Ficlet: Moriquendi
Another piece from Haldir's time in Imladris ...
Once again, my thanks to all my friends at GoI, this time particularly medea_smyke , for 'critters' and support, and to my friend calen_greenleaf for her beta and many helpful suggestions.
Moriquendi
Haldir was not late, not really. It was just that his teacher was always uncannily punctual. True enough, he found the door already closed and suppressed a sigh.
Then he entered the room and bowed to the teacher as a by now well-rehearsed apology for his tardiness flowed smoothly from his lips. Erestor’s cool eyes fixed him with a stern look, then the dark head nodded and Haldir went over to his seat, pleased to be spared of reproaches, although he thought it only fair - he really was not late ... at least not very much. Still, he kept his eyes averted from his comrades to avoid seeing the smug grins that surely decorated their faces.
Erestor turned towards the huge map behind him - today one of Ennor in the earliest days - and indicated the lands east of Anduin where a large green area symbolized the once vast forest which was in those days known as Lindórinand, the Vale of the Land of Singers.
‘To continue our lesson from where we left off: At this point, the Moriquendi chose to stay beh...
‘Master Erestor, I apologize for interrupting, but who were these ‘Moriquendi’?’ Haldir asked, thinking them a clan unknown to him.
A black eyebrow arched slightly, and the grey eyes momentarily displayed a rare look of confusion.
‘Why, your forefathers, of course, Haldir: those Elves who forsook the Great Journey!’
Haldir sat back, certain that he must have misunderstood something.
‘But ... we are not ... Moriquendi? Moriquendi ... that word means ...’
His Quenya was improving, but not all that fast. However, he had heard this expression before, hadn’t he? Mori ... hmmm ... oh yes, dark! Quendi is easy, it means us, Elves. So, Dark Elves?
Dark Elves!
He stood before he knew it, cheeks hot, but temper firmly under control. Erestor never mocked him, surely he must have been misinformed.
‘Master Erestor, we are not dark Elves! We never worshipped the Dark One, never betrayed anyone nor have we slain our kin! Indeed we remained faithful to Ennor, our birth home, and to this day we protect those in our charge, Ivon’s most loved creations: the trees. We are the Faithful Ones, not ... Moriquendi!’
His voice rose on the last word and he immediately controlled it. It was difficult to remain calm, yet necessary, for Erestor believed only in arguments, not in feelings, and neither shouting nor sulking would change his opinion, as Haldir had learned from previous experience.
A sound from behind caught his attention; two of the students whispered to each other, those smug smiles plastered on their faces.
His ire rose at this reminder of the constant scorn he had suffered ever since arriving in the valley, and led him to reply, aware even as he spoke that he was now treading on very thin ice,
‘While our ancestors did, in the end, refuse the invitation of the Holy Ones, at least they did not spit in their faces!’
The room was quiet. Haldir could not even hear the other four students breathe. His knees suddenly felt weak and he plumped down in his seat.
The very moment his backside connected with the polished wood, Haldir’s stomach began to churn. This was not at all how he had wanted things to go. He merely wished to amend an insult to his own kin, not to inflict it upon others’.
‘That was not well done, Haldir.’ He saw his mother’s face before him, but he needed not her gentle reminder, well aware of his transgression already.
Oh yes, once more my temper got the better of me! I thought I learned to control myself.
He wondered if, perhaps, the sudden anger and the desire to hurt others as he himself hurt reflected, to a small extent, the fire that burned in Fëanor on the fateful day when he made his defiant declaration to the Holy Ones? But that was a thought for another time; right now, only one thing mattered: to set things right.
Ai, I insulted my teacher who has been so good to me, and disgraced my captain who thought me suited for the honour of attending this class! If only I could take those spiteful words back…
There was of course only one honourable thing to do and he knew it, but he would rather have faced a band of Orcs unarmed than do what he must do now.
Slowly, Haldir got to his feet, faced Erestor and his classmates, and bowed to them with all the grace he could muster. His face burned with shame as he forced out the words.
