92: To Keep Estel

No one spoke the entire time they spent leaving the city, though there were many significant looks passed among them. Olwë and Arafinwë kept their expressions set and their eyes straight ahead, ignoring everyone and everything around them. It was only after they had passed through the eastern gate and were halfway to the estate before anyone ventured to speak.

“Do you truly mean not to hold the council, then?” Finrod asked softly as he rode beside his atar.

“I do not know, yonya,” Arafinwë replied, casting a surreptitious look at Olwë who refused to respond.

“I was never sanguine about this Progress,” Finrod said and Arafinwë nodded, “but when we left Tavrobel I had more hope for its success. We made many friends in Tavrobel as well as among the Nandor of Garth Hallâd and the miners of Angobel. I would hate to have their hopes dashed by the intransigence of others. They should not have to suffer because of it.”

“Nor will they,” Olwë said suddenly. “If our ruse works we’ll be holding the council as planned.”

Finrod and the others gave him startled and confused looks. “What do you mean, Atto?” Lindarion asked. “What ruse?”

“My son-in-law here has a very devious mind,” Olwë replied, giving Arafinwë a conspiratorial grin.

“Oh?” Finrod exclaimed, glaring at his atar suspiciously. “Just how devious?”

Now Arafinwë laughed. “Before breakfast, Olwë and I met privately. Given the hostility that we all sensed yesterday I suggested that if the situation arose in which certain people showed any intransigence, that we should walk out of the meeting and announce that the council was cancelled.”

“But why?” Ingwion asked, his expression still one of confusion. His was not the only one.

Meril suddenly gave them a light laugh. “Oh, my lords, devious does not begin to describe your ruse. Well played, your Majesties, well played.”

“I still don’t understand,” Ingwion stated, still looking confused, and there were nods among the others.

“You’re forcing their hand, aren’t you, Anatar?” Finrod asked, suddenly gleaning what was going on. “You’re forcing them to face their own prejudices and hatreds and deal with them.”

“Or not,” Glorfindel added. “Your ruse could have just the opposite effect.”

“That was a risk we were willing to take,” Arafinwë said. “Olwë and I were not happy with what happened in Avallónë....”

“None of us were,” Ingwion pointed out.

Arafinwë nodded, “But I am not speaking solely about the incident with the miners or even with the Nandor,” he explained. “It was the general attitude of certain people.”

“You mean, Morcocáno,” Finrod interjected.

“Yes,” Olwë replied. “He is very powerful and influential. I do not agree with Lord Thorongorn that he will be asked to resign from the city council. He has too many friends who agree with him. I do not know if the appearance of the Maiar or the Valar will change the minds of certain individuals. Certainly Morcocáno’s attitude did not change.”

“And so you decided to test the people of Kortirion?” Lindarion enquired. “To see if they held similar views?”

“Yes,” Olwë answered.

“What about the people of Tavrobel, though?” Finrod asked. “Will you test them as well?”

“In a way, they have already been tested,” Olwë said. “In spite of some hostile reactions when we first came there, there was still an openness among the populace as a whole, something that I did not sense in either Avallónë or Kortirion. We left Tavrobel with the good will of its people.”

“If this does not work though,” Glorfindel interjected, “those people are going to be very disappointed.”

“If this does not work, hinya,” Olwë said, “they will not suffer for it, I promise you. We already have trade agreements set up with them and they will continue to hold no matter what the rest of the island does. It may be that the peoples of Kortirion and Avallónë need to see the benefits of our, shall we say, benevolence which we bestow on those of Tavrobel and Angobel as well as the Nandor before they are willing to put aside their prejudices and hatreds and work for the common good. We will have to see.”

“Do you still mean to leave as you said, lords?” Meril asked, now looking upset.

Olwë nodded, giving her a sympathetic smile. “It is all part of the ruse, my dear, and it is necessary that you play your part in it, if you will.”

“Full willingly will I play, my lord,” Meril replied with a mischievous smile. “In fact, I might go so far as to voice my disapproval to the extent that I place my estate up for sale, announcing that I will petition the Valar to permit me to join the good people of Angobel on the mainland.”

Eyebrows went up at that statement. “And what of your people?” Finrod asked. “What of Morwen and the others?”

“Oh, do not concern yourself, Highness,” Meril hastened to assure him. “This is all part of the ruse. I have no intention of leaving Cormë Alalvëa. I will, however, speak to my people and explain what we would do. You know them and have spoken to them, so you know that they are trustworthy. They will play along and we will see what comes of it.”

