8. Before the festival

In which some days have passed and everybody is busy hiding something from someone.

A week later; Midyear’s Eve

There was only one thing Círdan enjoyed above building ships, and it was sailing them.

He was in a good mood, then, after a long bath, as he sat before his tent in that glorious midyear’s eve sunset, shaking his long silver mane and positioning himself to allow Arien’s last rays dry his wet hair, because he had just returned from a five  days'  trip in which he had explored those new waters.

Never had the ships of the Teleri sailed that south, and he had enjoyed travelling along the coast and chartering the unknown lands, the tall cliffs, the hidden beaches, the grasslands, the forests that at places peered into the serene waters of the many channels that pierced the abrupt shoreline to the east.

They had discovered thriving fisheries and sighted plenty of game, and those were good news indeed, as providing food for such number of people, as well as supplies for those about to depart, was becoming a cumbersome task.

He had been glad, above all, to leave behind the strained atmosphere in camp.

Everybody had looked strangely on edge since that eventful, crowded council in Ereinion’s tent. After that, Círdan had been amused to see Oropher joining his son in teaching the edain care for the wood, apparently on his own accord, and had not managed to hold back a raucous laughter when he learned that Ereinion had accepted Olvárin’s excuses for the Telerin prince’s unseemly invasion of his tent and had kindly asked him to oversee the edain’s ship building project for a time in return, much to Elros' dismay.

Erestor’s creative and subtle disciplining methods seemed to have seeped into the young king, Círdan thought with amusement, as he greeted Merenel, one of his advisors, who was ready to update him on what had come about during his short absence.

“Everything’s in order for tonight’s celebrations, Círdan; seafood, dead wood, and wine. The King of the Noldor was only too willing to have their bilges open for us…oh! And I forgot to tell you that we have now five dwarves in residence… Lord Gundaghâl sent for his guards, which apparently had been camping out there in the forest since his arrival and were becoming restless… It has been one of Erestor’s most successful diplomatic missions to date,“ the other elf laughed out loudly.

“Shall I ask him about it?” the shipwright asked amusedly. He knew that wouldn’t be necessary, given that all the meaningful information converged to him as if propelled by an invisible current drifting across the camp.

“I’d suggest that you waited until he has tasted the king’s wine,“ Merenel snorted, “for your own safety”.

Círdan was about to tell him that he never feared for his safety when the sight of Elrond leaving his tent conspicuously carrying a large roll of parchment under his arm caught his attention.

“What are they doing, Merenel?” Elrond and Erestor’s continuous comings and goings around the camp pretending to hide great sheets of parchment had awakened Círdan’s curiosity before he left, and they seemed to keep up with whatever game they were playing at.

“I wish I knew,“ the advisor answered, not even trying to disguise his bafflement. “They’ve been at it for almost a week, and I cannot decipher what the game is about...” he complained.

Before Círdan could share his own suspicions they were rendered speechless by an outraged roar that escaped the King’s tent, not far away from where they were sitting.

“Enough!” Ereinion was saying, and a heartbeat later he stormed out of his tent and marched forth with determined strides.

“Lord Ingil? Olvárin? Oropher? The Dwarf?” Merenel was merrily ticking off the possible causes for Ereinion’s anger, as one of the captains got out of the king’s tent with a chagrined expression upon his face.

“Enlighten me, please,” Círdan said placidly, as he started braiding his long mane, sufficiently dried by Arien’s rays, and leaned back, ready to be amused by the tale of his charge’s tribulations.

*****

Ereinion strode into the glade, his temper showing in the tense way he carried himself. His eyes glared with half-contained exasperation, but Celeborn could discern something else; wariness, betrayal, and raw hurt, the same he had glimpsed in the young Noldo’s face when Olvárin had chased him from his ships days ago.

The Lord and the Lady stood up reluctantly, disentangling themselves from each other, or almost.

“Ereinion,” the Lady nodded evenly.

“I expected a report of your meeting with the Dwarf-lord, Lord Celeborn,” the king’s voice was controlled yet he could not fully hide his anger, “a week ago,” he added, bowing to the Lady as he acknowledged her greeting.

“Oropher wanted some time to...”

