Feud

by erobey | italics indicate thoughts |  (elvish translations in parentheses) |  This chapter un-Beta'd Abauth (After the Battle)

"Legolas! Pen-rhovan!"

Erestor shouted, lips nearly pressed to the wild elf's ear, but received no further sign that Legolas' soul was free of captivity. The Tawarwaith lay just as limp and lifeless as before, exhibiting the same faint and feeble respiration, deeply buried in an oblivion so enveloping that he never felt the pain caused by the seneschal's vigourous shaking. But there had been that one word, Berenaur, the name only Legolas knew to call him, the one only he dared to use or had the right to use. Erestor had heard it clearly, had seen recognition in those tormented eyes ere they shuttered down once again.

It was not my imagination; was it?

He shook Legolas anew, sickened to see the shorn head wobble back and forth, the dry, cracked lips lax and open, eyes sunken behind shields of thin, dark and oily lids. A hand settled on his shoulder and stopped his frantic efforts. He looked to find Gladhadithen's fearful face imploring him and he sat back on his heels, shocked and confused.

"No need for that," she said. "He still lives."

A long tense moment followed filled with expectant silence, dread and hope alternating for primacy, the Tawarwaith's hodgepodge circle of friends and family huddled close, frozen in anticipation of a sign of victory, none of them genuinely certain whether that entailed Legolas' recovery or his death. They peered at the motionless form, scarcely daring to breathe as they watched his chest rise and drop, the motion so shallow it was barely perceptible. After so many days of trying to find the key to his strange mental state, the actions taken to finally retrieve Legolas' captive soul had required only minutes. The magnitude of those small bits of time, however, resonated in a stalled instant of compressed eternity and the gathered witnesses were subdued by the gravity of the possible outcomes.

Erestor's discovery of the false ring had initiated a chaotic frenzy of activity as everyone who had just left the talan piled back inside, shoving Mithrandir bodily up to the highest platform where he had to concentrate to make sense of the combined explanations and demands from the carpenter and the seneschal. All stood back as he examined the golden band and announced that it was of unknown origin, but definitely a crude example of the great ring-making of the Second Age which had caused so much trouble in the world since. It was, he decided, much like the rings of the Nazgûl and this disturbed him; he kept silent on that, deciding there was enough manic distress as it was.

All nine of the rings given to mortal men were accounted for, worn on the fingers of the Wraiths themselves. The dwarven rings were also documented, though perhaps he was the only one to know the whereabouts of them all. This object attached to Legolas was the first of its kind the wizard had ever seen. Had Sauron crafted binding rings for Elf-kind as he had for Men and Dwarves? No lore told of such, but Mithrandir could not think of anything else to explain this mysterious specimen.

"Is he free?" Elladan asked quietly, eyes trained upon the bloody hand at the end of the arm he still held fast against the mattress, the index finger scorched and torn, bone showing through the pulpy red mass. Sight hastily moved on to the shards of the blasted ring on the floor just there, mere centimetres from his foot. It, too, looked as though it had been through a furnace, streaked black, the golden varnish gone, the base metal beneath misshapen and warped, the foul characters and runes visible on the inner side. He lifted his gaze to find Aragorn considering him grimly; the Man nodded as he returned to the work of saving the archer's index finger.

"Free," grunted Mithrandir, cynical tones imbuing the word with contempt. "A relative concept at best. He is no longer trapped in that nightmare place, whatever it was. Who can guess the implications of such enslavement?"

"What do you mean?" Erestor's voice shook with fear. "Mithrandir, what makes you say this? Did you learn something of the nature of the hold, the person responsible? Was it…" and he found he could not speak what they all thought must be true.

"Yes, I think it was," Mithrandir murmured, rubbing at his forehead, tired. He sighed. "I do not mean that to upset you, for he is free, Erestor. He is free."

The wizard was done in; the struggle had been arduous and he had known at once the power against which he contended was beyond his own. His spells and exhortations were broken, warped, or turned into weapons against him, or against Legolas. When the ring ignited and the archer's flesh began to burn, he stopped using the might of the Istari. His opponent was of his own order; recognition of that fact was immediate, but the turncoat Maia at once shielded his personal identity from Mithrandir's inner sight.

A futile effort, that. Who but Sauron would want to do this thing?

