SO IT BEGINS - Chapter Two

FA 359

Along with the usual missives relating to the state of the leaguer on the various fronts, came a most welcome invitation. The King of Nargothrond smiled delightedly and sent word for his Steward to attend him at his earliest convenience.

Edrahil hastened to his King’s chambers to discover the details of this sudden summons. Barely pausing to rap lightly on the massive oaken door, he entered the spacious apartments, concern clearly written on his fair features.

Finrod came to his feet and closed the distance between them, extending the message scroll for his Steward’s perusal, then turning about and striding over to the ornate chest against one wall.

Raising the lid, he lifted from its recesses a small object; unwrapping it he cradled it tenderly in his powerful hands. Gazing down at the diminutive though exquisitely detailed toy dog, memories both sweet and painful intruded into his mind.

When first they had come to these Hither lands, many had hoped to establish realms of their own, following the defeat of the Enemy, but the reality was far different. Trapped in his nigh impenetrable fortress, they nonetheless suffered frequently from incursions and stealthy raids by the minions of the malevolent Vala, Morgoth, and so the vague dreams of sending for his beloved, Amarië, and the bringing forth of children faded from his hopes.

Now, however, there was one to whom he would bestow this precious gift; Bregor, son of Boromir, of the House of Bëor, newly established as Lord of Dorthonion. Swathing the toy in a cloth of soft wool and replacing it in the chest, he returned his attention to his steward.

Eagerly he spoke to Edrahil, “Make ready for a journey, dear friend. We go to celebrate the arrival of this child.”

Edrahil did not return the look of enthusiasm.

“My Lord…” he began, but was halted by a wave of Finrod’s hand.

“I know, Edrahil, now that we are responsible for so much, and so many, the freedom to hearken to the call of our desires has been supplanted by duty. Allow me to slip the fetters for a time.”

The almost pleading look on the face of his King was more than Edrahil could bear, and he burst out in merry laughter.

“Ah, Finrod, the elfling still dwells within you, both in expression and in longings,” Edrahil commented lightheartedly. “Consider, my friend. Winter is nigh upon us and travel increases the probability of hazards in already perilous lands.”

The look of disappointment on Finrod’s face tore at the heart of his Steward. As if seriously pondering the dilemma, Edrahil frowned before speaking with carefully selected wording.

“You had mentioned the need for a visual inspection of the lands between Nargothrond and the lands defended by your brothers, Orodreth at Tol Sirion, and Angrod and Aegnor on the Northern Marches. This would be deemed a worthy expedition. It could be extended to include a call upon the new Lord of Dorthonion,” Edrahil suggested. “Even your least daring counselors could hardly deny your obligation to determine the security of our borders.”

Finrod added thoughtfully, “And since we four would be gathered together it would be suitable to call upon our dear sister, Galadriel, strengthening our bond with Menegroth.”

Once more Edrahil laughed aloud, Finrod joining him.

“Nonetheless, Finrod, late spring would be the earliest such an expedition would be approved.”

Finrod with a rueful look nodded in agreement, and walked back to the table laden with documents, requests, lists, and assorted other items all relating to the governance of the extensive realm of Nargothrond. With a sigh he sat and continued his least favorite obligation: the wearying and often thankless task of maintaining and protecting a vast and varied domain and its diverse peoples.

*******

FA 361

As circumstances dictated, they were hindered the next sequence of seasons, spring and summer, autumn and winter by constant demands on time and resources requiring the personal consideration of both King and Steward. So it was not until late in the spring of the second year that the company of elves headed north.

Orodreth rode out from Tol Sirion with his personal shield-band and together they followed the River through the narrow mountain pass, skirting the Fen of Serech and along the rolling plains close by the high lands of Dorthonion. At the first of the hill-forts scattered among the gently climbing foothills of Dorthonion a messenger was sent hastily to alert the elven defenders to the imminent presence of the King and his entourage.

*****

Clear and bright was the horn-call from the woods announcing the imminent arrival of the elven company. Men hurried to the tall gates, some climbing to the top of the walls to watch for their guests approach; a cluster of children eagerly gathered near the entrance.

Bursting from the tree line came four tall, dark-grey horses each bearing an equally well-matched golden haired rider. Manes, high-lifted tails, long elven braids and cloaks streamed behind them, whipped by the passing wind. Fanciful headstalls with decorative reins adorned the elegant heads of the steeds, the riders clad in shades of greens and browns. Each stride seemed to increase the speed of flight over the open field and the men at first thought the elves fleeing from pursuit, so quickly they gained momentum.

Close enough finally for mortal eyes to see more clearly, the men observed the laughing faces and realized that it was a race for pleasure, not of fear. Cheering as one or another of the horses for an instant took the lead, the men on the walls called down to the gatekeepers to open the gates, and the children to stand aside.

Swifter yet the horses came, urged by the elves to greater speed, youthful enthusiasm and high-spirits obvious to all now, sweeping down upon the gate, wide now in welcome. Just as it appeared they would rush four abreast beneath the high arch, they swept aside, two to the right and two to the left, circling around to form up into pairs, and, at a smoothly decorous trot, made their entrance.

Sharp-eyed watchers called out that the rest of the company had emerged from the trees and, at a more sedate pace, were to join them soon. The armed escort and several pack animals made good time across the level ground. A double count of seasoned warriors hand-picked by Edrahil, steward-herald who now bore aloft the sun-tailed banner displaying the harp and flame of the King of Nargothrond, rode as guard and guide for the four sons of House Finarfin. 

