Conversations in Doriath

[Walküre]

This is a game that concerns the canonical and pivotal conversations between Galadriel and Melian, while the former was a guest of Elwë and the Maia in Doriath, the millenary guarded realm of Beleriand.

After a first visit, Galadriel was mesmerised by the hidden and protected essence of that legendary realm, whose those said properties would later be recognisable both in Lothlórien (magical defence) and in the Halls of Thranduil (hidden halls and caverns); she also got very much enchanted by the powers of Queen Melian and her sacred rule over her people. These were the main reasons of the Noldorin princess' decision to stay in Doriath as a stable guest (she would also have her first encounter with Celeborn too, being him a Sindarin prince at the court of the king). Unlike the Houses of Fëanor and Fingolfin, the sons of Finarfin were friendly welcomed due to their common blood ties with the Sindarin royal family: Finarfin's spouse is Eärwen, daughter of Elwë's brother Olwë (king of the Teleri of Alqualondë).

The conversations of such two mighty characters were always wide-ranging and deeply emotional, encompassing both the sad fate of the Noldor in Middle-earth and their memories of their past in Valinor. The farsighted Maia had realised, in time, that Galadriel and the Noldor as a whole were carrying a heavy burden, and so she managed to have the princess of Tirion tell her about the darkening of the Blessed Realm, the theft of the Silmarils and the Noldor's arrival in Middle-earth to reclaim them. Galadriel, though, had not had the heart to reveal the other obscure side of the story which referred to the infamous Kinslaying and the consequent Noldor's exile from Aman. That aspect would be unveiled after some time, provoking the wrath of Thingol as he discovered that many of his own kin had been massacred by the madness of Fëanor. Galadriel would nonetheless be permitted to remain, given that her presence was source of appreciation and joy among the people of Doriath, and that she had by then become the beloved scholar of the Queen.

It's night. Finarfin's sons and their escort are riding to the hidden borders of Doriath, sensing clearly the great magnitude of Melian's defence. The King and the Queen are awaiting their guests in their vast halls.


A Noldorin delegation is welcomed at the doors of Menegroth


Participants allowed: DieWalküre, Fine and VectorMaximus

[Fine]

The tall trees whispered to her. The leaves on the wind spoke soft words. The grass beneath her feet sent messages to her conscience. Nature all around her was alive.

Melyanna of Aman, servant of Yavanna, queen of Eglador, tóril of Doriath. Melian the Maia.

She bore many names, but more than her name, people always remembered her voice. Her singing was alike to the nightingales beneath the starlight of the Elder Days. And that was how Elwë had found her in the magical forest of Nan Elmoth, ages ago. Before the Shadow had returned.

Swiftly she strode through the woods, listening closely to the tale of the trees all around her. They were still in turmoil over the arrival of Anár and Isíl, the two great lights in the sky that had suddenly begun to appear some time ago. Sharp pain Melian had felt during the hour of darkness, when the Two Trees died, even though she had not dwelt within Valinórë's guarded walls for a very long time and even though the Sundering See separated her from it. But as a Maia of Yavanna, and thus, nature, she had a deep connection to all living beings, be they small or large, and trees were no exception. And when Sun and Moon first rose, she knew that the last offspring of the Two Trees had survived, and was glad. But for everyone else living in Beleriand, this new source of light was surprising, strange, and took time to get used to.

Arriving at Menegroth, she quickly passed through the large gate. The guards bowed their heads in deep respect. Her raiment, a elegant yet suitable lime dress, flowed around her as she passed through Thingol's great hall and found her dearest sitting on his ascendant throne.
"You have returned, fairest of all beings," he greeted her warmly, a light shining in his immortal eyes.
"Words I bring from the trees. A fateful arrival is drawing near," she spoke, taking her seat at her king's right. "Your kin are approaching, o great ruler of Beleriand. I will allow them passage of our borders, if you wish so."

After the dreadful battle that ravaged Beleriand during the Shadow's return to Ennórë, Melian had created a magical barrier, named Melian's Girdle, around Elwë's realm, so his people would never have to fight again if they did not wish to do so. None could pass beyond the Girdle without the Maia's permission, unless someone were to come who wielded greater power than Melian.

Her far-seeing eyes and foresight perceived many things. The Noldor, who had given chase to the Shadow, were espied even before Fëanor and his sons could make landfall at the coast of Hithlum. She had learnt of their victory over the forces of darkness, and of Fëanor's demise, even before word of these events reached Thingol's secluded realm. And now new messages had been brought to her senses: A second, and larger group of exiles, bravely crossing the Helcaraxë in the far north had entered Beleriand, bringing the rising sun with them. And among them were some who were kindred to Elwë, children of his niece, Eärwen of Alqualondë. They drew near to Doriath. Melian could feel it clearly, as if witnessing it with seeing eyes.

"I do, queen eternal," he responded. "My kin shall always be welcome in this realm of ours. Verily, their tale of their travels from Aman will be a most interesting one. I greatly anticipate this meeting."
She heard more in his words than he could express. It was obvious to her that Elwë desired to reunite with his family he had not seen for three long ages and the Sundering Sea between them. The King wanted to know what Eärwen's children looked like and what personalities they possessed. With them having a noldorin father, Melian was unsure if Elwë's expectations would be fully met. But even though she could perceive some doom that hung over the Noldor, something they brought from the undying lands with them, she also saw that it did hang less heavy upon the children of Finarfin. Her mind at ease, she bent the girdle to her will and allowed them passage into Doriath.

"They will arrive in a few days," she said softly.
"Then we shall greet them here, within my halls. Let us welcome them as relatives long lost, and let our reunion be most glad!" answered the king.
Melian took his hand, tenderly holding it. "So be it, my beloved. So be it."

