Chapter 1. Sent by the Valar? 

In which Oropher returns to Lindon after more than a thousand years, only to find out that some things never change…while others do.

Lindon, year 1545 of the Second Age.

“Well-met, and welcome to Lindon, Lord Oropher, your arrival is most unexpected.” Círdan greeted the three travel-worn elves in the wide yard before the stables with an apologetic grin.

“Unexpected indeed, I can see that you are totally unprepared, Master Shipwright,” the Sindarin lord grunted, dismounting with a tired smile and accepting a goblet of spiced wine from a pageboy, as stable hands took care of his and his escort’s mounts and two young attendants picked up their packs. “We’ll keep our bows, lad,” he warned, after one of his travel companions scared the well-intentioned young ones with a feral grunt. “My apologies, Círdan,” he continued with a sarcastic smile, wiping his mouth with a gloved hand and returning the goblet to the boy with a brief nod. “I forgot this must be common practice in this most sophisticated court, this meeting point of many races, this great city well-used to receiving travelers from the most distant parts,” he joked, exchanging an affectionate arm grip with his host. “So very different from my rustic realm…”

“You are not seeking passage into the West, I hope, for although there is a ship ready to depart, I doubt her crew would be willing to carry you and your sharp tongue,” Círdan retorted amiably, greeting the Sindarin lord’s escorts, who had been offered wine as well. “Come, follow me,” he added, signaling to the pages to lead the way into the great stone building. “The king offers comfortable accommodations for you in his most sophisticated court, if you would accept his hospitality?” he joked, stopping on his tracks before the great door and looking at Oropher with a mockingly worried expression on his face. A chuckle rumbled in the Sinda’s powerful chest.

“Of course we will!” he laughed, patting Círdan’s back. “And we will eat his food and drink his wine! We have not crossed the empty lands of Middle-earth to be kept at the doors like unwelcome intruders!”

“Have you not, now?” Círdan asked, amused by the other’s outgoing mood. “To what do we owe then the pleasure of your company, and that of your escorts?” he inquired with a curious glance at the stern, silent elves clad in green and brown who followed Oropher with the agility and wariness of wild cats.

“My guards,” the Sinda said briefly. “Idhren and Bronadel.”

“Welcome to the Havens, my friends, I am Círdan the Shipwright,” he offered kindly. “Did you really feel it necessary to come to Ereinion’s halls protected by your bodyguards, Oropher?” Círdan prodded after returning the guards’ silent bows. “He is not one to hold a grudge for long, I warn you,” he added teasingly as he guided them into the spacious, welcoming entry and into a wide passage that led to the guests’ area of the main building.

“I ignored that particular, but it speaks highly of his upbringing, my congratulations.”

“I feared that life in the forest would soften you mood, my friend,” Círdan laughed.

“It is not like you to worry beforehand, Círdan, so I’ll take that as a token of friendship,” Oropher observed merrily. “But the truth is that the lands have become unsafe, and the long leagues of Eriador are plagued with trouble and dangers,” he sighed more soberly. “And that is what brought me here, to seek consultation with Gil-galad…”

“You will have to try harder if you expect me to be your key to Ereinion’s audience hall…These are your chambers,” Círdan said then to Oropher’s guards, pointing at an open door at their left and dismissing the two boys who had just left the guests’ packs in the appointed rooms. “Your king’s are right opposite yours. This passage ends in a wide open yard that you can use at your convenience.  Please, make yourselves comfortable,” he added kindly. At a brief nod from Oropher the two guards muttered their thanks and closed the door behind them.

“A couple of talkative fellows,” Círdan observed, opening the door to Oropher’s chambers and entering before the Sinda.

“Am I not to make myself comfortable?” Oropher complained with a smile, nodding in appreciation at the sight of the spacious, elegantly furnished room and the wide window that opened directly to a green court with many trees. “I do not want to keep you from your obligations, which surely are numerous in such a big palace…” he joked as Círdan poured two glasses of wine.

“Of course, of course. But first I want to know what brings you here, in case it is truly urgent…”

“I bring a message from Amdír,” Oropher sighed, sitting on the bed and pulling off his travel-worn boots of soft buckskin. “And worrying news from the East as well. Is that urgent enough?”

