearts closest. Every oath will be forsworn but that one Oath sworn in Tirion in the heat of passion, naming the Valar, the Void and Ilúvatar. In the end, every bond will be broken, but that desire to which they had bound themselves.

---------------------------------

Later that afternoon, the great ones of the House of Arafinwë, minus their lord, were gathered in Findárato's pavilion. The minds of the adults were troubled by the events they had just witnessed.

Lord Angárato sat with his arms crossed over his chest, brooding. His wife sat next to him, fingers drumming on her arms. Lord Aikanáro paced back and forth. Lady Artanis sat in contemplation, fingers idly running over the design of her forgotten embroidery. Artaresto sat on the floor with Cálion, playing a game of Pelë, although his eyes, too, were troubled and he kept looking over at his father.

Eärnyellë watched all of her relations while her mind played over the actions of the sons of Fëanáro. Her eyes fell to her two nephews beside her. She smiled slightly when she saw the state of the board.

'If Artaresto does not pay more attention to his game,' she thought, 'his young cousin will catch him unawares.'

A fact which did not go unnoticed by the younger elf. Cálion placed one of his pieces firmly in position and removed five of his cousin's white sari from the board. "Artaresto," he said with a grin, "if you don't pay more attention, I'll win this game. Then I'll be able to use only three teaching stones next time."

Artaresto looked back at the board, which was dominated by black bordered territory, and shook his head. He wasn't too upset, Cálion was due to lose a teaching stone with him soon anyway. "I'm sorry, Cálion. My mind's not on what I'm doing. We'll have to replay this one later."

Cálion sighed and nodded. He began to put the sari back into their bowls.

"Come here, Cálion," Eärnyellë said. "And bring the board. I will play a game with you, if you like."

Cálion nodded eagerly and reset the board in front of his aunt. As Eärnyellë and Cálion began their game, the flap of the pavilion opened and everyone turned their attention to the entrance. Instead of the expected head of their House, Turucáno, Itáril and Írissë walked in. Itáril immediately walked over to watch Cálion and Eärnyellë's game.

The adults looked at each other. No words needed to pass between them, they knew why they were all here: as soon as the Gathering had broken up, Findecáno and Findárato had left to talk to Maitimo. Their siblings knew that if any were able to get straight answers from the two eldest sons of Fëanáro, it would be them.

Iríssë sat next to Artanis and began to fidget with her hands idly in her lap. She itched to be moving about, but there was no way she was going to follow her cousin Aikánaro in pacing the room.

Turucáno sighed and moved to sit down on the other side of Angárato.

The only sounds in the room were of slate and shell hitting the wood board, and the whisper of silk as Aikánaro paced.

This was the scene that met Findárato and Findecáno as they walked into the tent. Findárato stopped and looked over his family for a moment, his eyes meeting those of Angárato. Findecáno threw his cloak over a nearby chair and walked further into the room.

"Well?" Asked Iríssë, looking at her brother. Findecáno only sighed and shook his head.

"Why?" Asked Artanis.

"Why, what, sister?" Answered her eldest brother.

"Why would Maitimo pledge fealty now, when he and his brothers refused before?" Turucáno spoke the question that was on all of their minds.

"And in front of the Úmanyar, no less!" cried Aikánaro. "How could Uncle refuse without stirring up rumors?"

"Their actions have already stirred curiosity, I do not doubt," added Eldalótë.

Findárato sat in a chair facing his family, his face thoughtful as he replied, "I just asked Maitimo a very similar question, and I do not quite know what to make of his answer." He looked to Findecáno, who only shook his head again. He did not share Findárato's fears.

"Tell us, toron, and perhaps we can help make sense of it," said Angárato, quietly.

"Oh, comprehension is not the problem," said Findárato, sitting up and leaning forward on the arms of his chair. "His answer troubles me and I do not know if it is for good or ill." He sighed and continued. "He said he did it now, in front of the Úmanyar, to force both himself and the King to do something that they both knew ought be done, but were afraid to do. He said that he did it so that he could not back out once he had set his course."

Silence greeted Findárato as his family took in his words. Finally, Artanis spoke, her brow furrowed. "If Maitimo feels that this action will make his fealty more binding," she asked, "then why do you fear ill of it, Ingoldo? Should it not rather temper their impetuosity?"

"You forget, cousin," said Turucáno, "our uncle's seven sons are bound in blood by another Oath. When push comes to shove, which do you think will win?"

