[The Hall]

    [Finarfin enters and leans heavily against the arch of the door, covering his face
    with his hands. Beren notices and gets up from the game quickly without saying
    anything, before any of the others can ask him why, and hurries over to him -- two
    of the Ten rise and follow him at a cautious distance]

Beren:
        Sir . . . don't blame yourself, it really doesn't help--

    [Finarfin turns, startled, and sees him, just as Beren is about to try to take
    him by shoulder]

        Oh! I thought! -- I mistook you for him -- I don't see very well here--

    [the Noldor Elf stares at him, at first bewildered, then taking in the differences,
    and making the deductive leap]

Finarfin:
        --Thou? -- it is -- needs must be--

    [Beren drops instantly to one knee, bowing his head]

Beren: [stammering worse]
        My lord -- I--

Finarfin: [tightly]
        So thou also art of the party that refuses to acknowledge, and yet proffrest
        respect -- and mockery -- in one.

    [Beren looks up, confused]

Beren:
        Sorry?

    [Finarfin recognizes his complete ignorance of the situation]

Finarfin:
        No matter. I comprehend it better now -- to my bitterest regret.

Beren:
        I'm sorry, Sir, but -- I don't understand.

Finarfin: [as if talking to himself as much as Beren]
        When word came that my eldest sibling was slain, it did come so close upon
        all the other ills of the time, that it seemed but part of the same, and
        fitting end to such meteoric journey. And when our middle brother perished,
        and my sons were slain in that great War of theirs, the horror of it and
        the grief was made a little less impossible to bear, for the glory of
        Fingolfin's deed, and the great valour of their defense -- they to stand
        by their adopted people, him -- to strike at the Dark King himself and
        wound him with his own hand no less, though but an Elf, as though he might
        have been a lesser Power, and the gods themselves did him honour for his
        deed, that weighed against the wrongs of his working.

    [he shakes his head]

        And then it came but a short whiles after, the news of mine eldest's fall,
        or that which I believed to be the whole and sum of it, and it seemed but
        pitiable and grotesque by compare, to be taken and slain but by a lesser
        Power, and in confusion and stealth, as a prisoner, not in open battle nor
        for his own name's sake -- a foolish end to a path of folly. --Thou dost
        look froward at my words.

Beren: [terse]
        I would have died if not for him.

Finarfin:
        And yet thou art dead nonetheless, and what in end achieved? One year or one
        yen, what is either set against my son's life?

    [Beren says nothing]

        Thou wert with him for the whiles.

Beren: [in a whisper]
        Yes, my lord.

Finarfin:
        Thy lady -- Stand up and let me see thee plain.

    [Beren obeys -- Finarfin shakes his head]

        Thy lady --

    [he breaks off again]

        --Where is my son, since by thy words I guess he is not here?

Beren:
        No idea, sir.

Finarfin: [aside]
        I would both converse with him, and would not ken the least what word should
        say to him.

    [to Beren:]

        --Thy lady spake at no small length concerning his ordeal, and theirs, and thine.

    [pause]

Beren:
        Tinuviel -- found us. It wasn't easy for her.

Finarfin:
        --Dost say she overshoots, and thus doth miss the mark of truth?

    [pause]

Beren:
        Probably not.

    [awkward silence -- into which a snatch of a rather inappropriate mortal song and
    laughter is heard from the vicinity of the fountain:
                            ". . . all over the town--
        Our bread it is white and our ale it is brown--
        Our bowl it is made of the white maple tree . . ."]

Finarfin: [knowingly]
        And hence this dull and gloomsome place doth seem small burden -- mad though
        that seemeth to all else -- after what hath passed, to them.

Beren:
        --Us.

Finarfin:
        Thou wouldst still claim place with my son?

Beren:
        Would or wouldn't, doesn't matter. We were there.

Finarfin:
        And hence -- ye -- will not forsake him. That much now I do comprehend.

    [shaking his head]

        That such things be done -- be thought of --! I had not dreamt -- that his
        death should be of such a fashion as to make that which transpired at the
        Havens seem nigh civilized, nay, --glorious--

    [his lip curls at the word]

        --never that it was not quick, nor of the least dignified . . .

Beren: [most definitely not conciliatory tone]
        Why did you think it was? Because things like that just don't happen to good
        folks? --Or people you know? You think there's some kind of rule that no one
        you care about can get killed and eaten by monsters? --Or because you'd rather
        not think about those kind of things?

    [Finarfin clenches his hand, giving Beren a ferocious glare -- Beren gives it right
    back to him.]

Finarfin:
        Aye.

    [breathing hard]

        And to my lasting shame -- I had in my grief yet some satisfaction, that
        being flouted and set down by him in sight of all our people, I should be
        proven right in end, and have some vindication, in the fulfillment of the
        words of Doom.

    [his control breaks and he breaks down for a moment, leaning back against the
    pillar, sobbing, before pulling himself together a little and wiping his eyes
    on his hand. Beren's expression changes to reluctant sympathy.]

        --How couldst mistake me for him? Is flesh so light a thing, that mattereth
        not to thee?

Beren: [very different tone again]
        Because what I see -- is mostly light, from a distance. Close to -- yeah.
        And you -- have a shadow.

    [Finarfin wipes his eyes again, forcibly getting control over his emotions]

        Sir -- would you care to -- that fountain, it's real, not just an illusion,
        you -- you could wash up, have a drink there -- if you wanted--

Finarfin: [changing the subject]
        How is it that we are comprehensible to one another? For I think thy people
        would not have the same speech as ours.

Beren: [struggling]
        Uh -- because of thoughts? Partly? Because we did speak Elvish, only it
        wasn't the way you speak it here. Only some of the words were close. That's
        what he told me.

Finarfin:
        Thoughts?

Beren: [giving up]
        The King would be able to explain it better.

Finarfin: [coolly]
        Which king? Four kings of the Eldar are in this place.

Beren:
        I meant -- your son, Sir.

Finarfin:
        I have four sons, three of whom are here.

Beren: [desperately]
        --Finrod, my lord.

Finarfin:
        Thou dost babble like to an infant scarce past walking.

Beren: [glum]
        I'm not always this bad at it. --Sometimes worse.

Finarfin:
        How old art thou?

Beren:
        Somewhere going on thirty. Ah, years -- the ones with four seasons, not the
        ones that are twelve-twelvemonths -- I don't know how long I've been dead
        now -- or does that even count . . . ?

    [winces]

Finarfin:
        And yet thou'dst think to counsel my eldest child, whose years thou hast not
        one twenty-fourth part yet seen -- wherefore?

Beren:
        Because he's my friend.

Finarfin:
        Thou deemst self worthy to name thyself friend to my son?

Beren:
        I don't -- but he does. And if he calls me that, how can I not call him the
        same back? Wouldn't make sense.

    [pause. Finarfin just looks at him, bleakly]

        Are -- are you sure -- you wouldn't like to -- the water, over there?

Finarfin:
        Such a multitude is more than my spirit can bear at this hour.

Beren: [heartfelt]
        I understand.

    [looks away -- sudden inspiration]

        The little hill over there, -- that's real, and we didn't make it, a goddess
        did -- if you wanted some privacy -- the roses are getting a little out of
        control, but that's only on the one side--

    [pause]

Finarfin:
        And dost thou own this place, to deal as thou wert host here, and never
        guest uninvited?

Beren:
        She offered us -- Tinuviel and me -- the use of it -- Nessa, it was -- so I'm
        sure it's all right if I offered you my place -- unless you know she would
        mind you doing that for some other reason--

    [he fumbles to a stop while Finarfin just looks at him again. A longish pause]

Finarfin:
        I shall do that, then, and sit upon the grass, and think -- upon the deaths
        of kings . . .

Beren: [hesitant]
        Sir -- what did you mean, four kings? I only know -- there's Finrod, and the
        High King, his uncle, -- uh, your brother -- I'm sorry about that -- and . . .
        Oh. Your father.