Even so, there was a nagging doubt in his mind, something intangible, something reminiscent of that day in the black water fen when he'd pulled Legolas from a similar mental hell, the scent of sea-salt on his matted hair. Or was it something else, something he'd heard Galadriel remark upon regarding her knowledge of Sauron's current state? 'A lidless eye wreathed in fire, piercing but still blinded by Nenya's strength.' What Mithrandir had detected had not been like that at all. There had been no eyes nor face nor form, yet the impression of the being was familiar to him. What had precipitated that sensation of recognition? He could not now recall it, for he'd been thrown into confusion as his nemesis dodged behind a screen of false personas that shifted and melted into one another, a kaleidoscope of personalities and faces fading in and out, voices couched in tones to trick and tease, to confound and disorient him, some well known and loved, others strange and bizarre.

The question remained: if not Sauron, who? It was not a Wraith, for the Nazgûl possessed no power in that degree, confined to leeching the energy for their shadowy existence from the living things near them, and from their Master. Besides, they were human at the core and the human being simply did not have the capacity to generate and manipulate energy in that manner. It occurred to Mithrandir that no news had returned from the east of Alatar and Palando, the Blue wizards. Had they become corrupt, servants of Sauron? Could one, or both, be here in Mirkwood?

He could not discard the possibility, yet had insufficient evidence to make a reasonable guess, and thus did not broach the topic with Thranduil. The final battle for Legolas had been brief though brutal, and the other Istar had simply let go. Nothing Gandalf the Grey attempted had brought about the release of the damaged feä. The renegade just let Legolas go as though suddenly bored with it all.

It was Erestor calling him that achieved victory. That and removal of the false bonding ring. Would he have heard Erestor's call but for that, I wonder?

The remnants lay upon the floor and he stretched out a hand, gathered them into his palm, nudged them about with his finger. The weight of the tainted metal was greater than that of ordinary gold but it was base, a kind of iron alloy he could not identify, and the thin overlay of true gold had flaked away into dust as soon as the ring began to glow orange with heat. He stared at the runes, now distorted and mostly unrecognisable, but did not need to see every character to know they contained a powerful binding spell. Abruptly he thrust the fragments away from sight into his pocket and noted their gravity there, both a burden to bear and a prisoner to mind. These would have to be dealt with as the gates of the vault and Thranduil's dark dagger.

His eyes found the file on the floor, red-stained and in places a bit warped as though melted from extreme heat. It was Legolas', part of the tool set given by Fearfaron so long ago, a basic implement of the carpenter's trade. What had prompted the craftsman to fetch it Mithrandir could not fathom, but employing this crude method, scraping and sawing at the band, had proved the only means of finally prying the thing off. The flesh of the archer's finger was equally ripped and torn, but fortunately, while the metal of the ring was hard, it was also brittle and had suddenly burst into three segments under the pressure, a hideous, groaning scream escaping as it fell from Legolas' hand. Part object, part living thing, its irregular pieces jangled together in the wizard's pocket with the slightest movement, but the nature of it was obscured from him even now.

Or am I simply unwilling to acknowledge the facts?

"Mithrandir! Answer me, by Varda!" Erestor was shouting again and stood before the wizard, barely able to restrain himself from physically assaulting him.

"What? Sit down, Erestor!" Mithrandir boomed, irritated and resentful. Had he not just risked all to salvage the wild elf? But they did not know, he remembered, and groaned aloud. "Give me room, for the battle has not left me unscathed."

"Ai, Mithrandir, what was done to you? Is there aught we may do to heal you?" Elrohir spoke softly and reached to touch the Istar's arm. He had watched in disbelief as the wizard failed time and again to wrench the wounded elf from the control of the Shadow. The moment when the hand caught fire had been the breaking point and the younger twin had despaired then, believing they had lost Legolas for ever. The old Maia hadn't any inkling what to do next and simply stopped everything, stood staring, defeated and helpless. If not for that carpenter's idea… His brother's eyes joined his for an instant in silent communion.

"Nay, nay, I just need time and quiet and to be treated with the same courtesy every other person receives in this world," Mithrandir grumbled, pointing his sharp-eyed scowl at Erestor.

"Forgive me," the seneschal dipped his head formally and resumed his place beside Pen-rhovan, took up the good hand and cradled it in his. "I would have your answer, though, even if it is the one I most dread to hear."

"And I must ask your indulgence, Erestor, for I was lost in thought and missed this portentous question," Mithrandir sighed and peered at the noble ellon, so pale and drawn and frail-looking now that he hardly recognised him.

"I need to know if he is still my mate," Erestor repeated softly.

