The Boy King
by Erunyauve
Author's Notes: Re-upload 10/07 with
minor html coding changes (I forgot to code the accents - yes, I am anal
retentive - my real life job involves checking other people's work for errors).
Regarding the name Ereinion, I had assumed the name to be Sindarin due to its -ion
ending. Quenya, however, has the same ending. In both languages the general word
for king is aran, but it differs in the plural: Quenya arani,
Sindarin erain. So how do we get to erein? There are two possible
explanations: one is that Tolkien changed his mind about the umlaut of a
in the last syllable. Earlier entries in The Lost Road, 'Etymologies'
show the a =) ei plural - adar as edeir, for
example, but revised entries show the later ending - aran is correctly
pluralized as erain. This need not have preceded Tolkien's invention of
the name 'Ereinion'. Thus, the name might simply use an old Sindarin form, not
unlikely in the flux of the language in the First Age (in fact, when the Noldor
arrived, it is likely that the i-umlaut of the plural was used only by the
Mithrim: aran + -ion would likely come out as erenion).
Northern Sindarin must have heavily influenced mature Sindarin, as shown both by
grammatical similarity and historical circumstance - it was the first dialect to
be met by the Noldor, and was the dialect of most of the Sindar who lived in
their lands. By Gil-galad's birth, something akin to mature Sindarin had
probably developed, but perhaps the ei to ai shift had not yet
occurred, or the name blended his mother's Mithrim dialect with the modern form.
(ref. Helge Fauskanger, move.to/ardalambion, 'Ilkorin' and 'Sindarin - The Noble
Tongue' and Richard Derdzinski, www.elvish.org/gwaith/language.htm, 'Northern
Dialect of Sindarin')
The second possibility is that Tolkien simply preferred the sound of 'Ereinion'
over 'Erainion'. ei sounds like English ai in 'rain'; ai
sounds like English eye in 'eye' (the opposite of what a native
English-speaking reader would expect). Thus, 'Ereinion' is properly pronounced
e-rane-ion. When in doubt, it seems best to go with the more pleasing
sound, as Tolkien's elves generally opted for phonological harmony over
grammatical correctness.
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tolkien except Arphenion, who I needed
briefly in another story and I figured would he serve equally well here.
Translations of Elvish (Sindarin, unless otherwise noted) and additional notes
are at the end of the story.
FA 474, Brithombar
From Cuiviénen to the shores of Belegaer, he had served the Valar. Among the
first to approach and trust Oromë, at the bidding of Ossë he forsook his
heart's desire, to join his grandfather's people and live in the light of the
Two Trees in the land of the Valar. [1] This fate, to serve the Vala he most
loved, he accepted when that path was closed to him, perhaps forever.
Now Círdan felt betrayed by the Powers. What terrible deed had the Falathrim
done to bring the malice of the Enemy upon them? Why must his people cry
unnumbered tears when they had neither forsaken the Valar nor sought the cursed
jewels of Fëanor? "Are the Bali now so consumed with retribution
that they have not thought for their faithful servants?" he demanded of
Ulmo. [2]
Such impertinent words might have angered the Lord of the Waters, but the Vala,
too, questioned the Powers in Valinor. In vain had he pled with them for mercy
on the innocent Heceldi. [3] Now, the fires of the Falas burning bright
behind the ships of the Falathrim, he spoke with sorrow. "Nówë, Eruchén
i vellwain nin, Valinor sees not the suffering of the elves. [4] Let not thy
trust fail thee - take thy people to Balar, and there be sheltered from the
Malice, and an apprentice will I send thee. Beyond the shadowy seas shall this
apprentice pass, that he might bring thy sorrows before the Valar."
It was not in the mariner's nature to brood; his grief would serve neither his
people nor Ulmo's purpose. His own doom, though he knew it not, would hold many
more losses and a great deal more pain. Love and duty bound him for all time to
his people, to the Sea, and to the Vala of the Deeps. Still, his love would ask
of him more than sorrow, and some deeds he would perform on behalf of his
kindred would bring more joy than sacrifice.
