Justice and Death

Chapter 1

The rays of the sun peeked low behind the trees in far south, and they would not warm the air or the earth. It was almost winter again, only there was yet no sight of snow. I got down from my saddle and a cloud of dust rose from where my heels had touched the earth. I stroked the mane of the horse as I looked for my brothers. On the hilltop was a stout building. It was a building very much alike the others made by the Noldor in Beleriand. Grand, but not overly adorned. Sleek, but made for times of war.

The doors were opened by Macalaurë. He smiled a little when I greeted him. “I hope the journey went without further incidents…?” he formed his wish as a question.

“Yes,” I nodded.

“Come in, then.”

Macalaurë guided me through the hallways into a room, the windows of which were facing South and which was thus lit up by the small amount of sunlight that had made it above the trees. Macalaurë shut the door quietly behind us and I squinted as I tried to adjust my eyes to the sudden shine. When I began to see properly I noticed that the room was reasonably empty of people; apart from a tall figure standing by the windows, his back turned against the door.

“Maitimo,” Macalaurë said. “Moryo is here.”

Maitimo turned around, and smiled at me. “Long time no see, brother,” he said.

“All too long,” I agreed. “All too long since I have met all my brothers gathered in the same place.” I scratched my nose. “I thought the rest would already be here,” I added nonchalantly.

“Tyelkormo and Curufinwë are,” Maitimo said. “They just went to another room.”

“We are waiting for the Ambarussa,” Macalaurë explained. “It’s strange, because I thought they’d come earlier, but… then again, they are probably just late from some hunting trip.” He looked down at his feet. “It is nice to see each other again, but… I wish it would not always be under these circumstances.” He smiled apologetically but I knew what he meant. Strategy summits were not easy, and after the last battle they had become even worse, because by every killed Elf it became more and more apparent that not even the Noldoli are undefeatable. I counted silently in my head how many of our family were already dead.

“Ten…” I mumbled, and shivered. The family reduced in number. The Sons of Fëanáro were the only ones left, and it had now come down to them to prove themselves worthy of fame.

“What?” Maitimo asked gently. “Ten what, Carnistir?”

“Ten of…” I began bluntly, but didn’t continue. No need to bring up the deaths of their cousins. “Nothing,” I concluded. I had myself, strange enough, never been very fond of any of our cousins or uncles, but I remembered how everyone had been so upset about Findaráto’s death and how Maitimo had, unlike me, grieved for months over the loss of his cousin and best friend when Findekáno had died in the last battle. For me the death was a quizzical thing. I had seen my father die, and countless of others meet the same end. I had dealt death myself. Yet I did not fully understand death. How did it feel dying? Was there really no coming back? What happened afterwards? “After one dies, the fëa goes to the Mandos and will there be cleaned from evil”, Ingoldo had once said, at which I had told him to shut up – I did not want to go to the Halls of Mandos where the Lord of Death and Fate would surely taunt me for my stupidity and my death in an impossible War against the Dark Lord. I clenched my fists.

The door was opened and the sound brought me back from my thoughts. In came the Ambarussa, followed by Tyelkormo and Curufinwë.

The Ambarussa were – just like me – still wearing their travel clothing. Tyelkormo and Curufinwë, who had been here probably since yesterday, were in their normal attire. Tyelkormo was carrying a small bunch of papers and parchments, and Curufinwë balancing a vase of water and glasses.

“Carnistir, you are here already! Hello!” Pityafinwë, the older of the Ambarussa, said when he spotted me looming in the corner of the room. “I thought you said…” he turned to face Tyelkormo.

“I did, but I guess he’s only arrived, right?” Tyelkormo replied. “Oh, and hello,” he addressed me. “Good to see you.”

Telufinwë smiled at me and came forth to give me a hug. Meanwhile Pityafinwë greeted the others.

“You are more late than I expected,” Macalaurë commented. Pityafinwë nodded and glanced at his twin.

“We came from the West,” he told the others, “and the journey took longer than expected.”

“You are both okay, though,” Curufinwë asked with a somewhat concerned expression.

“Of course,” Telufinwë replied. He didn’t explain any further, but the answer satisfied Curufinwë’s curiosity and he didn’t say anything but merely nodded.