‘I apologize for what I said about your people. Those words were cruel and unjust and should never have been spoken. I hope you can forgive me.’
Resuming his seat, he waited for the reply while he wondered, not for the first time, what he was doing in this class.
A select few had been offered the opportunity to benefit from the wealth of knowledge stored in Erestor’s memory; the other students were all intelligent, well-spoken young Elves from families of some standing and their inclusion surprised no one.
What Haldir was doing here, on the other hand, surprised everybody, and most of all himself. He suspected Glorfindel might have something to do with it - at any rate, it was his captain that had told him he was to attend the class.
This thought reminded him of Glorfindel’s reassurance after breaking the news,
‘I know you will feel out of your depth at first, but trust me: you must not miss this opportunity to learn from the best! And maybe the class can learn something from you, too.’
The last bit had sounded plausible enough then. In this moment, however, he sincerely doubted the Noldor truly appreciated a Silvan opinion. Especially the way his was phrased...
Erestor stepped away from the map and slowly crossed the floor. Resting carefully against a table, he straightened his cuffs until his sleeves sat exactly right around his wrists. Haldir sneaked a look down at the Noldo’s feet: embroidered slippers peeked out under the long dark robes. Today it was the ones with the emerald dragons.
A clearing of the throat brought Haldir’s attention back on his teacher, the small moment of amused distraction mercilessly gone. Erestor was ready to speak.
‘I accept your apology, Haldir.’
He had not even realized he held his breath, but now a sigh of relief escaped him and he relaxed against the back of his chair.
‘I believe that your agitation at my statement is partly my own fault.’
At this, Haldir vehemently shook his head. No, he would never allow his teacher to take the blame for his error!
‘Yes, it is. I know you to be unfamiliar with Quenya and am aware that your upbringing would not have given you much occasion to learn this expression,’ Erestor insisted. ‘Therefore I must first explain exactly what ‘Moriquendi’ means: It is a term, used by those Elves who went to the Blessed Realm and lived under the light of the Two Trees, and who therefore called themselves ‘Calaquendi’, Elves of the Light, to describe those who stayed under the stars, in the twilight. That is all it means!’
And he had thought it meant they worshipped Sauron! Haldir’s embarrassment returned.
‘However, there are those who use the term in a derogatory manner, and I believe you may have heard such nonsense, for which I must apologize to you as guest in this house!’
Here, Erestor bowed to Haldir before casting a look towards the young Imladrim in the back of the room.
Haldir nodded, speechless. How was he supposed to react to this? But his awkward acknowledgement seemed to satisfy Erestor who went on, in his calm voice, to explain some of the many names Elves had given to themselves and others.
‘With the term “Moriquendi” we refer to those who rejected the invitation of the Valar, and whom we call “Avari”, as well as to those we call “Úmanyar”, those who set out on the journey, but stopped at the Anduin, and who later became known under other names.
‘Some say the Úmanyar were afraid to cross the mountains, but I imagine your people tell other tales?’
Haldir, having concentrated on following his teacher’s explanation, unexpectedly found himself the centre of attention again. Yet this time, the eyes on him felt interested and curious rather than mocking, so he ventured into this new role of storyteller and narrated the legends of his homeland with more confidence than first expected, all the while considering carefully how much to reveal.
‘We are told,’ Haldir began, ‘that in the earliest days, all our forefathers were one people and they named themselves “Quendi”, the Speakers, for alone of all beings they made words. And they lived in beautiful lands surrounding a large lake and they were happy, living under the starlight and roaming the wide spaces.
‘When the Holy Ones found our forefathers and extended their invitation, most of the Quendi decided to go to the Blessed Realm. But others felt no wish to des... to leave their homeland; however, these Faithful, as they called themselves, would also not be sundered from their kin. Yet a sundering was inevitable, for if the Faithful followed the many who wished to go, they would not only have to leave their beloved land, but also the ones you call the Avari, those who refused to leave the home of their birth.
‘It was a hard choice, but finally, the Faithful decided to travel to the Blessed Realm along with most of the other Quendi. They said their farewells to those that refused to go, and then the Great Journey began.
