GOBLINS: The Herald’s Summons

 SUMMARY: On the heels of the first battle in the War of Wrath, Eönwë brings a message of hope to three unsuspecting Elves.

WARNING: Rated PG for discussions about war and killing.

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"What am I doing here, lord?"

Eönwë, Herald of Manwë, Oathkeeper of the Valar and Captain of the Host of Valinor, looked up from the reports he had been perusing to see Arafinwë sitting dejectedly in a camp chair, his hands lying idly between his knees, his expression one of deep distress. The King had been sitting quietly for some time since coming to the tent at Eönwë’s summons, willing to wait until the Maia finished reading the endless lists of supply requisitions, casualty and death reports and who knew what else.

"Do you mean, here in this tent, here in Heceldamar or just here in Arda generally?" the Maia asked in a diffident tone, knowing full well what the Noldóran had meant but unable to resist the small amount of levity. This had been the first day of battle in what would prove to be a long and bloody engagement and Arafinwë was just beginning to appreciate the horror of it all.

The King of the Noldor in Aman grimaced, not in the mood for playing games. It had been a wretched day all round and he was feeling heartsick and footsore and this was just the first engagement. He wondered if he would even survive to the end, whenever that would be.

Eönwë cast a sympathetic look at the Elda and relented. Pushing back his chair he stood, his snow-white hair flowing freely about him, his head bound by a circlet of mithril in which was set an apple-green heart-shaped laurelaiquamirë gemstone. He wore a mithril-linked hauberk under a surcoat of azure samite shot with silver on which was embroidered an eagle in flight, emblem of the Elder King in whose name he led the Host against their Fallen Brethren. The Maia’s silver-grey eyes shone with an inner light that few could endure for any length of time. There was a depth of wisdom and compassion in those eyes that left most, be they Eldar or Atani, feeling faint and unnerved in a way they could not fully articulate even to themselves.

The Maia walked over to the still seated Elda and placed his right hand upon the ellon’s shoulder. "You are in Arda because Eru wished you to be," he said quietly, all levity aside. "You are in Heceldamar because Ingwë could not, and Olwë would not, come, and you are here in this tent because I summoned you. Does that answer your question, son of Finwë?"

Arafinwë glanced up at the Herald of Manwë and gave him a jaundiced look. "Not really."

Eönwë nodded and cast his eyes at the other Maia in attendance. "Fionwë, please leave us and see that we’re not disturbed."

Fionwë bowed to his superior and, giving the Elda a sympathetic glance, left the tent to stand guard outside. The Herald turned his attention back to Arafinwë, staring down at the dejected ellon for a moment before moving to a sideboard where sat a decanter of wine and goblets. He poured some wine into two goblets and silently handed one to the Noldóran. Then he resumed his seat at his portable writing desk, pushing the piles of vellum reports to one side to concentrate on the person sitting before him.

Arafinwë drank some of his wine and sighed, closing his eyes. Without opening them he spoke. "Did you ever have to kill someone, lord? I mean before today."

"I didn’t kill anyone today, Pityahuan," the Maia said, neatly avoiding the question, addressing the Elda with the epessë the Elder King had bestowed upon the Noldóran during the time of the Darkening. "I was too busy trying to keep those young fools who came with us from getting themselves killed."

Arafinwë opened his eyes at the Maia’s acerbic tone. "We’re all very young, even I, compared to the... the Sindar and the Exiles. Even the Eärendilioni, for all that they’ve not even reached adulthood, I deem, are far older than I."

"Older in experience, perhaps, but not necessarily wiser," Eönwë responded. "Arafinwë, what truly troubles you?"

The King of the Noldor stared at nothing in particular for a moment before answering. "I killed my first orc today... and my first... Atan."

"Ah," was all Eönwë said, now understanding fully what ailed the Elda. He gave the King a sympathetic look. "Which disturbed you more, killing one that might once have been a Firstborn or one of the Mortals?"

Arafinwë gave the Maia a startled look. "Firstborn? Are then the rumors true? Are these foul creatures...." He found he could not continue down that avenue of thought, too shocked by the implications.

Eönwë shrugged. "I do not know for certain," he answered softly and gave Arafinwë a wintry smile. "Lord Námo refuses to discuss the issue, even with Lord Manwë."

Arafinwë nodded and took another gulp of his wine, draining the goblet. "It was the Atan," he finally said.

"Excuse me?" Eönwë asked.

Arafinwë stood and stretched for a moment, going to the sideboard to refill his goblet. When Eönwë indicated that he did not need a refill, Arafinwë resumed his seat. "Killing the Atan disturbed me more," he finally explained.

"Why?"

The Noldóran gave him a troubled look. "He... he was an Eruhin... and I wondered if I were now as guilty of... of Kinslaying as...."

