Finarfin:
        For how long didst thou hold sway over the Havens of Balar, then?

Finrod: [shaking his head]
        No, I thought I made that clear -- we were allied with the coasts, and
        maintained the defenses at Brithombar and Eglarest as well as as improving
        the shipyards in the south, but I never administered those areas. Lord
        Cirdan and I were friends, but he was never my subject; it would have
        been absurd for one as inexperienced as I, and a foreigner, to claim
        dominion over the Sea-elves of Beleriand on the grounds of being their
        former King's grandson!  I gave him counsel, sometimes, as he advised
        me well in turn.

Finarfin:
        Indeed, and wert thou not most singularly counselled in the course of
        thy reign throughout?

    [they both glance at the group by the falls, briefly, and Finrod becomes
    very stern]

Finrod:
        I bestowed my trust on those who proved themselves trustworthy, and
        authority on those who showed themselves fit to wield it. If they are not
        the most easy-tempered of Elves, what of it? I know you consider them
        responsible, like everyone else who didn't turn back with you, and a bad
        influence -- but you really don't grasp what things were like in the Old
        Country, how much work there was to be done, and how little ready
        resources to do it with--

    [leaning forward, intense]

        --and especially what the Crossing was like. I needed every trustworthy
        and willing soul I could get. I used my siblings' help when I could -- but
        they had their own domains to administer and Work to do, and I couldn't
        go yanking them off that whenever I needed something looked into. And
        I never did figure out how to be in three places at once. Nor had I your
        option, of delegating or diverting delicate matters of negotiation and
        personal conflict to my partner and co-ruler. So I'll thank you, Father,
        not to speak slightingly of those friends who did stay loyal to me.

    [Finarfin looks down, not saying anything in his own defense]

Amarie: [taut]
        They are rebels, notwithstanding.

Finrod:
        Yes. We are.

    [she looks away, fiddling with her sash, and he does not pursue the matter --
    instead he turns to his elders with an air of innocent curiosity:]

        So -- were you engaging in yet another instance of sibling rivalry
        with us, or was it purely coincidental that we've got the largest
        families of anyone in Valinor, at least as things stood when we left?

Finarfin:
        Thy query is past comprehending, child.

Finrod: [to his father]
        Of course it could simply be that Grandfather wanted a lot of kids,
        and you all simply took it for granted as something to strive for,
        internalizing it without realizing it, and nothing deliberate about
        it, but--

    [to his aunt]

        When my cousins and I were -- not friends, as it after proved, but
        friendly -- we started wondering, after Cur pointed out the respective
        ages and we did up a comparison table, and they remarked on how
        exceptionally pleased you two were when the twins were born, as if
        something had been definitively settled, that you'd gotten so far
        ahead that no one else could catch up.

    [she gives him a very frosty Look]

Nerdanel:
        Thine other uncle hath also more children than most commonly is custom.

Finrod: [blithely]
        We know. I've asked him, but he just ignores the question.

    [shrugs]

        I suppose it could just be coincidence, but there does seem to be
        something in the fact that there do seem to be these batches of
        cousins all right around the same time in our House.

Nerdanel: [quellingly]
        Nay, is it yet more of yon quaint fashion of speech from the Old
        Country? for surely thou dost not mean to speak of people as were
        loaves, else cakes--?

Finarfin: [even more quelling]
        Finrod -- what, deemst thou, thy mother should say unto such
        malapert inquiring?

Finrod: [shrugs]
        I've no idea. That's why I'm asking, because I haven't any way of
        knowing whether it's the truth, and since she isn't here and you
        two are, I'm asking you instead.

Nerdanel:
        Thy manners improvéd not at all in the Old Country.

Finrod: [cheerful]
        I must have lost them back there, too.

    [silence]

Ambassador:
        Majesty, it is not gracious to make light of the matter of unhousing
        -- not all of us have had the same leisure to grow accustomed to the
        business, and such jests are most distressing.

    [the living Elves look relieved that another shade has raised the issue
    where they might not.]

Finrod:
        Sorry. I meant my wits, as it happens. I hear so many witty remarks
        made concerning my lack of sanity on, for lack of better phrasing,
        a daily basis, that it seemed the obvious comparison to me.

    [cheerful]

        So -- were you all having some sort of an artistic competition, then?

    [the camera leaves them and moves to focus on the chess-lessons, where
    the Teler Maid is playing against the Captain, who is presently glaring
    at Beren, who is kneeling down next to the board watching]

Captain:
        Please don't tell me what I should be doing. --Even if you're right.
        And nobody go quoting stupid sayings about things coming and going
        around, either.

Teler Maid: [her brows narrowing as she stares at the board]
        I do not care much for this game.

    [the Youngest Ranger is sitting beside her, advising her on moves]

Youngest Ranger: [encouraging]
        You're doing quite well, for a beginner, truly.

Teler Maid:
        That is not my meaning. In this fashion of it, there is no way to win,
        unless another does die.

Beren:
        Yeah, that's . . . sort of what happens, in war. Which this is based
        on, I'm afraid.

Teler Maid: [shaking her head]
        But might it not happen, that from thinking this so like to war, that
        one might come to think of other Elves--

    [looks at Beren]

        --or Men -- as but such small pieces to be set here and there, and
        in harm's way, and so to be knocked aside without regret, so that the
        purpose of winning be attained?

    [dramatically she flips one of the pawns over with a snap of her fingers
    to reinforce the point, as if shooting a very large marble]

Captain: [blinking]
        Erm -- I don't see how. It's but a game, after all.

First Guard: [disturbed but definite about his answer]
        No, I'm -- sure, it -- isn't possible that any of us should come to
        such a point, where the loss of life meant nothing whatsoever -- that
        would be unthinkable, Maiwe. There would be no difference between us
        and the Enemy's minions at that point.

Teler Maid:
        You were not killed by your own folk.

Captain:
        Not directly.

Teler Maid:
        And does that not but go to show my sayings' truth, that you were set
        aside without regret by others, that did not care enough to care of your
        deaths as if they were their own?!

Captain: [patient]
        There was a Curse invoked, Curlew, and a great deal of other currents
        involved in that turn of affairs.

    [at his words she tosses her head and looks over at the Steward]

Teler Maid:
        And what do you say, my learnéd lord? Think you my notion's but
        folly, as well?

    [the Captain winces at her words; the Steward does not answer at once,
    but instantly stops the strings, making it clear that he's paying
    attention and thinking about it first]

Steward: [carefully]
        It is true that of those who rebelled against our lord, were many
        who favoured the board as a means of honing skills of strategy,
        beyond mere diversion; but at the same time it is no less true that
        the game was unknown, to those who first committed the sacrilege
        of murder against our people.

Teler Maid:
        That is two answers -- which is to say, none at all!

Steward: [nods]
        Indeed, in former days I should have said at once -- Absurd, to think
        that a mere pastime might change the reasoning mind, a mere thing that
        thought employs itself about, as though the wax might shape the burin
        that sculpts it equally, though it be soft and bronze or agate hard.
        But now upon reflection it comes to me that it is true, that what is
        carved does indeed chafe and shape the tool that works it, for its
        respective hardness and softness thereof, and perhaps in like fashion
        the mind should be affected, pendant upon the self's own powers and
        determination. For does not thought, which shapes speech, and gives
        birth to the words that the tongue utters, hold precedence and rule
        over the fleeting sound? And yet--

    [absent-mindedly running his hand around the forepillar of the harp]

        --having seen how varied speech may be, and how alike, and how unlike,
        are the ways and manners of thinking that each has that employs a
        different one, I wonder -- rather, judge it so -- that speech does
        truly shape the mind that makes it, even as the different densities
        of stones, and woods, and metals, do change the sculptor's very hand,
        both in pattern of gesture and by increase of strength. Yet this is
        but analogy, of course, and nothing definite.

Teler Maid:
        You still have not said yea or nay, but yea and nay.

Beren: [frowning]
        Isn't that an Elvish thing? I thought it came from being Eldar.

