Chapter 12

Laurehér was late to the forge the next day. The night before he had spent holding and singing to his children until they fell asleep, then making love to his wife until she fell asleep. He slept not at all. Instead he held his dreaming Faroniel close to his heart and wept soundlessly the entire night. Not once did he tell her who he really was or about the recruiters come to town.

Anger and despair filled him as he drew the sword from the fire to begin working it once again. Each blow of the hammer, each stab in the cooling water, each smoothing swipe of the polishing cloth brought his heart one beat closer to the realization and the understanding of what he must do.

When the four men returned in the afternoon for the sword, the owner hefted the blade, examining it from all angles then giving it a few practice swings.

“It has never been so beautiful in my lifetime. Your work is exquisite, smith,” the man marveled.

Laurehér nodded his gratitude for the compliment, but Angadan did not look quite so pleased.

“Come away with us, young one,” the man with the scar enticed. “You are but another smith fixing trinkets and baubles and shoeing horses. Your talents are wasted here, working in the shadow of a master when you could be a master in your own right. Your skill in repairing weapons could well save many lives on the battlefield.”

“Do you fight alongside the Elves?” Laurehér asked.

“Indeed we do,” one of the younger men replied. “They are mighty and terrible to behold, come in splendor as they have from Valinor across the sea. I saw the way you looked at that sword and how reverently you touched it. There are many such blades of elven make that are in need of repair. You could work metal like that every day if you wished.”

“When did you last see the Elves? Which clans have you fought alongside?” Laurehér carefully asked.

“When I first joined up,” the man with the scar said, “I fought under the command of the Vanyar. They have yellow hair like yours. These last few years though, we four all fought side-by-side with the Noldor. We blend in better with them, being dark-haired and of a strong build and all. In my mind, they are more passionate, more aggressive, and angrier than the Vanyar, far angrier and deadlier for what they have endured. They hold us to a higher standard and I like that. I am a better man and a better fighter for my experiences with them. We left them well-nigh three months ago and are eager to return to service.”

Nodding his understanding, Laurehér further ventured, “Who leads the Noldorin army?”

The man scratched his scraggly beard thoughtfully as he replied, “Well, Eonwë the Maia, herald of the king of the Belain, leads the combined armies of Elves and Mortals. A mighty prince leads the Vanyar, but I am not certain who leads the Noldor. Their king was captured by Morgoth, or so the rumors say. A lot of their warriors sacrificed themselves trying to rescue that ellon, such was their love for him. We have no dealings with any of the leadership of the Elves. We have a mortal captain to whom we must answer and he gets his orders from Elf lords. Your orders would come from Mortals as well, most likely, but there are Elves all about. They have a great light in their eyes and fire in their spirits. They are beautiful and glorious in so many ways. You would grow to be a great man indeed for their influence, young smith. Come away with us and see for yourself.”

Angadan stepped up to the table, placing himself squarely between the visitors and Laurehér. Folding his arms in defiant challenge, he growled, “Belegon and the village elders told you last night to be gone from here when your sword was repaired. Now take your weapons and your honeyed words and stories of battle glory and be gone from my forge! We will spend no more sons on your war. The Elves brought this war, let them go fight it. You have stolen enough of our sons in years past, leaving us old and bereft. Now get you gone and leave our village in peace!”

“As you wish.” The man with the scar nodded, then threw a few pieces of gold onto the table in payment for the work. “If your assistant wishes to prove himself a man though and reach his full glory, he can join the others who have decided to come with us. We are meeting at the mill down by the creek at dawn tomorrow to march to war.”

With that, the four turned and walked away.

Laurehér watched in surprise as villagers came out of houses and shops, glaring as the men proudly strode away. A few called insults after them, but Laurehér remained silent, mulling over Angadan’s words.

Mortals are brief though they are strong and proud and passionate. But this is the Elves’ fight. Morgoth fled to these lands because of the crimes he committed against the Valar and the Elves. Elves were already fighting this war before Mortals even awoke. In a very real sense, this was the Elves’ war. And he, Laurehér was an Elf.  And Arafinwë was the King of the Noldor, supposedly being held captive by Morgoth, leaving how many ellyn to fight and die without the leadership of their king?

