Chapter VIII: The Rise of the Fall (Pt. II)
It was much later after Eöl had left that I learned why he ventured into Doriath. He was repaying a debt known only to him and King Things. Only a few days later would I learn more.
Iarûr had sent me on an errand to the armory to give a scroll to Finëar. Once I had arrived, I saw a familiar face.
“Ónarr,” I said, surprised. “I have not seen you since the dreaded war of the Dark Year.”
“Good to see you again, Orothôn,” he said as he took my hand. “Even one life spared among many lost is a blessing.”
“Finëar,” I said, handing him the scroll. “From Iarûr.”
“Thank you,” he said taking it and began reading.
“How have you been,” Ónarr continued. “My condolences to Eldôr on the loss of his father.”
“I will send word to him,” I answered. “It will lighten his heart to know.”
“I have not seen many of your kind for some time,” he said. “Not since the arrival of those new creatures.”
“You refer to the Atani,” I asked.
“If that is what you call them,” he laughed. “They are a cunning lot. They are quick-witted if I may add.”
“I am afraid my time with their kind is limited at best. I have not seen one in quite awhile.”
Finëar cleared his throat—I could tell he was bothered by our conversation.
“It says that the king wishes to place that gift for safe keeping in the armory,” Finëar said. “Has he gone mad?”
“I beg your pardon,” I asked.
“That sword Eöl gave to the king,” he answered. “Did he not tell you why you were sent?”
“I am afraid not, Finëar,” I said.
“You speak of Gurthang,” Ónarr asked.
“Come again,” Finëar asked him.
“The sword,” Ónarr answered. “The Elf-Smith Eöl forged it himself. I saw him do it with my own two eyes.”
“I am to assume you helped to create it,” Finëar asked glaring at the dwarf in disdain.
“My duties lie elsewhere,” Ónarr said. “Though I know my way around the fires, I am a master of stone. Mîm might have a notion.”
“There is a name I have not heard in a time,” Finëar said, calming down. “Was its creation ordered by Azaghâl?”
“If His Majesty requested such a thing be made, I have not heard of it.”
“I suppose you would not, Ónarr,” Finëar said. “I know much your time is sacrosanct these days. How is Finrod, if I may inquire?”
“Quite well,” Ónarr said. “He sends his greetings to you.
I sensed something unusual in his voice as it grew softer. I felt he knew something but wished to keep it from us.
“Orothôn,” Finëar said to me. “Tell Iarûr I shall harbor this sword for now. When I find a place for it, let he be the only one to bring it to me. I have little doubt that such a weapon in the wrong hands could be catastrophic. Especially one so forged by Eöl. Who knows what machinations go through his mind.”
I nodded. I looked again at Ónarr.
“It was a pleasure to see you again,” I said.
“For me as well,” he answered.
I turned and left. In the hall, I nearly ran into Saeros.
“Many pardons,” he said. “Has Ónarr left?”
“No,” I answered curiously. “He is with Finëar now.”
“Thank you,” he said hurriedly as he went into the armory. Something piqued my curiosity. I leaned against the wall in the darkness to listen.
“What word have you from Telchar,” Saeros asked. “Has he not forged many weapons of late?”
“Aye, he has,” Ónarr said. “Most of which I am not privy to though one such weapon is in the hands of one they call Beren.”
“Have you seen this Beren,” Finëar asked. “Where is he?”
“I would not know that,” Ónarr answered. “It has been a long time since I laid eyes on him. Where he was going he will not return.”
“I suppose not,” Saeros said.
“You wish to know about the King’s daughter,” Ónarr asked.
“You know where she is,” Finëar asked excitedly.
“I saw her once, but no more,” he answered. “She took to the wind you might well say.”
“Even the wind has direction,” Saeros snapped.
“So it does,” Ónarr quipped. “And neither she nor the wind were going in mine.”
“What are you doing,” a voice said. I turned to see Êlengolas. I put my finger to my mouth.
“Well,” Finëar continued. “Should either one find their way anywhere near you, I suggest you send word to King Thingol as quickly as possible.”
“I will gladly do as you command,” Ónarr said.
I quickly led Êlengolas down the hall into darkness as I heard footsteps heading toward the door. The three left the armory together without suspicion.
“You realize it is unseemly to listen to the private business of others,” Êlengolas said.
“When you stop doing it, then tell me again how unseemly it is,” I answered.
“Was that Ónarr of Nogrod,” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “He has seen Lúthien.”
“Orothôn, the whole point of secretly overhearing private business is to actually glean some useful information.”
“I believe she has followed Beren on his quest.”
Êlengolas looked at me, his brow raised.
“Could you be more specific,” he asked.
“Where else would she have gone,” he asked. “If such an event had happened, then she will return upon the news of his death.”
“You think a messenger from Angband is going to send her word to Menegroth saying, ‘We regret to inform you we have killed the beloved of the King’s daughter.’”
“It is Angband,” Êlengolas began. “They would not be so inclined to be courteous.”
“It is also a place no one returns from,” I said. “All I am saying is that she is still with us.”
“Not if she followed Beren on his quest,” Êlengolas said. “Do not tell anyone—especially your wife. She will tell half the ladies in the court and create a false sense of hope.”
“False sense of hope,” I asked.
“Yes,” he began. “If she indeed has followed him anywhere, there is little hope she will return. Not without him. Come, it is almost time for dinner.”
I sighed and reluctantly followed him toward the Great Hall. I could not help wondering what Ónarr did not say and how much he knew.–TKWRT Book I: The Epic of Eryn Galen by Jaynaé Marie Miller. 11-28-2019
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