[en] The English RPG Forum > RPG Library

Conversations in Doriath

<< < (2/15) > >>

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.


--- Zitat ---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!
--- Ende Zitat ---

Navigation

[0] Themen-Index

[#] Nächste Seite

[*] Vorherige Sete