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Elf, Interrupted: Book Two: Glorfindel's Quest  by Fiondil

84: Motives Explained

Finrod’s company was still a few miles from Avallónë when he called a halt. He stared intently before him. There was a light to the east that had nothing to do with the still distant dawn. “Avallónë is on fire,” he said.

“No,” Eönwë replied. “It is not.”

Finrod gave the Maia a hard look but then returned his gaze to the east and realized that the light had advanced enough that he could now see that it was a large group of people carrying torches. In the predawn light he could also see that they were all carrying weapons. He had the feeling this was a ‘rescue party’ organized by Lord Morcocáno. He very much doubted that his atar or anatar would have sanctioned it, but as they had no real authority over these people, they could not have ordered them to disband. There was a shout from someone leading the warriors and it was obvious Finrod’s people had been spotted, for now the Avallóneans were rushing toward them with swords drawn and spears raised.

“Glorfindel,” Finrod said without taking his eyes off the advancing group, “give everyone back their weapons. Anyone who is unarmed I want in the center, now.” His tone brooked no dissent and actually Glorfindel and the others holding the miners’ weapons were returning them even before Finrod spoke.

There was a brief shuffling of bodies as Laurendil, Manwen, Eärnur and Iorlas moved into the center bringing with them the unconscious Lasgalad. Glorfindel quietly asked some of the miners to see to the protection of those who were unarmed if there was need. They looked at him in surprise, but he merely smiled.

Finrod, meanwhile, ordered his own warriors to ring the miners, asking Marthchall to stand beside him on his left. Glorfindel moved to stand between Finrod and Sador, while Alassiel flanked Marthchall’s left. Beleg flanked Sador’s right, his bow up and an arrow at the ready and Ingwion flanked Alassiel. Finrod vaguely realized that none of the Maiar were there any more, but whether they had simply gone invisible or were just gone, he did not know and did not care. He was more than capable of dealing with rabble and that is how he saw the oncoming group of ellyn, perhaps more than twice their own numbers, the miners included.

“That’s far enough!” Finrod suddenly called out, his voice hard. “Come no further.”

Such was the force of his command that the warriors came to a stumbling halt, looks of confusion on most of their faces.

“Lord Finrod!” someone called out. “May we approach?”

Finrod saw Lord Thorongorn standing beside Morcocáno. “Lord Thorongorn,” he said with a nod of his head in acknowledgement. “You and Lord Morcocáno may approach, but no others.”

The two ellyn sheathed their swords and strode forward until only a few feet separated them from Finrod’s group. Thorongorn gave Finrod a respectful bow but Morcocáno just glared at him. “What does this mean?” he demanded, sweeping his arm out to take in the miners. “Are you their prisoners as well?”

Finrod gave him a mirthless smile. “Hardly,” he answered. “They are in fact my prisoners, or rather, my guests.”

“We came to help rescue Lord Laurendil and Lady Manwen,” Thorongorn said somewhat lamely, giving their group a rueful look.

“Rescue, or to take revenge?” Finrod asked, raising an eyebrow in disbelief at the ellon’s words.

Thorongorn looked somewhat abashed, but Morcocáno waved a hand in dismissal. “These... mulódhil....”

There were gasps of dismay from Marthchall and the other miners and Finrod saw Morcocáno smirk. “Oh, yes,” he continued. “We realized who must have taken your friends when I questioned young Berethrandir more closely. Tavrobel is too far away. Angobel is the only town in this direction that’s close enough to Avallónë.”

“Too close,” they heard one of the Avallóneans mutter darkly.

Morcocáno nodded in agreement. “It appears that our fears were well founded. These slaves of Morgoth should never have been allowed to come here, bringing their master’s evil with them.”

“They are no longer slaves,” Finrod stated categorically. “Nor are they evil, merely desperate.”

“They should be punished!” someone shouted and there were cries of assent among the Avallóneans.

Finrod’s expression darkened and both Morcocáno and Thorongorn took a step back in alarm. “Punished?” Finrod retorted, the mildness of his tone in sharp contrast to the look of wrath he gave them. “Perhaps, but not by you. These ellyn are under my protection and are not to be harmed or molested.”

“More to the point, they are under our protection.”

There were gasps of surprise when Eönwë and the other six Maiar made an appearance, their swords drawn.

“And even more to the point, they are under mine.”

Now there were moans of fear as Námo suddenly was there, looking grim. Even the miners cowered at the sight of the Lord of Mandos.

“And mine.”

