Chapter 4. The Unforgiven: Part One

Decades had passed since last time Morgoth caused significant damage to the Noldor. Of course, that did not mean the Dark Lord never tested them after his bitter defeat of Dagor-nuin-Giliath. A great army of Orcs once was sent swarming towards the highland of Dorthonion, where Angrod and Aegnor were stationed. Some of them even broke through the Pass of Sirion and the Gap of Maglor and entered Beleriand. But in the end it only served to give the Noldor the glory of Dagor Aglareb. Fingolfin and Maedhros did not 'wander abroad with little thought of war' as the Enemy had expected. As the main host of the Dark Lord was attacking the sons of Finarfin, troops from Hithlum and Himring closed in from west and east and crushed their foes like iron between hammer and anvil.

He remembered how they pursued Orcs across Ard-galen and destroyed them to the last. It was then that he came to understand why his father had made such a rash decision of going deep into the dark realm with only a few guards. Let the foul blood of evil creatures spill under bright blades. Let the limbs of filthy monsters break under thundering hooves. And Huan was never far from him. The hound of Valinor mercilessly slaughtered all enemies in his way. But Maedhros signaled a stop when they approached the border of Dor Daedeloth, where Curufinwë Fëanáro was surrounded and made his last stand. Instinctively, he looked west. Beyond a field of riders bearing the Star of Fëanor, across the grey and barren plain, there appeared another sea of riders led by a royal banner of blue and silver, under which King Fingolfin sat on his great white steed.

Acting in unison, Fingolfin and Maedhros left their main hosts and rode towards each other. When the banners of two houses flew together, the dark-haired king looked at the copper-haired prince and spoke first. 'A great victory.'

Without hesitation, Maedhros lowered his head to the King. 'It belongs to the Noldor.'

Fingolfin nodded. 'And the Noldor will own it, now united by kinship and friendship.'

The King spoke true. Afterwards there was a long peace, long and tedious, at least in the east. After Dagor Aglareb, Morgoth seemed to have learned the vigilance of Maedhros and turned his nose to the House of Fingolfin. Orcs came around Ered Lómin, crossed Lammoth, and assaulted Hithlum from the west. But Fingon, no less vigilant than Maedhros, had already received tidings in Dor-lómin before they arrived. The Prince of Hithlum waited for them at the Firth of Drengist and easily drove all of them into the cold sea of Belegaer: a clean victory indeed. Another remarkable event was the coming of an evil creature that had not been seen before: a dragon. Again, Fingon the Valiant led archers on horseback to meet him and defeated him, driving him all the way back to Angband.

He learned of those incidents. He wished that Morgoth could deploy such things to the east someday, for he felt he was simply loafing around. Often he rode to the north through the Pass of Aglon and surveyed the vast grassland of Ard-galen from the hills of Himring, by day or by night, knowing a siege of Angband was in place: Fingolfin and Fingon on the west, Angrod and Aegnor on the south, and the sons of Fëanor on the east. It appeared that the Noldor had successfully kept Morgoth at bay, and his father's words, a promise of unclouded sky, sweet water, wide lands, and free people, had come true in the end.

Everything seemed good except the Shadow in the North. But the smoke above Thangorodrim had also become so thin that it could barely be seen from afar. Moreover, why would he worry about it? He was no longer the one who must plan for the future, for his eldest brother had taken that painstaking responsibility from him. In those peaceful days, the Dark Lord gradually faded from his mind.

We may not be watching the same land now, but we must be watching the same stars.

He gave his horse leave to wander freely and sat down next to Huan. Late at night in the ever cold wind of Himring, the warmth from the hound certainly offered comfort.

As peaceful days continued, it did not take long for the Noldorin princes to fall back on their sport of old: hunting. His favorite hunting site was the forests and fields in the south, the land of Amrod and Amras. Back in the days when they first came to East Beleriand, the twins had been unwilling to stay far away from enemy lines. Amrod even protested to Maedhros once, with Amras chiming in, but Maedhros simply smiled before speaking, despite their disobedience. 'You are sent there because you are needed there. If I am not mistaken, you two are great hunters among the Noldor.'

'No better than Turko,' said Amrod.

'Why not send Turko there then? He even has Huan for his aid.' continued Amras.

Maedhros's smile deepened. 'Because I need Turko here. He knows the tongues of birds and beasts, and it has been proven that they can be very helpful in our wars.' then he smiled no more. 'Rear and front are equally important, Ambarussa. We need to know with full confidence that the lands behind us are secure.'

The twins exchanged a look, shrugged, and then conceded.

