A Different Kind of Hell [ Silmarillion ] 3

Chapter 25: A New Charge

Year 7 of the First Age
LAKE MITHRIM

Thunder reverberated through his chest as Nelyo stared into the flames. He could hear the rain on the tent far above his head and on the gravel outside those four hide walls. Not here though. 

He'd ordered his brothers away a short while ago. Or was it more than that? How many hours had he been watching the fire in his hearth die? 

A pit blacker than the dead trees on Ezellohar had settled in his stomach. 

None of the House of Finwë had been surprised when Moryo had clashed with Angrod in council. In some ways, he agreed with his brother. The younger sons of Arafinwë all too eagerly took on their roles as ambassadors to King Elwë—Elu Thingol.

He ran a hand over his forehead. These Sindarin names. With each use of the grey tongue he could feel his father bristling. He’d fought all of elvendom in Valinor to preserve the old Quenya ways in memory of Míriel. No, he and his brothers would not just give up their heritage so easily.

But Angrod and Aegnor, they became further from Noldor by the day. Moryo had said as much, in less kind words, and Nelyo had seen the unease on the faces of his cousins.

So Thingol permitted them to inhabit only where he had no strongholds. Nelyo had laughed at it. Of course that's what he had said! They had expected otherwise?

What king would willingly part with that which belonged to him to those unproven as allies? If Thingol knew the full truth of what had brought them here, they may very well have faced a war on two fronts. Even Angrod and Aegnor had better sense than to let slip knowledge of the Kinslaying.

Another crack of thunder, yet a more deepening headache. He turned from the flames to the massive table covered in maps that dwarfed the rest of the large war tent. Tyelko and his Hunters had not been idle in the years he'd dangled from Thangorodrim. Bolstered in the last few by Telvo, they'd mapped all the northern lands from Losgar to the Ered Luin. 

Thingol did well for himself, hiding behind the Girdle of Melian. It seemed that even here, never a vassal to the Valar of Valinor, the elves had gotten entangled with Ainur. Good. Let him keep safe his forests. They had other lands to patrol, lands untamed and undefended for untold generations.

But when he looked at the maps, it wasn't the wide lands that caused his stomach to tie itself in knots. They had come to these shores for a purpose and that meant facing Morgoth as the first line of defense. He'd accepted that. 

Nelyo pulled a chair out from the table with his right arm, grabbing a list of names in his left. Six sons of Fëanáro, two sons of Nolofinwë and the King himself, three sons of Arafinwë, and if she too insisted on ruling, Artanis. Thirteen surviving potential-rulers of the Noldor. And half of them couldn't be trusted to survive in a room together.

The only name he'd managed to cross off was Irissë. She had no desire to rule over others. Maybe she had the best sense of all of them. Then again, she was also as likely to go off on her own into danger without warning the others as any of the Fëanorions.

Thirteen names. But then, only six were under him. Nolofinwë knew the best way to keep the sons of Fëanáro from unrest was to allow a son of Fëanáro to issue his commands. 

Thunder rolled and the fire burned low. Nelyo stared at the six names. He knew what needed to be done, but his heart ached to think of it.

“You're brooding.”

Nelyo startled at Telvo’s voice. He hadn't heard him enter. He cursed the rain.

“I am not brooding.”