“And mine.”

Now two more Valar appeared: Oromë and Tulkas. The silence which followed was absolute.

Glorfindel gave them an amused grin. “Nice of you to drop by,” he said in a conversational tone, glancing eastward at the lightening sky heralding the dawn, “and just in time for breakfast, I see.”

Námo rolled his eyes, muttering something none of the elves could hear. Oromë smiled and Tulkas laughed, his booming voice shaking the ground about them. Miles away in Avallónë the ships in the harbor were swamped by sudden waves before settling down to calm. Residents of the city merely assumed there had been a seaquake somewhere.

“Either Lord Ossë is having an argument with Lady Uinen or with Lord Ulmo,” one of the ship captains said to another as they checked for damage along the wharfs. Luckily there was none.

“Or with both,” the other quipped and the two chuckled knowingly.

Meanwhile, the three Valar were staring pointedly at the Avallóneans. Most were suitably cowed, but Morcocáno was made of sterner stuff. Or just plain stupid, Glorfindel thought as he watched the ellon confront the Valar. Morcocáno was pointing directly at Marthchall, though he was speaking to Lord Námo.

“Once a slave, always a slave,” he said sneeringly and Glorfindel flinched at the words. He felt Finrod and Sador both grab him by the arms, but whether to keep him from attacking Morcocáno or to offer him comfort, he did not know.

Lord Námo gave Morcocáno a grim smile. “Does your statement include your wife?” he asked mildly.

Morcocáno went absolutely white and Thorongorn had to grab his elbow to steady him. Námo nodded, apparently satisfied that he’d gotten his point across. “Regardless,” he continued, “these ellyn and the people of Angobel are under the protection of the Valar by Lord Manwë’s decree. I think you should all return to Avallónë now. Thorongorn, you may lead everyone back.”

Thorongorn gave the Vala a bow and then without another word, turned away, bringing an unprotesting Morcocáno with him. The other Avallóneans parted to make way for them and then closed up behind them. In short order they were heading back to the city.

Námo turned his attention to Finrod’s group, gazing benignly on the miners who stood there looking bemused. His gaze settled on Marthchall. “Ancalimon,” he said, “you and your people are welcome here.” And then he and the other two Valar were gone, along with the Maiar.

Finrod gave Marthchall an enquiring look. “Is that your name? Ancalimon?” he asked.

Marthchall nodded. “Once. A long time ago. It doesn’t matter.”

“Perhaps it does,” Finrod rejoined, then shrugged. “Let us go. As Glorfindel pointed out, it’s almost time for breakfast.”

There were chuckles all around and the tension that they had all felt began to melt away. They met up with the Avallóneans, though Finrod kept his group some distance from them and both groups marched in silence, eventually making their way back onto Lord Ithildor’s estate where a relieved Arafinwë and Olwë greeted them.

“We tried to stop them,” Arafinwë said to Finrod, nodding to where Thorongorn had brought the Avallóneans to a halt.

“That’s all right, Atto,” Finrod said with a smile. “As you can see, no harm has come to anyone.” He then motioned Marthchall forward. “This is Marthchall, once known as Ancalimon, who is the leader of the mining village of Angobel. He and his people surrendered to us peacefully and they are under my protection.” He decided not to mention the Valar just then; best to wait until later.

Both Arafinwë and Olwë nodded. “They still retain their weapons,” Olwë noted, frowning slightly.

“They have given me their parole and so I have allowed them to keep their weapons,” Finrod stated. “When Lord Morcocáno’s people found us, I did not wish the miners to be without protection in case we were attacked.”

Arafinwë stole a glance at Thorongorn softly speaking to a very subdued Morcocáno. He gave his son a wry look. “What did you say to him to make him so... quiet?”

Finrod shook his head, giving his atar a smile. “Nothing. That was Lord Námo’s doing.”

Both kings raised their eyebrows at that revelation. “I ordered a hot breakfast for when you returned. I think we should dismiss the Avallóneans and then you can tell us what happened while we break our fast.”

Finrod nodded. “Morcocáno and Thorongorn should stay, though, as this concerns them.”

Arafinwë nodded, then strode over to the two ellyn, speaking softly to them. Finrod saw Thorongorn nod and give quiet orders for the warriors to disband. They did so, though very reluctantly, and several glared balefully at the miners as they moved away to return to their own homes.

Meanwhile, Olwë was issuing his own orders. “There are too many of us to fit in the dining room,” he said to Finrod, “so we will set up out here.”

