Chapter 3. A shadow arises that hates us.

In which Ereinion bristles, Glorfindel worries, Erestor squirms, Oropher muses and Círdan is his usual accommodating self.

Oropher woke up to the unexpected sound of exasperated hisses that sooner called to mind the harsh bickering of a couple of angry finches than the proverbial silvery ring of elven voices.

“Come on, you grumpy boar, are you afraid of water?”

“Mind your mouth, sapling, or you’ll find yourself planted in one of those oversized boats...”

“They are called ships, Idhren…”

“Who cares? I’d rather explore those forests where they say strange things are going on…”

Oropher groaned and looked up at the reddish canopy, where his guards welcomed the new day. Last night he had spent a long time in the library after Elrond and Erestor left, reading about Gondolin *and* its Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, and puzzling over the fact that a lord with the same name was now serving in Gil-galad’s court. Tired of pondering that strange affair, he had retraced his steps back to his quarters, wondering idly whether Bronadel was actually back.

He had found his two guards happily settled under the mighty rowan trees in the courtyard, their comfortable chambers forsaken for the steady breathing of the trees and the familiar vault of the stars. He had joined them gladly, and had listened to Bronadel’s tales about his newly found family, watching the lively glitter in the young guard’s eyes as he spoke of the relentless dance of the waves and the mighty ships that carried their people over the Sea. Idhren listened with mild amusement and ill-concealed interest, and by the time Oropher wrapped himself in his cloak against the welcoming trunk they were discussing a morning escapade to the shipyards.

“Bronadel, make sure that grumpy squirrel does not drown,” he called out tauntingly now. Soon a rain of ripe berries showered him. He looked up to see Idhren’s serious face peering from one of the lowest branches.

“And you make sure that you do not get lost again, my lord,” the Silvan guard warned with a mocking grin, jumping nimbly to the ground. “What are your plans for today?” he asked then, as Bronadel too came down, straightening his tunic and fastening his belt.

“More meetings, it would seem,” Oropher sighed.

“I hope that you will be free by sunset, my lord,” the younger guard chimed in. “There is a very moving ceremony going on at the main quay, I’ve been told, and you will also be welcome to attend...”

“We shall meet there,” Oropher grunted, entering his chambers with a frown.

So his guards were welcome to Gil-galad’s private celebration while he almost had to force his presence there? Oropher was not in a very friendly mood as he made his way to the main dining hall for breakfast, but as soon as he opened the door he was suddenly immersed into the other subject that had puzzled him since last night: the golden elf lord.

“We are not here to discuss the eventual shortcomings in the King’s military strategy but to find solutions to the problems that we now face, Lord Glorfindel!” Gil-galad sounded exasperated as Oropher entered the hall. “You must remember that this land was supposedly free of evil, when we settled down here,” he continued, fighting to keep his irritation under control. “This is a small realm; we do not have the numbers to keep the wide leagues of Eriador under constant watch, so we weaved a net of alliances, that in case something arose we would be informed!”

Oropher made his way to the long side table, biting back an amused chuckle at the perplexed look in Glorfindel’s face. The king and his counsellors seemed to have been working over breakfast, for the table was covered in maps and parchments and several pieces of fruit seemed to have been used for signalling strategic places. Oropher helped himself to a full plate while discreetly listening to the debate that took place at his back.

“And it is working most properly, my lord,” the elf lord agreed mildly. “All I meant is…”

“We have almost finished updating a map of western Eriador, with the position of the last attacks,” Elrond chimed in cheerfully, in a brave attempt at appeasing the king. “And Hîrvegil and I have been working with Chieftain Baghan regarding the eastern lands...”

“Good job, Elrond. I bet Lord Glorfindel finds your initiative worth of praise,” the king grunted crossly. “Perhaps he will volunteer to check their accuracy on the field, since he finds our maps so inadequate.”

Oropher took advantage of the dense silence that followed to walk to the main table and take a sit beside the troop commander, who hurriedly gathered his maps to make room for Oropher’s breakfast.

“Good morning, my lords,” he offered brightly. “Did I miss something?” Several heads nodded tensely towards him.

“Barely,” Círdan observed from the other side of the table, carefully cutting an apple into strikingly symmetrical pieces. He leaned forth and shook his head. “I must agree with Glorfindel, though. These maps are good for nothing. How long since you last updated this?”