Now riding with his younger brothers in the beautiful wild of East Beleriand, hunting, feasting, or resting at will, he saw no issue except that sometimes they might run into their cousins from Nargothrond. He held no prejudice against Finrod, but Caranthir obviously had no will to conceal his scorn towards the House of Finarfin. Even though Finrod was always diplomatic, from time to time they still parted on bad terms.

But that was no disaster as they could go to Thargelion instead. Near the shore of Lake Helevorn, on the western slopes of Mount Rerir, Caranthir built his fortress. In fact, Curufin preferred there, for it was closer to Belegost and Nogrod, cities of the Dwarves, hidden in the great mountains of Ered Luin. Caranthir had no love for Dwarves, viewing them as ugly and secretive creatures, but Curufin, named for his resemblance to their father in both appearance and talent, spoke highly of the achievements of the Dwarves in smith work. In Himlad, Curufin often spent time with Dwarves who traveled into Beleriand for trade, learning their knowledge, and in exchange he taught them the language and lore of the Noldor. Among all the Noldorin princes, Curufin probably had the most interest in them and had much more in common with them, although Maedhros also won the friendship of Azaghâl, the King of Belegost. By Curufin's effort, the Noldor benefited from the experience and skills of the Dwarves, and the Dwarves were amazed by the steel-tempering technique of the Noldor.

Thus it happened that he and Curufin visited the fortress of Rerir more often than they went to the south. Sometimes Caranthir sent an invitation, and sometimes they simply went there knowing they would be welcomed. In Thargelion everyone was free to pursue their own interest: he went hunting with Caranthir, while Curufin accommodated the Dwarves, usually along with Celebrimbor, his greatly talented son.

When a messenger from Himlad arrived at Rerir, he was practicing swordplay with Caranthir in the courtyard. Curufin and Celebrimbor were nearby, examining a Dwarf-made knife, a gift from Telchar, one of the most renowned masters in Nogrod.

'Lord Celegorm, there is something we believe you would like to know as soon as possible.' said the messenger.

'Tell me.' He twisted his wrist swiftly, diverting a powerful blow from Caranthir. Caranthir reacted instantly, sword flashing an arc both blocking his attack and posing a counter-strike.

'We have an unexpected guest in Himlad, my lord. Lady Aredhel arrived five days ago, alone.'

With a loud clang his sword flew out of his grasp. Caranthir was more confused than excited for winning so easily and Curufin, previously appearing indifferent to the arrival of the messenger, now looked up.

'Is she not staying with Turgon?' He said, feeling that his heart skipped a beat. 'In a city that only its dwellers know where it is?'

'Lady Aredhel indeed came from the Hidden City, my lord. She said she came to see you, her brother and friend of old.'

Like all the water in Helevorn was splashed on his face, he suddenly felt icy cold. Brother and friend. She must have chosen those words on purpose, she must have. 'I come to see you now, but there is nothing different than before' was what she meant to convey to him. That must be her purpose.

'Then I think we should prepare to go back.' Curufin stood up, took the knife from Celebrimbor, and set it on the belt at his side. He sounded calm and casual, leaving no trace for others to speculate what was on his mind.

'Wait.' He hardly recognized his own voice. Curufin raised an eyebrow, but Caranthir was still busy wiping off sweat from his forehead, paying no heed to what he had said.

'Why go back in such a hurry?' he said, after regaining his self-control. For a moment, he even wished that he could be one of the House of Fingolfin, because, if that were true, he would not have had to muster all his courage just to appear lighthearted. 'Do you not have the plan of meeting the Naugrim from Belegost, Kurvo?'

Curufin looked at him for a while before speaking. 'You know her very well, Turko. She may not have the patience to wait, even for you.'

It would be better if she had it not, he thought bitterly. But what if she does? After all, she had been waiting so long that her patience had gone far beyond his expectation. Now she finally came, reminding him of her, but instead of reconciling she emphasized their past, a past unpleasant for him and probably no more pleasant for her. She means to force me to face her. But for what?

He could not go back at any rate. He could not go back.

A guard picked up his sword for him, which gave him the opportunity of concealing his anxiety. He took the sword and slid it back to its sheath in a single graceful move. 'She will not mind. You know that she is our friend.'

Curufin raised an eyebrow again but chose to remain silent this time.

Satisfied with Curufin's response, he turned to Caranthir, feeling much more relaxed to speak to this brother. 'It was an accident, Moryo. I propose another match. I want no reputation of having been defeated by a younger brother.'

Caranthir snorted. 'You have never won so far, Turko, nor will you.'

'Well,' he smiled. 'We will see.' Without warning, he drew his sword and attacked, lightning fast. As several pieces of slashed laces fell from his brother's tunic, he rested his sword at Caranthir's chest, with a different kind of smile slowly climbing to his lips, far from righteous.