“Damn recruiters!” Angadan grumbled once they were out of sight. “And they thought to tempt you to leave.” He laughed derisively, shaking his head in dismay. Heaving a great sigh, he turned and started gathering supplies for the next task at hand. “Laurehér, you know all too well what war does to a man – or an ellon. You are just about the last person who would ever go to war with them. Those fools were wasting their breath. Well, we had best be back to work.”

Laurehér nodded, not trusting himself to speak at the moment, and truly he did not know what he would say. The Army of Light still stood. The Noldor missed their king. Warriors had sacrificed themselves trying to save their liege when all this time their damaged leader has been living as a smith among Mortals, having taken a mortal wife and sired half-mortal children. The recruiters did not need to try to entice him with promises of glory if he went away to war. The most potent words they could have used to persuade him were said in passing. Elves had willingly given their immortal lives in a foreign land to rescue the ellon they called king, such was their love for the captain of their army.

The King of the Noldor owed it to his soldiers to return to the fight. Arafinwë owed it to his folk who stayed behind, allowing their loved ones to depart for a distant, dangerous land with the sure knowledge that their king was going to lead the ellyn himself.  And Laurehér owed it to his mortal wife and half-mortal children to return to the war and fight so that they would never have to raise a weapon in defense later on, and so that his children and his grandchildren for generations after would know a land without the threat of Morgoth and have lives filled with peace.

Dawn tomorrow would find him at the mill, garbed for war.

XXXXX

The work load for the day had been light so Laurehér and Angadan finished up earlier than usual. As they put away the last of the tools, Laurehér called to the master smith.

“Angadan, we need to talk.”

The smith turned from hanging the last tool, took one look at Laurehér, and sighed. “You’re going away, aren’t you?”

Laurehér gasped in surprised then gave a small embarrassed smile. “Is it that obvious?”

Crossing his powerful arms grimy with sweat and soot, the smith looked Laurehér squarely in the eyes. “What did they say to persuade you? You have a wife and young children to think about. You know there is no glory in this fight, only struggle and death. You have seen this yourself and suffered yourself.”

Hesitating as he looked about for potential listeners, Laurehér replied, “Could we please go someplace private to discuss this? There is much I must tell you and…and I do not want other folk to know what I have to say.”

“Very well. Let’s go to my house. My wife is helping her sister-daughter today with that new baby and won’t be back until tomorrow. I have some good ale as well. Eru did not mean for men to discuss important things without a good cup of strong ale at hand.”

Nodding his thanks, Laurehér hung up his leather apron for the last time and followed the smith to his house.

Sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of remarkably good ale in his hand, Laurehér sighed. Angadan had been his dearest friend in the village. These words were going to be difficult to say, but if anyone would understand it would be Angadan.

“Ever since I have been here in this village, I have struggled to regain the memories stolen from me as a result of my injuries. Through the years I have remembered much, but only in bits and pieces. It has been difficult putting it all together, but there are some very important things I have learned.” Laurehér took a good swallow of his drink.

“Do you remember when I brought my armor to the forge to repair it a few years ago and you commented about how fine it was?”

“Indeed I do. It is magnificent. I cannot believe that all Elves have such fine armor. I said as much to you then, but you did not comment,” Angadan replied.

Laurehér ventured a small smile. “I know. You were guessing near a truth I wanted no one to know. By that point in time, I had remembered that I was one of the captains of the Army of Light, though at that time I thought I was a Vanya or part Vanya anyway.”

“You aren’t? Well, you certainly aren’t one of the Sindar.”

Chuckling, Laurehér shook his head, “No, no, I am not. My naneth was a Vanya and my adar was a Noldo – a very important Noldo.” He took another drink.

Angadan arched an eyebrow. “How important?”

“I…I…when I talked to the one other Elf who I have met since I was injured, he told me that Morgoth wanted to end my adar’s line and that I was the last survivor of my adar’s house.  He told me that if my adar’s line ended, then Morgoth truly would have won. He also told me that many, perhaps a hundred, had died searching for me as he himself had been searching for me before his group was ambushed and killed.  His name was Lord Sartandil of the House of Oaks. He also called me by my right name, Arafinwë.”

Nodding his head for Laurehér to continue, Angadan reached over and added more ale to his friend’s cup.