“I do not think many mountains have arisen since we last traveled east, Círdan,” Erestor grunted, feeling personally affronted. “And we have detailed sections from Ost-in-Edhil to Tharbad…”

“According to Chieftain Baghan, half of these forests do not exist anymore,” the Shipwright insisted, pointing at several places in one of the parchments.

“Updating those maps presently is our main concern, as I have just said,” the king grunted, casting a resentful look at Círdan’s suspiciously amused face.

“Merenel can help you there. Our charts are more accurate than this, even if we map from the sea-shore.”

“You are most gracious, as always, my lord.”

“Glad to be of service…”

For a moment Oropher almost pitied Gil-galad, knowing how infuriating Círdan could be, and how immune he was to fierce looks or frowns. The King must have remembered it as well, for he soon stopped trying to glare a hole into the mariner’s forehead and turned his attention to other matters with a deep sigh.

“I have asked Taurlong to estimate how many companies from the Home Guard can be devoted to oversee the troubles in Nenuial and the rest of the road to Ost-in-Edhil and Khazad-dum. We must know if there is a connection between those attacks and the troubles in Eregion and beyond the Mountains,” he said, casting a grave look at Oropher. “I hope you will help Elrond and Hîrvegil with the outline of the lands around the Great River…”

Elrond chimed in before Oropher could object.

“I thought our main concern was the East…”

“It still is. But we must know if the enemy has already gathered followers around us, lest we are caught between hammer and anvil in case of an invasion,” Gil-galad explained grimly.

“The scattered human settlements in Eriador would fall quickly in case of an attack…” the captain of the king’s guard pondered worriedly.

“They will not, if we manage to identify the threat, and convince them to fight together, and we can bring Celebrimbor back to sanity, and return control of the city to Lord Celeborn, so we can count with Ost-in-Edhil’s troops, whatever their might is,” the troop commander retorted. “That is why we need as many companies as you can spare, Taurlong,” he added with a wry smile. Glorfindel risked a question then.

“What about the Númenoreans?” 

Oropher lifted his head from his meal with sudden interest, in time to see Gil-galad frowning mightily towards the imprudent elf lord.

“We will need their help to convince the scattered mannish settlements to follow Hîrvegil’s plan,” the Noldorin king finally offered, gesturing vaguely with his hand.

“I see. So you do not intend to warn them about stopping their ravaging to the East, do you?” Oropher burst out angrily.

“I am assuming that Annatar is gathering a powerful army beyond the Mountains, and that he might attack us from the East, crossing through the gap beyond the region of Calenardhon. In that event, we would need the ships and strength of the Númenoreans in the haven of Lond Daer, and their fast access inland through the Greyflood, if we intend to hold both Ost-in-Edhil and Lindon,” Gil-galad admitted in a low voice.

“So they are welcome to fell down as many trees as they wish while they await said attack…”

“Amdír is a good friend and ally,” Gil-galad insisted. “And his concerns are mine. But I need to come up with a strategy that will ease Amdír’s worries without inviting the Númenorean king to withdraw his support…I would like to discuss the whole issue with you privately, Lord Oropher, as soon as my councillors have finished researching some minor details,” he added meaningfully, casting a warning glare at Glorfindel at the same time.

“I will hear you,” Oropher nodded tersely, plainly disappointed with the king’s explanations.

“That is far more than what I had dared to hope, my thanks,” Gil-galad quipped with a sarcastic smirk. “Taurlong and I are expected at the forges presently,” he added brusquely, standing up and nodding to the captain of his guard. “We’ll all meet later at the quay, I am told,” he said with a forced smile, walking to the door and leaving them to their breakfast.

“When do you think we could meet to start checking the maps with Lord Oropher, Hîrvegil?” Elrond asked with meticulous politeness. Oropher suddenly remembered the peredhel’s words last night in the library and tensed inwardly, readying an excuse.

“Not before noon, Elrond.” The troop commander seemed annoyed. “I am most worried presently with this side of the mountains, anyway… and the Druadan could help us with that, while the dwarf plays in the forge with Gil-galad and Taurlong…”

“Where is the Chieftain?” Erestor asked then. “I have not seen him this morning…”

“We met with him earlier,” Elrond explained. “And after that he said he needed time in the forest. He was not very happy with Gil-galad’s explanations,” he admitted, casting an apologetic look at Oropher. “But he said he understood his position.”

