The Council of Fingolfin

High walls and lofty towers cast their long shadows down into the courtyard below. Troops often train here, learning the skills which will protect them against an implaccable foe always more numerous than they. At times, the whole of the fortress gathers here to hear the words of their commanders or of the High King himself...or to muster for battle.

Ringing the courtyard are the grainaries, armouries, smithies, stables, and other buildings which support and provide for the fortress in peace and in war.
Setting pickets for the horses and directing all activities around them is a black-haired elven lady. Though visibly tired, there's a spark in her green eyes that speaks of enthusiasm and liveliness. She appears to be in several places at once, within the Nargothrondhrim camp. At last, when things meet her standard she looks upon camp with a tired smile.

"Well met, cousin," Finrod replies evenly, "Is Maedhros about? I would have words with him before the Council begins." From the corner of his eye he sees Hador's smile of greeting. Losing his troubled expression, he smiles warmly in return and beckons to the human to join them in conversation.

"Maedhros goes wither he will," speaks Caranthir as his eyes travel to the goldenhaired Hador. His eyes narrow yet he says nothing. The light mood of Finrod and of the camp itself seems to weigh heavily upon the Lord of Thargelion, and it gives rise to his rage.
A smile of invitation which Hador is all too glad to accept, though he expects that not all will be thrilled. And so, with noble stride, he approaches the elves. "This morning I do greet you all as friends. Well met."

Fairfax steps out of the tents that make the Nargothrond camp, still settling down and takes a moment to survey the scenery. She smiles wider and nods once at the sight of so many different people gathered in one place.

The sound of new hoofalls comes to the courtyard. A lofty white stead with a tall rider atop leads a group of other riders, perhaps two dozen men, all arrayed in armour all with Golden hair as the man at the for. The Adan at the head of this train slows his horse to a canter as they reach the gates, the group passes with a nod from the gaurds.

As he canters into the courtyard the Adan glances about, his golden hair hangs about his shoulders and his face fair to look apon. This is Gundor son of Hador and with him knights of his land.

"Well met, my friend," Finrod says to Hador, for the moment ignoring his cousin's growing wrath. "I am delighted to see you and your kindred here. It will be well to hear your voices during the Council." Turning back to Caranthir at last, he adds, "Well, please tell your brother that I wish to speak with him. You have not, by chance, seen Angrod and Aegnor have you?"

In the far corner of the courtyard, apart from the rest, is a large circle of wagons. Small figures move slowly too and fro, and the sound of metal upon metal rings out into the courtyard. Moving away from these is what appears to be a small child. This child though sports a long flowing red beard platted with jewels, clothes fit for a prince and a gleaming knife hanging at his side.

The clatter of horses' hooves indeed quickly catches Fairfax's attention. She watches as the Edain ride in, eyeing the horses with an appreciative eye, forgetting what had previously made her step out of the tents. She hugs herself beneath a light cloak and merely stands by a tent, looking tired yet excited.

Caranthir waxes bitter as he sees both Hador and his son gallop forth with gay expression upon their faces. Yet he remains silent at the greeting of Hador; the gift of polite speech is not with him this day.

But for Finrod he has words: "I have seen not your brothers, Finrod Felagund. I know not the whereabouts of Maedhros, for I have seen him little since we departed Himring and none since crossing the Ard-galen."

Hador's enthusiasm is but slightly damped by Caranthir's words, rather the lack of thereof. "To be sure it will be good to hear from all. It seems to me that we have passed the point of pointless squabbles and must look to the common good for us all." Noticing as well the arrival of more of his people he is gladdened, and especially for the arrival of his younger son.

The human's words bring a full smile to Finrod's face. "Indeed, you speak wisely. We should all put our differences behind us at this Council and deal with the matter at hand." He looks sidelong at Caranthir, "Would you not agree, cousin?"

Caranthir's jaw clenches tightly at the words of Hador, and his fists along with it. He says nothing to the Atani; he feels no need to address a secondborn. "My enemy is he who stands between me and my vengeance. Be he friend or foe--you remember those words, do you not?"
Watching the humans with interest, the small figure begins to wander further a-field. Walking through tents and passing people by he comes upon female elf standing alone by a tent. "'Lo there lady, other's business more interesting that anything else huh?" The dwarf grins and takes a stance next to her, watching the 'important' figures converse.

Gundor. smiles to an attendent as his horse is taken from him, for he had already dropped neatly from the saddle, his eyes had already glanced his father among many others. He begins to stride towards the group a smile apon his face, as he nears he notes more than a little tension in some. His voice rings out in greeting firm and definite, deep in tone, "Greetings to all of you lords." With that he bows curtly as he stands full again his eyes go to Hador, "Well met Father it has been a while since last I saw you."

From the Mindon Thilos the wide door opens, and from it comes a tall figure, clad in silver and blue. Arrayed formally, and not mail-clad, yet still Ringil hangs at Fingolfin's side, and he seems just as ready for battle as for counsel. He looks out to the courtyard, and for a moment a sad smile touches his lips, as if recalling some dear memory to him. And then his ears hear, and his eyes see those already gathered in the yard, and his smile broadens, glad yet fierce. "Bright morning to you all!" he calls, stepping from the towar and towards the gathering of edain and quendi.

