Chapter Text
Selected excerpts from the annotated edition The Himring Diaries: 300 - 470. Originally published in Lindon in S.A. 250 and the original volumes gifted to the library of the High King Ereinion Gil-galad by Elrond Eärendilion. The annotated edition is translated and annotated by Prince Finrod Felagund and published in Tirion in 4.A. 50.
TRANSLATOR’S NOTE
When it was first published, The Himring Diaries, written by Prince Maedhros Fëanorion's former equerry, caused quite a stir not only for the light it shed on the many secret negotiations and treaties that had taken place in First Age Beleriand, but for its outspoken frankness on a number of subjects. It discusses treaties, economics, taxes and war with a disconcerting honesty that both illuminates and exposes Beleriand's fraught and often treacherous political calculations. Prejudices are expressed without the polite censorship that would come to characterise histories of the First Age, along with a cold-blooded refusal to treat the Kinslaying at Alqualondë as no more than a political tool. It names a number of high-ranking individuals, with their identities only lightly obscured, and implicates them in a web of espionage conducted by each realm of the Noldor against the other. It even touches on the secret subculture of the homosexual underground in First Age Beleriand.
Its original audience, when it was first published in Lindon, was largely the high-ranking amongst the remaining exilic Noldor population, who either appeared in the diary’s pages or else had more than a passing acquaintance of the political subjects being discussed. Its occasionally allusive style, written in secretarial shorthand and occasionally written in code, was the natural style of this reading public and thus proved no barrier to consumption. In later years, however, as exiles returned to Valinor, fell prey to the many wars that wracked Endor or grew circumspect about the matters being discussed, the diary’s popularity waned. It fell out of circulation and changing Quenya dialects rendered it obscure and difficult to read in the original.
I first read the diaries in S.A. 2150, not long after having returned from the Halls of Mandos by the grace of the Valar. I am, of course, one of the key players who makes an appearance, though cast in a naive rather than calculating and mercenary light unlike several other players, our eponymous diarist included. That first reading impressed on me the diaries’ importance as a historical text, not only for the events it covers, but the attitudes it expresses. Older, popular histories have tended to eschew the complexities and contradictions of life in Beleriand — often to suit various political agendas. Newer histories are academic and rarely reach a younger audience, or else lift these sources from their context to pursue their own lines of historical enquiry. With the fall of Sauron and the fading of Elves from Endor nearly complete, it seemed the right time to bring these diaries back into cultural memory, to illuminate both past and future.
This edition updates the Quenya for a younger, modern audience — and a broader one. Annotations are inserted as a guide to identifying the key figures named in its pages, along with added sociohistorical context that tends to be glossed over in famous histories. Owing to my own close involvement in many of these events, I have refrained from commenting on them, only offering interpretive insight to aid in reading clarity. Slang used is preserved as is, and expunged sections covering homosexual life in Beleriand have been restored from original manuscripts, kindly provided by Lord Elrond Eärendilion. Some passages, however, remain untranslatable because of the still uncracked cipher employed in their composition. We can only hope that one day, its author will return, and provide the key to translate these passages, so we may have a fuller understanding of the events described.
I am indebted to many of the people named in these diaries, who provided their inputs on translation and contextualisation of the events presented here. I am grateful to the loremasters of the Lambengolmor for their invaluable inputs on tricky translation questions and the rendering of certain idioms in modern Quenya. Above all, I am grateful to my sister for her patience and her many inputs where certain events have been blurred by my passage through the Halls of Mandos.
PRINCE FINROD FELAGUND
Tirion, 4.A. 50
**
40 Hrívë, 308
Weather continues to be wretched. R’s1 temper gone from bad to worse, but of course he refuses to recognise it and claims it's because he’s surrounded by perpetual fools. Had to discreetly head him off from Lord Romdil, who remains concerned about our disinterest in the “problem of Oiolanda’s overmining”2. Even he, I think, is beginning to understand R’s terrible trumpet jokes. In time, he may even learn to understand irony, which would be fatal. As little as there is to be said about them, at least the Sindar of Lestanórë have made irony a fine art one may safely indulge in. Everyone knows what’s going on; the sport is pleasant, not unlike the barbaric boxing matches favoured by the more bloodthirsty amongst us and I, at least, may retire with a pleasing glass of wine. Their northern cousins, however, are sweet innocents and therefore, must be watched.
Dined with Lady M3 while keeping one eye on R. Conversation as charming and dangerous as the treacherous Tarassîrë, but fruitful: more intelligence re. a proposed new assault on Angamando. Would be fatal for H.M. as timber production is yet to hit the same levels as ten years ago. Current levels not enough to pay for or arm a serious assault, if one accounts for the Moringotto’s diabolical confections. Work on siege machinery to counteract the Moringotto’s latest devilry4 proceeds slowly — if at all. Lady M, however, is more concerned about the dress Lady T5 has commissioned from the seamstresses of Parthon6; a not uncommon view these days. Fortunate for us. War will destabilise the continent & rearrange it in H.M.’s image, which is I suppose, his intention.
**
45 Coirë, 309
Snowmelt finally brought the first mail from Híthilómë. H.M. finally showing his hand. War necessary to curb the Moringotto’s wretched influence; war the primary aim of our exile; war the necessity of our survival. He is wrong, of course. Our chief aim in seizing the Teleri fleet as necessary payment for a long accrued debt was neither revenge nor righteousness. The goal, of course, was to have lands of one’s own and the untapped riches of Arda along with it. War is useful only insofar as it is a means to an end. Not merely conquest, as some rabblerousers would have it, but the engine of economy itself. While we have lands of our own, the goal must be towards a greater peace and prosperity, achievable only through stability and the flourishing of commerce.