We took our seats around the large wooden table in the room. Tyelkormo placed the parchments he had been carrying onto the table. I glanced at them with an uninterested look, but I saw there were some maps and letters in the bunch.

At first, nobody said anything. A small tapping echoed as the only sound in the room. I looked around me to see where the sound came from and saw that Maitimo was clutching the edge of the table. He looked as tired as he lately had, but today I could see a determination in his eyes. A fire had been rekindled.

“My brothers,” he began, taking the lead, “we are now… we are now closer than ever to fulfilling our Oath.” He looked at each of us, and I followed his gaze. Macalaurë, Tyelkormo, myself, Curufinwë, Pityafinwë and Telufinwë. We all sat silent waiting for him to go on. Maitimo’s words had had an effect. I felt strangely powerful. Closer than ever. Could it be that our task would soon be fulfilled.

“The Silmarilli have been in the hands of the Enemy for very long,” Maitimo said. “But one of them is now free, and yet it is not within our grasp. It is held unjustly by somebody who it doesn’t belong to. It is our obligation to take it back, and those who own it know we are seeking for it.”

He wouldn’t have had to tell us all this, because everyone of us knew it, but no one said anything. One of the Silmarilli was no longer in the Iron Fortress of the North, but in the forestry kingdom of Elves that refused to form an alliance with us. That Silmaril would not be impossible to land, and if we got that one, we would be one step closer to reclaim its brethren. We hadn’t succeeded in attacking Morgoth’s stronghold, but somebody else had rescued the Silmaril for us. Now the owner of the jewel had changed yet again, but it was still not with those it belonged to; the sons of the Elf who had crafted it. That was where the mighty Sons of Fëanor would come in: put things back into place and do justice.

Maitimo ceased his talking and at the silence I hearkened from my own thoughts. Then I broke the silence.

“The Silmaril has been in Central Beleriand for quite some time already,” I said. “But it is not until now that we try to get it. How come we didn’t try to get it earlier?”

“It was with King Thingol,” Macalaurë, said. “You know as well as we that no matter whether you like him or not, he was a strong leader, and his Kingdom well fortified.”

“Ah, yes, but was it not in his daughter’s possession for some time,” I retorted. “And she lived… not so far from where we are now.”

“She did,” Tyelkormo said and looked at me strangely. “And we attempted to gain the jewel when it was stolen by the Dwarves. But you know why we didn’t attack her. I know you know.”

“What if I don’t?” I said and smirked slightly.

Tyelkormo’s eyes shone with a gleam. “We do not assault the daughter of Thingol.”

“I know why we don’t,” I said. “It is because you personally vowed we would not hurt her. But if I understand correctly, this meeting was summoned because we are going to attack her son instead. I find that rather paradoxical.”

Curufinwë glanced at me. You know better than to speak of this matter, he signalled with his eyes. And I did. But why, oh why, would we spare someone whom Tyelkormo had loved, and yet deemed it appropriate to slay a boy she had given birth to?

“Beren,” Tyelkormo hissed. “Dior Eluchil, the son of Lúthien, should never have been. When I last saw Lúthien, she was being led to her death by a mortal. And according to the rumours she did die, but was sent back. And not only her but Beren as well.” His voice had been steadily rising by every word he spoke, but now it dropped again. He looked at me. “She…,” I saw him swallow, “…is a thief. And yet she was spared by the Valar, so that she could breed a son who is no better than his father.” He glanced sideways and added silently: “Why are none of the Noldor ever spared?”

“Tyelkormo,” Macalaurë said quietly and took Tyelkormo’s hand as he sat next to him.

“The Valar work against us. They ever will,” Curufinwë said. “They deemed it well enough for Thingol to possess a Silmaril. No pressure was laid on him to return the jewel to Valinor. No forcing. No punishment.” Curufinwë looked more like my father than ever. There was not yet a craze in his eyes, but his words were bitter as if venom dripping from between his thin lips. His dark eyes swept the room as he explained how the Valar were once again unjust in how they treated the Elves. Some were given nothing but pain and death, whereas others were given not only mercy but a second lifespan. “They are foolish,” Curufinwë concluded, referring to the Valar, “if they don’t expect us to wish to attempt to deal justice and mercy ourselves.”