"Well, of course he is." It was Fearfaron, quietly indignant. He offered a subdued smile, aware his law-son was distressed and thus prone to question everything, even the one thing he never should. "The bond is true and I'd bet my life that is what kept him alive through this ordeal, Erestor. Now let him rest a bit, for he is here, right here for true, body and soul rejoined." The carpenter's grin grew huge. "A mighty warrior is our Tawarwaith!" he exclaimed in awe-tinged pride. "Who else could endure such and live?"

Erestor stared at him in horror and pulled away. It was disgusting to glorify such atrocities thus; these Wood Elves had become tainted with Shadow, their laws and their customs brutal and unforgiving, revelling in the struggle against their enemies instead of removing themselves from such bitter and inevitable destruction by degrees. He slumped down and covered his eyes as tears gathered there. Could he be sure Legolas was still his mate?

"Can you not feel the bond between you anymore?" queried Gladhadithen, as concerned by the seneschal's question as the carpenter.

"Yes, perhaps. I think so, but it feels faint and distant, as though he is far away…"

"So he is, in many ways," Aragorn inserted and presented an encouraging smile. "Now he has a chance to return to you."

"Aye," Erestor smiled wanly. "But the bonding band I gave was taken from him, even though Mithrandir enchanted it."

"Indeed, the person who did that employed a strong power," the wizard agreed gruffly, "but keep in mind I did not place an unbreakable spell upon the bonding ring. It was just a gift, you see, from me to him; a way to say I wanted only happiness and joy to follow." All eyes observed how far from that wish Legolas had been taken and a long silence coiled into the tree and spread out beyond the clearing. The old oak creaked and groaned in sympathy; the talan swayed gently.

"Is his soul irreparably harmed?" Erestor asked, unable to let it go, not really directing the question to anyone in particular, not really expecting any reply, but he was answered boldly.

"No, he is not going to fade now if he did not fade before now," Thranduil announced with confidence.

He was perched high on an over-hanging branch, one of the screens having been folded away to allow fresh air and the light of the dawn inside the talan. Erestor's wild shouting had drawn him back, but once the spell-casting began he'd quickly realised he was in the way and took refuge in the limbs. Watching from above, he seemed to be the only one to perceive the strange and filmy grey mist coalesce about Legolas. It arose from inside him the moment the ring was broken and vanished in an eye-blink, but Thranduil had seen it clearly and knew it for what it was: an unhoused fëa. Or a fragment of one. Thinking fast, he'd attempted to cast it into the heart of the one of the surrounding trees, bound there until he could remove it to a more permanent repository, but someone else claimed it before he could complete the commands of thaumaturgy.

Now he met the doubtful faces and their dubious expressions and repeated his prognosis. "Legolas will not fade, Erestor, though the recovery may be slow."

"Slow!" Elladan scoffed and shook his head. He had seen his mother struggle to overcome the terrors which had ripped her soul to shreds. Her torment had been severe, but nothing like the tortures on display before him here. "Do not make him try too long, Erestor," he cautioned. "Let him know you will go willingly to Aman should he need the healing of the Powers to survive this."

"You will take him over sea?" Gladhadithen asked, pausing in her painstaking work of stitching the torn flesh of the finger back together.

"If I must, of course," Erestor agreed. He trained his aggrieved eyes upon her. "Do you think we should go right away?"

"No!" barked Thranduil. "His whole purpose for living is here in Greenwood."

"Nay, you must delay for a time," Aragorn insisted firmly, disapproving eye flickering to the King and away. Thranduil's motives were suspect, as far as he was concerned, but his warning was valid. "Legolas is too weak for such a journey. We must first attempt to heal his body before we can begin to examine the state of his soul."

"How can one be favoured over the other?" Erestor complained. "If his soul is compromised, it will affect his natural ability to heal. If the body is damaged beyond repair, even the strongest spirit must flee to Mandos."

"He is not mortally wounded. None of these injuries alone would grieve him more than a few days, given the proper care," stated Aragorn, but then appended his judgement: "Yet, this is not like the torture inflicted by Rochendil. Infection has already set in, held in check by that evil hold upon his soul. Now that he is free…"

"What?" demanded Erestor, unconsciously squeezing the wild elf's hand tight.

"We fear the putrefaction may become systemic. The work to cure these infections is not easy," said Gladhadithen, "but he has survived such horrors before."