Findecáno made a frustrated sound. "I do not understand why you all persist in mistrusting Maitimo and Makalaurë!" He threw up his hands. "I thought that our differences were settled in Mithrim."

Eldalótë glanced at Turucáno, who was silent, before rising and declaring, "There are some things, Findecáno, which cannot be forgotten, and very hardly forgiven!"

Before anyone could respond, Findárato held up his hand. "Peace," he said, and glanced at Eärnyellë, who had been trying to keep the attention of Itarillë and Cálion while their elders argued.

She nodded and led the two younger elves out of the tent. "Come, híni," she said. "It is time to prepare for dinner."

When they had gone, Findecáno sighed and ran his hands through his hair. "All of us," he said, "have been wronged by our Uncle, and his sons are not completely blameless, either. But forgiveness has been begged and given for their parts in our trials. Why can we not put faith in the great-heartedness of the elder sons of Fëanáro to overcome the intemperance of their blood?"

"As long as they are faithful to their Oath, toronya," began Turucáno, but he was cut off by Angárato.

"Peace, all of you," he said, shaking his head. "Findecáno is right. Besides, what really changes with this new fealty Maitimo has given? He and his brothers have been no less steadfast to the King, than they would have been had they sworn seven oaths at Mithrim. However much the fell Oath of Fëanáro and the Doom of Manwë hangs over us all, let the past be forgiven and let reason sway the future."

"What think you, Ingoldo?" asked Artanis.

Findárato shrugged and shook his head. "What would you have me say, onónë? Forgiveness is a gift of Eru, and should be granted whether asked for or not. Nolofinwë forgave his nephews nearly twenty years ago. Can we do no less, now, for our cousins? I do not question the sincerity of Maitimo and Makalaurë in this, I merely question the wisdom of their actions. But, who knows, my forebodings are probably for naught. And I pray that they are."

"As do we all, cousin," said Findecáno, quietly.

The children of the younger houses of Finwë were silent, each pondering in the depths of their own hearts, and each knowing that matter was, for the time-being, dropped, if not forgotten. When Findárato left his pavilion a short time later in search of his foster-son, he resolved not to let these events and his feelings of foreboding dampen the gaiety of the Mereth Aderthad. The land was green, the sky was bright, the stars still shone, and life still flowed through the rivers of Middle Earth. He felt that the Noldor were in the spring time of their reign in Endor, and that it would be many years and many great works before the autumn came.

------------------------------------

Cultural Notes:

The Oath of Fealty: This scene is based on common medieval practice. The words used in the real ceremony varied on place and circumstance, but those said here are typical. In the complexity of medieval politics, it was not uncommon for lesser kings or higher nobility to place reservations on their oaths of fealty to a higher king. We can look to England and France as an example: For many years after the Norman take-over of England, English kings (in their alternate capacity as Dukes of Normandy) were technically vassals of the French Crown. Despite what many French kings wanted to believe, the oath of fealty of the Duke of Normandy did not give France jurisdiction over England. Hence, the arising of the concept of "paying homage for" a certain place (i.e.- a certain territory or dukedom).
It is doubtful whether this would have been common Noldorin practice yet, as there is no indication of any autonomy among the Noldor of Aman (in fact, the social structure of Gondolin seems to suggest otherwise). However, as the Noldorin princes (and princesses) were intent on setting up their own kingdoms (plural) in Endor, it is possible to suppose that this was an intended development. Hence, the term "high king" used later by Fingolfin and his successors.
Nolofinwë is not happy with Maitimo's offer because of the Oath of Fëanor, not because Maitimo places reservations on his fealty. While Oaths of Fealty and Homage were almost always public before the courts involved, Maitimo is... playing the proud son of Fëanor by unnecessarily making a spectacle of the whole thing before "visiting dignitaries".

Mithrim: From The Silmarillion, Chapter 13, The Return of the Noldor: "By this deed [rescuing Maedhros from Thangorodrim] Fingon won great renown, and all the Noldor praised him; and the hatred between the houses of Fingolfin and Fëanor was assuaged. For Maedhros begged forgiveness for the desertion in Araman; and he waived his claim to the kingship over all the Noldor, saying to Fingolfin: 'If there lay no grievance between us, lord, still the kingship would rightly come to you, the eldest here of the house of Finwë, and not the least wise.' But to this his brothers did not all in their hearts agree."

