Magweth Pengolodh Magweth Pengolodh The Question of Pengolod A Fanfiction Novel for Silmarillion & “History of Middle‐Earth” Fans By Tyellas Pausing in Númenor en route to Elvenhome, the elvish loremaster Pengolod decides to tarry for a time. In the company of both humble Goodman and scions of the Line of Elros, he recalls his past in Middle‐Earth, and seeks to answer a question regarding Arda Marred. Contents Prologue..............................................................................................................................2 At the Sign of the Open Book ........................................................................................3 Romenna Days ................................................................................................................17 The Ship‐Feast.................................................................................................................32 The Erulaitalë ..................................................................................................................49 Armenelos........................................................................................................................60 Unien’s Race ....................................................................................................................73 The Hall of the Venturers .............................................................................................87 The Fat Man’s Tale.........................................................................................................97 The Tomb of Elros........................................................................................................112 The Traveller’s Wind ...................................................................................................122 The Sea‐Bells.................................................................................................................136 The Charivari.................................................................................................................150 Epilogue..........................................................................................................................157 Story Notes.....................................................................................................................159 Author’s Afterword: Discarded Plots and Eucatastrophes...................................160 Cover art courtesy of Silke; her web site is at http://silke.gwyaoi.org/fanart.html Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction that has been written on the basis of “Fair Use”, distributed without profit. It is in no way meant to infringe upon the Tolkien Estate copyright of Middle‐Earth or the characters therein. Page 1 Magweth Pengolodh Prologue Pengolod had dwelt long in Tol Eressëa, the ever‐tranquil isle of Elvenhome. The Elves who dwelled there spun out their long lives amidst deep peace. Yet the messenger who had burst into the scriptorium had news so urgent that he spilled it out before he could breathe fully after his run. When the messenger had finished gasping, Pengolod put down his pen to clarify. ʺYou mean to tell me that a mortal, alone in a boat, made it past the Ban of the Valar and to this shore? Even to the quay of Avallónë?ʺ The messenger nodded, rasping as he added, ʺAnd nobody can understand a word heʹs saying. So weʹre bringing him to you. Youʹre a loremaster. You deal with languages. Everyone knows you learned the tongues of mortal men, even of Dwarves!ʺ ʺYes, I did, in Middle‐Earth. But in Ages past ‐ ʺ ʺYou studied with Rúmil of Tirion. And you lived for a time in Númenor! If anybody can make sense of him, you can, master. The lords are sending him along shortly.ʺ Seeing the loremasterʹs lean form rigid with shock, the messenger said, ʺThey wouldnʹt send you anybody dangerous, Iʹm sure of it, master. Iʹll...Iʹll tell them youʹre waiting?ʺ he ended. Pengolod blotted his pen carefully. His face had been gentle and slightly sad when he had been found in the scriptorium; when he looked up, his eyes were flashing with memory. ʺDo not say that I am waiting. I have been waiting for this for far longer than you or the lords knew. Tell them that I am ready.