"Nay, Pityahuan!" Eönwë exclaimed, standing to go to the Elda and laying his hands on Arafinwë’s shoulders. "Thou’rt not guilty of Kinslaying. The Atani who fight alongside the orcs and goblins and other fell creatures of my Master’s Fallen Brother are no kin to thee or thine. They are thine enemies," he concluded forcibly.

Arafinwë still looked doubtful as he pondered the Maia’s words, then sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I shouldn’t be here," he whispered dejectedly. "I should be home with Eärwen, with my wife."

Eönwë stepped back, a faint smile on his lips. "As should we all," he said.

Arafinwë gave the Herald a jaundiced glare. "You’re not even espoused, lord."

"That you know of," came the quick retort and Arafinwë was left wondering about that as Eönwë resumed his seat, taking a sip of his wine.

"I don’t think Celeborn will begrudge you killing that Easterling," the Maia finally said.

"Who?" Arafinwë asked in confusion. These Sindarin names were so uncouth sounding and he couldn’t keep them all straight.

Eönwë gave him what the Elda could only describe to himself as a wicked grin. "Your daughter’s husband? Remember him?"

Arafinwë felt himself go red in embarrassment. He must be tired if he couldn’t even remember Artanis’ husband’s name. "Oh... you mean Teleporno." He shrugged somewhat diffidently. "I’m sure the ellon appreciates my saving his life."

Eönwë threw back his head and barked a laugh that held no humor. "Ai, you Children are so amusing." He gave Arafinwë a knowing look. "That ellon, as you call him, is a prince of the Sindar, kinsman to Elwë and therefore deserving of more respect than that."

"He’s my son-in-law," Arafinwë retorted with a grin. "I don’t need to respect him. If Artanis can..."

"Galadriel," interjected the Maia.

Arafinwë scowled. "Stupid name. What’s wrong with the name I gave her at her birthing?"

"Nothing," Eönwë stated, "except that is not who she is any longer."

Arafinwë sighed. That was a sore point between him and his daughter, so proud and haughty. They barely spoke to one another and that Sindarin prince who had stolen her away from him.... No, that was unfair, he admitted to himself. Teleporno was not at fault here and he had been honestly grateful when Arafinwë had rescued him from that ambush.

"I wish we could end this," he finally said.

"As do I," Eönwë said with a nod, "but soon or late, it will end, my friend. The Valar spent nine years of the Trees in war against Melkor before we summoned you to Valinor. I do not believe it will take quite as long to subdue him this time, but it will not be done in a day or even a year."

Arafinwë nodded, closing his eyes. "All these years I wondered what it might have been like for me if I hadn’t taken the easy way out and had continued on to Heceldamar with my children."

"Do you honestly think yours was the easier way, Pityahuan?" Eönwë asked gravely, "If so, then perhaps you do not appreciate fully what you did in turning back."

"What did I do?" Arafinwë asked.

"You saved our people, Atar."

Arafinwë stood up in surprise and Eönwë gave him an amused look and shook his head. "I really need to teach Fionwë the meaning of ‘I don’t wish to be disturbed’."

Arafinwë ignored the Maia as he stared at his daughter and the silver-haired Sinda who stood behind her. "Artanis, what dost thou here, child?"

Galadriel, however, did not answer. Instead, she stared in bemusement at the Maia Herald. "But... did you not summon us, my lord?"

Eönwë nodded. "Yes, child, I did. Fear not, you have not importuned us. Come, take your ease, both of you." The Maia gestured and there were two more camp chairs like the one Arafinwë had been sitting in. Neither Galadriel nor Celeborn showed surprise but the Maia could tell that the Sinda was feeling a bit unnerved. As welcome as the Host had been to the beleaguered Eldar and Atani of Heceldamar, Eönwë knew that the presence of so many Maiar was still unsettling to many.

"And why have we been summoned, lord?" Celeborn asked in careful Quenya.

"I summoned all three of you," Eönwë replied, "for I have a message for you from the Elder King."

That surprised them and the three Eldar sat staring at the Maia with varying degrees of trepidation. The Herald continued.

"The Valar have decreed that when this war is done, those among the Exiles who wish may return to Aman, though only as far as Tol Eressëa, which is now uninhabited. Any of the Sindar or Nandor who wish may also come."

No one spoke. Arafinwë watched his daughter and son-in-law as they stared into one another’s eyes and wondered what thoughts passed through their minds at Eönwë’s news. He, of course, knew of the Valar’s decision in this regard and had some ambivalent feelings about it, but knew that the time had come for forgiveness and reconciliation on both sides.

Finally Galadriel turned to Eönwë and bowed her head. "I thank thee for thy message, lord, we both do."

"Will you speak to your people then?" Eönwë asked.