Linguistic Notes:

Maitimo: Maedhros

Makalaurë: Maglor

Pelë: literally, to surround (Q)

sari: stones (Q)

toron: brother (Q)

híni: children (Q)

toronya: my brother (Q)

onónë: sister (Q)

New Friends and Future Adventures (FA20)

King Nolofinwë had called for the Gathering Feast, signaling the beginning of the Mereth Aderthad, to commence at the kindling of the first stars on the evening after the official Gathering. While the elves of Endor rejoiced in the glory of the new Sun and Moon, they were still the Eldar, the people of the Stars, and the time of Star-Kindling was a hallowed time for them.

The disquiet stirred amongst the Noldor by the sons of Fëanáro at the Gathering had kept Findárato from visiting the Ossiriandrim as he had intended the previous evening. He decided to avail himself of the few hours left before the feast, and true to his promise, he took Cálion with him.

Lygnô, the chief of the visiting Ossiriandrim, was very gracious in addressing both the great Noldorin lord and the young child accompanying him. His dark hair was almost black, plaited into one long braid down his back; but his eyes were a very pale blue. They reminded Cálion of the ice mountains of the Helcaraxë, but there was a friendly warmth, not coldness, in the Laiquendë's eyes. Cálion found Lygnô's speech fascinating. With the tighter vowel sounds of the elf's native language, Cálion thought his Sindarin rather strange.

Lygnô noted that he had a grandson who was about Cálion's age. Cálion perked up, he hadn't had much opportunity to play with anyone close to his age. However, he couldn't muster the courage to ask Lygnô if he might meet his grandson.

While their leader welcomed the Noldor joyfully, Findárato found the Laiquendi camp full of contradictions. Laughter and song was everywhere, and most of the elves they passed smiled and bowed, some offering kind words in their own tongue. Others, though, cast suspicious glances at the bright lord in blue and silver walking in their midst. Findárato also felt the heavy weight of watchful eyes on him; and looking up to the branches above his head, he did not doubt that his every move was being watched by unseen observers.

At first, Cálion was excited to be able to accompany his father to extend the welcome of their House to their visiting kin. He imagined himself a grown elf like his cousin Artaresto, who often joined his father or uncle Aikánaro on their journeys. He imagined himself a tall Noldorin warrior standing proudly at the side of his lord and father welcoming foreign dignitaries.

He soon found, though, that diplomacy was a rather boring affair. The Laiquendi leader, the one who had smiled at him when he had been hiding behind a boulder, was kind enough; and for awhile, Cálion found it interesting to be led around the encampment, seeing all of the strange and different things the Laiquendi did. As Lygnô stopped them once again so Findárato could watch an Ossiriandrin archer fletch an arrow, Cálion suddenly found that the limits of his attention had been passed. He wanted to be able to wander around by himself, not stand here and listen while his Atar and this elf talked of things he did not understand.

Slowly, he took one step back. Then another. Findárato did not seem to notice that his foster-son was no longer by his side. Usually his atar was acutely aware of everything going on around him. Cálion did not take this seemingly fortuitous event for granted. He turned and quietly walked off in the opposite direction.

Lygnô stopped in his explanation of the archer's work when he noticed the young Noldo wander off. He looked questioningly at the lord beside him and was about to say something, when Findárato smiled and shook his head slightly. Lygnô noticed a mischievous twinkle in the other elf's eye and understood. He returned the Noldo's smile and nodded his head. He was actually surprised the young one had lasted this long.

Lygnô's estimation of the elf before him grew the longer he talked with him. If he already trusted Lygnô's people enough to let his son wander amongst them unattended, then he was an elf worthy of having as friend. Lygnô warmed up to the Noldo quickly after this, and the two had a very pleasant time discussing many things.

-------------------------------------

Cálion was also having a very enjoyable time. He wandered around aimlessly for awhile. Following his nose, he watched níssi cooking sweet smelling cakes in preparation for the First Gathering later that evening. It being the first full gathering of the long-sundered kindreds, Nolofinwë had asked everyone to supply something for the feast.

One nís, whom Cálion thought particularly thoughtful and kind, offered him one of the cakes she was cooking. The cake tasted very good: it was nutty and sweet, and had some dried berries in it. It was not like the fluffier breads and cakes Cálion was used to, it was heavier and he could still taste the wood smoke on it.

Cálion thanked the nís, Almadel was her name, and stayed to help for a little while. She let him pat the little balls of dough flat before she wrapped them in large leaves and buried them in the hot embers.