“I think so,” Círdan admitted calmly. “I know that you must be tired from your journey, but Ereinion is presently closeted with his advisors and some other guests, and we were precisely debating the situation in Eriador….”

“Can I take a bath first?”

“Pray, do! Everything is ready and I’ll be waiting here,” Círdan nodded placidly, making himself comfortable on a couch and sipping at his wine. With a not too discreet movement, he kicked the mud stained boots under the bed and looked up at his guest with a bland smile. “I seriously hope that you carry some other footwear in there,” he commented.

“And I will have to see to my bow!” With an exasperated groan, Oropher searched his pack for fresh clothes and boots and hurried into the bath chamber.

                                           ~*~   *   ~*~

“So Galadriel took refuge with Amdír? We heard that much, but still I found it hard to believe…”

“Amdír has a gracious, great heart…Too big for his own good and that of his people at times,” Oropher spat quite disdainfully as he followed the Shipwright along stone-walled passages illuminated by the last rays of sun entering through the wide and numerous windows. He strode confidently, tall and self-assured as if he were at home. He wore the green and brown of the Silvan elves with the same pride with which he had once donned Thingol’s grey, Círdan noticed as he cast a brief look back at his guest and shook his head reproachfully.

“He is also a wise ruler. It does no good to ignore what is going on beyond your borders,” he pointed out, and had the pleasure to see Oropher blush. “Here we are,” he added, stopping before a tall door.

A cloud of heads turned to look at them gratefully as Círdan pulled the door open, distracted from the sea of maps that covered a wide table, Oropher had the time to notice before a strained voice greeted them with forced glee.

“Lord Oropher! It was most kind from you, crossing Middle-earth to pay us a visit after so long, and to distract us from these endless discussions!”

“I fear you are sorely misinformed, Lord Gil-galad,” Oropher rumbled in his deep voice, inadvertently bumping into Círdan as they both hesitated about the right order of appearance, thus spoiling the solemnity of his entrance. He finally followed the Shipwright into the room and nodded regally at all the familiar and unknown faces that watched him with some trepidation. “I came not out of courtesy. I bring a message and a warning from King Amdír of Lórinand, which you would do well in heeding,” he announced in a serious, imperious manner, meeting the steady, appraising, faintly amused gray gaze of the Noldorin king.

“Of course -how could I think? Please do take a seat; you must be tired from your long journey… Let me introduce you to the company. Our dear guests, this is Lord Oropher of Doriath, whom we had neither seen nor heard of since he left these shores in the early years of this age…But, thankfully, we have our sources,” Gil-galad said courteously to his audience. There was no trace of mockery in the Noldorin king’s voice, but Oropher caught the brief, defiant glare he flashed at a golden-haired Elf sitting at the most distant corner of the long table. “Elrond, please?”

“Lord Oropher gathered a host of followers and traveled to Nenuial, and then crossed the Misty Mountains around the first ennin of this age,” the half-elf informed the rest of the table. “He dwelt in Lórinand for some time, among the people of King Amdír, and around the eight hundredth year he crossed the Great River and established an independent settlement among the Silvan elves of East Lórinand,” Elrond added with an effortless smile.

The peredhel had grown into whatever his duties were in Gil-galad’s court, Oropher deduced from the half-elf’s position at the king’s side, the exquisite cut of his clothes, the easiness with which he addressed the audience and the dim air of welcome in his courtly manners.

 “An independent kingdom, Lord Elrond. And I am glad to see that you too are faring well,” he returned the greeting coolly.

“Let me introduce you to our guests, King Oropher,” the peredhel went on, undisturbed by the correction. “To your left, Master Bror, from the dwarven mansions in the Ered Luin, and who has traveled extensively the lands to Khazad-dum and back. Before you sits Chieftain Baghan of the Druedain of Andrast, the lands that stretch from the southernmost end of the Misty Mountains to the coast. By his side, Master Maentêw from Eregion, whom, I guess, you knew long ago in other lands…”

Oropher had managed a stiff bow to the dwarf while glaring warningly at the lurking smiles in many faces around the table, his dislike of the race well-known to almost all present there. He had then offered a polite nod to the stumpy, broad, sunken-eyed creature that Elrond had introduced as Chieftain of some unknown people without betraying surprise or dislike at his less than favoured looks. But the sight of his former fellow captain in Doriath, the one who had refused twice to follow his leadership, first into the woods of Ossiriand and later to Nennuial and beyond the Mountains, almost broke Oropher’s studied composure.

