Stories of Arda Home Page
About Us News Resources Login Become a member Help Search
swiss replica watches replica watches uk Replica Rolex DateJust Watches

Elf Academy 3: The Enemy Within  by Fiondil

34: The Situation at Edhellond

After breakfast, Vorondur excused himself to go make some phone calls. “I need to reschedule my appointments,” he told them and headed for his office while Finrod helped Ercassë with the dishes. Nimrodel and Amroth wandered into the living room to watch the morning news program, taking cups of coffee with them.

“Ron is very upset, you know, about what happened yesterday,” Ercassë said to Finrod as they cleared the table together. “He tries to hide it, but I know how terribly ashamed he feels.”

“I know,” Finrod said. “I suspect he does not often… um… lose his cool, as I believe the expression is?”

“No, not for ages, and I meant that literally. When Cani died in his arms, something broke inside him and he quite literally went insane with grief and he did terrible things, I’m afraid. It took a long time for him to find himself again and longer still to forgive himself for what he had allowed himself to become.”

Finrod thought for a moment before commenting, handing the dirty dishes to Ercassë to stack in the dishwasher. “Grief can do strange things to people. I thought it was telling that after all that was said and done it was the thought that Eärnur’s and Vardamir’s arrogance had driven Serindë away that fueled his anger more than the fact that their arrogance might have caused Glorfindel to die.”

“He’s very protective of her,” Ercassë said somewhat apologetically. “She… she helped him to regain his sanity.”

“And you?” Finrod gave her a shrewd look.

“Oh, I’m just his wife,” she replied with a sad smile. “I was there to pick up the pieces, but Sarah was his hope, a single star to illuminate his darkness.”

“I do not believe that,” Finrod said. “I think you belittle yourself, child. One only has to see how he looks at you to know that he worships the ground you walk on. Your daughter may well have been a star illuminating his darkness, but you were his anchor, his lifeline. Without you, he would have been truly lost.”

“Perhaps,” she said, not entirely convinced by his words.

Finrod smiled. “There is no perhaps about it, Ercassë, and as your prince, I am commanding you to believe my words.”

Ercassë raised an eyebrow at that but then, seeing the humor in his eyes, she smiled back. “I’ll keep that in mind, Your Highness. Whatever you say, Your Highness. Now, why don’t we join the others in the living room while we wait out this storm, Your Highness? Would you like more coffee, Your Highness?”

“Yes, please, and if you call me ‘Your Highness’ one more time, I will make you regret it.”

“Hmph…That’s what they all say,” she retorted with a sniff, clearly not impressed with his threat. Finrod merely smiled more as he followed her out of the kitchen.

The storm finally wound its way down around one in the afternoon after dumping about four feet of snow over Wiseman, though some of the drifts were closer to six feet.

“Plows won’t reach us for a while,” Vorondur told Finrod as the two were in the mudroom with Amroth, the three ellyn preparing to go outside, “but we’ll get the driveway cleared.”

“Just in time for the plow to come through and block us in again,” Amroth said sourly as he donned a coat and gloves.

Vorondur chuckled. “Such is life, but the snowblower will make quick work of it.” He went into the garage, pressing the button to open the outer door, before checking the snowblower over. Finrod and Amroth followed with Amroth grabbing a couple of shovels and handing one to Finrod. Without a word the two went out, walking lightly on top of the snow.

Amroth pointed to his right. “The sidewalk’s about here. Why don’t you clear the front door? Just dump the snow onto the lawn.”

Finrod nodded and made his way to the door. As the sound of the snowblower revved up, he began shoveling, recalling another storm a long time ago and clearing the doors to the mansions of the Valar. He started singing a hymn in praise of snow, feeling oddly content with the world at that moment.

It took them nearly an hour to clear the drive and the sidewalk. Neighbors were also out with snowblowers and shovels. Children were bundled up and making snowmen in the front yards and at one point an impromptu snowball fight ensued. The three Elves happily joined in with Finrod proving to be a master tactician.

“All those years fighting orcs,” he said with a shrug when Vorondur commented on it after the game and they went back inside to hot chocolate, courtesy of Ercassë and Nimrodel who had watched the shenanigans from the front window.

Around three, a plow came through dumping snow at the foot of the drive. Amroth volunteered to go back out and clear the snow. “Then I suggest Ron drive you back to Edhellond,” he said to Finrod. “That way, he can speak with Mir and Ernest. They won’t refuse him if you’re there.”

