Chapter 3: Of the Noldor and the Sindar

Now in Mithrim there dwelt Grey-elves, folk of Beleriand that had wandered north over the mountains, and the Noldor met them with gladness, as kinsfolk long sundered; but speech at first was not easy between them, for in their long severance the tongues of the Calaquendi in Valinor and of the Moriquendi in Beleriand had drawn far apart....

Now rumour came to the camp in Hithlum of the march of Fingolfin and those that followed him, who had crossed the Grinding Ice; … coming at length to Hithlum, he made his first camp and dwelling by the northern shores of Lake Mithrim. No love was there in the hearts of those that followed Fingolfin for the House of Fëanor, for the agony of those that endured the crossing of the Ice had been great, and Fingolfin held the sons the accomplices of their father. Then there was peril of strife between the hosts; but grievous as were their losses upon the road, the people of Fingolfin and of Finrod son of Finarfin were still more numerous than the followers of Fëanor, and these now withdrew before them, and removed their dwelling to the southern shore; and the lake lay between them. Many of Fëanor's people indeed repented of the burning at Losgar, and were filled with amazement at the valour that had brought the friends whom they had abandoned over the Ice of the North; and they would have welcomed them, but they dared not, for shame.

Thus because of the curse that lay upon them, the Noldor achieved nothing, while Morgoth hesitated and the dread of light was new and strong upon the Orcs.

The Silmarillion: Of the Return of the Noldor

Try as he might to urge his mount forward on the shadowy path, the elf only succeeded in making the animal dance skittishly in a circle, the finely engraved decorations on its tack jingling like little bells amidst the silent pines. The horse’s nostrils flared and it stared with wide eyes into the dense woods that grew at the foot of the mountains. Its rider's eyes darted about as he held a lantern high above his head to better peer into the forest. The lantern’s cut crystal lens refracted the light it cast, causing it to flicker over the trees and sparkle as it fell on something silvery amongst them—lichens, perhaps, or pine sap running down a dark trunk. The rider’s other hand gripped the hilt of the finely wrought sword hanging at his belt.

"Are you mad?” a voice called from the darkness further along the path.

The rider gasped in response to this unexpected query and his horse whinnied, rearing slightly. The faint glow of a matching lantern appeared and grew stronger.

"Why do you linger?” the second rider asked urgently while studying the surrounding darkness.

The first elf reined in his mount sharply and kicked its flank hard, finally persuading it to continue along the path. “Curse this dark land and all the dark creatures in it,” he spat.

"Afraid of the dark?” the other asked, while encouraging his own snorting horse to a quick trot.

"There is something amongst the trees,” the first snapped back.

"Yes, owls. Now keep up so that we might finish our patrol and return to our less than adequate beds in that forsaken camp.”

With a last glance into the trees, the elf kicked his horse again. “The faster we get off this shadowy path and back into the open plain, the happier I will be,” he muttered.

The silence that followed his passing was broken only by a soft snuffling noise that sounded suspiciously like snickering. The riders would have assured themselves that it was a fox or some other animal, since their eyes provided no evidence to the contrary. But the riders would have been wrong.

"They have no woodcraft what-so-ever!” an incredulous voice declared as several figures slipped silently from the trees onto the path. A hand signal from each of them brought their horses to their sides from the hiding places they had sought deep in the shadows.

"They certainly might better spend their time learning to ride rather than creating absurd trinkets with which to burden their horses,” another said, shaking his head in disgust. “As if the leatherwork was not sufficiently elaborate, it was encrusted with engraved silver. What could possibly be the purpose of that, except to further annoy the animal? No wonder it did not respect him,” he said, stroking the nose of his own horse as it nuzzled his neck.

"Indeed,” agreed a third. “Fine swords or no, they will not long survive if they see so little.”

"The same could be said about you, my lord Oropher,” a teasing, soft voice said from the trees above them.

As one, the group of elves on the ground turned towards the voice, their hands reaching for their swords. The elf in the tree did not so much as flinch or tense. The amused smile that lit his fair face only grew broader as the noble elves on the path recognized him and relaxed, breaking into grins themselves.

"Galuthaun! You villain! How dare you spy on us while we are busy spying on someone else,” Oropher exclaimed as he reached up to tug at the Green Elf’s cloak.

Galuthaun jumped from the tree, landing lightly next to Oropher and accepting his embrace gladly. As he moved to exchange similar greetings with Oropher’s brother and cousins, another figure descended from the tree and lingered in the shadows. Oropher turned to greet whoever his old friend’s companion might be, but when he did, he leaned forward in surprise.

"Golwon?” he called, taking a step forward, as if to see more clearly. “It cannot be!” he exclaimed as a slender elf stepped closer, nodding. Oropher’s eyes widened. “The last time I saw you, you had only just begun to learn to hunt. Surely it is not safe for you to be out here in the wilds. What ever are you doing here?”

Golwon straightened, trying to stand a little taller. “I am of age,” he said, his chin jutting out in a manner that reminded Oropher of a recalcitrant child. He frowned and drew a breath, but Galuthaun stepped between them.

"Easy, my lord,” he whispered. “Golwon has earned the right to patrol with us. With his own blood and with that of his father and brother.” He paused, still standing between them, and gestured down the path. “We have a camp just inside the forest,” he continued in a voice for all to hear. “Golwon and I had finished our patrol and were returning to the camp when we saw you. Come, join us. You can see the Returned Elves’ camps from it and, while you watch them, you can tell us why you were spying on them rather than greeting them.”