    [brief pause]

        That's still three.

Finarfin: [precisely]
        In the outside world, among the living, the three tribes of the Eldar also
        hath each their king. There is Ingwe, who is lord over the Vanyar, and High
        King of us all in holy Valmar. There is Olwe, that is -- thy -- wife's --
        uncle, and ruleth over the Teleri in Alqualonde. And of the Noldor, the
        headship hath fallen by default upon -- myself.

    [Beren drops to one knee again.]

Beren:
        Your Majesty.

Finarfin: [tired]
        Do not mock me, Aftercomer.

Beren: [getting more and more tongue-tied]
        S--Sire, why -- would I mock you? I -- never got -- to go to court, and
        learn the -- the ways of the High Elven court, but -- I was too young, and
        the Battle, and the invasion and you don't want to hear about that -- I
        always -- we always, it wasn't like it was me, on my own -- honored you.

Finarfin: [acerbic]
        Before we met, at the least.

Beren: [shaking his head]
        --You understand about that.

    [Finarfin nods, reluctantly]

        It meant a tremendous deal to Da that the ring had belonged to you as well
        as the Ki-- Finrod. You were one of the good guys in our stories. We were
        proud to be fighting for the House of Finarfin.

Finarfin:
        --My ring? Stories?

Beren: [desperately]
        Your son gave my father his ring. To us. Our House. --And the stories. But
        those were earlier. A lot.

    [pause]

Finarfin:
        Thy thought is as the several links of a broken chain, mortal -- both
        disordered and impaired it seemeth.

Beren:
        I'm sorry, sir.

    [winces]

        --Your Majesty.

Finarfin:
        Peace.

    [grimaces. Aside:]

        What doth he see in thee, or in thy folk?

Beren: [shaking his head]
        I don't know.

Finarfin:
        I spake not to thee.

Beren:
        It's hard to hide the truth here, Sir. --I know you'd like to hit me -- and
        I understand why.

Finarfin: [abruptly]
        Thou didst speak of my signet. Hast it, then?

    [Beren reflexively moves as if to take it off, remembers, laughs bitterly and
    holds up his hand for the other's inspection. Finarfin in turn reflexively
    reaches forward to touch it, but their hands pass through each other as though
    neither had substance. The Elf-king stifles a sob.]

Beren: [whispering]
        You loved him best . . .

Finarfin: [shaking his head]
        I ever strove -- not to remake my own father's error -- and in the Song
        I truly believe that I neither set one child above the rest, nor each at
        rivalry to another . . .

    [looking off in a reverie]

        . . . yet did their mother from the first declare . . . that surely I gave
        equal of strength and spirit to his forging, no less than she . . . for ever
        our thought and heart were as one, so that he might finish whate'er I did
        begin, of hand's work or of speech, and his joy was ever my healing, when the
        strife of my elders was a weariness and a chill upon my soul . . . and never
        were we wroth with one another . . . saving once only. --And now the hand I
        did close in mine to teach the shaping stroke of burin, and laughed to see
        grown to match mine own, is cold as the clay that devours it -- but no colder
        than his soul to me -- aye, as the winds off Helcaraxe . . . and that is
        hardest hurt of all, and all of my doing, and naught of thine.

Beren: [softly]
        Sir, he spoke to me of that -- to regret that parting -- and to claim part
        of the responsibility--

    [Finarfin turns a quelling stare on him and he is silent]

Finarfin:
        Not merely to counsel, but to console, thou didst endeavor -- because he
        is thy friend.

    [Beren nods, mutely]

        --Would there were one that might serve me in such wise--!

    [he walks off towards the hill; Beren rises and turns back towards the falls.
    His two watchers move to meet him and put their arms over his shoulders as all
    three return to the group.]

Warrior: [anxious]
        What was that about?

Beren:
        He didn't know. Or -- he didn't understand.

Youngest Ranger: [fiercely]
        --He can't.

Beren: [regretful]
        I think he knows that now . . .

    [Returning to the chess-game, he still gives a worried look over to where
    Finarfin is seated with his chin resting on his forearms, staring into the
    middle distance.]

    [Luthien who has again taken the floor, stands paused in mid gesture, tearful,
    distraught, and indomitably stubborn.]

Nerdanel: [amazed]
        He gave up a Silmaril for thee? Child, never let him go!

    [Luthien stares at her, wary, not expecting anyone to be on her side any more,
    and thinking this has to be mockery -- the others present exchange dismayed looks:
    this is not working well at all.]

Finrod:
        I know this is an imposition, and I'm awfully sorry. But I do need help,
        and you do have leverage that I haven't. If you'll just let me explain,
        and then decide whether or not it's worth your while, I will be deeply in
        your debt . . . because I feel quite certain that once you hear the story,
        you'll be only too willing to lend your assistance.

    [pause]

        And I know I'm being impossibly presumptuous, but at least I'm honest about
        it. And you can always send me away afterwards if I'm wrong.

    [silence -- the darkness starts to acquire a texture in front of him, with a very
    elegant, rather ornate but quite delicate carven archway in the middle of a ghostly
    wall, slowly becoming visible. (In the old days such an illusion would be worked
    with scrims and lighting, and mirrors, instead of computer effects.) Finrod bows.]

       Thank you, cousin.

    [he enters the gate which stands invitingly open, and which closes behind him,
    the entryway fading into the greyness once again.]

    [Beside the fountain-basin: Beren and the Youngest Ranger are back to playing
    tafl; the rest of the Ten are scattered around apparently randomly, passing
    the flask and talking, or working on the waterfall -- but a trained eye would
    recognize how easily they could pull into a defensive formation should the need
    arise. At the moment the frieze behind is getting a high-relief sculpture of
    trees as a screen in front of the geometric Noldorin-style bas-relief surround,
    and the two artists working on the project are arguing hotly about it.]

Soldier: [defensive]
        But hemlocks are bilateral. This is a completely accurate depiction of
        their schema.

Ranger:
        But it doesn't look real!

    [The Captain enters, Nienna's Apprentice in tow. The latter does a startled
    double-take on seeing what has happened to the fountain -- the Captain looks
    critically at the progress on it.]

Soldier:
        I know! But why?

Third Guard: [breaking in]
        Look -- you're not randomizing and that's why they look like a line of cirth
        instead of a forest. You've got to vary the groupings by factors of--

Captain: [to the chessplayers]
        --What are those three going on about?

Beren: [shrugs]
        I think they're arguing about aesthetics and symmetry in nature. It could be
        they're just talking about trees. "Algorithms" never used to be part of my
        everyday vocabulary.

Captain: [innocent]
        And it is now?

    [they both grin]

        So, nothing I need to worry about or get involved in.

Youngest Ranger:
        No, sir. --Not yet at least.

Captain: [to the arguing Elves, offhand]
        Lady Vaire's going to have conniptions when she sees all that, you know.

Ranger:
        We'll put it all back the way it was after, sir.

Apprentice: [still piqued]
        --"Conniptions?" What is a conniption?

Ranger:
        Conniptions -- it's always plural.

Apprentice:
        What sort of a word is that?

Captain:
        You'll have to ask Beren -- it's one of his.

Beren:
        It's Taliska, sir. It means, um, getting really annoyed and losing your temper.
        With a lot of noise and so forth.

Apprentice:
        Then why not just say so?

Beren:
        Dunno. "Conniptions" is shorter?

Apprentice:
        Not that much shorter.

Beren: [shrugs]
        I guess we just liked the way it sounded. It's one of those old words that
        everybody kept using. And it's not just ordinary getting-angry. It's, you
        know, when you . . . say, find the little kids playing sword fights with
        your best skinning knives because sparks come off real metal and you don't
        whether to yell at them for doing something so incredibly dumb because it's
        dangerous or because there's three hours worth of sharpening to do now to
        get all the nicks out.

Apprentice: [frowning]
        I . . . suppose I can see what you're getting at.

