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The Journey Home  by Fiondil

23: A Brother’s Farewell

They were there for a week taking inventory. Glóredhel had brought with her a roll of tanned leather on which she recorded the items found in the cave, using henna ink which she made from dried henna mixed with tea and blue gum oil. Maglor had not been surprised by the blue gum oil, for it was a well-known medicament and commonly used. He had been surprised to learn that anyone had bothered to bring along dried henna, but Glóredhel had simply shrugged, as if the matter was of little importance. Once the ink was made, she used dried reeds taken from the river as writing instruments. It was crude, but it did the trick. The roll of leather was not large, so she used an abbreviated form of tengwar to record the items.

“It is a mnemonic,” she explained to Maglor when he asked her about it, “to help me remember what we find.”

“Why are we even bothering, though?” someone asked. “What’s the point? It seems a waste of good leather, if nothing else.”

“To make sure that we do not miss an item that may prove important to our survival,” Ragnor answered. “Even Arthalion cannot tell us what it was he collected except in general terms. It may end up being that there is nothing in the cave that can help us, but I would rather waste my time and that roll of leather knowing that there is nothing in the cave that can serve our purposes than to find out when it’s too late that what we need the most lies somewhere buried underneath all that… um… salvage.”

And so, they took turns in helping to sort out the items in the cave, giving Maglor and the others a chance to try their luck at fishing. By the end of the week, plenty of fish had been caught and smoked and most of the items in the cave had been inventoried. As predicted, it was mostly junk, or at least of no real use or value to them. Arthalion found a few trinkets that seemed to have some meaning to him and he placed them on the pile of furs out of the way. It was understood that anything placed on the furs was not to be handled by the others.

As they sorted out the treasure (Glóredhel insisted on calling it that rather than ‘junk’ as most everyone else was calling it), Maglor tried to discern a pattern to the things that had been collected. The bulk of the collection consisted of gemstones, some mounted, but most not. There were several bits of jewelry, most of it of excellent workmanship and he suspected that several pieces were Dwarf-made. The largest cache was the chest of uncut emeralds, diamonds, rubies and sapphires that Ragnor had described to them. What had Arthad been thinking as he urged his brother to collect these things? What purpose had he seen for them? And what did the Silmaril have to do with it?

Maglor was certain in his own mind that it was only after finding the Silmaril that Arthad felt the need to collect any gemstone he and his brother could find among the exposed wrecks. Arthalion had admitted that until then, their main purpose in hunting the wrecks was to determine if any of the wood was salvageable with the idea of perhaps repairing one of the smaller ships.

“But the wood was too rotten and I think now that Arthad had us searching just to keep me busy,” Arthalion told them when Maglor questioned him about what the two brothers were hoping to find in their searches. They were all gathered around the fire on the second evening after a day of either doing inventory or fishing. “He knew how upset I was at coming too late to Mithlond, for I had been reluctant to heed the call. It was Arthad who wanted to Sail and he spent much time urging me to join him. I think had it not been for that, we would have reached Mithlond in time and Arthad wouldn’t have died.” He gave them a chagrined look.

“You cannot blame yourself,” Maglor said sympathetically, “and I doubt if Arthad blamed you for tarrying.”

“But he’s dead,” Arthalion protested.

“More than likely he’s been re-embodied and waits impatiently for you to join him in Dor Rodyn,” Maglor rejoined.

“Do you think so?” Arthalion asked and there was a hunger in his eyes that spoke volumes to the others.

“Yes, I do,” Maglor said firmly. “And when we come there, he’ll be there to greet you.”

“How can you be so sure, though?”

“Truly, I cannot be, for I have never met anyone who has returned from Mandos, though I have heard of Lord Glorfindel. I suppose I can only say that I have the same hope as you, that when we finally reach the Blessed Realm my own brothers will be waiting for me as well.”

“It is the only thing any of us have: hope,” Glóredhel said and her expression became wistful. Maglor wanted to ask her if she, too, was hoping to find someone waiting for her in Valinor but knew that it was not proper. He had no doubt that every one of these people had lost someone to Mandos and were anxious to be reunited with them. He did not think any of his brothers would have been released, given the nature of their crimes, but the closer they came to reaching their goal the more hopeful he became that there would indeed be someone waiting for him. Perhaps his ammë….

He shook that thought away and concentrated on what was being said around him. They had discovered a particular piece of jewelry — a necklace of superior workmanship, clearly elven made — that had been inventoried that day. Unlike the other pieces, which were neatly piled into one corner of the cave after being inventoried, this piece had been brought back to the camp so everyone could see it.

