Chapter Text
After the feast was over and the toasts to the prosperity of all Ingolondë had died down and Finduilas felt well full, the king wordlessly beckoned her to follow him. And so she did, leaving the great hall and all its great din behind.
King Finrod led the way silently, his bright silken garment trailing behind. Finduilas followed him, past the hall of the throne, and into his quarters. There, he took off his kingly crown and put it aside. "Why did you call me, Finrod?" It still felt strange for her to address the king by name. And by the way his lips parted in a slight smile, he must have felt it too.
"Do not be upset at my folly, Finduilas." he said kindly. In place of his heavy crown, Finrod now took up a bright white diadem, set with green and blue stones, and placed it on his brow. "I had little time to talk to you earlier in the day. But you did well."
I was right, then, Finduilas thought. "You said little." she told him. "But you were listening to my every word, as I suspected." She wondered if he would judge her more harshly, knowing that she was choosing her words carefully.
"You are astute, Finduilas," the king nodded. "I was expecting you to notice." he smiled again. "Do not fear, I will not judge you. You were merely careful, not deceptive."
"I am not sure the same can be said for all our guests." Finduilas noted.
Finrod shook his head. "I will not insult the honor of any of them," he said. "Though you are not wrong. But you asked why I summoned you. It will be made clear soon." as the king spoke, he turned to a corner of the chamber. Finduilas heard a slight noise - and when she turned her head to face Finrod again, she saw him standing next to a small, dim doorway. She could scarcely see what lay beyond, save that it led down.
It was narrow inside, and Finduilas had to watch her footing as she went down the steps. She lowered her head, and placed her hand against one of the walls, holding her dress up with the other. As she did so, her fingers brushed against the stone of the walls, feeling something quite like a shape carved upon it. Finduilas turned her head, and saw many more of these shapes, chiseled against the rock. They looked like letters, but if they were letters, they were no letters she knew. Perhaps the Naugrim? She thought to herself. They had helped in the building of the city. Perhaps they had made this tunnel also. But she had seen dwarf-letters inscribed elsewhere and these were nothing alike. Finduilas touched them with her hand, feeling the shape of the letters, and the cold, gritty rock against her skin. A chill ran down her spine. What if there was something older than they, lurking beneath the city?
"Finduilas." The king's voice asked softly, echoing from further down the tunnel, at a door that led to a lit room. But it did not come from his lips. It was a different man who stood at the threshold, slighter in build, with dark hair and an unremarkable face, the sort that was easily forgotten. His clothes were just as unremarkable, a long, dark grey tunic with a blue hem. Had she seen this man at any other time, she would scarcely have noticed his presence.
Now, it made Finduilas take a step back. "Where is the king?" she asked tersely. Silently, she wondered how fast she could run upstairs.
"Be calm, Finduilas." the man told her, in Finrod's voice again. "Your king stands right before you." When he spoke those words, it was as though a veil was lifted from his face. The man's hair turned gold again, his visage transforming into that of the king. "Perhaps I should have warned you."
Cautiously, Finduilas picked up her step as she made her way down the stairs. Never in her life had she thought she would want to strike her king, but now she was sorely tempted. "Yes, next time you change your shape, my king, I beg that you warn me first." she said flatly.
"I did not change my hröa, much as it may have appeared that way to you." Finrod said, his eyes twinkling with the hint of a smile. "Only the ainur can do that."
"What did you do, then?" she asked.
"I merely fooled your eyes. It is an art, which can be taught." Finrod said, leading Finduilas to an elevator. There were similar machines elsewhere in the city, meant for the transport of goods and material, but this was larger, enclosed with glass and brass. "I could teach you too, if you are willing to learn."
Did this mean the king could do that on a whim? If so, perhaps he could watch over anyone in Nargothrond if he wanted, and none would be the wiser. The notion made her feel uncomfortable she realized, as Finrod pulled on a lever and the machine they were in began to descend. Lower and lower it went, as they passed deeper into the caves beneath the city, until she could only see darkness outside the glass. "Thank you, but I think I have enough studies to occupy me as it is." Finduilas answered curtly. She did not much like the idea of changing her appearance either. "But why do this?"