“Oropher?” the king all but spat the name. “Forgive me, Lord Celeborn,” he continued with undisguised scorn, “I hadn’t realized that you bowed to Oropher’s authority…”

“I don’t,” Celeborn’s tone of voice was cold as ice. Galadriel tensed. Few had ever seen her wise lord enraged, but he was getting very close to it now, she thought, wondering what lay behind Ereinion’s provoking attitude.

“I recall asking to be informed of the result of your meeting,” Ereinion kept on in a more controlled tone. “And I can swear that you nodded, if slightly, to me. If you did not intend to report to me, at least you should have had the guts to say so!”

Galadriel felt the spasm of anger that crossed Celeborn’s frame all of a sudden, and held on to his hand steadily.

“You are insulting me, young one,” Celeborn said slowly. “I’ve just said that Oropher asked for some more time before informing you…”

“I may be young and inexperienced, but I’m not stupid, Lord Celeborn,“ Ereinion said in a serious voice, still addressing him formally. "Oropher wanted more time to gather a group of followers and present himself as leader of a separatist group that shall demand to travel east, not that I would ever oppose to that!” he added heatedly, "but he intends to show that he’s more informed and capable than I am, taking advantage of what the Dwarf may have told you about the lands to the east!” he added very seriously.

“I do not care if you make me appear as a naive and ignorant young one in front of my High King,” the king kept on pointedly, “but I will not allow anyone to undermine the trust and confidence of my people for their own purposes! I placed my trust upon you, Lord Celeborn, I granted the two of you access to this information and now it is being used against me!” he added hoarsely, breathing heavily.

“How do you know that?” Celeborn inquired, his eyes narrowed, his eyes fixed on the king’s.

“I do not have spies, if that’s what worries you,” Ereinion answered haughtily. ”But you must remember that two thirds of the troops that follow my command are Sindar and Wood elves, for Eru’s sake, Celeborn, what did you think Oropher would do with this information, while you withheld it from me? He has been spreading word around the camp!” By the shocked look in Celeborn’s face, Ereinion understood that he had been well intentioned, and despite his anger he acknowledged his innocence.

“I thought… I thought he needed time to draft a plan…” Celeborn said softly, shaking his head. ”I never meant to cause you harm.”

“I see,” Ereinion said hoarsely, his tense shoulders slumping in sudden defeat. “It is done, now.” He turned then to Galadriel, a weary look upon his face. “I told your father that I would grant you whatever position you desired, my lady,” he added softly, “and that I would be honoured to count both of you among my counsellors, for it is said that you are wise and experienced in matters of ruling…I’d never let my pride prevent me from asking for help, if it is for the well-being of my people, but, since your wisdom and counsel have been denied to me twice, I shall not be fool enough to keep asking for what won’t be granted, my lord and lady, so please consider yourselves freed from any allegiance that you might have felt, if ever,” he added bitterly. “By your leave,” he added, and bowing slightly he walked away.

“I must talk to Oropher,” Celeborn groaned some time after Ereinion had left.

“You better do it before I find him,“ his wife agreed, her voice deceptively mild. “I’ll find my father and ask him what was all that about…” she added with a wicked smile Celeborn did not like at all.

****

 “… A place where we can lead our life as we want to, away from those stone-eaters, Noldorin lords, away from wars and weapons, and bustling shipyards and noisy, smoky forges and smelly fisheries, and tales of vain glory to cover tears for mourned lost ones…”

The Wood-elves had built up their “house of words“ (1) not very deep into the forest to the western side of the encampment, in a shady glade surrounded by mighty trees. It was a wooden, square structure, covered by leaves and open on its four sides, presently full of elves, male and female, and even children, assembled there and listening intently to Oropher’s inspired speech. Few heads turned to greet Celeborn as he approached the last rows silently.

“I offer you a new land, and freedom, and wide forests where the Noldor have never set their stomping feet; forests where orcs have never been sighted and evil is only a bad memory, where our friends and ancestors, those who forsook the Great March, still dwell in peace as our forefathers did by the waters of Cuiviénen…”

“What’s wrong with this land?” an elf not far from where Celeborn stood asked aloud. “There are forests aplenty, fresh water, game, mild climate, and our friends and relatives are here…”

“As well as a Noldorin King,” Oropher spat. “You know what that means; quarrels, arguments, fights for power, expansion and war. They killed our people and ransacked our cities…what do we owe them, after all?”

