22: Return to Mithlond

Ragnor wanted to return to Mithlond and specifically to Arthalion’s cave as soon as possible and told Denethor as much as the two ellyn sat around the fire in the west tower three days later. Maglor, Damrod and Arthalion were also there, the five of them discussing several matters pertaining to the settlement as it prepared for the coming winter, though Arthalion was content to just sit and listen.

“We didn’t explore it all and there were things there that we might be able to use,” Ragnor said when they broached the subject of the cave, “with Arthalion’s permission, of course.” This last was obviously an afterthought, but no doubt sincere on the Elf’s part.

Arthalion nodded. “My brother and I collected many things and after he… after he died, I continued doing so, though I long forgot the reason why.”

“What reason did you have to collect what you did?” Maglor asked.

Arthalion shrugged. “I do not know. Perhaps when you see what I collected it will make sense to you. It never made sense to me but I still continued collecting certain things, especially any jewels that I found.”

“There was one chest full of jewels, emeralds mostly, but also rubies, diamonds and the odd sapphire,” Ragnor said with a nod. “There was carving on the chest, nearly worn and hard to make out, but we think it originally came from Gondor. We think perhaps a ship was carrying it to the northern kingdom and sank somewhere off the coast of Lindon during a storm.”

“Arthad found the chest,” Arthalion said. “He said it was important, but he never told me why. The jewels are pretty enough, I suppose, but what use are they, really? You cannot hunt or fish with them.”

“And yet, you have been going around collecting these,” Maglor said, pulling out one of the green-mottled gray stones he kept in a pouch. “You seemed to think these were important.”

Arthalion actually flushed red with embarrassment. “I was… stupider then,” he mumbled and the other ellyn grinned.

“No, you were being very young and you wanted to share your delight in finding pretties,” Denethor said kindly. “We rejoiced that you did so, for it meant that you were seeking to integrate yourself into our community however clumsy your attempt. And Maglor has kept every one of your pretties as a reminder of what he, indeed what all of us, could have lost had fate been less kind to us than it was to you. You have no need to feel ashamed of your previous behavior, Arthalion. All of us go through that stage, you just happened to go through it twice.”

Ragnor and Maglor all snickered and Damrod, sitting on Arthalion’s right, threw his arm around him, giving him a hug, which seemed to mollify the ellon somewhat, for he looked less embarrassed.

“Getting back to the matter at hand, though,” Maglor said after a moment, “it seems odd that Arthad felt this need for the two of you to collect things yet never explained why. When did he become obsessed with collecting, before or after he found the… my adar’s jewel?”

Arthalion frowned, as if in deep thought, and Maglor suspected the ellon was attempting to dredge up a well-buried memory. Finally, his expression cleared. “I think it was afterwards, but I cannot say for sure.”

“Was Arthad older than you?” Denethor asked.

Arthalion nodded. “He always looked after me.” His expression became immensely sad and Maglor thought the ellon would start weeping, but he didn’t; he just sat there staring at the fire. There was an awkward silence for a moment or two before Denethor turned his attention back to Ragnor.

“When were you thinking of returning?”

“I would like to go as soon as possible while the weather holds. We could do with some more fish as well.” Denethor nodded. “And I would like Maglor and Arthalion to come with me this time.”

Maglor raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

Ragnor gave him a steady look. “I want Arthalion there to help explain what we find and I need you there for Arthalion’s sake.” He gave Arthalion a rueful look. “You might become upset and…”

“And Maglor can calm me down with his singing,” Arthalion said with a nod.

“What am I, your nanny?” Maglor asked, throwing them all a disgusted look.

Denethor, Damrod and Ragnor all grinned. “It’s not as if you’ve not been there before, Lord Maglor,” Denethor said. “By all accounts, you proved an apt nanny to the Eärendilionath.”

Now Maglor gave them a supercilious look. “I was their foster-father, not their nanny. I left that chore to one of the ellith of my household.”

“No doubt,” Denethor said equably. “And no doubt, you were called upon more than once to sing those two impossible ellyn to sleep whenever they became fractious.”

Maglor gave him a considering look. “You knew them, didn’t you?”

