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Dimmed lights of the inn, flickering.
Many voices speaking, silently.
Anxiety, doubtfulness within the air, dulling the mind like an invisible mist.
Some are on duty. They make ready, prepare for the next day.
Some are just resting, recovering from perilous endeavours within a dangerous forest.
At a wooden table, three travelers.
An Elleth here, with eyes fierce and grim like burning fire, soldier-like her bearing.
Next to her an Ellon in full armour, his face calm and noble like an image from ancient times. Opposite to both a hooded Ellon, clad in dark green and brown.
His hands and fingers move in accordance with a hunting knife, fashioning a carving out of a little piece of wood.
After a while he looks up.
"Any signs of Turumor?"
The flame-eyed Elleth answers:
"No, as far as I can tell."
The hooded elf nods.
"As said... let us wait for a day. If he does not show up, I shall set out, seek him. I will do so for a day. If I do not find him, I will return, and we can continue our journey."
Busy with the wooden carving, he adds:
"'This high ranking Malledhrim, what was her name...Agorin?"
The flame-eyed Elleth leans forward.
The armoured Ellon nods.
"Yes, that is her name."
The hooded elf says:
"She has sent three archers to clear the northwest path. But they will be gone if we wait for too long."
The flame-eyed Elleth frowns.
"I see. Then we continue onwards from here, towards the north?"
The hooded elf turns the wooden carving a few times, looking at it from different angles.
"We shall take the northwest path. And by the good will of the lords of the forest, we shall reach Felegoth after a week's journey."
The flame-eyed Elleth nods. Looking a little distracted, she gazes off into space for a few moments before returning her attention to the table.
"What are you carving?"
The hooded elf tilts his head, narrowing his eyes, lifting the wooden carving up for a while.
In this moment, he appears strangely empty, as if becoming the artwork itself...
Then, he glances at the flame-eyed Elleth, and lowers the carving again.
"I do not know yet. You tell me."
He puts the wooden object upon the table and pushes it with his fingers so it may slide towards the Elleth sitting at the opposite side of the table.
She watches attentively, brows slightly furrowed.
The armoured Ellon smiles.
"Are you asking Makanárë, or the wood?"
Makanare picks up the carving and turns it over in her hands.
Thoughtfully she speaks, and for a while the fire within her gaze seems veiled:
"It is yet still too early to see, unless one would look within the wood for a hint of what it may become."
The hooded elf glances over at the armoured Ellon, as if carefully observing some apparition from the past.
"You have seen war. You have seen a lot of war... am I right, Ngolodh?"
Makanárë suddenly looks up, her eyes a little widened as if having seen some terrible event of the past. She lets go of the wooden carving as if it was made of hot iron, and the object falls upon the table with a hollow clatter.
"'Have we not all seen our fair share of it?"
Forcing her attention back towards the table, she utters a short laugh, mirthlessly.
But the armoured Ellon turns his gaze, staring long at the hooded elf, his eyes seeming to glance not at his opposite, but something beyond, a distant point...
The hooded elf furrows his brows, moving his shoulders, visibly feeling unwell under the powerful gaze of the Noldo.
Finally, the armoured Ellon says:
"Indeed, I have. At times it seems but one long war with brief respites in the reckoning of our kin."
Regaining his composure, the hooded elf adds:
"My heart tells me, in a strange way you have made peace with the ongoing war, Ngolodh..."
The Noldo frowns, tapping his fingers upon the table.
"I suppose that is a way to put that into words. I would say instead that I am resigned to this war."
The hooded elf nods slowly.
"Resigned to this war... Unlike you, is it not?"
He glances over at the flame-eyed Elleth.
Makanárë furrows her brow, staring at the hooded elf, a fire awakening in her gaze.
"I see no reason we should not fight to protect our kin as we have done through ages past. Though I may be weary of war I will not shrink from it if the occasion arises!"
She then glances at the armoured Ellon, but the Noldo does not answer. She frowns.
The hooded elf puts the carving upon the table, sheathing his carving knife.
With a thoughtful voice, gazing at his opposites as if he was trying to solve a riddle, he says:
"It is hard for me to understand why you are here with us, Flame-Eyed folk. We survived well enough without you. But now that you are here, I do not know whether this is good or bad."
Makanárë presses her lips together, but the armoured Ellon nods, asking:
"What do YOU think?"
The hooded elf does not answer. Instead, he turns to the flame-eyed Elleth:
"The carving...what do you think it is? It is not finished yet, of course..."
Makanárë picks up the carving again, her strained expression relaxing fractionally.
The armoured Ellon follows the gaze of the hooded elf, and his eyes soften briefly as he watches Makanárë's features in the dim light.