“Some of them! “ a female voiced pointed out, “Others have protected us, and fought for us, too,” she added with conviction.

“And they taught us some things. I used to live in Nargothrond before the dragon came, and we learnt many useful things about stone carving, and forging and ancient lore…”

“The King has brought fresh water to the encampment… “

“And the army follows his command, even Sindarin warriors from Doriath, Lord Oropher.”

“And he ordered a place arranged for children to play in…”

“He’s consulting us where and how we want to build our homes!”

“And he stopped the edain from destroying the forest, as you know only too well, Lord Oropher…”

“His patrols bring in food daily...”

“And helped us build shelters…”

“And Círdan defers to him in most matters… “

Celeborn was fighting back an amused laughter at Oropher’s mounting despair. What had begun in a very inspired way was now getting out of control as Ereinion’s undeniable organizational skills unexpectedly paid off.

“He’s allying with dwarves!“ Oropher spat out, “and you know what that means!” his voice was almost pleading.

“Good!” A strange elf clad in green stood up then, a feral gleam upon his eyes. “We cannot leave now, can we? We must watch the Naugrim carefully, and if they threaten to betray us… maybe we can flatten them again!” he said, hitting his clenched left fist upon his right palm with undisguised excitement.

He must be one of those wild Wood elves from Ossiriand, Celeborn surmised, those that had politely invited Finrod either to move the edain west, away from their lands, or be pincushioned together with them; the same ones who had helped Beren and the ents “flatten” the dwarves of Nogrod in that renowned battle.

“It is not that we do not agree with you, Lord Oropher, we understand your concerns and we share your dreams,” an elf Celeborn remembered as scribe or assistant from Elu’s court spoke softly, while Oropher lowered his head as if in defeat, “but our people are tired, and hurt, and mourning, and there are many that are not ready to undertake another long and uncertain journey anytime soon...”

“We can rest here for some time, and help our kin build a dwelling among these trees, “ another Wood elf spoke.

“It wouldn’t be loyal to depart now, when all hands are needed to help settling down…”

That was the reasoning that would win the day, it seemed, as a soft murmur of approval spread gently among that kind crowd, and they began to disperse fluidly.

“We appreciate your efforts, Lord Oropher,“ Master Galadhond, a tall, imposing elf Celeborn knew by sight and who was held in high esteem even by the unruly Wood elves of Ossiriand approached the dejected Sindarin lord. “And I expect that you don’t give up. Much more needs to be learned about those lands to the East before moving our people there, but I, for one, look forward to hearing news of what is to be expected there. You’ll count with my support then,” he added seriously, bowing respectfully to the beaming elf.

“You heard that?” Oropher smiled to Celeborn, “Master Galadhond approves of my idea...”

“Have you been holding these meetings since we met with the Dwarf, Oropher?”

“Why, of course!” Oropher was undaunted by Celeborn’s icy tone. “I haven’t managed to lay hands upon those parchments the Peredhel and Erestor are guarding so carefully, but I don’t need them, I believe…They are ready to follow my lead to the east, all I need is to undercover Ereinion’s plot and…”

That gave Celeborn pause. He had actually spied Erestor and Elrond carrying parchments in great secrecy around the camp. What if Oropher was right and Ereinion was making arrangements and decisions without consulting them?

“They despise us, Celeborn, all those Noldor and Elves from Aman, and they do not count on us. You’ve seen that, much as I have, and the Dwarf lord has been closeted in Celebrimbor’s forge the whole week… “

“Which are your intentions?” Celeborn asked grimly.

“I intend to move a host as great as it can be assembled to the east, and force Brith-Galad and the Dwarf to grant control of the route to us.”

“Do you actually know what it is to be found there, apart form Lord Gundaghâl’s vague account? These people are right, Oropher, they’re tired and shaken and still mourning their lost lands and loved ones, and they do not care for another Great March but for a peaceful land…”

“They won’t have it here, Celeborn, you know that much as I do, not with so many Noldorin, and Noldorin descended people here fighting to make their voices heard and their advice heeded. The East is where we come from and where we can find the peace we’ve been lacking...”