“It looks like Celebrimbor’s work, but I don’t see his mark,” Voronwë said when the piece came to him, and Maglor recalled that the Noldo had once lived in Ost-in-Edhil. “It may have been fashioned by one of the others belonging to the Gwaith-i-Mírdain,” Voronwë continued as he passed it on to the next person. “I know that there were a number of imitators of Celebrimbor’s style, especially after his death.”

“And this was found in one of the wrecks?” Maglor asked Arthalion.

“No, I found it in Mithlond,” Arthalion replied.

Everyone gave him a surprised look. “Where? Where in Mithlond?” Maglor demanded. “Surely there was nothing left behind by the last residents of the city.”

“It was in the palace,” Arthalion replied to their astonishment. “At first, we lived here in the city, in the palace, actually. The city was not a ruin yet. It would be centuries before the ice would descend from the mountains to cover it. We had been here for several years and periodically Arthad would insist we travel to the coast and see how far the water had receded, for the level of the water in the Gulf dropped noticeably as the years passed. However, there was a time when Arthad wished to go to the coast, but I did not, so he left me here, suggesting that I might begin removing our things to the caves we had discovered earlier. The city was too empty, you see. Neither of us felt comfortable living there and Arthad thought the caves would be safer.” He shrugged at that and became pensive, staring at the fire, his eyes darkening with memories that he was only just admitting to himself.

The others listening remained respectfully silent, waiting for him to continue his tale. After a few minutes, he resumed his narrative, never looking up. “It was the first time we had separated and I was alone for several weeks. Removing our supplies to the caves took little time and I was getting bored waiting for Arthad to return. In the time we had been living here, we really never explored the palace or the city except in a cursory manner, just to determine if anything had been left behind that we could use, but we did not explore very thoroughly. Indeed, most of our days were spent in just surviving, hunting or fishing or gathering what roots and vegetables we could find that were still growing then.” He shrugged and looked up, giving them a small smile.

“Well, anyway, during the time that Arthad was away, one of the storms that were becoming more and more frequent hit while I was here in the city gathering some last items to take back to the caves and so I was forced to wait the storm out. That’s when I decided to explore the palace more thoroughly than we had done before, since I had nothing else to do.”

“Just how intact was the city then?” someone asked. “It seems to me that the ice never came any further south than here.”

“At the time, the glacier was slowly making its way down from the mountains. It came no further than here, which is why East Mithlond is in a better state of preservation. The entrance to my cave was actually blocked by ice, but there are several other entrances and one that is further west was never covered. I used that entrance to go in and out even though I had to walk several miles underground to reach it.”

“It just seems incredible that you were able to survive for all this time in such harsh conditions,” another commented.

Arthalion shrugged. “My brother and I were born here in Ennorath, but our parents came from Dor Rodyn. They often told us tales of their journey across the Grinding Ice. I think it was those tales that kept me going.”

They all, even Maglor, who was the only one in their party who remembered that time, looked at him in disbelief and Arthalion nodded, giving them a shy look. “I did not want to disappoint my parents by giving up.”

For a moment the others remained silent, then Glóredhel leaned over and placed a hand on Arthalion’s arm, giving it a squeeze. “I am sure they are very proud of you and you could never disappoint them. Did they Sail?”

Arthalion shook his head. “No. They did not survive the War of Wrath.”

The silence that followed that statement was full of sympathy and compassion. Many there had lost loved-ones to that war. Maglor forced himself not to think about that. Instead, he said, “So you went exploring in the palace during a snowstorm.”

Arthalion nodded, giving them a grin. “It was rather fun, actually. Arthad and I had kept ourselves to one small area of the palace, the kitchen actually, which had its own entrance so we did not have to traverse half the palace to get outside. Nothing of personal value had been left behind, only furniture, weapons and armor, arrases, and such remained, though there were a few blank spots on the walls here or there so I suspect some of the tapestries had been taken. Since the storm looked to be lasting for quite some time, I did not rush in my exploration but searched each room thoroughly.”

“Where did you find this?” Ragnor asked, pointing to the necklace that was being examined.

“I think it was Gil-galad’s own suite,” Arthalion replied and several eyebrows went up. “At least, I assume so, for it was the one set of rooms that was locked. In fact I had to practically chop the door into kindling to get inside for I could not find any key. It was also the only place where nothing had been removed.”

“Nothing?” Maglor asked in disbelief. “Are you saying that no one, not even Círdan, thought to take some of Gil-galad’s personal items with them to give to the king when they reached Dor Rodyn? I cannot believe that. I cannot believe that Círdan would be so thoughtless.”