[Walküre]

The Princes of Tirion and their valiant escort passed swiftly through the Crossings of the Taeglin, and then ahead past the woods of Brethil. The Moon shone vividly at the centre of the dark vast sky, whose stars were the clear symbol of the Queen of Arda's will to prevent the obscurity of the mortal lands from extinguishing even the smallest hope of the people of Middle-earth; even though their ancestral far light had often proved not to be enough to frustrate the malicious plans of the evil creatures lurking in the shadows, the remnants of Laurelin and Telperion put outright terror in the hearts of such beasts and of all the servants of who sits on the Iron Throne, inside the infamous fortress at the edges of Beleriand (lying near the perennial ice of the World). A type of ice originated millennia ago, which not even the two new lamps of the Valar could have managed to melt. Such hostile place was thus chosen to be the seat of Angband and of the colossal Thangorodrim towering in tyranny over every peak but Taniquetil itself.

Only those frozen wastes, lost in the tales of the Elder Days, connect the mortal continent with the holy lands of the Archangels, via the deadly pass of the Helcaraxë. No mortal has ever trodden those forbidden ways, nor has it ever managed to reach their perilous vicinities. Even among the immortal, it is said that the Ainur only may pass it safely.

It is exactly that deadly passage which stood between the revengeful Noldor and Middle-earth. An immense test for the Houses of Ñolofinwë and Arafinwë, whose blessed lineage didn't spare them unspeakable losses. But the longing for vindicating their kin was a very alive of a burning flame, alongside the secret desires to command some of those free territories beyond the inviolable chain of the Pelóri. Retrieving the stolen splendour of the Noon of Valinor, now part of the Enemy's iron crown, was absolutely paramount.

In the wild breeze of Beleriand, Nerwen and her brothers Findaráto, Angaráto and Aikanáro were leading the Noldorin expedition, with the light of Aman still on their angelic faces. The Princess was riding very fast alongside her kin, veiled wholly in white yet wearing a bright golden armour, just slightly visible beneath the veil; the other Eldar were armoured equally and of the true fashion of their weapons very few in Middle-earth could have precisely guessed the origin. Although immersed in the liberty of the outer world, there was little time for lingering there and inspecting the newly-discovered wonders of the mortal continent, lest their fast passing attract some of the fell beasts the Eldar were by then used to fighting. Many times were they told about the relentless Evil hiding on the other shore of Belegaer, but the Noldor had never fully comprehended the measure of the Enemy's capabilities until the battle of Lammoth and the greater parallel Battle Under the Stars. The Dark Lord had shamefully retreated within his stronghold, but the host of Curufinwë/Fëanáro achieved that sad victory at the cost of losing its legendary leader. Ñolofinwë, on the other hand, witnessed in the Lammoth the terrible death of his beloved son Arakáno.

Nerwen's mind was in that moment a stormy sea of nostalgic memories of the sanctity of the supreme Valimar or reminiscences of the tragic events she had had to get through until then. Her father Arafinwë and her mother Eärwen had refused to disobey the Powers and thus disowned the exile; with great sorrow, her ambitions had led her apart from them, though her brothers were there with her (and this comforted her immensely). Her House had not sworn the infamous oath that had won the hearts of many, and the later atrocious kinslaying of her mother's kind proved how far Fëanáro's resolution could go. However, albeit loathing him and his House (divining that a just retribution would have ultimately been the judgement of their madness), she did stand up during the turbulent assembly of the Noldor in Tirion and advocated the intransigent line against the Enemy of the World (consequently facing, at her profound dismay, the fate of the sorrowful exile). Contrary to the creator of the Jewels, she didn't blame the Lords of Aman for the misfortunes that took place in Valinor, and no way, as others of the royal family viciously hinted at, did she believe that the very Archangels had trapped the Elven kind in their golden gaol to contain its powers.

Unfortunately, the curse of Mandos had not permitted the existence of a 'third way' in that turn of the tide for Arda's history. Those who decide to flout the Powers' authority, even if moved by the best intentions, shall nonetheless experience the bitter destiny of the banishment and their censure. Nerwen knew that the Valar too had been terribly displeased to enforce such harsh measures, and she always hoped in the depth of her heart that one day they would finally grant forgiveness to the princes and kings that had chased the traitor Vala in his domain. With the Enemy in mind, she felt that there nonetheless was a legitimacy in her family's deeds and remembered when she had slain some of the Enemy's abominations in the Lammoth (fuelling her fiery heart with justice and just revenge). She had never seen Orcs before that moment.

Then, Findaráto spoke: ''We have entered Doriath, my brothers.''

As soon as she entered the forest of that hidden realm, she instantly felt freed from her burdens and in a completely enchanted environment. Nerwen could clearly sense Magic and the real magnitude of the magical shield that embalmed that broad land. They knew that the High King of their mother's kind had Melyanna as spouse, a Maia of the people of Vána and Estë, endowed with formidable powers. The Ainu's essence permeated everything and mirrored how the joyful inhabitants of Valinor would often lead life throughout the Blessed Realm's evergreen fields or sacred dwellings, with the only difference that the safety of that realm contrasted heavily with what lay outside its guarded borders (as an intense luminescence immersed in the darkness of uncertainty). The desire to meet the source of that prowess increased exponentially in her, and she herself perceived that the Maia was eagerly waiting for such occasion too; willing to disclose the fiery heart of the proud princess.


DieWalküre: As it's written in the Silmarillion, the Noldor of Aman spoke the solemn Quenya, while the Elves of Beleriand the fluent Sindarin. Millennia had passed since the departure of the Eldar who decided to accept the invitation of the Valar and the Grey Elves who remained in Middle-earth. Their languages thus evolved in a substantially different way during the Years of the Trees.