“I’ll go inform Ereinion now,“ Celeborn said slowly. “Not of your activities,“ he added at his friend’s murderous glance, “for I’m sure he already knows. Some, if not most of those who attend your meetings bow to him, Oropher, or have relatives who do, or have fought by his side...or seen him fight for them. You may convince them to follow you to the East, but not out of spite towards Gil-galad,” he warned his friend.

“I don’t care,” Oropher grunted, avoiding his friend’s eyes. “I know that you married one of them, but I still consider that Elu was wrong when he let the Noldor enter his kingdom. They brought their doom with them and that ended our peace.”

“Resentment is a dangerous feeling, my friend. It is like handling a poison and expecting another to be envenomed by it…”

“Well, I think I’ve been handling poison for way too long without consequence,“ Oropher shrugged bitterly, “so it is time now to do something more effective. I’ll build a great kingdom, Celeborn, and, mark my words, one day the boy king shall bow before me and ask for my help!” he added with undisguised spite.

And he’ll do it willingly for the good of his people, Celeborn thought, remembering Ereinion’s words few moments ago. Will you be as good a king as he is and give it gladly, without grudges, my friend? “I’ll see you at tonight’s celebrations, Oropher,” he said loudly, patting his friend’s shoulder and walking away.

****

 “But that’s indeed good news, Lord Círdan!” Finarfin was shouting to make himself heard above the din, as many called the musical greeting Ingil and his people offered to Arien every day at her setting. Harps, flutes, pipes but also brass hunting horns, trumpets, cymbals, bells and drums racketed their voices around the camp from the vantage point upon the cliff Ingil had singled out to house his halls, raking at everybody’s nerves for what seemed an endless torture and in fact was a matter of few moments.

With a powerful crescendo and a sustained final chord, the mighty clamour the Vanyar called music floated tauntingly in the air before being carried away by a merciful breeze.

“And they say Manwë loves their music!”

“What does Manwë know about music, one has to wonder?”

“Send them back to whence they came, I say…”

“They say he’s remaining...”

“Not with his instruments; that I solemnly vow to Ossë...”

Círdan smiled smoothly at Finarfin, disregarding the disrespectful, almost blasphemous critics that reached their ears as they walked the busy camp.

“He says that’s how Middle-earth sounds to their fëa,” Finarfin offered as means of explanation, throwing in a weak smile to enhance the effect of his unconvincing words.

“Why am I not surprised?” Círdan answered politely, with evil innocence.

“I’ve heard them play for all my life, and they do make wonderful music…” Finarfin insisted blandly.

“I’m sure they do,“ Círdan said placatingly. “I’ve been told that you offered the wine for tonight’s celebrations, that was most generous from your part… or you needed to make room in your ships, my lord?”

“That, too,“ Finarfin acknowledged with a guilty smile. “We’re making room for dried supplies and fresh water. We’re returning in greater numbers…”

“And when do you expect to depart?” Círdan asked, pretending to be exquisitely unconcerned by the King’s answer.

“I don’t know, Lord Círdan,“ Finarfin said in a low voice, as he grabbed the Shipwright’s arm and guided him to a less crowded area of the camp, away from prying ears. “We’re almost done with identifying those who may have relatives in Valinor and the gathering of supplies marches well, and will march even better with the news that you brought… but now I’m worried that Olvárin’s too engaged with helping build the fleet of the Edain…and his mariners, as you may have noticed, don’t seem ready to embark right now, or in the immediate future, not that I fault them,“ he added thoughtfully.

Círdan had to agree. After two years on board, he was sure even the most seasoned sailor might show signs of rejecting Ossë’s songs. Proof of it was the exasperating fact that Olvárin’s crews had invaded the camp and had refused to return to their ships even for the night.

“And then, Ingil…”

“Ah, Ingil, “ Círdan nodded with a knowing smile, as one who’s keeping an amusing secret.

“Yes… you see, I cannot think of what King Ingwë might say… were I to leave his son and heir behind….”

