The Noldorin messenger was halted by guards at the western border of Doriath. Several dropped from the trees, while more remained above, all with arrows nocked. A tall captain of the Sindar came forward.
"Mae govannen. None may enter these woods, save the kin of Finarfin, and that only with permission of Elu Thingol. I was informed of no arriving visitors, and you do not bear the proper token. If you seek to pass eastwards, you must go around, either to the North or the South. The northern route is the quicker, the southern the less perilous." The captain's words, at least, were polite, though his gweth's arrows were still nocked.
"Mae govannen, Captain. I thank you for your suggestions. However, I bear a message to Elu Thingol, so my road lies directly eastwards."
"You may give the message to me. I will take it to the King. On my honor, none save Thingol will unseal it."
"Thank you again, but as the message is verbal, I must decline. It is for Thingol's ears alone."
"Yet you may not pass. Here the King's will is law."
"Naturally. As my King Turgon's will is law to me. And he orders me to deliver this message personally to Thingol. Surely you understand."
Though short for a Noldo, the messenger was built like a bull. He stood his ground, vast legs set wide apart. Striking gold-overlaid mithril armor indicated he was a lord, and not a minor one.
The captain frowned. "Yet you are unknown to us. At least give me your name. Here you may await the King's decision."
"That is no name for a Noldo. Your true name, and that of your father, so that we may know you. Fell folk are known to walk these lands in fair guise."
The messenger moved not, though his eyes glinted. "Rog is my only name. My wife gave it to me when we awoke, and I have never felt need of another."
Receiving no reply other than astonished faces (still behind nocked arrows), the messenger at last spoke once more. "Is Beleg Cuthalion no longer Marchwarden? He, at least, will know who I am. We knew each other well, and fought beside one another, as brothers. A very long time ago, but he will not have forgotten me, I think."
The Captain returned to his senses. "Beleg yet dwells in these woods, so of course he is Marchwarden. I shall send for him, but you must await him here."
Rog relaxed his stance and smiled. "Excellent! Tell Beleg the Hammer has returned to Ennor, is sorry he ever left it, and is eager to see the Strongbow."
The captain took one of the other guards aside and spoke swiftly and quietly.
Rog looked upon the guards. Their bows were now aimed downwards, but still drawn. Quite ridiculous. He needed only to call upon the visor of his helm in thought for it to snap shut - thus he feared no feathered shaft.
"Come now, penneth nin, put away your arrows. You will not need them today, but I am a temperamental fellow, and like not being threatened so."
And so, less then a week later, Thingol heard that Turgon would be leaving Nevrast, where (generally) he was headed, and that many Sindar would be accompanying him.
Since the captain of Doriath was wise and his guards disciplined, the most astonishing news of the messenger that came to the ears of the rest of the Iathrim was that he had thrice beaten Beleg at arm-wrestling. Very few indeed could make such a claim.
A/N: Rog was the lord of the House of the Hammer of Wrath, one of the Twelve Houses of Gondolin. His is such a strange name that I assume it must be very ancient. For non-HOME-fanatics, the 'My wife gave it to me when we awoke' implies that he was one of the Unbegotten.
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