15: A New Companion

“Who is he?” Celepharn demanded, staring at the ellon in shock.

“No one I know,” Maglor said somewhat testily, crouching down to be eye level with the stranger. “He looks starved. Heat up the stew, will you, Voronwë? There now, you’re safe,” he continued in a soft, friendly tone, as if speaking to a frightened elfling. “Do you understand? No one will harm you. My name is Maglor. What is your name?”

The stranger did not answer, only whimpered. He tried to scamper to one side where Voronwë had left the circle to tend the fire and heat the stew, but Ragnor was quick to block him and he scuttled back into his corner, looking more terrified.

“He doesn’t seem to understand you,” Ragnor said. “By his coloring I would say he was one of the Noldor, like yourself or Voronwë, but…. Do you think he might be one of the evair?”

“A Refuser! Is it possible?” Celepharn exclaimed.

“Anything is possible,” Maglor replied. He stared at the ellon, wondering if he was indeed one who had refused the Valar’s invitation to the Elves. He knew that there were those of every clan who had remained behind, preferring the familiar starlit shores of the Sea of Helcar to the unknown dangers that faced those who joined in the Great Migration. He had listened avidly to the tales that were told of that time.

Oddly enough, he had heard those tales, not from his family in Aman, but from the Sindar and the Nandor of Beleriand. The Amaneldi seemed more reluctant to speak of their adventures. He had often wondered what had chanced with those who had stayed behind. But Cuiviénen had been lost to them a long time ago and there were only rumors offered by the Edain who spoke of their own homeland in whispers. There had been a few adventurous Elves who had decided to look for that fabled land of their Beginnings, but none had ever returned and no news had ever come out of the East to tell of their fate or the fate of their sundered kin.

“What’s he doing here, though?” Celepharn asked.

“Perhaps he decided he wanted to go to Aman after all but missed the boat,” Voronwë replied somewhat caustically, shaking his head at the inanity of Celepharn’s questions. Celepharn seemed to recognize just how stupid his questions were and blushed. “Here,” Voronwë said as he rejoined the others, carrying a wooden bowl and a spoon and handing them to Maglor, “see if he’ll eat. Poor ellon looks as if he’s not had a decent meal in ages.”

“How has he survived here, though?” Ragnor asked as Maglor offered the stew to the stranger, who stared at him uncomprehendingly. “We Elves can tolerate extreme temperatures more than the Mortals, but even we need protection from the harshness of the winters this far north and he’s not even wearing so much as a loincloth.”

“Perhaps he forgot to dress this morning in the excitement of discovering other people,” Celepharn quipped. Ragnor and Voronwë chuckled.

Maglor ignored them, concentrating on gaining the stranger’s trust. He dipped the spoon in the stew then brought it to his lips, miming sipping the broth and making a sound of satisfaction and smiling. Then he held the spoon out to the other ellon. For a long tense moment, the stranger Elf stared at Maglor. Then, he reached out and grabbed the bowl, but ignored the spoon.

At first, he did not eat, merely staring down at the bowl, sniffing. Then he put a finger into the stew, pulling it out quickly in surprise, as if he had not expected it to be hot. Hesitantly, he put the bowl to his lips and sipped, gasping as he drank the hot liquid, making untranslatable sounds of pleasure. He dipped his hand into the bowl and tentatively pulled out a hunk of goat meat, glancing at Maglor who nodded, miming putting the meat in his mouth and chewing. The other slowly copied him and they watched his eyes widen in obvious delight as he eagerly began chewing, shoveling the meat into his mouth as quickly as he could.

“Do we still have any waybread left?” Maglor asked.

“Yes,” Voronwë said, carefully moving away so as not to startle their guest. He fumbled through one of their haversacks, pulling out a bit of cloth and unwrapping it, revealing a hunk of waybread which he gave to Maglor who then offered it to the stranger. The ellon stared at the bread as if he wasn’t sure what Maglor was intending. Maglor broke off a piece and mimed dipping it into the bowl then shoving it into his mouth, again making sounds of satisfaction. He offered the bread again and this time the ellon took it and dipped it into the bowl, biting off a piece of the sopping mess. Maglor nodded and smiled as he stood to speak with his fellows.