Therefore, it wasn't always easy at first for the two kinds to understand each other properly. I stuck to the names in Quenya just to represent that this language was the Noldor's own language. I will use the Sindarin counterparts of those names as the game progresses, when Galadriel gets used to living in Doriath. As a Maia, I guess that Melian won't have any particular problem in speaking the language of Valinor.

[Fine]

Melian stirred. She had felt the new arrivals cross the bridge outside Menegroth, the waters of Esgalduin rushing through the crevasse below them. The Maia extended her mental reach towards them. As the guards of Thingol's palace bade the Noldor halt, she beheld everything, as if she were among them in person. Melian witnessed how the Elvenking's wardens struggled with understanding what the Princes of Tírion were saying, since their words were the words of the Blessed Realm, not those of Middle-earth or the Elves of Twilight. But were they not both Quendi, "Those Who Speak"? Thus, Melian softly reminded her guards that these arrivals were expected and to be lead inside the great hall of Elwë. And so they did, taking from them the mighty steeds that had borne them all the way from Hithlum, where the Noldorin High King resided, and leading their steeds to the stables nearby. Melian's guests then crossed the gates and entered the Thousand Caves of Doriath.

She stood, in eager expectation of the news the Noldor might bring. Melian of course saw much, but her reach did not extend beyond the Sundering Sea or the icy wastes of the North. She did, however, feel a certain sense of fate, or doom even, hang above the heads of the noldorin exodus from Aman, and dearly desired to learn of its cause.

"Welcome," she said in the tongue of Valinorë. It was one single word, spoken softly, not loud. But everyone in the great hall heard it, resounding in the back of their minds. The Princes stopped for a moment, but she gave them a gentle smile and invited them to come closer. Elwë rose from his seat, and together the ruling couple of Doriath walked slowly towards their noble guests.
They met in the center of the great hall, beneath a spot where starlight was shining through the cave's ceiling. And so it was that Elwë first encountered the children of his niece, Eärwen of Alqualondë.
"My kin," he spoke. Melian noticed an untypical excitement about him, for most of the time Elú Thingol did not show much emotion other than kingly grace or content. "I take it your journey has been safe? Many beasts yet roam Beleriand, even after the great victory in the North my scouts report of."
"Indeed," replied the eldest of Eärwen's children, who seemed the quickest to adapt to the tongue of Doriath. He then gave the king the full tale of their travels through Beleriand.

Melian watched and listened, asking a question here and there, but otherwise did not take much part in the discussion between her husband and the Princes' leader. Her mind was extending towards the others, who where silent most of the time - out of respect for their brother and the king, she conducted. She easily perceived their names, of quenyan origin, but for her, it was the simplest task to give them a sindarin shape: Finrod, the eldest, Angrod and Aegnor, the second and third sons, and -
Her thoughts came to a halt. "One is missing," she said.
"My son Artaresto stayed behind for now," replied Angrod.
"Why is that?" asked Elwë. "Surely he is as impressive as the rest of his family? I wish to see him as much as I wished to see all of you, my dear kin."
"Most assuredly, noble Lord," said Finrod. The exchange between him and Thingol continued, and Melian turned her gaze upon the last of her guests.
Rays of sunlight or even a shimmer of a light even older than that seemed to gleem in Nerwen's hair, but Melian noticed the maiden's observing view and beyond that, the not so safely contained wild nature of her heart and desire to learn more about the magic that was infusing the very air in the land of Doriath. This encounter was strangely exciting for Melian herself, as it seemed fated by a will even greater than her own. She waited until the conversation faded and then invited Nerwen to take a walk with her through the palace.

"Let the Lords speak of war and the troubles of the world," she suggested. "But come. I would show you Menegroth, and the power that exudes from it, the one that forms the barrier you crossed when you entered my realm. I see in your heart a great desire to learn of magical things of this sort, and would gladly give you some insight in it."
She extended a gentle hand and waited for Nerwen's response.

[Walküre]

''Her Majesty Melyanna, it's the utmost honour to be granted the privilege to stay within the safe borders of your realm. Indeed I was greatly mesmerised when I sensed the magnitude of your shield. I could never forget the holy nature which permeates the blessed shires of our past dwelling. A portion of that power is truly kept throughout the halls and woods of Doriath. Its real extension I still don't comprehend completely, but my heart would surely be much glad to learn more.''

Then, the sudden nostalgia of the Blessed Realm struck the Princess and her thoughts were thus made blue, as regret and sadness merged themselves in one sole sigh. With slender tears slowly coming down from her sea-like eyes, Nerwen recalled the imperious inscriptions carved in the colossal golden Arc at the entrance of Valinórë, at the end of the narrow Calacirya and of the green Eldamar itself. Those sacred words were inscribed both in the language of the Eldar and in the mysterious tongue of the Ainur. Nerwen thus sang some of the main passages at the Queen's presence.

Thou shalt enter the domain of the Powers of Arda. Be it a wise Maia or a mighty Vala, its rule thou shalt obey.

Across golden halls and evergreen fields, a holy power the eternal life of this realm sustaineth. The untrodden paths of Valinórë throughout many places shalt take thee. The flourishing Pastures of Yavanna their divine wheat shalt offer along with many of her green creations, the luxuriant Woods of Oromë many beasts hideth, in the Gardens of Lórien may the grey Estë the toil of thy heart cure and Irmo kind dreams thy sleep assure. Of Vána the ever-present Spring is the most beloved gift and Nessa even the fastest deers in the wild outrunneth.

The golden Valmar at the centre of all, of its great wonders surely thou were told. The Thrones of the Kings and the Queens lie not afar, upon which they decide the fate of ours to be. Ezellohar of Laurelin and Telperion the hallowed seat is, and the Two Trees we much bless for anything growing their radiance needeth. The skilled Aulë is father of many things and of crafting the true master is. The valiant Tulkas proud in his halls resideth, the Champion who the Dark Vala eventually won.