"We did not intend to spy on them," Celeborn answered as he led his horse in the direction Galuthaun had indicated. "We heard something following us and went into the trees for safety until we could identify what it was."

Galathil nodded. "And we dared not approach them after we saw that they were Elves. They were as skittish as deer. Only deer do not carry swords."

Amdir laughed, nodding in agreement. "We feared they might attack us before they realized we were not Enemies."

Galuthaun smiled and shook his head in response. Golwon, in contrast, was oblivious to the conversation, focused instead on scanning the trees as they walked, an arrow nocked in his bow. Oropher followed him with his gaze for a long moment before starting after them.

"Tell us how you and your family have fared, Galuthaun,” he asked. The main reason he had been anxious to go on this mission was to find out how his friends and their lands had come through the recent battles. If children like Golwon were now patrolling for signs of the enemy, he feared to hear the answer to that question.

"My family was very fortunate,” Galuthaun answered somberly. “My eldest brother was badly wounded, and we feared for him. But it seems now that he will recover. Our youngest brother was also wounded, but not so badly. He is nearly recovered. Adar, daeradar, naneth and I were not wounded at all beyond a few cuts.”

Oropher’s gaze flashed to his friend’s face. “Your naneth? Surely she did not fight?” he asked. His cousins all stopped walking and looked back at Galuthaun as well.

"Everyone fought,” Golwon answered. His voice was quiet. “Everyone.”

Oropher and his cousins watched Golwon walk past them before they looked at Galuthaun for an explanation.

"Golwon’s brother and adar were killed,” Galuthaun said softly. “His naneth…well, she was wounded herself and might recover." He shook his head and loosed a long breath. "She is not doing well, though she is trying, for Golwon’s sake. My adar has taken them in,” he concluded, as he followed Golwon down the path. Oropher and his cousins exchanged a wordless glance before following. “I am pleased to see all of you are well,” Galuthaun continued after a pause, making his voice steadier with obvious effort. “We had heard all of the king’s family fell with him and we feared the worst about you.” He looked at Oropher. “The Laegelrim's king, I mean. Lord Denethor. I understand the High King escaped injury.”

"Lord Thingol suffered only minor wounds,” Oropher replied. “Engwe, Amdir, Amglaur and I did not fight directly alongside lord Denethor, else we would indeed have been killed. His position was overrun.”

"We heard he fought valiantly,” Galuthaun said.

"He did,” Oropher answered. “He sacrificed himself to prevent the orcs from escaping. He saved all the people in Ossiriand through his actions, for the orcs would surely have fled there if they had succeeded in escaping. And the Laegelrim would have stood little chance, armed only with bows, against the orcs' armor.”

"We stood here against the orcs with bows and without armor," Golwon countered sharply, hefting his bow and glaring coldly at Oropher and the gleaming hauberk he wore. "We did not retreat before them when they came through the Ered Wethrin."

"I said not that you had," Oropher answered. "I was speaking of the Laegelrim in Ossiriand, not the battle here in Mithrim. Though from what we have heard, save for the presence of the Returned Elves, these lands would have been overrun."

Golwon snorted. "Save for the presence of the Returned Elves, setting fire to their ships--fires that were seen all the way in Angband--Morgoth would have never sent his minions here."

Oropher exchanged a glance with Celeborn, eyebrows raised, in response to that.

"They set fire to the ships they sailed here?” Celeborn asked.

"We have much to discuss,” Galuthaun replied, but he said nothing more.

They walked in silence for a while, until the path nearly leveled off its descent down the mountain and Oropher and his cousins could almost make out the edge of the forest. At this point, Galuthaun and Golwon leapt up, catching a low branch on young pine. Oropher and his cousins followed suit, following them and moving gracefully from branch to branch, until they reached a place where the taller trees' branches were thin, facing the plain and Lake Mithrim. There, they settled onto a simple platform nestled in the branches, used by the watch.

Oropher looked through the branches to see flickering fires illuminating the numerous tents and other, more permanent looking structures around the northern and southern sides of the lake. His breath caught in his throat in horror. The light of the fires was scattered through an unnatural, shadowy mist that enshrouded the lake. He, along with his brother and cousins turned sharply to Galuthaun, their expressions demanding explanation.

"The mists came not long after the second host of elves from Valinor arrived,” Galuthaun said.

"Second host?” Celeborn repeated, sitting cross-legged and facing Galuthaun fully, his back on the Noldorin camp. “A second host came? After the first burned their ships? I think you had better tell us how that could be accomplished. Tell us what you know about these Returned Elves.”

"Yes, my lord Prince,” Galuthaun responded solemnly. And he began his tale. “The first elves came in ships. They were fewer in number and came before the rising of the lights. They burned the ships they came in once they reached the shore. Beautiful ships in the shape of swans, they were. The burning and the noise of their arrival attracted the orcs, as Golwon already said. We would have all perished, but the Noldor pushed them back and they were fey. Their swords shone as brightly as their eyes and the orcs fled before them. Their leader—Feanor, son of Finwe—pressed them to the very gates and Angband, but he was assailed by balrogs and killed...”

"He was killed? Their leader was killed?” Celeborn exclaimed. “We had not heard that.”

"It might explain why they have not yet contacted the King," Galathil said softly.

Celeborn nodded with obvious sympathy.

"So, Finwe himself is definitely not with them?” Oropher interjected.

"Finwe is not here,” Galuthaun confirmed. “We have heard that he was killed in Valinor...”

"Killed in Valinor!” Oropher and several of the others gasped. Not even the Blessed Realm was immune to Morgoth's evils!

