Chapter 34

The winter blossoms of Hithlum gradually faded in the chilly spring breeze, leaving behind a vibrant new green and a sense of vigilance after a catastrophe. Anartar's attack was a deep scar, a reminder of the fragility of peace. With the northern defenses initially stabilized thanks to Fingolfin's urgent adjustments, Finrod decided to take Meereen back to his kingdom in Nargothrond. Before departing, Fingolfin solemnly patted Meereen's shoulder: "My child, your courage and wisdom have proven your cunning time and again. You are always welcome in Hithlum." Meereen was filled with gratitude, yet also with a hint of reluctance to leave Dor-lómin.

In order to avoid potential dangers and to allow Meereen to relax and visit allies, Finrod did not choose the most direct route, but decided to take a detour to Gondolin.

Crossing the mist-shrouded Encircling Mountains, when Gondolin, the legendary "City of Flowers on the Rock," finally appeared before their eyes, Meereen was once again astounded by the wonders of the Elves' craftsmanship. Its pristine white walls gleamed in the sun, while within, trees and flowers bloomed, fountains flowed with clear mountain springs, and the air was filled with a tranquil and peaceful atmosphere—a stark contrast to the rugged beauty of Hithlum in the north, yet equally captivating.

The guards who had received the news in advance led them into Gondolin, and Turgon personally greeted them. The ruler of the Hidden City was majestic but kind like a brother. He expressed the warmest welcome to Meereen's arrival, and especially expressed deep concern and admiration for his experience in Hithlum.

"Meereen," Turgon's voice echoed through the halls, filled with genuine joy. "Welcome to Gondolin. Your name and deeds have long been heard on the winds. Your courage shines like a star, bringing hope to these dark times."

What made Meereen feel the warmest was Glorfindel's welcome. The Golden Flower Lord strode over with an unreserved smile on his face. He opened his arms and gave Meereen a solid and powerful hug.

"I knew you were lucky." Glorfindel let go of him, his golden eyes full of relief and joy, and he patted his shoulder vigorously. "I saw in the coalition camp that you were a man of your own ideas. Those guys in Shagerian didn't do anything to you, did they? What about that monster Hithlum? Tell me about it quickly." His enthusiasm was like sunshine, instantly dispelling the remaining haze in Meereen's heart.

Meereen also smiled sincerely: "Glorfindel, thank you very much for your reminder in the Allied Camp. If you hadn't told me to be careful of Maglor, I might..." He recalled the belated and horrifying realizations he had in Shagerian's guest room.

Glorfindel waved his hand and smiled slightly: "Seeing you standing here safe and sound is the best reward." He put his arm around Meereen's shoulders and led him to the banquet hall enthusiastically.

During his days in Gondolin, Meereen was immersed in a dreamlike tranquility. He wandered the flower-filled streets, listened to the melodious songs of the city's elves, and felt the unique beauty of this hidden city, almost frozen in time. After the banquet, the two Noldor princes, Turgon and Finrod, also held a deep and private conversation. Although Meereen did not participate, he could sense the solemn atmosphere. They must have discussed the impact of the Easterling's betrayal on the foundation of trust in the entire Alliance, the large-scale and uncertain defense adjustments that Hithlum had recently been forced to make, and the mysterious, powerful, and skillfully disguised spy "Annatar."

Once, Meereen overheard Turgon sigh heavily. He said to Finrod, "Even among Men there are now those like Ulfang who are willing to become minions of Morgoth. In the future, our enemies will be more cunning, and their disguises will be more sophisticated, like a venomous snake in a gorgeous coat, making it difficult to distinguish. Trust will become an inestimable luxury."

Finrod was silent for a moment, and a trace of worry flashed across his golden eyes that always sparkled with wisdom, but he still said firmly: "Turgon, I understand your concerns. Darkness is indeed corroding people's hearts. But please believe that not all humans are like Ufang. The courage and integrity of Meereen, the tenacity and loyalty of the Edain all prove this. Morgoth and Sauron are best at using fear, greed and love for relatives to coerce and distort will. They capture our friends and family, use them to threaten us, and create betrayal. This is what we need to be most vigilant and guard against." Finrod's words were both a response to Turgon and a prophecy of dark tricks that might be encountered in the future.

A few days later, with Gondolin's blessing and a large bag of elven jewelry given to him by Glorfindel, which was said to "ward off evil and avoid disaster", Meereen and Finrod bid farewell to Turgon and his party and embarked on the final journey back to Nargothrond. They chose the path through the vast and vibrant Forest of Brethil.

