RP 🎲 Of the Dagor Bragollach

[Vorondil]

He walked closer to the Dwarves and Men, hoping to make his presence known to some degree and to welcome them with love and dignity. "Hail ye, Barahir!" He exclaimed, turning his gaze to the man standing before him. "How does all fare with you? Are your people well?" A smile spreads on his face, and he speaks again, but this time in Sindarin. For he had taught Barahir's people the language. "Bain suilad!" ("Good greetings!")

Barahir returned Finrod's greeting: ''I and my people fare well, and how farest thou?''

Barahir knew that Finrod had been the first of the elves to meet Men as they journeyed west, and that it was through him that his people could speak the elven tongue. He remembered his grandfather's tale of the meeting of the fathers of Men, and Finrod. He fondly remembered sitting at his grandfather's feet, next to his brother Bregolas, and his two sisters Hirwen and Gilwen, listening to stories of the lands to the east, stories that had been passed down the generations.

 

[Jorlan Elükar]

Firnen eyed Finrod with mild curiosity. He was one of the few Elves that Firnen had ever encountered. Meanwhile Telchar was studying the Elven architecture and smithing techniques that went into halls the two Dwarves currently find themselves standing in.

 

[Tyelkormo the Fair]

Aredhel looked over the huge map spread out on the table in the middle of the room.
all the strongholds of the Noldor and that of the Edain were marked with pins of different colors.
she noted that the lands that belonged to the sons of Fëanor all were marked with small red flags with the eight pointed star,sigil of their house, imprinted on it, which deferred from the Blue of the High King,her father.
"these are definitely Fingon's work,ever the diplomat and peacemaker.it would have pleased Caranthir if he was present at the council. though how he would react to Finrod's words I don't even want to think about."
She whispered to her father.
the map was held open by small silver clasps on the four sides,the reports of theirs and Maedhros's scouts from Himring all stacked on the side of the table,organized based on date and their geographical situations.
she could even see Fingolfin's notes for the council written on a piece of parchment and put aside but still in his hand's reach.
She had a mind to take off one of the clasps just to see her ever-organized father squirm in his place,like when she'd sneak in the council room of her grandfather's castle in Tirion.
but she was a parent herself now,and her son had gave her enough of these antics and attitudes that she was sure her hair would turn white like those of the mortals before he even reached his majority.
the thought of it still made her smile mischievously, which also made her father eye her with suspicion and put his body between her and the table,away from the map.
all of their antics went unnoticed by their guests but took all of Fingon's willpower to not laugh out loud, although he still could not control a small grin grazing his lips.
She patted her father's arm reassuringly, which made him sigh and move so she could look at the map properly again.
she had already read the reports.there was not much information that passed through the gates of Angband but from what they have gathered and what Maedhros had seen and fortunately was comfortable enough to share,they were as ready as they could ever be.
Morgoth's army had grown over the years but so had theirs.
with the recruited Sindar from Mithrim and hopefully the might of the Edain and Dwarves,and the wisdom of the Maiar ,the only things that were of concern were the Balrogs and of course, Morgoth himself.
But not many had shared their views.some like Turgon had called them mad for creating trouble when there was none.
but she didn't agree.no news isn't always good news.who knew what kind of ill sorcery their enemy was brewing in that Eru-forsaken fortress of his.and their information, though hopeful,was old.
if they did not act right now,they might never have the chance.

 

[Fingon_Findekáno]

Fingon could sense Finrod’s hesitancy, though he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. He knew Finrod well enough that if something didn’t seem quite right, he would keep trying to amend it until it was, even if it also made things awkward, and that appeared to be what was happening here, as Finrod continued to praise him. He embraced Finrod again, holding him firmly in compassion. He spoke earnestly, hoping his words would ease his cousin’s nerves. “Thank you, Cousin. Truly. Your words warm my heart greatly, and that is nothing to be ashamed of. There is no need to apologize for what you have done. When I said you surprised me, I meant it more as a pleasant surprise. I am just glad you are here, and that we will be able to support each other going forward. Please, be at peace.”

He continued to silently watch the subtle tension play out between Finrod and Maedhros about King Thingol, hoping this wouldn’t affect things in the meeting once it began. It reassured Fingon to know that Maedhros was mature enough to not to let himself get into petty squabbles like this, but still. Why should Finrod care if Maedhros liked Thingol or not? “That was very generous of Thingol to share his knowledge with you, and show you the perfect place to build your kingdom. I’m glad that you are on good terms with him, at the very least. My father occasionally will receive word from him on various matters, but it is few and far between when that happens.” His eyes opened wider in mild surprise. “Felagund? That is quite an honor indeed, for the Naugrim to bestow such a title on you.” He admired Finrod for his overall friendliness, as he usually was very amiable and took an interest in others. For him to be such a strong friend to both the Naugrim and the Edain was impressive, for that was not exactly common among the Eldar. Because of that, it was beneficial that he already knew Barahir and the Dwarves here, because that meant he would understand their concerns better and could act as an advocate and mediator as need be between the three peoples.

Fingon narrowed his eyes as he listened further to what Finrod was saying, astounded at what he was hearing. So, apparently Finrod did think ill of Maedhros in regards to the kingship. Was it really right to speak well of someone to their face, but then insult them behind their back, for any reason? Fingon didn’t think so, especially when it was your own family. For one so commonly-known to be social and make friends with anyone, this rather displayed a lack of tactfulness on Finrod’s part, expressing such sensitive sentiments in the middle of a meeting with others around. Fingon may not be the most diplomatic, but he at least knew when not to say certain things in various situations, to keep those thoughts to himself until they could be addressed at a more appropriate time. He’d learned over time watching his father, and even Maedhros, handle such cases with discretion.

And worse, Maedhros was standing right there, just a short distance away. He sharply moved his hands in gesture for Finrod to lower his voice when he got too loud when talking about how Maedhros’ kingship would have been a death sentence upon the honor of the Noldor. Fingon glanced back guiltily at Maedhros for a brief second- there was no way he could not have heard that. Those were harsh words, especially coming from Finrod. First, the passive-aggressiveness about King Thingol, and now this? Where was all this coming from?

He shook his head in disbelief. “Listen. I know your family has some long unresolved feelings towards the Fëanorians, but this kind of talk is uncalled for, especially in the middle of the meeting right now. If you were only meaning the other Sons, I would agree with you, and that would be that. But you’re also bringing Maedhros into this, and that I cannot abide by.”

He continued to listen to Finrod as he attempted to fix this, hoping that he would say something else that would explain his reasonings for feeling this way, but it only got worse. He’d always loved Finrod and his family, for their two Houses had always been close growing up, but right now, he couldn’t help feeling a little miffed that Finrod was insulting Maedhros like this, even if he said he wasn’t.

