88: Lady Meril of Cormë Alalvëa

The road to Kortirion wended its way through farmland. The land was relatively flat all around but most of the farms were to the south with wide valleys full of ripening grain and well-laid orchards. Small clusters of farmhouses forming villages dotted the countryside. The soil was not as rich as that found in the Southern Fiefdoms on the mainland but it was rich enough to provide the islanders with what they needed. Northward they could see the highlands in the distance, rising and then falling precipitously towards the sea. Westward the road rose gently into the central plateau area on which Kortirion was perched, some twenty-five leagues from Avallónë. The distance was great enough and they were going slow with their supply wagons that they stopped after traveling only about twelve leagues to set up camp, meaning to reach Kortirion the next day.

They saw her gleaming spires long before they reached the city, though Gilvagor took a side road to the south about a mile from the city gate, leading the cavalcade towards Cormë Alalvëa where resided the Lady Meril. Lord Thorongorn left them at the turn off, for he had a townhouse in the city and his people were expecting him. With Arafinwë’s permission, Haldir and Pelendur accompanied him, for Haldir wished to see his wife, Gwilwileth, who was not expecting his return so soon.

“She was going to meet us at Lady Meril’s,” Haldir explain, “but she would not be there now.”

“Go, then, and bring her back with you,” Arafinwë suggested. “I know Amarië is anxious to see her again.”

“Yes,” the lady said. “We became good friends while you were in Tirion.”

So it was decided and Haldir assured them that he and Pelendur would return with Gwilwileth by late afternoon. Finrod bade Thorongorn a warm farewell and there were promises of getting together later and then the three ellyn were making their way towards Kortirion while the rest of the party headed south.

“I hope Lady Meril is not too put out with us arriving a couple of days earlier than originally planned,” Arafinwë said to Gilvagor as they made their way along a country lane lined with stately elms.

The ellon laughed. “If I know Meril, she’s been ready for our arrival since last week. She will not view our early arrival as an imposition, but rather as a virtue.”

Finrod nodded. “Yes, I remember that much about her, and Gildor was just the opposite. If it could be held off until the next day or the next week or even the next century, there was no hurry in getting it done today.”

They all laughed at that.

Then they were at the gates of the estate. The gate guards greeted them courteously and one of them ran to the main house to inform Lady Meril of their arrival. He returned only a few minutes later, bidding them to enter and make their way to the house.

“The lady awaits you,” he said and Gilvagor, as their spokesman, thanked him and they continued down the lane to the house.

It was not a large house, but it was well built and made of white stone with a red tiled roof. It appeared to be four wings with a central courtyard and there was a gate leading from the front court to the inner court. Before the gate stood an elleth, clearly Lady Meril. She was a Noldo, but her light brown hair, tinged with reddish-gold highlights, indicated Vanyarin ancestry as well. Her eyes were grey and the memory of the Light of the Trees shone through them. She was taller than the average elleth and Finrod recalled that she and his sister were of the same height. In spite of the fact that she was the lady of the estate, she wore a simple day dress of plain muslin dyed a deep blue with no ornamentation over which she wore a white sleeveless linen smock. There was a slight smudge of dirt on her brow and Finrod suspected the lady had been tending her garden when their presence was announced. In fact, she was dressed as simply as the servants clustered nearby ready to take their baggage and horses, yet it was clear by her demeanor that she was of the nobility.

“Hara máriessë mi Cormë Alalvëa, heruvi ar herinyar,” Meril said in greeting, giving them a profound curtsey. “ I am Lady Meril.”

Olwë and Arafinwë dismounted, as did everyone else, and the two kings gave her proper bows of respect. “I thank you, my lady, on behalf of us all, for your warm welcome,” Olwë said. “I trust that we have not importuned you in any way by arriving earlier than planned, but I fear that Avallónë did not agree with us.”

Meril arched an eyebrow and there was a hint of a smile on her lips. “Avallónë did not agree with me, either, my lord, which is why I removed myself and my people here as quickly as I could. But come. Let us not stand on ceremony. You have not importuned me in any way. Let my people take your baggage and horses and escort you to where you may refresh yourselves from the road and we will meet again in an hour’s time, if that is amenable to you.”

“It is, lady, and I thank you,” Olwë said.

Meril then issued orders and at once servants were on hand to take the baggage and horses. The supply wagons and support staff were led away to set up camp in a field nearby while the principle members of the Progress were led inside and along one wing of the house where they were shown to well-appointed rooms and provided with all that they needed for their refreshment. An hour later, they found themselves being led into the inner courtyard where Lady Meril had caused several tables to be set up and a light repast was offered.

Gilvagor, still acting as their herald, made formal introductions, though when he started to introduce Finrod, the ellon merely shook his head and smiled.

“No need to introduce us, Gilvagor,” he said. “Meril and I go way back.”