"Aye, but with aid, as I recall it. Now would be the time to attempt infusing some of your power into him," Thranduil's words were directed to the wizard and spoken in a commanding tone. Everyone turned outraged glares upon him, including Mithrandir, who stood and moved to stand beneath the branch as a chorus of rebukes filled the flet.

"Don't be absurd; you can see he's exhausted!"

"Give him time to recover his strength."

"He is not Vala, Aran Thranduil."

"What insufferable insolence!"

"Enough!" shouted Thranduil, red-faced, and leaped lightly down to face his detractors. "Hear this now and remember it well: Legolas is my own, my first-born son taken from me assuredly as if he'd been abducted and spirited away to a foreign land. He is reclaimed and will be exalted; nothing and no person will be spared to salvage him. Mithrandir, you made a vow and I will hold you to it." The King paused and glanced at Legolas' inert form before continuing. "That being said, I thank you for your efforts on his behalf thus far. If you are not strong enough to help him further then by all means take measures to renew yourself. My home and all I possess are at your disposal."

"It is fortunate for you that I left my staff in my quarters," the Maia fumed, his fury rather suddenly converted into confusion upon hearing the King's thanks. "I am not a servant you may order about at will, Thranduil. And I take offence to that reference to a vow, for once given my word is never withdrawn. I am glad to aid Legolas and wish I could do more."

"I apologise for the affront; you are right and it was an unworthy remark," Thranduil's shoulders twitched as he offered a half-bow; several mouths dropped open.

"Fine, granted," the wizard had no idea how to respond to such uncharacteristic behaviour. His eyes fell on Legolas and he sighed; his heart ached and he wasn't sure how much longer he could bear to remain near him knowing it was Erestor who had called him back. The Tawarwaith did not even seem to perceive his existence anymore. "Granted, think no more upon it," he finally said and sat again on the edge of the mattress.

"What is the next step?" Erestor asked. "Should we attempt to make him awaken?"

"Not yet," Aragorn cautioned. "This is not a trance controlled by another but his body's response to the pain and sickness assailing him. Let him be for a time."

"How long?" Elrohir was uneasy with this advice, preferring to have the archer open his eyes and see that he was safe.

"Impossible to say," Gladhadithen warned, "and it is unwise to set such expectations now. It could be many days before he regains consciousness; it could be mere hours. He is very ill and weak; fever will mount as he fights the sickness. That will be our challenge: keeping the body at a sufficient temperature to burn out the infection yet not so high that he perishes. If we get him through that…"

"When we get him through that," Fearfaron corrected sternly.

"Then the more difficult struggle begins," she continued. "He has been tortured in ways few can imagine. I have no experience in such cures; none have ever returned from captivity among the Wraiths."

"Lord Elrond has such knowledge," Aragorn stated and flinched at the dark glower Elladan bent upon him.

"Absolutely not!" snapped Thranduil. "He is under my doom and not to go anywhere near Legolas."

"Nay, if he can help I would not object," argued Erestor.

"Mayhap you'd best consult with him then," offered Elrohir, "though I agree it would not be advisable to have Adar come here."

"His advice is inconsequential. Love is the key," insisted the carpenter. "Erestor loves him and their bond has not been broken, else Legolas would not have responded to his call. He loves Erestor and wants to be with him. I love him; he is my adopted child and the saviour who sent my Annaldir home to Mandos. Mithrandir loves him and while that is a strange bond, Legolas will need it. The rest of you are his friends and that is another kind of love. We will surround him in many layers of love and refuse to relent until all the darkness in him is driven out."

"There is no darkness in him," assured Thranduil, irritated by the suggestion. How could this carpenter have such a portentous name and know nothing of the inner life of the fëa?

"I pray you are right, but I did not mean it as you may suppose," replied Fearfaron. "I know he is not possessed by Shadow; I was referring to the things done to him, darker and fouler than any of us can appreciate. How can we turn him from the memory of these atrocities except with abundant love?"

"What you say is true, yet it is likely to be a trying experience," Elladan cautioned, recalling some of the things he'd witnessed as Celebrian fought for her sanity. She was not less loved than Legolas, yet had not managed to pull free of the poison afflicting her heart and soul. Elrond had become her favourite target, but no one was immune to her bitterness and the caustic, vile curses that fell from her tongue. Love was not always enough, but these were words he had no desire to speak.