Beren:
        Or like when you tell your brother and your younger cousin that the adults
        don't care if they jump on the smokehouse roof because you're angry at them
        for telling about the hole in the big kettle and all the hams fall down and
        all of you get screamed at because you should have known better than to
        believe him any more than he shouldn't have said it.

    [pause]

Apprentice:
        Ah.

Captain:
        Or, for example, Morgoth, after discovering that someone's nicked a Silmaril
        off his crown.

Beren: [straight-faced]
        No, none of my elders ever set the hearth-guard on us, not even when we
        accidentally ruined some of the laundry testing to see if wet fabric really
        was fireproof.

Captain:
        Perhaps more like Feanor discovering that someone had invited his siblings
        to dinner and hadn't bothered this time to give him the opportunity to turn
        the invitation down? --Though I only heard about that at second-hand, so I
        can't vouchsafe that it would quite fit the definition.

Apprentice: [dry]
        I do begin to get the picture.

    [to Huan]

        --What are you about?

    [Huan only grins and wags his tail -- it's perfectly obvious that he's in dog
    Elysium, lying down having lots of different people to pet him]

Captain:
        Well, run along -- go find out something useful and report back here when
        you have.

Apprentice:
        You're enjoying this, aren't you?

Captain: [smiling]
        Clever, aren't you?

    [shaking his head, Nienna's Apprentice goes off. The Captain lounges on the rocks
    next to where they have set up their game, watching.]

Ranger:
        What happened to Lord Edrahil, sir?

Captain:
        We lost him to chess again.

    [his subordinates shake their heads knowingly. Beren gives them all questioning looks]

        Fingolfin's an absolute fiend for the game and not too many are good enough to
        give him a decent match. Those who are tend to be rather . . . wary of being
        conscripted, these days. Princess Aredhel saw an opening and bolted, and in the
        interest of winning the High King to our side he stepped into the gap. --Not
        that it would take much prompting in any case. Since he's also too proud to
        lose quickly and get it over with, it could be quite a while.

Youngest Ranger: [gesturing to the tafl setup]
        Speaking of chess -- do you want to play, sir?

Captain:
        And see how fast he can break his record for trouncing me? No, I'll just enjoy
        the calm until the next crisis hits. Who's winning?

Youngest Ranger:
        We are. Beren's won four, and I've won four.

Beren: [frowning]
        See, I would have said "nobody." But you're right, we're both winning. It's
        funny -- same situation, two totally different ways of looking at it.

Captain: [bland]
        You know, that's practically profound.

Beren:
        I thought you liked kingstone, sir.

Captain:
        Oh, as a diversion it's all right. But it isn't my preferred diversion, if
        others are to be had. Like watching ice form, for one.

    [pause]

Beren:
        Oh. --That boring, huh?

Captain:
        Ice crystals are quite fascinating, the way they sheet over a pond.

Beren:
        Yeah, but you usually watch stuff like that when you're waiting for something
        to actually happen.

    [without looking up from the board]

        Run into House Feanor on your mission, sir?

    [pause]

Captain:
        Ah -- no.

Beren:
        You didn't ask me why I asked that.

    [silence]

        You're favoring your arm, too. What happened?

Captain:
        . . .

Beren:
        All right, that means that the reason for it was something about me.

    [everyone now watching with interest -- the Captain looks away, with an expression
    of self-directed exasperation]

        But it wasn't the Feanorians. Huh. --Was it that guy who came in with you?

Captain:
        Beren--

Beren:
        'Cause Huan likes him. He was the one who brought Amarie in here. And I think
        he's the same one who brought us over here from wherever I was at the beginning,
        only I'm not sure because everything was really hazy then. If it was him, there
        was something besides, or else I don't think Huan would still be happy to see
        him, if he was trying to hurt you.

    [pause]

        I don't think he's really an Elf, either.

    [those around him share looks]

Captain:
        Why would you think that, now?

Beren: [shrugging]
        Doesn't look the same as Amarie. Something about the -- not color, but something
        like that -- of the light. Like the difference between a real piece of rock-
        crystal and a piece of glass, kind of. I remember once there was a case my uncle
        had to try, where there was a foreign merchant who sold a brooch to somebody in
        Drun that turned out not to be real -- it was real, but not what it was supposed
        to be, see -- So anyway the barbarian guy claimed he'd been cheated in turn and
        gave back the money, but my uncle kept the brooch to keep him honest after and
        paid him for the price of the tin and the glass, which wasn't much. He showed
        it to us after they got back, and the funny thing was, it looked the same --
        I mean, it looked right, you'd say, oh, that's gold and gems, all right --
        until my aunt put hers, that came from here--

    [he stops for a second, and closes his eyes]

        --came from Nargothrond and was actually made of gold and crystal, not just
        a thin -- wash? right? -- over the cheap metal. And then when you had the one
        that was solid and the fake one side by side, you'd never think that they were
        the same thing at all. Only this is more like the difference between a little
        bit of light coming from a coal, and a little bit of light coming from a candle
        in a lamp that's mostly closed. One of them still has more light -- only you
        can't see it.

    [long silence -- the Ten look meaningfully at each other.]

Captain:
        Very interesting. --As it so happens, you're right. --But he'd be much obliged
        if you didn't mention it.

Beren:
        Okay.

    [he moves a piece on the board and takes two pawns]

        Your move.

    [looking up]

        Is that good enough?

    [the Captain nods]

Captain:
        No more oaths. I trust you.

Beren:
        Thank you.

    [pause]

        I don't know what you guys think you're doing, let alone whether it will
        work , but -- thank you.

Second Guard:
        I wonder how it is that you can tell? None of us could be quite sure.

    [Beren shrugs again -- the Captain laughs not unkindly]

Captain:
        Perhaps any Man's ghost might, or perhaps . . . only one who's touched a
        Silmaril, or is married to an Elf, or has passed through Melian's labyrinth,
        or been healed by a deity's child, or . . . so many possibilities, and no way
        at all to put them to the proof. Normal rules don't seem to apply to Beren
        any more than to Huan here.

    [Huan, hearing his name, looks over and thumps his tail]

        That reminds me--

    [frowning]

        You kept saying something odd, but I didn't want to interrupt you any more --
        you kept on saying, or seeming to say, that Huan said things. Now I presumed
        I was misunderstanding -- surely you meant that Luthien was with Huan when she
        berated you -- not that the two of them took you to task for running away.

Beren:
        That's right.

Captain:
        Beren.

Beren:
        Uh, that's right, Huan was yelling at me too.

    [realizing that this is getting him some very strange looks]

        What? He can talk.

Warrior:
        Well, to animals, of course. We've seen him speak with other kelvar, not
        just the pack, but -- speak? Like us?

Beren:
        Yeah.

    [at their expressions]

        I'm not joking. Or crazy. He doesn't do it very often. But you can ask
        Tinuviel, she was there too.

    [everyone looks at Huan, who grins happily and whines for more attention, waving
    a forepaw where he's lying down]

Warrior: [smiling uncertainly, not sure if it's a joke, still]
        So . . . what does he say?

Beren: [shrugging]
        Different things. He told her what to do in Nargothrond, and he told me to
        stop being an unthinking idiot and what we had to do to get into Angband
        that might work. And . . .

    [he gets quieter, looking into Huan's eyes]

        . . . he . . . told me good-bye, that this was the fate he'd Foreseen us meeting
        maybe, and he was sorry he hadn't been able to save me, and that we'd meet again,
        and not to be afraid . . . and he called me brother.

    [very subdued, they look at the Hound, and at Beren, and at each other.]

Captain: [very softly]
        You said he sent the Eagles to you.

    [Beren nods]

        I think  . . . perhaps friend Huan is lord of far more than dogs.

    [into the awed, no longer doubting silence, Huan makes a short, sharp, "don't
    stare at me!" bark and elbows closer until he can jam his head under the Captain's
    arm for a hug before stretching up into a half-crouch -- then grabbing at the
    nearest Guard's trailing scabbard and worrying it playfully like a stick]

Fourth Guard: [dragged half-sideways]
        Hey!

