Lurisa and Morfindel
by Laura White, aka halavana
Being an account of the meeting of Queen Lurisa and King
Gelionwë
as told by them to Orodin, chief scribe and Master of the Archives of Dor
Luin.
(With marginal notes by Ereg Elendal)
Part 1
Serving as a handmaid to Queen Melian was an honor, Lurisa supposed.
The labor was not heavy and gave a certain status. By the time she
reached her age of maturity, she was a skilled weaver, singer, dancer, gardener
and adept in the use of many elvish enchantments. Her father and brothers
fashioned a small apartment near their abode, with terraced gardens, a fountain
and a marvelous pavement for dancing with her friends. She was somewhat
put off by the occasional overtures of affection from childhood acquaintances
and friends of her brothers, and made plain she did not wish to wed for a
long time, and most certainly not to one of those who were so close to her
brothers, they were almost brothers themselves. One elf in particular
(we shall call him Avaquin, since Lurisa refused him) was exceptionally
tenacious, though not disagreeably so. As a kinsman of Mablung, captain
of Thingol’s guard, he made a welcome suitor in the eyes of her parents.
Perhaps one day, she thought, she might accept Avaquin’s ardent proposal.
But not yet.
Doriath was a safe place, a haven to many who sought refuge
from the dark lord in the north. For most of her youth Lurisa was content
only hearing news from outside. But being of an adventurous spirit,
she eventually chafed under the restrictions of the realm of Thingol and
Melian. She had been born there and by now she and her companions had
explored all of Menegroth, the forests of Neldoreth, Nivrim and Region, even
to the borders within the confines Melian had set. Often she, and several
others of like mind, begged leave to travel outside but her mother (Celerin,
Noldorin daughter of a friend of the house of Finarfin) and father
(Thaliontaur, a member of Thingol’s guard whose origins are explained
later) were content to ignore the world outside and thought their daughter
should do the same. Lurisa and her friends were persistent, however
(obstinate really), and reluctantly their elders granted permission
as long as they did not go east. (avoid the House of Fëanor at any
cost!)
When permitted, one fall day their company of perhaps
twenty elves and elf-maidens rode out to explore south and west of Thingol’s
kingdom, visiting kinfolk who lived at Nargothrond. Residing as guests
of Finrod Felagund and delighting in their new found relations, they extended
their stay. At last, on a spring day more than a year later, they took
their leave and returned to Doriath with an abundance of news, gifts and
gossip. As they passed north of Bar-erib, a sudden storm caused them
to scatter and Lurisa, Avaquin and four others became separated from the
larger group. The night was misty and rainy and though they were used
to weather of all sorts, being born and raised in woodlands, they were unaccustomed
to open terrain. They lost their homeward path and rode too far along
the line of hills called Andram, crossing over the Gates of Sirion (how
they did this without mishap, no one can say for the path across the Gates
is narrow and treacherous even in daylight). They wandered about
until their provisions became low and then began to seriously seek aid.
Making for a high hill called Amon Ereb (though they did not know it),
they traveled a day and a night. As they came near they met another
group of elves journeying toward the north. These elves rode swiftly
on the open plain, laughing and singing. One who rode out front had
a falcon flying nearby which at times lighted on his outstretched hand, then
swooped and circled and landed on the helmet of one of his companions.
They seemed to be playing a game but none of Lurisa’s company cared to ask,
being so relieved at meeting another group of elves in this unfamiliar place.
Avaquin and the two other elves rode ahead of the maidens and hailed the
oncoming group in Sindarin.
The lead elf raised a hand and his people halted as he
approached the newcomers. After introducing himself as Morfindel, he
listened to their plight. As the tale of their travels unfolded, he
looked on them with surprise and grave concern.
“You have indeed wandered far by a dangerous road,” he
said. “It is a wonder you crossed the Sirion without accident.
We do not pass near Doriath but since we are going in the direction of the
ford where the Dwarf Road crosses the River Celon, we will guide you that
far. No doubt you will find your way from there.”
