Chapter 2:

Gildor watched intently from high up in the branches as the Man walked through the Taur-en-Narog. By rights this stranger should already be dead, but Gildor stayed his hand out of curiosity and an odd sense of unease, and his sentries followed his example.

The Noldo had seen many men in the hundred and fifty-odd years since his foster-father had brought them back with him from the east. Many was the time, too, when Finrod had chided Gildor and Lindan for the tricks they played on the atani. Finrod had accepted the Apanónar into his heart and service, and marveled at the Younger Children. Gildor, however, had yet to find the worth of the Aftercomers. Broad shouldered, heavy of tread and dull-eyed, with dark coarse hair and small minds. That was how he generally summarized the them.

The man now boldly walking the paths of the Pinnath Dirnen, however, was different. Broad-shouldered and dark haired he was, and however careful the man tried to be, Gildor had heard his approach long before he had seen him. His eyes, though, shone even in the deep shadows of the forest. 'Almost like one of the Eldalië,' Gildor thought. And there was something vaguely familiar about this Man. It was then that Gildor saw the ring the mortal held high.

That ring Gildor Inglorion of the House of Finrod had seen many times before: emerald-eyed serpents and a crown of golden flowers. It was the mark of the House of Finarfin, and the ring of the king of Nargothrond. Only ten years had passed since Gildor had witnessed his foster-father gift that ring to Barahir, son of Bregor, with an oath of aid when the adan saved the elven-king during battle at the Fens of Serech.

Gildor narrowed his eyes suspiciously and watched the Man with greater interest. How had this man come to possess Felagund's ring? Though the Man had an Elvish air, Gildor's instincts told him that his coming meant ill for Nargothrond.

After receiving word of the stranger's intrusion, Gildor and Lindan had followed the Man for the better part the night. Now they were north of Amon Ethir, Nargothrond's main guard post, Anor well on her way to breaking free of the eastern horizon. At the Amon, Gildor had quietly met with Orodreth, and shared his disquiet with the older Noldo. His caution was echoed in the other's mind, and the Captain of Nargothrond's sentries agreed with his strategy of quietly watching the atan until his path was clear. That the Man possessed Finrod's ring was a disquieting puzzle to the King's nephew, as well. And so, Gildor and Lindan continued to stalk the mortal, and the sentries stayed their bows. Finally, it became apparent that the Man sought to cross the Narog, and had at least a vague idea of where he was going.

Gildor allowed the Man to reach the northern edge of the Taur-en-Narog, the land brightening into Day, when he decided that it was time to accost the trespasser. He signaled to the sentries, who silently dropped to the ground and ringed the Man from within the darkness of the trees and early dawn. Gildor and Lindan, too, dropped down ahead of the Man.

Beside him, Lindan continued to scrutinize the man. "Belain," he whispered. "Does the mortal have a death-wish that he tramps so boldly through the Woods?"

Gildor did not respond, but stepped out from the trees. He marveled slightly to see that the Man did not react or seem surprised, but just stopped and held his head high, waiting for the elf to speak first. 'He knew he was being watched,' Gildor thought.

"Who are you that seeks death by passing ways that are forbidden?" Gildor maintained a stern countenance, holding the Man's gaze. He marveled again at this Man who easily withstood his gaze and replied in a calm, yet sure voice.

"It is not death that I seek, but a king," the Man said. "I am Beren son of Barahir, a friend of Felagund. Take me to the King!"

Gildor raised an eyebrow at the commanding tone of the Man, and he smiled slightly as he heard the near imperceptible sound of bow strings tightening. "A friend of Felagund, you say?" He held up his hands and shook his head when Beren offered him the ring. "Nay, I have already seen the ring which you bear, and know its meaning."

'Better than you, firë,' he added silently.

Gildor then turned and began walking back the way the adan had come. "You will come with me, son of Barahir," he called over his shoulder. "The day dawns and we will not travel again until nightfall. I will bring you to a place where you can rest."

Beren stood uncertainly gazing after the haughty golden elf, until he was surrounded by elven warriors, curteously bowing and indicating that he should follow their commander.

"What did I tell you, Gilchen?" asked Lindan as he kept stride with the Noldo. "The mortal seeks death."

Glidor glanced back at the Man, who was surrounded by Nargothrondrin sentries. "I fear that he will indeed find death soon, whether it be his or no."

Lindan looked at his friend askance. "As you say, martyawë."

As they journeyed to the Gates of Nargothrond that night and the next, Gildor spoke little to Beren. In truth, he saw little in the Man to mistrust: honesty was in his eyes, and his being shone with an almost elven grace. Nonetheless, Gildor's heart misgave him, and so he kept his distance and his council.

Lindan and the other guard who accompanied them, however, had no such compunction. Merry was their conversation and great was their curiosity. The Man visibly relaxed among his lighter-hearted companions, yet would not answer any questions, nor relate anymore information, relative to his purpose with King Finrod. His silence on this matter did nothing to calm Gildor's apprehensions.