“Not an easy one,” Oropher conceded in a thoughtful voice, distracted running the whole scene in his mind again. The awed silence that followed shook him, so he looked around worriedly. “What!”

It was Círdan who answered in his gruff manner.

“You are spoiled, Oropher.” Everybody tensed around the table, but Oropher just raised his brows.

“Spoiled?”

“Ennin ago you would have insulted Ereinion for his arguments and most assuredly you would have walked away in rage…and look at you! Now you are even trying to understand his motives!”  Scattered chuckles died quickly at the dark look in Oropher’s face. He watched Círdan through narrowed eyes, then stood and walked away.

“You offended him,” he heard Elrond’s accusing voice before he closed the door behind him.

                                                    ~*~  *  ~*~

Glorfindel worried as he hurried across hallways after Erestor.

He worried not because of the clear signs of evil arising around them and beyond, or that malevolent Annatar sowing dissension in Eregion, or a new batch of dragons sighted by the dwarves in the distant cold northern mountains.

Nor because of the evil things found by Gildor in the Great Old Forest or the dangerous shadows in the woods of Lórinand, or the dark fumes in the lands to the east.

All that he had seen before: shadow and evil stalking the lands and Elves gathering together to fight it off –or die trying.

Well, they were gathering together now, and he had a wide experience both in fighting and in dying.

But he was worried by words.

That was not a strange occurrence, since he was of the Noldor, and his kin placed great value in the power of words.

So he had spent the night pondering, remembering, and pondering again.

“I am most glad to see that the position as official thorn on the King and his chief counsellor’s side has been filled by someone so talented…” The Sindarin king had pointed out merrily the night before. And then, “I must have mistaken the King’s enthusiasm for exasperation…”

And after more pondering, Glorfindel had decided to test his doubts carefully at breakfast.

And now he worried seriously.

So he had taken advantage of the sudden disbandment after Oropher’s exit and had jumped after Erestor along the corridors and downstairs to the heart of the palace, the place where some of the most important daily routines took place, in search of counsel.

“Erestor, wait, there is something I need to ask you…”

“Ask ahead, then…I suppose someone so skilled must have learnt to talk and walk at the same time at some point in one life or another…”

The narrow stair barely allowed two people abreast, and there was a regular traffic going upstairs, so Glorfindel resigned to follow the chief counsellor and almost shout out his worries.

“I... Good morning… Do not think that I am… Excuse me…”

“I do not hear you… Wait, what is that? No, I do not think we will be using that today… handkerchiefs, perhaps…You were saying, Lord Glorfindel?”

Glorfindel could not answer, pressed against the wall, his voice muffled by a huge wicker basket containing delicately embroidered napkins and a table cloth.

“Apologies, Lord Glorfindel,” the maid who carried the basket chirped merrily. “I did not see you shine your way down…Master Erestor blocks even the sun,” she joked in a loud voice that pretended to be conspiratorial.

“I hear you...”

“Erestor…”

“I am waiting…”

Glorfindel took in a deep breath and let go of it once the maid disappeared up the stairs. “Do you find me exasperating, by chance?”

“Only when you try to blind me with your most ostentatious blazing, of course,” Erestor shrugged coolly. He had reached the corridor that led to the palace laundry and turned around -and up- to face the elf-lord, who still stood on the last step of the staircase. “What was that important question?” and then, “Ah!” as he took in the worried expression in Glorfindel’s face.  He cleared his throat and looked around. “This is not the most appropriate place,” he began, as maids crossed hurriedly between them in their comings and goings.

“It is as good as any other. It is a simple question, and I’d say you have already answered…”

“No! I mean, that was not an answer! I did not take it as your question,” Erestor seemed now honestly worried. “Of course we are all very glad for your presence,” he began earnestly. “It is only that it…causes some…disturbances, tensions, I’d say…”

“Good day, Lord Glorfindel!”

“Good to see you down here, my lord!

“Oh! Thank you, Lord Glorfindel! This was most brave from your part, to finally cornering him!”

Maids walked past them hurriedly, busy with their daily tasks, and they greeted the golden elf-lord with easy familiarity. Glorfindel opened his arms and shrugged, casting a questioning glance at the chief counsellor.

“Tensions? You mean because the maids go to my chambers repeatedly pretending to change the linens when they just want to talk to me? Is that all?” he asked with genuine curiosity.

Erestor literally squirmed under his direct glance, and suddenly Glorfindel perceived an inner wave of regret and chagrin that showed not on the counsellor's usually detached front.