Steward:
        Were I not fearful of giving offense, I should say that it comes of
        wisdom, which often accompanies years but does not inevitably follow
        upon them, but which may by the course of time and wide experience
        allow to overlook a great many things, as from the topmost branches
        of the tallest trees, and thus reveal that things in truth be other
        than at first presumed while in their midst, as a distance might be
        less great than seemed, or greater, or things thought far apart lie
        close beside, and only such slow and laborious ascent to such a height
        may grant the view, and also must require as well the courage to look
        so far and through so lofty a gap.

    [raising an eyebrow]

        --Or else, at other times, it comes but of mental sloth, that does not
        care to take the trouble to think on it, or possibly of simple ignorance,
        that is too proud to grant it.

    [his ex gives him a wary look, and then an even more uncertain one to their
    companions, who are chuckling over this . . . answer]

Soldier:
        How did you win, sir? Against His Majesty the High King?

Captain:
        I just assumed you cheated with the Sight.

    [nods from several of the Ten]

Steward:
        No, I -- merely played kingstone, where he was playing chess proper.

Beren: [frowning]
        How could you do that?

Steward:
        I took the offensive to his side, by putting my king into play, and
        setting all my pieces in guard around as a doubled nernehta. At first
        he was so thrown by the unprecedent and seeming-madness of such a
        hazardous ploy, that he could not mount an effective defense -- and
        then as certain similarities to unpleasant past events became increasingly
        manifest, aided by the fact that he had drawn black, His Majesty's
        uncle became increasingly, as you would say, rattled. I nearly felt
        badly at putting him in check with my remaining knight. But I doubt the
        stratagem would work again, now that he has had time to study it.

Beren: [solemnly]
        I can see where making him play Morgoth to your Fingolfin might make
        him a tad upset and careless.

Teler Maid:
        But it is little like to Arda, after all's done, no matter how like
        your War -- for when one battle's ended, you but lay the pieces down
        for yet another.

    [she gives them a slightly uncertain, challenging look, receiving only
    sad affirmation in return: only the Steward disagrees at all]

Steward: [shaking his head]
        It is not much like the world Outside -- but it is very like to here.

    [he returns to playing, still quietly; beyond, the Royal Guard sent on
    errand to Fingolfin returns, and approaching the hill, comes up quietly
    and kneels down discreetly behind his King, tapping him on the shoulder
    to get his attention.]

Third Guard: [aside to Finrod, in a rather frustrated tone]
        Sir, your uncle's being gloomy over things again and wants you to go
        talk to him yourself. I did tell him you were busy with your father,
        but he's not in the mood to listen.

    [he notices the surprised expressions of the living Eldar and gives Finrod
    a worried look]

Finrod: [very amused]
        You're scandalizing my family with our informality.

Third Guard:
        Oh.

    [bites his lip, straightening as he kneels, and begins again -- very formal tone]

        --Sire, the High King would have your Majesty attend upon his presence
        most presently, and requests that His Majesty the King excuse your
        Majesty's absence for the whiles.

    [spoiling it]

        How's that, Sir?

Finrod: [approving nod]
        Good enough.

Third Guard:
        What do you want me to tell him next?

Finrod: [cool glint]
        Nothing. He'll be getting my response shortly, and regretting this game.
        He should know by now that I play to win.

    [snorts]

        --On the other hand, he won't be able to complain about being bored.

    [to the Guard]

        --Thank you.

    [his follower nods and makes his departure with rapidity and relief, heading
    over to the much more relaxed, if still strained, gathering by the waterfall]

Finarfin: [guardedly]
        There is ill-will twixt thee and thine uncle?

    [Finrod shrugs, shaking his head a little]

Finrod: [a shade wearily]
        He's not gotten over the fact that most people here think of him as my
        uncle, rather than me as the High King's nephew. We try not to make
        an issue of it; but the fact of the matter is, I held more territory, and
        more followers, than all the rest of our family combined. --For all the
        good it did me.

    [Finarfin restrains a grimace]

Nerdanel:
        But tell me, was that not ever truth? Surely thy father's elder was not so
        blind to see it not?

Finrod:
        Yes, but it didn't matter to him then, because he never paid much attention
        to anything that happened in the south. All his concentration was fixed on
        Thangorodrim, and everything else was important only in so far as it related
        to the Leaguer. I might have ruled most of Beleriand, but it never registered
        saving insofar as it meant that I could guarantee deliveries of weapons and
        wine and gemstones and seafood and safe passage for all of that and his
        messengers and troops to the siege.

Nerdanel:
        Whence, then, this sudden and much-belated cognition of such state as did
        obtain o'er all for nigh well all this Age?

Finrod: [wry]
        Because -- an awful lot of them are here. And yes, technically we are all
        of us subject to him -- my people, including my brothers and their people
        as well, along with the Feanorian dead -- but that doesn't change the fact
        that an awful lot of them, including occasionally my brothers and some of
        the Feanorians, come to me first for advice. Which -- as I've tried to tell
        him -- has some little thing to do with the fact that he's spent much of
        the past decade moping about and playing endless rounds of chess with
        whomever he can conscript into it.

    [increasingly exasperated]

        I mean -- Grinding Ice! -- what difference does it make any more? First
        of all, it's completely in the past; secondly, as you said, Aunt 'Danel,
        nothing really has changed except that he's been forced to notice it.
        I don't understand why he's so touchy about it now. When I was alive
        my kingdom came close to encircling Elu's, and he never gave me such
        a hard time as Uncle Fingolfin is giving me now. Not even when he threw
        us out.

Ambassador:
        Yes, but you freely gave him the one thing he did desire, you and your
        siblings and your following -- respect.

Finrod:
        I--

    [stops, fights back a grin]

        I give my father's brothers all the respect they are due. No less than
        I gave my grandfather's brother.

Ambassador:
        And thus His Majesty could but ever give his royal nephew hearing,
        whether the words were much to his liking or little, nor long stay
        angry with you, Sire.

    [Finrod sighs deeply]

Finrod:
        --Too many Kings . . . !

Finarfin: [very measured and slightly-mocking tone]
        So, my son, -- art thou King, or not? For first thou dost deny it, and yet
        thy folk aver it, and thou dost act in such wise ever amidst all, and now,
        in guardless speech thou eke averrest. Canst thou yet, in full cognizance,
        and all consideration of these things, deny me thus once more?

    [they match stares for a long, intense moment, far too much between them to be
    said otherwise, and then Finrod sighs, yielding, but not weakening:]

Finrod: [equally-measured, and very proudly]
        For so long as my people do hold me such, for so long as any of them
        stand in need of my protection, and for so long as we abide within these
        Halls -- I shall be their true lord, as they are true beyond all my
        deserving, for how can I choose other?

Finarfin: [coolly]
        I had deemed no less. --Glad am I in truth to find it so.

    [Finrod is not sure what to make of his father's words; Amarie, who has up till
    now been very quiet and taut, now addresses him, in an edged, brittle tone.]

Amarie:
        Thou -- thou dost not such things, in truth? To strike, with the sword's
        keenness, thy fellow shades?

Finrod:
        Not usually.

    [brief pause]

        Usually, -- worse.

Finarfin:
        Howso?

Finrod: [shrugging]
        D-- Fire-breathing serpent-monsters. Molten rivers. --Things out of
        their worst nightmares to haunt them.

Amarie: [sharp]
        Then how mayest hold thyself superior to these thy -- foes?

Finrod: [coolly]
        They ravaged Swanhaven. They haven't regretted it. Now I harry them.
        --Not unprovoked, I assure you.

    [she does not respond, but only stares at him with a strange intensity; he
    gives his living relatives a defiant look. In the background, the Feanorian
    contingent returns, strengthened by the addition of a few more bolder souls]

Nerdanel:
        My nephew, didst not assure that yon unquiet dead should ne'er dare to
        return and trouble ye?

    [looking around, he grimaces at her dry words]

Finrod:
        Unwarranted optimism -- ever our bane.