“Indeed, we do, sire,” the lady said with a smile of her own and allowed Finrod to give her a friendly kiss on the cheek. “I am glad to see you again, my lord. It does my heart good to know that you live still.”

Finrod nodded. “I understand Gildor did not come with you. I am sorry.”

Meril waved a hand in dismissal. “My lord husband was always full of wanderlust,” she replied. “It was difficult to keep him in one place long enough to hold a decent conversation with the ellon.” Her tone was one of exasperated amusement and Finrod laughed.

“Oh yes, I remember,” he said.

“He will come, my lord,” Meril said softly. “I have every faith in him. Someday he will tire of wandering hither and yon and yearn to put down roots. When that day comes, he will find me here, waiting.”

“I look forward to that day as well,” Finrod said.

“So now, my lords and ladies,” Meril said, turning to the rest of the company, “let us take our ease and enjoy this light collation. Please sit where you will.” She gestured towards the tables and everyone began taking seats. Meril took Finrod’s arm and steered him away from the tables. “There is someone who wishes to give you greetings, my lord,” she explained, “if you will deign to see her.”

“But of course,” Finrod said. “Is it someone I know?”

“As to that, you will have to judge for yourself.” Meril gave him a sly smile as she led him into the house but through a different wing, bringing him to a certain door. “She is inside,” she said. “When you have finished your visit, do join us outside. I will save a seat beside me for you.”

Finrod bowed as Meril left him. He stood before the door for a moment before knocking, his curiosity aroused by the mystery with which Meril had surrounded this meeting, wondering why the elleth in question had not joined them in the courtyard. A voice bade him enter and when he did he found himself grinning broadly.

“Morwen!” he exclaimed, going to the elleth who stood in the middle of the room. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Your Highness,” Morwen said, starting to give him a curtsey.

Finrod stopped her, taking her into his embrace and giving her a warm hug. “Now, none of that,” he admonished her. “We’re old friends, remember?”

“You’re a prince of Eldamar,” Morwen said.

“We’re both Reborn,” Finrod retorted, “and that counts for more between us than any titles we may or may not have. But why did you not come and greet me earlier?”

“I wanted to surprise you,” Morwen replied with a grin.

“And I was indeed surprised.” He gestured towards a couple of chairs and they sat. “How have you been, Morwen?” he asked, giving her a searching look.

“I’ve been very well, Finrod,” she answered. “I am employed by Lady Meril as her chief seamstress. She prizes my embroidery.”

“I am very glad to hear that,” Finrod said. “I often wondered how my friends from Lórien fared after I left. I regret that I did not come to visit earlier, but I had my own problems to deal with.”

“It’s just as well that you did not,” Morwen said. “None of us have had an easy time of it and we’re only just reaching our full maturity. It’s been a struggle, mostly because not everyone truly understands us and what we’ve experienced.”

“I know,” said Finrod. “It took some time for even my parents to accept certain truths about me and to allow me to be me and not whatever image they had of me.” He paused and gave her a sly grin. “You know, I still have that tunic you made me as a farewell gift.”

Morwen evinced surprise. “You do? But it must be falling apart by now!”

Finrod laughed. “Nay. It is still in good condition. I wear it on occasion, though admittedly not all that often anymore. For a long time I considered it my best tunic. I even wore it to a wedding once, much to my ammë’s dismay.”

Morwen shook her head in amusement. “I would like to have been there to see the expressions on people’s faces when you did.”

“It was memorable, to say the least,” he replied.

“Well, I am glad we had this chance to speak,” Morwen said, “but I believe Lady Meril is expecting you to sit with her as you dine and I have my own duties to attend.”

“I am glad things are working out for you, mell nîn,” Finrod said, standing. “Perhaps while I am here we can get together again and reminisce. I would like you to meet my adar and the others of our company.”

“I would like that, thank you,” Morwen said. “Now, best get along. You do not want to make my lady unhappy, do you?”

“Perish the thought,” Finrod exclaimed with a laugh. “The last time Meril was unhappy all of Nargothrond suffered.”

Morwen laughed with him as she saw him to the door. He hugged her one more time. “Later, then,” he said and she nodded as he exited and headed back to the courtyard where he found everyone in lively conversations as they supped on cold cherry soup, cheese and current tarts and a crisp garden salad. Finrod made his way to where Meril was sitting and settled in the chair beside her. Amarië was sitting on his right. Olwë was sitting on Meril’s left with Arafinwë directly across from her. The others were seated in no particular order, though he noticed with amusement that Sador and Alassiel were sitting together with Iorlas and Celepharn. He could hear the three ellon giving her Sindarin lessons, teaching her the names of the objects on the table.

“How did it go?” Meril asked him in a quiet voice as he sipped on his soup.

