Soronúmë   Long is the tale of Soronúmë, son of Barandil, and hard has been his life's road. From the place of his birth on Tol Sirion over sixty-five centuries ago, to this blessed valley of peace and lore, he has seen very many things. He has seen the bright crimson fury of war, suffered the agony of breaking torment by his enemies, endured the savage grief of seeing his relatives butchered before him, tasted the triumph of Quests fulfilled, and ridden high on the elation of fathering (and delivering) a strong son with whom he is well pleased. He has fought trolls and dragons, Orcs and Men, twisted creatures that were never named and are no more. He has fought against and alongside Dwarves, defied a Dark Lord, built a Nation, held a Silmaril, but let slip a Ring of Power. Hear me! Hear Soronúmë! Jewel-maker, soldier, poet, friend of Eagles, hired sword of Dwarves, conqueror, assassin, victim, builder, destroyer. Hear me. My tale is too long to be told in one night. Unless you wish to be lulled to sleep by my voice, and awaken to its droning, along with dawn's first light! Allow me, then, I beg, to relate to you a small part of it, with my hope that it will please you. It came to pass that the gods made war on their accursed Enemy, the thief, Morgoth, and trampled the lands of my youth. Arda shivered and broke beneath them as they tore it apart, and the Great Sea rushed in to wash it clean. Alas! All I had known was lost! Our kingdom, our land, the wealth of our family, all drowned beneath the ocean's cold green swell, all kept safe now by Lord Ulmo. When it was done, the gods returned to Valinor, and with them went the Angelic Legions of the Vanyar and the greater part of our people, the Glorious Ones, the Noldor, for their ancient sins were pardoned, and they were readmitted to Paradise. But not I. When the water came, I, my dear brother Telumendil, and his beloved wife Caralín, remained. Menegroth had been sacked by the Dwarves, and we had wiped them out at Sarn Athrad. We had traveled south with the Silmaril, kept safe by the Green-Elves, and dwelt with them in Ossiriand for a while. When the water came, we retreated to Eriador and wandered east through the empty land that is now Gondor, to Lorinand, which is now Lorien, and lived there amongst the Teleri. Fair was the Golden Wood, the forest shone with the Power of the Teleri, and all living things rejoiced. I was happy there, but my brother wished to see more of the world, and so we traveled further eastwards still. On a moonless night, as we made our peaceful camp, our party was set upon by Orcs and Wolves from the Misty Mountains, and many were slain. My brother and his wife escaped with me on two horses and we fled to the east, but were hotly pursued. The Orcs rode the Wolves like horses, and hunted us down with their vengeful hate. At the point of exhaustion, we drew nigh the very eaves of Greenwood, and there, my broken horse died of fear and fatigue beneath me, and I turned to face our pursuers. My brother's horse could not carry the three of us, and we set ourselves to die, but Fate cheated the Orcs of their prize. Volley after volley of arrows poured forth from the Great Forest and our savage foes were destroyed, to the very last of them. We had been rescued by Sindarin Elves of Oropher's dominion, who had chanced to be on a hunt nearby, and they took us to him. I went with the Sindar with grateful thanks for their rescue, but not without apprehension. True, Caralín was of the Sindar, and was known to some of his kin, but my brother and I were of the Noldor, and we feared to be returned to Lorinand. But it was not so, Lord Oropher was generous to us, and with grace and dignity received us and gave us leave to live amongst his people. Gladly we did so. Others there were of the Noldor, and many of the Sindar, who had fled from the Ruin of Beleriand, and we all of us lived with the Silvan Elves who had never crossed Ered Luin, or even the Hithaeglir. Greenwood, then, was wholesome and happy. We lived there for many years, and came to call Greenwood home. Then came one magical night, one night in all the years of my life like none other before or since. A neighbor was celebrating the birth of their first child. They held a great feast, and Elves from all across the southern half of the Forest had come to join the celebration. I was glad to attend, for the chance to meet other Elves, and for a celebration of our own, for Caralín was with child herself. I cannot describe how the magic hung in the air that night. Tilion gave us his most splendid and beautiful light, and Elbereth's stars sang and danced in all their beauty. The trees whispered together in their ancient, forgotten tongue as we Elves ate and drank amongst them. Such food! Such wine! Fit for Manwë's table! There was music, and some dancing, but not a great deal, for night birds came and sang their sweetest songs for us. They perched in the dark boughs amongst lanterns of red and gold, of blue and silver, feasting lanterns throwing soft, delicious light. Elven light, the light that lived and bathed those who walked within it with love and contentment. I watched my brother and Caralín, hand in hand, so deeply in love, and was happy for them. They paused to talk to another Elven couple, and she leaned against him, his arms about her. He caressed her stomach, hoping to feel the life that grew there, and she turned her head to smile up at him. I can see her face now, I see the gleam of her golden hair, pale in the moonlight, the Light of the Flame Imperishable in her eyes, the white of her teeth as she laughed. A bird sang above me and to my right, a bird of the night, a sweet song whose words were clear to me. "Over here! Over here!" he sang, and I turned to search it out………………and there she was. The bird sang in a tree above a maiden whose beauty caught my breath. She stood alone, in a pale dress that shimmered in Tilion's silver light. White flowers were entwined in her long, black hair. Her arms and shoulders were bare, and she raised to her face a single white rose, from which she delicately took its scent, and smiled a slow, soft smile. To herself? To me? I could not say. Was this a dream? If it were, let me sleep forever. Did my heart love till now? Forswear it, sight, for I saw not true beauty till this night.