Heget's Blatherings

During the War of Wrath, one of the survivors of the people of Bór must deal with the enemy who occupy Dor-lómin. Another peak into the fates of some overlooked Easterlings.

---

Bledda was given the task of interrogating the captured Easterling warriors. Of the nine men guarding the outcrop above the stream that stood between the next Easterling plantation and Bledda's platoon, two had been killed outright and the rest captured. The vanquished enemies were removed of all weapons, bound hand and foot, and tied sitting with their backs against the four picket posts for horses. The captured warriors were too old, too young, or judging by the second man killed, too ill-recovered from some past injury as to be deemed useful by the warlords that ruled Dor-lómin for more important army posts. Had the goal not been to completely liberate all the people of long-subjugated Dor-lómin and remove any spies that could report back to the Enemy where and when the Army of the Valar was advancing, the elves might have bypassed the tiny watch-camp. As it were, the battle lasted only a third of the time it took to gather and bind the prisoners. Sending these prisoners to where they could be contained until the war was over would take even longer. Right now they were Bledda's problem.

As the elven scouts now knew what to expect in the immediate area, concerns with extracting information from the captured Easterlings factored less than explaining what their fate would be to the prisoners. The leaders of the great elven army from across the sea wished to save as many people from war-torn and sinking Beleriand, and the Valar in their infinite wisdom included former Easterling soldiers and slave masters in their assessment of who was to be saved. Bledda's feelings on the wisdom of that were ambivalent, and of their treatment. Elves were nothing like orcs; there would be no torture. That was the hardest part of Bledda's task, to convince the Easterling prisoners that they would not face what Bledda would have faced had their positions been reversed. This overgenerous mercy was not without limit. Any orcs that the elves came across in these dry foothills would be slain outright, but any surviving thralls were freed and sent to the Edain refugee camps with what rations could be spared. This empty corner of Dor-lómin held few surprises anymore after a week of scouting, and it was too remote and unimportant for orcs, but there were still enemy soldiers to be dealt with. This task of dealing with the prisoners was shoved onto Bledda, even though the elves or their Maia companion, an unnaturally large hawk perched on the captain's shoulder, could read minds and intentions.

The elven soldiers downplayed their mental abilities, and the avian Maia said it was only present for communication back to the front lines. Bledda had a strong working knowledge of the powers and limitations of elven magic. A year now he had been working with the Tenth Mountain Platoon, a company of golden-haired elves from across the sea who volunteered as one of the preliminary divisions to climb over the mountains into Dor-lómin. It was a decision Bledda did not regret, as he admired and liked the captain and the rest of the elves, and he desired above all to rescue the world from the Enemy. Still, learning to work with the elves from across the sea had not been initially easy. Mountaineering skills had been slow to learn, and Bledda had little proficiency with the elves' long spears. How the Maia who attached himself to the platoon was only visible sometimes as a talking wren or hawk or even just a hazy cloud of heat shimmers took Bledda a week before he no longer screeched in alarm when the Maia appeared. Fighting orcs alongside these elves took some adjustment, but not as much as how the golden-haired elves gave orders. Bledda grew used to commands sent via thought. Disorienting at first, it had the advantage of not carrying across the high passes and alpine gorges. And during the initial months when Bledda struggled to learn back-country Quendya, which even the captain admitted was a dialect strange and rustic to that of Valmar, their communication depended on the ease through which thoughts could dilute barriers, as the elves were also in the process of learning Sindarin and as many of the Mannish tongues as Bledda could speak. Nowadays the elves spoke the languages of Beleriand even among themselves. Still, the elves could not read minds easily or without invitation, and Bledda was the only one with a vocabulary over hundred when it came to the language of the Easterling tribes in cold and stony Dor-lómin. One of the languages, at least, for Bledda was of the Bór, one of its last descendants, and the people that conquered Dor-lómin were of Ulfang and his allied tribes. But the mortal was here, and he was the one sent to inform the newly captured prisoners of their fate. Grumbling about lazy elves and lazier Maia who liked to pretend to be a bird but never one useful like a Great Eagle, and how a translator wasn’t as necessary as they assured, Bledda stomped over to the pickets.

Bledda knew the real reason he was sent to parlay with any captured Easterlings was because he was the lone mortal present -if one did not count his wife Rúth, who waited back in camp copying and updating maps to send back to the regular divisions with their messenger Maia. Moreover, he looked superficially like the captured Easterling warriors, and the elves felt he was less intimidating of a face. The captured human warriors all flinched from the bright eyes of the elves, but looked upon Bledda with confusion and scorn. They called him traitor, when they addressed him at all.