Galuthaun nodded. “By Morgoth," he confirmed. "Feanor, his oldest son, pursued Morgoth across the sea, but was killed, as I already explained, by balrogs. And Feanor's eldest son, Maedhros, is also lost. Captured, or killed, I am not sure which, at a parley with Morgoth. The other six sons are amongst those in the camp...”

"Seven sons! This Feanor had seven sons!” Engwe exclaimed, glancing at his brother, eyebrows high.

Oropher looked back at him, amused. “Well, Malthoron has six sons,” he said with a shrug.

"Who is their leader now?” Celeborn asked in an obvious effort to keep the discussion focused. “Who should we address when we approach them?”

"That is the question,” Galuthaun responded. “Maedhros is lost. Feanor's next son is Maglor. I have met him. He is a descent sort. He leads the first host now. But an elf of the second host, Fingolfin, is Feanor's half-brother, and there seems to be some confusion over whether he, or Maglor, is now their king.”

All the elves now stared at Galuthaun. “What is a half-brother?” Amdir finally asked.

Galuthaun leaned towards them and whispered, as if speaking of some dark secret. “Feanor's mother was Finwe's first wife. She passed into Mandos after his birth.”

Everyone's eyes widened in response to that.

"How terrible that a child should be deprived thus of his mother!” Galathil said.

"Finwe took another wife,” Galuthaun hurried to continue.

Gasps were the only response to that declaration.

Galuthaun nodded. “And had two more sons with her: Fingolfin, the oldest, is the leader of the second group of elves. His two sons and daughter came with him, but his oldest son has disappeared from their camp. No one knows where he has gone and everyone fears for him terribly after some of our people shared stories about what happens here to elves that disappear in the night."

"That was unnecessarily cruel," Galathil whispered. "Unthinking, at least."

"Finwe had another son, Finarfin, with his second wife," Galuthaun continued, without pause. "Apparently, he remains in Valinor. Finarfin, we have heard, is now married to Olwe's daughter, Earwen, and they had four sons and a daughter, who all came with Fingolfin's host.”

Oropher shook his head, as if to clear it. “So, we have here in Mithrim, five princes, still living, who are the sons of Finwe's eldest son. Then we have three more princes and a princess in Finwe's second-born and his children. Finally, we have four more princes and a princess, our own cousins, who are the children of Finwe's third-born. What do all these princes of the Noldor and their followers want? Why should they all have come to Beleriand now?”

"And how did the second host come at all, if Feanor burnt their ships? More importantly, why would he do that, with his brothers still on the road behind him? What would such a deed mean?” Engwe added.

"They came to pursue Morgoth to the ends of Arda, is what they claim,” Galuthaun responded. “Or at least so says Maglor. As for how the second host came—they came over the Grinding Ice.”

Now jaws dropped.

"And when they came, Maglor moved his camp from the northern shore of the lake to the southern shore, where you see it now. Believe me, there is absolutely no love between these two hosts of Noldor. In fact, there is open hostility. I think—and this is purely speculation because none of them on either shore of the lake will discuss it—that Feanor abandoned Fingolfin's people instead of sending the ships back for them.”

"But, who would leave behind willing allies when going into battle against Morgoth?” Amglaur asked. “That is the worst sort of folly. The number of his orcs is vast and must be countered by equally large numbers. What could it mean that this Feanor would turn away from willing aid?”

"Perhaps they were not willing,” Galathil suggested.

"They were more than willing,” Celeborn replied. “So willing that they faced the Ice to come.”

"But not so rash as to march straight on Angband before recovering their strength,” Galuthaun said. “I would judge Fingolfin's host the wisest of the two, but Maglor's the most valiant.”

"Whose do we approach?” Celeborn asked, sounding tired.

"If you are seeking my counsel, I would approach Fingolfin, my lord,” Galuthaun replied after a long pause to carefully consider his words. “He is the eldest of Finwe's House present and his is the largest host.”

Celeborn looked at his companions. They all nodded. “Very well, we will speak to them.”

"I will go with you, to help you with their speech,” Golwon said. “Their language is odd and difficult to understand. I have learned it, so I can help you.”

"Very well,” Celeborn agreed, eyebrows raised.

"If it is not overbold, may I ask, my lord, what is your business with the Noldor?" Galuthaun asked.

"The king sent us to remind these Noldorin princes that there is a king in Beleriand who they, at the very least, must acknowledge.”

That pronouncement was met with a loud snort from Golwon. “I wish you great luck making them see that, my lord,” he said. “They look on us as savages. At the very best, servants born. They acknowledge no power but their own and they take what ever pleases them.”

"Savages? Servant born?” Oropher and Engwe repeated as one. “What is that supposed to mean?" Engwe continued.

"And what do you mean that they take whatever pleases them?" Oropher added, his back stiff.

"Some of them have offered to give us what are, in their opinion, better dwellings in exchange for our service," Galuthaun hastened to explain. "Or to show us how to weave finer cloth, dye it brighter colors and adorn it with jewels in exchange for doing tasks for them. Some of our people have agreed. Some feel obliged to do so in recompense for their aid against the orcs."

"Some of us have refused," Golwon interjected, "knowing that they were the ones who attracted the orcs, so they should have been the ones to drive them off. And also knowing that our dwellings in the trees and simple clothes are more than enough." He loosed a derisive noise. "What possible good would bright silk and sparkling jewels do me when I am hiding in a thorn bush from orcs? We do not need their self-proclaimed improvements. Nor do we need them altering our lands to their liking."