The question is one of balance. War, yes, but in what measure? One must be cautious in pursuing the goal of absolute war. The variables are complex; the Moringotto perfectly capable of demolishing the finely balanced polity we have built. Oioringë, Langavilan, Oiolanda currently both shield, armoury and engine of the Noldor economy. This clearly troubles H.M. The proverbial hoardes: but not Orcs. Kinslayers. On the other hand, the engine must be kept running.
Met with Lord P______7. Most informative conversation, concerning the current state of the treasury and our little business. R will see the report tomorrow. Lord P_____ is perfectly in sympathy: war, but in moderation. Thus will we all be richer, even H.M. in his griefs.
**
50 Coirë 309
Dined with M8 today. Wretchedly vile mood. Have you heard, he says with glee, your word passes for policy these days. Then he persists, despite polite refusals: what do you make of it? Is one supposed to answer such foolishness? We later went to our usual haunt. A good crowd and in a fine mood, ripe for a night’s plucking as it were. Found a fine young bantam9 and passed a most amusing night, whose pleasures were only further enriched by M’s many sidelong glances, despite having his own pleasure to look to.
The rumours are not unknown to me: they seem to satisfy those chiefly of a low, yet vain mind. It is inconceivable to them that a man with the mind of a great logician should prefer rational answers to vainglory or superstition. Or indeed, that a Noldo might seek to bring the rigours of science to the realm of politics. They would instead shroud it in mystery and reduce us to base instincts of the body, as though we are not the Speaking Peoples and therefore, by necessity, the Thinking Peoples, whose mastery of thought and language is shown in the very mastery of the bodily. Is science to be limited purely to the realm of the natural world? I believe it must needs extend to government and indeed, war itself. Mere faith cannot carry the day: it did not even carry us across the sea. Allfather knows we have had enough of unscientific, impulsive government that has achieved very little but a great indolence amongst the great and good.
Suppose it sounds very cold-blooded to imagine a government established on the basis of facts and their interpretation. The prince who seeks war must first establish whether his armies can carry the day. Second, he must determine whether it is in his interests in the first place. There is an interest in the defeat of the Moringotto; but there is a greater interest in the protection of the kingdom. Such is the calculus of war and peace.
**
30 Tuilë 310
Convoy out of Narrostoron arrived today in great state, wearing such silks that made the ostlers utterly forget themselves and stare. It seems the new fashion is to bare one’s hosiery for all the world to see, garbed with such womanish accoutrements10 as the half-mantle and the sideless cape. Such fashions may do very well in the south where they have no true winters, and where the court is careless, but one wonders how the convoy should fare in Oioringë’s forbidding climes or the court at Taras Ehtelë. R obviously disapproves, made only more peevish by the provincial gawping of the ostlers. It is only the great interest that binds us to Narrostoron that kept him from receiving the convoy with that infamous sneer. One must be grateful for these small mercies.
My lord of Narrostoron is, of course, pleased to accompany the lords of Oioringë and the Northern Marches on their proposed hunting trip. Such a cousinly reunion, it seems, will bring him great joy. Autumn will have fine sport for deer and other such polite trivialities. It could not be otherwise. As for other matters of state, we speak of nothing, but all know the matter of war will be discussed. However, not even my lord of Híthilómë could find anything objectionable with the arrangement, though he will undoubtedly attempt to send his spies.
The silk, it seems, comes from Lestanórë, where the Sindar nurse silk spiders and fatten silk worms on mulberry. It is very fine indeed and nearly as good as Aman’s silks. Lady M has kindly sent us some of these worms and spiders, but I cannot imagine they will survive for very long here. I have dispatched them forthwith to Langavilan, with messages to Oiolanda. Our scientists should undoubtedly be able to refine these silks through breeding with such stock as we carried over from Aman.
Of equal interest are the new treatises and monographs being produced in Narrostoron. These too I have dispatched to Oiolanda, including several surveys of mineral deposits in the south. A—-—’s11 treatise on governance, however, I have preserved for our libraries. He has, at least, turned from troublemaking for the present and is instead concerned with economics. One must admire the audacity of such a mind, writing as he does of Aranyo’s great and immortal science of materiality. What is Aranyo’s great science? Little more than the observation that thought follows form; that the Elvish mind is shaped by the constraints of its world. The novelty lies in his assertion this is chiefly a matter of the rational organising principles of survival. Aranyo is a wonderful idealist as is A—-—. Were any of this true, then lesser men should have a greater hold on history than they do.
A—-— theorises the settlement of Valariandë in terms of agriculture: the search for fertile land and the protection of these territories from the Moringotto. This is a child’s idealistic view of politics. Why fertile fields? One must feed one’s armies. Why armies? The conquest of land. Wherefore the conquest of new lands? We master the beauty of Arda for the Elves, freeing it from the dominion of the Valar. Why? The Valar are incapable of keeping such promises as they contracted with us Elves and thus, are no longer fit to be kings. Yet if a king grows tyrannical and will not vacate his throne, then what must his people do except leave? Such were the considerations that also drove our people from Cuiviénen. Thus, history makes a full and futile circle. At any rate he is right that the Valar looked on in concern as we inscribed new laws12 to better govern the rapid expansion of our wealth. He is also right in this sense: the feeding of one’s armies becomes its own business in the land of Valariandë.