“After a fashion,” Denethor said with a shrug. “However, we’re not here to speak of the past but the present. I agree that we need to take an inventory of whatever lies in Arthalion’s cave and determine why he collected what he did. And more fish would be a welcome change to our diet. There does not seem to be any sign of another storm coming soon, so let us plan to send you back tomorrow, Ragnor. Maglor and Arthalion will accompany you. Glóredhel should go as well or Celepharn, if she does not wish to, so the burden of looking after Arthalion does not lie entirely on Maglor’s shoulders.”

“I do not need looking after,” Arthalion protested. “At least, not much,” he amended, giving them a chagrined look.

“You are still struggling to reclaim yourself, Arthalion,” Denethor said gently, “and returning to the cave might prove emotionally hard for you, so I want Maglor and Glóredhel there to help you, if you need it.”

Arthalion nodded reluctantly and Maglor gave him a sympathetic smile. “I’m curious to see what you’ve been collecting, too, so even if you weren’t coming I would still go.”

“Then it’s settled,” Denethor said decisively, standing. “You should plan to leave at first light. Damrod, organize volunteers to go back to fish.”

“I doubt I’ll have any trouble there,” Damrod said with a grin. “I suspect the problem will be too many volunteers.”

They all chuckled at that, knowing the truth of the ellon’s words. “Well, we’ll have a lottery then with the promise that those who do not go this time will be allowed to go the next and, just to be fair, those who went previously should not be allowed to go this time.”

Damrod nodded. “I’ll see to it,” he said.

“Come, Arthalion. Let us see if Glóredhel is willing to accompany us to Mithlond,” Maglor said, rising, and the two went off to find the elleth and apprise her of what had been decided. It did not surprise Maglor one bit when she enthusiastically agreed, thanking them for including her in the expedition.

“Don’t thank us,” Maglor said with a smile. “Thank Denethor, for it was his idea.”

****

Mithlond had not changed much since the last time Maglor had been there. He said as much and the others with him gave him disbelieving looks, then began chuckling as they saw the twinkle in his eyes and knew he’d been jesting with them.

“Truly, it hasn’t,” Maglor said with a straight face. “Gil-galad’s palace still looks like a heap of stones and that wall over there hasn’t gotten any higher.” Now they were laughing outright and Ragnor made a swatting motion at Maglor’s head and Maglor obligingly ducked, a wide grin on his face.

The party split up at the river, with several people pulling out fishing lines, agreeing to meet up with Ragnor’s group later at the tower by the palace. “We’ll have dinner ready for you when you return,” they were promised and the two groups parted in good spirits. Leaving the city and heading toward the mountains, Maglor made sure he was walking next to Arthalion and was pleased to see Glóredhel walking on the other side. Arthalion had been quiet ever since they had arrived at the city and his expression could only be called haunted. Maglor put out a hand and squeezed Arthalion’s shoulder.

“It will be well,” he said softly. “We’re all here for you, my friend.”

“The cave is this way,” Ragnor said, pointing.

Maglor stopped to look about. Behind them was the city, and looking at it from the north, he could see how much destruction the ice had caused, the wall on the north side completely gone and many of the buildings so much rubble, barely discernible as having once been buildings. He suspected that, given time, no trace of the city would remain. Turning away from the ruins he gave the mountains a hard look. There was a spur of rock that came further out onto the plains that lay between the river and the mountains and that was where Ragnor was pointing.

“See that cleft to the left?” he said. “Follow it down to the right and just between those two hills lies the cave, or rather caves. We think that most are interconnected but we didn’t stay long enough to test the theory.”

“The caves are a maze,” Arthalion said. “Arthad and I explored them as much as we could but I do not think we saw even a quarter of them.”

“They must have been part of the Dwarf-halls of Nogrod before this part of Beleriand was changed,” Maglor suggested. “Belegost was further south and I do not think Gil-galad allowed the Dwarves to relocate here in the north.”

“No, not while he was alive,” Ragnor said. “After his death, Círdan allowed the Dwarves access to the mountains further north, but most of them remained in Belegost.”

“I wonder if they’re still there,” Glóredhel said musingly.

