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When Morgoth in that day of doom had slain the Trees and filled with gloom the shining land of Valinor, there Fëanor and his sons then swore the mighty oath upon the hill of tower-crowned Tun, that still wrought wars and sorrow in the world. From darkling seas the fogs unfurled their blinding shadows grey and cold where Glingal once had bloomed with gold and Belthil bore its silver flowers. The mists were mantled round the towers of the Elves' white city by the sea. There countless torches fitfully did start and twinkle, as the Gnomes were gathered to their fading homes, and thronged the long and winding stair that led to the wide echoing square.
There Fëanor mourned his jewels divine, the Silmarils he made. Like wine his wild and potent words them fill; a great host harkens deathly still. But all he said both wild and wise, half truth and half the fruit of lies that Morgoth sowed in Valinor, in other songs and other lore recorded is. He bade them flee from lands divine, to cross the sea, the pathless plains, the perilous shores where ice-infested water roars; to follow Morgoth to the unlit earth leaving their dwellings and olden mirth; to go back to the Outer Lands to wars and weeping. There their hands they joined in vows, those kinsmen seven, swearing beneath the stars of Heaven, by Varda the Holy that them wrought and bore them each with radiance fraught and set them in the deeps to flame. Timbrenting's holy height they name, whereon are built the timeless halls of Manwë Lord of Gods. Who calls these names in witness may not break his oath, though earth and heaven shake.
Curufin, Celegorm the fair, Amrod and Amras were there, and Caranthir dark, and Maedhros tall (whom after torment should befall), and Maglor the mighty who like the sea with deep voice sings yet mournfully. 'Be he friend or foe, or seed defiled of Morgoth Bauglir, or mortal child that in after days on earth shall dwell, no law, nor love, nor league of hell, not might of Gods, not moveless fate shall him defend from wrath and hate

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of Fëanor's sons, who takes or steals or finding keeps the Silmarils, the thrice-enchanted globes of light that shine until the final night.'
The wars and wandering of the Gnomes this tale tells not. Far from their homes they fought and laboured in the North. Fingon daring alone went forth and sought for Maedhros where he hung; in torment terrible he swung, his wrist in band of forged steel, from a sheer precipice where reel the dizzy senses staring down from Thangorodrim's stony crown. The song of Fingon Elves yet sing, captain of armies, Gnomish king, who fell at last in flame of swords with his white banners and his lords. They sing how Maedhros free he set, and stayed the feud that slumbered yet between the children proud of Finn. Now joined once more they hemmed him in, even great Morgoth, and their host beleaguered Angband, till they boast no Orc nor demon ever dare their leaguer break or past them fare. Then days of solace woke on earth beneath the new-lit Sun, and mirth was heard in the Great Lands where Men, a young race, spread and wandered then. That was the time that songs do call the Siege of Angband, when like a wall the Gnomish swords did fence the earth from Morgoth's ruin, a time of birth, of blossoming, of flowers, of growth; but still there held the deathless oath, and still the Silmarils were deep in Angband's darkly-dolven keep.
An end there came, when fortune turned, and flames of Morgoth's vengeance burned, and all the might which he prepared in secret in his fastness flared and poured across the Thirsty Plain; and armies black were in his train. The leaguer of Angband Morgoth broke; his enemies in fire and smoke were scattered, and the Orcs there slew and slew, until the blood like dew dripped from each cruel and crooked blade. Then Barahir the bold did aid with mighty spear, with shield and men, Felagund wounded. To the fen escaping, there they bound their troth, and Felagund deeply swore an oath of friendship to his kin and seed, of love and succour in time of need.

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But there of Finarfin's children four were Angrod slain and proud Aegnor. Felagund and Orodreth then gathered the remnant of their men, their maidens and their children fair; forsaking war they made their lair and cavernous hold far in the south. On Narog's towering bank its mouth was opened; which they hid and veiled, and mighty doors, that unassailed till Túrin's day stood vast and grim, they built by trees o'ershadowed dim. And with them dwelt a long time there Curufin, and Celegorm the fair; and a mighty folk grew neath their hands in Narog's secret halls and lands.
Thus Felagund in Nargothrond still reigned, a hidden king whose bond was sworn to Barahir the bold. And now his son through forests cold wandered alone as in a dream. Esgalduin's dark and shrouded stream he followed, till its waters frore were joined to Sirion, Sirion hoar, pale silver water wide and free rolling in splendour to the sea. Now Beren came unto the pools, wide shallow meres where Sirion cools his gathered tide beneath the stars, ere chafed and sundered by the bars of reedy banks a mighty fen he feeds and drenches, plunging then into vast chasms underground, where many miles his way is wound. Umboth-Muilin, Twilight Meres, those great wide waters grey as tears the Elves then named. Through driving rain from thence across the Guarded Plain the Hills of the Hunters Beren saw with bare tops bitten bleak and raw by western winds; but in the mist of streaming rains that flashed and hissed into the meres he knew there lay beneath those hills the cloven way of Narog, and the watchful halls of Felagund beside the falls of Ringwil tumbling from the wold. An everlasting watch they hold, the Gnomes of Nargothrond renowned, and every hill is tower-crowned, where wardens sleepless peer and gaze guarding the plain and all the ways between Narog swift and Sirion pale; and archers whose arrows never fail there range the woods, and secret kill all who creep thither against their will.