I have sent this on to S—-13, who believes me sympathetic. If my suspicion is correct, then we shall hear this very soon in the mouths of the rabble-rousers.
**
36 Tuilë 310
I am vindicated. It is most amusing that it should be the Noldor who grow fractious and restless14, complaining about rich and spendthrift lords and the evanescent promise of the beauty and bliss of Arda. The memory of Valinor casts a long shadow over our people. How can the wild beauty of Valariandë compare? Who, having seen the golden light of Laurelin coruscating over the green hills of Ezellohar, or silver flowing down to the Eternal Shores and illumined by the strange phosphor of the seas could rejoice in the meagre windswept wilds of Valariandë? Poor exchange, when there is little freedom to be found in a land thwarted and poisoned by the Moringotto — unless a man escapes East. There are few, however, of the adventurer’s disposition prepared to face such hardships as such exploration must surely invite. Thus, we complain.
The Northern Sindar, by comparison, are merely grateful to be shielded from the Moringotto. These pay their taxes quietly and work with admirable diligence, though there has been some little trouble15 with the matter of land and census — in due time, no doubt we should all get used to it. They are used to the hard work and toil of this hard land and welcome, with open arms, the new knowledge and tools we bring with us from Valinor. Their innocence is almost affecting in its ripeness for plucking. Allfather knows we pluck and mercilessly. Not even Vanyar dullards would sign half the agreements16 we’ve put before them, but the very concept of deeds, titles, holdings, taxes, debts is foreign to them. It’s almost a shame to impose it, but a state needs its coffers filled and its people organised if it is to function smoothly. They seem quite content, for now, in the protection and services being extended — unlike our pestilential people. Any discontent on that front comes entirely from great lords17 now displaced by newer, wiser masters. Hardly the stuff of A—-’s people’s revolt.
The lash is an infinitely simple answer, yet such martyrdom can only further fan the flames of such malcontents. R. invited S—- to dine — terribly amusing to see him simpering and mincing around at the compliment — and has suggested perhaps that he might wish to establish a stronger Noldor rule of law in Otossiriandë.
“You understand, this will be a position of great responsibility,” said R with only the smallest glimmer of amusement. “Of considerable interest to our rule — to me personally.”
We shall have to see if he finds more traffic amongst the wild folk of Otossiriandë.
M continues to be tiresome and jealous. The whole thing is becoming highly distasteful. What a thing to be in this wide, open land and not have room to breathe!
**
23 Yávië 310
We set out to meet my lord of Narrostoron today. An eagle was wheeling overhead and there was some debate over whether or not it was a good omen. R and L18 maintain their usual sangfroid. What should an eagle be but an eagle? The scouts say it was an ordinary one. My lord of Lóminóre would have grown very powerful indeed, to use an eagle as a spy. T19, however, is another matter entirely as he is next door and excluded from all the excitement. But he, at least, knows which way his bread is buttered and won't cause much trouble.
The question is whether the Valar spy on us, and if so, to what purpose? They have not held themselves as aloof as promised — but will they stoop to intrigue on behalf of their favourites? One cannot help but wonder. Narrostoron exists thanks to my lord Ulmo’s intrigues. Who is to say the Elder King will hold aloof from the fray? Though one wishes he had chosen a better favourite.
At the very least, there will be new sport along the way, if the rumours about Narrostoron are true20.
**
28 Yávië 310
Joined with my lord of Narrostoron and his hunting party today. Much ribaldry over fashions: the north is fustilarian, the south too scandalous. Some good hunting over fair country. What a pleasure it is to give Quildatal her head and gallop cross-country. Pretty meadows are criss-crossed by countless shallow streams and the vast fields of the Sindar, now fallow for the approaching winter, are bordered by low hedges that make for excellent jumping. Lady M rode with me part of the way and showed me the new fashion in gloves. The gold trimming is most excellent, but not as excellent as the news that my lord of Narrostoron is prepared to hear our proposal. She warns, however, that he is no longer the boy he was and moreover is, like all of Finwë’s descendants, obdurate.
“If only all were as clever as you,” she lamented.
I repaid the compliment in extravagant measure and thus we contrived to pass a most pleasant afternoon together. Between the riding and the scenery, all parties in extremely good spirits after this excursion as we bed at Taras Nesselë, which is promising. The only blot on all this magnificence is the Prince’s cousin21 who rides with Lady M and is almost certainly in the Prince’s employ. The degree of confidence is yet to be discerned.
At dinner, my lord of Narrostoron played a new composition for us on his long zither. A Single Gull Is Carried On The Western Wind is cleverly constructed: an acrostic composition, which when viewed in its compositional grid, reveals the lightless-eyed owls that adorn Námo’s halls. His silence, it seems, is no deterrent to my lord Felagund’s continued devotion. One must marvel at the loyalty, when it is Ulmo who — as the Narrostoron contingent will have it — breaks with the Valar to speak to those he favours. A lesser man would, no doubt, have thrown his lot in with the Vala who descends to offer succour. R mercifully made no such observations, though the glint in his eyes very much suggested he was thinking it. He feigned tone deafness and demurred any opinion, which is for the best. The piece really was very pretty, in the best classic Vanyarin tradition.
“A very beautiful piece and virtuosic,” said L, who played his role perfectly. “And yet strange. It conjures this land and yet its form slides away from it. It doubts the Valar and pleads with them, yet at its heart is made from the same material.”
