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Dearest Lirulin,
Yes, your package arrived safely and whole, despite all your worrying. My sister sends her thanks and also insists I remind you of your appointment to visit the markets in Tirion next month (she is most certainly hoping you will buy her more fabric of some sort or another. I beg you do not; her store of materials has already conquered her own chambers and the craftroom and has designs on my room).
How are the winds in Alqualondë? My mother returned recently from the Hunt and said they spotted a great storm gathering in the south. She couldn’t say if it was bound this way or not, for they soon after crossed the mountains again, but I imagine the ships will find it an inconvenience if it does arrive- unless perhaps it ought to be considered good practice for the mariners? Yes, I know, you’re not a sailor just because you live in Alqualondë. Your father is though. What does he think?
All has been quiet here of late. I spent some weeks in the Orchard; Lady Yavanna joined us at breakfast my last day there. Would you have ever thought they had such things as favorite juices? (Cherry, freshly pressed. Erdenil was a mess afterwards- there is a technique to these things! She did not know them. I do not know them either. You know, cherries seem terribly inefficient for this sort of thing. They look rather unfortunately like blood, too.)
Have you seen Histenna recently? I have news from Tirion I think you’d both be interested to hear. Perhaps I will invite him to the city when you are here next month- surely Hatsewen can spare you one day’s shopping.
Some of the elder princes are assembling entourages soon. I am curious as to who they will be seeking to join them.
Yours,
Omaruin
P.S. I heard you formally joined the Dancers! Congratulations! Please don’t break anything.
Histenna
I’m sure rumor will reach you before this, but yes. The Lord Fëanáro’s house is removing to Formenos. As one of Lord Maitimo’s men, I will go as well.
Omaruin
(Haven’t told Lirulin yet. Not sure if it’s wiser to send a note or go in person)
L-
I’ll be there. Tell H I miss him.
-O
L-
Yes, it will be fine- but only if it’s not obvious I’m sending secret notes! They’re trying their best to keep people from slipping out to the festival.
-O
Histenna, Lirulin,
I know you’ll never see this. We are well and truly committed to this course now, and the Valar themselves would not allow us back. I suppose it feels better to think I can still speak to you, even though I cut the bond myself. If I hadn’t, you would have. Word must have come to you by now: we are kinslayers. We bought these ships with blood that wasn’t ours to spend and we don’t even know how to sail. I am the most qualified mariner on my ship. Can you believe that, Lirulin? Have you heard anything more ridiculous?
I didn’t see your father at the docks. I don’t know what happened to him. I’m sorry. You wouldn’t forgive this even if you could. I don’t know if I can, either.
It’s so dark on the sea. We took supplies, but we aren’t well provisioned for a journey as long as this may prove. We lost sight of the lights of Alqualondë within hours, and what light now can come through Calacirya? The stars still shine, but they are far away and cold and they do not care for us. When the water is still, you can hardly tell where it ends and the sky begins. It might be beautiful, I suppose. Mostly it is empty.
We set sail for the lands our elder kin say lie to the east, but I find myself wondering if there’s truly anything awaiting us there. We always believed them, but we have believed many things that have proven untrue. We have made them untrue ourselves, the three of us.
The oath taken by Lord King Fëanáro and his sons called down eternal darkness. What if this is all there is?
Omaruin
Histenna, Lirulin,
Parley went as well as expected. Makalaurё makes our fourth king since the day the Trees died. May he last longer than his brother.
They say Lord Maitimo is only prisoner and not dead, but surely we are fooling ourselves if we think Morgoth will release him- even should we accede to all his demands. I suppose I must seek another lord soon.
Omaruin
H, L,
They are calling this one the moon, and the warm one the sun. They come out of the east and go down towards the west, but their light is familiar, I think- but the Trees are dead and the Silmarils are taken, so what then gives these things their light? The sun is so bright it hides the stars. For once, we are as clueless as the Grey Elves.
If they go down in the west, do they cross the Great Sea back to the Undying Lands? Do they cast their light over you, now, in the lands we abandoned?
Bah. This is maudlin again. You would think I was a poet in the old days, not a courier.
I suppose these days I am only another soldier.
O
H, L,
Forgive me my moroseness before. I was wrong to despair. Lord Findekáno has done what no other dared and now my lord is once again among us. Findekáno has hardly left his side since their return and rumor runs wild through the camps. Some things never change, I suppose.