After observing the wooden object for a while, the flame-eyed Elleth says:
"It seems to me a running flame, or the spreading branches of trees."
Her expression is strange, with a smile that rather looks like a defense.
"Though I am sure you see better than I what it may become."
She sets the carving upon the table, pushing it towards its creator.
But the hooded elf says:
"I do not know yet. I was just watching you, trying to carve things that come by your sight. I still do not know where this is ending."
He takes the carving and turns it a few times, looking at it, pondering Makanárë's words.
His clear eyes show many different emotions, even fear...
The flame-eyed Elleth pales slightly, still managing to keep her composure as she gazes at the wooden object.
Still pondering, the hooded elf then sighs, speaking in a low, but clear voice:
"I despise war, and I hate warfare."
"Then why take up arms as you have done?" Makanárë's voice is sharp, challenging.
The hooded elf answers, while turning the carving and even sniffing upon it for a few times:
"Arms? I wear no arms safe a spear that rests now in Felegoth. I will only take it up if I am commanded to do so.
My people was once called the Weaponless. I shall cling to that memory as well as I can."
The armoured Ellon nods slowly after he turns to the hooded elf.
But now his eyes seem sharper, focused on the elf across the table.
"You do well, I think. My people are the Sword-elves, though some among us still remember a time before we forged any weapon..."
The hooded elf lifts up his gaze, and his eyes appear like the eyes of a child, for a moment.
"A time before weapons..." he murmurs.
The flame-eyed Elleth glances at the armoured Ellon, and her eyes grow thoughtful.
"A time I know only through tales" she says.
The hooded elf is silent for a while.
Eventually, he speaks, and his voice sounds strangely changed, like the wind blowing through hollow trees, making leaf and bough rustle and whisper:
"My people have lived with the forest for countless years. We lived with birds and beasts, and the Onodrim. We lived, blessed by the lords of the forest..."
The flame-eyed Elleth listens attentively, her hands lying very still in her lap.
The hooded elf continues:
"And then the Naugrim came, and began to cut down the forest with axes. And then the Followers came, and began to cut down the forests with axes. Eventually, your people came, bringing fire and doom to the forests and meadows of peace and bliss...
How could we fall so deep? How could we forge weapons that brought destruction to things alive and beautiful?"
The eyes of the armoured Ellon have become very solemn as he listens to the hooded elf's tale.
Makanárë frowns, her knuckles whitening as her hands clasp each other tightly in her lap.
The Wood Elf again continues:
"We've seen the Onodrim leave... We've seen the gardens vanish, and the ponds drying out. We have seen the glades fall silent, and the birds stop singing.
We were resisting as much as we could in the beginning, but...
Eventually, we stopped fighting back.
Like you said, Ngolodh: we resigned to this war.
Few of us are left now. The only thing we can do now is trying to save as much as we can, so it still may endure for a while..."
The hooded elf glances at the wooden carving, his eyes resting very relaxed upon his creation as if he was sleepy.
The armoured Ellon then replies:
"Indeed, the tale of your people is a solemn one, but I fear such is the fate and burden of all the elves who linger hence.
To hope for beauty undimmed while we watch all we love and cherish fade.
It has been also our folly, for great ill came from that hope, I hear."
But the flame-eyed Elleth says:
"I hardly think the decline of your forests is the burden of my kin. We had no quarrel with your trees or Onodrim, that we would bring steel and fire into these lands.
All the same, seeing one's home fall into decay and ruin is not ... unfamiliar to me.
The burden you have taken upon yourself is no lighter than the burden of wearing sword and armour..."
Makanárë slightly lowers her head, exhaling softly, letting her hands relax and smoothing her tunic over her lap.
The hooded elf tilts his head, and glancing at the flame-eyed Elleth with narrowed eyes he asks:
"Correct me if I am wrong... You once belonged to the folk of the great Jewel-maker, am I right?"
Makanárë nods, shifting in her seat.
"This is true. However, I was too young to have followed him over the Sea.
My earliest memories are of Beleriand."
The hooded elf nods slowly, and begins to balance the carving upon the tip of his index finger while not removing his gaze from the flame-eyed Elleth.
"The days of your youth are over it seems... But you are fierce inside, I can see that.
There is a fire imperishable that burns within your soul.
You have been angry for so long...You love to fight...
Just like many others who once have followed the jewel-maker.
Or so it seems to me" he says.
Makanárë presses her lips together, grey eyes glinting in the firelight, but then her eyes soften, and she says:
"You are...not entirely wrong."
The hooded elf explains:
"I have seen someone who was just like you."
"'I am sure you may have encountered my folk in days long past" says Makanárë.
But the hooded elf shakes his head.
"No, it was just a few dozen years ago... We met in the north."