Talk naturally grew philosophical after this. We all wonder at the question of Fate and the role the Valar play in the treading of its measures. Sometimes they hold aloof and sometimes they draw near, but who can make sense of it? But L, however, was insisting on something stranger, for he insists the beauty of the work detracts from truth — but should all art be true? It seems to me that its function, if any, is to diminish the ugly and Marred nature of the world and instead conjure the Unmarred. This too was my lord Felagund’s argument, while R steadily descended further into his cups.
“The beautiful world is all very well,” said L. “But what good is a false beauty?”
“Not false,” said my lord of Narrostoron. “But one must imagine the world beautiful, that we may know what it is we proceed towards.”
“On that we might agree,” L replied, “but do we see eye to eye on the question of beauty? You see beauty in the pristine memory of Valinor, in the holy bliss of the Valar. I see beauty in these wild lands and their foreign hills and plains. You find beauty in the stark holiness of the Valar, descending from on high to bless the innocent and righteous. I find beauty in asking why now and why not then?”
“You find the Valar cruel and arbitrary.”
“I find them politic.” L makes a great show of his indolence, but this is as much a game as is his artist’s pose. “It interests me greatly, but not so greatly as the question of beauty.”
“Why,” said Lady M, “one might as well ask what is beauty?”
My lord of Narrostoron was all smiles, but his eyes are as piercing as the smallsword he bears. “The grace of Fate, perhaps. The bliss of the Unsullied Light. The glory of Taniquietil. The splendor of the Valar, gathered in the Mahanaxar.”
“You find the Valar perfect.”
“Don’t you?”
“I believe a king must understand his subjects to rule us. Can perfection understand the imperfect?”
“Can imperfection surpass the heights of perfection?” My lord of Narrostoron folded his hands quite contentedly. “Perhaps great beauty reveals what ugliness conceals, as perfection reveals the limitations of the imperfect.”
“A unique formulation, and yet I perceive a flaw.”
“And that is?”
“Do you not see it?” L’s voice was very soft. For a moment, I almost believed him earnest in his asking.
“I see,” said my lord of Narrostoron, “but I do not know that we see alike.”
“Perhaps not. And yet — you have the Valar perfect. I think them no more nor less than us mere Elves,” said L. He always says things to cause a stir, without quite believing in them and it is a most tiresome affectation. The gathered crowd, of course, reacted precisely as he wanted. “Creatures of habit and whim, with favourites and unfavourites. If they were perfect, then we should find them incomprehensible and immovable, unfit to rule us, and yet, they are not, are they? For one, at least, sent an Eagle to save my brother’s life, or so I believe.”
“In that we are agreed, cousin,” said my lord Felagund, with a strange smile. “Though I admit I am curious to hear what our cousin has to say for himself.”
All eyes turned to R.
“What do I believe?” said R. almost to himself. He has a habit of staring into his wine glass when his thoughts are far away, on Angamando’s evil peaks, as though there are answers to be found in his wine dregs. He rose and raised his glass in mock toast. “I believe my lord Manwë that most rare exquisite: a perfectly righteous man, who cannot sign his name to any evil.”
With that elliptical remark, he made an elaborate leg and took his leave of the company, swaying only very little from all that wine. Thus the board is set and the first moves played.
“Did I do well?” R asked me as I took him to his room, leaning heavily on me as we went. At times like this he is less grand prince and more an unhappy young man, trapped in a part he finds distasteful — though he will not say what he finds most distasteful about it.
“Very well, Your Grace.”
“Does he have to bring up that bloody eagle all the time?”
“It's a most providential eagle. Prodigiously useful.”
He knows as well as I do that my lord Felagund would jump at the slightest hint it was sent out of mercy, rather than reward for the Prince’s faithfulness.
“I wish I'd never laid eyes on that blasted thing.”
Sometimes I wonder if we are driving him to an early grave, or if he drives himself.
**
29 Yávië 310
Had some excellent hunting in the morning. Plenty of grouse and pheasant on the nearby moor. We all dined like kings at lunch, consequently.
Dined with Lairelindo22 who, as many do, prefers to style himself Laerilin these days. His service has given him an air of such earnest gravitas, one feels one must mind one’s thorns and esses23, though of course he has them all wrong. He frowns in disapproval at Kyermion24 and I reminiscing about our wild younger days in Valinor. However, he needs very little encouragement to talk about my lord of Narrostoron. The entire train seems quite infatuated, from little Lairelindo to the new Sinda captain. This is most fortunate, if tiresome — one tires of so much virtue after a while.
It feels nearly cruel to play the game with such a naif, but needs must. Narrostoron represents the better part of the Noldor polity: their support will either make or break any war effort. Lady M is quite clear that the general sentiment runs against war, but warns that such sentiment is fickle and turns almost entirely on my lord Felagund’s whims. In that regard, Lairelindo has proved most informative. In his fanatic loyalty, he agrees the Prince takes too high-handed an approach with his lessers, that Narrostoron gives far more than it takes and that war will be most uncomfortable. This high-handedness rankles at Narrostoron and with my lord Felagund, though he hides it well. And why should Narrostoron pay for Híthilómë’s wines and stables, after all? That was not the bargain we made when we departed Valinor.