    [sighing, he gets up and goes over to the incipient conflagration, shaking
    his head wearily at it all. With unspoken accord, the other four rise and
    follow to see what happens. The confronted parties are in much the same
    arrangement as before, with Beren and Huan together remaining reluctantly
    by the falls, while the two followings face off without yet coming to blows.]

        What seems to be the trouble, gentles?

Formenos: [airily]
        What trouble would you have, sir?

Finrod:
        None whatsoever, by my wish. But I fear you bring me some.

Formenos:
        No, you and yours brought it on yourselves. Your servant owes my friend
        a debt of pain, and we are here to see it paid.

Finrod:
        You know what my decision on that was -- that judgment should be left
        up to them that rightfully judge here, and I bid you go and make
        your grievance known to them. Have you not done so?

Aglon:
        Hah -- as if they'd truly judge honestly between you and yours, and us!
        You know what the truth of that is, I'll warrant.

Finrod:
        As I know the truth of what I say -- that I know not what judgment the
        Doomsman would pronounce, but that it be just.

Steward:
        My lord, they will not give you peace, until I yield. Let me--

Finrod:
        No.

Steward:
        For the common good, and Beren's--

Finrod:
        --No. I do not betray my own.

    [the Steward bows his head in obedience, though not relieved by the refusal]

Formenos:
        So quickly you yield, Enedrion. I hardly recognize you these days --
        you must have been at some pains to blend in over the years with House
        Finarfin's "meekness," as I believe you used to call it over dinner at
        Gatherings in the old Day, considering how much you said it wore upon you.

    [he seems somewhat disappointed and surprised that the Ten express no surprise
    nor dismay whatsoever at this "revelation"]

Aglon: [frowning thoughtfully]
        No, it's the other way 'round, I think: he found his proper level with
        these, who almost instantly forgot their Noldor heritage -- such as it
        was -- and "naturalized," I think they put it, when it's plants. None quite
        quite as much as the little sister -- but you'd swear they were all Dark-
        elves themselves, the way they've been running and hiding from trouble,
        these last few years. Of course, if he'd been truly High-elven, at heart,
        and not just from birth, he'd not have held back and gotten caught up with
        these stragglers back in the initial stages of the Departure.

    [the Steward does not respond, though his expression reveals the strain --
    Finarfin gives him a surprised look]

Finarfin: [darkly]
        Is this ever their way and fashion of words unto ye?

    [quick nod]

        Yet thou dost not strike him down for such form of insolence?

Steward:
        Truly, my lord, I -- I seldom, if ever, permit my anger to rule my deeds.
        --That -- was a most uncommon exception.

Captain: [apologetic]
        I usually take care of any necessary violence, Sir.

Finarfin:
        Aye, yet -- he derideth not only ye, but my son the same, in his words
        to thee.

    [another quick nod]

Captain:
        That's my jurisdiction as well.

Finarfin:
        I aver thy former actions seem less worthy of reprehensions -- the both
        of ye.

    [to the Feanorian lords, impassioned:]

        Wherefore ye seek naught but to feed this malice that doth overgrow
        thee like unto mossy greens o'ersliming rocks that do stand in water--
        deem ye not that it shall be the more fitting employ of spirit and
        strength to seek an end, or some form of speech or form of service
        that shall give solace to thine injured mood, young shade, that doth
        not give to other injury? Nor that it befits thee better, that art
        his elder both in earthly years alike in death, to urge him peace,
        belike discovering of thine own wisdom such appeasement even, that
        shall be acceptable to all who now contend?

Formenos: [shaking his head]
        No one can stop you from talking, I suppose -- but I can't imagine
        what you think you'll accomplish, Finarfin old chap. Your skills as
        a peacemaker and a leader haven't exactly been shining successes,
        what? After all, you couldn't even keep your own children in line --
        though I'm not sure whether that says more about your parenting skills
        than your -- ahem -- "leadership abilities," eh? Not like your brother
        at all . . .

    [he trails off, raising his eyebrow challengingly -- Finarfin only gives him
    a level Look, matching him stare for stare, while to the side Finrod's jaw
    hardens, though he doesn't say anything]

Amarie: [outraged]
        He is King of the Noldor, by right of descent that hath been confirméd
        full by Taniquetil's Powers -- and by desert, thou rebel, thou thief!

Aglon: [bored tone, not even looking at her]
        Go back to your Valmar birdcage and ring your bells, Firstling.

Amarie: [to Finrod]
        --And dost thou stand there, my lord, and hear, and do naught?

Finrod: [shrugging]
        What do you want me to do, exactly? I thought you were against violence.

Amarie:
        It is thine own father he mocketh, nor I alone!

Finrod: [bleakly]
        I can tell him to be quiet, but you've seen how much good that does.
        If I hit him, it's going to escalate, which is what I'm trying to
        prevent. A bit counter-productive, wouldn't you say?

    [she snorts angrily; the Feanorians look on with malicious glee]

        After all, it's hardly fair of you to condemn Edrahil for losing his
        temper at the same sort of thing, and then goad me into it, -- unless
        you're actually trying to get me to do something to further justify
        your bad opinions of me--

Amarie: [loudly interrupting him]
        Hold--

    [she grits her teeth as if biting down on any further imprecations, looking
    as coolly unaffected as she can, but there are tears in her eyes]

Aglon: [affecting innocence, gesturing back and forth]
        So -- are you two married, or not? I can never get a straight answer about
        that, and my Lords weren't quite sure either.

    [to Amarie first]

        It's just as well, considering, that you stayed behind, Firstling -- you
        do know he was notorious for running off and not finishing things properly
        before getting distracted with something new. Saved yourself no end of
        grief, I'm sure--

    [to Finrod]

        --It's hardly surprising that nobody in Nargothrond followed you, when you
        couldn't even convince your own lady to do the same! Of course, that's not
        really surprising either, considering you never stayed there long enough
        to unpack your bags. --I wonder if they've even missed you yet?

    [without looking around Finrod flings out his arm, blocking the Captain from
    moving forward; Amarie is white with fury]

Warrior:
        We finished the defenses of Barad Nimras, didn't we? And th--

Formenos: [cutting him off]
        --Yes, and from what I've heard, that was a signally pointless waste of
        resources, wasn't it? They didn't strike there, after all.

Ranger:
        At least we didn't just hang about on a perpetual shooting vacation enjoying
        ourselves at other people's expense!

    [the Feanorian lords just smile, the baiting succeeding quite well]

Finrod: [impassive]
        Have you anything of substance to impart, milords?

Nerdanel: [sternly chiding]
        Ye should stand ashamed, that have not learned aught of mercy else of
        wisdom for the workings of Doom.

    [they don't even look at her, although a few of their following do.]

Ambassador:
        They are Kinslayers, noble lady, and one expects nothing else of them,
        if one is wise.

    [the Seneschal and Warden give him a glance and then ignore him, as unworthy
    of attention, while Nerdanel draws herself up to deliver another rebuke.

Steward: [urgent]
        Do not waste your time and trouble, please -- it will only incur you
        needless grief, and insult.

    [she gives him a a quick approving glance, and continues to rake those who
    formerly owed her fealty as well with an adamantine glare. Some of them
    display signs of clear discomfort, despite their affectation of her non-
    existence.]

Finrod: [disgusted exasperation]
        What do you want? I'm not about to let you hurt any of my people, and
        I'm not going to allow you to start a melee in here. Now you have the
        choice of letting it stop, now, quietly, and taking it up with the Powers
        that are here, as I advised -- or of pressing it to open conflict. We are
        not, --have not -- and will not be the initiators of aggression. We do
        our best to keep the peace here, even in the face of your determination
        to break it.

Aglon:
        Oh, such pretty, pretty words! What a pity they aren't true. --Or have
        you forgotten how your vassal there ran me through when I had done nothing
        to him?

    [the Steward lowers his head, but does not turn away or retreat; Finrod is
    unmoved by the retort, as are the rest of his friends.]

Captain:
        You hit the Sea-Mew.