“You say you do not mean any of this as an insult, but that’s exactly what it’s sounding like, whether intended or not,” he said flatly, while also keeping his voice down. “Personally, I think Maedhros would have made a great king, but he had his reasons for stepping down, and I respect that.” He paused. “Furthermore, I do not hold the Sons accountable for the sins of their father. They are responsible for their own actions. While they all willingly followed along with what Fëanor did back then, making them accomplices, what they have done since then is entirely their own doing, and Maedhros has proven himself above and beyond.” But then, he remembered something.

The Oath.

That terrible Oath that not only Fëanor had taken, but also his Sons, including Maedhros. The implications of that Oath had lain dormant for some time now, as it seemed there was currently nothing much to be done about it, but if- no, when that fire awoke again, what would happen to them all? They had already proven back then that they would go to any length to achieve their goal, including kinslaying. Would they do it again?

And, as much as he hated to admit it, Maedhros was bound to it as well, even though he was nothing like his brothers. He had taken it back then too, in the heat of the turmoil that night, and nothing could change that.

A dark thought came to Fingon. If the Oath ever stirred their hearts again, even he would not be safe from it. And if that was the case... Surely, surely Maedhros would not turn on him for the sake of fulfilling the Oath... Would he? They were brothers in heart. He couldn’t.

Just as quickly as that dreaded thought came into his mind, he cast it away, far away, intending for it to never see the light of day again. Such doubts were not acceptable. They were the kind that would drive one to paranoia and distrust. Still, that cast a new idea into his mind- if Maedhros was still king, and the situation ever came up, what would he do? True, he was kinder, more level-headed and diplomatic than his brothers, but he was still bound to the Oath. What would happen to the Noldor? What would become of Maedhros? Perhaps it was for the better...

No, he firmly thought. He trusted Maedhros with his life, and nothing would ever change that. He would follow Maedhros to the end. They would cross that bridge together if the situation ever came up, but for now there was no reason to think such things. Fingon still firmly believed Maedhros could have been a great king, though he respected his friend’s decision about it.

He sighed, and his tone eased up a bit. “Look, I can’t stop you from having your opinions, and now is not the time or place to debate them. But please, Finrod, I would greatly appreciate it if you don’t talk about Maedhros like this. Fëanorian or not, king or not, he is still your cousin, and still deserves respect. He may not be High King of the Noldor, but he is the chief protector of the northeastern border of Beleriand, and has effectively kept Morgoth at bay, even to the point where he selflessly puts himself on the front lines to stop him. Without him and his brothers protecting those lands, we would not have had the peace we’ve had for so long. You may not especially like all the Fëanorians, but they are important nonetheless in maintaining the safety of Beleriand, and that is something to be grateful for.”

Perhaps asking if Fingolfin was ready and organized was a silly question. Fingon eyed the thick stack of parchment papers on Fingolfin’s desk. His father had spent much time laboring over every detail in preparation for this, making sure he had everything perfect and accounted for. Nothing was too small to consider, and every moment counted. He could see how the burden of it all weighed on his father, always being a present concern. While Fingon helped share some of the load, he knew it was nothing compared to how much it meant to Fingolfin. They had to make this meeting work; hopefully everyone else here shared the same sentiments. After all, this wasn’t just any enemy they were going against- this was Morgoth, the Dark Lord himself. They may have been able to hold the Siege for the last two hundred years, but it wouldn’t hold forever. Fingolfin knew this all too well, and as High King of the Noldor, he was also responsible for every life under him.

In answering Fingolfin’s questions, Fingon avoided his gaze. “Well, not everyone... I’ve only had a chance to speak with the Maia, Amaniel, and Finrod. Maedhros and Finrod are currently speaking with Barahir, Telchar, and the other Dwarf, though.” The other question gave him a sinking feeling in his stomach. Was he supposed to share that information with the guests as he greeted them? He assumed they would have already known that. “Uhm, no, I didn’t tell them anything about that.” His voice dropped. “My apologies, Father.” He thought about everything that had just happened with Finrod, and he hoped desperately he hadn’t given him the wrong impression, that his opinions weren’t welcome here. Just... certain ones. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Maedhros and Finrod standing together and talking to the others.

Thankfully, the worry didn’t last. As Fingolfin pulled Fingon towards him, Fingon gratefully sank deeper into his father’s embrace, closing his eyes to enjoy it as he listened to his father speak. He let out a content exhale. For a moment, he almost felt like a child again, carefree and innocent, not having the weight of everything from the last few hundred years weighing down on him, and no threat of war lurking in his mind. It was just him and Fingolfin.

Unfortunately, the moment passed all too quickly as his father pulled back a bit, but Fingon looked up into his eyes as he told him how proud he was of his son. Fingon smiled broadly as his heart beamed at hearing this. “Thank you, Father.” He closed his eyes and bowed his head reverently at Fingolfin.

Suddenly, he felt Fingolfin spring from where he was standing and watched him make a beeline to the council table in defense of the map laying there. Fingon looked over, and he saw Aredhel standing there with her hand on one of the clasps holding the map open, a mischievous grin on her face. He almost laughed at the sight, seeing his sister try to pull that stunt on their father. He thought to himself, Now that’s the Irissë I remember.

 

[Elbereth Vala Varda]

Finrod nodded, realizing that he had to stop reacting like this. Praising Fingon was one thing, but perhaps he was taking it too far and would actually embarrass and humiliate his cousin rather than commending and honoring him, like he had wanted to. Finrod always tried to be aware of intent, relative to the actual result achieved. He had seen too many times that his intents, while good, did not produce a good result. Not that he was only at friendships and conversations for good results. He had much more importance laid on them than that. In fact, he had always seen it at the utmost importance to be able to communicate, and freely so. And it had earned him a good deal in life, for indeed, the Dwarves and Men crowded around him as if he was one of their kin, and almost all among the Eldar were fond companions of Finrod. He was likeable. In fact, it was very difficult not to like him. He was loyal, a true defender of companionship and bonds. He did not take good things lightly, but tried to ignore those bad, provided that they were not offenses against those whom he held dear.

He listened attentively to Fingon's words. A good surprise? He felt a breath of relief escape his lips. So, I have not offended my dear cousin. Still, he knew he must not go on much further, or it could become very honestly bothersome to Findekano. After all, honor was something that was generally received with gratifications and much thanksgiving. But upon further thought, it was doubtless that too much gratitude and praise could be a hinderance of true respect and love. Regardless, he was thankful that Fingon seemed to feel more honored than humiliated. But still, he feels that he has detected a small movement of anger in his cousin's final words.

Please, be at peace.

Perhaps he meant only peacefulness. It might have been a kind statement. But in Finrod's ever-scrutinizing mind, the most plausible and universally accepted meaning was never quite the one that he chose to believe. No. He heard this and thought it, whether by pure over-analysis or his frequent reception of the language of Men, to mean peace as in silence, essentially a command to tell Finrod that his voice was not desired at the moment, and that it would be far better if he silenced himself and did not utter another word. To put it more plainly, Fingon was saying in the most polite way possible, your opinion is not wanted here. And Finrod, while finding this a bit odd and rude, doesn't question it. Of course, it was doubtless that his cousin was determined for this meeting to go perfectly right. So, any conflicting opinions or extra words might very well be wanted silent.