In the blue depths of Ekkaia Ulmo dwelleth and all the waves of the seas he dominateth. Námo within the caverns of Mandos silently remaineth and from his hidden Gaol none may escape, while Vairë the long History of the World in tapestry weaveth. Nienna near the very edges of Arda wandereth and by the sad westernmost shores for the wounds of the World she mourneth.

Manwë and Varda the entire Eä rule, and from the apex of the supreme Oiolossë every mortal deed and heartfelt plea they see and hear. The King all sorts of winds commandeth alongside every flying creature of the Air and the authority to lead upon him only was bestowed. Snow-white Varda, the most beautiful, of all Light the source is and since the obscure days even the darkest lands her ancient Stars in the firmament with hope enlightened.

Forswear any doubt and fear, thou willing to live in such bliss, for no evil is to be found within the mighty Pelóri.

Melyanna smiled of pure joy at the sound of those words, which were sung in such a fashion that only Lúthien could have mirrored or surpassed, if not that the daughter of the Queen had never had the privilege to live in Aman and even see Valinórë in its then lost Noon. The Queen thus gently bowed, as if she wanted to thank the Princess for having brought in the halls of the Telerin King a bit of what lies beyond the Sea. Though it was for brief moments of profound contemplation and reminiscences of the past, something of that kind had not taken place for centuries in Doriath, as someone from the West had not walked Beleriand since the Great Journey of the Eldar.

[Walküre]

''Gentle Queen of Doriath, I have always had the uttermost love and respect for anything within the mighty Pelóri and the immortal realms on the shores of Aman. Her Majesty may thus understand what a wound was for my heart to leave those blessed shires, but I would have never taken such tough decision without a just reason; my family was moved by very defined intentions equally. We all suffered immensely through the perilous journey we had to face, across hostile and deadly paths which only thy kind, fair Melyanna, had trodden until then, in obscure past times.

I am now under siege by many diverse emotions. Some are old, incredibly old, and some are new, of a sort I never experienced so far. Old as the profound nostalgia of the eternal day we used to live in while residing in the magnificent Valinórë. New as the fear of a painful death, amidst the unceasing battles of Beleriand; I personally dealt with the abominations thy people call 'Orcs': the kind of ours, Eldar, horribly mutilated and turned into a ruthless instrument of the Evil. New as the liberty of riding free and loose throughout Middle-earth, going past lands that only under the Elven rule could really flourish in splendid kingdoms, worthy of the Noldor's wide-ranging arts.

If we can really hope to mirror the Immortal Lands in Beleriand I do not know, nor have I ever completely trusted akin promises, yet I feel I am progressively falling under the spell of this mortal continent; of its dangers, possibilities and contradictions. Of the bliss of this guarded realm, made perhaps even more blissful as it's immersed in such wildness and fierce resentment. The infinite dilemma between a joyful immortality yet imperturbable and immutable, or of an adventurous existence among the bittersweet feelings of life yet plagued by the sorrows of uncertainty.

May I ask thee, my Queen, this: does nostalgia ever make thee long to behold the wonders of the Blessed Realm one last time? The evergreen fields lit once by the kind silver of Ibrīniðilpathānezel or the colossal palaces of Valimar?''

[Fine]

Melian's mind pondered the question for a moment while she lead her guest through the dimly lit hallways of Menegroth, and onto a secluded balcony from where one had a great view over the trees and forests of both Neldoreth and Region.
"I do not long for Valinórë, even though it was my home for many an age," she replied. "When my master, the High Lady of all that grows and lives, sent me into Ennórë, or Endor, as my people call it, I feared I was to enter a dark world, without light or joy. But as I got to know it and learnt of the wild, untamed beauty of this land and I first thought of the possibilities it offered, I was enchanted by it. Here, far away from the strictly ruled lanes and gardens of Valinórë, I was given the chance to shape and refine this place as I saw fit - within the bounds of the powers that fairest Yavanna bestowed upon me. And even when I was just beginning my travails here, teaching new songs to the nightingales of the lightless forests to the north-west, a fateful moment arrived. It was the moment I met him - Elwë, highest of the Elf-lords of the Third Kin, the light of the Two Trees shining in his eyes. It was in that moment that I truly decided to stay and relinquish the light of Valinórë for now. Now, do not mistake me for a traitor or one who has forsaken the Old West, for I have not. My ties to the Secluded Realm are still in place, but it will be long before I return there."

She paused and let her gaze wander across the star-lit sky above the trees. When she spoke again, the tone of her voice had changed, with a sad note now added to it.
"With the return of the great Enemy, who now sits to the north of this realm, not even five-hundred leagues away, a new responsibility has taken charge of me. My beloved's kin are now my kin as well. I must do what I can to keep them safe, withhold the foes you described from entering the forests within the girdle I created and give the wisest council to Thingol Elvenking that I can offer. My thoughts do not turn to Valinórë often. Something terrible must have happened there if the Black Foe of this World was allowed to escape from captivity. Even now I can sense that your people were not sent by the Lords of the West to aid us against this new threat, although at first it seemed like that was so. Nay, there is something else... something shrouded in mystery and hidden beyond the wild waters of the Sundering Sea."

"Let me ask you this, my most welcome guest," she continued after a short moment. "Why do you speak of Valinórë as if you long to be there, as if it is something you desire to go to, and yet you are here, in Ennórë? My heart tells me many things, Nerwen, and it tells me that your words do not reflect the deepest of your emotions. Is it not so that you felt hemmed in within the firm bounds of Valinórë? Do you crave for a land to call your own, to shape it as you see fit? Why did you leave the Realm you call Blessed, if you did not fully enjoy your life there, and still speak ever so highly of it?"