Aglon: [blank]
        Who?

Teler Maid: [loudly -- very loudly]
        Me!!!

    [he glances over, startled, and registers her presence]

Aglon: [exasperated, to Finrod]
        I did no such thing. I merely moved her aside as she was obstructing me --
        all right, perhaps a little too much force, but nothing to hurt her, really.

    [she snorts angrily, giving him a glare to which he is quite oblivious]

Finrod: [leadingly]
        Obstructing you -- and from what?

Aglon:
        ? ? ?

    [Finrod sighs, and looks at the Youngest Ranger]

Youngest Ranger: [clearly, if with reluctant expression]
        From trying to strike me, gentles.

Aglon:
        --Who had struck me without warning and most unsportsmanlike -- with
        not even a proper weapon!

Finrod:
        --And, as I understand it, to forestall you from harming the Lord of
        Dorthonion. --A Man unarmed, crippled, occupied in peaceful pursuits,
        and offering you no cause for violence. Not to mention a valiant enemy
        of our common Enemy.

    [pause, in which everyone looks over at Beren where he is standing unhappily
    holding onto Huan's neck]

Aglon: [sullen]
        He provoked me.

    [derisive noises and loud jeers from the Ten & Huan -- Finrod gestures them quiet]

Finrod: [pleasantly]
        Truthfully? I admit that Beren's social skills are not always employed, but
        tell me -- who spoke first?

    [silence]

Formenos: [patronizingly]
        Finarfinion, you can't really expect us to take such insolence from one of
        these yearsick Followers, behaving as though he were one of us, our equal --
        nay, our better -- and not a thief, come of a breed of thieves, overrunning
        and taking all that's ours by right.

Aglon: [nodding]
        Indeed -- if he'd shown me respect, as would be appropriate for someone who
        owed everything to our sacrifices in the Leaguer, I'd not have lost my temper
        with your Man servant there. Instead he behaved with less civility than the
        rest of your people usually do -- which I admit is a difficult thing to manage!

    [simultaneously]

Second Guard:
        Don't listen to them--
Ranger:
        It isn't true, Beren, don't pay attention.

Amarie: [amazed]
        Still dost hold fast to this thy jealousy, that art not even earth enough
        to hold to aught of earth, but like a shadow hast but swept 'cross the lands,
        until thy time of Doom hath swallowed thee as the night ever swalloweth
        all such transitory shadows? Wilt thou ever grasp at that which thou canst
        not bear off, even as thy true Master doth ever seek to clutch all within's
        own ever-increasing hunger?

Teler Maid: [disdainful]
        We might have preferred the Twilight -- but only to better see the holy Stars,
        and not to hide our deeds!

Ambassador: [nodding]
        Indeed, gentle maiden, they are but Orcs that can endure the Sun, as
        your words imply -- for so they have most clearly shown themselves to be.

Formenos:
        Small your sort's gratitude ever was, but it seems to have vanished
        altogether, Dark-elf.

Ambassador:
        What gratitude is owed, for a deed unintended, sir? You did not have any
        thought of our welfare when you assaulted Morgoth, nor beleaguered him
        -- it was but a consequence, and quite as fortunate for your interests as
        for those whose holding Beleriand rightly was!

    [the Lord Seneschal ignores him]

Aglon: [caustic, to Finrod]
        I want satisfaction, Your Majesty.

Finrod: [looking at him as though he were a beetle]
        And I want you and your people out of here, or at least quiet, if you
        insist upon staying.

Aglon:
        And that's unfortunate, since you can't enforce your will here any more
        than you could in Nargothrond.

Finrod:
        I don't recommend you test that premise.

Aglon: [smiling a knowing smile]
        No, you wouldn't -- since the Powers won't let you actually do anything
        any more. And, of course, like a dutiful little slave you promised to obey
        them -- sorry, child, not thrall.

Finrod: [patiently]
        I gave my word because the Weaver was so upset, and it was a small thing
        for me, to give her peace of mind.

Aglon:
        Oh, that's right -- you're just too nice for your own good. No wonder you
        lost every battle and contest you engaged in -- but considering you've but
        a quarter Noldor blood, it's perhaps more impressive that you ventured so
        far from home and even made the effort -- some sort of pity prize in order,
        I should say!

Finrod: [raising an eyebrow]
        The  roads might have been different -- but haven't they led us both to
        the same prophesied place?

Aglon:
        . . .

Formenos: [graciously, to his confederate]
        At least your Doom meant something, saving our kinsfolk in the Battle
        of Sudden Flame.

    [Finarfin moves forward -- remembers -- checks, and turns to the Captain]

Finarfin: [low and fierce]
        Smite him, friend -- and my blessing for it.

Captain: [regretful]
        Gladly, my lord -- were I allowed.

Amarie:
        Is't within chance's bounds, that any should have seen yon Doom unfold,
        borne witness to all its direst workings, and seen the truth of't borne
        out, that all such unblessed efforts end in misery and ruin -- and yet
        offend thus blasphemously, and most unsorrowing yet mock at it!?!

Formenos: [to Aglon and his supporters]
        It's amazing how those who have caged themselves will continue to insist
        they're free, and better off for being slaves, than those who have escaped.
        No prisons like those of the mind, don't you agree? We might be held here
        against our will -- but at least we have our own free wills!

    [as his friends smilingly agree, a strange woman's voice echoes loudly through
    the Hall:]

        --Whenever are you going to learn -- Father?

    [all turn to look at the new arrival, who is standing just at the edge of
    the dispute -- on the inner side of the Hall; clearly she didn't just come in
    through the door. Her appearance is striking: it's impossible to tell which
    Kindred this shade belongs to (hard even to tell what gender) as the disorder
    of her hair and ragged mismatch of her clothing makes Beren look well-groomed,
    and her expression makes Luthien at her most frazzled seem calm and sane. She
    stalks forward, stiff and awkward, as though not used to people, or to welcome,
    and everyone else draws back a little from this hollow-eyed, ferocious-looking
    madwoman -- with the notable exception of Finrod's following. Ideally Natasha
    McElhone from Ronin would portray her.]

        I never thought to hear myself say this, but -- I am ashamed that
        I am of any connection to you all.

    [her voice is harsh, and her way of talking sharp and erratic like her movements.
    The Feanorians stare at her, stunned, most of them without recognition -- the
    Seneschal of Formenos stares at her in shock, completely speechless]

        Not a word? After having been so glib in your own defense for so long!

    [she folds her arms, wound up taut as a crossbow, staring at those whose
    primary self-identification is as Noldor, and waits for someone to respond,
    smiling without humor at their leader.]

Teler Maid:
        Who are you?

Ex-Thrall: [ironically]
        One of those who consented, who stood by while you were killed. By my
        ill-fortune I was not drowned in the storm, the ship I rode on made the
        dark voyage to Losgar, and I lived to earn my Doom honestly.

    [Beren shoulders through and comes around to face her, Huan at his side
    guarding him]

Beren: [troubled]
        But how come you're here?

Ex-Thrall: [genuine surprise]
        You recall me?

Beren:
        Of course I remember you. You gave me half your scarf.

    [someone in the crowd makes a noise, quickly cut off, and he looks up. Earnestly:]

        Don't laugh. From someone who hasn't got much, that's a kingly gift.

    [to the Ex-Thrall again]

        Didn't you go home? --I didn't know you could talk.

Ex-Thrall: [bitter laugh]
        What was there for me to say? My deeds were sufficient. I went to the City.

    [she shakes her head]

        Something went to the City, at least, and ate and bathed and walked in rooms
        that did not stink of decay and stared at every light like a witless moth.
        Until Sun-return, when there was no gift-singing there or joy, nor any way
        to hide from the truth: that I too, was an empty shell and nothing more, and
        that there would never be light again for any of us under that stone -- and
        I lay down upon my couch, and left.

    [he tries to put his hand on her shoulder, but she shrugs off any attempt at comfort]

        I did not speak to any here until I heard your name, and knew that someone
        else that might comprehend what I might say was here, and came forth from
        the shadows to ask -- and stayed to tell instead.