They remind me- no, that isn’t right. They do not remind me of us, me and Lirulin and Histenna. We were… something else. More fragile- or perhaps only more untried. It’s a great love indeed that would drive someone to do such a thing, even if he’s come back changed as they are saying. Perhaps now we may move forward; we have only waited in these camps for years- sun-years, as we’re counting them now. How are they counting back home in Tirion?
Aglarant has told me a few things- more than he should, he says, but what else are friends for? He says Lord Maitimo will recover… eventually. Mostly. He says he’s learning a great deal more about scars here than he ever did in the Gardens.
O
H, L,
My Lord Maitimo is recovered… or at least recovered enough to make an appearance. The word is that he has renounced the crown of the Noldor- for him and all his brothers. I must admit, I never expected it of anyone, least of all from him. He spent such effort on these kinds of things when I served him in Tirion. I don't think all his house is best pleased, but they have made no open cause against him, so perhaps they still trust his lead.
We depart for the eastern reaches of Beleriand in three days’ time. The change of scene will be for the best, I think. The camps around the lake have grown too nervous for comfort. Larquildë says it's no better in the Nolofinwëan camp. The sooner we break camp the better. Celuin sent word from the Marchwardens about the creatures near Nan Dungortheb, but I believe we may take the northern route rather than skirt so near Doriath.
Note to self: get socks back from Larquildë before we march. Return embroidery you will certainly not finish in two days to Aglarant. See if the couriers that come from Doriath have any more of this ink; will be harder to come by soon.
Histennnnna and Lirulin
You know, after everything, we can still throw the wildest feasts. We’re calling this one the Feast of Reuniting! I know you never really cared about who served what house, but it- Histenna you have to back me up here- it matters, especially now, but it mattered then, too, and now we’re all at the same feast. They even sent some lords from Doriath to see! A whole host of other Sindar came on their own anyway. I think they snuck out as much as I did to see you at festivals.
Oh, but you’d love this part of it. There are singing contests, and some of the most complicated dances I’ve ever seen, unless it was one of those you learned from the Lady Nessa. I lost an arm wrestle to someone with the wildest red boots I’ve ever seen.
You’d love this part. I already said that. I miss you. I’m sorry. You wouldn’t like this wine, Histenna. It's much too sweet for you. I like it plenty.
Love,
Omaruin
I’m not sure construction on a place like this will ever truly be complete, but Himring is able to hold a garrison at last. Lord Maitimo has finally moved out of the camp into the high tower, and the rest of us should be able to start claiming rooms within the week.
It will be good to sleep behind walls of stone again. It’s been too long. Our tents are perfectly serviceable, I suppose, but by virtue of being tents they are drafty and block no sound and offer no privacy at all. Even if a stone room must be shared with half a dozen others, at least the wind will not threaten to tear it down around our ears.
I’m scheduled for a long patrol this week, which at least means I will be able to stake a claim in writing before the rest of the company floods the fortress. I believe Sarntal and his company are the ones we are joining this time. It will be good to see him again.
Some days I do miss being a courier, but it’s far more dangerous in these lands than it could ever be in Tirion. Sarntal and the rest of Lord Makalaurë’s cavalry handle most of the scouting and all the swiftest riders are from their ranks, but I do wish at times to see the rest of the Gap or the lands to the south more than we did in passing when we first came here. The wandering orcs and wargs roam mostly to the north; south at least shouldn’t be so terrible a journey for one or two couriers.
One of these days, perhaps.
It was only a matter of time, really, before this came to a head. Truly, we should have expected it much earlier, but the fence of Doriath does more than just defend its forests from enemies. One would already hear nearly as much Sindarin as Quenya in the halls here, but this ban has no teeth. One might only heed it if they were interested in easing tensions with their neighbors.
As it happens, Lord Maitimo Maedhros always has been quite invested in his neighbors- even those who care so little for the lands beyond their fence.
It will change little, really. I will still speak with the Sindar in their tongue. Many of them will refuse on principle to learn ours, and some will learn on their own principles. I have been considering names, however. Omaruin was what I chose when I first gave up Laiquanel, and I grew accustomed to it quickly. Some days it feels less like mine, though- or perhaps less like it belongs to me as I am now. I am a far different creature now than I was then, when the Trees still shone.
I’ve been playing with Halthel with the others. More Sindar than Noldor for certain. I like the sound of it. I think the others are having more trouble, but for once I’ve made a choice before the rest.