“He’s not so wild that he can’t be taught better table manners,” he said, giving them a wry look, and the other three chuckled.

“What are we going to do with him, though?” Celepharn asked softly, frowning slightly. “Do you think there are others like him and if so, where are they?”

“I don’t think we can just abandon him,” Ragnor said, casting a sympathetic look at the ellon still eating.

“Should we look for others?” Voronwë enquired, but Maglor shook his head.

“My guess is that there are no others, else he would be more civilized. Even those creatures we encountered in Annúminas covered their bodies with animal skins and had some level of civilization. But this poor ellon doesn’t even seem to have any kind of language. He’s probably been here for so long alone he’s forgotten language.”

“So what do we do?” Celepharn insisted. “How do we convince him to come with us or do we just tie him up and drag him along?”

“Assuming we want to bring him with us,” Ragnor said.

“Perhaps we can lure him,” Voronwë said. “Food might do. It’s obvious he’s not eaten a hot meal in a very long time, if ever.”

They glanced at the ellon and smiled. He had finished eating and was now curled up, his eyes half closed, the empty bowl and a hunk of bread clutched in his hands.

“We’ll discuss this more in the morning,” Maglor said and the others agreed as he picked up his blanket and gently covered the sleeper. Ragnor and Voronwë returned to their own blankets while Maglor and Celepharn remained awake, keeping watch, promising to wake the others in a couple of hours to take the second half of the night. Maglor settled near the doorway while Celepharn decided to make some tea.

****

Morning found the four Elves sitting around the fire discussing what they should do with the stranger who still slept.

“We have to give him a name,” Celepharn insisted. “We can’t just refer to him as ‘that poor ellon we found in Mithlond’.”

“What do you suggest?” Maglor asked, but the other ellon just shrugged. “Well, we’ll worry about a name later. Right now we need to figure out how to clean him up and dress him. I will not bring him into camp the way he is. The ellith would be shocked.”

“More likely it will be the ellyn who are shocked,” Ragnor said with a grin. “The ellith will take one look at him and their maternal instincts will come rushing to the fore. They’ll end up adopting him and fighting over who gets to bathe and dress him.”

They all chuckled at that, though softly so as not to waken the sleeper.

“If we’re going to bathe him, we’ll need to lure him down to the river, or bring the river here,” Voronwë said. “A hot bath, or at least a warm one, would work better.”

“Are you volunteering to lug all that water up here?” Maglor asked with a smile. “We don’t have anything large enough to heat that much water. I’m afraid a cold bath will have to do.”

“So how do we convince him to take one?” Celepharn asked.

“By taking one ourselves,” Maglor replied. “He’s less likely to fight the idea if we are all taking a bath.”

The others sighed but did not protest Maglor’s reasoning. Voronwë was about to comment when the stranger stirred and they all turned and smiled at him as he blinked blearily. He seemed to recognize where he was and cringed slightly at the sight of them. Then he noticed the hunk of bread still clutched in his hand and began nibbling on it, all the while keeping his eyes on them.

“Good morning,” Maglor said brightly, then turned to the others. “As soon as he’s finished eating, we’ll see if we can’t get him down to the river. Celepharn, why don’t you and Voronwë head down and scout the area for us? Grab some soap and our blankets which we’ll use as towels. Ragnor, he seems to be more your size than mine, but between us we should be able to find something for him to wear.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Ragnor said and stood along with Celepharn and Voronwë. The stranger stared at them as they bustled about. Maglor sipped his tea, evincing unconcern as his companions exited the building, leaving him alone with their friend.

“We really do need to come up with a name for you,” he said conversationally. “Perhaps I’ll call you Thurin considering that you remained hidden from us for quite a while before we were able to find you. What do you think?”

Thurin, as Maglor thought of him, just stared at him, obviously not understanding.