* I stumbled up to her, entranced, and she tilted her head up to me and softly asked why I stared at her so. Her voice was gentle and golden, like a summer breeze across a blossoming meadow. The words caught in my throat, but I managed to blurt out how my weary eyes were renewed by the beauty they saw before me, and she laughed a crystal laugh, like flowing water. "My Lord! How bold thou art! But how chivalrous to speak so to a poor elfin maid like Melinë! May a breathless damsel know the name of her admirer?" She played with the words, and there was a twinkle of mischief in her eyes. Those eyes held mine and captured my racing heart. They were a deeper shade of black than the dark behind the stars and in those depths the glory of the stars above flamed reflected in their majesty. "My Lady! I am one who stands enraptured at the perfection of Iluvatar's Music. A common soldier am I, one named Soronúmë, a way worn wretch once of Nargothrond, a poor refugee given sanctuary by King Oropher's kindness. Yet I would not exchange all the miseries of my life for this single minute I have spent before thee, for those sorrows led me here. I am renewed, for I realize how empty my life has been. Empty, until now." "My Lord! If thou art but a common soldier, how must the great of the Noldor have appeared? How could the ladies and maidens of that realm have ever lived alongside such courtesy?" She smiled again. "If thy senses are weary, then refresh them with this," and she held the rose up to me. I gently caught her hand with both of mine, and breathed the scent of the flower. As I did so, she, with her free hand, took one of mine from the flower and held it. I felt her feelings in her touch, and she in mine. Wordlessly, unbidden, unasked for by either of us, I bent my head to hers, and we sealed our lives with a first kiss. A first kiss of True Love - a love that endures yet. We were wed two weeks later at the Court of King Oropher, and fifty centuries of marriage has strengthened our love five-thousand-fold. Soronúmë paused again, and saw Elves beginning to fall asleep, whether real or feigned he could not say, but smiled as he realized he had rattled on for far too long already. The Realm of Nargothrond was patrolled by many companies and platoons of Elves. With secrecy and stealth, they watched the peaceful forests and destroyed those who had no right to be there. Such patrols were replaced and refreshed regularly, and all the soldiers of Nargothrond became practiced and well-trained in the art of silent warfare. On a time, several such companies were replaced within a few days of each other, and it fell to Barandil to lead one such group out. Willingly therefore, for he relished such duty, he called his sons, tall Soronúmë, and strong Telumendil, and gathered also a dozen Elves he knew and trusted. They armed themselves with such store of weapons they could carry, and bore as much supply of food and water as they might manage, and arranged to meet in the courtyard inside Nargothrond's mighty gates. There they bantered with the Gate Guards, and checked each other's camouflage and gear. All in green and brown leather were they attired, their faces carefully painted also in green and brown. In the forests, any one of them might take a stance and be hidden. The Invisible Ones they named their platoon, and none may argue with that. When they were all assembled, they stepped out onto the wooded slopes above swift Narog. Horses were not used, for they were noisy and cumbersome, and there were not many such beasts in the fortress at that time. Hope was high in this merry company, for the sun was strong, and the sky was very blue above Yavanna's blessed trees. The trees welcomed them in their own tongue, and those Elves that understood them answered silently. Morgoth's foul servants had not ventured so far south in years and no scout reported any Orc within a hundred miles of their home. But, alas! Fate was not kind to this group that day, for approaching Nargothrond, returning from the hunt, was a company of Elves some might have thought had no place amongst the House of Finrod. It was no less than the visiting Sons of Feanor, and a group of their followers, leading their horses, and with hounds all about them. Barandil halted, and the others halted behind him, but Soronúmë and Telumendil moved up behind their father. They sensed his mood, and knew they had to be close. The Fëanorions approached, quietly and confidently, in the manner of Elves. In black, all in deepest black were they clad, save for the gold of their armor, which was handsomely wrought, and well-appointed. Curufin, Son of Feanor, was first, and as he approached Barandil he bowed low and hailed the other: "Greetings, Elves of Finrod!" he called, and his eyes flickered over the group. "Fancy dress?" he asked, with a sly smile. Barandil snapped back at him. "We are attired for work, a concept alien to you and to all the House of Feanor!" The other Fëanorions had formed up behind Curufin, and, subconsciously, in the way of Elves, had spread out, not bunching up. Elves never bunched up, that they may not impede another's draw or aim. Barandil's party also spread out, and faced off, their