I went down to the great hall last night when the winds grew too loud. It seems like it must be the only place in all Himring that can ever stay warm. Lord Maedhros was there with his brother- and everyone else who couldn’t sleep, it seemed. They were talking about music. One of Lord Caranthir’s lieutenants has been staying here a few days before continuing home, and he was saying that Daeron of Doriath is the greatest singer this side of the sea.
I suspect he was only agitating, like most of Caranthir’s captains.
Lord Maedhros heard, in any event, and said rather more politely that he considers Lord Maglor the better. Whether or not Lord Maglor agrees, he hardly seemed to mind.
Rusciel- the seamstress who came up from Ossiriand- was muttering that clearly most of us had never heard Daeron play, which is entirely unfair considering how many of us were at the Mereth Aderthad. Besides, Lord Maedhros must surely be obligated to favor his brother in such matters, no?
Lord Maglor heard our debate, but he must have been in a fair mood, for he called us over to the fire and taught us a simple harmony that calls greater warmth from flame. Without the proper instrument at hand, it took three of us at once to sing it, but no charm of this sort can ever go amiss in a place such as this.
The winds out of the north are growing colder, even by winter standards.
Lord Azaghâl and the Narfanghoth have arrived for the season. Lord Maedhros announced in the hall that this was to be an amicable exchange, that we might trade technique and make stronger allies in each other against Morgoth. If he were less a diplomat, I might think he only wished to spend more time with a new friend.
If you were to see them in the great hall together, you would be forced to agree; they get along riotously well. Himring hasn’t been so lively in years.
I suppose Lord Maedhros’s plan must be working. A company’s worth of our soldiers will be selected to accompany Lord Azaghâl and his people back to Belegost in the fall. Lae insists I ask leave to join them; she says her family’s smithy is second to none and that I could have my pick of their armaments for only part of what they would charge anyone who wasn’t her friend. (I suspect she wants to trade this for yet another loss at cards. She does love to play, but I fear she hasn’t improved. At least it’s usually only to me)
Perhaps I will see how much space remains, if only to hear how many new ways Lae can deride Noldorin sensibilities in jewelry. She doesn’t care for wire-work that might as well be transmuted lace, in her words.
Laevatein says the name of this blade translates most nearly as Slight Shadow. It is finer by far than the sword I have been using- but then, this was the one I brought from Formenos. It must be one of the earliest Noldorin-made blades. I suppose it is indeed time to find something with a keener edge.
I have also discovered another wonder of Belegost: a massively popular spice derived from dried mushrooms that they cultivate in the deep caverns that I have a horrifying and, frankly, terrifying reaction to. Lae has been treating my like glass since then, but all seems well so long as I don’t consume any more of the stuff.
This may be a long winter. I’m not sure if I should prefer this to winter in Himring or not.
It’s like a poor design, isn’t it, all of the fire imagery? Fire from the mouths of worms and fire from great cracks in the earth and fire in the chest of things pulled together by a necromancer. The grassy plains are only ash and cooled lava floes- you can track the scouts by the ash clouds they throw up behind them now.
We held at Himring, but only just. Lord Maedhros led three charges from the gates and drove back even the balrogs. Lord Maglor is here, and some Men from Dorthonion, and anyone else who escaped the fires elsewhere in the east marches. We threw open the gates as often as we could, but the siege was turned upon us.
We’ve had practically no word. The hill-forts have surely fallen, if they weren’t engulfed in flame from the outset, but farther west we’ve heard very little. We heard rumor of the passing of Fingolfin. We heard that the greatest of the urulóki was seen elsewhere on the field, grown mighty now and not so easily turned aside.
Remind me to never again lament the cold in Himring.
I rode out on patrol today. We saw more of the burning wights- these I think were once Lord Maglor’s cavalry. I think I knew most of them.
We have learned by now that nothing is eternal- it was not so even in the Undying Lands. Victory, should we taste it again, will not last.
Perhaps we have a chance with this. Perhaps. If anyone can rally all the remaining armies of Beleriand and do so with any semblance of working strategy, it will be Lord Maedhros. One last great union to push back the Enemy to the mountains and his deep caverns.
All it will require is the allegiance of the Grey Elves who love us not- all the less so now. Surely even they can see that without the defenses we maintained in the March they are exposed. The Girdle has served them well so far, but it cannot hold forever, and even if it keeps out the greatest part of Morgoth’s servants, can it hold back all the fire of the flame-drakes of Glaurung’s clutch? Could it hold back Morgoth himself, were he assured all other threats in Beleriand were subdued?
The last to fall will still fall.