“Just don’t overdo it,” Arafinwë cautioned, “or you may find yourself having to do as you threaten whether you wish to or not.”

“I promise,” Meril replied. “As I said, I have no intention of leaving my home which I have created for my lord husband when he comes. I have invested too much of myself in building the estate to want to start all over again elsewhere.”

When they reached the estate, Meril gave orders to the gate guards. “Their Majesties are not receiving visitors, nor am I.” The guards bowed in acknowledgment as the cavalcade passed through.

“How long do you think it will be before someone comes knocking asking for an audience?” Ingwion asked no one in particular, his expression one of amusement.

There were chuckles all around and people began voicing their opinions and making friendly bets between them. It turned out that Glorfindel’s guess came the closest, for they were only just finished freshening up from the trip and were foregathering in the inner court where Meril had ordered a light collation to be served when one of the guards approached, telling them that a small group of people from Kortirion were at the gates.

“No visitors,” Meril said sharply.

“Who is there?” Olwë asked in curiosity, “and how many?”

“There are about a dozen or so, my lord,” the ellon answered. “They appear to be ordinary citizens, tradesmen and the like. Indeed, they came afoot and none are richly dressed.”

The kings exchanged glances and some silent communication passed between them. Olwë turned to the guard. “Let them come,” he ordered. “We would hear what they have to say.”

The guard bowed and left. Everyone else waited silently for the visitors to arrive. When they were escorted into the presence of the kings, it could be seen that they were indeed ordinary citizens, a mixture of Noldor and Sindar. There were even some elflings among them and Meril tsked at the sight, calling for fruit juice and ginger biscuits, insisting that the children sit at the table, to which the kings agreed. Olwë, in fact, ordered chairs to be brought for the visitors and goblets of wine given them before he allowed anyone to speak. When all were settled — the visitors somewhat abashed and ill at ease — Olwë nodded to them.

“You wish to speak to us,” he said, his tone friendly and inviting.

One of the ellyn, a Noldo, nodded. “Yes, lord,” he said quietly. “I am Ailinwë and I have been chosen to speak for the others.”

“And what would you say to us?” Olwë enquired.

Ailinwë glanced uncertainly at his companions before answering. “We... we beg you to reconsider your refusal to host this council about which you were speaking. My friends and I welcome the idea even though it is unlikely any of us would be asked to attend. We’re not important enough, you see.” He gave them a self-deprecating smile.

“It is true that it would be the council members and guildmasters and other leaders of the various communities who most likely would end up attending such a council,” Olwë averred, “but that is not to say that you are not important, Ailinwë.” He paused for a moment, as if considering something. “How many of Kortirion feel as you do?” he finally asked.

Ailinwë shrugged. “As to that, I cannot say. We here are close friends and family. We were at the meeting and were appalled at the attitudes of some. My brother and I followed Lord Macalaurë’s banner. Soronwë was lost to me during the Dagor Bragollach. I thought him dead. Then, news came that Tol Sirion had been destroyed and many who had languished in its dungeons escaped to Nargothrond and elsewhere. I thought nothing of it at the time, until one day an ellon appeared at my door. It was my brother, though I barely recognized him.”

“Is he here among you?” Olwë asked, glancing at the other visitors.

Ailinwë shook his head, his expression one of deep sorrow. “No, lord. I am afraid he died shortly after our reunion. His torment was too great and he would not remain. He told me he had held on for as long as he had in the hope of finding me and bidding me farewell before he sought the Halls of Mandos.”

“I am sorry for your loss,” Olwë said gently.

“It is why I sailed,” Ailinwë said simply, and then he turned to Finrod. “I want to thank you, lord.”

“Why?” Finrod asked in surprise, not expecting to be addressed.

“Before he died, Soronwë spoke somewhat of what happened to him,” Ailinwë answered. “He spoke of the despair he and the other prisoners felt, lying in the darkness of their prisons or toiling as thralls for Sauron’s pleasure. Then one day something happened, something wondrous. A Song of Power was heard within the walls of Tol Sirion and the power of its magic was felt even in the lowest dungeons. Soronwë told me that the Song spoke of prisons opening and chains snapping and in that hour many of the worst tormented among the prisoners found release and went to Mandos, not in despair but in estel. Those who yet remained found strength to endure, again with hope.” He paused for a moment, swallowing a lump in his throat and the others remained respectfully silent as he brought his emotions under control.