“Come, I think we can speak here…” Erestor led him to a small alcove in the stone corridor where bed linen, towels and table cloths were neatly piled in carved shelves.

“Look… I apologize if we have somehow made you feel not welcome here…” he began, looking honestly concerned. “These are troubled times, as you know, and while timely, your arrival is a bit…puzzling, disturbing, I would say. Perhaps sarcasm is not the best way to deal with newcomers,” he admitted with a wry smile. Glorfindel sighed.

“I meant not to complain, Master Erestor. I just want to be of help, but suddenly it dawned on me that perhaps I am imposing my presence and my abilities here…and making an annoyance of myself.” Erestor shook his head.

“Forget it. You are a valuable presence here. And if you are worried by Oropher’s words yesterday, let me tell you that you are a long way from reaching his standards as insufferable thorn on my side, although I must admit that you have the potential to get there some day,” he added comfortingly. “Oropher is also a good and old friend,” he explained then at the elf-lord’s puzzled expression. Glorfindel nodded with relieved understanding.

“And the King?” he asked then doubtfully.

“Oh, he too can be pretty annoying and infuriating when he sets his mind on it, but he is also a good, brave, decent ruler. That is why he and Oropher get together in such a genial manner…”

“You mean I better speak to him…”

“You learn quickly,” Erestor nodded approvingly. “But please, do not forget that this is Middle-earth, Glorfindel. We have learnt by force to be distrustful and to take excessive precautions...Even among our kin. You are a joy for us in your bright sincerity and openness, but also a reminder of how much we have lost,” he added more seriously.

A tall, strong maid peeked into the alcove, smiling cheerfully and cutting Glorfindel’s answer.

“Did you tell him, Lord Glorfindel?”

“If you but just give me a moment, Mistress Faelum,” he answered with a conspiratorial smile.

"Tell me what?”

“Well... you know that problem with the maids crowding at my chambers?” At the impatient gesture in the counsellor’s face the elleth vanished in a judicious move and Glorfindel hurriedly went to the point. “They were trying to convince me to tell you that they are perfectly capable of dealing with the household tasks without Miluinn, but they threatened to stop doing so unless you –and Elrond, Círdan, Hîrvegil, Taranel- stopped meddling in,” he finished softly, wincing as he awaited the explosion. It was Erestor’s turn to disconcert him, though. The counsellor broke in a relieved fit of laughter, patting the golden elf’s back as tears streamed down his face.

“Did they, now? That is the best news I heard in half a moon,” he cried between laughs. “For my part, I resign presently; did you hear that, Mistress Faelum?” The smiling face of the maid reappeared behind Glorfindel’s shoulder.

“I do. And about time, I say! But it would be of help if you passed word on, Erestor,” she insisted. “These past days have been a nightmare for the household!”

“And you had to tell Lord Glorfindel, of course…”

“Miluinn was having too much fun out of it, and I was not sure if I would be able to hold my temper, if I confronted you or Círdan,” the formidable maid admitted easily. “He has been a proper arbitrator, don’t you agree?” she added, pointing at the golden elf-lord, who smiled quite pleased of himself.

“Indeed. So good that I think I am going to take advantage of his talents right now in another delicate mission. Since my presence down here is no longer required, will you please let it be known over there while I instruct Lord Glorfindel in his new assignment, Faelum?”

“With pleasure, Master Counsellor!”  

“My thanks. See Glorfindel, you have already met Lord Oropher, have you not?” he asked as he dragged the Noldo along the corridor. A burst of cheers and laughter coming from the laundry and the gardens made him turn his head briefly and shake it in mild annoyance.

“Faelum has told them.” Glorfindel informed quite unnecessarily. “What is it about Lord Oropher, then?” he asked with an innocence that most of the times was as exasperating as he intended it to be.

“Well, you know about the project in the Map Room, since you are also part of it, if a much delayed contributor, I might add…The thing is Elrond is deeply interested in enlisting Lord Oropher’s help there, since he was a ranking officer in Thingol’s court…”

“And why doesn’t Elrond ask him?” Glorfindel had apparently surmised what was expected of him but was not beyond provoking Erestor a little more. “Elrond’s mother was Thingol’s heir, if I am not mistaken. So Amdír and Oropher should be Elrond’s allies, rather than Gil-galad’s?” he pressed then, carefully hiding his mirth at Erestor’s despair.