No, I must believe this will work. All this planning must be for more than saddle-sores and a grand display. I trust Lord Maedhros. He hasn’t been the same since the Sudden Flame, but who of us has? We were the lucky ones to survive here. We still have a fortress from which to strike out.
Did you know, I got promoted. Captain. I suppose it speaks more to how great our casualties have been since Dagor Bragollach, but perhaps someone thought I was useful in logistics. Can you believe that, Histenna? What is the world coming to?
Stars above. I don't even remember when I stopped "writing" to you two.
These are the Havens on the river Círdan’s captain spoke of? This wall-less city at the mouth of Sirion?
I sound ungrateful; I know full well who I have to thank for my survival. The wolves would have caught us on the river were it not for Seasheen and the Imroval. She knew me by sight, but she did let me board. Eventually.
Nothing has gone right since the Fifth Battle. They’ve already named it- Nirnaeth Arnoediad. I don’t think I could find my way back to Lord Maedhros’s train if I wanted to- we’ve come so far south and all the northern fortresses are falling one by one. If they still survive, they must have taken to the wilds. I would sooner stumble across the wolves of Angband than find my people again.
I suppose this is where I will remain. At least Ithilis and her friends have made it to safety… such as it is in Beleriand at the end of our age.
They say Doriath has fallen.
They say our people are responsible.
Sileär will barely speak with me of late- and she is one of the kinder ones. I’ve started covering the star on my dagger and leaving the armor behind when it is not needed. It’s the only way to get anything done some days.
I- it almost sounds unbelievable. But only almost. How could they? But ah, I know very well why they could, don’t I? Why they would?
I think it is better to go with the others out to Balar. There are a few of us from the Fëanorian hosts here. Some are deserters. Some were separated as I was. Some were sent away or sent on errands and found there was nowhere to return to.
It’s better to leave the mainland to the Iathrim for now. It will help keep the peace.
I know the Iathrirm will never give up the Silmaril, no matter what threats are made against them, not after what happened in Menegroth, but I worry. Everyone worries- even the Lady, I am sure.
I never would have called Lord Maedhros or his brothers greedy, not overly desirous of coin or jewels for their own sake. Most of them I didn’t know so well as my own lord, of course, but very few every called them misers when it came to supplying Himring or the Gap. Himring was a fortress and the Gap was open land- they hardly made great profit.
I would never call them avaricious, but there was always a strange light in their eyes when they spoke of the jewels of their father. It wasn’t greed, but perhaps it was something like the territorial prowling of hunting cats or hounds. It was almost a light- not the Treelight that lives there also, nor the fey fire that burned in Lord Maedhros most brightly after Fingon bore him back from Thangorodrim. It was older than that but younger than the Trees, some look I saw even in Formenos when the Silmarils were set on great display. I saw it also in Himring, in the long nights when the north wind tried to find all our cracks.
You know, of everyone, I think Azaghâl may have understood it best. The Narfanghoth have made as much an art of soul-crafting as ever the Noldor did.
I know better than many here what Maedhros and his brothers might be able to bring against the Havens on the river. There is little I can do with the knowledge, though, save suggest that as many as possible remove here to Balar. The isle cannot support all the current population in addition to that of the Havens for long, not with more cast-offs and stragglers and survivors arriving every day from lands farther north, but it could serve for a time. The Havens are practically undefended save by secrecy, and even that is fleeting. This is where all the flotsam of Beleriand washes up eventually.
If- when- they come to take the jewel that will not be given up, the Havens will burn. Many of them know this already.
Oh, by the Valar this hurts. It’s been too long since I saw true battle more than the skirmishes beyond the Havens. The blade wound will be slow to heal, but it’s the burns that have the most sting. Linhalwen tells me they will heal quite well if I only let them be and rest, but there is much to be done after the attack.
Most are uncomfortable with me around, too. I’m known too widely for being part of the Fëanorian hosts, no matter that I’ve been here since the Fifth Battle. No matter that I- it sounds crass, doesn’t it, thinking they ought to consider that I fought for the Havens that night. Sileär is doing an admirable job of not holding a grudge, at least. Despite our first meeting, she likes me better than most of her crew does by now, I think. She was the one who snapped that I crossed blades with Maedhros and lived… though I’m less certain how much that is a point in my favor in the eyes of many here. Perhaps they will at last accuse him of sentiment.
Ah, this isn’t helping. I should go ask Silmeniel if she needs any more hands for this salvage search.