FA 475, Nargothrond
Meril pushed the covers aside, cold swirling around her ankles as her feet
touched the floor. She soon saw the reason - the low fires could not compete
with the cold drifting through the open door to the passageway.
Orodreth held his fingers to his lips as she entered Ereinion's bedchamber. She
was relieved to see her son's eyes calm in their glassy sleep, his mind restful
as he explored his elven dreamscape. Orodreth tucked the covers around the
sleeping child and made no sound as he joined his wife outside, gingerly closing
the door behind him.
"Another nightmare?" Meril questioned in a low voice.
"No, he sleeps soundly tonight. I sat with him for a time, and I do not
think he will be disturbed." In Orodreth's tense expression, however, Meril
sensed more left untold. They returned to their own chambers, and the elf rubbed
his hands. "But it is cold in here."
"That is your own fault, hervenn vuin," Meril chided, "for
you left the door wide open." [5]
"Did I?" he answered, preoccupied. He sat in a chair near the fire and
hung the kettle to boil.
"It would be warmer in bed, melethen." [6]
He did not answer for a moment. "I am not sleepy," he answered
finally, as her words finally broke into his thoughts.
Meril sighed and kissed her husband's golden head. "Ai, you are hopelessly
thick-headed at times." She sat in the chair beside him, pulling a warm rug
over their laps. "What troubles you so that it keeps you from your wife's
bed?"
"Something unwholesome haunts that room, Meril," Orodreth replied
finally.
"It is gone?" she asked, alarmed.
"It is. I was able to drive it away - it does not have the strength it once
had, but it bides its time, it heals itself. It will not remain powerless
forever."
Rather than press him to explain his riddles, Meril left the cozy warmth to take
the kettle from the fire. Returning with the tea, she settled herself again,
patiently waiting.
"I begin to reconsider Melian's advice. Mayhap it would be best to send the
child away," he continued at last.
"You have told me nothing of this," Meril said in surprise and no
little anger.
"I did not think it necessary - my heart would not heed her message."
"And now?"
"I see the danger, melethen. He is only a small boy. He knows this thing
only in his nightmares, but I have stood in its shadow, and it is real." He
stroked her hair absently as his thoughts led him unwillingly to their unhappy
conclusion. "This fate that has been given to him I understand not, but it
is a heavy one and we can ignore it no longer. Melian's words prove true - he is
not safe here."
"He is just a little boy. Whatever fate may await him, he is now just a
little boy," Meril reminded him, dismayed.
"He is a little boy whose dreams are haunted by Morgoth's most evil
servant. Think you that a Maia fears a little boy without reason?" Orodreth
questioned.
"And where do you think to send him that is safe? Beleriand lies in ruin.
He has as much protection here as any other place. Here, with his family,"
Meril said firmly.
Orodreth did not answer immediately. Were it within his means, he would take his
family away from this place. Even in the wastes of Araman, when still a young
elf, he saw the suit against Morgoth to be without hope, doomed as Námo
foretold. Nargothrond could not stand forever. 'Ai, Fingolfin, you were right to
despair!' he thought. He was a king now, however, and he must save Nargothrond
or perish with it. "Balar," he answered finally. "There is an
enchantment there, it is said, for of it came the isle that brought the Quendi
to Aman. Even Sauron cannot cross those waters, for Ossë protects it
well." [7]
Meril rose from her seat, her eyes dark with anguish. She had borne their
children in a time of peace, but that peace came to ashes on the slopes of
Dorthonion when their son was hardly more than a toddler. Recalling the upheaval
of her youth, before the Noldor drove Morgoth's goblins from the shores of Lake
Mithrim, she was loathe to allow the will of the Enemy to disturb her own house.
Yet, once again they must be separated, perhaps forever. She took her husband's
hands. "Tell me, that you see no other way. Tell me, that we endanger him
by keeping him near to us, and I will submit."