    [Beren slaps at Huan's forepaw, making him settle down]

Beren:
        Definitely more -- but still Lord of Dogs.

    [the Captain laughs, and then suddenly freezes, shaking his head]

Captain: [carefully not looking over at Finarfin on the hill]
        And now I win the distraction prize. I do hope you lot are aware that his
        Majesty's father is in the vicinity?

Youngest Ranger:
        It's all right, sir -- they already had it out, and Beren told him off. We
        didn't even have to intervene.

Beren: [sighing]
        For the last time -- I didn't tell him off.

Captain:
        Oh, I doubt it.

Beren:
        Doubt what?

Captain:
        That that was the last time. So what is it? --Damn. I really don't need this
        right now.

Beren:
        I don't think he's going to hassle you again, Sir. I guess they only got the
        really short version in Tirion. He assumed it was different from the way it
        really happened and then Tinuviel told about it in more detail and he realized
        it was different from what he had imagined had happened to us and he's really
        upset.

    [pause]

        He might come apologize, given how much he and Finrod have in common, unless
        maybe he'd think it would be too rude to bring it up to you.

    [several people glance over at Finarfin in the distance]

Captain: [not sounding at all enthusiastic]
        Perhaps I should go over and talk to him, then . . .

Beren: [shrugs]
        He doesn't really want to talk to anybody right now, except maybe Finrod, but
        he doesn't really want to talk to him either . . . okay, I guess I did kind
        of tell him off. --But I wasn't as tough on him as he was on himself.

Captain:  [running his hands over his face]
        No, I don't imagine that you were. Oh Lady -- more complications for Himself
        to deal with. What'll be next, I wonder?

First Guard: [looking over at the empty doorway]
        Ware!

Beren:
        Sir, you know you're never supposed to ask that.

    [enter two Noldor shades, elegantly outfitted and armed -- James Purefoy
    (Mansfield Park, A Knight's Tale) and Ben Browder (as "Captain Larraq," Farscape)
    might portray them -- wearing expressions both sardonic and disdainful. Next
    to them, Finrod's people suddenly look a lot scruffier and more motley; Huan
    straightens up a bit and whines, but does not get up or make any other sound.]

Captain: [snorting]
        It would be him. And he's learned to bring a second. Damn, damn, damn. Beren--

Beren:
        --I know, stay out of the way.

Captain:
        Actually, I was going to say, use your discretion. That's the former Lord
        Seneschal of Formenos, who learned the hard way that ambushing an ambush of
        Balrogs is a bad idea, and making fun of King Finrod an even worse one --
        and his counterpart from Aglon, who didn't make it to Nargothrond during the
        Bragollach. They're likely to say absolutely anything and do whatever they
        think they can get away with. I'm planning on letting someone else deal with
        any necessary violence myself right now.

Beren:
        Sounds like a good plan to me.

    [the Feanorian lords stop a short ways off (ie, a safe distance) and address each other:]

Lord Seneschal of Formenos: [loudly]
        What an impossible place this is -- if it weren't enough that the facilities
        should be dismal and the amenities nonexistent, the service too must be a bad
        joke on top of it all! Things were much better managed under my control at
        Formenos.

Lord Warden of Aglon:
        Even in the barbarous circumstances of the Old Country we did better than
        this. --Of course, the company at Aglon was far preferable as well.

Formenos:
        That . . . would not be difficult to accomplish, I think. Saving yourself,
        of course.

Aglon: [graciously]
        Likewise. --Stars above, what have we here . . . ?

    [their attempts to suddenly "notice" the others lose some of the effect as the
    affectation of surprise is overtaken by the real thing at the realization of the
    scope of the project which has taken over most of the back wall by now. The Lord
    Warden of Aglon rallies valiantly, though:]

        I'm afraid that I can't approve of the results of such economizing efforts.
        Charity projects given to students never equal work created by fully-trained
        and reimbursed professionals.

Formenos: [sniffing disdainfully]
        Do you think that's it?

Aglon:
        Well, I can't see anyone paying for that, can you? --At least, I would most
        certainly hope that they're not.

Formenos:
        Oh, I don't know -- I've had grave doubts about the aesthetic sensibilities
        of our lords and masters ever since I asked the Earthqueen about those bizarre
        little animals with the horns and she replied, and I quote, "But they're so
        adorable, in a homely little way." It's one thing to say that they serve a
        useful purpose in irrigating impacted root systems in grasslands, but to claim
        to find them "perfectly charming" argues a blindness born of partiality.

Aglon:
        Which kelvar were those? The ruel?

Formenos:
        No -- though I agree, they also seem badly-constructed and unnecessary to me.
        If you want a goat, why not make a goat? and if a deer, well, we already have
        various sorts of deer. How many of these betwixt-and-between herbivores does
        Arda need? I was speaking of those middling grey animals, something like a
        cross between hounds and swine, with spiked snouts -- I've no idea what they
        are, since she only asked me -- with what, in my opinion, was most unseemly
        levity -- what I wanted to call them. I understand, however, that they are
        remarkably docile and requiring of attention, which may explain the attraction
        somewhat.

    [various of their targets swallow grins]

        Still, I find it difficult that that even the Powers would want this mess --
        though equally, I can't believe they'd let anyone make such a chaotic construct
        in their offices were it not by design.

    [Huan makes a plaintive grumble -- the Lord Warden of Aglon scowls at him, and he
    puts his head down on his forepaws for the moment, unhappy at the conflict, but
    not ashamed of his decisions.]

Captain: [genial]
        This is "let" as in "not worth one's time or trouble to make us desist or
        undo, for the present," not "let" in the sense of "certainly, do whatever
        you please." Rather like Lady Yavanna letting Feanor make the Silmarils,
        as a matter of fact. We didn't ask permission to be back here, or the rest
        of it, any more than you've done.

Aglon: [coldly]
        They seem to let you get away with an awful lot.

Captain:
        You haven't figured it out yet, have you?

    [as they haven't gotten this cryptic remark either, the Feanorians ignore him
    -- the Lord Seneschal of Formenos scrutinizes the mural with a critical eye,
    while his junior associate strolls over to frown upon Beren.]

Aglon:
        So you really have got an illegal mortal back here as well.

Beren:
        Is it my move or yours?

Youngest Ranger:
        Er -- yours.

Aglon:
        Mortal!

Beren: [looking up]
        What? The name is Beren, by the way, since you didn't ask. Seems kind of
        silly bothering about titles now, but there used to be a "Lord" in front
        and "of Dorthonion" after, too.

Aglon:
        Do you presume to ignore me, Usurper?

Beren: [sighing]
        --This again? What is it with you people? Were you even talking to me before?
        'Cause it didn't sound like it.

Aglon:
        Stand up when your superiors address you.

Beren: [calling over]
        Were they ever in our chain of command?

    [the Captain shakes his head]

        Sorry. We're busy.

    [the Lord Warden of Aglon steps forward and disarranges the pieces with his foot;
    the players exchange disgusted looks]

Aglon: [pleasantly]
        Again, I repeat my request. --Stand up when I speak to you.

Fourth Guard: [undertone]
        Not what I call a request. And they complain about the language changing
        over there!

Beren: [tolerantly]
        You know, I'd learned not to do stuff like that by the time I was eight.
        Of course, getting walloped, or extra chores, and having to apologize is
        a good incentive to mind your manners and actually think before acting
        on impulse.

    [the Youngest Ranger starts putting the game back together, not saying a word]

Aglon: [looking down with folded arms]
        You've an insolent mouth for one here but on sufferance, human lawbreaker.