Before long the gateway was alive with the sounds of greetings, both of elves and men, with glad voices calling out to each other. In a knot off to the side stood the children, the youngest restrained by their elders, awaiting the high treat that always was theirs when elves came to visit.

Leaping nimbly from atop their restive horses, the elves beckoned to the troupe of expectant young faces and placing the children upon their steeds, sometimes four of the smallest to a horse, led them to the pen designed to hold the animals of guests. Though not a few of the children squealed with delight or bounced with pleasure, the responsive elven horses displayed their usual calm manners while transporting such precious burdens, placing each hoof carefully and softly that no little one might be dislodged by accident.

Boromir, Lord of Dorthonion, strode briskly toward the holding pens to greet his King. Upon discerning which one was Royal among the tall golden elves, he dropped to one knee, and held his hands palm up and head bowed in the gesture of welcome for his liege-lord as was the common practice among his people. Long, slim fingers rested lightly on his dark head in acceptance, and in a richly-accented voice acknowledging the fealty of this Man, Finrod spoke, “Lord Boromir, son of Boron, son of Baran, son of Bëor, heart-friend of my realm, let us stand not on ceremony. This visit is one of celebration and giving thanks for the new life in your House.”

Boromir rose and clasped arms, warrior fashion, with Finrod, then beamed broadly and stated proudly, “My son, Bregor, is now more than two years with us and his sister joined him but five months ago. So dear friend it is with pleasure we will unite in celebration of both these children into my House.”

Finrod nodded knowingly, but his brothers nearly gaped at the startling news that children would come with such shocking proximity.

Golden heads bent toward each other, the brothers exchanged a thought, How can this be, this rushing forth of children? To fully nurture each child and enjoy the journey from babe to adult is the greatest deed an elf can accomplish, and the hurrying thereof would be a dreadful risk with so new a life.

*****

For the next few days men and elves alike busied themselves with the hunting of large game for the celebration feast, the young boys bringing in a fair collection of smaller game animals, the women and girls harvesting fruits, nuts, greens and grains. Together they prepared the bounty, the excess to be preserved for the cold winter months. To the surprise of many of the men, the four royal brothers, along with many of the elven warriors, happily displayed their aptitude for food preparation, turning out dishes varied and delicious as well as fanciful.

Appetites were assured as the tantalizing aromas wafted through the air, so when at last all was ready and the tables laden with the array of foods there was a plenitude of eager feasters. Various beverages were provided; hearty Dorthonion beer, robust Ladros ale, pale-golden Nargothrond wine and, for the young, a flavorsome blend of fruit juices.

Dancing was favored among the later activities, with the elven males being much sought after as partners by the young women of Ladros. Having refrained from the latest dance, Aegnor and Angrod stood discussing the merits of the beer and ale provided by their hosts, when a sharp tug on one of his long festival-braids drew Aegnor’s immediate attention. Affronted, he whirled about to reprimand the offender, his frown turning to a delighted grin when he found his hair was grasped by a tiny human hand. Sparkling eyes alight with joy he bowed slightly to the young woman holding the babe while trying to untangle the minute fingers from the silky golden strands.

“Pardon, my lord,” the female blushed in confusion, “it would seem my daughter has seized upon a treasure and is loath to release her hold.”

“Ai, lady, I am captured by the beauty, as well as by the hand, of your daughter and would, if you will, bespeak this next dance,” Aegnor laughed gaily. “That she has laid claim to me is not in doubt.”

Happily the babe came to him, clinging still to her prize and as he moved fluidly in close proximity to her mother, Aegnor whispered words of praise for her endearing charms that instantly won his heart. Long had it been since he held so young a child and though dark-haired this little one brought to remembrance his sister, Artanis, the golden glory of their family.

Stopping short, he was barely in time to avoid a collision with a small lad whose glaring face and tightly crossed arms spoke of obvious anger. “Mine!” the boy growled, unfazed by the vast difference in age and height between them.

Smothering a grin, Aegnor still holding the babe, squatted down to face his accuser. The lad pointed to the child, “Mine,” he repeated.

“Certainly you are already fierce defender for this lovely lady. What say you we share in the task of protecting her from hurt and evil things, you within the fortress and I in the surrounds?” Aegnor offered.

Still not willing to trust this strange being holding his sister, the boy continued to ponder the wisdom of such a pact, taking in the stature and size of the other, then solemnly put his arm out warrior-fashion to clasp forearms with the elf. Smiling, Aegnor stood and together they faced the concerned mother.

“May I know the name of the babe I am to guard from harm?” Aegnor asked, with a glance at his youthful companion.

“Andreth, she is named, my lord,” then acknowledging her son she added, “Bregor, her brother, is her champion.”

A gleam of humor lightened his eyes as he queried, “Then you would be Lady Anthel, wife to Boromir?”

“You have my name though I have not heard yours as yet, lord.”

“Aegnor I am called, Lady, and this,” he included his brother in the sweep of his hand, “my brother, Angrod. Together with Orodreth we are the male siblings of Finrod, and sons of Finarfin. Our sister, Artanis, dwells within the guarded realm of Doriath.” An unhappy look crossed his fair face at the mention of her name, but he continued, “We travel on to visit her in Menegroth and its environs.”

Reluctantly Aegnor handed the child to Lady Anthel, the tail of his plait slick with moisture from having been tasted repeatedly by the time he returned her to her mother’s arms. Gazing at the tiny babe he uttered softly, “Artanis now has no need for the champion of her youth, but to you Andreth, I pledge my sword and heart and life, that you suffer no misfortune during the days of childhood and beyond.”

Bowing deeply he collected his brother and headed for the area of the archery contest.