Nevertheless, the conversation went on unhindered, and he made his move to stay as silent as possible. After all, these were just general topics. Only Nargorthrond and passing comments of Dwarves and architecture. He enjoyed all of these topics thoroughly but had been fairly clearly convinced that Fingon didn't want to hear from him. So, if that was the case, nothing was going to change that. He was better to keep his lips sealed and to not make even the slightest remark, despite the fact that it seemed unfair and rude.

But as the conversation went on, he started to wonder if his original assumption could have been flawed. After all, Fingon's comment was a fairly general one. Maybe, it hadn't meant 'to be silent'. Maybe it simply meant something general. But as Fingon began retorting to his words about Maedhros, most of which he would have had forgotten saying if Fingon had not brought them back up, his original beliefs are cemented. Fingon doesn't want to hear anything that he has to say, and clearly, he wants Finrod to just shut up and not ruin this meeting. A rude and overbearing approach it seems, coming from Nolofinwe's son. But still, they all saw how horrible Feanor turned out, even though he was the son of Finwe. A good father didn't mean a good son. But still, he has some hope that Fingon is being kind, but just feels a strange sense of dutiful obligation to defending Maedhros incessantly, no doubt drilled into his head from the endless years they had spent together. In his opinion, all that hanging in Angband has worked its way into Maedhros' mind, and it would probably be best for no one to take his advice. Still, that was another topic entirely.

He stopped, thinking for a few long moments as Fingon's words, rather defensively, fly at him. There are two ways that he could handle this. Firstly, he could be silent. He could do exactly as it seems Findekano wants him to, and have everything stay just as is. But this somehow felt very wrong. Probably, it shouldn't have. But it still did. After all, it was blatantly obvious that Maedhros would make a terrible king, so why not make sure that those feelings were known and felt? He couldn't lead a group of swine, let alone a legion of armies. And as a Feanorian son? He definitely shouldn't be trusted with anything. Trusting him with anything would be irresponsible. He was clearly bound to the same fate of his miserable father. Maybe he could have been a great one among the Eldar. But after the Oath, and his hot-headed father? He should be sentenced to a life of minimal impact and importance at most, and banishment and chains at worst.

It was clear Feanor had made countless mistakes. Not to say that Fingolfin his brother was innocent. Finrod had heard thousands of the stories from Finarfin his father, about how both of the brothers were purposefully bothersome to each other and Arafinwe wanted no part in it and took the brighter path by simply ignoring all of the conflict altogether. But even Finarfin would eagerly admit that Feanor was the true instigator, and after all of the tragedy that had stricken the Noldor after the crossing of the Helcaraxe and so many other things, Finrod was genuinely not sure if the Feanorians should have even been living among them. After all, they were all Feanorians. Hot-headed, evil-minded, easily tempted, Oath-bound, Feanorians. Maedhros or any of the others, that was still the truth. Sure, he was more mellow than most of them. But that didn't mean that he was worth trusting or worthy of any position of authority or power.

So, he didn't even feel the need to mull over the second option. It was already clear that the first was something he wasn't comfortable agreeing to do. So, there was no need to contemplate any longer. He chose the second. Which was, of course, the opposite of the first.

"I don't think it is uncalled for, Fingon." He marks. "See, I know you want things peaceful. But it is obvious that Maedhros would have made a mockery of the kingship. To have a Feanorian upon the throne, Maedhros included, would be disastrous." The words flew out of his mouth quickly and now he was finding himself very worried that this could have been genuinely insulting to Fingon, seeing that he was very close with Maedhros. But after a second more of thought, he thinks the better of it. Obviously, Fingon wasn't so incompetent or misled that he truly believed Maedhros would make any sort of mastery if handed the kingship. He was just being polite, clearly. Trying to stand up for his brother in arms, despite his words not reflecting his true stance. So, in the spirit of these conclusions, Finrod laid a gentle hand on Fingon's shoulder, leaning forward whispering so that only he could hear, "Listen, I know that you're just trying to say nice things about him to hold this meeting together. And I honor that. I can be silent for now, since that seems what you would desire. But I am simply glad to know that we are on the same path, and that you also see that Maedhros would make a horrendous king. I admire your kindness towards him. You are good. And I will even follow you, perhaps. I will be kind to him also, perhaps. But we know," He eyes Fingon closely, as if telling a secret. "We know the truth. Maedhros and all his brothers deserve to be thrust behind bars."

He felt satisfied with that. It said everything that it needed to, after all. And it made purely clear to Fingon that he understood. After all, it was a noble thing to do, to be kind and defend Maedhros despite knowing that he would make the most awful leader the world had ever seen since his father. That didn't need to be public, necessarily. Finrod was just glad to know that his cousin didn't really disagree with him in that way. He agreed with Finrod as he knew he should. He just wanted to keep things peaceful and good here at the Council, and Finrod was fully prepared to respect and honor that today, and throughout however long it should last.

Fingolfin's face dropped a little at Fingon's words. "You didn't speak with everyone? What part of 'make sure that our guests are properly greeted' did you not understand?" He sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm not mad at you, son. I just sincerely wish that you would tell me these things when I can actually do something about them. Not...now." And as Fingon went on even further, Fingolfin started to wonder if his son cared about this meeting at all, or if he was even listening when Fingolfin had taken him aside countless times. "You didn't tell them that either?" Another sigh escaped him. "Well, I suppose it will be what it will be. I only hope that nothing goes wrong because of it." He gently took his hand. "Well, there's no time to waste. Let us get on with it." But just as he was about to 'get on with it' he saw Aredhel and jumped to save his map. "Now, now..." He whispered mirthfully, lifting his index finger to gently stay her. "You know better." And with that, he clearly saw that it was now time. Everyone looked quite ready, and he knew this was something that must be done.

He took a step forward, walking towards the center of the room, making much eye contact and warm smiles as he did so. This was vital to the Council. More than anything, he wanted everyone to feel like close friends spending hours together, not distant enemies forced to silently boil across the room, staring at each other mindlessly in resigned contempt.

He cleared his throat, finally reaching the long-awaited beginning, his eyes darting here and there, not knowing where to look, his papers stacked before him, the maps blotted with ink and held with clasps, everything just so, and most everyone seemed to seat themselves. "Greetings to you all. Friends and brothers, kin and alliances of race, some younger, some older, all here for one purpose alone. It is with gladness that I say, however distant you may be, however much you may have harbored any ill-feelings, under this banner, we are all one. We stand as brothers in arms, sisters in love, united as kin. Once blood seemed the only way for races to be bound, and yet now we see something greater." He gave a nod to the Maia, Amaniel and to many others, and then turned his gaze to the wall behind him. "See, whether by mighty steed, or steadfast foot, or gracious benevolent permissive want, we all have gathered here today. And we unite. Under a single banner."