Her answer came in Orodreth's long silence. "Else I fear not only for him,
but for what may be."
FA 512, Balar
The forge comforted him, recalling the simpler days of his childhood. Ereinion
perched on a stool at Celebrimbor's worktable, transfixed by the Fëanorian's
skillful hands.
"You have the loyalty of the people of Nargothrond - you are your father's
heir," Celebrimbor said, pausing after he poured the molten copper into a
mold. He looked up and met Ereinion's eyes. "I do not presume to take your
place among them," he said earnestly.
Ereinion understood; the other elf worried lest he perceive that Celebrimbor had
usurped his rightful place among his father's people. "You mistake me. You
brought them to safety, and when first you arrived, I could not have led them. I
was too young."
'And it was too painful to be near them,' he thought. For a time he sat in
silence while his kinsman held raw gems to the light, his well-trained eye
selecting the one best suited to the cut he needed. Strong hands, yet of
infinite delicate control. He was reminded, oddly, of his grandfather, of the
gentle hands of iron that had held him when he was tiny.
"Celebrimbor, what am I to do?" he broke his silence. "These
people are not at fault. They followed their lords out of loyalty, or love.
Nearly all Finwë's house has perished, yet the Doom will not leave us. Perhaps
the Noldor are meant to have no more kings of our house. What have we brought
them but loss and suffering?" The young elf looked at him plaintively
through the brilliant blue-grey eyes of their patriarch.
The son of Curufin knew well such remorse. His grandfather's line had been
proud, once, the name of Fëanor revered, not cursed. Celebrimbor longed to
restore his house to its former glory, to make amends for the wrongs his
forebears - that he himself - had done. Likewise must young Ereinion set to
right what had gone horribly awry. Through pride and recklessness had the
princes of the Noldor led their people into sorrow, slavery and death. Small
wonder that the new High King doubted his fitness to be so named.
He set his work aside and moved a chair to sit before Ereinion. "We are of
the first families of the Eldar, Artanáro. To rule is in our very blood."
He squeezed his kinsman's hands. "All they want from you is hope. And
perhaps, now that the crown has passed to an innocent, the Valar may have pity
on us all."
FA 476, Balar
The pot-bellied stove wheezed out a heat that nearly took the damp chill off the
air. Had those gathered before it been mortal, the damp might have raised some
complaint, but it did not greatly distress the two elves. Nonetheless, they had
drawn the bench close to the stove, to sit as near as they might to the warmth.
Since they had come to Balar the Falathrim had forsaken their beloved craft of
shipbuilding, for they must have shelter; they must build quays on the island
and at the mouth of the Sirion. The needs of his people, as they reconstructed
their lives as best they could, had so preoccupied their lord that he still had
no home of his own. This he did not particularly regret, for he lived on his
ship, within the sea that so enchanted him and near to the Vala he loved. Now
the young elf had come into his care, he must think of making a home. He
considered this with a glance at the little Noldorin prince, who sat on the far
end of the bench, bent over his lessons.
Ereinion ignored his attention, feigning indifference also to the mariner's
songs and tales of the Falathrim. Círdan thought the youngster willfully
withdrawn from him, and could not truly blame the child. Scarce security could
he expect from his elders when cast among strangers for reasons Ereinion little
understood.
The elf-child worried him. 'Too quiet, too unmoved by what should interest a
young mind,' he deemed. The youngster did as he was told - he worked dutifully
at his lessons and learned to adjust the sails on Círdan's boat with equal
aptitude - yet the ancient elf saw no spark of curiosity, no unbounded desire to
know all there was to know. Unnatural, it was, in any elf, more so in a child.
Nothing Círdan did would draw the young elf out of himself. It would be better,
the mariner mused, to hear the young one complain. Such apathy, elves thought,
came of an unhealthy mind. Moreover, separation of a child from his parents was
a tremendous grief to both. Somehow, he must bring the young elf to speak of
this grief, lest it consume him.
