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Chapter 6 – The White Snow Princess gives up an important mission  

Orongil’s familiar voice called to her.

“Nimloss!  Please come in!”

She turned from the open window, where she and her bowman were engrossed in looking out, to see an aide courteously holding open the door for her to enter the Elmoi chieftain’s office chamber.

Normally she, or certainly Rauben, would have been immediately aware of any movement behind their backs.  There would have been no need to draw their attention.  However, this being the secure residence of the Shipwright, both had let themselves be distracted in gleefully speculation on what was behind the bustling activity in the courtyard a couple of stories below.  Between them, they had been joking that preparations must be underway to celebrate a hastily entered marriage.  One which, if Steward Glinnor were more astute about young love, should not have been unanticipated.

On any account, something was afoot, and very likely she and her merchant company were about to be made a part of it.  Else she would not have been summoned by her clan’s local lord from their transitory encampment, a goodly distance from the city.  If for a feast, she would be happy to lend a hand.  If for another reason... Well then that could be a problem.  Her current commission allowed no room for additional intrigues.  But, withholding her cooperation could be awkward.  Not divulging the particulars of her orders would be the tricky part of saying no.  Although not her direct overlord, an appeal from this powerful chieftain could not be easily ignored on that point alone.  No more than could his inconvenient summons.

Orongil was a prince of the Falas and of the Elmoi nothrim.  She was herself a high-born lady, a hiril of her people and of the clan.  The maternal half of her family were Falathrim and resided in Brithombar.  Her paternal side belonged to the following of Deneréd, Denethor’s eldest son.  Her mother had chosen to dwell with her father’s people, so she had been raised Laegrim – but taught Falathrim ways also.  They had visited her mother’s people often as she grew up.

That she was Elmoi nobility in two realms was of great consequence.  Her practically dual citizenship was a distinct advantage to her main business of trade.  As well, her routine journeying between the west and east lands was used to advantage by the rulers of the realms for their main business of government.  She took a good deal of pride in being a trusted agent for peace and order.  In truth, grateful for the fundamental role she played and moreover enjoyed.

There were inherent difficulties which came along with the honor.  Fortunately, in most cases where there might arise a conflict of loyalties, there were – unlike in the not so distant past – established protocols.  Her own lord’s commands came first and could not be gainsaid by another.  Upon meeting that responsibility, the decision to accommodate another lord’s wishes was ultimately hers to make.  Discretion being the watchword in every case.

Rauben turned to her and offered a helpless shrug in regards to not being called in with her.  Unless invited, he could not accompany her inside the private room.

An irritated huff was her short reply.  Clearly, Orongil meant to lower her resistance to his proposition by not letting the cogndîr stand with his princess in support against him.  Meaning the matter was probably something more than asking her crew to police the speculated wedding venue so that his herth might partake in the celebrations.

After coming into the chieftain’s office, the door was quietly but firmly closed behind her.

“Ah, Nimloss!  Upon the Ulumúri, ‘tis wonderful to see you again!”

He had risen to his feet to greet her, a sea-prince, standing tall in the bright starlight streaming in through the curtain-less window.  The gathered tail of his long silver hair had fallen forward over his shoulder and been indifferently left there instead of flung back to hang neatly down his back.  His collar was characteristically unfastened, his sleeves unfashionable folded back for convenience.

“You are looking quite hale, fair lady, and possibly even lovelier than when last we spoke.”

It had been some time since last they met, but she saw no change in him.  He was as attractive as ever.  If only you had another son…  She made that lonesome wish every time upon seeing him again.  Especially after being long away.  For she felt deeply that an ellon of his breeding would suit her where so far no other sort had.  Sadly, there looked to be small chance of another such as he ever coming into the world except through his own descendants.

“Life in the wildwood, without question, suites you.”

He wore the charming grin that had thoroughly captivated her upon their introduction when she was but a budding maiden.  Well, you’re a grown elleth now, she schooled herself.  An adult who better understood her inner desires and could enjoy his flirtatiousness for what it was: a generous treat never meant as sustenance.

