COURTEOUS: Lack of Manners

SUMMARY: Círdan visits Doriath and finds things not to his liking.

****

Círdan stroked his beard, his eyes narrowing, as he observed the comings and goings in Menegroth. He had arrived, it seemed, at a time of confusion and upset, for Thingol’s seneschal barely acknowledged his existence, distractedly asking him to wait with his entourage in one of the lesser antechambers.

"Their Majesties are busy," was the ellon’s curt reply to the Shipwright’s enquiries.

"Busy, hmph!" Círdan muttered to himself, casting a wry glance at his second, Galdor, who merely raised an eyebrow but otherwise did not offer any comment.

Círdan sat back and waited. There was no attempt to provide him or his people with a chance to freshen up first, nor was there any offer of refreshments. Galdor started to fidget and Círdan hid a smile behind his beard at the youngster’s twitchiness.

"Relax, Galdor," he said mildly. "All will come as it must. Patience is a virtue when dealing with Elu Thingol."

"I have never been to Doriath," Galdor said, straightening. "Is it always this... hectic?" He gave his lord a disapproving look.

Círdan chuckled. "Not to my knowledge, though admittedly, this is only the second time I’ve bothered to travel east since I first came to Beleriand. I much prefer Eglarest and the Falas."

"Why have we come, then, lord?" Galdor asked, frowning. "You never did say." He tried to keep the reproach from his voice, though he was not sure how successful he was.

The Shipwright gave his young companion a stern look. "Nor will I say now. It is for Thingol to hear and no other."

Galdor paled at the reprimand and bowed. "Forgive me, lord. I did not intend to presume...."

"Nay, child," Círdan said, waving a hand in dismissal and giving the ellon a brief though sincere smile. "It is I who ask for your forgiveness. I fear I am not best pleased at...."

He was interrupted by the door opening and Thingol’s seneschal was bowing. "If it pleases you, my lord, their Majesties send their regrets and will not be able to see you at this time. I...."

Círdan, however, had had enough. He stood, his robe of state shimmering in shades of blue, green and purple under the glow of the lamps, glaring at the hapless ellon who took a step or two back in confusion. "It does not please me at all. Bah! Come, Galdor. I will see Thingol now."

He deliberately strode past the speechless seneschal with Galdor and their guards right behind him. The seneschal ran after them. "My lord, please! I beg of you, this is not a good...."

Círdan stopped, allowing the ellon to reach him. "It will never be a good time as far as your king is concerned," he told him. "I will not be put off any longer. Too much is at stake." With that, he turned and approached the doors to the throne room where two guards attempted to forestall him, but he merely pushed them aside as if they were no more than elflings.

Flinging open the doors, Círdan strode in, his eyes bright with anger held on a tight leash. "The courtesy of your halls is lacking of late, Elu," he said, ignoring the gasps from courtiers and the frown from Thingol. Melian, he took time to notice, had a small smile on her fair face, though her eyes were dark with worry. Both stood as Círdan approached, though Thingol rose somewhat reluctantly. "Am I some Nandorin flunky that you can so easily ignore me or dismiss me out of hand?"

Elu Thingol glared back, his silvery hair held back by a crown of wrought silver, his robes in various shades of white. Círdan wondered at that, for white was generally the color of mourning among the Teleri. "My courtesy is mine own, Círdan of the Falathrim," the king of Doriath replied with a scowl. "You do well to remember in whose realm you tread."

"And you do well to remember to whom you speak," Círdan retorted, coming to stand before the throne dais. He gave Melian a brief but respectful bow which she acknowledged with a gracious nod; Thingol, he ignored. "My lady, I rejoice in seeing you again."

"And I you, mellon nîn," said the Queen of Doriath, "though these be sorrowful times."

"Indeed," Círdan said with a nod. "There have been rumors abounding...."

"And you decided to see if they were true?" Thingol demanded, glaring down at his unwelcome guest.

Melian placed a hand on her husband’s arm. "Peace, hervenn nîn. Lord Círdan is not our enemy."

"Yet."

The absolute silence that followed that one word was deafening. Galdor unconsciously went for his sword, only realizing at the last moment what he was doing. It wouldn’t have done much good anyway, for the hilt was tied with peace-strings and removing them would have been a breach of protocol. Círdan gave the younger elf a wry smile before turning his attention back to Thingol. The King of Doriath was still in a dark mood and seemed to be the only one not affected by his own words. Melian looked upon her lord and husband with an expression of disbelief bordering on disgust.

"Take care, Elu," Cîrdan said softly, his voice like steel in silk, "lest Morgoth’s taint find you."

"Too late for that, my lord."