Ossë, as it turned out, had his own plans for Círdan's home, and when the new
year signaled that Arien had at last regained dominance in her dance with
Tilion, the Maia led him to the place he had chosen. [8] Upon return to his
moorings, much pleased by Ossë's selection, Círdan's sharp elven ears alerted
him to a sound faint, yet anomalous to the lapping of the tide. Silent feet
carried him around the breakwall, surprising one small Noldo, crying out his
misery. ''Tis just the moment I have waited for, if I guess rightly,' he
thought. The elf-child jumped up and tried to wipe away his tears, but Círdan
caught him. "There, little one, 'tis no shame to cry."
Ereinion wriggled from his grasp, his red eyes and hitching breath the only sign
of his earlier distress. "I am too old to cry."
"Who told ye such a thing? 'Twas not your father, for he is wiser, I
know." Círdan sat down against the breakwall and beckoned to the child.
"Tolo! Pedo! [9] What troubles ye?"
Reluctantly, the elf came to the mariner and sat, but in silence. "You are
homesick, I wager," Círdan probed.
A hitch in the child's breathing was the only response.
"Tell me of your family. It is long since I last came to Nargothrond. How
does your sister fare?"
"She…not so well, Nana worries for her, since Gwindor died."
The elf's lip trembled. [10] "Everything is just so awful. I wish - "
"What, child?"
"I wish it could be again as it was." Ereinion lowered his head and a
fall of tangled hair hid his face, though Círdan could see his shoulders
shaking. He rubbed the child's back, which seemed to be soothing. He wished he
could offer more hope to the little one, whose short life had seen such anguish.
He knew in his heart, however, that more trials awaited the young elf; more
trials awaited all of the Firstborn.
"I cannot tell you this can be so, for ye know better. Nor can I promise
that the future shall hold no more pain. 'Tis mine to keep ye from harm, for the
purpose Ilúvatar has made for you, and because your parents sent ye here in
love."
Ereinion looked forlornly through fresh tears at the ancient elf. Could not Círdan
assure him, at the least, that he might again see his home? Círdan's heart
nearly broke; the elf-child's doom lay beyond even the knowledge of Ulmo, and he
would not make empty promises. He could offer only his own love. "Ye are
not to be bereft and alone, tithephen," he soothed. [11]
The crying child allowed the mariner to hold him, and at last out of tears, he
leaned his head against Círdan's chest with a small sigh of acceptance. Círdan
stroked the little elf's silky hair, wondering at the stirring in his heart.
Amid his keen awareness of Ereinion's pain, sharp as a knife to his breast,
there awoke what had so long been denied him by his singular path, the twin joy
and sorrow of parental affection.
FA 495, Balar
Ereinion lifted his sister in a hug.
"Ai, muindoren, [12] you are no longer the little elf I knew!"
Finduilas greeted him, laughing.
He frowned. The elf-maid lacked color and her eyes had not the sparkle of days
past. "And you are less than you were."
"Oh, I am well enough. Do not concern yourself." They started to walk
down the pier toward Círdan's home. Her eyes brightened as she looked about the
busy port. "The Enemy seems so far away here."
"How fare those at home?"
"Oh, there is little of note to tell. Naneth [13] has sent a great
packet of lembas for you - she is certain that there is none to be had among
this fishing folk, and that you are in great danger of starvation. She would be
greatly surprised to see how you have grown," Finduilas laughed. "I
think you shall be as tall as the Sindar." [14]
"Well, she is right that the Falathrim cannot make it as she did. And Adar?"
[15]
"Oh, he is much occupied. He worries too much and loses sleep. Naneth
thought to send him here with me, that he might rest. We still play at chess
each morning, else I would hardly see him."
"Is he still so terrible?"
"Indeed," Finduilas giggled. "I do not think he will ever best
me. He always starts out well, but he begins to doubt himself, and thenceforth
comes his ruin."