The Prince’s cousin joined us over the wine and Kyermion deftly turned the conversation to the Glorious Battle. Glorious, indeed, but nothing so magnificent as the breaking of the Moringotto’s forces with our first charge under the stars. When the conversation turned to the question of war again, this was entirely the unsubtle manoeuvering of the Prince’s cousin.
I find it hard to believe that H.M. would deploy someone with all the tact of a graceless leviathan breaching the sea for air. Even little Lairelindo was on his guard, which is for the best. Now we are three against one; united against the tyrannical overreach of Híthilómë. My heart tells me, however, there is another. H.M.’s games are very deep indeed, sometimes I think impenetrable even to himself. He would not show his hand so plainly. Thus, another. But who?
**
30 Yávië 310
Lady M? Or perhaps my lord of Narrostoron himself?
Kyermion has the other matter well in hand, though there was a moment when [Editor's Note: the rest of this section is written in an archaic cipher that has not yet been cracked.]
The rumours are as true as reported and I spent a very pleasant few hours with two pretty young things in my lord of Narrostoron’s train. Obviously enamoured of each other, but incapable of making the leap on their own. One hopes this will be a nudge in the right direction. At the very least, they were both biddable enough and very keen on my excellent advice, that I was reasonably entertained.
**
31 Yávië 310
Lady M assures me she is against war. Her protegee25 has dress orders extending for the next ten years at least, and all for great ladies of H.M.’s court. I am determined to be a mother to the poor child, she says piously. One wonders what score is being settled. With Lady F26 perhaps?
My lord of Narrostoron’s mare went lame after lunch and as I was closest, bringing up the rear, he bid me accompany him back to the tower camp.
“I would speak honestly with you, cousin,” he said, when we were well out of earshot. “What do you make of this question of war?”
He has clear and guileless eyes at the best of times, which make one feel one knows all there is to know about him at an instant. One would be a fool to believe this. A man does not thread his ship through the rocky shores of Híthilómë, Lestanórë and Oioringë without learning a trick or two.
“I, my lord?”
“Not my lord, I beg you! Cousin. We are cousins, are we not?”
“That depends. Currently, my lord, I am employed by your cousin, Prince Maitimo Nelyafinwë —”
“And you are in his confidence.”
“Who can claim to have His Grace’s full confidence?”
“Oh very well, you are loyal. It is very admirable.” A boyish smile. “Then let us speak plainly. I dislike war, but my brothers believe it is necessary. Lauro hates the thought of war and Russandol would rather watch and wait. They’re very generous with their advice and indeed, promise great things for Nargothrond if we could only be more cousinly. What I don’t understand is why.”
“Russandol holds you in very high esteem. He has great faith in your wisdom.”
“Does he?”
“You don’t believe it?”
“I believe he holds Nargothrond’s power in esteem.”
“Believe in his cousinly generosity, then.”
My lord of Narrostoron laughed heartily at this, but not happily.
“Russandol, generous!” The smile was generous, but false. “If I have learned one lesson, bitterly as it were, it is this: there is no such thing as a free gift.”
What could I do but shrug? The Kinslaying casts a long shadow over us, and thus Námo’s Doom. But now we have lawyers, contracts and laws to govern our debts. Who could have imagined, setting Alqualondë in stone at the very dawn of our time, that one day a debt would need to be called in? Our fathers and grandfathers lived in prelapsarian innocence. All Elves brothers, united against the Great Dark. Then we grew comfortable, let the Valar fight wars on our behalf and grew content under their rule. What brotherhood can exist under such conditions? What sort of kinship is it that chooses the Valar over the Elf taking arms against the darkness?
None of these words are of use to my lord of Narrostoron, who is torn in an entirely different direction. He is asked, again and again, to prove that he is a true Noldor. He knows that there will come a day when neither words nor his long legacy of service will stand him in any good stead. The question is merely whether this will happen sooner or later. It has already long been laid out for us in Námo’s Doom. My lord of Narrostoron is a true believer in his own inevitable death. If he believes it the inevitable consequence of breaking with us, so much the better for us.
His gaze was piercing. I know that side of the family has not a little talent at the art of piercing minds, but only fools leave their minds unguarded when they dwell in Angamando’s long shadow.
“Then believe in shared interest,” I lied. “We all stand against the Moringotto — but our position is still weak. Our siege machinery cannot yet withstand the Moringotto’s new beasts and who knows what new devilry he has devised behind his iron walls? This peace suits us and we must use it to fortify ourselves till we can assault him. While we build our armies, let us build our people. Let life flourish! Let the sons of Fëanáro and the sons of Arafinwë grow strong and rich together.”
“Yes,” my lord said sadly, clever enough to work out the rest of that. “I thought you might say that.”
Then all conversation was at an end as we had arrived back at the camp.
Is it possible? Yes, I think it might be. The man who plays Híthilómë, Lestanórë and Oioringë at once is quite capable of playing the part of triple agent. But to what end? He does not strike me as a particularly selfish man. Logic would dictate that he is then, therefore, the impossible. Can a truly righteous man exist in this realm? It seems laughable.
“So dear Ingoldo doubts,” said R, when I told him about our conversation. “He would grow tired of all these games, wouldn’t he? He still doesn’t understand we all play for the Crown.”
“On the contrary,” I said, recalling that sad expression. “I believe he understands perfectly well and dislikes it.”
R remained sanguine and laughed at my response. “Don’t tell me you’ve bought into his innocent act. He thinks he dislikes it, but he’s really no different from the rest of us.”