“Well, he’s old enough, isn’t he?” Círdan asked, pretending ignorance. “If he feels he’s needed here…” He was grateful to Finarfin for having taken him to a secluded corner of the camp, for had any of his people heard him say those words he might have found himself in serious trouble.

The efficient, logical, perfect Prince of the Vanyar had managed to exasperate all camp almost to the point of rebellion, as he and his people had begun mingling with deathly accuracy in almost every activity, learning quickly and then offering improvements to the way the Wood elves cut the trees, the Teleri carried the wood to the shipyards, the Noldor forged tools and built houses and so on. Their daily blare had become a matter of small talk and shared aggravation that was short of causing a steady alliance against their remaining to form, if Erestor’s information was accurate.

“My mother would never forgive me… “ The troubled king sighed. “But I worry for Ereinion, above all... It seems he doesn’t count with a firm support…or much respect from those he’s supposed to govern…do you think he’ll manage to reunite all elves and have a steady rule?”

“He was crowned High King of the Noldor in exile when news of Turgon’s fall arrived. The peoples of Sirion, survivors from Nargothrond and Gondolin, and those from Doriath who chose to settle down there with Elwing, bowed to him through their Lord, Eärendil son of Idril. I pledged my allegiance to him and defer to his judgement and authority in matters of defence and general well-being of all the Quendi…”

“What about the Sindar? The Wood elves?”

Círdan did not want to have this conversation now, and he was losing his thin patience. “Why don’t you ask your daughter’s husband, Lord Finarfin?” he asked brusquely, and with a curt nod he turned and almost ran away from the puzzled king before Ingil caught up with them.

“Cousin! Have you heard about tonight’s celebrations? Olvárin says it is much like the festivals the Teleri hold by the shores of Alqualondë... do you think I should offer my musicians to Círdan?”

“I don’t think so, Ingil,“ Finarfin grunted, his kind disposition strained to unthinkable limits. “In fact I think you should tie and gag your musicians, pack them in one of our ships and sail away to Valinor to herald our return!” he snapped, taking his leave from his astonished cousin and walking in search of his daughter and her stiff-necked husband.

*****

The guard posted before Ereinion’s tent nodded courteously to Celeborn and kept his place, since the Sindarin lord was one of those people who had free access to the king at any time of the day or night. Celeborn could not help feeling that he did not deserve such display of trust after that day’s conversation, but it seemed that the privilege had not been removed, he thought as he entered the wide tent.

“Ereinion?”

“Lord Celeborn…”

A tired, subdued voice greeted him and Celeborn turned his head to discover the king sitting on the ground before his cot, cross-legged, whetting his long sword under the steady light of one of those fëanorian lamps. His shield and spear where nowhere in sight, though.

Celeborn bowed slightly before sitting down upon one of the chests that contained the king’s belongings, he guessed.

“I… brought you the maps and the notes I composed after our meeting with the Dwarf…” he offered softly.

The sharp sound of stone against steel kept on for a moment and then stopped abruptly.

“You truly think me that callow, don’t you?” the king asked evenly, barely raising his eyes to meet his guest’s.

Celeborn was caught by surprise, but somehow he felt he owed honesty to the young king.

“I think...” he began carefully, “that… I may have trouble seeing you as a grown-up and fully in charge King, yes,“ he said with some effort. “I believe I still see you as the stubborn child I once met in the Havens…” he added more easily.

That made the trick, and the ghost of a mischievous smile glinted briefly in the serious face. “That wasn’t a very fortunate first meeting,” the king acknowledged calmly, “on both parts,” he added, shaking his head as the memories hit him. “But more than a hundred sun-rounds have passed since then,“ he observed softly, resuming his task.

Celeborn nodded silently and waited patiently.

“Lord Gundaghâl came to talk to me that very same evening,” Ereinion kept on after a short pause in which he studied carefully the blade of his plain sword. “He told me what you had talked about, drafted the maps for me and offered an unwanted piece of advice that, unfortunately, turned out to be only too accurate,“ he sighed thoughtfully.