The Easterling warriors captured after battle did not understand who Bledda was or why he sided with the elves. Perhaps if he had a yellow beard or carried a great ax, they would know him as an Edain warrior. Bledda knew he would never be mistaken for one of the three tribes of the Edain, not even of the Bëor. He was Easterling- and not. The prisoners knew he was not one of theirs; Bledda could see it in the calculation of their eyes as they noticed the small ways in which he was as foreign to Dor-lómin as the elves from across the sea. Bledda was smooth-cheeked, wore his hair in two plaits, fastened his tunic on the wrong side, had the wrong style of knife tucked into his belt, and wore loose trousers tucked into boots that did not turn up at the toe. He stuttered through unfamiliar names and did not know the location of each homestead. He would ask, halting over loan words and obsolete terms, who was aligned to which banner. Worst of all, he glanced up when he swore by the Great Blue Sky. The oldest of the prisoners would catch on, would smirk and use another word for traitor, for lost tribe, would spat the word for Bór.

They noticed the vulture alongside the eagle on Bledda’s belt and embossed on the heirloom barding of his horse. Bledda wanted them to. He regretted that he did not have the war banner that belonged to his ancestors, or he would have flown the forgotten emblem of Bór beneath the white and gold of the elves. But the red and gold birds and the black horsehair were lost in the Fifth Battle.

Bledda stood in front of the bound prisoners and let his indignation and pride overwhelm the sensation that whispered he was a fraud. The old stories spoke of changeling children, poor substitutes created by either elven magic or the Enemy's shape-shifters pretending to be men, ghosts walking among the living to lead warriors into traps. Bledda knew which side the guilt should be felt. He would feel not lesser than men that served alongside orcs and had tried to wipe out his people.

One of the older prisoners this time, a bandy-legged man who did not fight when the elven platoon overpowered the Easterling sentry camp, laughed when Bledda began his speech pre-written by the captain. Only two sentences into those worn statements of where the prisoners would be sent was honestly further into the diatribe than the young man expected. Bledda had not even reached the promises of fair treatment and food, deserved or not, for he had seen of what was done to the conquered people of Dor-lómin and how the orcs and wargs roamed free. “You are a ghost,” the old man said, and Bledda grimaced. He expected this, once the prisoners noticed the vulture. The Bór should have been exterminated, according to Uldor’s men. The prisoners looked upon Bledda’s golden vulture as a corpse raised and walking, an unnatural betrayal of death. That he or any tribesman of Bór lived at all was somehow worse than the young man's decision to follow elven soldiers.

“Aye,” Bledda sighed, weary and angry and tired of being judged by cruel and defeated men, “I am Bledda, son of Ernath, of the People of Bór.”

“Son of Kreka,” said the old man.

Bledda stopped cold. “How do you know that name, old man? I was born a long way from here. I have never served your wretched master, nor my mother, and she has never stepped foot in this land.”

The old man smiled, smug or fond or wistful, Bledda could not tell. The other prisoners stared at the old man in similar confusion. “Bledda, son of Kreka, daughter of Marti, the daughter of Borthand, the son of Bór." Names rolled off the old man's tongue with graceful ease. "Bór of the Great Soul,” the old man said with a reverence which astonished everyone, spoken the way Bledda's mother spoke of their ancestor or the way the elves would call out the name of the Star-kindler. “I know your mother, knew her very well. I knew you, little Bledda. Or at least those giant ears. Ernath was many things, but never as good a listener as you’d think he should have been with such ears,” laughed the old man, as all the other prisoners inched away as much as the limits of their bonds allowed. Bledda thought once more of the stories of changelings, of ghosts walking once more among men. “I am Ruga, son of Roas. Elder brother of Kreka. Your uncle.”

---

Ever since I mentioned Kreka's brother in the very first story about the survivors of the people of Bór, I knew I wanted to go back and answer what happened to him (it involved this reunion and the Middle-earth equivalent of the Underground Railroad).
The Tenth Mountain Platoon is another bunch of mostly Vanyar OCs, including their fussy captain, who someday I'll write out the whole story, a good deal of which would involve Bortë, the First Queen of Numenor, as the regiment's collective adopted niece. (For those tracking the ASoIaF fusion characters, he's Lissë's son).
At least some Vanyar spoke a more archaic form of Quenya (Quendya).