“Of course,” he said, nodding curtly to the dark haired, wan and pale-looking Elf who sat closest to the door. “Although Captain Maentêw always managed to get on the wrong side of things,” he added with a scorn that was hard to disguise.

“I hope that does not mean at this moment, Lord Oropher,” Gil-galad observed evenly. Oropher slowly turned his eyes from his former friend’s face.

“So do I, my lord Gil-galad, so do I.”

“You already know Merenel, who is in charge of the fleet; Hîrvegil, the troop commander, Erestor, our chief counselor, and Elrond, our herald,” Gil-galad continued after a brief, tense silence, pointing at his advisors. “Last, but not least,” he waved lazily to the golden-haired Elf sitting at the other end of the table, opposite to Maentêw, “Lord Glorfindel.”

For a fleeting moment Oropher met a pair of unbearably bright eyes that could only belong to an Exile, and he stared at the fair, glimmering face that radiated wisdom and inspired trust. He searched his memory furiously, trying to place the name and the face among the survivors of Sirion, to no avail. So engrossed was he that he almost missed Gil-galad’s question.

 “…As Círdan surely informed you, we were discussing the situation in the lands to the East, so perhaps your message could be delivered now?”

“It would save us time,” Oropher agreed. “Although, I must warn you, Amdír’s words were somewhat harsh…”

“I trust you to deliver them in the most offensive manner, Lord Oropher,” Gil-galad sighed. “Please, go on, it seems we are short of bad news lately…”

“Well, perhaps some background knowledge would be needed…”

“If you deem it absolutely necessary…”

“It would be useful for better understanding. The realm of Lórinand lies beyond the Misty Mountains and around the Great River. Its boundaries to the north…” Undeterred by Gil-galad’s subtle hints, Oropher launched into a detailed explanation of the disposition of the lands, only to notice that the attention at the table wandered off quickly to the maps, the goblets, the weavings on the walls and other matters of equal strategic significance.

“Here, this is Onodrim Galen –Fangorn Forest. Its northern borders meet Lórinand’s southern ones…” Maentêw’s voice rose above the rumour of conversations that buzzed around the table, showing a hurriedly sketched map to Lord Glorfindel. Oropher cleared his throat pointedly and looked around with plain disapproval.

“So, as Elrond said, you moved beyond the River on the year eight-hundred, Lord Oropher? Is that not the date when Galadriel moved from Lindon to Eregion with a host of Noldor?” Glorfindel asked then, looking at the exasperated Sindarin lord with genuine interest.

“I wonder if that was a coincidence!” Merenel’s malicious comment came out too loudly amidst the sudden, slightly guilty silence that had followed.

“My father was a child in Khazad-dum when Celebrimbor first met Narvi,” the dwarf chimed in from Oropher’s side. “It was earlier than eight-hundred, I reckon…”

“We are not truly interested in the exact dates –we already know, actually. I’d move forth to the bad news,” Erestor suggested in a helpful whisper, addressing Oropher over the dwarf’s head.

“We have been discussing the layout of the lands this and the other side of the mountains for a couple of days now, Oropher,” Elrond informed him from the other end of the table, “So perhaps…”

“But we do not have yet a precise outline of the forest lands beyond the Anduin,” the troop commander objected, discarding Merenel’s dismayed groan with an imperious gesture of his hand.

“I can see that your councils are as orderly as they used to be, Lord Gil-galad,” Oropher blurted out finally, looking around in hopeless exasperation. The Noldorin king nodded silently, as one who has received a compliment, but could not hold back a minute grimace.