**
32 Yávië 310
More good hunting today. R & L spent the day with my lord Felagund. Purpose achieved, I suppose, because both were in high spirits when they returned. My lord Felagund did not return with them. This did not surprise little Lairelindo particularly, so one must surmise this is not uncommon. It seems most irresponsible.
Spent a very pleasing evening with one of the outriders. A broad-chested fellow whose better parts would put the most blessed husband to shame. Now can I join forces with him and impart more good advice to my pretty, young friends, I wonder?
**
30 Quellë 310
So! My lord of Narrostoron plays some deep new game with the Aftercomers and with Lestanórë. He is playing the role of benevolent, but in doing so, he obligates all of Valariandë to him. No free gift indeed! Meanwhile in Oioringë there are mutterings about the Moringotto’s many lies and we recall the warning that they seek to usurp us. These are content to move at our behest for now, but as they multiply they are bound to raise their eyes ever higher. And where, then, shall they stop I wonder?
**
45 Quellë 310
The question of war itself is now moot, with these new Aftercomers. Lady M is all smiles and Lady T will have her dress, I suppose. I wish her the very best of it, though her taste runs far too garish for my tastes. R is satisfied. More importantly, there will be more time for timber, silks and gold. Our little business will continue to thrive and we shall all be the richer for it.
**
20 Coirë 402
Skirmish at the Arcirya. The Moringotto seeks to make inroads yet again, but has failed to reckon with the vigilance of Oioringë. The Orcs were vanquished without a second thought and the fields and granaries of Oiolanda preserved from their mindless looting.
Something to be said for the doughty nature of these Aftercomers. They have acquitted themselves with honour on several occasions now. Though, of course, this only rouses more discontent in certain quarters, including amongst the Sindar. There is a delightful irony in the least of the Sindar now struggling with the discontents of the least of the Noldor a long year ago: the Aftercomers unite both the hard-working nature of the Sindar and the ambition of the Noldor. They are not merely content with the fruits of the land, but seek to emulate the greatness of the Noldor and build little empires of their own. The Sindar resent this. They claim this land is theirs — but truly, what has their stewardship done except hold it in stasis?
As for the rest, the short lives of the Aftercomers and their imperfect memory should hold them in check. They have a long way to go before they are lifted from their primitive and mean estate, though there are princes amongst them with lofty minds which would not be out of place amongst even the finest of our ranks. These are the exception, rather than the rule. In every other respect both they and the Sindar lag far behind us. They have little skill at language, even less science and as for commerce and economy: the Sindar don't see the point of gold, these Aftercomers are more preoccupied with their petty vendettas than the long view and I despair that either of them will ever learn to keep their ledgers in order. It’s unlikely they will exceed us, especially when their law and government flows from us, ordering their lives, their property and their minds. We will always be one step ahead of them as long as we bring our great gifts of science, language and law to bear on our rule.
Nevertheless, one keeps an eye on the ambitious amongst them. The day when they will overreach themselves is swiftly approaching.
More concerning however, is the question of war, once again on the table. Extremely tiresome, but H.M. looks eastwards and finds many causes for concern. This week he has sent a letter expressing his concern over the continued cultivation of several crops. Their produce, it declares, is the source of several instances of petty crime and overall decline in military discipline across Noldor holdings27. R is amused and confident their latest victory should put paid to this line of reasoning, but agrees it is always better to provide the illusion of choice when it comes to bringing people around to our point of view. Since these crops are used in multiple commodities28, I have proposed three solutions, all of them favourable: one, a ban on the use of these commodities but not of produce; two, a vice tax on these commodities, which should price them out of the range of most people; or three, limited sale only through licensed individuals or institutions.
“You own a number of these, er, fields, don’t you?” said R, when I was finished.
“A few investments. Nothing very extraordinary.”
R had one of those glints in his eyes. “And naturally, the people of Oioringë may eventually come to benefit from these meagre investments of yours — a public bath, perhaps, or a school — for the profits of one are the profits of the many?”
“And the wages, Your Grace.”
“Quite right. Can’t forget about the wages.”
Thus we have arrived at a perfectly genial agreement.
**
35 Lairë 407
M spent the whole morning nagging at me. I don’t believe you have anything in that shrivelled heart of yours. Sounds almost like my sister, who calls me a summer bride. If there’s a summer bride29, it’s M, though summer shrew is perhaps more accurate. Can a man not enjoy his work without being accused of mesalliances?
Evening recital magnificent in its own right, though R found the whole thing tiresome. How much more of this caterwauling must we endure, he laments. Privately, I suspect he enjoys having the chance to parade his silks and jewels, though Allfather help us if it leads to him finally yielding to L’s pleas for a theatre in Oioringë.
L opening the line with my lord of Narrostoron this time. He seems confident the treaty will be signed, but I will believe it when I see it ratified.
R’s mood much worse at night. He very nearly flung a cup at one of the servants. Are you a prince, I asked him. Are you my keeper? He said. Left him to stew in his own misery at his injured pride and memories of his lost crown. Does it matter when he has the whole realm in the palm of his hand? How much injured pride can one man possess? Either way he must rouse himself and perform his part at the celebrations tomorrow, without a hint of jealousy. Too much is at stake for him to yield to personal feeling.
**
36 Lairë 407
All went mercifully smoothly. What should I do without my summer-bride, he said mockingly afterwards. Jabbed him with a pin in revenge, while fixing his mantle. Gave me an injured look; nearly childish. As though only he is allowed to inflict hurt while I patiently absorb it all. He pays me, but does not own me and I must remind him of this little fact every now and then.