On the eve of the War of Wrath, Ingwion asks his father to be the one to lead the Vanyar in battle. Afterwards his family dinner highlights a hidden motive in his eagerness to journey to Beleriand.

---

"Let me lead the armies of our people," Ingwion petitioned to his father. "Let me stand for you and command our people when we cross the sea and wage this final war against the renegade as the Valar have commanded. I will do you proud and bring honor to our people. The Valar shall give only praise to our efforts." I am your son, let me prove it, Ingwion did not say, but knew that raw desire was what showed in his eyes and gave conviction to his words.

His father, Ingwë Ingweron, High King of all the Elves, did not reply immediately. It was rare for him to be in Valmar, to sit in state with the simple feathered crown of high kingship on his brow. The palace of the Vanyar in the foothills between the sprawling city of Valmar and the true slopes of the Pelóri Mountains did not often see its king in residence, and Ingwë seldom gave decrees from the throne room of Valmar. Back during the first few years when his people lived in Tirion among the Noldor, in the Mindon Eldaliéva where Ingwion was born but had few memories of, his father did not sit often in court and proclaim many laws. It was not the style of Ingwë Ingweron, for the will of the king was absolute among his people, and the Vanyar were loyal and obedient. In return the king asked little of them. Once they reached the safety of Valinor’s shores, he commanded of the elves only that they obeyed the strictures of the Valar who brought the elves to their land. For his part the king, once his children had grown, retreated often to the slopes of Taniquetil, the holiest of mountains, and there he meditated on the meanings of the world, wrote poetry and music famous throughout Valinor, and delighted in the antics of countless litters of cats. Ingwion thought fondly of those cats, and peace of the mountain retreat where the high winds sang purely, and the softness in his father’s large hands as he pointed out the beauty of their home.

It was that peace, that love, that begged to Ingwion to convince his father to allow him to take command of their forces.

Ingwë was in Valmar now, having come for the feast of the Lord of the West. That great feast had been interrupted by the Peredhel mariner from the Hinder Lands, the one that had finally turned all of Valinor into frantic motion. During the excitement that followed, there was no lack of intention in the king of all elves to be absent while such momentous decisions were made. Ingwë sat with the herald at the Elder King’s side to listen to the mariner’s plea and approve the new plan for his people. The raising of Vingilot and the Silmaril aboard it was herald of their intentions and a warning to their foes that all the might of the West had not forgotten.

The Valar said now the time was now ripe to go to war against the Black Foe. The Vanyar must gather old weapons and forge new, this time with the wisdom of the Maiar to guide them. All that wished to hearken to the Valar and the Blessed Mariner must go - but there was still need for some to remain in Valinor. The Lords of the West would not leave their homes, their backs, unprotected. And Ingwion wished to be the one to go, not stay.

Ingwë nodded slowly, but did not yet speak.

Ingwion glanced to his mother. Ravennë, queen of the Vanyar ever since her father had been defeated by Ingwë back in the time of Cuiviénen when the Minyar had decided if to listen or not to the ambassador of the Valar and march to Valinor, smiled. It was not a gentle smile, but then little of Ravennë was gentle even in the ages of peace of Aman. Lionesses of her namesake glinted in gold thread of her gown and upon the combs in her hair, shining in the light of Anar and asserting her power. Ravennë needed no crown to proclaim her rule, for with Ingwion’s father often away from Valmar, meditating in solitude in his monastery atop Taniquetil’s slopes, the queen of the Vanyar handled the day-to-day affairs. Since his majority Ingwion had joined his mother and two older sisters in the task of rule. He felt confident of his abilities to lead his people. So he told himself as he met his mother’s dark purple eyes.

Ravennë leaned over to his father and murmured low into his ear.

Ingwion hoped it was in praise of him, knew it must, stood tall and proud and prayed he honored his name.

"You will lead our people with wisdom and glory," Ingwë said, his voice like the slow rumble of rocks crashing down the mountainside. "As my son, raised well in the embrace of the Valar, a source of great pride to myself and your mother, we see no other outcome. Go with our blessing, Ingwion."

Exultant joy coursed through Ingwion, which he knew was readable on his face, but did not care. He felt as if again a young boy not a century grown, crowing the victory songs of how his father had defeated the old first chieftain of the Vanyar back in the days of darkness. Of a victory unblemished to lead all the people of his tribe to the land of the Valar, of how when his father had washed the blood off his body with the water of Cuiviénen’s lake, there had been no mark from the enemy’s weapon. Boastful songs, war songs, songs Ingwion wanted for himself. Songs he wanted to sing to the stars of the Outer Lands, so no songs of sorrow or woe or defeat would echo through the mountain passes of his home.