Ereinion stole a sideways glance at his sister, pleased to see that the sea air
seemed to have already restored some of her natural color and vivacity.
"The sea agrees with you, muinthelen." [16] They had at last
reached the end of the pier, and Finduilas was puzzled, seeing no house or path.
Her brother pointed westward. "Tirio ennas!" [17]
Finduilas looked, and saw a tall lighthouse standing a league out into the sea.
"And are we to swim to it like fish?"
"You can if you so wish, but me, I shall make use of this boat." He
stowed her baggage in a little rowboat tied to the pier. The tide was out, and
the boat hardly needed the encouragement of the oars as it split the water
toward the lighthouse.
When they alighted at the little island on which the lighthouse stood, Finduilas
looked about her in delight. "It is like a fairy story," she sighed.
Ereinion did not hurry her, knowing his sister's fondness for flowers.
Nargothrond was beautiful as only the Noldor and especially Finrod could make of
stone, but few living things would grow in its depths. The garden that grew
nearly wild around the lighthouse - save where they had pruned it back to make a
picnicking lawn - was magnificent. Red seregon, [18] pink campion and
orchids in a riot of color grew amid a tangle of mangrove trees and willows, and
ivy had started the long climb up the building.
Círdan's home might not be so grand as the hall Arphenion had built in the
hills of Balar, but the lighthouse stood as nearly in the sea as a building
might stand. In spite of its function as a guide to ships, the tower had a
homely air to it. High at the top, a gallery encircled the light and mirrors of
its beacon, and an elf could see far on a clear day. Leaning against the rail,
Finduilas looked to the southwest, fancying that she could see the Pelóri on
the horizon. "Do you think we will ever see Aman, Ereinion?" she asked
wistfully.
"I do not know," he answered honestly. "Such things are hidden, I
think, even from Círdan."
He wondered about the fate of Turgon's ships, sent forth some six years past. Círdan
had doubted the fleet would reach the Blessed Land, but said only that Ulmo's
designs had yet to unfold. "Hope may arise from its own wreckage," he
said cryptically.
Ereinion's hunger for tidings from home remained unsated, and after a meal of
seafood, the siblings walked in the garden. "What tidings have you of our
kinsman, Celebrimbor?"
She frowned. "I see little of him; he leaves his forge but rarely. He
wishes the bridge unmade. Yet he avoids Gwindor, though he is of like mind. I
think he fears to ally himself against our father's judgment."
"Gwindor? But how - "
"He has been in Angband," Finduilas said quietly.
Ereinion shuddered. "I think I would sooner die."
Finduilas paused, looking out over the sea. "I believe Gwindor would have
it so. He is much altered, you would not know him now." They walked on
again, distress written in the elf-maid's fair features.
"Is this what so troubles you that you have grown pallid and thin?"
Ereinion questioned his sister gently.
Finduilas plucked a blossom from a cascade of magnolias and appeared to study it
intently. "My heart is troubled, yes, but for its faithlessness. I love
Gwindor not as I did, and love another now more, yet the other returns not my
affections."
They sat down on the little lawn to watch the stars open. "Does Gwindor
feel as he did when you were betrothed?" [19] her brother questioned.
She nodded miserably. "Therein lies my fault."
"Poor Finduilas!" He kissed his sister's cheek. "I am glad that
you are here. Perhaps you may forget for a time this burden."
"Yes, let us speak no more on this, muindoren."
For his sister's peace of mind, he did not press further. Yet his dreams came
uneasily to him that night, his mind disturbed by his sister's strange words
concerning disharmony between his father and his most loyal advisors. He
wondered greatly about the state of things at Nargothrond.