Fairfax jumps a little, startled by the sudden appearance beside her, which she had failed to notice through her weariness, She looks down and blinks twice before managing a new smile. "Oh, um... Yes, I suppose so" and with those words her smile becomes warmer. "But it's always nicer to have company. Pray tell me your name, mellon"

"I remember those words only too well, cousin," Finrod sighs. His face brightens once again as Gundor approaches and he nods to the human with a smile. "Mae Govannen." He starts to add more, but the High King's voice rings through the air. "And to you as well, Aran!" he calls in reply. "Come join us!"

Hador spreads his arms slightly, finally addressed by Caranthir, "You are welcome to your vengeance I suppose, be it at the expense of what you hold dear yourself. To prevent such losses is why we must hold council. For the moment we are allies, and I shall ever hold you such, though you may rather it otherwise." Even though his words are casual there is that 'just so long as you don't cross me or my people' sort of tone. Finally dispairing of convincing otherwise he turns to his son, embracing him fondly. "Indeed it is good once more to be among family. How do things fair at home? With the people?"

Turns as a voice rings out across the courtyard, and frowning as he recognises the elven King Fingolfin he shouts out "Aye, an' it'd be a lot brighter if my arm wasnt bandaged up and we hadn't lost one of my group defending you lot..." Shaking his head, he turns back to the female elf. Bowing low, his jewels glitter in what light there is and the dwarf smiles, "My name? Telchar, Lord Baraz...and who might you be?"

Fairfax's eyes widen a fraction. "Oh... I am Fairfax, humble stables worker of Nargothrond. I am most honoured to meet you." She does a graceful, if short, curtsy in return. Her eyes, though, are drawn back to the square as new voices ring clear and she's distracted.

A wry smile appears on the pale face of Caranthir the Dark, "I will have my vengeance, son of Hathol. And I would scare have any of the Free People as an enemy, but if it must be so then it will be so. I pray that this council is swift and decisive, for I have little mind to endure bickering and quarreling when there is a war to be fought." At the mere thought of a feast, his jaw clenches once more.

Gundor. smiles and turns to his father after nodding to finrod and smiling warmly to him, "Things fair well Father.Last winter was hard, made harder without the Lord, but the Summer brought both grain and fruit. The wheels turn well, but many of the folk miss there Lord and the folk that went with him, it has been a long year. I fear there will be more for you to tell than I." His voice to Father is softer perhaps still deep in tone, but with a fondness unmaskable. He turns as Fingolfin calls out and bows as the High king approaches. He stands a grimace apon his face at the sour words of the Son of Feanor anger flares in his eyes, though heavily masked.
If Caranthir notices the anger flaring in the eyes of Hador's son, he notes it not; his gaze is merely fixed upon the King of Mithrim. He awaits now only the beginning of the council, and with little about his persona resembling patience.

Fingolfin stands silent after his greeting, though he nods to those that do reply. Yet more than speaking, he listens, and his eyes darken, disquiet mingled with restrained anger. "My lords and my guests!" he says at last, his time firm and deep, I can see, and I can hear, that we begin our council early, and discuss things perhaps that would be best left for times more peaceful." His eyes flicker for a moment, and then he smiles. "My lords, my guests, in truth it is a beautiful morning, yet the mountain air is brisk for a long council... If you would join me, you and those retainers you wish to bring, I have prepared a room within for our council..."

Telchar listens quietly to his surroundings, and as Fingolfin speaks the dwarf chuckles. Calling out he says "Aye, and you'd better have some good excuses to give me...." Shaking his head the dwarf again falls quiet, waiting for others to make a move.
Dror has arrived.

Apparently the name of Telchar is not unfamiliar to the lord of Dor-Lomin as Hador's ears pick up the speach of the dwarf a smile of recognition passes across his face, he would immedeatly go to give greeting but the reunion with his son is more important at the moment. "I see. And you speak well. We have been too long away from home once more. I imagine that there is a list of issues as tall as yourself awaiting my return. Well we will deal with it when the time comes."

"If you will excuse me," Finrod says to his companions. He crosses back to the edge of his encampment. Seeing Fairfax speaking with the dwarf, he nods politely and says, "Fairfax, could you ask Celvir to...nay, on second thought, I would ask you to accompany me to the Council. You have a gentle voice and kindly manner. I think I shall be in need of soft words ere long."

Nodding to his Fathers words and that of the high Kings he nods, his face now calm seemingly. "Aye, home cannot come to soon for you, for a year is long to be sundered from your home." He lets that be for now and looks back to the High king, he too awaitng movement.

A wide table of polished oak takes up the center of the room with several chairs arranged around it; a larger chair has been placed at the head of the table. A window looks out to the east, letting in the morning light and providing a view of the wide plains which open out in the distance. In the corner, a fire burns in a small hearth and a few, very intricate tapestries cover the stone walls.

This is where the High King holds his private meetings, discussing plans and formulating policies with his close advisors and most trusted commanders. Maps and plans, records and reports are often kept here in cabinets or chests: to be discussed and debated until the High King speaks his mind.

Above this chamber the tower continues upwards, providing housing and storage for the High King's personal Guard and servants, and higher still are the quarters for the High King himself.

