The Final Battle. 13/? : Lessons in Humility
Title: The Final Battle, part 13 : Lessons in Humility
Fandom: Silmarillion
Characters: Turgon, Elrond, the Edain boys and Ronnie the Mystery Elf.
Fanfic 100 Prompt: 004. Insides.
Word Count: 1458
Rating: General
Summary: The ordeal of getting the human army to the point of meeting progresses. A ship is explored and conjectures are made. Measures are taken to address some issues, but not all.
Author's Notes: Part of a Work in Progress based on the Dagor Dagorath prophecy. I own nothing.
There were problems. Turgon had spent all of his resting time pondering them. There were too many folk following them. Mostly, if they were to board a ship, they would not have enough supplies to feed them.
He could turn the problem around in his mind, over and over until it made his head ache, but ultimately there was only one solution to this: those who would not fight could not come. Those who were above what rations were available could not come.
In the morning, or perhaps was it in the evening, as his reckoning of time was growingly confused, he called for a meeting with Elrond Peredhel, Ronnie and the human captains. Solemnly, the last king of the Noldor explained his dilemma. His great grandson only nodded, expressing silently that he understood the wisdom of these words. The humans stared, long and hard. At last, it was Ronnie who spoke.
"You cannot let them down," he said, angrily. "They have waited for you to come, they believe in you, they will die whether they come or stay. At least give them hope. Please."
Turgon stood, looked down at the Sindarin elf for a long and silent moment. The silence would have stretched on for a long time, had Elrond not broken it.
"Ada," he said, quietly. "Let us give them hope, at least."
"We will be leading them to a slow and painful death," Turgon said darkly. "I would not be the one to bear such a weight when so much has already been lost."
"Then let me be the one to bear this responsibility," Ronnie insisted. "I am the one who led them to you, let me be the one they will blame when they die. At least for now, give them the present of a life lived with their heads high."
Throughout this exchange, which had been carried out in the Edain tongue, the human captains had remained silent, observing, taking notes, as if they were withholding judgment. Then, a man grown and weathered by unknown hardships spoke. He stood as he did, his dusty, cropped hair visible after he removed the small bonnet which all of him and his peers wore.
"I think it's up to us to decide what to do with our people," he told them fiercely. "Ronnie can have his say, he's been with us since forever. But you, new folk, you can keep your opinions to yourselves. Honestly, we're the majority, we're calling the shots."
At this, the elves were rather surprised. Turgon in particular was very unpleased with the turn of events, but it was his grandson who bade him sit. Elrond then spoke, slowly, soothingly, in the language he was still learning. His forefather glared at him, expressing silently his displeasure, but Elwing's son did not relent. He told the sitting council of the war he had waged in his time. He spoke of Gil-Galad, of Elendil, and later of the man who would win his own daughter's heart. He said then words he had once heard in other circumstances.
"I give hope to mankind, I keep none for myself."
The tales he told appeased both man and elf and it was decided that the followers would be allowed to remain. The plan for rationing, already frugal, which be all the stricter for it, but it would also allow them to man the gigantic ship effectively.
On the morrow, the now very large and very disorganized crowd of followers was called upon to take bridge duties. Turgon noted that the human captains had skill for such a thing in more than a reasonable quantity, and within another few days the USS Arcadia was ready to go afloat.
The boys that had followed the elven honor guard since their first contact with human civilization had taken those days to explore the ship. Where Turgon would have preferred to remain in a brooding solitude, he was rather dragged along by an enthusiastic Spectaz for a long and extensive visit.
The boy showed him everything there really was to see. He started with what remained the most mysterious place on the ship in the High King's eyes: it was a place where there was no sunlight. Doors galore garnished its sides, and there was the constant smell of something pungent which he could not really recognize. He found himself wondering what it was and lost an important moment of the explanation which ended itself with something concerning the return to the usage of coal. The boy called this place the furnaces, and Turgon understood that this was the seat of the ship's power.
They were rooms of every size and every level of comfort but everything smelled of mud, rust and dust. It was unimaginable and saddening that this place had perhaps been these people's pride. And yet, Spectaz showed Turgon everything with the enthusiasm of the child who thought they had discovered an object of wonder. The pity and sadness in Turgon's heart were great.
It would take another seven days before the lumber they needed could be harvested, stowed onto the ship and the large human host was more than helpful in achieving this tight schedule. And so the USS Arcardia set forth on a morning darker than the furnace in its belly.
There was little to say about the running of the ship. Turgon and Elrond were both uneducated in this matter and thus handed over the control of the ship to the human commanders.