"Yes," Erestor felt coldness creep into his heart, reliving one such episode, "I remember." His gaze fell upon Legolas again and he shuddered; could he endure such harangues from his beloved? Even at their most contentious, Legolas had never done more than utter a few justified profanities and insults. Indeed, Legolas had been quick to identify and expound upon the positive qualities the seneschal possessed. To listen as he enumerated and elaborated the negative ones, was his heart strong enough to bear it? Unbidden, the carpenter's earlier suggestion presented itself. Why must Legolas be forced to remember any of it? Wouldn't immersion in the Enchanted River erase these events forever? He shuddered again, lacking the courage to attempt that course yet.

"None of you understand him," announced Fearfaron. "He will not turn his rage on anyone he loves. Legolas always blames himself for whatever befalls him and those under his protection."

"Aye," Aragorn agreed. "He has been trained since childhood to believe he is the cause for whatever misery he suffers as well as that which others in contact with him endure. Even when we were barely acquainted he exhibited this trait on my behalf. Because of this early conditioning, he is sure to blame himself for the loss of Lindalcon." He glared at the King and resumed his work, carefully bandaging and immobilising the finger, wrapping it and the second finger together.

"Yes, it is unconscionable," agreed Thranduil openly, no embarrassment or defensiveness in his defiant expression. "I threw him away, believing him sprouted from another's seed. I do not hide from my errors, echil, and plan to amend the harm I have done. Legolas will be restored to his rightful place in Greenwood."

"Assuming he can be healed," appended Gladhadithen.

"Assuming he wants that place," added Elladan. He was not intimidated when Thranduil confronted him.

"Legolas belongs to Greenwood," said the monarch archly. "He is Tawarwaith."

"Perhaps that is what he was," countered Elrohir, "but who can say what he is now?"

"Broken," whispered Gladhadithen.

"No." Thranduil and Erestor shouted together and in a glance shared their intractable determination to make Legolas whole. Their allegiance was enjoined with unprecedented immediacy and bore out the truism that hardship produced uncommon kin-folk. The King continued. "How can you even suggest it, healer? I thought it unwise to speak this way near him for fear he would take your words for fact and believe himself doomed."

"True, if he was in a healing trance, but he is not, Aranen. He is completely oblivious to everything," answered Gladhadithen. "See, he does not feel what we are doing to his finger and I assure you it is not pleasant." Thranduil looked as though he might dispute her, but he, too, had been under her care more than once and could not gainsay her skill and experience.

"I agree partially with everyone; he is not broken beyond repair, yet the struggle to heal him will be difficult. We must not falter in our efforts to help him reclaim his life, no matter how long or arduous the task," sighed Mithrandir and heaved himself up again, finding he had no heart for this discussion any longer. Abruptly, a hand took hold of his elbow and he turned to find Elrohir beside him, intent upon assisting his climb down. He smiled wryly; he must look terribly frail. Yet he was grateful and allowed the aid. "I will find Aiwendil; there is much he can do to speed my own recovery. Send for me if there is need."

He gave them all a speculative glance. What could any of them give, even Erestor, that would compensate for the wild elf's horrific experiences and make an eternity of such memories bearable? What, indeed, could he himself do for Legolas? He recalled a day, such a short number of years ago, when he'd decided the Tawarwaith had a great purpose to achieve, an important part to play in the struggle yet to come, and must be preserved. He had not acted to ensure that preservation, as he had once imagined, but sent him into greater danger and made him the special target of the Wraiths. How could he know Legolas would go so far beyond defending the scattered woodsmen's villages?

Yet the fault is mine for not knowing it; his character would demand no lesser level of dedication than eradication of the Wraiths. Is it any wonder he despises the thought of me? Why didn't I take him from here then? Indeed, why didn't I listen to my misgivings and carry him off from Erebor with me the day I saw him on the ridge? Or even later, after the Judgement. Thranduil could not have stopped me, would not have wished to.

The wizard shook his head, finding his eyes once again on the senseless Wood Elf, bloody and battered so much worse than he had been that fateful day. "Vala valuvar, penneth. Na haryalyë raine ar sére ar envinyatië." (The will of the Valar be done. May you have peace and rest and healing.)

With this blessing he shuffled from the flet, guided and assisted by Elrohir as he climbed down and finally out of the tree altogether. At the base of the oak he paused, gazing at the surrounding ring of mighty beeches defining the clearing and thought the distance a daunting space to traverse. Elrohir called for the horse Thranduil had ridden into the croft and boosted him upon it, watching him so closely the wizard had to smile and laid a gnarled hand against the Twin's cheek. "I will be well again soon enough, mellon."