Beren: [nods]
        Horse thief, dog thief, jewel thief, breaking and entering, infiltration,
        sabotage, assassination attempts, you name it. I've got kings, warlords,
        demigods, princes, armies and now gods upset at me, so you're going to have
        to wait your turn. --Though some of those do overlap. --Your former bosses
        must be pretty steamed over the fact that I succeeded where they didn't even
        have the nerve to try -- I imagine that must take some of the satisfaction
        out of his curse coming true for Celegorm. And if even half the story's
        gotten around by now, people have to be looking pretty strangely at Curufin
        for trying to kill the one person who actually succeeded in defeating Morgoth
        in a duel.

Aglon:
        You! What claim is this, braggart? You, defeat the Lord of Fetters?

Beren: [shaking his head]
        Not me -- my wife. The King's daughter of Doriath. I just chipped off the
        Silmaril after she was done. --Which is still more than any of you guys ever
        accomplished.

    [the Warden of Aglon goes to kick Beren over where he is sitting -- which proves
    inadvisable, as the Sindarin Ranger quietly slams a fist -- with chessman -- into
    his supporting knee, knocking him painfully flat and following by leaping on him
    before he can recover, yanking his arm up behind his back and setting the point
    of a realistically-remembered dagger to the back of his neck. As his senior
    associate moves to assist him the Captain extends his uninjured leg, tripping him,
    upon which the nearest of the Ten efficiently subdue and disarm him as well,
    more-or-less assisted by Huan, who has bounded exuberantly in over the gameboard.]

Formenos: [almost speechless with fury]
        You -- dishonorable ruffians--

Captain:
        I beg your pardon? Beren wasn't doing anything to you -- to say nothing of
        the rest of us.

Formenos:
        Setting upon us with guile and greater numbers--!

Captain:
        I don't understand.

Aglon: [snarling in pain]
        You outnumber us, idiot!

Captain: [puzzled frown]
        Er -- yes, surely you'd noticed that already? That's usually the way it is.

Formenos:
        But -- you --

Captain:
        Changed the rules. It happens, in war. I should think he'd be aware of it,
        even if you didn't live long enough to learn that lesson.

    [getting up, looking casual but in fact being careful, points to the door]

        Bring them along, this is getting boring.

    [his subordinates do so, with a little more enthusiasm than necessary.]

Aglon: [shouting as they drag him along]
        The Weaver will hear of this!

Youngest Ranger: [patiently, still holding him up at knifepoint]
        Yes, milord. I'm sure she will, if she hasn't heard you already.

    [over on the hill, Finarfin is jarred out of his introspection by the ruckus,
    and stares over through the shadows at the fray]

Formenos: [ice]
        I will bring my complaints to the Lord of the Halls himself, and your lord
        will be answerable for your behaviour.

Captain:
        Can you be sure to do it while we're around? I want to hear what his Lordship
        has to say after hearing you complain.

Warrior:
        I'll wager the buckle with lions on it that I used to have that he'll ask,
        "Why are you wasting my time with this?"

Captain:
        Hm, no, I think it'll be, "You should be grateful you got off as lightly as
        you did, since you won't the next time you try kicking one of their friends
        in the face." --Pitch 'em out.

    [the Nargothronders expel their rivals out into the corridor, where the two other
    Noldor shades pick themselves up and after a moment's temptation, consider the
    advisability and limp off, their expressions boding no good. As the victorious
    party returns to their companions, Finarfin catches the eye of the Captain and
    beckons him over to the hill; after a moment's hesitation the latter obeys the
    summons. As Beren's opponent kneels down and finishes restoring their match:]

Beren: [undertone]
        Is he going to be okay?

Youngest Ranger: [whispering]
        He's too swarn to give in for anything that would in life heal of its own.
        He'd rather just put up with it until he can forget about it. Mind over mind,
        I guess you'd call it.

Beren:
        Does it hurt, to . . . disappear?

Youngest Ranger:
        No. A little bit disorienting, that's all. It's just a matter of honour not
        to give anything he isn't prepared to take.

Beren:
        I see.

    [still worried, nodding towards where the Captain is coming to stand before the
    living King]

        What about . . . ?

Youngest Ranger: [shrugging]
        You didn't have any trouble managing him.

Beren:
        No, but -- he wasn't my boss, ever, either. If I was his liege it would have
        been different.

    [he sighs and frowns at the board, trying to remember what he was going to do,
    since nothing else is in his control. The camera's focus shifts to the hill,
    where the Captain bows, his expression a bit wary, to Finarfin:]

Finarfin:
        Dreamt I, or did in truth behold, deed of mayhem at yonder egress?

Captain:
        I wouldn't call it mayhem, sir -- a spot of rowdiness, perhaps. But nothing
        so much as mayhem.

Finarfin: [disapproving]
        Thou dost seem somewhat worse for wear, and yet hast not learnt lesson to
        avoid affray, than enter it. For I am certain thou dost go somewhat halt,
        nor that my fancy, for all thou wouldst conceal.

Captain:
        Oh, that's nothing. That lot can't touch me. --Couple of scratches from a
        friendly set-to with security.

Finarfin:
        Art not content to be rebel, and thy offense forgiven, but still must thou
        challenge the gods? Or dost thou jest? --I cannot longer tell, with thee.

Captain: [mischievous]
        Don't worry about it, sir -- sometimes I can't either.

Finarfin: [grim smile]
        And were those known to me, that thy confederates did thus discharge from
        here in such high-spirited glee?

Captain:
        I'm not sure, my lord. I can't recall if they ever visited the House in the
        old Days, and you might have met them around the City, but I don't really know.
        They're followers of your eldest brother. They felt like starting some trouble,
        beginning with Lord Beren, so we obliged.

    [pause]

Finarfin:
        I ken not whether I should commend, else condemn -- yet neither, I deem, will
        make any difference to thy deeds.

Captain:
        I'm afraid not, my lord.

Finarfin: [dryly]
        Nay, and why should it, at this late pass, that did not formerly?

    [the Captain winces a little. Pause]

Captain: [hopeful]
        Was that all, sir?

Finarfin:
        Nay, thou shalt not 'scape so easily, lad.

    [checks briefly, and continues with a faint grimace:]

        When I did ban you from my doors, I spake in anger, not in considered judgment.

Captain:
        But not without justice.

Finarfin:
        Still 'twas of wrath, that word of mine, and so I would temper it with mercy:
        thou mayest of a certain come to see thy kin, when ever thou dost will, when
        thou departest hence.

Captain:
        Thank you, sir.

    [he sighs]

        --Assuming they want anything to do with me, of course.

Finarfin: [dryly]
        Make no doubt of that.

    [aside]

        And that indeed hath weight upon my clemency -- for I would not gladly face
        thy sister with such a decision of my making!

Captain:
        At least I've given up slamming doors when I lose my temper.

    [Finarfin gives him a sidelong look]

        It doesn't do for a senior officer -- far less for a spy.

Finarfin:
        The singular -- openness -- of these Halls is far from convenient, and eke
        most disquieting to we that are little used.

Captain: [sympathetic]
        That it can be.

Finarfin: [sternly]
        Yet still thou shalt not have place nor post again, among my people, that
        hast deserted aught thou didst have.

    [the Captain nods --silence. Relenting:]

        --Unless thou canst not find other station, and work betimes. There shall
        be place always at hearthside for thee.

Captain: [gently]
        I thank you, my lord. But that will not be necessary, I think. I wouldn't want
        to take anyone's job, not just hers, and I don't know that I'd be comfortable
        peeling potatoes and plucking fowl -- not that I've objection to such work as
        such, but I doubt that, quite frankly, anyone else would be quite easy around
        me -- or that I could keep from trying to reorganize any situation you put me
        into, for efficiency as I saw it.

Finarfin:
        I would not have thee forwandered and wanting for want of friends.

Captain:
        You needn't fear for that, Sir. Aman's a big place, and I know how to live
        off the land: so long as I don't kill any white deer by mistake, I should be
        quite all right.

Finarfin:
        Thou wouldst live as our ancestors in the wilds, ere thou'd dwell 'neath
        my roof?

