#tgw22

Elves:

The Noldor had a complex system of apprenticeship in Valinor but this was largely abandoned in Beleriand. Most of the hosts of both Fëanor and Fingolfin had already gone through one and/or were skilled in at least one trade or craft.

During the Watchful Peace and other calmer periods, a less intensive system was used by some of the Noldorin establishments in Beleriand. Youth born in Beleriand were encouraged to take up at least one trade regardless of if they planned to later take part in the war.

Gondolin and Nargothrond both utilizes practices from their Noldorin and Sindarin founders and Nargothrond also had influence from two Telerin peoples; the Falmari under Olwë in Valinor and the Falathrim under Círdan in Beleriand.

Noldorin youth tend to undergo apprenticeships for what would be about three to six years for humans and often longer. Two to four years was average in Beleriand. They live in the home of their mentor and typically pay by taking part in caring for the house and land and by assisting in any trade for profit their teacher takes part in (for example delivering finished metal work for a blacksmith, etc)

Mentor relationships are highly valued among the Noldor who love the pursuit of knowledge and learning. In Valinor some period of teaching is expected for experts in their craft, trade or field. For those who do not wish to teach or who struggle with communicating directly, producing and writing manuals and books of instruction or history of a craft or area of study is considered nearly as valuable if not equally so to directly teaching.

Metalwork and smithing including weapon making, collecting, utilizing and crafting with minerals and ores, carpentry, building and architecture, hunting and rangership, and some forms of cultivation were among the more common trades.

Sindar of Doriath: Among the royal family and the collection of families that live in and around Menengroth, children are taught in small groups history, lore, language and runes, forestcraft,

Outside Menengroth these topics and others are usually taught within families or sometimes organized among collections of families.

Elves who have lived long in Doriath and are extremely knowledgeable about the world around them are an important part of learning especially for the elves who live outside Menengroth. Though there is not necessarily a formal system, most growing elflings find mentors in their smaller communities often choosing them based on what parts or aspects of Doriath they are partial to or their philosophy of the forests.

Formal apprenticeships are also not uncommon both in and out of Menengroth. Cultivation and use of silk and fibers, fiber crafts, herbalism and herb/plant lore, rangership and cultivation of plants and other things grown, collected or otherwise used for food, and record keeping are among the more common trades.

Edain:

Halidan

The Halidan do not have a formal apprenticeship system but rather decide and delegate within families and smaller community groups. It is not uncommon for children to shadow relatives or others close to the family to learn their craft or trade. We know from The Children of Húrin that the Edain in Beleriand frequently sent their children to stay with others to study or learn fighting.

Leather work, carpentry and woodwork, hunting and defense, and herb lore and medicine were among the common trades. Leather came from the pigs the Halidan kept and through trade with the Hadorians

Prior to Dagor Bragollach, the Bëorians had a custom of apprentice and mentorship similar to the Noldor (though not necessarily learned from them, these developed independently). Youth would leave their homes to stay with an expert in their trade to assist them and learn from them. Typically, crafters would announce when they had need of aid and the time to teach and youth would apply.

Records and history, carpentry, fiber crafts using sheep wool and goats fir as well as fibrous plants, cultivation and agriculture, and medicine and healing practices were among the common trades

Maedhros scrambled backwards, throwing his covers off. Gripped by an otherworldly terror, he could not decide whether to resume a defensive or submissive posture. On more than one previous occasion he had battled with himself even as he knew he had only seconds until the monster in the doorway was near enough to touch him. 

There was no monster in the doorway. 

But there was little relief in his heart. He let his eyes adjust to what was not Angband, trying to breathe. Pain

The darkness he remembered swallowed and contorted what should have been the peaceful stillness of his room. Maedhros lay flat on his back, his covers sticky with sweat and blood from an old wound he had inadvertently dug into. The winter was raging beyond the too fragile glass on his windows but his body had been burning upon waking. 

The pain licked at his stiff limbs like a slow fire and indeed the body of Maitimo had been exposed to the agony of open flames twice or more. The strange, uneven marks upon his skin easy to lose sight of among the litany of other scars he bore. The crutches were by his bed of course as always they were.

A reoccurring fear had been plaguing him, a paranoia really; that in the night one could move or take the devices and leave him near helpless. There was no one in particular he thought might act in such a way and little reason to believe that any would at all. Nonetheless it was always with an unease that he propped them up beside his bedside table before commencing his nighttime routine

He had dreamed that night of the throne room, of his limbs spread at obscene angles with thin chains, suspended above the floor in such a way he could not stand to look down without a piercing whine of vertigo striking him. His hair matted with blood stuck against the ice cold stone behind him.

Eyes open, little kinslayer. Take thy punishment as thou knows is right. ( In the waking world a small sound rose in Maedhros’s throat)

A frigid lash of pain landed over his thighs and genitals as the horrid whip they had brought out today hit him again. Those fingers had run ever so casually along the most recent smearing the blood over his thighs, stomach and parts more intimate. Maitimo convulsed in the iron clad grip of the chains that prevented any cover, any hiding.

It was the feeling of His hand Maedhros dreamed most of, felt even when no visuals accompanied it, sensed even in what should have been the safety of daylight. The Silmarils burnt the hands of the Moringotto and those hands in turn marred him. Even as he had slowly regained strength, he would still more often find the muscles of his arms, torso, and legs plagued by the phantom touch he recognized perfectly.