Maedhros the Tall, Eldest Son of Feanor, sits already in a chair to the left of the High Seat, intently studying several parchments before him, some of which appear to be maps. As the council files in, he silently notes each: Dwarf-lords from the Blue Mountains, Edain of Beor's house, Hador and his house from Dor-lomin, Finrod Felagund and the Noldor of Nargothrond, and finally Fingolfin, High King, with the Noldor of the North. As the latter enters, Maedhros rises to his feet out of respect, waiting for the King to take his seat and call the council to order before sitting again.

Moving towards the hearth Valnen leans down and takes a couple logs,tossing them on to the small fire that burns within. As he walks towards the window to take his place, his eyes gaze out upon the wide plains basking in the beauty of the day,gathering his focus he turns his attentions back to the council and his duty as a Spearman in the High Kings Army.

The rising sun begins to light the council chamber, though a fire burns in the hearth, warming it, and lighted globes hang in sconces on the walls. Many chairs are set at the large table, and at each is placed a goblet filled with clear, golden liquid. parchments and maps are scattered on the table, readily available to those who might need to examine them.

Fingolfin does enter, his smile grateful and yet stern as he studies those there gathered. Last his eyes fall upon Maedhros there before him, and he nods, his smile broadening. "Welcome lords and ladies; my thanks for your coming. I know the hour is early, so I will spare you... an interminable speech." He pauses, shaking his head. "Please, be seated, and let us begin."

Although he smiles and nods to his kindred as he enters the room, it is clear from his troubled expression that Finrod is not pleased by the proceedings. He speaks quietly to Fairfax as they approach the table, then takes a seat to the side of Fingon's chair.

Entering the room, the Khazad Lord moves to a seat away from the rest, and sitting down quietly he lets his fingers wind themselves into his beard.

Hador. also moves his way to a seat, alighting across the table from the window basking in the sunlight while he may.

There is little time wasted by the Lord of Thargelion, Caranthir the Dark, as he makes his way quickly to his seat to the left of Maedhros his brother. His watches the rest of the council gather with a hot stare.

Gundor. following his Father, a mear step behind, his Son sits in the seat next to him. He drops lighty in the seat and smiles as chairs begins to fill with many folk from all about. He seems now content.

Lord Narag enters with a huff, as if short of breath from running to catch up. Noting that Lord Baraz is there before him--and everyone else is before him, for that matter--he scowls, his face red, and hurriedly takes a seat beside him at the far end of the table on the side to Fingolfin's left.

Looking weary and drawn, Emeldir sinks into the nearest chair at Fingolfin's behest. Several of Bregolas and Barahir's company sit with her, a young lass passing a waterskin to the lady after she is seated.

Fairfax enters the room and follows Finrod closely all the way. She looks a bit nervous or perhaps just out of her element, somewhat. With a glance around her, she takes a seat by Felagund's side. Her eyes then proceed to examine all those gathered and settling down in their places.

Breg walks in slowly pearing into the pages of a large book as he walks. Looking up as he enters the room he notices the lords Dror and Telchar across the room. Closing his tome he marches over and takes a seat beside them.

When all are seated, Fingolfin rises from his chair, his gaze going to the eastern window. For a moment he is silent, as if gathering his thought, and then he begins. "These... are troubled times," he says, his voice not loud, and yet carrying easily in the room. "Hosts out of Angband trouble the world, daring to venture even near places...' He looks at Finrod and nods. "...so well-hidden we thought them safe refuge. My heart was troubled in Nargothrond by the boldness of the Lord of Thralls, but... I waited. And now even Balrogs walk not much more than a day's ride from Himring, and orcs wander at will nigh at hand to the Land of Pines." Fingolfin sighs, and looks at each person seated before him. "I have called you here... to ask for your aid. I intend to go to war against the dark host, and drive them back to Angband." He them takes his seat, and waits.

Maedhros swiftly returns to his seat, and waits for Fingolfin to conduct the business of the meeting. He frowns slightly at the commotion, drumming the fingers of his left hand upon the oak table in slight impatience. He finally relaxes and focuses his attention on the High King as he speaks, nodding his head firmly in agreement, but still refraining from speech until he is called upon.

"Driving back the enemy is always a worthwhile endeavor," Finrod speaks up cautiously. Although he does not rise from his chair, his clear voice carries across the room.

The Beorians watch and listen closely, Emeldir looking between the Elf Lords, her brow furrowing at the mention of orcs wandering so near to Dorthonion.

Fairfax tries to look calm and collected. Her only reaction to Fingolfin's words is to look at Finrod for his own reaction. Slender fingers from one of her hands do, however, come up to her throat and start fidgeting with her necklace.

In a corner not far from the table where the council sits, Araphel slips quietly into a small nook, taking a seat unobtrusively and watching for the reaction of the group, folding her hands in her lap.

The son of Finwe reaches for his goblet, taking a long drink as Finrod speaks. He nods, and then adds, his voice softer still, "And, should we win that far, what then might we do? Attack the Thangorodrim itself and throw down the Bauglir?" He looks at Maedhros, and then to Finrod, who had spoken before. "What say you to this, Finrod?"

For a long moment Finrod is silent, staring at his uncle with an unreadable expression. Finally, he draws in a deep breath and says in a low voice, "You know my opinion of this plan. We have spoken of this before. I think this suggestion is unwise and unnecessary. You would take a short stick and prod at the nest of hornets. In doing so, you would risk the peace we have maintained for centuries in this land."

