For a moment, memories arose…
More than six thousand years ago, in the age of the Noldor, they had dwelled in Beleriand, the mighty realm between the Ered Luin and the grinding ice of the Helcaraxë.
And the sea had been clashing relentlessly against the lashing rocks of Lammoth, and the leaves had been falling in Neldoreth, and the willows had been swaying gently in Nan-Tasarion.
The mighty folk of Fingolfin had kept the darkness in the north at bay, and the hardy folk of Fëanor had hunted down the minions of Morgoth.
Yet west and east were never meant to be united. Pride, lack of insight, the works of the enemy and a dark past had hindered the eventual union of the houses Fëanor and Fingolfin.
But other events had happened, more terrible, more gruesome than all battles of Beleriand together…
The elf clad in crimson raiment remembered it all too well.
„Here we are, after many fights, and many a long journey“ he said.
His companion, wearing a long blue cloak with a swan emblem glanced at him.
„A moment of respite in our journey“ he answered. There was something utterly unwavering about this elf. His gaze bore the weight of countless years, and yet his eyes were clear and bright, undimmed by the many misfortunes of the world.
But the elf in crimson raiment said:
„It may seem like a respite… at least for some. But I fear I shall not find peace in this forest…“
He glanced at his friend, and the golden gloaming of his eyes had drowned in a mist of sorrow and regret.
And the sea had been clashing relentlessly against the lashing rocks of Lammoth, and the wind had been howling through the wasteland by the Ramdal, and the river Narog had been rushing through Nargothrond.
„You will find that all sort of people have sought shelter under these trees, and that few are willing to open wounds better left untouched. The Eldar have bled enough among themselves“ said the elf with the blue cloak.
„Of that we all know. But the Eldar do not forget. They could reject my services - and perhaps they would do right“ answered his companion, and lowered his head.
„O brother“ he said, in a low voice, „I have done ill against the kindred of Elwë… you know it.“
His friend narrowed the eyes.
„You still deem yourself the only one to have blood on your hands.“
One had been a follower of Fingolfin, the other had been serving the house of Fëanor.
Sundered, they had been fighting in the war of the Noldor against Morgoth Bauglir.
A strange and cruel fate had led both to the Havens of Sirion, and yet that same fate had decided to keep them sundered in midst of the raging madness that befell the Eldar.
Had they crossed the blades on that dark day, one of them, or perhaps both would have been slain by own kindred.
„Who are the Galadhrim?“ said the elf with the blue cloak.
„The people of Amroth, some might say. Here we have Sindar, Noldor and Silvan folk living peacefully together. Why rekindle the fires of strife, when sinner and innocent have suffered alike?“
„Indeed“ answered his companion and gazed at the silvern swan in front of them.
„From what I could observe so far, there seems to be an enduring peace and harmony within the Golden Wood.“
He looked up. The mighty Mellyrn were looking down at them, eyeless, timeless, unfathomable in their great calmness. Morning light illuminated Caras Galadhon, and was mirrored by the surface of the little pond in front of the two friends.
„You need not look far to understand this harmony“ said the elf clad in blue, and the voice of the follower of Fingolfin sounded as unwavering as the strength of the Mellyrn itself.
„Have not the people of Nolofinwë and Arafinwë suffered too at the hands of the people of Fëanáro?“
He glanced at his brother-in-arms.
„Should I turn my blade onto you and Makanare too?“
He shook his head.
His companion answered:
„Nos Fëanáro has brought more suffering to itself than to others, even if this is hard to understand.
A struggle within that may never end, as long as the children of eastern Valariandë wander Middle-Earth.“
„As long as we cling to it, perhaps“ said his companion, mirthlessly.
The elf clad in crimson knew all too well about the truth of these words.
Even here in Lórien he bore the Star of Fëanor upon his cloak, shining in eight rays and eight spikes of silver. It felt heavy, and oftentimes he felt the stern eyes of the Galadhrim on his back.
But even more heavy was the burden of the past, an obscure fear of a doom that did not yet seem full-wrought.
Perhaps he was condemned to wander Endor forever, chained to memories that would not cease to haunt him.
And the thundering voices of the warriors of Fingolfin upon Barad Eithel had been calling to battle, and the far cries of the scouts upon Minas Tirith had been warning the folk of Orodreth, and the bellowing voices of Celegorm’s soldiers had been demanding retaliation…
„But I remember a time when we were the People of Finwë, and strife did not exist“ said the elf with the blue cloak.