None of Lurisa’s friends had ever journeyed eastward and
knew nothing of the region so they gratefully accepted this offer.
Morfindel said that he and his company had business in the north so they
did not wish to tarry on the road any longer than necessary and would only
camp briefly to rest the horses and let them graze. This also pleased
the elves of Doriath for they wished to return home as swiftly as they could.
That evening as the horses fed Lurisa overheard much discussion
among their new companions in a language other than Sindarin. Lurisa,
(however) recognized Quenya (which Lurisa’s friends could not understand)
from the lore her mother taught her before that language was forbidden (and
in secret later). She was disquieted by what two of the company
said, for they spoke of leading them to Himlad or Thargelion instead of Doriath.
But Morfindel overruled them saying, “Our new companions are unworthy
of such treachery. We will lead them as promised.”
“We need all we can find for the forward marches,” said
one. “And here are three women who may consent to help us increase
our numbers.”
“Your father, and our grandfather, will be very displeased
with you,” said the other in a menacing tone.
“My father will be displeased with me, no matter what.
But he is many day’s journey from you. And I am very close at hand.
Do you, my nephews, truly wish to challenge me on so trivial a thing?” responded
the leader in a voice soft, but stern as cold iron, stepping toward them.
(Morfindel has always known when to step out)
Three others, who had introduced themselves as Nangil,
Malgil and Maldil, stood behind Morfindel, looking on and nodding agreement
with their hands resting upon their sword hilts. The nephews muttered
various phrasings of “never mind” and withdrew.
Lurisa began to look more closely at this lead elf; he
was tall, dark haired (as his name described him) and soft spoken,
never raising his voice but commanding with a firmness no one dared gainsay.
Though not quite so fair as the others, he was of a beauty the likes of which
she had not before seen, with eyes dark and deep as the sky at dusk.
(quite unusual for an elf, for our eyes are most often gray. Even
within the family Morfindel’s eyes were of note. Some say it was because
he spent so much time looking into the light of the Silmarils when he was
a small child, but that is another story) Lurisa thought to herself,
why can I not find a suitor like this one? I want one like that.
The road was long and many days they rode, talking, singing
and sharing jests. Trained falcons flew overhead or rode upon the helmet
or shoulder of one of the guides, or hunted field mice. The elves began
to playfully feud among themselves over the hand of each of the three maids.
“Can they not choose for themselves?” said Morfindel,
who alone took no part in the jesting, remaining ever watchful and vigilant.
“Well, of course and we will expect to hear Lurisa’s decision
at our next camp,” retorted Avaquin. (who considered himself Lurisa’s
prime suitor and sure choice)
“That is so, for most assuredly a handmaid of Queen Melian
is a prize catch,” said another.
Avaquin struck him in the ribs with the back of his hand
as they rode along. “Perhaps that were best left unsaid,” he murmured.
“We knew who you were from the moment we first saw you,”
said Morfindel, “and even if we did not, your speech would have confirmed
you are of Doriath. I desire no quarrel with Thingol. You need
not fear, for we will guide you safely.”
“Our speech?” asked Avaquin. “How know you the difference?
And how do you know us when we knew you not at all?”
“Those of us who make our life outside the protection
of Melian’s borders must know many things to survive, languages and dialects
not least among them,” responded their guide.
The others returned to their jesting and when next they
halted, Avaquin demanded to hear Lurisa’s choice. She was somewhat
amused but more irritated at Avaquin for pressing his suit in such an inconvenient
manner. Still he persisted until Lurisa spoke her mind.
“Should you force the choice now, perhaps you will not
like what you hear, for of all these elves present only one comes close.”
Here she walked to the leader of their guides and kissed him lightly on the
cheek. “Does this please you?” she asked Avaquin, purposefully resting
her hand on their guide’s shoulder. (It did not please him at all)
Their guides laughed heartily at Avaquin’s discomfiture. Morfindel
said they would find many obstacles should they seek companionship beyond
their present journey and moved into the shadows to stand watch. (Morfindel
appears quite humorless at times. This is usually when he senses danger,
however. Take note!!!)