Finrod nodded and turned to thank the ten ellyn who were from Lord Ithildor’s household for their assistance and told them they were free to return to their regular duties. Then he had Marthchall and the other miners shown to a place where they could freshen up before eating while he and the others went to their rooms to change their clothes. Eärnur, Laurendil and Manwen had already taken Lasgalad and Iorlas with them, Eärnur ordering some broth brought to him so he could feed Lasgalad. Olwë insisted that the three healers and Iorlas come and join the others for breakfast. “For you are a part of this and we would hear your side of the story.”

Thus, half an hour later, everyone was sitting down to breakfast at trestles set up on the terrace overlooking the herb garden. By mutual consent, nothing was said about the kidnapping or the subsequent events until after everyone had eaten. The miners were subdued and others were thoughtful, replaying the events of the last few hours in their minds as they ate. Finally, though, Arafinwë turned to Finrod.

“I think it is time for you to tell us what happened,” he said.

Finrod nodded, pouring more tea into his cup and taking a sip before beginning his tale. It took some time, for Arafinwë and Olwë often stopped the narrative to ask some pointed questions or to have something clarified. The discussion in the ravine between Finrod and Marthchall was of particular interest to them, especially Arafinwë. He gave Marthchall and the other miners searching looks.

“I recall that there were bands of warriors of whom no one would speak except in whispers when I was in Beleriand. ‘In Awarthar’, they were called.”

Marthchall nodded, grimacing, his tone, when he spoke, full of bitterness. “So they called us when they were not calling us worse things, claiming we were spies for Morgoth and would turn on them as surely as the Easterlings turned on them at the Nirnaeth.”

“Tell me again why you sought to kidnap us,” Arafinwë insisted. It was the one thing that made no real sense to the Amanians. The motive seemed too vague.

Marthchall sighed. “We came here in the hope of starting over. Morgoth was cast into the Void, his lieutenant vanished. There was no need for others to shun us because they feared betrayal from us, but that did happen. Even here, we are looked upon with suspicion. Slaves we were, slaves we would always be in their eyes. So, we banded together, we who came here, and founded Angobel. Most of us toiled for years, even centuries, in Morgoth’s iron mines. It is back-breaking work, but it is something we know and so we have eked out a life for ourselves and our families. Yet, we must go through third parties in order to sell our ores to the rest of the island and always at a loss.” He paused for a moment to take a drink, casting them all a rueful look before continuing. “When we learned of your group coming to Tol Eressëa to discuss establishing a central government and trade agreements, we... well, we panicked.”

“Why?” Olwë asked, clearly confused. “What threat are we to you? Until today we did not even know you existed.”

“That’s the point, though, isn’t it, Anatar?” Finrod asked. “We didn’t know they existed, yet we should have known, or at the least, we should have been told of them.” He turned to Marthchall. “Is Angobel the only village founded by former slaves?”

“As far as we know,” Marthchall replied with a shrug. “We have not bothered to go too far afield, preferring to remain in isolation.”

“Hmm.... two distinct groups of elves living in isolation among the rest of the islanders,” Lindarion said, casting a glance at his atar. “And we are introduced to both of them by having them kidnap some of our people. That cannot be pure chance.”

Olwë shook his head. “No. I do not think so, either, but let us return to the reason for why these ellyn felt they needed to kidnap us. What did you hope to gain?”

“Peace,” Marthchall answered. “For all that we are shunned, we have carved a niche in this society, providing the smiths with much needed iron ore and other minerals. We are generally left alone. If a central government is established, there will be taxation and we will come to the attention of whoever is ruling. Yet, do you think any of the fine citizens of Tavrobel, Avallónë and Kortirion would hear of us having representatives to the government or to have any sort of voice in the affairs of the island with regards to the mainlanders?” He gave them a jaundiced sneer. “Unlikely, and I guarantee that we would suffer triple the taxation of everyone else simply for committing the crime of being former slaves.”

“So, in kidnapping us,” Laurendil said, “you were hoping that their Majesties would capitulate to your demands to be allowed to participate in the government?”

“No,” Marthchall retorted, “to ensure that there would be no central government. We want things to remain as they are. Any changes that are made will be to our detriment, though none will care.”

“The Valar care,” Finrod pointed out quietly. “They will not allow your fears to materialize. More importantly, we will not.” He indicated himself as well as the kings, both of whom nodded in agreement.

“There is still the matter of the kidnapping,” Arafinwë said. “That cannot be entirely excused. So, the question remains, whatever are we to do with you?”