After a while, Cálion left, happily munching another nut cake, and continued his wandering. Nearly the entire encampment seemed to be working in preparation for that evening. He passed more níssi cooking; he saw some néri sitting grinding the flour needed to make the cakes. (He found it rather amusing when he tried to picture his father and uncles in the same position.) He saw some néri sitting and carving things out of wood.

Cálion was enjoying wandering around the Laiquendi camp, but he was somewhat puzzled not to see any children close to his age. Some of the níssi had infants and very young children with them, but there was no one older than a decade and younger than their majority in the camp. As Cálion was puzzling over this, he thought that perhaps he ought to start looking for his father and Lygnô again. But first, he thought, he was going to go back and see if Almadel would give him another nut cake.

Almadel's fire was in a quiet corner of the encampment clearing, near to the edge of the surrounding woods. Cálion approached her from the shade of the trees, away from the heat and light of the late afternoon. Because of the shade he was able to see into the forest a ways, and was somewhat startled to see two gold-shot eyes peering out from the trees. They were not directed at him, but in Almadel's direction. Cálion stepped back into the shadows and watched the scene play out before him.

Very cautiously, two dark heads hung down from the branches several feet from where Almadel had placed her finished cakes. One head, obviously female, turned back towards the darkness of the trees. Cálion saw the golden eyes bob up and down. Noiselessly, two young elves dropped from the branches, and began sneaking up while Almadel was busy at the fire.

Suddenly, a voice was heard calling, "Lindan!" The two young elves raised their heads, dark eyes wide. They looked back at their gold-eyed compatriot, and ducked back into the woods.

Cálion grinned. He was, himself, not entirely opposed to snitching treats from the cooks; and had he not been a guest here, he most likely would not have planned on asking Almadel for another cake.

Perhaps this place was not going to be so dull, after all. There was only so much fun one could have when all of your cousins were years older than yourself.

Cálion was brought from his musings by hearing his foster-father's voice calling him. He turned and saw Findárato and Lygnô seated under a very large tree at the other end of the clearing. He walked over and sat down next to his foster-father.

Lygnô asked Cálion many questions about what he was being taught of the history of Endor, and if he had started to learn to play yet.

Cálion looked to his foster-father as he answered the last question. "My father is teaching me to play the harp," he said. "Although I am not good enough to have my own, yet. But, Master Daeron of Doriath says that I will be soon!" He added eagerly.

"Have you not learned to play the pipes, yet, hên?" The lord of the Ossiriandrim asked. When Cálion shook his head, he reached into a pouch at his waist and brought out a beautifully carved reed whistle almost twice the span of the young elf's hand. "Among my people," he said as he handed the instrument to a wide-eyed Cálion, "this is the first thing our children learn to play. We make them out of the reeds which grow along the banks of the Seven Rivers. They say that those waters are especially blessed by Ossë; and well I do believe it, for I have never heard a sweeter sound than even the most crudely shaped Ossiriand reed flute. It would honor me, hên nîn, if you would keep this one in memory of our joyous time here."

Findárato gave Lygnô a grateful smile over his son's head, and received a nod and friendly smile in return. Cálion, however, was entranced by his gift. He turned the whistle over in his hands, admiring the workmanship. Even to Cálion's young eye, it was apparent that this was no hastily made toy given to keep a child occupied, but a fine instrument, crafted with all of the love of music within heart of its maker.

Cálion looked up to Lygnô with shinning eyes. "But I do not know how to play, hír nîn," he said quietly.

"Then, if you would like to learn," came the reply, "I shall have to teach you while we are here."

Cálion looked with wide eyes to his foster-father, who nodded his assent. He would have jumped up immediately and thrown himself at the dark elf if he hadn't suddenly remembered that he was far too old to act so childishly. Besides, he was with his father visiting foreign dignitaries; he had to act grown up, for the honor of his House!

Nevertheless, his joy radiated from him as he thanked Lygnô and put the whistle to his lips to blow a few tentative notes.

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The first great feast of the Mereth Aderthad began just as the first stars lit the sky. Isil had not yet risen, so the sky was one large expanse of purple, fading to deepest blue. The elves gathered at the foot of the Ered Wethrin, on the western shore of the Pools of Ivrin. Great tables ringed the wide open field, filled with delicacies made by each of the Elven kindreds. In the middle of the tables, a large open space was left for dancing. The soft light of silver and gold lamps illuminated the area, although they would be extinguished once all the stars had appeared. There was no throne, or partition, or dais to separate noble from common, Amanyar from Úmanyar. This was as it was meant to be; for Mereth Aderthad was a family reunion, and Nolofinwë was the host, not an autocrat.