With that, he reached behind himself and pulled a cord, unleashing a tapestry, one woven with elements of each race, each emblem vividly painted in silken thread, and each forming one great melodious harmony, a shape, a form, each individually crafted, each uniquely made, though together bound, eternally one.

"May this banner represent our Council today, and our strong-held alliances that shall remain for Ages after. For against great evil, there is no one against the many. There shall be no every Man, nor every Eldar, nor every Dwarf, Maia, King, Prince, Warrior, Son, Sister, Daughter, Brother, for themself. Only shall there be all united in a sacred alliance." He gazed upward. "Blessed by the Valar, and the very Iluvatar himself."

He bowed his head at this, speaking. "As we begin this Council, Iluvatar ertha min racina estel. Tulsi olie wanie o tulwe i senda. Earein."
( "Illuvatar unite our broken hopes. Bring together this company under one banner of peace and goodness. May such be." )

Then he lifted his head and turned to all of the company before him. "I greet you, my friends, my brothers, my kin..." Tears welled in his eyes, though never fully taking shape. It was his greatest dream and fondest desire that all of these people would be brought together, and yet he feared the worst was to come, and knew that he may never see some of this company again. Indeed, some may spend their lives, utterly surrendering, on his account. But he tried to redirect his thoughts, considering more cheerful and good things. "And I invite you, all of you, to share your thoughts, to lend to me your hearts, for I shall not spurn them. Tell to me your feelings. Be as honest and sure as those of old, and as at peace here as you are within your own courts. For humbly do I take this role, to be among you. I may be High King of the Noldor, but I could never take such a title, nor sustain it for any length, if I did not have each of you. I have not earned this title, nay, it is a gift. I do not merit it. But by your grace, by your love, by your constant unwavering prayer and devotion, my heart has been blessed to lead this people, my people... my kin."

His hand migrated towards the desk, and he grabbed from it the first page of parchment, reading aloud. "So now, we shall begin. And instead of opening Councils as many do, with meaningless talk and ask for your thoughts on already planned and decided things, I shall not burden your time with such." He gestured, his arms open widely. "If any should desire to speak, may they. As you all know, I have called this Council for one sole purpose. To protect and defend the future of Beleriand. Peace we have enjoyed, though it shall not forever last. We need such a plan that would save the mighty nations of this world, and sustain their forever futures to come. For the hearts of those who shall come before us, we shall pay such price as much be due. But now, my friends, my brothers, my kin, I shall leave you to speak. How shall we procure safety for our lands? How shall we prepare for the death of what seemed to be undying peace?"

He breathed a sigh of relief as he finally finished his speaking portion of all of this. It was his strength perhaps, diplomatic relations. But he always preferred in his heart to see others speak and exchange opinions and mentions amongst and between each other than to do all of the speaking himself. And yet, he knew. He knew that there was surely a deep need for speaking here. That the beginning address was vital to the meeting, and that it must be done, and done well.

He turned to Fingon, still standing only a small distance off, and he whispered in a way that no one could hear, a mirthful smile on his face, his eyes still shining with the tears from before. "How did I do?"

 

[Áramandë Amaniel]

Amaniel, Maia of Mandos, stood and rose gracefully, gazing upon them all, each of them under her scrutinizing gaze as they seemed to have her full attention. After a few moments of silence, she commenced in clear tones:

"It is without a doubt that indeed we have gathered here for one purpose only, though many purposes lie behind it also. Long hath there been peace within these lands, and yet I tell ye, such peace shall be short-lived. For much hath been revealed to me, and much I have seen. 'Tis ne'er too late to gather forth armies to protect these fading lands. For indeed naught in these Outer Lands doth remain for long, and e'er swifter are the bounds of darkness and shadow in fell flame and evil that shall scorch our most protected lands and our most beloved kin. Only one realm shall last longer than any other, for it shall remain hidden further from the eyes of the Black Enemy. Yet I must reiterate once more, that this darkness and shadow shall come forth swifter than may be expected. As for how these said alliances and armies shall bond and strengthen, that is a collective choice, and whether I stand by myself or amongst all these here that stand in Council today, to the end shall I join ye all in heart and in fëa. There it shall be. I have spoken."

Her words having been uttered, she sat down once more, closing her eyes, awaiting silently for any that would either add to her words, or else question her in the prophetic tales she had now hinted at.​

 

[Vorondil]

Having heard the Maia's speech, Barahir stood and spoke:

My lords, and ladies, I know not how Amaniel knows these things, but nor do I question them. My people dwell nigh to the darkness, and we have felt a shadow gathering there, though all seems quiet. I urge you to gather your forces and march to war against the great enemy, before his full strength is gathered, who can say what foul and fell sorceries he forges in his dungeons. Should we stand idle while he sends his spies hither and thither through our lands? Or should we not strike swiftly? It is said amongst my people that Wyrd oft nereth unfaegne eorl thonne his ellen deah (unless he is already doomed, fortune is apt to favour the man who keeps his nerve). If we keep our nerve and do not blanch from this war, perhaps we will end the great shadow once and for all.

Having said his piece Barahir sat back down. He hoped he had not made a fool of himself, the elves unnerved him slightly.

 

[Áramandë Amaniel]

But hearing his words, Amaniel stood once more, gazing upon Barahir:

"I know not of why Fate doth assail such turns upon us, and yet in all is resistance fated evermore. Though our valour in battle be great and our glory remain in remembrance, only too swiftly shall all this fade upon the river of Time. What must be, cannot be prevented upon its fateful course. For not e'en I or my Vala may reverse what must come to pass in sorrow and in loss."

She paused, glancing upon all of them intently, one after another, her gaze lingering for timeless moments upon each of them. At last, she spoke almost in a whisper, soft yet firm, her voice echoing across the entire room:

"Nauva i nauva. Why resist?"​

 

[Tyelkormo the Fair]

Aredhel was sick of Finrod's words,not that she could tell him that,for he was a king now and they needed him and his people for this to work.she would not have all of theirs,especially Maedhros', hardwork be for nothing just because she can't keep her mouth shut

which is why she didn't say anything at first and let her brother handle it.
he knew both Maedhros and Finrod better than she did and was the better choice.
But her predictions came out wrong because it seemed Finrod would not take the hint and back down even for the sake of the council.

before her father can officially start the council she made a beeline toward where Finrod was standing and whispered to him in Quenya

"cousin listen to me, know this that we're not trying to team up against you,and I don't want for you to feel like you're not welcome here between your own family,but please do not mention the whole ordeal about High Kingship anymore! we are in the middle of a war and about to start a battle,all these small..quips you throw at each other,you think it wouldn't mean anything now,but it may backfire in the battle! and don't you see? this is what he wants for us to do,to fight between each other,to hate each other.
do you think uncle Fëanáro would have left us in Aman if it wasn't for his poisonous words still having control over his mind? would have he even drawn that sword against my father and be exiled?
at the end of the day we're all family wether you like it or not! we are responsible for the lives of the people that followed us here,and we can't risk that!
we have had enough dramas and fights in our family to last us till another age, let us not start more!"
she wanted to add more but the sound of her father clearing his throat made her stop and she gave her full attention to him.
she could see how nervous he was and she tried to show all her love and support by giving him a small, encouraging smile

"There shall be no every Man, nor every Eldar, nor every Dwarf, Maia, King, Prince, Warrior, Son, Sister, Daughter, Brother, for themself. Only shall there be all united in a sacred alliance"

as Fingolfin said those words,she reached out for Finrod's hand as he was standing by her side and took it.
she squeezed his hand lightly but didn't look at him.
yes,she had been a bit harsh to him,but it was necessary.she didn't want him to feel like she was taking Maedhros' and Fëanorians' side,and she hoped her words were clear enough.

as Fingolfin's speech came to an end she could see the tension leaving his body.his part here was done and it was now their time to do their duty.