Before anyone could answer, Gurthalion gave a cry, cowering beside Marthchall who put a comforting arm around him. “No, Marthchall. You pr-promised they wouldn’t hu-hurt us. Pl-please don’t let them hurt me,” he whimpered. “Marthchall, don’t let them hurt me. Please, Marthchall. I... I don’t want to be a slave again. I can’t... I can’t....” he was openly crying now and his despair was palpable to all.

Instinctively, Laurendil, Manwen and Eärnur went to him. Laurendil knelt beside the ellon, gently stroking his hair, speaking to him softly in Sindarin. “No one will hurt you, I promise. Hush now, hush.” Gurthalion, however, continued weeping, clinging to Marthchall who gave them all a sorrowful look.

“He was tortured by our orc overseers,” he explained. “They found him... good sport. He’s more a child now than an adult. They broke him, forcing him to... perform for them.” He paused, giving them a grimace. The shock on the faces of his listeners told him that they understood what he wasn’t saying. “When I made my escape, I brought him with me. I’ve been taking care of him ever since, but I think he needs better care than I can give him.”

“In Lórien he could get the care he needs, he and anyone else so damaged,” Eärnur said.

Marthchall snorted. “I doubt we would find anyone willing to take us to the mainland and even more doubtful that we would be welcomed there. No one trusts us.”

“We can take him,” Manwen said, giving her husband a significant look. “We were returning there anyway.”

“He won’t go without me, though,” Marthchall said. “I’m his only family. He trusts me to take care of him, but I cannot leave. I’m the leader of these people.”

“Ah.... but as the leader, you hold ultimate responsibility for the actions of your people, do you not?” Olwë asked rhetorically, giving him a thin smile.

“Of course,” Marthchall replied, “and any punishment that we incur I would ask that it fall on me alone.”

“Then what of your people?” Finrod asked. “Who then leads them if you are not there? For surely you do not think that we would just let you go free, do you?” He gave Marthchall a sardonic grin and the ellon stared at him in bemusement.

“I... I am not sure I understand,” he said.

“Well, you see,” Arafinwë replied with a smile, “if you accept that you alone should bear the brunt of our royal displeasure, we would have to take you with us back to Aman. So, who then will lead your people while you are away?”

Marthchall stared about, catching the eyes of his fellow miners, all of whom had sat through the interrogation in stoic silence, allowing Marthchall to explain to these Amanians why they had done what they did. Marthchall shook his head and gave the kings a rueful look.

“It was a foolish thing for us to do,” he said. “Foolish and ultimately self-defeating. Yet, as I said, we panicked and panicked people do not necessarily think straight, do they?”

“No, they do not,” Arafinwë averred. “Frankly, I’m inclined to let the incident pass and for us to pretend it never happened, but I’m not the one who was kidnapped. I think those who were should have a say in all this.” He turned to the three healers who were still hovering around a now quiescent Gurthalion.

Eärnur gave his fellow Lóriennildi an enquiring look and the other two shrugged. Then he turned to Arafinwë. “As Finrod is fond of saying, no blood, no blame. Our primary concern is to see that Lasgalad reaches Lórien, for he is not out of danger yet, and this incident has not helped his condition. And, of course, I would like to see... Gurthalion, is it?” Marthchall nodded. “I would like to see Gurthalion come with us, if he’s willing to, that is.” He looked at Gurthalion, but the ellon, still huddled in the crook of Marthchall’s arm, was asleep. “Well, I guess we’ll have to wait until he wakes up to ask him,” he said wryly.

“And you, Laurendil?” Arafinwë asked. “What do you and Manwen have to say about all this?”

Laurendil sighed. “Eärnur is correct. No real harm came to us and now that we understand why these people did what they did, it is easily forgiven.” Manwen nodded in agreement.

“And what about you, Iorlas?” Finrod asked.

Iorlas shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. “I think I should have stayed in Lindon,” he said. “This place is too exciting by half.”

There was a moment of silence and then someone snickered and then there were chuckles. “And this is a slow week,” Glorfindel quipped and then they were all laughing.

Then one of the miners spoke up. “Gurthalion needs you more than we do, Marthchall, you know this. We’ll be fine, I promise.” Then he paused and gave Marthchall a wicked grin. “We’ll let the fair Meluiwen lead us.”

The other miners started laughing, giving each other knowing smiles and winks. Marthchall shook his head, looking decidedly embarrassed. “Now, Morfinnel....”