"I have been watching over our Edain captives in this guise, when I have had the time." Finrod explained calmly, as his appearance shifted into that of the unassuming man once more. "They see me as merely a kindly guard, who brings them food and drink. In turn, I have listened to them and sought to learn their speech." At that, the king smiled faintly, as one might who has relived a fond old memory. "By now, I can talk to them freely. They trust me - at least enough to bring me complaints, or ask for favors. In that regard at least, it is not too different from ruling our people."
She knew the stories. King Finrod had been the first to encounter the Edain, many years ago. He came to know them, made them into allies of Ingolondë. Perhaps if there was anyone who could uncover the truth behind these traitors, it would be him.
"And why have you brought me here? Do you want me to see these Aftercomers with you?" Finduilas asked, as the elevator reached its destination, its machinery coming to a halt. This was a place Finduilas had never seen before. She looked up the way they came, and saw only darkness. The only light was forward, leading to bare stone corridors. The manner of their carving was different from what was above - heavier, grim and unadorned. Finduilas did not like this place.
Finrod led her forward, past the men standing watch. They were few, compared to the halls above. The men inclined their heads as Finduilas passed by, hailing her, but ignored the king, disguised as he was. She wondered if he had told them. Even if he has, would they tell you? She doubted it. "No," Finrod whispered, breaking the silence once they left the guards behind them. "I want you to talk to them. I shall translate."
Finduilas narrowed her eyes in surprise. "Talk to them?" she asked. "You know them better than I do! What if I make a mistake?" she protested. She tried to imagine herself interrogating those Aftercomers. "I have never done anything like this before - I don't even know what I am supposed to do! You could have asked Guilin, or Gwindor, or even Prince Celegorm with you instead. They would know what to ask them, I don't!" They would know not to make fools of themselves, at least.
The king smiled. "You are my heir, Finduilas." he told her, but there was now a firmness in his voice that was not there before. "I chose you to accompany me. Not Guilin, not Gwindor, and thankfully not Turko. I know what they would do, if I took them to this place. But I want to know how you act. One day, you might sit before the people of Nargothrond. They will ask you to judge their disputes, to pass down justice. What if you are called to lead them to war?" he asked, and for a moment, the dark eyes of the man he was disguised as turned back into the King's, and they looked straight at Finduilas. "What then? Will you waver? Hesitate before all Ingolondë?"
Finduilas bit her lip, hesitating. "It's not the same." she said, trying to hide her annoyance. "They are my people. These Aftercomers aren't. I don't know anything about them."
Finrod looked at her. "Then it is time for you to learn. Remember what I told you. We of Finwë's House reign. But kingship is a trust given by our people."
"And that which is given can be taken away." Finduilas answered.
The king gave her a nod. "It is so. If facing these Men is too sore a trial, how will you stand before Ingolondë, Finduilas?"
The memory of Celegorm riding into the halls to the sound of deafening acclaim, parading the same Aftercomers in chains flashed in her mind, the cheers as terribly clear as they had been that very day. Was there any way she could contend with such a man? "You are right," she acknowledged. "Let me speak to these Edain then, and be done with it."
"Good." Finrod said approvingly. "I am glad you understand." He held her gaze for a few moments, his eyes shifting to sympathy. It was strange, hearing his voice as another man's eyes looked back at her. "I know you struggle with your new duties. I take no joy in seeing you unhappy, Finduilas." he spoke, his voice softer. "And I would not ask any of this from you if it were not needed."
Finduilas narrowed her gaze."I take my duties as they are given." she answered firmly. He cannot doubt me. For years, she wanted more, wanted this. She would have leapt at the thought of being asked by the king to aid him. He must never doubt me.
"As must we all." Finrod acknowledged. "But that is an answer I expect from Guilin. Not you." he paused once more, before speaking again. "I know what you feel, Finduilas, better than you think. Better perhaps, than any in Nargothrond."