The next evening, Lurisa sought for Morfindel and found
him on watch, as was his custom. He rested in the shadow of a large
tree, on his knees and shins, ready to spring to his feet instantly if needed.
With a slight nod, he acknowledged her presence but kept his eyes focused
ahead.
“Are you well, my lady?” he asked. “What need have
you?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.” Then after
a pause, she added, “Or rather, to apologize for my forward behavior yesterday.
I should not have baited Avaquin so.”
A corner of the guide’s mouth twitched upward. “A
kiss from a fair maiden requires no apology.”
“All the same, I do apologize,” said Lurisa, blushing
and glad for the night. “And also,” she continued, this time in Quenya,
“I wanted to thank you for taking our part against your nephews.”
Now Morfindel blushed. “I knew not that any understood
us. Did Thingol not forbid the use of Quenya?”
“My mother is Noldor and taught me much before Thingol
discovered the truth of the return of her people from Valinor. My parents
met at the Mereth Aderthad, and wed soon after. Then they moved to
Doriath when my mother learned Galadriel decided to dwell there with Celeborn.
My father is a kinsman of Cirdan and member of Thingol’s guard. Perhaps
you might meet them? They would surely wish to thank you...”
“No thanks or welcome would I find in Menegroth,” said
Morfindel, then sniffed as though at some disagreeable odor. Lurisa
began to speak, but her guide bade her be silent and listen. By this
time she too smelled faintly something out of the ordinary, an acrid, foul
breeze from the east. (Morfindel never told Lurisa who his people
were but she guessed he was of the House of Fëanor, for when Thingol
learned of the kinslaying of Alqualondë, he forbade entrance to
Doriath by anyone of that house and declared any who spoke Quenya an enemy)
“Orcs,” muttered Morfindel with a grimace. “How
swiftly can you run?”
“As swiftly as need requires,” she replied and listened
as he instructed her what to do, then quickly obeyed. Silently she
ran to the elf named Nangil and repeated the message from Morfindel as he
instructed her. With a nod, the elf motioned for Maldil and Malgil
to guard the elves of Doriath and the others he bade follow him. Avaquin
would have followed but Maldil held him back, saying “there may soon be need
for you to show your prowess with sword and bow, but not yet.”
Sounds of a skirmish came out of the night shadows, shouts,
growls, groans, clashing blades, faint thump of arrows hitting their marks.
The silence afterward troubled Lurisa more than the noise, until all the
elves returned. None were slain, but several were lightly wounded.
Lurisa and her friends helped tend them and listened to the news. The
band of orcs which passed near them in the night was completely destroyed
and no news of them would ever reach their lair.
After the fight with the orcs, the elves paused no more
in their journey until they came to the Dwarf Road. Swiftly they traveled
northwest many miles and at the crossing of the Celon Morfindel told Avaquin
to follow the wide road as it curved and crossed the Aros. Avaquin
wondered how Morfindel knew how to find Menegroth if he had never been there
but the guide said only that he trafficked with many people. Lurisa
asked if she might ever see him again but he would promise nothing, saying
only that he passed by this way frequently in a circuit between the dwellings
of his kin and Mt. Dolmed where dwarves lived and occasionally as a messenger
from his kin to places westward. Their errand this day would take them
past Himlad through Nan Dungortheb to Barad Eithel, Fingon’s abode on the
upper Sirion River.
The elves of Doriath gasped.
“What?!” exclaimed Avaquin. “You will travel through
that dreadful place?”
“We will and we have,” responded Morfindel, then added
with a smirk “We must not let the creatures there become too confident.”
“That is so,” said Nangil. “We will harry them and
keep the way open, or open it if they close it. It is no place for
a party unless you wish to whet your skill with the sword and bow.”