Maedhros steadied himself sitting in bed with both legs swung over, left hand on one crutch. There was a crevice in the other where he could let his right arm rest until he could limp over to where his prosthetic was kept. The morning would be difficult to detect amid the swirling gray of winter at Himring. The snow brushed tops of pine trees were just visible from the window, clustered at the base of the hill.

Morning has arrived however and the longer he lingered here, the longer he would stew in his thoughts and the agony of his old chains. Maedhros slowly stood, the first few steps slightly painful as he regained his balance, the proper positioning for his arms not yet muscle memory. It would be, in time.

Húrin was the shortest in stature of the small group of men gathered in the great hall of the King but none reached the shoulder of any of the attending Noldor or their allies and the differences in height among his kin were inconsequential here. They all stood as equals before the throne flanked by several Noldor captains, some he recognized by name and deed though had never formally been introduced.

Even after the time he had spent with the elves, -nigh a year in a city of them!-they were still a wonder to Húrin. 

 He was dressed in light blue robes that were rather impractical should any fighting break out but he enjoyed them greatly nonetheless. King Fingon of the North who sat upon a simple but elegant wooden carved throne was in regal blue of a much darker, richer shade than him or his men. Húrin noted in awe the detail work along the cuffs and collars, his face coloring slightly when one of his kinsman smirked and kicked at his unprotected leg. He turned his attention back to the face of the king as he spoke, addressing first the elves beside him and then the small group of Hador’s people. 

The king was clearly the brother of Lord Turgon. There was no one he could speak this to but the thought was burned into him all the same. There were differences yes, stark ones at that. Lord Turgon had darker, more solemn eyes, the smiles that could alight his face were far more hidden than the king who was bright and cheerful how he had never known the lord of Gondolin to be. But their hair, the shape of their faces, the way their hands moved...it was uncanny. Húrin tried to bring his mind from these thoughts for of course the uncanniness was one he should never have known. 

Fortunately there was so much in the hall to occupy his attention, even from such large matters. His companions were finishing their vows and were looking at him expectantly.  The expression of the king was difficult to read but it was not intimidating and the man’s nerve eased slightly though his heart was fluttering, nearly dizzying as he took his steps to the foot of the throne and with all the grace he could muster, knelt. As was custom he knelt first upon one knee, eyes up at his king and then when King Fingon nodded, to the next stance, upon both knees, head bowed in reverence. 

He barely felt the floor beneath him as he knelt. The youth around him, ever jesting and raucous in the years he had known them were as silent, surely as awestruck as he was. There was an almost protective quality as they stood around their kneeling kinsman though Húrin felt nothing if not safe and secure. His legs trembled minutely as he stood 

“I welcome you to my service, Húrin of Dor-lómin.” The smile of the king was a warm one when Húrin looked up to meet it. “My father gladly and gratefully held both your father and his father before him in his own service and I have had the good fortune to meet these noble men.” When he himself contemplated the legacy of his father and grandfather Húrin felt overwhelmed. When King Fingon spoke of them he felt only pride, happiness at the opportunity to follow in their footsteps. 

The man stands at the king’s nod and walks in a dream to the table to join his kin, uncharacteristically quiet as one is quick to point out though his tone is light, jesting. A few minutes later the small group of Noldor lead by King Fingon join them. 

The conversation is shockingly casual, friendly! First among his own men, yes but the Noldor join in with ease, joking and teasing quickly and sharply. Most speak Sindarin but there are words too in Quenya, he knows their sound but not their meaning. It was said that they were forbidden to use this tongue but he is glad all the same to hear it. Húrin has always admired the ways of speaking among the elves. His brother teases him for how he has, intentionally and then often not, picked up on them, repeated them. He decided then he would need to learn more of the tongue of the high elves, even if he could not find formal instruction. In Gondolin there were phrases he had learned, greetings, jests, patterns. But they were hidden away as they must be and he dared not speak them aloud even in solitude. 

The wine he drinks is stronger than he was used to but in consequences alone; unlike the rich, oaken wine of his people this was light and summery, leaving him feeling rather giddy. He had to put in conscious effort to pace himself and sooner than he expected felt his head spinning. He would not ride back till the next morning of course but who could say how long this would affect him. The last thing Húrin wanted was to make a fool of himself, here and now. 

The food acts to ground him though it does not bring elegant words to his mouth to respond to the king’s occasional address and surely this is not merely the result of the wine. King Fingon smiles at him however and does not appear upset by his clumsy words. 

The dinner is ended with their orders for their first month in the service of the king but even this cannot dampen his mood. He is not naive, Húrin is well aware of why he has come to serve the king and that the occasion is not strictly a joyful one.  They will return after a brief respite at home to the Tower and the rushing river to receive further instruction from the king. Many will serve at the border of Dor-lómin and further East at the borders of Hithlum where the hosts and scouts of orcs dare ever closer. The memory of his father hangs heavily upon him at this and of the Battle of flame he did not himself witness but which has touched so closely those he loved. If another like this could be prevented, mitigated, surely any risk he took was worth it. 

Of the seven men he has come with, six will return home from their first mission, a bitter victory in every sense. 

(look it’s not my best work I wrote some of this while unmedicated and very sleepy but I hope it’s ok!)

two more author’s notes: 

1. Húrin is absolutely naive.