“Justice and mercy,” Maitimo said, “We would at least regain the justice if we had but one Silmaril. We would fulfil what we promised to Father. Mercy we will never have, not as long as we reside within Arda, and the Valar hold their power.”

“Then how will we regain the Silmaril that is now in Doriath?” Macalaurë asked. “Full blown attack? Dior is not Morgoth. I do not wish for another kinslaying. They result in too much unnecessary death.”

“Unnecessary…” Pityafinwë asked and raised his eyebrows. “Kinslaying was nothing we aimed for. But just as the Teleri, the Sindar are unlikely to surrender only through parley. They are close kin, after all: Teleri and Sindar.” He let forth a small laugh. I smiled as well. Dear Pityafinwë’s words somehow made the atmosphere lighter, even though what he had said was humour of a darker kind.

“Well, I don’t really think parley will do. It never worked with Thingol,” Maitimo answered, “but I agree with Macalaurë. Rushing into the castle fully armed is a path we will save as the last resort.”

“But how is Doriath these days? The main reason we never attacked it, was the Girdle of Melian,” Macalaurë contemplated.

“It is gone now,” Telufinwë said. We all turned to face him. He had a serious look on his face. “The Girdle is completely gone. Melian left nothing for her grandson when she fled. The borders are as vulnerable as a baby-dragon’s underbelly,” he said.

“Stab it and it bleeds,” concluded Pityafinwë.

“How can you be sure?” Macalaurë asked suspiciously.

“We’ve been there. On the Southern side,” Telufinwë admitted. He looked around at us, a bit unsure of whether to tell everything he knew. “That’s where we came from today. We were examining the border. We went a mile into the forest. Empty. Silent. Nobody there.”

“So nobody spotted you?” I asked.

“No, there weren’t any guards. And even if there had been, we would have eluded them – we are hunters. But you know how they used to have enforcements especially on the Northern Marches and on the Southern side, too. And yet, now we didn’t see a single Elf.”

“Dior Eluchil doesn’t have the same power his grandfather did,” Curufinwë said. “The ransacking by the Dwarves may well work in our profit. The Doriathrim fear to leave their capital.”

“If it comes to an attack, we might stand a chance,” Tyelkormo said.

“But surely we were planning a parley first?” Macalaurë said again. “It may not be of any use, but is a necessary part of the formalities.”

“A letter,” Maitimo said. “A letter should do. We never have luck with face-to-face parleys.”

I mentally distracted myself from their discussion as they went on with their talking. I stared out the window. Outside the sun was still desperately attempting to rise higher. But these days it wouldn’t succeed – it would barely make it past the treetops before it would sink again. I gazed at the sheep grazing on the browning hills further away. The landscape was so different from Valinor. When I found myself reminiscing, I shook my head and turned my attention back to Tyelkormo who was currently talking.

“Make it sound like a threat. Not too much, but so that he will have a reason to fear,” he said eagerly to Macalaurë who, with his beautiful slender handwriting had mastered both Tengwar and the Cirth, was writing a letter to the king of Doriath.

“A disguised threat, Tyelkormo,” Macalaurë replied. “No use to be outright rude or we will achieve even less of what we want to,” he looked sternly at his sibling who sighed, but said nothing.

“As if Dior wasn’t rude himself,” Curufinwë scoffed. “He takes pride in looted jewels as if he was both the owner and maker.”

“But I think that Macalaurë is right,” Maitimo said. “We give him a better image if we don’t lose our tempers.”

“They already have their image of us, and I doubt it will change,” I said and yawned, scratching my nose. “And wasn’t this letter supposed to be just for formality’s sake?”

“Well, it will affect how others look at us, too,” Pityafinwë put in. “There’s still Círdan and little Ereinion with him. We shouldn’t forget about them. They still keep in touch with Doriath, I think.”

I looked at him, slightly impressed of his quick thinking. “You’re right, Pityo,” I said, “of course.” At some point when I hadn’t noticed my two youngest siblings had become quite well versed strategists.

“There is Turukáno, also,” Curufinwë said quietly, entwining his fingers with each other.

“Is there, really?” Maitimo asked. “I haven’t heard much of him. Are you sure he survived… Nirnaeth?” The word ‘Nirnaeth’ came from his lips as a shadow of sorrow.