Almost Lurisa wished she could ride on with them but they
departed, laughing and singing with falcons flying overhead as when they
first met. Avaquin pulled Lurisa to the side and said “Is this seemly,
that you cast yourself at their feet?”
Lurisa made no answer but traveled the rest of the
way to Menegroth in silence.
The moment Morfindel set foot on Middle-earth, the word “home” ceased its
meaning. “Home” was a place to which he could never return. The
house of Finwë near Mindon Eldalieva of Tirion was his home, and Formenos
also. But no dwelling place on this forsaken shore could compare to
what he had known as a child and he cast the word from his speech as Thingol
cast away the language of the cursed Fëanorians. When his father
settled in Thargelion, Morfindel built a house on the far shore of lake Helevorn,
across from his father’s abode, but called it his house, or cottage, or dwelling.
When anyone asked if he was going home, if he answered at all it was with
a sneer and “no. I go to my father’s house,” or if he traveled to Himring
to be with his uncle Maedhros he said “as close as I shall find on this side
of the sea.” Places of storage, and places of work, and places to prepare
for battle, but no place he called “home.”
He suspected he would not live long enough to marry and
add children to his house, considering the enemy the Noldor faced.
His grandfather, Fëanor, was among the first slain, and if he was the
greatest among them, what chance did the rest stand? Morfindel resigned
himself to inflicting as much damage on the hosts of the enemy as he could
for as long as life endured.
Riding out across the Estolad became his greatest joy.
No one to give him orders, or make demands or yank him about by the hair.
He was a son of a prince of the house of Fëanor and reveled in the freedom
that standing gave him, outside his father’s house. Even his brothers
and nephews obeyed him when they rode in his company, for so had Maedhros
commanded them. Morfindel knew what he was about, every trail and stream,
all the places orcs were likely to hide and how to get to them unseen until
too late. Morfindel Meoinir, the cat mercilessly chasing rats.
In his travels he had encountered elves of Doriath occasionally,
usually at Nargothrond. He kept himself aloof however, knowing from
experience they likely would spurn any overture of friendship from him.
He was somewhat surprised, then, when a company of Doriath rode to meet them.
They were lost on the wrong side of Thingol’s realm, and outside Melian’s
guard. All they wanted was directions home. Home. Their
use of the word stirred compassion where none had been before and he agreed
to guide them with his company, since they were going in that direction anyway.
When two of his nephews began suggesting they impress
these elves into service, Morfindel utterly rejected the notion. His
father at times impressed woodelves into his service and though they learned
much, they were no longer simple woodelves when Caranthir was done with them.
In fact, Caranthir was never done with them. The Doom of Mandos played
itself out time and time again and try as he might, Morfindel could not break
it.
When, rather unexpectedly, one of the elf maidens quietly
came to him and thanked him for taking their part against the nephews, the
fact that she spoke in Quenya surprised him more then her gratitude.
Morfindel knew of Thingol’s edict concerning that language and she put herself
at risk just with the few words she uttered. And before that, she had
the audacity to tell her travel companions that of all the elves present,
he was the only one she considered a suitable suitor. The reaction
of one of her companions was amusing enough to be worth the trouble of guiding
them to their home
When they came upon a band of orcs, she kept herself calmly
out of the way while he and his company dealt with them. The other
elves of Doriath wanted to help, but were of little use not knowing the terrain.
He heard her say to one of her friends that their guides had enough trouble
without having to contend with the inept interference from a group of pampered,
spoiled elves of Menegroth. He hoped she had not completely alienated
herself from her companions, but feared that they had long ago alienated
themselves from her.