So, while Amroth finished clearing the drive, Finrod bundled up his clothes in a bag provided by Ercassë and joined Vorondur in his car and they were soon on their way, giving Amroth a wave as they went. Vorondur drove slowly, for the roads were not completely cleared and some of the side streets had yet to be plowed. Thus, he was forced to take the long way to Edhellond. “Let’s hope Sycamore’s been plowed,” he said as he turned onto Aurora.

Finrod shrugged. “If you need to stop before we get there, we can always walk.”

As it turned out, however, Kodiak and Sycamore were both plowed and the entrance to Edhellond was clear. They got out of the car and made their way to the door, which opened before they reached it. Daeron was standing there, smiling at them.

“Good. I’m glad you’re back. Why does Brethorn insist on playing hide-and-find whenever there’s a storm on?”

Finrod laughed as he and Vorondur entered the house. “Long story. Everything well here? Eärnur?”

“Resting comfortably,” Daeron answered as he took Finrod’s cloak and hung it up for him. “He’s able to speak above a hoarse whisper but it still hurts, so I suggested he write down anything he needed to say. Gave him a pad and pen. He’s not too happy about that, but Mir insists that he not speak for another couple of days. Hello, Ron. I would say that it’s too bad you’re no longer here to be the voice of calm and reason, except that you blew that image out of the water with Ernie.” He gave Vorondur a cheeky grin to take the sting out of his words.

Vorondur blushed. “I’ve come to apologize, assuming he’ll see me.”

“Oh, he’ll see you alright, if we have to do it over Mir’s dead body,” Daeron said darkly. “This nonsense has gone on long enough.”

“And what nonsense is that?” Finrod asked with a frown.

“Well, Mir’s acting like a mother hen with a single chick,” Daeron replied, “and Ernie is letting him. Helena won’t come out of her room even though Anna and Misty have done everything short of standing on their heads to get her to, half of them won’t speak to the other half and most of them are out haunting the woods. In fact, several refused to come back inside even with the blizzard on. I hope they’re all miserable sitting on their individual tree branches covered with snow.”

He gave them a scowl of disgust at the obstinacy of Elves and both Vorondur and Finrod grinned. Daeron continued his list of woes. “And the Three Amigos and Nell have been up in the sunroom playing Monopoly nonstop for about the last eighteen hours. The only time they stop is when they’re raiding the kitchen for food but they refuse to leave the game for more than fifteen minutes at a time.”

“Well, I can fix that,” Finrod said decisively, dropping his bag of clothes on the floor by the stairs. “Come with me, the both of you.” He climbed the stairs with Vorondur and Daeron following and they made their way to the sunroom. All four of the youngsters looked up at their entrance. Finrod took in the room at a glance.

“Put the game away,” he said quietly, but with grave authority, and without protest, they did just that while the three older Elves stood and watched. When the game was neatly boxed, Finrod nodded. “Now go outside and get some fresh air. I do not want to see you inside for one hour. When you return, you may help with dinner. Go.”

The four younger Elves went without a word. Daeron and Vorondur stepped aside to let them pass. Vorondur grinned at Daeron. “You’d think they were on their way to their own funerals.”

Daeron snorted in amusement but did not otherwise comment. Finrod just shook his head. “Daeron, go out to the woods and tell everyone to come inside on my orders, and if any of them give you grief, tell them that if they do not come in now, I will bar their entrance for the next three days.”

Both Vorondur and Daeron raised eyebrows at that proclamation. Finrod gave them a sour grin. “Let’s see how soft they all got while living in Aman. Beleg, Edrahil and Brethorn, being Reborn, may stay out just for fun, but I doubt too many of the others will.”

Daeron gave him a bow. “Be iest lîn, hîr nîn,” he said and left them.

“Come, Ron,” Finrod said, taking Vorondur by the arm. “Let us go see Eärnur and Vardamir and then I need to speak with Helyanwë and get to the bottom of what drove Glorfindel from here.”

They went back down the hall to the stairs that led to the third floor and then they were standing before Eärnur’s bedroom door. Finrod knocked and the door opened to reveal Vardamir, who scowled at the sight of Vorondur. Finrod gave him no time to say anything.

“I’ve come to see how Eärnur is doing, Vardamir, and Ron is here to apologize,” he said.