When they reached the gates of Felagund's underground city, Gildor released his companions to their own devices and led Beren to Finrod.

As they passed deeper and deeper into the mountain, Beren marveled at the light and beauty around him: at once like and unlike to Menegroth. The very thought of the Halls of Thingol and the fair forests of Doriath, and of his even fairer Tinúviel, made his heart wrench inside him. He shook his head and concentrated on studying the Elves he passed. It would not do to appear weak before these people. He already suspected that the tall golden elf walking beside him bore him little love.

And there was another mystery, for it was clear that this elf was no mere border-guard. Most of the elves whom Beren had ever seen were either dark or silver haired. This elf, however, had hair of a wheat gold, and a light shone about him as he walked. A High Elf of the Furthest West he certainly was, and yet different from the other Noldor the Man saw within the Halls of Nargothrond. The bows and deferential greetings of those they passed were not for the son of Barahir, he was sure.

Beren had never seen King Felagund, himself, although his father had often described him: "Tall and fair he is," Barahir had said, "beyond the measure of men; golden-haired with eyes that pierce right through you. Wise and kind he is, for our forefathers rightly named him Nóm; and yet strong and terrible in his wrath." Formidable and imposing as he seemed, Beren did not think that the silent elf beside him was the King.

Gildor, for his part, continued to brood. He did not understand the forebodings this atan's presence stirred within his heart, but neither could he yet entirely dismiss them.

"Gwindor," Gildor stopped one of his captains as they passed through halls of Nargothrond. "Where is King Finrod?"

"He is in his library with Lord Edrahil, I believe, my lord Inglorion," Gwindor answered with a bow, good-natured mocking in his voice.

"Thank you, mellon nîn." Gildor rolled his eyes at the Sinda and made his way to the Great Hall of the King, Beren in tow. The Great Hall was where Kind Finrod held court, and while Finrod's court was not as formal as the High King's, the Hall was indeed an imposing structure. It was not strictly necessary to go through the Hall to reach the King's library, but Gildor did not think that inspiring a little awe in the Mortal following him was a bad thing.

As he passed through the Hall, Gildor noticed Curufin leaning against a far pillar, glaring at him closely. He felt the Fëanorion's eyes upon his back as he walked to the door leading to Finrod's personal apartments. He turned as he passed through the doorway in time to see the son of Feänor striding purposefully off through the opposite door. 'What is that hlócë up to now?' He thought, and his heart sank deeper within him.

As the Man and Elf passed out of the Great Hall, Beren finally spoke to his guide.

"Forgive me, Lord," he said, "but among my people it is a sign of goodwill for a host to give his guest his name."

Gildor looked at the Man out of the corner of his eye. "Is it, nessë? I am, however, not your host; and neither yet are you a guest in Nargothrond, that is for the King to decide." Then he turned to the Man and raised an eyebrow. "Yet in memory of the service which your father rendered to mine I will give you my name, Beren son of Barahir. I am Gildor, son of Finrod." With a small, half-mocking bow, he knocked on a door and walked through, leaving the Man nonplussed.

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Notes:

(Words marked with an asterisk, *, are words which I have re-constructed, and are therefore subject to error.)

Taur-en-Narog: Forest of the Narog (S); see Chapter 1 for more explanation.

atani: Men, the Second Comers (Q)

Apanónar: Mortal men (Q)

Pinnath Dirnen: The Guarded Ridges (S)

Eldalië: People of the Eldar, the Elves of Beleriand (Q)

Barahir: Man of the House of Bëor who saved Finrod and company during Dagor Bragollach. As a token of his gratitude, Finrod gave Barahir his ring and swore to help him in time of need. The ring was passed down through Beren's line, coming to Elros Tar-Minyatar and the Númenorean kings to Elendil and finally Aragorn Telcontar of Gondor.

Amon Ethir: the Hill of Spies (S), one league (3 miles) east of Nargothrond. I imagine it at the western end of the Pinnath Dirnen, opposite Mindon Erui. There is no connection in the Silmarillion between Amon Ethir and Orodreth, but I thought that it was as good a job as any for him after the seizing of Minas Tirith.

adan: man (S)

Belain: Valar (S)

"I am Beren son of Barahir, a friend of Felagund. Take me to the King!": Beren, quoted from Silmarillion, p. 204.

firë: mortal (Q)

Gilchen: Star-eyed, Lindan's nickname for Gildor (See "In This Far Land", ch. 5)

*martyawë: prophesier of doom, from verb martya- (Q)

Nóm: means 'Wisdom' in the language of the people of Bëor; the name which those people gave to Finrod when they first met him (Silmarillion, p. 168)

atan: man (Q)

Gwindor: For those who know the Sil: yes, that Gwindor.

mellon nîn: my friend (S)

hlöce: serpent, as in looped (Q)

nessë: young one; here it is slightly insulting (Q)