“Meluiwen?” Finrod enquired, cutting Marthchall off.

“An elleth....” Marthchall started to explain, turning even more red, but Morfinnel interrupted.

“Oho, not just any elleth, my lord Finrod,” he exclaimed, “but the elleth. Meluiwen has had her sights on our fearless leader for quite some time and she will look upon no other.”

“She’s been trying to get Marthchall to propose to her for decades now,” one of the other miners stated with a grin. “There’s a bet going on as to just how long it’ll take this one to cave in and accept the inevitable.” The other miners laughed again, many of them nodding.

The Amanians looked on with amusement. Eärnur gave Marthchall a sympathetic smile. “Gurthalion does need special care. You know this. He can receive it in Lórien.”

Marthchall sighed, looking down at the still sleeping ellon, smiling fondly. “I suppose....”

Laurendil spoke then. “My wife and I are due back in Lórien soon,” he said. “You and Gurthalion can accompany us if you will.”

“So you decided to obey Lord Irmo’s summons?” Finrod asked his former liegeman.

Laurendil nodded, giving Finrod a grimace. “As if we really had a choice.”

“You always have a choice, son,” Arafinwë interjected. “Some choices, however, are wiser than others. I am glad you decided wisely in this instance.”

“Ingil told us that Lord Irmo has given you two weeks from the time the message was delivered to return,” Finrod said. “If you take ship tomorrow, you should just be in time.”

“We have to convince Gurthalion to come, though,” Manwen pointed out.

“Do not concern yourself with that,” Marthchall said. “He will come because I ask him to. He trusts me as he trusts no other. If I explain to him that we are not prisoners and no one will punish him, he will come willingly enough.”

“And Lasgalad?” Finrod asked Eärnur. “What of him? Do you still mean to have him travel with us?”

Eärnur shook his head. “No. I think it best that he go with Laurendil and Manwen. They can take care of him well enough.”

All this while Morcocáno and Thorongorn had remained silent, listening to the conversation, but now, Morcocáno spoke up, addressing the kings. “You mean to let these... these ellyn go, then, unpunished for what they did?”

“Their offense was not against you, Lord Morcocáno,” Laurendil replied coldly before either king could respond. “If we who were the victims can forgive them, then you should do no less. I regret that I was unaware of the situation concerning Angobel, though I have only been here a short time compared to others. I thought I understood the situation here on Tol Eressëa even so, which is why I formed the embassy to Tirion, but apparently I did not know it well enough.”

“You could not be expected to know everything, Laurendil,” Gilvagor said, “and some information was never given us when we first formed the idea of the embassy. I think, if anything, this Progress has made it clear that more is going on than we originally thought. If nothing else, I deem this Progress a success if it uncovers these dark secrets of which we who have not been here long were unaware. It can only help.”

Laurendil nodded, then turned to Morcocáno. “At any rate, my lord, we have no desire to see these good people punished any more than they already have been.”

“And now that we know about you,” Arafinwë said to Marthchall, “I think a side trip to Angobel is in order. After all, we need to see that our... um... guests arrive home safely, do we not?”

Morcocáno glowered at them all, but did not voice any objection. Thorongorn looked at Laurendil. “The Aearíen leaves port tomorrow for Tavrobel,” he said. “I know the captain. I will make arrangements for you, if you wish.”

Laurendil nodded. “Thank you.”

“How long will it take us to reach Angobel?” Glorfindel asked. “We’re not going to have to travel along that ravine will we?”

Marthchall smiled. “No. That was merely a convenient short-cut,” he said. “The road to Kortirion branches off about a mile outside Avallónë and makes its way around to the north.” He glanced up, calculating the position of the sun which was halfway up the eastern sky. “If we leave in the next hour, we will be there just past noon. Our town is not large so it will not take you long to see it. You can be back here for dinner easily enough.”

Arafinwë and Olwë exchanged glances and some kind of silent communication passed between them before Olwë nodded. He turned to Marthchall. “Then why don’t we wake your friend and be on our way?”

“But we had plans....” Morcocáno started to protest, but Olwë cut him off with an imperious gesture.

“Plans change, my lord.” Then he rose and everyone followed. “We do not have enough horses for you all....”

“That is not a problem, my lord,” Marthchall said. “We are used to walking anyway. But bring your own steeds, for then the return trip will be all the more swift for you.”

Olwë nodded. “We will leave within the hour, then.”

****

Words are Sindarin.

In Awarthar: Those Who Are Forsaken.

Aearíen: Sea Queen.





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