“It would not surprise me if they were,” Maglor said, “but I doubt it. Stubborn as the day is long they may have been, but they were not stupid. I think the Dwarves would have fled to the South along with everyone else and if any remained I doubt they survived for very long.”

They came upon the cave about an hour later and by mutual consent stopped before the entrance. Arthalion was pale and kept biting his lips. Maglor thought that the ellon would turn and flee at any moment and stationed himself slightly behind the others crowding around the entrance just in case.

“We’ll need light,” Ragnor said and began pulling out several torches from his haversack along with his tinderbox and in a short while they were all carrying lit torches with Ragnor leading the way, followed by Glóredhel. Arthalion hesitated and Maglor patted him on the shoulder, giving him a warm smile and they entered the cave together.

It took a few minutes for their eyes to adjust to the gloom. The cave was empty, Maglor could see, and rather small, barely eight feet across, the ceiling low so that he had to crouch slightly. Opposite the entrance was a hole, about five feet high. Ragnor went directly to it and crouched down and everyone else followed him. The hole led into a short tunnel that opened up into a larger cavern and this one had clearly been occupied. It was perhaps three times as large as the outer cave and the ceiling was higher so they could all stand straight. There was a bundle of furs piled on a shelf of rock to their right and Maglor suspected that they had served as Arthalion’s bed. The rest of the cave was filled with… junk.

That was the only way Maglor could describe it. Strewn about were iron-bound casks, large and small, stuffed mainly with gemstones and jewelry — crowns and carcanets, necklaces and rings, even plates and goblets and urns made of gold or tarnished silver, and a few pieces made of mithril. It was indeed a treasure trove.

“And you and your brother collected all of this?” Maglor asked Arthalion in an awed whisper.

Arthalion nodded, walking over to the pile of furs, stroking them idly. “Mostly. After Arthad died, I continued collecting, but not as much as I did not travel far from here. When Arthad was alive we would make our way to the Sea and hunt for treasure, but afterwards, I did not wish to travel that far alone, so I remained here.” He turned away from the furs and frowned at nothing in particular as his gaze fell upon the baubles lying about. He kicked at a piece of jewelry lying at his feet. “Useless, all of it,” he said with disgust. “I must have been insane to collect them.”

“And yet you did, and from what you’ve said it sounds as if Arthad was driven to find more and more treasure after he discovered the Silmaril,” Glóredhel said, “almost as if he were suffering from dragon-sickness.”

“It does sound like it, doesn’t it?” Ragnor said with a nod, looking pensive. “Yet something tells me that perhaps it was not, that something else was going on. The Silmaril would not evoke the same kind of… greed that a dragon’s trove would, I deem. And it was only Arthad and Arthalion and Arthad never denied you access to the Silmaril, did he?” He directed his gaze on Arthalion, who shook his head.

“We both held it.”

“Well, what do we do with this?” Glóredhel asked, making a sweeping gesture to encompass the cave and its contents. “If we were so inclined, we could take all of this and return to the South and buy a ship to take us West.”

“More like an entire fleet,” Maglor retorted with a chuckle. “You could even buy yourself a kingdom or three with what is here, I suspect.”

“You’re probably not too far wrong there, Maglor,” Ragnor said with a grin. “However, I doubt any of us wish to make such an arduous journey, at least not with winter breathing down our necks. Perhaps in the spring we might decide to do just that. Perhaps that is why Arthalion and Arthad collected all this, to provide us with the means for buying ourselves a ship.”

“Well, that’s something that will have to be decided on by everyone,” Maglor said. “Personally, I have no desire to return to the South, even if it’s just long enough to secure a ship and set sail. I think that if we are ever to find our way to Dor Rodyn, it will be here in the North.”

“So do we take any of this with us, or leave it?” Glóredhel asked.

“What say you, Arthalion?” Ragnor asked. “Should we take anything back or leave it here?”

Arthalion gave him a surprised look. “Why do you ask me?”

“Because, for all intents and purposes, all this belongs to you since you and your brother found it and as Arthad’s next of kin, you stand as heir to his portion.”

“By that logic, the same can be said of the… of the Silmaril,” Maglor said.