Hundreds of elves wandered around, talking and laughing and singing; until, finally, the clear rich tone of a bell was heard, and all turned to the north end of the Feast. The Noldorin king stood there with his hands raised in a call for silence. Beside him stood his nephew Makalaurë.

As silence descended, Nolofinwë began to address the crowd, his voice easily carrying over the area. "Dear kin, elves of Aman, Beleriand and Ossiriand. It has been near two decades of Anar since the sundered kindreds of the Quendi have been once again reunited in Endor. It is in thanksgiving for this very blessing that we are gathered at this Mereth Aderthad, this feast of reuniting. We ask the blessing of Manwë and Varda the Blessed Lady, and of all of the Valar, and of Ilúvatar Himself, on those of us gathered here: May this time of rejoicing forge friendships and strengthen bonds which will last unto the end of Arda."

With that, Makalaurë lifted his voice into the clear evening air and began the hymn to Varda Elentári: "A Elentári Tintallë..." He began each phrase alone: drawing it out and letting it rise and fall, floating along the range of melody as if on the waves of Belegaer, or the winds of Manwë Súlimo. Then he would be joined by the entire Noldorin host in a moving polyphony unknown in Endor.

In some phrases, their voices joined in an exaltation of love and wonder; only to change, by some indefinable shift, to a cry of such longing that it brought tears to the eyes of all who listened. Makalaurë had no harp in his hands, and no instrument accompanied the singing of the Noldor. This rich and wavering mode was something unknown to the Úmanyar. It was infinitely simple, and infinitely complex. It was a contradiction and a paradox; the ultimate expression of life: blending and weaving joy and longing, love and supplication into one beautiful harmony which pierced the heart like a sword. None who heard the song of Makalaurë that night were left unmoved. All those hearing it felt a deeper wisdom and greater peace than they had known before; as if they now had a clearer understanding of the Great Music, of both the harmony and the discord.

After the Quenya hymn ended, Daeron took up Makalaurë's mode, and the light voices of the Lindar added their Sindarin to the hymn: "A Elbereth Gilthoniel..." While they followed the Noldorin mode, they changed it and re-infused it with lightness and innocence. Gradually, the Noldor joined back in, until the entire open field was filled with elvish voices lifted in praise. Makalaurë's voice wove and mingled with Daeron's and blended with the gathered Quendi; the two greatest singers of the Eldar.

High above the stars opened as flowers in the sun, and shone brighter in the praise of their Lady. Thus began the Mereth Aderthad. The great Feast of Reuniting, the joy and splendor of which was long remembered and sung.

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The Feast was the greatest thing which Cálion had ever seen. He wandered around for a while, looking at all of the different foods, and watching as elves of all the Kindreds mingled and swirled to the music. He saw his father dance with his aunt Artanis, before they both went off to try and persuade their cousin Turucáno to dance as well. He heard his aunt Eärnyellë laughing gaily as Edrahil, another one of Findárato's friends who had followed him into Exile, twirled her around the lawn, in apparent disregard of anyone or anything in their path. Cálion watched as his cousin Artáresto danced with several of the young Sindarin ladies. He even danced with Itaril once; and his father's cousin, the Lady Iríssë, asked him to dance with her.

His entire family was busy having a good time, but he was becoming bored. He remembered Lygnô had mentioned that he had a grandson about his age. Cálion idly wondered if he were here. Then he remembered that he had been too afraid to ask, and shook his head at himself.

That was when he saw Lygnô walking towards him, followed by two younger elves. Cálion thought that perhaps they were two of the ones he had seen trying to steal a nut cake from Almadel earlier in the day. His supposition was confirmed when he found himself being closely regarded by the same pair of gold-shot eyes he had seen looking out from the darkness of the trees. He now saw that the eyes belonged to a young nér about his age.

Cálion saw that the other elf following Lygnô, who stayed fairly close to the young nér and seemed somewhat shy, was the young nís he had first seen hanging up-side down from a tree. Her dark eyes were of a color hard to discern in the starlight, but her hair must have been a true black, for it gave off a bluish cast in the starlight.

"Mae govannen, young Inglorion," said Lygnô as he and his companions stopped in front of Cálion. "Are you enjoying the music and the feast?"