“It went very well. Thank you,” he replied just as quietly. “Thank you for taking her in.”

“I pride myself in recognizing talent when I see it,” she answered. “Poor dear was struggling to make a life for herself. She had no real family here and the Noldo who ran the shop where she was working did not appreciate her skills. I was more than happy to offer her a position here on the estate and she has never disappointed me.”

“I am glad,” Finrod said fervently. “I told her that we will get together later. I wish her to meet Atar and the others.”

“I will see to it that she is available whenever you wish,” Meril said graciously. “And now, let us speak of other matters. Their Majesties have been filling me in on what has happened with the Progress to date. I must confess I am not at all surprised at what happened in Avallónë. Morcocáno is a pompous fool who likes to lord it over everyone else. How Nelluin tolerates him is beyond me.”

“I’m sure he has his good points,” Finrod said. “He seems very devoted to his wife.”

“I will give him credit for that at least,” Meril averred.

“What plans were made for Kortirion?” Finrod asked, looking at his atar and anatar.

“Lady Meril was about to tell us,” Arafinwë answered.

Meril nodded. “I have arranged for a dinner tomorrow night with several leading members of the city’s council. Nothing elaborate, I assure you. It will be very informal.” She turned to Finrod with a wicked grin. “You know how I hate formal dinners.”

Finrod laughed. “I remember you would come up with one excuse after another as for why you could not attend any that were held in Nargothrond. You were quite inventive, though I still maintain that as an elf you could not possibly have contracted lhîw-i-phigryss.”

Meril laughed with delight and those in the party who had once lived in Endórë joined her.

“Lhîw-what?” Amarië asked, wrinkling her nose.

“Lhîw-i-phigryss,” Finrod corrected with a smile. “A disease common among Mortal children. It manifests itself when they are about five or six years old. It is accompanied by a mild fever and itchy inflamed pimples. Parents are hard-pressed to keep their children from scratching their skins off.”

“Sounds very... uncomfortable,” Amarië opined.

“It is, but it is relatively harmless, at least to children,” Finrod said. “It appears to be something that all Mortal children suffer, along with some other similar diseases. In fact, they are referred to as childhood diseases and it is very rare for an adult to contract them. When they do, it is often fatal.”

“How strange these Mortals seem,” Amarië said. “They appear to be so much weaker than us and yet you speak very highly of them and even admire them. I would think they would repulse you with their weaknesses.”

Finrod shook his head. “No, just the opposite. Weak they may be in comparison to us and beset by many ills that touch us not, yet they have a resilience to them that is quite astounding to see. I have sat at the bedside of one nearly dead from a high fever and all hope has been lost that they will survive, and yet, somehow they do. They fight to live where we might simply give up and allow our fëar to flee to Mandos, knowing that someday we will be re-embodied. They do not have that comfort and so they fight for every breath. Sometimes they win, sometimes they don’t, but they never give up. That is what I admire most about them, that they refuse to surrender even to the inevitable.”

“It sounds as if they are constantly defying their fate,” Olwë opined.

“Perhaps,” Finrod averred, “but if you were to ask any one of them, they would deny the charge. Rather they would say that they will not go meekly to their deaths like lambs to the slaughter. Rather, they prefer to meet their doom on their own terms if possible.”

“They risked their lives for our sake,” Meril interjected, “believing that joining us against Morgoth was the right thing to do. Their loyalty to us was amazing, for they had little to gain and much to lose. In the end, they suffered gravely, yet they never deserted us or our cause. It was for this reason that the Valar awarded them their own land.”

“Númenor,” Finrod said with a nod. “I saw it on the horizon when we entered Avallónë.”

“Will you go there?” Meril asked. “Many of our people sail there and have converse with the descendants of those who fought beside them in the wars.”

“No. My life is here in Aman,” Finrod said. “I will go no further east than Tol Eressëa unless the Valar bid me otherwise.”

“Well, getting back to the subject at hand,” Arafinwë said, smiling. “Just how many people have you invited to this dinner tomorrow night? Who are they and what can we expect from them?”

“There are only six of any consequence who rule Kortirion at the moment,” Meril said. “I have invited them and their spouses, although only two are presently married and three are still unbonded. One, though, awaits her husband’s release from Mandos.”

There was a brief silence at that revelation. Then Finrod spoke. “Anyone we might know?”

Meril shook her head. “Doubtful. They resided in Mithrim, first under your uncle and then under your cousin. Galdor died at the Nirnaeth. Galadhwen managed to escape from Mithrim before Morgoth’s people closed the borders and made her way to Círdan. I think she was one of the first to sail to Tol Eressëa after the war.”

“And perhaps one of those met with hostility by certain Amanians whose identities we have yet to learn,” Arafinwë said with a scowl.

