Círdan

Evening finds me in the shipyard working on the rigging of one of the new vessels when summons come from the house.

“Lord Círdan, there are several Noldor requesting to see you.”

That alone is strange, but there is some note in the messenger’s voice that at once makes me raise my head. I lean towards him and narrow my eyes.

“And what else?” He hesitates, and his hesitation irritates me. “There is more, I see it plainly. What of those Noldor? Out with it!”

“They… they are from Himring.”

This makes me stand frozen for a few heartbeats. “I see. I am coming at once.”

I put away the tools and head straight to the house, keeping my face calm. But my looks belie my mood. There is a torrent of feelings raging in my heart, as I clearly see before my eyes the horrors of the day now nearly fourteen years ago.

There was smoke in the distance ere we had yet entered the bay, and the growing sense of dread proved to be only too justified as we moored the ships in the harbour. The burning houses. The blood-stained streets, littered with bodies. The quiet lament of those few who had survived the bloodshed. The terrifying story of Elwing’s end. Grief and anger seize my heart even now as I think of Elwing, of gentle Elwing, driven so cruelly to her destruction. And that destruction has a name. Fëanor’s sons. I feel my hands clenching in fists and force myself to breathe deeply and evenly. I will not let my wrath overcome me. But they should better have a good reason for coming here!

I find the Noldor waiting in the inner yard, clearly weary from the long travel. Their company is so small that I somewhat reluctantly acknowledge their courage to take the long road during these perilous times. They must have a good reason indeed.

There are three who at once have my attention. The first is, as I rightly guess, the leader of the company, one with calm and confident bearing, stern of face. Then there are two young Elves, and there is some strangeness to them that I do not yet understand. They are certainly brothers, for their great likeness, but then I realize that they also bear likeness to someone else, someone whom I have known before, someone who walks the land of Endor no longer. And that, together with the air of strangeness, brings to my mind some wild guesses that I swiftly silence until I know more.

I greet them, then turn towards the leader of the company. He bows and gives his name: Aldanwë.

“Lord Círdan, I bring to you word from Himring,” he says. “There is war in Angband, the fortress of Morgoth is besieged by the host of the West.”

I nod. This news has reached me already, and it cannot be the reason for their arrival.

That proves true. “The northern lands have grown perilous. Therefore, my lords Maedhros and Maglor ask that you give shelter to their wards, Elros and Elrond, sons or Ëarendil,” says Aldanwë handing me a sealed letter.

My heart skips a beat. The wild guess has proven true. My eyes dart to Ëarendil and Elwing’s children who stand a few paces away. At Aldanwë’s nod one of them steps forward, bows in greeting and gives his name. Elrond. Elros stands still for a while. There is clearly some struggle going on in his heart, but at last he, too, steps forward and greets me. Something is not well between the brothers, and between them and the rest of the company too.

“Welcome, sons of Elwing,” I say and note the veil of sadness covering Elrond’s gaze and the flash of anger in Elros’ eyes. “We shall speak together later. For now, rest awhile; you are all weary from the long road.”

Aldanwë thanks me, and the Noldor are shown their lodgings. I remain in the yard, mind in turmoil, bewildered by this turn of events. Who would have thought that the twins would be found? And, even more so, who would have thought that I would accept people of Fëanor under my roof? But I will not deny our hospitality to weary travellers. And I need my questions answered.

I open the letter. Maedhros has written it; bold, flowing lines cover the parchment. The letter is polite and short, and it relates what Aldanwë has already said. The northern lands are under threat of war. He and his brother are concerned for the safety of the twins; therefore, they request shelter for their wards. The use of the word angers and confuses me, but there are no further explanations.

After having given the Noldor some time to rest, I knock on Aldanwë’s door and enter, to find him standing by the window that opens towards the Sea.

“Lord Círdan.” He bows his head slightly, acknowledging my presence. “I am grateful for your kindness.”

“Elwing and Ëarendil’s sons shall always find welcome under my roof,” I reply. Then I pierce him with my gaze. “You called them wards of Maedhros and Maglor. Should you rather not say – hostages?”

Aldanwë does not avert his gaze, and when he answers, his voice is calm and respectful, but there is a flicker of defiance in his eyes.

“Wards, my lord Círdan,” he replies firmly. “I did not misspeak.”

“Their bearing maybe tells a different story.” I frown.

“Their bearing reflects their recent grief. Elrond and Elros learned of the events in Sirion just ere their departure from Himring.”