The frustrating thing about his peculiar rarity was she did not want to wait for a grandson to be born and come of an age to wed.  Despite ill luck in her search to find another of his ilk while she was still young, she remained oddly hopeful of just that.  She continued to anticipate that her chance would come soon for settling down and raising eledhwaith children with a loving spouse possessed of Orongil’s better qualities and none of his bad.  Whenever we finally do meet…  So having indulged in her customary internal ritual, thoughts of future bliss were once more set aside to concentrate on present concerns.

He elegantly gestured to the chair before his desk.  “Please... ”

She took the offered seat, intentionally sitting with legs crossed and arms akimbo.  Her silent message was perfectly understood: she was not about to do his bidding merely because he asked.  Since she was wearing forest garb, his eyebrows raised in amusement rather than in disapproval of unladylike conduct.

He resumed his own seat, careless that he might cause creases in his attire for not smoothing the folds beforehand.  She fought back a smile.  His lack of personal vanity was one of the things she liked about him.  Even though, it was just a side-effect of his unappealing tendency towards self-possessiveness.

“So, you are disinclined even to listen?” he scolded.  His grin toned down to a slim smile.  He never was one to pick at words when confronted.  “When in fact,” and he executed a condescending flip of a low hand to an elevated palm, “this is Círdan’s request.”

That news – as intended – made her unfold and sit upright, hands upon knees.  Not only because she had great respect for the ancient lord.  She naturally felt affectionate regard for the elder who was ever kind towards her and her family.  Her mother had even called him ‘Uncle’, although she herself had not that privilege.  In addition, since from Círdan, this request might have to do with the Valar, and it was always best to be respectful where those powerful beings were involved.

“I am listening, lord chief.”  Her new primness – adopted as an intentional contrast to the disdainful attitude she had shown Orongil – brought back his grin.

“Then I shall tell you.  An artisan of some special skills, who happens to be one of us, is being placed at the service of the King,” he explained.  “Therefore, my Lord has given it to me to arrange the fellow’s safe passage to Menegroth.  So of course, I thought of you first.”

“But, my company does not take on passengers.  You know that.”  She was befuddled, but managed to keep it from her face and voice.  The exchange of craftsmen between realms was extremely routine.  What special skills could this person possible possess that the Shipwright, or for that matter this prince, would get directly involved with his transportation?

“I am aware of company policy.  So, he shall be an employee.”  Orongil clearly thought he was being clever.  He did have a shareholding in her business, and therefore a voice – as an investor, not an officer.  Of course, that never stopped him from acting as though he was in-charge of everyone and everything.

“I hire whom I wish, my lord, and I already have too many hands.”  All of whom were more dependable and would be of more help to her mission than a complete stranger whatever his ability.

“Oh, I am sure you can find something for him to do to earn his way.”  He was being more than presumptuous.  He was pushing.  Well, I will just push back.

“If you were not so cheap, you would – as you should – arrange a traveling party straight for Eglador.”

“You wound me, fair lady!  Could you not have said thrifty?”  His affable attitude had not been affected by her bold words.  Which only further stirred her suspicions.  “But here now, are you not on your return leg?”

“No, we turn north for a couple of turns, then to Menegroth.”  Her normal route had been changed to accommodate her mission.  She would be trekking to the small settlements scattered throughout the lands north of the heights of the Taur-en-Faroth.  To one settlement in particular.

“Really?  How inconvenient.  We were depending upon you making your usual journey.  We wanted someone trustworthy to keep an eye on the young ellon.”

“No,” she flatly stated and shook her head for emphasis.  “The paths we take are too rough for sailors and city-dwellers.  And I am not cutting my plans short for your purposes.”  She turned adamant.  “I do not baby-sit artists.  Talented or not, nothrim or not.  Nor am I a hired guide for some pampered brat who fancies himself a daring adventurer!”  Which was naught but to frankly say that she took the craftsman story to be a poorly-made blind for a political favour.