“Not very talkative in the morning, are we? Well, if you’re finished with breakfast, why don’t we go have our bath?” Maglor said as he banked the fire and stood. He went to the doorway, gesturing for the ellon to follow him. After a long moment, Thurin stood and started toward him but stopped to stare at the smoldering dung, tentatively putting out his hand. Maglor was beside him in a second, grabbing his arm and shaking his head. “No. We don’t play with fire. Come. It’s bath time.” He gently pulled the ellon away and was relieved when Thurin did not protest but followed meekly enough.

It took only a few minutes for them to reach the valley where Maglor could see the other three already divested of their clothes and frolicking in the water. Maglor glanced at Thurin, who just stared at them in surprise. “Come on,” he said, pulling the ellon along. “We don’t want to miss out on the fun.”

As they reached the river the other three greeted them joyfully. Celepharn came out of the water and took Thurin’s arm while Maglor quickly undressed. Thurin just stood there, giving them all a puzzled look.

“I decided to name him Thurin,” Maglor told them as Celepharn was attempting to lead the ellon into the water, though Thurin seemed doubtful as to his intent.

“It’ll do until we think of something better,” Ragnor said.

“Or he remembers who he is,” Voronwë added.

Maglor nodded and without even looking at Thurin and Celepharn, entered the river. “Here, hand me that soap,” he said to Ragnor and began lathering up, still ignoring Thurin who had balked at going into the river with Celepharn but now stood staring at Maglor with grave interest. Maglor watched from the corner of his eye as Celepharn began miming washing and nodding as he stepped into the water, gesturing for Thurin to follow. After a brief moment, the ellon did and Maglor smiled at him, handing him the soap, which he promptly tried to eat.

“No. Not for eating,” Maglor said with a laugh and took the soap from Thurin and showed him how to rub it on his body. It took a while for the ellon to catch on and when they attempted to wash his hair he shied away from them.

“Ragnor, wash my hair,” Maglor said.

“But we hardly know one another,” the other quipped and the others laughed, though Thurin just looked confused.

“If he sees me letting you wash my hair, he may let us wash his. For some reason, he’s willing to do anything so long as I’m doing it.”

“He trusts you, for some reason,” Ragnor said as he complied with Maglor’s wish and began washing the Noldo’s hair.

“And that can be both a burden and a joy,” Voronwë said in all seriousness. “It seems as if you’ve been adopted, Maglor.”

Thurin, in the meantime, was watching Ragnor wash Maglor’s hair, and then, Maglor in turn washed Ragnor’s. Celepharn and Voronwë took turns washing each other’s hair as well and that left Thurin. When Maglor mimed washing Thurin’s hair, the ellon actually nodded and they all smiled at that. It took longer to wash Thurin’s hair, of course, for it was badly matted but eventually they were able to get it clean and then they were drying off. Maglor had Ragnor draw a comb through his hair and then gestured for Thurin to let him comb his and the ellon allowed it, actually purring with pleasure as Maglor worked out the tangles.

“Well, that was the easy part,” Maglor said as he finished with Thurin’s hair. “We’ll try putting it into a braid later. Right now we have to convince him to wear clothes.” He began putting his own clothes on, but stopped after donning his braes, handing a pair to Thurin, miming how to put them on. Thurin, for his part, was too busy fingering the fabric to pay much attention. Finally, Maglor took the braes and mimed putting them on, pointing to his own braes and nodding.

“We all get dressed,” he said, offering the braes back to Thurin who reluctantly attempted to pull the braes on himself, but he lost his balance and fell to the ground. Maglor glared at the other three ellyn, daring them to laugh at the stunned look on Thurin’s face as he sat there with one foot in the air still trying to put on the braes. Maglor knelt beside him and helped him to slip the braes over his feet, then he and Celepharn got him back up so Maglor could secure the waist. He grabbed his undertunic and Celepharn handed Thurin another. This time Thurin carefully watched as Maglor donned the undertunic and managed to do the same without too much trouble. Soon, the overtunic was in place but they eschewed a belt and there were no extra boots.