Captain: [still more gently]
        Would you make me a lord, set among your highest counsellors, and give me
        authority to do as I saw fit throughout the land?

    [they look at each other without speaking]

        I didn't expect so.

Finarfin: [cool]
        So it is power thou dost hunger for, more than all else.

Captain: [untroubled by the accusation]
        My lord, I know as well as any that you never coveted power over others, nor
        pride of place, nor anything saving the first love of your father. And yet --
        now that you have had this task of rule, that never was wanted, and surely
        cannot be quite so light a burden, despite the peace of Valinor without us
        to trouble it, could you ever set it aside, and gladly return to the quiet
        of study and song and your arts, leaving it to another while you stood by
        powerless to correct?

    [Finarfin starts to say something, and cannot.]

        Interesting -- it is not only we unhoused who cannot speak counter to what
        is held at heart, in this place.

    [the King gives him a Look of mingled exasperation and admiration]

Finarfin:
        Was't ever so, that thou wert so wise, and only kept thy counsel to thine
        own self, in former Day?

Captain:
        I . . . don't recall, truly, any more. I don't remember that it mattered much
        to me, one way or the other, what was said by you and your brothers, and your
        father, save that it distressed you, and Lady Earwen, and the children, and
        so us for your sakes, that were your people -- except to make remark upon
        someone else's words to amuse those near me. The arguments and rivalries didn't
        change the fact that I had to make sure there was meat on the table, and didn't
        prevent me from riding out in the wind and the light of the Trees, or wandering
        through the salt-marshes when it looked like the water was the sky for stars.

Finarfin: [shaking his head]
        How dost thou support this, that wert ever restive within doors? Is't not
        passing heavy on thy soul?

Captain: [frankly]
        Yes. --But I have friends, and we are not wanting in amusement, and it is
        only for a time. I can wait.

Finarfin:
        If mine eldest son's true-love reconcileth not with him, I think he will
        not go from here.

    [pause]

        And thou wilt bide here as well. --Why? Why hast thou not reproach, nor for
        this, nor for the manner of thy -- death?

Captain: [after a brief pause]
        I would not, I think ever have cared for greater matters, had not the world
        we knew ended, and I caught by the lure of lands still more strange and distant.
        And then -- there was need, and I understood it, and my skills as slayer of
        birds and deer made an obligation to protect as well as feed in time of famine,
        and it turned out that I could see better than most the best ways to do that.
        And my attentiveness, in noting this Elf's scowl or that one's smile, that had
        been no more than a private aside to friend on envy, or alliance, or hope --
        proved matter much more serious, when we were at war. And your son led us
        through all of it, the Ice, and the Dark, and the bitter days when we nearly
        slew each other in the Old World, before the Deed of Fingon, and trusted me
        with the defense of his kingdom, for many a Great Year -- nor blamed me, when
        I failed in the end.

    [silence]

Finarfin:
        I have wept for thee, as for all my rungate House, in anger and in soreness
        of heart and in bitter shame that might not save ye from that madness. And
        now -- but only now -- have I wept for thee. But though it be but little of
        while, think it no less true than those most selfish tears. I shall yet fear
        for thee, though thou dost urge other.

Captain:
        My lord, please don't. I'm sure you have troubles enough with your family
        and Tirion and all. There are possibilities, prospects, that may come to
        pass. And if not -- there are worse things than to be known as "the lunatic
        who set out to map the entire continent on foot," after all.

Finarfin:
        And if it cometh to worse pass than that?

    [silence]

        Thou dost not speak thy thought, then.

Captain:
        I do not need to -- and I would rather not distress you further. --But
        it's true.

    [Finarfin discreetly rubs at the corner of his eye. Glancing over towards
    the waterfall:]

        Sir, will you kindly excuse me? My friends are growing concerned, and the
        Beoring most of all.

    [the Noldor King nods without speaking -- as he turns to go:]

        Er -- should I pack a lunch, my lord?

Finarfin:
        Thy pardon?

Captain:
        When I come to see my family. You said you didn't want me scrounging off the
        House, and so I thought maybe I should arrange to bring my own meals along.

    [he looks perfectly serious -- Finarfin is not fooled by this apparent innocence]

Finarfin:
        Nay, I had forgotten how much we shall have missed thy freakish jests as
        well. An thou didst come and partake of none but thine own provender, and
        such insult to the House revealed as mine own insult unto thee, I had
        ne'er heard end of it from thy mother nor my son's mother. --But--

    [forestalling with a raised hand]

        --an thou wouldst bring, as guest-gift, such kill as thou wouldst, brace of
        partridge or other thou hast taken, nor should we take amiss, nor seek to
        find insult where none be meant. My son hath given thee discretion in great
        matters -- I will not doubt you in such lesser ones. Go, join thy friends,
        I'll not trouble thee, nor they need send rescue -- not that I deem thou
        truly needest such, that hast held command over many, and come back from
        the War far changed from the youth that left us, though no more, verily,
        than Enedrion, that hath learned to serve without argument nor haughty look,
        though stranger yet that he should cast himself willingly against me for
        thy sake, that formerly had never a care for any whose art was not noble
        nor enduring.

    [at the Captain's surprised glance -- faint smile]

        --Nay, didst thou think I perceivéd not? Peace -- go to thy companions.

Captain:
        Will you stay here, alone, my lord?

    [he looks meaningfully over to the falls]

Finarfin:
        I should not be so welcome as thou dost deem, I misdoubt.

Captain:
        If I say so, you will be, sir.

Finarfin:
        Belike -- belike after. For the nonce -- I would have peace.

Captain: [bowing]
        We'll try to be quieter, then. Afraid I can't promise anything, though.
        Especially if Huan gets going again.

    [Finarfin waves him off, struggling to restrain an inappropriate smile]

    [things have settled back into the everyone-talks-at-once, usually with energetic
    gestures, and nobody listens, mode. Somehow Aule's Apprentice has inserted himself
    into the discussion, by means of an empty chair and assuming that he must have
    something to contribute, most likely. Overlapping:]

Irmo:
        Even if nothing had transpired to interfere, you wouldn't have had more than
        a half-yen at the most--

Vaire:
        I think that you're simply wrong, dear,  in your opinion that his commitment
        is equal to yours--

Luthien: [interrupting, to Irmo]
        --But if you consider how many years many couples spend not seeing each
        other, then fifty or sixty years all together can come out the same almost--

Nerdanel: [aside]
        Thy words cut deeper than any chisel--

Namo: [quietly to his wife]
        Excuse me, I need to check on things.

Vaire: [nodding -- to Luthien:]
        But he did leave you repeatedly--

Luthien:
        Not because he wanted to.

Assistant: [with a slight emphasis on her title, not enough to come across as rude]
        Your Highness -- no one forced him to part from you, by means of capture
        or other duress. I'm afraid that the fact of Lady Vaire's assertion is not
        open to denial

Nerdanel:
        Yet, sir, nor mayest thou deny, that to go from another for fear of that
        one's further safekeeping, is far other than to go from one for love of
        another, or others, or for seeking after property, or vengeance, or to
        make such departure, and compel choice of same upon another, in manner
        of test, that one does truly love -- all these be most greatly differing
        from the former?

Aule:
        And yet this Man too did in fact leave her for the same piece of property,
        and revenge--

Ambassador: [reluctant both to contradict a Power, and to defend Beren]
        But, my Lord, there might indeed be said to be compulsion, in the choice
        my King set upon him--

    [the Apprentice comes in, answering Namo's summons, and looking extremely harried
    as he goes over to the Lord of the Hall's bench]

Namo: [peremptory]
        All right, what's going on now?

Apprentice:
        Erm . . .

    [he looks rather panic-stricken]

Namo: [exasperated]
        The rogue? Remember? That's one of the four things you're supposed to be
        doing -- waiting for security to check in, taking complaints, forestalling
        trouble and running errands as needed. How come you're so distracted all
        the time?