ʺ The messenger was speechless. He bowed (as he had not upon his entrance) and left. After he scrambled away, Pengolod withdrew from the great scriptorium into a study at one side. It was his study, a place fitting for an elvish loremaster, with both a tall desk and a flat work‐table. As he waited, he toyed with some items on his work‐table and tried to master the flood of remembrance that filled him. He dipped his fingers in a bowl of coins, and took one out. The copper disk had on it the image of a King long dead, and the name of a proud realm sunk under the sea. Turning the coin, he recalled that King and his mortal subjects; some his own friends, some his own foemen, and one of them, the last mortal he had ever spoken to, who had given him that handful of coins. It turned out that the messenger had been far swifter to come to Pengolod than the incomprehensible mortal, so Pengolod had plenty of time to remember the mortals he had known. His mind lingered on the one summer he had dwelt in a mortal city, the town of Rómenna, ages past, and the question he had carried away. Page 2 Magweth Pengolodh At the Sign of the Open Book When Pengolod left Middle‐Earth and its wars for good and all, the elven‐ ships of the day did not sail without stopping. For there was a fair place for them to pause, a monthʹs sailing beyond the Grey Havens, when even those aboard of an elven boat were eager for a rest from the rolling sea: the great haven of Númenor, Rómenna. The boat that carried Pengolod had slid down the Firth of Rómenna on a bright morning. Everyone had come up on the grey deck to admire the cliffs, sea‐ carved yellow stone draped in trees, and the great barques also sailing in the Firth. Several of the barques dwarfed the elvesʹ boat. Pengolod identified their flags for his fellow venturers. ʺThat ship there? One of Númenorʹs navy, for the Lord of Hyarrostar. The greater one following? Another of Númenorʹs navy, sailing under the banner of its prince, Ciryatan the Shipbuilder, and the one that follows is under the flag of the King, Tar‐Minastir himself.ʺ The Elves in the crew raised their arms in silent salute as each ship passed, remaining dignified even though the mortalsʹ boats showed a scramble of curious watchers on deck. The sea‐warded hulls of the elf‐ships were scarcely rocked by the massive waves of the mortalsʹ boatsʹ passage. Pengolod remembered when the boats of Númenor had been few. Indeed, it had taken six hundred years for the Númenoreans to learn enough boatcraft to sail to Middle‐Earth. Now, eleven hundred and four years later, their ships were innumerable, the greatest ones carrying enough sailors to populate a village. The tall ships showed that, despite the recent war against Sauron, the mortals of the Land of Gift continued to flourish. The mortals of Númenor were on a par with the Elves now with their ships and learning, and exceeded the elves with their power. Nor would Elves argue that, thought Pengolod, bitter with sorrow. In the past five years, the blink of an eye, Middle‐Earth had changed massively. Sauron had smashed the old order. The Elvesʹ realm of Eregion had been destroyed. Gil‐Galad, the king of many elves, had sent his realmʹs second lord to try and help, in vain. Instead Elrondʹs forces and a handful of refugees had been held under siege for several years, isolated in the wilderness of Eriador, even as Gil‐Galad came under attack, the people of Lindon pressed hard. It had been the great navy of the Númenoreans that had aided the Elves against Sauronʹs forces. Now that the war was over, many of those Elves were taking ship, leaving behind the sorrows of Middle‐Earth for Elvenhome across the sea. There were a hundred reasons for an Elf to depart. The isle of Tol Eressëa, it was said, was far more consonant with the Elvesʹ enduring spirits than Middle‐Earth. The land went through spring, summer, and autumn, with only the briefest cool winter. The Maiar, and even the Valar, it was rumored, visited there out of love for the Elves. Few who went to Tol Eressëa returned, showing that it was the home it was said to be. But for the Elves who had known only Middle‐Earth as their home, the fair tales did not make it any easier to depart. Pengolod had stood in the stern of the ship and looked at Middle‐Earth as they sailed away, until even his keen eyes, keen enough for him to have been an archer in the war, could not discern mortal lands. Pengolod stood at the prow of the ship now, eagerly spying out each new glimpse of Númenor. Middle‐Earth had absorbed him so much that he had never Page 3 Magweth Pengolodh ventured here, but something about the place was overlain with splendour. He had seen the huge navy‐boats come into the Grey Havens, where they seemed large, even garish in their ornament, but they fit perfectly here. Compared to Lindonʹs misty beauty, the firth of Rómenna was larger, grander, the trees on its cliffs greener, the water in its deeps a more brilliant blue. Even the myriad gulls skirling about the sky were large and sleek, and the sun seemed to shine with more brightness and warmth than it did on Eriadorʹs shores. Pengolod recalled that maps showed Númenor as being somewhat southwards of the Elvesʹ regions, and that Númenoreans always commented on the cold in Lindon. When the boats grew even more numerous in the water,