Círdan looked around to see Celeborn striding towards them with Galadriel beside him. The prince of Doriath was nearly as tall as his uncle, his silvery hair bound loosely with a leather cord. He was dressed as if for hunting and one of the great war bows was slung on his back. Galadriel, he saw was similarly dressed, which surprised him not, for Celeborn’s lady was known far and wide for her martial prowess, though here inside the Girdle of Melian she had had little need to practice it. She carried a smaller bow, one of Noldorin make, yet no less deadly than the ones favored by the Sindar.

"What do you mean, son?" Círdan asked as Celeborn and Galadriel both gave him their obeisance.

Celeborn’s fair face darkened into a scowl as he gave his uncle a glance. "Only that doom has found us. Mine uncle foolishly...."

"Farn!" Thingol exclaimed. "I will not be spoken of in this manner within mine own realm."

Celeborn, however, was not so easily cowed and he turned on his kinsman. "You were a fool, Uncle! Everyone but you could see how much Lúthien loved him, mortal though he be. You thought yourself so clever, sending him to fetch you a silmaril as a brideprice, knowing he would most likely die in the attempt. You murdered him, Elu, and your daughter as well."

Thingol’s expression was one of pure fury as he unsheathed his sword, Aranrúth. "You dare...."

"Farn!" Círdan shouted, taking two steps to place himself between uncle and nephew. "Cease this unseemly behavior." Then, without giving anyone a chance to protest, he grabbed the sword from Thingol’s hand and threw it at Galdor, who caught it lightly. "The king’s sword... and his honor is yours to guard, Galdor," he said, casting a glance around the court, daring anyone to object. Galdor bowed to his lord and stood at attention, placing the sword before him. Círdan then turned back to Melian with a sigh. "I think this conversation should be moved to a more private venue."

"I agree," Melian said with a nod and turned to the seneschal. "Dismiss the court, Ragnor. Come, we will retire to our private apartments." She took her husband’s arm and he allowed himself to be led. Círdan followed, along with Celeborn and Galadriel, who left their bows and quivers resting against the thrones.

When they reached the royal couple’s private chambers, Celeborn went to a sideboard and poured out some wine for all of them. All this time Thingol said no word, his expression set in stone. Círdan accepted the goblet of wine from the king’s nephew with a smile and took an appreciative sip before speaking.

"Honestly, Elu, young Ereinion is better behaved and he’s an elfling in truth. What has come over you, mellon nîn? And why these mourning clothes?"

Thingol looked up from the goblet he’d been staring into and the depths of pain in his eyes was almost too much for any of them to bear. "My daughter is dead," he said tonelessly.

"You do not know that, sire," Galadriel said. She turned to Círdan to explain. "Lúthien disappeared some weeks ago."

"Disappeared, you say?" Círdan exclaimed. "How?"

"She ran away, after mine uncle had her imprisoned," Celeborn answered, casting a sneer at Thingol, who was ignoring everyone.

The Shipwright narrowed his eyes. "I think someone should explain... from the beginning."

For a long moment there was silence and then Melian sighed and began speaking, telling of the arrival of the mortal, Beren son of Barahir, and what followed after. Círdan did not interrupt, though he was sorely tempted to. Instead, he closed his eyes and thought of the day Lord Ulmo had appeared to him as he was wandering along a beach singing a song about the Sea. It had been an interesting conversation, to say the least....

****

"Thou’rt missing thy friends who went with Olwë, art thou not, child?" the Lord of Waters asked him when he appeared, standing in the surf.

Círdan could not deny it. While he had been willing to remain in Beleriand even after Lord Ulmo had returned to summon the Teleri under Lord Olwë to Aman, he had been sorely grieved at the parting nonetheless and wondered that he had so willingly given up any chance of seeing Aman to take up the lordship of the Falathrim.

"Do not grieve so, my son," Ulmo said gently. "One day thou wilt come to Aman and be reunited with thy kin, but for now, I have for thee a charge."

"What is that, lord?" Círdan asked.

"My fellow Valar are unhappy that many of the Eldar have lingered overlong in Beleriand," Ulmo stated, "yet they understand that there is a reason for this, one that need not concern thee at this time. Suffice to say that neither they nor I will willingly abandon thee or those of your kin who still seek after Elwë. Therefore, we have chosen thee to be our representative here in Beleriand, to hear the words which from time to time I will utter to thee which thou mayest pass on to thy kin for their benefit and solace."

Círdan gave the Vala an uncertain look. "I am the least of my people, lord. If Elwë is ever found again, he will hold my allegiance."

"Nay, child. Thou’rt Lord of the Falathrim and they will accept no other. Elwë will indeed be found and when he is he will accept that thou’rt his equal, for didst thou not awaken under the stars of Cuiviénen as did he?"

Círdan sighed, still unsure but willing to obey. He gave the Vala a low bow. "I am thy servant in all things, lord. Let it be done as thou hast said...."