"How do they respond to your refusal?" Celeborn asked. "And how have they altered the land here in Mithrim?"

"They look on us with sadness and pity, like a child that fails to tempt a lost dog to come to him and accept the leash by offering it food," Golwon responded.

"And they are building, my lord," Galuthaun added. "Fortifications and houses and other structures. They have taken a good number of trees, both for tools and for construction materials, and they are now taking stone from the mountains."

"You would not believe the sweat they pour over that stone!" Golwon exclaimed. "To cut it from the mountain, shape it into blocks and then lay it, either for roads or buildings. Stone roads! What could possibly be the purpose of such a thing? They tell us they will be used to better haul goods in carts and that might make sense if not for the fact that they refuse to even speak to one another between the camps. Who do they intend to trade goods with? Will they extend their roads to Menegroth or Eglarest or Brithombar to trade there?"

"They had better have permission from the king before they cut paths through the Brethil and Neldoreth for roads," Oropher interjected quietly. There were nods all around in response to that.

"And stone houses! Who needs a stone wall to block out the beauty of the lake and trees and grass? But that is what they want for themselves to live in. And for us to serve in. Let others imprison themselves thusly, for I shall not!" Golwon concluded.

Galuthaun nodded. "Some of our people have moved on, not wanting to be bothered with these Noldorin 'improvements.' But others stay because they are pleased to joined company with long sundered kin or they admire the Noldorin swords or they are curious to learn the crafts they promise to teach."

"And some stay to make sure these Noldor do not destroy our lands or people," Golwon added, his tone making it clear he was one of those.

"What would you have us say to these princes of the Noldor on your behalf?" Celeborn asked. "And what message concerning them should we take back to the king?"

"The same message to both," Galuthaun responded instantly. "The Noldor need to respect us, our customs and our land."

"Then that is what we will tell them," Celeborn promised. "And we will make sure the king hears what is happening here."

Golwon nodded once, satisfied with that answer.

*~*~*

Oropher and Celeborn led their brothers and cousins down the partially finished stone road, behind the guard that had met them at the boundaries of the Noldorin camp. There had been some debate amongst them over who should speak for Thingol--whether Celeborn should go alone, as the oldest and most closely related to the king, whether someone should accompany him and, if so, who, or whether they should all go. In the end, they agreed the numerous princes of the Noldor should face all the princes of Elwe's line who were present. They all went.

As they walked through the camp, Oropher made no pretense of doing anything other than looking, with open curiosity, at the people around him, so very different from the elves he knew in Beleriand. These Returned Elves' eyes were sharp and bright, much more so than even the most noble elves in Thingol's court. More so than anyone save Thingol himself. And Melian. Oropher found himself wondering if such was the effect of Valinor.

As Golwon and Galuthaun had stated, all the elves he saw had their hands busy at something, be it cutting stones or building, sewing or mending clothes or crafting weaponry or household items. And they did not simply stack stones into walls or stitch together garments or carve wooden spoons and bowls. Their stones were intricately hewed with elaborate designs before being fit perfectly into their place. Their fabric was as bright as the grass and flowers in the sunlight, heavily embroidered and embellished. And the hammering from the smithy they had built near the center of their camp reverberated and echoed from the slopes of the surrounding mountains, from which they had already completed a stone road.

"The Grinding Ice did nothing to crush their sense of ambition, did it?" Engwe whispered into Oropher's ear.

"I imagine a tremendous ambition is what would be necessary to drive one to make such a journey in the first place," Oropher answered. His own words soured in his mouth like vinegared wine. What sort of ambitions must they have to be driven to such a feat and what effect would those ambitions have on the land and people he loved?

He had little time to dwell on such thoughts. His open stares naturally attracted the attention of the working elves and when they looked back at him, their reactions gave him something else to marvel at. Some, when they saw him, merely froze and gaped at him. Others gasped. Some all but fled, ducking back into whatever shelter was nearest. Not one of them could meet his gaze, even with their piercing eyes. A rolling murmur preceded them up the road, causing people to glance in their direction and then hide themselves.

Oropher frowned. Why would they react so? For a moment he feared they faulted his appearance. After all, these refugees, who had struggled over the Ice and were now at labor, were dressed with more finery than he exhibited here in the land of his birth, while representing his king to their princes. No jewels studded his collar, no rings or necklaces or broaches adorned his person, no silk cloth billowed about him. Perhaps they thought him unworthy to meet their lords. Perhaps they thought him a wildling and feared him. He reflexively tugged at the hem of the deerskin jerkin he wore under his mail. He was dressed perfectly appropriately for having just traveled months from Menegroth nearly to the sea, he muttered to himself, his chin rising. But as soon as he thought that, he realized his apparel could not be the reason for their odd behavior. Only the guard escorting them knew their purpose in the camp. Next he speculated they were offended that he bore arms--his bow and sword--into their camp. That, he could certainly understand, but it could not be the problem either. All the Noldor were armed, most with swords at least as fine as the one he carried. Even the ellyth amongst them.

One elleth in particular caught Oropher's attention. She obviously had some Vanyarin ancestor, like his friends of the House of Malthoron. Her hair was golden fair, but shot through with strands of silver, very like that of the House of Thingol. Oropher wondered if this might be one of Earwen's children--one of his cousin's.