When he returned to his wife, Laitissë, he told her of what his father had agreed, and that more-so they were expected to attend a private meal tonight with the royal family. Their two young children were welcome to join, as would any family that was in the palace at the moment. His wife smiled, though he made no mention of the faint hints of red at the corner of her eyes. “Helinë and Ingil will be pleased to see their grandfather. It is so rare for him to be in the palace at Valmar instead of his retreat on Taniquetil.” And to spend time with you, she did not say, for which Ingwion found himself grateful. His wife had not decided if she would be joining the armies, for Ingil was not fifty. Their eldest child trained with the phalanx, questioning Oromë on how to turn the spear wall into a defense from all angles. Laitissë was a fine wielder of spears as well, and more importantly a loud voice that did not panic or react with rashness under pressure. Ingwion wanted her strength at his side during the war, but wondered if he should ask her to stay and guard the homeland with his father and mother. He had not, for he also felt that would be an insult to her commitment and devotion to the Valar. And Ingwion was honest with himself. The presence of his wife made him less nervous.

---

( Read more... )

The banners of the Vanyar are white and pure; the banners of Ingwë King are unmarked, unblemished, untouched.

Before I can (cross)-post "Of Ingwë Ingweron" and all my other stories centered around the time before the Great Journey, I must explain a headcanon that became the bedrock upon which all else is built. It was built off some ideas about the Vanyar and my ideas and opinions about Cuiviénen, then once I mulled over some thoughts, I landed on what I swear is not a crack theory.

Ingwë is a Stone-Cold Killer, or Klingon Style Promotions Among the Vanyar

The Cuivienyarna presents the first three elves to awaken as immediately partnered with a corresponding spouse, and together these couples are the finders, founders, and leaders of the three tribes. The Three are Imin (and Iminyë) for Minyar/Vanyar, Tata (and Tatië) for Tatyar/Noldor, and Enel (and Enelyë) for Nelyar/Teleri. The most popular fan concepts are that the first Unbegotten elves are allegorical figures or if actual characters then are not alternative names for Ingwë, Finwë, and Elwë but their immediate predecessors. Treating these three (six if counting their spouses) as purely allegorical will work, roughly, because the Cuivienyarna is supposed to be the simplified story that teaches counting to young elven children. But I think simplifying their existence to allegory only really applies to their names and a glossing over of political reality. And misses out on developing any real story set in Cuiviénen. If they are real historical people, then matching the First Unbegotten -Imin, Tata, and Enel- to the later trio of Ingwë, Finwë, and Elwë ...doesn't work. At least not for Finwë and certainly not Elwë. But the alternative never sat easy with me. Because if Imin, Tata, and Enel exist as separate characters, why are they never heard of again or influence events in the Silmarillion? At least whomever they were based on, those shadowy first tribal leaders of the elves - who cannot be the Ingwë, Finwë, and Elwë for reasons I will soon explain. The common fan theory is to make Ingwë, Finwë, and Elwë (plus Olwë and Elmo) the sons or grandsons of these legendary first leaders of the three elven tribes. Or work around the problems of siblings in Ingwë's case with Indis and Elwë's two younger brothers, not to mention the disappearance of wives, and say that the Three are the same characters. Either Ingwë is Imin’s son, or just another name for Ingwë. But not even Ingwë fits perfectly into the silhouette of Imin. Or pretend that Tatië and certainly Enelyë don't exist. (For if Enel is Elu -highly unlikely- then wherefore can Melian and her love be?)

Now I’ll admit I first fell into this trap of saying Ingwë, Finwë, and Elwë were the heirs of the leaders of their tribes. That this family tie was why the three were chosen as ambassadors to go with Oromë and why the elves of their kindred followed them. But it is said only this: that Oromë picked the three, and that after they came back from Valinor with tales of that land and the light of the Two Trees now in their eyes, the elves of Cuiviénen listened and followed them as leaders. The implication becomes clear. Ingwë, Finwë, and Elwë were not leaders of the elves until after returning from Valinor. And no reason is given as for why Oromë chose them. (Or if they weren't volunteered or volunteered to go.)

So what? Did the elves have no leaders before Oromë's arrival? Please. Elves are social beings. There might not be a formal hierarchical structure yet, if one really wants to stretch credulity, but there would be leaders. Maybe not permanent leaders, not a single leader for every category of decision facing the group, but they exist. And if the elves were a settled community, as hints of the language might suggest, the necessity of some Initial Three Bigwigs can't be denied. So the ruling families might be but one generation, but there would be present those personages most looked to for leadership, and they will be called by their Cuivienyarna names for ease of convenience.