“It wasn’t my intention to slight you or to erase your authority or the trust of your people,“ Celeborn offered seriously. “I just did what seemed right at the moment, I just thought that Oropher wanted time to dwell upon that information…”

“So that he could come and inform me, undoubtedly...” the mocking tone in the younger elf’s voice was unmistakable, but Celeborn forced himself to accept it as well deserved. He must have realized that by himself.

“And Oropher expects to gain the dwarves’ goodwill and trust betraying mine thusly?”

At that point, Celeborn considered wiser not to inform the King that Oropher cared not for either his or the dwarves’ trust, as he intended to force him and the Dwarf-lord to yield control of the route and the forests to the East. Maybe Oropher needed more time to round up some of his strategies.

“He won’t be departing anytime soon,“ Celeborn considered that he could offer that piece of information safely, “and he could be persuaded to control his dislike of the dwarves, and offer his cooperation, both to you and to them, I’d say…if it is for his people’s interest…I mean, the dwarves will surely be engaged in helping build the new city for quite a long time…”

“I sorely doubt that…”

“Give him some credit!“ Celeborn was tiring of suspicion and resentment. “Oropher may yet learn to overcome his suspicions against the dwarves…”

“Much as you have overcome yours towards the Noldor, despite having married one of us?” the venomous retort came out against the king’s own will, and he apologized quickly. A heavy silence fell between them as Celeborn waved away the king’s excuses.

“Anyway, we’ll never know,” Ereinion shrugged at last, putting aside his sword and the whetting stone. ”The dwarves won’t help build the city,” he added softly.

That caught Celeborn by surprise. “But, how... why, I mean, why? He seems to be very interested, and I thought…”

“I cannot pay for their skill, Lord Celeborn,” the king said levelly, stretching his long limbs and shrugging as if in apology. “I am no Finrod Felagund, (2) and it wouldn’t be wise to become indebted at this point...We’ll manage ourselves, anyway,” he added with forced enthusiasm, standing up in a swift, nimble motion. ”It’ll take us more time, but we’ll eventually come to the same end, I do not doubt our skills,” he said with a hopeful smile that almost broke Celeborn’s heart.

“Now, if you let me…I’d like to find something clean to dress for tonight’s celebration…”

“Oh I...I’m sorry,” Celeborn stood up hurriedly as he suddenly realized that he was most probably sitting upon the king’s wardrobe. “I’ll see you tonight, then…” he added, taking his leave with a dignified pace as he fought mixed feelings of respect and suspicion towards the king he had not yet acknowledged as his.

****

“The designs for the new fleet of the edain...”

“The route to Valinor...”

“A secret plan to have that noisome Vanyar sent back to where he belongs with all his precious warriors…”

“Tonight’s fare...”

“I can tell you that, seafood and wine!”

Erestor and Elrond could hardly contain their laughter as they heard a group of elves discussing the contents of their infamous parchment before Elrond’s tent. Wagers had been placed around the camp regarding the contents of that roll of parchment, and they were sure that Oropher was losing sleep over it.

“And now, the last touch,“ Erestor winked, as Elrond opened the flap for him to exit the tent.

“Lord Gundaghâl!“ he called, seeing the Dwarf-lord walk out from his own tent, flanked by a smug Celebrimbor. “A word with you, if you’re so kind!” Erestor said, waving at Elrond to bring the -by that time tattered- roll of parchment. “You, too, Lord Celebrimbor, your opinion shall be of the greatest interest! “ he added as they joined both lords in the midst of the camp and spread the mysterious parchment carefully.

Apparently unnoticed, a wary Celeborn had hurriedly stepped back to find shelter behind a tent.

TBC

Notes

(1) “House of words” My humble contribution to green elves' culture. Some African tribes have a “house of words,” a kind of sanctioned, or at times, even hallowed places where quarrels, fights or grudges are peacefully dealt with, and where good news or just amusing tales are shared. As my view on the wood elves is that they were kind of nomadic, not very strictly organized tribes, I took the liberty of giving them this particular feature taken from similar cultures and which, in my mind, could fit in their cultural schemes.

(2) As you may remember, Finrod had carried many treasures from Valinor, and thus he could pay the dwarves that helped him carve out Nargothrond with many riches and wonderful jewels.