Arthalion shrugged, now looking upset. “I cannot explain it. I only know that when I finally got inside, the rooms looked untouched. Even his robes and tunics were still hanging in the garderobe and there were other personal items as well. Most of them I left there, for they were not on Arthad’s list.”

“List?” Glóredhel asked.

“Yes, at least that was what I called it. It was the list of things he said we should always keep our eyes open for.”

“Such as gemstones and jewelry,” Maglor added and Arthalion nodded. “So this particular piece of jewelry just happened to be lying about for you to find?”

“No. Oh, there were several coffers of jewelry and I took them to the caves eventually, but that trinket was hidden.”

Several eyebrows went up. “Hidden? Hidden how?” Voronwë asked.

“You have to understand. I was alone and there was nowhere for me to go with the storm raging and I was bored, so when I said I made a thorough search of each room, I meant thorough, right down to checking to see if there were any secret rooms and such.”

“Why would you even think there would be?” Ragnor asked.

Arthalion gave him a disbelieving look. “But every palace has secret rooms and tunnels.”

Maglor chuckled. “When they were building the palace in Tirion, I understand my daeradar insisted that at least one secret tunnel be incorporated into the structure. I think it was Ingwë who asked him why and he said that he had to have some manner in which to sneak about without his wife being the wiser.”

Now others were laughing and it took a few minutes for them to calm down enough to let Arthalion continue his tale.

“Even though I searched very thoroughly, I never found any evidence of hidden rooms or tunnels anywhere in the palace until I came to Gil-galad’s apartments,” Arthalion explained. “I had actually given up the idea that there were any secret rooms and tunnels by then, for Gil-galad’s rooms were the last ones I examined. I had found them earlier, but because they were locked, I decided to leave them until later. So, when I was examining the area around the fireplace in the closet, I was surprised when a door in the wall opened after I pushed on one of the finials gracing the mantle.”

“What did you find?” someone asked excitedly, and Maglor hid a grin at the almost elfling-like curiosity that he detected in the person’s voice and in truth he was just as curious. He was as spellbound by Arthalion’s tale as the others.

“It was a strongroom, I believe,” Arthalion replied, “perhaps no more than five or six feet wide and deep. There were shelves on which sat small coffers and when I examined their contents it was obvious that I was looking at the Crown Jewels.”

“Where are they, though?” Glóredhel asked. “I don’t recall seeing anything that would have been considered Gil-galad’s regalia except for this necklace.”

“I left them where I found them,” Arthalion answered. He nodded as eyebrows rose in disbelief. “Yes, they were on Arthad’s list, but I did not feel right in taking them. They were the king’s and if I had taken them, I would have been no better than a thief.” He paused for a moment, his eyes on his lap. “I never told Arthad about them,” he finally said in a soft voice that was barely above a whisper.

“You did well,” Ragnor said decisively. “As you said, it would have been thievery, but you did take this necklace. Why?”

“It was off to one side in its own coffer,” Arthalion explained. “Indeed, I almost missed it, for it was on a lower shelf, hidden in shadows. And, for some reason, it spoke to me. I cannot explain it any better than that. I guess I was mesmerized by its beauty, though it was no more beautiful than anything else in that room. I do not know. I only know that when I left the room, carefully closing the door behind me, this necklace went with me and when I was able to reach the caves after the storm, I put it in with the rest of the jewels and such and never told Arthad about it or the strongroom.”

“And in the end, the palace and all it held was destroyed, crushed by the unforgiving ice until nothing but rubble remains,” Voronwë commented in a sorrowful voice. “All that we hoped to achieve has turned to dust and there are none left to care or remember. Certainly not the Mortals, most of whom have little or no memory of our existence, except as nursery tales to be told to their children for amusement.”

There was an uneasy silence as everyone contemplated the ellon’s bitter words. Finally, Maglor stirred. “At least we know and we care. All that we sought to accomplish in these lands may have come to naught, but I have no regrets on that score. Whatever my failings, and there are many, I do not regret leaving Dor Rodyn for Ennorath. I only regret the manner in which I left.”

“Well, beyond that, what do we do with all this… um… treasure once we’ve finished inventorying it?” someone asked.

Ragnor, who was their nominal leader, shrugged. “That is something we will decide on later. It is enough for now that we have a record of what is here. I suspect that during the long winter days we’ll be spending much time contemplating that list and deciding what possible use any of this is for us. In the meantime, Arthalion, if you would hang on to this necklace, I would like to take it back with us. I think Denethor and the others would appreciate seeing it. Perhaps it was not crafted by the great Celebrimbor himself, but it certainly came out of the same school and to my mind it is far superior to anything I’ve ever seen, here or elsewhere.”