Then lady Amaniel stood and spoke.
she found herself nodding as she talked about how it was indeed time for them strike their enemy
she frowned as Amaniel mentioned Gondolin,for this doubt had Shadowed her mind as well.her stubborn older brother had too much trust in the security of his city, which made her fear for what he'd do if it were to be attacked.

as Barahir's words came to an end she stood and said
"well said! well said! my Lord Barahir,for can we call what we're doing living if it is always shadowed by fear?"

 

[Áramandë Amaniel]

The Maia glanced towards Aredhel, narrowing her eyes.

"This is not fear. This are the subtly implacable ways of Fate. Naught can release any of us from what must happen."

She tapped her staff upon the ground twice - a short and sharp sound that seemed to strike much doom into the hearts of those who stood there, save for Amaniel herself. Yet as she spoke once more, reiterating her earlier point, a certain audible sorrow was laced within her tone:

"Nothing can save us from this terrible and bittersweet Fate that will overshadow us all. Morgoth is no mere enemy."​

 

[Maedhros_Nelyafinwë]

Maedhros had still been in the middle of speaking with Barahir and the Dwarves when he overheard the louder words of Finrod.

So, the situation was even worse than he had thought: Finrod wasn't merely expressing negative feelings about one of the other Sons of Fëanor being king. If he were, Maedhros would have agreed, since that was actually part of the reason why he had surrendered the kingship to the House of Nolofinwë. But this, this was so much more personally insulting than that. Finrod was making it very clear that he loathed even the idea of Maedhros on the throne, and not only that, but he wouldn't keep quiet about it, despite Fingon's attempts to silence him. Though they spoke in hushed voices, some of the words still carried through.

So, Maedhros excused himself from Barahir and the Dwarves, and walked swiftly out of the room, just for a few minutes, so he could recollect his thoughts, and not have to tolerate listening to this.

Obviously, the words were deeply offensive and insulting on their own. But the bigger problem was that they were being spoken loudly enough for everyone to hear. Given that Maedhros had worked so hard to recruit everyone here, and that many of the members of this council did not know or trust each other very well, building up their trust in him was an important goal. If everyone was hearing all about Finrod's personal feelings for why he thought Maedhros would be a bad king, wouldn't that easily translate to planting seeds of distrust in their hearts of him in any sort of leadership role? Was it really necessary to bring up controversial and sensitive subjects like the Oath and the Kinslaying at a time like this? Clearly, Finrod had no sense of diplomatic tact.

Besides, Maedhros had always liked to think that, if not for the events of Thangorodrim, he would have made a decent enough High King of the Noldor. Would he have done as well as Fingolfin? Almost certainly not, but he'd have done better than his brothers, and he knew enough about the politics and war strategies of the land that he would have been competent, at least. Fingon and the rest of the Nolofinwians had often reassured him that this was the case, and it was pretty much the only positive thing he had to cling to in this area. But now, it was undeniable that some had legitimate gripe against him as a ruler, and to hear that out of his own cousin's mouth during the worst timing possible was like a dagger to his heart.

Over the years, he'd developed enough protective walls around his heart that little anyone could say could bother him anymore, but this coming from Finrod was tough enough to cut through many of those layers. After all, it wasn't like the words were irrational or unfounded. If Maedhros had known that dark day what swearing the Oath would really entail, he never would have done it. He had been young back then, naïve and blindly following Fëanor, his tender heart moved with grief over the death of Finwë and the theft of the gems which held his father's own essence. It had made enough sense to him back then that the Valar had let all this happen and were not doing a good job in protecting Arda from Morgoth. And so, it had seemed rational enough to swear to take back what was rightfully theirs, no matter who or what got in their way.

But then came his father's commands at Alqualondë.

Maedhros had realized then too late what they had all gotten themselves into. The first deed commanded by the Oath was to commit unprovoked murder, because technically the Teleri had opposed them in their quest. Maedhros had objected, but little good did his pleas do, and he found himself sucked in to the fray, realizing that his only two choices were to do the evil deeds or subject himself and possibly his family to the Everlasting Darkness. It was a lose-lose situation, one in which there was no right choice to make.

So, here he was now, hundreds of years later, with blood on his hands (hand, technically), irredeemable guilt on his conscience, and a curse from this day forward to only make wrong choices, with no option to do the right thing anymore. It was either breaking his word against Iluvatar and Manwë and Varda, or spiraling down an endless doom of more and more acts of violence.

His only hope was that this assault on Angband would succeed, and he and his brothers would overtake Morgoth and reclaim the Silmarils, fulfilling the Oath without the destruction of any more innocents.

If there was anything he tried to suppress from his thoughts even more than Thangorodrim, it was Alqualondë, and he forced the thoughts out of his mind and returned to the meeting room. It sounded like everyone was getting ready to start, and thankfully, it seemed like no one was talking about Finrod's comments from earlier. He spotted Aredhel speaking to Finrod, and wondered how that was going. He and Aredhel had a strong friendship, but hopefully it was strong enough that Aredhel wouldn't lose trust in him based on whatever it was Finrod was saying.

Speaking of Finrod, Maedhros decided he wasn't going to just passively tolerate this nonsense. Not that he would be petty or aggressive, but the conflict needed to be addressed at some point, for the sake of the entire operation.

As everyone around the room began to move around and find their seats, Maedhros came up quietly beside Finrod and put a firm hand on his shoulder, gripping it slightly-- not an aggressive gesture but one of strength and authority.

"You and I are going to have a talk later," he whispered, his gaze cold and stern. That was all that he needed to say for now, as everyone was already starting to gather around the table. He found his seat beside Fingon and tried to smile at him. Meanwhile he glanced around at everyone else, trying to determine if anyone was looking at him strangely or avoiding his gaze or anything like that. He only hoped the damage wasn't too great.

Fingolfin then began to speak, beautiful and moving words accompanied by an equally beautiful visual illustration. However much you may harbor ill feelings, we are one, he said. Maedhros only hoped that were true. He was more than willing to work with those who disagreed with him, but was Finrod mature enough to do the same?