Caranthir was taken aback and then furious. 'What on Arda is this, Turko?'

'Call it my win,' he withdrew his sword gracefully, full of mockery. In a split of a second, Caranthir drew his own sword and stared at him. After a brief moment of silence, the clanging and scraping rang again in the courtyard.

Watching them a little longer, Curufin slightly shook his head and then left with Celebrimbor.

So he stayed at Rerir, along with Curufin and Celebrimbor. Time passed relentlessly: late spring became a blossom summer, and summer turned into a golden fall. When the cold winter arrived, his reputation of a hasty-riser was recognized by all, for he became more and more ill at ease. Then came the day when he lost control during a match of swordplay with Caranthir and wounded his brother in the forearm. But what happened next was inexplicable even to himself: he exploded with rage and blamed his brother with abandon, while he was actually the one who should be blamed.

With a temper no better than his, of course Caranthir did not take it well. If Curufin had not been informed and arrived in time, the consequences could have been disastrous and made Morgoth laugh in his dark dreams. That night he lay in bed in his own chamber, staring at the patterns on the ceiling, sleepless and absent-minded. When Curufin came in, he was not surprised.

'I will not apologize.' he said flatly.

'And I will not ask you to apologize, my brother.' answered Curufin.

He did not expect such an answer. He turned his head and saw his younger brother standing straight with a calm face, thoughts impossible to speculate. Maybe my most dangerous brother is him, he thought. Curufin's calmness was much more difficult to deal with than Caranthir's wrath. And my own people in Himlad - do they obey more my temper or Curufin's words? But he immediately dismissed these doubts, for they were groundless. Curufin had done nothing against him so far. He knew that, better than any one else.

'Do you remember what I said to you when we were still in Mithrim?' asked Curufin. 'About your decision of retreating.'

He made no answer, and Curufin continued without waiting for him to answer.

'I believe you should go back, Turko.' said his brother. 'For yourself, if not for her. Would you reconsider it?'

'That is none of your business,' he replied harshly.

At that Curufin said nothing. His brother simply took a step back, turned, and started to walk towards the door. But before leaving his chamber, Curufin spoke again, calm as always. 'I am your brother, Turko, and I mean no harm to you. Keep it in mind.'

The sound of the door closing was almost imperceptible. He turned his head back and fixed his eyes on the ceiling again, until those patterns began to blur and fade and he finally sank into Irmo's domain.

The Light of the Two Trees was shining upon the endless fields of grass dotted with flowers of all colors. Bathing in silver and gold, two riders passed, swift like wind.

'I like leopards better.' she said, dressed all in white. 'They have more grace than lions have.'

'You will see the same in their tongues.' he agreed. 'But I have to tell you, those two said your fur is too conspicuous to be a good hunter.'

She laughed. 'They might be right, but habits are habits, I do not want to change, and I cannot change. What should we do next? Another match?'

'You know you will not win.'

'I also know I will not even have the chance to win if I do not try.' she countered, and suddenly looked up. 'Wait. Look, a swan!'

'Are you certain?' he turned and looked up with her. She was right. There was indeed a large swan, with white wings and a graceful long neck, too striking to be mistaken. But knowing their nature very well, he found it very unusual for one of them to appear here, in the fields of Valinor.

Raising his voice, he called the proud bird in a tongue she understood not. After a pause he repeated the call, and she took note of the difference. 'Why did you use different tones?'

'I had an accent of the Noldor at first.' He explained, still gazing at the bird, which was now circling down towards them. 'He is not accustomed to it. He is from the city and harbour of Alqualondë.'

'Then he must be one of those given by Ossë the Maia to the Teleri.' as she dismounted from her horse, the silver ribbon fastening her dark hair into one braid flashed a bright arc in the wind. 'Ask him why he came to Valinor.'

'I would rather ask him where his mate is.' he also jumped off and went beside her. 'A swan is usually with his mate, if he has chosen one.'

The swan landed in front of them, folding his white wings gracefully. He nodded and made a gesture; in response, the swan bent his long neck and made several calls. She stood aside watching, as surprised as fascinated, for his pride, prominent and nearly tangible, had disappeared without a trace.

'You look strange.' She remarked.

He gave her a side look. 'What is strange?'

'You look almost amiable.'

'That is nothing strange.' he was puzzled. 'If you know them, you will know what they require of you: respect.'

'No,' she smiled mischievously. 'What is strange to me is that amiability makes you very...unnatural.'

Realizing she intended to make fun of him, he took a deep breath and turned back to the swan, as if the white bird had become the center of the World. Seeing him vexed, she smiled again and remained silent until he finished. 'What did you say to him?'