[Walküre]

The royal Elda turned her gaze to that vast sight over the balcony and then seemed to understand something of the hidden veil that was the shield of that realm. Her Elven eyes beheld afar, very afar, through the green world embracing those halls, Melyanna's defence. A very impressive of a shield it was, but even more it was sustained by the Queen's will to safeguard her kin and repel any fell spirit away. Nerwen didn't manage to think about a mightier force which could have broken that sacred barrier if not the Enemy himself. Or someone else of the very Queen's kind, or even a fate superior to the Ainur themselves? And the reminiscences of the Enemy eventually brought her back to Melyanna's question; a question not of ill-curiosity or censure, but instead of deep preoccupation.

''My desire to rule over some of this free continent's lands is adamant as Her Majesty's will to defend her people. This I could never deny. But what led to my and my own family's sudden departure from the immortal shores of Aman is also due to gruesome events; terrible facts that, I fear, already shaped the World in a different fashion from the one we were used to in the ancient days of Arda.''

The atmosphere in those halls shifted rapidly to a grim and sad cloud of past remembrances. Memories ever painful for anyone who bore them. And Nerwen got very unease, yet staunchly determined to get rid of that burden.

''Thou divined well, fair Melyanna. It all began with the release of the Captive. When the Enemy had eventually been set free from the unbreakable gaol of Mandos and readmitted at the Powers' court in Valimar the golden. If only they had known that the Evil had thus been given the chance to devour the Light from within! A growing illness which started propagating discord and resentment among the joyful inhabitants of Valinórë.''

[Walküre]

''Disguised as a regretful pilgrim, he was soon permitted to tread the paths of Aman all. Not confined anymore in the golden halls of Valimar. The Enemy wandered for very long time in search of piety and comprehension; someone who could grant him amnesty for all the sorrows he had caused in Manwë's kingdom. The Powers had in fact (not without divergences within their solemn judgement) decreed to free him from the chains of captivity, though they would never trust his intentions again. Melkor's schemes were thus directed to the Eldar who had accepted the sacred invitation to reside in and in the surroundings of the Blessed Realm. The fair Vanyar showed staunch resolution in turning his deceiving offers down, as they thoroughly despised the one who had dared to claim Middle-earth as his own dominion and attempted to harm the Firstborn since their very first awakening. They lived in the heart of the very Valinórë, and lit were they by the eternal day which used to be within the Pelóri; the lure of Melkor had simply no effect. On the other hand, my mother's kind was deemed too weak to fulfil the Evil's purposes. The Teleri of Aman fancied greatly their joyful solitude on the shores of the Sea, even if that meant renouncing the light that enlightened only what lay beyond the walls of Valinórë. Any desire or trace of resentment was totally alien to them.

And so it eventually followed that, out of the three kinds of the Eldar, it was my own which served the Dark Vala's propositions well. Something I am deeply ashamed of, regardless of the fact that my father and my House didn't fall prey of those treacherous words. The valiant people of Ñolofinwë too managed to acknowledge the falsehood of the ill-parlance of the Enemy. But, I must earnestly confess, most of the Noldor were nonetheless moved by those speeches; and even if some rejected the premises of that disgraceful discourse, it's undoubtedly true that the flame of ambition was nourished significantly in all our hearts.

But the main victim, yet guilty at the same time, was Fëanáro himself. Melkor won the craftsman's doubts by helping him and his people in grand deeds of craftsmanship, sharing a sort of knowledge that only the mightiest of the Ainur could know. His untruthful friendship was only aimed at conquering the confidence of the greatest of the Noldor and the ones who used to attend his presence. The time was then proper to start the slow and subtle poisoning of their minds. As the rotten weed which is ought to be eradicated from gardens, he started propagating his malice at the expense of us all. The Enemy lied and lied again. Fëanáro and his people were somehow convinced that the Valar, lest the Noldor achieved enough might to flout their holy authority and take control of Middle-earth, had caged them in Aman and forced them to dwell in their immortal realm. A sort of golden gaol, behind whose joyful eternity lay the will of the jealous Powers to contain their guests' ambitions via vigilance and tyranny. The apex of that evil design was reached when they were told that weaker Children of Ilúvatar would replace the Eldar and rule over all mortal lands; a voluble race that could be easily controlled as the Valar's own dummy.

Therefore, initial voices of discontent began to be heard throughout Kôr. Voices that soon turned overt and loud. The limit was breached when Fëanáro threatened to kill Ñolofinwë in front of Finwë himself, blinded by anger and false suspects. Those acts had violated the peace of Aman and were then too manifest not to be ultimately dealt with. The Powers summoned Fëanáro in Valimar and Mandos punished his actions with a temporary exile in Formenos, while unveiling the real intentions of Melkor and the fallacy of his lies. The Blacksmith thus realised how he had been played by the Dark Lord and made the Evil's merest instrument, yet his heart was ever burning in resentment towards everyone and everything seen as an obstacle to his and his people's right to rule. But the storm seemed to have been placated a bit and things were slowly returning to normality; the imperturbable and customary normality of those blessed shires. During his expiation in Formenos, Fëanáro was granted the permission to participate in one of the great festivities of Valinórë, to draw a definitive line regarding the past happenings and to make sure that harmony was restored again among the Houses of the Noldor.

But upon an unfortunate series of events, our destiny was already determined. The Noon of Valinórë was about to end, and the end was the worst one could have ever foreseen. The Enemy had by then fled from the Blessed Realm to escape the wrath of the Valar and had hidden himself in the unguarded vastness outside the inviolable walls of Valinórë. Many times had we been warned by thy people, my Queen, of the perils and dreadful dangers that the very Aman may put one in front of, across the lands that were solely lit by the Stars of Varda the snow-white: the frozen wastes of Araman in the north up to the deadly ice of Helcaraxë, and the long dark shores of Avathar in the south. Immersed in the darkness of those ancient times that embraced Middle-earth too. It was in fact in the obscurity of Avathar that Melkor had sought refuge, knowing that a very gruesome entity had those eerie lands as its lair. After the tragedy which had struck us by surprise, we were informed that it was an unknown Maia who had been lurking in Aman for millennia, feeding herself from the near gleams of the Two Trees. A horrible monster that had grown within the immortal continent, unbeknownst to the rulers of the West. Ungoliant was her name. The creature had never dared to contest the Powers' authority, fearing their fury; not until the coming of the Dark Vala.