**
40 Laire 407
R finally swallowed his pride to apologise. I smiled sweetly and told him princes never apologise, never regret their actions. They only move onwards and upwards, to greater heights. In time, I suppose, I will forgive him and feel wretched about pushing him further into his own mess.
**
1 Tuilë 410
Arrived at Narrostoron, ostensibly to seal a new trade deal. Lady M is inordinately interested in the terms and conditions. My heart tells me little Lairelindo is the better path. His endless virtue elevates him above all suspicion and protects him from the vice of suspecting others. It has not occurred to him that two princes sending each other private communications through a trusted envoy is a matter for suspicion. To him this is only natural, as though it was only natural that R should write to my lord Felagund and wait until I rode to send it with me. What bliss. Oh to be innocent again.
Laurefion asked me if I’m not growing tired of living this double, triple life. I told him truthfully that I am not. He is a straightforward, innocent young man. Devoted to R, but he is suited to Tirion’s staid and steady life. Intrigue, danger, the lingering aftershadow of the Kinslaying all frighten him. After the stultifying boredom of Tirion, this new wide world and its excitements is a blissful departure. But what about the Doom? he asked. It comes for us all, virtuous or not, I told him.
Great men claim that treason is the price we must pay for our tomorrow. The cost of doing business. This is true in a certain sense. Yet, who can deny the excitement of the furtive, stifled, anonymous fuck in the dark? In my experience, there’s very little difference between the fuck in the dark and the art of intrigue. They even share a name: intrigue is at the heart of both sexual and political thrills. Only, unlike the great and good, the people who cruise dark alleyways and dingy drinking houses are honest about their pleasureseeking thrills.
Besides, I have a debt that needs repaying. I am a patient man and I will have my Silmarils three.30
**
25 Tuile 410
Nearly a long year and finally, the alliance is signed and sealed. Now to see if it holds.
**
36 Yavie 422
The alliance holds. There will be no war. A good harvest this year and M, at last, is satisfied if only with all the pretty silks and jewels.
L all smiles and insists he was the one who finally swayed my lord of Narrostoron. When pressed he finally reveals his secret: why, I told him we all were happy, weren’t we? And why shouldn’t we be happy. Touche!
**
60 Hrívë 455
The onslaught continues. The air is rancid with smoke and even the Noldor amongst us are beginning to feel it weigh upon our every breath. The hospital room is rife with coughing, which I suspect will take many long before any injury does.
R has finally awoken after his grim-faced return. The Arcirya is ours for now, but it remains to be seen if our forces can be split this way and that and still hold. R mercifully uninjured, but unlike himself and frightening to most. I am frightened, but out of concern. His sleep has been plagued by long-banished nightmares and one cannot but help wonder if this too is part of the Moringotto’s many devilries. Have not seen him this way since those early days after his rescue.
He came to me after dinner and we surveyed the ashen landscape. We can still see the pines of Þondórië burning. There is something beautiful in that terrible sight: a second sunrise in the wrong direction. I wonder if Ñolofinwë and his people felt similarly when they saw the first sunrise. If instead of hope, it reminded them of the burning Ships, lighting up the night for as far as the eye could see. I wonder if it reminds them now. Too many in Oioringë are haunted by its spectre. Several fights have broken out already, between our men and those of the Arafinwion princes train who have joined us here, on this subject.
R’s thoughts were elsewhere.
“If the siege breaks,” he said, “and if Himring falls —”
Words cannot fill what the heart refuses to know.
“The instructions have already been given,” I said. “The injured will go first with the healers and the rest will hold the vanguard. Everything that can’t be moved will be burned and none of the books will fall into the Moringotto’s hands.”
This only agitated him further. “No. Yes — I mean.”
He grabbed my wrist and placed my hand around his dagger. His eyes were great half-moons. Mad, is what they call it downstairs. How little they know. I have seen R mad, angry, furious, impassioned. He looked at me with the wild eyes of a terrified animal. He held my wrist with the tight grasp of a man evading the Moringotto’s grasp by a hair’s breadth everyday.
“If it’s going badly,” he said. “You’ll take this and run me through.”
A dozen objections came to me, but he silenced me before I could say anything.
“And if you’re clever,” he continued, in a harsh voice, “you’ll do the same to yourself. Do you understand?”
I called his name, now truly alarmed, but he only shook me and made me promise.
“Swear it!” he said. “Don’t let that monster take you.”
There is no reasoning with him in such a mood. I swore it and took his dagger, but not of my own will. May the Allfather see my heart and not hold it against me. I understand too, but against my will. I love life too well to surrender it, not even against the threat of capture; and I love him too well to have his blood on my hands. Worse still, I loathe him enough to do it.
Is this what we have wrought? Does R also look out at this destruction and wonder if it had not been better had we thrown in our lot with Ñolofinwë and gone to a war of our own making?