'Something unnatural.'

'What did you say to him?' she repeated her question, still smiling, ignoring his sarcasm.

Knowing she would make no concession to him, he sighed. 'He is looking for his mate. He has searched everywhere near the sea, and now he plans to search every inch of the fields of Valinor.'

'He lost his mate?' she was caught off guard. 'How did it happen?'

'Apparently he does not know, so I do not know either.'

'What if he cannot find her?'

'He will keep searching. Swans are like us, like the Eldar: husband and wife, once the bond is made, it will last to the end.'

'But we are not always like that,' she muttered. 'Otherwise I would not have existed.'

He did not comment at once. Instead, he reached out to the swan, which now appeared very lonely and deserted.

'For the House of Curufinwë Fëanáro, it will always be like that.' he said at last. 'My father demands it from us.'

She started to speak but uttered no word. After a long while of silence she walked past him and up to the swan, and dropped to one knee in front of the bird, looking into his eyes. When she spoke she was serious, even solemn. 'I believe you will find her. However much effort it will require, or however much time it will take.'

...You will find her. However much effort it will require, or however much time it will take...

It suddenly became cold. Clouds gathered, mists arose, and soon there was darkness everywhere, along with cold, unbearable cold. It was no ordinary cold of winter. It seemed to have a life of its own, built out of malice and cruelty, infiltrating mind and body, numbing all senses. It chilled blood and bone, killed hope and laughter, and filled the world with a terrible emptiness.

Like the Long Night of Valinor. Like the Dark he once faced outside the walls of Formenos.

What is this place? He reached for his sword, only to find it was not at his side. Fortunately there was no threat. It seemed to be still and silent all around, with no sign of life.

Little by little, out of the deathly silence, his keen Elven ears caught some sound. So strange, yet so familiar. It was the sound he heard on the white ships near Araman, but it was faint and remote then, overwhelmed by howling winds.

It was the screeching, rolling, and crashing of ice.

Why am I here? For a moment, he was at a loss. This must be the Helcaraxë, the Grinding Ice.

A light appeared then, dim, but enough to illuminate his surroundings. He looked up and saw thick clouds above had rolled aside and left a gap, revealing cold, remote stars. He made one step and found himself standing knee-deep in the snow, which stretched to the end of his sight, along with tremendous icebergs and treacherous walls of ice. On the boundless barren field, he seemed to be the only living creature.

The Grinding Ice...but he came to Middle-earth by sea and never set foot on that frozen hell in the North. Why was he here? Or, why did it feel so real?

He had no wish to stay here. He must start moving. Just when he made another step, he heard a different sound, a sound that could not possibly exist here: the thundering of hooves.

It was fast approaching, so fast that he believed it was the swiftest horse he had ever known. He turned abruptly and saw a silver mare, coming out of the night and galloping towards him, whose rider wore a cloak white as snow, billowing behind like wings in the cold wind. In a split of a second, the horse was near at hand, but the rider showed not the least sign to slow down.

After such a long time, you finally found your chance. The thought flashed across his mind like lightning tearing the night sky. With this realization, despite his instinct, he remained where he was and closed his eyes. If you wish to punish me for my betrayal, come and finish it. After all, you have been hoping to do so ever since you were a child.

But he felt no impact on his skull; instead, there came a sudden whinny, close at hand. He opened his eyes just in time to see the mare standing right in front of him on her hind legs, for the rider tightened the reins at the last moment.

An understanding assailed him. Without thinking, he dashed to the side, dodged falling hooves, rushed forward to grab the reins, and dragged the rider down by her waist - yes, her. He knew it was her. He knew it at the first sight.

And this time, he would not take her as a little child.

The hood of her cloak fell down. Her dark hair was set free and caught in the wind, brushing his face and blinding his eyes. He was holding her around her waist, but it no longer felt like the thinness and frailty of a child. She was tall and strong, yet slim and sinewy; he could feel her well-toned muscle and was impressed by its strength, coordination, and firmness. And to his surprise, she did not struggle. In a moment that felt endless, they stood still as stone, until he sensed a hesitant touch on his face, cold and hot all at once. Then, as if a resolution were finally reached, the same slender fingers brushed aside his hair and slid past his ears, and the elegant arms went around his neck and closed into a warm embrace.

He shivered. He thought this could not be true. Holding his breath, he mustered all his courage to look into her eyes, but strangely enough, he saw not her but himself, his own image reflected in her eyes.

A beast fed up with conflicts. A fëa almost torn from its hröa by a deep, lasting pain.

He could no longer bear to see it. Closing his eyes and driving away all the strange thoughts, he took a deep breath, pulled her closer, and lowered his head.