Caranthir can bear it no longer. He speaks up, his voice bitter and every word cut short. "No more of this talk will endure! You speak as fishwives, bandying about words and then retracting them upon an instant. If you wish to speak, speak with a full heart and mean every word! Such a council as this is no council, but rather a circle of cravery." He draws a breath as if to speak more, his eyes flaming like two burning brands.

Though still exhibiting a few signs of nervousness, Fairfax gradually settles down. Her keen and sparkling green eyes watch intently as participants speak. She keeps silent beside her king Felagund.

Maedhros rises to his feet, standing tall over his brother, to whom he swiftly speaks as he lays his left hand upon his shoulder as if to physically restrain his hasty brother. "Be civil, brother! By Finwe! I will speak for the Sons of Feanor!" He turns to face the council with an apologetic smile. "O Fingolfin, King of the North, may I speak?" He remains standing, his hand still on Caranthir's shoulder as if to restrain him, but he towers over Fingolfin too, and all the council.

Gundor. leans back in the chair, his eyes go from speaker to speaker, calm and set they are, at points he looks to his father, but he says nought, leaving his Father to talk for now.
"You may speak, Maedhros," answers Fingolfin, though his eyes are dark, and he does not smile.
At Caranthirs words the thoughtful frown on Breg's face eases and is replaced with an approving smile. Leaning back in his chair he folds his arms and watches, listening intently for Maedhros to continue.

Finrod seems largely unconcerned by Caranthir's outburst. Although his eyes narrow slightly at his cousin's words, he makes no comment in reply. When Maedhros speaks up, he smiles faintly and sits back to listen.

"Friends, allies, kin, and ye Edain and Naugrim," Maedhros begins, looking at all present in turn, but lighting finally upon Finrod, to whom his words seem primarily focused at first. "Surely ye have heard the old proverb: it takes but one foe to start a war. The Long Peace is coming to an end, and through no doing of our own, but because of he who sits on his throne unassailed, building his armies. Now he ever increasingly assails our folk--shall we allow the Foe to continue unrestrained?" His voice rises to a passion, his right arm raised as if unconsciously, for all to behold the missing hand. "Nay, at the very least let us hem him in once more as we did after the Dagor Aglareb! For I say to you know that only by our inaction will Morgoth have victory!"

Taking a sip of water from the 'skin as she listens, brow still furrowed, Emeldir daubs at her cheeks with a soft cloth as well, her complexion grey and pale as she gives her attention now to the Feanorian King.

"Nor would I say that, since the Aglareb, that we have had peace unassailed,' remarks Fingolfin, his eyes brightening. He seems about to say more, yet his eyes catch sight of the grey-faced adaneth, and he gazes concernedly at the Lady of Ladros. "Lady Emeldir," he calls, his voice calm, yet concerned. "Do our words distress you so, or is there aught amiss? I pray you, speak of it here..."

Gundor. smiles and shakes his head, he looks to his father first and then opens his mouth to speak. "Well, in principal M'Lord Maedhros, fine is your plan, but a circle can not be made. The winter would freeze all much further North than here, we can block the front door further, but his maggots can seap forth from any direction, with the exception of the Sea. The vessel will leak, that is a given." He nods his head to Maedhros as a sign of respect, "Though I am sure you know this well.

Maedhros appears ready to speak more, and for a moment appears annoyed that his speech has been cut off by mortals. However, he resumes a look of patience on his face and returns to his seat, a slight nod to Gundor to indicate he heard his words. His eyes focus once again on his maps and parchments as he waits for his turn to speak, paying scant attention to the words of the Edain as if in deep thought.

Surprised when the High King calls upon her, Emeldir waits until after Gundor has spoken before replying to Fingolfin's question. "Nay Aran," she answers in a quiet tone, head inclined respectfully towards Fingolfin, "I am fine, just ... tired from the journey," she adds.

Caranthir, however, possesses none of the control gifted to his elder brother. He opens his mouth, his lips curling angrily and his breath seeming to coagulate in front of him into crystalline daggers of hatred. But then, as he glances aside to Maedhros, he growls low in his throat and remains seated and calm for the time being.
Fingolfin nods to Emeldir, though he remains silent for a moment, perhaps expecting more, perhaps just considering that it is she who sits there and not her husband. Yet when he speaks, it is to address Gundor's words. "I know we cannot fence him in on all sides, and.... I would not ask you to endure the agony of the frozen wastes. There the only fight.... is to survive." He pauses a moment, his eyes dark. "Yet I would say, that ever Morgoth has underestimated the valour of the edain, focusing the brunt of his will against the Noldor. But see? we have here edain strong and valiant, and even... dwarves from out of Nogrod have come.... I ask you, would you join yourselves to my cause?" He looks once more to Emeldir, and then to Hador and the Lords of Nogrod.

With a shake of his head, Finrod pushes to his feet. "While I respect your words," he says to Fingolfin and Maedhros, "I still counsel caution in this regard. Could all the might of the Eldar and Edain combined break through the iron gates of the north? I think not. And yet, we have not all out might. For King Thingol, who has been aggrieved by our past actions, is loathe to send his folk to die beside us." Turning to Caranthir, he adds quietly, "Craven, you would call us? Perhaps, but there is also wisdom in peace. For we cannot win this day with the force of our arrogance alone. Would that we could do so, since we have arrogance in such abundance."