There were many things Finduilas wanted to say. "It is… difficult for me to see how we are alike." was the answer she gave. "You built this city. What have I done all these years?"
"No cities were carved by my hands when I had your years." Finrod told her bluntly. "Nor had I expected that one day I would be king. Those were the days when Fëanáro worked his craft and the Noontide had not yet passed. How could I expect to be their match? Then once I became king and led my people, do you think I began knowing what to do?"
"I suppose not." Finduilas answered, though it felt wrong to speak the words. All her life, she knew that the king was wise, and good, and best knew all ends. She laughed a little, and Finrod smiled back.
"Good. Before we face them, I will tell you this. Do not worry about finding your words. I suspect that by the end, it will be more trouble to stop talking." There was that knowing glint in the king's eyes again, the kind that made Finduilas wonder if there was a secret he would not let on. "Let us find these Edain then. Long years have passed since I last spoke to an unknown folk, though the times and people then were better. Perhaps they shall be again, little as might be thought."
She did not know what to doubt more: the king's confidence for the future, or in her. Perhaps they are the same thing, and the same doubt.
Finduilas tried not to stare overlong at her surroundings as she awaited for Finrod to enter with the Aftercomers. The walls were bare stone and unadorned, save for a few markings like she saw in the hallway that led from the king's chambers. Unlike those, the ones in this chamber seemed to have been chiseled away, leaving only scratches.
Before Finduilas had time to ponder them further, Finrod - or Quentaro, as he asked her to refer to him - entered alongside one of the Aftercomers. Quentaro spoke to the Aftercomer in his own tongue, and the man fell to his knees. "I told him you are the Lady Finduilas," the king in interpreter's form said to her. "and that you wish to speak with him."
It was Finduilas' first time seeing a defeated foe presented to her, and she did not much like it. The Man was small, slouched despite his efforts to affect a proud bearing. The hair on his head was thin and greying, his plump face furrowed with deep lines. He had been robed in Ñoldorin garments, but they served only to make the Aftercomer seem comical, rather than familiar. Looking at him, it was hard to think this man was an enemy of Nargothrond; indeed, an enemy to anyone.
But foe he was, one who had chosen to side with the Enemy. The voice of Gwindor echoed in her mind, talking about how these Edain had ridden down his friends. Siniel's husband, and the ruin they'd made of his face. "Ask him who he is," Finduilas raised her voice but did not rise to her feet, narrowing her eyes at the Man instead. He stared back at her wide-eyed, as though he could not believe she was real. "and why he attacked us." she added sharply.
Quentaro talked to the Man in his own tongue, more affably than she expected him to. The Aftercomer stole a glance at her, his brow glistening with sweat as he mumbled a reply to Quentaro. Once again, they exchanged words she could not understand. Finduilas had never spent much time around Men, and those few she had met spoke Sindarin. This one has no knowledge of it, she had been told.
"I explained that I shall translate for him as he speaks," Quentaro turned to her. "and do the same for your words, Lady Finduilas."
"Your Grace - Lady, Finduilas." the Man started. She noticed that his eyes still struggled to look at her, turning instead down to the stone floor. And even with Quentaro translating, Finduilas did not fail to notice the trouble he had speaking her name. "I am…" Quentaro halted momentarily, like he was having trouble with the words. "Ser Harry Strickland. Captain of the Golden Host. Vassal and leal man to His Grace, King Aegon of House of Targaryen, Sixth of His Name."
Words and names had come out of 'Ser Harry's' mouth, yet Finduilas knew as much as she did before he opened it. She almost tried to speak aloud some of them, but caught herself in time. It would not do to be seen that way. Once again, she turned to Quentaro. "I cannot speak the Aftercomer's name." she said to him.
"I suggest calling him Arhesto." Quentaro offered. 'Noble captain'. Better than one of his sort deserved, but it was close enough to the one he'd used, and he was at least a captain.
"Arhesto, then." Finduilas agreed, and looked to the Aftercomer. "Explain the meaning of your words, before you begin to answer for your deeds." An exchange between 'Harry' and Quentaro followed, the former's face dancing between fear and confusion.