    [she flashes a glance over towards the Steward, who bows slightly in her
    direction, his expression lightening a little, though still grim and stressed]

        I have found no other company here one-half so congenial, though 'tis thought
        I am aloof and care not for any.

Captain: [easily]
        No, -- I think most of us know you're severely agoraphobic and would be
        present more if you could manage it.

    [She closes her eyes and smiles a faint, brief, genuine smile, while some of the
    Ten look a little penitent. Emphatic:]

        --You don't have to talk about it.

    [at once she lifts her head again, defiantly, shaking her head. The Seneschal
    of Formenos takes a step closer to her, and opens his mouth to say something --
    but she gives a terrible scream of rage and pain, drowning him out]

Ex-Thrall:
        Do not say it! I have no name! She that had that name died long ago --
        would you hear how? -- and only I am left. --Kinslayer. Murderer.
        Bloodguilty coward. --Yes! Murderer thrice over, and more.

Formenos: [in helpless protest, shaking his head over and over]
        No -- you were never a warrior--

Ex-Thrall: [mocking]
        I never wielded a sword. --I did not need to. Others always killed for me.
        First you -- all of you -- and then the servants of my Master, so that I
        never might stain my hands with death -- only my heart!

Aglon:
        But you got away safely -- we died to guard the evacuation--

    [he is just as horrorstricken as his friend]

Ex-Thrall: [matter-of-fact]
        No. There were wounded who were unable to continue; I was endeavoring
        to heal them enough to carry on, when we were overtaken.

    [looking at her father]

        After you were killed, as the War crept on, I vowed to honor you by saving
        as many of our folk as might be from the fighting, and became a Healer, as
        it's done in the Old Country -- but I went beyond, and rode forth with the
        companies along the Northern Front, as very few other maids dared, or dared
        trouble their kindred's hearts by daring to do. --But was I not your daughter?

    [gesturing emphatically]

        How could I be any less brave, nor any less concerned, than you who died
        in effort to end the War before it truly began? --I never did believe that
        our lord had gone to the parley in anything but good faith, because I'd
        have had to think that of you, too. Not while I was alive.

    [he opens his mouth, but doesn't say anything, and she keeps going, addressing
    them all equally:]

        When the War broke out and broke our lines, and all the rest of it, and
        those of us who survived the initial assault on Aglon knew it wasn't possible
        to hold it, and we thought to pull back to Himlad and join our forces with
        the garrison there, and keep that, at least, firm against the invaders -- but
        you know all about that, you've argued it over for a decade now. But it wasn't
        possible, instead we were joined by a cavalcade from Himlad, where the Enemy
        had got round, and pushed past round Himring through the March as well, so
        that our lords were forced to lead us west with Prince Orodreth's company,
        down the Old Road where even orcs would not dare to follow, using their
        combined powers to keep off the Gloomweaver's spawn. But I never got so far.

    [looking at the Warden of Aglon]

        Your younger brother was badly wounded, by an axe-cut. --And others, as well,
        but -- you understand.

Aglon: [anguished]
        He -- he's not a slave now too--?

    [she smiles, a sinister, sinister smile, shaking her head]

Ex-Thrall:
        No. I'll get to that. I stayed back, with some others, trying with all
        our might and main to patch our friends -- and loved ones -- sufficiently
        for them to keep on, but in vain. The smokes confused us, and we
        ended up captives, like so many others, harried back across the lands
        we had once held as ours, that now were reclaimed by their true Master.
        Two years I served in hell, two years -- but Time isn't the same there,
        as it wasn't the same here, after the Sun came.

    [shaking her head]

        It's always dark, there, always the same, and her seasons don't bring
        renewal or strength or plenty or peace by turns. Two years I struggled
        to stay alive, to avoid the notice, and the lash, of his fell Commanders,
        and their underlings -- and to stay others, wielding my skills in the domain
        of Death, for those burnt or broken in machinery, and doing it in defiance,
        though I knew it was tolerated as a useful thing, by our Lord and His
        people. Every little was an unimaginable gain, in that place that is Him,
        where the very air corrodes the lungs that breathe it, and the walls throb
        with His anger when you fall against them.

Formenos:
        But you're free now -- it's over--

Ex-Thrall: [blunt]
        --Never. I left there, in the company of many other slaves, for the south,
        a group given -- selected by what miserable fate I do not know -- to the
        victorious Commander who had just overthrown one of the last few bastions
        of Elvish resistance, and was working on consolidating the entire North
        from the Pass to the River. He needed workers to arm his troops, and serve
        them, and to repair the damages done to the fortress in its taking. And so
        we came to Tol Sirion, who had not thought ever to leave Angband again.

    [she gives Finrod a significant Look]

        It was . . . different there. For one, it was more depressing: Angband
        might be built in part by Eldar hands, but not originally, and nothing of
        its design says so. For another, there's no such thing as anonymity: you
        can't hide amid the herd, be just another number, keeping your self to
        yourself, so long as you keep your head down and stay lucky, in a place
        that small. I found that out very shortly, when I was summoned -- well,
        that's technically true, though most likely not what you'd first think
        of, for the word "summoned" -- to the presence of our new Doomsman, the
        Necromancer, from whom it was whispered that not even death might set one
        free, though we Light-elves, and most lately captured, could hardly credit
        such superstition.

Ranger: [automatically starting to correct]
        It wasn't--

    [but is interrupted himself by the Youngest Ranger -- his junior in age, but
    superior in rank, silences him with a hand over his mouth and a Look; the
    Noldorin warrior is apologetic and shamefaced, but the Feanorian lady doesn't
    seem to notice the disturbance]

Ex-Thrall:
        The dread Lord of that Island gave me to understand that he understood
        very well, that there were many among the thralls who were not equal to
        their set tasks, whose strength had failed, or was failing, and who were
        covered for by their friends and dearest ones. I denied it; he laughed.
        "You heal them," he scoffed, "you know it even better than I. So long as
        you get them back to work, it's all the better for my purposes. But when
        it comes to feeding useless drones -- no more, I say. What I want, is for
        you to take note of such, and inform me who is incapable, as you find
        them so."

    [she looks at the lawful Eldar grouped together]

        Not even pretense, now, when setting Elf against Elf -- raw and unvarnished,
        his mastering of treason. I said nothing -- he mistook me. Or so I thought.
        "In return for your services, I can assure you of far better treatment, not
        only for yourself, but for those you -- minister to," he pledged, offering
        improved medical care as the payback -- for the survivors, that is.

    [shrugging]

        It made sense, when he explained it: his staff had to eat, not just the
        Orcs and the Wargs, but also his couriers as well. They needed fresh
        blood, but it was always risky for them to hunt, the chance of being
        caught on the ground, and by culling -- his word -- the slaves for those
        who were going to depart soon anyway, this meant less danger of messenger,
        and message, being lost; and of course the rest of the body would be eaten
        by his other minions, if it were not too wasted. A proposition triply
        beneficial -- to him, to me, and to the majority of us. And I refused.

    [she smiles grimly, and pauses]

Formenos:
        You've not been here eight years--?!

Ex-Thrall: [impatient]
        Haven't you been paying attention? No, he had me tossed in a closet for a
        week -- I think it was a week, at least -- not wide enough to lie down in
        or high enough to stand in, pitch dark -- it had been a chimney-breast once,
        but was blocked off for more useful purposes; he didn't trouble much with
        keeping a cheerful atmosphere going throughout the place. But I held fast,
        and did not yield in the least, not even in imagining -- I sang against him,
        songs of Valinor, until physically unable, and still I thought resistance at
        him, and finally they hauled me out of there and brought me into the Terrible
        One's presence. And then, I thought I'd won -- that either he'd send me back
        to my labours, or harder ones, or kill me then and there. No such luck.

    [she looks sidelong at the Ten through veiled lashes, her expression more
    sneering than ever]

Finrod: [very serious]
        Is this going to do you any good?