Apprentice:
        It -- isn't all the time, my Lord: by my calculations it's only fifty-seven
        percent of the time--

    [at Namo's Look]

        Sorry, Sir.

Namo:
        So?

Apprentice:
        Yes? --Ah, no -- I mean, nothing is going on, the rogue hasn't been seen again
        yet, and I did put a stop to the rioting in the halls. That is to say--

    [he fumbles around, the Lord of the Halls covers his eyes, and the Weaver is
        sympathetic in turn:]

Vaire:
        Don't worry, dear, we understand. Just do the best that you can -- I don't
        expect the impossible of you.

Aule's Assistant: [undertone]
        And a good thing too!

    [the Apprentice looks even more abashed and defensive]

Vaire:
        Who was it this time?

Apprentice:
        Fingolfin's daughter and her recusant husband. At least to start with--

Vaire: [shaking her head]
        Whatever possessed that boy to introduce such an appalling pastime? And of
        all the people to think of it! And he isn't even embarrassed about it.

Namo: [lacing her fingers in his own consolingly]
        You must admit, though, they get it over with a lot faster now that he
        devised swords. At least we don't get the shouting matches that go on
        until they run out of insults. I think the shortest one went on for a
        fortnight nonstop.

Vaire:
        --Yes.

    [they share one of those rueful smiles typical of those who share a longtime
        work/life experience, like ships' crew, or parents. To the Apprentice:]

        Just -- what's that expression you like to use? -- "keep bringing out the
        fires," or however it goes.

Apprentice:
        "Putting out," --  it comes from summertimes in droughty regions, or an
        alternate possibility is that it derives from the buildup of internal heat
        in mulch heaps, but in either case it comes from agrarian societies lacking
        the ability to reliably control the weather, or so Finrod informs me. Ah --
        sorry, my Lady, I don't expect you're interested in that.

Namo: [apparently completely serious -- surely not with any wicked amusement?]
        Look at it this way -- you may be obliged to spend time with the involuntarily
        discorporate, but at least you're picking up cultural contexts for your trivia
        that you couldn't easily get out of the Archives.

Apprentice:
        Erm . . . yes, Sir.

Luthien: [offended]
        What's wrong with being dead?

    [he gives her a nervous look and laugh]

        I'm serious! Why does he say it like you think it's punishment?

Apprentice:
        Ah -- please --

    [he looks over at the Lord of the Halls, who just raises his eyebrows back at
        him -- no help there.]

        I -- please don't get angry, Princess Luthien, it's -- just -- not normal,
        for people to be going about without any bodies on.

Luthien:
        Mom always said there were lots of spirits in Valinor who weren't solid and
        lived in the air.

    [her compatriot the Ambassador nods agreement; Irmo covers a slight smile, and
    the Earthlord's aide is far too bland in his expression to be innocent of
    amusement at his counterpart's discomfiture.]

        Manir and Suruli, she called them. Oh, and some who live in the water, and
        simply are water, or more like waves in the water. No bodies either -- do
        you act different around them?

Apprentice: [desperately]
        Yes, but they never had them -- they didn't have them to start with and then
        lose them.

Luthien:
        What difference does it make?

Apprentice:
        It's -- it's just creepy. It's not the way things are supposed to be!

    [Luthien gives him a narrow Look]

Luthien:
        You seem almost scared. Why? Does it make you think it might happen to you?
        Or have you been listening to too many spooky stories about people getting
        killed after seeing a ghost or being led into some danger or being possessed?
        I bet I can tell you plenty more you've never even heard of, about headless
        warriors and haunted bridges and the ghosts of bulls on the roof, and I bet
        I can even make up some more just as good as those, too!

Apprentice: [austerely]
        From my studies in the Archives I know that not all of those are fiction,
        your Highness.

Luthien:
        Yes, but more of them are than aren't. Maybe you don't sit up late making up
        stories in Valinor, but trying to come up with an even better story than the
        next person is something we all do -- mortals and Elves -- in Beleriand. I
        can see you know I'm right.

    [curious]

        Are you really that afraid of us? Even you Valinoreans?

    [she turns to look right at Nerdanel, catching her in a slight flinch]

        It seems strange that you'd be haunted without even being haunted, after
        a manner of speaking!

Nerdanel: [with a wry smile]
        Nay -- for in the reality beneath the Moon and Sun, few needs must think
        upon such matters, when they are not forced upon our recollection. --Or so
        it is for many, I do believe.

Luthien: [looking back at Nienna's Apprentice]
        Why? Have any of us "discorporates" actually done anything to harm you here?

    [the Apprentice looks guilty]

        Have I done anything to you except "yell at" you? -- which is only what I'd
        do if I were here in the flesh as well.

Apprentice:
        Well -- no, your Highness.

Luthien:
        So what's the problem, hm? Why are you so troubled by us? You're not really
        scared, are you? You seem more disgusted and curious at the same time.

Apprentice: [pleading]
        My Lord--

    [the Lord of the Halls shakes his head]

Namo:
        When you arranged with  my sister to take you on, you already knew she spends
        much of her time here. Did you think she was going to leave you home to sweep
        out her Halls or something to teach you patience? This is another learning
        experience. Now either answer Luthien's question, or don't.

Apprentice: [sighing]
        Yes, Sir.

    [back and forth between Luthien and Vaire]

        --Partly. It's also the constant complaining that I have to listen to -- not
        from you, your Highness -- about how there aren't any bright colors or lights
        or proper sensations -- though part of that's the decor, begging your pardon,
        ma'am -- and how dull and boring it is with nothing to do except remember and
        talk -- at least until your cousin arrived -- though I do agree -- well, think
        that they have a point, at least -- with the Sindar who say it would be much
        improved by some potted plants, at least--

Vaire: [nettled]
        If you want plants, you can figure out a way to make them grow in here.

    [pointedly]

        --If you haven't enough to keep you busy, that is.

Apprentice: [getting distracted]
        What if we took species that already thrive underground and, oh, sort of
        changed them to make them look like ones from Outside? I'll bet that--

Vaire: [half-rising]
        No! It's hard enough ensuring that fungus doesn't grow in here, given the
        atmospheric conditions, I won't have you encouraging it on purpose!

Apprentice: [meekly]
        Yes, my Lady.

Aule's Assistant: [thoughtful]
        What about artificial plants? It seems to me, -- subject of course to your
        approval, noble ones -- that one might be able to fabricate versions of
        imperishable materials that would be equal to, or even superior, to the
        originals in appearance.

    [Nienna's student raises his hands]

Apprentice:
        I don't know that anyone would be pleased by that. It's the absence of
        growing things, you see. I try to explain that, well, these are the Halls
        of the Dead, you know.

Assistant:
        --Primitives.

    [the Doriathrin lord gives him an affronted look -- his Princess is less
    inhibited by reverence]

Luthien:
        We are not! We had exactly the same problem in Menegroth, and we solved it
        in several ways. One's to bring in live plants in vessels, and just keep them
        in for a little while, and then put them out in the sun again after. Cut
        greenery also works nicely to embellish a hall seasonally.

Vaire:
        But then they dry out, and bits drop off them onto the floor, and have to
        be cleaned up.

Luthien: [shrugging]
        So? Anyway, that's just one thing you can do. What we mostly did, was to make
        sculptures like he--

    [nods towards Aule's aide]

        --was talking about. My mother designed a lot of it, and the Dwarven
        architects built in spaces for the trees and things to go, and some of it
        was carved out of stone, and then painted, and some of it was enameled
        metal attached on, and some of it's glass with colors and wire inside to
        make the leaf-veining. There's all sorts of things one can do.

Nerdanel: [sniffing]
        Myself, I have always favoured the use of stones most aptly colored in
        themselves, the which possess inherently the fitting sheen, as though nature
        indeed had intended for the purpose of the work.

Aule:
        But it's very slow, 'Danel. If you can make exactly the hue you need, why
        not do it? Why waste time hunting about for it?