The epilogue of the story is not difficult to guess, I presume. The Enemy and his auxiliary climbed the forbidden peaks of the Pelóri and pierced all defences. While the Ainur and the Eldar were gleefully rejoicing and celebrating the wonders of the evergreen Blessed Realm, the two reached Ezellohar and destroyed the greatest masterpiece and deed ever created by the Valar since the beginning of Arda itself. Melkor hit the Two Trees and Ungoliant absorbed their life from their wounds, getting unthinkably colossal. Valinórë was abruptly darkened, and the eternal day which we had lived in with bliss vanished in just a moment, never to return. Agony and desperation took us, whereas the Powers were trying to understand what terrible fate had marred their realm. But what we all experienced after was probably even more unspeakable: Ungoliant, in the fashion of an immense spider, started wreaking havoc everywhere, as her unceasing hunger compelled her to devour anything of light. Neither the Valar's guards nor Tulkas himself succeeded in stopping her from unleashing her enhanced powers against them.

I will never forget that horror. Ungoliant used the light she had devoured to produce black webs of pure darkness. A totally unnatural kind of darkness. Some sort of 'dark light', alive and disruptive. That darkness seemed not just to be the mere absence of light, but rather its own very nemesis. It was, as I sensed, as if anything of joy, love and life had been erased from the whole world. Her Majesty was there, when the One disclosed part of his Plan in timeless and ancestral eras. Thou was there, Melyanna, when most of what is was conceived. How is it possible that events present us such terrible challenges to withstand, and such horrific enemies to face?''

Then, Nerwen interrupted her speech and sat down in one of the benches placed in that balcony. Language left her for a while, and slender tears began to come down from her rosy face.


Kôr is the ancient name of Tirion, dwelling of the Noldorin royal family in Aman.

[Walküre]

When she got over that moment of discouragement, Nerwen continued to tell the sad fate of the Noldor and of all Eldar of Aman after the death of the Two Trees of Valinórë.

''We were then completely lost and hopeless. The radiant source which had been giving life and light to the plains of Valinórë was killed in such short yet tumultuous moments. Darkness came and veiled anything under the circles of the skies of Arda. The Darkening of Valinórë had thus become a true and terrible reality to cope with. Varda's lights shone even more vividly in those times of agony, remnants of a very far past which could have never been obscured by any malicious device. But they were not enough to restore the eternal day we had been used to until then. We thus realised that our precarious condition had been made so much akin to the one of those who inhabit Endórë, if not that the Valar were still beside us and that the immortal property of their enchanted realm depended solely on them only.

When the winds of Manwë had blown away the remaining shadows of Ungoliant and swept the land clean from her filth, the outcome of the battle was eventually manifest to us. The ghoulish prowess of that creature had caused slaughter and terror among the ranks of the guards of the Blessed Realm. Oromë, riding his mighty steed Nahar, gathered the sentinels of the borders with his horn Valaróma, which resounded much clearer than ever in that void of hope and consolation. They started the hunt for the two guilty of that atrocious crime, but both Melkor and Ungoliant had already fled away. More importantly, Laurelin and Telperion were no more. Their poisoned and withered ruin lay lifeless at the gates of Valimar. The Powers summoned an emergency council in Máhanaxar. Sat on their golden, silver and diamond-made thrones, their thoughts were all connected and it was as if their will were a single thinking unity. They decided to try everything they could to save their greatest masterpiece: Nienna mourned for the sad destiny of the World and her tears washed away the remnants of Ungoliant's poison, purifying the dead Trees, and then, once all wounds were cleaned, thy Queen, Melyanna, sang to bring them back to life. But Yavanna's arts, regardless of their inner sanctity, were of no usage at all. The Powers therefore got grips of the inexorable verdict that events had presented. Their greatest masterpiece was forever gone, and so the era of Arda that was based on its perennial cycle.

At the feet of the thrones of the Ring of Doom, the Maiar and the Vanyar of Valinórë were mourning in silence for the lost bliss; my kind was there too and it followed those tragic moments with increasing apprehension. But a forlorn hope somehow remained. If Fëanáro had handed his dear Jewels to the Valar, they could have maybe broken them and so released the holy light of the Trees that was captured in them. The Two Trees could have been revitalised completely and given new life. Things would have followed a totally different course, and I would probably not be here now, narrating this sorrowful story to Her Majesty. Finwë's eldest son, although torn inside by the love for his creations as all craftsmen are, was about to bend and accept the request of the Powers.

No one could imagine that everything was to worsen so dramatically. An emissary from Formenos in fact showed up and informed us that the Enemy and his ally had directed to Formenos itself, reaching the dwelling of Fëanáro and of his beloved father during the exile. Finwë was assassinated and the Silmarils stolen, along with many other treasures. Fëanáro, then, stormed out of the council in fury and his heart was all an implacable fire. In the following hours, the situation escalated so rapidly and it compelled my entire kind to make a definitive choice that would reshape our fate in an unpredictable mould. The de facto new High King of the Noldor moved to Kôr, violating the ban of Mandos which was still valid, and addressed all the three Houses and their royal princes. His words erupted as flames, imperishable and untameable. The very spirit which had drained her mother's forces centuries before. There were fury, anger, resentment, pride and thirst for a cruel revenge. Amidst that chaos, I too intervened among my royal kin and advocated the cause of my people, though absolutely deprived from the aggressive connotations that were widely welcomed by most of them. I honestly believed, as I do now, that the Noldor's might ought to be given the chance to find alternative ways to project its own extraordinary potential: the pure freedom of Middle-earth and its vast lands that could flourish well under our rule, in spite of the uncertainty we find ourselves in and of the battles we may fight.

