(First Age of the Sun, year 538, somewhere in a forest near Amon Ereb in east Beleriand)
„Who dares to enter the land of the Ambarussa?“
I call, the longbow half-drawn.
A glance at Baerod and Pilinwë.
Their bows are drawn too.
They are ready to shoot the intruder.
The figure approaches.
We cannot see clearly, who or what it is. It moves through the forest like a drunk dwarf, walking home after a great feast.
Still, something tells us that, at least, it is not an Orc.
„For the last time! If you can speak with words, speak now! This is the land of the Ambarussa, who dares enter it?“
The figure stops.
„Hold!“
A strong-voiced baritone, the Quenya betrays the slight Noldorin accent of the people living in the north of eastern Beleriand.
„Would you spill the blood of your own kindred in the lands of the Ambarussa?“
I raise my hand.
Baerod and Pilinwë lower their bows.
„By the name of our lords, I bid you welcome, friend! You may approach!“
The figure moves again.
Pale light, breaking through the branches, illuminates the stranger’s appearance as he steps out of the shadows.
Broad shoulders and wrecked clothing.
An iron dwarven belt, which is strange. The elf wields a short dwarven axe too.
His eyes are keen like steel, and his face fair and bright, untouched by any hardship or peril.
I take my bow, and step forward.
„Hail, traveler. I am called Larmo, and these two are Pilinwë and Baerod, my friends. We serve the Ambarussa. May I know your name?“
He inclines his head slightly.
„Call me Yárendo. I serve my Lord Macalaurë. I have returned from the wilderness.“
I nod. He must be one of those scouts Lord Macalaurë has sent to the east.
However, for a scout he behaved exceptionally foolish!
„You must be a soldier“ says Baerod, approaching us.
„What use is a soldier if he cannot serve his Lord?“ answers Yárendo.
„I will show you the way to the mountain. Pilinwë, Baerod, you stay here. Stay alert.“
They nod, and I turn to the soldier.
„Come with me, Yárendo. Ere the night falls, we will have reached Amon Ereb.“
A heavily armed elf rushes in.
My voice sounds faint as I state:
„I shall bring this traveler before the Lord Macalaurë.
His name is Yárendo, and he is a soldier of Nos Fëanáro.“
As I look at the armed elf, I recognize him.
It’s Ormecáno, second officer of Lord Macalaurë’s vanguard.
He holds a huge war-bow, being even larger than himself.
I am pretty sure, not even a yoke of oxen could draw it!
But he has eyes only for my companion.
He approaches slowly, his armour jangling with each heavy step.
Yárendo remains calm, looking at the approaching elf.
„Ráolor“ says he officer drily, stopping directly in front of the soldier.
Apparently, Yárendo is a Kilmessë, for which mother would name her child „Bloodstained Soul“?
„Ormecáno" grumbles the soldier.
They stand there, glaring at each other.
Suddenly, the officer grabs my companion and gives him a rough hug.
I step back. Better be careful with those hugs.
Ormecáno looks at Yárendo, and his grim face shows the slightest of smiles. Rather a grimace, in my opinion.
„That is for returning.“
He frowns suddenly.
„And that is for leaving us.“
His gauntlets flash as he delivers a massive blow at Yárendo’s jaw, knocking the soldier down.
I’d rather be hit by a battering ram.
„For the sake of Fëanáro, stop it!“
He does a dismissive hand gesture towards me.
Yárendo takes a deep breath, then stands up again, slowly, eyeing Ormecáno, motionless.
His face shows no signs of the terrible punch.
„You had no orders! You left us without any word. We will not tolerate such behaviour!“ growls Ormecáno.
„Where is our Lord?“ asks Yárendo, with a quiet, yet firm voice.
„What do you think you were doing? Where did you spend all these years?“ barks the officer.
„I had to visit old friends. There was important business to be done“ gnarls the soldier.
„Oh, and who is that? The dwarves of Túrosto maybe? So you could drink their disgusting ale and play with their stupid statues?“
Yárendo does not answer, but his eyes darken.
Ormecáno turns around and takes a few steps towards the soldier.
„I know everything about you and your foolish games.“
His words are cutting through the air like swords.
„You ran off to kill Orks. And Easterlings. Do you think the legend of Pomongôth, lord of statues, has not reached Amon Ereb?“
Ormecáno laughs.
„The moment I heard the stories, I knew who this Pomongôth was. And other names I heard: Vradda, whispered by the Easterlings; the avenger. The Orcs of the north tell stories about Gûrgendash, the stonemason, and Shapatgûl, the sword-wraith. Curse those orkish names! But all that… Games! Just games!“
He takes a few steps towards Yárendo.
„It was you, Ráolor. All of them. And there was only one driving force behind your actions.“
The officer narrows his eyes.
„Revenge.“
The soldier does not answer. He is staring at the closed door at the end of the room.
„Revenge can be so sweet… but you are forgetting one thing, Ráolor. We are fighting for Endor. We are not fighting for vengeance. Your father will never enter Endor again. Your mother will never enter Endor again. Amarthion is gone. Felyanáro is gone. Ururáto is gone… how many more shall I name?“
Ormecáno glares at the soldier.
But Yárendo does not answer.
„Do you think I cannot see the marks on your Hröa? Others may not perceive them, but I see everything. You must have been captured by the enemy.
And for what? For your foolish games with Angamando’s armies?! You knew you could not win.
And still you went on.
We received message from Túrosto. Apparently, you mobilized a group of dwarves… to save a little girl! You hunted down several troops of Orks…for a foolish little girl from Lestanórë!!“
Ormecáno utters a bitter laugh.
Yárendo’s eyes suddenly flash, as a perilous fire awakens in them.
The flames of the torches in the room flutter!