“I don’t think—”

“It does not matter what you think, Vardamir,” Finrod said, his voice going cold and his expression becoming imperious. “Now, step aside, please.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Vardamir complied with the orders, opening the door and stepping back to let them in. Vorondur had half expected to find Eärnur in bed, but the ellon was dressed and sitting in the window seat, looking out onto the back garden. He turned his head when they came in but said nothing, his expression neutral.

Finrod spoke. “Daeron said you still have trouble speaking, Eärnur, but he gave you writing implements with which to communicate.”

Eärnur nodded, lifting a spiral pad and a pen that had been sitting beside him on the seat.

“Good,” Finrod said. “How do you feel, meldonya?”

The Teler scribbled something on the pad and handed it to Finrod. Vorondur read over his shoulders: I want to go home.

Finrod simply nodded and handed the pad back, indicating by gesture that he wished to sit next to Eärnur, who sat up, swinging his feet around. Finrod sat and threw an arm around him and Eärnur laid his head on the prince’s shoulder, his expression one of pain and loss. Vorondur stood silently looking on.

“I know you do,” Finrod said softly. “So do I, at times. I find I am missing my Amarië more each day.” With his other hand he brushed Eärnur’s hair, kissing him on the brow. Eärnur was scribbling something on the pad and then handing it to Finrod who read it at a glance before showing it to Vorondur and Vardamir: My time in Númenor did not prepare me for this world. I thought it would be much the same but it’s not. It’s too different. I want to go home.

“You know there is no way to go back, not yet, at any rate,” Finrod said. Eärnur just nodded, looking lost and defeated. Finrod looked up at Vorondur and Vardamir, his own expression one of deep compassion as he continued to hold Eärnur who was now weeping quietly, hiding his face in Finrod’s shoulder.

Vorondur crouched before them. “Eärnur, I am so sorry, more than you will ever know. I’m not sure what came over me, but I’ve already lost two of my children and the thought of losing Sarah, even metaphorically, was too much. Please find it in your heart to forgive me.”

“You know you were in the wrong, the both of you,” Finrod said, his tone gently chiding but not accusatory. “Elladan and Elrohir understood the dangers of transfusions and, according to Kyle, they diagnosed the situation with Glorfindel correctly and acted appropriately. I am wondering if you acted as you did because it was the Twins who were there and not, say, Laurendil or Manwen, or even Kyle.”

“That’s not true, Finrod,” Vardamir protested.

“Perhaps not,” Finrod allowed, “but I have to wonder if you would have been less arrogant about it had it been someone else there. I fear whatever the case may be that your actions have driven the Twins away and Serindë has gone with them.”

Eärnur sat up a bit, wiping the tears from his eyes with the back of a hand before scribbling something on his pad, thrusting it at Finrod who read the note and said. “We have no idea where they went though we suspect Fairbanks. Unfortunately, they have failed to call and they are not answering their phones.”

“And that is what worries me the most,” Vorondur said as he stood up from his crouch. “I can understand their being angry enough not to call here, but they know we will worry for them and even if they have no intention of returning to Wiseman any time soon, they should at least contact one of us to let us know that they are safe.”

Eärnur wrote a single word on the pad and held it up for them to read.

“Ask one of the Maiar?” Finrod interpreted and Eärnur nodded. Finrod shrugged. “I am not sure that will work. You know how cagey they can be with questions they do not wish to answer. They will only tell us that we must discover their whereabouts on our own.”

Eärnur wrote something else: Ask Maiar to keep them safe?

“Well, we can certainly do that,” Finrod said with a nod.

A knock came to the door and then Daeron was peeking around. “Sorry to disturb you, but I thought you would like to know that everyone’s back in, except for the youngsters. They’re standing outside. Just that, mind you. Standing. Over by the gate staring out. Every once in a while one of them looks at his or her watch.”

Finrod rolled his eyes. “Oh, for the love of the Valar! What is wrong with them? Ron and I spent a good half hour with Amroth in a snowball fight with some Mortal children. Why do they not at least take a walk down the street?”

Even Eärnur grinned at that.

“I think they may be feeling… scared,” Daeron suggested.

“Scared? Of what?” Vardamir demanded.

“Of us. Of all the tensions,” Vorondur replied before Daeron could answer. “They have probably never experienced the emotions that lie heavily within these walls. They do not know how to process their own feelings, most of which must be ambivalent, not knowing with whom to side because the people they love appear to be splitting up into two armed camps.”