His friend gazed at him. He had failed to save his family, he had failed in defending Beleriand, he had failed in breaking the chains of a terrible oath. But he would not fail in staying faithful to his friends.
He made a fist and spoke firmly:
„Artakáno my brother, hear my words: Once more shall we be named the Followers of Finwë, and no ill thought and ill deed shall sunder us. Your joy is my joy, your grief is my grief, your victory is my victory. Every insult to you or Nolofinwë I shall take as a direct insult upon myself and my kindred.“
His companion inclined the head.
„Your words have inspired me with confidence“ continued the Fëanorian. „I shall await our deployment with much thrill of anticipation. In the meanwhile, I will probably crush some grapes.“
He laughed suddenly. He had talked with Eliriael about the vineyards of Lórien, and she had suggested him to help the vintners in times of harvest by crushing the grapes with bare feet.
Annunghil and Ráolor by the swan fountain in Caras Galadhon
His friend agreed. „The grapes will not be crushed by themselves.“
„Imagine Sogadan’s face…“ said the Fëanorian. The vintner of Imladris had been a quite popular figure during their stay in Rivendell.
„Imagine bringing him your own wine, telling him: „I have crushed those grapes myself! Try that goblet““.
„At least, that way we might have access to a less inflated kind of vintage. What shall you call your wine, though? A good name, so it may be labeled and shipped off for Sogadan.
Ráolor’s Regards, perhaps?“
„How about the Dance of the Andamunda - depends on how the grapes were being crushed…“
They laughed.
„I rather thought of something like „Parnard’s Triumph“, said the Fëanorian.
„Or Parnard’s Favourite! Sogadan would be most displeased by losing such a client.“
„So very true. Another one would be „Parnard’s Guilt“. We could make him guilty, if the wine turns out to be overly delicious…“
„That seems like a fine name. It also holds double meaning: Parnard is guilty of having wine other than the ones provided by Sogadan!“
„Depends on the jealousy of Sogadan.“
In that manner they were talking, and for a moment they forgot about the darkness of Mirkwood that lay in front of their path.
And the sea had been clashing relentlessly against the lashing rocks of Lammoth… and they were no more. But the grapes of Lórien lingered in golden light, and they dreamt of turning into wine.
---
[Translations and notes:
Helcaraxë - Grinding Ice (Quenya)
Lammoth - Great echo (Sindarin). A shoreland region in the far northwest of Beleriand
Neldoreth - forest of beeches (Sindarin). This region formed the northern part of the kingdom of Doriath
Nan-Tasarion - vale of willows (Quenya). Also called Nan Tathren, it was a beautiful, desolate land in the south of Beleriand
Ramdal - wall's end (Sindarin). A cluster of low hills in east Beleriand
Narog - possibly derived from Narâg, "black" (Khûzdul). A river in west Beleriand
Nargothrond - possibly from "Narukathan" (Khûzdul). The -rond in the end means "vaulted dome" in Sindarin. Nargothrond was one of the largest kingdoms of Beleriand, home to the children of Finarfin
Amroth - Sindarin form of am-rath, "upclimber" (Silvan). Amroth was a Sinda, and ruled Lórien as a king during the first half of the third age before his eventual death in the waves of Belegaer
Mallorn / pl.Mellyrn - (Sindarin) a kind of a large tree growing in Valinor, Númenór of old and Lórien
Nolofinwë - "Wise Finwë" (Quenya). The father-name of Fingolfin
Arafinwë - "Noble Finwë" (Quenya). Father-name of Finarfin
Fëanáro - "Spirit of Fire" (Quenya). Mother-name of Fëanor
Nos Fëanáro - "House of Fëanor" (Quenya)
Valariandë - Beleriand (Quenya)
Barad Eithel - Tower of the well (Sindarin). Name of a great fortress in northwest Beleriand, stronghold of the Noldor under high-king Fingolfin
Minas Tirith - tower of watch (Sindarin). The Minas Tirith mentioned here is not to be confused with the city built by the Númenóreans in the third age. Minas Tirith of Beleriand was built by Finrod Felagund and guarded the pass of Sirion, preventing the orcs from entering the lands of Beleriand from the north. Later, after Sauron had seized it by command of Morgoth, it was named Tol-in-Gaurhoth, isle of the werewolfes
Orodreth - mountaineer (Sindarin). Name of the last king of Nargothrond and lord of Minas Tirith
Finwë - probably derived from "Phinwë" - "clever/skillful person" (old Quenya). Leader and first king of the Noldor
Andamunda - "long mouth", a name for elephants (Quenya).
