16: Discussions

“And you have no idea what he was doing there?” Denethor asked.

He, Maglor and the other three scouts, along with Damrod, Finduilas and Eirien, forming an impromptu council, were sitting around the main fire while the rest of the Harthadrim fawned over Thurin. The ellon had been initially shy and uncertain as the others surrounded them and Maglor had to caution everyone to keep their distance and not overwhelm him, all the while keeping a firm grip on Thurin’s arm to prevent him from running. It took some coaxing on the part of Maglor and Celepharn to convince Thurin that all was well and no one meant him any harm before the ellon allowed himself to be drawn into their little community.

Now, however, the ellon was happily sitting at another fire while Aerin, Gilwileth, and the other ellith plied him with stew and the ellyn stood nearby keeping watch. He still refused to use a spoon but eagerly accepted a hunk of waybread, dipping it into the broth and eating with relish.

Maglor glanced over at the ellon, smiling at him fondly, before turning back to his own meal. “No, we have no idea,” he answered as he dipped some bread into his bowl. “We’re not even sure he even lived in the city for we saw no trace of him. Yet, he was there, following us, watching us. He’s very much like a very young elfling or a mind-damaged Mortal, yet he can be taught. We’re hoping that given time he’ll regain his knowledge of language and perhaps tell us his story.”

Denethor stared at Thurin and sighed. “How did he survive? Why has he not faded? What kept him going all these long years?”

“The Belain only know,” Voronwë said. “Maglor does not think there is coincidence in our finding him.”

Denethor gave Maglor a shrewd look. “You think we were meant to find him?”

Maglor shrugged. “As to that, I cannot say, but I have learned the hard way that what we think of as coincidence isn’t. It’s simply the universe arranging things to suit itself.”

“An odd way of putting it, I suppose,” Denethor said with a nod, “but probably true. Well, putting our mystery ellon aside for the moment, what other news of Mithlond can you give us?”

“We’re better off staying here for the winter, as far as I’m concerned,” Maglor replied. “Mithlond is too open and we saw no sign of game anywhere near it, though we did not travel to the mountains where it might be hiding. Certainly there has to be some else how did Thurin survive without food? At any rate, the city is too open and too much of it is in ruins. It would be difficult to defend if we needed to. These towers are more defensible.”

“Besides, it’s cozier,” Ragnor added, putting an arm around his wife and kissing her on the cheek.

The others chuckled. “Well, it’s probably just as well,” Denethor said, “for in the time you were gone, we’ve been busy constructing an aqueduct to bring the water closer to us. It’s half finished and we hope to complete it in the next few days. The ellith have been curing the goatskins and they plan to sew them together to hang before the tower entrances to help keep the wind out. We’re also thinking of using some of the stone from the north tower to build an enclosure that will connect the other two towers and this central fire so that when the winter is in full force we won’t need to brave the elements to get about.”

“We can then turn the north tower into a privy instead of everyone going into the hills as they are doing now,” Finduilas said.

Maglor nodded approvingly. “I think that will work and it will certainly keep us busy. We don’t have much time, for already it’s beginning to snow.”

“The aqueduct project is going well and we should have it completed in a few days,” Denethor said, “so our main focus is building the enclosure as quickly as we can. The hunters have been bringing back plenty of game and the skins are curing. We hope to have enough to form a roof.”

“That’s a lot of goats…” Maglor commented.

“And deer,” Ragnor added.

“And anything else we can find, including those cat-creatures,” Denethor said. “We discovered tracks that can only be from them. There’s a colony of them somewhere in these hills or so we suspect. Our hunters are hoping to find them and eliminate them. Their pelts should come in handy.”

“That is most disturbing,” Maglor said with a frown. “Those creatures had some intelligence which makes them doubly dangerous.”

“Which is why I’ve doubled the guard at night, for I think they are nocturnal creatures for the most part,” Denethor explained and the four scouts nodded.

“So we are decided, then?” Damrod asked, speaking for the first time. “We remain here through the winter?”

“It seems the safest course,” Denethor replied.

“Mithlond is not so far away that we can’t make use of it, though,” Celepharn said. “There’s fish in the river, though we didn’t bother to try to catch any, and I noticed some succulents growing about that we can harvest.”

“We might be able to use some of the stone from the city to help augment our building projects, though transporting it might prove problematic,” Voronwë added.