When Fingolfin finished, Maedhros offered him an approving nod and smile. He knew of how much thought and preparations his uncle had put into this, and how he had been fairly stressed about it. Maedhros couldn't blame him for that; he certainly wouldn't want to be the one responsible for a speech that needed to unite all these groups, despite their differences and histories.

For a while, he listened to the others speak. When Barahir spoke, Maedhros was glad to hear that he was of a similar sentiment as the rest of them, that he understood the need to take action. And though he didn't know the man well, he thought he looked... somewhat nervous, almost, and gave him an encouraging nod. Aredhel, too, spoke in praise of his speech.

But more unnerving were the words of Amaniel, the Maia. Her words seemed cryptic, yet it was easy enough to understand that she spoke of fate, and not necessarily a good one. Was she saying their mission was doomed to fail? It didn't help that Maedhros already felt uneasy in her presence simply because of who she was and who he was. Whether he liked it or not, he was a sworn enemy of the Valar and Maiar and there was nothing he could do to change that. And she would have exactly known that, so why did she decide to ally herself with him?

Though there were still yet a few voices to be heard, he decided to ask about her words, to clarify some things. "My lady, if Fate is intertwined with our mission, then what can we do about it? How can we act in wisdom with this knowledge you share?"

He added, gazing around the room, "Great caution and care must be taken in any action we plan against Morgoth. I know all too well of his evil might and power."

Obviously, he had more thoughts and opinions to offer than that alone, but didn't want to say too much while others were still waiting to speak. He wanted to get a sense of the others' thoughts and feelings before saying too much.

 

[Áramandë Amaniel]

Amaniel heaved a sigh, gazing intently at the red-haired Elda, her eyes locking onto his as she spoke in firm tones:

"Maedhros....you are one of the Fëanorians. One of them who fell under the Doom that my Vala pronounced, for indeed I stand as his one and only Maia. You ask me, what is there that may be done, and yet I tell thee: little there is indeed. Victory shall be at hand, and yet short-lived it shall seem, e'en in the eyes of the immortal Eldar; most beautiful, wisest and fiarest of the undying races.

You ask of wisdom and knowledge; indeed, much of this I may grant, and e'en in the speaking of these very words, and in those of mine earlier, have I not spoken much already that any other of you would not have known ere my coming and revelations? How much more must I then reveal? Surely not all, nay? For I cannot reveal all that I know. Only upon the rightful Tides of Time may these tidings cease in their concealment, in the bidding of Fate. Such are my ways, and let them be heard, if any may do well to heed them in the waiting of silence ere the strike of an ancient Fire in tears unnumbered."​

 

[Tyelkormo the Fair]

through out his conversation with Amaniel, Lómion had missed most of what seemed to be a heated argument between his uncle and King Finrod about Maedhros being the king.
Aredhel only had good things to say about her family and cousins,most of them being memories from years back in Valinor when they were all younger.about how she and her cousin Celegorm and their elder brothers would go hunting and how Finrod would often join them.
and whenever he'd ask about how they're all faring in middle earth she'd,not so subtly,change the subject.Lómion had learned after a few times to not ask those questions anymore, because it always made his Naneth look sad and her smile less genuine.
This, Lómion thought,was probably what made his mother sad.
Lómion did not know the reason behind this much anger and dislike that Finrod had for Maedhros,but it must be something bad enough for him to be talking about it in a room full of strangers.
Lómion saw Maedhros glance back at the duo,one golden and one black haired, speaking with what they thought was a hushed tone for a conversation like this with a mixture of anger and guilt and then walking out of the room.
"well,this Nargothrond's king is many things but it seems he isn't much of a diplomat,who brings family issues in a room full of possible allies in the middle of a war??even I know that!"
thought Lómion
Maedhros was back before his grandfather started his speech.
he listened attentively to Fingolfin's words much as the others did.it was something that he had never witnessed before.his grandfather was a formidable elf who radiated power and authority by simply standing in the room but now that he saw him giving an speech he could see why so many people followed him to an unknown land full of uncertainties.he demanded attention from everyone because he spoke from his heart and thus his words were able to reach the heart of everyone listening to him.
he almost stood up and started clapping after it was done but stopped in the last moment.
he mentally scolded himself while the others stood and spoke.
it was the words of his Maiarin friend that unnerved him the most.
worry gripped at his heart.
The mere thought of losing his mother or any of his family members, although they saw him as nothing but a stranger,felt like a wound in his heart.
it wasn't the first time he had doubted his decision about leaving Nan Elmoth behind but it was never regarding their safety.the Noldor were powerful and wise, weren't they?!or so he had thought.
was leaving the safety of Nan Elmoth behind a right thing to do?
but Amaniel had said their fate cannot be changed.did it mean that staying in Nan Elmoth would have brought them to the same ending?
he heaved a sigh.all of this thoughts about death was giving him a headache.
were they never to have peace?

 

[Áramandë Amaniel]

Amaniel read the thoughts of Lómion once again, and she spoke to him in silent thought accordingly, in stern and firm tones:

Staying in Nan Elmoth? Why do you speak of this? You shall not stay there; you shall go with Aredhel, away from him into the hidden city, in turmoil and doom, and all shall fall, including-

But she stopped short, eyes widening and breaths quickening as she staggered back a little, sinking a little too suddenly into her seat as the realisation of what she had just revealed dawned upon her only too lately, such prophecies having ever bound her to a truth of harshness and an almost cruel fate of inevitability upon long years unnumbered. To herself, she wondered:

No...no...no...only now have I revealed too much....far too much....'twas ne'er meant to be so...such utterance should have ne'er escaped me...ne'er should I have mentioned e'en a word, for the thoughts of my heart are closed to many, concealed and hidden from all, and frequent do I forget the presence of others, or else distance from them.... Why had I said so? Why had I spoken this? Would it e'en be so? I cannot tell....forgive me, Námo....forgive me....avatyara nin...Námo.....

She began to mutter almost in inaudible tones, ignoring the whispers that seemed to echo across the rest of the Council as her head bowed low, and her gaze was cast downwards towards the floor, no longer able to conceal the words she had seen in her visions:

"Yet how, how could I have not spoken? How could I have not seen? I e'er have... The fall of Light and Peace and Hope, fading as all things do and e'er shall be, darkened for long in shadow and in flame. The downfall of many, the falling of a great city, the end of much, in Time's fell hand taken, in fated resistance laden..."​

 

[Jorlan Elükar]

Firnen looked to his father who nodded grimly. "My father and I come with this message from our King, "While we not not the true depth of this Morgoth's identity, we Dwarves shall not sit idly by as this monster destroys all we hold dear! You may count the Dwarves people amongst thy allies! We may not be as wise as Maia, nimble as Elves or as skilled as Edain...but we Dwarves are stout, strong willed, strong hearted and will battle to the death!" Firnen took a breath. "Though we dwell in mountains, the Dwarves of the Blue Mountains stand with you!"