I should have kept my thrice-damned mouth shut. I ought to know better than to speak of the character of any of the sons of Fëanor outside the company of the others of their followers who have come here- and even some of them. They rarely wish to keep company with me anyway for not denouncing them entirely, but what am I to do? They should know better, but those who never fought so far north can't understand what he achieved. I will not lie to myself or to them and say that all we did was wholly evil.
To her more than anyone save the Iathrim I should have held my tongue, who was one of our first victims. I cannot say I don't understand it- agree, even. Why should any of them trust to our mercy?
Maedhros could have killed me at the Havens when I stood in his way as he did many others, yet here I stand. Or rather, here I sit, very sore. I have known for centuries that they are none of them unmoved by mercy or pity. They know the jewel is beyond them now, but still they took the boy princes. They are no use as hostages- even if the people of the Havens or Balar had aught left that he might value, Maedhros Fëanorion is not fool enough to think they would trust him enough to bargain.
There are very few here who would take my word that no harm will come to the young lords if they were taken and kept. Perhaps it is penance for Lady Elwing’s brothers. Perhaps it is simply pity. Perhaps they begged. I wasn’t there; I was busy bleeding elsewhere. It has been many years since I saw any of those hosts last, since I last served beneath the star of Fëanor. Perhaps they have changed mightily since then; the loss of half their brothers might do as much to anyone. Perhaps they are not the same people I once knew… but perhaps I am fool enough to still have faith in them.
We will see them again- the last of the Fëanorian hosts and the sons of Elwing both.
Sileär asked what I would have done had I remained with them after the Fifth Battle.
To be more precise, she said: “But when you turned on them during the Kinslaying it would surely have been your death.” And I said nothing, and she looked at me in the most terrible way… you would think she had just learned I fought at Alqualondë again! She must have grown great faith in me these last few years if she truly believes I would have found it so easy to defy Lord Maedhros had I not been separated for decades. She took it for such a certainty.
If I had stayed? If I were still among them then? If Maedhros had kept us together and alive as all Beleriand went up in flame? I am not certain she understands why people follow one such as him even knowing full well what he has and will do. What the rest of us have done and will do.
If this were one of the nights when I might be truthful with myself, I might admit I know perfectly well what I would have done were I still in the Fëanorion’s train. I would have hated myself afterward, as I did after Alqualondë, but I know what I would have done.
Captain Seasheen would not like the answer.
A new star has risen, bright as hope and brilliant as the memory of the Trees. Anyone who saw them knows the light. Any who lived long enough at the Havens know just as well the light of the Silmaril.
They’ve begun to say aid is coming from the West. Hope is faint enough since the burning of the Havens that I will not argue in public, but we have every reason to doubt that they who swore they would not hear us will, at long last, be moved to act. They take great joy in decorating the heavens; I fear it is nothing more.
Oh, Valar, he’s his son? I knew his face was familiar, but it wasn’t until the firelight touched him that I knew, for it was the same as the campfires ever were on Histenna’s face when the three of us went out to sing and dance and spend the mingling hours together in days when my hands never knew a sword.
He says Lirulin is not his mother, though he knows her. He had no idea who I was, not Halthel of the last dregs of Beleriand, but still he named me Caranial in the field, and I don’t think he knew the irony of it until I told him my old name. Red-voiced, they mean. Caranial was for screaming at a fire-drake until it turned tail for easier prey. Omaruin was… I don’t even remember why I picked it anymore. It was bright, and it was new, and it was not the name of a young Noldor girl who insisted that if the Powers could change their own forms at will, why shouldn’t she? He was Omaruin ever after, until he was Halthel. I don’t know that I will become Caranial, but it’s a pleasing enough name, I suppose.
None of the three will return to the West, though. I will not dare that journey yet. If Middle-earth may yet endure, then I would see what else it holds.
Histenna, Lirulin,
I know not if this letter will find you, though I have some hope in sending it with Lainnest. He is the very image of you, Histenna.
I know not if you will deign to read this even if it arrives- either of you, as I’ve written two copies since Lainnest mentioned you did not live together. There is so much to say, now that there is some assurance that our words may return to the West. Most of it deserves to be said face to face, and the rest would be the work of months to write in full.
I will say simply this: I still think fondly of the time we spent together beneath the Trees. I send you my love, if you will have it, and the best wishes I can give you from these shores. I will not be returning with those who have accepted pardon. May your days be warm and your winds fair.
I send also these pigments traded for from the last of the Iathrim and a description of a Narfanghoth dance I learned in Belegost before its fall. I hope they are to your liking.
With all affection,
Omaruin of Tirion
Halthel Caranial of Beleriand