She stood, watching him, unflinchingly, amongst a group of several ladies warping standing looms and guarded by a very young warrior, barely of age. When the young warrior turned in response to the sound of the whispers and caught sight of Celeborn, Galathil, Engwe and Oropher, he dropped openly into a fighting stance, albeit an utterly panicked one, and his hand fumbled at the sword hanging at his waist. One of the weavers--an elleth with raven hair--darted around from behind her loom and snapped something at him in their oddly familiar but incomprehensible language while seizing his sword arm. The young warrior yielded to her automatically. She must be an older sister, or perhaps even his mother, Oropher thought. Another dark-haired elleth, obviously a relation, looked to the first with wide eyes, clearly seeking comfort. The young warrior shot some hot words back at the elleth. Those three were siblings, Oropher concluded. No one spoke to their mother with that tone.

The golden-haired elleth put an end to the entire exchange with one quiet word that elicited a curtsy from the older, dark elleth, sent the younger one immediately back to her needlework and brought the young warrior to attention.

The golden one holds authority, Oropher thought. His attention remained focused on her as she stepped away from the group of weavers and followed the party of Sindarin elves at a safe distance. Even with his back to her, Oropher felt her eyes bore into him.  

"What are they saying?" Celeborn whispered to Golwon, referring to the murmurs around them.

"They are speaking of your hair, saying you must be related to Olwe, which, of course, you are. They call you Swan Lords and use that title with some fear. They speculate if you are here for vengeance or reparations," he whispered back.

Vengeance? Swan lords? Oropher thought, exchanging a confused glance with his cousins. What is a Swan Lord and what could be so frightening about swans? Did it have something to do with the swan-shaped ships these princes burnt upon their arrival? And what did any of that have to do with their uncle Olwe? He shook his head and gave up trying to find an explanation for their odd behavior.

They were approaching a finished stone building near the center of the camp. It was tall as a young tree and very wide. Elegantly designed and richly embellished. This was their princes' home, Oropher concluded. Fitting. And well done in such a short time.

The guard led them through its gilded wooden doors into an antechamber with a polished granite floor, signaling for them to wait while he spoke with another guard at the entrance to the main Hall. The second guard disappeared into the Hall.

In his absence, the fair-haired elleth strode into the antechamber and circled around the visiting elves. She looked like a warrior searching for weakness in the enemy's front.

Their guard snapped to attention at her glance.

"Who are these armed strangers that you lead so willingly into our lord's Hall," she demanded, speaking Sindarin in the same flat, nasally accent the guard had used.

"Representatives of Lord Elwe, my lady," the guard answered promptly, also in Sindarin. "Come from Menegroth."

The elleth relaxed visibly, her stance immediately less battle-ready. "You are Elwe's kin, then, not Olwe's?" she asked, now smiling pleasantly. Oropher blinked at the transformation from predator to hostess. "His sons, perhaps? But we heard he had only one daughter. His grandsons then?"

"Some of us are Elu's youngest brother Elmo's grandsons, my lady," Celeborn answered with a polite bow. "In our language, Elwe is called Elu. I am Celeborn and this is my brother, Galathil. We are the sons of Elmo's son, Galadhon. These are our cousins, Oropher and Engwe, sons of Elmo's daughter, Doroniel. And, finally, Amdir and Amglaur, sons of Naethos, grandsons of Ithilbor, a lord of the Laegelrim."

"And you, I would wager, are Olwe's kin," Oropher interjected quietly. "The daughter of Earwen, I would guess, and, thus, Olwe's granddaughter and our cousin."

That statement forced the lady-warrior back a step. "I am Earwen's daughter and Olwe's granddaughter," she confirmed after a deep breath. "If you know that, you should also know that Lord Finarfin is my father, King Finwe is my grandfather and my grandmother is Indis, the High King Ingwe's kin."

"And of all the names my sister has given you," a new voice, emerging from the Hall, declared, "none of them were her own. How typical."

Oropher and all his cousins turned to face another golden-haired elf. Three dark-haired elves flanked him.

The fair-haired elf smiled at them, even as he studied them, one by one. "I am Finrod Finarfinion and this is my sister, Nerwen. Or, at least that is the name our mother gave her. Our father named her Artanis, but our cousins call her Alatariel."

Oropher blinked and stared at her in response to that introduction. The elleth again looked more like a warrior than a lady as she glared at her brother. He grinned back at her, unabashed. One of the dark-haired elves shook his head with a long suffering look.

"How do you prefer to be addressed, my lady," Celeborn asked diplomatically.

"I will leave you to draw your own conclusions, Lord Celeborn," she replied.

Celeborn regarded her silently a moment and then turned to the dark-haired elves.

"I am Fingolfin," the tallest of them said. "This is my son, Turgon..."

"And this is my brother, Angrod," Finrod concluded, placing a hand on the shoulder of the elf that had shook his head a moment before.

"Your parents and cousins gave multiple names to your sister only?" Engwe asked, his tone dry. "We have no options for how to address you? How dull."

Celeborn slowly turned a level glare on Engwe, but Finrod only continued smiling. "In truth, my name is Findarato. Finrod is what your people have named me. My mother named me Ingoldo..."

"And his siblings and and cousins name him many things, though perhaps none of those names are appropriate to repeat at this moment," the many-named elleth interrupted with a honey-sweet tone. She turned to Engwe. "And if anything is dull, perhaps it is the fact that so many of you are simply variations of some tree--Galadhon, Celeborn, Galathil, Oropher..." she allowed her voice to trail off and arched an eyebrow.

The elf that named himself Fingolfin, stepped forward. "I am certain that the lords of Beleriand did not travel from the forest to the sea to banter about names," he said. His tone made clear that neither did he have the time or inclination to do so.