I stare at him, taken aback. “Explain.”

He nods and starts speaking. In a level voice he relates the events of that fateful day. Their coming to the Havens and discovering Ëarendil still gone. Refusal of Silmaril. Fighting on the streets. Elwing’s desperate flight. And later, finding the twins in a cavern by the Sea, just before the incoming tide had covered the coastland with water.

From Aldanwë’s tale it follows that Maedhros and Maglor have saved the boys from a certain death, not taken them captive. Even if in my heart I would wish to disregard his story as untrue, I cannot. I believe him. Maybe because he does not offer any excuses for their deeds, and maybe because somewhere behind his words I sense sincere regret and pain, deep and true pain. Despite my still smouldering anger I also feel a faint spark of pity towards him. Perhaps even towards Fëanor’s sons.

When Aldanwë falls silent, I sigh and regard him closely, noticing the deep weariness in his face, weariness that will likely not be healed by a good night’s rest. I have more questions.

“Why did you not leave the children with their people?”

His reply surprises me. “Lord Maedhros was about to do just that when he saw your ships in the bay. His brother dissuaded him.” He falls silent for a while, then adds quietly, “I also counselled them to take the boys to Himring.”

“Why?” I demand, my anger flaring up again.

Aldanwë looks at me for several moments.

“Lord Maglor did not wish them to see the blood on the streets of their childhood home. He also did not want his brother to go to certain death at the hands of your people,” he replies at length.

“I see.” That would have likely happened; I doubt we would have spared Maedhros’ life, our hearts hot with rightful anger.

”And I… You must understand, lord Círdan,” Aldanwë then says slowly after another while of silence. “You must understand that my loyalty lies with the children I saw being born and growing up. Fëanor was my friend once. His sons are dear to me, and when I saw what their father’s Oath did to them… The torment without any hope of release, even in death...” His eyes flash briefly. “Can you imagine, my lord, how it is to watch one who has been tortured beyond reason to be unable to escape into death, because he cannot, because that accursed thing binds his fëa to a body long past the last boundaries of anguish?”

Heavy silence falls in the room. I do not know what to say. I can only admit that I cannot imagine that. I think of all the accusations I could lay on Fëanor’s people and realize that I no longer want to speak any of them aloud. I had thought much of their pride and arrogance – the foundation of their crimes, as it had seemed to me. I had given little thought to their loss and pain. In truth, none at all.

Aldanwë breaks the silence. “Forgive me,” he says wearily, drawing a slightly trembling hand over his face. “I overstep myself, maybe. But you asked why we did what we did, and the honest answer from my part is – because it saved Maedhros and Maglor. In a way. Even if for a few short years. This is probably of no importance to you. But you asked, therefore, I answer.”

“This is of importance,” I reply softly. “I appreciate your honesty, Aldanwë, even though I cannot understand all of what you speak, nor fully comprehend all the explanations you give.”

“What we do for those we love does not always follow the best reason.”

“Indeed. And yet – you left them now.” I look at him closely. “Fëanor’s sons.”

“There is nothing more I can do for them.” His voice is sad but resolute. “I thought that there might be something I can still do for the children they raised as their own. But I may have presumed too much.”

I push away irritation that again flares up at his words when he refers to the bond between Elwing’s children and those who were the cause of her death.

“There is some severe disagreement between the boys.”

“Yes.” A shadow passes Aldanwë’s face. “They took the news differently, for they are themselves very different. Elrond is quiet and insightful; he was ready to forgive. Elros is swift and rash, and the truth left him deeply shaken. But he is also generous, he will forgive his uncles in time, and he will reconcile with his brother. They just need peace, something meaningful to do, and time.”

“I see.” I nod my understanding. “And you, Aldanwë?”

“What of me?” He looks at me with question.

“Would you also rather not stay in peace, by their side?”

He tilts his head and stares at me in disbelief. “Would you allow that? I am one of those who spilled blood in Sirion.”

“I would like to think that I can find in my heart as much understanding and forgiveness as an eighteen-year-old child!” I reply wryly. “I see that you regret what you have done. That is enough for me.”

“I am grateful, my lord Círdan.” His voice breaks a little. “I can make myself useful. I am a healer, should you need another one.”

I reach out my hand towards him. “Healers are always needed these days.”

He hesitates a short while, but then we clasp hands, and Aldanwë smiles. It is strange to see his stern face softened by a smile that kindles in his eyes the Light that my people have never seen.

I leave his room, wondering at my own change of heart.