Celeborn shook his head. "Nay, lord, the timing is not meet. Let us first defeat the Enemy. Afterwards, if there be any of us still living...."

Eönwë nodded. "Then we will hold off making the announcement." He paused for a moment before continuing, his expression turning more grave. "There is one thing though, my children."

"What is that, my lord?" Galadriel asked, her expression becoming unreadable, as if she guessed what might be coming.

"The Valar have decided that you will not be permitted to return with the others."

"What!?" Arafinwë stood in shock and anger. "What do you mean, Eönwë?" he demanded, quite forgetting to whom he spoke. "Has not my daughter suffered enough that the Valar would see her suffer more? Must she return to her family only by way of Mandos then, as will her brothers? Is that what they wish, for her to die?"

Eönwë held up a hand. "Peace, Pityahuan," he said, not unkindly, though there was an undertone of authority that Arafinwë recognized and dared not ignore. "The reasons for the Valar’s decisions are not yours to question."

"What of Maedhros and Maglor?" Galadriel asked. "What of my cousins?"

The Maia sighed. "They, of course, will return, for they must face judgment for their Oath."

"But..."

"They do not yet know this," Eönwë continued, "but they are, for all intents and purposes, under house arrest, though it is hoped they will return voluntarily and seek forgiveness."

"And I’m not allowed to seek forgiveness?" Galadriel asked, her tone a mixture of haughtiness and hurt.

Eonwë gave her a searching look. "And dost thou seek forgiveness indeed, daughter?"

Galadriel looked away and shook her head. "Nay, I do not, not yet."

Eönwë nodded his understanding. Arafinwë sighed, fearing that would be her answer. He had hoped she would humble herself enough to beg, but then, he mused wryly, she wouldn’t have been his daughter had she done that.

"So, I will never be permitted to return?" she asked.

The Herald shook his head. "That is not what I said, daughter of Arafinwë. I said that you would not be permitted to return with the other Exiles at the end of the war. My Masters are not vindictive and there are reasons I think for their decision that have nothing to do with you personally. Perhaps Lord Námo has seen something...." He shrugged, refusing to elaborate.

Celeborn then spoke, looking at Eönwë, yet his words were really for Arafinwë. "I promise you, lord, I will do all in my power to protect my lady wife until such time as she is permitted to rejoin her family in Aman."

Eönwë gave the Sindarin prince an amused look. "Do you indeed, prince of Lestanórë? And by what do you swear?"

For a moment the Sinda hesitated, not sure what was being said here. Then, as if coming to a decision, he rose gracefully and knelt before the Maia. "As I live, my lord, I swear by the One above all Thrones that I will do all I can to protect my beloved until such time as the Valar open their arms to her in love and forgiveness, howsoever long that may be."

Eönwë smiled at the silver-haired Sinda. "Works for me," he said slyly and proceeded to open a blue leather-bound book that simply appeared on his desk, dipping his quill in ink and proceeding to write, humming as he did so.

Celeborn remained kneeling, not sure what to make of it all. Galadriel and Arafinwë exchanged bemused expressions. Finally Eönwë stopped and closed the book, which disappeared as he looked at them with a smile. "Go, my children, and get some rest. This was but the first day of fighting. Tomorrow will come soon enough and we will take up arms again."

For a moment the three Eldar did not move, then Arafinwë stood and the other two followed suit. They all gave the Maia their obeisance and left. For a long moment Eönwë did not stir, then, shaking his head, he called out. "All right, Fionwë, you can come back in."

The other Maia entered the tent and gave his commander a lopsided grin. Eönwë nodded and gestured to one of the camp chairs. "Let’s go over the order of battle for tomorrow. I want to move Arafinwë’s troops further up the Sirion and...."

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All words are Quenya unless noted otherwise.

Heceldamar: "Land of the Forsaken Elves", the name used by the Loremasters of Aman for Beleriand.

Noldóran: King of the Noldor.

Laurelaiquamirë: Chrysoprase, an apple-green form of chalcedony. It helps to make conscious what was unconscious. It encourages hope and joy and helps clarify problems. It is also used as a shield or protector against negative energy and has more power when carved in the shape of a heart [laurë (gold) + laiqua (green) + mirë (jewel)].

Pityahuan: Little Hound.

Epessë: After-name, a nickname, mostly given as a title of admiration or honor, though not necessarily.

Eärendilioni: The Sons of Eärendil, Elrond and Elros. They were fifteen years old at the start of the War of Wrath.

Eruhin: Child of Eru.

Ellon: (Sindarin) Male elf.

Lestanórë: Doriath.

Note: Samite is a heavy silk fabric often interwoven with gold or silver thread.

Note: Nine years of the Trees is equivalent to 86 years of the Sun. The War of Wrath took forty-two years.