numbers evenly matched. An air of menace settled over the meeting. Celegorm stood behind his brother's left elbow, the others ranged to either side. His eyes were black as coals, and hard, like the others. Curufin tossed his brother the reins of his horse, and hooked his thumbs into his belt. "Why, by the Powers! I know that voice. It is Barandil, son of Tauros! Well met, kinsman, I have not seen you in....." but he was interrupted. Barandil was becoming angered. "No kin are you to me! Faithless! Betrayer! I owe my brother's memory a mighty blow against you and your clan! But I will strike you not. The King has given you sanctuary, against my counsel, and you have the protection of Nargothrond. Step aside! I will lead my company to the north, and labor to defend our city, and you, from your Enemies." Soronúmë and Telumendil moved closer still. Barandil's elder brother had died crossing the Grinding Ice, and their father had squarely blamed Feanor for his death. His animosity towards the House of Feanor was well-known in Nargothrond, a confrontation with Feanor's Sons would lead to their stepping aside, or blows struck. Behind them, the Guard commander whispered to his subordinate, who disappeared within. Curufin's face was expressionless at the insults he had born. Celegorm murmured something in Fëanorions Battle Language, unknown to those outside their House, and Curufin relaxed somewhat. "Speak plainly, or not at all!" demanded Barandil. "Can it be you keep secrets from us? Or do you not have the courage to speak your mind?" Celegorm glowered and made as if to reply, but one of his comrades was quicker. "Enough of this nonsense!" called out one of the Fëanorions standing alongside. "Our business is not with Finrod's servants but with the King himself. Why do we waste our time with this childish name-calling? Let these squirrels run to their forest, we will go within!" "Rather a squirrel than a rat!" rasped Barandil, mad with rage. Curufin laughed. "The Elves of Finrod speak of courage! Their brand of courage is of mindless madness, of fury and bluster! I say to you, Barandil, Son of Tauros, you step aside! We are guests of your King and you must give us due courtesy!" Barandil made no answer but stepped forward, his fist raised, to strike at the Elf bold and tall before him, but at this juncture, his sons intervened. Telumendil caught his father's arm and held it fast, and Soronúmë stepped before his father and blocked his path. "Father! He wants this, don't play this game," said Soronúmë, and it was true. Curufin had made no move to avoid or block the attempted punch, knowing of the great discredit that would befall his attacker. Barandil struggled with his sons, his blue eyes burning holes in Curufin's triumphant visage, and after a short while, his craziness subsided. His eyes lost some of their fire as he recognized his sons and relaxed in their grasp. "Enough!" he said, and they released him. A squad of guards appeared behind Barandil's platoon, armed and armored. They waited silently, not indicating how they would act if fighting should begin. Barandil said no more, but shouldered his way past Curufin, who was thrust back. "Good hunting!" called the Fëanorions, in the same mocking tone as before, and Barandil stopped dead. He whirled round and stabbed his finger at Curufin. "Aye! Hunting! We do that! We hunt the enemies of Nargothrond, and when we find them," his voice was laden with menace, "we kill them." He stared into Curufin's eyes long enough for the threat to register, then turned and marched into the woods. His company filed off behind him, not without a lot of hard staring at the Fëanorions. Telumendil pushed one, two-handed, that encroached too close and sent him sprawling. When they had left, Celegorm and Curufin smiled to one another, and made as if to enter Nargothrond. Their way was blocked by the Guard Captain, his eyes hard, who, after the slightest pause, stepped aside and inclined his head. ---- Late that night, at their evening meal leagues north of the city, Barandil had calmed enough to be able to speak to his men. Their campfire burned brightly, roasting the game they had caught that day, and he began a great speech, blaming the ills of the Noldor squarely on Feanor and his Sons. Long into the night he talked, and vented his ire with power and eloquence. He cursed Feanor as a traitor and a coward, and the ill fate that had brought two of his sons to his beloved Nargothrond. "They swore an oath!" he declared, his eyes piercing each Elf's heart and soul. "Well, those wretches do not have the monopoly on oaths! In the light of this fire, in Varda's name, by Manwë's breath, by Aulë's grace, I swear I will not set foot in Nargothrond while those vermin remain there. When we have finished this tour of duty I will fare north and dwell with my sister's people in Hithlum." And he would not be moved from this oath, no matter how the others entreated him. Out of duty to their father, his sons took the same oath, but none of the others would do so. "To do so would be to weaken the city's strength," said Anadhil, one of the company. "It is folly to abandon it to those faithless princes." But Barandil's heart had spoken. He could not and would not voluntarily go near those who he blamed for his brother's death. "Send my wife to Hithlum also," he ordered. "She will not remain in Nargothrond while I live in the north," and all knew he would not be gainsaid. Barandil's mind, once made up, was never changed. There is much more to tell in this tale of a simple Elf's long and complex life, but I see some Elves already beginning to nod off, so maybe I will tell more another time, *With apologies to William Shakespeare! Back to the top Return to the front page of the book