Finrod nodded. “Yes, I fear that may be the case, which is why I want to speak with everyone while they are outside.”

“I assumed as much from your orders,” Daeron said, “so I told them that you wished to see them in the library. I also took the liberty to inform Helyanwë that you have ordered her to come to the library as well. She knows enough not to ignore your orders even if she ignores ours.”

“Thank you. You did well,” Finrod said, standing. He looked down at Eärnur. “Will you join us, tyenya? And will you at least think about what Ron said? You, too, Vardamir. We do not expect you to forgive him right away, but I hope eventually you three can be friends again.”

Eärnur did not answer immediately, looking between the others. Vardamir also did not speak, perhaps waiting to see what Eärnur’s response would be since he was the injured party. Vorondur kept his own expression neutral, prepared to accept rejection of his overtures of reconciliation. The Elves were notorious for keeping grudges long after the fact, as well he knew. Finally, Eärnur began writing something on his pad. When he was finished, he handed it to Vorondur who read: I am sorry, too. I was being stupid. I do not think Lord Irmo is very happy with me right now.

Vorondur handed the pad to Finrod to read, while he addressed Eärnur. “I doubt any of the Valar are happy with us at the moment, Ernie.”

Eärnur scowled. “Ernest,” he insisted in a hoarse whisper, then swallowed in pain.

Vorondur smiled. “Ernest,” he repeated with a nod, acknowledging the ellon’s right to name himself as he wished.

“Vardamir?” Finrod asked. “What about you?”

“I apologize for anything that may have caused anyone pain,” the ellon said in a neutral tone. “And when Elladan, Elrohir and Serindë return, I will apologize to them as well.”

“Thank you,” Vorondur said.

“And now that that is settled, let us go speak with the others,” Finrod said. “Daeron, I know you do not need lecturing to, so would you just keep an eye on the children for me?”

“Of course, Finrod,” Daeron said. “In fact, I’ll go out and see if I can’t entice them to at least make snowmen instead of standing about looking lost.”

With that they all trooped downstairs with Daeron grabbing a coat and heading outside while the others followed Finrod to the library, where they found everyone else who still resided in Edhellond milling about. Vorondur noticed that Beleg, Edrahil and Brethorn were there, though they were standing to one side in their own little clique, as if distancing themselves from the rest of the Elves. Their expressions were more ones of curiosity than of wariness.

“You guessed wrong on that one, Finrod,” Vorondur said softly, nodding toward the three Reborn.

Finrod grinned at him. “I have been known to be wrong once or twice,” he retorted. Then he addressed the others, not in English, but in Quenya, and that alerted everyone that this was not ‘Quinn’ who stood before them but Prince Findaráto and spines straightened as everyone gave him their attention.

“First of all, Glorfindel is resting comfortably and breathing on his own. The crisis, or at least, this crisis, is over with according to Dr. Stoner.”

There were sighs of relief at the news and Vorondur understood that some of the tensions between the Elves centered around feelings of uncertainty concerning Glorfindel’s condition. With that uncertainty removed, the atmosphere in the library became lighter and less fraught with unresolved feelings of anger and helplessness. He noticed Helyanwë quietly weeping what must have been tears of relief as Melyanna held her. Finrod continued speaking.

“I know all of you are upset over what happened with Eärnur. Vorondur has apologized to him and Vardamir and we will leave it to them to work things out between them. Eärnur and Vardamir made a mistake of judgment which nearly cost the life of one whom we all love and respect. They recognize this and hopefully will have learned from it. That goes for all of you. I know that some of you look down at Eldatan and Eleroquen for not being pure-bloods, for being pereldar, but do not forget that by virtue of their bloodline, they are also descendants of a Maia. None of us can claim that and the fact that they do not lord it over the rest of us because of it speaks highly of them.”

“Though I imagine it is more because they feel inferior to everyone else,” Vorondur interjected, also speaking in Quenya. “They have told me so, singly and together, and it is not a feeling that they are used to having, because Glorfindel and Sairon and the rest of us Wiseman Elves have always treated them with respect as the Elf-lords that they are.”