Assistant:
        My thoughts exactly, Sir.

Nerdanel: [obstinate -- an old argument, obviously]
        Yet must I aver, my Lord, that never doth the made piece hold full richness,
        nor true depth nor variety, that stone which hath grown by longsome layering
        and the free changes of the water, and fire, and weight upon it, shall
        inevitably compass.

Aule:
        But it's exactly the same process! Only faster, in the workshop. I really
        do believe that you only think you can tell the difference because you know
        that one's synthetic.

Luthien:
        Well, and of course, they're never exactly the same as real leaves. But they're
        pretty, and it's fun, in a way, to have something made out of something that it
        isn't, especially if it's very different. It wouldn't be half as interesting if
        they were made of wood, even if you could make ones that looked so much like
        them out of wood, which you can't, because it isn't translucent.

Nerdanel:
        Nor is there translucency in paint!

Luthien: [shaking her head]
        You can make it like enamel, in thin layers, and mix mica in with it. Daeron came
        up with that, to make letters show up on a dark background.

Ambassador: [sadly reminiscent]
        --He was so frustrated that people only ever used the ideas for monograms on
        doors and such.

Luthien:
        Or paint over metal leaf and have the shininess show through that way. We put
        stars on ceilings with that.

    [looking up]

        I bet you could do that in here. And not as much work as any of the rest of it.

    [Vaire and the others look up as well, frowning thoughtfully; --maybe, maybe--]

Assistant:
        Though it would appear terribly derivative, I fear, as though you were trying
        to copy Varda's designs for Taniquetil.

Irmo:
        But the stars are her designs, so any stars are going to be based on her
        work. You might as well say that she was being repetitive herself and
        criticize the inside of the mansion, at that. --I think it would be very
        attractive, Vaire.

Orome: [half-smiling]
        Remind me: how did this turn into a discussion of naturalistic decorating styles?

Namo:
        Very good question.

    [he gives the Apprentice a raised eyebrow]

Apprentice:
        I think I should be getting back to keep an eye on the stone in case anyone
        tries to report in.

    [he makes an unceremonious exit/retreat]

Irmo: [to his brother]
        Do you really think Nia has any hope of succeeding there?

Namo: [remanifesting his mug]
        If not, she's going to be taking me on next.

    [A new individual arrives on scene -- but after a brief alert everyone relaxes
    and the outer sentinels do not change position to block the newcomer. She is
    another shade, but somewhat different in appearance from any other Elves we have
    seen so far -- for one thing, she's a good bit shorter (though still taller than
    Beren) as well as barefoot. There should be a somewhat windblown, beachcomber
    look to her outfit, and her jewelry is all of strands of small pearls. Her speech
    is not as archaic as the other Valinorean Eldar, but should have somewhat of a
    precise intonation -- slightly "old-fashioned" in tone. Julia Ormond might be
    good in this part.]

Teler Maid:
        So you're the ones who have been running and shouting in the halls. I might
        have known it.

Captain: [dignified]
        We were not "running and shouting in the halls." We were conducting an
        experiment. Wh--

    [they tend to cut over each other's sentences like relatives or very old
    acquaintances often do, without noticing or taking offense.]

Teler Maid:
        You could have fooled me. Is--

Captain:
        --So what are you doing here, Curlew?

Teler Maid: [rolling her eyes]
        It is not "Curlew."

Captain:
        --Sanderling? --Murrelet? --Lapwing? It's got to be some sort of shorebird,
        you're standing on one leg again.

    [she adjusts her posture]

Teler Maid: [mock exasperation]
        It is Maiwe, and well you know it.

Captain: [shrugs]
        Curlew, Sea-Mew -- you can't expect me to keep them straight. Next thing
        you'll be saying "jib" and "clinker" like those are real words that mean
        things.

Teler Maid:
        I was going to rail at you, you know.

Captain:
        Rail -- isn't that some kind of waterbird? --Any particular reason? I mean,
        you could do it now, if you wanted.

Teler Maid:
        Are you just going to keep on being silly?

Captain:
        Well -- until you get really annoyed. Or perhaps a little bit before that.
        So why are you here? --Does it have anything to do with why you wanted to
        yell at me?

Teler Maid:
        Not you personally. All who were disturbing of the peace.

    [frowning]

        If you're here, does that mean that he is back, as well?

Captain:
        You didn't hear?

Teler Maid:
        Hear what?

Captain:
        Er . . .

    [she looks up, much as Finrod did just before Finarfin's entrance, and simply
    disappears, not as the Powers, but gradually blending into the background]

Beren:
        --Wow. --Who was that?

Captain:
        Ah--

    [he looks extremely perturbed]

        Maiwe--? Are you all right?

    [she does not reappear]

        She -- used to be a colleague of mine. I -- don't--

    [Beren looks at the Sindarin Ranger, who only shrugs helplessly]

        --Ah. I wonder-- I'll bet that's--

    [the Captain grimaces, shaking his head and calls to the empty air:]

        --Maiwe, if it's the Lord Seneschal again, don't worry -- he can't hurt you
        if you don't allow him, and he'll probably be so embarrassed he'll ignore
        you anyway. And if he isn't we'll send him packing.

Beren:
        What--

    [at that moment the Steward reenters the Hall, looking quite pleased with himself.
    The Captain puts his forehead down on his knee, grimacing.]

First Guard:
       Hullo, Sir. We didn't expect to see you back any time soon.

Warrior:
        We thought you were playing chess with the King's uncle.

 Steward:
        I was. I won.

Second Guard:
        How, Sir?

Steward: [a trifle smugly]
        That is for me to know, and the High King to endeavour to find out.

    [on the further side of one of the columns, the Sea-elf girl reappears and
    leans back against it, her arms folded tightly about herself, visibly in the
    throes of indecision]

Captain:
        Edrahil . . .

Steward:
        What? --Do not, I insist, involve me in another such scheme which requires
        me not to come to your assistance while you get cut to ribbons. I have better
        things to do, believe me on that--

    [the newest visitor makes up her mind and leaves the shelter of the pillar,
    coming out to confront him in silence]

Captain: [unnecessarily]
        A mutual acquaintance of ours is here and has been asking after you.

    [they are staring at each other without hearing his words, she still with folded
    arms and and narrowed eyes, he in total shock and disbelief]

Teler Maid: [grim satisfaction]
        I see that you are returned at last.

    [the Steward continues to stare at her, completely stunned. Beren gets up and goes
    over to him, looking worried, but not interrupting]

Teler Maid: [acerbic]
        I suppose I should not be surprised that you have no greeting for me, when you
        had no farewell before.

Captain: [pleading]
        Maiwe . . .

    [it takes the Steward several attempts before he can manage to say anything]

Steward: [horrified]
        But how -- how long--?

Teler Maid: [tossing her head]
        As to your second, for as long as you have been gone; as to your first, -- can
        you not guess, then?

Steward: [in denial]
        But -- I made certain that your family were all safe, and . . . they were as
        certain as I, that you . . . were at your cousins' home in Tirion . . .

    [he breaks off, grimacing at his own words]

Teler Maid: [sharply]
        I do have other friends, you know. --Or I did.

    [he flinches again]

        After that our last fight I returned home, but did not wish to hear my kin tell
        me what I already knew, that there was for us not a jot of hope of any bliss,
        and I went to a certain house of my acquaintance, where my childhood friends
        would not tell me aught whatsoever, and I might have some small amount of peace
        before going back to my work where I must see you again..

    [with a certain bitter satisfaction:]

        And we went out on their boat, and you were not there to dispraise it, or to
        speak with displeasure of the weather, or the canting of the deck, or the
        noise of the wind, or our crude chanteys, or the food -- and we had but put
        in to port when the Lights went out, and I would have gone back to make sure
        mischance had not befallen you, but my friends persuaded me to wait, that it
        was not safe, and so we waited for word, and then--

    [she stops, not broken up, just angry, staring at him with tight lips]

Steward: [shak