Ex-Thrall:
        What does that matter?

    [to her father]

        Oh, but I was defiant, I was strong -- I hadn't let them break me, and
        I would not be broken. No matter what. And he didn't say anything, not
        a word, just smiled at me, while I stood there shaking from hunger and
        cramped muscles, weeping in the torchlight, and telling myself, and him,
        in my mind that it was purely physical reaction, and meaningless, and
        believed it. Some of his minions carried in a block of iron, by the rings
        set in its sides -- it was huge, the size of a wall-stone, too massive
        to be moved by any one's strength, not even one of us. I stared at it,
        trying to think what new torture it could be for -- I couldn't see any
        moving parts, except for the circular handles -- but I didn't show them
        my fear. I would not. And then they chained me to one of the rings, and
        I laughed inside to think that all this terror had been for but another
        beating -- that there was nothing so effective as the fearful mind for
        defeating itself, and all that was needed was true Eldar spirit, to
        withstand the vaunted Power of the Terrible One. I actually pitied the
        Grey Kindred at that moment, for all their terror of him and his kind,
        poor weaklings without the resistance of our people.

    [she gives a quick glance towards the Youngest Ranger]

        I was such a fool.

    [to the Lord Warden of Aglon]

        --I told you there was more to your brother's story. They dragged him
        in -- and what a reunion that was, when I hadn't known he was there --
        or even still alive -- or he the same of me. His defiance, and challenges,
        and brave words in my behalf -- they would have made your heart blaze
        with pride, I'm sure, as they did mine. It never occurred to us -- to me,
        at least, and I'm sure to him as well -- that we were nothing new, nothing
        the Enemy and his followers hadn't seen a hundred times before -- our
        courage, or ignorance. We were so sure that the Dark was weaker than our
        love, that nothing could defeat us, even though they killed us -- even
        though they made hideous sport of us first.

    [wearily]

        I don't know what Sauron wanted from him. I don't know that he wanted
        anything, and would have killed him whatever he chose. I've always assumed
        that -- that he died simply because of me -- but perhaps that's but my
        arrogance as well. I don't know, now.

    [pulling herself together, in her sarcastic tone again]

        So there we were, both cuffed to this block in the middle of the floor,
        not enough length to the chains to reach across it nor around it and hold
        hands -- but by leaning over it as far as one could stretch, we managed to
        touch another way -- I must have looked as frightful and orc-like as he did,
        but that didn't matter. The soldiers applauded and made all sorts of comments,
        but we didn't care about that either. There was just us, and the Dark didn't
        matter. Then -- something growled above us, and we broke apart so fast I
        split my lip on his teeth -- or mine, couldn't tell -- and tried to get away,
        crawling back as far as the chains would allow.

Formenos:
        Not -- not a Balrog?

    [his daughter shakes her head, smiling a little]

Ex-Thrall:
        No. A Werewolf. The big silvery one, the captain of his elite guard. Oh yes.
        You've seen Wolves before, seen his minions out and about, fought them, fled
        them, killed them -- they're not so terrible, truly, no more than the Orcs,
        isn't that so? Stronger, swifter, a little more canny, in strange ways, harder
        to understand -- but not like the Fiery Ones, the commanding demons of our
        Iron God. Wargs can be answered with a spear, a sword, an arrow or a word on
        the wind to bear your scent elsewhere or blind them to you --Nothing like
        Balrogs, right?

    [she looks at her former comrades and relatives with a self-mocking sneer,
    while they avoid her eyes]

Beren: [flatly]
        That depends. On where you are in relation to 'em, and if they know you're
        there or not.

    [she doesn't turn towards him, but the slight lift of her chin acknowledges his
    words, while she continues to stare at her parent]

Ex-Thrall:
        Handcuffed on the floor, waiting for an execution order, looking at those
        dripping fangs, those glowing eyes -- it was, for me, at least. No fire left,
        not even embers of that blaze that was so bright -- both of us like grubs,
        dug up from their roots, writhing in the cold air -- no voice left to speak
        defiance, nor love, now. This was his place, and his power, and no other
        song is possible in his presence, far less than our common Master though
        the Terrible One might be. He strode through my shields as though they
        were not even there, and I realized that nothing had been hidden from him,
        all along, and that there is no hope.

    [though she does not, others cannot help but glance at the Nargothronders
    -- who look sorry for her, but not particularly fazed, Finrod least of all,
    as the former Healer continues:]

        "You know what I want," he told me. "If you will not serve me, you are no
        use to me as you are. Shall I reduce you to your component parts, and make
        use of them separately?" I was still, and did not answer -- the Wolf's breath
        down my neck, that should have been warm, but I was in a winter gale, ice
        all over me. "Which will it be?" he asked my soul again, and smiled at us.
        "Whose flesh will feed my servants -- yours, or another's?"

    [smiling through her teeth:]

        I didn't say anything -- I didn't have to. It was that easy.

    [the Lord Warden shakes his head in helpless protest -- then looks around
    suddenly with a wild expression as if he might see his brother here, too]

        I hid my face, and didn't watch. While it was still going on -- but mostly
        over -- they unchained me and let me get dressed again, and I walked out
        of there, and did not--

    [her father interrupts her, involuntarily, with a spastic gesture of his hand]

Formenos:
        You--

    [he cannot go on, but she tosses her head scornfully, snorting]

Ex-Thrall:
        Of course. You don't feed people to the Wolves with their clothes on.

    [lightly]

        --What, you don't laugh? You don't find the idea at all amusing now?

    [cold iron]

        --I did not look back. Not then. Not after. Not ever -- until the dark that
        we crawled in ripped open and the Night came pouring into our cells, our
        prison-rooms -- our tombs; and we remembered. We remembered -- things
        we had never known. Not truly. Not how precious they were, until we lost
        them -- destroyed them -- threw them away. All that time that I silently
        handed over my fellow prisoners for destruction, naming them as too weak
        to work, and telling myself that it was mercy, that they should die sooner,
        and kinder to be eaten quickly, than slowly by the Dark and the malice of
        our Master -- lying to myself, even as they thanked me for healing them and
        caring for them, while I gave them over in my stead, and none of them ever
        knew -- I had to do, it for my own survival, and I could not regret it,
        because if I ever looked back -- I could not go on.

    [shaking her head without stopping]

        Only -- that High-elven lady whom you knew in Beleriand did not survive.
        She too died in that hour, eaten just as surely as the other, and what
        walked away without regret is all that remains.

    [with a mocking smile]

        Will you call me your jewel, your songbird, your beautiful one now? Will
        you embrace me and call me your star, your sweeting, your treasure, now,
        Father?

    [she stares at him, daring him to reject her, but hoping against hope that he
    will not. With a cry of anguish he turns, clutching at his temples, and remains
    standing hunched over as if mortally wounded, his head bowed and eyes
    closed. She laughs wildly.]

        I knew it -- I knew it! You too cannot bear the thought of me, murderess,
        Kinslayer, weakling -- thrall--

    [she reaches out her hands to the Lord Warden of Aglon, who is looking at
    her with an agonized expression, filled with embarrassment as much as horror]

        And you, my friend -- all of you that were my friends, whose lives and
        limbs I saved, those many years of the Leaguer, whose hands held mine
        in dance and peace, even as for comfort when you lay wounded -- will
        you disown me too?

    [they look away from her in shame, some of them lifting hands in protest,
    or in appeal for her pity, and she falls on her knees, bent over, weeping,
    but still defiant and challenging: as the Ten move closer to try to lift
    her up or console her she flings their hands away from her, and shouts at
    the Feanorians:]

        --Only these -- who alone have the right to scorn me, of all you ghosts
        and vainglorious shadows, who faced the test and did not fail it -- only
        they've not fled from me in horror! O robbers, brigands, thieves who struck
        down the helpless when they tried to resist us -- and yet even you have
        not fallen so low that you don't see the poisoned aura about me, and shrink
        from it--!