At the call from Fingolfin, Emeldir rises from her seat, color now returned to her face. She looks about the council chamber before speaking up, "Aran, the Beorians have long said they will fight to keep the forces of the Enemy from Dorthonion, aye from Beleriand," she vows in a clear voice that carries to all. With an apologetic glance towards Lord Felagund, she goes further, "The House of Beor will stand with ye, High King."

"Return to thy caves, worm." Caranthir sneers; while the will of Maedhros is strong, it cannot restrain Caranthir in all ways. "And leave the fighting to the more hale of the descendents of Finwe. Nargothrond will be safe behind the might of Fingolfin and of the sons of Feanor."
Placing a hand on the table infront of him Hador has listened quietly so far, but with the gaze of his lord passing across his face he can stay silent no longer. And so he stands briefly, "I grow no younger." He starts, an evident statement, "And perhaps in doing so I have incurred the wrath of some among us. However, while I still draw breath I will come to battle when needed by those I dare to call friends. The question is not whether we shall, but when, and where shall we pick our battle. Indeed it must be with caution and consideration, for in our haste we would set our own traps against ourselves." As he retakes his seat, he nods to Fingolfin, "My people will stand by your side for now and always."

Breg sits silently, his face turned towards his lord Dror waiting to hear him speak for his people.

"Enough!' Fingolfin cries, Rising from his seat and staring at Caranthir. "Foes in plenty we have to the North, and I will not have my guests so abused! Maedhros, if you will not restrain your brother, then he must go from this chamber."

Listening to the words of his King and those gathered around the table,once again Valnen's gaze is drawn towards the window and the eastern plains. Looming in the distance Thangorodrim,a nd the dark smoky outline of the Ered Engrin...."Stronger and bolder the dark host grows everyday." he thinks to himself. Upon hearing the wrath of his Kings voice he snaps back to attention and regains his focus on those assembled.

Fairfax stares long and hard in Caranthir's direction, her face smooth and hard, as carved marble. She takes breath to speak, leaning forward somewhat, but the sudden outburst from the high king makes her turn her head toward him sharply. She remains silent and forces herself to sit back. A few moments later, she leans to whisper a few words in Finrod's ear.

With a sigh of frustration and anger, Maedhros nods at Caranthir. "Go, get ye hence, if ye will be so." His voice starts low, his teeth grating. "Must I always be caught between my friends and my brothers? Must I ever restrain you? Will you not silence your tongue and allow your ears to hear and your heart to think? You do naught but harm to our cause by such words--therefore begone, or will you cross even me?" His voice rises to a pitch of righteous rage, anger against his doom, even as he rises to his feet to stand with Fingolfin.

Eyes widening, Araphel draws her feet carefully up into the windowseat, sliding further back into a more hidden position as she sighs anxiously, though the sound does not carry so far as the council table.

Rising in fell rage, as Feanor in the days of old, Caranthir jumps to his feet and sweeps an icy gaze across the council table. "I will have no contention between any of my brothers. If you wish me away, then away I shall go. But remember well the dying words of our father, spoken not far from this place." And then he, stalking with fists clenched and eyes blazing, makes away from the table and from the "craven circle" as he called it.

The King of Nargothrond remains standing, watching Caranthir cooly. "Nay, Maedhros," he says, his eyes never leaving Caranthir's face, "I shall leave. Apparently my words are disrupting the meeting. Fairfax, a worthy citizen of my realm, shall represent me for the rest of the meeting, unless one of my brothers should arrive." He smiles at Fairfax briefly and speaks a few quiet words, then straightens and turns toward his uncle. "Whatever you decide at this gathering, Nargothrond shall support you. I shall ride beside you in battle and lend my sword to yours. For the Nargothrondhrim are not cowards no matter what names others might give us. Yet I say this to you Fingolfin Nolofinwe, High King of the Noldor, and to you personally. When at last the might of the Enemy sweeps down from the north, I think that your shoulders shall feel the weight of his wrath more than any others. I suggest you think long and well before you invite that wrath."

Fairfax half rises in her chair and then sits back down, eyes wide open and facing her king in disbelief. She blushes somewhat, her face seeming softer as she does so. She nods to Finrod's words, spoken quietly for her ears alone, and then watches him leave the room as if in a daze herself. The black-haired maiden tries to look self-assured as she turns back to the council.

Dror, the Dwarf-lord, looks up at the commotion from studying the golden liquid that he found in his goblet. His bearded face splits slightly into a grin as he addresses the tall lords at the head of the table. "Aye, the Dwarves will stand with ye in war on the East Marches. If it comes to that. And more, methinks ye will have need of the works of our forges, bright helms and sharp swords, and strong coats of mail from Belegost."

Seated once more, Emeldir is stunned by the emotional outbursts within the chamber, though she well understands them herself--worried even now for both her husband and son, of whom no word had been heard ere the travelers left Dorthonion. Tis the first she has seen of such, though, from the reined-in First Born. Mayhap this last great battle will serve to sway a decisive response.