“I felt so guilty having watched Sartandil, who I knew was a close friend of mine, die. And then seeing and burying the dead who lay about him so the orcs would not desecrate - well let us not honey-coat words here – so the orcs would not eat their bodies like they had the rest of the force that was destroyed looking for me...” He paused a moment, shaking his head. “I still had no memory of who I was, but I hated myself for the deaths that had resulted from my absence from the army. In the following months, I came to realize that I was a captain of the army. I feared what would become of me if Belegon ever found out. I knew he likely would kill me just for that, seeing as how he wanted me dead for so long just for being an Elf come from the war. I am sorry I never told you before. I feared for myself and, later, I feared for my family.”

Angadan whistled in amazement, shaking his head in disbelief. “No wonder you have played the weak and wounded idiot Elf so hard and so well. What did you or your adar do in the war that Morgoth hates you and your adar’s line so much?”

“From what I can recall, my adar was the first to take on Morgoth in single combat and, later, one of my elder brothers did the same. From what I recall of the messages brought to Valinor by Lord Eärendil, Morgoth systematically hunted down and destroyed every son of my adar’s line and along with them, he destroyed every kingdom they ever ruled in Middle-Earth.”

Swearing loudly, Angadan took a swig of his ale, then choked, coughing and sputtering as he nearly dropped his cup on the table, sloshing ale over the sides. “Damn it, Elf!” He stood up abruptly, knocking his chair over backwards with the force of his rising, and pointed accusingly at Laurehér. “You’re a king aren’t you? You’re that missing king of the Noldor that warrior was going on about, aren’t you?” He swore some more, stomping around to pick up the chair.

“You! You! Damn it, Elf!  Laurehér! Why did you- How-” He righted the chair rather loudly, then wandered around the small kitchen, banging his fist on walls, occasionally wiping his face with his hand and looking over at Laurehér. Finally he stopped and dropped to his knees before his house guest.

“Laurehér, you’re a king!”

Calmly Laurehér replied, “Yes, I am, and I only put enough memories together last night to realize this myself.” Gesturing to Angadan, he added, “You are being ridiculous. Please get up and get back in your chair.”

“But you’re a king! I have never met a king before, your Majesty.”

Laurehér rolled his eyes, then sighed in exasperation. “Do not call me that and please get up. You are making me uncomfortable. We have worked together side-by-side at the forge for years as close friends. Please, do not do this to me now. I am not your king. I am the king of the Noldor from across the sea.”

Angadan seemed to think about these words for a few moments then slowly rose and made his way back to his chair, sitting down heavily. Downing his cup of ale in one go, Laurehér politely poured him another and then he drank half of that as well before meeting the king’s eyes again. “So why in hell do you know what you are doing at a forge? That is dirty, back-breaking work. Did you dishonor your adar or something and he punished you by making you get your hands and face dirty like a common laborer?”

Laurehér laughed loudly, leaning back in his chair and clapping his hands. “Now that is the Angadan I know and love well. The Noldor hold crafting in all forms to be desirable and honorable skills. All of the sons of Finwë were trained by Aulë the Vala himself in smithing of all forms, including black smithing, gold, silver, copper work, and the mining and crafting of jewels. My brothers were far better at it than I. My work did not make my adar proud.” Then he added softly as he turned his head and took a drink. “Very little that I did ever made him proud.”

The smith choked on his drink and coughed, pounding himself on the chest until his throat cleared. “But you are amazing in your strength and skill and your attention to fine detail! I have been at a forge all my life, and even I have learned much from you. Your adar was a fool to not be proud of you!” Then he glanced sideways at Laurehér. “And don’t you dare get angry with me for criticizing your adar.”

“I am not angry, not any more. Having a half-brother who was the greatest of our kind in skill of word and hand who ever existed is rather much to live up to. And I was the youngest son of my adar’s second marriage when he valued the love he had for his first wife and her child more. Not as much was expected of me that I actually had to live up.”

“And yet that half-brother was a prideful, hot-headed fool who slew kin and cost how many tens of thousands of your folk their lives and their homes?”

Laurehér looked down at his cup, idly toying with the handle. “And how many have died because of me? How many have I ordered into battle, never to return? How many died looking for me? I do not know the answers to those questions. It makes me sick to even think about it.”