Makanárë raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"
The armoured Ellon remains silent, glancing between the two elves, crossing his arms as he leans back in the chair.
Makanárë leans forward:
"And what was the occasion of your meeting, if I might ask?"
The hooded elf stops balancing the carving upon his index finger.
He puts the wooden object down and answers:
"He was a member of the Grey Guard, as we began to call them back then.
Guarding the ranges and passes of the Ered Mithin, the Withered Heath and what lays beyond, this group was entirely unknown then. Has stayed unknown even until today.
From what I have heard, they are no more now. I believe he has fallen too, together with the rest of his comrades.
The occasion of our meeting, you ask? Well...
His majesty, Thranduil son of Oropher king of the Woodland Realm, at that time made war against the Naugrim of Erebor.
As you may know, later both parties turned to fight the Orks that came to ravage the northern lands..."
The armoured Ellon nods. "So it is said."
The hooded elf continues:
"The grey guard knew about the great host of the Orks, and surprisingly, all of a sudden they joined our ranks. Not that his majesty needed them in any way, no.
A great host was assembled that day. But having hundred trained soldiers in addition still was very pleasant for his majesty, of course.
It was a great battle.
Yes, Ngolodh... I was in that war, though I just served as a scout.
Luckily, I did not participate in the killing."
The hooded elf lowers his head.
"But he of whom I speak, he did participate.
I knew it from the moment we met: he loved to fight, and he loved to kill...
He was using a strange weapon, I think it was a great hammer.
I have seldom seen anyone use such a weapon in combat."
The armoured Ellon frowns, speaking:
"Even among our kin few wielded such weapons."
The hooded elf nods.
"You know better for sure. I am no expert when it comes to weaponry..."
"I have known a few who wielded great hammers into war. Though where they are now, I cannot say" Makanárë adds.
The armoured Ellon leans forward:
"None of the House of the Hammer of Wrath have survived, or so it is recorded by the people of Gondolin who escaped its ruin.
Some hoping to honor them have taken to wield hammers into battle, but they were beyond the mountains last we saw of them."
The hooded elf turns at the flame-eyed Elleth:
"The star you wear upon your cloak, I saw the same star depicted upon his cloak.
I was told this is the sign of the followers of the great Jewel-maker."
Makanárë nods, frowning slightly.
Then she answers:
"There is one hammer-wielder who wears such an emblem who I count as a brother-in-arms and a friend. I know not if this is he of whom you speak, but perhaps..."
The armoured Ellon interrupts her:
"Indeed, if we are talking about the same person, he is a friend to me also.
But there are others, though from them we parted in animosity."
The eyes of the hooded elf sharpen, as he watches downwards, gazing at some distant imaginary point within the air.
He speaks, and his voice is is bitter and full of accusations:
"We talked a few times.
He told me the Grey Guard was joining the battle in order to protect the Greenwood.
But he lied.
He plunged himself into the bloodshed because he felt a guilt that he could not remove from his soul, a taint that would follow him everywhere..."
His voice has changed, the words being more hissed than spoken.
He grabs the wooden carving, and begins to turn it smoothly with just his fingers.
There is silence for a moment, while the wooden objects turns, and again turns.
Makanárë stares at the table impassively, visibly shaken by these words.
The hooded elf continues:
"Another member of the Grey Guard told me about him, saying that he had been a sculptor once, but I doubt he had ever known the bliss of creating.
Butchers are just good at slaughter.
They cannot feel joy and pain of living beings. Neither can they listen to the breath of nature nor understand the fragile dependence and balance between all creatures, the balance through which all life is ultimately maintained and cultivated..."
The armoured Ellon has been listening silently, slowly nodding from time to time.
But now his eyes widen briefly before he glances over at Makanárë who stares at the hooded elf, narrowing her eyes.
"And now" she says, "I am certain of whom you speak.
He can fashion things out of stone which I am sure could surpass the craft of those who hewed the halls of your king.
Do not speak as if you presume to know someone who you only met in passing.
The same hands that wield sword and hammer have yet the ability to create."
The armoured Ellon adds:
"Indeed, if ever you travel across the mountains you may behold the statue that he has built, honouring one of our fallen brethren."
The hooded elf glances between the two, slightly frowning.
"You know him well, it seems..."
The armoured Ellon answers:
"We have bled together. We have broken bread together."
The eyes of the hooded elf show signs of anxiety.
"Trying to understand the words of the Flame-Eyed Folk: does that mean he is a close friend?"
Makanárë glances at the hooded elf.
"I would say so. Though he has perhaps changed in the time since you two met."
The hooded elf opens his mouth, but no words are uttered.
He glances at Makanárë, then at the armoured Ellon. Then back at Makanárë again.