Gundor. leans over as his father beckons him. Whispered words are exchanged and he nods to his father as he leans back in his seat. He watches closely and with great ernest the words between the Princes and his face bares no expression for now.

Hador sits back in his chair, seemingly settled despite the proceedings.

Somehow Araphel looks strangely relieved at Caranthir's words, and she looks to Maedhros and Fingolfin, as if waiting for what they may say next. Careful not to make a sound, she pushes a stray lock of raven hair out of her eyes and settles back against the wall of the windowseat.

Fairfax looks from one face to the next, not really sure how to behave now that her king has stormed out of the room. She does set her eyes on the high king, waiting to measure his reaction.

Hearing the words of the Dwarf Lord he looks to Fingolfin,as he does so Valnen notices almost every other face has turned to listen to the words of the High King.

Fingolfin nods at the words of Dror, and yet it is to the door that his eyes stray, the door out of which Finrod left. The younger Noldo's words ring still in his ears, and he cannot forget them. Yet there is a silence, and he turns his gaze to the others seated at the table, though he does not re-take his chair. "So be it," he says, his voice softer than before, but the tone set and grim. A look of sorrow passes briefly in his eyes, and then is gone. "So be it!" he says again, and this time his words ring in the chamber. "We shall indeed have need of your labours, Lord Dror, for we go to war." His gaze sweeps around the room, falling on adan and quende alike, not sparing even spearmen and hiding healers. "So I would ask of you, how long will it take to muster each your forces, and prepare for battle?"

Gundor. smiles and nods again to his father, "M'Lord Fingolfin, if you would permit me to speak for my folk, my Father wishes it." he looks to the High King and his Lord, he awaits invitation now, for he was aware of his rash words prior, perhaps a Fathers word.

Fairfax's eyes widen a little in surprise at the high king's words, but she quickly lowers them to the table with a slight shake of her head and a soft but audible sigh.
The company of the First House of the Edain rise quickly in heed to Fingolfin's call, "Speaking on behalf of Lords Bregolas and Barahir, the House of Beor is prepared even now, Aran," Emeldir declares. She does nod in acknowledgement to the Khazad Lord, "We would, though, be grateful for additional armour, Lord Dror," she adds.

Maedhros nods approval at Fingolfin's words which finally bring an end to debate. "The Sons of Feanor are ready for war," he says simply.

Though sorrow darkens Araphel's eyes, the young healer nods, even though the question is one already answered by the appropriate parties - in approval of Maedhros's words, perhaps, for she smiles a little. The expression, though, is sad. . .and yet there is a certain peace in it as she looks from her Prince to the High King, hands still folded in her lap as she watches and listens.

Fairfax takes another deep breath, plants her hands on the table and rises. Half leaning on the table, she turns her head towards Fingolfin and her voice is finally heard across the room as she speaks openly for the first time. "As my lord aran Felagund said, we stand with you and support your decision, high king Fingolfin" Her voice is soft and crystalline and her face, though not at all happy, at least conveys a measure of serenity she had failed to show up to this point. "Nargothrond shall ready its forces and come to your aid." She sits once more, her eyes still on Fingolfin.

'You may speak for your father," answers Fingolfin with a smile to Gundor. "And wise words he spoke, that we should not march blindly, but set a clearer plan. So even do I intend." And then he turns to Fairfax and smiles."I will not ask you for such a response, lady Fairfax, unless indeed you know the answer. Else I shall seek out the son of my brother, seek out your lord, and speak to him myself."

Fairfax blushes again, clearly back to feeling uncomfortable, but she bravely endures Fingolfin's gaze. She nods in aquiescence. "Yes of course, High king." Fingers upon her lap fidget nervously. "I did not mean to presume. However aran Felagund did state himself that he would abide your decision. I fear I spoke hastily and will rephrase, if you'll allow me. Nargothrond will stand by you. The when and how only aran Felagund will be able to tell you, high king"

Gundor. speaks his voice deep and formal, but fair to listen too, "Well the Folk of Hador are ever ready for war and ever at yourside as my father said. We stand to both march with you and hold your lands and Fortresses Barad Eithel, Hithlum and our own lands we protect as one, but we will march to Thangorodrim itself if you deem that the course." He looks to the Dwarf, "We have no shortages of forges in our lands but your skill is well known and all from miller to brewer would walk if we needed them and all do not have war tools so again I would greet any aid warmly."

"My thanks, lady Fairfax," answers Fingolfin, with rare warmth in his smile, and then he pauses to listen to Gundor, nodding to the young adan Prince.

Dror nods to all who speak of requiring services, and seems to be making up a tally.

"O King," Maedhros raises his voice once more, bowing deferentially to Fingolfin. "You speak of a clearer plan. May I have leave to speak, then, and expound upon some possibilities?" He begins to shuffle with some maps on the table, then pauses, looking around with a piercing glance. "That is, if all here present at this council are to be counted trustworthy."

The High King turns to Maedhros, and once more anger flashes in his eyes, though it is restrained. "I fear no treachery here," he says calmly, choosing the word carefully. "You have my leave to speak, and to speak clearly." He seats himself at last, again drinking fromhis goblet. "Please, go on.'
Stepping away from the window a bit, Valnen moves closer to the table so as to be able to see the maps Maedhros has layed out.