“It is not that simple! See, I promise you an update on those hidden tales, issues that surely did not reach Finarfin or Ingil’s ears…but I need you to convince Oropher to help Elrond there. He will not trust Elrond because of …a certain… misunderstanding, a deplorable incident concerning maps at the very beginning of this age.”

“And you think he would hold a grudge for so long?”

“Let us call it just…understandable misgivings,” Erestor answered virtuously. “But I am sure that he would not doubt you. You inspire trust, after all…”

“I will do my best,” Glorfindel promised seriously, now intrigued by the Sindarin king and his connection to Elrond. That seemed something worth exploring.

                                                    ~*~  *  ~*~

Oropher worried, though moderately, from a terrace close to the dining hall, where he had found refuge after staging his regally disappointed departure –thanks to Círdan’s tactful remark.

And he really had reasons for worrying.

To begin with, the symptoms of what he had hoped would be a local bout of shadow arising in the east had turned out to be a widespread sign of a new darkness that was growing dangerously and threatening the western lands of Middle-earth again.

Then there was the proverbial Noldorin blindness to everything except their own strategies and priorities –something he had known would arise at one point or another.

And of course the fact that, with a new shadow spreading across the whole of Middle-earth and not simply beyond the eaves of his forest, there was little hope that he would avoid being dragged into the events of the Age.

None of those things worried him overly.

He had survived many wars in his long life, and he knew that the key was being ready for what might come. He was doing what was right, now, abandoning his self-imposed exile and sharing news with the rest of the elven realms, lest his small kingdom was forgotten and thus easily destroyed when the dams were broken.

Admitting that their peaceful existence had come to an end had been hard, but he had suspected it as soon as he heard Amdír’s news about the revolt in Eregion, the restlessness in the lands and the roaming bands of Men crossing to their side of the mountains. There was little else to do but accepting what was coming and choosing the course of action that would best ensure his people’s well-being on the long run.

To be honest, he had to admit with surprise, what bothered him most that morning was Elrond’s suspiciously friendly attitude and that evening’s celebration. Or rather, what he was going to wear at that celebration, for despite the half-elf protests that it was a private, very simple ceremony, he would not suffer his dignity -that of his people- to be insulted. 

“Are you offended? It was not my intention.” So deep was he in his brooding that he did not hear Círdan approaching him until the Shipwright put a hand on his shoulder. He started and looked at the bearded, impassive face in which the grey eyes sparkled with the steady amusement of one who understood the private joke of the Powers.

“Offended?” It was impossible to be angry with the Shipwright, and besides it was a useless affair. “Nay, Master Shipwright, you were right! But you made me feel nostalgic. Those were good times, were they not?” he quipped longingly, shaking his head and chuckling helplessly.

“Well, we had just survived a gruesome war and the loss of our lands…you were not exactly thrilled by the situation, if I remember rightly.”

“Ah, but I could afford being angry and nasty and terribly mean, Círdan. Those were new beginnings, we were carefree then, when we thought we had defeated the shadow…”

“Not exactly ourselves…”

“You are right. When we thought that the shadow had been defeated and we were allowed to continue with our easy lives as they had once been…”

“Our lives have never been *that* easy, Oropher, not for lasting periods at least.”

“And what if I pretend that they have been?”

“As long as you do not believe it…”

Oropher sighed mournfully. They were standing on a wide balcony, watching the waves lapping relentlessly the base of the cliff wall. “Look at us now, being civil and polite, and even playing at being allies.” 

“It is a welcome change from when you called him Brith-galad and objected to everything he said or did,” Círdan observed merrily, trying to get a hold on his cloak, which swirled and danced most uncomfortably in the wind, pretending not to see Oropher’s most menacing glare.

“You know what I am talking about,” the Sinda complained, shaking his head. They stood in silence for a while, and then Oropher sighed in a lower voice.“Evil is back again, Círdan, isn’t it?”

Círdan’s fit of laughter was far from what he had expected, and he looked at his host in mild outrage, as the Mariner shook in mirth.

“Back?” he chuckled merrily. “But it never went away! This is Arda marred, my friend. Evil swells and shrinks in every age, and we must face the tide…or sail away! There is no other choice, Oropher, no deceiving ourselves…Come, give me a hand,” he added encouragingly, seeing the brooding look that had suddenly settled on Oropher’s face. “It is my part to check that there is wood enough on the fireplaces and in the stores in the common areas…”

“It is not easy to admit that we may be yet again facing evil embodied, though,” Oropher sighed after some time, as he followed Círdan into studies, offices, meeting rooms and kitchens, in what was apparently an unnecessary routine since everything was in place.