“I am sure that Lord Oropher will gladly give you a hand with the maps later, Hîrvegil,” Elrond tried to appease the troop commander, “but I suggest that we allowed him go on with the facts for now…”

“And I can also train your scouts to actually keep out of sight when watching a road,” Oropher offered with a wide, innocent smile. “I will help you with the maps as long as you join us, Lord Elrond,” he added with malicious glee, emptying his quiver in one single assault. “You are very talented at map-drafting, if I remember rightly…”

“That is Erestor’s gift, I am still an apprentice” the peredhel retorted quickly, placing a restraining hand on the troop commander’s arm, who seethed at the insult. With a convincing glare, he managed to freeze the chuckles around the table. “Do not let us distract you from your report,” he added, flashing a wolfish smile to the Sindarin lord.

“Indeed. I settled down East of Lórinand in the year eight-hundred and seventy; almost an ennin after the Noldor arrived in Eregion. The population in those lands consists mainly of scattered groups of Silvan Elves and some of the Teleri who did not cross the Misty Mountains during the Long March. They lead nomadic lives and roam a great forest area, east and north. Among them there are tales of a vast shadow that covered the mountains once, long ago, and then disappeared. They also remember the first migrations of the Edain. Until the Fall of Beleriand they led easy lives, little disturbed by the events west of the Mountains and in the north of the world. But since then, they say, the song of the forest has changed twice in their reckonings.” An interested silence sat over the audience, and Oropher could feel the tension brewing around him.

“Twice?” Only Círdan dared interrupt.

“So they claim. Their measure of time somewhat differs of ours, but we have been able to establish that some time around five-hundred of this age the first signs of disturbance were felt in the forest.”

“Felt by the Silvan?”

Oropher cast a long, pondering look at Elrond, but it was the strange, stone-like creature who answered the half-elf’s question in a harsh, guttural voice.

“By the forest. Change in the water. Stone. Wind. The Druedain felt it as well.” Oropher winced for a moment at the creature’s halting, deeply accented Sindarin but recovered quickly.

“Exactly. That is what the Silvan report. The song changed to an ominous tune, the wildlife vanished from certain areas of the forest, in which the trees became dark and twisted and plainly…dangerous. The waters sang differently as well… It all disappeared about four ennin ago. I know, for I felt it myself,” he explained. “It seemed as if the forest had bloomed all over, and glades that had been barren or gloomy for ennin suddenly flourished and thrived. But that lasted not long, I fear.” He paused for a moment to enjoy the attention and then continued. “About fifty sun-rounds ago…”

“A moment, if you please, Lord Oropher,” the musical voice of the golden-haired lord cut him in the middle of the sentence. “You said you moved to East Lórinand? My apologies,” the elf added, raising his hands and casting a winsome smile around the table. “I am a newcomer, I am just trying to understand,” he offered by means of explanation.

“Yes, Lord Glorfindel, East Lórinand is what the woods beyond the Great River were named of old,” Oropher answered patiently.

“So you are a vassal of King Amdír’s, are you? He is King of Lórinand and you hold East Lórinand in his name?”

Oropher managed to answer calmly after a deep intake. “It is an independent realm now, as I have already stated. King Amdír and I are good friends and allies.”

“See to it that Lord Glorfindel is included in your map-drafting session, Elrond,” Gil-galad pointed out merrily, now clearly enjoying the situation.

“But surely Amdír is a vassal of yours, Gil-galad? You are the High King, aren’t you?” But for the absolute innocence in the persistent Elf’s expression, Oropher would have sworn that he was before an extraordinarily reckless warrior, rather than a clueless one.  He sat back and enjoyed watching as that silly grin vanished from Gil-galad’s face.

“Amdír is a good friend and ally,” the Noldo finally grunted. There was much shifting and throat-clearing around the table, but the next question seemed inevitable.

“And Lord Oropher?”

All eyes fixed on him, Oropher allowed his face to relax in a contained, polite smile.

“Lord Oropher is trying to deliver his messages, Lord Glorfindel.” Though courteous and controlled, Gil-galad’s cold voice had a hint of warning that Oropher did not fail to recognize.