Back to the supposition of Ingwë, Finwë, and Elwë as the sons and heirs of the leaders, that headcanon so popular to fic writers would don't ignore the Cuivienyarna but aren't willing to twist the story to make them the same figures. The headcanon I dropped. What if our three, Ingwë, Finwë, Elwë, are not at all related to the ruling families of the three tribes? That these three are on the social outskirts of the tribes, low-ranking members among their groups. Young men with ambition and drive, but little chance for opportunities. And if one or all are orphans as well, dodging the issue of an Elwë with two brothers but no parents, no recorded parents for Finwë or Ingwë, all the better to explain why there are none with authority over the three kings or to whom they turn to for counsel or must share power with in Valinor. Because it was getting unrealistic to lose all three original leaders to the Black Riders, unless in one fell swoop, or have all three choose not to follow their sons to Valinor.
And add the fact that the elves had no guarantee that those going with Oromë to Valinor would or could return or how long that they would be gone. You would not want to send a person in authority away, especially if they are either leading the tribe or depended up in an assisting role- or just to be around in case something happens to the leader. Elwë, perhaps, as he had two younger brothers as spares to the heir, and thus his loss would not be a permanently fatal blow to the running of his tribe. But this crisis would still happen to the Teleri anyway, permanently dividing their tribe and psychologically scarring them. Ingwë, Finwë, and Elwë are scouts. You don't send the most important people out as scouts, people you need to be leading the tribe and nascent villages while waiting for the scouts to return with news. Send out trusted people, perhaps. Maybe your heirs. Depends on how callous one imagines the early elves, and just how great the uncertainty Oromë's offer is. Is he promising a hyper-quick visit with guarantees of their swift safe return? How much do the elves, so recently plagued by abductions by Dark Riders, truly trust that promise?

So Oromë picks (or is offered) the three that are not necessary for their tribes’ continued survival, three young men from each group who are eager for the chance at something greater.

Ingwë, Finwë, and Elwë go to Valinor, bask in the light of the Two Trees, and grow stronger and wiser and more powerful. They desire to return to Cuiviénen and convince their people to follow them back to Aman. They return with the goal of gaining followers, of convincing the Eldar in their tribal groups to follow them so that they may live under the Two Trees and away from the shores of Cuiviénen. They return as the Three Prophets.
And the three leaders of the Minyar, Tayar, and Nelyar are going to see the young men as dangerous threats to their authority, rebellious and seditious upstarts trying to steal their power and leadership. Raging debates would occur as the tribal kings tried to silence these three prophets. Over time, both Finwë and Elwë (who has his brother Olwë as the Aaron to his Moses, so to speak) use speeches to convince about half the members of their tribes to abandon the authority of the true leaders and commit to going to Aman. The Tatyar and Nelyar that do not convert become the Avari, the Unwilling, staying under the leadership of Tata and Enel, knowing that they were the true elves and that those the took to the march were deserters and also rebels.

We know the Avari are equal parts the Tatyar that stay and Nelyar, and none are Minyar.

And here is where the most radical point comes in- for all of the Minyar chose to go with Ingwë to Valinor. Which means we can’t have a Imin and Iminyë, that arrogant hypothetical first elf ever awakened, still leading the Minyar unless we decide Imin and Ingwë are one and the same (which makes Indis a daughter or granddaughter). Is then Iminyë ruling as queen as the Minyar let their king go off to the unknown with a strange power, one that is of the same kindred as those frightening riders? Okay, but then we say Imin is Ingwë, but Tata isn't Finwë and Enel isn't Elwë, that only the first couple is real and the other two are stories or that our sets of trios must be unequally mixed. No, we must keep Imin and Ingwë as separate characters.

Which means Imin has to die.

...Or at least be permanently removed from power among the elves, for Ingwë will be held forever more as High King of All the Eldar.

And how is Imin going to die and to leave the power vacuum for Ingwë to step in, thus allowing Ingwë to gather all of the Minyar under him to move en-mass to Valinor? Especially when Melkor has been chained away, removing that immediate threat and oh so convenient tool to remove Imin. When debates are raging among the elves of Cuiviénen of whether to stay or go.

And that's when I had the idea for the elegantly simple solution.

Ingwë kills Imin, takes his place as king.

(**insert Lion King gif**)

 

( Read more... )