Meril nodded. “Galadhwen heads the city council,” she went on to explain. “She should have been deposed along with the others who were found responsible for the high tariffs and Lord Sador’s kidnapping, but somehow she convinced the good citizens of Kortirion that she should remain on the council.” She gave them a grimace. “She is dangerous. Be wary around her.”

“Do I detect a note of jealousy, Meril?” Finrod could not help asking.

Meril gave him an arch look. “Jealousy? Nay, my lord, if by that you mean, did I wish to head the council myself. I know my limits and I desire to rule naught but my own estate, but I am not without influence among the lords and ladies of Kortirion and I had strongly advocated that Galadhwen step down from her position. We are, you might say, no longer friends.”

“Should we assume her to be an enemy then?” Glorfindel interjected, having listened to the conversation.

“An enemy?” Meril repeated. “Hmmm.... an interesting question, my lord, but no, not an enemy but certainly an adversary. You must tread carefully around Galadhwen. She will appear pleasant and polite and most agreeable but if you turn your backs on her, expect to find a knife firmly planted between your shoulder blades.”

They all raised eyebrows at that, for such a description of the actions of any elf was rare. “She sounds almost... Mortal,” Arafinwë ventured.

Meril gave him a mirthless smile. “Her husband died because the Easterlings betrayed us, my lord. She learned her lessons well in the aftermath of that debacle as she eluded the Men and orcs who would have enslaved her or done worse things to her.”

There were grimaces all around. Arafinwë gave Finrod a considering look. “I know you and Glorfindel and Sador were all reluctant for us to come here at this time, but I think if we had waited any longer, the situation here would only have worsened, perhaps beyond repair.”

Olwë nodded in agreement. “Lord Oromë said that there were lessons for us all. I think this is one of them, that we of Aman have delayed too long in reaching out to the people of Tol Eressëa. We let you fend for yourselves and you have done quite well. Tavrobel, Avallónë and Kortirion are a testament to that. We offered little or no aid to you and our disinterest in your fates has fostered resentment in many.”

Meril shrugged. “Those of us who went into exile learned to rebuild new lives and cities out of nothing. This was no different and, in truth, I wonder how many of us would have welcomed any overtures of friendship with the Amaneldi. The attitude of many of the Noldor and Vanyar who came to our... hmm... rescue, was rather condescending, to say the least.”

Arafinwë nodded. “Yes, I am afraid it was. Even I, to some degree, saw the people of Beleriand as refugees in need of succor rather than as allies in a war that has been going on since the dawn of Time and before. At first, at least. Later, my opinions changed and I had nothing but admiration for you all and what you endured.”

“I am glad, my lord,” Meril said. “At any rate, what I said about Galadhwen, I meant. Watch your backs.”

There was an uneasy silence among them and then Glorfindel turned to Eärnur who was sitting next to him. “Aren’t you glad you’re not in Lórien trying to convince a former lord of the realm that swinging from a tree isn’t a good thing to do?”

Eärnur raised an eyebrow. “Trust me, my lord, after dealing with whining Reborn, such as yourself, this is nothing.”

“I never whine!” Glorfindel practically shouted, hitting his fist on the table to emphasize his point.

“Glorfi!” Sador yelled. “Behave or you don’t get dessert.”

“There’s dessert?” Glorfindel asked of Meril, giving her an elflingish expression of anticipation.

Meril started laughing as did the others, understanding what the former Balrog-slayer was trying to do. “But only if you stop whining,” she said.

“I never....” Glorfindel started to shout but then closed his mouth, looking repentant. The others all smiled indulgently as they heard him mutter softly to himself, “I never whine.”

Tensions eased among them and the conversation drifted to less emotional topics as the meal continued. When dessert came — a fruit compote with hot custard sauce — Meril insisted that Glorfindel be served first, much to the ellon’s delight and everyone else’s amusement.

****

Cormë Alalvëa: (Quenya) Garth of Many Elms.

Hara máriessë mi Cormë Alalvëa, heruvi ar herinyar: (Quenya) ‘Welcome to Cormë Alalvëa, my lords and ladies’, literally, ‘Stay in happiness in Cormë Alalvëa’; (hara) máriessë ‘ (stay) in happiness’ is an attested phrase, the first word apparently optional [see Parma Eldalamberon 17: 162]. Heruvi appears to be the regular plural of heru, cf. Númenheruvi ‘Lords of the West’, a title of the Valar.

Mell nîn: (Sindarin) My dear.

Lhîw-i-phigryss: (Sindarin) Disease/sickness of the reddish spots. The description is that of chickenpox.

Note: In the Book of Lost Tales 1, Meril-i-Turinqi is said to be ‘of the blood of Inwë (Ingwë)’ and therefore one of the Vanyar. As none of the Vanyar followed the Noldor into exile, I have made her of mixed Noldorin and Vanyarin ancestry instead to explain her presence on Tol Eressëa.