“Yes,” Finrod said with a nod. “You may look at them and think ‘pereldar’ but do not ever forget that they are scions of all three royal Houses of Eldamar: The Houses of Ingwë and Finwë through my cousin, Turucáno, and my sister, Artanis, and the House of Olwë through his brother, Elwë Sindicollo, and my amillë, not to mention the fact that their amillë’s atar is Telporno.” He paused for a moment, giving them all a significant look as they considered his words. Vorondur noticed some of the Valinórean Elves blanching at the mention of Celeborn’s name and hid a smile, remembering that particular Elf-lord well and with great fondness. “For that reason alone,” Finrod continued, “they should have your respect.”

“And there is one more thing,” Vorondur said, “and this is directed more at all the healers: Eldatan and Eleroquen are both certified as doctors in the Mortal world. They studied at one of the top medical schools in the country and interned at one of the most prestigious hospitals in the world. They could have simply applied for their licenses to practice in this state at any time but they agreed to join you in your training program out of respect for you, hoping that you might teach them elven healing techniques that they do not know and, at the same time, impart their knowledge of how to treat Mortals and they have been doing that since the Third Age of this world.”

Finrod nodded again. “That is very true and we should all remember that. Now, let us endeavor to heal the breaches between us. We cannot afford to become divided, not now.”

Vorondur added, now speaking English, “To quote Benjamin Franklin, a wise man among the Mortals: ‘We must all hang together or we will assuredly hang separately’.”

It took a moment for some of the Valinórean Elves to understand the import of those words, but there was much nodding of heads in agreement with the sentiment.

“Good,” Finrod said. “You are free to leave. You may even return to your roosts, if you so desire.” He gave them a sly look and several people chuckled, looking a bit embarrassed. It did not surprise Vorondur when Beleg, Brethorn and Edrahil rushed out the door and ran down the hall to the kitchen and then they heard the distant sound of a door closing. Finrod grinned at Vorondur. “I was partly correct.” Vorondur laughed.

As others began to leave the library, Finrod stopped Helyanwë. “Stay a moment,” he said quietly, speaking in English now. “You, too, Melyanna.” Neither elleth looked happy but they complied with his orders, taking a seat together on the sofa. Vorondur was about to join the exodus, but Finrod asked him to stay as well and then ordered Aldarion to go find Daeron and ask him to join them in the library. A few minutes later the former loremaster of Doriath came in.

“You wished to see me?” he asked.

“The youngsters?” Finrod replied.

“Left the four of them making a couple of snowmen. They were trying to figure out how to give them pointed ears so they could be snowelves.” Daeron gave them a grin and they all chuckled at that.

Finrod gestured toward where the ellith were sitting by the fireplace. “Come, let us sit. There are things that need to be said between us.”

Vorondur opted to take a seat on the hearth, placing an oversize pillow under him for comfort while Finrod and Daeron took the chairs. Once they were settled, Finrod waited a moment before speaking. “Melyanna, you are here for propriety’s sake, so please remain silent. My business is with Helyanwë. Vorondur and Daeron are here because they are more aware of what has been happening than the others, I believe.”

The elleth nodded and Finrod looked at Helyanwë. “Would you like to tell me what you said to Glorfindel to drive him away?” he asked gently, reverting to Quenya once again.

For a moment, Helyanwë kept her eyes down, her hands twisting the hem of her blouse. Finally, she looked up and sniffed back tears. “He should have apologized.”

“Apologize to whom?” Finrod asked.

“To you, Uncle! Who else? He should have accepted your authority from the very beginning. Whoever heard of joint rule? It’s absurd.”

“And you told him so,” Finrod stated. She nodded, casting her eyes down. “But that is not what drove him away, is it? What did you say, Daughter, to drive him away?”

Helyanwë was not the only one to flinch at the absolute coldness in Finrod’s voice. Vorondur narrowed his eyes, watching Finrod closely. The prince was beyond furious, though few would recognize it, for he sat there looking completely calm, his expression neutral, but his eyes gave him away.

Helyanwë did not answer immediately.

“Daughter?” Finrod repeated, his voice like silk over steel and he obviously was brooking no resistance from anyone.

Without looking up, the elleth answered, speaking barely above a whisper, her hands clasped in her lap. “I reminded him that you are a prince but that he was but a lord and a lord of a House that no longer exists.”

Vorondur watched as Finrod sat back, looking as if he’d been slapped. Daeron’s breath hitched in surprise. Melyanna merely grimaced, taking hold of Helyanwë’s clasped hands and giving them a squeeze.

“I see,” was Finrod’s only comment after an uncomfortable silence followed her statement.