Longingly Araphel looks towards the table, but she remains curled in the windowseat as Maedhros prepares to describe his plans, listening intently.

The Beorians take no affront at Maedhros' words, giving the Feanorian prince their full attentions.

Maedhros says, "Nay, I meant nothing by it. Mayhap the House of Fingolfin can vouch for the House of Hador, and the House of Finarfin can vouch for the House of Beor, but I know them not." He shrugs slightly, sighs that his words were taken as accusation, but moves on nonetheless to business. Finding his largest map, he beckons to two pages and has them hold it up for all to see. "There, perhaps it will be easier for all to see now, for it is a large table," he begins.
Fairfax takes a little breath of relief when Fingolfin's attention moves on towards other people. She leans forward to grasp a goblet from which she takes a sip. As she sets it down, she lets her eyes linger on the maps.

"Continue, please," says Fingolfin, looking closely at the map, though he knows it well.

Using a stick to point to the map, Maedhros continues, sometimes turning to face the council, sometimes looking at the map as he explains. "As you can see, this is a map of the Highlands. Here in the west is Hithlum, here is Dorthonion, and here are the Hills of Himring and the east Marches. And here in the north, of course, Thangorodrim and Dor Daedeloth, land of shadow and horror. To the south lies Beleriand the fair..."

Fingolfin nods, waiting to hear more, though his eyes now stray to those gathered about the table, lingering on each for a moment. An encouraging smile to Fairfax he gives, and then a nod to Emeldir. He watches her intently, still concerned for her, brfore turning to gaze once more at the map.

Maedhros says, "It seems crucial to me that we guard against falling into a trap--we must always cover our retreat and make sure the passes into Beleriand are secure before we mount an assault. Therefore the first stage is to fully garrison our defenses. Here," he points to Barad Eithel, "will stand Fingolfin and Fingon, and with them their folk and their allies, the Edain of Marach's house of Dor-lomin. There will stand the bulk of our offensive force. In the middle the Sons of Finarfin will stand with their allies, the Edain of Beor's house, here," he points to Tol Sirion," in the Gap of Sirion, fortress of Finrod and Orodreth, and here," he points to Dorthonion," Angrod and Aegnor. And of course, the eastern front will be held by the Sons of Feanor and the Dwarves of Mount Dolmed." He pauses to take a sip from his goblet, and to allow any comments.

Leaning forward, Emeldir follows the Maedhros closely as he gestures to the map, the company of the Beorians making careful note of their placement at both Tol Sirion and in Dorthonion itself, at the fortress of Angrod and Aegnor.

Fingolfin stands, now, nodding to the eldest son of Feanor, his eyes intent upon the map. "Wisely planned, Hir Maedhros," he says quietly. 'Wisely planned and indeed echoing my thoughts. So shall we garrison our defenses; indeed much of that is in preparation. That done, we shall be strong against attack, should it come. And then we shall send forth our forces.... Horse and footmen from the Barad Eithel, and the same from the East. Like a vice we shall close about the forces of Angband, and sweep them before us." He looks once more to the map. And then the forces of Dorthonion and Tol Sirion may drive the foe northwards... towards the Thangorodrim." He nods to himself. Yet, in widom Maedhros has spoken, and I concur. We shall leave many of our forces garrisoned, as defence or as a second wave as needed." He too, pauses, and looks around the room, waiting.

Looking at the map and listening to the lords speak this seems to be the best course of action against the dark shadow of Angband. Valnen turns from the map and starts to heads back to the window, but he stops in his tracks upon seeing the sun dipping below the horizon,he turns to his King..."M'Lord the time is late with your leave i must attend to my duties."

Through the doors enters Orodreth, second son of Finarfin. He offers an easy smile to all in the room and a bow to the HIgh King to whom he states a quick apology for his lateness. He removes his gloves and tucks them into a fancy belt as he approaches the table.

"You have my leave, Valnen," answers Fingolfin, with a nod to the spearman. And then he looks towards the door as it opens, and gazes at Orodreth. "You are welcome, brother-son," he says. "Please, sit." So saying, he looks around the room. "My lords and ladies, what say you to this course of action?"

Inclining her head with respect, Emeldir speaks up, "The Beorians stand by the plan, and will defend Tol Sirion and the Fortress of Angrod and Aegnor, Aran," she pledges, speaking on behalf of Lords Bregolas and Barahir.

Orodreth softly clears his throat after sitting and says, "As the regent of Minas Tirith, I suppose I should add a footnote to this plan, if I may? Has my brother been here and spoken his thoughts of Nargothrond's actions in this?"

A voice by the entrance, making his way in, attracts Fairfax's attention away from the map. She turns her head and it is with visible relief that she recognizes the countenance of the Lord of Minas Tirith. Discretely, she wipes her palms on her pants, pretending to be smoothing them over her legs. She leans back a little in her seat as Orodreth speaks, only to lean forward once more with a glance at Fingolfin. "If I may..." she turns almost immediately - somewhat eagerly, perhaps - to Orodreth. "Indeed aran Felagund was here in the beginning, but he left in haste, ere the plan was explained and left me to represent Nargothrond. He has stated only that he would stand by whatever course of action aran Fingolfin would decide upon."

Orodreth nods to Fairfax and waits to address the King and Maedhros.