The soldier’s fist flies towards the officer’s jaw, but Ormecáno catches it with a gauntleted hand in mid-air.
He glares at Yárendo, with eyes as cold and hard as steel.
Ice meets fire.
„No need to overdo it, friends“. I try to stop them.
But they do not notice me.
„You made a good decision, years ago,“ growls Ormecáno.
„Stepping down was wise. If you still were the sixth officer of our Lord’s vanguard, you would be stripped of your rank immediately.
But you are no officer any more. You are a simple soldier.
You know as well as I do: since the Nirnaeth, the vanguard of our Lord counts no more than one hundred and thirty warriors. There are only two officers to command them, and I am one of them."
I am confused.
That poorly clothed, traveling soldier, a former officer?
„We are at war, and you ran away to satisfy your personal bloodlust.
We should cast you out of Amon Ereb for what you have done, but you are fortunate.“
Ormecáno’s eyes grow strange. He tilts the head.
„In the coming war, we will need every available soldier.
You want to serve our Lord again? Then prove yourself again in the battles to come! Your place is in the vanguard, the front line, you always lived for the melee.
Am I wrong, o fiery Ráolor?“ he asks, mocking.
Yárendo furrows his eyebrows.
But Ormecáno’s next words hit like thunder.
„The princes had a council just a few hours ago.
A Silmarillë is in the Havens of Sirion.
It is decided.
We will fulfill the Oath of Fëanáro, the oath of the master, the promise of our house.
We will regain the Silmarillë, the purpose of our life in Endor!
We are attacking the havens in a few weeks.“
My jaw drops.
O sun and moon, aid us!
The room begins to move.
It cannot be true.
I do not want to believe it.
I know what it means…
I try to breathe.
I can hear Yárendo shouting.
I lean against the wall, try to regain control.
„Have you lost your mind? My Lord would NEVER order such a thing again!“
„Careful, Ráolor! Are you trying to escape the war once more?“
„I never wanted to escape war! I want to see my Lord! Now!“
„Then prove yourself as a soldier!“
„Out of my way, Ormecáno!“
They stand in front of each other again.
„What is that miserable little axe on your side? Where is your Falquan, Ráolor? It has served you well in Lestanórë. Time to wield it again, against the Havens of Sirion!“
„I buried that accursed blade. I shall never touch it again! It shall rot forever in the earth’s womb!“
„Do not try to run away from what you do. From what you are. You are a killer. Just as I am. Indeed, we have spilled blood in Lestanórë, but to wield great power, to serve the light requires to commit terrible things sometimes!“
„The armies of Moringotto are upon us, and what are you preparing for? To slay our kindred once more? After all the wrong we have done?!“
„The people of Elwë never were our kindred! You have spilled blood in Lestánorë anyway. It is too late!“
„It is never too late, you damn fool!“
„How dare you oppose the Oath of Fëanáro!“ roars Ormecáno, his voice like thunder.
„Out of my way! I shall speak to the Lord! It needs more than a mad marksman to stop me!“ shouts Yárendo.
„You are nothing but a simple soldier! You are even less than nothing! You will not enter this hall!“
Clash of limbs and joints.
They wrestle.
I try to stop them, but the officer pushes me back. I stumble and fall down.
Suddenly, the door opens. The guard remains there, motionless.
At the end of the hall, a tall elf is standing, clad in deep blue, facing the wall.
Raven black hair flows down his back.
I know who that is…
Everything falls silent.
Yárendo looks at me for a moment, and there is an unspeakable darkness in his eyes.
Then he walks into the hall, slowly.
Nobody stops him.
His steps grow even slower…
Until he falls down on his knees, as one crushed by a weight heavier than the foundations of the earth.
[Translations and Notes:
Amon Ereb - Lonely hill (Sindarin) ... could be found in eastern Beleriand. After the battle Nirnaeth Arnoadiad, the sons of Fëanor withdrew to Amon Ereb
Ambarussa - Top-Russet (Quenya) ... original mother name of both the twins Amrod and Amras, the youngest sons of Fëanor
Yárendo - bloodstained heart (Quenya) ..."enda" however doesn't mean the physical organ, it means "centre", referring to the Fëa (soul) or Sáma (mind)
Kilmessë - self-name (Quenya) ...apart from Ataressë (father name) and the important Amilessë (mother name), elves used to give themselves names too, related to the various happenings in their lives
Túrosto - strong fortress (Quenya) ...an elvish name for the great dwarven city Belegost
Angamando - iron gaol (Quenya) ...the huge fortress of the dark lord Morgoth. Sindarin: Angband
Endor - middle-earth (Quenya)
Hröa - physical body (Quenya)
Lestanórë - land of the girdle (Quenya) ...meaning Doriath
Nirnaeth Arnoediad - tears unnumbered (Sindarin) ...the tragic battle in which the forces of Morgoth defeated the Elves and Men of Beleriand
Silmarillë - radiance of pure light (Quenya) ...a jewel, one of three, made by Fëanor in the years of the trees
Havens of Sirion - a refuge built by elves at the mouths of the great river Sirion. In the year 538 of the first age of the sun, the sons of Fëanor assaulted the havens in order to regain the Silmaril. This event is known as the Third Kinslaying
Oath of Fëanáro - the terrible oath, sworn by Fëanor and his sons, that played a crucial role in the doom of the Noldor in Beleriand
Falquan - large sword (Quenya) ...of all the swords the Noldor used to forge, the Falquan was the largest. It had to be wielded two-handed and sometimes reached the length of six feet
Moringotto - black foe (Quenya) ...the name Fëanor gave Melkor, the first dark Lord. Sindarin: Morgoth
Elwë - star-person (Quenya) ...original name of Thingol king of Doriath