    [she starts rocking back and forth, her arms clenched around her chest, trying
    not to cry out loud, gasping]

Youngest Ranger: [very seriously]
        I don't think it's that -- I think it's that you're crazy.

    [she gives a hoarse bark of surprised laughter, but he goes on in the same way:]

        That's what scares them. There's others have done worse things, you know.
        Or at least -- more of them. But they're not so plainly daft, as you.

    [pause -- she chuckles through her tears]

        --Or else they're worse, that they don't see that they should be.

    [the Ex-Thrall pulls herself together and looks up at the onlookers around
    her, first her own kin and people, and then at the watching faithful, living
    and dead.]

Ex-Thrall: [defiantly]
        What would you say to me, Finarfin son of Indis? That I should have turned
        back with you at Araman?

Finarfin:
        I am King of the Noldor now--

    [meaningful tone]

        --eke of them that do own me thus, even as them that yet do not--

    [the Ten look down awkwardly, a little ashamed; the Feanorian contingent gives
    him startled looks, some angry, some wondering]

        --nor be it meet that I should add one measure to the judgment that hath been
        given unto thee, presuming to greater wisdom than the Powers thereby. Aye,
        and thou hadst known less sorrow, hadst indeed returned home in that time,
        -- but this thou dost even ken, ere didst speak it.

Ex-Thrall: [softly]
        Like son, like father --

    [the two Noldor Kings steal glances quickly at each other, before she goes on,
    this time to Amarie:]

        --And you, Fairest One, come down from your mountain -- what word for
        this bloodstained one? --Or will you turn away in silence as well?

Amarie: [calmly]
        Thou art far from first, nor yet the last, that Feanor hath led astray --
        nor indeed the mightiest. Bereft of the heartening strength of this Land,
        of Light, how might ye help but fall beneath our Enemy's sway in the
        Shadowed Realm?

    [some of the Feanorians bridle at her words, but others look troubled and
    downcast; the Seneschal remains bent, anguished, where he has turned away]

Ex-Thrall:
        You speak of him -- but what says she who would not be led, nor driven,
        but held firm in her resolve despite all persuasion?

    [turning her head, she matches stares with Nerdanel, who draws near to her
    with an untroubled expression and kneels down a short distance in front of
    her while she addresses her:]

Nerdanel:
        What hast thou done, child, that mine own children did not? --And yet
        I love them, nor shall ever cease.

    [the former Healer bows her head a little, closing her eyes, and then squaring
    her shoulders looks up coolly at Elu Thingol's emissary.]

Ex-Thrall:
        Well, lord of the Grey folk -- hold you still with your lord's judgment
        on us? Or have you learned mercy in your own death?

Ambassador: [in a detached, level tone]
        You have acknowledged your deeds, Feanorian. Anything further that I might
        say would be both needless and cruel.

    [they both sigh, recognizing that this isn't enough, and it's the best that he
    can give or she will get -- and then she turns to look at the shade from
    Alqualonde.]

Ex-Thrall:
        And you, Foamrider, who said but a little while ago that such a fate was
        no more than such as I merited -- what do you say to me, Kinslain?

    [the Sea-elf stares at her directly, her eyes very wide, her face otherwise
    expressionless, for a long moment.]

Teler Maid:
        I think -- I think you have been tortured enough.

    [the Ex-Thrall flinches as if the other had struck her instead, shaking her head
    a little in protest, and then looks at Beren]

Ex-Thrall: [softly]
        Now that you know the truth of me, traitor as much as victim -- will you
        shun me, mortal?

    [he shakes his head, very deliberately]

Beren:
        I remember.

Huan:
        [thin whines]

    [the Hound walks slowly over beside her, tail dragging, and puts his head down
    by hers: she doesn't respond, but doesn't push him away either. Moving softly,
    as if not to startle a hurt animal, Finrod comes to kneel down directly in front
    of her, putting his hands on her shoulders and looking her directly in the eyes]

Finrod:
        Someday -- you will take up your name again, and it will be true again, and
        you will sing once more, under the Stars.

Ex-Thrall: [disbelieving]
        When?

Finrod:
        I don't know. Someday.

    [as he speaks, her father half-turns and looks at them, as torn between hope
    and remorse and doubt as she]

        When you are ready, you will leave the shelter of these Halls, and you will
        walk under the sky, and your voice will give as much peace to your hearers
        as presently brings pain.

    [The Ex-Thrall sighs . . . and vanishes from under his hands without another
    word. The Lord Seneschal flinches, bowing his head, and disappears as well,
    leaving his cohorts in disarray as well as dismay. Finrod gets up and turns to
    face the remaining Feanorian supporters, addressing them in a quiet, matter-
    of-fact, but uncompromising tone:]

        Why don't you just go now?

    [the living Eldar look at him in shock and dismay of their own, while a warrior
    of Aglon asks his commander anxiously:]

Feanorian:
        Sir -- what -- what ought we do now . . . ?

Nerdanel:
        But -- what of yon poor maiden?

Finrod: [blankly]
        --What of her?

    [the Lord Warden makes a helpless gesture to his follower, struggling for
    articulate speech]

Aglon: [shaking his head, struggling against tears]
        I -- I -- ah--!

Finarfin: [with a perceptive look at his son]
        Such trouble is not strange to thee, but oft thou must give thy counsel to
        the broken of heart, is't not so?

Finrod: [nodding]
        Not infrequently. Sometimes we talk. More often I listen. Generally they
        just want to be seen by someone who won't dismiss them, and then we
        just sit quietly, or I play--

    [glancing over where the harp rests on the stones]

        --until they're ready to speak to someone higher. That was a tremendous
        improvement -- usually you can hardly tell she's there.

    [as the four lawful Elves look at him, and each other, and the stunned
    Feanorians with lingering shock and distress, Nienna's Apprentice comes in
    through the doorway in determined haste, sees the gathering and flings up
    his hands in disgust.]

Nienna's Apprentice:
        Oh, threnody, not this again! Would you people go away and find something
        constructive to do?

    [he makes a sweeping, dismissive motion with his arm. Afterthought:]

        --Please.

    [the Warden of Aglon turns, welcoming this new challenge as a replacement
    for prior emotions, as do his companions]

Aglon: [extreme haughtiness]
        You will not address me in that fashion, boy.

Apprentice:
        Actually . . . I will. --Ghost.

    [the Elven warrior shakes his head, standing his ground, his lip curling at
    the retort]

Aglon:
        You -- can't compel us to do anything. Can you?

    [he sneers over at the Captain]

        --That's what you were getting at, trying to be cryptic.

    [to the Apprentice again]

        --Can you?

Apprentice: [shrugging]
        No, I can't. --But I can make things unpleasant enough that you'd wish
        you'd cooperated in the first place.

Aglon:
        How?

Apprentice:
        Erm . . .

Aglon: [snorting]
        You can't even bluff properly, you fool.

    [his followers and associates grin savagely at the put-down]

Apprentice: [shakes his head, reasonable tone]
        I wasn't bluffing, I was considering which option was the more appropriate
        one. I know which one I'd like better, but I don't think my Master would
        like it at all. So -- I'm just going to annoy you by pointing out certain
        hard truths in the presence of people you're trying to impress, one of which
        is the fact that you feel you have to impress them demonstrates that you in
        fact respect them enough to care about their respect, deny it as you may.
        You can't just walk away from them, or leave them alone -- can you? But
        they're indifferent to your good or bad opinion of them, and that's a second
        hard truth.

    [ticking the points off on his fingers, and beginning to pace restively in
    front of them -- in the background several of the would-be combatants quietly
    fade from view]

        Thirdly, you're blinded by your self-importance to the fact that you
        thereby make yourself ridiculous in the eyes of most of your fellow-dead,
        by pursuing these personal grudges beyond reason.

    [he frowns, trying to remember, and more of the rival faction discreetly slip away]

        Oh, yes -- and the fact that you always come off the worse in these little
        exchanges and yet you keep persisting in the same course says a great deal
        for your tenacity and even courage, -- but not a lot for your intelligence,
        I'm afraid.