“In the last fifty sun-rounds things have deteriorated quickly.” He picked up his tale hurriedly, hoping to delay the first kinslaying of an age that had begun in peace. “The same symptoms ail again our eastern borders, and there are greater areas of forest that have gone again wild, impenetrable, and dangerous even for the Silvan. Bands of Orcs have been sighted on the wide plains east of our borders. There are refugees arriving at our forest, Silvan elves who had always lived to the south east, and they talk of great rumour and trembling in the land, and great fires and dense fumes, and evil Men and worse creatures attacking settlements and putting forests to fire…”

The picture was only too familiar to those around him, and he knew that his bad news was not totally unexpected. 

“We keep some trade agreements with Dorwinion, a Mannish settlement in the East, beyond a great lake,” he continued, “and the reports of late have been so worrying that I finally decided to consult with Amdír. In Lórinand I heard the news from Eregion, and met with the lady Galadriel, who told us about the situation there, so in the end we agreed that the matter was serious enough to –eh, seek consultation with other elven realms,” he said, settling for a non compromising statement. “It is clear to us that some evil is lurking in the East, although what relation, if any, it has with the problems in Eregion and what we have found across Eriador actually escapes our knowledge.”

“That is what we are discussing here, Oropher,” Gil-galad nodded worriedly. “Master Bror has informed us that the roads to Khazad-dum are no longer safe, and that human settlements have been attacked very often in the past years across Eriador. He also spoke of a new danger arising in the North, but that we can discuss in detail later,” he added with a tired sigh.

“And the timing that you mention coincides as well with what we know of the movements of Annatar around Eregion,” Elrond pointed out. The troop commander assented excitedly.

“And from Lord Oropher’s reports it sounds as if he were gathering a force in the East,” he pointed out, scowling briefly at the Sinda.

“You mentioned a warning as well, Lord Oropher,” Gil-galad raised a hand to stem conversations around the table. Oropher sighed and nodded.

“Your Númenorean friends have devastated the eastern lands of Eriador, Gil-galad,” he began brusquely. “They have violated all agreements reportedly reached with you through your kinswoman, the lady Galadriel, and they have cleared out such vast expanses of once forested land than one can only think they have declared war on trees. This alone would be enough to fight them back, lest they will cross the mountains in their ravaging, but there are also other problems. They have dislodged many human settlements, fisher folks, forest men that had lived there unmolested for ennin and that are now wandering the lands, homeless and enraged. To the west they dare not travel, lest they trespass into the lands of the mighty elven king, so they refer to you,” he added, managing to conceal almost all irony from his voice. “So many of them have crossed to our side of the Mountains and more are coming up from the south, and mingling, Amdír and the Lord of Fangorn Forest fear, with the wild men that are settling in the East. It is King Amdír’s demand that you stop that wreckage, lest he is forced to make war on your allies,” he finished his tirade in a firm, admonishing voice. Gil-galad nodded silently, looking troubled.

“King Amdír’s concern is also that of Chieftain Baghan,” Elrond began after a dense silence. “The Druedain live between the Númenorean haven of Vinyalondë -Lond Daer, for you- and the Sindarin haven in the bay of Belfalas. They have also reported the same problem. Merenel could see for himself the extent of deforestation in his last journey there, and the Hîrdawar was here to discuss the problem several sun-rounds ago,” he added gently.

“To no avail, it would seem,” Oropher grunted.

“The matter is more complex than it appears at first sight…or from beyond the Misty Mountains, Oropher,” Círdan expressed his opinion for the first time.  “What worries me is the prospect that all those refugees may be allying themselves with the Annatar...and that they might be armed with the weapons Celebrimbor so foolishly allowed him to carry away when he departed, as Maentêw reported.”

“I fear that is only too likely,” Merenel sighed worriedly. “The Númenorean foresters complained sorely that these men, to whom they brought iron and taught the art of smithery, were now turning their gifts against them…”

“No doubt instigated by this Annatar,” the troop commander put in.

“Who is taking advantage of their resentment at being expelled from their lands,” Erestor pointed out warningly. “That is a dangerous hatred that will burn on for a long time.”

“Wait a moment,” Oropher chimed in, looking around warily. “Perhaps this has been discussed before, but how are you so sure that this is actually that Annatar’s doing? I mean,” he claimed, “have you got proof that he is not whom he claims to be, an envoy of the Lords of the West?”