Walking along the familiar forest path, towering ancient trees cast dappled light and shadows, the air filled with the fragrance of moist earth and grass, but Meereen felt a complicated mood. Gazing at the deep forest path before him, he couldn't help but sigh to Finrod, "Finnrod, do you remember? The last time we crossed this forest together was when we escorted Beren and Lúthien on their desperate journey to Angband. Back then, I resolved to follow you, and although I was prepared to face danger, I never imagined so many unforeseen events would unfold." From Shagerion's imprisonment and escape, to the exposure of the Easterling's treachery, to the fatal attack on Hithlum, each event was thrilling and far exceeded his initial imagination.

Finrod smiled understandingly and patted him on the shoulder. "The threads of fate are always interwoven with surprises and challenges, Meereen. But you see, we all made it out safely in the end and are on our way back home. The warm fires and loyal subjects of Nargothrond are waiting for us."

As they passed through a clearing in the woods, Meereen's gaze drifted inward, toward the spot where Celegorm and Curufin had ambushed them, attempting to lure him to Himring. Though the forest's vibrant life had long since obscured the traces of the battle, the thrilling scene remained vivid. He could not help but think of Celegorm's eyes, now raging and now hollow, tormented by the curse of his oath; of Curufin's calculating yet imprisoned soul; and even of the struggle that might lie behind Maglor's deadly song.

"Finrod," Meereen's voice was heavy and confused. "Regarding the Fëanorion brothers... the terrible curse sworn deep in their souls, is there truly no other solution?" He looked at the Elf King, renowned for his wisdom, and said, "Is there truly no other solution besides reclaiming the Silmarils? Even Manwë, High King of Arda, cannot untie these fetters? Or perhaps convincing them to relinquish their ownership of the Silmarils, thereby indirectly invalidating the oath?"

Finrod stopped, the smile on his face vanishing, replaced by a deep sense of pity and helplessness. He gazed into the depths of the forest, as if he could see through time and space to his cousins ​​who were suffering in the flames of their oaths.

"Meereen," Finrod's voice was low but clear. "The Oath of Fëanor was sworn in the name of Ilúvatar in the rage and despair of Valinor. It was more than a promise; it was a power that burned the essence of their souls, a curse that bound their fate to the very existence of the Silmaril. You may know its meaning: whoever holds the Silmaril, whether Elf, Man, Morgoth, or any other creature, will become their sworn enemy, as will whoever interferes with their recovery."

He sighed, his golden eyes filled with powerlessness. "The power of this oath comes from the incomparable fire of their father Fëanor's will, and from their own blinded fanaticism at the time. It has been deeply imprinted into their souls and has become a part of their existence. Manwë may be able to see everything, and may possess supreme power, but even he cannot forcibly erase the oath that a living being swore with free will, burning with life and soul as fuel. This oath has become entangled with their essence."

Finrod looked towards Meereen, his eyes filled with warning. "And giving up ownership of the Silmaril? That is absolutely impossible. To the sons of Fëanor, the Silmaril is more than just a rare treasure. It is the pinnacle of their father Fëanor's soul and skill, a symbol of their family's glory and tragedy, and the core of their oath. Giving it up would be tantamount to denying the meaning of their existence, denying Fëanor, denying themselves, and everything they paid for it—including the blood of their kin. This is more unbearable than death. Therefore, anyone who holds the Silmaril, regardless of their status, regardless of their intentions, as long as the Silmaril is not in their hands, automatically becomes an enemy of their oath, a target they must destroy or seize."

Finrod's words were like cold hammers, hammering down upon Meereen's heart. He felt a chill run from his feet to his head, and his hands, almost involuntarily and discreetly, pressed against his clothing. There, through the soft fabric, the outlines of two cold, hard gems, yet seemingly imbued with the fiery energy of cosmic sparks, were clearly discernible.

Finrod's words exploded like thunder in his mind: "Anyone who holds the Silmaril... regardless of their status, regardless of their intentions... automatically becomes an enemy of their sworn vows... a target to be destroyed or taken."

A huge, unprecedented panic gripped Meereen's heart. The secret he had carefully guarded, the secret he had pried from Morgoth's crown, which he had regarded as a trophy or a responsibility, suddenly became the most deadly hot potato. He had thought that the gems were only precious and dangerous, but he never realized that they were the sword of Damocles hanging over his head, driven by the crazy oath of the Fëanorion brothers.

When he impulsively pried off the two diamonds, did he ever think that this was not only taking treasures from Morgoth, but also putting himself directly in absolute opposition to the eternal oath curse of the sons of Fëanor?

Cold sweat silently soaked Meereen's back. He tried to maintain a calm appearance, even nodding his head to show his understanding of Finrod's words about the oath, but inside he was already in turmoil. He clutched the gemstone under his clothes tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force, as if he were holding two red-hot irons.

The journey home seemed inordinately long. The forest remained peaceful and beautiful, but the heart of Meereen was shrouded in the shadow of great secrets and the impending, inescapable conflict. The warm fires of Nargothrond seemed distant. He knew that the two star fragments he held would sooner or later draw the burning flames that pursued his oath.