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Yet now he thrusts into that land bearing the gleaming ring on hand of Felagund, and oft doth cry: 'Here comes no wandering Orc or spy, but Beren son of Barahir who once to Felagund was dear.' So ere he reached the eastward shore of Narog, that doth foam and roar o'er boulders black, those archers green came round him. When the ring was seen they bowed before him, though his plight was poor and beggarly. Then by night they led him northward, for no ford nor bridge was built where Narog poured before the gates of Nargothrond, and friend nor foe might pass beyond. To northward, where that stream yet young more slender flowed, below the tongue of foam-splashed land that Ginglith pens when her brief golden torrent ends and joins the Narog, there they wade. Now swiftest journey thence they made to Nargothrond's sheer terraces and dim gigantic palaces. They came beneath a sickle moon to doors there darkly hung and hewn with posts and lintels of ponderous stone and timbers huge. Now open thrown were gaping gates, and in they strode where Felagund on throne abode.
Fair were the words of Narog's king to Beren, and his wandering and all his feuds and bitter wars recounted soon. Behind closed doors they sat, while Beren told his tale of Doriath; and words him fail recalling Lúthien dancing fair with wild white roses in her hair, remembering her elven voice that rung while stars in twilight round her hung. He spake of Thingol's marvellous halls by enchantment lit, where fountain falls and ever the nightingale doth sing to Melian and to her king. The quest he told that Thingol laid in scorn on him; how for love of maid more fair than ever was born to Men, of Tinúviel, of Lúthien, he must essay the burning waste, and doubtless death and torment taste.
This Felagund in wonder heard, and heavily spake at last this word: 'It seems that Thingol doth desire thy death. The everlasting fire of those enchanted jewels all know is cursed with an oath of endless woe,

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and Fëanor's sons alone by right are lords and masters of their light. He cannot hope within his hoard to keep this gem, nor is he lord of all the folk of Elfinesse. And yet thou saist for nothing less can thy return to Doriath be purchased? Many a dreadful path in sooth there lies before thy feet – and after Morgoth, still a fleet untiring hate, as I know well, would hunt thee from heaven unto hell. Fëanor's sons would, if they could, slay thee or ever thou reached his wood or laid in Thingol's lap that fire, or gained at least thy sweet desire. Lo! Celegorm and Curufin here dwell this very realm within, and even though I, Finarfin's son, am king, a mighty power have won and many of their own folk lead. Friendship to me in every need they yet have shown, but much I fear that to Beren son of Barahir mercy or love they will not show if once thy dreadful quest they know.'
True words he spake. For when the king to all his people told this thing, and spake of the oath to Barahir, and how that mortal shield and spear had saved them from Morgoth and from woe on Northern battlefields long ago, then many were kindled in their hearts once more to battle. But up there starts amid the throng, and loudly cries for hearing, one with flaming eyes, proud Celegorm with gleaming hair and shining sword. Then all men stare upon his stern unyielding face, and a great hush falls upon that place.
'Be he friend or foe, or demon wild of Morgoth, Elf, or mortal child, or any that here on earth may dwell, no law, nor love, nor league of hell, no might of Gods, no binding spell, shall him defend from hatred fell of Fëanor's sons, whoso take or steal or finding keep a Silmaril. These we alone do claim by right, our thrice enchanted jewels bright.'
Many wild and potent words he spoke, and as before in Tun awoke his father's voice their hearts to fire, so now dark fear and brooding ire he cast on them, foreboding war of friend with friend; and pools of gore

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their minds imagined lying red in Nargothrond about the dead, did Narog's host with Beren go; or haply battle, ruin, and woe in Doriath where great Thingol reigned, if Fëanor's fatal jewel he gained. And even such as were most true to Felagund his oath did rue, and thought with terror and despair of seeking Morgoth in his lair with force or guile. This Curufin when his brother ceased did then begin more to impress upon their minds; and such a spell he on them binds that never again till Túrin's day would Gnome of Narog in array of open battle go to war. With secrecy, ambush, spies, and lore of wizardry, with silent leaguer of wild things wary, watchful, eager, of phantom hunters, venomed darts, and unseen stealthy creeping arts, with padding hatred that its prey with feet of velvet all the day followed remorseless out of sight and slew it unawares at night – thus they defended Nargothrond, and forgot their kin and solemn bond for dread of Morgoth that the art of Curufin set within their heart.
So would they not that angry day King Felagund their lord obey, but sullen murmured that Finrod Finarfin’s son was not as a god. Then Felagund took off his crown and at his feet he cast it down, the silver helm of Nargothrond: 'Yours ye may break, but I my bond must keep, and kingdom here forsake. If hearts here were that did not quake, or that to Finarfin's son were true, then I at least should find a few to go with me, not like a poor rejected beggar scorn endure, turned from my gates to leave my town, my people, and my realm and crown!'
Hearing these words there swiftly stood beside him ten tried warriors good, men of his house who had ever fought wherever his banners had been brought. One stooped and lifted up his crown, and said: 'O king, to leave this town is now our fate, but not to lose thy rightful lordship. Thou shalt choose

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one to be steward in thy stead.' Then Felagund upon the head of Orodreth set it: 'Brother mine, till I return this crown is thine.' Then Celegorm no more would stay, and Curufin smiled and turned away.