 

[Fingon_Findekáno]

Fingon stared at Finrod. Was this really the very same cousin who had been praising him emphatically just a few minutes before for saving Maedhros? He never realized the tension between the Arafinwians and the Fëanorians was this bad, though he knew some level of it existed. But to hear all of this coming from Finrod, of all Elves, was the last thing he would have expected, since he was always so nice. Angrod, sure, but never Finrod. And yet, here they were, having this conversation.

Fingon glanced down at Finrod’s hand as he placed it on his shoulder, then turned his attention back to Finrod’s face, tensing up. Just trying? Did Finrod truly think Fingon was faking all this?? He wasn’t quite sure how to respond to these remarks, so taken aback was he. His gaze drifted downwards slightly to stare at the wall as he continued to listen. In his mind, it was an absurd idea, to go to all this trouble to defend his brother in heart so sincerely, after everything, only to truly feel that he would have been a terrible leader. Of course he spoke genuinely, so how could Finrod not see that? His cousin was right about one thing, though: he was trying to hold this meeting together, for his father’s sake, and he strongly wanted Finrod to stop talking about this.

Upon hearing Finrod’s final thought, though, Fingon's gaze snapped up to meet his grey eyes, his brow furrowing with concern. He felt very uncomfortable when Finrod leaned in so close to whisper those rather extreme words: Maedhros and all his brothers deserve to be thrust behind bars. And worse, he seemed so confident that Fingon agreed with him. He promptly took a small step back, away from Finrod. It wasn’t right to be having this discussion here in the middle of the meeting, in front of everyone, and it certainly wouldn’t give a good impression if it looked like they were whispering secrets. It just all felt so wrong.


“Finrod, no, you misunderstand me. I-“

Just as he was about to correct Finrod’s presumptions as clear as he could possibly be, Aredhel suddenly- and unexpectedly- jumped into the conversation to respond to Finrod, firing off at him in their native tongue. Probably for the better, before he said something he might regret. Her sentiments were well-spoken, and he nodded in agreement throughout her speech. He shuddered at the idea of Morgoth being the one to make them argue, though. Increased division among the Noldor and between them and everyone else was something their Enemy would want, and they couldn’t give in to that. They had to stand united during times like this, regardless of personal feelings.

On the other hand, however, the more he thought about it, while Aredhel’s interruption had been a good thing, it was also bad. If she had heard it all from across the room, that meant so did everyone else, most likely, especially Maedhros. What was he thinking? What was everyone else thinking? Would it affect the meeting, and their perceptions of Maedhros’ character and leadership skills? He couldn’t help feeling a little embarrassed over it, having let this scene happen in the first place, and he couldn’t even keep it under control. However, he attempted to keep a neutral face and maintain composure.

“Aredhel is right. I do not wish for there to be division between any of us, cousin. We will have to agree to disagree on this matter, and let it not hinder us from attending to more important concerns at the moment. If you will excuse me.” Giving a nod to Finrod, he let that be the end of this discussion, for now. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as he turned away. While he strongly disagreed with Finrod’s opinions, and would continue to defend Maedhros as much as necessary, he had to remind himself that Finrod was allowed to have his opinions, and there were more important matters at hand right now. He needed to set these personal feelings aside and focus on the task before him, which was engaging in this meeting and making sure everything went well. Or at least, better than this last conversation had been. Finrod was a crucial role in maintaining the relationships with the Edain and Naugrim, and if Fingon ruined that with his arguing, his father would not be pleased. After everything he and Maedhros had done to get everyone here, he couldn’t risk it. So, he decided for the time being to simply think of Finrod as the King of Nargothrond, hoping this more-formal title would help him focus in without making it too personal.

Fingon couldn’t quite bring himself to meet his father’s eyes at that response, but tried to keep his voice from sounding irritated with his explanation. “Forgive me, Father. I would have, but I got a little... sidetracked, and felt the need to address some things.” As I’m sure you and everyone else here probably knows, he thought to himself. What was he supposed to have done? He had at least spoken to the Maia, and it would have been rude of him to abruptly cut off the conversation with the King of Nargothrond the way it was going earlier on just so he could make a point to talk to Barahir and the Dwarves. He had not been expecting to have to take him off to the side for such an awkward and ill-timed discussion.

Hearing the tone in his father’s voice, though, he kept any further remarks to himself, not wanting to add to Fingolfin’s stress. He just silently continued to watch the others in the room mingling.

As everyone was heading towards their seats, Fingon caught a glimpse of Maedhros leaning over Finrod for a moment and whispering something to him, with a serious look on his face. If there was any doubt of whether or not he had heard overheard any of their conversation, this confirmed it. Great.

Following the custom of being the oldest son of Fingolfin and Crown Prince of the Noldor, Fingon took his seat to Fingolfin’s right hand. He glanced around at the others as they assembled. When Maedhros stepped in to sit down on his right side, Fingon flashed him a welcome smile, glad to have him at his side again. However, his eyes were more apologetic towards him, still feeling a little guilty that Maedhros had to hear all that earlier. Looking around the table, Fingon noticed that the King of Nargothrond had taken a seat on the opposite end of the table, across from them.

As he observed all who gathered around the table, he realized, this is it. All the work that he and Maedhros had put in to rally others towards Fingolfin’s plan was about to come to a head, right here, right now. This meeting was the crucial point to hear everyone out, to make allies of each other, to make this work. The Eldar, the Edain, the Naugrim, a Maia. He dearly hoped the King of Nargothrond hadn’t spoiled things with his ill-spoken words.

Fingolfin gave his inspiring speech to the whole company, and as Fingon listened, his heart grew with pride for his father. After all the long preparations and stresses, he spoke with such eloquence and passion that would rouse any to fight beside him. He remembered the times when Fingolfin would run practice lines with him, to see what might work and what could come out wrong, and how many different iterations he had gone through before reaching this final version. Once Fingolfin stepped back, having finished his piece, Fingon smiled up at him, giving a nod of approval. “You did wonderful, Father,” he whispered back to him.

As Amaniel began to speak, Fingon was at first hopeful of what she would say, but that feeling quickly faded. The more she spoke, and as she replied to Barahir, he wasn’t sure he liked what he was hearing. If he understood her correctly, it almost sounded like she was implying that it wouldn’t matter what all they did to fight Morgoth, for they would be doomed to lose anyways. She even brought up the Doom of the Noldor, which gave him an uneasy feeling. He glanced over at his father’s face, trying to gauge his reaction. These weren’t exactly words one would want to hear when making plans to assault your enemy.

As the younger of the two Dwarves spoke up, Fingon realized he didn’t know his name. When he and Maedhros had met with Telchar before, this other Dwarf hadn’t been with him, and Fingon hadn’t gotten a chance to speak with him before the meeting. Based on the resemblance, he assumed this young, bold Naugrim must be Telchar’s son, or some other kin. However, to avoid any further embarrassment, he decided not to ask for his name now, in the middle of the meeting, but would rather listen to see if anyone mentions it at some point. He made a mental note to more properly meet with the two of them after the meeting, if he got a chance.