Not exactly the best way to speak to a chief, she knew.  No matter how good a patron or friend.  Nonetheless, aside from the demeaning imposition, everyone in her crew without exception would be endangered by her real goal in going into the northwest territory.  A clueless youth was the last person she needed to have around when things got complicated.

“But, that is not what I am asking of you, Nimloss.  He is no babe-in-the-woods.  He can take care of himself, and I am confident would fare just fine amongst your lot.  ‘Tis just... well... my Lord considers him close kin and prefers that someone he knows be watching over him.”

Close kin?  And someone, who despite all Orongil was saying, apparently could not be left on his own.  For some unreasonable reason, she felt jealous.  Círdan had never voiced any worry about her youthful self roving the wilderlands before Rauben had became her bowman.  Although, he had often said after the cogndîr had joined up with her how glad he was that she had a strong protector at her side.

“Well then send him the usual way!” she protested.  “With a senior craftsman or a bodyguard even.  Why in all Arda burden me with him?”

“He would be no burden, since he would be working for you and under your orders.  We simply do not want anything untoward to happen to him along the way to the King.”

Anything untoward?  Did someone besides herself already want to do the fellow harm?  Again, she thought of her bowman.  Was it possible that he and not she was the real reason for this personal request?  But, a farrod’s first duty was to fight fell creatures, whenever and wherever that danger arose.  If he was needed, Rauben was obliged to leave her side, and the company would be without his protection.

“Rauben could be called away at any time.  What of your precious lad’s safety then?  Or does he know how to fight off a bear?  And let us hope, at the very least, that he unafraid of wolves.”

“You know there is little chance your bowman will be called away.  Shadow-things are not running about reeking havoc any more,” he confidently stated, then slightly relented.  “In Dimbar, maybe.  But, the farrod and his colleagues have been most efficient in cleansing the western lands.”

She was shocked at his excuses.  Clearly, this young ellon he was so determined to get to Menegroth was someone important.  More lay behind the lord’s arguments than merely fulfilling his Lord’s wishes.  Good sense told her to find out everything before dismissing this all out of hand and leaving for the trail unaware of possibly significant goings-on.

“Your pardon, lord chief, but any further discussion must be with Lord Círdan himself,” she tersely demanded.

“If that were possible, he would be here.”  He remained congenial, again surprisingly taking no offense at her disregard.  “He has begun construction on a new ship.  Hence, I am dealing with this matter and you.”

She almost felt reassured by that news.  It perfectly explained the general bustle about the palace and no prior greeting from, nor sighting of, the noble resident.  Whenever Círdan began a build, the work had his complete attention.  He would let his minions take care of all else, even to running things to suit themselves.  And they always made as much of the opportunity as was possible.  Obviously, both Círdan and Orongil had thought she could be sweet-talked into taking on their lordling.  And if sweet-talk did not work, unlike the Shipwright, the chieftain was not above cornering her into it.

Orongil smiled in the patronizing manner he affected when sure he had the upper hand.

She smiled in return, acting bemused at his annoying confidence.

Well, he was not going to run her affairs as he pleased.  The challenge of getting an audience with the preoccupied Shipwright goaded her into tactics she did not normally employ.

“The Lord is too busy?” she asked with a flutter of her eyelashes and a winsome tilt of her head.  “Even for me?”

“Shameless,” was Orongil’s chuckled response.  Said more because she was mocking his initial attempt to persuade her rather than pandering to his gender.  A wry smile spread across his lips.  “All this time, you have been yearning after that old salt.”  He feigned a disappointed sigh.  “When here I thought I was more to your taste.”

“You are.”  She coquettishly winked at him.  “Nonetheless, I must hear a good reason to be... more accommodating.  You understand.”  She leaned back; crossing her legs again, her arms lazily lain over her stomach.  “Priorities... ” she said pointedly.

“Is that it?”  For a moment he paused, looking as though he was pondering her small hint.  But actually, it was to enjoy her unusual coyness.  He sat back as well; elbows braced on the armrests of his chair, hands clasped before his chest.  “Well then... ” he finally said.  “Sadly, we are both in a bind.  You understand.  Expectations... “  Meaning: as he was expected to do what his better had asked of him, so she was expected to do what he as her better was asking of her.