Cálion smiled. "Yes I am, my lord."

Lygnô saw that the young Noldo's face was still somewhat downcast, and smiled to himself knowingly.

"I know I mentioned before that I had a grandson your age, and thought that you would like to meet my grandchildren." He motioned for the two children at his side to step forward. "I would like you to meet my grandson Lindan and my grand-daughter Meordel." Then he turned to his grandchildren and introduced Cálion, "Children, this is Cálion, the son of Lord Finrod."

"Mae govannen," the two young Laiquendi answered together.

"Mae govannen," replied Cálion. Lindan had not taken his eyes off of Cálion, and the young Noldo was starting to become curious about his intense inspection.

Amusement sparkled in Lygnô's pale eyes. He was not worried about the dearth of conversation between the young ones. He knew that as soon as he left them alone, they would all be off together as if they had known each other their whole lives. So, without further comment, he bid his grandchildren and his friend's son enjoy themselves, and went off to join the dancing.

The three young elves stood starring at each other for several minutes.

Meordel was becoming unnerved as her cousin and the other nér just stood there observing each other; her eyes moved from one to the other. Just when she was about to say something, the golden-haired elf spoke.

"Did you ever get a nut cake from Almadel this afternoon?" he asked.

Lindan grinned impishly, and then scowled. "No," he said. "My father was looking for us, so we had to go hide."

Cálion raised an eyebrow at the two Laiquendi in front of him.

"We were supposed to be gathering herbs for our mother," Meordel chimed in. "But we were getting hungry because someone made us miss the midday meal." She glared at Lindan, who looked at Cálion sheepishly.

Lindan turned back to Meordel and wrinkled his nose. "Well," he said, "how was I to know that the tunnel was that long? Besides, Nandion was supposed to be keeping track of how long we'd been gone."

"I hardly think Nandion is at fault for forgetting the time, when he was busy stopping you from throwing yourself down a hole into the Narog!"

"Since when are you Nandion's defender?" Lindan asked heatedly.

"Since he's not here to defend himself," his cousin answered in kind.

Cálion just blinked at the two elves before him.

Meordel turned to the Noldo with a sweet smile and asked, as if nothing had happened, "So, how did you know we were sneaking up on Almadel?"

"I saw you. I was going there myself when I saw you hiding in the shadows," he said, gesturing to Lindan. "Then I saw Meordel and another ellon drop from the trees."

"You saw me?" Lindan asked, puzzled.

"Well, I only saw your eyes. I haven't seen many elves with gold in their eyes before. You do kind of stand out."

Lindan's eyes narrowed at Cálion, fists balled at his sides. "I wouldn't talk about standing out, if I were you, Ngilchen," he said.

Cálion was nonplussed by the Laiquendë's reaction.

Meordel sighed and took Cálion by the arm. "Come on, Cálion," she said. "Let's leave this surly old orc to be charming by himself. Do you like to dance?"

As she began to lead Cálion away from her cousin, she leaned in and said in a loud whisper, "Never question the woodcraft of a woodelven warrior, my friend. Especially one who is still in training!"

Cálion grinned at young warrior-in-training. Lindan crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes, unimpressed.

When Lindan didn't follow his cousin and their new friend, Meordel turned and raised an eyebrow at him. Lindan only lifted one of his in return.

Finally, he shrugged and an impish grin appeared on his face. He laughed and threw one of his arms around Cálion's shoulders. The three young elves ran off to find Daeron, who was sitting tuning his harp off to one side of the main dance.

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Findárato, Lygnô and Lygnô's son, Laicognô, stood watching their young ones laughing and dancing around the Doriathrin minstrel.

"Your son seems to have made friends with my grandchildren fairly quickly, my lord Finrod," observed Lygnô.

"I am indeed grateful to Lindan and Meordel, my friends," the Noldo replied. "Cálion was one of the youngest ones to survive the Crossing. I have often lamented lately that he does not have anyone to play with closer to his age than Itáril Turucániel, who is nearly three decades his senior. In Valinor it was not this way," he shook his head remembering his own childhood surrounded by cousins, younger brothers and friends. "I know my foster-son enjoys spending time with your children, Laicognô."

