My lad brings me warm spiced wine and sets it beside me. A good day's ride. He kneels, unfastens and removes my mud be-spattered boots. A comely lad, and in my favour. He looks up at me with a smile as I taste the wine, knowing he has flavoured it exactly as I require.
I glance down at him. A fast, exhilarating ride to this camp, warmth awaiting me. I am in a mellow mood this evening. He sees it - and I wait for the inevitable questions.
'The war goes well, m'lord?'
' Well and good. We will prevail. ' I smile at him, leaning back at ease in my chair .
' The camp here - it is full of the rumour of your Elf ', he laughs, eyes shining with the privilage of the truth and his closeness to me.
'You will make a lot of coin then; with tales of her.'
He pats his pouches as he straightens up, moving to the camp table to bring me a book.
' Already begun m'lord ! '
' You will soon have riches beyond your desires, lad. Enough to even satisfy your dreams.'
He laughs once more, running his hand over the silken sleeve of his tunic. He is a merry poppinjay - bright as a well-plumed bird.
He moves my muddy boots aside to clean later and comes to sit on the rich rug at my feet. I look down at him questioningly,
'You have a request of your master?'
'I'd have a tale, lord, if you would be willing to favour me'.
A tale. Yes. It has been too long since I told a tale to a willing audience. I give my assent; he glows with pride - a lad should know what pleases his master. I lay my dark hand on his soft hair for a moment in benediction before I begin.
I tell him the tale of the origin of this war. How it is not one war of our time, but a child of earlier strife, a ribbon of blood through the ages. I tell him of the true instigators of this war. Of the silmarils. Of the elves...
Of the noldor...
Let them flee and sail west - driven out by us. Or let them stand in wilted pride and die. I care not, save that the truth is known. What have they given this world, what have they given Men other than sorrow and strife through their own pride and selfishness?
All the woes of the world come through Feanor and the arrogance of his sons and their Noldor kin. Count their crimes if you do not believe me. Kinslayers, warmongers, deceivers, murderers, banished exiles. Even their own folk and lords turned their faces against them in horror. Yet ever they set themselves as lords of this earth, so the old tales show.
Yet... so little did they care for this world, that they left for their 'blessed land'. They returned, bringing hatred and bearing kins-blood on their stained hands, to wage an unlovely war through age on age. A war brought on by their own hubris - who is Melkor but the chastizing hand of the powers? The death of the trees a sorry necessity - to finally lay bare the overweaning pride of Feanor. A pride gone beyond his place, a challenge to the Valar. Revealling the dreadful truth that he would not yield up what he had taken - the light of the trees that he had not made - but now claimed and would not share.
A war that is no Man's making, but in which we have suffered and died for their fair faces and lying tongues. A war that began with one Elf defying the powers in his mad pride.
And they dare judge Men.