“You have met with the lady Galadriel, or so you said, Oropher,” Maentêw began in a tense, low voice, watching his former friend intently. “Did you not listen to her words…Or did you choose not to believe her? What other proof do you need but the trouble he wrought in Eregion?”

“She spoke of a revolt and fights for power, and an upheaval in the city’s politics that displaced her from a position of authority,” Oropher glared at the pale-looking elf. “We all know how prone the Noldor are to those things…I am sorry, but it is true,” he added, flashing a quick glance at the king.

“Go on,” Gil-galad waved his hand dismissively. “You are my guest, enjoy yourself…”

“All I am asking…”

“I was there, Oropher, and you were not,” Maentêw interrupted harshly, in a voice that trembled slightly and that made Oropher cast a searching glance at his ashen, care-worn face. “You and I have both lived under the wise rule of one of the Maiar, and -believe me- this had nothing to do with that!”

“We have for long felt that some evil stirred again in Middle-earth, Oropher, and it was partly due to that reason that Celeborn and Galadriel traveled east,” Gil-galad chimed in gravely. Oropher turned his attention to his host with some effort, bewildered by the shadows of pain and fear lining Maentêw’s face. “I like nothing of what I have heard of this Annatar, from his name to his deeds, to his claims that he only wants to help us increase our knowledge and power over Middle-earth,” the king continued in a serious voice. “I have refused to admit him in my realm, and I have sent warnings to Eregion and Númenor, yet I admit that your concerns are only understandable and well-founded. What do you think, Lord Glorfindel?”

The air became still in the crowded chamber, like in a glade before a sudden summer storm, Oropher thought, as all eyes turned to the golden-haired Elf who followed the exchanges with a neutral look on his fair face.

“I agree that Lord Oropher’s concerns are understandable,” he answered carefully. “Sire,” he added, a heartbeat later.

The silence became greedy then.

“I am glad to hear that.”

It apparently took longer than it used to, to make Gil-galad lose his composure, Oropher thought idly, fascinated, as the rest of the table, by the underlying tension between the two lords.

“And what would you say to appease those concerns?” the king pressed on in a silky, soft voice. “Do you think it possible that the Annatar is, after all, a messenger from the Valar?”

They locked eyes again, and Oropher felt a subtle change in the quiet disposition of the golden-haired elf, who suddenly seemed to radiate a power that reminded him of what he had at times glimpsed in Queen Melian.

“I am not deep in counsel with the lord Manwë, Lord Gil-galad,” Glorfindel eventually answered in a low, conciliatory voice. “Yet I do know that there is little that he cannot do within the boundaries of Arda if it suits his designs…”

“Well, in any case Lord Oropher would agree that…” Erestor began nervously, but the king raised a hand.

“Come, Lord Glorfindel, you were a renowned captain once, and one who was held in high esteem in the councils of King Turgon, if the tales are to be heeded,” Gil-galad taunted him coldly. “Give me an answer that I can use, without slighting the undisputed freedom of the King of Arda, of course,” he added provokingly. “With what you have heard in these past days, and all the reports that you have went through, do you think it likely that this Annatar is what he claims to be, an emissary from the Valar sent here -or allowed to remain- so that the Elves would increase their power over Arda and would make Middle-earth as blessed as the Western shores? Do you think that may be true?”

Oropher did not heard the golden-haired Elf’s soft answer to those ominous words, busy as he was searching his precarious and muddled knowledge of Noldorin history frantically. He was still trying to place that King Turgon that had been mentioned when Gil-galad turned to him, a bit brusquely.

“So, you see, Oropher, that even one who is indeed come from beyond the Sea doubts this Annatar’s claims. Is that proof enough for you?”

He nodded. It was better than gaping.  Come from beyond the Sea? He shook his head and looked again at the strange Elf-lord with the blazing eyes then at Gil-galad, then nodded again, hating the ghost of a smirk that tugged at the king’s lips.