Lygnô's son smiled and shook his head. "Like Cálion is to you," he said, "so is Meordel to me. She was my brother's child. He was slain with our king, Denethor, upon Amon Ereb ere the first rising of Ithil. We had grim tidings to bring home from that battle, yet even more sorrowful were those waiting for us at home. Evil creatures of Morgoth had apparently escaped from the battle and roamed south. They raided deep into the lands between Legolin and Brilthor, taking many of our women and children unawares. Some, like Meordel, we were able to save; others, like her mother, we were not. After that, Elwen and I took her in." He smiled brightly as he said, "Meordel and her cousin were inseparable already, so it was no hardship on either side."

Findárato looked consideringly at Laicognô. "I was very impressed by your archers as I walked through your camp today," he said, nodding towards Lygnô. "Would you consider sending some of them with me to Tol Sirion? My uncle has given me the Pass to guard and I am planning to building a fortress there, but the woodcraft and the arts of our Lindarin kin are very desirable things for us to learn, I think."

Laicognô looked over to his father, but it was Lygnô who answered the Lord of Sirion.

"I do not command my people as you Noldor do, my lord," he said, still looking at his son, almost as if there was a silent conversation passing between their eyes. Lygnô smiled, and finally looked at the Noldo beside him. "Indeed, I am not even a king. My people followed me here of their own free will. It is for them to say whether they stay here or return to the Seven Rivers. They are, however, awed by you Golodhrim and somewhat wary of the kin of Fëanor. Rumor of his arrival and challenge of Morgoth has reached us in the south, and with what we have seen of you here, some of us feel we have cause to be wary of such fell lords."

Findárato nodded thoughtfully, and there was silence again for several minutes.

"But," said Laicognô, "I have seen that there is honor and friendship to be found in your House, my lord. I would come myself with you to Sirion, with my family, to both teach and learn."

A bright smile lit Findárato's face and he laughed, taking the Laiquendë's arm in friendship. "I am honored, Laicognô. And I, too, wish for a growth in the friendship between us and our peoples. Besides," he said, looking once again to the dancing children, "Cálion will be ecstatic."

The three Elves laughed again, and continued talking long into the night.

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Notes:

Nolofinwë: Fingolfin

Lygnô: My created leader of the Ossiriandrim who come north to the Mereth Aderthad. He is not a king, the Laiquendi refused to take a king after Denethor was killed in the first war of Beleriand. His name means "pale one" in Nandorin, coming from the same stem as Sindarin "luin"/"blue".

nís/níssi: female elf (Q)

nér/néri: male elf (Q)

hên: child (S)

Ossë: A Maia of Ulmo, who had charge of the inland waters of Arda and had a special love for the elves of the Third Kindred.

hír nîn: my lord (S)

Makalaurë: Maglor

"A Elentári Tintallë...": The Quenya version of the hymn Gildor and his company sing when Frodo meets them in the Shire.

"A Elbereth Gilthoniel...": The hymn Gildor and his company sing when Frodo meets them in the Shire.

Manwë Sulímo: Manwë's title Sulímo means "lord of the winds"

The Noldorin Mode: The moment that I first heard the Corsican chant modes I was reminded of the Noldor. There is something very Exilic in it. Incidentally, I am tending towards the opinion that, as far as Elvish music goes, polyphony (the harmonizing of different melodic lines) is an Amanyarin development on traditional monophony (multiple voices singing one melody). This is true to the actual development of polyphonic music from plain-chant monophony. Just because plain-chant consists of only one melody line, though, it does not mean that it is incapable of a haunting expression. Take the work of Hildegard von Bingen as a stunning example of the height of medieval plain-chant. Much of the more commonly known Gregorian chant is also monophonic plain-chant, or a cantus simplex. A single vocal melody is also better suited to instrumental accompaniment. (FYI- The song that the elves sing when Frodo and Sam see them in the FotR-EE sounds very Corsican. I guess the film-makers had the same idea I did!)

Iríssë: Aredhel

mae govannen: well met (S)

ellon: male elf (S); Sindarin was the common language at the Mereth

Ngilchen: Star-eyes (Nan.)

Laicognô: keen bow (Nan.) (This name is a combination of cognô/bow and the root laik/keen. It was not meant to be Lai-cognô. I suppose you could call him "greenbow" if you wanted, but that would most properly be Lecognô; the lai/green being Quenya, not Nandorin.)

Denethor: the son of Linwë, and king of the Nandor who crossed the Ered Luin. He was killed, along with all of his closest kin, on Amon Ereb in the battle before the rising of the Moon.

Legolin and Brilthor: the middle two of the Seven Rivers of Ossiriand