He smiled.  She smiled.

Neither spoke, for they both did indeed understand the other person’s position very well.  A simple exchange of services was not possible.  They would have to strike a deal.

“I will go first,” he pleasantly decided.

She nodded, agreeable with that.

“Without your help in this matter, I am afraid I cannot help you with the matter of your warrants.”

“So happens, all my badges are current.”  In fact, they were good for another six turns and irrevocable in her absence.  Rank did have its privileges.  But, he would have known beforehand that there was no leverage to be had with her trade warrants.  They were merely an opening move.  He would be more prepared, in case she proved reluctant.  “Surely, you can do better than that,” she deliberately prodded.

“H’mm, let me see...”  His pondering was just another tactic.  But then, his expression completely altered.  He looked to have suddenly changed his mind, and his tight smile was replaced by an ingenuous grin.  ”Oh, why not now?”  He almost appeared not to know he was speaking aloud, if to himself.  “Later might be wiser, but maybe not better.”  He fixed a bemused gaze on her.  “I have what it will take to sway you.  If you think me so – “

At that moment, there was an insistent knock on the door.  They exchanged a look of mutual annoyance for having been interrupted just when negotiations had turned promising.

“Enter,” the clan-lord stiffly allowed.  She hoped it would be a quick question, so she could be offered the prospect that had turned him so cheerful.

“My apologies, Lord Orongil.”  It was a different aide than had ushered her in.  “Círdan Aran requests that my lord and the lady please come to his workshop.”

They looked at each other and broke into laughter.  The Shipwright was far-seeing.  He also had a very strong dislike of any sort of bickering.  At times, one was quite unexpectedly reminded of both those aspects of his extraordinary nature.

- >> = >> = >> = >> -

They chatted amiably about the weather and trade as they walked together to the large shed by the docks, choosing without discussion to leave alone the actual topic at hand.  Going inside, far to the back, against the seaward wall where there was a row of small windows cut out, they found Círdan – with Rauben.  The cogndîr was holding a rather short spyglass to his eye.

Apparently, upon his own initiative, her bowman had sought out the Shipwright.  No doubt gladly answering when asked why he was wandering around and not in attendance upon Nimloss.  His successful tactic visibly vexed Orongil.  The chieftain looked quite irritated with himself for having allowed the wily hunter to get away with going behind his back.  His taking responsibility for his error however did not stop her from gloating a bit before they joined the Laegel and the Lord.

“Here, Farrod,” said Círdan, gently taking the spyglass from Rauben’s fingers.  “It expands... “  He pulled at the smaller end and the casing grew longer into graduated segments that fit snuggly together.  “... and the range is thus increased.”  He handed it back to the bowman, much longer than it was before.

“Franuilos! This is amazing!”  He turned to her, very excited at what he had seen.  “My lady, you must look!  You can see to the other side of bay as if standing there!”

She came over to him and eagerly took the instrument, carefully cradling it as she held it up to her eye.  The far beacon tower looked astonishingly close!  She could see the faces of the lookouts as they walked around, scanning the horizon.  She let it down to compare to normal sight, before looking through it again.  Then, she offered it to Orongil, who bemusedly waved off the opportunity.  Apparently, he had already had enough turns with it that he was no longer impressed.  Círdan held out a hand, and she returned it to him.

“Yea, ‘tis a wonderful thing, my lord!” she praised.  “Pray tell me please, where may I get one made?”

“I am afraid that the glassmakers are still learning how to repeat the process.”  He set his open palm against the small end and with gentle pressure collapsed the instrument.  “This one was a fortuitous gift.”

“How disappointing for me and your captains.”  Odd though…  The exterior casing was not merely utilitarian, she had observed, but superbly finished and bearing beautiful artistic details.  Causing one to think it more product than prototype.  She feigned a sigh.  “Not that I would be able to afford one anyway.”  There was a little row of strange squiggles painted on the corner of the lid of the small box he shut it into.