Maedhros nods at the proceedings. "We will not fail you," he says to Fingolfin in a light tone, for it is already a foregone conclusion that the Sons of Feanor are eager to battle the Constrainer. Nodding to Orodreth, he politely says, "Please, good Orodreth, speak, for we have need of your wisdom."

And too, Fingolfin nods, seeming more at ease than he had earlier. "Please, Hir Orodreth, I would hear your words, for indeed this concerns you closely.

Gundor. has watched all with an even gaze, nodding at parts which seemed most pertinent to him. His Father still at his side, sits contemplating the words as well.

Orodreth rubs his hands together and says, "If Finrod did not have the chance to speak his mind then perhaps I should speak it for him, though I do not necessarily agree with him. Do not believe Finrod supports this plan, though he claims he will aid you if decided. He has spoken to me that he believes your judgement to be in error on this. Yes, I am positioned at Minas Tirith with a garrison of soldiers, however, I would name Minas Tirith the weakest, and yet in a way, the most important part of the front. We should not lose control of the river or I fear we shall not regain it. Lady Emeldir has spoken that the Men of Dorthonion will come to our aid, yet it is Dorthonion they must defend and should not over-extend their defenses lest they lose their own home. But I am concerned because I cannot say that this decision will necessarily be popular in Nargothrond and I fear help from the south may come to late. I shall, with the bidding of the Valar, hold Minas Tirith to the extent of my abilities, but if I have little more than I have now, it shall not be enough if the Enemy attacks with the full measure to the center. Have you cause to think he will concentrate elsewhere?"

As Orodreth speaks, Fairfax leans back on her chair and goes silent. Now that one of the sons of Finarfin is in charge, she falls silent and indeed is soon forgotten in the midst of all discussion.

Emeldir looks to Orodreth as he speaks, nodding her head slowly to acknowledge his point. "The forces of Beor may likely be mainly engaged in protecting Dorthonion, My Lords," she concedes as she speaks out. "We will, however, do all that we can to push back the Enemy," she vows once more.

Maedhros shakes his head, once more using the stick to point to the map for emphasis.

"Nargothrond has the mightiest force of numbers. Surely, together with the garrison at Minas Tirith, they may hold Tol Sirion? And it is not the weakest point, either. My folk must hold the Pass of Algon, here, and here, the Maglor's Gap, which would be easily forced by a large force from the Enemy; but--I do not greatly fear assault from Angband, as long as we are swift in taking the offensive."

Orodreth clears his throat in a slightly nervous manner for he is not accustomed to challenging anyone the likes of Maedhros, but he speaks in an even and confident voice, "I mean to say, that if I receive no or limited support from the south, I am the weakest point. And I am weak because I am nearer then ENemy than the Sons, therefore the Enemy is stronger if I should bear an attack. But if it is an offense you desire, and I am not sure I shall or should participate. And why you might ask? Because if I am in the offensive, then who shall guard the River? You make some assumptions about the force of Nargothrond, Maedhros, Son of Feanor. I do not hold as much confidence in them as you, yet I know them better. It is not to say things will not work out as you say, but I should hate to fail because of lack of foresight."

"Well I know your brother's feelings on the matter, Orodreth," answers Fingolfin calmly, though his eyes flicker. And then he turns and looks at the map, and considers thoughtfully. "But nay, Maedhros, he speaks well..." Fingolfin stands once more, looking to the map. 'If Maglor's Gap and the east marches have the least physical defenses, yet too, the enemy, I feel, will not put his strength there. To the east beyond lie not his worst foes, and the orcs fear Ossiriand. So too, in the west, I have little fear. Yet it is, at the center, that we have the most need for strength,..." He nods to Orodreth once more, and then sighs. "Even as our main offensive strength should be in the west, so then let us make mighty defenses of the Tol Sirion and strengthen Dorthonion.... with whatever strength they might need."

Maedhros makes an impatient gesture at the words of the meek Son of Finarfin. "Findarato gave his word," he says, using his Quenya name, "that he would stand with us, and we must now trust to him and plan accordingly. As for you, Artaresto, there was never a doubt in our minds, at least, that we could trust you to guard our retreat." His voice contains no hint of a sneer, but he moves on rapidly. "As for the East, much strength lies in the realms of my brothers, but as for that, we fear not too greatly. For our priority lies in the charge our father set us, ere he died. And so we shall stand with this alliance, ye may be sure. I drink: to the Union of Fingolfin!" He raises his goblet.

Orodreth raises his own drink but casts a glance aside to the Dorthonion contingent. It is not a look of confidence.

Fingolfin nods his head, though he gives a long look to Orodreth. "It is decided, then," he answers, his tone less triumphant than gravely calm. And though there is sorrow in his eyes, there is no doubt, and the light in them shines bright. "To our Union,' he echoes, raising uphis own glass.

Orodreth says softly, "Long shall it stand." and drinks.

Maedhros drains his glass and heaves a contented sigh. "Let us muster our armies, therefore, and we shall catch these Orcs in our vice, cleanse Ard-galen of their defilement, and put Angband under a mighty siege! I shall ride soon."

From her vantage point in the windowseat, Araphel smiles, though only a slight one it is. At Maedhros's words, she nods, though obviously more to herself than to anyone else.