“He’s gone barefoot for so long, I doubt he even thinks about it,” Ragnor pointed out. “When we get back to the others, we can try to outfit him with some boots, but for now, I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Maglor agreed and they grabbed their wet blankets and other bathing paraphernalia and headed back to their camp with Thurin docilely following. “So, do we stay or go?” Celepharn asked.

“We go,” Maglor replied. “There seems no point in staying here any longer.”

“I wonder where Thurin’s been living, though,” Voronwë said. “We’ve found no trace that anyone has actually lived here.”

“Perhaps he doesn’t,” Celepharn replied. “Perhaps he lives in the mountains or somewhere and just happened to be visiting Mithlond at the same time as we. It could just be coincidence.”

“There is no such thing,” Maglor said categorically. “Even if what you say is true, that he was here when we were has meaning. What meaning, I don’t know. That is something we must discover, but I believe that we were meant to find Thurin. Perhaps Voronwë spoke truer than he knew. Perhaps Thurin did come here to Sail but did not come in time to take the last ship with Círdan.”

“And he’s been here all this time, haunting this empty city, slowly losing all memory of himself as an Elf?” Ragnor asked, his expression full of horror and pity at the picture Maglor’s words had painted for them. Celepharn and Voronwë were equally shocked at the idea.

Maglor just nodded, giving Thurin a sympathetic smile as he walked beside him, his expression one of puzzlement, as if he were trying to figure out what they were saying, knowing he was the topic of discussion. They had reached the top of the cliff and were wending their way back to their fire when Thurin stopped and began awkwardly fumbling with his clothes, making impatient noises. For a second or two, the other three ellyn stared at him, wondering why he was sounding frantic, then Maglor realized what was happening and rolled his eyes.

“You go on,” he said to the others as he helped Thurin to undo his braes. “We’ll be along soon.”

“Perhaps I should stay and help,” Ragnor said with a knowing smile. “At least I’ve had experience dealing with messes left by elflings.”

“I’m sure I can handle it,” Maglor said with a grin and the other three chuckled and headed off, leaving Maglor to deal with Thurin needing to relieve himself. “At least you have enough intelligence to know not to go in your clothes,” he said conversationally as he helped Thurin out of his braes. The ellyn scuttled around a bank of stones and then Maglor heard a sigh of relief. “And you also have retained a need for privacy in performing a natural function rather than doing it in front of an audience as an animal would. I don’t think you’re as far gone as I first thought and that’s a good thing. It means we can reclaim you more easily, I think. All done? Here you go then.” He handed the ellon his braes and was pleased that he was able to put them on without help.

A minute later, they went on and rejoined the others who had taken the time to strike camp, so that Maglor found that his things were packed away. Ragnor handed him his haversack. “Any problems?”

“No, we did fine,” Maglor said. “All set? Let’s get out of here. I do not wish to remain in this city of the dead any longer than I have to.”

“Násië!” Voronwë exclaimed with some feeling.

Maglor strapped his sword to his waist, shrugged the haversack onto his shoulders along with his bow and quiver and then gestured for Thurin to follow them, which he did meekly enough. They headed south, not bothering to look about them, eager to leave the city behind and within the hour they were at its outskirts once again. Thurin stopped, glancing back at the city, his expression one of distress. Maglor took him in his embrace and hugged him.

“It’s all right, mellon nîn,” he said softly. “All is well. Come.” He stepped away, a hand on Thurin’s elbow. The ellon took a last, haunted look at the city and then allowed Maglor to lead him away.

“He must think that he’s lost all chance of Sailing coming with us,” Ragnor said sympathetically, divining Thurin’s reluctance and distress. “He’s haunted this city for ages, waiting for a ship, though I suspect he’s forgotten that by now.”

“I suspect you are correct,” Maglor averred, looking sad, wondering how it must have been for the ellon, his hope of Sailing destroyed by coming too late to these shores, remaining in the city or nearby vainly waiting, losing all hope with his sense of self. He wondered that he himself had not become as Thurin was. He should have faded long ago, or died in truth. The Valar knew he had had plenty of opportunity to do so given the number of Mortal wars he had fought in. He thought about that as they made their way back toward the Emyn Beraid. He had never been obligated to fight, but had at times sought out battles and now he realized he had been seeking death and expiation for his sins. That such an easy out had eluded him time after time now made sense. If he had died before joining the Harthadrim….