Oropher tensed, remembering Galuthaun's story about Fingolfin's long missing son. No doubt this elf was in no mood for foolishness.

"We have come to greet you in the name of Elu Thingol, High King of Beleriand," Celeborn replied formally. "And to extend to you his invitation that you and he might renew the ancient friendship between the Noldor and Teleri by allowing him to properly host you in Menegroth, rather than from afar, here at Lake Mithrim, and by the proxy of these elves," he indicated Golwon, "our kin. He will be deeply grieved when we deliver news of the death of his great friend, and chosen brother, Finwe, but it will surely assuage his grief, at least somewhat, to meet Finwe's sons and grandsons. And to learn that our two Houses have been joined in marriage."

The princes of the Noldor exchanged a glance that could only be described as uncomfortable. "Please join us in the Hall," Fingolfin said, standing back and gesturing for them to pass through the tall, double doors behind him. "We have much to discuss and learn about one another."

Celeborn nodded. That there was much to discuss was not to be denied. He led his cousins into the Hall.

*~*~*

Then Fingon the valiant, son of Fingolfin, resolved to heal the feud that divided the Noldor, before their Enemy should be ready for war; for the earth trembled in the Northlands with the thunder of the forges of Morgoth underground. Long before, in the bliss of Valinor, before Melkor was unchained, or lies came between them, Fingon had been close in friendship with Maedhros; and though he knew not yet that Maedhros had not forgotten him at the burning of the ships, the thought of their ancient friendship stung his heart. Therefore he dared a deed which is justly renowned among the feats of the princes of the Noldor: alone, and without the counsel of any, he set forth in search of Maedhros; and aided by the very darkness that Morgoth had made he came unseen into the fastness of his foes. High upon the shoulders of Thangorodrim he climbed, and looked in despair upon the desolation of the land; but no passage or crevice could he find through which he might come within Morgoth's stronghold. Then in defiance of the Orcs, who cowered still in the dark vaults beneath the earth, he took his harp and sang a song of Valinor that the Noldor made of old, before strife was born among the sons of Finwë; and his voice rang in the mournful hollows that had never heard before aught save cries of fear and woe.

Thus Fingon found what he sought. For suddenly above him far and faint his song was taken up, and a voice answering called to him. Maedhros it was that sang amid his torment.

The Silmarillion: Of the Return of the Noldor

The Hall of the Princes of the Noldor was well appointed. Especially so for elves that had crossed the Helcaraxe. Oropher idly studied the intricately carved legs of his brother's chair. And the stitching of his own chair's upholstered arm. A very pretty pattern, almost like a honeycomb. And comfortable. Soft. He imagined the Noldor were glad they took the time to make their furniture so luxurious since Celeborn was exhausting them so.

People called him stubborn! Oropher thought, stifling a snort as his cousin insisted to Fingolfin--again--that some representative of the Princes of the Noldor must return with them to Menegroth. Or at least follow soon after them. Celeborn had politely but steadfastly turned every effort to divert the conversation away from that topic into an opportunity to pursue it. And he had countered every one of their arguments to excuse themselves from that responsibility. Thingol would be pleased.

To his right, Nerwen--Oropher had decided he thought the golden-haired elleth's mother had named her most correctly--grimaced almost imperceptibly after swallowing a sip of wine. It was the berry wine the Laegelrim came to Mithrim every year to make. It was sweet. Perhaps too sweet for her taste. She turned an apologetic look upon him when she realized he noticed her slip in decorum.

"I beg your pardon," she said with a practiced, diplomatic tone, addressing Oropher to the side of Celeborn's conversation with Fingolfin. "We are, of course, most grateful to have wine to drink. The Laiquendi, your subjects, have been more gracious in their reception of us than we could have hoped to expect and we truly appreciate their generosity. It is only..." she hesitated and smiled at him. "We," she indicated her brothers and cousins with a wave of her goblet, "are accustomed to wine pressed from a more cultivated source. We have vineyards in Aman, with finely cultured grapes. But this fruity wine," she hastened to add when Oropher only looked at her silently, "it has spirit, rather like your subjects."

"A savage spirit," Oropher answered, coolly, remembering Golwon's words from the night before. "And they are not my subjects. They are my people. My mother is Elu's niece, but my father is Lenwe's cousin. I descend from both the Lindar and the Laegelrim."

"And thus your family's fascination with trees, I suppose," Nerwen replied, not one to be cowed by confrontation was she. "If you dwell in them, it stands to reason you name yourselves after them--perhaps after the sort you were born in."

"I hope that when we finally are able to travel to Menegroth, we will learn how you make this most excellent mail," Fingolfin declared, rather loudly, before Oropher could reply. He seemed to be making yet another effort to change the subject in his conversation with Celeborn. He was likely also trying to forestall the argument he felt brewing between his cousin and his guest.

His comment elicited sharp, if dubious, glances from all the Noldor. It could not be more obvious that they doubted Fingolfin's judgement of the quality of the mail. They could doubt it all they wished, Oropher thought. It would never be the Noldor that tested it. The orcs of Beleriand had tested it thoroughly and found it more than a match for their weapons. That was all that mattered to Oropher. He cared not at all for the Noldor's admiration or scorn of his weaponry, wine or anything else.

"Have you looked at it closely?" Fingolfin asked, gesturing to Celeborn's mail coat while looking at his children and nephews. "It is woven so closely that I cannot even see light through it."

Oropher suddenly found his hauberk the object of the intense scrutiny of the Noldor closest to him, initially only out of polite interest, but soon Turgon leaned toward him and boldly fingered the rings of his mail.