"Will you look in on Adar?" Elrohir had not abandoned his father to fate as had his brother. "When you are stronger, of course."

"Yes, I will have a talk with him. Do not fear; I think this war has drained away Thranduil's hunger for misery and pain. He will let your father go home."

"I hope so, yet I want Ada to be renewed before he leaves from here and I believe he needs a penance to fulfil before that will be possible. Thranduil is not so haughty as I thought him and rumour reported; surely the punishment will be just and appropriate."

"No, he was exactly so: proud and defiant, powerful and cruel in the use of that power. Rumour did not exaggerate his personality; a great change has come upon Thranduil, the reason for which I have not the energy to contemplate at the moment. Were I not so exhausted I might be able to say more; it will have to wait. But I will carry your good thoughts to your father, I am sure Elrond will welcome them, Elrohir. You are a good son." Mithrandir withdrew his hand and clucked his tongue to set the steed on its course.

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Chapters

• Bauth ar Awarth
• Tadui Lu Thel
• Namië
• Leithad-en-Maethyr
• Rhovan Cuil Erin Tawar Sír
• Naeg ar Annad
• Laithad en Maethor
• Manadh an Annaldír
• Tûr ar Torthad
• Pelol
• Idhren teriais, ar ÿr eden.
• Echui na Rûth
• Edair, Ionath, Gwenyr
• Tirn-en-Tawar
• Mael nuin Daedelu
• Dolen enath útummen
• Nasto naith lîn born, tharn nedhnîn!
• Aniron isto; úcíriel le ross?
• Abross
• Gwedh Saer
• Thang Helch
• Cardh Delu
• Iaun a Dambeth Um
• Introspection
• Caro Nad Tîr
• Gwain Gonathras
• Onnad Pannen-bant
• Trenared Balch
• Mellyn Evyrn
• Gwain Erthad
• Gwaedh O Gwend Uireb
• Buiad Úbara
• Dagor Minui: Auth dan Yngyl
• Agar Mael
• Thavron ah Aran
• Gûr Gweriant
• Na Falas
• Bronwe Talt
• Tadui Dagor: Maeth dan Yrch
• Trenared Teithannen
• Aderthannen
• Thranduilion
• Gwaedh o Gwenyr
• Gûr o Iarwain
• Tôl Bar Crebain an Idh
• Lond o Rîn
• Min Gannen, Min Dolen
• Legolas thêl amarth o noss tîn
• Legolas and Meril
• The Sons of Elrond
• Amarth od Erestor
• Dregad Trihant
• Govadel o Erebor
• Prestad Dhaer vi Eregion Dithen
• Tiriathach?
• Amarth o Maltahondo
• Caro Meleth Enni
• Thranduil sui Adar
• Ben'waeth
• Thranduil ar Meril
• Ithil'lî vi Talan?
• Gwedhel Istar
• Gwanun Ûl Gâd
• Fîr Úgerth
• Galadhrim ar Brannon Ûbrand
• Athrabeth 'oeol
• Celeborn Hortha ar Eringalen
• Minuial o Rhîw
• Bardolel Mereth
• Legolas Nestannen
• Loss Talt bo Iûl
• Cared Dengwith
• Cast of Feud and Erebor Facts
• Gwedeir ar Gwedeir vi Gwaedh
• Cuil o Erestor addelia nedhnî hin tî.
• Díhenad Vreg
• Adechui o Erestor
• Osp Erin 'Waew
• Sigil ar Edron
• Na Ennyn
• Dambeth od Erebor
• Ben Gladhadithen
• Coll o Gweth
• Gladhadithen Trenar Tolad
• Tangadad Buiad
• Ind-en-Erestor
• Ist Thurin
• Aderthanen
• Gwaeth Aer
• Iâr, Acharn, Guruth
• Lindalcon ar Meril
• Nedhan Dor Nîr ar Naeg
• Elrond Hecilo
• Amarth o Meril
• Amarth od Elrond
• Baul Gellui
• Erin Fen-en-Gûr
• Anc-en-Gurth
• Baudh-en-Lindalcon
• Auth-en-Rhîw
• Him Vraig
• Amarth o Rochendil
• Awarth
• Gwaedh-en-Fael'ur
• Gwanath-en-Lindalcon
• Leithian
• Adel Annon 'Lan
• Abauth
• Said Duir a Cyfn
• Echui
• to be
• to be
• to be
• to be
• Epilog