One night, however, Elrond came to knock on his forefather's door. He had about him a look which was yet serious than was his wont, though Turgon did not think it to be somber.
"Ada, there is aught that I wish to talk to you about," he said as he entered the cabin.
Turgon invited him to sit with a gesture and tucked his hands under his chin, indicating that he was giving his great grandson all his attention.
"I believe I know who Ronnie is," Elrond told him, thoughtfully. "I believe he is of Doriath, and that he sees in me the blood of Luthien Tinuviel."
Turgon raised his hand, stopping him in his speech.
Silently, he walked to the door and opened it briskly. There was a yelp, and he peered over, to find his boy and Elrond's tucked in a doorway. Another few silent steps, and he caught them both, brought them back into the cabin, where they received a very thorough scolding.
At Elrond's insistence, they were allowed to remain but not to speak.
Turgon did not agree on the identity of Ronnie. He found him a touch too tall, a touch too proud, and there was no music to be heard. He had spent a long time reflecting on this matter, yet there was no face he could conjure from his memories of the past that seemed to resemble the elf's face. It was true that scarred as he was, even a familiar face might have been hard to distinguish and thus he had spent much time thinking on the matter, and could not bring himself to decide.
The following day, Turgon took a long moment to walk upon the bridge, and came across his mysterious ally. They nodded at each other, and for a moment he considered whether he should allow the silence to remain or break it. Curiosity got the best of him, and so break the silence he did.
"The night is dark," he said, "and yet your friends know where to steer us. What star do they follow? I cannot see Elbereth from here."
"They have other ways," Ronnie replied, his smile half sardonic and half polite. "We were lucky to find a ship with a radar that works, and luckier to find one with a responding navigation system."
None of this made any sense to Turgon, and he found himself lucky that Ronnie was patient enough to try and explain which he called technology. In the end, it sufficed him that these systems would allow the ship to find the Eldar's Fleet at the rendezvous point. It was a site which was still fabled in Ronnie's time, just as it had been in Turgon's period. The circle of standing stones could weather time and withstand erosion by graces that even the Eldar could not explain. Somehow, the mystery was reassuring. If anything, it was evidence that the Valar still held sway in Arda.
As he left the bridge to return to the quiet place where he pondered his next step, Turgon could not help but reflect on the fact that Ronnie's mystery remained as thick as it ever had been.
He mused to himself that perhaps the boys would find out more.
Fandom: Silmarillion
Characters: Turgon, Elrond, the Edain boys and Ronnie the Mystery Elf.
Fanfic 100 Prompt: 004. Insides.
Word Count: 1458
Rating: General
Summary: The ordeal of getting the human army to the point of meeting progresses. A ship is explored and conjectures are made. Measures are taken to address some issues, but not all.
Author's Notes: Part of a Work in Progress based on the Dagor Dagorath prophecy. I own nothing.
There were problems. Turgon had spent all of his resting time pondering them. There were too many folk following them. Mostly, if they were to board a ship, they would not have enough supplies to feed them.
He could turn the problem around in his mind, over and over until it made his head ache, but ultimately there was only one solution to this: those who would not fight could not come. Those who were above what rations were available could not come.
In the morning, or perhaps was it in the evening, as his reckoning of time was growingly confused, he called for a meeting with Elrond Peredhel, Ronnie and the human captains. Solemnly, the last king of the Noldor explained his dilemma. His great grandson only nodded, expressing silently that he understood the wisdom of these words. The humans stared, long and hard. At last, it was Ronnie who spoke.
"You cannot let them down," he said, angrily. "They have waited for you to come, they believe in you, they will die whether they come or stay. At least give them hope. Please."
Turgon stood, looked down at the Sindarin elf for a long and silent moment. The silence would have stretched on for a long time, had Elrond not broken it.
"Ada," he said, quietly. "Let us give them hope, at least."
"We will be leading them to a slow and painful death," Turgon said darkly. "I would not be the one to bear such a weight when so much has already been lost."
"Then let me be the one to bear this responsibility," Ronnie insisted. "I am the one who led them to you, let me be the one they will blame when they die. At least for now, give them the present of a life lived with their heads high."
Throughout this exchange, which had been carried out in the Edain tongue, the human captains had remained silent, observing, taking notes, as if they were withholding judgment. Then, a man grown and weathered by unknown hardships spoke. He stood as he did, his dusty, cropped hair visible after he removed the small bonnet which all of him and his peers wore.
"I think it's up to us to decide what to do with our people," he told them fiercely. "Ronnie can have his say, he's been with us since forever. But you, new folk, you can keep your opinions to yourselves. Honestly, we're the majority, we're calling the shots."