“Of course it is not. We felt the first stirrings when hardly four ennin of the new age had passed,” Círdan sighed, poking at the huge fireplace in the main council room and staring at the flames, lost in memories. “We did not want to believe it, but by the time Aldarion set foot on these shores, the reports from Eregion were enough to convince Ereinion to ask King Meneldur to send us any strength of Men he could spare." He looked up to Oropher with a worried look on his bearded face. "We hoped then to stem the rise of this new power, but it retreated into the East, reinforcements did not arrive...and nothing was done, although we kept our watch. Three ennin later, Annatar began sending emissaries to Eregion and Lindon. Ereinion refused to treat with him…but Celebrimbor fell into his trap. We have been expecting war since then, so that is why, despite our inaccurate maps, we know what is going on almost everywhere…except beyond the eaves of your forest, Oropher.” 

“I know very little of all this,” Oropher admitted thoughtfully. “I had no idea that things had been going on for so long.”

“We were busy this side of the mountains…and we trusted Amdír to keep Galadriel and Celeborn informed of what was going on beyond.”

Oropher nodded. He and Amdír had parted in very good terms, but he had kept his isolation strictly, until he considered it utter folly to continue ignoring what was going on before his own borders.

“I see that the watch has been kept. But Amdír will be expecting a solution," he warned.

"For the deforestation...or for the Men invading your peaceful side of the Mountains?"

"For both, as you are well aware." Oropher admitted easily. "More Men will mean more devastation in the short run, and we price our forests as they are now."

"Give Ereinion a chance," Círdan urged him. "You know well that he cares deeply for the woods..." he added, and Oropher laughed openly, acknowledging the memory.

"Well, at least he has taken good care of the forests that I entrusted to him around here," he conceded good-naturedly. "I will listen to what he has to say, and let us hope that he comes up with a solution that satisfies all involved. He has grown up into a fine king, Círdan, you must be very proud of him,” he observed with a sincere smile.

“Well, he has many talents. I like to think that we just helped him grow into what was already there. But I think that you have grown up finely as well…” Oropher chuckled ironically.

“I may be young to your eyes, but no longer a sapling.”

“Oh, I know! I mean not in years, but in wisdom,” the Shipwright laughed merrily. “Come, there are more places we need to check,” he added, guiding him to another corridor. “It seems to me that you have found your place and thus your peace of mind, Oropher, and so you are able to look with sympathy and benevolence upon the rest of Arda. You are a far more agreeable person now,” he added with an ironical smirk. “How are Sîriel and Thranduil?”

Oropher chuckled again to hide his emotion. He knew that the Shipwright was right, that he had finally found his stability and peace of mind, and that his wife and son had been the source of his strength and his most steady support through those turbulent years.

“They send their greetings. Sîriel is delighted in our new forest home, and Thranduil…he is my joy and my pride,” he added simply. Círdan smiled in understanding.

“I know the feeling. You left him in charge in your absence?”

“Certainly. He is ready for that, and also eager to prove himself of worth to our people. Tell me why we are doing this, Círdan?” he asked then, annoyed as the Shipwright continued opening doors and checking wood supplies, which were unfailingly in place.

“Oh! Our housekeeper is leaving us, and Ereinion and Elrond thought that we should oversee the household for a while, so she would not feel guilty… needlessly, of course, but the young ones thought it necessary…” he laughed, shaking his head.

“Marriage will suit him splendidly,” Oropher sentenced with a knowing smile. “Thranduil is…a different Elf since he married Gaildineth. More focused but at the same time more relaxed, as if he took more delight in life.”

“I am glad to hear that,” Círdan answered politely. “Send my congratulations to Thranduil.  Being a grandfather no doubt will be the end of you!” he poked then, as Oropher pretended to frown imposingly. “But I doubt that marriage is high on Ereinion’s mind presently,” Círdan added thoughtfully. Oropher stopped dead on his tracks, but the Shipwright did not notice. “And then, he would have to find a suitable counterpart first, someone interested as well in the business,” he reasoned.

“As if that would be a hindrance…”

“What makes you think that the House of Finwë is a preferred source of husbands, Oropher?” Círdan stopped now in the corridor and turned to look back at his Sindarin friend with a puzzled look on his eyes.