Her name was Lurisa and though Morfindel knew elf women
who were more beautiful, she was fair enough. She neither demanded
nor requested anything of him, which in itself was notable considering that
his mother, sister, their friends and almost every other woman he knew rarely
spoke to him without some request to make or repair something. In fact,
all the women he knew either took him for granted as did his sister, mother
and their friends, or behaved as though they feared him, like the Sindar
who joined the host of the sons of Fëanor. He did not understand
their fear for he never threatened them, but Maedhros said it was only that
they saw him as too high and out of their reach. All the same, if ever
he wed he most likely would take a wife from among the Sindar or woodelves.
If ever. His heart leaped when Lurisa cautiously asked if she might
see him again one day, but he kept his emotions in check, promising nothing
and allowed himself no thought as to their possible future.
Once he saw their charges safely galloping toward the
ford of Aros, he led his company to Himlad where he left his two nephews
with the people of Celegorm and Curufin. Being so much like their father
and grandfather, those two would only be a liability in Fingon’s court.
Before setting out again, they armored themselves and their horses for the
passage through Nan Dungortheb. As usually happened, the creatures
that inhabited the valley let them pass more or less unmolested. They
encountered a werewolf, but when it noted their silver tiped arrows and shining
drawn swords, it fled. The spiders that strung webs across the road
were out in force, but when ten of them were slain without the loss of even
one elf, they withdrew to await easier prey.
Morfindel delivered a message to Fingon from Maedhros,
with one of the palantiri in the keeping of the twins, Amrod and Amras, who
dwelt together and needed only one seeing stone. As soon as the palantir
was delivered, they peered into it and were able to contact Maedhros.
Fingon was delighted to again be in close contact with his old friend.
He invited Morfindel and his company to remain at Barad Eithel a few days
as his guests. Their host would have permitted them to stay longer,
but the reaction of certain members of Fingon’s court reminded Morfindel
once again of the great rift in the house of Finwë. They commented
on his looks, being so like Fëanor. Fingon said he looked more
like Finwe and dismissed them to their own business, but still their eyes
followed Morfindel and his companions with distrust. Morfindel’s company
returned to Himring by way of Dorthonion and Ladros.
Upon arrival, Morfindel told his uncle all his adventures,
as was his custom, and included his encounter with Lurisa. They sat
side by side on a balcony with their feet propped on a low wall, watching
the sunrise over Ered Luin as they conversed. Occasionally Maedhros
rested his left hand on the back of Morfindel’s head. It was a frequent
gesture with the now unspoken meaning of “you should have been my son.”
Although Caranthir and several of the other sons of Fëanor were suspicious
of Morfindel’s relationship with Maedhros, that he was trying to usurp authority
from them by convincing Maedhros to name him his heir, Morfindel simply enjoyed
his uncle’s company.
This morning, listening to the tale of Lurisa, Maedhros
countenance bore an expression Morfindel saw only when he spoke of his beloved
in Valinor. It was another of many things unspoken between them.
(In fact Morfindel is the only one who ever noted this expression since
the burning of the ships at Losgar) Morfindel ended the tale saying
that if ever they met again, Lurisa would have to arrange it, for he could
not.
Maedhros sat deep in thought a while, absently rubbing
the stump of his right arm. Presently he asked “Did you reveal your
lineage to her?”
“No,” replied Morfindel, “I have not told her, but she
suspects, I think.”
“And she spoke to you in Quenya,” murmured his uncle.
“That is something to consider.” Maedhros again fell silent then put
his hand on the back of Morfindel’s neck. “Promise you will not abandon
us for Menegroth. I know you will not, but promise. Once your
father learns of this, he will require careful handling. Promise to
bring her here, if she will come, but not leave us for Doriath.”
“I promise,” whispered Morfindel. His uncle’s hand
tightened slightly and he drew Morfindel to him.
“It is time you were wed,” he said. “We will contact
certain of our allies among the dwarves who frequently travel from Belegost
to Menegroth. They might discretely inquire and discover if the
lady truly loves you, or is merely smitten with infatuation because she finds
you so unlike all others. Dwarves from Belegost are here to advise
on the construction of battlements and bulwarks. Perhaps one of them
might be willing...”
(to be continued...)