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Chapter Five – A Strange Debate

Pale light seeping in from the outer corridor and hall spilled out across the floor of the cellblock in a broad puddle of yellow glaze.  Through the grated window above, a diffused glow gently lit the walls and cast soft-edged shadows of the hard bars over the cell foyer in unnaturally straight stripes of hazy gray.  Hrassa stood silent and perplexed, looking at Celeborn, who was standing close at his side and patiently waiting... expecting him to say... something. 

For the third time in barely an hour, Hrassa found himself without words.  But this time was different.  This was not momentary shock or surprise.  Nor was it sorrow as Celeborn had assumed and it utterly confounded him.  His chest shivered.  What’s happening to me? 

It was like getting an unmistakable whiff of smoke in a gusty forest.  The breath stalls and speech is instantly halted by a gripping uncertainty inhaled with the acrid scent on the wind.  A gut-twisting anxiety pounces and the urge to flee bites deep.  But no matter what the fear, Hrassa had not let panic overrule him since becoming an adult.  He shook his head both in denial and – illogically he was well aware – to try and shake loose his tongue.

Celeborn moved his hand up from where it had been resting comfortingly on Hrassa’s back to surround his shoulders with a strong, supportive arm.  His other hand gripped Hrassa’s upper arm and the bowman found himself being dragged forward. 

“Come on,” commanded his prince and forcibly conducted him from the cellblock into the outer corridor. 

Celeborn rushed him down to the far end of the brightly-lit passage.  He could feel a fresh breeze and, eager to reach its source, found his feet.  They turned and went through a tall gate of slim, metal bars that opened to the outside.  Stepping down onto the gritty ground, Hrassa pulled free and strode into the very middle of the wide, bare space so that he might stand as far as he could from the surrounding walls.  Throwing back his head, he heaved a sigh of relief.  Being able to look up and see stars, although made slightly fainter by the city’s night glare, he was loosed from his choking anxiety and in control again.

He took a deep breath and looked to see where he was.  The smooth stone walls all around were twice his height and topped with tall, sharpened spikes.  He turned around to see Celeborn silhouetted in the only entrance.  This was an exercise pen for prisoners.  But unlike any of the older fortresses he had known, it was thankfully under an open sky. 

Celeborn began to slowly walk out of the pool of light at the gate’s steps to join him.  Hrassa turned away to stare at the dim opposite wall for he found it hard to look his prince in the face.  Only a little earlier, he had arrogantly thought himself better than his fellows for never needing to flee confinement.  But, if not brought out just now, he probably would have fainted like a helpless maiden.  Celeborn stopped to stand at his side, also gazing at the featureless wall.

“Even seasoned sailors suffer seasickness sometimes,” sympathized his prince.  “Even sailing smooth seas.”  Celeborn looked sidelong at him wanting to see his opinion of such atrocious alliteration. 

He was as yet unable to smile, but his speech had returned.  And he never could resist a blatant prompt.

“Say that thrice in a trice,” he replied, pleased at how steady his voice was although he still felt a little shaky inside.  “Thank you for bringing me to shore, Caun-anim.”  Now please, point me towards the forest.

For a few moments, they remained still and just listened; mentally sifting through the myriad sounds and accompanying smells that drifted over the high, stone fence.  Hrassa recalled how he and his prince had always been companionable hunters, whether crouched behind a cramped blind or camped on the narrowest ledge.  At those times, they could listen together for hours without any dissent.  But eventually the hunt ends and the catch must be brought home to feed the family.

“Hrassa,” Celeborn quietly asked, “who did you think the Elmoi were in this new age?”

A rush of nostalgia warmed him, settling the last nervous twinge in his stomach.  Celeborn was resorting to the conversational way he had often used in the past to try and gently lead his stubborn cogndîr round ‘bout to what he saw as a foregone conclusion.  They had often engaged in this friendly game of persuasion on winter evenings in Tol Galen’s longhouse.  Providing the Rîn and everyone else with amusement more often than agreement between themselves.  At any rate, a simplistic argument would help relieve him of his lingering unease, but could he muster up any of his old debating skills, left unused for ennin?

Start with the question.  Immediately, he realized that when Celeborn had said the Elmoi were gone, he had rather expected the clan to decline and disappear, but never the family.  Yet, that was how he had taken it.

“The high princes,” he replied.  “That is... those here in Ennor... you, Amdir and Amroth, Oropher and Thranduil, Elrond... and now Celebrian.  All descended from your grandfather. You all are the true Elmoi.  No matter the minions such as myself.” 

Celeborn turned toward him with a keen look, obviously gauging whether Hrassa was up to a challenging discussion or to take it easy on him.

“So you now address royalty as you all?” asked his prince, eyebrows raised in disapproval.  The Lord looked down his nose at Hrassa without the slightest tilting of his head.  “Shall I then say we all?” 