"How is this woven?" he asked, trying and failing to separate the rings.

"It is a variation of the Four-in-One weave, using a box chain," Oropher answered. "We call it a Bird's Nest, but the Naugrim that make it for us have a different name for it."

Celeborn made a small, somewhat alarmed noise in response to the term Naugrim.

Oropher ignored his cousin and smiled at Turgon. "You will not separate those rings, no matter how you try to shift them. Arrows with bodkins will not separate them. I know this from experience. So your fingers certainly will have no success."

"It is a marvelously tight weave, you are right, Atar," Turgon said, still studying it and, thus, failing to notice Celeborn's reaction. "And not terribly heavy, even with the additional rings," he added, now hefting the skirt of the hauberk in his hand.

"Naugrim?" Finrod repeated. "There is a division of your people that you call the Naugrim?" He was trying to sound diplomatic, but was not entirely successful.

"They are better called the Gonnhirrim," Celeborn intervened, "And they are not Elves. They call themselves the Children of Aule and other names, besides, perhaps, but those they do not share with us. Their language is secret. They live in the Ered Luin in the far east. They are...shorter people." He hesitated and lowered his voice. "They are not lovely," he whispered. "And they are...they have a good deal of hair, but on their faces, which they are very proud of." He gestured as if stroking a beard, to the obvious confusion of all the Noldor. "But they do masterful work with steel," he continued in a stronger voice, "as you can see. And with stone. They delved Menegroth for us and forged many of our weapons."

"Not elves, yet they speak," Finrod said. "Quite curious. And they built those caves we hear your King lives in. Hmmm."

Oropher was not certain what to make of Finrod's tone.

"I believe I have heard of these Children of Aule," Fingolfin said. Then he frowned and looked down. "I heard Fingon discussing them once with Maedhros." His voice was quiet and faltered over his son's name. "I thought their existence was only a fable."

"I must say," Finrod said. "I would be interested in meeting these Gonnhirrim if they can make mail like this. It is uncommonly fine."

"The smithies where they make it for us are in Menegroth," Celeborn replied. "We could show them to you and introduce you to their smiths when you come to speak with the King."

Oropher stifled a snort in response to the exasperated expressions this latest change of subject elicited.

"The Sindar are single-minded. No doubt about that," Nerwen commented, lifting her glass to Celeborn in a gesture that seemed more mockery than salutation.

It was the name she just used rather than her demeanor that captured Oropher's attention.

Celeborn's too, apparently. "What did you call us?" he asked. "Sindar? Why do you call us that?"

"We thought that in your language it meant...well, the color, like your cloaks," Fingolfin explained, pointing at the muted fabric draped over the otherwise brightly colored chairs.

"It does," Celeborn replied, still sounding confused. "But that is not the name of our people."

"We are the Teleri," Oropher said.

"Though we also call ourselves the Lindar," Amdir said.

"And the Eglath," Amglaur added.

"Sindar seemed an appropriate name to us," Turgon said. "Since everything here, from your clothes, to the land itself is so grey. Even you named this land Mithrim."

"And the word Sindar comes from your own King's name. Elwe Sindacollo," Nerwen said.

"It is rather bold to rename a people who have already named themselves, is it not?" Engwe asked.

Fingolfin smiled an overly patient smile. "Your people re-named me, after all. Just as my half-brother's father-name was Curufinwe, I was also named after our father. My name is not Fingolfin. It is Finwe Nolofinwe. Nor is my brother's name Finarfin. It is Finwe Arafinwe. I have not complained that you pronounce my name in the fashion of your people's speech."

As Fingolfin spoke, Oropher concealed his mouth behind his wine goblet, pretending to take a drink, in order to hide his laughter. Finwe named all three of his sons after himself! No, that was not self-centered. Not at all.

"And the lady Nerwen thought our tree-based names were dull by virtue of being repetitive," Engwe said softly.

Celeborn pointed at him to silence him. "Enough of names," he commanded. Defiance flared in Engwe's eyes, but Celeborn had already turned back to Fingolfin. "Call us Sindar if you wish. As long as you come to Menegroth, I doubt the King will care."

Oropher grinned, waiting to see how Fingolfin would change the subject this time. He had not need to try.

At that moment, the doors to the Hall flew open and a guard entered along with an elleth. "My lords," he called, not waiting for leave to speak. "Lord Fingon has returned. With Lord Maedhros. They are in the northern camp." He nodded to the elleth, and gave her a a gentle push forward, encouraging her to speak.

She curtsied. "My name is Helindilme. My Atar and I are...we came with Lord Feanor. We are healers. Atar is treating Lord Maedhros, but he sent me to ask for aid. For medicine. I can tell you what he needs...what we would use in Aman, but I do not know if the same medicines are available in these lands. We need a healer who knows better the herbs that grow here. Preferably one with experience...." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Lord Maedhros has lost a limb. His right hand. He yet survives, but he needs someone skilled with that sort of injury. Neither Atar nor I have ever treated severed limbs. We do not know how to close such a wound."

Golwon, who had stood to the side of the room with the Noldorin servants and guards throughout this conversation, stepped forward. "My cousin is a surgeon. She has treated many warriors that lost limbs in battle."

Fingolfin turned to him. "Fetch her," he commanded. "And whatever medicine she and this elleth deem necessary. I will escort you myself to the northern camp."

Golwon looked to Celeborn and, after a nod from him, rushed from the Hall.

Meanwhile Fingolfin stood and grasped the elleth by both arms. "Fingon? What news of him?"