The wooden carving slips through his fingers, and hits the table surface with a hollow clatter.
Without noticing this, the hooded elf asks, with a dry voice:
"Are you...allied with this person?"
He stands up, slowly.
The armoured Ellon glances at the hooded elf, and his gaze hardens too.
"Indeed, we are" he says, and though spoken softly, these words sound powerful and clear like the icy peaks of the Hithaeglir.
Makanárë, looking at the fallen carving first, then back at the hooded elf, slowly stands up as well.
"People never change. He is very dangerous" says the hooded elf.
"Please tell me he is somewhere far, far away."
Makanárë frowns, answering:
"I beg to differ. He has since we met only been a stalwart friend and comrade-in-arms.
If it may comfort you at all, the last time I saw him he was within the Golden Wood."
The eyes of the hooded elf widen.
"The Golden Wood? You call that far away from here?!
At least tell me he will stay within the Golden Wood!"
Makanárë answers:
"Of that, I am not certain."
But the armoured Ellon, still sitting while staying calm, says:
"Even if he was across the sea, little comfort I would deem that to be for you, Loegenel, for you are among a company very dangerous.
And yet, by his might and ours was your kinswoman saved within this forest."
Loegenel sharply turns at the armoured Ellon:
"I know your kind! Wherever there is turmoil, you appear, bringing more turmoil.
I understand now.
He will enter the Greenwood as well."
Makanárë huffs, gazing at Loegenel, her eyes burning like glowing embers, but the armoured Ellon answers, glancing at his opposite with unbroken clarity:
"That I cannot foresee, but you see farther than you claim to glimpse.
So I will leave judgments for you.
We are not in your King's lands yet, and there is still time for us to turn back.
Once we cross it, there shall be no return, save by his law."
Loegenel stares at the armoured Ellon, his eyes widened with anxiety, anger and fear.
"If you are to enter the Woodland Realm, I must know what you may bring to the forest kingdom.
Together with your butcher friend, what have you planned?!
Is it the animals you desire?.. Or do you just want to turn the trees into torches?!"
The eyes of the armoured elf soften.
A famed warrior he has been, called Artakáno, Annunghil the Valiant, known for his deeds in Beleriand of old.
But now, his shoulders are lowered, and suddenly he seems frail indeed.
And in this moment he raises a hand towards Makanárë's arm.
The flame-eyed Elleth sighs deeply, a great weariness passing over her face.
She takes Annúnghil's hand in hers, squeezing it softly.
Time seems to slow down, and the voices within the inn seem to come from far away.
Loegenel stares at them, both fists clenched, and his eyes are moving left and right slightly as if he was looking to find an answer in the image of the two Noldor before him.
Eventually, in a low voice, Annúngil speaks:
"It is true we have brought harm beyond count, and my hands are not innocent of that...
You speak of turmoil, Loegenel, but tell me, what peace, tree or glen would there be but by the sacrifice of my people?
We bring turmoil, but so too do we follow it and give our lives for it to end, or at least for it to spare the lands for a little time.
And so we have done, and continue to do, though we seek no reward, and wish not to harm neither tree nor animal in the realm of your King.
No vow have I ever broken, save one, but then only to uphold another, this:
that I would do all to protect my kindred.
And for that I have marched hence."
Lowering her head, Makanárë adds:
"Truly, if the days were now not darkened, I would be loath to draw blade and travel into this forest.
I have kin, and those I love, and would rather not be parted from them.
I have only come to aid those I hoped I might yet call kin, in our common strife against the Shadow."
Loegenel presses his lips together as no answer comes to his mind.
Finally, he sighs, and drops himself upon the chair again, staring at the ground.
In a low voice, he says:
"I have no choice than to trust your word, Ngolodh...
For this forest in which I was born and raised, for the king and his realm, I cannot hinder your aid.
Know that I am not fond of your kind, but that matters not now.
Nonetheless, know this:
Should your friend enter the Woodland Realm, you are responsible for his actions, and I shall not suffer to be in his presence."
Makanárë nods slowly, and Annúnghil answers:
"That responsibility we will take upon us, but these are dark times, and much may happen ere all is done.
So beware, for avoiding ill tidings might just lead to endure a doom greater than we have known so far..."
Loegenel, still staring at the ground, does not respond.
After a moment of silence, he stands up.
"Forgive me. I need some fresh air."
Leaving the room, he vanishes behind a wooden door.
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(Elleth - Sindarin for female elf / elf-woman
Ellon - Sindarin for male elf / elf-man
Onodrim - Sindarin for Ents.
Naugrim - Sindarin for Dwarves
Followers - a name of the elves for mortal men
Flame-Eyed Folk - a name of the Sindar for the Noldor
Ngolodh - Sindarin for Noldo)