“Something we can consider,” Denethor said. “So we need fishermen as well as hunters, do we? Well, I’m sure I’ll have plenty of volunteers.” He cast them a knowing grin and they chuckled.

“What about Thurin?” Eirien then asked. “What are your plans for him?”

“He seems to trust Maglor the most,” Ragnor offered, “and maybe Celepharn. Perhaps they should concentrate on… um… civilizing our newest member.”

“Are you willing, both of you, to take on such a task?” Denethor asked.

“I have no objections to doing so,” Maglor stated while Celepharn nodded. “And it might be good to have one of the ellith helping us. They seem to have a… um… civilizing effect on most ellyn.”

The ellyn chuckled rather ruefully while the two ellith smirked.

“Whom would you suggest?” Denethor asked.

Maglor shrugged, turning to Finduilas and Eirien. “Do you have any ideas? I’m sure all of the ellith would love to help, but that’s not practical.”

The two ellith glanced at one another. “Glóredhel,” Finduilas said firmly and Eirien nodded.

“Glóredhel?!” Celepharn exclaimed. “Why, she barely speaks and is so shy she stammers when she does.”

Both ellith gave him cool stares and it was Eirien who spoke. “She is shy because she feels herself unworthy of us, though I’ve tried to convince her that she is not. She is not as skilled in sewing or cooking or much of anything else of a physical nature, but she has a sharp mind and I think in earlier times she was a loremaster in her own right, though she never speaks of it. She needs to feel needed and helping you and Maglor with Thurin will give her that.”

“Which one is she?” Maglor asked before Celepharn could reply. “I confess, I haven’t bothered to learn everyone’s name and history, and I am sorry that I have not done so before now.”

“There is no need to apologize, Maglor,” Finduilas said kindly. “We know that you were in a lot of emotional pain when we found you and it’s taken you time to trust us enough to care. But in answer to your question, she’s the one sitting quietly on the other side of the fire from everyone else. It’s not that she’s unfriendly, mind you, but very shy.”

Maglor looked over to the other fire and saw the elleth in question, a slim, lithe figure sitting quietly, her face lit by the fire. She was clearly of mixed Noldorin and Sindarin blood with her honey-brown hair. There was a wistfulness to her expression as she watched the others interact with Thurin that Maglor could not interpret. He turned back to the others. “I will welcome her help, if she is willing.”

“Why don’t we call her over and ask,” Denethor suggested and Finduilas promptly rose and went to speak to the elleth. Maglor watched as Glóredhel gave Finduilas a surprised look at whatever she was saying to her, but after hesitating a second or two, she rose and joined them willingly enough.

Denethor smiled at her, patting the stone next to him. “Come sit with us, my dear. There is a thing we would ask you.”

The elleth did not speak but gave them her attention as she sat. Denethor nodded at Maglor who then spoke. “Celepharn and I have volunteered to see to Thurin and help him to… um…”

“Regain himself?” Glóredhel said.

Maglor nodded. “Yes. Exactly. At any rate, we feel that Thurin will respond better if one of the ellith was helping us. Your name was suggested.”

“Why?” she asked, giving them a frown.

“A fair enough question,” Denethor replied. “Let us just say you come highly recommended.”

Glóredhel gave Finduilas and Eirien a shrewd glance before turning back to Maglor, her expression now turning doubtful. “What would you have me do exactly?”

“Well, we’re not asking you to help bathe and dress him,” Celepharn said with a grin, “unless, of course, you want to.”

Maglor gave the younger ellon a stern look and Ragnor slapped him upside his head, saving Maglor the trouble. Voronwë and Denethor looked disgusted but all three ellith appeared more amused.

“Well, an interesting proposition, but I think I’ll pass,” Glóredhel said.

“Oh,” Maglor said, feeling a bit let down for some reason. “Well, thank you….”

Glóredhel gave him a surprised look that transmuted into something more rueful. “You misunderstand me, my lord. I only meant, I pass on Celepharn’s suggestion, but I would be happy to help you with Thurin in any way I can.”

“Oh,” Maglor said again, now feeling embarrassed. “Well… um… thank you.” He smiled. He wasn’t sure why he was feeling so happy about Glóredhel helping him and Celepharn. There were other ellith equally qualified to do so. He thought perhaps the intriguing suggestion put forth by Eirien that the elleth had once been a loremaster might have something to do with it. It had been long and long since he had had any real discussion with another loremaster. He wondered idly what her specialty might have been. Well, time enough to find out.