“Well…why would it not?”

“There are too many cases of them being outstandingly short-lived in the lands of hither, to begin with,” Círdan pointed out dryly, and for the first time Oropher saw the fierce, deep affection that the harsh shipwright held for his foster son.

“I am sorry,” he whispered, knowing now that he was not attending Gil-galad’s betrothal after all.

“It is not your fault,” the Shipwright shrugged and resumed walking. “Nor his, by the way. But I will not bore you with Noldorin history...Why are we talking about Ereinion’s marriage anyway?” Oropher shook his head and sighed.

“I... yesterday I went for a walk before dinner and I saw him…them... Well, I thought I had seen them,” he corrected himself. Admittedly he had seen nothing, except what he had guessed.

“Oh, I see!" Cirdan chuckled fondly. "He was having dinner with Miluinn, our housekeeper. A ship departs today at sunset," he explained while Oropher battled the urgent need to bang his head on the stony wall. "And after so many years she is finally answering the call. We will all miss her dearly, she is a relative of mine, but Ereinion was closest to her. She took care of him in his childhood, after his naneth died soon after giving birth. Her husband was killed in the Nirnaeth, and she lived with other survivors in hiding in Mithrim for several years, until they fled to Balar. During that time they fostered Tuor… And she is also Voronwë’s aunt, she took care of him when he was sent to Mithrim as a child to spend some summers there…before Turgon and his people deserted Vinayamar. But you do not know who is Voronwë...”

“Pray, enlighten me.”

“Voronwë was chosen by Ulmo to lead Tuor to Gondolin. He was the only survivor of the last ship that Turgon sent to the West in search of help…Voronwë was the son of Falmiriel, one of my sister’s granddaughters…and Miluinn is Falmiriel’s sister.” Oropher listened in silence and then shrugged.

“I suppose that I could spend more time in the library…”

“Or you could listen to the tales. There are people here who lived through those hard days. Back then, Miluinn took charge of our household… and of us. Her arrival was a blessing for Ereinion; he was distraught after the fall of Fingon…And her presence was a great joy for Tuor, as well, when the refugees from Gondolin arrived in Sirion...” Círdan's voice faded away in fond recollection.

“And she is departing now?”

Círdan sighed, opening a wide door and leading the way into a clear, clean circular hall. They nodded to a healer who sat behind a desk and followed the wave of his hand.

“The shadow is regaining strength, and many feel that they cannot go through it one more time. Miluinn battled her sea-longing for many ennin, but we finally convinced her to depart,” he sighed, opening another door and entering a plainly furnished chamber. “How is it all going, Elrond?”

Elrond raised his head from his patient's leg and smiled openly.

“Better than expected. The thigh is healed; I’ve taken away the stitches.” Oropher met Maentêw’s impassive face and nodded politely.

“Good to hear that. I want to discuss certain details with you, if you have a moment…”

“Well, yes, but...”

“Oropher will help Maentêw back to his chambers, will you, Oropher?” Círdan asked with an innocent smile. Oropher groaned briefly, knowing that he had been cleanly manoeuvred into it. Maentêw’s face looked equally delighted.

“Of course, I will take care,” he managed through clenched teeth, hating the satisfied smile on the Shipwright’s face as he walked away with Elrond.

TBC

According to the UT the first stirs of evil were felt about the year 500 of the S.A. Aldarion was king from 883, (sixth King of Numenor). Ost-in-Edhil was founded in 750 and Sauron came himself to Eregion and Lindon around the year 1200 of the S.A. The revolt against Celeborn and Galadriel took place around 1350-1400. Sauron departed Eregion around the year 1500, to begin the forging of the One Ring. The invasion of Eriador began around 1695.

Miluinn is an invented character placed in canon events. There was a group of grey Elves who fostered Tuor in Mithrim and then fled to Balar, and Voronwë was indeed a relative of Cirdan's on maternal side.   

In "New Beginnings" Oropher provoked Gil-galad calling him Brith-galad, which means "pebbles of radiance" in mocking reference to the polished stones (rather than jewels) that back at that time adorned the king's shield. 

Also, Oropher and Ereinion have an argument concerning the wood for building the fleet that would carry Elros' people West. Oropher ended up in charge of a group of foresters that showed the Edain how to care for the forests while cutting down the trees they needed for their ship building.