"He is uninjured save some minor cuts that have already largely healed," the elleth quickly reassured him. "And he is being hailed as a hero, my lord. They are calling him Fingon the Valiant and Lord Maglor is already leading songs in his praise. Lord Fingon told us that he retrieved Lord Maedhros from the very walls of Thangorodrim, where he found him in the mists, hanging caught by an iron ring around his wrist. He cut him down." She swallowed hard while making a slashing motion across her wrist. "That is how Lord Maedhros lost..." she drifted to silence and gestured with her left hand to her right. "The lord of the eagles bore them back to our camp."

"Valar preserve us," Fingolfin whispered. Then he turned back to his guests. "If you will excuse me. Fingon is..."

"Your son. Yes, we know," Celeborn said. "We heard that he was feared lost. We rejoice with you that he and Lord Maedhros have returned. It is not often that one survives Thangorodrim."

Fingolfin only nodded to that before leading the healer from the room.

*~*~*

Oropher stretched his legs out in front of him and leaned back into the embrace of the slender pine that supported the platform he was happy to once again share with Galuthaun, Golwon, his brother and cousins.

"Maedhros admitted they deserted the second host. I heard him say it," Golwon was whispering to Galuthaun. "I heard him ask forgiveness for it and claim he suggested the ships return for Fingon, at least, but his father refused to allow it."

"Fool," Engwe muttered.

Oropher was not the only one there to nod in agreement with that sentiment.  

"More than that," Golwon rushed to say, holding out his hands to silence them. "Maedhros yielded rule of the Noldor to Fingolfin, saying he was the oldest son of Finwe still alive..."

"But Maedhros is the oldest son of Finwe's oldest son. Do they pass inheritance differently from that?" Amglaur asked.

Golwon shrugged. "Apparently they pass it through all the father's sons before moving on to the next generation because Fingolfin accepted Maedhros's oath. And those of his younger brothers, though I would say not all of those oaths were made with full hearts."

Eyebrows rose in response to that.

"I heard some of Maedhros' brothers whispering. Calling themselves the Dispossessed. And they sounded bitter when they said it. Especially one I heard the Laegelrim servants call Caranthir. Still, they have already begun to plan together how they will  lay seige to Thangorodrim," Golwon concluded.

"May they succeed in that endeavor," Galathil said.

Everyone nodded.

"Though I doubt they will," Amglaur added.

Grim nods followed that observation as well.

Then Golwon's eyes lit with mischief, making him look every bit the barely adult that he was. He faced Engwe. "Since you found Curufinwe, Finwë Nolofinwe and Finwe Arafinwe amusing, you will enjoy hearing the father-names of Feanor's sons that I learned while in their camp," he said, leaning towards Engwe eagerly.

"Yes?" Engwe replied, affecting a bored tone.

"Nelyafinwe, Canafinwe, Turcafinwe, Morifinwe, Curufinwe, Pityafinwe and Telufinwe," he said gleefully.

The older elves all burst out laughing.

"You cannot be serious," Oropher exclaimed.

"How could I make that up?" Golwon retorted. "I am completely serious."

"I thought Finwe, Fingolfin, Fingon, and Finarfin were difficult enough to keep straight!" Amglaur said. "Finwe, finwe, finwe...that is simply impossible."

Oropher laughed at that in large part because, for once, he and Amglaur were in total agreement.

*~*~*

Author's Notes:

For those of you waiting for an update of Interrupted Journeys, not to worry. It will be along on Wednesday or so. I was just inspired to polish and publish this chapter when looked back at it while trying to remember exactly what I wrote about Helindilme.

Normally, I don't do so many of notes, but just to help with some of the language and customs that might be confusing:

1) Laegelrim  is the Sindarin term for Green Elf--the Elves that followed Lenwe and later Denethor abandoning the westward journey to Valinor. Laiquendi is the Quenyan term for the same people.

2) The Noldor in Fingolfin's camp are reacting as they are since they remember the Kinslaying in Alqualonde, where many of them killed Olwe's people.

3) Regarding Noldorin naming conventions: the Noldor receive a name from their father at birth and may receive another, later, from their mother. Some receive names from others or rename themselves. Nerwen, Galadriel's mother-name, means Man-maiden.  Artanis, Galadriel's father-name, means Noble Maiden.

4) Galadh is Sindarin for tree. Galathil may come from the same root. Celeborn means Silver Tree. One possible interpretation of the root of Oropher's name is oak.

5) The dwarves made the best mail ever created. From the Silmarilion: "...in the tempering of steel alone of all crafts the Dwarves were never outmatched even by the Noldor, and in the making of mail of linked rings, which was first contrived by the smiths of Belegost, their work had no rival." Of the Sindar

6) Naugrim is Sindarin and means 'stunted ones.' Gonnhirrim is also Sindarin and means 'masters of stone.'

7) Sindar, meaning Grey Elves, is the name the Noldor gave to Thingol's people. They called themselves the Lindar (singers) and Eglath (forsaken, in reference to the fact they were left behind in Middle Earth when the other Teleri went to Valinor).

8) Nelyafinwe is Third Finwë (Maedhros' father-name), Canafinwe is Strong Voiced Finwe (Maglor's father-name), Turcafinwe is Strong in body Finwe (Celegorm's father-name), Morifinwe is dark Finwe (Caranthir's father-name), Curufinwe is Skilled Finwe (Curufin's father-name), Pityafinwe is little Finwe (Amrod's father-name) and Telufinwe is last Finwe (Amras' father-name).