Carniquessë stood in a darkened corner at the end of the farthest wall in the throne room, near the great carved wooden doors left slightly ajar so guards could come and go at the end (or start) of their shift. Her company was supposed to be off duty as for the occasion they were given leave to return to Nargothrond from the plains and attend Princess Finduilas’ begetting day ceremony. Luckily for her comrades, who all seemed to enjoy themselves scattered here and there in the crowd, unluckily for her. She wasn’t made for such mundane events, feeling like a fish out of river Narog most of the time… and she hated the feeling. She wasn’t made for idle chatter and fancy dances. Only out of a deep sense of duty and respect for the royal family did she show up, and after the obligatory salutes to the high ranked officers in the room retired in her corner with a glass of chill white wine. Observing, thinking. Musing.
The throne room was all aglow thanks to the ingenious positioning of great mirrors installed in strategic points high of the arched roof, reflecting the moonlight coming from outside, bouncing it off each other. A marvel of dwarven ingenuity… Carniquessë only heard second account tales of Nargothrond’s construction, as she lived in Dorthonion at the time but she had no issue imagining a squadron of dwarven engineers working noisily, together with the elves and King Finrod to create a realm out of those caves. Or Felagund as the dwarves called him. It didn’t feel like being inside a system of caves at all, the walls of the room carved as if it was a beautiful castle with columns and chiseled patterns, frescoes of landscapes, hunting scenes and what she knew was a representation of Tirion behind the throne. She wondered how magnificent the feasts in the city of the Noldor must have been, if that night already felt so fancy to her. She wondered what Finarfin’s court looked like, not that she would have attended feasts in Valinor any more than the present, but she figured any Elda born in Beleriand must have had the same thoughts at least once about the homeland their kinsmen left behind.
She sighed. Banners of the King hang from the balustrades and beams, the device of Finrod with the harp and the torch in green background fluttering thanks to some draft blowing in the hall. Although this was supposed to be a day of joy and celebration, nothing could have erased the thin veil of grey mourning that floated above their heads. The absence of beloved Finrod Felagund will be forever felt by his people, and those who cast aside the feanorian traitors. Speaking of… Carniquessë fixed her gaze on the lone figure of Celebrimbor, half hidden behind a pastry tower at the buffet table. She felt some understanding for him. Despite rejecting the actions of his father and uncle, he cannot erase the ties that bound him to his relatives by blood. Him and his people will always be regarded with some distance, perhaps wariness even if for this particular night both Finrod’s people and his mingled and feasted as one. Or pretending to be one, the huntress for her part preferred to keep to herself regardless, as a solitary figure much like the smith was doing.
Clinking of glasses, plates, cutlery and chatter filled the room, too loud to be just white noise yet (thankfully for her ears) not so bad to be insufferable. Her ears loved the sound of the wind in the plains of Tumhalad, the rustling of leaves and the hissing of arrows let loose, the sounds of… every-day life almost disoriented her. Scanning the great hall, she noticed the small music ensemble getting ready to open the dances. Positioned under an arched nook near the throne’s platform, the musicians held beautiful instruments gilded in gold, that Carniquessë knew being relics King Finrod brought with him from Valinor. The clinking and chatter died down as guests made space on the dance floor.
Princess Finduilas looked resplendent in her dress the color of honey, matching well her golden hair kept in place by an intricate maze of braids. Orodreth her father bowed and offered his hand. The ensemble started playing a slow tune, apt for the Princess’ grace and elegance, swaying in circles on the dance floor. Once again, she couldn’t help but thinking how King Finrod’s absence felt so heavily around them. Both father and daughter seemed happy and smiled. But to her eyes she could see the same veil of sadness lurking behind the smile.
The first dance ended in applause, now other couples stepped in and she observed Orodreth retreating while Agarwaen advanced to take the Princess’ hand. Agarwaen… Carniquessë frowned. She didn’t know what to think of him, and she hated feeling undecided over something, or someone… he gained quickly the trust of Orodreth, the people and Finduilas, his word held in high regard more and more and yet… she admitted there being similarities in her own solitary attitude and that of the young man, but she also reminded herself that he wasn’t one of the Eldar. Sure he almost looked like an Elda, dressed in silks, with noble features and mannerism but his ears and the lack of depth in the eyes betrayed him. A mortal he was, his concerns different from them, his views filled with the judgement of his kind.
Finduilas did not seem to care about any of that, her smile wider while dancing with him to a much livelier song. They both danced nimbly, complementing each other well and another sudden thought hit the huntress. She looked past the dancing figures towards Orodreth on the throne and of course, next to him slightly hidden stood Gwindor.
Poor Gwindor, once betrothed to the Princess, one of Nargothrond’s Lords now… a shade of himself. His beauty and strength ruined by the years he spent as a captive in Angband, he now stood in the background, watching, perhaps musing much like her. She had no idea what to think of him now as well. How does it feel to lose everything, finding some of what was lost yet not being able to hold it again? She hoped to never know. He seemed content to just watch his mortal friend dance with Finduilas and if he was fine with his fate, who was she to judge him?
She sipped her wine. How particular that night turned out to be. She was used to be alone with the inner workings of he mind, but most of the time such working involved strategizing about enemy movements and scouting, not introspection. This only served to remind herself why she rarely stayed in the cave halls, preferring to fill her days with duties and practical tasks out in the fields that left little time for idle thoughts.
The ensemble played, the guests danced, and the wee hours of the night slowly whiled away. She wished to just slip away, hop on her horse and ride back to her outpost. But she couldn’t with the whole Nargothrond gathered in one hall. So she kept observing, thinking. Musing. Alone in her corner like a fish out of river Narog.