Once the Dwarf was finished speaking, Fingon straightened himself in his seat. “Your sentiments are shared, Master Dwarf and Lord Barahir, and we appreciate you and your people’s commitment to this endeavor. Like my father said, we are stronger together as one, rather than splintered apart. That being said, in order to fight our enemy, we must know him. Morgoth possesses many great legions of Orcs, which we all are aware of. To lead them, there are several Balrogs, which are essentially like large demons of fire and shadow. In addition, he also has a dragon, of which we have seen and heard naught of for the last couple centuries, but it’s still important to keep in mind.” He paused for a moment to take and breath, letting his words sink in for the others. Then he continued, looking at the Dwarves. “I have heard your armor withstands fire well, which should be highly beneficial to you and your people if the situation ever came to it.”

 

[Áramandë Amaniel]

But Amaniel heaved a sigh as she heard Findekáno's words.

"Know him? Morgoth holds only too many things that we know not of. He lies hidden in the shadows, cowering in the Darkness whilst fear is deeply laden into his heart, and from that fear comes anger, and anger into suffering that leads only to more sorrow and despair. Yet, perhaps at times we shall not entirely be devoid of hope. There is Light. We have won battles in the past, and though many henceforth may be lost...."

She glanced up at those before her.

"That is no reason to hinder us in our efforts. Sometimes, victory may come from loss."​

 

[Tyelkormo the Fair]

Aredhel tried not to let the words of the Maia get to her.
she had thought that Amaniel was different from the rest of the Ainur,but all she had to say was how wrong they were to leave Valinor.no solution for the problem at hand.
what was fate,but the results of their own choices? how can anyone be certain of what would come to pass even if they were blessed,or cursed one might say, with visions of the times far ahead?
The Valar had promised her grandfather safety and peace for him and his people in Valinor,they broke their words the day they unchained the fiend that slew Finwë and teared his family apart forever.were they unable to see that one coming or just didn't care?
Aredhel wondered what was her grandfather's last thoughts as he lied in a pool of his own blood.had he finally lost his trust in them like his son?or did he lose his faith the day Manwë banished his firstborn to Formenos?
probably the latter.
her own feelings regarding her uncle had become conflicted the moment Fëanáro drew his sword against her beloved father.
Fëanor didn't held any love for Fingolfin or his children,but he was never cruel to them.
all of those feuds started after Morgoth was released.the intentions behind his unusual interest in her uncle's Silmarils and his craft,all became clear when he demanded them from Fëanor.
just like Yavanna!and the others!they asked for them as if they had any right to do so!
it was their own incompetence that resulted in the darkening of Valinor.
Fëanor, for all his faults,was right about this.Valar didn't care for any of the children,be it elf or man or dwarf.

"if Fëanor cannot overthrow Morgoth,at least he delays not to assail him and sits not idle in grief!"

those words still had a hold on her heart after all these years,they were what kept her frozen limbs moving through Helcaraxë,a thirst for revenge she never thought to be capable of, for all the lives lost there and ones that had yet to be taken from them.
no,they would not sit idle!
not like the ones who called themselves High king and queen of the Arda.kings and queens protected their subjects and their realm.they did not sit upon their high thrones laughing over goblets of wine as the world burned around them by the hands of their own brother!
Aredhel somewhat agreed that they were wrong to leave Valinor,it was hard not to after Helcaraxë.many of her people and both of her brothers had committed the most unforgivable of sins even before leaving the blessed lands.but what of the Sindar,and their own children who had been born in Middle Earth and were not of the exiles? what of the mortals who resides here long before they set their feet on these shores?
they were all innocent.and her Lómion,her precious son.was it just of the Valar to punish him because of his family's sins?
she was angry and despairing but kept her face devoid of any emotions,now was not the time to focus on those thoughts.she took a deep breath to calm herself before continuing to listen.

hearing Maedhros' words,she nodded,agreeing with him.it seemed she was not the only one thinking that.
listening to Fingon asking the dwarves about the armours brought a proud smile to her face.it was her idea to try and convince the dwarves to make them armours to withstand fire.she had overheard one of her husband's dwarf friends telling him about it in one of his visits to their home.
it was unlike dwarves to share these kind of secrets with the outsiders but Buri,if she remembered his name correctly,was to much into his cups to realize what he was saying.
and it was smart of Fingon to not ask for them outrightly.dwarves were the most stubborn creatures she had come to know,and she was a Finwian herself,so it was saying something.
if they were to put them under pressure they would lose their military support as well as their alliance and it was not wise.
she herself would not have been this considerate,the reason she left the negotiating to Fingon and Maedhros and kept silent.
she was going to ask Telchar about their military might and numbers when suddenly Amaniel stood upright as if hearing something unpleasant which made her furious.
she staggered backwards on her sit and started muttering with her head bowed, though Aredhel was to far to be able to understand them.
she rushed towards her.they were hosts here and it wouldn't paint the best picture of them if one of their guests became ill.even though immortals like them never did,the dwarves and the men didn't know that so she still had to.
nearing her she heard an almost inaudible whimper, which did not came from the Maia and the voice was awfully familiar.
subtly,she turned her head towards the nearest windows where the voice came from and saw Lómion crouching behind the curtains, holding his head with both hand,his face scrunched up from the pain.
her eyes widened for a second before she schooled her features and checked on Amaniel.
she was fine after all because she wordlessly dismissed Aredhel.
she then went back to her place besides Finrod and through her bond with her son,she spoke with him in his mind.
_______________
seconds after Lómion uttered those words, Amaniel's voice echoed through his mind.
she was angry,that much was clear,and in her anger she lost control over her powers and through the connection,he saw everything she was seeing.
he saw himself and her mother, looking upon a white city from afar.he saw them moving through the crowd in the streets of the same city,the people excited for some reason he did not know.
Lómion saw his father then,held back by guards and then...and then he saw him throwing something at him...
the image blurred and the visions stopped abruptly.

after he came back to his senses he felt the splitting headache.he was in so much pain that forgot for a moment where he was and let out a quiet whimper.
his pain had become tolerable when he heard another voice,his mother's.and she was enraged.

 

[Áramandë Amaniel]

Once Amaniel heard the whimper, her eyes widened as she almost jumped upwards from her seat - fortunately, she managed to restrain herself in time.

Lómion? No! Why did you have to reveal yourself?

A pang of sorrow twisted in her heart as she spoke those words in thought, partially directed to Lómion, partially directed to Aredhel. Her eyes narrowed a little, and she heaved a soft sigh, shaking her head.​

 

[Jorlan Elükar]

Firnen and Telchar frowned. "Aye, we Dwarves have heard tell of these balrogs of which you speak. One of our excavation teams were swallowed by the flames of one..." Rage flickered across the faces of the Dwarves briefly.