"He asks which words have confused 'Your Ladyship', that he might explain them."
Finduilas narrowed her gaze. Most of them, she wanted to say but refrained from it. "Start with the names he gave. Why he has three of them, perhaps, while his king has but one."
"I have two names, my lady." he answered her. "Harry's the name mine noble father gave me. Strickland's the name of our House - noble for as long as any, and gold for four generations if I may add."
"I believe it means Arhesto's sires served with the Golden Host too," Quentaro explained. "Something he seems to find quite worthy of mention, with how many times I have heard him speak of it."
"But if my lady means 'Ser', then it is a knight's title. We proudly bear it upon being anointed by our septons with holy oils, before the eyes of the gods."
Finduilas was sorely tempted to ask what a 'holy oil' was, or how an oil could be made sacred at all. "Gods?" she asked Quentaro instead. "What does he mean by this? Is it the Powers he refers to?" Finduilas had never heard one talk about the Valar as such, though the Edain held many strange beliefs. Worse, sometimes she had heard tales that they held faith with the Enemy.
"I've not heard of Powers, my lady." the prisoner said, surprise in his voice. "And I am not a septon, to explain the gods. Save that they… watch over us, and give us their blessings. We pray for aid, and guidance. A godlier man would say it better."
She turned her head to Quentaro. Another answer that left more questions than it had answered.
"These 'gods' of his seem to me like the Valar, or their servants maybe." Quentaro offered, this time in the king's voice. "I do not see the Enemy's hand - not here, at least. He does not like to share honor with others." A thoughtfulness crept in his tone as he spoke. "One thing is certain. We are wrong to call them traitors. These Men never were in our service."
Finduilas saw no need to point out the obvious, much as she may have wanted to. Instead, she turned to the Man again. "Are these 'gods' the ones who bade you to break the peace and attack us?" she asked firmly.
The answer was blunt and swift. "No." the Man said, averting his gaze from her, shifting his eyes downwards.
"Then why?" Finduilas demanded, anger rising in her chest.
A long pause followed. The small Man gulped, and fretted, and seemed to be thinking on his next words carefully. "We fought you, but we have no enmity towards your people, my lady." he answered carefully. "It was mere need - necessity. We were stranded, cast far from our destination and with no way to return home. I was against it of course, but the Hand, oh he persuaded the boy to go along with it… the captains had need of gold and land, the emissary made his guarantees…"
Gold and land. Finduilas thought of Húnil's ruin of a face, to Gwindor's words, and her missing father. How many died because of these Men's greed? How many more would die in the days to come? "So you attacked us, when we had done nothing to you," She hissed, fury rising inside her. "And you sit in front of me, sputtering that there is no enmity between us? You are a liar, Aftercomer, and our kinsmen more merciful than you deserved." Finduilas pronounced, fixing the liar with her glare.
She had not realized it, but Finduilas was standing now, and the Man was on his knees, prostrate. His terror was plain to see, as were his shaking hands. Finduilas had struggled to understand how Gwindor and others like him could kill before. Now, she understood. She wanted to hurt this man, and all those like him for what they'd done, and felt no shame for. Orcs had evil in their nature. This man, and all his kind chose to fight for Morgoth, for no better reason than gold. They deserved everything Celegorm did to them. They deserved worse.
"Lady Finduilas!" Quentaro implored her, his voice gentle yet with King Finrod's firmness in his gaze. "We are not done yet. Do not leave. Be calm, there are still things we have not found out."
"Are there?" Finduilas questioned. "He said the truth, and it was plain to hear. The Enemy promised them what they wanted, and they took it eagerly. So far as I - we are concerned, that is what matters." But as she said those words, she grew less confident of them. Looking into the king's eyes, he knew it as well, though he said nothing.
"It is not wrong to be angry," he retorted. "These men have done much they need to answer for, and they shall. But it is wrong to let it cloud your judgment. This man has more to tell us, I know it."