Sui adar, sui iell.  Familiarity gave Hrassa confidence.  His prince’s haughtiness did not indicate anger, but that he would not tolerate an apathetic defense.

“Perhaps just to be clear as to whom you are referring,” he replied, adopting a matter-of-fact expression.  He knew exactly what was coming next.

“And what of our wives?”  Celeborn stepped forward and turned to face him directly, crossing his arms.  “Are they minions?” he asked in a challenging tone.

“Yes.”  As expected, his answer did not sit well with Celeborn for this was one of many matters where his opinion had been severely contrary to his prince’s.  However, embarking down a familiar path together, however entangled, felt good.  “Even those with close kinship to Elmo were not given the powers as were given to you all.”

“Powers?  Such as?  And do not start with any silliness about charm,” Celeborn warned. 

Hrassa resented the remark.  After having observed so many of them - lived among them - he could say with certainty that the Elmoi ‘charm’ was real.  There was nothing silly about what could happen whenever his prince opened his heart to another.  That was exactly what had happened only minutes ago.  And had Celeborn not already accused him of falling to Celebrian’s charm?

“Then I shall not,” he flatly replied, smoothing out all remaining signs of emotion from his face.  Contesting the point would be futile. 

It had always been thus with this particular prince.  Celeborn dismissed this inherited trait with the same disdain that a lady without vanity might dismiss her extraordinary beauty and then proceed to veil her face just to prevent further distraction.  Most of the time, Celeborn hid his true face, if not always his thoughts.  There were very few he allowed to know him that well. 

As part of his odd humility, he did not seek the affection or approval of everyone he met.  Therefore, to many he seemed careless of their feelings.  Hrassa would say that they came to that judgment by unknowingly wanting to find favor with the Lord only to feel rejected.  So disaffection and disapproval were what his prince often received.  As far as Hrassa was concerned, Celeborn’s órë was who he was, that included the so-called ‘charm’ of his bloodline, and his hiding it seemed wrong.  Better that you followed the example of Thingol and Dior in this one thing rather than Elmo.

There was something to appreciate about Nimloth’s practical handling of her followers.  No doubt something she learned from Melian and Luthien.  Galadriel was equally capable when she bothered.  Perhaps the way ellith were raised helped them to deal better with adoration, accepting it without being an embarrassment to themselves or their worshipers.

All beside the point!  He was angry at himself.  He had allowed Celeborn to distract him and set a limit upon their debate.  Well, prisoner or ‘guest’, he would not let himself be kept in such a subordinate position that any more of his arguments could be so summarily dismissed.  Straightening up, he clasped his hands behind his back and modulated his speech in the accordingly authoritative tones of a royal messenger, which he once proudly had been.

“The Children of Elmo are the true princes of all the Lindarin kindreds, not just those of Doriath and Ossiriand.  Any of you may migrate unhindered across our borders just as the true king may call upon his peoples’ loyalty whether they be Teleri, Sindar, Nandor, or Silvan.  You all may choose a home among any of these, wherever you please.”

“And we all have always done so.  Along with our wives,” Celeborn added with emphasis.

“The Lady was not bequeathed this power by any forebear.  Not even by her mother’s father.  Olwë severed his ties with the King where Elmo did not.  The Lady is Galadriel only by your spoken word.”

“Mine alone?  It matters not that Thingol honored their kinship so well that he welcomed my lady and her brothers and not other Noldor?” Celeborn lightly scoffed.  “That Finrod was given Nargothrond and not one of our princes?”

“I remember you saying at the time that kinship was an excuse – not the reason.”

“So I did.  Another power?” 

Apparently, his prince was willing to digress about his lady wife but not her brother.  It was clear that, as in the past, Celeborn was not going to allow any examination of the circumstances surrounding the awarding of Nargothrond.  Irritating - given Hrassa’s curiosity and his own proximity to the business.  He was almost certain that Celeborn was responsible for the Noldo seemingly superceding not only his prince, but Oropher too, in Thingol’s favor.  But, there was no point in pressing this subject any more than half-a-dozen other intriguing incidents concerning the King’s dealings with the returned Children of Finwë.

“The Onodrim acknowledge only the Elmoi.”  Hrassa had always considered this very indicative.  “They do not speak with other Eldar – nor other peoples, for that matter.”

“Only because they have little reason to do so,” explained Celeborn, with a dismissive frown.  “It has naught to do with us all or even their being taught to speak by our elders.  ‘Tis just their preference.”

“You wonder at my preference and not at Fangorn’s?  But then, he is more deserving of your esteem.”  Although he spoke archly, Hrassa felt this to be true.

“Certainly,” replied his prince with a slight smile.  “And I do not forget that you and Beren were also worthy of his notice.”