“Much has been discussed in these days, my friends,” the Noldorin king sighed then, his voice again pleasant and controlled. “Lord Oropher’s news only confirms what we already feared. I suggest that we leave it here for the day. In the morning we’ll discuss what measures can be taken…and we shall address the issue of the Númenorean’s careless management of the eastern forests, which King Amdír has so straightforwardly brought to our attention,” he added, rising from his chair and waving to his guests to remain seated.

“I must apologize, for another business will keep me from sharing the night meal with you,” he offered with a shy smile. “Please make yourselves comfortable, my lords, we’ll meet again tomorrow,” he said, and with a courteous bow he disappeared quickly through a side door.

“Dinner will be served in the common room, down the main stairs, at sunset. A bell will summon you there, my friends,” Erestor announced over the rumour of conversations that had awaken as soon as Gil-galad left. “Did you find your accommodations to your taste, Lord Oropher? We tried to fix a couple of trees inside your chambers, but the scouts did not warn us of your arrival with time enough…” the Nandorin counselor approached him and patted his back in welcome, grinning playfully. Oropher’s attention, though, was fixed on Maentêw, who was getting up laboriously, aided by Merenel and Glorfindel.  

“What happened to him?” he whispered to Erestor, watching as his former friend painfully straightened himself up and picked a staff from Glorfindel’s hands, giving a couple of tentative steps while leaning heavily on Merenel’s arm. As he walked from the table, Oropher could see that his right leg was splinted from knee to ankle and his thigh was heavily bandaged. 

Somehow perceiving Oropher’s gaze, the wounded Elf lifted his head and met his eyes.

“Amdír was convinced,” he spat disdainfully. “But you had to doubt. Although I suppose you’d think Amdír had been influenced by his Noldorin guest…”

“Peace, Maentêw,” Oropher sighed. “It was my right to ask.”

“Of course,” the other nodded briefly to hide a wince. “Didn’t you wonder why Amdír did not inform you before?” he spat angrily, and made for the door as fast as his wounded leg allowed.

“It is a long story, Oropher,” Erestor told him seriously. “And one you’d better get from the source. Now, shall I see you to your quarters?” Seeing that Elrond was waving frantically to his fellow counselor, Oropher dismissed him with a regal wave of his hand.

“I doubt I’d get lost in a stone building, Erestor, you have my leave,” he pronounced, enjoying the other’s glare and the fact that he had, for once, caught the playful advisor at a disadvantage.

                                           ~*~   *   ~*~

Two hours later, Oropher still walked the long corridors of Gil-galad’s stronghold. Not that he was lost, he told himself firmly, as the deep voice of a bell, probably the one that announced the night meal, reached him from farther away than he had expected.

Some time during his wandering along spacious hallways and open courts he had decided that he was exploring his surroundings, rather than looking for the right passage to his chambers, and had then relaxed. Being well acquainted with his surroundings would give him the advantage in case of…Well, just in case.

“This had to be Celebrimbor’s doing,” he muttered in contempt, leaning on a low wall that lined one of the several gardens that he had passed in his wanderings and trying to figure out his way back. The view was breathtaking, as Arien was about to disappear beyond the horizon and her trail had set skies and waters aflame in an amazing display. Grudgingly, he had to concede that the building was wonderfully and smartly contrived, taking full advantage of the tall cliff that had been Ingil Ingwion’s preferred outlook back at the time when the whole city –cities- were still a dream, and the refugees from drowned Beleriand camped in uncomfortable disarray in the surrounding lands.

The palace itself did not look as he had feared, neither imposing nor massive, and was rather a succession of different buildings for different purposes, perched and encased on different levels on the cliff and gracefully linked by gardens, orchards and bowered alleys.

At a certain point he had descended a flight of stairs and had taken a wrong turn, apparently, and now the great doors back to that section were closed and he was at a loss about the fastest way to the main building. Yet the stroll had served to distract him from his thoughts –and the ghostly memories summoned back by Maentêw’s unexpected presence.

Encouraged by a persistent rumbling in his stomach, he finally forgot his pride and questioned an Elf who was busy lighting the torches in the gathering dusk.