She closed her eyes. "He mentioned an emissary 'making guarantees'." she told Quentaro. "Ask him about where he came from, then."
If the king had any complaint about being commanded thusly, he voiced none of it. Quentaro gave his nod, and spoke to the Man in his own language, softly and slowly. "We met vagrants in the valley. One of them called himself Amarfion, and could speak our tongue. The others couldn't." Arhesto answered, his voice trembling. "He guided us out of that valley.
"The folk fleeing from Ladros." Quentaro spoke, but once again his voice was the king's and filled with disquiet. "He led us out of the accursed valley."
"He must then mean the Nan Dungortheb." she said. Finduilas had heard of that valley, and none would cross it willingly.
"Our eastern kinsmen found the tracks of an army passing through, when they crossed the Nan Dungortheb themselves. Then they had to cross Brethil, and made their deception." Finrod agreed.
Had the Fëanorians lied to them, and had sent these Aftercomers to sow discord in the West? Finduilas pondered for a moment, then dismissed the thought. Both Celegorm and Curufin hated the Golden Host. Whatever their other intentions, their fury was enough truth on its own. Anger comes from a place of truth. Perhaps the grievance is in the mind of the aggrieved alone, but anger does not deceive. Even if it were not, then this Man, Arhesto would have named his masters. He did not. "Tell us more of this Amarfion." Finduilas commanded.
"It wasn't his true name, that I can tell you. After a few days, he came to us with another. He called himself Mairon, and looked different. Like a great lord."
"Mairon." she heard Finrod's voice repeat. "Then it was as I feared, and Gwindor was right."
"I have not heard the name." Finduilas said, her gaze turning to Arhesto, watching the man squirm before turning back to the king.
"Mairon is none other than the Lieutenant of Angband." he told her, the pall of cold contempt in his voice sending a chill down her spine. "The one we call Sauron, or Gorthaur." It had been his hosts who had taken Dorthonion after the Bragollach, and nearly slew the king. Now, they'd taken her father's isle.
"As Gwindor said?" Finduilas asked. She had not heard of any such things.
"There are matters of spoken behind closed doors," the king explained. "And that was one such."
She did not like that even now, there were secrets kept from her. Finduilas glared at the Aftercomer, still staring at them. "Speak." she bade.
"Our camp was outside Volantis. We awoke in that forsaken valley, then entered your lands." The man said slowly. Finduilas had never heard of 'Volantis', nor did the name sound much like any tongue she knew.
"Ask him what is Volantis, if he will speak of it."
The Man looked at them. His expression was curious and it was clear that he had never stopped being afraid, but he did not seem surprised at all. As if he expects us not to know what he is speaking of, Finduilas thought. Now, the ground beneath her feet felt less solid than it had a moment ago. "Volantis is a… great city, in the East-land. Far from here." he said, his voice sounding wary, even though she could not understand his speech.
"And are you from there? Did this city set you against us?" Finduilas pressed him.
"No, lady." Arhesto insisted, as calmly as he could manage. "I am from the… West-land. So is the Hand and the King."
West-land? Surely he could not mean Aman. But there was nothing else west of Endorë, save the Grinding Ice. "If he is lying, we have only wasted time." she said.
Finduilas saw the concern in the king's eyes, and it did nothing to reassure her. "He is not. I think we have found the truth, as much as I do not like it. I suspect we are still missing a part of it, yet only a small one." he answered, deep in thought.
This man and his lord were from the 'West-land', but it was not the Uttermost West, yet had also come from the East. Both the one they knew, in the Nan Dungortheb, and the 'East-land' that they did not. It made no sense, and neither could she imagine any manner that it could, save one. And that one she did not want to contemplate.
"There is something you refuse to tell," Findulas fixed her eyes upon the Aftercomer's. "You will not keep any more secrets from us."
The Man opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came, as he halted himself. Finduilas could see the doubt in his eyes, warring with fear. Whatever he had to say, he feared to speak it aloud. Arhesto looked down, trying to avoid Finduilas' glare, yet she pressed at him wordlessly. He would speak. Slowly, haltingly, his lips parted. "Our world is not your own." he said finally. "That's what they told us. Both the Hand, and Mairon."