****

Círdan’s musings were interrupted by Melian telling him of Lúthien’s imprisonment and subsequent escape and wondered how anyone who had seen the Light of the fabled Two Trees, had spoken to the Powers themselves and had espoused a Maia no less could be so utterly stupid. He gave the King of Doriath a sour look.

"I see that Fëanor’s Oath and the Doom of Mandos has found its way past even your lady’s enchantments, Elu. Your nephew is correct. You acted very foolishly. Beren is of a lordly people...."

"He is a mortal, baseborn and ignorant of beauty...."

"He fell in love with Lúthien," Celeborn said in a droll tone. "I hardly think he could be that ignorant."

"Nor is he baseborn," Galadriel added. "He is the son of Barahir of the house of Bëor whom my brother befriended. Do you think that Finrod would consort with any who were not honorable and noble of spirit?"

"The Aftercomers are not to be despised, Elu," Círdan said, "and even I have heard of the deeds of Barahir and his son. The fact that Beren was able to penetrate the Girdle which none, not even elves, have ever done before should have told you something. I deem he might be most worthy of your daughter’s love."

"It matters not," Thingol said darkly. "He is dead or soon will be. I sent him on a fool’s errand...."

"He is not dead," Círdan said baldly. "He lives still, as does your daughter, or so the rumors say, but there are others who did not fare as well." He glanced sorrowfully at Galadriel, who paled at his words.

"My brother," she whispered.

"I am sorry, my dear," Círdan said gently.

"A shadow has darkened my heart these last few days," she said, staring at nothing in particular. "I could not fathom its meaning, but now...." She fell weeping quietly into Celeborn’s arms.

"Finrod died defending Beren in the dungeons of Tol-in-Gaurhoth," Círdan explained, "or so word has come from those who have since escaped from that prison." He gave Thingol and Melian a hard stare. "It seems that Lúthien had a hand in destroying Minas Tirith and setting free its captives. They have been making their way southward towards Nargothrond. I came upon one such hapless ellon who told me the news."

"What brought you here?" Melian asked, her expression unreadable. She refused to look at her husband, who simply sat there, his own expression cold and distant.

"Rumors of wolves," Círdan answered. "Sauron has unleashed his pack. I wished to consult with you and Elu about defenses. This may be the first sortie and if Morgoth is planning to launch an offensive...."

Melian and Celeborn both nodded. Thingol, however, gave him a sour look. "My lady’s Girdle will keep Morgoth out. Look to your own defenses, Círdan of the Falathrim, or if you will, go to the Noldor upstarts who ever seek for glory in battle."

"Do you think that your lady, Maia though she be, has the power to withstand a Vala, any Vala?" Círdan asked, casting a look of disgust at Thingol. "Morgoth has not troubled himself with you only because those same Noldorin upstarts, as you call them, have been keeping him busy. And now the best and the brightest of them is dead, thanks to you."

Thingol stood in shock. "You dare!? I had no hand in killing Felagund."

"Did you not?" Círdan countered, also standing. "Bah! I will not quarrel with you, Elu Thingol. I came here in good faith as one lord to another, but I see my errand was for naught. I will return to my people and leave you to your griefs... and your doom."

He gave Melian a bow, then turned to Galadriel, who had ceased weeping though she still remained in Celeborn’s arms, seeking solace from his love and concern. "My dear," he said, leaning down to give her a kiss, "words cannot express the sorrow I feel for you. Your brother was a good king and a puissant warrior. He died as he lived, in service to others. Take comfort that he now rests in peace within the halls of Mandos. Someday, perhaps, you and he will meet again."

Galadriel shook her head. "The Valar forsook us and we are outcasts. Now I alone am left of the House of Finwë born in Aman. In me alone resides the memory of the Light of the Two Trees."

"But you are not alone," Celeborn said quietly. "You have me."

"And me," Melian said, coming to stand before them. "For as long as I reside here, you will always have me."

Círdan nodded in approval. "I will leave you then. I will not return, but if ever you have need of me...."

"Thank you, mellon nín," Melian said with a smile.

Círdan bowed to them all before leaving, taking a moment to look one last time upon the King of Doriath, who had shrunk into himself, ignoring everyone, sitting in his white robes. Looking at him, Círdan had a terrible thought that it was his own death Thingol was mourning. He shook his head, trying to clear the image from his mind as he made his way back to the throne room where he found Galdor still standing at attention.

"Put the sword down, Galdor," he said as he passed the ellon. "I’ve seen enough. It’s time we were home."

Galdor laid the sword on Thingol’s throne and silently followed his lord out of Menegroth, no wiser as to Círdan’s purpose in coming to Doriath than before.

****

All words are Sindarin.

Mellon nîn: My friend.

Hervenn nîn: My husband.

Farn!: Enough!.

Aranrúth: ‘King’s Ire’. Elu Thingol’s sword which survived the ruin of Doriath and became an heirloom of the Kings of Númenor.