“Perhaps you shall be able... next visit... “  He had not missed her covert opening.  “... by making my delivery for me this time.”

“About that – “

“Aack,” he halted her with a flat handed gesture.  “Forgive my bad manners.”  He placed his hands upon her shoulders, giving them a caring squeeze.  “Tell me first how you and yours fare, sweet child.”  His kind interest in everyone’s well-being always warmed her heart.

“I and the family are in good health and wealth, my lord.  As is the company.”  Smiling, she bowed her head.  Upon raising it, adding, “And I am happy to find you well and enthused about a new ship.”

“Does it show?” he replied with a twinkle in his eye, quite cognizant of how transparent his feelings truly were when he neglected to veil them.  He glanced over at the clan-lord.  “Do tell me why you are reluctant to deal with Orongil.  Does he ask too much effort and promise too little reward?”

“Oh no, my lord!  That is not the difficulty,” she sincerely protested.  “You have always been most generous, but I have no capacity to take on another commission.”  Hopefully, that was revelation enough for him to diplomatically avoid further questions.  Indeed, the knowing look on his face was a relief.

“Hmph... “  But, the displeased remark surprised her.  Apparently, he was not going to refrain from trampling on a fellow ruler’s toes.  “Come over here with me, and let us see if I cannot persuade you all the same.”  Her earlier wariness returned two-fold.  If he was not going to take no for an answer either, then indeed something important was in the wind.

The three of them followed the Shipwright to a high worktable.  Upon it were the sorts of sketches commonly used by a master shipbuilder to convey his instructions to his workers.  Plain drawings mostly, but still mysterious to her untrained eye.  Written on the sheets was a bit of the cirth lettering that more and more craftsmen had taken to using since its invention.  However, here and there were some with the same stranger figures as were on the spyglass’ box.  Círdan dragged the broad pages of plans aside to reveal an even larger and more colorful parchment beneath.

She recognized right away that it was a map of the inlet, but with more detail than she had ever seen before on any drawing of land or sea.  Although it lacked villages or docks as landmarks, the waterline was eerily accurate, more than just a suggestion of the shape of the shoreline.  Bands of varied blue hues visually suggested some kind of difference in the waters of one place to another.  Círdan nodded at her querulous look.

“Yes, it is quite accurate.  And to scale.  You can estimate the distance as the bird flies simply by measuring the space on the map and multiplying that by the correct factor.  It is still unfinished, but try to imagine it complete with the different hues of colors to indicate variations beneath the water’s surface.  Shoals, depth, the flow of currents... ”

She took a deep breath.  Such a chart would be worth its weight in true silver.

“Imagine this sort of map of the lands between here and Menegroth... ”

She looked sharply at him.  Not so much a mystery now why the maker might need to be guarded by someone who could be trusted.  Nor was it a surprise that the techniques of this craft would have been kept secret.  What was hard to understand was that this good lord and prince standing next to him – both of whom she knew possessed only love for quendi-kind and held little self-interest over the welfare of their people – had until now withheld this boon.

Here was something which could prevented the violent conflicts that had come to plague Beleriand’s scattered inhabitants as cruelly as once had shadow-things.  The terrible slayings that had already happened might have been prevented.

Border disputes had become the bane of the Laegrim since their arrival in the west.  Though never as much amongst themselves as between them and their non-nomadic neighbors.  Outside of the three established realms, what should have been peaceful interaction remained unruly.  The absolute worst was marauder-lords taking over outlying settlements – and open territory! – by force of arms.  Many times demanding an amount of tribute that left inhabitants starving and her own people suffering crushing tolls.  For which they would be imprisoned if not paid.

With an accurate map, it could all have been prevented.  The King’s Council could have sat down and clearly marked the boundaries for new settlement.  Thingol could have decreed that everyone would hold to that pact.  The Elmoi could have legitimately enforced compliance on his behalf.  Disputes could have been brought to court instead to the point of a spear.  Instead of ruinous fighting.  Instead of murder and mayhem.