Before Finduilas could understand what Arhesto's meaning was, she heard the King calling to her. "Finduilas," Finrod Felagund spoke gravely, Quentaro's voice slipping away entirely. "Follow me. We must talk. Alone."
They left the chamber and the man behind them, with scarcely any time to consider Arhesto's words. "What did he mean when he said that his world is not our own?" was the first thing she told Finrod. "There is no sense in his words." was the second.
"There is more than you may think, Finduilas." Finrod answered. There was an oddness in him that Finduilas did not like. "Tell me, do you believe that Arda is the sole or greatest part of Eä?"
She paused. "It is not a matter that I have much considered," Finduilas started. "But I say it is what matters. Why are we giving this Man's tales so much thought?"
There was curiosity, and wonder in Finrod's eyes, enough that for a moment they relieved the cares from them. "So do many others think. But if all that matters in Eä were contained within the circles of the world, then why not create Arda alone?" he asked. "You were born in Nargothrond, beneath the earth, and I know you love it best. But have you never gazed up at the stars of Varda, and wondered at the vast halls that surround Arda?"
"I have," Finduilas said. "But what use is there in wondering about something I cannot see? The stars I can, and love well." She paused. "You believe him, then? Why else ask what lies beyond Arda?"
The King nodded, almost imperceptibly. "It is so. Arhesto could have said many things," he said, pacing around the room. "and all would have been easier to imagine. And it answers many other questions I had."
It was true enough, Finduilas supposed. A cleverer liar would have spun a more likely tale. And Arhesto seemed embarrassed to speak about it at all.
"I know you would have gathered much the same, even if not for me." Finrod told her. "So, let us not dwell on whether Arhesto said the truth or not, but rather on its meaning."
Finduilas was not certain where to begin. "You said it answers questions," she began. "but it seems to me it raises many more. If he speaks truth, and they are from another part of Eä, how did they come to be here? Some will of the Enemy? Sauron found them, and sent them to fight us."
"I do not know, and I suspect that neither do they." Finrod answered. "But it was not the Enemy that sent them here. That is beyond his strength."
"You suggest it is the will of the Powers?" Finduilas asked haltingly. The notion itself seemed twisted - imagining these Men were sent by the Valar to fight against Ingolondë and on the side of the Enemy. She did not want to even speak it aloud.
"Perhaps it was marred by the Enemy," Finrod suggested. "Or there is a purpose to their coming which is not yet known. Maybe there are Powers elsewhere in Eä akin to those which dwell in Arda. Or perhaps this is beyond them also. But I cannot guess at the truth, whatever it may be." He turned to look at Finduilas, pausing his speech. She did not know if there was joy in his expression, or sorrow. "When the fathers of Men crossed into Beleriand, I was there to speak with them. It was a chance meeting, at a hunt with our kinsmen. I learned their speech, as I did with Arhesto and his kind. But had it been a servant of the Enemy in my place, the Edain would be little different from the Golden Host."
"What then, shall Nargothrond do?" Finduilas said. "Whatever Power sent them here, the Golden Host are now foes of Nargothrond, and their king a thrall of the Enemy."
The King's eyes darkened, his brow furrowing in thought. "If we could undo the lies they were misled with, it would be more to my liking than slaying Men." he proclaimed after a long pause. "This Arhesto is no orc, and neither are his kindred." Finduilas did not speak. She feared what she might say if she were to speak her thoughts aloud. "That is my decree," Finrod said, turning to Finduilas. His tone brooked no argument, and it seemed in his eyes that he knew already what she'd thought. "Nargothrond shall fight to defend its lands, and we shall kill in our defense, but all prisoners taken of the Golden Host are to be brought to me. Then we shall find whether their king is indeed a thrall of the Enemy, and what doom now lies upon him and the Ñoldor."
The return to Nargothrond was silent, and Finduilas did not see Quentaro again.