Yet Fëanáro's plans were gradually being unveiled. He attacked both the Rulers of Aman and their atavistic Enemy. In his folly, even the Powers were to be accused, because he thought they had foolishly freed the Evil from his just punishment and allowed it to plot against the Eldar; he just couldn't bear anymore to comply with another higher authority. He yearned power and liberty of action. The very Silmarils were his major obsession though; the greatest symbol in Arda of his unmatchable skills, which could not be mirrored by Aulë himself. The Jewels were then in Melkor's hands, and that was an unforgivable insult to him. A very sufficient of a motivation to lead the Noldor out of the immortal borders of Aman, electing the way of exile, and to sustain the immense burden of that choice. Fëanáro thus opted for indissolubly tying the destiny of his House with the retaking of what was unjustly stolen, but he couldn't predict the horrible consequences of such adamant oath. An unmerciful oath that would not show neither reason nor magnanimity to any opposing his path. It eventually doomed his fate and, as I fear, it shall provoke many atrocities again, until its complete fulfilment or the death of those who took it.''

Nerwen stood up and with a feeble voice spelled the words of that infamous oath, in which she and her House (alongside Ñolofinwë's) had fortunately never taken part.

Be he foe or friend, be he foul or clean,
brood of Morgoth or bright Vala,
Elda or Maia or Aftercomer,
Man yet unborn upon Middle-earth,
neither law, nor love, nor league of swords,
dread nor danger, not Doom itself,
shall defend him from Fëanor, and Fëanor's kin,
whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh,
finding keepeth or afar casteth
a Silmaril. This swear we all:
death we will deal him ere Day's ending,
woe unto world's end! Our word hear thou,
Eru Allfather! To the everlasting
Darkness doom us if our deed faileth.
On the holy mountain hear in witness
and our vow remember, Manwë and Varda!

[Walküre]

''Thou may immediately understand, fair Melyanna, how a solemn oath sworn to Ilúvatar and with the two supreme Rulers of Arda as witnesses is an unbreakable one. An ultimate promise of vengeance that will inevitably lead those who took it to victory or to the saddest of the fates. An eternal punishment and a neverending thirst for blood: because vengeance taints even the hands of the purest with blood. Blood which often belongs to innocent ones.''

Her speech was interrupted by a very long sigh. Tears seemed again to find their way out, but they were instantly contained by the Princess. Nerwen was resolute to conclude such hurtful tales. At least, resolute to narrate the events she had chosen to tell in front of the Maia.

''Now I start realising the magnitude of the immense pain we caused to the bright Valar, who had always cared for us in the sincerest and most affectionate way. The Powers were all extremely aware of the terrible wound that had been inflicted to my kind, but waging a sudden war in Middle-earth was something they were in no way prepared, for their cunning Enemy had conceived his schemes long time before and his servants had been restlessly waiting for their master's return: the forces of Valinórë could have not had the time to launch a full-scale attack and hoped for a rapid conclusion, considering also that the guard of the Blessed Realm had been lowered considerably after the past war for the sake of the Quendi and when Melkor was gaoled in Mandos for three long ages of the Trees. The Powers thus invoked order and time to develop an effective strategy. Justice had always been paramount for them, and justice indeed was at the heart of the good wars they had fought since their coming in Eä. Yet Fëanáro's purposes implied wars of senseless violence and slaughter, having his mind obscured by the darkest wrath. No one within the borders of Arda could have then convinced him of the contrary.

But the Queens and Kings of Aman were also moved by other reasons to renounce the usage of their might; reasons that reveal indeed their utmost piety and profound love for the Children of Ilúvatar they are to safeguard. As they had eventually decided to go to war to free the then newly-awakened Firstborn from the absolute dominion of Melkor on all mortal lands, they ultimately refused to harm the World again for the sake of the Aftercomers who are supposed to awaken soon, whose weaker nature could never bear a destructive confrontation among the Ainur. The Valar took instead immediate counter-measures to secure their holy realm, which had been attacked in its very heart; vigilance was doubled and a host was deployed around the evergreen plain that embraces Valimar. The pass that is the only conjunction between the two continents was about to be interdicted for all and thoroughly patrolled by the guards of Valinórë. The peaks of the Pelóri were made even higher and mightier, so that no creature of any sort could have violated that wall again.

While the Powers were strengthening their defences, the majority of my kind chose the way of the exile from Aman, flouting the recommendations and heartfelt pleas of the Ainur. The Noldor who preferred to obey and remain gathered around my father Arafinwë, from whom I and my brothers departed with the greatest sorrow. He now reigns as the king of Kôr of many towers. The bold House of Fëanáro eventually took the way of the Sea, as ghoulish circumstances permitted, whereas the valiant Ñolofinwë guided us throughout the frozen wastes of Araman, until we were obliged to pass the Helcaraxë and faced a challenge that only thy holy kind had withstood before then.

The rest of the story is already manifest to thee. Our royal kin has now established in Beleriand and we shall try to honour the dignity of our lineage at all costs. Yet it's a matter of continuing dismay that we are now divided from the ancient West; now that the Hiding of Valinórë has been completed and isolation became the Valar's major deliberation. The very Belegaer is now enchanted and forbidden to any wishing to cross those waters. I greatly fear that forgiveness won't be granted until the very end, at the turn of the tide of this new age. I'm nonetheless sure that the solemn Manwë and Varda snow-white will never forsake the ones in need completely. Their two new Luminaries now shine day and night all over Arda; the last remnants of Laurelin and Telperion that the love of Yavanna managed to save from death.