    [pause]

Aglon: [ice]
        I have better things to do than waste my time listening to your chatter.

    [he spins about with a flourish of his cape and stalks off, followed by his
    remaining fellow-partisans.]

Apprentice: [cheerful]
        Success! Without having to hit anyone, either. Though I don't know I'll
        agree with his definition of "better."

    [to Finrod]

        I thought about the way you usually manage to dissipate things without
        recourse to violence, and decided to try it myself, since people just
        ignore me when I ask them nicely, and laugh when I get angry.

    [noticing that both Finrod and Amarie are both standing there glaring at him
    with identical expressions, arms folded.

        Ah.

    [to Amarie, brightly]

        There you are -- I was obliged to leave for just a moment, and when I came
        back, you were nowhere to be found.

    [she raises an eloquent eyebrow; he flinches.]

Finrod: [abrupt]
        Have you got anything for me?

Apprentice:
        Erm -- oh. Right. That. Ah -- hm -- becalmed. Lulled, so to speak.

Finrod:
        What?

Apprentice:
        Circling on a thermal. Stable. Static. Or stagnant.

Finrod: [piqued, to the Captain]
        Have you any notion what he's getting at?

    [the Elven officer shakes his head, amused; the newest arrivals are giving
    Nienna's student some very strange Looks]

Apprentice: [looking conspiratorially towards them]
        But -- I mean, we'll be overheard--

Finrod:
        Just say it. I'm tired, annoyed, and out of patience--

    [the other looks alarmed]

        --nearly.

    [as the Apprentice glances meaningfully at the four bystanders]

        Go ahead -- they're all my family, after all, to greater or lesser degree.

    [bland]

        After all, if you can't trust your kin, whom can you trust?

    [while Nienna's student gives him a very askance Look, there is a great deal
    of sudden throat-clearing and turning aside of faces among the Ten; the
    law-abiding contingent bridles somewhat at this, but manage to refrain from
    comment]

Apprentice:
        Well, if you say so -- your cousin suggested that recourse be made to the
        highest authorities, and was met with resistance -- but the subject of
        debate shifted again to other things, and . . . they're still arguing again
        over whether it was a mistake for our divine King and Queen to heed my
        Master's plea and release His Majesty's brother--

    [in a rush, very forcefully]

        --and please nobody start arguing about that now, all right? -- and that's
        where things remain.

    [Finrod looks at the Captain, frowning]

Captain: [shaking his head]
        That hardly seems worth the trouble of reporting, now.

    [the disguised Maia shrugs, giving Finrod an apologetic look]

Apprentice:
        Sorry -- I'd actually come back to ask if you'd mind -- much -- doing me
        a favour.

Finrod: [flatly]
        You're asking me a favor.

Apprentice:
        Just a small one. Not you specifically.

    [encouraged by Finrod's silence, he hurries on:]

        I -- I've been given another errand to run, and I'm supposed to be keeping
        an eye on things, and I thought I had that situation under control, but then
        something unpleasant occurred to me: what if the system I set up to do that
        simply wasn't working at all, and that's why there hasn't been any alarm?
        And so I thought I'd better check.

    [blank, suspicious looks from all around -- hastily]

        You know the, um, the remote viewer over at His Lordship's throne -- that
        stone sphere, well, it's made of stone -- you haven't noticed it, well, doing
        anything, have you?

Finrod:
        Such as?

Apprentice:
        Glowing.

Finrod:
        No. --Of course, I've not been here.

Apprentice:
        I know. That's why --

    [he glances around]

        --if anyone had happened to see, I was hoping . . .

    [the Ten share looks, headshakes all round]

Warrior:
        We've not noticed anything.

Apprentice:
        Would -- would you, let me know if you do? If you wouldn't mind keeping
        an eye on it?

Captain:
        We can try -- but I don't know that we won't get distracted and forget.
        Things have been rather -- well, distracting, lately, to put it mildly.

Apprentice:
        But--

    [pause]

        No. Never mind.

Captain:
        What?

Apprentice:
        I was going to try to argue that you owed me assistance in return, but
        that isn't true, even considering the rather-underhanded way you obtained
        mine. And this -- having several tasks assigned at the same time, each
        one having top priority -- that's something that preceded it, anyway, and
        it's quite apart from it. So I really can't claim any, erm, claim on your
        time as a result of that, either. It isn't as though it's your fault.
        And you did promise to do your best.

    [raising his hands in a resigned gesture]

        Just have to muddle through somehow, I suppose.

    [frowning, noticing something about the falls]

        I say, somebody's put that all wrong again.

    [the apparent-Elf gestures towards the flame-illusions over the shallow end
    of the spill-pool, lowering them.

Ranger:
        Stop that! That's someone else's work.

Apprentice:
         But they're all wrong--

Ranger:
        So? You don't just come and change others' Art without leave.

Third Guard:
        You used to do it all the time, I recall.

Ranger:
        Yes, but I learned better.

    [pause -- frank admission]

        After the villagers complained to the King and it was explained to me.
        At some length.

    [he looks at Finrod, who raises his eyebrows bemusedly]

        Thank you, Sir.

    [to Nienna's student]

        I understand how tempting it is to remake something you think is flawed,
        but you really ought to ask first. And if they don't want to change it,
        you can't just correct it for them. That's just like Morgoth, really.

    [the disguised Maia looks quizzical, but doesn't say anything]

Amarie: [officious]
        Nay, 'tis false -- the Dark One would but to break, and not to build.

Finarfin:
        Yet dost thou not recall how our High King hath spoken of the Enemy's
        wish to shape all according but to his will, nor only after did so strive
        to wreck, that was not given over unto him? Of such matters Lord Ingwe
        hath most deeply questioned the gods, and hath knowledge most profound
        and widesome of us all, Vanyar, Noldor, or Teler, in truth.

    [Finrod can't help but cast a quizzical glance at the Apprentice, who looks
    suspiciously blank]

Amarie:
        Yet is't not true as well, that such ill-making should be most rightly
        named destruction?

Finarfin: [smiling slightly]
        Thou art most resolute, my lady.

    [she gives him an unamused Look]

Ranger: [ignoring their argument]
        Anyway, you shouldn't. It's our project, not yours. Go make your own
        light-display elsewhere, if you don't like this one.

Apprentice:
        But I haven't time, and I'll probably get in trouble for it.

Ranger:
        That isn't our problem.

Apprentice:
        Actually, it is -- only you don't care.

    [to the Ten, cajolingly]

        But don't you want it to be right? Surely you can see it's all wrong the
        way it is!

Ranger:
        But it looks right.

    [appealing to the bystanders]

        Doesn't it look better the way it was?

Finarfin:
        I fear I did little mark the difference.

Amarie: [sniffs]
        'Tis a curious amalgam of sundries, the which might eke be little changed
        for better as for ill.

Ambassador:
        I must say that I prefer the brighter display myself.

Nerdanel: [consolingly to Nienna's Apprentice]
        Nay, I do confess thou hast belike the right of it, and most aptly so, for
        being of the coasts and seeing therefore most frequent th'effects of light
        on water. Yet, naytheless must I alike hold with all who hold it finer to
        the eye, to give thereto the greatest expanse of scintillation, the tallest
        of flames thereby.

Apprentice: [glumly]
        Oh, all right.

    [he nods, putting the flames back as they were. Reluctant]

        They do look prettier that way . . .

Teler Maid: [muttering to herself in bewilderment]
        --He is not Teler. He sounds not like to us at all! Why say they so, when
        clearly he is Vanyar?

Captain: [aside to her]
        People find what they expect to find. And don't find what they don't, either.

Teler Maid:
        Your riddles are as poor as ever.

    [she frowns, tossing her hair back, and stares critically at the Apprentice,
    who feels it and looks over to see her]

Apprentice: [reacting with pleased surprise]
        Oh! How nice to see you out and about, talking to people finally.

    [she folds her arms and looks very prickly and put-upon]

        Despite what reservations some might have about your choice of company.
     &