“Two flights up, you pass the weapon master’s lodgings, turn right and behind the stone bench in his court there is a path that will lead you fast and easy to the back door of the main hall, my lord,” the elf instructed him obligingly.

Oropher had no trouble finding the secluded path to which opened the back windows of chambers and workshops, and was hurrying along it when a beautiful voice singing a sad tune caught his attention. He stopped for a moment to enjoy the melody that floated lazily on the wings of a soft breeze from a terrace below where he stood.

“That song will always remind me of you,” the soft female voice sighed tenderly. Oropher could not hear the answer, which seemed to come from indoors, and out of curiosity he risked peering from behind the bushes that lined the path, which was actually a narrow ledge that ran over another level of lodgings that opened to a wide shelf over the cliff edge. Leaning forth precariously he caught a glimpse of sweeping silks and a dense cloak of glossy dark hair that flew freely around a tall, slender elleth who danced playfully in the middle of a torch-lit garden.

“I am so glad that we can spend this night together,” she was saying. “Look there, the sky is blazoned with stars, and all are shining so brightly… Did you command them to do so?” she asked merrily, walking barefoot on the soft cushion of grass and extending a long pale hand to her invisible partner.

Oropher was about to draw back discretely, leaving the couple to their gentle courtship, when the answer came and froze him in place.

“I willed them to remain there forever, so this night would never end.”

It was Ereinion’s voice; deep, rich and husky. Oropher could distinguish the Noldo’s tall frame as he walked into the garden and faced the elleth, his back to the now deeply amused Sinda. “But they only consented to shine brighter than ever for you tonight, my dear Miluinn, so I would not miss the sight of your face for a single moment…”

And a very demanding business you had tonight, Gil-galad, no wonder you were quite short of temper by the end of the meeting, Oropher chuckled quietly, trying to gain a better sight of the Noldo’s progress.

Just when he thought the dashing king was about to bend down and kiss his delightful companion, a heavy hand landed on Oropher’s back and almost made him jump. Thankfully, a firm handgrip on the neck of his tunic prevented him from falling upon the wooing couple.

“You are here!” An angry voice hissed. A strong arm pulled him back into the safety of the narrow path, out of the couple’s earshot, and only then could Oropher distinguish the worried features of Idhren, the eldest of his two guards.

“I was exploring the palace, I am not hungry,” he whispered in annoyance, straightening the folds of his cloak as well as his battered dignity.

“I am glad to hear that…” his guard grunted not too respectfully. “I wouldn’t like to lose you, since I have already lost Bronadel…have you seen him, my lord?”

Oropher shook his head, sighed and groaned in dismay, quickly resigning himself to the fact that the night would probably be a long one not only for Gil-galad and his beautiful lady.

TBC.

Time line and other useful information:

I am following the many drafts in the “History of Celeborn and Galadriel,” in the Unfinished Tales.

According to this, the first signals of a new shadow were felt around Second Age 500.

The building of Eregion began around 750 of the Second Age.  

Aldarion, the first Sea-going king, reigned around year 800 SA in Númenor, and was a good friend of Gil-galad. He established the Númenorean port of Lond Daer and the settlement at Tharbad, and began cutting trees there for his ship-making. It is also said that during that time he met with Galadriel, who was already in Eriador.

Sauron as Annatar first appeared in person in Eriador and Lindon around SA 1200. Gil-galad refused to treat with him but he managed to charm Celebrimbor and his fellow smiths. There was a revolt, and according to the draft I am following here, Galadriel crossed Moria and took refuge with Amdír in Lórien, while Celeborn, disregarded, remained in Ost-in-Edhil.

Around S A 1500 Annatar went away from Ost-in-Edhil to his refuge in Mordor, where he began forging the One Ring.

In the draft “Glorfindel” in “The Peoples of Middle-earth,” Tolkien suggested that Glorfindel had been sent when Sauron first arouse during the Second Age, to help those who would oppose him, and he also said that he had been determinant in the war in Eriador.

The dates concerning Oropher’s movements are my own invention, since nothing is clearly known.

The Druedain appear in ROTK as those stone- like people who guide Theoden's riders across their secret road through their forest. In the second Age they were more numerous, and some had also sailed to Numenor.