A flash of silver caught his eye and he turned to see Ereinion climbing the
final steps to the gallery. A fine elf had taken the place of the little waif
who had come to Balar. He had grown tall, after the height of his mother's
people, and showed the slender build and graceful features of his father's fair
clan. His hair, however, bore the mark of his guardian. Círdan's footman had at
last cured the youngster of his tangles, weaving the elf's hair into a single
tight braid. In the style of the Falathrim, a silver cord curled around his
raven tresses, protecting them from the salt air. However much Círdan's folk
loved the sea, like all elves they also loved beautiful hair, and they wrapped
their braids in a variety of colorful cords and scarves against the salty air.
Pride in the son he had taken into his home and heart tugged again at his
resolution to consider only the best interests of his ward.
"You look at me strangely," Ereinion observed, an amused smile playing
on his lips.
"I was only observing what a fine elf my tithephen has become."
Ereinion heard the unsaid meaning. "You do not want me to return to my
home."
Círdan stroked his beard, considering his answer carefully. No longer a child,
Ereinion had now the strength to repel the Maia who stalked him. Though Sauron
remained still a shadow of himself, he would reemerge in time, and the young
prince was somehow tied to his downfall, of that Círdan felt certain. He now
saw that his charge could not return to Nargothrond; he felt intensely that
Ereinion must not return to Nargothrond. "Egleriannen aen Ulumo, ni si
genin," [21] he murmured.
" 'Twould be a lie if I told you otherwise," he answered finally.
"You have become dear to me, as a son. Yet I know you would return to your
folk, and I do not blame ye. I ask, though, that you stay, though your heart
yearns for your home, for there is danger awaiting ye, should you return."
"And is there not for my sister and my parents? Our people?" Troubled,
Ereinion sought the mariner's eyes, to see what truth lay behind his words.
"That is not shown to me," Círdan evaded. "For you, only can I
answer." Disaster loomed over Nargothrond, yet he knew not enough - not
then - even to send warning. 'Trust in me,' he pleaded silently.
Ereinion's face betrayed his turmoil. Foolish would it be to spurn the ancient
elf's advice. Yet, duty called him to his father's people; love called him to
his father's side. He swallowed hard. 'I put my hope in your far sight, Odhron-veriol,'
[22] he answered in the same silent manner.
Círdan released the breath he had not known he held. He prayed that his ward's
trust be not misplaced. He feared Ereinion should not forgive him if his family
were lost. Yet he hearkened to a greater voice, to one who loved the elves, even
the seditious Noldor, and therein he placed his faith.
FA 512, Arvernien
'That I did not question Finduilas further,' Ereinion reproached himself. He
stood at the rails of the ship, transfixed by the ripple of water spurned by the
boat's swift travel under a strong wind. No - he had hardly come of age when his
sister left Balar. Orodreth would likely have paid no more heed to his son's
misgivings than he paid to Círdan's messengers, sent forth in the spring of the
next year. Círdan had done all he could to save Nargothrond, and Ereinion knew
now that the Lord of the Waters himself had warned against his return to the
fated city.
A favorite of Nienna, being like her in his patience and gentleness, Orodreth
had left Valinor reluctantly, having no reason but love of his kin to forsake
the Valar. Yet he fell nonetheless under the Doom of Mandos, and the Noldo
despaired of any help from the West. Still shamed by his ignominious defeat at
Tol Sirion, Orodreth heard the whispers of many of his people and their growing
doubt in their King. Not even Meril could disarm the demons that assailed her
husband's confidence.
The elves were to "become as shadows of regret before the younger race
that cometh after." [23] So Mandos had spoken, and Orodreth came to
believe that the hope of Arda lay not in the Firstborn but in the Aftercomers.
Alas, this belief - not unfounded, as would later be seen - put Nargothrond in
the hands of a mortal with more pride than wisdom. Like many with dreams of
glory, Túrin mistook prudence for fearfulness and regarded those who doubted
him with suspicion. Thus did he discredit the wise counsel of Gwindor and
persuade Celebrimbor to keep his silence; thus too were the messengers of Círdan
scorned and even the Vala, whence came their warning, disregarded.