“So what do we need to do, besides teach him how to use eating utensils?” Glóredhel asked, sounding less shy.

“Language,” Maglor said without hesitating. “We need to teach him or rather re-teach him language. I think he understands what we are saying or at least understands the intent of our words. Surely, memory of once having spoken is beginning to surface. Right now, he’s begun imitating gestures, such as nodding or shaking his head, so we need to begin teaching him connections just as we do with elflings, pointing at things and naming them, getting them to say ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, that sort of thing.”

Glóredhel nodded, her silvery-grey eyes bright with excitement. “With language, everything else flows,” she said. “Do you think he is one of the Evair rather than a Noldo?”

“We have no idea,” Maglor replied. “Either way, does it matter? He’s an Elf and he’s lost and it is our duty to help him find himself again.”

“It still amazes me that he hasn’t faded,” Denethor said.

“The will to live is usually stronger than the will to die or to fade,” Voronwë commented. “I found that true even among Mortals. Something made him stay beyond all hope, for I think his present state is due to despair more than anything else.”

“And so our task is to offer him hope once again,” Maglor said, stealing a glance to where Thurin sat staring in amazement at Neldorion singing a hymn to Elbereth. He turned back to look at the others, giving them a smile. “And who better to do that than we who call ourselves Harthadrim?”

Everyone smiled at that, the significance of Maglor’s use of the pronoun not lost on any of them. They spent a few more minutes speaking of things concerning their camp and the preparations they needed to make for the coming winter and then stopped to listen to the singing. Thurin, Maglor saw, sat mesmerized by it all, his eyes wide and his expression one of wonder. Others joined in, though Maglor did not. None of them had heard him sing and though he had been invited to do so, he politely refused, saying he preferred to listen. He knew his decision not to sing had surprised and even disappointed the others, but he could not sing, not now, not yet.

He stood and went over to Thurin, sitting beside him, though the ellon was too engrossed in the music to pay him any heed. Maglor watched the almost elfling-like wonder in the ellon’s eyes and saw something else in them, something deeper struggling to reach the surface, trying to make itself known.

“You remember singing, don’t you?” he said softly, not really expecting Thurin to answer so he was surprised when the ellon turned to him and he could see in his eyes the confusion of memories struggling to make themselves known. For a long moment Thurin sat there, his mouth moving but making no sound. Maglor put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right,” he said soothingly. “Do not fret. Just enjoy the music.”

But Thurin was still looking confused and desperate, his mouth working to get something out. The others seemed to take note of what was happening and the singing stopped. “No!” Maglor hissed, never taking his eyes off Thurin. “Don’t stop. Keep singing. Neldorian, sing the hymn to Elbereth again. Everyone sing and do not stop.”

Neldorion complied, lifting his voice to the stars above them. “A Elbereth Gilthoniel, silivren penna míriel, o menel aglar elenath….” And the others joined in.

Thurin stopped his struggles and now sat with his eyes closed. Maglor watched in wonder as he saw tears leaking from the closed lids and instinctively held the ellon closer to give him comfort. Thurin opened his eyes and there was a brightness to them that had not been there before. His mouth moved again and now he was making inarticulate sounds and Maglor was sure the ellon was struggling to form words. The others continued singing but he could tell that all their focus was on Thurin.

“What is it, Thurin?” Maglor asked quietly. “What are you trying to say?”

“Eh… eh… eh… ehl… bri… ehlbrith… ehlbrith….”

The singing came to a halt again. “Elbereth,” Maglor heard Rían whisper. “He’s trying to say ‘Elbereth’.”

“Ehl…brith,” Thurin repeated, the tears running down his cheeks.

“Yes,” Maglor whispered. “Elbereth. Do you remember Elbereth?”

But Thurin did not or could not answer, for he was weeping in earnest now and Maglor gathered him into his arms and rocked him, crooning something soft. It was a lullaby, one he’d sung to Elrond and Elros when they had first come into his life. It was a simple melody and his singing voice was a bit rough at first but by the second verse it was quite beautiful to hear. Everyone around him just sat in awe, but Maglor paid them little heed as he continued singing Thurin to sleep.