‘They saw many wonders and much beauty on the way and therefore they often stopped so the march was slow. Some died on the long journey, killed by the enemy or by accidents for it was a hard travel at times, but children were born in their stead and the march continued. Yet all the while, the lands kept calling to the Faithful, the streams sang and the trees sighed: “Do not leave us!”
‘When they told this to their more travel-eager kin, they only laughed for they heard not the cries; they travelled in large bands, spoke much and listened little. They merely replied to their grieving brethren, “Everything will be better in the Blessed Realm, you will see, and no one will cry there.”
‘But that was not what the Faithful had meant and so they knew that already, the sundering of their people had worsened, and their hearts wept.
‘Therefore, when the travellers finally reached a wide river flowing through a vast, beautiful forest, and a stop was ordered while their leader found a way to cross the river, one Denwego, whom you know as Dân, came forward and spoke.
‘He said that he could not cross the Great River for he would not leave his homeland. He would stay and look after it as he believed it was ever Ilúvatar’s intention, and if any wished to remain with him, he would welcome them, but if not, he would bid his kin farewell forever and stay behind on his own.
‘Now, many of the Faithful felt in their hearts that his words were true and they stayed with him in the lands of their birth, under the stars, among the trees. Among these were the forefathers of my people.’
Haldir hesitated; the tale went on, of course, but this first part seemed to be what Erestor had asked about. At any rate, he was not at liberty to tell much more.
Erestor nodded as Haldir finished his tale, and walked slowly towards the centre of the room from where he had a better view of all the students.
‘There are always more than one side to a story; I think we now understand better why your people decided to stay behind,’ he said.
‘Even we Noldor,’ here he looked pointedly at Haldir, ‘know of the close affinity the Elves of the great woods have to their land and all living things in it. This side of their nature was instilled in them by Eru, Ilúvatar, just as my people suffer from an unquenchable thirst for knowledge and for learning new things - also about Moriquendi!’
Haldir appreciated this attempt at putting him at ease, and therefore, when Erestor’s mien turned serious again, he thought the Moriquendi matter settled and expected the original history lesson to be resumed. Yet this appeared not to be the case; Erestor had more on his mind.
‘We might also consider the fact that to your people, Haldir, the way is still open. All of you are allowed to cross the Sea when your time comes, if you so wish. This in itself proves that the Valar took no offense at the Úmanyar’s decision to stay behind, and therefore, unless we think ourselves wiser than the Valar, neither do the descendants of the Calaquendi have reason to scorn the choice of the Úmanyar.’
The room was silent after Erestor’s last remark. Haldir resisted the urge to turn and look at his fellow students. In truth, he felt no wish to gloat; in mere moments, Erestor had single-handedly increased his respect of the Golydh... nay, the Noldor, he reminded himself.
The silence was broken as the teacher dismissed the class and asked all of them to consider carefully what they had learned this day. The youngsters left the room quietly; no one felt like bantering and they parted outside the door, each seeking out his favourite place of contemplation.
***
Author’s Notes:
I’ve based Erestor’s explanation on this quote:
"Those Elves the Calaquendi call the Úmanyar, since they came never to the land of Aman and the Blessed Realm; but the Úmanyar and the Avari alike they call the Moriquendi, Elves of the Darkness, for they never beheld the Light that was before the Sun and Moon."
The Silmarillion, Quenta Silmarillion, Ch 3, Of the Coming of the Elves and the Captivity of Melkor
Haldir’s version of the legend we know from Silmarillion is entirely my own concoction; his people had no written language and what is written about their earliest days was seen from the point of view of the Noldor whose opinion of certain issues must have differed somewhat from that of the Silvans.
Ennor = a Sindarin name for Middle-earth
Ivon = one of several Sindarin names for Yavanna.
Golodh, pl. Goelydh [I’ve taken the liberty of spelling it ‘Golydh’]: A Sindarin word for Noldo(r) which the latter people did - for some reason - not much like. (Acc. to The War of the Jewels, Quendi and Eldar, Sindarin, item 3)
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