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b2mem2012-03-04 11:28 pm
Power In Truth by Libby
~~~
The procession marched down the road to the gorge in strict order, avoiding the spray thrown up by the cascade of water that tumbled down beside the path. Finrod watched them come from the doors of the fortress, his brow furrowed. The proud figure riding at the head of the column was familiar to him as one of his own brothers; Maglor, son of Fëanor. He and his party had been found by some of Celegorm’s men on the borders, and they had brought them back to Nargothrond. Without consulting me first, he thought, his frown deepening. That bodes ill.
Swift footsteps came up behind him. “Is it true?” someone asked, “Is Macalaurë really coming?”
Finrod turned to look at Celegorm, who had appeared behind him. “I thought I told you not to use those names here.”
The Fëanorian waved an airy hand. “Let the Sindar hear. He’s my brother, and I’ll call him what I like.” He had obviously spotted the party now, and he recognised the rider at its head as well as Finrod did.
Curufin appeared beside them then, quiet as a whisper as usual. He said nothing, but Orodreth hissed something under his breath when he too appeared. Finrod gave him a sharp look, and they waited in silence as their guests drew closer. The horses clattered over the small bridge that crossed a gap in the gorge’s walls, and finally entered through the tall gates.
Finrod met Maglor as he swung down off his horse, smiling. “Cousin,” he said warmly, his voice its usual rich tenor, “It has been long since you have come riding with us. It seems you have been content to live in a cave these past few years! You have not thought to grow a beard after the fashion of the Naugrim, though, I am glad to see.”
Finrod smiled tightly. “I do not think it would well become me.” He clasped his cousin’s forearm, then gave instruction for his party to be fed and cared for. They advanced forward to the fortress’ doors, where Maglor greeted his brothers and Orodreth. Inside, the second eldest Fëanorian smiled widely and much, complimenting the city despite the fact that he had earlier seemed to have misgivings. Finrod tried to relax; Maglor was by far the most reasonable of the brothers, and one of the most amicable besides. As he had been reminded earlier, they had often hunted together in the East before Finrod came to Nargothrond. He should have liked to go with them again, but the city’s creation and then rule had taken all of his time.
And now my doom is hard upon me, he thought sombrely as another familiar figure rounded a bend in the corridor. Celegorm perceptibly stiffened, and Curufin’s mouth pulled down at the corners. Finrod stepped forward and laid a hand on the mortal’s arm. “Cousin, may I introduce you to Beren, son of Barahir, a Man of the House of Bëor, and our honoured guest here in Nargothrond.”
Beren bowed, and Maglor inclined his head in return. “Well met, Beren, son of Barahir. I am Maglor, Finrod’s cousin, brother to Celegorm and Curufin.”
Beren’s nod was wary. “Well met, my lord.” He turned to Finrod, and though he said naught, his eyes said all for him. He paced the halls like a caged animal, longing to be free to continue on his quest; and Finrod, for his part, was almost eager to give himself to up to his fate, and in so doing free himself from its oppressive shadow.
“Forgive me, Maglor, Celegorm, Curufin,” he said quietly, “I must speak with Beren. Allow me to give you audience later.”
The younger Fëanorians were noticeably annoyed, but Maglor’s face was impassive. “As you wish, Finrod,” he said quietly. “I will speak with you later.”
~~~
Outside the air was cool, the sun’s setting in the West leeching the warmth from the air. Though the caves were impressive, Maglor found them claustrophobic and cloying. His brothers knew him well; they found him sitting at the edge of a barley field, under a small stand of dogwoods. Curufin sat down beside him, while Celegorm found a large stick to hurl into the air for Huan to retrieve. They watched for a while as the huge white dog bounded to and fro through the golden stalks and the dark boles, panting and barking occasionally. Eventually when he and his master fell to playfully wrestling on the long grass, Curufin said quietly, “Maitimo sent you to talk about the Union with Findaráto, didn’t he?”
Maglor nodded slowly. “Findaráto won’t come,” he said with a tone of finality. “I think I knew he wouldn’t, before I came, but seeing him with that mortal confirmed it. His and Beren’s fates are tied to each other.”
Curufin snorted. “Sentimental fool,” he spat, “He’d die for those stinking mortals if he got the chance.”
“Do not speak ill of them, Curvo,” Maglor said quietly. “They are valiant, and friends to the Eldar.”
Curufin scowled. “Yes, just like the man Barahir, whom Findaráto gave his father’s ring to as a sign of faith. His father’s ring, an heirloom of his house from Valinor itself. And let us not forget cousin Aikanáro and his mortal woman, and worse, Moryo and his. The mortals are nothing but dust under our heels.”
“And yet important allies none the less,” Maglor snapped. But then he sighed heavily. “Though not as important as Findaráto. Artaresto is his heir, no? Will he ride with us against Morgoth?”
“Unlikely,” Curufin said dismissively. “But Artaresto is unimportant. He doesn’t have the true power here; already Turko and I have grown well loved by the people as he is not, and if Findaráto expresses a wish to lay down his life for this mortal fool, I do not think the people will long follow him. And though Artaresto will no doubt hold the regency, I think it shall be we who have the power in truth.”
A look of discomfort flashed over Maglor’s face, but it was replaced almost instantly by calm acceptance. “That is well for our cause, I suppose, though something in me mislikes it. But if you can secure Nargothrond for our Union, it is all for the good. Do you truly think you will be able to sway the people to fight with us, even if Artaresto is against it?”
Curufin sighed delicately. “Let me speak the truth plainly, Laurë. Once Findaráto is gone, we will hold the power here. Artaresto will be too weak in will and his hold on the people to stand against us. If Findaráto still had Artanis at his right hand, our position would be opposite, but with Artaresto it will be easy.”
“Where is Artanis?” Maglor inquired. “I noticed that she is absent.”
Curufin snorted. “She fell head over heels for some Sindar Prince, a nephew of King Thingol or some such. She’s safely closeted away in Doriath, where she can do us no harm.”
“Unless she were to ride here.”
“Even more unlikely than Artaresto riding to war with you, as I understand it. She is being tutored by Queen Melian, I think. Though in what I cannot say.”
“Valuable knowledge, no doubt.” Maglor sighed, then got up and dusted off his clothes. He grasped Curufin’s arm and pulled him to his feet. “If I can rely on you,” he said seriously, looking into his brother’s eyes, “I will leave with the dawn, back to Himring. Can you truly secure Nargothrond for us?”
Curufin nodded, smiling, and clapped his brother on the shoulder. “You can count on us, brother,” he said confidently. “Assure Maitimo that he will have the armies of Nargothrond at his back as he faces the Dark Foe. I promise it.” As they began to walk back, he added, “Though, do not leave so soon. Your ride has been long, no? Stay and let yourself and your men rest.”
Maglor shifted uncomfortably. “The caves…it is strange to me, living underground.”
“No more strange than in a building of stone,” Curufin assured him. “You will soon get used to it.”
Maglor nodded, and followed by Celegorm, they made their way back through the rapidly darkening night to the twinkling caves of Nargothrond.