Before he could say anything more, Daeron spoke up, his expression one of pain. “You have no idea what you said, do you, Helena?” She looked at him, clearly puzzled, and he went on. “I suppose it’s your upbringing, living in what Mortals these days would refer to as a feudal society, though I would call it hierarchical, instead.” He shook his head. “You Valinórean Elves are too hung up on titles and precedence and fail to see that respect for another should not hinge on their titles or lack thereof but on merit. Loren has not been a lord of anything in a very long time, even though he has garnered many titles down the ages, including, I might add, prince.”

“Oh?” Finrod said, giving Daeron a surprised look. “He never said.”

“He wouldn’t, because to him it isn’t relevant,” Daeron explained, “but he did rule as a prince back in the eighth and ninth centuries. The name of the principality has been swallowed up by history and no one remembers it except as a single footnote in the dusty annals of historians, but Loren ruled wisely and well and passed the rule on to a Mortal whom he had adopted when he felt the time was right to do so.”

He paused to let his words sink in before he continued. “As I said, Loren has not been a lord of anything in a long time, but he is probably one of the greatest of the Elf-lords Arda has ever known. He could well have ruled a kingdom, and indeed, the crown of more than one was offered to him at one time or another, but he refused them all.”

“My brother is a great Elf-lord,” Finrod said, “though he would deny it. I think, child, you need to remember that. I do not know if he will forgive you for your words, but when he comes out of healing sleep, I think you owe him an apology, don’t you?”

Helyanwë nodded. “I’m sorry, Uncle.”

“I know you are,” Finrod said gently. “Words are difficult to take back, but if you truly love him, I am sure you will find a way. Just remember this: Glorfindel is more than my otornor, he is my brother, and, as far as I’m concerned, that is a far more important title than prince. Do you understand what I am saying?”

Helyanwë nodded. Finrod stood and the others followed suit. “Good. Now, Ron, you are welcome to stay for dinner, but I imagine you would prefer to return home and have dinner with your wife.”

“Yes, and actually, it’s my turn to cook, so I had better get on my way. If I hear from the Twins or Sarah, I’ll let you know immediately.”

“And we will do the same,” Daeron assured him as they exited the library with Finrod and Daeron escorting Vorondur to the front door, while the two ellith excused themselves.

“How long will we keep Loren in healing sleep?” Vorondur asked as he reached into the closet for his coat.

“I think they wish to keep him under for another couple of days,” Finrod answered. “I’ll send either Laurendil or Manwen over tomorrow to check on him and we’ll make a decision then. I will call you once we know for sure.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” Vorondur said, then he gave Finrod a shrewd look. “You are still very upset.” It was a statement rather than a question, but Finrod nodded anyway.

“I am,” he stated simply. “I find myself wishing for a good orc attack on which to take out my frustrations.”

Both Vorondur and Daeron gave him disbelieving looks and Finrod shrugged, as if to say ‘so sue me’.

“Why don’t you take a very long run?” Vorondur suggested. “Loren likes to do that when he’s feeling particularly frustrated.”

“Especially when beating the daylights out of us in a sword fight isn’t practical,” Daeron added drolly.

“I may do that, thank you,” Finrod said.

Vorondur opened the door and stepped outside, wishing them a good evening. He saw that the Three Amigos and Nell had been busy building an entire family of snowmen. He gave Finrod and Daeron a grin which they returned. Finrod called out for the youngsters to come inside and help with dinner. As Vorondur drove away, Calandil was the last to enter the house and then Daeron was closing the door.

****

Be iest lîn, hîr nîn: (Sindarin) ‘According to your wish, my lord’.

Tyenya: (Quenya) Literally, my thou = ‘dear kinsman’, a term of endearment used to address family members and very close friends.

Pereldar: The Quenya equivalent of the Sindarin peredhil ‘Half-elves’.

Note on Quenya names:

Artanis: The original Quenya name of Galadriel.

Eldatan: Elladan.

Eleroquen: Elrohir.

Elwë Sindicollo: Elu Thingol. The published Silmarillion gives the alternate form Sindacollo.

Sairon: Daeron.

Telporno: Noldorin Quenya: Celeborn. The Telerin form would be Teleporno.

Glorfindel’s Quenya name would be Laurefindil but everyone knows better than to refer to him by that name even when he is not present.





<< Back

Next >>

Leave Review
Home     Search     Chapter List