I apologise if this long narration has displeased thee in any way. I won't deny that other happenings are still to be revealed, but if Her Majesty desires to ask that I unveil them now, that would be a reason of suffering for my heart, not ready yet to undergo such test.''

[Fine]

"Grave news indeed," whispered Melian. In her mind, she could see it now. While Nerwen had been retelling the events that led to her people's exodus from Aman, clear images of what she had witnessed had sprung up all around Melian, whose vision was extended and the veil of uncertainty was lifted. But more than just Nerwen's words were revealed to her. Melian's visitor had spoken with passion and emotion, and that had told her more than Nerwen might have realized.
"Dark is the fate of your kin," she said in a hushed tone. "This oath - hastily it was sworn; and doom it will bring, even to this fair land, I fear. A dark fate, yes, but I will not deny that it is the blades and shields of the Noldor that now safeguard Beleriand from the black shadow that sits to the north. And yet - mighty Feanor has not survived to reclaim his treasure, for I know that he perished in the very battle that took place soon after he and his sons first set foot on the shores of this Ennorath. His sons must surely now see the error of their ways, but an oath of this gravity will bind and haunt them forever."

She paused for a short moment and studied Nerwen's face closely. There was something yet untold, something left out from the tale of the Darkening of Valinor, something the elf-maiden did not yet wish to speak of. But, Melian decided not to pry. Surely, Nerwen would speak of it when she was ready to do so, when she had decided to trust Melian with it.
"You have told me much, my dear visitor - not everything, but that was not to be expected of course - and I thank you for these news, as dour as they may be. I understand now, why the last children of the Two Trees rise in the sky and blind out the starlight my people love so much, and why the mighty Noldor have come to Beleriand. Great sorrow you bring with you across the icy bay of the Sundering Sea, and a veiled doom hangs above you that I cannot seem to decipher, but I will let that rest for now. You must be tired, my dear."

She felt a presence approach the balcony on which the two conversants were standing, and turned around. A young handmaiden had appeared, bowing her head deeply before the Queen of Menegroth and Doriath.
"Forgive me, High Lady," said the girl reverentially. "The exalted King sent me to inform you and your noble guest, that the banquet will be starting soon."
Melian gave the maiden a graceful nod. "Thank you," she said, then turning to Nerwen. "The feast my King has prepared in honour of your brother's arrival will be a welcome refreshment, wouldn't you agree? Let us make our way there swiftly. It is not far."

Stepping away from the balcony, she led Nerwen once more through the vast halls of the palace until they came to one of the smaller rooms, where Elwe and Nerwen's brothers were already expecting them, sitting at a large table filled with dishes of all kinds. The Elvenking's banquet was now ready to begin.

[Walküre]

Such a lively and warm feast was it! The two monarchs had also been joined by the royal court of Doriath. From time to time, minstrels pleased the guests with jubilant songs and poems of past events; one of the most recurrent themes was the circumstances of the encounter between Elwë and Melyanna, about which superb rhymes were sung. Everyone seemed very comfortable in that joyful context and words began to flow from each participant's mouth. Words of gratification, tales and varied opinions on the most diverse topics.

Nerwen was often asked about her golden hair. The legend underlying her golden-silver locks had presumably spread across Beleriand too, when the Noldor had set foot on those mortal shores. Many were just conquered by the hair's own radiance: some maidens wept at the sight of that light. Someone even dared to say that they had then been given a feeble reflection of how the late Two Trees would fill Valinórë with life and hope. A vision denied to the Sindar, as soon as they had elected to remain. A prince, named Celeborn, made his way to the Noldorin princess and praised her beauty with the kindest attributes. Nothing, not even the worst news from the outer lands of Middle-earth, could have maybe broken that harmony. Those were really merry moments. And merriment had by then been so alien to the Noldor.

[Walküre]

Findaráto was involved in a very lively talk with the Sindarin monarch, yet every exchange was always characterised by the greatest reverence towards each other. The topic moved from the perils of the guests' terrible misadventures to the geopolitics of Beleriand. That feeble balance which the arrival of such mighty force from the westernmost ends of the World could have destabilised utterly. No one could have in fact foreseen what was bound to happen; how events would unfold themselves.

Elwë, who had until then enjoyed the hegemonic position of his realm in those territories, was profoundly preoccupied and doubted that those who were wise would be capable of constraining the actions of those who were not. Arafinwë's kin was not his main concern, of course, for the boldest and toughest kinds of the Noldor belonged to the other two families that had reached those immortal shores. The whole magnitude, pride and might of that lineage, which had been wisely governed and guided by the rule of Finwë within the walls of Kôr, was in that moment free to wander loose throughout the wonders of the Free Continent. Free to punish the perpetrators of the Darkening of Valinórë and of the theft of their precious Jewels. Who could have discerned their true intentions? Who could have foretold which boundaries and laws they were ready to violate, in order to achieve their ambitious goals? A grim shadow of doubt surrounded the king, for there was only one thing that terrified him the most alongside the Evil's schemes: the ruthless resolution of a Noldo.

ELWË: ''Noble and wise son of Arafinwë, your heart and deeds could be purer and brighter than the greatest jewel carved from these halls, but it's not you whom I desire to parlay with. I shall accept guarantees, if I hear them coming out from the mouth of one of Fëanáro's kin. Only then shall I lay down my reserves.''

[Walküre]

FINDARÁTO: ''His Majesty certainly knows that neither I nor my family could command or dictate the will of our kin. From their part, may I assure you that the wise sons of Arafinwë hope as much as His Majesty does that a viable agreement will ultimately be found among our noble intentions. Only, if His Majesty permits me, I would counsel one not misjudge gallantry and indomitable resilience, for these very virtues carried us across the deadly Ice and unleashed upon the Evil a power no one had ever experienced before.''