“Beren had the Rîn’s grace with him.  I was merely her messenger.”  In truth, he felt quite honored to have been one of Nimloth’s heralds and a trusted agent.

“Such humility,” drawled Celeborn, calling him on his false modesty and deliberately slowing down the pace of their exchange.  “Still, you unfairly discount Beren and yourself.”  Keeping his arms crossed, he began to walk in slow circle around Hrassa, the grainy sand crunching under his feet.  “Do you wish to continue?”

“Is there somewhere you have to be?”  Of course, there was.  The Lord was too well dressed not to be expected elsewhere.  Must we go back inside?  He made to cross his own arms, but was actually hugging his chest. 

“No.  Not really.”  Celeborn had stopped behind his back.  “Let us go on.”  Hrassa was quite aware of the silent exchange between his prince and someone at the gate.  He found it interesting that Celeborn was putting him ahead of other, probably more entertaining, matters... as if Hrassa were a real guest.

“Possessed of great intelligence and art,” he said, changing tact.  “The Naugrim alone did not build Menegroth.  And long writings were made before any Golda ever returned to Ennor.  The ships of the Falathrim, not the Noldor, sail fearlessly on the open sea.  The Noldor know nothing of weavings such as the Laegrim can make nor possess a greater lore of plants.  Only one Golodrim minstrel have I ever heard to even equal Daeron and none of them can truly dance.  The Elmoi, by their actions if not by their own hands, brought these accomplishments to our people.  What’s more, no one has ever surpassed the craftsmanship of the swords made by Elmo’s kinsman.”

“There is no more genius among our people than there is among the other Eldar kindreds,” said Celeborn as he came around to once more stand facing Hrassa.  “Gondolin was built by the Noldor alone and was more fabulous than Menegroth by all accounts.  My brother was no Rúmil.  Nor was Daeron whose music, I most certainly agree, did exceed all others’.  However, there are few jewel-smiths among all the Lindar - who also do not weave mithril as well as the Noldor.  Personally, I am glad Eöl never came to Aman and there further improved his skills.  Besides our kindred’s undeserved disgrace from his crimes, there might have been a second Fëanor.  And I will add that the healing arts especially continue to improve because those of greater talents within each kindred have long shared their knowledge instead of keeping it only for themselves.  Go on if you can.”

“Generous, just, and merciful – if only sometimes forgiving.”  He threw that it for all the good it might do him later when the Lord decided what was to be done with him.

“The High Kings were and Gil-Galad is as well.”

“Cunning, if not wise, in warcraft.”  An amused smirk flashed over Celeborn’s face, telling a pleased Hrassa that his prince was enjoying himself, not just patiently taking care of his sickly bowman.

“Not all would say that was so.  Many in Ennor would press you to prove it.”

“There are tales aplenty to be told.  If Noldor loremasters ever cared to write them down for those many to read.”

“Tales never asked for.  To be told by whom?  You?  Hrassa, you might accuse most historians of unreasonably exalting the Noldor over the Lindar, but you yourself are as biased as they come.”

“Not biased.”  He purposely smiled.  “Only as helplessly loyal as you.” 

“I am not helpless and let us, at least for the moment, continue to avoid the subject of yourloyalty,” stated Celeborn, expertly covering up his humor with more hauteur. 

“Clever in intrigue.  Gil-galad himself can tell a tale of you.”

“Well, he would not within anyone’s hearing, I am sure.”   

Hrassa decided that Celeborn had had dismissive direction of their discussion long enough.  He wanted to keep the mood friendly, but before it reached its conclusion, he wanted to also have exercised some control over their match.  Since his prince seemed affable, he thought he would chance some not-so-subtle sarcasm.  With practiced affectation, he raised up his face to Celeborn’s and feigned a look of solemn wonder, infusing his next words with a tone of naive respect. 

“Of greater mind and stronger will than any Golodrim prince.”  Celeborn barely stifled a laugh, severely pressed to keep a straight face. 

“Compared to whom?” his prince asked, after a loud sniff needed to maintain his composure.  “Fingolfin?  Please!  And if you mean to say we all are more than they, would that be stubborn and overbearing or self-absorbed and tyrannical?”  All of which were past indictments of the Noldor made by Hrassa.

“Fingolfin could not call up the wind nor bring forth water from stone,” he continued straight-faced, making to appear completely confident that his rulers were far superior to any others.  “He did not hear the trees speak nor would have understood them if he even tried to listen.”

“And none of the Elmoi could ever have stood long enough before Morgoth to speak, let alone to sing.”

“Only because none but Luthien and Fingolfin were ever desperate enough to try it and see.” 

“That might be.  I certainly would not have dared it nor let anyone I cared about do so.  I would have stopped Luthien – and Beren – if I had been there,” said Celeborn, adamant. 