1 Prince Maedhros, known as Russandol to his intimates.[⤴]
2 A drawn out dispute between the Northern Sindar and the lords of Himlad between F.A. 300 - 350, concerning mining for tin and iron in Ered Gorgoroth, as well as quarrying for slate and other construction materials. The Sindar believed this quarrying and mining would eventually displace the various spawn of Ungoliant run to ground in Nan Dungortheb, sending them into nearby villages and settlements. There was also a broader clash of cultures: the Sindar lived closer to nature than the Noldor and had a constellation of superstitions concerning retribution in revenge for overuse from a primitive deity figure called the Allmother.[⤴]
3 Lady Mairimë, close friend of Míriel Therindë and godmother to Prince Fëanor.[⤴]
4 The advent of dragons in Beleriand were a source of immense concern for Noldor generals, who were forced to redesign key defence and siege machinery to both reduce flammability and prevent melting. This transition was never fully achieved and has been flagged as one of the likely reasons for the rampant destruction of the Dagor Bragollach.[⤴]
5 Unclear who precisely this is referring to, but most likely is Lady Turavennë, wife of Prince Silwë.[⤴]
6 The House of Parthon were a collective of Sindar seamstresses renowned for their work with silk. They became the chief couturiers for the nobility of Nargothrond and Barad Eithel.[⤴]
7 Most likely Lord Pityáro, Lord Steward of Himring.[⤴]
8 The identity of the mysterious 'M' who appears in these diaries has been a source of much speculation amongst loremasters and historians, but no concrete evidence suggests a particular individual.[⤴]
9 Slang of obscure origins, generally referring to a sexually virile homosexual young Elvish man.[⤴]
10 At the time, fashions in both Himring and Barad Eithel tended towards the conservative - perhaps because of the cold climate. Tunics were worn either below the knee and with high riding boots for outdoor activities, or full length, paired with heavy silk robes for formal occasions. These heavy silks and wools evolved an elaborate system for distinguishing rank through patterns, styles and dyes which were made obsolete by the newer and more expansive fashions being imported from Nargothrond featuring a wider range of dyes than before thanks to cheap new production methods developed in collaboration with Doriath. [⤴]
11 Most likely Lord Almion, former brother-in-law of Prince Curufin, largely considered a thorn in the side of the royal family in Valinor and Beleriand thanks to his radical anti-monarchist views and political activity. [⤴]
12 The Commons Act of Y.T. 1450 was the first act officially delineating land ownership within Noldor territories, establishing a clear bifurcation between landowners and tenants. [⤴]
13 Lord Singenáro, who initially shared some political sympathies with the radical anti-monarchist movement. [⤴]
14 Few of these broke from discontentment into real revolt or mutiny, but some part of the revolt in Nargothrond in F.A. 465 can be attributed to this discontent over the uneven distribution of the spoils of Beleriand being displaced on to Men, via claims about the theft of birthrights. [⤴]
15 Land ownership amongst the Northern Sindar tended to follow the collective commons model previously followed by the Noldor in Valinor. The introduction of a system of taxation to raise revenue for defenses and the maintenance of a standing army across both Noldor realms and Doriath relied on clearly delineating land ownership & income by household. Traditional methods of land ownership and collective farming amongst the Northern Sindar and Green Elves were sidelined or legislated out of existence to ease this process. [⤴]
16 Most likely a reference to early treaties signed between the arrival of the Fëanorian army in Beleriand and the Mereth Aderthad, many of which established a system of rents, taxes and land ownership structures that were unfamiliar to the Northern Sindar and unfairly beneficial to the newly arrived Noldor. See also - The Fleet that Changed the World: the Relentless Rise of the Noldor Empire by Wilwarinyo Turcomehtar.[⤴]
17 See: Pengolodh's entries in the Annals of Beleriand concerning Eöl, kinsman of Thingol.[⤴]
18 Prince Maglor, known as 'Lauro' to his intimates.[⤴]
19 Prince Celegorm i.e. Tyelkormo.[⤴]
20 . Nargothrond's relatively youthful and largely civilian population, living in mostly peacetime conditions, were often held in contempt by battle hardened Elves in both Hithlum and the Fëanorian lands. Emerging martial sentiment across these territories recast the realm of Nargothrond as the dissipated and degenerate bad sheep of the Noldor kingdoms - lax, undisciplined and effeminate against virtuous, disciplined and warlike Noldor realms.[⤴]
21 Vaiwaháno, Prince Fingon's cousin through Lady Anairë's side of the family.[⤴]
22 My equerry in Beleriand.[⤴]
23 To be polite, mind one's manners and to be on one's best behaviour. A common older Noldor saying, especially popular amongst the followers of Fëanor, where failure to use the thorn could often invite reprimand, if not outright retribution.[⤴]
24 Equerry to Prince Maglor.[⤴]
25 Exact identity unknown, but most likely Helindë, whose fashions were widely worn at the celebration of 400 years of the High King Fingolfin's reign in Beleriand.[⤴]
26 Lady Fionalassë, a long time social and political rival of Lady Mairimë.[⤴]
27 In addition to widespread consumption of a range of alcohols, which contributed to increased incidences of drunkenness, there was a growing problem of opium consumption especially amongst the garrisons that maintained long vigils and contended most with Morgoth's bizarre and inventive cruelties. With the advent of Men, this reached a problem of near epidemic proportions as opiates are highly addictive for them.[⤴]
28 The uses of Irmo's Dream were limited and mostly confined to the production of opium and blue sage, both highly lucrative, if illicit commodities.[⤴]
29 Slang of obscure origin, usually used to describe extramarital affairs or sexual liaisons of a longstanding nature, but not ratified or legally recognised as marriage. Generally used in a derogatory sense to describe long-standing sexual relationships between men.[⤴]
30 An obscure idiom, largely used amongst the Fëanorian train, to suggest repayment of debts no matter how endangering the cost. It is unclear, however, exactly what debt is being referred to here.[⤴]