Ragnor, however, shook his head. “You are a living heir of the one who created it, therefore, the Silmaril belongs to you and to no other.”

“It belongs to no one,” Maglor retorted harshly, “and if I had the power to do so I would destroy it.” Without another word, he turned and left them, suddenly feeling everything closing in on him, the need for open sky and fresh air driving him. He reentered the outer cave and then was gulping lungsful of fresh air, leaning weakly against the outer wall of the cave, his eyes closed. He felt someone coming out but could not be bothered to look to see who had followed him. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“It is well, Maglor,” he heard Arthalion say. “The Silmaril was never mine. It was Arthad who found it. I am sure he would have willingly given it up to you had he lived.”

“But I do not want it,” Maglor said with a sigh as he opened his eyes. “I want nothing to do with that accursed jewel. It has done nothing but brought sorrow and pain and death. It should have remained in Ulmo’s realm for all the ages of Arda.”

“But it has not,” Arthalion replied in a reasonable tone. “And perhaps it was found for a reason, though I cannot fathom what that might be. Yet, I think perhaps you may know.”

“Denethor thinks that when I threw the Silmaril away the first time I may not have actually renounced it or the Oath; that I simply threw it away, no longer able to hold it.” His right hand spasmed and he clenched his teeth against the sudden pain.

“And now you have the opportunity to decide if you will renounce the Oath for real or allow it to rule you once again.” Ragnor said, coming outside. Glóredhel followed. “In the meantime, I think we should return to the city and see how successful our friends have been in catching any fish. We’ll decide on the treasure later. It’s not going anywhere and neither are we.”

Maglor had no objections to that and nodded. “Yes. Let us go. Arthalion, is there anything you wish to take with you? We will wait until you have had a chance to collect whatever personal items you wish to have with you.”

“There is nothing in that cave that I want,” Arthalion said, but his expression was somewhat troubled.

“What is it, Arthalion?” Glóredhel asked.

Arthalion shook his head. “I just hate to leave Arthad all alone. This is the longest he’s been alone. “

Maglor glanced at Ragnor and Glóredhel, both of them looking sympathetic. “You said you never visited him,” he reminded Arthalion, speaking as gently as possible.

“I did not. I would sit outside the cave where he lay and I would tell him about what I’d found that day. At least, in the beginning. After a while, I stopped speaking altogether.” He sighed and there was a universe of sorrow in his eyes. Glóredhel gave him a hug.

“Would you like to sit outside Arthad’s cave and tell him about all your adventures with us?” she asked. “I’m sure he would be interested.”

Arthalion shook his head. “He’s not there, never has been. I spoke to him, imagining he was just lying there listening to my tales, because there was no one else and when he never responded I finally gave it up.”

“I think, though, that you drew much comfort from telling Arthad about your life,” Glóredhel said, giving him a searching look.

“Perhaps at first,” Arthalion admitted. “I was so lost afterwards. I hardly knew what to do and desperately wanted to fade, to follow Arthad to Mandos, but I could not. Something would not let me take that route. But after a while, it just got too hard to make conversation, especially when it was one-sided. Finally, I just gave up, sinking further and further into despair.”

“Still, I think Glóredhel is correct,” Maglor said. “I think you need to speak with Arthad, not so much for his sake, for, as you say, he is not here, but for yours. And I think it might help put everything in perspective for you.”

Arthalion stood silently for several moments, staring out pensively, obviously deep in thought. Then he looked at his companions, giving them a shy look. “I do not have to do it now, though, do I?”

Maglor, Ragnor and Glóredhel all smiled. “We’re not leaving immediately,” Ragnor said, “and we still need to inventory the cave and give people a chance to catch as much fish as possible. Why don’t we go back to the city for now? We’ll return here tomorrow.”

Arthalion looked relieved and made no protest and soon they were heading back to Mithlond. By the time they reached it, the sun had long set, but they had no trouble finding their way, for the smell of trout cooking over a fire drew them and soon they were happily feasting on fish and describing all that they had seen in the cave to their friends.

****

Eärendilionath: The sons of Eärendil. As there were only two, Elrond and Elros, the collective plural form is used.