“Loyalty unmatched,” Hrassa deliberately went on, maintaining his aplomb.  “You all have remained with us instead of crossing into the Uttermost West – unlike the Golodrim princes.”

“There were few of them left alive,” Celeborn almost chuckled, but was able to keep to a tight smile.  “And there is Gil-galad in Lindon and Celebrimbor’s presence here to point to.  I think if you asked Elrond he would tell you he stayed not only for the sake of his mother’s people, but his father’s people as well.  Also, “ he unfolded one arm to point a finger at Hrassa “ you must include Galadriel if you insist that she is not one of us all.”  Relaxing the gesture, he waved his hand in a vague – dismissive – way.  “Really you have not said anything to make your ‘true’ Elmoiunique or rare or above any other nobility.” 

With that said, Hrassa understood the struggle between his instinct and his intellect that had blunted his speech.  It was indeed a deep and natural fear that had emerged unexpectedly to push him to the verge of panic.  And not a panic without reason.  Time to end this.

“Fair and beauteous beyond all others.”  He made himself to almost glow while uttering these worshipful words; absolutely certain of their effect.    

“Stop! Enough!” pleaded Celeborn, finally laughing aloud as he held his hands up in surrender.  “You stoop to flattery.  Oh, forgive me.”  He melodramatically brought his hand to his chest.  “You would never do that!  ‘Tis only your superstitious Nandor awe that impelled you to utter all this birdcrap.”

Absurdly, Hrassa found himself happily laughing inside himself at himself.  As he was practically born and bred to follow Târ and Rìn, his own órë probably was the reason for both his praise as well as his strange attack of panic.  Yet, he had no wish for a change of heart or to be freed from the imperatives in his blood.

“’Tis wise you never speak thus when others are around,” joked Celeborn, grinning and his eyes sparkling.  “For they would think you very foolish or under some sort of spell.”

“Why isn’t that how you keep your lady following after you wherever you trek?  Or perhaps she is just as foolish as I?”  Fanuilos!  I should not have said that!

Celeborn laughed ruefully, shaking his head, without the usual anger roused by the old insinuation that Galadriel was more than besotted with her lover.

“Hrassa, some may call you insolent, others might say courageous or possibly mad, but no one shall ever call you humble,” declared his prince.  “You are by far too proud of your faults.”  Then he quieted and became sober.  “And I suppose I am much the same.”  He repeated his earlier passed-by offer, correctly confident that Hrassa could now accept.  “Tell me of your sorrow.” 

Indeed, the discussion had been very helpful.  Hrassa clearly understood now that it was not simple loss that troubled him.  It was not what was past, but what was in the future that had so frightened him.  Still frightened him though he could now hold it at bay.

“I... feel... that if you discard your namesake that youdiscard every power.  Even though I know that isn’t possible.”  He paused, cloaking himself in his recovered dignity.  His fear was not unreasonable and he had to make Celeborn understand its cause.  “You all shall always be our princes.  But removing the badge of Elmo’s name will reduce you all to lesser people, closer to ordinary.”  He unfolded his arms and held out empty, supplicating hands to his prince.  “Mostly, I don’t want anyone, especially any of you all, to ever think that you have diminished and so then cease to be the lords your people depend upon.”  He spoke with all the sincerity he could muster and not appear manic.  ”If the Elmoi disappear... so will the Lindi.”

Celeborn’s eyes narrowed, darkening.  “You’re afraid that we demote ourselves and therefore shall neglect our people.”  Stepping away, he turned his back to Hrassa and stood, head down, thoughtful for a few minutes as if weighing the possibility.  Or dealing with the insult.  

“Perhaps, to let our sovereignty and way of life slip further into the hands of the Edain and Noldor,” he said over his shoulder.

Exactly!  Hrassa prayed that Celeborn would raise his head and boldly promise that the Elmoi had not yet vanished and would never be gone.

“Listen to me, Hrassa,” said his prince, turning back around, his eyes filled with compassion.  “As unhappy as this is for you, try to understand.”  Hrassa nodded yes; a new worry growing that what he would hear next might indeed be too sad to bear.

TBC

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Author’s Notes:

All elvish is in Sindarin unless otherwise indicated and underlined means I put it together myself – corrections and comments are welcome!

Sui adar, sui iell – ‘like father, like daughter’

Onodrim – Ents

órë – spirit (heart, inner mind) that is the underlying personality, one’s innate nature

ennin – year/years – a Valarian year consisting of 144 sun years

cogndîr – bowman Nandorin

Rîn – crowned fem., a title for the lady chieftain of the Laegrim

Târ – royal masc., a title for the lord chieftain of the Laegrim

Golodrim – Noldor

Golda – Noldo Nandorin