“And that, my majestic friend, is a testament to your greatness as a king. Your conscience and your compassion speak highly of you as an ellon and as a king. And it speaks highly of you as well that so many would be willing to die trying to find you. Your half-brother was good with things and, if I understand the stories aright, he used people as things as a means to his own ends. I have known you when you knew nothing of yourself and were reduced to nothing, no title, no fancy clothes or jewels, just an ellon. I have come to love and respect you and I know many others who do, too. We turned against the most powerful man in our village because of the way he treated you. It does not surprise me at all that ellyn would find it in their hearts to be willing to die on your orders and in your defense.”

Sighing, but feeling immensely grateful, Laurehér met his friend’s gaze and smiled. “Thank you.”

Angadan nodded, then got up and went to the shelves behind his guest. Coming back to the table, he unwrapped a pastry from the bakery and some cheese. Placing some of each on two plates, he took his seat once again, pushing one plate over to Laurehér. 

“There. Eat.” After a few mouthfuls, the smith wiped his beard with the back of his hand, then asked, “So how much of this does your lovely Faroniel know?”

Swallowing some cheese, Laurehér quietly replied, “She knows nothing of my lineage.”

“Will you tell her before you go?”

“I do not know yet. I believe she has a right to know, but…I…I honestly do not know what my people will do when they find out their king has taken a mortal wife who cannot return to Valinor with him. I do not know what I will do. I love her so much and it grieves me greatly every time I consider the mortal fate which awaits her, but will leave me alone again and bereft.”

“You have two children who love you dearly. What will become of them while you are gone? Your son is your heir, is he not?”

Laurehér grinned. “I guess he is. I had not thought of that, but, yes, I guess he is. But he is the heir to a kingdom that he may not ever be allowed to set foot in because of his mortal blood. It is a bitter jest, is it not? To be heir to a kingdom and a fortune because of the blood in his veins, but also because of his blood, he can never claim it.”

“Yes, that is pretty bitter. At least you can put off worrying about it until the war is over.”

“That is true. And speaking of my children…Would you be willing to be as an adar to my children while I am away?”

“A prince and a princess?” Angadan leaned back from the table as if to distance himself from the possibility.  “What would I do with them? I’m a grimy blacksmith with a feisty, plump little wife.”

Smiling knowingly, Laurehér explained, “Raise them to be caring and compassionate, to be an ellon and an elleth of wit and skill of hand. Make my son your apprentice and teach him what you know while he waits for me to return. Your wife could teach my daughter to be strong and feisty and bake good pies. I know Faroniel will need the help while I am gone.”

“What about Morgoth? Will he come after the children and your wife once he learns about them?”

Closing his eyes, Laurehér slid his hand over his face, then put his elbow on the table, resting his forehead on his palm. “I…I had not thought of that. They will all be in danger whether I stay or leave if Morgoth ever learns of them. His spies are everywhere, in places we do not expect. It is a blessing indeed that he never found me in all of my years here.”

Wiping tears from his eyes, he looked up again. “I cannot tell them, can I? If Faroniel knows she will tell her sister, if no one else, and then everyone will know, and…and…” He pushed back from the table and shakily rose to his feet.

Pacing back and forth Laurehér struggled with his thoughts and emotions, tears angrily falling. “I…I cannot tell them. My son and my daughter and my beloved wife who I have trusted with my life for so long can never know the truth about it. They have a right to know who they are and who I am, but…but…that knowledge could bring their deaths.”

He banged his fist against the nearest wall. “I am cursed no matter what I do.”

Angadan came over and placed his hand on Laurehér’s shoulder. “Then do not tell them until this war is over, my friend, and I will not tell them either, not until I have your permission to do so. I will care for your children and love them as my own. And I will look after Faroniel and see that she and the children want for nothing while you are away. I swear it.”

Taking a few deep breaths and slowly letting them out, trying get his emotions back under control, Laurehér finally turned and embraced Angadan as the brother he knew him to be. “You truly are my gwador, and I am ever so grateful and so very proud to call you my brother. Thank you. I will find some way to repay you for your troubles when I return.”

Angadan clapped him on the back a few times before finally drawing away. “There is no need to repay me. The gift of having children in my house again when I may never have my sons returned to me will be joyous reward enough.”

Laurehér stayed a while longer and they talked of old times as well as things to come. Their final farewell was difficult for both of them, but Laurehér made it to the woods on his way back home before he broke down and wept for the loss that was to come.

XXXXX

Belain – the Valar

Gwador – sworn brother