He shook his head, not so much in denial as in wonder. What he would have missed! He glanced at the others walking with him: Ragnor, who was fast becoming his gwador; Voronwë, who had survived slavery in Morgoth’s mines and was a steadying influence on them all; and Celepharn, the youngest of them, his curiosity and eagerness tempered by a mature constraint rarely seen even among the oldest of their people. And then there was Thurin, their newest companion, and Maglor felt excitement rising within him as he contemplated the challenge of civilizing the ellon and helping him to find himself once again.

Once on the plain, they hastened their pace, determined to reach the Towers by nightfall rather than making camp along the way. So, they headed in a more southeasterly direction, aiming for the midpoint of the Emyn Beraid. It would mean some stiff climbing once they reached the hills, but that was of little matter.

And all the while, Thurin kept up with them.

They stopped an hour after noon to take a brief rest before going on. Thurin stayed closed to Maglor, which pleased him and he spoke softly to him, describing their route and their destination. He was unsure if Thurin even understood, but he hoped that by speaking to him as if he did, the ellon would eventually remember what language was and said as much to the others as they crouched in a circle chewing on some waybread and jerky, which apparently Thurin enjoyed, for he was making inarticulate sounds of pleasure as he sucked on the dried meat.

“Come,” Ragnor said, standing when they had finished eating, and they watched in surprise as Thurin immediately stood up, looking expectantly at Maglor.

“Well, it seems he understands that word at least,” Maglor said in satisfaction as he stood, nodding at Thurin and smiling. “Yes, by all means, let us go.”

They reached the hills late in the afternoon when the sun was nearly set and as they feared, the climbing was stiff and Celepharn wondered if they shouldn’t just make camp and wait until morning, but Maglor felt a need to continue on, though he couldn’t quite explain why. Yet none of the others had any real reason or a need to stop for the night, and Thurin voiced no objections but followed them willingly. Eventually, though, even as night enveloped them, they came to an area that was familiar to them and they hastened their pace, knowing they were not far from camp. Indeed, reaching the top of one hill, they spied the one remaining Tower rising in the distance, its white stone gleaming under starlight.

“There, Thurin,” he said, pointing. “That is our home, at least for the winter.”

Thurin merely stared at the Tower and there was a fleeting expression of puzzlement or perhaps of memory, but it was gone in an instant and then he was backing away. Maglor grabbed his arm and Voronwë blocked his backward path. “No, mellon nîn,” Maglor said gently. “There’s no going back. Come. You are with friends. No one will harm you. Come. Come.”

Thurin gave them an uncertain look but did not try to flee, allowing Maglor to lead him. Maglor kept his hand on the ellon’s arm, not willing to let him go. It was awkward going but he persisted and Voronwë helped. It took them the better part of three hours to come onto the plateau where the Towers stood. Sador and Haldir, acting as guards, challenged them and then greeted them joyfully, calling out to others who came to greet them. Thurin suddenly balked at the sight of the crowd and Maglor and Voronwë had to hold him firmly in place with Maglor softly speaking assurances to him.

“Who is he?” Haldir asked in surprise as everyone stared at the stranger.

Denethor arrived along with the others and he took in Thurin at a glance, a raised eyebrow his only response. Ragnor grinned at him and, pitching his voice to sound like an elfling, he said, “Look what followed us home, Ada. Can we keep him?”

****

Evair: Plural of Avar: Refuser, the name given to those Elves who refused to leave Cuiviénen.

Amaneldi: (Quenya) Plural (sic) of Amanelda: an Elf of Aman. This is an attested word.

Edain: Plural of Adan: a Man, specifically referring to one who came from one of the three Houses of Elf-friends in Beleriand. Other Men who came later to Beleriand or were encountered elsewhere in Middle-earth were generally referred to as Fîr ‘Mortals’ (singular Fair) by the Elves.

Thurin: Hidden.

Násië: (Quenya) Amen.