“Soronwë did not know who was Singing or why and it ended abruptly so that it seemed that he and the other prisoners lay in even deeper darkness than before, but still the power of that Song remained within their fëar. Some time later, another Song of Power was heard and this time the walls of Tol Sirion fell and the prisoners and thralls were freed. It was only then that Soronwë learned about you, my lord, and Beren and all that had happened. My brother held onto estel long enough to reach me before he gave himself over to the Lord of Mandos for the healing of his fëa. That hope you gave him and others, though you were perhaps unaware of this. That hope my brother passed on to me even though at the time we thought that our separation would be forever. Yet, I held onto the hope that someday we would be reunited and so when the opportunity arose, I and my family sailed so we might be here when he is finally released. For what you gave Soronwë and to me, lord, I wish to thank you.”

“No, Ailinwë. It is I who thank you,” Finrod said with great emotion. “Lord Námo told me that my Song gave those who followed me the strength to remain loyal to me and keep secret our identities. And now, you speak of what else my Song did that day, the day of my greatest defeat. I did not truly believe Lord Námo’s words, but now....” He stood and went to the ellon, raising him and embracing him, giving him a kiss of friendship upon his brow before releasing him. The two shared a brief smile before Finrod resumed his seat.

“I wonder if any of the miners from Angobel were among those held captive on Tol Sirion,” Glorfindel said.

“It would not surprise me,” Ailinwë replied. “My brother toiled as a thrall for Sauron for about a dozen years and others did so for even longer. It never occurred to me to shun him when he showed up on my doorstep near death. I welcomed him joyfully and had he lived he would have held an honored place in my house.” Then he turned to Olwë. “That is why I... we hope you will reconsider your decision, lord. We are simple tradesmen and craftsmen, not nobles or rich merchants, yet are we not of the Eldar? Do our words count for nothing among the great and the powerful? Why should their prejudices dictate policy for the rest of us?”

“Yet, that is the way of things, Ailinwë,” Olwë said not unkindly. “Still, do not despair. We of Aman desire this council as much as you, but we cannot force it upon you. The people of Tol Eressëa must want it. And so, I say to you, Ailinwë, return with your kin to Kortirion and speak with your friends and neighbors. Let them know that you do not approve of the attitude of your leaders and that you desire this council as a good thing for all of Tol Eressëa. Let your voices be heard throughout the city. Perhaps your leaders will listen and amend their ways. We have done what we can, but the rest is up to you.”

Ailinwë and the others of Kortirion sighed. Finrod spoke then, giving them a gentle smile. “Do not give up hope, my friends. And here is a thought: go to Angobel and speak to one Meluiwen who leads the people there while Marthchall is in Lórien. Show them friendship and let it be known to others that you welcome them as kith and kin. Perhaps others will follow your example and shame your leaders into doing the right thing.”

Their visitors eyed one another and there were nods between them. Ailinwë turned to Finrod. “It will be as you suggest, lord. Thank you. Estel was what kept my brother alive long enough to find me when he wished only to die. We will not abandon estel now or ever.” He rose then and so did the others, all of them giving the Amanians their obeisance.

Then Olwë invited them to remain and join them for dinner. They were ready to refuse, but Meril insisted and would not take ‘no’ for an answer. “In fact,” she said with a sly smile, “if you agree to stay and sup with us, I will lend you ponies for the little ones so that they need not walk all the way back to the city.”

“Oh yes, Daerada, I would like to ride a nícarocco,” one elleth crowed with delight where she was sitting with the other elflings, speaking in a mixture of Sindarin and Quenya. The other children all nodded enthusiastically and the adults laughed.

“I guess we are staying for dinner then,” Ailinwë said to Olwë and Meril, casting an indulgent smile upon the elleth, who, it turned out, was his granddaughter.

Olwë smiled and Meril began issuing orders as Ailinwë and the others resumed their seats with the elflings brought over and introduced to the kings and the other Amanians.

****

Daerada: (Sindarin) Hypocoristic form of daeradar: Grandfather.

Nícarocco: (Quenya) Pony, literally ‘small horse’. The English word ‘pony’ is probably from the French poulenet ‘small foal’. Níca is one of several words in Quenya for ‘small’, this form is said to have ‘good senses’.