“We would know it from Morgoth himself if he was dead,” Curufinwë assured. “But the enemy is still looking for him. Turukáno’s kingdom is considered one of Angband’s most dangerous opponents, actually.” He smiled slightly at this, as if the idea had been absurd. But if Turukáno had managed to play Hide and Seek with Morgoth this long, I wasn’t that surprised by the Enemy’s concern.

“How well does he keep up with what happens outside his mysterious kingdom, then?” I asked, referring to our cousin.

“Well, he is none of our problems,” Tyelkormo said impatiently. “I doubt he, or his folk, will take the Silmaril. He is always occupied by other matters, and I don’t think they would stand against us.” He had a point, of course. “Turukáno isn’t even on Dior’s side. Still sense in some of our cousins,” my brother grinned.

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Two weeks after the letter in its beautiful envelope and seal had been given to an envoy to be sent to Doriath, there had yet been no reply. My brothers and I were still residing in the house in Lindon. Everybody had agreed that now that things were in motion we should all wait for a reply together, as to be ready in case action had to be taken. After all, everybody wanted to hear the reply as soon as possible. Asides from that it was nice to spend time with the closest family.

It was a cloudy day – again – and I was sitting in a large room, once again staring out the window. Macalaurë sat somewhere behind me, plucking softly on his harp and possibly composing something. I could hear him sighing as the scribbled something on parchments as he planned his next masterpiece.

“It doesn’t even belong in this chord…”

I smiled to myself as I heard my brother muttering and then furiously smudging away the ink.

“Any problems?” I asked him, and could hear another sigh.

“Yes. I feel distracted, uninspired, somehow so very… unintelligent. I cannot get anything reasonable done, and my fingers are clumsy today.”

I raised an eyebrow. Macalaurë clumsy? “What’s wrong?”

“I… I guess I am stressed? Maybe?”

“Maybe. What are you trying to compose about?”

“Victory in battle,” Macalaurë said quietly after a moment of silence. I didn’t reply at once. The quietness filled the room, and I realised that Macalaurë had stopped his playing and sighing and was just quiet. I turned around to look behind me and could see him sitting in a corner, his face in his hands. I got up from my chair and walked softly to him and hunched beside him. Why was he so upset?

“Macalaurë,” I said softly.

“I can’t compose about victory…” he said quietly and looked up at me. “We never have any.”

I looked at him, unsure of what to do. It had been a very long time since when I last spent this much time with my brothers. I hadn’t been very close with them since we came to Middle-Earth and were each given our own areas to govern. I seldom discussed very deep feelings with them. We spoke about war, the Silmarilli, news from abroad and within the family. It was nice, and I loved my brothers. But now that I found myself sitting in the corner of the room with an arm resting around Macalaurë’s shoulders as if we were small children again, I realised I wasn’t much of a comforter.

“It feels stupid to be upset about it. It’s not like I’m not used to it,” Macalaurë said at last. “Eventually we always face a failure.”

“But we have had victories, too,” I reminded him.

“Of course,” my brother muttered unconvinced, “but it’s different since Nirnaeth Arnoediad. We were betrayed by our troops while our allies died elsewhere. Not only our allies, but our cousins.” He looked at me. “I don’t know about you, but I miss our cousins. I miss how we used to be. I am tired of this War. I am in it for father’s sake, but I am stressed.” He looked away again, as if ashamed of the way he was babbling.

“I miss how we used to be, too,” I said after a while, but Macalaurë didn’t look back at me. I still went on: “I remember how the Ambarussa used to be so childish and innocent; I remember when Telperinquar was with Curufinwë and Huan followed Tyelkormo; I remember when Maitimo was still happy. I remember when father was alive and we lived with our mother.” Macalaurë turned his face to me. His grey eyes were dry, but I could see a stern sadness in them. A sadness I knew would shed no tears any more. I leaned my head on Macalaurë’s shoulder. “I remember when you composed happy songs.”

“I still compose happy songs,” Macalaurë said quietly, insisting effortlessly.

“Then compose one for me,” I said to him.

As elflings huddling from cold we sat there together, silent and unmoving. Macalaurë took my hand, and I closed my eyes.

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