Ereinion blinked, realizing that the water had stilled around the boat. He would
shortly meet with Túrin's cousin. He would sooner have met with Idril, but Círdan
insisted that he speak rather to her husband. "Tuor has served Ulumo
faithfully, and him did Turgon choose to watch over the Gondolindrim," the
mariner said firmly. High King though he might be, Ereinion recognized in his
foster father's voice a tone that left no quarter for dispute.
The first building of the Gondolindrim grew half-finished from the west bank of
Sirion, near the harbor. The long hall would eventually serve as a gathering
place, but now would provide shelter. Ereinion watched the man and elves at
their work until a presence made itself known. He looked to his right and found
his Peredhel kinsman at his elbow.
The child was tall as no elf would be at such a young age, and his eyes had not
the grey tone of the Firstborn. His ears, however, identified him as a son of
Elvenkind, [24] as did his heavy silken hair, the liquid gold of his Vanyarin
grandmother. The child observed him shyly until the natural curiosity of his age
won over. "Mamil [25] says you are now Tar Etyangoldion."
[26]
Small need had Ereinion for Quenya among the Falathrim, and though he had
studied it, and recalled it from childhood, for Orodreth and Finrod spoke at
times in the High Speech, he extracted the tongue from his memory with some
difficulty. Ereinion crouched down to the child's height. "Yes, I suppose I
am."
"Can I see your boat?"
Ereinion smiled at the little one's fluid change of subject. "I wait on
your father, but when he is done with his work, we shall all go to the
boat."
Waiting, it seemed, was a skill possessed by neither child of man nor child of
elf. The Peredhel hurried to his father. "Atto! [27] We are going to
see the King's boat!" Eärendil announced.
Tuor left off his work. "Well, then, you have found another boat to
explore, have you?" His steps had nearly the cat-like grace and softness of
the elves as he crossed the distance between them.
"Do not let me interrupt your work," Ereinion protested.
"It is no matter - they will do well enough without me. What can the sons
of Hador tell the Noldor of masonry?"
Ereinion stiffened slightly; he had forgotten the man's kin for a moment. They
walked in silence to the boat, and Eärendil soon attached himself to the ship's
captain. His elders descended into the hold.
"You distrust me, son of Orodreth," Tuor said, in the language with
which both elf and man were more comfortable.
Ereinion was startled at the man's perception. "Am I so transparent?"
"That even a mortal might read your thoughts?" Tuor pressed.
"I intend no offense," Ereinion answered honestly.
"Then let none be taken. Trust too generously given has brought disaster
upon our peoples, Tórnë." [28]
Ereinion listened as well as he might to the man as he told of the concerns and
needs of Turgon's people. He heard his words, but also studied Tuor's gestures,
his expressions and listened to his tone of voice. Something in the man was
familiar to him. More than familiar - comforting. He shook his head to clear it.
Was he so credulous?
' "...Tórnë" '
' "Fingon, Tórnë, i-Nargothrondrim le huilannar." ' [29]
His mother's incisive accent echoed in the reaches of his memory. "The
elves who fostered you, they were of the Mithrim, no?" Ereinion
interrupted.
Tuor caught himself in mid-sentence, surprised. "Indeed, of the North, in
the lands I am told were held once by Tôr Fingolfin."
A son of the elves, Círdan had named this mortal. The man was more than his
blood - though cousin to the proud and foolish Túrin, he was foster son to
Annael of the Mithrim. "I am not deaf to your concerns," the elf said
quickly, returning to the matter at hand.
'Lest he believe me hopelessly distracted,' he added silently. Already he had
found such a preconception in Fingon's steward, who clearly mistook the son for
the father - his dearly missed, but too often preoccupied father. Yet, he was
son also to wise Círdan. 'What my father failed to teach me, I have learnt of
him,' Ereinion realized. The mariner was inextricably a part of him. He was more
than the Noldor who had rashly turned their backs on the Valar and led their
people into misfortune. He smiled at the deviousness of his foster father - he
understood, now, why Círdan insisted that he speak with Tuor. The wily elf
wished him not only to take the true measure of the man, but also to appreciate
his own unique qualities.