At this, the elves were rather surprised. Turgon in particular was very unpleased with the turn of events, but it was his grandson who bade him sit. Elrond then spoke, slowly, soothingly, in the language he was still learning. His forefather glared at him, expressing silently his displeasure, but Elwing's son did not relent. He told the sitting council of the war he had waged in his time. He spoke of Gil-Galad, of Elendil, and later of the man who would win his own daughter's heart. He said then words he had once heard in other circumstances.
"I give hope to mankind, I keep none for myself."
The tales he told appeased both man and elf and it was decided that the followers would be allowed to remain. The plan for rationing, already frugal, which be all the stricter for it, but it would also allow them to man the gigantic ship effectively.
On the morrow, the now very large and very disorganized crowd of followers was called upon to take bridge duties. Turgon noted that the human captains had skill for such a thing in more than a reasonable quantity, and within another few days the USS Arcadia was ready to go afloat.
The boys that had followed the elven honor guard since their first contact with human civilization had taken those days to explore the ship. Where Turgon would have preferred to remain in a brooding solitude, he was rather dragged along by an enthusiastic Spectaz for a long and extensive visit.
The boy showed him everything there really was to see. He started with what remained the most mysterious place on the ship in the High King's eyes: it was a place where there was no sunlight. Doors galore garnished its sides, and there was the constant smell of something pungent which he could not really recognize. He found himself wondering what it was and lost an important moment of the explanation which ended itself with something concerning the return to the usage of coal. The boy called this place the furnaces, and Turgon understood that this was the seat of the ship's power.
They were rooms of every size and every level of comfort but everything smelled of mud, rust and dust. It was unimaginable and saddening that this place had perhaps been these people's pride. And yet, Spectaz showed Turgon everything with the enthusiasm of the child who thought they had discovered an object of wonder. The pity and sadness in Turgon's heart were great.
It would take another seven days before the lumber they needed could be harvested, stowed onto the ship and the large human host was more than helpful in achieving this tight schedule. And so the USS Arcardia set forth on a morning darker than the furnace in its belly.
There was little to say about the running of the ship. Turgon and Elrond were both uneducated in this matter and thus handed over the control of the ship to the human commanders.
One night, however, Elrond came to knock on his forefather's door. He had about him a look which was yet serious than was his wont, though Turgon did not think it to be somber.
"Ada, there is aught that I wish to talk to you about," he said as he entered the cabin.
Turgon invited him to sit with a gesture and tucked his hands under his chin, indicating that he was giving his great grandson all his attention.
"I believe I know who Ronnie is," Elrond told him, thoughtfully. "I believe he is of Doriath, and that he sees in me the blood of Luthien Tinuviel."
Turgon raised his hand, stopping him in his speech.
Silently, he walked to the door and opened it briskly. There was a yelp, and he peered over, to find his boy and Elrond's tucked in a doorway. Another few silent steps, and he caught them both, brought them back into the cabin, where they received a very thorough scolding.
At Elrond's insistence, they were allowed to remain but not to speak.
Turgon did not agree on the identity of Ronnie. He found him a touch too tall, a touch too proud, and there was no music to be heard. He had spent a long time reflecting on this matter, yet there was no face he could conjure from his memories of the past that seemed to resemble the elf's face. It was true that scarred as he was, even a familiar face might have been hard to distinguish and thus he had spent much time thinking on the matter, and could not bring himself to decide.
The following day, Turgon took a long moment to walk upon the bridge, and came across his mysterious ally. They nodded at each other, and for a moment he considered whether he should allow the silence to remain or break it. Curiosity got the best of him, and so break the silence he did.
"The night is dark," he said, "and yet your friends know where to steer us. What star do they follow? I cannot see Elbereth from here."
"They have other ways," Ronnie replied, his smile half sardonic and half polite. "We were lucky to find a ship with a radar that works, and luckier to find one with a responding navigation system."
None of this made any sense to Turgon, and he found himself lucky that Ronnie was patient enough to try and explain which he called technology. In the end, it sufficed him that these systems would allow the ship to find the Eldar's Fleet at the rendezvous point. It was a site which was still fabled in Ronnie's time, just as it had been in Turgon's period. The circle of standing stones could weather time and withstand erosion by graces that even the Eldar could not explain. Somehow, the mystery was reassuring. If anything, it was evidence that the Valar still held sway in Arda.
As he left the bridge to return to the quiet place where he pondered his next step, Turgon could not help but reflect on the fact that Ronnie's mystery remained as thick as it ever had been.
He mused to himself that perhaps the boys would find out more.