There would be no having to depend on someone’s biased or faulty memory to resolve a claim.  No more bribery.  No more dithering over whose noble obligation it was to defend a beleaguered village, while in the meantime, its people died.  No more deadly challenges to expend one life instead of many.  No more senseless bloodshed!

Her next breath caught in her chest.  Bloodshed... precisely what she herself had been sent out to perpetrate!  Did Círdan know?  Is that why he had shown her this?  Had Fate brought her to him to serve a higher purpose than thwarting one rogue lord?

“The cartographer is whom I wish for you to take safely to Elu Thingol Aran.”

“What’s a cartographer?” asked Rauben.

“A fancy name for a mapmaker,” she explained.  “Lord Círdan,” she addressed him sharply, failing to keep the bitterness out of her voice.  “You ask me to use my imagination, but I find it had to imagine why you have not sent this person or his master to the King long before now.”

“I did not have it in my power to do so, Hiril.  Else I surely would have.”

Only because it was Círdan did she accept his excuse.

She angrily turned back to the map.  Reaching out, she swept her fingertips lightly over the surface.  It was a work of art and science; imbued with its maker’s heartfelt love of creation.  Indeed, it was very important for this special craftsman to be taken to the King and Queen as soon as possible.

And she yearned for the honor.  But, to keep the mapmaker safe, she would have to betray Lord Denerèd’s trust.  She forced her hand down to her side, disappointed over this missed chance to play a greater part in the cause of lasting peace.

“I beg your forgiveness, great lord,” she softly intoned; her head bowed.  “But, I cannot be of help to you.”

Círdan nodded, sighing.  He sounded as if he had always known what the outcome of his request would be.  Still he had offered her the choice.  Not forcing the wanted answer upon her nor taking the praiseworthy opportunity from her.  Such was his wisdom.  It saddened her though that he would most likely, and easily enough, find another way to get his valuable kinsman to Menegroth.

“We came at Lord Orongil’s request,” she said, signaling withdraw.  “And shall go by your leave, Círdan Aran.”  She and Rauben both then respectfully bowed.

“What, you are not staying?” he asked.  His disappointment was more profound for that than for her unhappy refusal.  “Not even for a little while?  Partake your supper here, at least.”

“No, we are camped at a distance outside the city and were about to go on when summoned.  The company is standing in wait.  We promised to return and start off as soon as business permitted.”

“Then, may the stars shine bright upon your path, Nimloss, and you Rauben, and your followers.  Please, on your next trip, plan on staying longer.  There are many who would have enjoyed even hasty words instead of missing you entirely yet again.”  He came around the corner of the table and took up her hands in his.  “Promise me that?” he asked, in a gentle wheedling voice.

“Of course, my lord.”  A soft blush came to her cheeks.  “I dearly wish I could do for you all that you have asked.”

“Yes, I know.”

- >> = >> = >> = >> -

Orongil silently escorted them back to the main doors of the palace, where they exchanged farewells.  But, the chieftain did say one thing more before he left them.

“A pity circumstances have not permitted you to stay, fair lady.  You would have liked my cousin.”  With that and an irritatingly playful grin, he turned away and went back inside.

They descended the stair and crossed the courtyard and were outside the gates, onto the streets, and well into the city proper before Rauben chose to discuss the parting remark.

“I gather he meant the cartographer.”  Her bowman clearly enjoyed saying that word, which was amusing enough to slightly raise her low mood.  “There be a strongly cunning streak in his kin.”

“Yea, likely who he meant,” she replied with an unforced smile.  She was not sorry for having missed yet another introduction to yet another eligible bachelor cousin of Orongil’s.  She had never found any of them, blood or adopted, particularly comparable to the chieftain himself.

Passersby were openly staring at them for their Nandorin garb and speech.  So, it did not please her when someone – with a loud hail – brought them even more attention.

“FARROD!  FARROD RAUBEN!  WAIT!”

The insistent shout halted not just them, but everyone around them.  Other people accidently bumped into those that had suddenly stopped, and her bowman turned defensive of her person.  Which upset the gentle folk around them.