The young King spoke with new confidence, revealing what he thought might be
done to help the Gondolindrim. He had perceived the visit with Celeborn as one
of courtesy, but he saw now that he must ask more of Celeborn than friendship,
and what alliances might be forged between Tuor's people and the Iathrim
[30] must be forged by the High King. "I wish to speak to Celeborn - his
folk are not mine, but the well-being of your people and his people cannot be
distinguished," he concluded.
"The Gondolindrim would benefit greatly from ties with your folk. Winter
shall come too quickly for them, I deem, and they are perhaps more destitute
than the Iathrim when you came hither," Ereinion explained his errand.
Celeborn had come to believe that the desperate straights of the Eldar could
allow for no more discord between the Noldor and Sindar. Yet the young king
underestimated the depth of ill feeling among the remnant of Doriath. Toward the
remaining sons of Fëanor, the Iathrim held bitter and deserved hatred, but
toward all the Noldor many of Thingol's subjects held resentment. Many of the
Sindar perceived the 'High-Elves', as they called themselves, to be arrogant,
and Celeborn knew this perception was not wholly inaccurate.
"Our peoples have spoken together informally. Many search for Sindarin kin
from both lost kingdoms. Yet there be no coincidence to our meeting here at the
mouth of the Sirion." Celeborn was distracted for a moment by a small,
dark-haired girl who crept near to listen. "Come, Elwing, do not be
shy."
She was a lovely child - in her features, Ereinion thought he saw her
grandmother's likeness, and her dark hair had a peculiar silvery light. Her grey
eyes betrayed her mother's kinship to Celeborn, for they were alike in color and
shape, and she came forth at his summons.
He introduced the young Noldo to the child, who bowed her head wordlessly in
greeting and retired to sit on the floor next to her kinsman, half-hidden by his
robes.
"She is still shocked by all that she saw and will speak only in Nandorin,
her native tongue," [31] Celeborn explained.
Ereinion winced in empathy, having lost his own family, though not so young -
nor had he been witness to such horrors as Elwing might have seen.
"We have not such defenses as you have on Balar," Celeborn continued.
"Both my people and the Gondolindrim shall hardly stand an assault by the
issue of Morgoth, or…others, if we cannot unite."
Ereinion wondered whom 'others' might signify. [32] "Círdan's folk and my
own will do all that we can to protect the Havens, but we are many leagues
away."
"This I fear," the Sinda confirmed. "I warn, however, that you
will get little cooperation from the lords who have settled further north. I
have their loyalty, but not their deference. Oropher will take up arms against
any who attack us, but he has no love for the Noldor."
"Nor have the Gondolindrim love for the sons of Fëanor. I see not why the
Sindar cannot separate the deeds of the Fëanorians from the innocent among the
Noldor," Ereinion answered irritably.
"Careful, lest you commit the same crime of generalization you condemn,
young king." The silver-haired elf stood. "I fear I have other duties
to attend," he terminated their meeting.
Ereinion stood also. "You will meet with Tuor?"
Celeborn indicated his assent. They made their way to the door, little Elwing
following furtively behind. As Ereinion took his leave, Celeborn spoke again.
"Your father had ties to Doriath of which few knew. He corresponded in
secret with my King Thingol and his lady Melian, [33] and it was upon their
advice that your people lived by caution and secret until Túrin came among
them.
"Do not blame the son of Húrin overmuch," Celeborn continued, seeing
the Noldo stir at the name. His eyes took on the far-seeing gaze Ereinion so
often saw in the eyes of his foster parent. "The curse laid upon his sire
by Morgoth brought your people and my king to bitter ends, yet by Húrin's
silent valor did Gondolin stand just long enough. By their jewel and ours shall
come the hope of both our peoples."