“I will keep it safe,”Arthalion promised solemnly.

In the days that followed, they found nothing else of equal value to the necklace, though there were several exquisite pieces that were admired. Eventually the last piece of treasure was recorded and Ragnor decided it was time to return to the encampment. The weather was beginning to deteriorate after many days of blue skies and sun and no one wanted to be caught out in the open if another storm was in the offing.

As they were finishing with the last of the inventory, Maglor took Arthalion aside. “In all this time you have never visited your brother,” he said softly. “We may not be back here until the spring. Do you not wish to spend some little time with Arthad?”

“I have never visited him,” Arthalion said. “I would sit outside the cave where I put him and speak to him as if he were there on the other side of the entrance, but I never went to him. I could not. It was too hard. It is still too hard.”

“I understand,” Maglor said sympathetically. “Would it help if I went with you? I think you need to do this Arthalion. I think for your own peace of mind and to put away your guilt, you need to do this.”

For a long moment Arthalion did not respond, his expression one of indecision. “I am afraid,” he finally said, not looking at him.

“Why?”

“I do not know. I only know I am afraid to go in that cave, to see him… lying there… the knife… I couldn’t pull it out… and…”

“Hush,” Maglor said gently, giving the ellon a brief hug. “It is well. I understand that Ragnor took the knife and placed it by Arthad’s side. I really think you need to say farewell to your brother and not from a distance, but the decision is yours.”

“Will you go with me?”

“I said that I would. If you only want me to come as far as the cave entrance and give you privacy, I will go no further, and if you want me to accompany you all the way, I will do so gladly.”

“Have you been there, to see him… or rather gawk at him?” Arthalion asked with a shrewd look. “I know others have gone there.”

“No one went to gawk, I assure you,” Maglor replied. “And no, I have not gone to pay my respects to your brother.”

Arthalion stared at him for a long moment and Maglor did not look away. “Then, let us go together to pay our respects. I would like to introduce you to Arthad. I think you and he would have been friends.”

“As you and I are friends,” Maglor responded, giving the ellon a slight bow. “Come, then. I know Ragnor wishes for us to leave soon.”

They left the others then, traversing deeper into the cave system. Maglor had explored some of it with the others and Arthalion had shown them the path he had taken to the west door, as he called it, when it was the only entrance not blocked by glacial ice, but he had studiously avoided going into the cave where Arthad lay. At the cave entrance, Arthalion hesitated and Maglor placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze. Arthalion nodded and stooped to enter the cave for the lintel was low. Maglor stooped as well and followed him.

It was not a large cave, more like a niche, as Ragnor had described to them. On a low shelf of rock was Arthad. Someone had thoughtfully covered him with their cloak so his features were hidden. Arthalion stood there, staring at the cloaked remains.

“Who…?” he finally said.

“I do not know,” Maglor replied. “I think whoever donated their cloak did so out of respect. Do you wish me to leave you to speak to your brother alone?”

Arthalion shook his head. “No, please stay.” He stepped forward and slowly, reverently lifted the cloak to expose Arthad’s head and upper chest. Maglor could see that the remains had mummified and appeared wizened and shrunken. He recalled seeing mortal remains in a similar condition. He sent a silent prayer to the Valar that the ellon had been released from Mandos by now and was well and happy. He doubted any of the Valar were listening, but he prayed anyway.

Arthalion remained motionless, staring down at Arthad. Then he bent down and carefully kissed his brother’s brow. “Goheno nîn, hanar,” he whispered, tears streaming unheeded down his cheeks. “Goheno nîn.”

Maglor took a step forward and wrapped an arm around Arthalion’s shoulders. “I have no doubt that he did and does, mellon nîn.”

Arthalion nodded, carefully replacing the cloak. He took a deep breath, swiping at the tears, and without another word, turned and left. Maglor remained behind for a few seconds, giving the remains a low bow of respect, before following.

****

Ammë: (Quenya) Hypocoristic form of amillë: Mother.

Gwaith-i-Mírdain: People of the Jewel-smiths, the name of the fellowship of craftsmen in Eregion, founded by Celebrimbor.

Daeradar: Grandfather.

Goheno nîn, hanar: ‘Forgive me, brother’.

Note: In medieval palace architecture, the closet was a small private room without windows situated off the king’s or queen’s bedroom, generally used for prayer and meditation, but was also an informal gathering place for their majesties and their courtiers during the winter because it was usually the warmest room. The garderobe was where clothes were hung as well as being the privy.





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