“FARROD RAUBEN!  WAIT!”

Her temper was tweaked awake at the annoyance of it all.  The fellow trying to catch up to them had better be carrying an urgent message from someone very important.

TBC

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Author’s Notes:  

All elvish is in Sindarin unless otherwise indicated and underlined means I put it together myself – corrections and comments are welcome!

ellon/elleth – elf, m/f

hir/hiril – sir or lord/ dame or lady

nothrim – household or clan members (collective form of nos)

herth – household troops

orë – heart, inner spirit

eledhwaith – star-folk These were Elwë’s people within the Lindar.

nenwaith – lake-folk These were Nowë’s people within the Lindar.

tawarwaith – forest-folk These were Lenwë’s people within the Lindar.

Elmoi – the kindred and clan of Elmo – Elmo and Oioloth had other children, after Galadhon, who in turn had children of their own.

cogndîr – bowman  Nandorin

farrod – hunt lord or noble hunter  fara- to hunt arod noble, high ranking

aran – king (also translates as ‘Lord’ for it means the ruler of a realm, not just royalty)

Deneréd – my name for the eldest son of Denethor

Glaeru! – a minimization of the Music of Iluvatar, Eru’s Lay!

= Concerning the basic premise =

The News from Aman – Many readers of the Silmarillion wonder why the Sindar – their king especially – were so clueless about world events with the Queen sitting right there next to Thingol whispering words of wisdom in his ear.  It is not that Elwë did not listen to her.  He did.  Most of the time.

And there are indications that Melian had a limited knowledge of happenings in Eldamar.  Although, it would not have included specifics about some rebellious runaways headed for Hither Shores.  In fact, not anything specific happening in the Uttermost West.

Maiar and Valar did continue to visit Beleriand, after the transport of the Olwë’s host, right up to the destruction of the Two Trees.

But significantly, Oromë did not aid Thingol in driving off the “fell beasts of the North”, even while he “still at times” rode in Beleriand.  The “Elves feared him for him for the splendor of his countenance”.  And must have avoided him as in the olden times.  Nevertheless, he is not cited as visiting Elwë after the king’s return from Nan Elmoth.  He had no hand in helping to find him either.  On the coast though, Ossë often sat teaching and enjoying the company of the Teleri.  After their transport to Aman, “... he though grieving taught them the craft of shipbuilding... “.  However, he clearly had it his own way with the Teleri left behind in Beleriand.

The Úmanyar did things for themselves.  With help from their new neighbors, the Dwarves.

Melian did not get regular updates from her former colleagues.  She was told of the death of the Trees and the Darkness that followed by Galadriel, while that lady dwelt in Doriath during the time Gondolin and Nargothrond were being constructed.  And no more information than that.  She says to her friend:

“… ‘There is some woe that lies upon you and your kin.  That I can see in you, but all else is hidden from me; for no vision or thought can I perceive that passed or passes in the West; a shadow lies over all the land of Aman, and reaches far out over the sea.’ ... ”

– Of the Noldor in Beleriand – The Silmarillion

The Exiles would not know the particulars of the veiling of Aman until Turgon sent his mariners back there.  This seems to say she can indeed perceive goings on in Aman itself – with limitations.

The same sort of limitations as Galadriel admits when the Fellowship came into Lórien:

“... ‘Gandalf the Grey set out with the Company, but he did not pass the borders of this land.  Now tell us where he is; for I much desire to speak with him again.  But I cannot see him from afar, unless he comes within the fences of Lothlórien: a grey mist is about him, and the ways of his feet and of his mind are hidden from me.’ ... “

– The Mirror of Galadriel – The Fellowship of the Ring – The Lord of the Rings

Melian might have been able to communicate with Arien and Tilion, when they were overhead and not preoccupied with work.  Nonetheless, prior to the War of Wrath, little in terms of real news seems to have been carried in either direction by the very beings that were in the know.

So, the Noldor did not expect to find Beleriand a civilized place, where land was not free for the taking.  And the Sindar were mistaken about the reasons their old allies – and not their own kin – had returned.